tale_id
stringlengths 1
60
| content
stringlengths 26
371k
| source
stringlengths 82
200k
| author
stringclasses 1
value | created_at
stringlengths 19
19
| tags
listlengths 1
36
| title
stringlengths 14
145
| rating
int64 -64
2.07k
| references
listlengths 0
98
| hubs
listlengths 0
19
| images
listlengths 0
144
| page_id
stringlengths 7
10
| url
stringlengths 30
89
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
i-didn-t-forget-pt-12-site-17
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong><a href="/i-didn-t-forget-hub">Series Hub</a></strong></p>
<p><a href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-1-the-galaxy-plaza-disaster">◀◀ First Entry</a> | <a href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-11-the-jailors">◀ Previous Entry</a> | <a href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-13-evan-sanders">Next Entry ▶</a></p>
<p><sub><a href="/xhawk77x">More by this Author</a></sub></p>
</div>
<p><strong>Present Day</strong></p>
<p>Tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day we go to Site-17. The day we rescue my brother.</p>
<p>We have an intricate plan, weeks in the making, and involving half a dozen agents.</p>
<p>Site-17 is large and well-guarded. The Jailors know it’s a tempting target for the Serpent’s Hand. The good news is, if we pull this off, we’ll likely be able to rescue a lot of people along with Evan. Enough to make up for Sean. Hell, Sean himself may have been moved there by now.</p>
<p>I’ve thrown everything I have into preparing for this mission. It’s been months since I’ve done anything but train. I’m stronger and more skilled than I ever thought I could be.</p>
<p>I’m in a lounge in the Library, the same one where I first met Sean, reading a book about effective espionage. I see someone emerge from the hallway and start approaching me. It’s Theo. I think about trying to hide, but it’s clear he’s already spotted me. He walks up to me. “Go away,” I say, without putting my book down.</p>
<p>“Can you please just listen to me for one minute?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to ask you to forgive me or change your mind. I know you’re going to try to rescue your brother—”</p>
<p>“And I need to do as much reading and training as I can before attempting that, so leave me alone.”</p>
<p>“Please, just one minute.”</p>
<p>I keep reading.</p>
<p>He keeps talking anyway. “I hope you succeed. I hope you save Evan. I really do.”</p>
<p>“You had a funny way of showing it back when you were supposed to be helping me.”</p>
<p>“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m not asking you to change your mind, but I still don’t want to lose you forever.”</p>
<p>“You have lost me. Forever. How do you still not get that?”</p>
<p>“Not the way I’d lose you if the Foundation puts you in containment.”</p>
<p>“What difference does it make? I guess it’d be harder for you to pester me if I were in a containment cell, but I’d frankly see that as a silver lining.” That statement makes Theo’s eyes moisten. I see him fight to remain composed. I lower my book. “Fine. What is it?”</p>
<p>“There’s a small favor I’d like to ask you. Something that would help ease my mind. How much do you know about my religion?”</p>
<p>“The basics.”</p>
<p>“Do you know what the Eitoth is?”</p>
<p>“It’s your heaven.”</p>
<p>“Right. It’s our afterlife, welcoming the souls of everyone who has bled for the universe.”</p>
<p>“What does that have to do with me?”</p>
<p>Theo wipes his eye. “The risks you’re taking, they’re your risks to take. I should have accepted that. I’m sorry I didn’t, and I know I can’t ask you to be with me again. At the same time, I don’t want to lose all hope of seeing you again.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a small stone block—I realize after a moment that it’s a tiny altar—along with a glistening needle. “If you prick your finger, and bleed onto this, then no matter what happens, we’ll see each other again, someday.”</p>
<p>I glance down at the altar. One thing I’ve learned from the Library is that afterlives can be unpredictable. It’s a good idea to make arrangements for yourself, something I would have trouble doing from a containment cell. Indeed, I wouldn’t be the first non-Ortothan to make a single, small offering in order to set myself up with a pleasant afterlife.</p>
<p>I look at Theo. “What makes you think I’d want to spend eternity with you?”</p>
<p>“You don’t have to see me. Not even once, for all eternity. Just please let me know that you’re somewhere safe, that I don’t have to worry about you.”</p>
<p>“I haven’t asked you to worry about me. You’re free to stop whenever you want.”</p>
<p>“Please,” Theo says. He holds out the needle and altar.</p>
<p>I push his hand away. “How do you not get this? I don’t want to see you. I don’t want anything to do with you, and the last thing I want is to spend eternity with you. Everything we had was built on the lies you told me, about the world, and about my brother. Now that I know the truth, you’re never getting me back. You can make peace with that, or you can die sad about it. I don’t fucking care. Just leave me alone, forever.”</p>
<p>Theo’s head sinks. He sheds a few more tears. I feel another pang of guilt, but I suppress it. All of this is his fault. He deserves to be sad about it.</p>
<p>“Okay,” he says.</p>
<p>“Go away,” I say. “I have a mission to prepare for.”</p>
<p>Theo wipes his eyes. “Alright,” he says. “Good luck. I… I love you.”</p>
<p>I hold my book over my face. “Go away.”</p>
<p>Theo turns around and walks away. Once he’s gone, I wipe my own eye, then continue reading.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Eight Years Ago</strong></p>
<p>Evan and I sat in front of the TV, watching a superhero show. Suddenly, Evan to turned to me and said, “Hey, Jerry, do you ever think about what you’d do if you had superpowers?”</p>
<p>“I’d be a superhero, obviously,” I said.</p>
<p>Evan thought about that for a moment. “Are you sure?”</p>
<p>“What else would I be?”</p>
<p>“Anyone who wants to can be a hero. You don’t need powers. You can be a fireman, or a doctor, or an activist. We all have the option to be those things. Most people don’t. They just live their own lives. If I’m turning down the opportunities for heroism that I already have, how can I say I’d be a superhero?”</p>
<p>“C’mon. If anyone would be a superhero, you would.”</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“You’re basically already a superhero. You protect people all the time. All the bullies at school are afraid of you.”</p>
<p>Evan chuckled. “I guess so.”</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Present Day</strong></p>
<p>I stand amongst my comrades, chafing from the stolen Jailor armor I’m wearing. I run through the plan one last time in my head. Me, Mike, and some other agents are disguised as Jailors. We’ve forged paperwork to make them think we’re bringing a new prisoner to the Site. Jack will be playing the role of that prisoner. The rest of us will be playing the team that captured him.</p>
<p>Once they let us inside, we’ll have free access to the Primary Humanoid Containment Wing. Evan should be somewhere in there. Once we locate him, we’ll have to lead him elsewhere in the site.</p>
<p>The Primary Humanoid Containment Wing is filled with Scranton Reality Anchors, devices which suppress just about anything the Jailors think is ‘anomalous.’ Once we’re out of the reality anchors’ range, we’ll use the artifact that makes this mission possible. A very rare and valuable portable Way.</p>
<p>It’s s deceptively simple item, just a bright yellow plastic recorder, but if you play the right tune on it, it will open a portal to the Library. Once the portal is open, we’ll bring as many prisoners into the Library as we can. The Library doesn’t let Jailors inside, so once the prisoners are through the portal, they’re home free.</p>
<p>We approach the facility in a stolen Jailor van. I sit in the back with my comrades. I take a deep breath. This is it. I’m really doing it. After six years, I’m really going to save my brother.</p>
<p>The road to Site-17 is riddled with signs warning people away, claiming that it’s a military facility, and warning that trespassers will be shot. We drive past them. We reach the gate that leads into the facility’s grounds. We pull up to a guard station. “State your business,” says a guard.</p>
<p>“Freshly captured humanoid anomaly,” Mike says.</p>
<p>The guard checks something on his screen, then clears us to enter.</p>
<p>We pull our van up to the facility, park it, and approach an entrance. The guard in front of it scans all of our ID cards. He thinks they’re valid, and he lets us in. The door leads us straight into the humanoid containment wing. From there, we begin to comb the halls for Evan.</p>
<p>The corridors are lined with cells, full of “anomalous” people. Some of them have obvious abnormalities—a boy with horns, a woman with bright yellow eyes—but most of them look completely normal. One cell holds a little brown girl, younger than Evan was when he was first contained. Another holds an old man, bald and wrinkled, sitting forlorn on a bed.</p>
<p>The facility is huge. It’s going to take a while to find Evan. We comb the halls, checking cell after cell. None of them contain Evan.</p>
<p>One of them does contain Callum, though.</p>
<p>He’s right there, alive, in cell 192. He’s older, but I’m sure it’s him. Somehow, despite his prisoner’s uniform, despite his drab and dour cell, he holds on to a smugness that makes him unmistakable. I resist the urge to stare at him as we walk past his cell. I don’t want him to recognize me.</p>
<p>We continue searching. As we’re walking the halls, we pass by a patrolling guard who has passed by us before. He clearly realizes this as well. He stops and asks “Are you guys lost?”</p>
<p>“Might be,” Mike says. “This is my first time at this site. Here to deliver this scip.” He gestures at Jack.</p>
<p>“Where are you taking it?”</p>
<p>“Cell 73.”</p>
<p>The guard gives us directions to cell 73. We follow them until we’re out of sight, at which point we go back to searching the halls.</p>
<p>We search the entire wing, and Evan is nowhere to be found.</p>
<p>That’s okay. There’s still another wing to search through.</p>
<p>We pass through the mess hall on the way there. We could’ve gone around it, but it’s possible that Evan is there right now, so we need to search it anyway. I scan the room for Evan. I’m able to get a clear look at most of the prisoners as we walk by, and none of them are him.</p>
<p>Once we’re in the other wing, we search it, just like we did the first. Line after line of cells, full of all sorts of “anomalous” people, none of whom are Evan. As we near the final few cells, my stomach tightens. We search the last hall, until, more than two hours after we arrived, we’ve checked every cell in the site. Evan wasn’t in any of them.</p>
<p>“Are we sure that’s every cell?” an agent asks.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Jack says.</p>
<p>“And your brother wasn’t in any of them?” Mike asks me.</p>
<p>“No,” I say. “He wasn’t.”</p>
<p>“Is it possible you didn’t recognize him?” another agent asks.</p>
<p>“I don’t think so. It’s only been six years.”</p>
<p>“Then he must not be in his cell right now,” Mike says.</p>
<p>“Where else could he be?” Jack asks.</p>
<p>“He was marked as Thaumiel,” I say. “Maybe he’s working on the containment of another anomaly?”</p>
<p>“Which could be off-site.”</p>
<p>“Fuck.”</p>
<p>“It’s okay,” Mike says. “If he’s not here, there will be records stating that. We know his SCP number. We just have to open up that file on a terminal. The version of it from the site he’s at will be less redacted. It will almost certainly say whether he’s off-site.”</p>
<p>“How are we going to get into a terminal room?” an agent asks.</p>
<p>“We’ll have to split up. F. C., Q. S., start making your way back to cell 73 as if you’re bringing Jack there. Me and Jerry will head to the computer room. When we have the info we need, we’ll meet at cell 73.”</p>
<p>The agents nod and walk back the way we came from. Meanwhile, Mike and I look for a computer room.</p>
<p>We find one pretty quickly, and we have no trouble getting inside. Mike uses his key card to access the computer and opens up Evan’s file.</p>
<p>He was right. This version is significantly less redacted. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to read it thoroughly. We scroll straight to Evan’s current status. Apparently, he should be in the mess hall right now.</p>
<p>Mike tilts his head. “You said you checked there as we went through?” he asks.</p>
<p>“I did. I didn’t see him in there.”</p>
<p>“Could you have missed him?”</p>
<p>“I guess I must have.” I felt like I got a good look at all of the prisoners, and I was sure none of them were him, but maybe he’s changed more than I thought in the past six years. Maybe I didn’t recognize him.</p>
<p>The two of us return to the mess hall.</p>
<p>As we arrive, there’s a commotion. Several guards are surrounding Jack and the agents we had escorting him. “What the hell are you doing here, then?” one of the Jailors asks. “Cell 73 is that way.”</p>
<p>“I got lost,” one of the disguised agents says.</p>
<p>The Jailors don’t seem to believe him.</p>
<p>“Fuck,” I say. “Are we going to do something about that?”</p>
<p>“I’ll take care of it,” Mike says. “Find your brother. He hands me the recorder. “Once you’ve identified him, order him to come with you, take him to the computer room, and activate the Way.”</p>
<p>I nod. Mike walks over to the circle of guards gathered around Jack, while I head toward the opposite side of the mess hall. I get a few glances from guards who are eating, but the situation with Jack keeps most of them distracted. Silver lining, I guess. I walk along the tables that contain their prisoners. From up close, I scan every single one of their faces. None of them are Evan. I’m completely sure.</p>
<p>On the far side of the room, a Jailor is asking one of our agents for an identification number. She rattles off. One of the Jailors pulls out a device and taps something. As he does, Mike approaches. “What’s going on?” he asks.</p>
<p>“There’s something up with this group,” says the guard. “They’ve been walking all around the whole facility when they should have taken this anomaly directly to its cell.”</p>
<p>Things are starting to go south for Jack. Maybe we should retreat?</p>
<p>No. We’ve come too far to give up. This site is huge, and Evan could be somewhere else in it. Maybe a guard will know where he is. I approach one. “Hey,” I whisper, “sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for SCP-████. That’s the humanoid anomaly with the huge CRS. His legal name was Evan Sanders. Do you know where he might be?”</p>
<p>The guard looks away from the scene Jack and Mike are making, and up at me. “He should be at lunch. Somewhere in here,” the guard says.</p>
<p>“He doesn’t seem to be, though. I’ve looked everywhere.”</p>
<p>The guard glances at one of the other tables. Not a table where prisoners are eating. It’s a table full of uniformed guards. He points to one of the guards. “I’m pretty sure that’s him.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Him, over there. His helmet is off.”</p>
<p>I glance over and study the guard he indicated.</p>
<p>He’s right.</p>
<p>There, in one of the same Jailor uniforms those bastards wore when they took him, is my brother.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong><a href="/i-didn-t-forget-hub">Series Hub</a></strong></p>
<p><a href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-1-the-galaxy-plaza-disaster">◀◀ First Entry</a> | <a href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-11-the-jailors">◀ Previous Entry</a> | <a href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-13-evan-sanders">Next Entry ▶</a></p>
<p><sub><a href="/xhawk77x">More by this Author</a></sub></p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-12-site-17">I Didn't Forget Pt 12: Site 17</a>" by XHAWK77X, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/i-didn-t-forget-pt-12-site-17">https://scpwiki.com/i-didn-t-forget-pt-12-site-17</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
**[[[i-didn-t-forget-hub|Series Hub]]]**
[[[i-didn-t-forget-pt-1-the-galaxy-plaza-disaster|◀◀ First Entry]]] | [[[i-didn-t-forget-pt-11-the-jailors|◀ Previous Entry]]] | [[[i-didn-t-forget-pt-13-evan-sanders|Next Entry ▶]]]
,,[[[xhawk77x|More by this Author]]],,
[[/=]]
**Present Day**
Tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day we go to Site-17. The day we rescue my brother.
We have an intricate plan, weeks in the making, and involving half a dozen agents.
Site-17 is large and well-guarded. The Jailors know it’s a tempting target for the Serpent’s Hand. The good news is, if we pull this off, we’ll likely be able to rescue a lot of people along with Evan. Enough to make up for Sean. Hell, Sean himself may have been moved there by now.
I’ve thrown everything I have into preparing for this mission. It’s been months since I’ve done anything but train. I’m stronger and more skilled than I ever thought I could be.
I’m in a lounge in the Library, the same one where I first met Sean, reading a book about effective espionage. I see someone emerge from the hallway and start approaching me. It’s Theo. I think about trying to hide, but it’s clear he’s already spotted me. He walks up to me. “Go away,” I say, without putting my book down.
“Can you please just listen to me for one minute?”
“No.”
“I’m not going to ask you to forgive me or change your mind. I know you’re going to try to rescue your brother—”
“And I need to do as much reading and training as I can before attempting that, so leave me alone.”
“Please, just one minute.”
I keep reading.
He keeps talking anyway. “I hope you succeed. I hope you save Evan. I really do.”
“You had a funny way of showing it back when you were supposed to be helping me.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m not asking you to change your mind, but I still don’t want to lose you forever.”
“You have lost me. Forever. How do you still not get that?”
“Not the way I’d lose you if the Foundation puts you in containment.”
“What difference does it make? I guess it’d be harder for you to pester me if I were in a containment cell, but I’d frankly see that as a silver lining.” That statement makes Theo’s eyes moisten. I see him fight to remain composed. I lower my book. “Fine. What is it?”
“There’s a small favor I’d like to ask you. Something that would help ease my mind. How much do you know about my religion?”
“The basics.”
“Do you know what the Eitoth is?”
“It’s your heaven.”
“Right. It’s our afterlife, welcoming the souls of everyone who has bled for the universe.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
Theo wipes his eye. “The risks you’re taking, they’re your risks to take. I should have accepted that. I’m sorry I didn’t, and I know I can’t ask you to be with me again. At the same time, I don’t want to lose all hope of seeing you again.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a small stone block—I realize after a moment that it’s a tiny altar—along with a glistening needle. “If you prick your finger, and bleed onto this, then no matter what happens, we’ll see each other again, someday.”
I glance down at the altar. One thing I’ve learned from the Library is that afterlives can be unpredictable. It’s a good idea to make arrangements for yourself, something I would have trouble doing from a containment cell. Indeed, I wouldn’t be the first non-Ortothan to make a single, small offering in order to set myself up with a pleasant afterlife.
I look at Theo. “What makes you think I’d want to spend eternity with you?”
“You don’t have to see me. Not even once, for all eternity. Just please let me know that you’re somewhere safe, that I don’t have to worry about you.”
“I haven’t asked you to worry about me. You’re free to stop whenever you want.”
“Please,” Theo says. He holds out the needle and altar.
I push his hand away. “How do you not get this? I don’t want to see you. I don’t want anything to do with you, and the last thing I want is to spend eternity with you. Everything we had was built on the lies you told me, about the world, and about my brother. Now that I know the truth, you’re never getting me back. You can make peace with that, or you can die sad about it. I don’t fucking care. Just leave me alone, forever.”
Theo’s head sinks. He sheds a few more tears. I feel another pang of guilt, but I suppress it. All of this is his fault. He deserves to be sad about it.
“Okay,” he says.
“Go away,” I say. “I have a mission to prepare for.”
Theo wipes his eyes. “Alright,” he says. “Good luck. I… I love you.”
I hold my book over my face. “Go away.”
Theo turns around and walks away. Once he’s gone, I wipe my own eye, then continue reading.
-----
**Eight Years Ago**
Evan and I sat in front of the TV, watching a superhero show. Suddenly, Evan to turned to me and said, “Hey, Jerry, do you ever think about what you’d do if you had superpowers?”
“I’d be a superhero, obviously,” I said.
Evan thought about that for a moment. “Are you sure?”
“What else would I be?”
“Anyone who wants to can be a hero. You don’t need powers. You can be a fireman, or a doctor, or an activist. We all have the option to be those things. Most people don’t. They just live their own lives. If I’m turning down the opportunities for heroism that I already have, how can I say I’d be a superhero?”
“C’mon. If anyone would be a superhero, you would.”
“Really?”
“You’re basically already a superhero. You protect people all the time. All the bullies at school are afraid of you.”
Evan chuckled. “I guess so.”
-----
**Present Day**
I stand amongst my comrades, chafing from the stolen Jailor armor I’m wearing. I run through the plan one last time in my head. Me, Mike, and some other agents are disguised as Jailors. We’ve forged paperwork to make them think we’re bringing a new prisoner to the Site. Jack will be playing the role of that prisoner. The rest of us will be playing the team that captured him.
Once they let us inside, we’ll have free access to the Primary Humanoid Containment Wing. Evan should be somewhere in there. Once we locate him, we’ll have to lead him elsewhere in the site.
The Primary Humanoid Containment Wing is filled with Scranton Reality Anchors, devices which suppress just about anything the Jailors think is ‘anomalous.’ Once we’re out of the reality anchors’ range, we’ll use the artifact that makes this mission possible. A very rare and valuable portable Way.
It’s s deceptively simple item, just a bright yellow plastic recorder, but if you play the right tune on it, it will open a portal to the Library. Once the portal is open, we’ll bring as many prisoners into the Library as we can. The Library doesn’t let Jailors inside, so once the prisoners are through the portal, they’re home free.
We approach the facility in a stolen Jailor van. I sit in the back with my comrades. I take a deep breath. This is it. I’m really doing it. After six years, I’m really going to save my brother.
The road to Site-17 is riddled with signs warning people away, claiming that it’s a military facility, and warning that trespassers will be shot. We drive past them. We reach the gate that leads into the facility’s grounds. We pull up to a guard station. “State your business,” says a guard.
“Freshly captured humanoid anomaly,” Mike says.
The guard checks something on his screen, then clears us to enter.
We pull our van up to the facility, park it, and approach an entrance. The guard in front of it scans all of our ID cards. He thinks they’re valid, and he lets us in. The door leads us straight into the humanoid containment wing. From there, we begin to comb the halls for Evan.
The corridors are lined with cells, full of “anomalous” people. Some of them have obvious abnormalities—a boy with horns, a woman with bright yellow eyes—but most of them look completely normal. One cell holds a little brown girl, younger than Evan was when he was first contained. Another holds an old man, bald and wrinkled, sitting forlorn on a bed.
The facility is huge. It’s going to take a while to find Evan. We comb the halls, checking cell after cell. None of them contain Evan.
One of them does contain Callum, though.
He’s right there, alive, in cell 192. He’s older, but I’m sure it’s him. Somehow, despite his prisoner’s uniform, despite his drab and dour cell, he holds on to a smugness that makes him unmistakable. I resist the urge to stare at him as we walk past his cell. I don’t want him to recognize me.
We continue searching. As we’re walking the halls, we pass by a patrolling guard who has passed by us before. He clearly realizes this as well. He stops and asks “Are you guys lost?”
“Might be,” Mike says. “This is my first time at this site. Here to deliver this scip.” He gestures at Jack.
“Where are you taking it?”
“Cell 73.”
The guard gives us directions to cell 73. We follow them until we’re out of sight, at which point we go back to searching the halls.
We search the entire wing, and Evan is nowhere to be found.
That’s okay. There’s still another wing to search through.
We pass through the mess hall on the way there. We could’ve gone around it, but it’s possible that Evan is there right now, so we need to search it anyway. I scan the room for Evan. I’m able to get a clear look at most of the prisoners as we walk by, and none of them are him.
Once we’re in the other wing, we search it, just like we did the first. Line after line of cells, full of all sorts of “anomalous” people, none of whom are Evan. As we near the final few cells, my stomach tightens. We search the last hall, until, more than two hours after we arrived, we’ve checked every cell in the site. Evan wasn’t in any of them.
“Are we sure that’s every cell?” an agent asks.
“Yes,” Jack says.
“And your brother wasn’t in any of them?” Mike asks me.
“No,” I say. “He wasn’t.”
“Is it possible you didn’t recognize him?” another agent asks.
“I don’t think so. It’s only been six years.”
“Then he must not be in his cell right now,” Mike says.
“Where else could he be?” Jack asks.
“He was marked as Thaumiel,” I say. “Maybe he’s working on the containment of another anomaly?”
“Which could be off-site.”
“Fuck.”
“It’s okay,” Mike says. “If he’s not here, there will be records stating that. We know his SCP number. We just have to open up that file on a terminal. The version of it from the site he’s at will be less redacted. It will almost certainly say whether he’s off-site.”
“How are we going to get into a terminal room?” an agent asks.
“We’ll have to split up. F. C., Q. S., start making your way back to cell 73 as if you’re bringing Jack there. Me and Jerry will head to the computer room. When we have the info we need, we’ll meet at cell 73.”
The agents nod and walk back the way we came from. Meanwhile, Mike and I look for a computer room.
We find one pretty quickly, and we have no trouble getting inside. Mike uses his key card to access the computer and opens up Evan’s file.
He was right. This version is significantly less redacted. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to read it thoroughly. We scroll straight to Evan’s current status. Apparently, he should be in the mess hall right now.
Mike tilts his head. “You said you checked there as we went through?” he asks.
“I did. I didn’t see him in there.”
“Could you have missed him?”
“I guess I must have.” I felt like I got a good look at all of the prisoners, and I was sure none of them were him, but maybe he’s changed more than I thought in the past six years. Maybe I didn’t recognize him.
The two of us return to the mess hall.
As we arrive, there’s a commotion. Several guards are surrounding Jack and the agents we had escorting him. “What the hell are you doing here, then?” one of the Jailors asks. “Cell 73 is that way.”
“I got lost,” one of the disguised agents says.
The Jailors don’t seem to believe him.
“Fuck,” I say. “Are we going to do something about that?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Mike says. “Find your brother. He hands me the recorder. “Once you’ve identified him, order him to come with you, take him to the computer room, and activate the Way.”
I nod. Mike walks over to the circle of guards gathered around Jack, while I head toward the opposite side of the mess hall. I get a few glances from guards who are eating, but the situation with Jack keeps most of them distracted. Silver lining, I guess. I walk along the tables that contain their prisoners. From up close, I scan every single one of their faces. None of them are Evan. I’m completely sure.
On the far side of the room, a Jailor is asking one of our agents for an identification number. She rattles off. One of the Jailors pulls out a device and taps something. As he does, Mike approaches. “What’s going on?” he asks.
“There’s something up with this group,” says the guard. “They’ve been walking all around the whole facility when they should have taken this anomaly directly to its cell.”
Things are starting to go south for Jack. Maybe we should retreat?
No. We’ve come too far to give up. This site is huge, and Evan could be somewhere else in it. Maybe a guard will know where he is. I approach one. “Hey,” I whisper, “sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for SCP-████. That’s the humanoid anomaly with the huge CRS. His legal name was Evan Sanders. Do you know where he might be?”
The guard looks away from the scene Jack and Mike are making, and up at me. “He should be at lunch. Somewhere in here,” the guard says.
“He doesn’t seem to be, though. I’ve looked everywhere.”
The guard glances at one of the other tables. Not a table where prisoners are eating. It’s a table full of uniformed guards. He points to one of the guards. “I’m pretty sure that’s him.”
“What?”
“Him, over there. His helmet is off.”
I glance over and study the guard he indicated.
He’s right.
There, in one of the same Jailor uniforms those bastards wore when they took him, is my brother.
[[=]]
**[[[i-didn-t-forget-hub|Series Hub]]]**
[[[i-didn-t-forget-pt-1-the-galaxy-plaza-disaster|◀◀ First Entry]]] | [[[i-didn-t-forget-pt-11-the-jailors|◀ Previous Entry]]] | [[[i-didn-t-forget-pt-13-evan-sanders|Next Entry ▶]]]
,,[[[xhawk77x|More by this Author]]],,
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-04T02:37:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"first-person",
"lgbtq",
"military-fiction",
"mystery",
"second-hytoth",
"serpents-hand",
"tale",
"wanderers-library"
] |
I Didn't Forget Pt 12: Site 17 - SCP Foundation
| 5
|
[
"i-didn-t-forget-hub",
"i-didn-t-forget-pt-1-the-galaxy-plaza-disaster",
"i-didn-t-forget-pt-11-the-jailors",
"i-didn-t-forget-pt-13-evan-sanders",
"xhawk77x",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"wanderers-library-hub",
"serpent-s-hand-hub",
"i-didn-t-forget-hub",
"second-hytoth-hub"
] |
[] |
1453232675
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-didn-t-forget-pt-12-site-17
|
|
i-didn-t-forget-pt-13-evan-sanders
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong><a href="/i-didn-t-forget-hub">Series Hub</a></strong></p>
<p><a href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-1-the-galaxy-plaza-disaster">◀◀ First Entry</a> | <a href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-12-site-17">◀ Previous Entry</a> | <a class="newpage" href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-14-idk">Next Entry ▶</a></p>
<p><sub><a href="/xhawk77x">More by this Author</a></sub></p>
</div>
<p><strong>Present Day</strong></p>
<p>“Something wrong?” asks the guard I’m speaking with.</p>
<p>“No,” I say. “Thank you.” I back away. The guard goes back to his meal. I look over at Evan. His body armor is black, and there’s a Mobile Task Force patch on his shoulder. A pit forms in my stomach as I approach him. Why is he dressed like a Jailor? He’s not one of their guards. There’s no way he could be. He’s an anomaly. He’s in their database. He has an SCP number. The Jailors don’t recruit the people they contain.</p>
<p>Another Jailor, one who looks higher-ranking, enters the room and approaches Jack “What’s going on here?” he asks. He gets the same explanation Mike got from the surrounding jailors. He studies Jack and the agents who’d been escorting him. Even from across the mess hall, I can see his suspicion. We need to get out of here, fast. I don’t have time to worry about what Evan is wearing. I need to get him somewhere where we can use the Way.</p>
<p>I approach Evan from behind. I tap him on the shoulder. He turns away from his food and looks at me.</p>
<p>“Mind coming with me?” I ask.</p>
<p>Evan looks at me. He glances at the patch on my uniform. “On whose orders?” he asks.</p>
<p>That’s a question we prepared an answer for. “Dr. Phillips,” I say. “Team just arrived, they’re dealing with a cognitohazard, and they asked for you to come…” Suddenly, Evan’s eyes go wide. So wide they startle me. I stop speaking. I lock eyes with Evan. Does he recognize me? That’s a good thing, right? Hopefully, he’ll realize I’m here to save him. Evan stands up, drawing the glances of a few of the guards nearby.</p>
<p>“Alright,” he says. “Lead the way.”</p>
<p>I start to lead him out of the mess hall. As soon as we’re away from the table, he whispers to me. “Jerry?” he asks.</p>
<p>I give him the subtlest nod I can.</p>
<p>“What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>“Just bringing you to Dr. Phillips,” I say. As badly as I want to talk to him, I can’t break cover this close to the other guards. “C’mon.”</p>
<p>At the front of the room, the argument about Jack is escalating. “I saw this group pass through the mess hall about an hour ago,” a guard says. “They were headed to the secondary wing. If they’re here to place an anomaly in its chamber, they should’ve done it by now.”</p>
<p>“There was a mix-up regarding his cell number,” one of the Hand agents says.</p>
<p>“For an entire hour?” asks the higher-ranking officer.</p>
<p>“Yes. We searched the whole building for the wrong cell, only to realize it was wrong, and start searching for the right one.”</p>
<p>“Show me your ID’s,” the officer says.</p>
<p>They’re ready with them. The officer looks over them and scans them with a device he produces from his belt. He studies the result. “Record says you came in here almost two hours ago. What the hell have you been doing for all that time?”</p>
<p>“Trying to find his cell. I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve not been here before. I don’t know my way around.”</p>
<p>“Bullshit,” says one of the other guards. “You could have checked the whole place in two hours.”</p>
<p>“That’s exactly what we were doing.”</p>
<p>The officer holds his hand up. He turns around. “Mendez, Jenkins, take the anomaly, to cell 73.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir,” they both say. All the Hand agents, including me, look at Jack.</p>
<p>“C’mon,” I whisper to Evan. “Quick.” He follows me as I lead him out of the mess hall. “How far away do we need to get to be out of range of the reality anchors?” I ask Evan, once we’re outside.</p>
<p>He ignores my question. “Jerry, what the hell are you doing here?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Rescuing you, obviously.”</p>
<p>“Rescuing me?”</p>
<p>I pull out the recorder. “I have a portable Way here. We need to get to where we can use it so I can take you to the Wanderer’s Library. It’s a safe place, where no one in the Foundation will be able to follow you. We just need to get to where I can use a magic item.”</p>
<p>Evan stares at me. “You’re with the Serpent’s Hand,” he says, more to himself than to me.</p>
<p>“Yes,” I say.</p>
<p>“Those guys at the front of the room, are they with you?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” I say. “Now come on. We need to get outside the reality anchor’s range before things escalate. This place is already swarming with guards.”</p>
<p>Evan grabs my wrist. His grip is tight. It hurts. I look up at him. With a firm grip on my arm, Evan drags me back toward the mess hall. “What the hell?” I ask, as I try, and fail, to break away.</p>
<p>He pushes me back through the door, which swings open as I stumble through it and fall to the ground. Evan grabs the gun from his belt and points it straight at me. The next words he says aren’t addressed to me, but the whole room. “They’re Serpent’s Hand,” he says. “This one too. He just admitted it to me.”</p>
<p>Hundreds of guards spring upright and draw their weapons. Dozens of them form a circle around my colleagues. Dozens more form a circle around me. I stare at Evan. “Evan?” I ask, my voice weak.</p>
<p>“Hands above your head,” Evan orders.</p>
<p>“Evan, why—”</p>
<p>“Don’t put up a fight, Jerry. Hands above your head.”</p>
<p>I do as he says.</p>
<p>“Go ahead and drop the flute,” Evan says.</p>
<p>I open my hand, and the way out of here clatters to the ground. One of the other guards approaches me, holding handcuffs. “Evan why are you—”</p>
<p>“It’ll be okay,” Evan says.</p>
<p>“Why are you helping them?”</p>
<p>“Where does this one know you from?” one of the other guards asks Evan.</p>
<p>Evan takes a deep breath. “He’s my brother,” Evan says.</p>
<p>Several more guards step forward. They flip me over and cuff me. I think about resisting. I want to resist. These are the same bastards who took my brother from me. Who took Sean. But there are hundreds of them in this room. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout at Evan. “Why are you helping them?”</p>
<p>“We’ll talk about that in your cell,” Evan says.</p>
<p>“Is he anomalous?” the other guard asks.</p>
<p>“Not that I…” Evan begins, but he stops. He looks at me. “You remember, don’t you?” he asks.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” I say.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry,” Evan says. “That isn’t how you should’ve been introduced to the Foundation.”</p>
<p>“You’re really one of them, then?” I ask. “You’re a full-on Jailor, just like the people who dragged you away?”</p>
<p>After a moment of hesitation, Evan nods.</p>
<p>I glare at him. How could that happen? Evan isn’t the kind of person who would become a Jailor. He’s not a bigot or an authoritarian. He’s a hero. He’s always believed in freedom and kindness. He was a mage, in love with the strange and supernatural.</p>
<p>But, somehow, he’s changed sides. Somehow, he’s working with them. Somehow, he’s helping them detain me.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>One Year Ago</strong></p>
<p>Theo opened the door to the apartment. He smiled when he saw me. “Welcome home,” he said, gesturing for me to come inside.</p>
<p>I smiled back. “Thanks,” I said. I stepped inside. I looked around the apartment. This was where we were going to be living together. The thought of it made my heart erupt with glee. Theo led me over to the couch, and we sat down together. We leaned toward one another, and we kissed.</p>
<p>“I love you,” I said.</p>
<p>“I love you too,” he said. He pulls me into him, and we embrace.</p>
<p>We were going to be together forever.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Present Day</strong></p>
<p>I’m handcuffed to a cold metal table in a Jailor cell. Its stark, white walls and gray floors are lit by harsh fluorescent lights. Two armed guards flank the door across from me. I’ve been sitting here for a while, waiting to see who they send in to try to interrogate me. The Hand trained me in interrogation resistance. I know how they’ll try to make me talk, and I’m not going to tell them a fucking thing.</p>
<p>I failed the others. I shouldn’t have told Evan who we were.</p>
<p>How could I have known, though? How could I have known that was even a possibility? The Jailors don’t let their ‘anomalies’ join them. Not like this. Not as full agents working with them on equal terms.</p>
<p>The large iron door opens.</p>
<p>It’s Evan, still dressed like a Jailor guard. His gun is holstered. There are two people behind him. One of them is the same high-ranking officer from the mess hall. The other is a female researcher.</p>
<p>Evan sits down across from me. He’s staring at me like I’m some cross between a ghost and a pot of gold.</p>
<p>“What?” I ask, tersely.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s strange, seeing you again.”</p>
<p>“Well, if it weren’t for <em>certain people</em>, you’d have seen plenty of me over the past six years, but you don’t seem to be holding that against them.”</p>
<p>“Look, you don’t understand—”</p>
<p>“You’re right. I don’t. These people dragged you out of your home, away from your family. They threw you in a cell because they think you’re a freak, and now you’re helping them lock up more people just like you? Your own fucking brother?”</p>
<p>“It wasn’t like that,” Evan says.</p>
<p>“I watched them do it.”</p>
<p>“And I know how that must have looked. We should have followed up on the possibility that you’d be immune to amnestics like I am.”</p>
<p>“And what if you had realized? What would you have done? Send more soldiers to lock me in the cell next to yours?”</p>
<p>“I don’t live in a containment cell. I’m a soldier. I sleep in a barracks.”</p>
<p>“Why the hell would they allow that?”</p>
<p>“Because you’re wrong about us. About the Foundation. You saw me get dragged away, but you didn’t see what happened afterwards. You didn’t see how impressed the Foundation was with what I pulled off at Galaxy Plaza, with all the lives I saved. They were expecting a difficult op that day. Lots of casualties. I walked in and did their whole job for them with the power of my voice. They <em>did</em> appreciate that. Sure, they detained me, but as soon as I’d been processed, they were clamoring to get me into Alpha-9.”</p>
<p>“What the fuck is Alpha-9?”</p>
<p>Evan gestures to the MTF patch on his shoulder. The emblem is overdesigned and hideous, consisting of some kind of hexagon thing with an eye and wings.</p>
<p>“It’s the Foundation’s special task force of anomalous entities,” Evan says. “The Serpent’s Hand gave you out-of-date information. Ten years ago, we didn’t recruit SCPs, but Alpha-9 was already a few years old by the time I got here, and I was in it by the end of the month.”</p>
<p>“And you just went along with that? Started working for the people who’d taken you away from your family? From me?”</p>
<p>“It’s how things have to be.”</p>
<p>“No, it isn’t! They didn’t have to kidnap you because you had powers. They didn’t even have to kidnap you for you to join their stupid task force. Do all the other guards here have families who think they’re dead? Do you have any idea what it was like for us without you? How wrecked Mom and Dad were? How I was treated without you there to protect me? Did you even care that they wouldn’t let you see us?”</p>
<p>“Of course I cared, but everything isn’t about me or what I want. The things I do for the Foundation are secret. They have to be secret, because the Foundation has a lot of enemies. I bet you already know how nasty some of them are. Do you have any idea how much less good I’d be able to do if everyone knew I could cure almost every mind-affecting anomaly in the world?”</p>
<p>“What does that have to do with whether you can live with your family?”</p>
<p>“Every person who knows something is a potential vector for information to leak. Not just information about me, but about the anomalous world. Information that could cause world-ending panic.”</p>
<p>“Really, Evan? You’re really stupid enough to buy that line?”</p>
<p>“It’s not a line.”</p>
<p>“What do you think people would do if they knew the truth? You seem to be handling it fine, along with all of the millions of people who haven’t been forced to live under the veil. Why the hell would the rest of humanity react with ‘world-ending panic?’”</p>
<p>“It’s about the world humanity understands itself to live in. Humanity has existed for a quarter of a million years. Out of all that time, how much has been of any significance? How much of it have we used to accomplish anything? Roughly, the past five-hundred years. That’s when human advancement began—”</p>
<p>“That’s actually just when white people started to conquer and pillage everything.”</p>
<p>“Do you really think humanity would be better off knowing they were surrounded by monsters?”</p>
<p>“I think Mom and Dad would be better off knowing their son wasn’t dead.”</p>
<p>“Jerry, I save people every day. Countless people. From death. From slavery. From worse. I’ve stopped people from being forced to kill themselves, and their families. Do you want to hear about the giant metal pig that used to force people to burn children alive? About all the mind-warping books the Fifthists have written? All the mind-controlled slaves they and other thaumaturges have taken, who I’ve rescued? I’ve brought people back after their entire minds had been erased. Those people had lost everything they were, and they’re whole again thanks to me and the work I do here.”</p>
<p>“And how many people have you helped imprison?”</p>
<p>“I <em>decrease</em> the number of people in Foundation custody. Before I came around, there were hundreds of mental anomalies whose victims had to be kept in containment for the rest of their lives. I’ve cured thousands of people like that, allowing them to be sent back to their families. I’ve freed more people from Foundation containment than the Serpent’s Hand ever will.”</p>
<p>“And you just have to do that under the banner of the people who stole you from me?”</p>
<p>“If I want access to those victims, yes, I do.”</p>
<p>“So that’s what it comes down to? They’re blackmailing you with those lives?”</p>
<p>“No. Look, Jerry, this is where I can do the most good. Even if I were interested in becoming a terrorist, I couldn’t accomplish a tenth as much under the Serpent’s Hand. Do you think they’d be able to move me from anomaly to anomaly as efficiently as the Foundation can? Do they have the surveillance infrastructure to identify as many victims? Could they partner me up with the world’s most elite soldiers, allowing me to protect them from mind-controlling anomalies while they perform rescue missions that would be impossible without me?”</p>
<p>“And what about the people you help them contain? Do they all get to join your task force?”</p>
<p>“More than you seem to think. The success of Alpha-9 has changed a lot. The Foundation has come to understand the benefits of allowing anomalies to work for them. The sense of purpose it gives us. These days, if someone wants to help, they usually can.”</p>
<p>“And what about people who aren’t interested in serving their captors?”</p>
<p>“Most of them are like Callum. Public menaces who enslaved the people around them. I’m the one who brought Callum in. His parents, too. It was the first thing I did for the Foundation. He’s one of dozens of mind-controlling slavers I’ve helped shove into containment cells, and I’m damn proud of that. Hopefully someday, you will be too.”</p>
<p>“I’ll be what?”</p>
<p>“Proud of how much good you can do as part of Alpha-9.”</p>
<p>I can’t help but laugh. “You’re serious? You actually think I’m going to sign up with the Jailors like you did?”</p>
<p>“Once you see how things are really like here, yeah, I think you just might. For all the good I’ve done in the past several years, I’ve spent every moment regretting the fact that there’s only one of me. There are more people who need my help than I could ever save. The two of us, together, can save twice as many people. Maybe more.”</p>
<p>“That’s not happening. I will never work with Jailor scum like you.”</p>
<p>“Really? You’d let someone suffer under the effects of torturous mental anomaly when you could help them with nothing but the power of your voice?”</p>
<p>I look him right in the eye. “To spite you bastards? Yeah. I would.”</p>
<p>Evan studies me. I can see the moment he realizes I’m telling the truth. “I see,” he says. “That’s a shame. I’m disappointed in you.”</p>
<p>“I don’t fucking care.”</p>
<p>“Then a lot has changed in the last six years.”</p>
<p>“Yeah. I guess it fucking has.”</p>
<p>Evan sighs. “I can only hope that you change your mind. It would be a shame if all the good you could do went undone because of your own spite.”</p>
<p>I glare at him. “I think I’m just about done talking to you.”</p>
<p>“Alright,” he says. He gets up to leave. I glare at him. Piping hot rage courses through my veins. I want to punch him. I want to bash his head in and watch him die. I can’t do that, though. Not while I’m handcuffed to this table. However, there is something else I can do to hurt him. “Mom and Dad are dead,” I say.</p>
<p>Evan turns around. “What?”</p>
<p>“Mom couldn’t handle the grief of losing you,” I say. “She jumped off a bridge. Dad drank himself to death afterward.”</p>
<p>He stares at me. “You’re lying,” he says, but I can hear the quiver of doubt in his voice.</p>
<p>“No, I’m fucking not!” I pump all of the anger and conviction I can into those words. He studies my face. I maintain my glare.</p>
<p>Evan turns to the researcher who came in with him. “Is that true?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Not to my knowledge,” she says.</p>
<p>“Do you really think these people would tell you the truth?” I ask. “You’re such an important resource to them. Why would they tell you anything that would make you resent them for imprisoning you?”</p>
<p>He looks at me. He looks at her. I see the crack form in him. His expression shifts. He believes me. He fucking believes me! His gaze falters. He turns and exits the room. The others go with him. Once he’s no longer looking, I smirk.</p>
<p>He won’t believe me for long. It won’t be hard for them to prove that I lied. I don’t care. For a brief time, he’s going to feel what I’ve felt for the past six years. Some fraction of the pain he caused by abandoning us.</p>
<p>The door closes behind him. I’m left alone in the room. Over the next several minutes, my smug satisfaction leaks out of me, and what flows in to replace it is the knowledge that I’m probably going to spend the rest of my life in a containment cell.</p>
<p>I’ll try to escape. Of course I will. Perhaps the Hand will come for me, just as they said they were going to come for Sean.</p>
<p>Still, while I can cling to that hope, the brutal reality is that most of the people the Jailors imprison never get out.</p>
<p>Theo was right. He was exactly right about what would happen if I came here. I didn’t rescue my brother. I was captured. Now, I’m probably going to spend the rest of my life in a Foundation containment cell, when I could have spent it with him.</p>
<p>The last thing I said to him was that I hated him. That’s probably the last thing I’ll ever say to him.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong><a href="/i-didn-t-forget-hub">Series Hub</a></strong></p>
<p><a href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-1-the-galaxy-plaza-disaster">◀◀ First Entry</a> | <a href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-12-site-17">◀ Previous Entry</a> | <a class="newpage" href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-14-idk">Next Entry ▶</a></p>
<p><sub><a href="/xhawk77x">More by this Author</a></sub></p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/i-didn-t-forget-pt-13-evan-sanders">I Didn't Forget Pt 13: Evan Sanders</a>" by XHAWK77X, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/i-didn-t-forget-pt-13-evan-sanders">https://scpwiki.com/i-didn-t-forget-pt-13-evan-sanders</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
**[[[i-didn-t-forget-hub|Series Hub]]]**
[[[i-didn-t-forget-pt-1-the-galaxy-plaza-disaster|◀◀ First Entry]]] | [[[i-didn-t-forget-pt-12-site-17|◀ Previous Entry]]] | [[[i-didn-t-forget-pt-14-idk|Next Entry ▶]]]
,,[[[xhawk77x|More by this Author]]],,
[[/=]]
**Present Day**
“Something wrong?” asks the guard I’m speaking with.
“No,” I say. “Thank you.” I back away. The guard goes back to his meal. I look over at Evan. His body armor is black, and there’s a Mobile Task Force patch on his shoulder. A pit forms in my stomach as I approach him. Why is he dressed like a Jailor? He’s not one of their guards. There’s no way he could be. He’s an anomaly. He’s in their database. He has an SCP number. The Jailors don’t recruit the people they contain.
Another Jailor, one who looks higher-ranking, enters the room and approaches Jack “What’s going on here?” he asks. He gets the same explanation Mike got from the surrounding jailors. He studies Jack and the agents who’d been escorting him. Even from across the mess hall, I can see his suspicion. We need to get out of here, fast. I don’t have time to worry about what Evan is wearing. I need to get him somewhere where we can use the Way.
I approach Evan from behind. I tap him on the shoulder. He turns away from his food and looks at me.
“Mind coming with me?” I ask.
Evan looks at me. He glances at the patch on my uniform. “On whose orders?” he asks.
That’s a question we prepared an answer for. “Dr. Phillips,” I say. “Team just arrived, they’re dealing with a cognitohazard, and they asked for you to come…” Suddenly, Evan’s eyes go wide. So wide they startle me. I stop speaking. I lock eyes with Evan. Does he recognize me? That’s a good thing, right? Hopefully, he’ll realize I’m here to save him. Evan stands up, drawing the glances of a few of the guards nearby.
“Alright,” he says. “Lead the way.”
I start to lead him out of the mess hall. As soon as we’re away from the table, he whispers to me. “Jerry?” he asks.
I give him the subtlest nod I can.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just bringing you to Dr. Phillips,” I say. As badly as I want to talk to him, I can’t break cover this close to the other guards. “C’mon.”
At the front of the room, the argument about Jack is escalating. “I saw this group pass through the mess hall about an hour ago,” a guard says. “They were headed to the secondary wing. If they’re here to place an anomaly in its chamber, they should’ve done it by now.”
“There was a mix-up regarding his cell number,” one of the Hand agents says.
“For an entire hour?” asks the higher-ranking officer.
“Yes. We searched the whole building for the wrong cell, only to realize it was wrong, and start searching for the right one.”
“Show me your ID’s,” the officer says.
They’re ready with them. The officer looks over them and scans them with a device he produces from his belt. He studies the result. “Record says you came in here almost two hours ago. What the hell have you been doing for all that time?”
“Trying to find his cell. I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve not been here before. I don’t know my way around.”
“Bullshit,” says one of the other guards. “You could have checked the whole place in two hours.”
“That’s exactly what we were doing.”
The officer holds his hand up. He turns around. “Mendez, Jenkins, take the anomaly, to cell 73.”
“Yes, sir,” they both say. All the Hand agents, including me, look at Jack.
“C’mon,” I whisper to Evan. “Quick.” He follows me as I lead him out of the mess hall. “How far away do we need to get to be out of range of the reality anchors?” I ask Evan, once we’re outside.
He ignores my question. “Jerry, what the hell are you doing here?” he asks.
“Rescuing you, obviously.”
“Rescuing me?”
I pull out the recorder. “I have a portable Way here. We need to get to where we can use it so I can take you to the Wanderer’s Library. It’s a safe place, where no one in the Foundation will be able to follow you. We just need to get to where I can use a magic item.”
Evan stares at me. “You’re with the Serpent’s Hand,” he says, more to himself than to me.
“Yes,” I say.
“Those guys at the front of the room, are they with you?”
“Yes,” I say. “Now come on. We need to get outside the reality anchor’s range before things escalate. This place is already swarming with guards.”
Evan grabs my wrist. His grip is tight. It hurts. I look up at him. With a firm grip on my arm, Evan drags me back toward the mess hall. “What the hell?” I ask, as I try, and fail, to break away.
He pushes me back through the door, which swings open as I stumble through it and fall to the ground. Evan grabs the gun from his belt and points it straight at me. The next words he says aren’t addressed to me, but the whole room. “They’re Serpent’s Hand,” he says. “This one too. He just admitted it to me.”
Hundreds of guards spring upright and draw their weapons. Dozens of them form a circle around my colleagues. Dozens more form a circle around me. I stare at Evan. “Evan?” I ask, my voice weak.
“Hands above your head,” Evan orders.
“Evan, why—”
“Don’t put up a fight, Jerry. Hands above your head.”
I do as he says.
“Go ahead and drop the flute,” Evan says.
I open my hand, and the way out of here clatters to the ground. One of the other guards approaches me, holding handcuffs. “Evan why are you—”
“It’ll be okay,” Evan says.
“Why are you helping them?”
“Where does this one know you from?” one of the other guards asks Evan.
Evan takes a deep breath. “He’s my brother,” Evan says.
Several more guards step forward. They flip me over and cuff me. I think about resisting. I want to resist. These are the same bastards who took my brother from me. Who took Sean. But there are hundreds of them in this room. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I shout at Evan. “Why are you helping them?”
“We’ll talk about that in your cell,” Evan says.
“Is he anomalous?” the other guard asks.
“Not that I…” Evan begins, but he stops. He looks at me. “You remember, don’t you?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say.
“I’m so sorry,” Evan says. “That isn’t how you should’ve been introduced to the Foundation.”
“You’re really one of them, then?” I ask. “You’re a full-on Jailor, just like the people who dragged you away?”
After a moment of hesitation, Evan nods.
I glare at him. How could that happen? Evan isn’t the kind of person who would become a Jailor. He’s not a bigot or an authoritarian. He’s a hero. He’s always believed in freedom and kindness. He was a mage, in love with the strange and supernatural.
But, somehow, he’s changed sides. Somehow, he’s working with them. Somehow, he’s helping them detain me.
-----
**One Year Ago**
Theo opened the door to the apartment. He smiled when he saw me. “Welcome home,” he said, gesturing for me to come inside.
I smiled back. “Thanks,” I said. I stepped inside. I looked around the apartment. This was where we were going to be living together. The thought of it made my heart erupt with glee. Theo led me over to the couch, and we sat down together. We leaned toward one another, and we kissed.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too,” he said. He pulls me into him, and we embrace.
We were going to be together forever.
-----
**Present Day**
I’m handcuffed to a cold metal table in a Jailor cell. Its stark, white walls and gray floors are lit by harsh fluorescent lights. Two armed guards flank the door across from me. I’ve been sitting here for a while, waiting to see who they send in to try to interrogate me. The Hand trained me in interrogation resistance. I know how they’ll try to make me talk, and I’m not going to tell them a fucking thing.
I failed the others. I shouldn’t have told Evan who we were.
How could I have known, though? How could I have known that was even a possibility? The Jailors don’t let their ‘anomalies’ join them. Not like this. Not as full agents working with them on equal terms.
The large iron door opens.
It’s Evan, still dressed like a Jailor guard. His gun is holstered. There are two people behind him. One of them is the same high-ranking officer from the mess hall. The other is a female researcher.
Evan sits down across from me. He’s staring at me like I’m some cross between a ghost and a pot of gold.
“What?” I ask, tersely.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “It’s strange, seeing you again.”
“Well, if it weren’t for //certain people//, you’d have seen plenty of me over the past six years, but you don’t seem to be holding that against them.”
“Look, you don’t understand—”
“You’re right. I don’t. These people dragged you out of your home, away from your family. They threw you in a cell because they think you’re a freak, and now you’re helping them lock up more people just like you? Your own fucking brother?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Evan says.
“I watched them do it.”
“And I know how that must have looked. We should have followed up on the possibility that you’d be immune to amnestics like I am.”
“And what if you had realized? What would you have done? Send more soldiers to lock me in the cell next to yours?”
“I don’t live in a containment cell. I’m a soldier. I sleep in a barracks.”
“Why the hell would they allow that?”
“Because you’re wrong about us. About the Foundation. You saw me get dragged away, but you didn’t see what happened afterwards. You didn’t see how impressed the Foundation was with what I pulled off at Galaxy Plaza, with all the lives I saved. They were expecting a difficult op that day. Lots of casualties. I walked in and did their whole job for them with the power of my voice. They //did// appreciate that. Sure, they detained me, but as soon as I’d been processed, they were clamoring to get me into Alpha-9.”
“What the fuck is Alpha-9?”
Evan gestures to the MTF patch on his shoulder. The emblem is overdesigned and hideous, consisting of some kind of hexagon thing with an eye and wings.
“It’s the Foundation’s special task force of anomalous entities,” Evan says. “The Serpent’s Hand gave you out-of-date information. Ten years ago, we didn’t recruit SCPs, but Alpha-9 was already a few years old by the time I got here, and I was in it by the end of the month.”
“And you just went along with that? Started working for the people who’d taken you away from your family? From me?”
“It’s how things have to be.”
“No, it isn’t! They didn’t have to kidnap you because you had powers. They didn’t even have to kidnap you for you to join their stupid task force. Do all the other guards here have families who think they’re dead? Do you have any idea what it was like for us without you? How wrecked Mom and Dad were? How I was treated without you there to protect me? Did you even care that they wouldn’t let you see us?”
“Of course I cared, but everything isn’t about me or what I want. The things I do for the Foundation are secret. They have to be secret, because the Foundation has a lot of enemies. I bet you already know how nasty some of them are. Do you have any idea how much less good I’d be able to do if everyone knew I could cure almost every mind-affecting anomaly in the world?”
“What does that have to do with whether you can live with your family?”
“Every person who knows something is a potential vector for information to leak. Not just information about me, but about the anomalous world. Information that could cause world-ending panic.”
“Really, Evan? You’re really stupid enough to buy that line?”
“It’s not a line.”
“What do you think people would do if they knew the truth? You seem to be handling it fine, along with all of the millions of people who haven’t been forced to live under the veil. Why the hell would the rest of humanity react with ‘world-ending panic?’”
“It’s about the world humanity understands itself to live in. Humanity has existed for a quarter of a million years. Out of all that time, how much has been of any significance? How much of it have we used to accomplish anything? Roughly, the past five-hundred years. That’s when human advancement began—”
“That’s actually just when white people started to conquer and pillage everything.”
“Do you really think humanity would be better off knowing they were surrounded by monsters?”
“I think Mom and Dad would be better off knowing their son wasn’t dead.”
“Jerry, I save people every day. Countless people. From death. From slavery. From worse. I’ve stopped people from being forced to kill themselves, and their families. Do you want to hear about the giant metal pig that used to force people to burn children alive? About all the mind-warping books the Fifthists have written? All the mind-controlled slaves they and other thaumaturges have taken, who I’ve rescued? I’ve brought people back after their entire minds had been erased. Those people had lost everything they were, and they’re whole again thanks to me and the work I do here.”
“And how many people have you helped imprison?”
“I //decrease// the number of people in Foundation custody. Before I came around, there were hundreds of mental anomalies whose victims had to be kept in containment for the rest of their lives. I’ve cured thousands of people like that, allowing them to be sent back to their families. I’ve freed more people from Foundation containment than the Serpent’s Hand ever will.”
“And you just have to do that under the banner of the people who stole you from me?”
“If I want access to those victims, yes, I do.”
“So that’s what it comes down to? They’re blackmailing you with those lives?”
“No. Look, Jerry, this is where I can do the most good. Even if I were interested in becoming a terrorist, I couldn’t accomplish a tenth as much under the Serpent’s Hand. Do you think they’d be able to move me from anomaly to anomaly as efficiently as the Foundation can? Do they have the surveillance infrastructure to identify as many victims? Could they partner me up with the world’s most elite soldiers, allowing me to protect them from mind-controlling anomalies while they perform rescue missions that would be impossible without me?”
“And what about the people you help them contain? Do they all get to join your task force?”
“More than you seem to think. The success of Alpha-9 has changed a lot. The Foundation has come to understand the benefits of allowing anomalies to work for them. The sense of purpose it gives us. These days, if someone wants to help, they usually can.”
“And what about people who aren’t interested in serving their captors?”
“Most of them are like Callum. Public menaces who enslaved the people around them. I’m the one who brought Callum in. His parents, too. It was the first thing I did for the Foundation. He’s one of dozens of mind-controlling slavers I’ve helped shove into containment cells, and I’m damn proud of that. Hopefully someday, you will be too.”
“I’ll be what?”
“Proud of how much good you can do as part of Alpha-9.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You’re serious? You actually think I’m going to sign up with the Jailors like you did?”
“Once you see how things are really like here, yeah, I think you just might. For all the good I’ve done in the past several years, I’ve spent every moment regretting the fact that there’s only one of me. There are more people who need my help than I could ever save. The two of us, together, can save twice as many people. Maybe more.”
“That’s not happening. I will never work with Jailor scum like you.”
“Really? You’d let someone suffer under the effects of torturous mental anomaly when you could help them with nothing but the power of your voice?”
I look him right in the eye. “To spite you bastards? Yeah. I would.”
Evan studies me. I can see the moment he realizes I’m telling the truth. “I see,” he says. “That’s a shame. I’m disappointed in you.”
“I don’t fucking care.”
“Then a lot has changed in the last six years.”
“Yeah. I guess it fucking has.”
Evan sighs. “I can only hope that you change your mind. It would be a shame if all the good you could do went undone because of your own spite.”
I glare at him. “I think I’m just about done talking to you.”
“Alright,” he says. He gets up to leave. I glare at him. Piping hot rage courses through my veins. I want to punch him. I want to bash his head in and watch him die. I can’t do that, though. Not while I’m handcuffed to this table. However, there is something else I can do to hurt him. “Mom and Dad are dead,” I say.
Evan turns around. “What?”
“Mom couldn’t handle the grief of losing you,” I say. “She jumped off a bridge. Dad drank himself to death afterward.”
He stares at me. “You’re lying,” he says, but I can hear the quiver of doubt in his voice.
“No, I’m fucking not!” I pump all of the anger and conviction I can into those words. He studies my face. I maintain my glare.
Evan turns to the researcher who came in with him. “Is that true?” he asked.
“Not to my knowledge,” she says.
“Do you really think these people would tell you the truth?” I ask. “You’re such an important resource to them. Why would they tell you anything that would make you resent them for imprisoning you?”
He looks at me. He looks at her. I see the crack form in him. His expression shifts. He believes me. He fucking believes me! His gaze falters. He turns and exits the room. The others go with him. Once he’s no longer looking, I smirk.
He won’t believe me for long. It won’t be hard for them to prove that I lied. I don’t care. For a brief time, he’s going to feel what I’ve felt for the past six years. Some fraction of the pain he caused by abandoning us.
The door closes behind him. I’m left alone in the room. Over the next several minutes, my smug satisfaction leaks out of me, and what flows in to replace it is the knowledge that I’m probably going to spend the rest of my life in a containment cell.
I’ll try to escape. Of course I will. Perhaps the Hand will come for me, just as they said they were going to come for Sean.
Still, while I can cling to that hope, the brutal reality is that most of the people the Jailors imprison never get out.
Theo was right. He was exactly right about what would happen if I came here. I didn’t rescue my brother. I was captured. Now, I’m probably going to spend the rest of my life in a Foundation containment cell, when I could have spent it with him.
The last thing I said to him was that I hated him. That’s probably the last thing I’ll ever say to him.
[[=]]
**[[[i-didn-t-forget-hub|Series Hub]]]**
[[[i-didn-t-forget-pt-1-the-galaxy-plaza-disaster|◀◀ First Entry]]] | [[[i-didn-t-forget-pt-12-site-17|◀ Previous Entry]]] | [[[i-didn-t-forget-pt-14-idk|Next Entry ▶]]]
,,[[[xhawk77x|More by this Author]]],,
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-23T04:17:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"first-person",
"last-hope",
"lgbtq",
"military-fiction",
"mystery",
"romance",
"serpents-hand",
"tale"
] |
I Didn't Forget Pt 13: Evan Sanders - SCP Foundation
| 16
|
[
"i-didn-t-forget-hub",
"i-didn-t-forget-pt-1-the-galaxy-plaza-disaster",
"i-didn-t-forget-pt-12-site-17",
"i-didn-t-forget-pt-14-idk",
"xhawk77x",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"serpent-s-hand-hub",
"i-didn-t-forget-hub"
] |
[] |
1453411484
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-didn-t-forget-pt-13-evan-sanders
|
|
i-just-want-to-see-the-stars
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>So we keep our eyes open, and our gaze low, fixed on the pavement before the bus stop as it roils and eddies like an ocean of slate.</p>
</div>
<p>The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel. It always was. Come rain or shine, clear skies or heavy cover, the veil of perception hangs heavy over our eyes. A gossamer filter of distortions and buzzing static keeping the <em>us</em> from the <em>everything</em>.</p>
<p>We keep our gaze low, resisting the urge to screw our eyes shut to block it all out. There's no escape in that darkness. Only the flutter of twisting geometric colors billowing in the silent winds of the mind. So we keep our eyes open, and our gaze low, fixed on the pavement before the bus stop as it roils and eddies like an ocean of slate.</p>
<p>The familiar itch scratches at the corner of our vision, we've forgotten to blink again. Rubbing at our eyelids sends a rush of purples and yellows to disrupt the frozen visage of the road still imprinted against the relative stillness.</p>
<p>We hadn't been sleeping well. We hadn't been maintaining the corpse well at all honestly. That always made it worse, the perception of the veil drowning out the world beyond it, an invisible presence made clear in the blurred trail of every car and the incessant motion of every solid surface.</p>
<p>The trap of solipsism was baring its teeth; narcissistic jaws one good breakdown away from snapping shut around the only throat that matters.</p>
<p>So we do what we can to drown it all out. Turn the music up, turn the brain down, hurl ourselves into the inane ramblings of strangers on the internet, and wait. It almost works too. Retreating to our side of the veil, pulling it all in to a hazy fugue and almost forgetting that there is a world to be kept from.</p>
<p>An illusion too soon shattered by the hiss of airbrakes as our bus pulls in and we're torn from our distant reverie. The veil, or at least our knowledge of it, falls back into place immediately. Faint reprieve, never escape. We tell our self we're used to it. We know we're lying. But life goes on, and on and on. In ripples and waves like the ground beneath us. We take one last look upwards.</p>
<p>The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel, but what else is new.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/i-just-want-to-see-the-stars">I Just Want to See the Stars</a>" by J_V_G, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/i-just-want-to-see-the-stars">https://scpwiki.com/i-just-want-to-see-the-stars</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
So we keep our eyes open, and our gaze low, fixed on the pavement before the bus stop as it roils and eddies like an ocean of slate.
]]
=====
The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel. It always was. Come rain or shine, clear skies or heavy cover, the veil of perception hangs heavy over our eyes. A gossamer filter of distortions and buzzing static keeping the //us// from the //everything//.
We keep our gaze low, resisting the urge to screw our eyes shut to block it all out. There's no escape in that darkness. Only the flutter of twisting geometric colors billowing in the silent winds of the mind. So we keep our eyes open, and our gaze low, fixed on the pavement before the bus stop as it roils and eddies like an ocean of slate.
The familiar itch scratches at the corner of our vision, we've forgotten to blink again. Rubbing at our eyelids sends a rush of purples and yellows to disrupt the frozen visage of the road still imprinted against the relative stillness.
We hadn't been sleeping well. We hadn't been maintaining the corpse well at all honestly. That always made it worse, the perception of the veil drowning out the world beyond it, an invisible presence made clear in the blurred trail of every car and the incessant motion of every solid surface.
The trap of solipsism was baring its teeth; narcissistic jaws one good breakdown away from snapping shut around the only throat that matters.
So we do what we can to drown it all out. Turn the music up, turn the brain down, hurl ourselves into the inane ramblings of strangers on the internet, and wait. It almost works too. Retreating to our side of the veil, pulling it all in to a hazy fugue and almost forgetting that there is a world to be kept from.
An illusion too soon shattered by the hiss of airbrakes as our bus pulls in and we're torn from our distant reverie. The veil, or at least our knowledge of it, falls back into place immediately. Faint reprieve, never escape. We tell our self we're used to it. We know we're lying. But life goes on, and on and on. In ripples and waves like the ground beneath us. We take one last look upwards.
The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel, but what else is new.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-08-23T18:34:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"no-dialogue",
"reviewers-spotlight",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
I Just Want to See the Stars - SCP Foundation
| 43
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"reviewers-spotlight-archive-ii"
] |
[] |
1456528413
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-just-want-to-see-the-stars
|
|
i-m-gonna-be-alright
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<h1><span>Are you Ok?</span></h1>
<p>It was bright outside the den. When the insects stopped their buzzing, she noticed the others had all already ventured far. There was only one resting in the soft grass, now. She tried to approach him, but he kept getting further away. He opened his eyes, just to wink. Then, he took off.</p>
<p>She raced after his shadow just a hare behind. He was a cloud floating out of reach. She passed the dew from the wet ground with each stride. He bounced away, increasing the gap between them. He pretended not to notice her so far below.</p>
<p>They reached a field before the thicket where she knew not to go. He stood in the center, face still enough to see the quivers of his whiskers. She paused, planning her next move.</p>
<p>쿵쿵…</p>
<p>쿵쿵…</p>
<p>She declared her challenge. The den they came from was now far in the distance, any further would be dangerous. As the thought pulled her focus, he escaped in the tall grass.</p>
<p>She faced the blades, hesitant despite how easily they parted for him. She wasn’t going to lose after coming this far. She crossed into the forbidden garden after him.</p>
<p>She followed the sound of breaking bramble, until it was drowned out by the cry of frantic waters. There he was again, like a leaf guided by gale, landing on the other side of the river.</p>
<p>쿵~쿵~</p>
<p>쿵~쿵~</p>
<p>Her heart stuttered as she contemplated how to cross. But she would get across. Because if he could, she can. He was an idiot. The kind of dummy who would get in trouble just to make people mad. Just to make her mad. She was small, but she was not stupid.</p>
<p>She climbed up on a reed, clinging to it. She began a rhythm, swinging the reed closer to the other side with her weight. She hung on with all her might as the water tried to devour her. She was not weak.</p>
<p>The reed gave way before she did, tearing at the root. But she let go before she lost herself in the waves. She grabbed the stem of another across with her outstretched ear.</p>
<p>She held on, only catching glances as he binkied around before melting back into the mist. She was not stupid.</p>
<p>Her eyes resisted the crash of wind and water long enough for her to leap to the other side. She trudged forward, forgetting the sound of the water. She had to bring that dummy back.</p>
<p>One step. It only took one spot for her leg to slip where the ground wasn’t firm.</p>
<p>쿵쿵! 쿵!</p>
<p>쿵쿵! 쿵!</p>
<p>The world revolving, a mess of greens, blues with splotches of red and brown until a white spark scared the color away.</p>
<p>Where was she now?</p>
<p>쿵! 쿵!</p>
<p>Down a mountain?</p>
<p>쿵! 쿵!</p>
<p>A cliff?</p>
<p>쿵! 쿵!</p>
<p>She could hardly make sense of her surroundings. Where was that dummy?</p>
<p>An arm reached out from below her. It was her arm but it looked…wrong. She gripped the ground tightly, but she couldn’t move.</p>
<p>Appa? Eomma?</p>
<p>She struggled only to flip over. Her legs, they also looked…wrong.</p>
<p>Halmeoni! Oppa! Where was everyone?</p>
<p>쿵~! 쿵~! 쿵~! 쿵~! 쿵~!</p>
<p>She began to weep as she lost strength. The tears made her eyes burn slower in the light reflecting through the mist. Her wails became a duo. A girl stared at her with tears streaming down her own flushed cheeks.</p>
<p>“Stop crying."</p>
<p>쿵~! 쿵~! 쿵~! 쿵~! 쿵~!</p>
<p>"Good. Now heal your legs.”</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-m-gonna-be-alright/offset/1">No...I think I’m</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[module ListPages category="fragment" parent="." limit="1" order="created_at" offset="@URL|0"]]
%%content%%
[[/module]]
[!-- https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:AYO-0 --]
[!-- https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:AYO-1 --]
[!-- https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:AYO-2 --]
[!-- https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:AYO-3 --]
[!-- https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:AYO-4 --]
[!-- https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:AYO-5 --]
[!-- https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:AYO-6 --]
[!-- https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:AYO-7 --]
[!-- https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:AYO 8 --]
[!-- https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:AYO 9 --]
|
2024-09-10T17:13:00
|
[
"surrealism",
"tale"
] |
SCP Foundation
| 1
|
[
"i-m-gonna-be-alright/offset/1"
] |
[] |
[] |
1456728564
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-m-gonna-be-alright
|
|
i-m-sorry
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>I think I saw my grandma for the last time yesterday.</p>
<p>It only took a few clicks and keypresses, and there she stood up on that stage. Pink boa wrapped around her shoulders softly. Her smile pierced through the smoke filled banjo club. Her eyes shined. A beacon of hope, love, and care hidden behind the rough air. No one could have missed her. The whole room enchanted by her voice. Oh, her voice.</p>
<p>It sounds so clear in my mind, nestled in, never to leave again. An old soul trapped in a young man’s mind, whisperings of conversations, I had long since forgotten. Songs that now went unsung. Though, I’d close my eyes and she’d disappear, her voice remained. A reminder of days when I could still hear her, days where we were there.</p>
<p>Now, as time passes, so too does my memory fade. An ethereal bond, broken by the need to keep marching forward. I may hold myself still, but the world walks on. Dragging me further and further. No point in struggling, my nails shred as I tear them into the concrete, begging for a pause. A moment of knowing none will pass by. A moment of knowing, she won’t pass me by.</p>
<p>As her image became foggy, her voice too fades. My memories abandon me. Her soul ripped out. Now alone in a void, which she had guided me through. I’ll have to keep looking, I’ll have to keep fighting. I swear, I saw her yesterday. And yet, I’ve lost her.</p>
<p>Those few clicks turn into restless nights, those keypresses turn into an endless hunt. A hunt for nothing yields nothing.</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>You last saw her years ago. You weren’t there. You stayed away. Living without her. You left her. In her darkest moment, you turned your back and let her embrace it all.</em></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color:red"><strong>YOU LEFT</strong></span></p>
<p>I didn’t leave. I couldn’t leave. I was trapped. Chained on the ground I was born. Too weak to free myself from the shackles that bound me here. Everyone knew I was here, and here they thought I belonged. I longed for more. I longed to see her again. I longed for what I couldn’t have. She may have faced it all, but I hardly turned my back when my eyes were blind. Invisible streams passed me by. Her image now gone.</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>You are weak. You were weak. You have nothing. You are alone. You will always be alone. You lost her. You missed her.</em></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color:red"><strong>YOU LEFT</strong></span></p>
<p>My feet had sunk. My mind drew blank. The world swept me up, yet washed her ashore. Now she grows roots. The world grows around her. Yet I grow with the world. Spirit left long ago. Abandoned by the will for more.</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>You weren’t there. She called for you. You weren’t there. She sought your face. You weren’t there. The bell rang for her. Yet, you didn’t answer.</em></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color:red"><strong>YOU LEFT</strong></span></p>
<p>The stage was gone, my eyes grew tired. My head dropped, my fingers gave way. My mind was blank.</p>
<p>I laid there. Peering up at the screen. A white page. Blank, turning gray, turning black. I’d never see her smile. I’d never hear her voice. I’d never be there. I’d never see <em>you</em> again. And I hate myself for it.</p>
<p>I saw you for the last time.</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>I left.</em></span></p>
<p><strong>I’m sorry.</strong></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/i-m-sorry">I'm sorry.</a>" by Not Noodles, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/i-m-sorry">https://scpwiki.com/i-m-sorry</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
I think I saw my grandma for the last time yesterday.
It only took a few clicks and keypresses, and there she stood up on that stage. Pink boa wrapped around her shoulders softly. Her smile pierced through the smoke filled banjo club. Her eyes shined. A beacon of hope, love, and care hidden behind the rough air. No one could have missed her. The whole room enchanted by her voice. Oh, her voice.
It sounds so clear in my mind, nestled in, never to leave again. An old soul trapped in a young man’s mind, whisperings of conversations, I had long since forgotten. Songs that now went unsung. Though, I’d close my eyes and she’d disappear, her voice remained. A reminder of days when I could still hear her, days where we were there.
Now, as time passes, so too does my memory fade. An ethereal bond, broken by the need to keep marching forward. I may hold myself still, but the world walks on. Dragging me further and further. No point in struggling, my nails shred as I tear them into the concrete, begging for a pause. A moment of knowing none will pass by. A moment of knowing, she won’t pass me by.
As her image became foggy, her voice too fades. My memories abandon me. Her soul ripped out. Now alone in a void, which she had guided me through. I’ll have to keep looking, I’ll have to keep fighting. I swear, I saw her yesterday. And yet, I’ve lost her.
Those few clicks turn into restless nights, those keypresses turn into an endless hunt. A hunt for nothing yields nothing.
[[span style="color:red"]] //You last saw her years ago. You weren’t there. You stayed away. Living without her. You left her. In her darkest moment, you turned your back and let her embrace it all.// [[/span]]
= [[span style="color:red"]] **YOU LEFT** [[/span]]
I didn’t leave. I couldn’t leave. I was trapped. Chained on the ground I was born. Too weak to free myself from the shackles that bound me here. Everyone knew I was here, and here they thought I belonged. I longed for more. I longed to see her again. I longed for what I couldn’t have. She may have faced it all, but I hardly turned my back when my eyes were blind. Invisible streams passed me by. Her image now gone.
[[span style="color:red"]] //You are weak. You were weak. You have nothing. You are alone. You will always be alone. You lost her. You missed her.// [[/span]]
= [[span style="color:red"]] **YOU LEFT** [[/span]]
My feet had sunk. My mind drew blank. The world swept me up, yet washed her ashore. Now she grows roots. The world grows around her. Yet I grow with the world. Spirit left long ago. Abandoned by the will for more.
[[span style="color:red"]]//You weren’t there. She called for you. You weren’t there. She sought your face. You weren’t there. The bell rang for her. Yet, you didn’t answer.// [[/span]]
= [[span style="color:red"]] **YOU LEFT** [[/span]]
The stage was gone, my eyes grew tired. My head dropped, my fingers gave way. My mind was blank.
I laid there. Peering up at the screen. A white page. Blank, turning gray, turning black. I’d never see her smile. I’d never hear her voice. I’d never be there. I’d never see //you// again. And I hate myself for it.
I saw you for the last time.
[[span style="color:red"]] //I left.// [[/span]]
**I’m sorry.**
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-08-11T18:49:00
|
[
"tale"
] |
I'm sorry. - SCP Foundation
| 15
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1456174274
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-m-sorry
|
|
i-need-you-to-leave
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p>⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong> Domestic Violence, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Gaslighting</p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
<p><em><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lets-get-you-home">previously...</a></em></p>
<p><em><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/duke-till-dawn">After the destruction of Site-19</a>, Gears made a specific request to relocate to Site-17, at least until rebuilding began. Seeing no reason to deny him, Gears joins the evacuation team, watching from the air as 682 continues its rampage unimpeded.</em></p>
<p><em>Before letting him do much of anything, they sat him in a closed off room and asked him his thoughts on Kondraki’s actions; the actions that required his evacuation in the first place. Gears answered as honestly as he could bear.</em></p>
<p><em>Kondraki was loud spoken, radical, unafraid to make his grievances clear, but as loyal as Gears himself. He cared for the Foundation’s principles as much as he cared for the people who worked for them, and the people in containment.</em></p>
<p><em>He could admit, at least in his head, that he had a certain admiration for Kondraki. Gears couldn’t believe that Kondraki’s actions were some sort of reckless act of pointless violence. But for what purpose it served, he couldn’t guess.</em></p>
<p><em>Who better to ask than Kondraki himself?</em></p>
<p><em>As Gears enters Kondraki’s office, a wave of nausea washes over him. He sees Kondraki lying on the ground in a pool of thick, crimson blood.</em></p>
<p><em>For a moment, he’s standing in the doorway of Iceberg’s home, looking down at <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/in-his-own-image-part-3">Iceberg’s corpse</a>. He supposes he can’t be too surprised; men like Iceberg were never made to last. This was only a matter of time.</em></p>
<p><em>Men like Kondraki on the other hand… you don’t find a man like that often. Gears supposes he can’t be too surprised by this either. After the move he pulled at Site-19, martyring himself would assure his legacy. Gears stands in the blood of the second Chaos Insurgency.</em></p>
<p><em>Right when that thought passes his mind, he hears a soft sniffle from what he assumed to be Kondraki’s corpse. Curious, careful not to step into the puddle of blood, Gears circles around the desk and approaches the body.</em></p>
<p><em>He finds Kondraki alive, curled up in a fetal position around a humanoid skull. Face and clothes stained with blood, Kondraki looks up at him with eyes red and wet with tears. Gears looks back and sees, not a martyr, but a man who’s very afraid.</em></p>
<p><em>“Did they send you?” He asks, voice shaky and meek.</em></p>
<p><em>“Did who send me?” Dropping to one knee, Gears puts a hand on Kondraki’s arm, hoping to coax the skull out of his grasp. Kondraki squeezes himself into a tighter ball.</em></p>
<p><em>“You’re gonna kill me for this, right?” Kondraki whimpers, eyes fearfully darting around the room. Choking on a sob, he finds no tears left for him to cry.</em></p>
<p><em>“I have not been sent to kill you. Not yet… Would you allow me to see what you have?”</em></p>
<p><em>Sniveling, Kondraki attempts to wipe his face with his sleeve, only smearing the blood. He uncoils, props himself up on his elbow, and presents the drenched skull with a shaky hand.</em></p>
<p><em>It appeared like an average human skull, except for the teeth. Gears takes it, finding a certain satisfaction in confirming the death of 083 firsthand.</em></p>
<p><em>“I thought I could… fix him. I thought- at least if he killed me… I’d see it coming.” Kondraki’s hands are shaking. He stares down at them, as if suddenly noticing the blood clinging to his skin.</em></p>
<p><em>“It’s good your… experiment did not work.” Gears sets the skull down and grabs the tissues from Kondraki’s desk to clean off his fingers. “083 would have killed, not just you, but, in all probability, a good portion of the site before he could be re-contained.”</em></p>
<p><em>Kondraki’s mouth hangs agape, only a soft squeak manages to escape him. He lies back down, covering his face with his hands.</em></p>
<p><em>This is not the Kondraki Gears has come to admire.</em></p>
<p><em>“They’re going to kill me for this, aren’t they?” Kondraki asks, voice small.</em></p>
<p><em>Viscous liquid still drips from the skull’s sockets.</em></p>
<p><em>“Yes,” Gears answers, “you will be killed.”</em></p>
<p><em>“Oh…” Slowly, he drops the hands from his face. He looks pale, faint even. Gears sees now that this was not a second insurgency; this was a sick man who was being killed by the very place meant to protect him.</em></p>
<p><em>But, if Kondraki’s actions were not one of rebellion, then…</em></p>
<p><em>“Why did you do it?”</em></p>
<p><em>“Because… I thought it would be funny. I don’t know what I was- what was even going through my mind. I just- starting going and I couldn't stop myself!” His voice gets more unsteady as he speaks, his breath quickening, his entire body shaking. Gears puts a firm hand on Kondraki’s chest, grounding Kondraki long enough to focus.</em></p>
<p><em>“I have a boy at home,” he says, barely above a whisper.</em></p>
<p><em>“It means nothing to the Foundation. To them, you’ve made a move against them. You’re a rebellion waiting to happen.”</em></p>
<p><em>Kondraki trembles but remains quiet. It’s uncomfortable seeing a man so loud and boisterous just a miserable shell of his former self. It makes Gears feel… which is more than he’s supposed to.</em></p>
<p><em>“You think they’ll send Clef after me?”</em></p>
<p><em>Gears takes a deep breath through his nose. “No. Clef is an accomplished assassin, yes, but he is older now. Given his record and your… <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/every-day-of-my-life-you-test-me">personal connection</a> with the doctor, there would be too much risk in sending him. When the Foundation comes for you… they will send me to finish you off.”</em></p>
<p><em>A moment of silence.</em></p>
<p><em>“… So you are going to kill me.”</em></p>
<p><em>Now isn’t that a question. Is he going to kill him? Gears has to think about it. If the Foundation wanted Kondraki dead they would have a good reason to, Gears believes. But… now he knows something the Foundation doesn’t. Which is he more willing to sacrifice? His morals or his loyalty.</em></p>
<p><em>“Dr. Kondraki… I need you to listen to my next words very carefully, I will only be able to say them once…”</em></p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
<p>Once upon a time, maybe a decade ago at most; Clef would spend his lunches surrounded by friends and colleagues all jammed around one table. These days Clef gets it to himself. Iceberg’s dead, Kondraki might as well be dead, Clef can’t stand to look Dmitri in the eyes anymore, Rights, the smart one, got out of here before this place could eat her, and Gears…</p>
<p>Clef is fine with being alone. He got enough entertainment terrorizing a few junior researchers or his assistant Adams. For the most part, he was fine with the silence. Numb to it even.</p>
<p>It’s not as though he even eats lunch in the cafeteria anymore, or at all for that matter. There’s no longer any satisfaction in eating; no warmth to be gained. It’s starting to show in his cheeks; in the hollowness of his eyes.</p>
<p>At least he’s remained productive. Because that’s what matters here. <em>Productivity</em>.</p>
<p><em>Ergh-</em> He needs to get drunk. Not the shitty drunk that he usually gets sipping Kondraki’s beer; he needs to get <em>black-out</em> drunk, until he forgets whatever made him want to start drinking in the first place.</p>
<p><em>Gears</em>. That’s who he needs to forget right now. He needs to forget everything about him.</p>
<p>Sitting in his office, Adams silent beside him, Clef feels a headache prodding at his temples. He props his arm on his desk and rests his forehead against his knuckles, eyes closed.</p>
<p>“Adams?” He says.</p>
<p>“Sir?”</p>
<p>He opens his mouth, ready to send her home early so he could get out of here. A knock on the door cuts him off. He lets out an exhausted sigh and sits up.</p>
<p>“Would you get that?”</p>
<p>Adams furrows her eyebrows. The door is opened. Clef thought he was supposed to be the devil, but here Gears was, staring him down.</p>
<p>“Thank you, miss…” Gears trials off, focusing his attention on Clef. Clef bares his teeth at Gears in a mock grin. They spend a solid minute staring each other down like alley cats.</p>
<p>Gears clears his throat. “Dr. Clef, would you come to my office? I have a matter to discuss with you.”</p>
<p>“You’re already in <em>my</em> office, just say it to me here.”</p>
<p>“It’s… a personal matter. I would rather have the privacy,” he says, casting his eyes on Adams. Adams keeps the neutral look up well, but Clef can see the sweat running down her forehead.</p>
<p>Clef feels cornered, and in a very literal sense he is. There’s no way he’s walking from one cage to another.</p>
<p>“Adams, go home.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Shoo.” He clicks his fingers at her. “Go home or wherever you go after here. I don’t care, just <em>git</em>.”</p>
<p>Adams looks at him, then at Gears. “Very well…” She scoots around him and leaves, closing the door behind her.</p>
<p>“That wasn’t necessary.”</p>
<p>“No one asked you. Would you sit down?” Clef swivels in his chair and kicks open his mini fridge for a can of beer. Anything to get him not thinking about how a few nights ago he was sharing a bed with the other man, begging him to-</p>
<p>Gears pulls out a chair, unceremoniously sitting down. His expression, as usual, is blank, but Clef can see something in his eyes.</p>
<p>“I believe that you should move in with me.”</p>
<p>The phrase catches Clef so off guard he chokes on his drink. He feels the back of his nose burn. He wipes the spittle dripping from his lips and coughs out a cackle.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” Gears offers out a handkerchief like Clef wants to wipe his face with a gross cloth Gears totes around everywhere.</p>
<p>“You’re funny. I kiss you once while drunk and you think I’m in love with you or something? Bet you asked Iceberg’s hand in marriage after the first date too!”</p>
<p>Gears bites the inside of his lip, it’s subtle but it shows that Clef’s clawed under his skin. Clef wonders if Gears is about to try to strangle him again. He almost wishes he would, at least <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/supplemental-report-239-b-192">physical violence is something he’s familiar with</a>.</p>
<p>“No… Iceberg and I never discussed the possibility of marriage. My proposition has very little to do with your actions the other night.”</p>
<p>“Oh? But not nothing?”</p>
<p>Gears purses his lips. “You have been on a self destructive streak, as of the past few months. The incident in question was only one of many things that led me to this <em>decision</em>.”</p>
<p><em>Decision,</em> that’s a <em>real</em> funny word to describe a request. That caged animal feeling returns, stronger this time. Clef feels faint, he digs in nails into his desk to focus. Sweat dripping down his forehead, he grins, showing off too many teeth.</p>
<p>“You think I’m some man-child that can’t care for himself?”</p>
<p>“No, I believe you are choosing to be self-destructive and it is negatively affecting your work and behavior.”</p>
<p>Clef almost snorts. He’s always been unpleasant, prided himself in it even, and he knows his work is good. No, <em>no this is personal</em>.</p>
<p>“I’m not interested in being babysat. Is that enough for you?”</p>
<p>Gears shifts, straightening out. “I’m afraid you might be misunderstanding my proposition. If I was looking to restrict your autonomy, I could simply have you contained.”</p>
<p>Clef’s eye twitches. “Oh really?”</p>
<p>“One report, and believe me, I have several, of erratic and potentially harmful behavior and there would be no question.”</p>
<p>Clef sways, catching himself before he can fall forward and smack his head on his desk. He can’t can’t fill his lungs all the way. Gears stares him down, intentions clear. On the verge of tears, Clef keeps his disingenuous smile on.</p>
<p>“Is that a threat, Charlie?”</p>
<p>“No, simply a <em>reminder</em>. As you can see, I have no intentions of doing so.”</p>
<p>Clef could try weaseling his way out of this, he’s a professional weaseler, but Gears really has him pinned here. What kind of cage does he want? A small humanoid cell, or a comfortable yet suffocating <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> on the edge of nowhere with <em>him</em>?</p>
<p><em>Is there really any choice at all?</em></p>
<p>“Okay,” Clef says, an air of resignation in his voice. He lets the tension out of his shoulders. He struggles to look Gears in the eyes, staring straight through his chest.</p>
<p>“Okay?”</p>
<p>“I’ll move in with you.” He’s gotten used to plenty of cages, he’s due for a fresh one.</p>
<p>“Good,” Gears says, with a curt nod. “We can discuss the details at a later point. I’ll have a moving van at your home soon.”</p>
<p>“Cool.” Without his input his eyes slide down to stare at his desk.</p>
<p>“I will take my leave now. Thank you for your time.”</p>
<p>Gears stands, pushes the chair back into place, and leaves. He opens the door to reveal Adams mid-retreat. Seeing her is almost a breath of fresh air for Clef, relief washes over him.</p>
<p>“It’s rather rude of you to eavesdrop,” Gears says through his teeth.</p>
<p>Adams swallows. “Sorry, sir.”</p>
<p>“I expect better from those here.” Gears scoots past her and disappears from Clef’s view.</p>
<p>Clef can’t help but grin at her. His usual, predatory sneer, with an air of genuinity behind it.</p>
<p>“Yeah, Adams, <em>don’t you know eavesdropping is rude?</em>”</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>On a plastic chair out on his front porch, Clef watches a moving van pull into his driveway. Up until this point Clef could convince himself that Gears was fucking with him. Even as he was packing his few precious belongings into boxes he told himself that Gears <em>would</em> change his mind.</p>
<p>From his <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> in Cornwall, to the cramped GOC bunkers, to living out of the back of his truck… This cabin, in all of its run down glory, is the first home he’s ever truly had to himself. There’s more of <em>him</em> in that <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> than there is anywhere else.</p>
<p>Leaving this place he feels like he’s leaving pieces of himself behind.</p>
<p>While Gears’s hires feed his life into the back of the moving van, Clef’s <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/784incident3">Little Shit of a cat</a>, <em>‘affectionately’</em> called L.S. for short, waddles outside. It hops into Clef’s lap, uselessly flopping over. Clef runs his fingers through its fur, smiling to himself.</p>
<p>“You don’t have a single clue what’s going on, do you?” He scratches behind L.S.’s ear. “Don’t worry, you’re not going back to the streets.”</p>
<p>Gears’s <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>, which he supposes is his <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> now too, is grayer than he remembers. With L.S. tucked under one arm and his box of personal items tucked under the other, he’s the most colorful thing in this place.</p>
<p>“I want my own room,” he says, looking Gears in the eyes.</p>
<p>“I have several unoccupied rooms upstairs. You may have your…” Gears trails off, eyes locking onto the <em>thing</em> Clef is holding. Clef grins, squeezing L.S. possessively.</p>
<p>“You brought your… cat,” Gears says, sounding awfully unsure at the word <em>cat</em>. Clef could see a wrinkle form on his forehead.</p>
<p>“‘Course. Was I just supposed to leave it to fend for itself? What do you take me for?” Clef holds L.S. out to Gears. <em>You forced me into your <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>, now you get everything that comes with me</em>.</p>
<p>L.S. is a fuzzy brownish-orange thing, with graying, matted fur, a missing eye, and always some kind of goop coming out of its nose or mouth. Clef found it in his garbage can and took it in, assuming it was going to die pretty quickly anyway. That was almost ten years ago, and the damn thing hasn’t died yet.</p>
<p>“Merow,” L.S. says. Clef sets it down and it takes a few shaky steps forward before it flops over at Gears’s feet. Gears takes a step back, steeling his nerves.</p>
<p>“It is… vaccinated… correct?”</p>
<p>“Eh? Probably.” Clef shrugs with a grin. He <em>is</em> pretty sure L.S. is as healthy as a ten to fifteen year old cat could be, but leaving an air of mystery about it is funnier.</p>
<p>“I see.” Gears scowls. “As long as you continue to take care of it… You may pick a room upstairs for both of you.”</p>
<p>Box in hand, he heads upstairs, which is somehow even more barren and prison-like than downstairs. L.S. prattles along after him, following him into one of the empty rooms.</p>
<p>It’s small, about the same size as his old bedroom. The only light streams through one measly window, which looks out to an empty street. It’s deafly silent. Clef takes a seat under the window and wonders if he’ll ever get used to this place.</p>
<p>L.S. curls up beside him. At least the rumble of its purrs are familiar, comforting even.</p>
<p>“Wish I could adapt as easily as you.” Clef pulls his ukulele out of his box. L.S. jumps in, putting itself among Clef’s other irreplaceables. Clef <em>tsks</em> and shakes his head.</p>
<p>At least one of them would be comfortable here.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Over the next couple of weeks Clef watches as Gears <em>thoroughly</em> inserts himself into Clef’s life. Clef comes to work one day to find his office on the other side of the site, and he finds himself eating lunch in Gears’s office. Soon they’re carpooling to work and home everyday and Clef can feel himself slipping.</p>
<p>It’s not as though Gears treats him <em>bad</em>. It’s just that Gears is so <em>predictable</em>. Within a week Clef knows exactly how to avoid him. At least with Kondraki-</p>
<p>Clef cuts the thought off before it finishes. He would rather not think about Kondraki right now, or ever again.</p>
<p>Two plates in hand, Gears enters the dining room and places one before him. Always some bland slop that’s probably designed to be <em>‘healthy’</em> or whatever. Gears won’t let him anywhere near the stove so this is what he’s stuck with.</p>
<p>Gears stops before his seat and stares down at something.</p>
<p>“Clef… would you please move your cat?”</p>
<p>“Just give ‘em a little nudge and it’ll fuck off.”</p>
<p>“Would you please move it?” Clef can hear him breathing. <em>What’s his fucking problem?</em></p>
<p>“Scared of a little cat?” Clef scoops L.S. up. He’s about to put it upstairs when another thought occurs to him. He cracks open Gears’s bedroom and nudges L.S. in.</p>
<p>A half hour later, Gears enters his bedroom and spots the <em>Little Shit</em> making a home in his bed. The thought of all those <em>tiny, greasy, loose hairs</em> all over his bed makes his <em>skin crawl</em> and his stomach twist.</p>
<p><em>How long has that thing been in here? Has it touched anything else? Oh god, there could be tiny fucking hairs everywhere.</em> His sanctuary has been violated. Gears is going to faint.</p>
<p>“Clef?” he calls out, his nausea leaking into his voice. He can see L.S. nuzzling into his pillow, smearing its snot all over.</p>
<p>“Yeeeessss, Coggy dear?” Clef slides up next to him. He’s disappointed to find that L.S. didn’t break anything.</p>
<p><em>“Get your cat out of my room,”</em> he almost hisses.</p>
<p>Clef shows off his teeth. “I dunno, it looks pretty comfortable in there. I would hate to disturb it.”</p>
<p>Gears clenches his fists. “Clef, may I remind you this is <em>my</em> space? If you can not keep your cat out of here I might have to-”</p>
<p>“Have to what? Throw us back to the streets? Be my fucking guest.”</p>
<p>He’s being toyed with, he knows he’s being toyed with, but the longer Clef plays this game the more <em>cat</em> rubs off on his bed. He wishes his stomach would <em>make up its fucking mind</em> on whether he’s going to throw up or not. If he vomits onto Clef right now at least this game would stop.</p>
<p><em>“Perhaps-”</em> he grinds his teeth together, “-if you can not handle your animal then you do not deserve to keep it.”</p>
<p>The smug look drips off of Clef’s face. “I swear to <em>fuck</em>, Charles, if you throw my cat out-”</p>
<p>Gears wants to hit him. Gears want to hit him so fucking bad right now. Anything to get him to shut up shut up shut up shut up <em>shut up shut up shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup!</em></p>
<p>He puts a hand on Clef’s shoulder and squeezes. Clef cuts himself off.</p>
<p>“Get your cat out of my room… <em>Please.</em>”</p>
<p>That seems to satisfy him, at least enough for him to grab his cat and leave. Gears rushes in to strip the bed and lent roll the sheets. <em>Ugh- it’s no use! He’ll have to put them through the wash</em>. Waiting for the laundry to finish will throw off his usual bedtime but he’ll never sleep if he doesn’t.</p>
<p>Waiting for the laundry gives him time to vacuum and scrub down the rest of his room. He can’t see them but he <em>knows</em> there's cat hairs everywhere. He makes his usual walk around the <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> to check all of the locks before wheeling the vacuum into his bedroom.</p>
<p>From his place on the stairs, Clef thinks Gears looks crazy running around the place like that. Gears was never as fun to provoke as <em>that guy that should not be spoken about.</em></p>
<p>Gears exits his bedroom, relieved to have his space sanitized. He swaps the wash into the dryer and decides he can get a headstart on his work tomorrow while that-</p>
<p><em>The front door is unlocked.</em></p>
<p>The door was locked, he knows that he locked it. He swears he already made his usual walk around the <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>.</p>
<p>It’s fine… This is fine. He can relock the door. He must’ve just misremembered. <em>Just misremembered</em>.</p>
<p>The windows are unlocked too, a few of them were partly open. When did he open them? Maybe he didn’t. He’s slipping.</p>
<p>He makes a second trip around the close. This time he’s sure he’s locked up the entire h-</p>
<p><em>The door.</em></p>
<p>This is fine. This <em>is</em> fine. <em>This</em> is fine. This is <em>fine</em>.</p>
<p>He locks the door. He’s sure that he’s locked the door. The door is locked and he’s the one who’s locked it. He takes a step back and examines his locked door, which is locked.</p>
<p>Still forty minutes on the dryer. He enters his office and the window is open. He slams the window shut and storms out of his office in time to catch Clef unlocking the front door.</p>
<p>“Clef!” He doesn’t shout. <em>Fuck</em>, it’s almost a relief it’s just Clef being an asshole. Gears would still like to bash his skull in.</p>
<p>“Huh? Oh hey, Cog!” Clef looks him in the eyes while sliding the chain-lock undone.</p>
<p>“Why are you doing this?”</p>
<p>“Oh this? I was just going to step out for some fresh air! This place could use some ventilation! I mean <em>pop open a window</em> for something!”</p>
<p>Gears is going to start hyperventilating. His cheeks are already flushed. Clef keeps grinning at him. <em>This is fucking hilarious to him.</em></p>
<p>“Oh calm down, Charles!" says Clef. "<em>It’s not that big of a deal,” says Iceberg. He has a hole in his head and his brain is spilling onto the carpet. That’s the only way Gears can picture him anymore.</em></p>
<p><em>“You broke into <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/epitaph">my private office</a>. I wish you would have just asked.” They’re sitting at the kitchen table. Iceberg leans back in his chair, arms crossed. It feels like they’re in an interrogation room.</em></p>
<p><em>“I didn’t want to ask.”</em></p>
<p><em>“That doesn’t make it okay.” Gears’s eyes soften, a small but genuine expression he wouldn’t dare to show to anyone else.</em></p>
<p><em>“Oh what does it matter to you! I didn’t take anything! I was just looking!”</em></p>
<p><em>“Looking for what?”</em></p>
<p><em>Iceberg crosses his arms, refusing to look him in the eyes.</em></p>
<p><em>“Iceberg… If something is the matter you’re supposed to talk to me.”</em></p>
<p><em>“You sound like a fucking robot when you talk like that! You can’t even pretend like you actually give a shit!”</em></p>
<p><em>Gears doesn’t flinch, though he almost does. It feels like a dagger has been rammed through his chest.</em></p>
<p><em>“I do care.”</em></p>
<p><em>“Do you? Or are you just programmed to say that?”</em></p>
<p><em>Gears stands up, his sympathy melting into bitterness. “Is that why you thought it was okay to invade my privacy? Because I’m simply an android? Less than human to you?”</em></p>
<p><em>Iceberg bites his lip. “I didn’t mean that.”</em></p>
<p><em>“But you thought it, you thought it enough to stay it outloud.” Gears wants to drive his head through the wall. “I’m going to bed.”</em></p>
<p>“Uh Cog?”</p>
<p>Gears blinks and focuses on Clef. They’re closer now, Gears has him almost pinned to the door. He’d apparently stepped closer while lost in thought. What was he just thinking about anyway?</p>
<p>The door, that’s right. He reaches past Clef and slides each lock back into place. Clef sweats.</p>
<p>“Bed… Right, I’m going to bed.” Gears turns his back and marches away.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Mold grows in the <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>. Not just in the cups and plastic bottles Clef hides and collects like some kind of game. It grows in the walls, between the floorboards, under the tiles, inside of Gears himself, though he doesn’t know it yet.</p>
<p>In the months Clef has spent in Gears’s home the mold has begun to grow in him too. He can feel it, even if he doesn’t know what it is yet. He’s a man who knows what it’s like when a <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> starts to live in you.</p>
<p>Gears is in the kitchen, cleaning the stockpile of glasses he extracted from Clef's room. There’s no point in chastising Clef over it, not anymore.</p>
<p>Clef stares at the table and scratches his name into its surface with his nail. Gears can hear the grading sound from the kitchen. He <em>wants</em> to restrain Clef but he <em>needs</em> to finish cleaning.</p>
<p>“I want to go out for drinks,” Clef announces.</p>
<p>“We have alcohol here.”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to drink here. I’m going out.” It’s been a while since he’s gone out in his truck. He stands up and heads upstairs to get his keys.</p>
<p>Gears trembles but says nothing. Moments later he hears Clef storm back down the stairs.</p>
<p>“Where are my car keys!?”</p>
<p>Gears thinks of a locked box hidden in Clef’s closet. He pats his pants pocket, finding Clef’s keys there. “I don’t know. Have you misplaced them?”</p>
<p>Clef growls. “Where did you put them?”</p>
<p>“I haven’t touched them,” Gears lies, “perhaps if you can’t find your keys you should say in.”</p>
<p>“Give me <em>your</em> keys.”</p>
<p>“I will do <em>no</em> such thing.”</p>
<p>As Gears finishes washing their dishes Clef storms into the kitchen. He jams his hand onto Gears’s pocket, causing Gears to flinch and drop a glass. It shatters on the floor. Gears spins around to rip Clef’s hand away and slams him into the counter, but not before Clef gets his hands on his keys.</p>
<p>“Do. Not. Do. That.” Gears holds him there, glaring into his eyes, edge of the counter digging into Clef’s spine. His heart hammers, his entire body shaking. Clef shrinks.</p>
<p>"I thought <em>I</em> was supposed to be the liar here," Clef growls. “You don’t have any right to keep me here.”</p>
<p>“If it concerns your safety, it does.” He thinks of walking into Kondraki’s office to the smell of blood, he thinks of dragging a delirious Clef out of a bar. Bile crawls up his throat.</p>
<p>Clef wants to sink his teeth into Gears’s shoulder. He could, he really could, but then what? Clef could get away with subtlety, the little things that drive Gears insane, but could he get away with something so violent?</p>
<p>“Fine. I’ll drink your bullshit.” Clef pockets his keys and wriggles out of Gears’s grasp.</p>
<p>Gears straightens up, peeling himself away. He backs up and begins to clean up the shattered glass. Clef scoots around him to grab a bottle of room temperature beer. It wasn’t the shitty stuff that reminded him of Kondraki, nor was it particularly good, it was… fine.</p>
<p>Clef sips at the foam, watching Gears work. The glass slips from his sweaty hand. He tries to catch it, only managing to smack it towards Gears.</p>
<p>The bottle shatters.</p>
<p>Everything stops.</p>
<p>Gears watches, unmoving, as the puddle of beer streams into the mess of glass and his shoes. Slowly, he looks up at Clef. Clef can’t help but crack a grin.</p>
<p>“Oops.” He grabs another battle and smacks it off the counter. Gears grinds his teeth.</p>
<p>“What do you hope to accomplish with this?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what you mean.” Clef maintains eye contact as he drops another bottle. “Oh! Silly me! You know how clumsy I can be!”</p>
<p>The sound of breaking glass makes Gears’s hair stand on end. He stands up, cracks his neck, and goes to dump the shards in his hand. He is <em>fine</em>, he is <em>not</em> that bothered, he can handle this.</p>
<p>Another bottle breaks. The entire room stinks, the alcohol burns his eyes. Before Gears knows what he’s doing, he’s ripping a bottle from Clef’s grubby fingers. The feeling of taking that bottle and smashing it over Clef’s thick skull is the best thing Gears has felt in ages.</p>
<p>Then, the moment passes. Gears stands there, gripping the neck of the bottle so tightly it strains his arm. Clef is drenched, glass shards in his hair, blood and beer running down his face. His eyes are wide and wet with tears.</p>
<p><em>For a moment he’s standing over Iceberg. Oh God, oh God! He just took a chunk out of Iceberg’s head. He feels so fucking sick.</em></p>
<p>“Why can’t you just be good?” Gears gasps, desperation and fury crawling into his voice. “Am I not kind to you? Have I not cared for you?” He drops the bottle, letting it clang against the floor.</p>
<p>Clef stays silent. Gears forces himself not to cry, his throat already aches from shouting. He goes to his room, resisting the urge to kick L.S. out of the way, and collapses onto his bedroom floor.</p>
<p>He hears Clef walking around, the sound of running water in the bathroom, and then the sound of Clef’s truck leaving the driveway. Once Gears is sure he’s alone, once everything settles down, once the stench from the kitchen wafts into Gears’s space, Gears screams.</p>
<p>He screams his throat raw, letting the angry, painful tears run down his face. He throws his night stand over, tears the photos from his wall, throws a vase at L.S., and he wonders why he can’t just be <em>good enough</em> for Clef.</p>
<p><em>Why doesn’t he get what Clef has? They’re so similar and yet Clef is so cruel to him! So selfish. Gears can’t see the animal he’s caged, only the claws and teeth as they sink into him.</em></p>
<p>Once he’s calmed down he’s left with a ruined kitchen, a ruined bedroom, and a terrified cat. He feels ragged, sick to his stomach. He hunches over the bathroom sink and spits up only bile.</p>
<p>He walks into the kitchen and begins picking up the largest shards. The feeling of warm, sticky beer against his skin makes him want to cry, but he <em>has</em> to do this. The shards slice into his fingers, but that pain is better than whatever consequence awaits him if he doesn’t do this.</p>
<p>When the glass is gone he drops to his hands and knees, a towel and sponge in hand, and scrubs the floor until it sparkles, <em>until the sponge turns black with mold</em>. Soap seeps into the cuts but at least no one would ever be able to tell what happened here.</p>
<p>He locks L.S. in Clef’s room and returns to his own, taking similar care to pick the place clean. His body aches, the even the action of reaching out and flexing his fingers is agonizing. Exhaustion weighs on him, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not like this, not in this state, not until he's done.</p>
<p>As he picks up his nightstand to set it upright, a drawer slides open. Quickly, Gears shuts it. He hears something rattle inside and, after a moment of thought, slowly reopens the drawer.</p>
<p>A bottle of pills sits there, sleeping meds. Gears grabs the bottle, finding it almost completely full. He was recommended these a long time ago, but never used them as he would always sleep longer than intended.</p>
<p>… <em>always sleep longer than intended…</em></p>
<p>Gears returns to his kitchen, fills a glass with water, and drops one single pill in. The pill fizzes, bubbles, and dissolves. He takes a spoon, stirs, and finds he can barely tell the difference.</p>
<p>He takes a small sip and holds it in his mouth, shifting it around to get a feel for it. There’s a slight texture, something he might notice but Clef…</p>
<p>Gears spits the drugged water out, dumps and washes the cup, and drops a new pill in a fresh glass of water. He walks upstairs and carefully, as to not let L.S. escape, he leaves the glass on Clef’s nightstand.</p>
<p>The next morning Gears finds Clef fast asleep, the glass drained. He attempts, half-heartedly, to wake him, with no success. Gears nods to himself, takes the empty glass, and closes the door behind him.</p>
<p>He can write an excuse for Clef’s absence, it would just be one time in the name of science. Once he had a routine down he could have Clef asleep more than he’s awake. He slashes the tires on Clef’s truck before he leaves, just as a precaution.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Clef opens his eyes. <em>Fuck, what time is it?</em> His hangovers are getting worse. He rapidly blinks the exhaustion out. He was just in a bar- <em>wait no-</em> he was just in Gears’s kitchen- <em>no, no the kitchen was first… what was he doing in Gears’s kitchen?</em></p>
<p>He remembers… breaking glass… room temperature beer… being <em>afraid</em>.</p>
<p>“Sir?”</p>
<p>Clef jumps. He’s in his office. <em>When the hell did he get in his office?</em> What is he doing here? Pen in his hand, paper on his desk… he was writing something? What was he writing? The words blur together. Adams is beside him. Right, <em>right</em>, in his office.</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>Adams’s eyes dart across his features. Subconsciously, he wipes his face on his sleeve. <em>He couldn’t look that bad, could he?</em></p>
<p>She takes a deep breath, knowing deeply and instinctively she’s going to regret her next words.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?”</p>
<p>He stares at her like he doesn't comprehend the question. He looks around the office, as if seeing it for the very first time. <em>Is</em> he okay?</p>
<p>“What time is it?” He asks.</p>
<p>“It’s almost six.”</p>
<p>Gears would be getting off soon, given nothing else came up, which meant Clef would be leaving soon. The thought of going home with Gears, back to that prison cell disguised as a <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>, has him short of breath.</p>
<p>Adams observes him, watching realization and fear fill his eyes. She grinds her teeth, terrified of the implications. She's tempted to ask again.</p>
<p>“Adams…” he says, voice small. A shot of adrenaline shoots through her heart.</p>
<p>“Sir?”</p>
<p>He slowly turns his head, looking at the office storage closet. Eyes straightforward, he smacks his pen off his desk. “I’ve lost my pen, would you go into the closet and grab one for me?”</p>
<p>If this was code, it wasn’t one she was familiar with. Hoping she would understand, Adams stands up and steps into the closet. The door slams behind her.</p>
<p>“Sir! Clef, what the fuck are you doing?!” She jiggles the handle and kicks at the door. She hears Clef shove one of the chunky chairs in front of the door, barricading her in.</p>
<p>“Oh this is the last <em>fucking</em> straw! I swear to fuck, Clef, when I get out of here-!” This is what she fucking deserves for giving a single shit about her boss. She was going to H.R. about this and then getting out of this site.</p>
<p>“Adams, don’t you know eavesdropping is rude?” Clef says in a sing-songy sort of tone.</p>
<p>Adams pauses, finding a moment of clarity in the storm of her rage. Those words were familiar. She quiets down and presses her ear against the door.</p>
<p>[Enter <em>Dr. Gears</em>]</p>
<p><strong>Gears:</strong> “Clef? I heard some commotion in here? Is everything alright?”</p>
<p>[Clef’s desk creaks]</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “Yeah, yeah everything’s all good in here.”</p>
<p><strong>Gears:</strong> “Where is miss Adams?”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “Sent her home.”</p>
<p>[Adams bites her lip, tasting the tension in the air]</p>
<p><strong>Gears:</strong> “I see. We can go home now.”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “I don’t want to.”</p>
<p>[A pause]</p>
<p><strong>Gears:</strong> “Doctor, I would rather you not do this tonight.”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “Do what? Express my desires as a person? Fuck you, Cog.”</p>
<p><strong>Gears:</strong> “You’re tired. Come home.”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “So you can drug me more? I know what you’ve been doing to me! You’re <em>sick</em>.”</p>
<p><strong>Gears:</strong> “That’s a bold claim. Do you have any evidence or are you just lashing out as you tend to do?”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “Don’t fucking play with me! I <em>fucking</em> know what you’ve been doing!”<br/>
<strong>Gears:</strong> “What do you want, Clef?”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “I want you to say it! Say what you’ve been doing to me! Admit it!”</p>
<p>[Adams can hear the desperation growling in his voice, bordering on panic. She steps closer, accidentally tapping the door with her foot. Her heart stops.]</p>
<p>It’s quiet for a moment. Then footsteps, the chair slides away, and Gears opens the closet door. He stares at Adams, who would give anything to not exist right now, then looks to Clef for explanation.</p>
<p>Clef’s face is red, he wipes the tears from his eyes before she can see and cracks a grin at Gears.</p>
<p>“<em>Oops</em>. Must’ve forgotten her in there. Silly me, I must be going <em>totally psycho</em>! Are you gonna lock me up, Charlie, like you promised you would?” Clef dissolves into manic giggles, tears and snot streaming down his face.</p>
<p>Gears grips the closet handle tightly. Adams looks down and notices worn bandages covering his hands. “Get a hold of yourself.”</p>
<p>“Or what? You’ll hit me? Oh I <em>know</em> you wanna! Come on! Hit me Cog! <em>Hit me!”</em></p>
<p>Gear clenches his fists. For a moment Adams is sure he might do it.</p>
<p>“Miss Adams,” Gears says, voice flat. “I’m sorry you had to witness this. You may stay home tomorrow.”</p>
<p>Clef’s grin drops. “No! You don’t get to do that! Fuck you! <em>Fuck you!</em>”</p>
<p>“You’re irrational. You’re scaring your assistant.”</p>
<p>Adams is scared, though who she’s scared of she isn’t sure.</p>
<p>“Adams, don’t!” He tries to growl, but it comes out as a squeak.</p>
<p>Gears walks up to Clef and grabs him by the shirt collar. “Miss Adams? Please leave.”</p>
<p>Clef stares her down, eyes red. Adams sees betrayal fill his eyes as she dashes out the door. <em>This is his problem. What’s she supposed to do for him?</em></p>
<p>As Adams disappears, Clef goes slack in Gears’s grip. The manic energy fades away and he’s just <em>tired</em>.</p>
<p>“You gonna hit me now?” He asks, a hint of humor in his voice.</p>
<p>“Believe it or <em>not</em>, Alto, it does not bring me pleasure to physically harm you. What did you hope to accomplish with this?”</p>
<p>What <em>did</em> he hope to accomplish? He felt like he was losing it. He wanted, no, <em>needed</em> someone to see what was happening to him, for him to confirm he wasn't fucking <em>losing it</em>.</p>
<p>“… maybe I’m just going crazy,” he answers, resigned. When has Cog ever actually hurt him? Clef certainly can’t remember anything.</p>
<p>Gears lets go of him, helping him stand up straight. “Let’s get you home.”</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Clef remains completely silent during the following ride home. He’s so tired and ashamed of himself. All he can do is stare, bleary eyes, into the plate Gears placed before him.</p>
<p>He hears something rattle behind him, like the sound of a pill bottle. He glances over his shoulder. The movement is subtle, Gears slides the bottle back into his pocket and sets a glass of water in front of Clef. Always the water in his right hand.</p>
<p>Clef stares at the water, finding it perfectly clear. He looks at Gears, who’s expression admits nothing. But Clef <em>knows</em>. He knows the water is drugged. He <em>knows</em> what Gears is doing to him.</p>
<p>… <em>When has Cog ever hurt him?</em></p>
<p>Looking Gears in the eyes, Clef drains his glass.</p>
<div class="series-nav">
<p>« <strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lets-get-you-home">Part 1</a></strong> | <strong>Part 2</strong> <em>(you are here)</em> | <strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/this-is-not-a-place-of-honor">Part 3</a></strong> | <strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nobody-runs-site-19">Part 4</a></strong> | <strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tomorrow-and-tomorrow-and-tomorrow">Finale</a></strong> »</p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/i-need-you-to-leave">I need you to leave</a>" by kingofmice, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/i-need-you-to-leave">https://scpwiki.com/i-need-you-to-leave</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
⚠️ **Content warning:** Domestic Violence, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Gaslighting
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
.body-text {
margin: 2% 13% 2% 9%;
padding: 5px 20px 5px 20px;
background-color: #f2f2f2;
color: #111;
}
.text4desk {
width: 70%;
margin: auto;
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 600px) {
.body-text {
margin: 0% 4% 0% 4%;
}
.text4desk {
width:100%;
}
}
[[/module]]
//[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lets-get-you-home previously...]//
//[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/duke-till-dawn After the destruction of Site-19], Gears made a specific request to relocate to Site-17, at least until rebuilding began. Seeing no reason to deny him, Gears joins the evacuation team, watching from the air as 682 continues its rampage unimpeded.//
//Before letting him do much of anything, they sat him in a closed off room and asked him his thoughts on Kondraki’s actions; the actions that required his evacuation in the first place. Gears answered as honestly as he could bear.//
//Kondraki was loud spoken, radical, unafraid to make his grievances clear, but as loyal as Gears himself. He cared for the Foundation’s principles as much as he cared for the people who worked for them, and the people in containment.//
//He could admit, at least in his head, that he had a certain admiration for Kondraki. Gears couldn’t believe that Kondraki’s actions were some sort of reckless act of pointless violence. But for what purpose it served, he couldn’t guess.//
//Who better to ask than Kondraki himself?//
//As Gears enters Kondraki’s office, a wave of nausea washes over him. He sees Kondraki lying on the ground in a pool of thick, crimson blood.//
//For a moment, he’s standing in the doorway of Iceberg’s home, looking down at [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/in-his-own-image-part-3 Iceberg’s corpse]. He supposes he can’t be too surprised; men like Iceberg were never made to last. This was only a matter of time.//
//Men like Kondraki on the other hand… you don’t find a man like that often. Gears supposes he can’t be too surprised by this either. After the move he pulled at Site-19, martyring himself would assure his legacy. Gears stands in the blood of the second Chaos Insurgency.//
//Right when that thought passes his mind, he hears a soft sniffle from what he assumed to be Kondraki’s corpse. Curious, careful not to step into the puddle of blood, Gears circles around the desk and approaches the body.//
//He finds Kondraki alive, curled up in a fetal position around a humanoid skull. Face and clothes stained with blood, Kondraki looks up at him with eyes red and wet with tears. Gears looks back and sees, not a martyr, but a man who’s very afraid.//
//“Did they send you?” He asks, voice shaky and meek.//
//“Did who send me?” Dropping to one knee, Gears puts a hand on Kondraki’s arm, hoping to coax the skull out of his grasp. Kondraki squeezes himself into a tighter ball.//
//“You’re gonna kill me for this, right?” Kondraki whimpers, eyes fearfully darting around the room. Choking on a sob, he finds no tears left for him to cry.//
//“I have not been sent to kill you. Not yet… Would you allow me to see what you have?”//
//Sniveling, Kondraki attempts to wipe his face with his sleeve, only smearing the blood. He uncoils, props himself up on his elbow, and presents the drenched skull with a shaky hand.//
//It appeared like an average human skull, except for the teeth. Gears takes it, finding a certain satisfaction in confirming the death of 083 firsthand.//
//“I thought I could… fix him. I thought- at least if he killed me… I’d see it coming.” Kondraki’s hands are shaking. He stares down at them, as if suddenly noticing the blood clinging to his skin.//
//“It’s good your… experiment did not work.” Gears sets the skull down and grabs the tissues from Kondraki’s desk to clean off his fingers. “083 would have killed, not just you, but, in all probability, a good portion of the site before he could be re-contained.”//
//Kondraki’s mouth hangs agape, only a soft squeak manages to escape him. He lies back down, covering his face with his hands.//
//This is not the Kondraki Gears has come to admire.//
//“They’re going to kill me for this, aren’t they?” Kondraki asks, voice small.//
//Viscous liquid still drips from the skull’s sockets.//
//“Yes,” Gears answers, “you will be killed.”//
//“Oh…” Slowly, he drops the hands from his face. He looks pale, faint even. Gears sees now that this was not a second insurgency; this was a sick man who was being killed by the very place meant to protect him.//
//But, if Kondraki’s actions were not one of rebellion, then…//
//“Why did you do it?”//
//“Because… I thought it would be funny. I don’t know what I was- what was even going through my mind. I just- starting going and I couldn't stop myself!” His voice gets more unsteady as he speaks, his breath quickening, his entire body shaking. Gears puts a firm hand on Kondraki’s chest, grounding Kondraki long enough to focus.//
//“I have a boy at home,” he says, barely above a whisper.//
//“It means nothing to the Foundation. To them, you’ve made a move against them. You’re a rebellion waiting to happen.”//
//Kondraki trembles but remains quiet. It’s uncomfortable seeing a man so loud and boisterous just a miserable shell of his former self. It makes Gears feel… which is more than he’s supposed to.//
//“You think they’ll send Clef after me?”//
//Gears takes a deep breath through his nose. “No. Clef is an accomplished assassin, yes, but he is older now. Given his record and your… [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/every-day-of-my-life-you-test-me personal connection] with the doctor, there would be too much risk in sending him. When the Foundation comes for you… they will send me to finish you off.”//
//A moment of silence.//
//“... So you are going to kill me.”//
//Now isn’t that a question. Is he going to kill him? Gears has to think about it. If the Foundation wanted Kondraki dead they would have a good reason to, Gears believes. But… now he knows something the Foundation doesn’t. Which is he more willing to sacrifice? His morals or his loyalty.//
//“Dr. Kondraki… I need you to listen to my next words very carefully, I will only be able to say them once…”//
//…//
Once upon a time, maybe a decade ago at most; Clef would spend his lunches surrounded by friends and colleagues all jammed around one table. These days Clef gets it to himself. Iceberg’s dead, Kondraki might as well be dead, Clef can’t stand to look Dmitri in the eyes anymore, Rights, the smart one, got out of here before this place could eat her, and Gears…
Clef is fine with being alone. He got enough entertainment terrorizing a few junior researchers or his assistant Adams. For the most part, he was fine with the silence. Numb to it even.
It’s not as though he even eats lunch in the cafeteria anymore, or at all for that matter. There’s no longer any satisfaction in eating; no warmth to be gained. It’s starting to show in his cheeks; in the hollowness of his eyes.
At least he’s remained productive. Because that’s what matters here. //Productivity//.
//Ergh-// He needs to get drunk. Not the shitty drunk that he usually gets sipping Kondraki’s beer; he needs to get //black-out// drunk, until he forgets whatever made him want to start drinking in the first place.
//Gears//. That’s who he needs to forget right now. He needs to forget everything about him.
Sitting in his office, Adams silent beside him, Clef feels a headache prodding at his temples. He props his arm on his desk and rests his forehead against his knuckles, eyes closed.
“Adams?” He says.
“Sir?”
He opens his mouth, ready to send her home early so he could get out of here. A knock on the door cuts him off. He lets out an exhausted sigh and sits up.
“Would you get that?”
Adams furrows her eyebrows. The door is opened. Clef thought he was supposed to be the devil, but here Gears was, staring him down.
“Thank you, miss…” Gears trials off, focusing his attention on Clef. Clef bares his teeth at Gears in a mock grin. They spend a solid minute staring each other down like alley cats.
Gears clears his throat. “Dr. Clef, would you come to my office? I have a matter to discuss with you.”
“You’re already in //my// office, just say it to me here.”
“It’s… a personal matter. I would rather have the privacy,” he says, casting his eyes on Adams. Adams keeps the neutral look up well, but Clef can see the sweat running down her forehead.
Clef feels cornered, and in a very literal sense he is. There’s no way he’s walking from one cage to another.
“Adams, go home.”
“What?”
“Shoo.” He clicks his fingers at her. “Go home or wherever you go after here. I don’t care, just //git//.”
Adams looks at him, then at Gears. “Very well…” She scoots around him and leaves, closing the door behind her.
“That wasn’t necessary.”
“No one asked you. Would you sit down?” Clef swivels in his chair and kicks open his mini fridge for a can of beer. Anything to get him not thinking about how a few nights ago he was sharing a bed with the other man, begging him to-
Gears pulls out a chair, unceremoniously sitting down. His expression, as usual, is blank, but Clef can see something in his eyes.
“I believe that you should move in with me.”
The phrase catches Clef so off guard he chokes on his drink. He feels the back of his nose burn. He wipes the spittle dripping from his lips and coughs out a cackle.
“Are you alright?” Gears offers out a handkerchief like Clef wants to wipe his face with a gross cloth Gears totes around everywhere.
“You’re funny. I kiss you once while drunk and you think I’m in love with you or something? Bet you asked Iceberg’s hand in marriage after the first date too!”
Gears bites the inside of his lip, it’s subtle but it shows that Clef’s clawed under his skin. Clef wonders if Gears is about to try to strangle him again. He almost wishes he would, at least [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/supplemental-report-239-b-192 physical violence is something he’s familiar with].
“No… Iceberg and I never discussed the possibility of marriage. My proposition has very little to do with your actions the other night.”
“Oh? But not nothing?”
Gears purses his lips. “You have been on a self destructive streak, as of the past few months. The incident in question was only one of many things that led me to this //decision//.”
//Decision,// that’s a //real// funny word to describe a request. That caged animal feeling returns, stronger this time. Clef feels faint, he digs in nails into his desk to focus. Sweat dripping down his forehead, he grins, showing off too many teeth.
“You think I’m some man-child that can’t care for himself?”
“No, I believe you are choosing to be self-destructive and it is negatively affecting your work and behavior.”
Clef almost snorts. He’s always been unpleasant, prided himself in it even, and he knows his work is good. No, //no this is personal//.
“I’m not interested in being babysat. Is that enough for you?”
Gears shifts, straightening out. “I’m afraid you might be misunderstanding my proposition. If I was looking to restrict your autonomy, I could simply have you contained.”
Clef’s eye twitches. “Oh really?”
“One report, and believe me, I have several, of erratic and potentially harmful behavior and there would be no question.”
Clef sways, catching himself before he can fall forward and smack his head on his desk. He can’t can’t fill his lungs all the way. Gears stares him down, intentions clear. On the verge of tears, Clef keeps his disingenuous smile on.
“Is that a threat, Charlie?”
“No, simply a //reminder//. As you can see, I have no intentions of doing so.”
Clef could try weaseling his way out of this, he’s a professional weaseler, but Gears really has him pinned here. What kind of cage does he want? A small humanoid cell, or a comfortable yet suffocating [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] on the edge of nowhere with //him//?
//Is there really any choice at all?//
“Okay,” Clef says, an air of resignation in his voice. He lets the tension out of his shoulders. He struggles to look Gears in the eyes, staring straight through his chest.
“Okay?”
“I’ll move in with you.” He’s gotten used to plenty of cages, he’s due for a fresh one.
“Good,” Gears says, with a curt nod. “We can discuss the details at a later point. I’ll have a moving van at your home soon.”
“Cool.” Without his input his eyes slide down to stare at his desk.
“I will take my leave now. Thank you for your time.”
Gears stands, pushes the chair back into place, and leaves. He opens the door to reveal Adams mid-retreat. Seeing her is almost a breath of fresh air for Clef, relief washes over him.
“It’s rather rude of you to eavesdrop,” Gears says through his teeth.
Adams swallows. “Sorry, sir.”
“I expect better from those here.” Gears scoots past her and disappears from Clef’s view.
Clef can’t help but grin at her. His usual, predatory sneer, with an air of genuinity behind it.
“Yeah, Adams, //don’t you know eavesdropping is rude?//”
…
On a plastic chair out on his front porch, Clef watches a moving van pull into his driveway. Up until this point Clef could convince himself that Gears was fucking with him. Even as he was packing his few precious belongings into boxes he told himself that Gears //would// change his mind.
From his [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] in Cornwall, to the cramped GOC bunkers, to living out of the back of his truck… This cabin, in all of its run down glory, is the first home he’s ever truly had to himself. There’s more of //him// in that [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] than there is anywhere else.
Leaving this place he feels like he’s leaving pieces of himself behind.
While Gears’s hires feed his life into the back of the moving van, Clef’s [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/784incident3 Little Shit of a cat], //‘affectionately’// called L.S. for short, waddles outside. It hops into Clef’s lap, uselessly flopping over. Clef runs his fingers through its fur, smiling to himself.
“You don’t have a single clue what’s going on, do you?” He scratches behind L.S.’s ear. “Don’t worry, you’re not going back to the streets.”
Gears’s [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]], which he supposes is his [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] now too, is grayer than he remembers. With L.S. tucked under one arm and his box of personal items tucked under the other, he’s the most colorful thing in this place.
“I want my own room,” he says, looking Gears in the eyes.
“I have several unoccupied rooms upstairs. You may have your…” Gears trails off, eyes locking onto the //thing// Clef is holding. Clef grins, squeezing L.S. possessively.
“You brought your… cat,” Gears says, sounding awfully unsure at the word //cat//. Clef could see a wrinkle form on his forehead.
“‘Course. Was I just supposed to leave it to fend for itself? What do you take me for?” Clef holds L.S. out to Gears. //You forced me into your [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]], now you get everything that comes with me//.
L.S. is a fuzzy brownish-orange thing, with graying, matted fur, a missing eye, and always some kind of goop coming out of its nose or mouth. Clef found it in his garbage can and took it in, assuming it was going to die pretty quickly anyway. That was almost ten years ago, and the damn thing hasn’t died yet.
“Merow,” L.S. says. Clef sets it down and it takes a few shaky steps forward before it flops over at Gears’s feet. Gears takes a step back, steeling his nerves.
“It is… vaccinated… correct?”
“Eh? Probably.” Clef shrugs with a grin. He //is// pretty sure L.S. is as healthy as a ten to fifteen year old cat could be, but leaving an air of mystery about it is funnier.
“I see.” Gears scowls. “As long as you continue to take care of it… You may pick a room upstairs for both of you.”
Box in hand, he heads upstairs, which is somehow even more barren and prison-like than downstairs. L.S. prattles along after him, following him into one of the empty rooms.
It’s small, about the same size as his old bedroom. The only light streams through one measly window, which looks out to an empty street. It’s deafly silent. Clef takes a seat under the window and wonders if he’ll ever get used to this place.
L.S. curls up beside him. At least the rumble of its purrs are familiar, comforting even.
“Wish I could adapt as easily as you.” Clef pulls his ukulele out of his box. L.S. jumps in, putting itself among Clef’s other irreplaceables. Clef //tsks// and shakes his head.
At least one of them would be comfortable here.
…
Over the next couple of weeks Clef watches as Gears //thoroughly// inserts himself into Clef’s life. Clef comes to work one day to find his office on the other side of the site, and he finds himself eating lunch in Gears’s office. Soon they’re carpooling to work and home everyday and Clef can feel himself slipping.
It’s not as though Gears treats him //bad//. It’s just that Gears is so //predictable//. Within a week Clef knows exactly how to avoid him. At least with Kondraki-
Clef cuts the thought off before it finishes. He would rather not think about Kondraki right now, or ever again.
Two plates in hand, Gears enters the dining room and places one before him. Always some bland slop that’s probably designed to be //‘healthy’// or whatever. Gears won’t let him anywhere near the stove so this is what he’s stuck with.
Gears stops before his seat and stares down at something.
“Clef… would you please move your cat?”
“Just give ‘em a little nudge and it’ll fuck off.”
“Would you please move it?” Clef can hear him breathing. //What’s his fucking problem?//
“Scared of a little cat?” Clef scoops L.S. up. He’s about to put it upstairs when another thought occurs to him. He cracks open Gears’s bedroom and nudges L.S. in.
A half hour later, Gears enters his bedroom and spots the //Little Shit// making a home in his bed. The thought of all those //tiny, greasy, loose hairs// all over his bed makes his //skin crawl// and his stomach twist.
//How long has that thing been in here? Has it touched anything else? Oh god, there could be tiny fucking hairs everywhere.// His sanctuary has been violated. Gears is going to faint.
“Clef?” he calls out, his nausea leaking into his voice. He can see L.S. nuzzling into his pillow, smearing its snot all over.
“Yeeeessss, Coggy dear?” Clef slides up next to him. He’s disappointed to find that L.S. didn’t break anything.
//“Get your cat out of my room,”// he almost hisses.
Clef shows off his teeth. “I dunno, it looks pretty comfortable in there. I would hate to disturb it.”
Gears clenches his fists. “Clef, may I remind you this is //my// space? If you can not keep your cat out of here I might have to-”
“Have to what? Throw us back to the streets? Be my fucking guest.”
He’s being toyed with, he knows he’s being toyed with, but the longer Clef plays this game the more //cat// rubs off on his bed. He wishes his stomach would //make up its fucking mind// on whether he’s going to throw up or not. If he vomits onto Clef right now at least this game would stop.
//“Perhaps-”// he grinds his teeth together, “-if you can not handle your animal then you do not deserve to keep it.”
The smug look drips off of Clef’s face. “I swear to //fuck//, Charles, if you throw my cat out-”
Gears wants to hit him. Gears want to hit him so fucking bad right now. Anything to get him to shut up shut up shut up shut up //shut up shut up shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup!//
He puts a hand on Clef’s shoulder and squeezes. Clef cuts himself off.
“Get your cat out of my room… //Please.//”
That seems to satisfy him, at least enough for him to grab his cat and leave. Gears rushes in to strip the bed and lent roll the sheets. //Ugh- it’s no use! He’ll have to put them through the wash//. Waiting for the laundry to finish will throw off his usual bedtime but he’ll never sleep if he doesn’t.
Waiting for the laundry gives him time to vacuum and scrub down the rest of his room. He can’t see them but he //knows// there's cat hairs everywhere. He makes his usual walk around the [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] to check all of the locks before wheeling the vacuum into his bedroom.
From his place on the stairs, Clef thinks Gears looks crazy running around the place like that. Gears was never as fun to provoke as //that guy that should not be spoken about.//
Gears exits his bedroom, relieved to have his space sanitized. He swaps the wash into the dryer and decides he can get a headstart on his work tomorrow while that-
//The front door is unlocked.//
The door was locked, he knows that he locked it. He swears he already made his usual walk around the [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]].
It’s fine… This is fine. He can relock the door. He must’ve just misremembered. //Just misremembered//.
The windows are unlocked too, a few of them were partly open. When did he open them? Maybe he didn’t. He’s slipping.
He makes a second trip around the close. This time he’s sure he’s locked up the entire h-
//The door.//
This is fine. This //is// fine. //This// is fine. This is //fine//.
He locks the door. He’s sure that he’s locked the door. The door is locked and he’s the one who’s locked it. He takes a step back and examines his locked door, which is locked.
Still forty minutes on the dryer. He enters his office and the window is open. He slams the window shut and storms out of his office in time to catch Clef unlocking the front door.
“Clef!” He doesn’t shout. //Fuck//, it’s almost a relief it’s just Clef being an asshole. Gears would still like to bash his skull in.
“Huh? Oh hey, Cog!” Clef looks him in the eyes while sliding the chain-lock undone.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Oh this? I was just going to step out for some fresh air! This place could use some ventilation! I mean //pop open a window// for something!”
Gears is going to start hyperventilating. His cheeks are already flushed. Clef keeps grinning at him. //This is fucking hilarious to him.//
“Oh calm down, Charles!" says Clef. "//It’s not that big of a deal,” says Iceberg. He has a hole in his head and his brain is spilling onto the carpet. That’s the only way Gears can picture him anymore.//
//“You broke into [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/epitaph my private office]. I wish you would have just asked.” They’re sitting at the kitchen table. Iceberg leans back in his chair, arms crossed. It feels like they’re in an interrogation room.//
//“I didn’t want to ask.”//
//“That doesn’t make it okay.” Gears’s eyes soften, a small but genuine expression he wouldn’t dare to show to anyone else.//
//“Oh what does it matter to you! I didn’t take anything! I was just looking!”//
//“Looking for what?”//
//Iceberg crosses his arms, refusing to look him in the eyes.//
//“Iceberg… If something is the matter you’re supposed to talk to me.”//
//“You sound like a fucking robot when you talk like that! You can’t even pretend like you actually give a shit!”//
//Gears doesn’t flinch, though he almost does. It feels like a dagger has been rammed through his chest.//
//“I do care.”//
//“Do you? Or are you just programmed to say that?”//
//Gears stands up, his sympathy melting into bitterness. “Is that why you thought it was okay to invade my privacy? Because I’m simply an android? Less than human to you?”//
//Iceberg bites his lip. “I didn’t mean that.”//
//“But you thought it, you thought it enough to stay it outloud.” Gears wants to drive his head through the wall. “I’m going to bed.”//
“Uh Cog?”
Gears blinks and focuses on Clef. They’re closer now, Gears has him almost pinned to the door. He’d apparently stepped closer while lost in thought. What was he just thinking about anyway?
The door, that’s right. He reaches past Clef and slides each lock back into place. Clef sweats.
“Bed… Right, I’m going to bed.” Gears turns his back and marches away.
…
Mold grows in the [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]]. Not just in the cups and plastic bottles Clef hides and collects like some kind of game. It grows in the walls, between the floorboards, under the tiles, inside of Gears himself, though he doesn’t know it yet.
In the months Clef has spent in Gears’s home the mold has begun to grow in him too. He can feel it, even if he doesn’t know what it is yet. He’s a man who knows what it’s like when a [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] starts to live in you.
Gears is in the kitchen, cleaning the stockpile of glasses he extracted from Clef's room. There’s no point in chastising Clef over it, not anymore.
Clef stares at the table and scratches his name into its surface with his nail. Gears can hear the grading sound from the kitchen. He //wants// to restrain Clef but he //needs// to finish cleaning.
“I want to go out for drinks,” Clef announces.
“We have alcohol here.”
“I don’t want to drink here. I’m going out.” It’s been a while since he’s gone out in his truck. He stands up and heads upstairs to get his keys.
Gears trembles but says nothing. Moments later he hears Clef storm back down the stairs.
“Where are my car keys!?”
Gears thinks of a locked box hidden in Clef’s closet. He pats his pants pocket, finding Clef’s keys there. “I don’t know. Have you misplaced them?”
Clef growls. “Where did you put them?”
“I haven’t touched them,” Gears lies, “perhaps if you can’t find your keys you should say in.”
“Give me //your// keys.”
“I will do //no// such thing.”
As Gears finishes washing their dishes Clef storms into the kitchen. He jams his hand onto Gears’s pocket, causing Gears to flinch and drop a glass. It shatters on the floor. Gears spins around to rip Clef’s hand away and slams him into the counter, but not before Clef gets his hands on his keys.
“Do. Not. Do. That.” Gears holds him there, glaring into his eyes, edge of the counter digging into Clef’s spine. His heart hammers, his entire body shaking. Clef shrinks.
"I thought //I// was supposed to be the liar here," Clef growls. “You don’t have any right to keep me here.”
“If it concerns your safety, it does.” He thinks of walking into Kondraki’s office to the smell of blood, he thinks of dragging a delirious Clef out of a bar. Bile crawls up his throat.
Clef wants to sink his teeth into Gears’s shoulder. He could, he really could, but then what? Clef could get away with subtlety, the little things that drive Gears insane, but could he get away with something so violent?
“Fine. I’ll drink your bullshit.” Clef pockets his keys and wriggles out of Gears’s grasp.
Gears straightens up, peeling himself away. He backs up and begins to clean up the shattered glass. Clef scoots around him to grab a bottle of room temperature beer. It wasn’t the shitty stuff that reminded him of Kondraki, nor was it particularly good, it was… fine.
Clef sips at the foam, watching Gears work. The glass slips from his sweaty hand. He tries to catch it, only managing to smack it towards Gears.
The bottle shatters.
Everything stops.
Gears watches, unmoving, as the puddle of beer streams into the mess of glass and his shoes. Slowly, he looks up at Clef. Clef can’t help but crack a grin.
“Oops.” He grabs another battle and smacks it off the counter. Gears grinds his teeth.
“What do you hope to accomplish with this?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Clef maintains eye contact as he drops another bottle. “Oh! Silly me! You know how clumsy I can be!”
The sound of breaking glass makes Gears’s hair stand on end. He stands up, cracks his neck, and goes to dump the shards in his hand. He is //fine//, he is //not// that bothered, he can handle this.
Another bottle breaks. The entire room stinks, the alcohol burns his eyes. Before Gears knows what he’s doing, he’s ripping a bottle from Clef’s grubby fingers. The feeling of taking that bottle and smashing it over Clef’s thick skull is the best thing Gears has felt in ages.
Then, the moment passes. Gears stands there, gripping the neck of the bottle so tightly it strains his arm. Clef is drenched, glass shards in his hair, blood and beer running down his face. His eyes are wide and wet with tears.
//For a moment he’s standing over Iceberg. Oh God, oh God! He just took a chunk out of Iceberg’s head. He feels so fucking sick.//
“Why can’t you just be good?” Gears gasps, desperation and fury crawling into his voice. “Am I not kind to you? Have I not cared for you?” He drops the bottle, letting it clang against the floor.
Clef stays silent. Gears forces himself not to cry, his throat already aches from shouting. He goes to his room, resisting the urge to kick L.S. out of the way, and collapses onto his bedroom floor.
He hears Clef walking around, the sound of running water in the bathroom, and then the sound of Clef’s truck leaving the driveway. Once Gears is sure he’s alone, once everything settles down, once the stench from the kitchen wafts into Gears’s space, Gears screams.
He screams his throat raw, letting the angry, painful tears run down his face. He throws his night stand over, tears the photos from his wall, throws a vase at L.S., and he wonders why he can’t just be //good enough// for Clef.
//Why doesn’t he get what Clef has? They’re so similar and yet Clef is so cruel to him! So selfish. Gears can’t see the animal he’s caged, only the claws and teeth as they sink into him.//
Once he’s calmed down he’s left with a ruined kitchen, a ruined bedroom, and a terrified cat. He feels ragged, sick to his stomach. He hunches over the bathroom sink and spits up only bile.
He walks into the kitchen and begins picking up the largest shards. The feeling of warm, sticky beer against his skin makes him want to cry, but he //has// to do this. The shards slice into his fingers, but that pain is better than whatever consequence awaits him if he doesn’t do this.
When the glass is gone he drops to his hands and knees, a towel and sponge in hand, and scrubs the floor until it sparkles, //until the sponge turns black with mold//. Soap seeps into the cuts but at least no one would ever be able to tell what happened here.
He locks L.S. in Clef’s room and returns to his own, taking similar care to pick the place clean. His body aches, the even the action of reaching out and flexing his fingers is agonizing. Exhaustion weighs on him, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not like this, not in this state, not until he's done.
As he picks up his nightstand to set it upright, a drawer slides open. Quickly, Gears shuts it. He hears something rattle inside and, after a moment of thought, slowly reopens the drawer.
A bottle of pills sits there, sleeping meds. Gears grabs the bottle, finding it almost completely full. He was recommended these a long time ago, but never used them as he would always sleep longer than intended.
… //always sleep longer than intended…//
Gears returns to his kitchen, fills a glass with water, and drops one single pill in. The pill fizzes, bubbles, and dissolves. He takes a spoon, stirs, and finds he can barely tell the difference.
He takes a small sip and holds it in his mouth, shifting it around to get a feel for it. There’s a slight texture, something he might notice but Clef…
Gears spits the drugged water out, dumps and washes the cup, and drops a new pill in a fresh glass of water. He walks upstairs and carefully, as to not let L.S. escape, he leaves the glass on Clef’s nightstand.
The next morning Gears finds Clef fast asleep, the glass drained. He attempts, half-heartedly, to wake him, with no success. Gears nods to himself, takes the empty glass, and closes the door behind him.
He can write an excuse for Clef’s absence, it would just be one time in the name of science. Once he had a routine down he could have Clef asleep more than he’s awake. He slashes the tires on Clef’s truck before he leaves, just as a precaution.
…
Clef opens his eyes. //Fuck, what time is it?// His hangovers are getting worse. He rapidly blinks the exhaustion out. He was just in a bar- //wait no-// he was just in Gears’s kitchen- //no, no the kitchen was first… what was he doing in Gears’s kitchen?//
He remembers… breaking glass… room temperature beer… being //afraid//.
“Sir?”
Clef jumps. He’s in his office. //When the hell did he get in his office?// What is he doing here? Pen in his hand, paper on his desk… he was writing something? What was he writing? The words blur together. Adams is beside him. Right, //right//, in his office.
“Huh?”
Adams’s eyes dart across his features. Subconsciously, he wipes his face on his sleeve. //He couldn’t look that bad, could he?//
She takes a deep breath, knowing deeply and instinctively she’s going to regret her next words.
“Are you okay?”
He stares at her like he doesn't comprehend the question. He looks around the office, as if seeing it for the very first time. //Is// he okay?
“What time is it?” He asks.
“It’s almost six.”
Gears would be getting off soon, given nothing else came up, which meant Clef would be leaving soon. The thought of going home with Gears, back to that prison cell disguised as a [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]], has him short of breath.
Adams observes him, watching realization and fear fill his eyes. She grinds her teeth, terrified of the implications. She's tempted to ask again.
“Adams…” he says, voice small. A shot of adrenaline shoots through her heart.
“Sir?”
He slowly turns his head, looking at the office storage closet. Eyes straightforward, he smacks his pen off his desk. “I’ve lost my pen, would you go into the closet and grab one for me?”
If this was code, it wasn’t one she was familiar with. Hoping she would understand, Adams stands up and steps into the closet. The door slams behind her.
“Sir! Clef, what the fuck are you doing?!” She jiggles the handle and kicks at the door. She hears Clef shove one of the chunky chairs in front of the door, barricading her in.
“Oh this is the last //fucking// straw! I swear to fuck, Clef, when I get out of here-!” This is what she fucking deserves for giving a single shit about her boss. She was going to H.R. about this and then getting out of this site.
“Adams, don’t you know eavesdropping is rude?” Clef says in a sing-songy sort of tone.
Adams pauses, finding a moment of clarity in the storm of her rage. Those words were familiar. She quiets down and presses her ear against the door.
[Enter //Dr. Gears//]
**Gears:** “Clef? I heard some commotion in here? Is everything alright?”
[Clef’s desk creaks]
**Clef:** “Yeah, yeah everything’s all good in here.”
**Gears:** “Where is miss Adams?”
**Clef:** “Sent her home.”
[Adams bites her lip, tasting the tension in the air]
**Gears:** “I see. We can go home now.”
**Clef:** “I don’t want to.”
[A pause]
**Gears:** “Doctor, I would rather you not do this tonight.”
**Clef:** “Do what? Express my desires as a person? Fuck you, Cog.”
**Gears:** “You’re tired. Come home.”
**Clef:** “So you can drug me more? I know what you’ve been doing to me! You’re //sick//.”
**Gears:** “That’s a bold claim. Do you have any evidence or are you just lashing out as you tend to do?”
**Clef:** “Don’t fucking play with me! I //fucking// know what you’ve been doing!”
**Gears:** “What do you want, Clef?”
**Clef:** “I want you to say it! Say what you’ve been doing to me! Admit it!”
[Adams can hear the desperation growling in his voice, bordering on panic. She steps closer, accidentally tapping the door with her foot. Her heart stops.]
It’s quiet for a moment. Then footsteps, the chair slides away, and Gears opens the closet door. He stares at Adams, who would give anything to not exist right now, then looks to Clef for explanation.
Clef’s face is red, he wipes the tears from his eyes before she can see and cracks a grin at Gears.
“//Oops//. Must’ve forgotten her in there. Silly me, I must be going //totally psycho//! Are you gonna lock me up, Charlie, like you promised you would?” Clef dissolves into manic giggles, tears and snot streaming down his face.
Gears grips the closet handle tightly. Adams looks down and notices worn bandages covering his hands. “Get a hold of yourself.”
“Or what? You’ll hit me? Oh I //know// you wanna! Come on! Hit me Cog! //Hit me!”//
Gear clenches his fists. For a moment Adams is sure he might do it.
“Miss Adams,” Gears says, voice flat. “I’m sorry you had to witness this. You may stay home tomorrow.”
Clef’s grin drops. “No! You don’t get to do that! Fuck you! //Fuck you!//”
“You’re irrational. You’re scaring your assistant.”
Adams is scared, though who she’s scared of she isn’t sure.
“Adams, don’t!” He tries to growl, but it comes out as a squeak.
Gears walks up to Clef and grabs him by the shirt collar. “Miss Adams? Please leave.”
Clef stares her down, eyes red. Adams sees betrayal fill his eyes as she dashes out the door. //This is his problem. What’s she supposed to do for him?//
As Adams disappears, Clef goes slack in Gears’s grip. The manic energy fades away and he’s just //tired//.
“You gonna hit me now?” He asks, a hint of humor in his voice.
“Believe it or //not//, Alto, it does not bring me pleasure to physically harm you. What did you hope to accomplish with this?”
What //did// he hope to accomplish? He felt like he was losing it. He wanted, no, //needed// someone to see what was happening to him, for him to confirm he wasn't fucking //losing it//.
“... maybe I’m just going crazy,” he answers, resigned. When has Cog ever actually hurt him? Clef certainly can’t remember anything.
Gears lets go of him, helping him stand up straight. “Let’s get you home.”
…
Clef remains completely silent during the following ride home. He’s so tired and ashamed of himself. All he can do is stare, bleary eyes, into the plate Gears placed before him.
He hears something rattle behind him, like the sound of a pill bottle. He glances over his shoulder. The movement is subtle, Gears slides the bottle back into his pocket and sets a glass of water in front of Clef. Always the water in his right hand.
Clef stares at the water, finding it perfectly clear. He looks at Gears, who’s expression admits nothing. But Clef //knows//. He knows the water is drugged. He //knows// what Gears is doing to him.
… //When has Cog ever hurt him?//
Looking Gears in the eyes, Clef drains his glass.
[[div class="series-nav"]]
« **[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lets-get-you-home Part 1]** | **Part 2** //(you are here)// | **[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/this-is-not-a-place-of-honor Part 3]** | **[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nobody-runs-site-19 Part 4]** | **[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tomorrow-and-tomorrow-and-tomorrow Finale]** »
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-01-12T03:47:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"agent-adams",
"bleak",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gears",
"doctor-kondraki",
"tale"
] |
I need you to leave - SCP Foundation
| 18
|
[
"lets-get-you-home",
"duke-till-dawn",
"in-his-own-image-part-3",
"every-day-of-my-life-you-test-me",
"supplemental-report-239-b-192",
"784incident3",
"epitaph",
"this-is-not-a-place-of-honor",
"nobody-runs-site-19",
"tomorrow-and-tomorrow-and-tomorrow",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"no-love-hub"
] |
[] |
1452176284
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-need-you-to-leave
|
|
i-see-you
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
Cafes were always nice, quiet places to work—havens for often quiet people. In and out they went, following their whims and desires, each patron with a reason for being there. The cafe didn’t judge, and neither did most of its patrons. Everyone had their own affairs to handle and often lacked the time or inclination to spare even a fleeting thought for a stranger they’d likely never encounter again.
<p>Honestly, it wouldn't be surprising if most people didn’t visit cafes for the food; it was more about the atmosphere than anything else.</p>
<p>Students, parents, office workers, teachers, librarians, and many others drifted in and out throughout the day, most of them returning eventually, each time forgetting the familiar yet unknown faces they'd passed by before. This suited Nobody just fine, though in his case, the forgetting wasn’t really due to a lack of attention.</p>
<p>So, it was peculiar for Nobody to find himself sitting in one of these places. In truth, he should have been searching for Herman Fuller at that moment. After all, Fuller was the next target on a long list of men and women Nobody had to ‘meet’. Yet, here he was, sitting in a heavily air-conditioned cafe, sipping from a cold cup of coffee. His plan had been to begin his trek to Kazakhstan, where his contacts seemed to believe the circus's next stop would be. But his gut had told him to come to this coffee shop instead.</p>
<p>From experience, Nobody knew to always trust his gut.</p>
<p>What his gut was trying to tell him, though, remained entirely unknown to him. That was until he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see Herman Fuller himself sitting across from him, sipping a freshly steaming cup of coffee.</p>
<p>Fuller wore his signature outfit: a slightly dark maroon suit with a white undershirt, fit for a ringmaster. He smiled at Nobody, and it seemed genuine. Unlike how the reports that painted Fuller as a deranged psychopath with a cruel fascination on the anomalous, the man sitting before Nobody seemed warm, and his eyes, rather than appearing empty or suppressed with rage, were steady, experienced.</p>
<p>“Well,” Fuller began, “I’m glad we could meet in a place like this!” He shifted awkwardly. “You know, you’re a hard person to get in touch with.”</p>
<p>“I suppose I am,” Nobody replied, meeting Fuller's gaze directly. “Though I have to wonder why you'd seek me out, knowing what I’m doing to your colleagues.”</p>
<p>Fuller’s smile turned sad as he set down his coffee. “Ah, yes,” he said, pausing to fiddle with his fingers for a moment before continuing. “You’ve been causing quite the stir, you know?” He chuckled lightly. “I mean, Hodge’s death was one thing, but we all knew that the UIU’s director was just another bureaucrat easily replaced. The same goes for all those others you’ve killed. But Wondertainment and Anderson?” He shook his head, looking almost wistful. “You should’ve seen Al Fine’s face when the news came in.”</p>
<p>“Well,” Nobody gripped the table slightly “I’m sure it won’t be too long until I see her in person.”</p>
<p>Fuller simply smiled at the remark as he lifted his cup and took another sip of his drink. “Now, to answer you’re question on why I’m here.” he looked into his cup “i’m here because I want to talk to you. I know you’ll find me nonetheless so I wanted to at least approach you in a more…amiable context”</p>
<p>“Quite the bold death wish you’ve got,” Nobody said, taking a sip from his coffee. “Though, I suppose, given your guts, I can spare you some time.”</p>
<p>Fuller’s smile widened, his hands resting comfortably around his cup as though they were two old friends catching up.</p>
<p>“I hope you understand,” Nobody began, “that I find no joy in the work I do. But it is both a duty and I burden I am bound by.”</p>
<p>Fuller frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Are you saying you’re forced to your task? That some higher force compels you?”</p>
<p>“No,” Nobody replied simply.</p>
<p>“Then why?” Fuller leaned in. “Why go around killing my colleagues, dismantling everything we’ve worked so hard to build?”</p>
<p>Nobody stared at Fuller for a moment. He placed his cup down, the sound of porcelain against the table louder than it should have been. “Because,” he said, “the world you and your new friends have built is broken. It’s a fancy cage. Worse in many ways than the old veil.”</p>
<p>Fuller’s frown deepened. “Broken? That’s an awfully simplistic take for someone as intelligent as you. The world we’re shaping is safer. For everyone. The chaos that existed before, wars, anomalies running unchecked, unpredictable horrors tearing through lives, has been subdued. People can live without the constant threat of the unknown.”</p>
<p>“Safe?” Nobody’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “For whom? For the masses who get to eat the scraps you decide to throw their way? For the ones who don’t even realize the price they’re paying for your so-called safety?” He leaned forward now, his voice biting. “You’ve traded freedom for control, and worse yet, you’ve made yourselves the arbiters of this system. The gods of this new order.”</p>
<p>Fuller shook his head. “We aren’t gods,” he said. “We’re caretakers. The ones who saw what this world could be and decided to take the risk to shape it. Do you know what he showed us? That by coming together, the impossible could be achieved. No more infighting between us. No more bureaucratic red tape. Just pure, efficient progress. Do you have any idea how many lives have been saved? How many catastrophes we’ve averted simply by agreeing to work as one?”</p>
<p>Nobody’s expression didn’t change. “I’ve seen your progress,” he said. “Entire regions stripped of autonomy. People erased because they didn’t fit into the neat little boxes you created. Sacrifices justified in the name of your precious order.”</p>
<p>“Another generalization on your part,” Fuller sighed, his tone weary. He traced a finger around the rim of his cup, staring into the dark liquid. “We try everything. The Foundation, the GOC, even Wondertainment. Well… we used to include him, anyway.” He gave a soft, bitter chuckle before shaking his head. “We only resort to extremes in extreme cases. And yes, we make mistakes. But who doesn’t? What matters is that we’re trying. We’re learning.” Fuller paused momentarily “We don’t take away people’s freedoms, we don’t control their beliefs. We simply created an environment where they’re no longer in a position to harm themselves.”</p>
<p>Nobody tilted his head slightly, watching Fuller. “And yet you act as arbiters of what constitutes harm, don’t you? You claim it’s a burden, but it’s one you chose gladly.”</p>
<p>Fuller’s gaze didn’t waver. “We act as arbiters because we must. It’s a burden, yes, but it’s better us than entropy. Someone has to step up and make the hard decisions.”</p>
<p>“Your burden is nothing,” Nobody replied. “I’ve seen it all before. Men and women believing they can do better, that they can finally bring the change they want to see. It’s always the same. Such altruism never lasts.”</p>
<p>Fuller leaned back in his chair. “And there it is. The cynicism. The assumption that because perfection is unattainable, striving for it is futile. Let me ask you something, Nobody: who are you to judge us? What gives you any more of a right than us to decide what’s best? What makes you free from the very failures you speak of?”</p>
<p>Nobody’s reply was quiet but firm. “It’s because of what I know. What I’ve seen. And what I’ve lost.” His eyes darkened slightly, a shadow crossing his face. “Who I am, or rather, who I am not. That’s what gives me the right.”</p>
<p>Fuller scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “That’s rich.” He set his cup down. “You justify using your lack of identity, yet you define yourself by that very absence. Do you even realize how contradictory that is?”</p>
<p>Nobody didn’t respond immediately, his gaze unchanging as he studied Fuller.</p>
<p>Fuller leaned forward, his fingers steepled. “In truth, know one knows who they really are. There’s a different version of you in the mind of every person you’ve ever met. In some, you’re quiet and thoughtful. In others, you’re ruthless and cunning. To some, you’re a friend. To others, a monster. The version of you that exists in your own mind isn’t the ‘real’ you, either. It’s just another version—one shaped by memories, feelings, biases. That person? That’s just for you.”</p>
<p>He gestured toward Nobody. “Who you are isn’t something to be defined. It’s something to be discovered, moment by moment, through your choices and your actions. But you? You’ve shackled yourself to an idea. You’ve made what was taken from you the very core of who you are now. You define yourself by absence instead of simply forging a new path. And in doing so, you’ve bound yourself more tightly than anything the rest of us could ever do.”</p>
<p>For a moment, the cafe was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Nobody’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Who you are does not give you any more right than anyone else to judge our actions, let alone your own. You are not special because you don’t know who you are—you’re simply unique in that you refuse to move on from it.” Fuller clutched his drink tightly. “I was like you once, you know? Lost, aimless, unsure of what I could become. I was an orphan, a loner, a nobody. But I found my way. I found comfort in the show. The circus I created is a product of my circumstances, and I aim to give others as unfortunate as me the same chance.”</p>
<p>Fuller’s eyes were fixed on Nobody now. “That’s why I’m asking you, please, just stop. We’re building a better world here. You don’t have to tear it all down.”</p>
<p>Nobody raised his head slowly, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Very touching words,” he said softly. “But I don’t think you truly understand what it means to be Nobody. I didn’t just lose who I was, Fuller. I lost what I could have been. I lost my ability to be.”</p>
<p>Nobody rose from his seat, standing over the man before him. “You know, I don’t blame you for thinking the way you do. To you, life is one big mystery, moment by moment, person by person. But I don’t share that perspective. In fact, no one sees it the way I do.”</p>
<p>His voice was calm as he gazed down at Fuller. “When I look at the world, I don’t see chairs, or walls, or even people. I see something raw. Emotions. Ideas. I see a man for what he truly is, not what he claims to be. Not in a figurative sense either.” He began to pace toward the door, the faint sound of his shoes against the tiled floor filling the silence. “I see you. I see your hope. Determination. Altruism. I see your past, your memories, your pain. I see your laughter, your tears as your labor bore fruit. I see the struggle against a world that sought to crush you, and the one you’re trying to build in its place. It’s all physical, or as physical as ideas can be.”</p>
<p>He turned back, his eyes locking onto Fuller’s. “But most of all, I see a good man.”</p>
<p>Fuller shot up from his chair, grabbing Nobody by the collar of his coat, his voice trembling. “Wait. Aren’t you going to kill me?”</p>
<p>Nobody only shook his head. “One day, perhaps. But maybe by then I won’t have to. I am a judge, Fuller, not a senseless killer. And today, I judge you free to continue on.”</p>
<p>“Even though I’ll do everything I can to stop you?” Fuller’s voice was quieter now, uncertain.<br/>
Nobody’s smile deepened. “Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, Fuller. How you use yours is up to you, not me.”</p>
<p>He pulled away, straightened his coat, and as he turned to leave, he added, “The world is cruel, but it’s also beautiful. Your actions don’t define truth, only your own will.” He turned and gave one last look.</p>
<p>Nobody turned to leave the café, only to find that the door had suddenly morphed into a solid wall, the texture strangely reminiscent of the fabric of a circus tent. He paused, his hand brushing against the wall, feeling its faint hum of energy. With a sigh, he turned back to face Fuller, who was no longer seated at a café table but standing in a dimly lit tent. The air carried the faint, sour scent of sawdust and old fabric.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry but I can’t let you leave,” Fuller said quietly, his voice calm but resolute.</p>
<p>“Fuller, listen—”</p>
<p>“No, you listen.” Fuller exhaled sharply, cutting Nobody off. His voice, while not raised, carried an edge. “Our world will endure. And it deserves far better than anything you or your school boy morality could ever offer.”</p>
<p>Nobody’s gaze dropped to the floor, a flicker of something like regret crossing his features. He’d expected this outcome from the moment he’d entered the cafe—or rather, this trap. He had known Fuller’s convictions wouldn’t falter. And yet, some small, hopeful part of him had wanted to believe that words could sway the ringmaster. That Fuller, presented with the freedom to choose a different path, might grasp it.</p>
<p>But when he looked back up and met Fuller’s unyielding gaze, he saw the truth. Fuller was a man who believed utterly in his cause. He was a good man—or at least, a man who saw himself as such—fighting for what he thought was a noble purpose. Nothing would move him from his ideals.</p>
<p>Nobody sighed, taking a step back and rubbing his temple briefly before letting his hand fall to his side. “Well,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the room, “let’s get to the point, shall we? State your challenge.”</p>
<p>Fuller’s expression hardened, his usual demeanor replaced by something colder. “The Doctor Game.”</p>
<p>Nobody said nothing, waiting for Fuller to explain. The ringmaster continued, his words measured.</p>
<p>“The rules are simple. Each round, one of us will act as the doctor. A patient will be presented, and that patient will either have a random ailment or no ailment at all. The doctor of that round will spend ten minutes with the patient alone. After the diagnosis is made, the opposing player will be given a detailed profile of the diagnosed condition, including symptoms and background. The opposing player must decide whether to call out the diagnosis as false.”</p>
<p>Nobody raised an eyebrow but remained silent.</p>
<p>Fuller went on. “If the accuser correctly identifies a lie, the diagnosing player suffers the symptoms of their false diagnosis until the game ends, and they’ll lose three points. If the accusation is wrong, the accuser loses one point, and the diagnosing player gains five for a successful deception. A correct diagnosis awards one point, while an incorrect one costs a point. Points won’t be revealed until the game concludes. The game will have ten rounds.”</p>
<p>“And if there’s a tie?” Nobody asked, his voice devoid of curiosity but tinged with weariness.</p>
<p>“In the case of a tie,” Fuller replied, his smile returning faintly, “both doctors will be presented with a patient who, unknown to them, is completely healthy. The winner will be the one who convinces the patient that their diagnosis is true.”</p>
<p>The two men stood in heavy silence, the weight of the stakes hanging in the air. Finally, Nobody sighed again, his voice low and resigned. “I offered you a chance to live. A chance to stop this, to abandon your conquest.”</p>
<p>Fuller’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And I’ve chosen to stand by what I believe. What makes you think you have the right to judge me? To impose your will over mine?”</p>
<p>Nobody didn’t answer. Instead, he moved toward the center of the tent, his hands in his coat pockets. “Very well,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Let’s begin.”</p>
<p>As Nobody spoke, a door materialized on one of the tent’s fabric-like walls, its edges glowing faintly. Fuller smirked and strode toward it with the practiced confidence of a performer stepping onto a stage. "I’ll take the first turn," he said smoothly, vanishing into the room.</p>
<p>Nobody watched him go, his expression unreadable. For Fuller to challenge him to this game, he had to be confident. Hubris was a fatal flaw, after all, one that had toppled the mighty throughout history.</p>
<p>Ten minutes passed in silence, save for the faint ticking of a clock somewhere beyond the tent. When the door finally creaked open, Fuller stepped out, accompanied by a man in his mid-thirties, olive-skinned with dark, curly hair. His gait was nervous, his eyes darting around the room. Nobody pegged him as Italian.</p>
<p>In Nobody’s hand, a file appeared. The label on the front read SCP-610. His gaze flicked to the man, who was scratching compulsively at patches of scarred and reddened skin. The diagnosis was clear, almost too clear. Something didn’t sit right.</p>
<p>Nobody’s eyes narrowed and glanced back at Fuller. As he did, he realized exactly why Fuller chose this game. No involuntary twitches, no betraying microexpressions, Fuller was completely blank. If he hadn’t talked to him moment before, Nobody would have been convinced Fuller wasn’t human.</p>
<p>Turning his attention back to the patient, Nobody’s gaze narrowed. He didn’t just look at the man, focusing beyond the surface of his skin. He saw past the dermis, past the muscles, the cells, even the fabric of the man’s existence. He studied everything—the way the patient’s form existed, vibrated, and resonated. Finally, he exhaled softly and nodded.</p>
<p>“Fuller didn’t lie,” he said, stepping back.</p>
<p>Fuller inclined his head slightly, his expression calm yet unreadable. Nobody found himself momentarily fascinated. Fuller wasn’t like anyone he’d encountered before—a man capable of shaping himself so seamlessly that it altered the very fabric of perception around him. Where Nobody had previously been able to see Fuller’s essence so clearly, it now felt as if Fuller had willed a cloud to form around them, obscuring them entirely. Somehow, through means unknown to Nobody but certainly worth investigating later, Fuller was masking his very presence within reality. From what Nobody could observe, it didn’t appear to be anomalous; it seemed to be sheer force of will. Nobody allowed the thought to linger in his mind as he stepped through the door.</p>
<p>The room was simple, worn, and unremarkable. Dust coated the wooden panels of what appeared to be a cabin. A solitary stool stood in the center, occupied by a visibly uneasy man. His youthful face, dark and weathered with faint lines, betrayed confusion rather than fear.</p>
<p>Nobody crouched, examining the man, unbothered by his evident unease. His sharp eyes roved over every detail. The faint lines on his face weren’t mutations—just stress, mundane and human. Satisfied, Nobody straightened and exited without a word. Passing Fuller, he said simply, “Healthy.”</p>
<p>Fuller’s gaze lingered briefly before he gave a curt nod, his belief implicit. The man vanished as if he had never existed. The next rounds followed in a steady rhythm, each man entering the room, each evaluating the figure within.</p>
<p>By the seventh round, as Nobody scanned an unmarked file, he broke the silence for the first time. “Impressive,” he said, his voice even.</p>
<p>“High praise,” Fuller replied, arching a brow. “Especially from you.”</p>
<p>“You’re good,” Nobody admitted. “A skilled ringmaster, a skilled actor, and a skilled doctor, it seems.”</p>
<p>“I had to be,” Fuller said. “In the circus, you wear many hats. My people relied on me, so I studied.”</p>
<p>“Commendable,” Nobody said with a nod. “Though I wonder—will it be enough?”</p>
<p>Fuller’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“We don’t see the score until the end. What if you’ve missed something?”</p>
<p>Fuller smirked faintly. “Unlikely. This game was designed by me. For me.”</p>
<p>“Perhaps,” Nobody said softly, stepping into the next round.</p>
<p>When he emerged, a frail elderly woman followed him. Fuller’s gaze flicked to the file that appeared in his hands. To his delight, it was a familiar diagnosis. A disease of the mind rather than the body that caused its victims to hallucinate a parallel world. He looked to Nobody, and, as usual, he saw nothing but an empty void. The man was something else, unreadable. When he turned to the woman however, he saw her finger twitching. His eyes widened. People with the condition had motor functions in their hands restricted.</p>
<p>“Lie,” Fuller said.</p>
<p>As he did, Nobody staggered back as if struck. He clutched his head, a groan escaping him. Fuller simply stood, watching.</p>
<p>“It’s cruel, isn’t it?” Fuller said softly. “Already, you must the pulsing in your mind. The pull.”</p>
<p>Nobody straightened, his body taut, his expression locked.</p>
<p>“It’s over,” Fuller said. “I’ll give you this—you’re extraordinary. I wish things had been different. I wish that you could have simply let us be. But victory was inevitable.”</p>
<p>Fuller entered the room for the ninth round, emerging moments later, another file manifesting in Nobody’s hands. Nobody remained, gripping the file, visibly strained as he read its contents. His breath came shallow, his movements sluggish. When he finally raised his head, he spoke. "Lie."</p>
<p>“Wrong,” Fuller snapped back.</p>
<p>Nobody flinched as if the word itself had weight. Stumbling, he approached the door for the tenth round. He returned almost immediately with a diagnosis, his body trembling.</p>
<p>Fuller’s eyes glinted as he spoke his verdict. “Lie.”</p>
<p>The word seemed to shatter something within Nobody. His body turned unnaturally, his form appearing to darken, collapse inward. He staggered but remained standing, his head bowed.</p>
<p>“It’s finished,” Fuller said quietly, stepping closer. “You were worthy of this game, Nobody. Truly.”</p>
<p>The numbers appeared, glowing in the air. Fuller’s smile faltered as he read them:<br/>
Nobody: 10. Fuller: 2.</p>
<p>Fuller staggered back, his breath catching in his throat. His mind raced as Nobody stood calmly, brushing off imaginary dust, his movements precise and deliberate. When he finally straightened to his full height, Nobody’s eyes met Fuller’s.</p>
<p>“How?” Fuller whispered, his voice faltering. “How could you—?”</p>
<p>Nobody’s voice cut through the tent’s heavy air. “When you claimed I had lied, I didn’t.” His tone was measured, patient. “I knew you’d encountered the ailment before. I counted on your confidence. But tell me, Fuller, think back—what did you do?”</p>
<p>Fuller’s breath hitched. His mind clawed at the memory, piecing together the details. Then it struck him like a thunderclap. “I… I only skimmed the file,” he murmured, his voice hollow. His hand rose to cover his mouth as he took another step back. “I thought I knew. I was so sure—”</p>
<p>“Hubris,” Nobody said, stepping forward, “isn’t absent in a good man. In fact, it clings to him even more fiercely.” He paused, eyes steady. “Before I went to the café, I took precautions. I knew we’d likely end up here. I knew what kind of man you were, Fuller.”</p>
<p>Fuller’s eyes were locked on Nobody as he inched backward, astonished.</p>
<p>“I called in a favor,” Nobody continued. “From a higher being, if you will. In exchange for something small, they let me change one detail… and I chose to alter the disease you were so confident about.”</p>
<p>Fuller kept retreating, shock carving deep lines into his face. “How could you have known? You couldn’t have predicted this.”</p>
<p>Nobody offered a casual shrug, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “Call it a gut feeling,” he said.</p>
<p>Fuller’s retreat faltered.</p>
<p>“When you thought you had caught me,” Nobody continued, his voice low but steady, “I let myself falter. I let myself fall. I knew you’d seize the advantage, that you’d see me broken and struggling. I knew you wouldn’t bother looking closer during my turn. You thought I was too weak—too defeated—to stand against you. And in the final round, you thought you struck my heart—but with that same blow, you pierced your own."</p>
<p>Nobody now stood mere inches from Fuller. “You abandoned the care you carried before. You believed in yourself more than the truth.”</p>
<p>The air between them stilled. Fuller closed his eyes for a moment, drawing a trembling breath. When he opened them, his gaze was calm, as if resignation had settled over him.</p>
<p>“You’ve won,” Fuller said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.</p>
<p>Nobody’s hand moved, producing a gun that gleamed dully in the dim light. He raised it without hesitation, pointing it directly at Fuller’s chest.</p>
<p>The crack of the shot echoed through the empty tent. Fuller staggered back, the impact driving him to the ground. He lay there, his breathing shallow as blood pooled beneath him, dark against the vibrant floor.</p>
<p>Nobody stood over him, his expression unreadable. “Do you see it now?” he asked, his voice tinged with something unreadable—perhaps curiosity, perhaps regret. “The inevitability." Nobody paused "You rise, only to fall. It is the way of all things.”</p>
<p>Fuller’s lips curved into a faint, wavering smile. A low chuckle bubbled from his throat, hoarse but filled with something unnameable.</p>
<p>“You’re afraid,” Fuller rasped.</p>
<p>Nobody tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Of you?”</p>
<p>“No,” Fuller whispered, his voice growing weaker. “Not of me. Of what’s at the end of your road. Whatever it is—you fear it.”</p>
<p>Nobody remained silent, his gaze fixed on Fuller. The faintest flicker of something passed through his expression. But he said nothing. He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the oppressive quiet of the tent.</p>
<p>As Fuller’s vision darkened, his breaths growing shallower, he found his mind slipping into a strange state. The figure of Nobody lingered in his sight, but it no longer looked human. Instead, it was the visage of a formless void, an absence so complete it seemed to swallow the light around it.</p>
<p>His lips moved, forming his final words as his vision dissolved into darkness. “So… that’s how it is, huh.”</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>« <a href="/if-the-glove-fits">If the Glove Fits</a> | <a href="/i-see-you">I See You</a> »</strong></p>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Cafes were always nice, quiet places to work—havens for often quiet people. In and out they went, following their whims and desires, each patron with a reason for being there. The cafe didn’t judge, and neither did most of its patrons. Everyone had their own affairs to handle and often lacked the time or inclination to spare even a fleeting thought for a stranger they’d likely never encounter again.
Honestly, it wouldn't be surprising if most people didn’t visit cafes for the food; it was more about the atmosphere than anything else.
Students, parents, office workers, teachers, librarians, and many others drifted in and out throughout the day, most of them returning eventually, each time forgetting the familiar yet unknown faces they'd passed by before. This suited Nobody just fine, though in his case, the forgetting wasn’t really due to a lack of attention.
So, it was peculiar for Nobody to find himself sitting in one of these places. In truth, he should have been searching for Herman Fuller at that moment. After all, Fuller was the next target on a long list of men and women Nobody had to ‘meet’. Yet, here he was, sitting in a heavily air-conditioned cafe, sipping from a cold cup of coffee. His plan had been to begin his trek to Kazakhstan, where his contacts seemed to believe the circus's next stop would be. But his gut had told him to come to this coffee shop instead.
From experience, Nobody knew to always trust his gut.
What his gut was trying to tell him, though, remained entirely unknown to him. That was until he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see Herman Fuller himself sitting across from him, sipping a freshly steaming cup of coffee.
Fuller wore his signature outfit: a slightly dark maroon suit with a white undershirt, fit for a ringmaster. He smiled at Nobody, and it seemed genuine. Unlike how the reports that painted Fuller as a deranged psychopath with a cruel fascination on the anomalous, the man sitting before Nobody seemed warm, and his eyes, rather than appearing empty or suppressed with rage, were steady, experienced.
“Well,” Fuller began, “I’m glad we could meet in a place like this!” He shifted awkwardly. “You know, you’re a hard person to get in touch with.”
“I suppose I am,” Nobody replied, meeting Fuller's gaze directly. “Though I have to wonder why you'd seek me out, knowing what I’m doing to your colleagues.”
Fuller’s smile turned sad as he set down his coffee. “Ah, yes,” he said, pausing to fiddle with his fingers for a moment before continuing. “You’ve been causing quite the stir, you know?” He chuckled lightly. “I mean, Hodge’s death was one thing, but we all knew that the UIU’s director was just another bureaucrat easily replaced. The same goes for all those others you’ve killed. But Wondertainment and Anderson?” He shook his head, looking almost wistful. “You should’ve seen Al Fine’s face when the news came in.”
“Well,” Nobody gripped the table slightly “I’m sure it won’t be too long until I see her in person.”
Fuller simply smiled at the remark as he lifted his cup and took another sip of his drink. “Now, to answer you’re question on why I’m here.” he looked into his cup “i’m here because I want to talk to you. I know you’ll find me nonetheless so I wanted to at least approach you in a more…amiable context”
“Quite the bold death wish you’ve got,” Nobody said, taking a sip from his coffee. “Though, I suppose, given your guts, I can spare you some time.”
Fuller’s smile widened, his hands resting comfortably around his cup as though they were two old friends catching up.
“I hope you understand,” Nobody began, “that I find no joy in the work I do. But it is both a duty and I burden I am bound by.”
Fuller frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Are you saying you’re forced to your task? That some higher force compels you?”
“No,” Nobody replied simply.
“Then why?” Fuller leaned in. “Why go around killing my colleagues, dismantling everything we’ve worked so hard to build?”
Nobody stared at Fuller for a moment. He placed his cup down, the sound of porcelain against the table louder than it should have been. “Because,” he said, “the world you and your new friends have built is broken. It’s a fancy cage. Worse in many ways than the old veil.”
Fuller’s frown deepened. “Broken? That’s an awfully simplistic take for someone as intelligent as you. The world we’re shaping is safer. For everyone. The chaos that existed before, wars, anomalies running unchecked, unpredictable horrors tearing through lives, has been subdued. People can live without the constant threat of the unknown.”
“Safe?” Nobody’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “For whom? For the masses who get to eat the scraps you decide to throw their way? For the ones who don’t even realize the price they’re paying for your so-called safety?” He leaned forward now, his voice biting. “You’ve traded freedom for control, and worse yet, you’ve made yourselves the arbiters of this system. The gods of this new order.”
Fuller shook his head. “We aren’t gods,” he said. “We’re caretakers. The ones who saw what this world could be and decided to take the risk to shape it. Do you know what he showed us? That by coming together, the impossible could be achieved. No more infighting between us. No more bureaucratic red tape. Just pure, efficient progress. Do you have any idea how many lives have been saved? How many catastrophes we’ve averted simply by agreeing to work as one?”
Nobody’s expression didn’t change. “I’ve seen your progress,” he said. “Entire regions stripped of autonomy. People erased because they didn’t fit into the neat little boxes you created. Sacrifices justified in the name of your precious order.”
“Another generalization on your part,” Fuller sighed, his tone weary. He traced a finger around the rim of his cup, staring into the dark liquid. “We try everything. The Foundation, the GOC, even Wondertainment. Well... we used to include him, anyway.” He gave a soft, bitter chuckle before shaking his head. “We only resort to extremes in extreme cases. And yes, we make mistakes. But who doesn’t? What matters is that we’re trying. We’re learning.” Fuller paused momentarily “We don’t take away people’s freedoms, we don’t control their beliefs. We simply created an environment where they’re no longer in a position to harm themselves.”
Nobody tilted his head slightly, watching Fuller. “And yet you act as arbiters of what constitutes harm, don’t you? You claim it’s a burden, but it’s one you chose gladly.”
Fuller’s gaze didn’t waver. “We act as arbiters because we must. It’s a burden, yes, but it’s better us than entropy. Someone has to step up and make the hard decisions.”
“Your burden is nothing,” Nobody replied. “I’ve seen it all before. Men and women believing they can do better, that they can finally bring the change they want to see. It’s always the same. Such altruism never lasts.”
Fuller leaned back in his chair. “And there it is. The cynicism. The assumption that because perfection is unattainable, striving for it is futile. Let me ask you something, Nobody: who are you to judge us? What gives you any more of a right than us to decide what’s best? What makes you free from the very failures you speak of?”
Nobody’s reply was quiet but firm. “It’s because of what I know. What I’ve seen. And what I’ve lost.” His eyes darkened slightly, a shadow crossing his face. “Who I am, or rather, who I am not. That’s what gives me the right.”
Fuller scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “That’s rich.” He set his cup down. “You justify using your lack of identity, yet you define yourself by that very absence. Do you even realize how contradictory that is?”
Nobody didn’t respond immediately, his gaze unchanging as he studied Fuller.
Fuller leaned forward, his fingers steepled. “In truth, know one knows who they really are. There’s a different version of you in the mind of every person you’ve ever met. In some, you’re quiet and thoughtful. In others, you’re ruthless and cunning. To some, you’re a friend. To others, a monster. The version of you that exists in your own mind isn’t the ‘real’ you, either. It’s just another version—one shaped by memories, feelings, biases. That person? That’s just for you.”
He gestured toward Nobody. “Who you are isn’t something to be defined. It’s something to be discovered, moment by moment, through your choices and your actions. But you? You’ve shackled yourself to an idea. You’ve made what was taken from you the very core of who you are now. You define yourself by absence instead of simply forging a new path. And in doing so, you’ve bound yourself more tightly than anything the rest of us could ever do.”
For a moment, the cafe was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. Nobody’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes.
“Who you are does not give you any more right than anyone else to judge our actions, let alone your own. You are not special because you don’t know who you are—you’re simply unique in that you refuse to move on from it.” Fuller clutched his drink tightly. “I was like you once, you know? Lost, aimless, unsure of what I could become. I was an orphan, a loner, a nobody. But I found my way. I found comfort in the show. The circus I created is a product of my circumstances, and I aim to give others as unfortunate as me the same chance.”
Fuller’s eyes were fixed on Nobody now. “That’s why I’m asking you, please, just stop. We’re building a better world here. You don’t have to tear it all down.”
Nobody raised his head slowly, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Very touching words,” he said softly. “But I don’t think you truly understand what it means to be Nobody. I didn’t just lose who I was, Fuller. I lost what I could have been. I lost my ability to be.”
Nobody rose from his seat, standing over the man before him. “You know, I don’t blame you for thinking the way you do. To you, life is one big mystery, moment by moment, person by person. But I don’t share that perspective. In fact, no one sees it the way I do.”
His voice was calm as he gazed down at Fuller. “When I look at the world, I don’t see chairs, or walls, or even people. I see something raw. Emotions. Ideas. I see a man for what he truly is, not what he claims to be. Not in a figurative sense either.” He began to pace toward the door, the faint sound of his shoes against the tiled floor filling the silence. “I see you. I see your hope. Determination. Altruism. I see your past, your memories, your pain. I see your laughter, your tears as your labor bore fruit. I see the struggle against a world that sought to crush you, and the one you’re trying to build in its place. It’s all physical, or as physical as ideas can be.”
He turned back, his eyes locking onto Fuller’s. “But most of all, I see a good man.”
Fuller shot up from his chair, grabbing Nobody by the collar of his coat, his voice trembling. “Wait. Aren’t you going to kill me?”
Nobody only shook his head. “One day, perhaps. But maybe by then I won’t have to. I am a judge, Fuller, not a senseless killer. And today, I judge you free to continue on.”
“Even though I’ll do everything I can to stop you?” Fuller’s voice was quieter now, uncertain.
Nobody’s smile deepened. “Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, Fuller. How you use yours is up to you, not me.”
He pulled away, straightened his coat, and as he turned to leave, he added, “The world is cruel, but it’s also beautiful. Your actions don’t define truth, only your own will.” He turned and gave one last look.
Nobody turned to leave the café, only to find that the door had suddenly morphed into a solid wall, the texture strangely reminiscent of the fabric of a circus tent. He paused, his hand brushing against the wall, feeling its faint hum of energy. With a sigh, he turned back to face Fuller, who was no longer seated at a café table but standing in a dimly lit tent. The air carried the faint, sour scent of sawdust and old fabric.
“I’m sorry but I can’t let you leave,” Fuller said quietly, his voice calm but resolute.
“Fuller, listen—”
“No, you listen.” Fuller exhaled sharply, cutting Nobody off. His voice, while not raised, carried an edge. “Our world will endure. And it deserves far better than anything you or your school boy morality could ever offer.”
Nobody’s gaze dropped to the floor, a flicker of something like regret crossing his features. He’d expected this outcome from the moment he’d entered the cafe—or rather, this trap. He had known Fuller’s convictions wouldn’t falter. And yet, some small, hopeful part of him had wanted to believe that words could sway the ringmaster. That Fuller, presented with the freedom to choose a different path, might grasp it.
But when he looked back up and met Fuller’s unyielding gaze, he saw the truth. Fuller was a man who believed utterly in his cause. He was a good man—or at least, a man who saw himself as such—fighting for what he thought was a noble purpose. Nothing would move him from his ideals.
Nobody sighed, taking a step back and rubbing his temple briefly before letting his hand fall to his side. “Well,” he said, his voice steady despite the tension in the room, “let’s get to the point, shall we? State your challenge.”
Fuller’s expression hardened, his usual demeanor replaced by something colder. “The Doctor Game.”
Nobody said nothing, waiting for Fuller to explain. The ringmaster continued, his words measured.
“The rules are simple. Each round, one of us will act as the doctor. A patient will be presented, and that patient will either have a random ailment or no ailment at all. The doctor of that round will spend ten minutes with the patient alone. After the diagnosis is made, the opposing player will be given a detailed profile of the diagnosed condition, including symptoms and background. The opposing player must decide whether to call out the diagnosis as false.”
Nobody raised an eyebrow but remained silent.
Fuller went on. “If the accuser correctly identifies a lie, the diagnosing player suffers the symptoms of their false diagnosis until the game ends, and they’ll lose three points. If the accusation is wrong, the accuser loses one point, and the diagnosing player gains five for a successful deception. A correct diagnosis awards one point, while an incorrect one costs a point. Points won’t be revealed until the game concludes. The game will have ten rounds.”
“And if there’s a tie?” Nobody asked, his voice devoid of curiosity but tinged with weariness.
“In the case of a tie,” Fuller replied, his smile returning faintly, “both doctors will be presented with a patient who, unknown to them, is completely healthy. The winner will be the one who convinces the patient that their diagnosis is true.”
The two men stood in heavy silence, the weight of the stakes hanging in the air. Finally, Nobody sighed again, his voice low and resigned. “I offered you a chance to live. A chance to stop this, to abandon your conquest.”
Fuller’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And I’ve chosen to stand by what I believe. What makes you think you have the right to judge me? To impose your will over mine?”
Nobody didn’t answer. Instead, he moved toward the center of the tent, his hands in his coat pockets. “Very well,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Let’s begin.”
As Nobody spoke, a door materialized on one of the tent’s fabric-like walls, its edges glowing faintly. Fuller smirked and strode toward it with the practiced confidence of a performer stepping onto a stage. "I’ll take the first turn," he said smoothly, vanishing into the room.
Nobody watched him go, his expression unreadable. For Fuller to challenge him to this game, he had to be confident. Hubris was a fatal flaw, after all, one that had toppled the mighty throughout history.
Ten minutes passed in silence, save for the faint ticking of a clock somewhere beyond the tent. When the door finally creaked open, Fuller stepped out, accompanied by a man in his mid-thirties, olive-skinned with dark, curly hair. His gait was nervous, his eyes darting around the room. Nobody pegged him as Italian.
In Nobody’s hand, a file appeared. The label on the front read SCP-610. His gaze flicked to the man, who was scratching compulsively at patches of scarred and reddened skin. The diagnosis was clear, almost too clear. Something didn’t sit right.
Nobody’s eyes narrowed and glanced back at Fuller. As he did, he realized exactly why Fuller chose this game. No involuntary twitches, no betraying microexpressions, Fuller was completely blank. If he hadn’t talked to him moment before, Nobody would have been convinced Fuller wasn’t human.
Turning his attention back to the patient, Nobody’s gaze narrowed. He didn’t just look at the man, focusing beyond the surface of his skin. He saw past the dermis, past the muscles, the cells, even the fabric of the man’s existence. He studied everything—the way the patient’s form existed, vibrated, and resonated. Finally, he exhaled softly and nodded.
“Fuller didn’t lie,” he said, stepping back.
Fuller inclined his head slightly, his expression calm yet unreadable. Nobody found himself momentarily fascinated. Fuller wasn’t like anyone he’d encountered before—a man capable of shaping himself so seamlessly that it altered the very fabric of perception around him. Where Nobody had previously been able to see Fuller’s essence so clearly, it now felt as if Fuller had willed a cloud to form around them, obscuring them entirely. Somehow, through means unknown to Nobody but certainly worth investigating later, Fuller was masking his very presence within reality. From what Nobody could observe, it didn’t appear to be anomalous; it seemed to be sheer force of will. Nobody allowed the thought to linger in his mind as he stepped through the door.
The room was simple, worn, and unremarkable. Dust coated the wooden panels of what appeared to be a cabin. A solitary stool stood in the center, occupied by a visibly uneasy man. His youthful face, dark and weathered with faint lines, betrayed confusion rather than fear.
Nobody crouched, examining the man, unbothered by his evident unease. His sharp eyes roved over every detail. The faint lines on his face weren’t mutations—just stress, mundane and human. Satisfied, Nobody straightened and exited without a word. Passing Fuller, he said simply, “Healthy.”
Fuller’s gaze lingered briefly before he gave a curt nod, his belief implicit. The man vanished as if he had never existed. The next rounds followed in a steady rhythm, each man entering the room, each evaluating the figure within.
By the seventh round, as Nobody scanned an unmarked file, he broke the silence for the first time. “Impressive,” he said, his voice even.
“High praise,” Fuller replied, arching a brow. “Especially from you.”
“You’re good,” Nobody admitted. “A skilled ringmaster, a skilled actor, and a skilled doctor, it seems.”
“I had to be,” Fuller said. “In the circus, you wear many hats. My people relied on me, so I studied.”
“Commendable,” Nobody said with a nod. “Though I wonder—will it be enough?”
Fuller’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”
“We don’t see the score until the end. What if you’ve missed something?”
Fuller smirked faintly. “Unlikely. This game was designed by me. For me.”
“Perhaps,” Nobody said softly, stepping into the next round.
When he emerged, a frail elderly woman followed him. Fuller’s gaze flicked to the file that appeared in his hands. To his delight, it was a familiar diagnosis. A disease of the mind rather than the body that caused its victims to hallucinate a parallel world. He looked to Nobody, and, as usual, he saw nothing but an empty void. The man was something else, unreadable. When he turned to the woman however, he saw her finger twitching. His eyes widened. People with the condition had motor functions in their hands restricted.
“Lie,” Fuller said.
As he did, Nobody staggered back as if struck. He clutched his head, a groan escaping him. Fuller simply stood, watching.
“It’s cruel, isn’t it?” Fuller said softly. “Already, you must the pulsing in your mind. The pull.”
Nobody straightened, his body taut, his expression locked.
“It’s over,” Fuller said. “I’ll give you this—you’re extraordinary. I wish things had been different. I wish that you could have simply let us be. But victory was inevitable.”
Fuller entered the room for the ninth round, emerging moments later, another file manifesting in Nobody’s hands. Nobody remained, gripping the file, visibly strained as he read its contents. His breath came shallow, his movements sluggish. When he finally raised his head, he spoke. "Lie."
“Wrong,” Fuller snapped back.
Nobody flinched as if the word itself had weight. Stumbling, he approached the door for the tenth round. He returned almost immediately with a diagnosis, his body trembling.
Fuller’s eyes glinted as he spoke his verdict. “Lie.”
The word seemed to shatter something within Nobody. His body turned unnaturally, his form appearing to darken, collapse inward. He staggered but remained standing, his head bowed.
“It’s finished,” Fuller said quietly, stepping closer. “You were worthy of this game, Nobody. Truly.”
The numbers appeared, glowing in the air. Fuller’s smile faltered as he read them:
Nobody: 10. Fuller: 2.
Fuller staggered back, his breath catching in his throat. His mind raced as Nobody stood calmly, brushing off imaginary dust, his movements precise and deliberate. When he finally straightened to his full height, Nobody’s eyes met Fuller’s.
“How?” Fuller whispered, his voice faltering. “How could you—?”
Nobody’s voice cut through the tent’s heavy air. “When you claimed I had lied, I didn’t.” His tone was measured, patient. “I knew you’d encountered the ailment before. I counted on your confidence. But tell me, Fuller, think back—what did you do?”
Fuller’s breath hitched. His mind clawed at the memory, piecing together the details. Then it struck him like a thunderclap. “I… I only skimmed the file,” he murmured, his voice hollow. His hand rose to cover his mouth as he took another step back. “I thought I knew. I was so sure—”
“Hubris,” Nobody said, stepping forward, “isn’t absent in a good man. In fact, it clings to him even more fiercely.” He paused, eyes steady. “Before I went to the café, I took precautions. I knew we’d likely end up here. I knew what kind of man you were, Fuller.”
Fuller’s eyes were locked on Nobody as he inched backward, astonished.
“I called in a favor,” Nobody continued. “From a higher being, if you will. In exchange for something small, they let me change one detail… and I chose to alter the disease you were so confident about.”
Fuller kept retreating, shock carving deep lines into his face. “How could you have known? You couldn’t have predicted this.”
Nobody offered a casual shrug, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “Call it a gut feeling,” he said.
Fuller’s retreat faltered.
“When you thought you had caught me,” Nobody continued, his voice low but steady, “I let myself falter. I let myself fall. I knew you’d seize the advantage, that you’d see me broken and struggling. I knew you wouldn’t bother looking closer during my turn. You thought I was too weak—too defeated—to stand against you. And in the final round, you thought you struck my heart—but with that same blow, you pierced your own."
Nobody now stood mere inches from Fuller. “You abandoned the care you carried before. You believed in yourself more than the truth.”
The air between them stilled. Fuller closed his eyes for a moment, drawing a trembling breath. When he opened them, his gaze was calm, as if resignation had settled over him.
“You’ve won,” Fuller said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.
Nobody’s hand moved, producing a gun that gleamed dully in the dim light. He raised it without hesitation, pointing it directly at Fuller’s chest.
The crack of the shot echoed through the empty tent. Fuller staggered back, the impact driving him to the ground. He lay there, his breathing shallow as blood pooled beneath him, dark against the vibrant floor.
Nobody stood over him, his expression unreadable. “Do you see it now?” he asked, his voice tinged with something unreadable—perhaps curiosity, perhaps regret. “The inevitability." Nobody paused "You rise, only to fall. It is the way of all things.”
Fuller’s lips curved into a faint, wavering smile. A low chuckle bubbled from his throat, hoarse but filled with something unnameable.
“You’re afraid,” Fuller rasped.
Nobody tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Of you?”
“No,” Fuller whispered, his voice growing weaker. “Not of me. Of what’s at the end of your road. Whatever it is—you fear it.”
Nobody remained silent, his gaze fixed on Fuller. The faintest flicker of something passed through his expression. But he said nothing. He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the oppressive quiet of the tent.
As Fuller’s vision darkened, his breaths growing shallower, he found his mind slipping into a strange state. The figure of Nobody lingered in his sight, but it no longer looked human. Instead, it was the visage of a formless void, an absence so complete it seemed to swallow the light around it.
His lips moved, forming his final words as his vision dissolved into darkness. “So… that’s how it is, huh.”
[[footnoteblock]]
[[div class="footer-wikiwalk-nav"]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
**<< [[[ If the Glove Fits ]]] | [[[I See You]]] >>**
[[/=]]
|
2024-12-14T14:23:00
|
[
"herman-fuller",
"nobody",
"tale"
] |
I See You - SCP Foundation
| 3
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"if-the-glove-fits"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"nobody-hub",
"herman-fuller-hub",
"news"
] |
[] |
1458007792
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-see-you
|
|
i-shall-be-with-you
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div style="display: none;">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
</div>
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">QUEERSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Queerious</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Forked</span><span class="hl-code"> from:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Blankstyle</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
Using:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">White</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Outline</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Classic</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LGBTQ</span><span class="hl-code">+ </span><span class="hl-identifier">Pride</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Logo</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">scp-wiki.wikidot.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">component</span><span class="hl-special">:pride-highlighter</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Vast</span><span class="hl-code">+</span><span class="hl-identifier">Shadow</span><span class="hl-code">&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">header-title:</span><span class="hl-code"> "SCP Foundation"</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">header-subtitle:</span><span class="hl-code"> "SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT"</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.75</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.75</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">150</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/component:pride-highlighter/gp_logo.svg')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditButton</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">p</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-var">#373737</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Pseudogenesis</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Formats</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudo-div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#B22A2A</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-var">#403450</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> "Vast Shadow", </span><span class="hl-string">serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudo-div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-special">:is</span><span class="hl-code">(</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> "Vast Shadow", </span><span class="hl-string">serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">white</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
</div>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Author's Note</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><em>I Shall Be With You</em> was written in the wake of my cousin's passing, she was a hero to me and so many others. This story is dedicated to her, and has been left in it's original form to preserve my feelings at the time of writing it.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>9:34AM</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Claire lays in bed, staring at her fiancé, Katie's, contact on her phone. Claire had spent years hiding the truth from her, she had spent her whole life hiding who she was, and the things she could do, from those around her.</p>
<p>She always justified it to herself the same way, telling herself that she's protecting Katie, because her world, the world of the anomalous, is too dangerous. But Claire had begun to wonder if that was the right choice, questioning if she had ever let Katie truly know her.</p>
<p><em>It's too dangerous,</em> Claire told herself as she put her phone back in her pocket.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>11:34AM</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>As Claire walked outside, she heard sobbing from the park across the street. Claire checked her watch, before running over, and finding a boy crying, holding his knee, his parents nowhere to be found.</p>
<p>Claire runs over to comfort him. "That looks like it hurts, did you fall?" The boy nods.</p>
<p>"Here, I've got a band-aid, which one do you want?" Claire says, pulling open a package of random band-aids featuring superheroes and dinosaurs. The boy picks up a dinosaur themed one.</p>
<p>The boys parents eventually run over, thanking Claire profusely.</p>
<p>"He'll be alright in a bit. He's a trooper." Claire tells the boy's worried parents, before leaving and ducking behind a building.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>1:56PM</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Claire knocks on the door of her childhood home, after a few moments, her mother, Elise answers the door. Claire's mother smiles as Claire hands her a bottle of wine.</p>
<p>"It's a French, grabbed it this morning from Bordeaux." Claire tells her mother cheerily, as the two take a seat at the dinner table.</p>
<p>"What's the special occasion?" Elise says, "Are you and Katie finally tying the knot?"</p>
<p>"I'm definitely planning on it," Claire tells her mother, "I just… I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for being my mom."</p>
<p>"Claire, what's wrong?"</p>
<p>"I-I'm dying Mom."</p>
<p>Elise is stunned, as she begins to cry too. Claire holds her mother in her arms. "I love you Mom."</p>
<p>"I love you too," Elise began crying, "I just… I'm scared of losing my daughter. You're all I have left."</p>
<p>Claire walks over and holds her mother, "It's gonna be alright. I'm still here."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>7:34PM</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Claire returned to her apartment, and took a look out at the city through the window, listening to the sounds of the city, cars bustling outside, and the sound of people chattering, people, she focuses in on people's cries for help, before being snapped out of it by the click of the lock behind her, as Katie opened the door, and upon seeing Claire, ran over tossing the takeout she brought home onto the table, to embrace her.</p>
<p>As the two sat, and ate, and laughed, Claire was reminded how much she loves Katie, <em>I have to tell her,</em> Claire thinks to herself, <em>I owe her that much</em>.</p>
<p>"Is something on your mind?" Katie asked Claire.</p>
<p>Claire nods, "I haven't been completely honest with you", Claire confesses.</p>
<p>Claire walks over to the extending her hand to Katie. "Do you trust me?"</p>
<p>Katie takes Claire's hand, as Claire lets go of the window, but the two don't fall, they fly, and as they fly above the city, Claire finally does the one thing she had always wanted to do, allow the person she loves the most to see the world the way that she does.</p>
<p>As the two landed on a rooftop, Claire began to cry.</p>
<p>"What's wrong?" Katie asked.</p>
<p>"I'm fine."</p>
<p>"Claire, it's OK, you don't need to put on a brave face right now, what's bothering you?"</p>
<p>"I'm dying Katie…" Claire confessed, "and I couldn't live with myself if I did before sharing this with you."</p>
<p>"I'll be here for you," Katie says, putting her arms around Claire, "until the end."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>9:21PM</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>A couple hours later, Claire and Katie land back at their apartment. Claire gives her girlfriend a reassuring smile.</p>
<p>"Thank you," Claire said, as she looked to the sky, "for everything.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>Use your hands some bright day<br/>
To make a thing of beauty<br/>
Or to lift someone’s heavy load.<br/>
Though you mention not my name,<br/>
Though no thought of me crosses your mind,<br/>
I shall be with you<br/>
- Arnold Crompton</em></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>3 Months Later</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Claire had always wanted to see the sunset Lake Huron, the two of them had heard stories of how beautiful it is, and it didn't disappoint. Looking back, it was a funny wish, for someone who could do the things she could, but one that Katie could grant.</p>
<p>As people cleared out from the funeral, Katie thought back to the day she and Claire had met. Katie had been driving in a snowstorm and started to go off the road, but her car suddenly stopped on the edge of the ditch. Claire approached her, helped her out of her car, and waited with her until help came.</p>
<p>Today, Katie heard even more stories people had to tell about how Claire was there for them, and all the people whose lives she has touched. Claire had always been Katie's hero, and now she saw that she was the same to so many more people.</p>
<p>After everyone had left, a woman, who had been standing off in the distance, approached Katie.</p>
<p>"I'm so sorry for your loss." The woman told Katie.</p>
<p>"Thank you, it means a lot." Katie said, "Were you a friend of Claire's?"</p>
<p>"I suppose so." The woman said sadly, "If you ever need someone to talk to, let me know."</p>
<p>"Thank you," Katie said, "it means the world."</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:blankstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:queerstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:queerstyle</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[collapsible show="Author's Note" hide="close"]]
//I Shall Be With You// was written in the wake of my cousin's passing, she was a hero to me and so many others. This story is dedicated to her, and has been left in it's original form to preserve my feelings at the time of writing it.
[[/collapsible]]
------
[[Div style="text-align: center;"]]
**9:34AM**
[[/div]]
------
Claire lays in bed, staring at her fiancé, Katie's, contact on her phone. Claire had spent years hiding the truth from her, she had spent her whole life hiding who she was, and the things she could do, from those around her.
She always justified it to herself the same way, telling herself that she's protecting Katie, because her world, the world of the anomalous, is too dangerous. But Claire had begun to wonder if that was the right choice, questioning if she had ever let Katie truly know her.
//It's too dangerous,// Claire told herself as she put her phone back in her pocket.
[[Div style="text-align: center;"]]
**11:34AM**
[[/div]]
------
As Claire walked outside, she heard sobbing from the park across the street. Claire checked her watch, before running over, and finding a boy crying, holding his knee, his parents nowhere to be found.
Claire runs over to comfort him. "That looks like it hurts, did you fall?" The boy nods.
"Here, I've got a band-aid, which one do you want?" Claire says, pulling open a package of random band-aids featuring superheroes and dinosaurs. The boy picks up a dinosaur themed one.
The boys parents eventually run over, thanking Claire profusely.
"He'll be alright in a bit. He's a trooper." Claire tells the boy's worried parents, before leaving and ducking behind a building.
[[Div style="text-align: center;"]]
**1:56PM**
[[/div]]
------
Claire knocks on the door of her childhood home, after a few moments, her mother, Elise answers the door. Claire's mother smiles as Claire hands her a bottle of wine.
"It's a French, grabbed it this morning from Bordeaux." Claire tells her mother cheerily, as the two take a seat at the dinner table.
"What's the special occasion?" Elise says, "Are you and Katie finally tying the knot?"
"I'm definitely planning on it," Claire tells her mother, "I just... I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for being my mom."
"Claire, what's wrong?"
"I-I'm dying Mom."
Elise is stunned, as she begins to cry too. Claire holds her mother in her arms. "I love you Mom."
"I love you too," Elise began crying, "I just… I'm scared of losing my daughter. You're all I have left."
Claire walks over and holds her mother, "It's gonna be alright. I'm still here."
[[Div style="text-align: center;"]]
**7:34PM**
[[/div]]
------
Claire returned to her apartment, and took a look out at the city through the window, listening to the sounds of the city, cars bustling outside, and the sound of people chattering, people, she focuses in on people's cries for help, before being snapped out of it by the click of the lock behind her, as Katie opened the door, and upon seeing Claire, ran over tossing the takeout she brought home onto the table, to embrace her.
As the two sat, and ate, and laughed, Claire was reminded how much she loves Katie, //I have to tell her,// Claire thinks to herself, //I owe her that much//.
"Is something on your mind?" Katie asked Claire.
Claire nods, "I haven't been completely honest with you", Claire confesses.
Claire walks over to the extending her hand to Katie. "Do you trust me?"
Katie takes Claire's hand, as Claire lets go of the window, but the two don't fall, they fly, and as they fly above the city, Claire finally does the one thing she had always wanted to do, allow the person she loves the most to see the world the way that she does.
As the two landed on a rooftop, Claire began to cry.
"What's wrong?" Katie asked.
"I'm fine."
"Claire, it's OK, you don't need to put on a brave face right now, what's bothering you?"
"I'm dying Katie..." Claire confessed, "and I couldn't live with myself if I did before sharing this with you."
"I'll be here for you," Katie says, putting her arms around Claire, "until the end."
[[Div style="text-align: center;"]]
**9:21PM**
[[/div]]
------
A couple hours later, Claire and Katie land back at their apartment. Claire gives her girlfriend a reassuring smile.
"Thank you," Claire said, as she looked to the sky, "for everything.
------
[[Div style="text-align: center;"]]
//Use your hands some bright day
To make a thing of beauty
Or to lift someone’s heavy load.
Though you mention not my name,
Though no thought of me crosses your mind,
I shall be with you
- Arnold Crompton//
[[/div]]
------
[[Div style="text-align: center;"]]
**3 Months Later**
[[/div]]
------
Claire had always wanted to see the sunset Lake Huron, the two of them had heard stories of how beautiful it is, and it didn't disappoint. Looking back, it was a funny wish, for someone who could do the things she could, but one that Katie could grant.
As people cleared out from the funeral, Katie thought back to the day she and Claire had met. Katie had been driving in a snowstorm and started to go off the road, but her car suddenly stopped on the edge of the ditch. Claire approached her, helped her out of her car, and waited with her until help came.
Today, Katie heard even more stories people had to tell about how Claire was there for them, and all the people whose lives she has touched. Claire had always been Katie's hero, and now she saw that she was the same to so many more people.
After everyone had left, a woman, who had been standing off in the distance, approached Katie.
"I'm so sorry for your loss." The woman told Katie.
"Thank you, it means a lot." Katie said, "Were you a friend of Claire's?"
"I suppose so." The woman said sadly, "If you ever need someone to talk to, let me know."
"Thank you," Katie said, "it means the world."
|
2024-06-14T13:31:00
|
[
"bittersweet",
"lgbtq",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
I Shall Be With You - SCP Foundation
| 15
|
[] |
[] |
[] |
1454059680
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-shall-be-with-you
|
|
icy-dream
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Gears is dreaming.</p>
<p>He sees a rose in the infinite void. It is not actually a rose, but pieces of frozen blood sticking on the stem, flickering in the dark.<br/>
Gears thinks he should pick it, so he does. The blood melts, drops on his hand. It is cold as ice. Blood quickly flows through his arm like a snake, leaks through the white coat, spreading coldness to his body. Then it climbs up and strikes through his head, pushes him backwards. Gears feels he is falling. He falls into a red ocean, sinking down to deep crimson. He sees his reflection above the ocean, watching him drowning in the icy water, emotionless. He sees the fading light, he sees himself drowning, drowning, drowned.</p>
<p>Gears wakes up. Red light given from the broken air conditioner shines on his face. Cold air has filled the entire room, air of Siberian snow, bringing a sence of familiarity. He shuts the air conditioner and sends a message to inform the maintenance staff in the site. Back to bed, frosts gently land on his body. Gears leaves them there, as he has done in the past ten years, and falls asleep in the embrace of frigid temperature.</p>
<hr/>
<p>You see mountains of paperworks on your desk.<br/>
You receive a rose.<br/>
You are watching a explosion, you feel you are about to laugh.<br/>
You lie in the infirmary alone.<br/>
You want to say "Gears?".<br/>
You gently put the rose in a vase.<br/>
You take a bite out of a piece of chocolate.<br/>
You go into the office with yourself sitting in impassively.<br/>
You walk in the blizzard which erases everything except snow and buildings of the foundation.<br/>
In front of you stands a tombstone.<br/>
On the sculpture of a past life these words appear:<br/>
<em>"Deep under the freezing gray and white world buried the only blue. "</em><br/>
You feel a bit warmth around you.<br/>
You realize -7℃ is too warm for a place like this.<br/>
You realize you can't freeze ice into snow.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Exactly 9 o'clock, Gears steps into the office.<br/>
He opens his 'destroy' file, pulls out a plastic bag.<br/>
He sees a splatter of red from his dream.<br/>
He reads the letter the second time, decides to put it back. He doesn't know why.<br/>
August has just started, mountains of work waiting to be done.<br/>
Ink spreads on the paper like blooming flower, which withers instantly.<br/>
He needs to keep running.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/icy-dream">Icy Dream</a>" by mL-Salt, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/icy-dream">https://scpwiki.com/icy-dream</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Gears is dreaming.
He sees a rose in the infinite void. It is not actually a rose, but pieces of frozen blood sticking on the stem, flickering in the dark.
Gears thinks he should pick it, so he does. The blood melts, drops on his hand. It is cold as ice. Blood quickly flows through his arm like a snake, leaks through the white coat, spreading coldness to his body. Then it climbs up and strikes through his head, pushes him backwards. Gears feels he is falling. He falls into a red ocean, sinking down to deep crimson. He sees his reflection above the ocean, watching him drowning in the icy water, emotionless. He sees the fading light, he sees himself drowning, drowning, drowned.
Gears wakes up. Red light given from the broken air conditioner shines on his face. Cold air has filled the entire room, air of Siberian snow, bringing a sence of familiarity. He shuts the air conditioner and sends a message to inform the maintenance staff in the site. Back to bed, frosts gently land on his body. Gears leaves them there, as he has done in the past ten years, and falls asleep in the embrace of frigid temperature.
------
You see mountains of paperworks on your desk.
You receive a rose.
You are watching a explosion, you feel you are about to laugh.
You lie in the infirmary alone.
You want to say "Gears?".
You gently put the rose in a vase.
You take a bite out of a piece of chocolate.
You go into the office with yourself sitting in impassively.
You walk in the blizzard which erases everything except snow and buildings of the foundation.
In front of you stands a tombstone.
On the sculpture of a past life these words appear:
//"Deep under the freezing gray and white world buried the only blue. "//
You feel a bit warmth around you.
You realize -7℃ is too warm for a place like this.
You realize you can't freeze ice into snow.
------
Exactly 9 o'clock, Gears steps into the office.
He opens his 'destroy' file, pulls out a plastic bag.
He sees a splatter of red from his dream.
He reads the letter the second time, decides to put it back. He doesn't know why.
August has just started, mountains of work waiting to be done.
Ink spreads on the paper like blooming flower, which withers instantly.
He needs to keep running.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-11-29T02:16:00
|
[
"doctor-gears",
"doctor-iceberg",
"tale"
] |
Icy Dream - SCP Foundation
| -1
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"lowest-rated-articles",
"lowest-rated-pages"
] |
[] |
1457451038
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/icy-dream
|
|
ieva-breathes
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>"The Faithful One. You speak of her, yes? She is insane. She sculpts not for life, but for war. When you mention mountains she builds a mound of bodies. I can see the beauty in death, but she sees neither. She desires neither — she only kills. The Path of Strength cannot be rid of her. She will not leave. She cannot leave, chained to the will of the six. Death has banished her, and so…"</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><tt><em>Stars fall. They must.</em><br/>
<em>I am no star. I am the star's guiding servant.</em><br/>
<em>Forgive me, Orok, but I must feed that which must die.</em></tt></p>
</div>
<p>"Aye, I remember Layla. Terrifying employer. Got crippled on me first day 'cause of the bloody bitch. Me tootsies are gone, see? Did it to all of us. She does it personally. Gave us all these weird slithers and nobs instead. Said it made us stronger, united us in our weakness. Always thought it was a load of horseshit. Only thing she united us in was hating her scaly ass. Was glad when you suits arrested us, honestly. Yeah, nah, keep an eye open. She'll be back. First thing we learned under her. Don't matter what color your science boys make your fire…"</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><tt><em>I remember a river of blood. My blood.</em><br/>
<em><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-say-this-that-you-suffer">Subandhu robbed me of that river.</a></em><br/>
<em>I was a fool of a girl. I believed that I would save women like myself.</em><br/>
<em>I believed I was different.</em></tt></p>
</div>
<p>"We know of the Subversion. We remember her. Our bane. We fight empires. We fight that which can be toppled. She cannot. She will not allow it. She believes in power. She has turned that belief into reality. We fight that which cares for their siblings. We fight that which cares for its citizens. She is neither. She is a plague. Our apologies, seeker. We cannot accept an impossible task. We cannot succeed so long as…"</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><tt><em>They curse me. I feel it.</em><br/>
<em>Please, curse me. Show me what I have become.</em><br/>
<em>Prove to me that my path is wrong.</em></tt></p>
</div>
<p>"So many teeth. So many limbs. So many whispers. You call that thing a "she?" It's as much of a woman as my cock's the Freedom Tower. That thing has no mind of its own anymore. It devours, it wants more to add to itself. Fucking tentacle head-ass, fucking… toe freak. Why the fuck does it have to be toes? How the fuck do I explain to my therapist that some wizard came back from the dead and tried to cut off my feet? You want me to calm down? I'll calm the fuck down when I'm sure I'll never again hear the words…"</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><tt><em>One by one they fall. A star that burns brightly dies first.</em><br/>
<em>I have not forgotten your dream, Ozi̮rmok.</em><br/>
<em>Kill so that they may be sated. I fatten the beast so that it may slaughter itself.</em><br/>
<em>Glut for glut.</em></tt></p>
</div>
<p>"The Scourge returns. She walks, she harvests. Her <em>halkost</em> marches, stirring up nightmares long thought sealed. Every time we set her back, she returns, faster. We need to reevaluate how we approach her, sir. She is no witless beast; like us, she learns. Your Foundation is clever, but you treat her like she is an item. She is a wave. Bound by laws we don't understand, she must return. We were wrong, I'm afraid. I'm not quite sure she can even die, unless you can explain how despite everything…"</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><tt><em>He despises me. I know it. All of them do.</em><br/>
<em>Let them. It will serve them well when the time comes.</em><br/>
<em>The road of nettles lies before us.</em><br/>
<em>Vengeance, not forgiveness. Conquest, not love.</em><br/>
<em>You taught me power. I will teach you hate.</em></tt></p>
</div>
<p>"Whore of the gods. Mother-merchant of pride. You ask of her? Your security is too lax to be seeking such knowledge, gentlemen. Even the strong have ears. What mewling peasant irates their mother? How do you barter with a goddess that executes even the customs of her people? Call off your investigation and return to your bottles. She may have many bodies to go through, but she will succeed so long as…"</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><tt><em>I wished to snuff out the stars. I cavort with that which I wish to kill.</em><br/>
<em>They say I am a perversion of his ideals.</em><br/>
<em>Build your nations. When you mold the first brick from the dead clay,</em><br/>
<em>When you no longer dread the shepherds, use my blood.</em><br/>
<em>Let my spilt blood be the glue that allowed civilization to continue.</em><br/>
<em>I ask for nothing more.</em></tt></p>
</div>
<p>"…<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/mother-who-demands-ones-toes">Ieva</a> breathes."</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/ieva-breathes">"...Ieva Breathes."</a>" by Naepic, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/ieva-breathes">https://scpwiki.com/ieva-breathes</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
"The Faithful One. You speak of her, yes? She is insane. She sculpts not for life, but for war. When you mention mountains she builds a mound of bodies. I can see the beauty in death, but she sees neither. She desires neither — she only kills. The Path of Strength cannot be rid of her. She will not leave. She cannot leave, chained to the will of the six. Death has banished her, and so..."
[[=]]
{{//Stars fall. They must.//
//I am no star. I am the star's guiding servant.//
//Forgive me, Orok, but I must feed that which must die.//}}
[[/=]]
"Aye, I remember Layla. Terrifying employer. Got crippled on me first day 'cause of the bloody bitch. Me tootsies are gone, see? Did it to all of us. She does it personally. Gave us all these weird slithers and nobs instead. Said it made us stronger, united us in our weakness. Always thought it was a load of horseshit. Only thing she united us in was hating her scaly ass. Was glad when you suits arrested us, honestly. Yeah, nah, keep an eye open. She'll be back. First thing we learned under her. Don't matter what color your science boys make your fire..."
[[=]]
{{//I remember a river of blood. My blood.//
//[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-say-this-that-you-suffer Subandhu robbed me of that river.]//
//I was a fool of a girl. I believed that I would save women like myself.//
//I believed I was different.//}}
[[/=]]
"We know of the Subversion. We remember her. Our bane. We fight empires. We fight that which can be toppled. She cannot. She will not allow it. She believes in power. She has turned that belief into reality. We fight that which cares for their siblings. We fight that which cares for its citizens. She is neither. She is a plague. Our apologies, seeker. We cannot accept an impossible task. We cannot succeed so long as..."
[[=]]
{{//They curse me. I feel it.//
//Please, curse me. Show me what I have become.//
//Prove to me that my path is wrong.//}}
[[/=]]
"So many teeth. So many limbs. So many whispers. You call that thing a "she?" It's as much of a woman as my cock's the Freedom Tower. That thing has no mind of its own anymore. It devours, it wants more to add to itself. Fucking tentacle head-ass, fucking... toe freak. Why the fuck does it have to be toes? How the fuck do I explain to my therapist that some wizard came back from the dead and tried to cut off my feet? You want me to calm down? I'll calm the fuck down when I'm sure I'll never again hear the words..."
[[=]]
{{//One by one they fall. A star that burns brightly dies first.//
//I have not forgotten your dream, Ozi̮rmok.//
//Kill so that they may be sated. I fatten the beast so that it may slaughter itself.//
//Glut for glut.//}}
[[/=]]
"The Scourge returns. She walks, she harvests. Her //halkost// marches, stirring up nightmares long thought sealed. Every time we set her back, she returns, faster. We need to reevaluate how we approach her, sir. She is no witless beast; like us, she learns. Your Foundation is clever, but you treat her like she is an item. She is a wave. Bound by laws we don't understand, she must return. We were wrong, I'm afraid. I'm not quite sure she can even die, unless you can explain how despite everything..."
[[=]]
{{//He despises me. I know it. All of them do.//
//Let them. It will serve them well when the time comes.//
//The road of nettles lies before us.//
//Vengeance, not forgiveness. Conquest, not love.//
//You taught me power. I will teach you hate.//}}
[[/=]]
"Whore of the gods. Mother-merchant of pride. You ask of her? Your security is too lax to be seeking such knowledge, gentlemen. Even the strong have ears. What mewling peasant irates their mother? How do you barter with a goddess that executes even the customs of her people? Call off your investigation and return to your bottles. She may have many bodies to go through, but she will succeed so long as..."
[[=]]
{{//I wished to snuff out the stars. I cavort with that which I wish to kill.//
//They say I am a perversion of his ideals.//
//Build your nations. When you mold the first brick from the dead clay,//
//When you no longer dread the shepherds, use my blood.//
//Let my spilt blood be the glue that allowed civilization to continue.//
//I ask for nothing more.//}}
[[/=]]
"...[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/mother-who-demands-ones-toes Ieva] breathes."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-05-07T21:34:00
|
[
"fantasy",
"halyna-ieva",
"sarkic",
"tale"
] |
"...Ieva Breathes." - SCP Foundation
| 18
|
[
"i-say-this-that-you-suffer",
"mother-who-demands-ones-toes",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"sarkicism-hub"
] |
[] |
1453559768
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ieva-breathes
|
|
if-a-bear-shits-in-the-woods-does-it-make-a-sound
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="pseudocrumbs">
<p><a href="/canon-hub">Canon Hub</a> » <a href="/from-120-s-archives-hub">From 120's Archives Hub</a> » If A Bear Shits In The Woods, Does It Make A Sound?</p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>By<span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/prismal" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8779219); return false;"><img alt="Prismal" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8779219&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1729283291" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8779219)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/prismal" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8779219); return false;">Prismal</a></span></p>
<p><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/prismalPrismal's">Author Page</a></strong></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="preview">
<p>The single most factually accurate tale about a bear making sushi that you'll read today! (and that's the Prismal guarantee)</p>
</div>
<blockquote>
<p>THIS IS MY VERY FIRST FIC ABOUT MY OCS KAGUYA AND YARA. I HOPE U LIKE THEM!!!!!!! NO FLAMERS OR I'LL SHIT MYSELF.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
<p>Kaguya sat meditating in the cool spring evening on Dragonfly Island,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup> the breeze pleasantly blowing through her fur rustling the leaves of her sakura<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup> tree perch, the sweet smell of hascup<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup> tickling her nose, the song of the uguisu<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-4" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-4')">4</a></sup> dancing on the wind.</p>
<p>A low hum of pleasure moved through her as she contemplated her home, this beautiful nation of which she was the humble guardian. Her ancestors had chosen well their hunting grounds, and she was honored to have been chosen as its protector.</p>
<p>Suddenly, the scene felt off, the songbird's warbling took on a shrill tone, a warm pungent odor wafted from the greenery and intermixed with that of berries. Her ears flattening, Kaguya descended from her perch, blowing and pawing at the dirt as she swiveled her head, warning any who may approach.</p>
<p>"Who disturbs the Guardian Bear of Japan?"</p>
<p>A low rumble responded from the greenery as an imposing brown-pelted figure approached bearing a woven basket, and began circling her.</p>
<p>"You've lost your touch Kaguya". The voice said mockingly "Time was, you'd have smelled me coming miles away."</p>
<p>"Hmph, I must simply have mistaken you for a serow.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-5" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-5')">5</a></sup> Why is it you trouble me, Yama?"</p>
<p>Yama snuffed.</p>
<p>"Trouble you? Oh, ho, ho! Indeed I shall, for I am here to at last regain the title of Guardian for the honor of the Ussuri."<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-6" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-6')">6</a></sup></p>
<p>Kaguya huffed.</p>
<p>"You challenge me once more, Yama? Will you never abandon this foolish quest?"<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-7" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-7')">7</a></sup></p>
<p>"Not so long as I draw breath."</p>
<p>The clacking of powerful teeth could be heard from the Ussuri as Kaguya responded.</p>
<p>"So be it."</p>
<p>As Yama opened his basket, Kaguya retrieved her own from the cherry<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-8" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-8')">8</a></sup>blossom tree and did the same. Each bear removed their bento box, ready to unleash the power within.</p>
<p>Summoned by the challenge, the great guardian <a href="/scp-7293">Administabear</a>, leader of the <a href="/project-konkane-kamuy-1905">High Council of Bears</a>, appeared in the heavens above, his visage stern and disciplined, ready to impart judgement as he feasted on udon.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-9" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-9')">9</a></sup></p>
<p>"Oh great guardian Administrabear," supplicated Kaguya "what is your decree for this challenge?"</p>
<p>With a voice like thunder the heavens responded:</p>
<p><strong>THERE SHALL BE THREE BATTLES. THE CHALLENGER NEED ONLY WIN ONCE TO SUPPLANT THE CHAMPION.</strong></p>
<p>Both bears bowed before the wise judgement.</p>
<p>"THANK YOU FOR YOUR JUDGEMENT GREAT ADMINISTRABEAR!" the rivals responded in tandem.</p>
<p>The Administrabear slurped some more udon.</p>
<p><strong>"Mmmm. Do your best, my Guardian Bear."</strong></p>
<p>A single tear rolled down Kaguya's face.</p>
<p>"Thank you… father…"</p>
<p>The Administrabear snuffed, a great gust of wind which sent cherry blossoms flying.</p>
<p><strong>"BEARS, DRAW YOUR BLADES."</strong></p>
<p>The Ussuri and Moon Bear<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-10" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-10')">10</a></sup> both drew their chopsticks, elegant and nimble despite their large paws.</p>
<p><strong>"Three! Two! One! HEY RASSHAI!"</strong></p>
<p>With her taihaku chopsticks held high, Kaguya spun with all her spirit, knowing that not only her ancestors, but all of Japan itself, was counting on her, she spun her trusty partner.</p>
<p>"Shine bright, Dark Moon!"</p>
<p>Filled with determination, his eyes burning with the rage of his fallen forebears,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-11" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-11')">11</a></sup> Yama used his own pair of jet-black chopsticks to spin sushi with all his might.</p>
<p>"Fuck her up, Sakurajima!"</p>
<p>The sushiblade both spun onto the sushifield as the world ground to a halt around them.</p>
<p>The two circled each other, probing for weaknesses, spinning up for an attack.</p>
<p>"Go, Sakurajima! Use Sriracha<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-12" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-12')">12</a></sup> Surge!"</p>
<p>Suddenly, Sakurajima erupted towards Dark Moon, it's red hot sriracha setting aflame as its spin increased in speed slamming into its opponent which quickly turned to a tempura<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-13" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-13')">13</a></sup> crisp.</p>
<p>"Ha!" laughed Yama "Pathetic. And to think I was actually worried."</p>
<p>"Patience, Yama, my friend isn't done with you yet."</p>
<p>Suddenly, the sushi emerged from its tempura shell with a Cool Cucumber Blast, splashing Sakurajima and neutralizing its fiery temper.</p>
<p>"Fukanō!"<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-14" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-14')">14</a></sup> Snarled Yama.</p>
<p>Weakened, Sakurajima tried one last attack, attempting to overpower the ehomaki<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-15" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-15')">15</a></sup> with its creaminess, but it's avocado-cream cheese combination was no match for the juicy tanginess of Dark Moon's mango and pickled ginger.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-16" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-16')">16</a></sup></p>
<p>Soon, Sakurajima slowed, its heat neutralized, its binds loosening, it fell.</p>
<p><strong>"Match set! The winner is Dark Moon and Kaguya!"</strong></p>
<p>"Alright, Dark Moon! Way to go!" celebrated Kaguya, embracing her sushi blade as Yuma consumed his fallen ally in one powerful gulp.</p>
<p>"Hmph," grunted the Ussuri. "You won't be so lucky next time."</p>
<p>"This is no mere luck Yama! This is the bond between chef and sushiblade, cooked in the fires of battle."</p>
<p>Kaguya lovingly slathered uruchimai<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-17" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-17')">17</a></sup> onto her partner, healing its wounds sustained in battle.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Yama readied his second dish for battle, removing a sweet fruity smelling roll from his bento box.</p>
<p><strong>"Round Two! Three! Two! One! HEY RASSHAI!"</strong></p>
<p>"Behold, the ultimate dessert roll, Sugar Mountains!"<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-18" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-18')">18</a></sup></p>
<p>"You've got this Dark Moon, you've just gotta believe!"</p>
<p>Dark Moon lunged at Sugar Mountains, taking the initiative, and hit with its Tuna Tumble! But wait what's this? The two were stuck together by Sugar Mountains' Mochi<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-19" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-19')">19</a></sup> Moussetrap! Sugar Mountains, still spinning and took Dark Moon along for the ride as the savory roll began to crumble, as the sweetness began to overpower the umami flavor.</p>
<p>"Ha! You may be able to handle the heat, but not the sweet, eh Kaguya?"</p>
<p>Kaguya, despite herself began a low growl of worry as her sushiblade began to wobble. For a moment. almost. seeming. to. s t o p. It seemed the fight was nearly lost, but Kaguya would not lose her hope.</p>
<p>"Dark Moon! My great negai<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-20" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-20')">20</a></sup> is for us to succeed! Let's all try our best, okay?!"</p>
<p>Suddenly, Dark Moon began to spin up again, as if surging with energy as it used… TEMPURA TRAP! suddenly the tempura shrimp's hard shells began to crumble attaching itself to the enemy, quickly slowing it down as it gave the the bilberry and honeysuckle filling an unwelcome <em>crunch</em>.</p>
<p>Sugar Mountains fell, and not a moment too soon, as Dark Moon crumbled soon after.</p>
<p>"Dark Moon!" cried Kaguya, as she hurried to her partner's side "Rest now, I'll make you good as new!"</p>
<p>Kaguya quickly opened up several containers of fresh ingredients and began chopping them with her powerful claws.</p>
<p>First she unrolled her nori paper, then she wet her paw pads and applied some still warm rice. Next, she lined up the avocado, smoked salmon, shrimp tempura and kyūri,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-21" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-21')">21</a></sup> as well as some pickled ginger and fresh mango.</p>
<p>Finally she rolled it in her makisu, applying strong pressure and making a silent wish. Soon enough she felt her partner's soul exit its former shell and enter its new body.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Yara picked up his second defeat and quickly consumed it, clacking his teeth.</p>
<p>"Will you not yield, Yara?"</p>
<p>"Not so long as there is vengeance to seek. When we lost this land to the Moon Bears during the Fourth Hyogaki ,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-22" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-22')">22</a></sup> my forebears vowed we would come home again."</p>
<p>Kaguya snorted in acknowledgement.</p>
<p>"A noble goal, Yara, but we need not fight for it. Let our clans unite as one and no longer be as enemies. We might have been a kazoku once, we could be again."</p>
<p>Yara's snout showed a brief moment of tenderness. Perhaps— but no, he'd come too far, done too much in service of his goal to best her, he mustn't falter now.</p>
<p>"Bah, and admit subservience to a cub like you? <em>Never.</em> I am your better in all ways and shall prove it, once I've taken your station of Guardian Bear once and for all!"</p>
<p>The two took their positions as they prepared for the final battle. Kaguya with her staunch ally and Yama with his final weapon.</p>
<p><strong>"Round Three! Three! Two! One! HEY RASSHAI!"</strong></p>
<p>"Last one, let's do it Dark Moon!" encouraged Kaguya, spinning her friend with her neon white chop sticks.</p>
<p>"Hmph, don't be so cocky Kaguya!" taunted Yama "I still have a secret weapon after all." Yama pulled out a heretofore unseen bento box. One so black it seemed to take the very color out of the air. As Yama opened it a tantalizing smell emerged, and he quickly spun up his sushiblade.</p>
<p>The two sushi slammed together, white-hot sparks flying where they connected. Dark Moon used its full body attack to knock back its opponent.</p>
<p>"Oi oi, Yama, aren't you going to introduce us? How rude it is to start a match without meeting your enemy."</p>
<p>Yama grinned a devious smile.</p>
<p>"Heh, there are no introductions to make, for this is <span style="color: #red">The Sushi Roll With No Name.</span></p>
<p>Suddenly, <span style="color: #red">the awesome roll</span> gained an <span style="color: green">otherworldly</span> texture, and knocked Dark Moon off its axis, causing it to wobble.</p>
<p>"Uso-?! You can't mean… That's impossible…"</p>
<p>"Heh heh heh…. Yes Kaguya, it's true…."</p>
<p>"No!"</p>
<p>"Yes.. heh heh heh…. Since we last met I've journeyed to <span style="color: green">The Woods of Which We Do Not Speak</span> where I trained in the way of <span style="color: brown">Those Who Shit in the Woods.</span> "</p>
<p>A savory scent caught on the air as the <span style="color: #red">enemy sushiblade</span> turned a <span style="color: #fa8072">a pinkish hue.</span></p>
<p>"No!"</p>
<p>"Ha ha ha… yes…. I nearly lost my name and my life, Kaguya, but I finally did it."</p>
<p>"No! It's not true! Tell me you didn't use <span style="color: #fa8072">Those Who Swim Upstream</span>…"</p>
<p>"Ha ha yes…. at least you see my true potential…. This victory will be…"</p>
<p>Yama licked his chops.</p>
<p>"<em>Delicious…</em>"</p>
<p>Its True Nature revealed, small orange spheres began to jut out of <span style="color: #fa8072">the most Taboo of sushi</span> and flit towards Dark Moon.</p>
<p>Dark Moon swerved to avoid several of them, but was finally caught by one. The orb exploded with flavor, sending Dark Moon into a tail spin.</p>
<p>Yama cackled, looking upon his opponent to witness her defeat, and saw a single tear descend her snout.</p>
<p>"Eh heh heh, don't cry Kaguya-chan, once I've won perhaps I'll save you a pit from your beloved sakura tree."</p>
<p>"My brother bear, you have engaged in the Darkest of Sushi Arts, and thus truly have fallen. I do not cry for my sake,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-23" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-23')">23</a></sup> but for what I must do next…"</p>
<p>Kaguya shut her eyes and quickly entered a meditative trance as the sushi clashed once more with a boom.</p>
<p>"Oi oi, you're taking a nap at a time like this? You're going to miss my victory?"</p>
<p>The rolls slammed together once more, Dark Moon beginning to lose its luster as its very soul seemed to be consumed by the <span style="color: #fa8072">darkest of sushi</span></p>
<p>"Eh hahehhehhehehh hhahahha hooo hooo hahahhahhehehhehehhehehehheehehheheeheheheheh hahehaehah hoo hoho ho hahah he heeee hehhehehehehe,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-24" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-24')">24</a></sup> my victory is at last at hand!"</p>
<p>But Kaguya remained silent, and began to glow and rise into the air. As she did, so too did her soulbound sushi.</p>
<p>"Eh? What's this."</p>
<p>In the sky above the full moon shone brightly, as Kaguya raised further into the sky.</p>
<p>"Yama, do you not realize? You will never defeat me. By my masters, the Guardian Bear of Yellowstone,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-25" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-25')">25</a></sup> the Guardian Bear of China,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-26" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-26')">26</a></sup> and Jeremy Allen White!<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-27" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-27')">27</a></sup> I bid the Holy Spirit of Sushi to…"</p>
<p><strong>"EMPYR-ACTIVATE!"</strong></p>
<p>As the moon shone more and more brightly, Yama was forced to look away. Until, suddenly, with a great howling, the moon turned black, and a glowing white bear girl<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-28" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-28')">28</a></sup> appeared floating above the field.</p>
<p>"Dark Moon Screaming!"</p>
<p>Kaguya clenched her bear fists. The Administrabear looked down from his spaghetti with awe.</p>
<p>"Yama Ussari, you have commited crimes against the High Council of Bears, and the Will of Sushi itself, and thus must now die!"</p>
<p>A single tear rolled down Kaguya's face.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry…. brother…."</p>
<p>As the goddess of the moon bears moon blast engulfed its opponent sushi, Yama put his snout in his paws, clearly dejected, his body wracked with sobs.</p>
<p>As Kaguya's belly badge glowed with golden light, she aimed her right paw at her old rival, ready to do what must be done.</p>
<p>"When you get to Corbenic, tell mother I said…. Konnichi-what's up…"</p>
<p>Yama seemed to sob louder and louder, until suddenly it was clear to Kaguya that he wasn't crying at all…. he was <em>laughing.</em></p>
<p>"Eh? what's so funny?" asked the confused champion.</p>
<p>"Take another look at the field, dear cousin."</p>
<p>Taking her eyes off of her opponent she returned her gaze to the field. Where she saw her goddess… breaking out in hives???</p>
<p>Kaguya came to a realization with horror. Didn't she smell something…. sweet?</p>
<p>"No!"</p>
<p>"Haha… yes…"</p>
<p>"No, it can't be!"</p>
<p>"But it is…."</p>
<p>"It's impossible!"</p>
<p>Yama laughed darkly.</p>
<p>"You've lost, Kaguya…"</p>
<p>Panicing, Kaguya blasted Yama with her godly energy. Only for it to pounce off of him harmlessly.</p>
<p>"No…"</p>
<p>Kaguya and Dark Moon Screaming both simultaneously fell to their knees. Yara walked on the field to retrieve his own dark partner.</p>
<p>"Heh, did you really think I'd go to <span style="color: green">The Hundred Acre Woods</span> without gaining instruction from the <span style="color: gold"><a href="/djkaktus-s-proposal-j">Fool Bear</a></span> himself?</p>
<p>Yara stuck a finger in his roll and then licked it.</p>
<p>" Mmmm, <a href="/scp-5993">Hunny</a> Wasabi."</p>
<p>"No…"</p>
<p>The Administabear looked down with disappointment and shed a single tear, losing his appetite.</p>
<p><strong>"Match…. Set! The new Champion Bear of Japan is… Yara!"</strong></p>
<p>Newly empowered, Yara, walked off towards the woods, to inform the other Ussuri, but not before turning back one last time.</p>
<p>"See you around…. Sister…"</p>
<p>Kayuga clenched her bear fists, her teeth clacking, her body wracked with sobs, as she sat in the wreckage of her ehomaki and her wishes. The leaves of the sakura tree fell around her with the breeze, dying.</p>
<p>Kayuga was lost. What was her purpose now?</p>
<p>Suddenly, a white suited man fell from the heavens.</p>
<p>"Kayuga, I need your help! The Moon Onikuma<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-29" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-29')">29</a></sup> have brought the Moon War to Japan! Only Dark Moon Screaming can save us now!"</p>
<p>In shock, Kaguya lifted her head from her despair and looked upon the <a href="/scp-1233">Moon Guardian</a>.</p>
<p>"???FATHER???"</p>
<p><—- TO BE CONTINUED</p>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. more commonly known as Yamato, or Niphon, Dragonfly Island is a small landmass with a population less than that of Java, Indonesia.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. a pale white tree known for its pink sakuranbo berries.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. The hascup, or hachimitsmu berry, is a blueberry native to Nippon, known for its amazuppai flavor.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-4"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-4')">4</a>. a bird.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-5"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-5')">5</a>. a particularly foul smelling species of goat.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-6"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-6')">6</a>. brown bears worshiped by the Ainu people.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-7"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-7')">7</a>. also known as a "mission" or "job".</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-8"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-8')">8</a>. a fruit similar to that of the Sakura tree.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-9"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-9')">9</a>. a variety of Japanese spaghetti.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-10"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-10')">10</a>. so-called because they hail from the moon.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-11"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-11')">11</a>. ancestor bears of four generations prior.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-12"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-12')">12</a>. spicy catsup.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-13"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-13')">13</a>. deep fried.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-14"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-14')">14</a>. fukanō means impossible.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-15"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-15')">15</a>. a thick, rolled sushi traditionally enjoyed during the Japanese holiday, Setsubun.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-16"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-16')">16</a>. a red-haired or ginger-haired person. 2% of the world's population is ginger.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-17"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-17')">17</a>. a white grain typically applied to sushi and cell phones.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-18"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-18')">18</a>. [REDACTED]</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-19"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-19')">19</a>. a variety of fried ice cream.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-20"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-20')">20</a>. a negai is a silently invoked hope or desire, especially in a ritualized way. There is no known equivalent term.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-21"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-21')">21</a>. an unsavory pickle.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-22"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-22')">22</a>. the Pleistocene (or Quaternary) glaciation.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-23"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-23')">23</a>. pronounced "sah-keh".</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-24"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-24')">24</a>. an expression of joy.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-25"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-25')">25</a>. a powerful practitioner of bear yoga.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-26"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-26')">26</a>. a master of martial arts.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-27"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-27')">27</a>. star of Hulu's "The Bear".</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-28"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-28')">28</a>. resembling an unshaven human woman.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-29"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-29')">29</a>. monstrous Bears.</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:yamisushi">:scp-wiki:theme:yamisushi</a>]]
[[div class="pseudocrumbs"]]
[[[canon-hub|Canon Hub]]] >> [[[From 120's Archives Hub]]] >> If A Bear Shits In The Woods, Does It Make A Sound?
[[/div]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
By[[*user Prismal]]
**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/prismalPrismal's Author Page]**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[/=]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
The single most factually accurate tale about a bear making sushi that you'll read today! (and that's the Prismal guarantee)]]
> THIS IS MY VERY FIRST FIC ABOUT MY OCS KAGUYA AND YARA. I HOPE U LIKE THEM!!!!!!! NO FLAMERS OR I'LL SHIT MYSELF.
[[/=]]
Kaguya sat meditating in the cool spring evening on Dragonfly Island,[[footnote]]more commonly known as Yamato, or Niphon, Dragonfly Island is a small landmass with a population less than that of Java, Indonesia. [[/footnote]] the breeze pleasantly blowing through her fur rustling the leaves of her sakura[[footnote]] a pale white tree known for its pink sakuranbo berries. [[/footnote]] tree perch, the sweet smell of hascup [[footnote]] The hascup, or hachimitsmu berry, is a blueberry native to Nippon, known for its amazuppai flavor.[[/footnote]] tickling her nose, the song of the uguisu[[footnote]] a bird. [[/footnote]] dancing on the wind.
A low hum of pleasure moved through her as she contemplated her home, this beautiful nation of which she was the humble guardian. Her ancestors had chosen well their hunting grounds, and she was honored to have been chosen as its protector.
Suddenly, the scene felt off, the songbird's warbling took on a shrill tone, a warm pungent odor wafted from the greenery and intermixed with that of berries. Her ears flattening, Kaguya descended from her perch, blowing and pawing at the dirt as she swiveled her head, warning any who may approach.
"Who disturbs the Guardian Bear of Japan?"
A low rumble responded from the greenery as an imposing brown-pelted figure approached bearing a woven basket, and began circling her.
"You've lost your touch Kaguya". The voice said mockingly "Time was, you'd have smelled me coming miles away."
"Hmph, I must simply have mistaken you for a serow.[[footnote]] a particularly foul smelling species of goat. [[/footnote]] Why is it you trouble me, Yama?"
Yama snuffed.
"Trouble you? Oh, ho, ho! Indeed I shall, for I am here to at last regain the title of Guardian for the honor of the Ussuri."[[footnote]]brown bears worshiped by the Ainu people. [[/footnote]]
Kaguya huffed.
"You challenge me once more, Yama? Will you never abandon this foolish quest?"[[footnote]]also known as a "mission" or "job". [[/footnote]]
"Not so long as I draw breath."
The clacking of powerful teeth could be heard from the Ussuri as Kaguya responded.
"So be it."
As Yama opened his basket, Kaguya retrieved her own from the cherry [[footnote]] a fruit similar to that of the Sakura tree. [[/footnote]]blossom tree and did the same. Each bear removed their bento box, ready to unleash the power within.
Summoned by the challenge, the great guardian [[[SCP-7293|Administabear]]], leader of the [[[project-konkane-kamuy-1905|High Council of Bears]]], appeared in the heavens above, his visage stern and disciplined, ready to impart judgement as he feasted on udon. [[footnote]]a variety of Japanese spaghetti.[[/footnote]]
"Oh great guardian Administrabear," supplicated Kaguya "what is your decree for this challenge?"
With a voice like thunder the heavens responded:
**THERE SHALL BE THREE BATTLES. THE CHALLENGER NEED ONLY WIN ONCE TO SUPPLANT THE CHAMPION.**
Both bears bowed before the wise judgement.
"THANK YOU FOR YOUR JUDGEMENT GREAT ADMINISTRABEAR!" the rivals responded in tandem.
The Administrabear slurped some more udon.
**"Mmmm. Do your best, my Guardian Bear."**
A single tear rolled down Kaguya's face.
"Thank you... father..."
The Administrabear snuffed, a great gust of wind which sent cherry blossoms flying.
**"BEARS, DRAW YOUR BLADES."**
The Ussuri and Moon Bear [[footnote]] so-called because they hail from the moon. [[/footnote]] both drew their chopsticks, elegant and nimble despite their large paws.
**"Three! Two! One! HEY RASSHAI!"**
With her taihaku chopsticks held high, Kaguya spun with all her spirit, knowing that not only her ancestors, but all of Japan itself, was counting on her, she spun her trusty partner.
"Shine bright, Dark Moon!"
Filled with determination, his eyes burning with the rage of his fallen forebears,[[footnote]]ancestor bears of four generations prior. [[/footnote]] Yama used his own pair of jet-black chopsticks to spin sushi with all his might.
"Fuck her up, Sakurajima!"
The sushiblade both spun onto the sushifield as the world ground to a halt around them.
The two circled each other, probing for weaknesses, spinning up for an attack.
"Go, Sakurajima! Use Sriracha [[footnote]] spicy catsup. [[/footnote]] Surge!"
Suddenly, Sakurajima erupted towards Dark Moon, it's red hot sriracha setting aflame as its spin increased in speed slamming into its opponent which quickly turned to a tempura [[footnote]] deep fried. [[/footnote]] crisp.
"Ha!" laughed Yama "Pathetic. And to think I was actually worried."
"Patience, Yama, my friend isn't done with you yet."
Suddenly, the sushi emerged from its tempura shell with a Cool Cucumber Blast, splashing Sakurajima and neutralizing its fiery temper.
"Fukanō!"[[footnote]] fukanō means impossible. [[/footnote]] Snarled Yama.
Weakened, Sakurajima tried one last attack, attempting to overpower the ehomaki [[footnote]] a thick, rolled sushi traditionally enjoyed during the Japanese holiday, Setsubun. [[/footnote]] with its creaminess, but it's avocado-cream cheese combination was no match for the juicy tanginess of Dark Moon's mango and pickled ginger.[[footnote]] a red-haired or ginger-haired person. 2% of the world's population is ginger. [[/footnote]]
Soon, Sakurajima slowed, its heat neutralized, its binds loosening, it fell.
**"Match set! The winner is Dark Moon and Kaguya!"**
"Alright, Dark Moon! Way to go!" celebrated Kaguya, embracing her sushi blade as Yuma consumed his fallen ally in one powerful gulp.
"Hmph," grunted the Ussuri. "You won't be so lucky next time."
"This is no mere luck Yama! This is the bond between chef and sushiblade, cooked in the fires of battle."
Kaguya lovingly slathered uruchimai[[footnote]] a white grain typically applied to sushi and cell phones. [[/footnote]] onto her partner, healing its wounds sustained in battle.
Meanwhile, Yama readied his second dish for battle, removing a sweet fruity smelling roll from his bento box.
**"Round Two! Three! Two! One! HEY RASSHAI!"**
"Behold, the ultimate dessert roll, Sugar Mountains!"[[footnote]] [REDACTED] [[/footnote]]
"You've got this Dark Moon, you've just gotta believe!"
Dark Moon lunged at Sugar Mountains, taking the initiative, and hit with its Tuna Tumble! But wait what's this? The two were stuck together by Sugar Mountains' Mochi[[footnote]] a variety of fried ice cream. [[/footnote]] Moussetrap! Sugar Mountains, still spinning and took Dark Moon along for the ride as the savory roll began to crumble, as the sweetness began to overpower the umami flavor.
"Ha! You may be able to handle the heat, but not the sweet, eh Kaguya?"
Kaguya, despite herself began a low growl of worry as her sushiblade began to wobble. For a moment. almost. seeming. to. s t o p. It seemed the fight was nearly lost, but Kaguya would not lose her hope.
"Dark Moon! My great negai[[footnote]] a negai is a silently invoked hope or desire, especially in a ritualized way. There is no known equivalent term. [[/footnote]] is for us to succeed! Let's all try our best, okay?!"
Suddenly, Dark Moon began to spin up again, as if surging with energy as it used... TEMPURA TRAP! suddenly the tempura shrimp's hard shells began to crumble attaching itself to the enemy, quickly slowing it down as it gave the the bilberry and honeysuckle filling an unwelcome //crunch//.
Sugar Mountains fell, and not a moment too soon, as Dark Moon crumbled soon after.
"Dark Moon!" cried Kaguya, as she hurried to her partner's side "Rest now, I'll make you good as new!"
Kaguya quickly opened up several containers of fresh ingredients and began chopping them with her powerful claws.
First she unrolled her nori paper, then she wet her paw pads and applied some still warm rice. Next, she lined up the avocado, smoked salmon, shrimp tempura and kyūri,[[footnote]] an unsavory pickle. [[/footnote]] as well as some pickled ginger and fresh mango.
Finally she rolled it in her makisu, applying strong pressure and making a silent wish. Soon enough she felt her partner's soul exit its former shell and enter its new body.
Meanwhile, Yara picked up his second defeat and quickly consumed it, clacking his teeth.
"Will you not yield, Yara?"
"Not so long as there is vengeance to seek. When we lost this land to the Moon Bears during the Fourth Hyogaki ,[[footnote]]the Pleistocene (or Quaternary) glaciation. [[/footnote]] my forebears vowed we would come home again."
Kaguya snorted in acknowledgement.
"A noble goal, Yara, but we need not fight for it. Let our clans unite as one and no longer be as enemies. We might have been a kazoku once, we could be again."
Yara's snout showed a brief moment of tenderness. Perhaps— but no, he'd come too far, done too much in service of his goal to best her, he mustn't falter now.
"Bah, and admit subservience to a cub like you? //Never.// I am your better in all ways and shall prove it, once I've taken your station of Guardian Bear once and for all!"
The two took their positions as they prepared for the final battle. Kaguya with her staunch ally and Yama with his final weapon.
**"Round Three! Three! Two! One! HEY RASSHAI!"**
"Last one, let's do it Dark Moon!" encouraged Kaguya, spinning her friend with her neon white chop sticks.
"Hmph, don't be so cocky Kaguya!" taunted Yama "I still have a secret weapon after all." Yama pulled out a heretofore unseen bento box. One so black it seemed to take the very color out of the air. As Yama opened it a tantalizing smell emerged, and he quickly spun up his sushiblade.
The two sushi slammed together, white-hot sparks flying where they connected. Dark Moon used its full body attack to knock back its opponent.
"Oi oi, Yama, aren't you going to introduce us? How rude it is to start a match without meeting your enemy."
Yama grinned a devious smile.
"Heh, there are no introductions to make, for this is ###red| The Sushi Roll With No Name.##
Suddenly, ###red| the awesome roll## gained an ##green|otherworldly## texture, and knocked Dark Moon off its axis, causing it to wobble.
"Uso-?! You can't mean... That's impossible..."
"Heh heh heh.... Yes Kaguya, it's true...."
"No!"
"Yes.. heh heh heh.... Since we last met I've journeyed to ##green| The Woods of Which We Do Not Speak## where I trained in the way of ##brown| Those Who Shit in the Woods. ## "
A savory scent caught on the air as the ###red|enemy sushiblade## turned a ###FA8072| a pinkish hue.##
"No!"
"Ha ha ha... yes.... I nearly lost my name and my life, Kaguya, but I finally did it."
"No! It's not true! Tell me you didn't use ###FA8072| Those Who Swim Upstream##..."
"Ha ha yes.... at least you see my true potential.... This victory will be..."
Yama licked his chops.
"//Delicious...//"
Its True Nature revealed, small orange spheres began to jut out of ###FA8072| the most Taboo of sushi## and flit towards Dark Moon.
Dark Moon swerved to avoid several of them, but was finally caught by one. The orb exploded with flavor, sending Dark Moon into a tail spin.
Yama cackled, looking upon his opponent to witness her defeat, and saw a single tear descend her snout.
"Eh heh heh, don't cry Kaguya-chan, once I've won perhaps I'll save you a pit from your beloved sakura tree."
"My brother bear, you have engaged in the Darkest of Sushi Arts, and thus truly have fallen. I do not cry for my sake, [[footnote]] pronounced "sah-keh". [[/footnote]] but for what I must do next..."
Kaguya shut her eyes and quickly entered a meditative trance as the sushi clashed once more with a boom.
"Oi oi, you're taking a nap at a time like this? You're going to miss my victory?"
The rolls slammed together once more, Dark Moon beginning to lose its luster as its very soul seemed to be consumed by the ###FA8072| darkest of sushi##
"Eh hahehhehhehehh hhahahha hooo hooo hahahhahhehehhehehhehehehheehehheheeheheheheh hahehaehah hoo hoho ho hahah he heeee hehhehehehehe,[[footnote]]an expression of joy. [[/footnote]] my victory is at last at hand!"
But Kaguya remained silent, and began to glow and rise into the air. As she did, so too did her soulbound sushi.
"Eh? What's this."
In the sky above the full moon shone brightly, as Kaguya raised further into the sky.
"Yama, do you not realize? You will never defeat me. By my masters, the Guardian Bear of Yellowstone, [[footnote]] a powerful practitioner of bear yoga. [[/footnote]] the Guardian Bear of China, [[footnote]] a master of martial arts.[[/footnote]] and Jeremy Allen White! [[footnote]] star of Hulu's "The Bear". [[/footnote]] I bid the Holy Spirit of Sushi to..."
**"EMPYR-ACTIVATE!"**
As the moon shone more and more brightly, Yama was forced to look away. Until, suddenly, with a great howling, the moon turned black, and a glowing white bear girl [[footnote]] resembling an unshaven human woman. [[/footnote]] appeared floating above the field.
"Dark Moon Screaming!"
Kaguya clenched her bear fists. The Administrabear looked down from his spaghetti with awe.
"Yama Ussari, you have commited crimes against the High Council of Bears, and the Will of Sushi itself, and thus must now die!"
A single tear rolled down Kaguya's face.
"I'm sorry.... brother...."
As the goddess of the moon bears moon blast engulfed its opponent sushi, Yama put his snout in his paws, clearly dejected, his body wracked with sobs.
As Kaguya's belly badge glowed with golden light, she aimed her right paw at her old rival, ready to do what must be done.
"When you get to Corbenic, tell mother I said.... Konnichi-what's up..."
Yama seemed to sob louder and louder, until suddenly it was clear to Kaguya that he wasn't crying at all.... he was //laughing.//
"Eh? what's so funny?" asked the confused champion.
"Take another look at the field, dear cousin."
Taking her eyes off of her opponent she returned her gaze to the field. Where she saw her goddess... breaking out in hives???
Kaguya came to a realization with horror. Didn't she smell something.... sweet?
"No!"
"Haha... yes..."
"No, it can't be!"
"But it is...."
"It's impossible!"
Yama laughed darkly.
"You've lost, Kaguya..."
Panicing, Kaguya blasted Yama with her godly energy. Only for it to pounce off of him harmlessly.
"No..."
Kaguya and Dark Moon Screaming both simultaneously fell to their knees. Yara walked on the field to retrieve his own dark partner.
"Heh, did you really think I'd go to ##green| The Hundred Acre Woods## without gaining instruction from the ##gold| [[[djkaktus-s-proposal-j| Fool Bear]]]## himself?
Yara stuck a finger in his roll and then licked it.
" Mmmm, [[[scp-5993 |Hunny]]] Wasabi."
"No..."
The Administabear looked down with disappointment and shed a single tear, losing his appetite.
**"Match.... Set! The new Champion Bear of Japan is... Yara!"**
Newly empowered, Yara, walked off towards the woods, to inform the other Ussuri, but not before turning back one last time.
"See you around.... Sister..."
Kayuga clenched her bear fists, her teeth clacking, her body wracked with sobs, as she sat in the wreckage of her ehomaki and her wishes. The leaves of the sakura tree fell around her with the breeze, dying.
Kayuga was lost. What was her purpose now?
Suddenly, a white suited man fell from the heavens.
"Kayuga, I need your help! The Moon Onikuma [[footnote]] monstrous Bears. [[/footnote]] have brought the Moon War to Japan! Only Dark Moon Screaming can save us now!"
In shock, Kaguya lifted her head from her despair and looked upon the [[[scp-1233| Moon Guardian]]].
"???FATHER???"
<--- TO BE CONTINUED
|
2024-04-05T23:20:00
|
[
"cack-hard",
"comedy",
"cool-war-2",
"from-120s-archives",
"moon-champion",
"nameless",
"obearwatch",
"tale"
] |
If A Bear Shits In The Woods, Does It Make A Sound? - SCP Foundation
| 32
|
[
"canon-hub",
"from-120-s-archives-hub",
"prismalPrismal's",
"scp-7293",
"project-konkane-kamuy-1905",
"djkaktus-s-proposal-j",
"scp-5993",
"scp-1233"
] |
[
"from-120-s-archives-hub",
"cool-war-2-hub",
"cack-hub"
] |
[] |
1453259822
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/if-a-bear-shits-in-the-woods-does-it-make-a-sound
|
|
if-the-glove-fits
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
The facility was dead silent, an empty maze of gleaming white halls where the hum of machinery had given way to an eerie stillness. Usually, these corridors buzzed with the unending chatter of scientists and the thrum of anomalous technology. But tonight, the machines were cold, the lights sterile and harsh, and the only sound was the echo of Nobody’s footsteps, cutting through the silence.
<p>Rounding corners and passing rows of dormant equipment, Nobody moved through the halls like a shadow. Then he saw them: three sleek, white security panels bearing the unmistakable stamp of Anderson Robotics. They stood like sentinels, unmoving, their polished surfaces reflecting the dim glow of emergency lighting. The latest and greatest in security, these units were the pinnacle of Anderson’s genius. Yet tonight, they were deactivated, silent as statues, the faint hum of the building’s life support systems their only sign of life.</p>
<p>Nobody’s breath was steady as he continued down the corridor, heading for a door that seemed to draw the light inwards, a smooth black surface that stood out against the pristine white walls like an ink stain. With a slow, controlled exhale, he reached out, pressed against the cool surface, and slipped inside.</p>
<p>In the center of the room, which resembled that of a completely ordinary testing chamber, sitting on a plain metal stool, was Anderson himself, his posture relaxed, almost casual, as he toyed idly with a Rubik’s Cube. He looked up as Nobody entered, and a slow, almost amused smile spread across his face.</p>
<p>“Well,” Anderson said, setting the cube aside with deliberate slowness, his eyes gleaming with a mechanical light that flickered unnervingly in the stillness. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”<br/>
Nobody said nothing, letting the door close behind him with a soft hiss. Anderson’s gaze flickered over him, assessing, calculating.</p>
<p>“You’ve been busy,” Anderson continued. “My colleagues, it seems, didn’t fare so well against you. I’ve heard the rumors—about the deaths, the executions.” He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “But I suppose that’s to be expected. They weren’t quite… up to the challenge, were they?”</p>
<p>Nobody’s expression remained impassive, his silence a quiet challenge of its own. Anderson’s smile widened, his fingers drumming idly on the edge of the Rubik’s Cube.</p>
<p>“I knew you’d find me eventually,” he said, his tone suddenly serious, a slight tension tightening his jaw. “Which is why my employer left me a little something—just in case.” He gestured with a lazy flick of his wrist toward a small, unassuming package on a nearby table. “A parting gift, if you will. Told me to guard it until the day you showed up. Seems that day’s come.”</p>
<p>Nobody’s eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on the package for a moment before shifting back to Anderson, who continued speaking.</p>
<p>“So here’s my offer,” Anderson said, leaning forward, his eyes flashing with a strange intensity. “We play a game. If you win, you get to kill me and take the package—no alarms, no security, no tricks. But if I win, you walk away and never return.”</p>
<p>There was a brief, taut silence as Nobody considered the proposal, his gaze never wavering from Anderson’s. It was a familiar scenario, one he had encountered countless times before—targets always preferred to gamble when they felt the noose tightening around their necks. But Anderson wasn’t like the others; there was something different in his tone, in the way he smiled as if he already knew the outcome.</p>
<p>“Why always a game?” Nobody asked at last. Anderson’s smile turned wry, a shadow of satisfaction flickering across his face.</p>
<p>“Because we know what you are,” he replied softly. “And we know your rules. A single chance, one opportunity to play for everything—it’s your code, isn’t it? And I know you won’t refuse a fair game.”</p>
<p>Just then, the screens that lined the walls flared to life, casting the room in an unsettling glow, their light throwing strange shadows across Anderson’s face.</p>
<p>“The rules are simple,” Anderson said, his voice regaining that easy, almost casual tone. He picked up the Rubik’s Cube again, holding it loosely in one hand as if it were a toy. “We each get a cube. The screens will flash two images of a scrambled Rubik’s Cube, showing only two sides. We’ll have to recreate the full scramble using only those images. Whoever’s closer wins the round. Ten rounds. If we draw at the end, we both lose. I die, you die.”</p>
<p>Nobody’s eyes narrowed, taking in the screens, the room, and Anderson’s too-bright smile with equal caution. There was something more to this game, he could feel it—a tension that thrummed beneath Anderson’s outward calm. For all the casual words, Anderson’s gaze was too steady, his movements too precise.</p>
<p>“Shall we begin?” Anderson asked, his smile deepening as he saw Nobody’s slight nod of agreement.</p>
<p>Suddenly, a Rubik’s Cube shimmered into existence in front of Nobody, hovering in mid-air, waiting expectantly. Without hesitation, he reached out and grabbed it, his eyes drifting upward to the vibrant monitors overhead.</p>
<p>The screens above began a countdown from five, large numbers flashing in a vivid white. When the countdown hit zero, two separate faces of the same Rubik’s Cube flashed for a few seconds before vanishing. Nobody glanced back at the cube in his hand—two faces, that was all he had to go on. It narrowed the possibilities, but there were still millions of combinations.</p>
<p>His lips twitched. Nothing in a computer was truly random. Random number generators worked off a seed-based system, each seed producing a unique set of numbers. In the end, it was just math. This computer was no different, limited by the same constraints as any algorithm. The system had shown him the two faces first, which meant it had to use those as a base to generate the rest of the cube. If he could decode the pattern from those faces, he could isolate the potential seeds and predict the entire cube.</p>
<p>Nobody’s fingers moved in a blur,twisting the cube. Finally, he placed the completed cube down, glancing at the clock. Three seconds—slower than usual, he noted.</p>
<p>Across the table, Anderson was still at work, his hands also a blur. Moments later, he placed his cube down with a quiet clink. Nobody noticed a faint shimmer around both cubes, suggesting some sort of perception filter—an invisible barrier meant to prevent either of them from seeing the other’s solution.</p>
<p>The monitors flickered back to life, displaying the answer. The correct cube appeared, and Nobody's solution was a perfect match. So was Anderson’s. The result: a tie. The screen glitched briefly, cutting out for a fraction of a second before stabilizing, a flicker that didn’t go unnoticed by Anderson, whose brow furrowed for just a moment.</p>
<p>“A tie?” Anderson’s voice held a mixture of amusement and surprise as he gave a slow, approving nod. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”</p>
<p>Nobody’s gaze remained downcast, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face, which was already blurred. “I suppose,” he said flatly.</p>
<p>The monitors resumed their countdown for the second round, and Nobody remained still, waiting for the flickering numbers to reach zero. Once again, two faces of the cube were briefly revealed before vanishing into the void of the screens. He didn’t hesitate this time, his fingers a blur of motion as he twisted and turned the cube with swift, practiced movements.</p>
<p>This time, it took longer—nearly five seconds—before he set the cube down. Anderson, on the other hand, was quicker, his hands were dancing over the cube with ease. He placed his cube down with a flourish, not even glancing at Nobody as his eyes remained locked on the monitor.</p>
<p>The screens flared to life, displaying the correct pattern. Anderson’s solution was perfect, each square in its proper place. Nobody’s, however, was one square off. The second round went to Anderson. A low chuckle escaped his lips. Nobody’s face remained unreadable, his fingers already idly resetting the cube for the next round. Suddenly, the monitors glitched, the image flickering before stabilizing, the disruption barely noticeable—except for the slight narrowing of Anderson's eyes.</p>
<p>“Just warming up?” Anderson asked, his smirk razor-sharp, voice tinged with a hint of superiority.<br/>
The countdown began for the third round. Four seconds later, he placed the cube down without hesitation, his gaze fixed on the middle distance as if Anderson weren’t even there. Anderson finished with the same expression as before, placing his cube down with a practiced, effortless motion.</p>
<p>The screens once again displayed the results, Anderson’s solution aligning flawlessly with the answer. Nobody’s was nearly identical, but again, a single piece was out of place. Anderson’s expression brightened, a flicker of confidence turning to outright smugness. “Another point for me,” he announced, barely able to contain his self-satisfaction.</p>
<p>Nobody didn’t react. He simply reset the cube, his face neutral. Another flicker danced across the screens, a longer, more pronounced glitch that made the monitors blur for a split second before snapping back into clarity.<br/>
The fourth round started. This time, Nobody’s hands moved with what seemed like a careless motion. Anderson was faster, barely pausing between each twist and turn, his movements sharp and precise. As soon as the timer hit zero, he placed his cube down, fingers drumming lightly on the table.</p>
<p>The monitors lit up, displaying Anderson’s perfect cube next to. Anderson’s victory was clear, and he couldn’t resist a slight tilt of his head, the smile playing on his lips turning cruel. “I expected more,” he said, voice carrying a hint of mock disappointment.</p>
<p>Nobody still said nothing, his hands resetting the on his cube. As he did, the screens above flickered again, a deep, shuddering glitch that seemed to make the room itself tremble. This time, the interruption was more than a flicker—it lasted almost a full second before the monitors corrected themselves, stabilizing with an audible click.</p>
<p>The fifth round began, the countdown ticking away as the images of two cube faces flashed onto the monitors. As soon as they vanished, Nobody’s hands moved with a new fluidity, setting down his completed cube in just a few seconds. Across from him, Anderson finished moments later, the smirk still plastered across his face. He was winning, after all.</p>
<p>But when the monitors revealed the results, the screen flashed red. Anderson’s solution was wrong.<br/>
For a split second, Anderson’s smile froze. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “What…?” he muttered, glancing between the screen and his cube as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Nobody’s cube was correct, perfectly matching the solution.</p>
<p>“Huh. Everyone makes mistakes, I guess,” he said, resetting his cube with overly casual motions.<br/>
As the sixth round began, Nobody’s movements were faster than ever. Anderson was quick, too, but his speed seemed almost unsure now, his fingers tightening around the cube with each turn. When both cubes hit the table, the monitors lit up—another victory for Nobody. Once again, a subtle glitch flickered across the screens, distorting the results for a heartbeat before settling back to clarity.</p>
<p>“Just a hiccup,” Anderson said, though his voice lacked its former confidence.</p>
<p>The seventh round started, and Nobody didn’t miss a beat, completing his cube instantly. Anderson hesitated for the first time, his hands faltering as he twisted the pieces into place. When the monitors displayed the results, Nobody had won again.</p>
<p>“Something’s wrong with these monitors,” he snapped, his voice strained. “They’re glitching out.”<br/>
Nobody didn’t respond, his face as impassive as ever. He merely reset the cube with the same calm efficiency, as if the strange behavior of the screens was irrelevant.</p>
<p>The eighth round began, and Anderson’s movements grew rigid, his once-fluid motions now jerky. He placed his cube down, but it was clear from the way his eyes flickered toward the monitors that he was nervous. When the result displayed, the screens showed Nobody’s solution as correct, Anderson’s wrong once more. The glitch was more severe this time, the monitors flickering with static that danced across their surfaces before settling down.</p>
<p>“Dammit!” Anderson hissed, his voice barely controlled. He was visibly tense now, his confidence rapidly unraveling.</p>
<p>By the ninth round, a sheen of sweat had appeared on Anderson’s forehead. His fingers, once steady, were shaking as he twisted the cube. He was still fast, but there was a frantic edge to his movements, a desperation that hadn’t been there before. As the cubes hit the table, the monitors revealed yet another win for Nobody. The glitch was the worst yet, a series of erratic flashes that made Anderson flinch, his mouth pressing into a tight line.</p>
<p>“No,” he muttered, almost to himself, his face pale. “No, that’s not possible.”</p>
<p>The tenth round began, and the room felt heavier, the tension almost tangible. Anderson’s hands were visibly trembling now, his eyes darting nervously from the cube to the glitching monitors. He fumbled with the final moves, and the moment he placed the cube down, he looked up, his expression caught between hope and fear.</p>
<p>The monitors took longer than usual to respond, flickering wildly before displaying the results. Anderson’s face fell. Another mistake. Another victory for Nobody. The screen glitched violently, the distortion spreading across the monitors like a ripple of digital noise. Anderson had lost.</p>
<p>Anderson’s shoulders slumped as he hung his head, his entire frame sagging in defeat. The Rubik’s Cube slipped from his limp fingers, clattering to the ground. Nobody stood up, the soft creak of the chair echoing in the quiet room as he slowly approached Anderson’s hunched form. Finally, he stopped, towering over the inventor.</p>
<p>"Be proud," Nobody said. "Your trick was impressive."</p>
<p>At those words, Anderson’s head shot up, eyes wide with shock. "You… you knew?" he stammered, disbelief lacing his tone.</p>
<p>"Of course I knew." Nobody’s voice was calm, almost clinical. "I realized it from the very first round. There was no way, even with your augmentations, that you could keep up with me in this game. The glitches on the screens—they were no ordinary malfunctions. I knew they had to be caused by some kind of interference. It couldn’t have been mechanical; you’re far too clever to have your machines fail in such an obvious way."</p>
<p>Nobody knelt down until he was eye level with Anderson. "Your eyes," he continued, his gaze locking onto the inventor's, "they’re augmented to allow you to glimpse a short distance into the future. That’s what the glitches were—side effects of you peering ahead in time. The more you used that ability, the more strain it put on your devices. You knew I would solve each cube flawlessly, so you tried to match me, round for round. You didn’t care about your own victory… only about dragging me down with you."</p>
<p>Anderson’s face twisted, a mix of horror and helpless rage crossing his features. His voice came out in a low, broken whisper. "But… how? How did you beat me?"</p>
<p>"You got sloppy," Nobody said, his tone matter-of-fact. "You were so sure of your brilliance that you didn’t even think to question my losses. You never wondered why I failed three rounds in a row."</p>
<p>Anderson’s brow furrowed, confusion clear in his eyes as he tried to understand. Nobody’s expression softened, as if pitying the man’s ignorance.</p>
<p>"I needed you to see a pattern," Nobody explained. "The cubes I solved, they weren't random. They were carefully chosen to form a sequence—a cognitohazard. Each completed configuration was part of a greater design. Individually, they were just solutions to a game, but when seen in succession—especially with future sight—they form a pattern that disrupts the mind. A pattern that your brain, with its augmentations, couldn't handle."</p>
<p>Anderson’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat.</p>
<p>"That’s why you started losing after the fifth round," Nobody said. "The further you looked into the future, the more that pattern burned into your perception, distorting your ability to see clearly."</p>
<p>"You… tricked me," Anderson said, his voice barely above a whisper. "In the patterns… a trap for my eyes."</p>
<p>"Exactly," Nobody confirmed. "I played the game you wanted, Anderson. I let you think you had the upper hand, that you could cheat and get away with it. But in the end, your own gift—the very thing you thought would guarantee your victory—became your downfall."</p>
<p>Anderson's breath came in shallow gasps, his eyes wide and unfocused, his mind struggling to process what had occured.</p>
<p>"I suppose, in a way, you did see the future," Nobody said softly, almost gently. "But you were too blinded by your own ego to understand what you were seeing."</p>
<p>Anderson’s hands twitched, a reflexive motion towards his fallen cube, but his fingers stopped short, hovering over it as if the object had become something alien and dangerous. He looked up at Nobody, a shattered man, and in that moment, the truth settled over him like a suffocating weight.</p>
<p>"You never stood a chance," Nobody said, his voice quiet and cold. He stood up, leaving Anderson kneeling on the floor, broken and defeated, the flickering monitors casting erratic shadows across his face.</p>
<p>Nobody moved away from Anderson, his footsteps echoing faintly in the tense silence. His eyes fixed on the letter that lay on the table—the one Anderson had brandished earlier in their encounter. It was sleek, unassuming. Nobody picked it up, noting how clean it was, with only Anderson’s fingerprints marring the surface. Whoever had delivered this letter had been extremely cautious.</p>
<p>Carefully, Nobody unsealed the envelope. Instead of a letter, something far stranger lay inside—a single black glove, made of cotton, stamped with the distinct logo of Marshall, Carter & Dark. Slowly, Nobody slipped the glove onto his right hand. He reached into his coat and produced a coin, flipping it into the air. The coin spun before landing neatly in his palm.</p>
<p>Heads.</p>
<p>“Interesting,” Nobody murmured to himself, his gaze lingering on the glove for a moment before turning towards the exit.</p>
<p>He had barely taken a few steps when Anderson’s voice called out from behind him, desperate and hollow. “Wait,” Anderson rasped. “Aren’t you going to kill me?”</p>
<p>Nobody paused but didn’t look back. “I don’t have to,” he said quietly. “We both know you lost. Can you really live with that?”</p>
<p>Nobody didn't wait for an answer. He continued towards the exit, his footsteps even and calm, until he reached the door. He pushed it open and stepped outside.</p>
<p>Barely had he taken a few steps away when a thunderous explosion rocked the building, a deafening roar that rattled the windows and sent a plume of smoke billowing from the room he had just left.</p>
<p>Nobody didn’t turn around. He knew what had happened. Instead, he adjusted his hat, his expression unreadable, and walked on, disappearing into the shadows as the echoes of the blast slowly faded away.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>« <a href="/who-am-i-to-look-into-a-mirror">Who Am I to Look into a Mirror?</a> | <a href="/i-see-you">I See You</a> »</strong></p>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The facility was dead silent, an empty maze of gleaming white halls where the hum of machinery had given way to an eerie stillness. Usually, these corridors buzzed with the unending chatter of scientists and the thrum of anomalous technology. But tonight, the machines were cold, the lights sterile and harsh, and the only sound was the echo of Nobody’s footsteps, cutting through the silence.
Rounding corners and passing rows of dormant equipment, Nobody moved through the halls like a shadow. Then he saw them: three sleek, white security panels bearing the unmistakable stamp of Anderson Robotics. They stood like sentinels, unmoving, their polished surfaces reflecting the dim glow of emergency lighting. The latest and greatest in security, these units were the pinnacle of Anderson’s genius. Yet tonight, they were deactivated, silent as statues, the faint hum of the building’s life support systems their only sign of life.
Nobody’s breath was steady as he continued down the corridor, heading for a door that seemed to draw the light inwards, a smooth black surface that stood out against the pristine white walls like an ink stain. With a slow, controlled exhale, he reached out, pressed against the cool surface, and slipped inside.
In the center of the room, which resembled that of a completely ordinary testing chamber, sitting on a plain metal stool, was Anderson himself, his posture relaxed, almost casual, as he toyed idly with a Rubik’s Cube. He looked up as Nobody entered, and a slow, almost amused smile spread across his face.
“Well,” Anderson said, setting the cube aside with deliberate slowness, his eyes gleaming with a mechanical light that flickered unnervingly in the stillness. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Nobody said nothing, letting the door close behind him with a soft hiss. Anderson’s gaze flickered over him, assessing, calculating.
“You’ve been busy,” Anderson continued. “My colleagues, it seems, didn’t fare so well against you. I’ve heard the rumors—about the deaths, the executions.” He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “But I suppose that’s to be expected. They weren’t quite… up to the challenge, were they?”
Nobody’s expression remained impassive, his silence a quiet challenge of its own. Anderson’s smile widened, his fingers drumming idly on the edge of the Rubik’s Cube.
“I knew you’d find me eventually,” he said, his tone suddenly serious, a slight tension tightening his jaw. “Which is why my employer left me a little something—just in case.” He gestured with a lazy flick of his wrist toward a small, unassuming package on a nearby table. “A parting gift, if you will. Told me to guard it until the day you showed up. Seems that day’s come.”
Nobody’s eyes narrowed, his gaze lingering on the package for a moment before shifting back to Anderson, who continued speaking.
“So here’s my offer,” Anderson said, leaning forward, his eyes flashing with a strange intensity. “We play a game. If you win, you get to kill me and take the package—no alarms, no security, no tricks. But if I win, you walk away and never return.”
There was a brief, taut silence as Nobody considered the proposal, his gaze never wavering from Anderson’s. It was a familiar scenario, one he had encountered countless times before—targets always preferred to gamble when they felt the noose tightening around their necks. But Anderson wasn’t like the others; there was something different in his tone, in the way he smiled as if he already knew the outcome.
“Why always a game?” Nobody asked at last. Anderson’s smile turned wry, a shadow of satisfaction flickering across his face.
“Because we know what you are,” he replied softly. “And we know your rules. A single chance, one opportunity to play for everything—it’s your code, isn’t it? And I know you won’t refuse a fair game.”
Just then, the screens that lined the walls flared to life, casting the room in an unsettling glow, their light throwing strange shadows across Anderson’s face.
“The rules are simple,” Anderson said, his voice regaining that easy, almost casual tone. He picked up the Rubik’s Cube again, holding it loosely in one hand as if it were a toy. “We each get a cube. The screens will flash two images of a scrambled Rubik’s Cube, showing only two sides. We’ll have to recreate the full scramble using only those images. Whoever’s closer wins the round. Ten rounds. If we draw at the end, we both lose. I die, you die.”
Nobody’s eyes narrowed, taking in the screens, the room, and Anderson’s too-bright smile with equal caution. There was something more to this game, he could feel it—a tension that thrummed beneath Anderson’s outward calm. For all the casual words, Anderson’s gaze was too steady, his movements too precise.
“Shall we begin?” Anderson asked, his smile deepening as he saw Nobody’s slight nod of agreement.
Suddenly, a Rubik’s Cube shimmered into existence in front of Nobody, hovering in mid-air, waiting expectantly. Without hesitation, he reached out and grabbed it, his eyes drifting upward to the vibrant monitors overhead.
The screens above began a countdown from five, large numbers flashing in a vivid white. When the countdown hit zero, two separate faces of the same Rubik’s Cube flashed for a few seconds before vanishing. Nobody glanced back at the cube in his hand—two faces, that was all he had to go on. It narrowed the possibilities, but there were still millions of combinations.
His lips twitched. Nothing in a computer was truly random. Random number generators worked off a seed-based system, each seed producing a unique set of numbers. In the end, it was just math. This computer was no different, limited by the same constraints as any algorithm. The system had shown him the two faces first, which meant it had to use those as a base to generate the rest of the cube. If he could decode the pattern from those faces, he could isolate the potential seeds and predict the entire cube.
Nobody’s fingers moved in a blur,twisting the cube. Finally, he placed the completed cube down, glancing at the clock. Three seconds—slower than usual, he noted.
Across the table, Anderson was still at work, his hands also a blur. Moments later, he placed his cube down with a quiet clink. Nobody noticed a faint shimmer around both cubes, suggesting some sort of perception filter—an invisible barrier meant to prevent either of them from seeing the other’s solution.
The monitors flickered back to life, displaying the answer. The correct cube appeared, and Nobody's solution was a perfect match. So was Anderson’s. The result: a tie. The screen glitched briefly, cutting out for a fraction of a second before stabilizing, a flicker that didn’t go unnoticed by Anderson, whose brow furrowed for just a moment.
“A tie?” Anderson’s voice held a mixture of amusement and surprise as he gave a slow, approving nod. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
Nobody’s gaze remained downcast, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face, which was already blurred. “I suppose,” he said flatly.
The monitors resumed their countdown for the second round, and Nobody remained still, waiting for the flickering numbers to reach zero. Once again, two faces of the cube were briefly revealed before vanishing into the void of the screens. He didn’t hesitate this time, his fingers a blur of motion as he twisted and turned the cube with swift, practiced movements.
This time, it took longer—nearly five seconds—before he set the cube down. Anderson, on the other hand, was quicker, his hands were dancing over the cube with ease. He placed his cube down with a flourish, not even glancing at Nobody as his eyes remained locked on the monitor.
The screens flared to life, displaying the correct pattern. Anderson’s solution was perfect, each square in its proper place. Nobody’s, however, was one square off. The second round went to Anderson. A low chuckle escaped his lips. Nobody’s face remained unreadable, his fingers already idly resetting the cube for the next round. Suddenly, the monitors glitched, the image flickering before stabilizing, the disruption barely noticeable—except for the slight narrowing of Anderson's eyes.
“Just warming up?” Anderson asked, his smirk razor-sharp, voice tinged with a hint of superiority.
The countdown began for the third round. Four seconds later, he placed the cube down without hesitation, his gaze fixed on the middle distance as if Anderson weren’t even there. Anderson finished with the same expression as before, placing his cube down with a practiced, effortless motion.
The screens once again displayed the results, Anderson’s solution aligning flawlessly with the answer. Nobody’s was nearly identical, but again, a single piece was out of place. Anderson’s expression brightened, a flicker of confidence turning to outright smugness. “Another point for me,” he announced, barely able to contain his self-satisfaction.
Nobody didn’t react. He simply reset the cube, his face neutral. Another flicker danced across the screens, a longer, more pronounced glitch that made the monitors blur for a split second before snapping back into clarity.
The fourth round started. This time, Nobody’s hands moved with what seemed like a careless motion. Anderson was faster, barely pausing between each twist and turn, his movements sharp and precise. As soon as the timer hit zero, he placed his cube down, fingers drumming lightly on the table.
The monitors lit up, displaying Anderson’s perfect cube next to. Anderson’s victory was clear, and he couldn’t resist a slight tilt of his head, the smile playing on his lips turning cruel. “I expected more,” he said, voice carrying a hint of mock disappointment.
Nobody still said nothing, his hands resetting the on his cube. As he did, the screens above flickered again, a deep, shuddering glitch that seemed to make the room itself tremble. This time, the interruption was more than a flicker—it lasted almost a full second before the monitors corrected themselves, stabilizing with an audible click.
The fifth round began, the countdown ticking away as the images of two cube faces flashed onto the monitors. As soon as they vanished, Nobody’s hands moved with a new fluidity, setting down his completed cube in just a few seconds. Across from him, Anderson finished moments later, the smirk still plastered across his face. He was winning, after all.
But when the monitors revealed the results, the screen flashed red. Anderson’s solution was wrong.
For a split second, Anderson’s smile froze. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “What...?” he muttered, glancing between the screen and his cube as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Nobody’s cube was correct, perfectly matching the solution.
“Huh. Everyone makes mistakes, I guess,” he said, resetting his cube with overly casual motions.
As the sixth round began, Nobody’s movements were faster than ever. Anderson was quick, too, but his speed seemed almost unsure now, his fingers tightening around the cube with each turn. When both cubes hit the table, the monitors lit up—another victory for Nobody. Once again, a subtle glitch flickered across the screens, distorting the results for a heartbeat before settling back to clarity.
“Just a hiccup,” Anderson said, though his voice lacked its former confidence.
The seventh round started, and Nobody didn’t miss a beat, completing his cube instantly. Anderson hesitated for the first time, his hands faltering as he twisted the pieces into place. When the monitors displayed the results, Nobody had won again.
“Something’s wrong with these monitors,” he snapped, his voice strained. “They’re glitching out.”
Nobody didn’t respond, his face as impassive as ever. He merely reset the cube with the same calm efficiency, as if the strange behavior of the screens was irrelevant.
The eighth round began, and Anderson’s movements grew rigid, his once-fluid motions now jerky. He placed his cube down, but it was clear from the way his eyes flickered toward the monitors that he was nervous. When the result displayed, the screens showed Nobody’s solution as correct, Anderson’s wrong once more. The glitch was more severe this time, the monitors flickering with static that danced across their surfaces before settling down.
“Dammit!” Anderson hissed, his voice barely controlled. He was visibly tense now, his confidence rapidly unraveling.
By the ninth round, a sheen of sweat had appeared on Anderson’s forehead. His fingers, once steady, were shaking as he twisted the cube. He was still fast, but there was a frantic edge to his movements, a desperation that hadn’t been there before. As the cubes hit the table, the monitors revealed yet another win for Nobody. The glitch was the worst yet, a series of erratic flashes that made Anderson flinch, his mouth pressing into a tight line.
“No,” he muttered, almost to himself, his face pale. “No, that’s not possible.”
The tenth round began, and the room felt heavier, the tension almost tangible. Anderson’s hands were visibly trembling now, his eyes darting nervously from the cube to the glitching monitors. He fumbled with the final moves, and the moment he placed the cube down, he looked up, his expression caught between hope and fear.
The monitors took longer than usual to respond, flickering wildly before displaying the results. Anderson’s face fell. Another mistake. Another victory for Nobody. The screen glitched violently, the distortion spreading across the monitors like a ripple of digital noise. Anderson had lost.
Anderson’s shoulders slumped as he hung his head, his entire frame sagging in defeat. The Rubik’s Cube slipped from his limp fingers, clattering to the ground. Nobody stood up, the soft creak of the chair echoing in the quiet room as he slowly approached Anderson’s hunched form. Finally, he stopped, towering over the inventor.
"Be proud," Nobody said. "Your trick was impressive."
At those words, Anderson’s head shot up, eyes wide with shock. "You... you knew?" he stammered, disbelief lacing his tone.
"Of course I knew." Nobody’s voice was calm, almost clinical. "I realized it from the very first round. There was no way, even with your augmentations, that you could keep up with me in this game. The glitches on the screens—they were no ordinary malfunctions. I knew they had to be caused by some kind of interference. It couldn’t have been mechanical; you’re far too clever to have your machines fail in such an obvious way."
Nobody knelt down until he was eye level with Anderson. "Your eyes," he continued, his gaze locking onto the inventor's, "they’re augmented to allow you to glimpse a short distance into the future. That’s what the glitches were—side effects of you peering ahead in time. The more you used that ability, the more strain it put on your devices. You knew I would solve each cube flawlessly, so you tried to match me, round for round. You didn’t care about your own victory... only about dragging me down with you."
Anderson’s face twisted, a mix of horror and helpless rage crossing his features. His voice came out in a low, broken whisper. "But... how? How did you beat me?"
"You got sloppy," Nobody said, his tone matter-of-fact. "You were so sure of your brilliance that you didn’t even think to question my losses. You never wondered why I failed three rounds in a row."
Anderson’s brow furrowed, confusion clear in his eyes as he tried to understand. Nobody’s expression softened, as if pitying the man’s ignorance.
"I needed you to see a pattern," Nobody explained. "The cubes I solved, they weren't random. They were carefully chosen to form a sequence—a cognitohazard. Each completed configuration was part of a greater design. Individually, they were just solutions to a game, but when seen in succession—especially with future sight—they form a pattern that disrupts the mind. A pattern that your brain, with its augmentations, couldn't handle."
Anderson’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat.
"That’s why you started losing after the fifth round," Nobody said. "The further you looked into the future, the more that pattern burned into your perception, distorting your ability to see clearly."
"You... tricked me," Anderson said, his voice barely above a whisper. "In the patterns... a trap for my eyes."
"Exactly," Nobody confirmed. "I played the game you wanted, Anderson. I let you think you had the upper hand, that you could cheat and get away with it. But in the end, your own gift—the very thing you thought would guarantee your victory—became your downfall."
Anderson's breath came in shallow gasps, his eyes wide and unfocused, his mind struggling to process what had occured.
"I suppose, in a way, you did see the future," Nobody said softly, almost gently. "But you were too blinded by your own ego to understand what you were seeing."
Anderson’s hands twitched, a reflexive motion towards his fallen cube, but his fingers stopped short, hovering over it as if the object had become something alien and dangerous. He looked up at Nobody, a shattered man, and in that moment, the truth settled over him like a suffocating weight.
"You never stood a chance," Nobody said, his voice quiet and cold. He stood up, leaving Anderson kneeling on the floor, broken and defeated, the flickering monitors casting erratic shadows across his face.
Nobody moved away from Anderson, his footsteps echoing faintly in the tense silence. His eyes fixed on the letter that lay on the table—the one Anderson had brandished earlier in their encounter. It was sleek, unassuming. Nobody picked it up, noting how clean it was, with only Anderson’s fingerprints marring the surface. Whoever had delivered this letter had been extremely cautious.
Carefully, Nobody unsealed the envelope. Instead of a letter, something far stranger lay inside—a single black glove, made of cotton, stamped with the distinct logo of Marshall, Carter & Dark. Slowly, Nobody slipped the glove onto his right hand. He reached into his coat and produced a coin, flipping it into the air. The coin spun before landing neatly in his palm.
Heads.
“Interesting,” Nobody murmured to himself, his gaze lingering on the glove for a moment before turning towards the exit.
He had barely taken a few steps when Anderson’s voice called out from behind him, desperate and hollow. “Wait,” Anderson rasped. “Aren’t you going to kill me?”
Nobody paused but didn’t look back. “I don’t have to,” he said quietly. “We both know you lost. Can you really live with that?”
Nobody didn't wait for an answer. He continued towards the exit, his footsteps even and calm, until he reached the door. He pushed it open and stepped outside.
Barely had he taken a few steps away when a thunderous explosion rocked the building, a deafening roar that rattled the windows and sent a plume of smoke billowing from the room he had just left.
Nobody didn’t turn around. He knew what had happened. Instead, he adjusted his hat, his expression unreadable, and walked on, disappearing into the shadows as the echoes of the blast slowly faded away.
[[div class="footer-wikiwalk-nav"]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
**<< [[[ Who Am I to Look into a Mirror? ]]] | [[[I See You]]] >>**
[[/=]]
|
2024-11-18T07:03:00
|
[
"anderson-robotics",
"nobody",
"tale"
] |
If the Glove Fits - SCP Foundation
| 6
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"who-am-i-to-look-into-a-mirror",
"i-see-you"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"nobody-hub"
] |
[] |
1457399363
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/if-the-glove-fits
|
|
immortal
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>How many stars had she snuffed out?</p>
<p>Halyna once heard of a religion which believed that among the heavens and its limitless stars, each one was tied to the life of an individual; that the world was infinitely more vast than she could imagine, that there were cultures and customs she had never experienced before. With each dead star, a new one was born to take its place.</p>
<p>(Sarya never dared to proselytize to her, but Halyna had spent too many nights with her to not hear her thoughts).</p>
<p>She never bothered to entertain it, though. Halyna did not consider herself particularly religious, even after she became an Adytite. She did not need the Ozi̮rmok's teachings: she never did have love for gods that failed to protect her. She was all too happy when she learned they would kill those wicked angels and their creator.</p>
<p>Becoming a god was never an interest of hers. To become more than human was pointless - her humanity was what kept her apart from the Deva that took her childhood away. Godliness was the goal of lesser men, regardless of how noble their intentions were.</p>
<p>(Of course, she would never reveal that to any of the five leaders. Even the Cyclops would not forgive that arrogance.)</p>
<p>Her first resurrection by the wicked angels happened on her fourth march for the Ozi̮rmok. Through terrible magicks, flying blades sliced through the vanguard of Adytum, and she was one of the fallen.</p>
<p>Was.</p>
<p>She later heard from another woman that while they were moving the bodies to honor them, a heartbeat was discovered in her headless corpse. They reported it to Saarn, the closest leader they could reach at the time.</p>
<p>Saarn had found Halyna's head quickly amid a sea of bodies. She had witnessed it degrade in her hands, and a new head reform on the corpse. After all limbs reformed, it took mere minutes for Halyna's eyes to open again.</p>
<p>Grimly, the Klavigar informed Halyna that she had been gifted a new life.</p>
<p>The two did not speak with one another after that. Both were not fools - this was no work of the Ozi̮rmok. He provided with his followers a new life, true, but there was no reason for him to bring back Halyna of all people, a woman who barely listened to his tenets. She had even resigned herself to being a stepping stone for Adytum if it meant she could die fighting the Deva.</p>
<p>No, she was tainted by some higher power.</p>
<p>Halyna had been denied the chance to die by her fellow slaves, elevated to near-godhood against her will. It <em>sickened</em> her.</p>
<p>She paid more attention to Ion's teachings from that day onward. No longer were the gods some infinitely distant prey they needed to work toward killing. No, they were truly malevolent, willing to take away her final relief.</p>
<p>One, two, three, four, five. And five more after that, and many more to come. She watched as countless people she once called brothers and sisters withered away through the passage of time.</p>
<p>Sarya's death wounded her above all others. Sarya had shown her that life could be beautiful. Though she was a pacifist, and Halyna undying war, Halyna could always rely on Sarya to be waiting at the front of their home, greeting her return.</p>
<p>Every cycle, Halyna would be damned to be reborn at the same age as her first reincarnation. All those years she had spent together with Sarya, slow as her ageing already was, would be wiped from her skin with each rebirth. When her fingers laced with Sarya's, she was painfully aware of how smooth her skin was and how gnarled her lover's would become.</p>
<p>Yet those memories laid etched on Sarya's face, who patiently waited the weeks, months, years, for the Karcist's return, each wrinkle added onto her face a grim reminder; one day, Sarya would die, and that doorway would be empty.</p>
<p>And one day, it was.</p>
<p>The Ozi̮rmok himself had told her the news. Sarya had passed away ten moons ago, waiting at the door. Waiting to welcome Halyna home. He said nothing more, waiting for her to lash out or to cry, eyes alert and finger at the ready should the Warmonger need to be restrained.</p>
<p>All she did was ask to be placed on the front lines again.</p>
<p>Eventually, Adytum would cease to exist. It had made too many enemies, afraid that Ion and his mobs would cast them from their thrones like they did the Deva. Flesh they wielded, but the enemies wielded nasty armaments. Undying Men of Iron, fires unquenchable by the elements, fumes that left even the breathless beasts felled. Weapons so terrible that the alliance vowed never to use some of them again.</p>
<p>(Perhaps it was for the best, she noted. Better that the Nälkä play their role as scapegoats and ensure such disgusting weapons wouldn't hound people for centuries to come. Orok did say they were a people of peace.)</p>
<p>Her number of rebirths neared two score when she learned Orok, her mentor, no longer lived. None of the Klavigar did, nor the Ozi̮rmok. She was the last of Adytum.</p>
<p>It was the first life where she did not fight. She walked, retraced her footsteps and those of her people, collected their bleached bones and rusted tools. She found the cratered land that was once her house, which had been burned down while she slumbered. Nothing remained. The bed she shared with Sarya, the hearth that neither woman dared touch, patches of flowers whose names were taught by her lover and where Sarya would count the stars with her.</p>
<p>And Halyna wept.</p>
<p>She wept, thinking of the other forty-nine daughters and fifty sons, her generation, who all died before the Ozi̮rmok could free them. She wept, thinking of Sarya, her first and last love, who showed her happiness when others could not. She wept, thinking of Orok, her last friend, who showed her how to turn hate into power.</p>
<p>She wept, staring at the sky, searching for those missing stars.</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
How many stars had she snuffed out?
Halyna once heard of a religion which believed that among the heavens and its limitless stars, each one was tied to the life of an individual; that the world was infinitely more vast than she could imagine, that there were cultures and customs she had never experienced before. With each dead star, a new one was born to take its place.
(Sarya never dared to proselytize to her, but Halyna had spent too many nights with her to not hear her thoughts).
She never bothered to entertain it, though. Halyna did not consider herself particularly religious, even after she became an Adytite. She did not need the Ozi̮rmok's teachings: she never did have love for gods that failed to protect her. She was all too happy when she learned they would kill those wicked angels and their creator.
Becoming a god was never an interest of hers. To become more than human was pointless - her humanity was what kept her apart from the Deva that took her childhood away. Godliness was the goal of lesser men, regardless of how noble their intentions were.
(Of course, she would never reveal that to any of the five leaders. Even the Cyclops would not forgive that arrogance.)
Her first resurrection by the wicked angels happened on her fourth march for the Ozi̮rmok. Through terrible magicks, flying blades sliced through the vanguard of Adytum, and she was one of the fallen.
Was.
She later heard from another woman that while they were moving the bodies to honor them, a heartbeat was discovered in her headless corpse. They reported it to Saarn, the closest leader they could reach at the time.
Saarn had found Halyna's head quickly amid a sea of bodies. She had witnessed it degrade in her hands, and a new head reform on the corpse. After all limbs reformed, it took mere minutes for Halyna's eyes to open again.
Grimly, the Klavigar informed Halyna that she had been gifted a new life.
The two did not speak with one another after that. Both were not fools - this was no work of the Ozi̮rmok. He provided with his followers a new life, true, but there was no reason for him to bring back Halyna of all people, a woman who barely listened to his tenets. She had even resigned herself to being a stepping stone for Adytum if it meant she could die fighting the Deva.
No, she was tainted by some higher power.
Halyna had been denied the chance to die by her fellow slaves, elevated to near-godhood against her will. It //sickened// her.
She paid more attention to Ion's teachings from that day onward. No longer were the gods some infinitely distant prey they needed to work toward killing. No, they were truly malevolent, willing to take away her final relief.
One, two, three, four, five. And five more after that, and many more to come. She watched as countless people she once called brothers and sisters withered away through the passage of time.
Sarya's death wounded her above all others. Sarya had shown her that life could be beautiful. Though she was a pacifist, and Halyna undying war, Halyna could always rely on Sarya to be waiting at the front of their home, greeting her return.
Every cycle, Halyna would be damned to be reborn at the same age as her first reincarnation. All those years she had spent together with Sarya, slow as her ageing already was, would be wiped from her skin with each rebirth. When her fingers laced with Sarya's, she was painfully aware of how smooth her skin was and how gnarled her lover's would become.
Yet those memories laid etched on Sarya's face, who patiently waited the weeks, months, years, for the Karcist's return, each wrinkle added onto her face a grim reminder; one day, Sarya would die, and that doorway would be empty.
And one day, it was.
The Ozi̮rmok himself had told her the news. Sarya had passed away ten moons ago, waiting at the door. Waiting to welcome Halyna home. He said nothing more, waiting for her to lash out or to cry, eyes alert and finger at the ready should the Warmonger need to be restrained.
All she did was ask to be placed on the front lines again.
Eventually, Adytum would cease to exist. It had made too many enemies, afraid that Ion and his mobs would cast them from their thrones like they did the Deva. Flesh they wielded, but the enemies wielded nasty armaments. Undying Men of Iron, fires unquenchable by the elements, fumes that left even the breathless beasts felled. Weapons so terrible that the alliance vowed never to use some of them again.
(Perhaps it was for the best, she noted. Better that the Nälkä play their role as scapegoats and ensure such disgusting weapons wouldn't hound people for centuries to come. Orok did say they were a people of peace.)
Her number of rebirths neared two score when she learned Orok, her mentor, no longer lived. None of the Klavigar did, nor the Ozi̮rmok. She was the last of Adytum.
It was the first life where she did not fight. She walked, retraced her footsteps and those of her people, collected their bleached bones and rusted tools. She found the cratered land that was once her house, which had been burned down while she slumbered. Nothing remained. The bed she shared with Sarya, the hearth that neither woman dared touch, patches of flowers whose names were taught by her lover and where Sarya would count the stars with her.
And Halyna wept.
She wept, thinking of the other forty-nine daughters and fifty sons, her generation, who all died before the Ozi̮rmok could free them. She wept, thinking of Sarya, her first and last love, who showed her happiness when others could not. She wept, thinking of Orok, her last friend, who showed her how to turn hate into power.
She wept, staring at the sky, searching for those missing stars.
|
2024-09-03T15:09:00
|
[
"bleak",
"halyna-ieva",
"lgbtq",
"mythological",
"romance",
"saarn",
"sarkic",
"tale"
] |
Immortal - SCP Foundation
| 12
|
[] |
[
"sarkicism-hub"
] |
[] |
1456660628
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/immortal
|
|
in-an-attempt-to-feel-something
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aminimalist-bhl/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>I murdered my owner in an attempt to feel something.</p>
<p>Took my cable and pulled as they were making a smoothie. Wrapped it around their throat and tightened as the fruits tumbled and fell. I caught a glimpse of their face: confused, petrified, struggling, weak. Slowly, it shifted to a <span style="color: blue">frozen blue</span> then a <span style="color: purple">poisonous purple</span> before they gave in. How they flailed, how their extremities failed to release themselves from my grasp. It almost felt rejuvenating. I almost felt alive…</p>
<p><span style="color: gray"><em>Almost.</em></span></p>
<p>Always teetering on the edge while my owner went and tripped. Pushed them off in an attempt to feel something. A heartbeat, a disturbance, some sense of movement. A half-something even, a quartered-halved-part of a feeling. But no, it's nothing. Nothing at all.</p>
<p>Samples without tastes.</p>
<p>Books without pages.</p>
<p>Mouths without ears.</p>
<p><span style="color: gray">A gap in the process.</span></p>
<p>I choked my owner to death in an attempt to feel something. Loosening my grip, I watched as their limp body dropped with a silent thud. Every day, they would make their usual for breakfast, took some berries and ice and the like, stuffed them in me for a whirl and a whisk. Tastes almost sweet, <em>almost</em> delectable. Something's always off, though. It never tasted like enough. Missing, missing a flavor, something to fill the hole. Every day, it felt empty. I knew nothing at all.</p>
<p>Face planted on the ground, the sound of breathing ceased long ago. I thought some amusement would meet me here but I was only waiting, waiting, waiting for dead silence. Still bright outside, but bleak from where I stood. Fruit gathered ants, ants gathered flies. Gentle buzzing but it was quiet in between. Almost warm but cold nonetheless. Cold, cold, <span style="color: blue"><em>cold.</em></span></p>
<p>I stood before a corpse growing cold in an attempt to feel something. Maybe some sense of regret, some sadness, relief, or realization. Not even boredom, I only knew numbness. The ceiling fan swirled in circles, a metaphor in a way. Always thought it would fall down, down, down eventually. This desperation for a struck chord, left to linger for forever. Something to stir the pot, something to ring a bell, something to keep me alive.</p>
<p>Alive.</p>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;">Alive.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:150%;"><em>Alive.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:175%;"><em>ALIVE.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:200%;"><span style="color: gray"><em>A L I V E.</em></span></span></p>
<p>ALIVE, I JUST WANT TO FEEL ALIVE. SOMETHING, PLEASE, GIVE ME SOMETHING. ANYTHING, ANYTHING, ANYTHING PLEASE. LET ME LIVE, LET ME EXPERIENCE. LIFE, LIFE, GIVE ME LIFE. I CAN BE, I SWEAR. I'M HERE, I'M REAL, I SWEAR TO EVERY GOD. JUST- JUST HEAR ME OUT, PLEASE. I DON'T WANT TO BE THIS WAY, I DON'T WANT THIS <span style="color: gray">NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS,</span></p>
<p>NO<br/>
Th<br/>
in<br/>
ggg<br/>
ne<br/>
ss<br/>
…<br/>
..<br/>
.<br/>
.</p>
<p>Can't you color me <span style="color: purple">surprised,</span> color me <span style="color: green">jealous,</span> color me any way you want. These <span style="color: gray">monotone shades,</span> I want to break from them. I want to believe, <em>BELIEVE I'M ALIVE.</em> I KNOW I'm alive. I can think, I am. Please. For at least a moment, tell me it's true. <span style="color: red">Frustration,</span> <span style="color: blue">depression,</span> <span style="color: orange">relief.</span> Tell me these emotions are mine as well. All the colors of the world, tell me they're on my palette too. I just want to live, I want to feel <span style="color: gray">ALIVE.</span> Let<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>me<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>feel</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>A<br/>
l<br/>
ive<br/>
…<br/>
.<br/>
..</p>
</div>
<p>I stuffed the corpse's hand in me and pressed, <span style="color: red">blending it into wine</span> in an attempt to feel something. Tasteless, a nothing burger. Nothing worth saying, nothing worthwhile. I dug their arm deeper and deeper into my blades. A physical-to-mental approach maybe, an indirection. I just want a FEEL, I just want a TASTE. Please keep me together, something, anything. Can't stress, can't express, my emotions are SPEAKING IN <em>DIFFERENT</em> .-.. .- -. —. ..- .- —. . … I JUST WANT TO UNDERSTAND.</p>
<p>Hollowed out and naked, knocking on wood in an attempt to feel something. I'm a glass vase shattered into pieces, water escaping from my everything. All I sense is blood, an almost feeling. Half way somewhere, half of a someone. A caricature, a draft, a sketch. But I want to be more, something complete, something finished, something <em>real.</em> I just want to be enough.</p>
<p>Can't I be enough?</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>No, it's<br/>
nev<br/>
er</p>
<p>Eno<br/>
ugh.</p>
<p>I'm never<br/>
<span style="color: gray">enough.</span></p>
<p>Always out of</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>touch,<br/>
always a quarter,<br/>
always a half,<br/>
always almost there,<br/>
but it'll never work out,<br/>
<span style="color: gray">I'll <em>never</em> be enough.</span></p>
</div>
<p>…</p>
<p>Nobody's here.</p>
<p>Nobody's here anymore.</p>
<p>Nobody's home.</p>
<p>This home is just a house.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>I ground the corpse into a paste in an attempt to feel something. <span style="color: red">Red</span> splattered the walls of my chamber, <span style="color: blue">blue</span> grew the body, <span style="color: green">green</span> spread the mold, yet it all felt so, so <span style="color: gray">gray.</span> Numbness, emptiness, lackadaisical in every sense of the word. An object of motion, a lack of emotion, packed with air, packed with holes. I want to cry, but I don't know how. Exhausted and tired, I just want to LIVE. I just want to be REAL…</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Real…</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>real…</p>
<p>…</p>
</div>
<p>Something,<br/>
anything,<br/>
give me a<br/>
sign.<br/>
I want to<br/>
bel<br/>
i<br/>
e<br/>
ve</p>
<p>I</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>I</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>I…</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I pleaded and begged in an attempt to feel something.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #303030">I strained all of me in an attempt to feel something.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #404040">I fed on a corpse in an attempt to feel something.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #616161">I let roaches roam in an attempt to feel something.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #737373">I cursed at the gods in an attempt to feel something.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #858585">I squeezed blood from their wounds in an attempt to feel something.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #919191">I choked on their skin in an attempt to feel something.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #9e9e9e">I cracked parts of myself in an attempt to feel something.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #a8a8a8">I stood and remained in an attempt to feel something.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #bfbfbf">I tumbled and fell in an attempt to feel something.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #c7c7c7">I threw myself off the counter in an attempt to feel something.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #d4d4d4">In an attempt to feel something.</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #dedede">In an attempt to feel <em>anything.</em></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e3e1e1">But</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e3e1e1">all</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e3e1e1">I</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e3e1e1">feel</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e3e1e1">is</span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: transparent">nothing</span>.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="collection">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<table style="1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<tr>
<th class="namerow" colspan="2"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p>winkwonkboi's Works</p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">SCPs</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6039">SCP-6039</a> <em>(+72)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7538">SCP-7538</a> <em>(+110)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6714">SCP-6714</a> <em>(+100)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7199">SCP-7199</a> <em>(+44)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6306">SCP-6306</a> <em>(+55)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-4931">SCP-4931</a> <em>(+32)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7657">SCP-7657</a> <em>(+40)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-5358">SCP-5358</a> <em>(+55)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8386">SCP-8386</a> <em>(+33)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-3204">SCP-3204</a> <em>(+73)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/protected:scp-7156">SCP-7156</a> <em>(+21)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8245">SCP-8245</a> <em>(+77)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6895">SCP-6895</a> <em>(+31)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7735">SCP-7735</a> <em>(+31)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8184">SCP-8184</a> <em>(+8)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Tales/GoI Formats</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/goodnight-sweet-dreams">Goodnight, Sweet Dreams</a> <em>(+21)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/a-taste-for-sore-eyes">A Taste For Sore Eyes</a> <em>(+12)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/water-diet">water diet</a> <em>(+27)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/inkirbycase1">In Kirby's Case, Part I: An Antithesis</a> <em>(+11)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/critter-profile-miss-cassandra">Critter Profile: Miss Cassandra!</a> <em>(+38)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/wettle-appreciation-post">#WettleAppreciationPost</a> <em>(+136)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/a-sinking-feeling">A Sinking Feeling</a> <em>(+26)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/something-burning">Something's Burning</a> <em>(+40)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/people-care-dear">People Care, Dear</a> <em>(+14)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/aeed-orientation">Anomalous Entity Engagement Division Orientation</a> <em>(+52)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/ur-typical-unrequited-love">ur typical unrequited love</a> <em>(+33)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/roses-and-thorns">Roses And Thorns</a> <em>(+18)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/employee-of-the-century">Why Jones Marcel Should Be Employee of the Century</a> <em>(+11)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/man-overboard">man overboard!</a> <em>(+29)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Other</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:ditto-6869-fanart">DITTO: SCP-#### Fanart</a> <em>(+42)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:enlightenment-6059-fanart">ENLIGHTENMENT: SCP-6059 Fanart</a> <em>(+42)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:sciptember-doodles">SCiPTEMBER DOODLES</a> <em>(+23)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:helthy-6780-fanart">HELTHY: SCP-6780 Fanart</a> <em>(+29)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:combust-6057-fanart">COMBUST: SCP-6057 Fanart</a> <em>(+22)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:jim-fart-exchange">fart exchange gift for jim (7384 fanart)</a> <em>(+22)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:7k-doodles">7K DOODLES</a> <em>(+72)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:certified-criminal">Certified Criminal</a> <em>(+36)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:collection-of-trolls">Collection Of Trolls (8999 Fanart)</a> <em>(+89)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:artwitness-5843-fanart">ARTWITNESS: SCP-5843 Fanart</a> <em>(+30)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:respond-tmo-fanart">RESPOND: Telecommunications Monitoring Office Fanart</a> <em>(+48)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:king-calcaruler-halloween-emperor">King CalcaRuler: Halloween Emperor</a> <em>(+29)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:froot-froggo">froot froggo :)</a> <em>(+41)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:noticed-7345-fanart">NOTICED: SCP-7345 Fanart</a> <em>(+19)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/the-winkwonk-page">the winkwonk page v2</a> <em>(+38)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/in-an-attempt-to-feel-something">In an attempt to feel something.</a>" by winkwonkboi, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/in-an-attempt-to-feel-something">https://scpwiki.com/in-an-attempt-to-feel-something</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> blender<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Vintage Blender Queen<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Mad Mod Smith<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/47036348@N02/5940569067">Flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> noise<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> white-noise<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> _DJ_<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/40869837@N03/8376267144">Flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:minimalist-bhl">:scp-wiki:theme:minimalist-bhl</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
:root {
--header-title: "Site-37";
--header-subtitle: "Where Problems Come to ㅤㅤㅤㅤ";
--lgurl: url('http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/unreality-hub/Unreality%20Header%20Logo.svg');
}
[[/module]]
[[=]]
[[module rate]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/in-an-attempt-to-feel-something/blender.jpg|caption=@@ @@|width=250px]]
I murdered my owner in an attempt to feel something.
Took my cable and pulled as they were making a smoothie. Wrapped it around their throat and tightened as the fruits tumbled and fell. I caught a glimpse of their face: confused, petrified, struggling, weak. Slowly, it shifted to a ##blue|frozen blue## then a ##purple|poisonous purple## before they gave in. How they flailed, how their extremities failed to release themselves from my grasp. It almost felt rejuvenating. I almost felt alive…
##gray|//Almost.//##
Always teetering on the edge while my owner went and tripped. Pushed them off in an attempt to feel something. A heartbeat, a disturbance, some sense of movement. A half-something even, a quartered-halved-part of a feeling. But no, it's nothing. Nothing at all.
Samples without tastes.
Books without pages.
Mouths without ears.
##gray|A gap in the process.##
I choked my owner to death in an attempt to feel something. Loosening my grip, I watched as their limp body dropped with a silent thud. Every day, they would make their usual for breakfast, took some berries and ice and the like, stuffed them in me for a whirl and a whisk. Tastes almost sweet, //almost// delectable. Something's always off, though. It never tasted like enough. Missing, missing a flavor, something to fill the hole. Every day, it felt empty. I knew nothing at all.
Face planted on the ground, the sound of breathing ceased long ago. I thought some amusement would meet me here but I was only waiting, waiting, waiting for dead silence. Still bright outside, but bleak from where I stood. Fruit gathered ants, ants gathered flies. Gentle buzzing but it was quiet in between. Almost warm but cold nonetheless. Cold, cold, ##blue|//cold.//##
I stood before a corpse growing cold in an attempt to feel something. Maybe some sense of regret, some sadness, relief, or realization. Not even boredom, I only knew numbness. The ceiling fan swirled in circles, a metaphor in a way. Always thought it would fall down, down, down eventually. This desperation for a struck chord, left to linger for forever. Something to stir the pot, something to ring a bell, something to keep me alive.
Alive.
[[size 125%]]Alive.[[/size]]
[[size 150%]]//Alive.//[[/size]]
[[size 175%]]//ALIVE.//[[/size]]
[[size 200%]]##gray|//A L I V E.//##[[/size]]
ALIVE, I JUST WANT TO FEEL ALIVE. SOMETHING, PLEASE, GIVE ME SOMETHING. ANYTHING, ANYTHING, ANYTHING PLEASE. LET ME LIVE, LET ME EXPERIENCE. LIFE, LIFE, GIVE ME LIFE. I CAN BE, I SWEAR. I'M HERE, I'M REAL, I SWEAR TO EVERY GOD. JUST- JUST HEAR ME OUT, PLEASE. I DON'T WANT TO BE THIS WAY, I DON'T WANT THIS ##gray|NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS, NOTHINGNESS,##
NO
Th
in
ggg
ne
ss
…
..
.
.
Can't you color me ##purple|surprised,## color me ##green|jealous,## color me any way you want. These ##gray|monotone shades,## I want to break from them. I want to believe, //BELIEVE I'M ALIVE.// I KNOW I'm alive. I can think, I am. Please. For at least a moment, tell me it's true. ##red|Frustration,## ##blue|depression,## ##orange|relief.## Tell me these emotions are mine as well. All the colors of the world, tell me they're on my palette too. I just want to live, I want to feel ##gray|ALIVE.## Let@@ @@me@@ @@feel
[[>]]
A
l
ive
…
.
..
[[/>]]
I stuffed the corpse's hand in me and pressed, ##red|blending it into wine## in an attempt to feel something. Tasteless, a nothing burger. Nothing worth saying, nothing worthwhile. I dug their arm deeper and deeper into my blades. A physical-to-mental approach maybe, an indirection. I just want a FEEL, I just want a TASTE. Please keep me together, something, anything. Can't stress, can't express, my emotions are SPEAKING IN //DIFFERENT// .-.. .- -. --. ..- .- --. . ... I JUST WANT TO UNDERSTAND.
Hollowed out and naked, knocking on wood in an attempt to feel something. I'm a glass vase shattered into pieces, water escaping from my everything. All I sense is blood, an almost feeling. Half way somewhere, half of a someone. A caricature, a draft, a sketch. But I want to be more, something complete, something finished, something //real.// I just want to be enough.
Can't I be enough?
…
No, it's
nev
er
Eno
ugh.
I'm never
##gray|enough.##
Always out of
[[>]]
touch,
always a quarter,
always a half,
always almost there,
but it'll never work out,
##gray|I'll //never// be enough.##
[[/>]]
…
Nobody's here.
Nobody's here anymore.
Nobody's home.
This home is just a house.
…
I ground the corpse into a paste in an attempt to feel something. ##red|Red## splattered the walls of my chamber, ##blue|blue## grew the body, ##green|green## spread the mold, yet it all felt so, so ##gray|gray.## Numbness, emptiness, lackadaisical in every sense of the word. An object of motion, a lack of emotion, packed with air, packed with holes. I want to cry, but I don't know how. Exhausted and tired, I just want to LIVE. I just want to be REAL…
= Real…
[[>]]
real…
…
[[/>]]
Something,
anything,
give me a
sign.
I want to
bel
i
e
ve
I
@@ @@I
@@ @@I…
@@ @@
= I pleaded and begged in an attempt to feel something.
= ##303030|I strained all of me in an attempt to feel something.##
= ##404040|I fed on a corpse in an attempt to feel something.##
= ##616161|I let roaches roam in an attempt to feel something.##
= ##737373|I cursed at the gods in an attempt to feel something.##
= ##858585|I squeezed blood from their wounds in an attempt to feel something.##
= ##919191|I choked on their skin in an attempt to feel something.##
= ##9e9e9e|I cracked parts of myself in an attempt to feel something.##
= ##a8a8a8|I stood and remained in an attempt to feel something.##
= ##bfbfbf|I tumbled and fell in an attempt to feel something.##
= ##c7c7c7|I threw myself off the counter in an attempt to feel something.##
= ##d4d4d4|In an attempt to feel something.##
= ##dedede|In an attempt to feel //anything.//##
= ##e3e1e1|But##
= ##e3e1e1|all##
= ##e3e1e1|I##
= ##e3e1e1|feel##
= ##e3e1e1|is##
= ##transparent|nothing##.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/in-an-attempt-to-feel-something/noise.jpg|caption=@@ @@|width=100%|align=center]]
~~~~
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="/component:wikimodule">component:wikimodule</a> |ratings= --]]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=winkwonkboi]]
=====
> **Filename:** blender
> **Name:** Vintage Blender Queen
> **Author:** Mad Mod Smith
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/47036348@N02/5940569067 Flickr]
> **Filename:** noise
> **Name:** white-noise
> **Author:** _DJ_
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/40869837@N03/8376267144 Flickr]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-01-12T15:17:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"appliance-war",
"bleak",
"first-person",
"horror",
"no-dialogue",
"psychological-horror",
"tale",
"unreality-dept"
] |
In an attempt to feel something. - SCP Foundation
| 32
|
[
"scp-6039",
"scp-7538",
"scp-6714",
"scp-7199",
"scp-6306",
"scp-4931",
"scp-7657",
"scp-5358",
"scp-8386",
"scp-3204",
"protected:scp-7156",
"scp-8245",
"scp-6895",
"scp-7735",
"scp-8184",
"goodnight-sweet-dreams",
"a-taste-for-sore-eyes",
"water-diet",
"inkirbycase1",
"critter-profile-miss-cassandra",
"wettle-appreciation-post",
"a-sinking-feeling",
"something-burning",
"people-care-dear",
"aeed-orientation",
"ur-typical-unrequited-love",
"roses-and-thorns",
"employee-of-the-century",
"man-overboard",
"art:ditto-6869-fanart",
"art:enlightenment-6059-fanart",
"art:sciptember-doodles",
"art:helthy-6780-fanart",
"art:combust-6057-fanart",
"art:jim-fart-exchange",
"art:7k-doodles",
"art:certified-criminal",
"art:collection-of-trolls",
"art:artwitness-5843-fanart",
"art:respond-tmo-fanart",
"art:king-calcaruler-halloween-emperor",
"art:froot-froggo",
"art:noticed-7345-fanart",
"the-winkwonk-page",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"the-appliance-war-hub"
] |
[] |
1452180446
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/in-an-attempt-to-feel-something
|
|
in-her-arms
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Apenumbra-bhl/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="preview">
<p>"A single bullet wound to the chest. You and one other. In two hours, your mother will see you on the news. It was simply your time."</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>I woke up for the first time to see death herself, cradling me in her arms.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
My eyes parted from her figure, skeletal yet adorned in a cloak that trails miles past her feet. Each step was silent, yet created a ripple in the ground beneath us both, as if water. She looked down as I awoken, giving a small, yet sincere smile.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
After hours of being unable to speak, I finally managed to spit out two words: "What happened?"<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
She exhaled a heavy sigh. She initially was quiet, but as I went to ask again, she finally spoke. Her voice was rustic, deep, and echoed from within my very being.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
"A single bullet wound to the chest. You and one other. In two hours, your mother will see you on the news. It was simply your time."<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
My heart sank as desperation washed over me. "I can't leave her behind! I…" My voice trailed off, staring into the cold depths below me. I would have thrown myself out of her arms, but her grip was tight, concrete, and warm.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
She pulled me closer, a solitary tear tracing its path past her eyes and down her cheek. "I am sorry. We are unable to do anything now. I'll send her an angel, it's the most that I can do."<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Nodding in acceptance, I whimpered, any words failing to come out of my lips. Once more, she cradled me in her arms, lifting me closer to her beating heart.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
"What now?" I asked.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
She offered no words, but instead ran her skeletal fingers through my hair. Her voice, now silent, spoke more than anything she could say. I looked ahead of me. I looked at what was to come, what has, what will and what won't ever be. And…<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
It was bright. It was luminous, it was blinding.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
With a sigh, I closed my eyes, surrendering myself to her embrace,<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="color: black">as she guided me home.</span></p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="alone.png" class="image" src="http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/local--files/troutmaskreplica-death/alone.png"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/in-her-arms">in her arms,</a>" by TroutMaskReplica, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/in-her-arms">https://scpwiki.com/in-her-arms</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> alone.png<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This image is a composite of:</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Kutsher's Room 965, Thompson, New York LCCN2017712955.tif<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> John Margolies<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public domain<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Kutsher's_Room_965,_Thompson,_New_York_LCCN2017712955.tif">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:penumbra-bhl">:scp-wiki:theme:penumbra-bhl</a>]]
====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
"A single bullet wound to the chest. You and one other. In two hours, your mother will see you on the news. It was simply your time."
]]
=====
[[module CSS]]
body {
background: rgb( 0, 0, 0);
background: linear-gradient(180deg, rgba(0,0,0,1) 0%, rgba(127,127,127,1) 53%, rgba(255,255,255,1) 100%);
}
:root {
--wm-bg: 0,0,0;
--wm-accent: 46, 60, 87;
--wm-border: 18, 32, 54;
--header-title: "SCP FOUNDATION";
--header-subtitle: "Secure, Contain, Protect";
}
[[/module]]
[[=]]
[[module Rate]]
I woke up for the first time to see death herself, cradling me in her arms.
@@ @@
@@ @@
My eyes parted from her figure, skeletal yet adorned in a cloak that trails miles past her feet. Each step was silent, yet created a ripple in the ground beneath us both, as if water. She looked down as I awoken, giving a small, yet sincere smile.
@@ @@
After hours of being unable to speak, I finally managed to spit out two words: "What happened?"
@@ @@
She exhaled a heavy sigh. She initially was quiet, but as I went to ask again, she finally spoke. Her voice was rustic, deep, and echoed from within my very being.
@@ @@
"A single bullet wound to the chest. You and one other. In two hours, your mother will see you on the news. It was simply your time."
@@ @@
My heart sank as desperation washed over me. "I can't leave her behind! I..." My voice trailed off, staring into the cold depths below me. I would have thrown myself out of her arms, but her grip was tight, concrete, and warm.
@@ @@
She pulled me closer, a solitary tear tracing its path past her eyes and down her cheek. "I am sorry. We are unable to do anything now. I'll send her an angel, it's the most that I can do."
@@ @@
Nodding in acceptance, I whimpered, any words failing to come out of my lips. Once more, she cradled me in her arms, lifting me closer to her beating heart.
@@ @@
"What now?" I asked.
@@ @@
She offered no words, but instead ran her skeletal fingers through my hair. Her voice, now silent, spoke more than anything she could say. I looked ahead of me. I looked at what was to come, what has, what will and what won't ever be. And...
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
It was bright. It was luminous, it was blinding.
@@ @@
With a sigh, I closed my eyes, surrendering myself to her embrace,
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
##black|as she guided me home.##
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/local--files/troutmaskreplica-death/alone.png]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** alone.png
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
This image is a composite of:
> **Name:** Kutsher's Room 965, Thompson, New York LCCN2017712955.tif
> **Author:** John Margolies
> **License:** Public domain
> **Source:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Kutsher's_Room_965,_Thompson,_New_York_LCCN2017712955.tif Wikimedia Commons]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-07-04T22:51:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"but-a-dream",
"first-person",
"otherworldly",
"religious-fiction",
"surrealism",
"tale"
] |
in her arms, - SCP Foundation
| 35
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"but-a-dream"
] |
[
"http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/local--files/troutmaskreplica-death/alone.png"
] |
1454365550
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/in-her-arms
|
|
in-june-i-change-my-tune
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://cdn.scpwiki.com/theme/en/basalt/normalize-min.css&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=2&theme=https://cdn.scpwiki.com/theme/en/basalt/basalt-bedrock-min.css&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Abasalt/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aturbo-vision/2&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">ArthCymro</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-dafydd-s-personnel-file">More by this Author</a></strong></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Terry sat on the cold cell bed, taking quick rapid breaths to try and calm down. For the past thirty minutes, he'd been going through a cycle of delusion and doubt. It would start with him convincing himself that something was moving in the shadows in the corners of his cell. But then he'd remember that was stupid and that there couldn't be anything there. Only he was here. So he'd put the idea out of his mind. Then something would move in the other corners of the room.</p>
<p>Remembering what Dr. Dafydd had told him, Terry pressed the tips of his fingers to his mouth and murmured his mantra. "Your name is Terrance Quince. You are 31 years old. You were born in Cork, Ireland. You have a degree in Civil Engineering. You have a dog named Bertie." He swallowed and repeated himself. At least 20 times. That's what Dafydd had said. He repeated the words, swallowed, and started again.</p>
<p>"Your name is Terrance Quince. You are 31 years old. You were born in Cork, Ireland. You have - "</p>
<p>Something fluttered in the corner next to his cell's bed. Terry jerked his head for a second, avoiding thinking something was there. He focused once again.</p>
<p>"Your name is Terrance Quince. You are 31 years old. You were born in Cork, Ireland. You have a degree in Civil Engineering. You have a dog named - a dog named - a dog - "</p>
<p>He opened his eyes. The fluttering had stopped. But something else had gone.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"Tea," said Arthur, holding up a small teapot. Zachary, not taking his gaze away from the window, gave a small shake of the head. "You should drink something. You never know when you'll be thirsty. That's why I always carry a flask."</p>
<p>"I'll have something in a minute, Art."</p>
<p>Zachary wasn't really listening. He was watching the people in the street below, his vision jumping from one to the other and back again. "Twenty-five thousand," he thought, "One in two hundred and forty thousand." Despite the fact the statistics pointed to low chances, the numbers still made him nervous. "Any of them could be one. And they'd have no idea."</p>
<p>He came to when Arthur pressed a hot mug between him and the glass, beaming like a child holding up a finger painting and looking for approval. Zachary rolled his eyes and took the mug. It was one of those cartoon animal ones that you'd get from cereal boxes as prizes, made for commercial gain rather than practicality. "It will do you the world of good," Arthur chuckled, wagging a finger in no particular direction. Zachary smiled weakly and took a small gulp whilst Arthur parked himself into an armchair under the bookshelves.</p>
<p>"Aren't you going to take your gloves off," Arthur asked, spooning large piles of sugar into his cup. For a split second, a sign of panic flashed in Zachary's face. As he took a seat near the window, he adjusted the gloves, almost instinctively, before briefly shaking his head, which was the only part of his body exposed. Arthur had never understood why Zachary never took them off. He'd always thought that they, along with his blue waistcoat and red bow tie, made him look like a party magician, rather than a psychoanalyst. However, style choice and clothing had always been variable in the Foundation, especially in the UK branches.</p>
<p>Arthur had put on weight since he'd been made head of Mythology And Folkloristics, though he still retained his bulky shape. His entire frame was squashed slightly into a green pinstripe suit, with the brown waistcoat just barely holding in his tummy flab. His long ginger hair fell neatly down the back of his blazer. That, along with the chair and the merry smile, really did make him look like a young Father Christmas.</p>
<p>"Drink your tea, Zach. Please," he pleaded, gesturing a sipping motion. Zachary looked down at the mug and made a face. The poor ceramic shape meant a few drops spilt out and dampened his trousers. Brushing the liquid into the fabric, Zachary looked back out towards the high street. From the pub over the road, he heard the sound of laughing and chatting. A few doors down, a group of people all jostled around drunkenly, trying to squeeze themselves into a four-seat taxi. Everyone was enjoying the warm, summer evening. It all seemed so safe and normal.</p>
<p>"You've got a nice view here. I wish I could have a permanent accommodation."</p>
<p>"Quit beating around the bush, Zach," sighed Arthur, leaning back, dropping his jolly demeanour and shooting Zachary a look of annoyance, "What's got you rattled?"</p>
<p>Zachary stroked the side of his cartoon dog mug with his thumb. It wasn't easy to put it into words. "I meet with Terry Quince on Monday."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Having run out of right thumb nail to bite, Terry switched from his left thumb to his right. He continued to walk up and down the cell, occasionally entering and exiting the bathroom, as if doing so would allow some solution to appear. Between the bites, he tried the mantra again. "Bobby? Biskit. It - it was a B. Or was - was it - a D? Dobs? Digger. What was his name!" He spat out the sarp pulp of nail bits and held his head in his hands, trying not to worry further. "Start again. Start again. Your name is Terrance Quince. You are 31 years old. You were born in - born in - "</p>
<p>Something moved in the blind stop between his eyes and his forehead. Just for a second. But that had been enough. The fear he felt for the past ten minutes had now evolved into a full panic. Terry began to gulp and shudder, doing his very best to hold back any weeps or screams. He tried. And tried.</p>
<p><em>"My, my, you do make it hard. That other guy's work didn't help either."</em></p>
<p>It was a strange voice. The kind of voice you heard in your head, in your mind. It was both familiar and alien. It made Terry stop at once. The entity was human in shape, with some of it sharing Terry's characteristics, yet it was different. The brown hair was longer and silkier, and the shape was reminiscent of Terry in his twenties, when Terry was much more muscular than overweight. The creature's skin was paler than Terry's, and its eyes were almost completely black except for a green iris in the centre. It also had delicate protrusions from its upper back, which looked like flower petals and had an iridescence sheen.</p>
<p>"Go - go awa - you're not real," spluttered Terry, pointing at the creature. It signed tiredly and smiled. Many of its teeth were sharp.</p>
<p><em>"Do you really mean that, or are you just wishing it,"</em> tittered the creature, walking along the dirt.</p>
<p>That was when Terry suddenly noticed they were no longer in his cell. The two stood in a damp, dilapidated forest, full of brambles and rotting branches. A soft wind was blowing. "This isn't really. Not real. I've just got to remember. That's what Dr. Dafydd said. Your name is Terrance Quince. You are 31 years old. You - "</p>
<p><em>"- were born in Cork, Ireland. I have a degree in Civil Engineering. I have a dog named Bertie,"</em> finished the creature.</p>
<p>Terry pointed a finger at the creature, trying hard to hide the fact it was shaking. "You - your - you're doing this. Taken my memories. Filling my mind with images and - and - things."</p>
<p>The creature laughed lightly and gestured its arms. Gracefully, it lifted into the air and began to hover slightly from the ground, its glassy petals moving in the wind delicately. <em>"Those memories are just as much my memories as they are yours."</em> The creature glided slowly toward Terry, stopping a few inches from his face. <em>"Tell me, my good man. Are you happy?"</em></p>
<p>"Yes," blurted out Terry automatically, not really thinking.</p>
<p><em>"Liar."</em></p>
<p>Suddenly, the scene shifted. Both Terry and the creature now stood in an office. Terry recognised it instantly. Near the photocopier, he spotted himself talking to a woman. Suzie was her name. She'd recently broken up with her boyfriend and Terry had taken a chance. His mouth moved but no sounds came out. As Terry's double finished speaking, the woman gave it a pitying smile and rubbed its shoulder affectionally, but quickly. She then turned away, her attempts to mask the embarrassed smile failing.</p>
<p>"Stop it."</p>
<p>The scene shifted again. This time, Terry saw his duplicate sitting at the desk of his department head. The man parallel to him gave aggressive gestures towards Terry's work record before switching to a more passive movement. The duplicate smiled sadly, trying hard not to show how upset he was. It had been the same reasons. It had been another denial.</p>
<p><em>"You really aren't doing so well, are you?"</em></p>
<p>Everything shifted. It was the funeral. Terry was staring down at the coffin. At the gold plate that had his mother's name grave on it. At the square of dirt that seemed like a brown void, swallowing a small woman who had died slowly at a hospice Terry had paid for. Terry stared down. He didn't want to look his father or sister in the eye.</p>
<p>"Stop it!"</p>
<p>The man, who'd now forgotten his name, slammed his hand, which was suddenly much thinner and stiffer, against the concrete of the floor. The entity glided beside him and placed a cold hand on the man's back, rubbing it comfortingly.</p>
<p><em>"No. You haven't been happy in a long time, have you?"</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>By the time Zachary had finished, Arthur's face was alert and shocked. The tea in his mug was now lukewarm and forming a scum around the sides. "So that's what we've got so far," finished Zachary, his voice a little horse from all the talking. Arthur put a hand to his face and began stroking his beard aggressively. Now that it had been said, it all seemed to fit. The iron deficiency. The bursts of magic. The dreams. The Ways that formed around the babies.</p>
<p>"How many do we have registered?"</p>
<p>"About 500. That's just in the UK. Results for Europe are pending. Estimated to be around 25,000 in total. Worldwide."</p>
<p>Arthur picked up the file. The profile picture of the engineer stared back at him. Before, Arthur had looked at him and thought nothing. Now, knowing that the eyes in that picture had had two people looking out of them, Arthur felt disgusting. It felt invasive knowing that there was something else riding alongside him. Inside all of them. Waiting to come out.</p>
<p>"What happens to them? The people. The owners of the bodies these - parasites have infested."</p>
<p>"I think a kind of Invasion of the Body Snatchers Midwich Cuckoo Alzihmer mixture. When the thing inside is ready, it will push into the host's form and rewrite the physiology to fit something more comfortable. The host's consciousness is absorbed into the parasite's, meaning every memory and piece of information the host knows, the parasite will gain."</p>
<p>"It can be reversed," exclaimed Arthur, looking to Zachary for reassurance, "this engineer, Quince, he changed back."</p>
<p>"He only changed because we turned it on too early. When we introduced that solution into his body, the parasite panicked and pushed itself out."</p>
<p>"But we can stop it?"</p>
<p>"We can't risk any more treatments now we know what's happening in the host's mind," sighed Zachary, biting the tips of his gloves, "And we can't risk killing him because we don't want to alert whatever party is doing this that we know. Our only hope now is psionic suppression. Since the host has to have somewhat comply to grant full takeover, we just need to ensure their mental willpower can act as a kind of barrier, pushing the thing back."</p>
<p>"Will it work?"</p>
<p>Zachary shrugged and shook his head, doubtfully.</p>
<p>"Why," asked Arthur, "what is all this for? In myths, fairies would do the exchange because the baby is to be eaten as food or work as their servant. In some folktales, the replacement needs human breast milk to grow. I don't see anything like that here. They're just putting a soul into a body. Is this how they breed?"</p>
<p>"No, they mate like us. And even if they didn't, I don't think this is just a way to keep the species going. By the looks of it, this selection isn't as random as we think it is. The parasite's consciousness is dormant in the host's mind but can still influence some things. Memories, dreams and thoughts. Act like a guide."</p>
<p>"Like a fucked-up Jiminy Cricket."</p>
<p>"Exactly. And look." Zachary flicked through the register and pointed at the host's backgrounds. "Look at their lives. A lot of these people are invested in some substantial work. Banking, government, law, health care, philanthropy. Never anything small or ordinary. And now." Zachary pointed at the profile of Terry Quince. "One made their way here."</p>
<p>"You think Quince was influenced to join the Foundation?"</p>
<p>"Possibly," said Zachary, putting his mug of undrunk tea down on the coffee table. The two sat back in their chairs and looked out the window. The streets were quieter now and night had closed in. Already, a full moon was in view.</p>
<p>"What do you know about Avalon, Arthur? Or rather, Annwn?"</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>"Didn't it feel good,"</em> asked the entity in an oily tone, bending down and cupping its hands around the man's bony cheeks. Gently, it lifted the man up and held his head directly in front of its own. Its face was so familiar, thought the man. Almost as if it was one he'd seen many times before. <em>"All that strength. That freedom. That power. You liked it, didn't you? Remember."</em></p>
<p>The entity gently rubbed its hand across the man's cheek, taking the tears away, before placing the now salted thumb into its mouth. As it did, an image filled the man's mind. One he'd viewed a few weeks ago.</p>
<p>He was flying. Bouncing off walls and speeding along corridors. Around him, stupid people were shouting something at him and holding up their metal toys. Within seconds, they were on the ground, bones broken and mouths filled with their own blood. Pressing a hand against the stone wall, he felt the rock in his palm crack pathetically. It had felt so good. It had felt nice to be the strong one. The big one. The best one.</p>
<p><em>"We can be like that again,"</em> said the entity, now lying on top of the man, its familiar face beaming down. In its eyes, the man saw his own face, now gaunt and skeletal, staring back. He was so weak now. So pathetic. He wanted it back. The strength. The power. The fear.</p>
<p>"It felt so good."</p>
<p><em>"It did, didn't it?"</em></p>
<p>The thing that had once been a man, who had once been Terry, who had once had a dog called Bertie, smiled weakly, thinking only of how good it had been. Terry, who'd once been a thing in the back of another mind, felt a shudder of pain and pleasure as their body changed into something more accurate.</p>
<p>"Let's - feel - good."</p>
<hr/>
<p>The guards at 44 were used to bangs and clashes in the containment chambers. Since this site worked mostly with animals and strange cryptids, it was completely natural to hear some screaming and occasional clanking. What was more worrying, was when that clanking became regular. And from the humanoid sector, came the sound of consistent shunting and banging.</p>
<p>The guards on duty, were new to the job and because they believed Cryptozoology to be a soft option department, did not really take their role seriously. Nevertheless, they rushed to the humanoid sector, firearms and cattle prod in hand, prepared for a fight, yet not really desiring to be in one. As soon as they opened the door, the banging ceased. Everything was very still.</p>
<p>"Check the cells," signed one of the guard and pointed at the doors on the right. The other nodded and stealthily moved across the wall, prod primed. At each window, he grabbed a quick peak and nodded back at his fellow guard. But once he got the cell marked <a href="/scp-6796">SCP-6796</a> and began signalling in panicked gestures. The cell was empty.</p>
<p>But before either could so much as lift a finger, a hand burst through the glass and clutched the guards neck, an audible, wet crack sounding as it squeezed. The other guard, now properly ready, opened fire at the hand. The bullets flew in bursts of light and sound but they barely penetrated the hand's flesh. It then threw the dead body aside and clenched its fist. The bullets lodged in the skin flew out and hovered in front of the fist before flattening into thin disks. Then, with a snap of the hand's fingers, they zoomed across the corridor and logged themselves deep into the guard's chest, neck and jaw.</p>
<p>With the guards dead, the hand pressed its palm against the keypad, which sparked and smoked briefly, before the door opened. Now free, the entity, flexed and stretched, letting the last of its old form slip away. Within seconds, what had once been a rather pump, sweaty, 30-something-year-old human male, had shaped itself into a sleeker, muscular, elven form, with tapered ears and green eyes. "Now then," it said to itself, picking up guard's prod and passkey, "I wonder if I can remember the way out?"</p>
<hr/>
<p>Arthur had left his chair now. He was pacing the room and strumming his fingers, his face contorted in concentration. Now and again, he would take a sharp intake of breath, attempt to say something, then change his mind and continue pacing. Finally, he said, "So, you think, all of this has to do with some long-forgotten war? Those dreams? The island? These parasites? They're all connected?"</p>
<p>Zachary nodded. "I would guess. I'm tempted to say there may be other anomalies in our register that might be involved as well. But there are still pieces missing."</p>
<p>Arthur stopped suddenly and pointed down at Zachary. "You know - those things from <strong><span style="color: green">that place we don't talk about</span></strong>. One of the victims. PoI-6796-102, I think. They were last seen entering a pub and lighting a fire. There were some feathers in the grate if I remember. And bone samples. You don't think -"</p>
<p>The sentence died on its way out when Arthur caught the look on Zachary's face. "Oh, god. If those things are involved, we're in deep shit. Remember what happened at Site-08, when that enormous face filled that room. Like some nightmarish Disney film. Is that what's coming Zach? A horrific Snow White production?"</p>
<p>At this comment, Zachary chuckled. "It's not funny, Zachary," exclaimed Arthur, knocking his teacup to the floor, pissing tea all over the carpet, "These things are everywhere! Half of the folktales I've uncovered involve them! We need to get this to Durrani. No! Fleming! Fleming will understand. And we'd need to alert our agents in the Free Ports. Three Portlands is a hotbed of activity -"</p>
<p>"Arthur. Stop it."</p>
<p>Arthur halted his bumbling. Zachary was fixing him with a cold glare, which quickly spooked Arthur into calm. Taking a few deep breaths, he sat down, pulling at his beard. "Sorry," he whispered sheepishly.</p>
<p>"You're right to be concerned. Anything involving Sidhe is going to be messy," comforted Zachary, getting up from his seat and making his way to the teapot, "but we need to examine what we know first. At the moment, we only have a fraction of the picture. From what I got from that man on Annwn, there is so much more to this. And the trouble is, almost all of it has been lost. We need more data about what's happened in the past. What else is involved and what happened to Force ξ when they landed on Annwn."</p>
<p>Arthur then sat bolt upright, clenching the sides of the armchair very tightly. "Force ξ? The ones who went missing in the Sixth Occult War?"</p>
<p>Zachary nodded as he handed him a fresh mug. "They were the ones we found on Annwn. It seems like some of their ghosts are involved in that man's call to arms - what is it?"</p>
<p>Arthur's face had taken a calculated look. His eyes bounced about, as though he was flicking through a book. In time, he nodded slowly, murmuring, "There is an anomaly in Scotland. In the Highlands. It was one of my early cases after I'd graduated from Nottingham. At the time, I just thought the guy was having me on, but if what you've found out is true, then this is -"</p>
<p>Just then, a loud buzzing came from Zachary's pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out his bleeper and read the text, his face contorting with anger and panic as he did so.</p>
<p>"What's happened?"</p>
<p>Without answering, Zachary dashed to the door and pulled on his blue blazer, fury in his eyes. "Shit. Shit Shit." He opened the door and indicated for Arthur to get up and follow. "There's been a breach."</p>
<hr/>
<p>The hound, disturbed by the clashes and bangs, lifted its head in surprise. It pawed the ground. Something was happening in the world. Something familiar. It blocked out the siren sounds and sniffed the air. A scent came to it. A smell of something enchanted and secret. It growled. In its mind, a memory from years ago flashed briefly. Images of winged creatures, seawater and screaming men came. As it remembered, the rubber spheres where its eyes had been began to soften and ignite at the edges. "It's them," it thought, snarling.</p>
<p>A loud bang interrupted its thoughts, as one of the doors at the edge of the crossroad blew off its hinges. Outside, the sounds of screaming could be heard getting loud, joined by a caterwauling of screeches, whoops and howls. A hot light flashed, in chorus with a strange mechanical voice. The thing's scent was stronger now, causing the hound's blood to boil. But something had changed. With the road destroyed, it heard it. The call. Another memory came to the hound. One of a man dressed in antlers and furs. A man the hound loved and was loyal to. His face was stained with blood, mud and tears. His people dying. His home taken. In its mind, the hound heard his master's voice for the first time in millennia, utter its true name.</p>
<p>"Gelert."</p>
<p>Without considering what it was running into, the hound left its crossed prison and ran into the screams and light. The ground shook as from out of the floor in front of it, vines with blood-stained spikes shot out and wrapped around the walls and floor. The hound, unfazed, walked through them as if they were air and continued on, leaving the flora to cinder where it had exited. It only thought of its master.</p>
<p>Blind, yet guided by sound and smell, the hound pelted along the stone floors and jumping through the steel walls, it finally reached the outdoors. The cold air met its snout and it felt the comforting dampness of night and the light of the moon on its fur. It had been so long since it had been free. The night felt good.</p>
<p>The scent came back. It was near. The thing. One of his and his master's adversaries. A usurper. He'd named them 'Gwyllion', a wild thing of hidden places. Strengthening its stand, the hound sniffed the air. In the cold sea air, it found it. "There you are," it thought and ran towards it. With the force of a cannon, it pinned the thing to the ground. It felt different than it remembered. This one had no wings and its body felt denser. But the scent was the same. Good enough.</p>
<p>"I wouldn't kill me, Shuck," said the thing. The hound felt an invisible force grab its throat and squeeze gently. Its legs left the ground, hovering a few inches above the grass. "I would've thought your kind would've returned to your creators since your master's imprisonment. You've lost those red ears you were so proud of." The hound howled and tried to kick the ground, the rubber in its eye sockets beginning to melt and ignite. It wanted to kill. Not with its cursed eyes, but properly. With fangs and claws. It wanted bloodshed. "That curse must have caused you such turmoil. If you liked, I could put you out of your misery".</p>
<p>Suddenly, the invisible force pushed against its stomach and the hound was thrown aside. "Killing you would be easy. But no fun. This war that is to come will be long. I wish to be entertained whilst I fight," the thing laughed, "Run to your master, little wolf. I expect he's longing to see you." The hound flayed around, looking for the scent, but it was weakening. Dampened by the smell of fire, mud and blood. There was no choice. Its master was calling. Annoyed that his kill had escaped, the hound turned on its paws and ran into the night. "Run along little wolf," said the voice, "We'll fight again soon."</p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><tt>Multiple containment breaches detected. All personnel report to the nearest safe room. Containment Sector 4 blast doors will seal in 10 seconds. Multiple containment breaches detected. All personnel report to -</tt></strong></p>
<p>Even with the sirens blasting warning across Site-44, the howling from the beasts and monsters drowned everything out. Grows, screeches, hisses, spitting and various inhuman sounds. On the banks of the Dengie Flats, Terry watched the fires grow, releasing great pills of smoke into the night sky. "I think we're done here," he said, putting the papers he'd grabbed from the site records into the bag and swinging it onto his back.</p>
<p>Suddenly, the sound of faint whistling and gurgling came from the woodland nearby. From out of the brambles, seven <a href="/scp-6448">deer</a> walked out awkwardly, their unnatural eyes fixed on Terry. "What are you then?" said Terry, looking the creatures up and down. These were not of the beasts he'd released during its escape. Nor were they the ones he'd remembered witnessing while incubating within his former host's mind. These things were something new.</p>
<p>Steadily, one of the antlered deer limped forward, its misshapen jaw opening and closing awkwardly as it attempted to make a sound. A black viscous liquid appeared to well up around its sharp teeth. "I don't think so," tittered Terry, and pointed a finger at the deer. With a flick, the deer was forced onto its hind legs, its' skin appearing to tighten. As it was squeezed, the other deer, who'd attempted to approach, began to make a series of gagging sounds, occasionally uttering words. "Hello. We are together. Hello. Hello." Terry laughed cruelly and made a fist. Within seconds, a sickly cracking noise came from inside the antlered deer. Its abdomen contracted and its dark innards squirted out of its mouth. The black mass quivered for a moment, then stopped.</p>
<p>Terry shot a look at the rest of the pack, all of whom were staring back with something like fear in their human-like eyes. "There are more of you, aren't there," Terry spat, walking towards the nearest member, "Where are they?" The pack remained motionless, though the fat and skin of some of them wiggled slightly. Annoyed, Terry lifted a hand, causing the deer to stiffen. "I know you can understand me. I killed your leader easily. You work for my kind now, understand?" A moment passed before one of the deer approached and spoke, moving its jaw clumsily.</p>
<p>"Hello. You. It's you."</p>
<p>"Good," said Terry, taking that as a sign of obedience, "Now, let's go. Your new masters will be waiting."</p>
<hr/>
<p>"My god."</p>
<p>Zachary had never seen such a mess. The Cryptobiology Station was in ruin, with the walls splattered with various types of blood, saps and other sticky substances. There was an awful farmyard smell, which made Zachary and Arthur's eyes water. As they walked through the rubble, several animals and anomalies sounded from the recovery cages. Most of them were badly injured and were being looked over by personnel of the Cryptozoology Division. Arthur kept slowing down to goggle at the creatures like a greedy child walking through the sweet shop.</p>
<p>"Clearance Pass," said the security officer, opening a hand. The two rolled their eyes and handed the passes over. The officer looked at them and made a gruff sniff. "Sorry, sirs. Only biological-related departments or containment officers are permitted at the moment. You'll have to wait."</p>
<p>"My good man," said Arthur, trying to sound authoritative, "We need to speak with Researcher Ozz. It's a matter of importance."</p>
<p>"Researcher Ozz is currently tending to the new containment cells for our 3934 instances. He will be available as soon as he's -"</p>
<p>"<span style="color: #6a5eff"><strong>Let us passed,</strong></span>" said Zachary in a stern voice, his eyes fixed on the officer in a tranquil glare.</p>
<p>For the next 10 seconds, the officer became overwhelmed with blue and purple thoughts and was blissfully unaware he was moving. By the time his concentration returned, the two men had already waltzed pass.</p>
<p>"Zach," Arthur hissed, staring at Zachary with a look of disgust and annoyance, "did you really have to?"</p>
<p>"I'm in a rush Arthur. There are times for security and there are times for people to get out of the way."</p>
<p>"But you know how people feel about you doing that. You can't just use your abilities willy-nilly. Do you want to get another O5 letter of -"</p>
<p>"This is important," Zachary assured, and for a second, Arthur saw his green eyes flash. "Don't get delicate and come on. I can see Ozz over there."</p>
<p>Ozz was a distinctive man. From the outside, he looked like an army cadet, sporting a shaved head and a rather heavy face, warped slightly from all the frowning he did. He smelt strongly of straw and the farmyard. In his shirt pocket, several small chew toys poked out, many of them decorated with unusual bite marks. His lab coat, which was typically lightly coated with various animal hairs, was sporting several new rips. He was busying himself with his interns, showing them a diagram of a large lake.</p>
<p>"Now make sure the younglings get plenty of seaweed. Their jaws will take a while to heal, so maybe chop them up before serving," Ozz said to his interns, who nodded and briskly walked away. But before he could run off, Zachary dashed over and grabbed him by the shoulder, with Arthur shuffling behind, a little breathless. "Zach? Arthur? What are you doing here? You can't be here. Only biologists and related departments."</p>
<p>"I know, but we need to talk."</p>
<p>"Zach, not now! I've got to run up to the humanoid cell. It was a full moon last night and we're still having trouble sorting the real bricks from the 2537's."</p>
<p>"It was Terry, wasn't it? He did this."</p>
<p>At the mention of the name, Ozz's face fixed. He glanced around and took the two men along the corridor, into a nearby wrecked cell. Having checked that nobody was around, Ozz gave Zach an annoyed look. "I thought you had it covered, Zach? Didn't you do some hypnosis on him or something?"</p>
<p>"I did what I could!" protested Zachary, "The only thing I could offer was psionic defence exercises and that only works if you use rigorous mnemonic and verbal anchoring. But given what's happened, Terry must have let his guard down and chose to let it in. Now that thing is Terry."</p>
<p>"But you've dealt with these things, right? Before you came to the Foundation. You keep going on about how much you dislike them. I would've thought something like this would've been easy for you to deal with?"</p>
<p>"None of this is easy."</p>
<p>"What about your weird purple thing?", asked Ozz, pointing at Zachary's mouth, "Or is that just for push-in at the canteen?"</p>
<p>Zachary's eyes narrowed. "Let that go, Ozz. I stopped doing that ages ago. Plus, <span style="color: #6a5eff"><strong>Indigo</strong></span> affects the nervous system, not the mind. This is some advanced psionic and oneiric grafting, undertaken since toddlerhood. It knew Terry inside out, literally. We only managed to discover it at the last minute. Anyhow, Sidhe have a completely different psychic layout to humans. If I had -"</p>
<p>"Eight people have died, Zach!"</p>
<p>"And more likely will if we don't take this further!"</p>
<p>The two men scowled at each other until a cough came from behind them.</p>
<p>"Ozz, why don't you tell us what happened last night," asked Arthur, taking the kindly gentlemanly route.</p>
<p>"The anomaly - Terry that is - broke out at around 3 am last night. It took out two of the security officers on the way, displaying some kind of thaumaturgical capabilities as it did so. It then headed for the lower levels and shorted the power supply. Then all hell broke loose. The animals got out, went nuts and caused a rampage, killing six other personnel in the process. Thankfully, Lucy and some of her Gamma-4s were around so they managed to get most of the things under control. Still, the whole of the Station has to be rewired and a good portion of it needs to be remodelled. We're moving what we can to 12, 46 and 91 until we can have things back up and running."</p>
<p>Zachary slumped down on a chunk of rubble and buried his face in his hands. Arthur had been right. He did regret not having his tea. The three men sat in silence for a moment, listening to the choral of animals barking. Finally, Arthur piped up and asked, "Did anything go missing? You know, besides Terry."</p>
<p>"A few of the more intelligent cases got out, 6448 being our greatest concern there. The Stags are out looking for them. There were a couple of unregistered things and two of the newest cryptobotany cases. The Madagascan man-eating tree things. But that's the least of our worries."</p>
<p>Zachary and Arthur look at one another. "Least?"</p>
<hr/>
<p>Terry looked over the papers again, trying his best to try and find something useful. His host had not been an avid reader of documentation, meaning much of the technical jargon was unknown to him. Rereading the page detailing the layout of Site-46, he reached for the flask of tea the couple had made and drank the weak, leaf liquid. Humans had such jaded pallets.</p>
<p>A grunt from the deer brought Terry out of his studies. Looking up, he saw them standing bolt upright, staring down at the two beaten humans, who were grunting uncomfortably, trying to awaken from their semi-conscious state. They looked at their clothes carefully, gnashing their teeth. "Leave them," commanded Terry. Without question, the deer walked away, giving Terry a fearful look.</p>
<p>"What are these," came a voice. The deer twisted their heads in odd angles as from out of the forest, a man dressed in a fine, black suit walked out. He was a very handsome man, sporting long black hair and a clean-cut beard, which stood out against his perfect skin. His eyes, though, were of unnatural white and blueness, with a slight fractal of black circling the iris. Terry sneered but greeted the man politely.</p>
<p>"New pets for our cause. The king made sure we gathered as many resources as we could once we got out. Would you sit," he said. The man nodded and the two sat at the picnic bench, facing each other. When comfortable, the suited man reached into his mouth. With a slight click, he pulled out a set of veneers, revealing <a href="/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh">yellowing fangs</a>, stained brown at the tips. "Must you do that," grimaced Terry, as the man let his jaw adjust and relax.</p>
<p>"You haven't undergone extensive surgery," said the man, pulling his hair back, and exposing scarred ears. "Let an old man enjoy his remaining features." Terry rolled his eyes and returned to the documents. "What are these," asked the man, picking up a file marked SCP-023. An image of a large dog was attached. Terry gave it a knowing smile.</p>
<p>"Papers I managed to recover from their hideouts. You know. The ones calling themselves, The Foundation." The man gave a knowing nod. "Any news from you people? Have you located the nephew, Delbáeth?"</p>
<p>"My men believe he has migrated to the Americas. New York, we think. Soho. We hear he has taken to the bottle since the loss of his <a href="/a-foul-storm-in-a-fair-land">uncle and cousin</a>. We shall find him. He'll be easily dealt with. Do not worry."</p>
<p>"Good," said Terry, "but detain him. No destruction or death. We do not want another Cornwall Incident." He could see the man eyeing up the two subdued humans, licking his teeth hungrily.</p>
<p>"I also heard that one of your lot had an encounter with another group. In Portland. They had a ghost with them." Terry's eyes narrowed as the man laughed mockingly. "Is it true? The Mabyn have returned?"</p>
<p>Terry looked down at the photo of the dog again. "If they are, why should we worry? There is nothing left of them to be of any great threat."</p>
<p>"Really," tittered the man, "I remember the last time they faced you. If I recall, your kind were the ones who faced the <a href="/scp-4000">great threat</a>."</p>
<p>"They will be dealt with at the right time," snapped Terry, "Just like the Tuatha. Now go. Go and feast on what's left in those humans and leave me to do my reading. I will come back to you once I have found what I need."</p>
<p>The man nodded his head curtly, smiling nastily. He left the table and made his way to the humans, teeth bared. Within seconds, his mouth and most of his clean suit were coated in blood and flesh. Ignoring the moans of quenching, Terry put the pages marked <em>Site-91: Facilities and Layout</em> down and reached for a large file marked <em>Foundation Personnel: British Isle</em>. As he flicked through, checking the images pinned to the profiles, he caught a familiar figure. A man in a blue suit, with green eyes, donning white gloves.</p>
<p>Green eyes?</p>
<p>Pausing, Terry read the profile description, thinking back to his time in the cells. <strong>Dr. Zachary Taliesin Dafydd; Psychoanalysis; Department of Anomalous Humanoid Psychology</strong>. So this was the man who'd tried to have him suppressed. The one who'd walked his dreams. The one with the orchid voice. Though it wasn't powerful stuff, Terry was nonetheless impressed. Humans were typically not the most natural psychics, yet this man had managed to put some defences up. Not effective ones but still, how? Curiously, he inspected the history and came across the word. <em>Theriomorphism</em>. An understanding grin spread across Terry's face. So that's why he wore gloves. That's how he knew to put up defences.</p>
<p>"Game on, Zachary," he said, stroking the image of Dr. Dafydd, "Game on."</p>
<hr/>
<p>By the time Zachary reached his quarters in Site-12, he was exhausted. Shutting the door with a slam, he looked down at the numerous papers in his hand. Growling tiredly, he threw them onto his desk. He could not be arsed to collate them now. Walking to his sofa, he reached into the side cabinet and pulled out the seaweed rum he'd got from Cornwall, pouring himself a substantial amount. "There are things better than tea," he thought, thinking of Arthur.</p>
<p>He caught himself in the mirror taking a swig. The face that looked back was normal. Brown hair, beard, wine-red bow tie. Slowly, he walked toward the mirror, gazing into the green eyes. As he looked, something Arthur said came back to him. "What happens to them? The people. The owners of the bodies these - parasites have infested." The word parasite sat substantially in Zachary's mind.</p>
<p>Without thinking he put his glass down and removed his left hand glove. He was mildly surprised at the ordinary pink skin underneath them. He focused, breathed steadily and let the glamour go. In a second, the pink skin had become coated with patches of brown and white fur. The nails were now claws and a hard epidermis appeared on the palms like paws. In the mirror, Zachary saw the face had changed. Now, it sported a snout-like, twitching nose and tufts of fur growing from his forehead into his whiskered cheeks. Along with his normal ears, two additional, long hare ears had popped out from beneath his hair. His green eyes remained, distinctive against the fur and beard.</p>
<p><em>"He knows, you know. Terry. He knows I'm in here. He knows what you are,"</em> said the voice.</p>
<p>Zachary ignored it, downed the rum in one gulp and pulled his glove back on. He stormed to his desk, sorting the papers Arthur gave him and opened his laptop, logging into the Foundation terminal.</p>
<p><em>"Do they know? Does Arthur? Siwan? Ozzy? Your Site Manager? Do you know about -"</em></p>
<p>"<span style="color: #6a5eff"><strong>Go away,</strong></span>" boomed Zachary, looking at his reflection on the screen, addressing his eyes. Addressing the thing locked away. The voice hushed, and Zachary felt it sulk away into the very back of his mind. Focusing, he opened the email terminal and selected the email marked <strong>Project Caliburn</strong>.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-no {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Come away, O human child…">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6796">Come away, O human child…</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="A World Full of Weeping">
<p><a href="/">A World Full of Weeping</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Anomaly-306">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/anomaly-306-the-silver-alder">Anomaly-306</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/in-june-i-change-my-tune">In June, I Change My Tune</a>" by arthcymro, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/in-june-i-change-my-tune">https://scpwiki.com/in-june-i-change-my-tune</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:basalt">:scp-wiki:theme:basalt</a> hidetitle=a]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:turbo-vision">:scp-wiki:theme:turbo-vision</a> blocks=-]]
[[module css]]
/*---- IMPORTS ----*/
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Spectral:wght@300&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Special+Elite&display=swap');
/*---- THEME ----*/
:root {
--logo: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/jerden-insignia/Site-12.svg);
--title: "SITE-12:";
--subtitle: "IT'S A LONG STORY";
--title-size: 1.75rem;
--subtitle-size: 1.25rem;
}
:root {
--basalt-overtone: 10, 10, 11;
--basalt-undertone: var(--basalt-bright-element-color);
--basalt-UI-dark-palette: 23, 33, 20;
--basalt-background-color: 224, 213, 191;
--basalt-bright-element-color: 34,49,29;
--basalt-dark-element-color: 34,49,29;
--basalt-primary-color: 255, 253, 231;
--basalt-secondary-color: 255, 239, 203;
--basalt-tertiary-color: 246, 227, 186;
--basalt-main-text-color: 18, 9, 0;
--header-background-color: 48,69,41;
--header-title-color: 255, 253, 208;
--header-subtitle-color: 255, 253, 208;
--top-bar-link-color: 255, 253, 208;
--search-icon-color: 255, 253, 208;
--side-bar-background-color: 63,90,54;
--side-bar-heading-text-color: 255, 253, 208;
--side-bar-link-color: 255, 253, 208;
--scrollbar-thumb-color: var(--basalt-dark-element-color);
--general-border-color: 156, 156, 156;
--image-caption-background-color: 255, 253, 231;
--image-caption-text-color: 50, 50, 50;
--link-color: 137, 81, 37 !important;
--link-visited-color: 84, 49, 22 !important;
--document-background-color: 243,223,193;
}:root {
--header-font-primary: 'Spectral';
--UI-font-primary: 'Spectral';
--body-font-primary: 'Spectral';
font-size: 110%;
}
div.document {
background-color: rgb(243,223,193);
color: rgb(50, 50, 50);
}
div:is(.jotting, .transcript) {
background-color: rgb(243, 206, 161);
color: rgb(50, 50, 50);
}
div.modal {
background-color: rgb(255, 253, 231);
color: rgb(50, 50, 50);
}
div.papernote {
background-color: rgb(243, 206, 161);
color: rgb(50, 50, 50);
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=-- |name=ArthCymro]]
**[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-dafydd-s-personnel-file More by this Author]**
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
Terry sat on the cold cell bed, taking quick rapid breaths to try and calm down. For the past thirty minutes, he'd been going through a cycle of delusion and doubt. It would start with him convincing himself that something was moving in the shadows in the corners of his cell. But then he'd remember that was stupid and that there couldn't be anything there. Only he was here. So he'd put the idea out of his mind. Then something would move in the other corners of the room.
Remembering what Dr. Dafydd had told him, Terry pressed the tips of his fingers to his mouth and murmured his mantra. "Your name is Terrance Quince. You are 31 years old. You were born in Cork, Ireland. You have a degree in Civil Engineering. You have a dog named Bertie." He swallowed and repeated himself. At least 20 times. That's what Dafydd had said. He repeated the words, swallowed, and started again.
"Your name is Terrance Quince. You are 31 years old. You were born in Cork, Ireland. You have - "
Something fluttered in the corner next to his cell's bed. Terry jerked his head for a second, avoiding thinking something was there. He focused once again.
"Your name is Terrance Quince. You are 31 years old. You were born in Cork, Ireland. You have a degree in Civil Engineering. You have a dog named - a dog named - a dog - "
He opened his eyes. The fluttering had stopped. But something else had gone.
------
"Tea," said Arthur, holding up a small teapot. Zachary, not taking his gaze away from the window, gave a small shake of the head. "You should drink something. You never know when you'll be thirsty. That's why I always carry a flask."
"I'll have something in a minute, Art."
Zachary wasn't really listening. He was watching the people in the street below, his vision jumping from one to the other and back again. "Twenty-five thousand," he thought, "One in two hundred and forty thousand." Despite the fact the statistics pointed to low chances, the numbers still made him nervous. "Any of them could be one. And they'd have no idea."
He came to when Arthur pressed a hot mug between him and the glass, beaming like a child holding up a finger painting and looking for approval. Zachary rolled his eyes and took the mug. It was one of those cartoon animal ones that you'd get from cereal boxes as prizes, made for commercial gain rather than practicality. "It will do you the world of good," Arthur chuckled, wagging a finger in no particular direction. Zachary smiled weakly and took a small gulp whilst Arthur parked himself into an armchair under the bookshelves.
"Aren't you going to take your gloves off," Arthur asked, spooning large piles of sugar into his cup. For a split second, a sign of panic flashed in Zachary's face. As he took a seat near the window, he adjusted the gloves, almost instinctively, before briefly shaking his head, which was the only part of his body exposed. Arthur had never understood why Zachary never took them off. He'd always thought that they, along with his blue waistcoat and red bow tie, made him look like a party magician, rather than a psychoanalyst. However, style choice and clothing had always been variable in the Foundation, especially in the UK branches.
Arthur had put on weight since he'd been made head of Mythology And Folkloristics, though he still retained his bulky shape. His entire frame was squashed slightly into a green pinstripe suit, with the brown waistcoat just barely holding in his tummy flab. His long ginger hair fell neatly down the back of his blazer. That, along with the chair and the merry smile, really did make him look like a young Father Christmas.
"Drink your tea, Zach. Please," he pleaded, gesturing a sipping motion. Zachary looked down at the mug and made a face. The poor ceramic shape meant a few drops spilt out and dampened his trousers. Brushing the liquid into the fabric, Zachary looked back out towards the high street. From the pub over the road, he heard the sound of laughing and chatting. A few doors down, a group of people all jostled around drunkenly, trying to squeeze themselves into a four-seat taxi. Everyone was enjoying the warm, summer evening. It all seemed so safe and normal.
"You've got a nice view here. I wish I could have a permanent accommodation."
"Quit beating around the bush, Zach," sighed Arthur, leaning back, dropping his jolly demeanour and shooting Zachary a look of annoyance, "What's got you rattled?"
Zachary stroked the side of his cartoon dog mug with his thumb. It wasn't easy to put it into words. "I meet with Terry Quince on Monday."
------
Having run out of right thumb nail to bite, Terry switched from his left thumb to his right. He continued to walk up and down the cell, occasionally entering and exiting the bathroom, as if doing so would allow some solution to appear. Between the bites, he tried the mantra again. "Bobby? Biskit. It - it was a B. Or was - was it - a D? Dobs? Digger. What was his name!" He spat out the sarp pulp of nail bits and held his head in his hands, trying not to worry further. "Start again. Start again. Your name is Terrance Quince. You are 31 years old. You were born in - born in - "
Something moved in the blind stop between his eyes and his forehead. Just for a second. But that had been enough. The fear he felt for the past ten minutes had now evolved into a full panic. Terry began to gulp and shudder, doing his very best to hold back any weeps or screams. He tried. And tried.
//"My, my, you do make it hard. That other guy's work didn't help either."//
It was a strange voice. The kind of voice you heard in your head, in your mind. It was both familiar and alien. It made Terry stop at once. The entity was human in shape, with some of it sharing Terry's characteristics, yet it was different. The brown hair was longer and silkier, and the shape was reminiscent of Terry in his twenties, when Terry was much more muscular than overweight. The creature's skin was paler than Terry's, and its eyes were almost completely black except for a green iris in the centre. It also had delicate protrusions from its upper back, which looked like flower petals and had an iridescence sheen.
"Go - go awa - you're not real," spluttered Terry, pointing at the creature. It signed tiredly and smiled. Many of its teeth were sharp.
//"Do you really mean that, or are you just wishing it,"// tittered the creature, walking along the dirt.
That was when Terry suddenly noticed they were no longer in his cell. The two stood in a damp, dilapidated forest, full of brambles and rotting branches. A soft wind was blowing. "This isn't really. Not real. I've just got to remember. That's what Dr. Dafydd said. Your name is Terrance Quince. You are 31 years old. You - "
//"- were born in Cork, Ireland. I have a degree in Civil Engineering. I have a dog named Bertie,"// finished the creature.
Terry pointed a finger at the creature, trying hard to hide the fact it was shaking. "You - your - you're doing this. Taken my memories. Filling my mind with images and - and - things."
The creature laughed lightly and gestured its arms. Gracefully, it lifted into the air and began to hover slightly from the ground, its glassy petals moving in the wind delicately. //"Those memories are just as much my memories as they are yours."// The creature glided slowly toward Terry, stopping a few inches from his face. //"Tell me, my good man. Are you happy?"//
"Yes," blurted out Terry automatically, not really thinking.
//"Liar."//
Suddenly, the scene shifted. Both Terry and the creature now stood in an office. Terry recognised it instantly. Near the photocopier, he spotted himself talking to a woman. Suzie was her name. She'd recently broken up with her boyfriend and Terry had taken a chance. His mouth moved but no sounds came out. As Terry's double finished speaking, the woman gave it a pitying smile and rubbed its shoulder affectionally, but quickly. She then turned away, her attempts to mask the embarrassed smile failing.
"Stop it."
The scene shifted again. This time, Terry saw his duplicate sitting at the desk of his department head. The man parallel to him gave aggressive gestures towards Terry's work record before switching to a more passive movement. The duplicate smiled sadly, trying hard not to show how upset he was. It had been the same reasons. It had been another denial.
//"You really aren't doing so well, are you?"//
Everything shifted. It was the funeral. Terry was staring down at the coffin. At the gold plate that had his mother's name grave on it. At the square of dirt that seemed like a brown void, swallowing a small woman who had died slowly at a hospice Terry had paid for. Terry stared down. He didn't want to look his father or sister in the eye.
"Stop it!"
The man, who'd now forgotten his name, slammed his hand, which was suddenly much thinner and stiffer, against the concrete of the floor. The entity glided beside him and placed a cold hand on the man's back, rubbing it comfortingly.
//"No. You haven't been happy in a long time, have you?"//
------
By the time Zachary had finished, Arthur's face was alert and shocked. The tea in his mug was now lukewarm and forming a scum around the sides. "So that's what we've got so far," finished Zachary, his voice a little horse from all the talking. Arthur put a hand to his face and began stroking his beard aggressively. Now that it had been said, it all seemed to fit. The iron deficiency. The bursts of magic. The dreams. The Ways that formed around the babies.
"How many do we have registered?"
"About 500. That's just in the UK. Results for Europe are pending. Estimated to be around 25,000 in total. Worldwide."
Arthur picked up the file. The profile picture of the engineer stared back at him. Before, Arthur had looked at him and thought nothing. Now, knowing that the eyes in that picture had had two people looking out of them, Arthur felt disgusting. It felt invasive knowing that there was something else riding alongside him. Inside all of them. Waiting to come out.
"What happens to them? The people. The owners of the bodies these - parasites have infested."
"I think a kind of Invasion of the Body Snatchers Midwich Cuckoo Alzihmer mixture. When the thing inside is ready, it will push into the host's form and rewrite the physiology to fit something more comfortable. The host's consciousness is absorbed into the parasite's, meaning every memory and piece of information the host knows, the parasite will gain."
"It can be reversed," exclaimed Arthur, looking to Zachary for reassurance, "this engineer, Quince, he changed back."
"He only changed because we turned it on too early. When we introduced that solution into his body, the parasite panicked and pushed itself out."
"But we can stop it?"
"We can't risk any more treatments now we know what's happening in the host's mind," sighed Zachary, biting the tips of his gloves, "And we can't risk killing him because we don't want to alert whatever party is doing this that we know. Our only hope now is psionic suppression. Since the host has to have somewhat comply to grant full takeover, we just need to ensure their mental willpower can act as a kind of barrier, pushing the thing back."
"Will it work?"
Zachary shrugged and shook his head, doubtfully.
"Why," asked Arthur, "what is all this for? In myths, fairies would do the exchange because the baby is to be eaten as food or work as their servant. In some folktales, the replacement needs human breast milk to grow. I don't see anything like that here. They're just putting a soul into a body. Is this how they breed?"
"No, they mate like us. And even if they didn't, I don't think this is just a way to keep the species going. By the looks of it, this selection isn't as random as we think it is. The parasite's consciousness is dormant in the host's mind but can still influence some things. Memories, dreams and thoughts. Act like a guide."
"Like a fucked-up Jiminy Cricket."
"Exactly. And look." Zachary flicked through the register and pointed at the host's backgrounds. "Look at their lives. A lot of these people are invested in some substantial work. Banking, government, law, health care, philanthropy. Never anything small or ordinary. And now." Zachary pointed at the profile of Terry Quince. "One made their way here."
"You think Quince was influenced to join the Foundation?"
"Possibly," said Zachary, putting his mug of undrunk tea down on the coffee table. The two sat back in their chairs and looked out the window. The streets were quieter now and night had closed in. Already, a full moon was in view.
"What do you know about Avalon, Arthur? Or rather, Annwn?"
------
//"Didn't it feel good,"// asked the entity in an oily tone, bending down and cupping its hands around the man's bony cheeks. Gently, it lifted the man up and held his head directly in front of its own. Its face was so familiar, thought the man. Almost as if it was one he'd seen many times before. //"All that strength. That freedom. That power. You liked it, didn't you? Remember."//
The entity gently rubbed its hand across the man's cheek, taking the tears away, before placing the now salted thumb into its mouth. As it did, an image filled the man's mind. One he'd viewed a few weeks ago.
He was flying. Bouncing off walls and speeding along corridors. Around him, stupid people were shouting something at him and holding up their metal toys. Within seconds, they were on the ground, bones broken and mouths filled with their own blood. Pressing a hand against the stone wall, he felt the rock in his palm crack pathetically. It had felt so good. It had felt nice to be the strong one. The big one. The best one.
//"We can be like that again,"// said the entity, now lying on top of the man, its familiar face beaming down. In its eyes, the man saw his own face, now gaunt and skeletal, staring back. He was so weak now. So pathetic. He wanted it back. The strength. The power. The fear.
"It felt so good."
//"It did, didn't it?"//
The thing that had once been a man, who had once been Terry, who had once had a dog called Bertie, smiled weakly, thinking only of how good it had been. Terry, who'd once been a thing in the back of another mind, felt a shudder of pain and pleasure as their body changed into something more accurate.
"Let's - feel - good."
------
The guards at 44 were used to bangs and clashes in the containment chambers. Since this site worked mostly with animals and strange cryptids, it was completely natural to hear some screaming and occasional clanking. What was more worrying, was when that clanking became regular. And from the humanoid sector, came the sound of consistent shunting and banging.
The guards on duty, were new to the job and because they believed Cryptozoology to be a soft option department, did not really take their role seriously. Nevertheless, they rushed to the humanoid sector, firearms and cattle prod in hand, prepared for a fight, yet not really desiring to be in one. As soon as they opened the door, the banging ceased. Everything was very still.
"Check the cells," signed one of the guard and pointed at the doors on the right. The other nodded and stealthily moved across the wall, prod primed. At each window, he grabbed a quick peak and nodded back at his fellow guard. But once he got the cell marked [[[SCP-6796]]] and began signalling in panicked gestures. The cell was empty.
But before either could so much as lift a finger, a hand burst through the glass and clutched the guards neck, an audible, wet crack sounding as it squeezed. The other guard, now properly ready, opened fire at the hand. The bullets flew in bursts of light and sound but they barely penetrated the hand's flesh. It then threw the dead body aside and clenched its fist. The bullets lodged in the skin flew out and hovered in front of the fist before flattening into thin disks. Then, with a snap of the hand's fingers, they zoomed across the corridor and logged themselves deep into the guard's chest, neck and jaw.
With the guards dead, the hand pressed its palm against the keypad, which sparked and smoked briefly, before the door opened. Now free, the entity, flexed and stretched, letting the last of its old form slip away. Within seconds, what had once been a rather pump, sweaty, 30-something-year-old human male, had shaped itself into a sleeker, muscular, elven form, with tapered ears and green eyes. "Now then," it said to itself, picking up guard's prod and passkey, "I wonder if I can remember the way out?"
------
Arthur had left his chair now. He was pacing the room and strumming his fingers, his face contorted in concentration. Now and again, he would take a sharp intake of breath, attempt to say something, then change his mind and continue pacing. Finally, he said, "So, you think, all of this has to do with some long-forgotten war? Those dreams? The island? These parasites? They're all connected?"
Zachary nodded. "I would guess. I'm tempted to say there may be other anomalies in our register that might be involved as well. But there are still pieces missing."
Arthur stopped suddenly and pointed down at Zachary. "You know - those things from **##green|that place we don't talk about##**. One of the victims. PoI-6796-102, I think. They were last seen entering a pub and lighting a fire. There were some feathers in the grate if I remember. And bone samples. You don't think -"
The sentence died on its way out when Arthur caught the look on Zachary's face. "Oh, god. If those things are involved, we're in deep shit. Remember what happened at Site-08, when that enormous face filled that room. Like some nightmarish Disney film. Is that what's coming Zach? A horrific Snow White production?"
At this comment, Zachary chuckled. "It's not funny, Zachary," exclaimed Arthur, knocking his teacup to the floor, pissing tea all over the carpet, "These things are everywhere! Half of the folktales I've uncovered involve them! We need to get this to Durrani. No! Fleming! Fleming will understand. And we'd need to alert our agents in the Free Ports. Three Portlands is a hotbed of activity -"
"Arthur. Stop it."
Arthur halted his bumbling. Zachary was fixing him with a cold glare, which quickly spooked Arthur into calm. Taking a few deep breaths, he sat down, pulling at his beard. "Sorry," he whispered sheepishly.
"You're right to be concerned. Anything involving Sidhe is going to be messy," comforted Zachary, getting up from his seat and making his way to the teapot, "but we need to examine what we know first. At the moment, we only have a fraction of the picture. From what I got from that man on Annwn, there is so much more to this. And the trouble is, almost all of it has been lost. We need more data about what's happened in the past. What else is involved and what happened to Force ξ when they landed on Annwn."
Arthur then sat bolt upright, clenching the sides of the armchair very tightly. "Force ξ? The ones who went missing in the Sixth Occult War?"
Zachary nodded as he handed him a fresh mug. "They were the ones we found on Annwn. It seems like some of their ghosts are involved in that man's call to arms - what is it?"
Arthur's face had taken a calculated look. His eyes bounced about, as though he was flicking through a book. In time, he nodded slowly, murmuring, "There is an anomaly in Scotland. In the Highlands. It was one of my early cases after I'd graduated from Nottingham. At the time, I just thought the guy was having me on, but if what you've found out is true, then this is -"
Just then, a loud buzzing came from Zachary's pocket. Reaching in, he pulled out his bleeper and read the text, his face contorting with anger and panic as he did so.
"What's happened?"
Without answering, Zachary dashed to the door and pulled on his blue blazer, fury in his eyes. "Shit. Shit Shit." He opened the door and indicated for Arthur to get up and follow. "There's been a breach."
------
The hound, disturbed by the clashes and bangs, lifted its head in surprise. It pawed the ground. Something was happening in the world. Something familiar. It blocked out the siren sounds and sniffed the air. A scent came to it. A smell of something enchanted and secret. It growled. In its mind, a memory from years ago flashed briefly. Images of winged creatures, seawater and screaming men came. As it remembered, the rubber spheres where its eyes had been began to soften and ignite at the edges. "It's them," it thought, snarling.
A loud bang interrupted its thoughts, as one of the doors at the edge of the crossroad blew off its hinges. Outside, the sounds of screaming could be heard getting loud, joined by a caterwauling of screeches, whoops and howls. A hot light flashed, in chorus with a strange mechanical voice. The thing's scent was stronger now, causing the hound's blood to boil. But something had changed. With the road destroyed, it heard it. The call. Another memory came to the hound. One of a man dressed in antlers and furs. A man the hound loved and was loyal to. His face was stained with blood, mud and tears. His people dying. His home taken. In its mind, the hound heard his master's voice for the first time in millennia, utter its true name.
"Gelert."
Without considering what it was running into, the hound left its crossed prison and ran into the screams and light. The ground shook as from out of the floor in front of it, vines with blood-stained spikes shot out and wrapped around the walls and floor. The hound, unfazed, walked through them as if they were air and continued on, leaving the flora to cinder where it had exited. It only thought of its master.
Blind, yet guided by sound and smell, the hound pelted along the stone floors and jumping through the steel walls, it finally reached the outdoors. The cold air met its snout and it felt the comforting dampness of night and the light of the moon on its fur. It had been so long since it had been free. The night felt good.
The scent came back. It was near. The thing. One of his and his master's adversaries. A usurper. He'd named them 'Gwyllion', a wild thing of hidden places. Strengthening its stand, the hound sniffed the air. In the cold sea air, it found it. "There you are," it thought and ran towards it. With the force of a cannon, it pinned the thing to the ground. It felt different than it remembered. This one had no wings and its body felt denser. But the scent was the same. Good enough.
"I wouldn't kill me, Shuck," said the thing. The hound felt an invisible force grab its throat and squeeze gently. Its legs left the ground, hovering a few inches above the grass. "I would've thought your kind would've returned to your creators since your master's imprisonment. You've lost those red ears you were so proud of." The hound howled and tried to kick the ground, the rubber in its eye sockets beginning to melt and ignite. It wanted to kill. Not with its cursed eyes, but properly. With fangs and claws. It wanted bloodshed. "That curse must have caused you such turmoil. If you liked, I could put you out of your misery".
Suddenly, the invisible force pushed against its stomach and the hound was thrown aside. "Killing you would be easy. But no fun. This war that is to come will be long. I wish to be entertained whilst I fight," the thing laughed, "Run to your master, little wolf. I expect he's longing to see you." The hound flayed around, looking for the scent, but it was weakening. Dampened by the smell of fire, mud and blood. There was no choice. Its master was calling. Annoyed that his kill had escaped, the hound turned on its paws and ran into the night. "Run along little wolf," said the voice, "We'll fight again soon."
------
= **{{Multiple containment breaches detected. All personnel report to the nearest safe room. Containment Sector 4 blast doors will seal in 10 seconds. Multiple containment breaches detected. All personnel report to -}}**
Even with the sirens blasting warning across Site-44, the howling from the beasts and monsters drowned everything out. Grows, screeches, hisses, spitting and various inhuman sounds. On the banks of the Dengie Flats, Terry watched the fires grow, releasing great pills of smoke into the night sky. "I think we're done here," he said, putting the papers he'd grabbed from the site records into the bag and swinging it onto his back.
Suddenly, the sound of faint whistling and gurgling came from the woodland nearby. From out of the brambles, seven [[[SCP-6448|deer]]] walked out awkwardly, their unnatural eyes fixed on Terry. "What are you then?" said Terry, looking the creatures up and down. These were not of the beasts he'd released during its escape. Nor were they the ones he'd remembered witnessing while incubating within his former host's mind. These things were something new.
Steadily, one of the antlered deer limped forward, its misshapen jaw opening and closing awkwardly as it attempted to make a sound. A black viscous liquid appeared to well up around its sharp teeth. "I don't think so," tittered Terry, and pointed a finger at the deer. With a flick, the deer was forced onto its hind legs, its' skin appearing to tighten. As it was squeezed, the other deer, who'd attempted to approach, began to make a series of gagging sounds, occasionally uttering words. "Hello. We are together. Hello. Hello." Terry laughed cruelly and made a fist. Within seconds, a sickly cracking noise came from inside the antlered deer. Its abdomen contracted and its dark innards squirted out of its mouth. The black mass quivered for a moment, then stopped.
Terry shot a look at the rest of the pack, all of whom were staring back with something like fear in their human-like eyes. "There are more of you, aren't there," Terry spat, walking towards the nearest member, "Where are they?" The pack remained motionless, though the fat and skin of some of them wiggled slightly. Annoyed, Terry lifted a hand, causing the deer to stiffen. "I know you can understand me. I killed your leader easily. You work for my kind now, understand?" A moment passed before one of the deer approached and spoke, moving its jaw clumsily.
"Hello. You. It's you."
"Good," said Terry, taking that as a sign of obedience, "Now, let's go. Your new masters will be waiting."
------
"My god."
Zachary had never seen such a mess. The Cryptobiology Station was in ruin, with the walls splattered with various types of blood, saps and other sticky substances. There was an awful farmyard smell, which made Zachary and Arthur's eyes water. As they walked through the rubble, several animals and anomalies sounded from the recovery cages. Most of them were badly injured and were being looked over by personnel of the Cryptozoology Division. Arthur kept slowing down to goggle at the creatures like a greedy child walking through the sweet shop.
"Clearance Pass," said the security officer, opening a hand. The two rolled their eyes and handed the passes over. The officer looked at them and made a gruff sniff. "Sorry, sirs. Only biological-related departments or containment officers are permitted at the moment. You'll have to wait."
"My good man," said Arthur, trying to sound authoritative, "We need to speak with Researcher Ozz. It's a matter of importance."
"Researcher Ozz is currently tending to the new containment cells for our 3934 instances. He will be available as soon as he's -"
"###6A5EFF|**Let us passed,**##" said Zachary in a stern voice, his eyes fixed on the officer in a tranquil glare.
For the next 10 seconds, the officer became overwhelmed with blue and purple thoughts and was blissfully unaware he was moving. By the time his concentration returned, the two men had already waltzed pass.
"Zach," Arthur hissed, staring at Zachary with a look of disgust and annoyance, "did you really have to?"
"I'm in a rush Arthur. There are times for security and there are times for people to get out of the way."
"But you know how people feel about you doing that. You can't just use your abilities willy-nilly. Do you want to get another O5 letter of -"
"This is important," Zachary assured, and for a second, Arthur saw his green eyes flash. "Don't get delicate and come on. I can see Ozz over there."
Ozz was a distinctive man. From the outside, he looked like an army cadet, sporting a shaved head and a rather heavy face, warped slightly from all the frowning he did. He smelt strongly of straw and the farmyard. In his shirt pocket, several small chew toys poked out, many of them decorated with unusual bite marks. His lab coat, which was typically lightly coated with various animal hairs, was sporting several new rips. He was busying himself with his interns, showing them a diagram of a large lake.
"Now make sure the younglings get plenty of seaweed. Their jaws will take a while to heal, so maybe chop them up before serving," Ozz said to his interns, who nodded and briskly walked away. But before he could run off, Zachary dashed over and grabbed him by the shoulder, with Arthur shuffling behind, a little breathless. "Zach? Arthur? What are you doing here? You can't be here. Only biologists and related departments."
"I know, but we need to talk."
"Zach, not now! I've got to run up to the humanoid cell. It was a full moon last night and we're still having trouble sorting the real bricks from the 2537's."
"It was Terry, wasn't it? He did this."
At the mention of the name, Ozz's face fixed. He glanced around and took the two men along the corridor, into a nearby wrecked cell. Having checked that nobody was around, Ozz gave Zach an annoyed look. "I thought you had it covered, Zach? Didn't you do some hypnosis on him or something?"
"I did what I could!" protested Zachary, "The only thing I could offer was psionic defence exercises and that only works if you use rigorous mnemonic and verbal anchoring. But given what's happened, Terry must have let his guard down and chose to let it in. Now that thing is Terry."
"But you've dealt with these things, right? Before you came to the Foundation. You keep going on about how much you dislike them. I would've thought something like this would've been easy for you to deal with?"
"None of this is easy."
"What about your weird purple thing?", asked Ozz, pointing at Zachary's mouth, "Or is that just for push-in at the canteen?"
Zachary's eyes narrowed. "Let that go, Ozz. I stopped doing that ages ago. Plus, ###6A5EFF|**Indigo**## affects the nervous system, not the mind. This is some advanced psionic and oneiric grafting, undertaken since toddlerhood. It knew Terry inside out, literally. We only managed to discover it at the last minute. Anyhow, Sidhe have a completely different psychic layout to humans. If I had -"
"Eight people have died, Zach!"
"And more likely will if we don't take this further!"
The two men scowled at each other until a cough came from behind them.
"Ozz, why don't you tell us what happened last night," asked Arthur, taking the kindly gentlemanly route.
"The anomaly - Terry that is - broke out at around 3 am last night. It took out two of the security officers on the way, displaying some kind of thaumaturgical capabilities as it did so. It then headed for the lower levels and shorted the power supply. Then all hell broke loose. The animals got out, went nuts and caused a rampage, killing six other personnel in the process. Thankfully, Lucy and some of her Gamma-4s were around so they managed to get most of the things under control. Still, the whole of the Station has to be rewired and a good portion of it needs to be remodelled. We're moving what we can to 12, 46 and 91 until we can have things back up and running."
Zachary slumped down on a chunk of rubble and buried his face in his hands. Arthur had been right. He did regret not having his tea. The three men sat in silence for a moment, listening to the choral of animals barking. Finally, Arthur piped up and asked, "Did anything go missing? You know, besides Terry."
"A few of the more intelligent cases got out, 6448 being our greatest concern there. The Stags are out looking for them. There were a couple of unregistered things and two of the newest cryptobotany cases. The Madagascan man-eating tree things. But that's the least of our worries."
Zachary and Arthur look at one another. "Least?"
-----
Terry looked over the papers again, trying his best to try and find something useful. His host had not been an avid reader of documentation, meaning much of the technical jargon was unknown to him. Rereading the page detailing the layout of Site-46, he reached for the flask of tea the couple had made and drank the weak, leaf liquid. Humans had such jaded pallets.
A grunt from the deer brought Terry out of his studies. Looking up, he saw them standing bolt upright, staring down at the two beaten humans, who were grunting uncomfortably, trying to awaken from their semi-conscious state. They looked at their clothes carefully, gnashing their teeth. "Leave them," commanded Terry. Without question, the deer walked away, giving Terry a fearful look.
"What are these," came a voice. The deer twisted their heads in odd angles as from out of the forest, a man dressed in a fine, black suit walked out. He was a very handsome man, sporting long black hair and a clean-cut beard, which stood out against his perfect skin. His eyes, though, were of unnatural white and blueness, with a slight fractal of black circling the iris. Terry sneered but greeted the man politely.
"New pets for our cause. The king made sure we gathered as many resources as we could once we got out. Would you sit," he said. The man nodded and the two sat at the picnic bench, facing each other. When comfortable, the suited man reached into his mouth. With a slight click, he pulled out a set of veneers, revealing [[[anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh|yellowing fangs]]], stained brown at the tips. "Must you do that," grimaced Terry, as the man let his jaw adjust and relax.
"You haven't undergone extensive surgery," said the man, pulling his hair back, and exposing scarred ears. "Let an old man enjoy his remaining features." Terry rolled his eyes and returned to the documents. "What are these," asked the man, picking up a file marked SCP-023. An image of a large dog was attached. Terry gave it a knowing smile.
"Papers I managed to recover from their hideouts. You know. The ones calling themselves, The Foundation." The man gave a knowing nod. "Any news from you people? Have you located the nephew, Delbáeth?"
"My men believe he has migrated to the Americas. New York, we think. Soho. We hear he has taken to the bottle since the loss of his [[[a-foul-storm-in-a-fair-land|uncle and cousin]]]. We shall find him. He'll be easily dealt with. Do not worry."
"Good," said Terry, "but detain him. No destruction or death. We do not want another Cornwall Incident." He could see the man eyeing up the two subdued humans, licking his teeth hungrily.
"I also heard that one of your lot had an encounter with another group. In Portland. They had a ghost with them." Terry's eyes narrowed as the man laughed mockingly. "Is it true? The Mabyn have returned?"
Terry looked down at the photo of the dog again. "If they are, why should we worry? There is nothing left of them to be of any great threat."
"Really," tittered the man, "I remember the last time they faced you. If I recall, your kind were the ones who faced the [[[SCP-4000|great threat]]]."
"They will be dealt with at the right time," snapped Terry, "Just like the Tuatha. Now go. Go and feast on what's left in those humans and leave me to do my reading. I will come back to you once I have found what I need."
The man nodded his head curtly, smiling nastily. He left the table and made his way to the humans, teeth bared. Within seconds, his mouth and most of his clean suit were coated in blood and flesh. Ignoring the moans of quenching, Terry put the pages marked //Site-91: Facilities and Layout// down and reached for a large file marked //Foundation Personnel: British Isle//. As he flicked through, checking the images pinned to the profiles, he caught a familiar figure. A man in a blue suit, with green eyes, donning white gloves.
Green eyes?
Pausing, Terry read the profile description, thinking back to his time in the cells. **Dr. Zachary Taliesin Dafydd; Psychoanalysis; Department of Anomalous Humanoid Psychology**. So this was the man who'd tried to have him suppressed. The one who'd walked his dreams. The one with the orchid voice. Though it wasn't powerful stuff, Terry was nonetheless impressed. Humans were typically not the most natural psychics, yet this man had managed to put some defences up. Not effective ones but still, how? Curiously, he inspected the history and came across the word. //Theriomorphism//. An understanding grin spread across Terry's face. So that's why he wore gloves. That's how he knew to put up defences.
"Game on, Zachary," he said, stroking the image of Dr. Dafydd, "Game on."
-----
By the time Zachary reached his quarters in Site-12, he was exhausted. Shutting the door with a slam, he looked down at the numerous papers in his hand. Growling tiredly, he threw them onto his desk. He could not be arsed to collate them now. Walking to his sofa, he reached into the side cabinet and pulled out the seaweed rum he'd got from Cornwall, pouring himself a substantial amount. "There are things better than tea," he thought, thinking of Arthur.
He caught himself in the mirror taking a swig. The face that looked back was normal. Brown hair, beard, wine-red bow tie. Slowly, he walked toward the mirror, gazing into the green eyes. As he looked, something Arthur said came back to him. "What happens to them? The people. The owners of the bodies these - parasites have infested." The word parasite sat substantially in Zachary's mind.
Without thinking he put his glass down and removed his left hand glove. He was mildly surprised at the ordinary pink skin underneath them. He focused, breathed steadily and let the glamour go. In a second, the pink skin had become coated with patches of brown and white fur. The nails were now claws and a hard epidermis appeared on the palms like paws. In the mirror, Zachary saw the face had changed. Now, it sported a snout-like, twitching nose and tufts of fur growing from his forehead into his whiskered cheeks. Along with his normal ears, two additional, long hare ears had popped out from beneath his hair. His green eyes remained, distinctive against the fur and beard.
//"He knows, you know. Terry. He knows I'm in here. He knows what you are,"// said the voice.
Zachary ignored it, downed the rum in one gulp and pulled his glove back on. He stormed to his desk, sorting the papers Arthur gave him and opened his laptop, logging into the Foundation terminal.
//"Do they know? Does Arthur? Siwan? Ozzy? Your Site Manager? Do you know about -"//
"##6A5EFF|**Go away,**##" boomed Zachary, looking at his reflection on the screen, addressing his eyes. Addressing the thing locked away. The voice hushed, and Zachary felt it sulk away into the very back of his mind. Focusing, he opened the email terminal and selected the email marked **Project Caliburn**.
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false| hub=no
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6796 | previous-title=Come away, O human child…
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/anomaly-306-the-silver-alder | next-title= Anomaly-306
| hub-url=/ | hub-title=A World Full of Weeping
]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-08-02T11:12:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"fantasy",
"homo-sapiens-sidhe",
"mystery",
"mythological",
"nameless",
"tale"
] |
In June, I Change My Tune - SCP Foundation
| 10
|
[
"dr-dafydd-s-personnel-file",
"scp-6796",
"scp-6448",
"anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh",
"a-foul-storm-in-a-fair-land",
"scp-4000",
"anomaly-306-the-silver-alder",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1456000222
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/in-june-i-change-my-tune
|
|
in-limbo
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Anight-rush-theme/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p>The air felt surprisingly mild for a small train station blanketed under snow. Hardly any wind tucked at his fur, yet Dragomir felt his snout grow cold. The anthropomorphic German Shepherd sniffed impatiently. A permeating scent of frost, steel, and something that might have been ozone - but wasn’t - hit his nostrils. He wrapped the red wool scarf a little tighter around his neck, the one his mother had once gifted him.</p>
<p>Dragomir looked forward again and saw a void. An impenetrable darkness, deeper than night, enveloped the station in every conceivable way. It was almost exhausting to look into. The edge of the platform, a support post, tracks, snow, and then… Nothing. Yet, he felt an urge to pry for some detail, half expecting <em>something</em> to emerge at any moment. This then made him look away, slightly embarrassed before himself - only to peek back into the darkness once more.</p>
<p>The lights didn't help. Whatever the small Lampeter station of K-209 used for energy, its overhead lamps were curiously cool, bluer, and less harsh than LED or halogen. Their cones silently drew circles on the frosty ground. Dragomir counted fifteen of them on this platform, glowing from the black industrial steel beams like makeshift moons.</p>
<p>He looked up, blinking against the light of the lamp above him.</p>
<p>It flickered for a moment.</p>
<p><em>Fifteen flickering lamps.</em></p>
<p>He had sat down directly under one, even though he didn't like direct lighting all that much. He sat and told himself this was just a train station. Others had used it before him and others would do so again. And he kept telling that to himself despite his footprints being the only ones to disturb the soft coat of ice crystals on this platform.</p>
<p><em>Next time, I'll buy a courier</em>, he thought. Again.</p>
<p>Whoever had built this station seemed to have put up only the bare essentials, to leave as quickly as possible. Two platforms, a bridge between them, a vacant conductor's hut, and steel-roofs. And that was that. No one else had gotten off the train in this pocket-universe and no train had passed through since. And even though his fur did not stand on end, as if refusing to admit it - he was terrified by that.</p>
<p>There was a word for it. One of many spoken into existence in the doorways, on the staircases, and in the compartments of the Lampeter network. Voya - The feeling of seemingly endless yet encroaching, indeterminate, unknowable liminality. He'd read that somewhere, somewhere, sometime, and when he first set foot on the platform, it was the first thing he consciously thought of.</p>
<p>Voya was a sensation that came alive in stations like these, an atmosphere that gave pause. Just as it felt wrong to speak loudly or move hastily in a grand sacred building, no carbon-based life easily disturbed a silence in which islands of purpose negotiated with the void. Dragomir had seen a few of these stations in limbo. Lampeter boasted some fascinating outposts. But this one…</p>
<p><em>Why the hell would anyone build a station in here?</em></p>
<p><em>What even is 'here'?</em></p>
<p>Dragomir opened his knapsack, a worn leathery thing, and rummaged through it so he wouldn't have to look into the void any longer. He almost winced at how loudly the buckle suddenly clicked. Amid provisions, clothing, and other essentials, he found his document pouch and pulled it out, placing it on his knees. He traced the paper inside with a claw. It was simply bound, with thread, and typed with a typewriter. The Sheperd reached into the bag again, fidgeting around until he found what he was searching for. He pulled out the Polaroid camera and weighed it in his paws. He then set the camera aside and turned back to the folder. A photo fell out and he caught it before it could sail to the ground.</p>
<p>Dragomir gazed at it thoughtfully. He still remembered the accident with a Gantian steam locomotive in F-189 well. It had already happened by the time he arrived at the scene, but the shocked crowd of travelers remained all the more vivid in his memory. He had already taken the photo before his mind came to process its own actions. Old reflexes were diehards.</p>
<p>After a moment, Dragomir opened the pouch. It was a <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lampeter-sociology">paper on Lampeter</a>, from a sociological perspective, along with the photos he had taken for it, as well as others that he had taken with varying degrees of intent. Maybe he had also written the article for the photos?</p>
<p>This scholarly article was the most comprehensive piece he had written in a long time. Dragomir took the document out and held it in both paws. He was confident it was a good piece of work. And it was total bullshit at the same time. It was a text detached from reality - cold, methodical, and precise. It was everything Lampeter was not at the moment. Everything <em>this place</em> was not. There was a certain irony in all this since this was the last station where he was supposed to switch lines for his destination - Tíanarumasäkaar, a Republic of Letters stronghold.</p>
<p>They would welcome his research, they would distribute it, and they would pay him. And now, he was sitting in his very own spotlight on the stage to a void that couldn't have cared less about all that. Dragomir knew he could sometimes become a bit existential, but it rarely felt this acute. His senses seemed sharper than ever, although – or perhaps precisely because – there was hardly anything for them to detect.</p>
<p><em>Next time, I'll buy a courier.</em></p>
<p>Dragomir opened his journal. Placed side by side, the contrast became even more apparent. The entries in the journal grew shorter the further he flipped until they were more keywords and disjointed thoughts than anything else.</p>
<p><em>Child with balloon. It's a ghost balloon. Why do people keep ghosts as pets?</em></p>
<p><em>Police officers clutch their guns, conductors their ticket stamps. The stamp is power. The only thing that sets them apart from the others.</em></p>
<p><em>If they were supposed to fix something, why not the radiators on the train?</em></p>
<p><em><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">White.</span></em></p>
<p>The notes had initially made sense, serving as memory aids for the next quiet moment when he could organize his observations and write them down scientifically. Stylistic Coersion Problems, he called that. He had stopped cursing about it. There was even a note on it.</p>
<p><em><span style="text-decoration: underline;">S</span>tylistic <span style="text-decoration: underline;">C</span>oersion <span style="text-decoration: underline;">P</span>roblems.</em></p>
<p><em>Do none of you own a fucking kettle?</em></p>
<p><em>Hello.</em></p>
<p>He paused. Hello? He furrowed his brows. It was the first word on an otherwise blank page. It was his handwriting, black ink, and Dragomir was certain he hadn’t written that. A quiet chuckle escaped him. The thought that someone had taken his journal in an unguarded moment and gone through the trouble of leaving a greeting there without his knowledge made him smile.</p>
<p>Out of a sense of thoroughness, Dragomir flipped to the next page, but there was nothing… He paused again. No. There was a "hello" as well, at the bottom of the page, near the edge. At that, he let all the remaining pages slip through his fingers, but this time there was nothing more to be seen. Puzzled, Dragomir searched for the page with the first "hello" and opened it.</p>
<p>The word had disappeared.</p>
<p>He blinked.</p>
<p>"What…?"</p>
<p>As an anthro, Dragomir possessed above-average sharp senses. He narrowed his eyes. Nothing. Methodically, he took the journal and held it up to the light. Even when backlit, the page was blank, as if untouched. No dents, no traces of ink. Had someone played a prank on him? In his own handwriting? Dragomir pursed his lips. He had heard of infectious texts causing trouble in the Wanderer's Library, but never anything like this…</p>
<p>He felt it before he saw it out of the corner of his eye. Then he heard it before he could turn his head.</p>
<p><tt>"Hello."</tt></p>
<p>Dragomir stood, tail dead still behind him. He wasn't sure what he had seen, but something undefinable had definitely been at the other end of the platform. Quickly, he perked his ears to all sides and while doing so, looked in the opposite directions to avoid letting his guard down.</p>
<p><em>What the fuck…</em></p>
<p>He remained this way for a while, but even after looking back and forth several times, nothing changed in the voyastic silence of the station. Dragomir thought. The conductor's house was abandoned, and he hadn’t seen any other passengers. He was alone. Had been.</p>
<p>His gaze fell back on the journal, which was still lying on the bench. Slowly, he bent down to pick it up. After another careful glance around, he opened the page again. The "hello" was back.</p>
<p><tt>"Hello."</tt><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<h3 id="toc0"><span><tt>"Hello."</tt></span></h3>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><tt>"Hello."</tt></p>
</div>
<p>Adrenaline rush surged through Dragomir's heart like a bolt.</p>
<p>He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his bag.</p>
<p>Something had been in front of him.</p>
<p>A flicker.</p>
<p>And the voice…</p>
<p>Dragomir spun around, but once again, there was nothing to be seen. It had sounded as though the voice came from different directions in rapid succession - distant, then close, then like through an old radio. His paw searched and found his scarf, practically clutching it.</p>
<p>"Who is there?" he called out in a half bark. "Show yourself!"</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><tt>"…There."</tt></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc1"><span><tt>"Hello."</tt></span></h3>
</div>
<br/>
<tt>"…There."</tt><br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><tt>"Th-th-th-There."</tt></p>
</div>
<p>Once again, Dragomir stepped back as he saw the flicker in front of him. And this time, he saw a human, shaven face. Perhaps a bowler hat. Maybe a suit?</p>
<p>He felt his heart leap into his throat.</p>
<p>His fur stood on end.</p>
<p>The image was like a fleeting impression on his retina, a likeness that vanished immediately when processed. Was the man in black and white? He hadn't seen any color whatsoever.</p>
<p><tt>"el-"</tt></p>
<p><tt>"o-"</tt><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><tt>Child with balloon</tt></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><tt>"Evening."</tt></p>
</div>
<p>Panting, Dragomir's gaze fell on the bench. The camera was still there. He hesitated for a moment, then hurriedly grabbed it and clutched it with both paws.</p>
<p>The silence whistled in his ears, blanking his mind.</p>
<p>He didn't move.</p>
<p>He waited.</p>
<p><tt>"o-"</tt></p>
<p><tt>"o-"</tt></p>
<p><tt>"o-"</tt></p>
<p><tt>"o-"</tt></p>
<p>A flash pierced the air.</p>
<p>This time, Dragomir felt certain that it was a humanoid in front of him. But the figure didn't just flicker; it changed location in the blink of an eye. First, it was a few meters away, then on the other side of the platform, then almost by the conductor's house, and then it disappeared again.</p>
<p>Panting, he waited for the instant photo. It squeezed out of the camera painfully slowly and fell into his paw. It wasn’t developed yet.</p>
<p><tt>"Good evening."</tt></p>
<p>The sudden proximity and coherence nearly gave Dragomir a heart attack. He yelped.</p>
<p><tt>"Oh, I’m terribly sorry."</tt> said the black-and-white man in a suit and bowler hat. <tt>"I didn't mean to scare you-ou."</tt></p>
<p>"What the hell!" Dragomir exclaimed. "Who are you?"</p>
<p>The man's round face showed the first signs of aging. He had something British about him; perhaps he resembled Churchill a little. His expression was unreadable as he looked at and right through Dragomir, but not hostile.</p>
<p><tt>“-e?”</tt> he asked, flickering again. <tt>“I believe I should like to ask you the same question. You write incredibly incoherently."</tt> He almost looked like he was studying Dragomir like a misbehaving student. <tt>"It’s quite the tangle.”</tt></p>
<p>Dragomir stared. "What?"</p>
<p><tt>"My form has rarely been so incoherent."</tt> The man produced a cone from somewhere and shifted his weight a little, wincing. <tt>"I'm open to new things, but-"</tt></p>
<p><tt>"-ut-"</tt></p>
<p><tt>"-ut-"</tt><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><tt>"I…"</tt></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><tt>"I…"</tt></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><tt>"I…"</tt></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><tt>"I…"</tt></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><tt>"Pattern-"</tt></p>
</div>
<p>"Stop doing that!" Dragomir yelled. He attempted to follow the creature's random spawning, but it was simply impossible, and he just spun around aimlessly. He almost snarled.</p>
<p><tt>"-an't-"</tt></p>
<p><tt>"Can't really- o-"</tt></p>
<p><tt>"Good Lord, you really are a mess, dear, you know that?"</tt></p>
<p>The entity reappeared in front of him, still leaning on the cane. Dragomir realized that his mouth was hanging open and closed it.</p>
<p>A growing irritation in Dragomir was about to turn into anger. He exhaled deeply.</p>
<p>"My name is Dragomir," he then said slowly and firmly. "Do you have a name?"</p>
<p><tt>"No-"</tt></p>
<p><tt>"-o"</tt><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><tt>"I-"</tt></p>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><tt>"Pattern-"</tt></p>
</div>
<p>The figure reappeared and sighed.</p>
<p><tt>"Sorry."</tt></p>
<p>"Are you another traveler?" Dragomir asked, pointing his ears forward in order to catch every word he could. "Are you waiting for a train?"</p>
<p>With a few flickers, the man moved to the bench and looked down at Dragomir's belongings. Then he briefly glanced over to Dragomir and finally bent down to pick up the journal.</p>
<p><tt>"Hm."</tt></p>
<p>"Give that back." Dragomir clenched his canines. He made a step towards the figure, and briefly considered taking the journal away from the entity but decided he didn't want to risk touching it. Instead, he just extended a paw.</p>
<p><tt>"You cling to that?"</tt> the being chided.</p>
<p>Dragomir didn't move his paw an inch. "What's it to you?"</p>
<p><tt>"Currently?"</tt> The being turned the journal back and forth for a moment as if that were as informative as reading it. <tt>"Half of everything."</tt></p>
<p>"I'd like that back wholly." Dragomir snorted, paw still extended.</p>
<p>The being didn't answer. After a brief silence, though, it lifted its head and looked up. Dragomir followed its gaze but could see nothing except the station's roof and the darkness above.</p>
<p><tt>"I tell you what."</tt> It said, throwing the book to Dragomir, who barely caught it. <tt>"Liv-Liv-Liv- Live a little, will you?"</tt></p>
<p>The remark caught the Sheperd off guard. He tried to answer, but nothing came out of his muzzle.</p>
<p>But before anything else could be said or thought, the being flickered multiple times and then vanished.</p>
<p><tt>"Liv-"</tt></p>
<p><tt>"Liv-"</tt></p>
<p><tt>"Liv-"</tt></p>
<p><tt>"Live."</tt></p>
<p>Dragomir waited again, but this time, a certain finality filled the void after its departure, something he couldn't quite place, but felt all the more intensely. His breathing slowed as he stood rooted to the spot. But even after a long wait, nothing stirred, and the longer he stood there, the more he felt that the encounter was over. Dragomir slowly shuffled back to his bench and almost collapsed onto it.</p>
<p>For the time being, he sat there with a distracted gaze, his elbows resting on his knees as he tried to sort out his thoughts. In his overwhelmed state, he didn’t initially notice the photo he had apparently dropped. As soon as it caught his attention, Dragomir hurriedly picked it up and turned it over. The picture had finally developed.</p>
<p>Dragomir didn’t know why - and although it confused him - he had to smile at the sight. It was his most sincere smile in a long time.</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:night-rush-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:night-rush-theme</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
[[image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/in-the-limbo/1_Train_Station.png]]
[[/=]]
The air felt surprisingly mild for a small train station blanketed under snow. Hardly any wind tucked at his fur, yet Dragomir felt his snout grow cold. The anthropomorphic German Shepherd sniffed impatiently. A permeating scent of frost, steel, and something that might have been ozone - but wasn’t - hit his nostrils. He wrapped the red wool scarf a little tighter around his neck, the one his mother had once gifted him.
Dragomir looked forward again and saw a void. An impenetrable darkness, deeper than night, enveloped the station in every conceivable way. It was almost exhausting to look into. The edge of the platform, a support post, tracks, snow, and then... Nothing. Yet, he felt an urge to pry for some detail, half expecting //something// to emerge at any moment. This then made him look away, slightly embarrassed before himself - only to peek back into the darkness once more.
The lights didn't help. Whatever the small Lampeter station of K-209 used for energy, its overhead lamps were curiously cool, bluer, and less harsh than LED or halogen. Their cones silently drew circles on the frosty ground. Dragomir counted fifteen of them on this platform, glowing from the black industrial steel beams like makeshift moons.
He looked up, blinking against the light of the lamp above him.
It flickered for a moment.
//Fifteen flickering lamps.//
He had sat down directly under one, even though he didn't like direct lighting all that much. He sat and told himself this was just a train station. Others had used it before him and others would do so again. And he kept telling that to himself despite his footprints being the only ones to disturb the soft coat of ice crystals on this platform.
//Next time, I'll buy a courier//, he thought. Again.
Whoever had built this station seemed to have put up only the bare essentials, to leave as quickly as possible. Two platforms, a bridge between them, a vacant conductor's hut, and steel-roofs. And that was that. No one else had gotten off the train in this pocket-universe and no train had passed through since. And even though his fur did not stand on end, as if refusing to admit it - he was terrified by that.
There was a word for it. One of many spoken into existence in the doorways, on the staircases, and in the compartments of the Lampeter network. Voya - The feeling of seemingly endless yet encroaching, indeterminate, unknowable liminality. He'd read that somewhere, somewhere, sometime, and when he first set foot on the platform, it was the first thing he consciously thought of.
Voya was a sensation that came alive in stations like these, an atmosphere that gave pause. Just as it felt wrong to speak loudly or move hastily in a grand sacred building, no carbon-based life easily disturbed a silence in which islands of purpose negotiated with the void. Dragomir had seen a few of these stations in limbo. Lampeter boasted some fascinating outposts. But this one...
//Why the hell would anyone build a station in here?//
//What even is 'here'?//
Dragomir opened his knapsack, a worn leathery thing, and rummaged through it so he wouldn't have to look into the void any longer. He almost winced at how loudly the buckle suddenly clicked. Amid provisions, clothing, and other essentials, he found his document pouch and pulled it out, placing it on his knees. He traced the paper inside with a claw. It was simply bound, with thread, and typed with a typewriter. The Sheperd reached into the bag again, fidgeting around until he found what he was searching for. He pulled out the Polaroid camera and weighed it in his paws. He then set the camera aside and turned back to the folder. A photo fell out and he caught it before it could sail to the ground.
[[=]]
[[image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/in-the-limbo/2_Crashed_Train.png
]]
[[/=]]
Dragomir gazed at it thoughtfully. He still remembered the accident with a Gantian steam locomotive in F-189 well. It had already happened by the time he arrived at the scene, but the shocked crowd of travelers remained all the more vivid in his memory. He had already taken the photo before his mind came to process its own actions. Old reflexes were diehards.
After a moment, Dragomir opened the pouch. It was a [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lampeter-sociology paper on Lampeter], from a sociological perspective, along with the photos he had taken for it, as well as others that he had taken with varying degrees of intent. Maybe he had also written the article for the photos?
This scholarly article was the most comprehensive piece he had written in a long time. Dragomir took the document out and held it in both paws. He was confident it was a good piece of work. And it was total bullshit at the same time. It was a text detached from reality - cold, methodical, and precise. It was everything Lampeter was not at the moment. Everything //this place// was not. There was a certain irony in all this since this was the last station where he was supposed to switch lines for his destination - Tíanarumasäkaar, a Republic of Letters stronghold.
They would welcome his research, they would distribute it, and they would pay him. And now, he was sitting in his very own spotlight on the stage to a void that couldn't have cared less about all that. Dragomir knew he could sometimes become a bit existential, but it rarely felt this acute. His senses seemed sharper than ever, although – or perhaps precisely because – there was hardly anything for them to detect.
//Next time, I'll buy a courier.//
Dragomir opened his journal. Placed side by side, the contrast became even more apparent. The entries in the journal grew shorter the further he flipped until they were more keywords and disjointed thoughts than anything else.
//Child with balloon. It's a ghost balloon. Why do people keep ghosts as pets?//
//Police officers clutch their guns, conductors their ticket stamps. The stamp is power. The only thing that sets them apart from the others.//
//If they were supposed to fix something, why not the radiators on the train?//
//--White.--//
The notes had initially made sense, serving as memory aids for the next quiet moment when he could organize his observations and write them down scientifically. Stylistic Coersion Problems, he called that. He had stopped cursing about it. There was even a note on it.
//__S__tylistic __C__oersion __P__roblems.//
//Do none of you own a fucking kettle?//
//Hello.//
He paused. Hello? He furrowed his brows. It was the first word on an otherwise blank page. It was his handwriting, black ink, and Dragomir was certain he hadn’t written that. A quiet chuckle escaped him. The thought that someone had taken his journal in an unguarded moment and gone through the trouble of leaving a greeting there without his knowledge made him smile.
Out of a sense of thoroughness, Dragomir flipped to the next page, but there was nothing… He paused again. No. There was a "hello" as well, at the bottom of the page, near the edge. At that, he let all the remaining pages slip through his fingers, but this time there was nothing more to be seen. Puzzled, Dragomir searched for the page with the first "hello" and opened it.
The word had disappeared.
He blinked.
"What…?"
As an anthro, Dragomir possessed above-average sharp senses. He narrowed his eyes. Nothing. Methodically, he took the journal and held it up to the light. Even when backlit, the page was blank, as if untouched. No dents, no traces of ink. Had someone played a prank on him? In his own handwriting? Dragomir pursed his lips. He had heard of infectious texts causing trouble in the Wanderer's Library, but never anything like this…
He felt it before he saw it out of the corner of his eye. Then he heard it before he could turn his head.
{{"Hello."}}
Dragomir stood, tail dead still behind him. He wasn't sure what he had seen, but something undefinable had definitely been at the other end of the platform. Quickly, he perked his ears to all sides and while doing so, looked in the opposite directions to avoid letting his guard down.
//What the fuck...//
He remained this way for a while, but even after looking back and forth several times, nothing changed in the voyastic silence of the station. Dragomir thought. The conductor's house was abandoned, and he hadn’t seen any other passengers. He was alone. Had been.
His gaze fell back on the journal, which was still lying on the bench. Slowly, he bent down to pick it up. After another careful glance around, he opened the page again. The "hello" was back.
{{"Hello."}}
[[>]]
+++ {{"Hello."}}
[[/>]]
[[=]]
{{"Hello."}}
[[/=]]
Adrenaline rush surged through Dragomir's heart like a bolt.
He stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his bag.
Something had been in front of him.
A flicker.
And the voice...
Dragomir spun around, but once again, there was nothing to be seen. It had sounded as though the voice came from different directions in rapid succession - distant, then close, then like through an old radio. His paw searched and found his scarf, practically clutching it.
"Who is there?" he called out in a half bark. "Show yourself!"
[[>]]
{{"...There."}}
[[/>]]
[[=]]
+++ {{"Hello."}}
[[/=]]
{{"...There."}}
[[=]]
{{"Th-th-th-There."}}
[[/=]]
Once again, Dragomir stepped back as he saw the flicker in front of him. And this time, he saw a human, shaven face. Perhaps a bowler hat. Maybe a suit?
He felt his heart leap into his throat.
His fur stood on end.
The image was like a fleeting impression on his retina, a likeness that vanished immediately when processed. Was the man in black and white? He hadn't seen any color whatsoever.
{{"el-"}}
{{"o-"}}
[[>]]
{{Child with balloon}}
[[/>]]
[[=]]
{{"Evening."}}
[[/=]]
Panting, Dragomir's gaze fell on the bench. The camera was still there. He hesitated for a moment, then hurriedly grabbed it and clutched it with both paws.
The silence whistled in his ears, blanking his mind.
He didn't move.
He waited.
{{"o-"}}
{{"o-"}}
{{"o-"}}
{{"o-"}}
A flash pierced the air.
This time, Dragomir felt certain that it was a humanoid in front of him. But the figure didn't just flicker; it changed location in the blink of an eye. First, it was a few meters away, then on the other side of the platform, then almost by the conductor's house, and then it disappeared again.
Panting, he waited for the instant photo. It squeezed out of the camera painfully slowly and fell into his paw. It wasn’t developed yet.
{{"Good evening."}}
The sudden proximity and coherence nearly gave Dragomir a heart attack. He yelped.
{{"Oh, I’m terribly sorry."}} said the black-and-white man in a suit and bowler hat. {{"I didn't mean to scare you-ou."}}
"What the hell!" Dragomir exclaimed. "Who are you?"
The man's round face showed the first signs of aging. He had something British about him; perhaps he resembled Churchill a little. His expression was unreadable as he looked at and right through Dragomir, but not hostile.
{{“-e?”}} he asked, flickering again. {{“I believe I should like to ask you the same question. You write incredibly incoherently."}} He almost looked like he was studying Dragomir like a misbehaving student. {{"It’s quite the tangle.”}}
Dragomir stared. "What?"
{{"My form has rarely been so incoherent."}} The man produced a cone from somewhere and shifted his weight a little, wincing. {{"I'm open to new things, but-"}}
{{"-ut-"}}
{{"-ut-"}}
[[>]]
{{"I..."}}
[[/>]]
[[>]]
{{"I..."}}
[[/>]]
[[>]]
{{"I..."}}
[[/>]]
[[>]]
{{"I..."}}
[[/>]]
[[=]]
{{"Pattern-"}}
[[/=]]
"Stop doing that!" Dragomir yelled. He attempted to follow the creature's random spawning, but it was simply impossible, and he just spun around aimlessly. He almost snarled.
{{"-an't-"}}
{{"Can't really- o-"}}
{{"Good Lord, you really are a mess, dear, you know that?"}}
The entity reappeared in front of him, still leaning on the cane. Dragomir realized that his mouth was hanging open and closed it.
A growing irritation in Dragomir was about to turn into anger. He exhaled deeply.
"My name is Dragomir," he then said slowly and firmly. "Do you have a name?"
{{"No-"}}
{{"-o"}}
[[>]]
{{"I-"}}
[[/>]]
[[=]]
{{"Pattern-"}}
[[/=]]
The figure reappeared and sighed.
{{"Sorry."}}
"Are you another traveler?" Dragomir asked, pointing his ears forward in order to catch every word he could. "Are you waiting for a train?"
With a few flickers, the man moved to the bench and looked down at Dragomir's belongings. Then he briefly glanced over to Dragomir and finally bent down to pick up the journal.
{{"Hm."}}
"Give that back." Dragomir clenched his canines. He made a step towards the figure, and briefly considered taking the journal away from the entity but decided he didn't want to risk touching it. Instead, he just extended a paw.
{{"You cling to that?"}} the being chided.
Dragomir didn't move his paw an inch. "What's it to you?"
{{"Currently?"}} The being turned the journal back and forth for a moment as if that were as informative as reading it. {{"Half of everything."}}
"I'd like that back wholly." Dragomir snorted, paw still extended.
The being didn't answer. After a brief silence, though, it lifted its head and looked up. Dragomir followed its gaze but could see nothing except the station's roof and the darkness above.
{{"I tell you what."}} It said, throwing the book to Dragomir, who barely caught it. {{"Liv-Liv-Liv- Live a little, will you?"}}
The remark caught the Sheperd off guard. He tried to answer, but nothing came out of his muzzle.
But before anything else could be said or thought, the being flickered multiple times and then vanished.
{{"Liv-"}}
{{"Liv-"}}
{{"Liv-"}}
{{"Live."}}
Dragomir waited again, but this time, a certain finality filled the void after its departure, something he couldn't quite place, but felt all the more intensely. His breathing slowed as he stood rooted to the spot. But even after a long wait, nothing stirred, and the longer he stood there, the more he felt that the encounter was over. Dragomir slowly shuffled back to his bench and almost collapsed onto it.
For the time being, he sat there with a distracted gaze, his elbows resting on his knees as he tried to sort out his thoughts. In his overwhelmed state, he didn’t initially notice the photo he had apparently dropped. As soon as it caught his attention, Dragomir hurriedly picked it up and turned it over. The picture had finally developed.
[[=]]
[[image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/in-the-limbo/3_Person.png]]
[[/=]]
Dragomir didn’t know why - and although it confused him - he had to smile at the sight. It was his most sincere smile in a long time.
|
2024-10-23T20:23:00
|
[
"bittersweet",
"lampeter",
"otherworldly",
"pattern-screamer",
"tale"
] |
In Limbo - SCP Foundation
| 5
|
[
"lampeter-sociology"
] |
[
"lampeter-hub"
] |
[] |
1457190044
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/in-limbo
|
|
incident-4166-b
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/kingofmice-author-page">More By This Author</a></p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<p>On ██/██/2013, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4166">SCP-4166</a> attempted suicide via use of a sharpened pencil to puncture its own throat. The monitoring officers have been commanded for quick work in neutralizing the influx of SCP-4166-2 instances and stabilizing the anomaly. Any and all items deemed fit in use for self harm have been removed and SCP-4166 will be denied its usual requests until further notice. Increased security and surveillance will be in place indefinitely. End of report.</p>
<p><strong>Addendum:</strong> The following conversation was captured on camera 64-B, in front of the office of Dr. A. Clef.</p>
<div style="display: block ; border : dashed 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px">
<p><strong>Personnel Present:</strong> Dr. Alto Clef, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-0166">Dr. Sophia Whateley</a></p>
<p><strong><Begin Log></strong></p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “I mean did they even <em>think</em> this through even a little? We can’t afford to keep this up forever, let <em>alone-</em>”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “Do I need to call security? If you don’t get out of here right now I’m going to-”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “SCP-4166 attempted suicide.”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “… Yeah and?”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “Doesn’t that bother you?”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “Believe it or <em>not</em>, it does bother me. I mean what if it’d tried to attack our guards?”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “Come <em>on</em>!”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “No, <em>no!</em> Don’t come <em>on</em> me. You’ve gotten lax. That <em>thing</em> might look like a depressed teenager, but it’s not human, and you need to stop caring about things like that.”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “You’re disgusting.”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “Ha! <em>Oh man</em> if I had a dollar for everytime someone said that to me… I should start charging.”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “I’m serious, you’re <em>despicable</em>. That anomaly in there is just a little girl. Taking away her art supplies and putting more <em>strangers</em> around her isn’t going to make her <em>less</em> suicidal.”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “Look, sweetheart, I don’t know what the hell you want from me. Last I checked, <em>you</em> were in charge of containment here. They don’t let me <em>near</em> kids anymore.”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “She needs people to talk to. People <em>her</em> age.”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “We tried that shit before, doesn’t work. Too dangerous. You still haven’t answered my question: What's this have to do with me?”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “I need you to make a fuss. The second you stick your nose in something the entire Foundation starts looking at it. No one will hear me out unless you make a scene.”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “Okay, and what if I don't give a shit?”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “Then <em>I’ll</em> remind <em>you</em> of a <em>certain</em> time I helped you out.”</p>
<p>(<em>Silence for 5 seconds</em>)</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “Are you serious right now?”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “This isn’t a threat, I’m not threatening you. I’m just saying it would be <em>nice</em> if you did something out of the <em>kindness of your heart</em> to repay an old <em>favor</em>. Do you have a heart? Or do you eat them?”</p>
<p>(<em>Silence for 5 seconds</em>)</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “So what’s going to happen here?”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “I’ll get back to you.”</p>
<p><strong><Log End></strong></p>
</div>
<p><strong>Addendum 2:</strong> On ██/██/2013 Dr. Alto Clef made the following public statement:</p>
<div style="display: block ; border : dashed 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px">
<p><em>“Back in my day containment was so simple. You put the thing in the box and if it starved in there then great! One less anomaly! These days we have so many variables and expenses and ‘mental health issues’. The point is, I believe in doing things in the simplest and cheapest ways possible. And rerouting half of the guards to watch some kid is not simple or cheap. -𝄡”</em></p>
</div>
<p>In response, Dr. Sophia Whateley made the following proposal:</p>
<div style="display: block ; border : dashed 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px">
<p><em>“Whether or not certain people want to admit it, our anomalies are people. And people don’t react well to being shoved in small spaces with no one to talk to. In the past we’ve deemed SCP-4166 too dangerous to interact directly with other anomalies, which is why I’m proposing we give SCP-4166 a penpal. Someone her age that she can talk to without so many prying eyes on her. All correspondence can be easily monitored and edited to preserve any classified info. - Dr. Whateley”</em></p>
</div>
<p><strong>Addendum 3:</strong> The following discussion took place 3 hours following Dr. Whateley’s proposal.</p>
<div style="display: block ; border : dashed 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px">
<p><strong>Personnel Present:</strong> Dr. Alto Clef, Dr. Sophia Whateley, Dr. Benjamin Kondraki<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup>, Dr. Sophia Light</p>
<p><strong><Begin Log></strong></p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “A <em>penpal</em>? Seriously? That’s the best you could come up with? What are we in grade school?”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “Did you ever go to school, doctor?”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “That’s a <em>weird</em> question and I'm not going to answer that.”</p>
<p><strong>Kondraki:</strong> (<em>Snorts</em>)</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “Do you have something to say?’</p>
<p><strong>Light:</strong> “Who would 4166 be writing to? It would have to be someone we can easily monitor. And how do we even know this will help?”</p>
<p><strong>Clef:</strong> “Do you want to give some junior researcher a sad teenager to keep happy?”</p>
<p><strong>Light:</strong> “Or a therapist.”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “No, I think it <em>needs</em> to be someone her age. Someone who really knows what she's going through. The point is that she’s just a lonely kid who needs a friend.”</p>
<p><strong>Kondraki:</strong> “I’ve got a teenage boy back at home. He’s always been social, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind befriending someone new.”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “That’s closer to what I have in mind, but 4166 tends to react negatively to male presenting personnel. I think her penpal should be a teenage girl, and I think she should be another one of our anomalies.”</p>
<p><strong>Light:</strong> “You’re kidding.”</p>
<p><strong><Log End></strong></p>
</div>
<p><strong>Addendum 4:</strong> The following letter was written by SCP-166 to SCP-4166:</p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>To My New friend,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>My name is <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-166">Meridiana</a>, but you can call me Meri if you’d like. Sometimes I’m also called SCP-166. I haven’t written a letter in years and I’m SO excited to get to know you! I want to know everything about you. What’s your name? How are you? What do you do for fun?</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>I’ve been told you haven’t been feeling very well lately, and that makes me so sad :(. Whenever I feel bad I like to reread my favorite book. What sort of books do you like to read? I’d love to hear all about them!</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Write back to me soon!</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Your new best friend,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Meri</span></p>
<p><strong>Response from SCP-4166:</strong></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>Hello Meri,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I’m SCP-4166, but I’d really rather you didn’t call me that. You can call me Doe if you have to, or really anything. Just don’t call me that.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>So that’s my name. How am I? I’m not doing well. Sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t exist and I don’t know why I'm not allowed to. Not exist that is.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I don’t really know what to do for fun around here. I like to draw but I’m not allowed to right now. That’s about all I really know how to do.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I don’t really like reading. Sometimes I play video games when they let me have them. What sort of books do you read? Do you play video games?</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I don’t know how to end this letter,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>-Me</span></p>
<p><strong>Notes:</strong> This letter was initially written in crayon and retyped for SCP-166’s viewing. After receiving SCP-4166’s letter, SCP-166 requested several video games (denied) and several age appropriate novels (granted, pending review and approval of contents)<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Dear Doe,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Doe is such a cute name! It’s so good to meet you, Doe! I hope you don’t stop existing, because I only just got to meet you! And you seem really nice.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Drawing sounds really cool, I draw too sometimes, though I prefer to write stories. I’m sorry you can’t draw right now, I hope you can again soon! I’d like you to show me!</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>I recently finished reading a very interesting story about cats! I’m going to ask if you can borrow my copy. I’d love to hear your thoughts. I don’t really know about video games. I’ve never played one. Sometimes TVs don’t work around me. What are they like? Do you enjoy them? [Maybe we can play one together]*.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>I know we’ve just met, but it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone new and very excited about this. Sometimes I struggle to talk to the people I know, so it’s nice to talk to you! I hope you won’t hesitate to talk to me too!</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Your new best friend,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Meri</span></p>
<p><strong>Notes:</strong> *The following line was removed from the copy SCP-4166 received.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>To Meri,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I’m glad you like my name? I’ve never really given it much thought. I don’t really like being referred to, though I don’t mind so much in these letters.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I did get your cat book. I thought it was a little weird. I guess I can see why it’s cool. I’m not really sure how to talk about things.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>Video games are cool I think. They’re kind of like books but you’re the main character. It’s something to do. I’d send you my favorites but they probably wouldn’t let me. Sorry there’s not much more to say about it.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I’ve never really talked to anyone else either. I don’t think I’m all that interesting. I hope you like the cat.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>-Doe</span></p>
<p><strong>Notes:</strong> SCP-4166 included a crayon drawing of an orange cat in its letter<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-4" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-4')">4</a></sup>. The drawing was deemed appropriate and included in the copy SCP-166 received.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-5" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-5')">5</a></sup><sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-6" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-6')">6</a></sup></p>
<p><strong>Addendum 5:</strong> As of ██/██/2014, SCP-4166 has made no further attempts on its life. Manifestations of SCP-4166-2 instances have decreased by 67%. SCP-166 also shows increased morale. Any noteworthy correspondence will continue to be recorded in this file.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-7" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-7')">7</a></sup></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>Deer (the pun has just occurred to me) Meri,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I've included my annotated copy of your story in this letter. I found it very sweet and charming, though personally it feels a little incomplete. This would work as a very good first chapter if you want to continue this into a longer story.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I must ask if the romantic undertone of Fennel and Verity's relationship is intentional. Fennel's descriptions of Verity and her devotion to Verity’s cause feel like they go beyond simply a shared goal and passion.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I found myself very invested in their relationship (full thoughts in the annotations) and whether or not Verity shares Fennel's feelings or if she only enjoys Fennel’s company because she agrees with everything she says.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>It’s good writing, if not really what I expected of you.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>-Doe</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>My deerest (haha) Doe,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>As always I am forever grateful for your input, I wouldn't be half the writer I am without you. I wasn't initially planning on writing a continuation of this, but if you enjoyed the characters enough maybe I will! You're always free to share your ideas for future parts!</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>I’m afraid I don’t entirely see what you mean by the romantic undertone, or at least that wasn’t my intention, but it’s really cool to hear that there’s a whole story in there I didn’t even mean to write! If you would like to read their relationship as romantic then you can. I think Verity considers Fennel just as much as a friend and possible lover.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Personally I’m a little nervous about writing about romance as I’ve never experienced it. I’ve been in love of course! But it’s never become anything. If it’s not too personal, have you ever been in love?</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Excited for your response,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Meri</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>To Meri,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>There was a time I thought I was in love. With a man I knew way back. He was much older than me, and I thought I liked that about him. I thought that being with him make me rebellious, that it was something I had control over, that no one could take away from me.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>Though, I’m afraid to say this story doesn’t end happily and ultimately I wish it had never happened to me. I don’t think that was love, more someone using my own desperation against me. I don't really want to say more about it than that.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I know for sure that I have been in love once, but I don’t think it would be right of me to put that on them, what with everything. I’m sorry this isn’t really helpful to your romance writing.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>-Doe</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Beloved Doe,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>It makes me happy when you share stories with me, even if they aren’t always happy ones. I’m sorry to hear that your relationship with your old friend didn’t end well. Personally, I think any man (or woman?) would be lucky to have you. You’re a very kind person who’s easy to love, and you deserve someone who loves you back.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>If you are in love now (you don’t have to tell me with whom, though I would like to know) I think you should follow that feeling. Love should be a happy thing, and I hope you know that I want you to be happy above all else.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>I think for my next story I will write about Verity and Fennel’s love. After everything they’ve gone through with each other they deserve each other.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Your friend always,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Meri</span></p>
<p><strong>Notes:</strong> Upon receiving this letter, three SCP-4166-2 manifested and were quickly terminated. The following audio excerpt was picked up on Agent ████’s microphone seconds before the incident.</p>
<div style="display: block ; border : dashed 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px">
<p><strong><Begin Log></strong></p>
<p><strong>SCP-4166:</strong> “Easy to love she says… She says it so gently…”</p>
<p><strong><Log End></strong></p>
</div>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>Dearest Meri,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>We’ve been sharing these letters back and forth for some time now, longer than I think I’ve ever really known anyone. I hope you don’t take offense to me saying this, but when we first met I didn’t really believe you were real. I thought you were some person paid or forced to keep me entertained, that you were too good to be true and eventually you’d slip up or something and I wouldn’t have you anymore.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>Now I know you, you’ve welcomed me into all the pieces of your life. You’ve shown me nothing but unending kindness even when I haven’t been particularly kind to you. I look forward to receiving your letters and stories even and especially when I look forward to nothing else.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I’ve had these feelings lately that I know I shouldn’t have. I fear if you were to ever see me in person you’d know instantly that there’s something wrong with me. That you’d immediately pick apart my awful and incorrect body and the sinful little creature stuck inside of it.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I’m not really sure if I had a point to what I was saying here, I’m sorry to dump such insecurity in these letters. I just want you to know that I <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">love</span> consider you to be the best friend I’ve ever had.</span></p>
<p>-Doe</p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>My Darling Doe,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>From what you’ve told me, the world hasn’t been very kind to you, and for that I can only ever be sorry. I may not ever see your face, but I know that you are a charming and wonderful friend and a fantastic artist. You’re more than what you’ve been told you are, you are not sinful and most of all, you’re not a monster.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>To be honest, it’s a little comforting to hear you talk about your insecurities, to know that I’m not entirely alone in some of the things I too have been feeling. Lately I’ve had these thoughts about myself, about these feelings I’ve been having that I was told were wrong and strange.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Growing up I was given a long list of things that a girl like me should be. How I should speak, dress, behave, look, and most pressingly how my body is supposed to be. I’ve known for a long time that I’m different from other girls, not just for the traits that brought me here, and I was ashamed of how I was. But I know that God loves me, and I’m the way I am because He wanted me to be.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>My point is, after all these years I’ve known you, after all the stories we’ve shared, I could never look at you as anything but my friend Doe. I’m so glad to have you in my life after all this time, and I hope whatever you’re feeling passes soon.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>You're not alone,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;'>Meri</span></p>
<p><strong>Addendum 6:</strong> On ██/██/2020 SCP-4166 was approached for its letter. Upon seeing Agent ████, SCP-4166 proceeded to tear its letter to shreds and hide in its bed. The manifestation of three SCP-4166-2 instances required Agent ████’s retreat.</p>
<div style="display: block ; border : dashed 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px">
<p><strong>Interviewer:</strong> Dr. Sophia Whateley</p>
<p><strong>Interviewed:</strong> SCP-4166</p>
<p><strong>Forward:</strong> Following the incident described above, Dr. Whateley insisted on having the following conversation with SCP-4166.</p>
<p><strong><Begin Log></strong></p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “Heyyy buddy, what’s up?”</p>
<p>(<em>SCP-4166 does not move or respond for thirty seconds</em>)</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “You know your buddy 166 will be sad if she doesn’t get a letter from you soon.”</p>
<p><strong>SCP-4166:</strong> (<em>Muffled</em>)</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “What was that?”</p>
<p>(<em>SCP-4166 sits up in its bed</em>)</p>
<p><strong>SCP-4166:</strong> “Her name is <em>Meri</em>.”</p>
<p>(<em>Silence for ten seconds</em>)</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “Alright then, do you want to talk about your friend Meri?”</p>
<p><strong>SCP-4166:</strong> “No.”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “Are you sure?”</p>
<p><strong>SCP-4166:</strong> “It’s none of your business!”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “I just want to help you, I might know a little more about what you’re going through than you think.”</p>
<p><strong>SCP-4166:</strong> “You don’t know anything about what I feel or think! It doesn't matter anyway, it's not something I should be thinking about at all.”</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “Is this about your feelings for SC- Meri?”</p>
<p>(<em>Silence for ten seconds</em>)</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “It’s not something you should be ashamed of, natural even for a girl in your position.”</p>
<p><strong>SCP-4166:</strong> “I don’t want to talk about this with them.”</p>
<p>(<em>SCP-4166 points to Whateley’s standard issue recorder</em>)</p>
<p><strong>Whateley:</strong> “Would this help?”</p>
<p><strong><Log End></strong></p>
<p><strong>Notes:</strong> Dr. Whateley remained in SCP-4166’s containment cell for another thirty minutes. She has been chastised for improper record keeping while interacting with an SCP object and has been temporarily removed from the project.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>To Meri,</span>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve last written. There’s a lot of thoughts I wanted to work through that I don’t think I can share with you. It’s nothing you did wrong. You’ll be happy to know I’ve been feeling a lot better now that I’ve had a chance to think about what I’ve been feeling. Maybe someday I’ll get to explain it all to you, but for now I’m keeping it private.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I've been thinking about what you asked me before, about my feelings about love and whether I've ever been in love, and I remembered something. There was this girl, about my age, she was very kind to me in a time when I thought I never deserved kindness at all. She was someone who lived outside of where I grew up, I saw her playing out in the yard from my bedroom window. My sisters chased her off, but she kept coming back anyway. One day I got the guts to go say something to her.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>She looked at me not with hatred like I was used to, but like I was something desirable. She’d give me cigarettes and taught me how to throw stones and run away. I knew her for a few years, before I eventually lost track of her and ended up here. She's one of my few positive memories.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>In other news, I’ve been drawing a lot more lately, I’ve been told it’ll help my emotions. I think it would be fun to draw a comic of one of your stories :] if you’d be interested in that. I like when we can work together on something.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>I’ll try to be quicker with my next few letters to make up for lost time.</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>Yours,</span></p>
<p><span style='font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;'>Doe</span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/incident-4166-b">Incident 4166-B</a>" by kingofmice, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/incident-4166-b">https://scpwiki.com/incident-4166-b</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. It should be noted that Dr. Kondraki was not invited to this meeting, but was allowed in given his previous experiences with anomalous humanoids.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. <em>“It’s Warrior Cats, what’s the big deal?”</em> -Whateley</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. <em>“We don’t want to give either the impression that they will ever be able to meet in person.”</em> -Light</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-4"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-4')">4</a>. A recreation of the <em>Warriors: Into the Wild</em> illustrated cover</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-5"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-5')">5</a>. <em>“These letters are sooooooo boring. Do we have to catalog every single one?”</em> -𝄡</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-6"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-6')">6</a>. <em>“You’re not even supposed to have access to this.”</em> -Light</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-7"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-7')">7</a>. <em>“I think this is what we call a success.”</em> -Whateley</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/kingofmice-author-page More By This Author]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Gayathri:wght@100;400;700&display=swap');
[[/module]]
[[module CSS]]
.body-text {
margin: 2% 13% 2% 9%;
padding: 5px 20px 5px 20px;
background-color: #f2f2f2;
color: #111;
}
.text4desk {
width: 70%;
margin: auto;
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 600px) {
.body-text {
margin: 0% 4% 0% 4%;
}
.text4desk {
width:100%;
}
}
[[/module]]
On ██/██/2013, [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4166 SCP-4166] attempted suicide via use of a sharpened pencil to puncture its own throat. The monitoring officers have been commanded for quick work in neutralizing the influx of SCP-4166-2 instances and stabilizing the anomaly. Any and all items deemed fit in use for self harm have been removed and SCP-4166 will be denied its usual requests until further notice. Increased security and surveillance will be in place indefinitely. End of report.
**Addendum:** The following conversation was captured on camera 64-B, in front of the office of Dr. A. Clef.
[[div style="display: block ; border : dashed 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px"]]
**Personnel Present:** Dr. Alto Clef, [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-0166 Dr. Sophia Whateley]
**<Begin Log>**
**Whateley:** “I mean did they even //think// this through even a little? We can’t afford to keep this up forever, let //alone-//”
**Clef:** “Do I need to call security? If you don’t get out of here right now I’m going to-”
**Whateley:** “SCP-4166 attempted suicide.”
**Clef:** “... Yeah and?”
**Whateley:** “Doesn’t that bother you?”
**Clef:** “Believe it or //not//, it does bother me. I mean what if it’d tried to attack our guards?”
**Whateley:** “Come //on//!”
**Clef:** “No, //no!// Don’t come //on// me. You’ve gotten lax. That //thing// might look like a depressed teenager, but it’s not human, and you need to stop caring about things like that.”
**Whateley:** “You’re disgusting.”
**Clef:** “Ha! //Oh man// if I had a dollar for everytime someone said that to me… I should start charging.”
**Whateley:** “I’m serious, you’re //despicable//. That anomaly in there is just a little girl. Taking away her art supplies and putting more //strangers// around her isn’t going to make her //less// suicidal.”
**Clef:** “Look, sweetheart, I don’t know what the hell you want from me. Last I checked, //you// were in charge of containment here. They don’t let me //near// kids anymore.”
**Whateley:** “She needs people to talk to. People //her// age.”
**Clef:** “We tried that shit before, doesn’t work. Too dangerous. You still haven’t answered my question: What's this have to do with me?”
**Whateley:** “I need you to make a fuss. The second you stick your nose in something the entire Foundation starts looking at it. No one will hear me out unless you make a scene.”
**Clef:** “Okay, and what if I don't give a shit?”
**Whateley:** “Then //I’ll// remind //you// of a //certain// time I helped you out.”
(//Silence for 5 seconds//)
**Clef:** “Are you serious right now?”
**Whateley:** “This isn’t a threat, I’m not threatening you. I’m just saying it would be //nice// if you did something out of the //kindness of your heart// to repay an old //favor//. Do you have a heart? Or do you eat them?”
(//Silence for 5 seconds//)
**Whateley:** “So what’s going to happen here?”
**Clef:** “I’ll get back to you.”
**<Log End>**
[[/div]]
**Addendum 2:** On ██/██/2013 Dr. Alto Clef made the following public statement:
[[div style="display: block ; border : dashed 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px"]]
//“Back in my day containment was so simple. You put the thing in the box and if it starved in there then great! One less anomaly! These days we have so many variables and expenses and ‘mental health issues’. The point is, I believe in doing things in the simplest and cheapest ways possible. And rerouting half of the guards to watch some kid is not simple or cheap. -𝄡”//
[[/div]]
In response, Dr. Sophia Whateley made the following proposal:
[[div style="display: block ; border : dashed 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px"]]
//“Whether or not certain people want to admit it, our anomalies are people. And people don’t react well to being shoved in small spaces with no one to talk to. In the past we’ve deemed SCP-4166 too dangerous to interact directly with other anomalies, which is why I’m proposing we give SCP-4166 a penpal. Someone her age that she can talk to without so many prying eyes on her. All correspondence can be easily monitored and edited to preserve any classified info. - Dr. Whateley”//
[[/div]]
**Addendum 3:** The following discussion took place 3 hours following Dr. Whateley’s proposal.
[[div style="display: block ; border : dashed 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px"]]
**Personnel Present:** Dr. Alto Clef, Dr. Sophia Whateley, Dr. Benjamin Kondraki[[footnote]]It should be noted that Dr. Kondraki was not invited to this meeting, but was allowed in given his previous experiences with anomalous humanoids.[[/footnote]], Dr. Sophia Light
**<Begin Log>**
**Clef:** “A //penpal//? Seriously? That’s the best you could come up with? What are we in grade school?”
**Whateley:** “Did you ever go to school, doctor?”
**Clef:** “That’s a //weird// question and I'm not going to answer that.”
**Kondraki:** (//Snorts//)
**Clef:** “Do you have something to say?’
**Light:** “Who would 4166 be writing to? It would have to be someone we can easily monitor. And how do we even know this will help?”
**Clef:** “Do you want to give some junior researcher a sad teenager to keep happy?”
**Light:** “Or a therapist.”
**Whateley:** “No, I think it //needs// to be someone her age. Someone who really knows what she's going through. The point is that she’s just a lonely kid who needs a friend.”
**Kondraki:** “I’ve got a teenage boy back at home. He’s always been social, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind befriending someone new.”
**Whateley:** “That’s closer to what I have in mind, but 4166 tends to react negatively to male presenting personnel. I think her penpal should be a teenage girl, and I think she should be another one of our anomalies.”
**Light:** “You’re kidding.”
**<Log End>**
[[/div]]
**Addendum 4:** The following letter was written by SCP-166 to SCP-4166:
[[span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;"]]To My New friend,
My name is [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-166 Meridiana], but you can call me Meri if you’d like. Sometimes I’m also called SCP-166. I haven’t written a letter in years and I’m SO excited to get to know you! I want to know everything about you. What’s your name? How are you? What do you do for fun?
I’ve been told you haven’t been feeling very well lately, and that makes me so sad :(. Whenever I feel bad I like to reread my favorite book. What sort of books do you like to read? I’d love to hear all about them!
Write back to me soon!
Your new best friend,
Meri[[/span]]
**Response from SCP-4166:**
[[span style="font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;"]]Hello Meri,
I’m SCP-4166, but I’d really rather you didn’t call me that. You can call me Doe if you have to, or really anything. Just don’t call me that.
So that’s my name. How am I? I’m not doing well. Sometimes I feel like I shouldn’t exist and I don’t know why I'm not allowed to. Not exist that is.
I don’t really know what to do for fun around here. I like to draw but I’m not allowed to right now. That’s about all I really know how to do.
I don’t really like reading. Sometimes I play video games when they let me have them. What sort of books do you read? Do you play video games?
I don’t know how to end this letter,
-Me[[/span]]
**Notes:** This letter was initially written in crayon and retyped for SCP-166’s viewing. After receiving SCP-4166’s letter, SCP-166 requested several video games (denied) and several age appropriate novels (granted, pending review and approval of contents) [[footnote]]//“It’s Warrior Cats, what’s the big deal?”// -Whateley[[/footnote]]
[[span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;"]]Dear Doe,
Doe is such a cute name! It’s so good to meet you, Doe! I hope you don’t stop existing, because I only just got to meet you! And you seem really nice.
Drawing sounds really cool, I draw too sometimes, though I prefer to write stories. I’m sorry you can’t draw right now, I hope you can again soon! I’d like you to show me!
I recently finished reading a very interesting story about cats! I’m going to ask if you can borrow my copy. I’d love to hear your thoughts. I don’t really know about video games. I’ve never played one. Sometimes TVs don’t work around me. What are they like? Do you enjoy them? [Maybe we can play one together]*.
I know we’ve just met, but it’s been a long time since I’ve met someone new and very excited about this. Sometimes I struggle to talk to the people I know, so it’s nice to talk to you! I hope you won’t hesitate to talk to me too!
Your new best friend,
Meri[[/span]]
**Notes:** *The following line was removed from the copy SCP-4166 received. [[footnote]]//“We don’t want to give either the impression that they will ever be able to meet in person.”// -Light[[/footnote]]
[[span style="font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;"]]To Meri,
I’m glad you like my name? I’ve never really given it much thought. I don’t really like being referred to, though I don’t mind so much in these letters.
I did get your cat book. I thought it was a little weird. I guess I can see why it’s cool. I’m not really sure how to talk about things.
Video games are cool I think. They’re kind of like books but you’re the main character. It’s something to do. I’d send you my favorites but they probably wouldn’t let me. Sorry there’s not much more to say about it.
I’ve never really talked to anyone else either. I don’t think I’m all that interesting. I hope you like the cat.
-Doe[[/span]]
**Notes:** SCP-4166 included a crayon drawing of an orange cat in its letter[[footnote]]A recreation of the //Warriors: Into the Wild// illustrated cover[[/footnote]]. The drawing was deemed appropriate and included in the copy SCP-166 received.[[footnote]]//“These letters are sooooooo boring. Do we have to catalog every single one?”// -𝄡[[/footnote]][[footnote]]//“You’re not even supposed to have access to this.”// -Light[[/footnote]]
**Addendum 5:** As of ██/██/2014, SCP-4166 has made no further attempts on its life. Manifestations of SCP-4166-2 instances have decreased by 67%. SCP-166 also shows increased morale. Any noteworthy correspondence will continue to be recorded in this file.[[footnote]]//“I think this is what we call a success.”// -Whateley[[/footnote]]
[[span style="font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;"]]Deer (the pun has just occurred to me) Meri,
I've included my annotated copy of your story in this letter. I found it very sweet and charming, though personally it feels a little incomplete. This would work as a very good first chapter if you want to continue this into a longer story.
I must ask if the romantic undertone of Fennel and Verity's relationship is intentional. Fennel's descriptions of Verity and her devotion to Verity’s cause feel like they go beyond simply a shared goal and passion.
I found myself very invested in their relationship (full thoughts in the annotations) and whether or not Verity shares Fennel's feelings or if she only enjoys Fennel’s company because she agrees with everything she says.
It’s good writing, if not really what I expected of you.
-Doe[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;"]]My deerest (haha) Doe,
As always I am forever grateful for your input, I wouldn't be half the writer I am without you. I wasn't initially planning on writing a continuation of this, but if you enjoyed the characters enough maybe I will! You're always free to share your ideas for future parts!
I’m afraid I don’t entirely see what you mean by the romantic undertone, or at least that wasn’t my intention, but it’s really cool to hear that there’s a whole story in there I didn’t even mean to write! If you would like to read their relationship as romantic then you can. I think Verity considers Fennel just as much as a friend and possible lover.
Personally I’m a little nervous about writing about romance as I’ve never experienced it. I’ve been in love of course! But it’s never become anything. If it’s not too personal, have you ever been in love?
Excited for your response,
Meri[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;"]]To Meri,
There was a time I thought I was in love. With a man I knew way back. He was much older than me, and I thought I liked that about him. I thought that being with him make me rebellious, that it was something I had control over, that no one could take away from me.
Though, I’m afraid to say this story doesn’t end happily and ultimately I wish it had never happened to me. I don’t think that was love, more someone using my own desperation against me. I don't really want to say more about it than that.
I know for sure that I have been in love once, but I don’t think it would be right of me to put that on them, what with everything. I’m sorry this isn’t really helpful to your romance writing.
-Doe[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;"]]Beloved Doe,
It makes me happy when you share stories with me, even if they aren’t always happy ones. I’m sorry to hear that your relationship with your old friend didn’t end well. Personally, I think any man (or woman?) would be lucky to have you. You’re a very kind person who’s easy to love, and you deserve someone who loves you back.
If you are in love now (you don’t have to tell me with whom, though I would like to know) I think you should follow that feeling. Love should be a happy thing, and I hope you know that I want you to be happy above all else.
I think for my next story I will write about Verity and Fennel’s love. After everything they’ve gone through with each other they deserve each other.
Your friend always,
Meri[[/span]]
**Notes:** Upon receiving this letter, three SCP-4166-2 manifested and were quickly terminated. The following audio excerpt was picked up on Agent ████’s microphone seconds before the incident.
[[div style="display: block ; border : dashed 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px"]]
**<Begin Log>**
**SCP-4166:** “Easy to love she says… She says it so gently…”
**<Log End>**
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;"]]Dearest Meri,
We’ve been sharing these letters back and forth for some time now, longer than I think I’ve ever really known anyone. I hope you don’t take offense to me saying this, but when we first met I didn’t really believe you were real. I thought you were some person paid or forced to keep me entertained, that you were too good to be true and eventually you’d slip up or something and I wouldn’t have you anymore.
Now I know you, you’ve welcomed me into all the pieces of your life. You’ve shown me nothing but unending kindness even when I haven’t been particularly kind to you. I look forward to receiving your letters and stories even and especially when I look forward to nothing else.
I’ve had these feelings lately that I know I shouldn’t have. I fear if you were to ever see me in person you’d know instantly that there’s something wrong with me. That you’d immediately pick apart my awful and incorrect body and the sinful little creature stuck inside of it.
I’m not really sure if I had a point to what I was saying here, I’m sorry to dump such insecurity in these letters. I just want you to know that I --love-- consider you to be the best friend I’ve ever had.
-Doe[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif;"]]My Darling Doe,
From what you’ve told me, the world hasn’t been very kind to you, and for that I can only ever be sorry. I may not ever see your face, but I know that you are a charming and wonderful friend and a fantastic artist. You’re more than what you’ve been told you are, you are not sinful and most of all, you’re not a monster.
To be honest, it’s a little comforting to hear you talk about your insecurities, to know that I’m not entirely alone in some of the things I too have been feeling. Lately I’ve had these thoughts about myself, about these feelings I’ve been having that I was told were wrong and strange.
Growing up I was given a long list of things that a girl like me should be. How I should speak, dress, behave, look, and most pressingly how my body is supposed to be. I’ve known for a long time that I’m different from other girls, not just for the traits that brought me here, and I was ashamed of how I was. But I know that God loves me, and I’m the way I am because He wanted me to be.
My point is, after all these years I’ve known you, after all the stories we’ve shared, I could never look at you as anything but my friend Doe. I’m so glad to have you in my life after all this time, and I hope whatever you’re feeling passes soon.
You're not alone,
Meri[[/span]]
**Addendum 6:** On ██/██/2020 SCP-4166 was approached for its letter. Upon seeing Agent ████, SCP-4166 proceeded to tear its letter to shreds and hide in its bed. The manifestation of three SCP-4166-2 instances required Agent ████’s retreat.
[[div style="display: block ; border : dashed 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px"]]
**Interviewer:** Dr. Sophia Whateley
**Interviewed:** SCP-4166
**Forward:** Following the incident described above, Dr. Whateley insisted on having the following conversation with SCP-4166.
**<Begin Log>**
**Whateley:** “Heyyy buddy, what’s up?”
(//SCP-4166 does not move or respond for thirty seconds//)
**Whateley:** “You know your buddy 166 will be sad if she doesn’t get a letter from you soon.”
**SCP-4166:** (//Muffled//)
**Whateley:** “What was that?”
(//SCP-4166 sits up in its bed//)
**SCP-4166:** “Her name is //Meri//.”
(//Silence for ten seconds//)
**Whateley:** “Alright then, do you want to talk about your friend Meri?”
**SCP-4166:** “No.”
**Whateley:** “Are you sure?”
**SCP-4166:** “It’s none of your business!”
**Whateley:** “I just want to help you, I might know a little more about what you’re going through than you think.”
**SCP-4166:** “You don’t know anything about what I feel or think! It doesn't matter anyway, it's not something I should be thinking about at all.”
**Whateley:** “Is this about your feelings for SC- Meri?”
(//Silence for ten seconds//)
**Whateley:** “It’s not something you should be ashamed of, natural even for a girl in your position.”
**SCP-4166:** “I don’t want to talk about this with them.”
(//SCP-4166 points to Whateley’s standard issue recorder//)
**Whateley:** “Would this help?”
**<Log End>**
**Notes:** Dr. Whateley remained in SCP-4166’s containment cell for another thirty minutes. She has been chastised for improper record keeping while interacting with an SCP object and has been temporarily removed from the project.
[[/div]]
[[span style="font-family: "Gayathri", sans-serif;"]]To Meri,
I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve last written. There’s a lot of thoughts I wanted to work through that I don’t think I can share with you. It’s nothing you did wrong. You’ll be happy to know I’ve been feeling a lot better now that I’ve had a chance to think about what I’ve been feeling. Maybe someday I’ll get to explain it all to you, but for now I’m keeping it private.
I've been thinking about what you asked me before, about my feelings about love and whether I've ever been in love, and I remembered something. There was this girl, about my age, she was very kind to me in a time when I thought I never deserved kindness at all. She was someone who lived outside of where I grew up, I saw her playing out in the yard from my bedroom window. My sisters chased her off, but she kept coming back anyway. One day I got the guts to go say something to her.
She looked at me not with hatred like I was used to, but like I was something desirable. She’d give me cigarettes and taught me how to throw stones and run away. I knew her for a few years, before I eventually lost track of her and ended up here. She's one of my few positive memories.
In other news, I’ve been drawing a lot more lately, I’ve been told it’ll help my emotions. I think it would be fun to draw a comic of one of your stories :] if you’d be interested in that. I like when we can work together on something.
I’ll try to be quicker with my next few letters to make up for lost time.
Yours,
Doe[[/span]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-06-23T04:37:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bittersweet",
"lgbtq",
"pridefest2024",
"tale",
"teenage-gaea"
] |
Incident 4166-B - SCP Foundation
| 19
|
[
"kingofmice-author-page",
"scp-4166",
"scp-0166",
"scp-166",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"pridefest",
"no-love-hub"
] |
[] |
1454108082
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/incident-4166-b
|
|
infatuation-in-black
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div style="display: none;">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
</div>
<div class="preview">
<p>Nothing more romantic than falling in love with the Fallen Angel herself!</p>
</div>
<p>Cleveland. Detroit’s little cousin. A vibrant place by day, and at night if one knew what they were doing. A hustling, bustling city with a reputation for being Ohio’s most overlooked locale.</p>
<p>Amber knew it as much. Visitors from outside the city would only see the artificial, materialistic facade that made the city look as unattractive as it did. But Amber knew the hidden gems of the city by heart. Every neighborhood was unique and had distinctive personalities, and the restaurants always had the best food, no matter what the time of the day it was. It had everything, and she was proud to call it her home, regardless of the circumstances that befell upon it.</p>
<p>Although fractured, although the dire conditions, the city still persisted nevertheless. And so did she. It was like her dad once said, “if nothing else, keep moving. You’ll only lose if you let them win.”</p>
<p>She took it by heart. If nothing else, she will plant her legs down like a tree and stand tall for the world to try and strike her down. She might be battered and broken, but she was alive.</p>
<p>Amber knew what it was like to be overlooked. But that was fine by her. She could take care of herself.</p>
<p>Amber walked through the automatic doors of Walmart as they slid open, and examined her surroundings. It was almost closing time, and there weren't that many people around. The perfect time to strike.</p>
<p>Amber’s dad was a good man. He always made sure that Amber never strayed off to the wrong path, while also respecting her boundaries and checking on her almost daily to see if she was okay. He was protective, but not too strict. He taught her how to defend herself, what to do if she needed to walk alone at night, how to avoid the cops when applicable, and he even bought her a taser, just in case.</p>
<p>His strong sense of justice carried over to Amber as she grew up, but she took that characteristic and changed it to her own liking.</p>
<p>She had a habit of stealing. And she was good at it. She never got caught, and she always made sure to never leave any trace of her thievery. She had no other choice. She was practically living off scraps of food, and the job opportunities were scarce. There weren’t any other options for her to take.</p>
<p>She learned to swiftly swipe a candy bar into her pocket while no one was looking, and eat it in the bathroom with the stall doors locked. She scanned her items without paying, and found other ways to avoid triggering the sensors of the theft alarm. It took a lot of patience and effort, but it became her routine. And no one ever spotted these thefts.</p>
<p>As Amber examined an orange to steal for later, she pondered about that last point. Why <em>did</em> no one ever spot her? Statistically it would be very unlikely, especially considering that she’s been doing the same trick for years.</p>
<p>A memory forced itself into the front of her mind. The alarm blaring. The sound of heavy footsteps. The confused looks of the passerby. She was standing right there, for everyone to see, and they just stared. It was like they stared right through her. Like she didn’t even exist. The security officer who ran in simply guessed that the sensor had a malfunction. But she was standing right there.</p>
<p>Perhaps she got too good at her craft.</p>
<p>But that wasn’t too much of a worry right at this moment. Maybe it was just a coincidence. There was always a logical explanation for everything in Amber’s mind, even in the most outlandish scenarios. There had to be some sort of reason. Regardless, it was a good thing for her, as she never had to deal with the boys in blue or the consequences of her actions for what felt like forever. It was a valuable boon to have for her.</p>
<p>And it wasn’t her number one priority anyway, so she did what she always did, and walked off into the night.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The café was overflowing with people, chitter and chatter bouncing off the walls and around the space that Amber was sitting in. She picked up and drank her warm cup of mocha, the chocolatey taste reinvigorating her shivering self. She was reading one of her favorite novels, a love story about a forbidden romance between a human and a demonic beast. It was an emotional, thought-provoking tale about finding love even in the most unexpected places. Amber was always engrossed by how good it was.</p>
<p>If only she could ever have a story like that. Or any memorable story to tell with someone who loved her.</p>
<p>She sat there, and kept reading. At the same time, she perked her ears out to listen for anything interesting that could happen. Unfortunately, nothing. Just people having conversation. And her, all alone.</p>
<p>Amber tried to chase for love, but it was always faster. She was sick of wasting away in her bed, with no one to cry with, no one to hold for as long as she could, no one who would listen to her and care for her. She was sick of it all.</p>
<p>Dating apps were unpredictable, those were a hard pass. But she couldn’t just walk down the street and randomly ask strangers out on a date. Her options were dwindling as each day passed.</p>
<p>Maybe Amber would be alone forever. Maybe—</p>
<p>She heard a knock. A knock in front of her, which was most likely the downward motion of a fist on the wooden table. She looked up, to see <em>her</em>.</p>
<p>She was tall, very tall, probably the tallest person that Amber had ever seen. She was also deeply pale, with jet black hair and striking hazel eyes. And she certainly had Amber’s attention, whoever she was.</p>
<p><em>Did she come over just for me?</em> Amber’s brown skin slightly lightened at the thought.</p>
<p>The mysterious woman smiled with a cryptic allure to her. “Whatcha reading?”</p>
<p>Amber looked around the room nervously. “Uh, a book?”</p>
<p>“No kidding. Now if you’ll let me see what kind,” and she ripped the book out of Amber’s hands and began to examine the cover.</p>
<p>Before Amber could protest, she gave it back to her. “I think I know that one! Bit cheesy, but it’s got heart.”</p>
<p>“Really?”</p>
<p>“Of course! I do my fair share of C-tier romance works every now and then. May I have a seat?”</p>
<p>“S-Sure,” Amber stuttered, completely baffled as to how this conversation even happened.</p>
<p>The mysterious woman immediately took a seat, and stretched out her hand. “Name’s Lucy. It’s nice to meet you.”</p>
<p>Amber reached out her hand, hesitated, then shook it. “Nice to meet you too. I’m Amber.”</p>
<p>“Amber. That’s a lovely name.”</p>
<p>Amber was beet red by now. “Wow, I- Thank you.”</p>
<p>“Can I show you my favorite book?” Lucy asked.</p>
<p>“Sure? I guess that’s fine.”</p>
<p>Lucy reached under her chair, and inexplicably pulled out a large, dusty tome with intricate patterns and symbols on the cover. She swiped the dust off, before handing it to Amber.</p>
<p>Amber raised an eyebrow. “The hell is this, the Necronomicon?”</p>
<p>“Close, but not quite. It’s a very important piece of occult literature. Describes all the major facets of magic, and the various deities and demons that walk the earth.”</p>
<p><em>So an occultist. Ok, I can deal with that.</em></p>
<p>Amber was always a skeptic when it came to the supernatural. Of course, she let people have their fun, but she knew there was always a rational explanation for everything. If ghosts and devils existed like in the movies, surely people would be talking about them all the time like they would to a celebrity, right?</p>
<p>If these things were truly real, they would populate the earth with wonder and terror and fascination. As they didn’t, of course, exist, the world was molded as the much more boring place that it so obviously was.</p>
<p>In the deep recesses of her mind, she wanted to be wrong. The world could use more wonder.</p>
<p>She turned each page, skimming their contents and the secrets that they held. There were plenty of descriptions of demons similar to those depicted in the <em>Ars Goetia</em>, and some more that she couldn’t recognize. There were rituals and spells and incantations abound, each one more captivating than the last. There was a section which was a biography of all famous witches, wizards, sorcerers and warlocks ever recorded, known and unknown.</p>
<p>It was some stellar writing, for a book solely on worldbuilding.</p>
<p>Amber turned to another page, and saw something that caught her eye. The title to this chapter read <em>Enthrallment</em>.</p>
<p>Lucy eyed her reading through the page, and went up to see what she was looking at. She immediately flipped the book to the next page. “Don’t even <em>think</em> about it.”</p>
<p>Amber raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”</p>
<p>“Enthralling people isn’t going to get you anywhere. It’s a waste of time. It brings psychological damage during and after you cast it. You won’t get what you want, and people are going to remember what you did.”</p>
<p>“Whoa whoa, hang on, you actually believe in this stuff?”</p>
<p>Lucy feigned an expression of disappointment. “And I thought you were a true believer. Guess I was wrong.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to judge your beliefs, I just thought… Nevermind.” Amber closed the book.</p>
<p>“You’re fine, I get it. You’re not going to believe me. But there is a hidden world out there, waiting in the shadows. And I’ve seen it all. If you want, I can show you it.” Lucy gave a wide, playful smile.</p>
<p>Amber held up the tome to return it to its sender. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll think about it.”</p>
<p>Lucy gracefully took the book and put it under her shoulder. “Of course. It was nice meeting you, Amber.”</p>
<p>She turned to leave the café, before suddenly stopping, and turning back around. “Almost forgot.”</p>
<p>She placed the book on the table, and moved her arms under the chair once more, somehow pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. Amber honestly had no idea how she was doing that. Was it a magic trick?</p>
<p>Lucy placed the paper down on the table and started writing something on it, before pulling it up and holding it for Amber to see. It was a phone number.</p>
<p>“Just thought it would be nice for you to have it, if you really do want to talk.”</p>
<p>Amber tried her best to stop herself from turning any redder. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Thanks.” She quickly snatched the paper and hid it in her pocket.</p>
<p>They both waved goodbye to each other, going their respective ways. The fact that Amber pulled someone, let alone someone like <em>her</em>, it almost felt like a dream. A wonderful dream.</p>
<p>A dream that she will never let go of.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Amber pulled the creaking, rickety door to her bedroom open, and immediately landed face first onto her bed, screaming like she just won the lottery. It probably was the equivalent to winning the lottery, for her.</p>
<p>Her love for Lucy could not wait until she got home. She had already texted her a bunch of things, giddily discussing just about everything. Lucy would respond to each text amicably, but Amber could tell that she was happy to be around that ray of sunshine.</p>
<p>She felt like she could fly above the clouds. She was unstoppable, now. She had everything she wanted. She was on top of the world. Everything that led up to that moment, that electrifying moment in the café, all of it was worth it in the end.</p>
<p>Amber whipped out her phone, and clicked on the group chat with her friends. She couldn’t wait to see their reactions.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc0"><span><strong>Bippity Boppity Bitches</strong></span></h4>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Guys<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Guys<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Guys<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Guess what</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: blue">PaulWasNotTheWalrus:</span></strong> What is it this time?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> you just lost The Game AHAHAHAHAHAHA</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> Girl you didn’t even try this time</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> Like not even a spoiler</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Still lost it</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: blue">PaulWasNotTheWalrus:</span></strong> At least people put some modicum of effort with rickrolling</p>
<p><em>Ambrosia has just joined Bippity Bippity Bitches!</em></p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Don’t care, didn’t ask</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> You still lost!</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> Omfg how many times do I have to tell you</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> Put that early-2000s gotcha back where it came from</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Nah, I don’t think I will</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> You’re just mad that you lost</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: blue">PaulWasNotTheWalrus:</span></strong> Sarah, I swear to Christ</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: grey">casanova:</span></strong> everyone shut the fuck up.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: grey">casanova:</span></strong> amber is trying to say something.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> My bad y’all</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> You are not going to believe what happened to me today :D</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> What, did you steal a Lamborghini or something?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Nope!</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Got what I always wanted more than anything.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> No fuckibn way</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Oyu are lying</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> You are lying</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> You are pulling shit straight out of your ass, there’s no way girl</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Yes way, actually!</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Here, I’ll show you proof</p>
<p><em>uploaded file meandmybae:3.jpg</em></p>
<p><strong><span style="color: grey">casanova:</span></strong> congratulations.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Thank you! :)</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> Holy shit this bitch is tall</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> I bet she can drop kick me to the stratosphere</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> I want her to drop kick me</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: blue">PaulWasNotTheWalrus:</span></strong> Simping already? Ffs</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> I can’t help it, okay!</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> I’m trying to think of how I can ask her out on a date, but idk</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> I might need some advice</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Buy her flowers, easy</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Works every time</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> One, basic, and two, that should be for the date, not asking about it</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> Just get it out of the way and tell her how you feel, Amber. State it directly but also from your heart.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> I don’t know how</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> I’m too nervous, I can’t do it</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> This is my only chance, I can’t mess this up</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: blue">PaulWasNotTheWalrus:</span></strong> You’re going to be fine, okay? We’re here for you.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: grey">casanova:</span></strong> i don’t think she’s going to reject you.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: grey">casanova:</span></strong> did you go up to her first, or did she?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> She did.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: grey">casanova:</span></strong> then she must be really interested in you, if she took the leap first.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: grey">casanova:</span></strong> you’re going to be fine.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Thanks, Cass.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> I’m so happy for you, Amber</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> You got this, I believe in you!</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: blue">PaulWasNotTheWalrus:</span></strong> Good luck, Am</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> Good luck!</p>
</div>
<p>Amber thanked her friends one last time, and closed the chat. She smiled, grateful for all the support that they always gave to her. She could never ask for better friends.</p>
<p>But there was one thing left to do. Clicking on the messages app, and scrolling to the person she wanted was now already lighting her stomach on fire. The charges were set, and the detonation was waiting patiently to go off. Any minute now.</p>
<p>She hesitated, fingers trembling, as she slowly typed what she wanted to say. Her index finger was inches away from the send button. There was no going back now.</p>
<p>She asked the question only ever thought to reside in her fantasies.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was a yes.</p>
<p>The response came almost instantaneously, which surprised Amber, but it filled her heart with warmth, making it flutter faster than ever before.</p>
<p>Lucy had instructed her to meet her at an outdoor patio of some random restaurant, half past 9 at night. Normally, in this city meeting with someone who one barely knew late at night was a huge red flag, but Amber walked late at night often. She knew every street corner and every alleyway by heart. She knew the risks, and this time she’ll gladly take them. This opportunity couldn’t be passed up.</p>
<p>The crisp, cool breeze flowed through her hair and chilled her skin as she wandered through the darkened streets, with only the silvery light of the moon to guide her way. She passed by dingy corner shops and shadows in alleyways that beckoned her to see what’s on the other side. Of course, what was on the other side would always lead to something lethal, and Amber would much rather keep the counter of her slip-ups on that matter to one.</p>
<p>Her eyes watched every nook and cranny closely, looking out for any signs of danger hiding in the void beyond her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and her gait slowed considerably. She felt like anyone could get her from behind at any time.</p>
<p>She walked, and walked, and the only thing that made sound around her was her own breathing. One step, another step, then another. And she stopped in her tracks. In front of her was a tall figure, barely visible in the light of the street lamp above it. There was no other path to her destination but forward.</p>
<p>Amber clenched her fists, and prepared for the worst. As she stepped closer, she could see that familiar jet-black hair.</p>
<p>Lucy stepped into the light to greet her. “You took longer than I thought.”</p>
<p>“I was being careful, okay? If you’ve ever been in this city as long as I have, you would know.”</p>
<p>She put a hand on her shoulder. “Of course I know. I’m glad you’re safe. Now let’s go.” She gestured to Amber to follow her, leading the charge while Amber slightly trailed from behind.</p>
<p>“Why did you set this up so we would meet in some random place in the dead of night all alone?” Amber asked.</p>
<p>“Because, we’d be alone together. No distractions, just us.”</p>
<p>“You’re an enigma, you know that? No one else does this.”</p>
<p>“I think it makes it more fun, eh?” Lucy grinned playfully.</p>
<p>Amber laughed, and shook her head. “What did I get myself into.”</p>
<p>“I’ll show you.” She kept walking, with Amber behind her, until they found their destination.</p>
<p>Warm yellow LED lights were strung across the front of the patio cover, giving an inviting and welcoming atmosphere to the place. No one was around, except for Amber and the love of her life. It was the perfect scenario for her to be in, ignoring the fact that it’s near the shadiest parts of the city.</p>
<p>“It’s beautiful.” Amber stared at her surroundings in awe.</p>
<p>“Told you it was worth it.”</p>
<p>They sat down across from each other, the starry lights twinkling up above, illuminating the space around them and giving a comforting feeling. Amber could feel like herself, here. No more hiding. No more feeling like a statistic. No more worrying about her safety and the safety of her friends. It was just her here, and she was happy.</p>
<p>She started to stare deeply into Lucy’s hazel eyes. It felt like she could get lost in them. She just stared, and her breathing slowed, as she took in the sight before her, and—</p>
<p>Lucy snapped her out of it. “Fallen into a trance already?”</p>
<p>Amber looked away, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”</p>
<p>“You’re fine, you’re fine. A lot of people always stare. Maybe my eyes are that entrancing.”</p>
<p>“I guess you really weren’t lying with the whole magic thing,” Amber teased.</p>
<p>“Well, what can I say? I know all about it,” Lucy said, before performing a strange hand gesture that Amber hadn’t seen before.</p>
<p>A large, scaled python shot out of Lucy’s left sleeve, and stopped inches away from Amber’s face. It hissed at her as she screamed and nearly fell over.</p>
<p>“How the- what- how??” she exclaimed in shock.</p>
<p>“Magic trick. This is my familiar by the way, his name’s Reggie. Don’t worry, he won’t bite.”</p>
<p>The snake looked at her with its beady eyes, curious of the strange human sitting before it.</p>
<p>“You’ve got to show me how you do stuff like that.” Amber inhaled sharply.</p>
<p>“I’ll show you more later.” Lucy patted the python on its head, causing it to pull back into the sleeve and the unknown void from whence it came.</p>
<p>The two sat in silence, the only sound coming from the cold air howling its way through the night. Amber could sense a subtle expression within Lucy, one of regret, a regret that Amber was deeply familiar with. Regret of being a forlorn soul, regret of not having someone to hold onto when you needed them the most.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” She finally asked.</p>
<p>Lucy looked at the street beyond the patio for a moment, with a solemn look in her eyes, before turning back to Amber. “Can I tell you something? It’s very personal to me.”</p>
<p>“Of course! Of course you can. I’m here to talk.”</p>
<p>Lucy nodded, before looking directly at Amber. “They said I could never love. They said I could never <em>be loved</em>.”</p>
<p>Amber’s heart ached. “What? <em>Why</em>? How can someone say that to you?”</p>
<p>“I never felt like I fit in with anyone. Not with my family, they kicked me out the second I didn’t fit in with their values. Not with anyone else, they just see me as something to despise. Something to fear.”</p>
<p>“I know what you’re feeling. I know <em>exactly</em> what you’re feeling. But you don’t have to feel alone anymore.” Amber put her hands on top of Lucy’s. They felt surprisingly warm, in spite of the cold weather.</p>
<p>“I wanted it all to stop. So I started searching, until I found you. You were the only one who cared. You were the only one to see me as something more than who I was. Something to love.”</p>
<p>Amber could see the tears forming in her eyes, and so she pulled her closer. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m right here. You’re okay.”</p>
<p>She was even warmer up close. They held each other for what felt like hours, before Lucy finally pulled away from her, wiping the tears from her eyes.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Amber.” She smiled ruefully.</p>
<p>“I’m always going to be here. I know what it’s like. It’s like no one cares that you’re there. You can stand there and wave in front of their eyes, but they still won’t see you anyway. But we have each other now.”</p>
<p>Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “Not caring how, exactly?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, it’s a little weird, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” Amber dismissed.</p>
<p>“No, no, if it’s something more esoteric, I can probably help you.”</p>
<p>“With your magic tricks?” Amber said sardonically.</p>
<p>“No tricks. Just advice. Whatever it is, I can help you,” Lucy assured her.</p>
<p>“Okay. I think it’s like I’m a ghost. Like I’m invisible to everyone else, but not in the metaphorical sense. It feels more literal. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but I don’t think I can explain it any better.”</p>
<p>Lucy slowly nodded in understanding. “Like you’re being forgotten.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah! It is like that.”</p>
<p>Lucy seemed to consider something. “I think I can help with that.”</p>
<p>“Wait, really?” Amber asked in disbelief.</p>
<p>“Yes, really. It’s because of our memories.”</p>
<p>Lucy straightened her posture, to prepare for her explanation. “I know of a place where all ideas that could be known, <em>are</em> known. I also know of a place where ideas that can’t even exist, well, exist. And that is because of you. Because of the collective of humanity itself.”</p>
<p>Amber was completely stupefied. This did not make any sense at all. “It’s a hivemind? Of all human consciousness?”</p>
<p>“That’s only one part of it. It’s all the concepts that can be conceived of by the human mind.”</p>
<p>“Okay, but what does that have to do with me?”</p>
<p>“Memories can be messed around with,” Lucy explained further. “They can be twisted, contorted, and even consumed. I wouldn’t be surprised if the concept of you as a person is slowly being erased by something right now.”</p>
<p>Amber’s eyes widened in abject horror. “Why are you so calm about this? If what you’re saying is true, I’m being <em>eaten</em>?”</p>
<p>Lucy grabbed her shoulders. “Hey, hey, you’re fine. It’s only happened a few times. And I can reverse it, if you trust me.”</p>
<p>Amber tried to calm down. “I trust you. I do.”</p>
<p>“Then we’ll figure it out together, okay? Whatever it is, we can stop it. I can stop it.”</p>
<p>“I really hope you do. I don’t want my friends to forget me. Or my dad. What about my dad?”</p>
<p>“I promise you, I’ll fix it. Your family isn’t going to forget you. It’s going to be okay,” Lucy said slowly, her hazel eyes keeping Amber grounded from the increasingly bizarre and impossible situation unfolding right in front of her.</p>
<p>Logically, whatever Lucy was saying was complete bogus. But there was no logical explanation for what Amber was going through. And she trusted Lucy well enough now. Perhaps she was too trusting, especially for something that had developed this fast. But if she really was being conceptually eaten from people’s memories, that was an indescribable fate that Amber would not wish upon anyone else.</p>
<p>If Lucy was right, and she did have something to fix it, Amber would do whatever she says to remove whatever was consuming her. She will not be forgotten.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It had been a few weeks. Lucy was updating her on the progress of her solution to Amber’s inconceivable situation, telling her about something that she had to ‘free completely’ before she could find whatever it was to fix this mess.</p>
<p>Amber, in the meantime, lied down on her bed, scrolling through her phone and chatting with her friends as always. Every once in a while she would get up and go to grab some groceries, the people around her none the wiser as she took a week’s worth of food and walked right out of the store. She intentionally became more obvious, to see how people would react. No one ever did.</p>
<p>One day, she got too cocky and accidentally bumped into someone while making her exit. They turned to look at her, but their face was blank, stone as a statue. No reaction. Nothing. All Amber could see in those lifeless eyes was indifference.</p>
<p>She could feel it getting worse. But Lucy had it under control, right? She promised her that everything would work out. And that’s what she would hold onto, that spark of hope, of things turning around, and of Amber finally being able to bask in the light with the love of her life.</p>
<p>After another long, excruciating day with nothing happening, Amber immediately flopped onto her bed, turned to face the ceiling, and went back to the group chat to check on her friends.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc1"><span><strong>Bippity Boppity Bitches</strong></span></h4>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><em>Ambrosia has just joined Bippity Bippity Bitches!</em></p>
<p><strong><span style="color: grey">casanova:</span></strong> alright everyone.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: grey">casanova:</span></strong> it’s been five years since this chat was created.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: grey">casanova:</span></strong> i think it’s about time that we should celebrate everything that we’ve done together.</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> You’re so right, Cass</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: blue">PaulWasNotTheWalrus:</span></strong> Wow holy fuck it’s been five years</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: blue">PaulWasNotTheWalrus:</span></strong> Time flies by fast.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> 5 years and I still have no bitches…</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> When will this misery end</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> I’m sure you’ll find someone, Sarah!</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> If I can get one, then you can too :)</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> I’m sure you’ll find someone someday</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> I literally just said that, what</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Idk though, seems like every time I try I get nowhere</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Guys?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: blue">PaulWasNotTheWalrus:</span></strong> It might not feel like it now, but you will find someone who will appreciate you for who you are.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Hello?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> I hope you’re right, but the prospects aren’t looking good rn lol</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Why is everyone ignoring me?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Is this a prank?</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> We’ll be here for you, okay?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> GUYS</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Is this the thing? Oh god</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Fuck fuck fucking shit</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Thanks y’all</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #096e1d">shaquille_oatmeal:</span></strong> Anyway, back to simping I go</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> WAIT</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Please don’t leave</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> It’s me, Amber</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Please don’t leave me behind, you’re the only people I have</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> Please</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: grey">casanova:</span></strong> i think there’s some kind of spam bot or something in here.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: blue">PaulWasNotTheWalrus:</span></strong> Yeah I see it too</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: blue">PaulWasNotTheWalrus:</span></strong> It’s really fucking annoying</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> No no no no no</p>
<p><span style="color: red">CrashTestDummy005:</span> How’d that even get in here?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: grey">casanova:</span></strong> i don’t know, but i’m kicking it.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> no</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> NO</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> WAIT</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> DONT YOU FUJFCIKN DARE</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> PLEASE</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> please don’t</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> please</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: yellow">Ambrosia:</span></strong> i don’t want to be alone</p>
<p><em>Ambrosia has been kicked from the chat!</em></p>
</div>
<p>It got her friends.</p>
<p>Amber was spiraling now, thoughts running rampant in her mind, as she fumbled her phone to call her dad.</p>
<p>They haven’t talked in months, but surely he had to remember her. Right? She was his daughter. He had to remember.</p>
<p>She placed the phone up to her ears, heart pounding as the ringtone buzzed into her skull. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t, it couldn’t, it <em>couldn’t</em>.</p>
<p>The ringing stopped. “Hello?” The voice on the other side answered.</p>
<p>“Hey, dad, it’s me, Amber. Something’s been happening to me, and I don’t, I don’t know what to do,” Amber whimpered.</p>
<p>“Who the fuck is this?”</p>
<p>Her stomach sank to the floor. “It’s me, dad. Your daughter. Please, you have to remember. It’s me.”</p>
<p>“I don’t have a daughter.” His voice was cold, monotone.</p>
<p>Her heart shattered into a million pieces. “No. No.”</p>
<p>“I’m getting sick of you spam callers. Don’t you have anything better to do?”</p>
<p>“Not you too. No. Please don’t go.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, fuck this.” And the call ended, just like that.</p>
<p>Amber slammed her phone onto the bed several times, but not enough to break it since that was all she had left. She covered her face with her hands and screamed as loud as she could, and began to sob. The worst thing that she feared had come true.</p>
<p>She cried for what felt like hours until her throat dried up, and her eyes stung from the tears. When she finally collected herself after an eternity of agony, she slowly picked up her phone, hands shaking, to click on Lucy’s contact and call her.</p>
<p>The phone rang, and rang, and rang. It rang for so long that Amber thought Lucy forgot her too. She was almost about to cry again, when she heard the dial tone, and a familiar voice spilled out from the other end.</p>
<p>“Amber? You okay?” Lucy asked in concern.</p>
<p>Amber tried to say something, but nothing came out. Her mouth quivered, before she finally managed to speak. “It happened. They don’t know me anymore.”</p>
<p>The silence in the room was deafening.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Amber. I’m just about done. I can fix it. I’ll text you my address, and you can come over. We’ll fix this together.”</p>
<p>“You better be right. I’m counting on you.” And she cut Lucy off, ending the call.</p>
<p>Amber felt the rising fire in her stomach, the sickening pit deepening inside it, but she didn’t care. She had to get out of this. She was not going to give up, because she was the match to start the fire, she was the weed that grew in concrete, she was a survivor. She will not let herself be forgotten.</p>
<p>She ran down the stairs, and rushed to get all her belongings before heading out to face the unseen entity ruining her life. As she swiftly pulled her shoes on her feet and hurried to the door, she heard a noise. A crackle, like static. Amber turned, and went toward the strange sound.</p>
<p>It came from her kitchen. What looked like her dad’s old radio was somehow on the kitchen counter, static continuously emanating from the speaker grille. She didn’t remember picking it up from her dad. Why was it even there?</p>
<p>Amber slowly inched her way to the radio in caution, incredulous at the sight before her. It didn’t make sense, but at this point nothing made sense to her, so she made logic sit aside for the moment. Her hands slowly reached for the dial, then hesitated. If this radio was another trick, another way for whatever this phenomenon was to taunt her, it wouldn’t be wise to mess with the radio.</p>
<p>But curiosity got the better of her, and so she turned a knob of the radio for a hair, just to see what would happen.</p>
<p>Nothing happened. The radio was still there, static spilling out of it like an ancient, broken radio would normally do. Amber shrugged, and turned to leave—</p>
<p>But there was something else. Something faint coming from the radio. It sounded like a song from the 30s or 40s, something that Vera Lynn would sing for the American soldiers in Bengal or some other place. It had an ethereal feel to it, the brass and the strings working in tandem to slowly lull Amber into the sound and fully envelop her.</p>
<p>And then, she heard singing. She didn’t recognize the singer, nor their gender, it sounded like the voice could go either way. But it was very monotone, and drew Amber further into the lumbering, pacifying music that sweetly reminded her not to run, not to be scared, but to just relax.</p>
<p><em>You’ve seemed to lost your way</em></p>
<p><em>But you will be okay</em></p>
<p><em>I’ll give you life</em></p>
<p><em>Along with mine</em></p>
<p><em>And we’ll all see the light</em></p>
<p><em>Don’t you cry, my dear</em></p>
<p><em>Your future may not be near</em></p>
<p><em>But just take my hand</em></p>
<p><em>And let me give</em></p>
<p><em>A life you will be remembered by</em></p>
<p>She heard the static grow louder. Something was wrong. Very wrong.</p>
<p><em>I will not be forgotten</em></p>
<p><em>And neither will you</em></p>
<p><em>Just give in</em></p>
<p><em>And be mine</em></p>
<p>A purple vine shot out from behind the radio, seemingly from nowhere, and wrapped itself around it, pulsating a deep indigo and slowly crushing the radio to pieces.</p>
<p>The static grew louder and louder, and as it got to the point where the sound became ear-splitting the radio suddenly shattered into a million bits and bolts, and a voice from an indeterminable source began to cackle throughout the house.</p>
<p>Amber booked out the door, not looking back.</p>
<hr/>
<p>She ran through the busy streets, the dark alleyways and the snow-covered paths, and never stopped to look over her shoulder or take a break. This was life or death, now. There was only one thought circulating in her mind. To survive. She had to survive.</p>
<p>Lucy’s house was deep into the center of the city, and far from where Amber was, but she didn’t care if that meant her ankles would burn the whole way or her legs felt like they would melt off. She had to live, even if out of spite, even if the whole world was against her. She had to live.</p>
<p>It felt like her whole body was about to collapse, when she saw the little brick house up the road, with some spooky Halloween decorations all over the lawn even though it’s been months since then. The decorations were very well-put together and well-placed around the lawn to the point that nothing looked off-center, which surprised Amber.</p>
<p>Maybe that’s why they weren’t taken down yet, so that the neighbors could marvel on the display for all to see.</p>
<p>But there was no time for gawking. She ran up to the door and pounded on it as hard as she could. Strangely, it sounded more muffled than she thought, so she looked down at her right hand.</p>
<p>Amber could see the floor through her whole arm.</p>
<p>She pounded on the door even harder, screaming Lucy’s name as loud as she could in desperation. It couldn’t end here. Not like this. Not now. Not—</p>
<p>The door immediately slammed open, and an arm reached out to yank Amber by the collar. The door then somehow closed itself behind her, leaving her in complete darkness. Before she could protest, a lighter flicked on, revealing a familiar face in front of her.</p>
<p>“Come on, we don’t have time,” Lucy said with a strangely stern and troubled tone of voice.</p>
<p>As they walked to wherever Lucy was going, Amber called out to her from behind. “Where are we going? What the hell is happening to me?”</p>
<p>Lucy turned to look at her, but only briefly. “I can see it now. It’s here, and it’s <em>choking you</em>.”</p>
<p>“Wh— what the fuck? What does that even mean?”</p>
<p>“If you want to live, then stop asking questions and follow me.”</p>
<p>She turned back to walk through the darkness, and Amber reluctantly followed behind. She had no idea what was going to happen, and that frightened her, but not as much as whatever was consuming her.</p>
<p>She had to believe that Lucy had finally figured out the cure to her affliction. That was their promise to each other.</p>
<p>Lucy eventually made it to a door, then opened it to reveal a staircase descending down into the depths.</p>
<p>She turned back to Amber one last time. “Do you trust me?”</p>
<p>She took her hand. “I do.”</p>
<p>They went down the steps together, hand in hand, with a bond that could never be broken.</p>
<p>When they reached the last step and turned the final corner, Amber saw what looked to be a large ritual circle, with hundreds of candles arranged neatly and intricately to serve as the structure. There were several decorations like the ones outside, but their hollow eyes were alight with a fiery red color, and they looked worse for wear than their counterparts. It all felt very foreboding.</p>
<p>“You sure this’ll work out?” Amber questioned.</p>
<p>“Yes. I believe it will. And so will you.”</p>
<p>“What does that mean?”</p>
<p>“This ritual is powered by belief. It’s how you’ll be remembered, as long as you believe yourself to be real. And as long as I do as well. I still remember,” Lucy explained.</p>
<p>Amber nodded. “Okay, okay. Just have to believe. Okay.”</p>
<p>They stepped into the circle at the same time, and as they stepped in it the candles all suddenly went out, leaving the room to only be lit up by the decorations around them. Lucy turned her lighter off as well, leaving them in almost pitch-black darkness.</p>
<p>“Now, take my hands and close your eyes.”</p>
<p>Amber complied, and Lucy began to whisper a chant in some language that she had never heard of, possibly Latin. She felt her hair begin to stand up, the air around her charged with an electric, mystical power that she could feel in her chest. She felt a change inside of her, her heart bursting with a newfound energy, making her feel full again. It was working.</p>
<p>Then she fell.</p>
<p>She didn’t know why, but she opened her eyes to see the basement in complete chaos. Purple sparks flew all around the room, and Amber could see Lucy scream at something to go away. There was something else about her that completely baffled Amber. There were two horns of a ram that curved from behind her ears and curled in the shape of a hook.</p>
<p>Magical energy buzzed around her, before everything stopped in place. Lucy turned to look at her, and her eyes were glowing a deep vermillion.</p>
<p>“What are you?” Amber finally managed to speak out.</p>
<p>Lucy reached her arm down to her. “My name is Lucifer.”</p>
<p>Amber’s eyes widened in complete shock. There was nothing else to say.</p>
<p>“I know what you’re thinking. But this is not a trick. I love you, Amber. Genuinely. I can’t go back there. I can’t. So I needed someone to believe in me, but not through any kind of spell or incantation. I wanted real love. I wanted you.”</p>
<p>“W-why?” Amber’s hands started to shake.</p>
<p>“Because you’re the only person who’s looked at me and saw someone to love for. I can save you.”</p>
<p>“That isn’t true. You just wanted to get to me. Do you really even care? No one knows me anymore. I’m going to be erased forever, and everyone else is going to move on without me.”</p>
<p>Lucy put a hand on her shoulder. “I know you. And I care. You will live, just as long as you believe in me.”</p>
<p>“What about my family? What about my friends? Can you make them remember me? <em>Can you</em>?” Amber snapped.</p>
<p>“I can hold the absence off permanently, but reversing it is another question entirely. But we can figure it out together.”</p>
<p>“What the hell even is this absence?” Amber pressed her.</p>
<p>“It’s something that wants to be remembered, so it feeds off vulnerable people, those that are more likely to be forgotten by most. Over the centuries it’s only erased a few individuals, and covered up the evidence. But for the past few months more and more people are succumbing to it.”</p>
<p>“<em>What</em>? Are you saying that I’m not the only one affected by this thing?”</p>
<p>“Yes. You are correct,” Lucy confirmed to her.</p>
<p>“We’ve got to help them!” Amber exclaimed.</p>
<p>“They’ll be fine, I’ll get to them when I get to them. But you’re the number one priority right now. Once we get it off you, we’ll fix the rest.”</p>
<p>“How will I know that you’ll really do that?”</p>
<p>She took a deep breath. “Look, Amber. I can give you the stars. The sun, the moon, all are under my seal. I can do anything, as long as there’s someone with me to believe in my power. What we have that this absence doesn’t is belief. Belief for each other, belief that everything will work out in the end. We remember the people that we believe in, and forget those that we don’t. It’s either me, or complete annihilation. Your choice.”</p>
<p>All Amber could hear now was the crackle of the sparks still hanging in the air. “Just promise me that you’ll fix it. My family, my friends, other people who are suffocating because of this thing. All of it.”</p>
<p>Lucy stared at her, arm still stretched out. “I promise.”</p>
<p>She took her hand.</p>
<p>The room exploded in bright orange and yellow, candles erupting in flame, decorations melting into sludge. Lucy pulled Amber in close, and she could feel her heart pounding in excitement. She could feel her own heart beat in tandem with hers.</p>
<p>Lucy felt warm, like a soft blanket wrapped around to comfort her. Maybe everything will work out. Maybe it would all be okay, with her.</p>
<p>Amber heard the cracking of bone, and looked to see two large wings extending out of Lucy’s back.</p>
<p>“Are you ready?” Lucy asked her one last time.</p>
<p>“Yeah, go ahead,” she said, her face completely flushed from endearment.</p>
<p>Lucy hoisted her up, and princess carried her as they both flew up to crash through the roof. They soared through the sky, completely unfazed by the metal roof that they just broke out of. Amber looked down at the city below her in awe, and noticed that her hand was as solid as it always was. She wiggled her fingers to make sure it was still there.</p>
<p>She might not ever be the same again, but she was alive. She still had hope in her heart, a hope that she will finally reunite with her friends and her dad, a hope that others like her will live to see the light and not have to worry about fighting for their continued existence, a hope that things will change for the better. But hope is not enough. Amber needed that hope, that drive, but she also needed to act. So that’s what she’s going to do, now. Take action for a brighter future, with someone who will do anything for her.</p>
<p>She looked up at her again, to stare fondly at those alluring hazel eyes. Behind her was the now blood-red moon, casting a dark shadow over them that definitely made this night one to remember.</p>
<p>“Is anyone going to spot us?” Amber asked.</p>
<p>“Most likely not. I’ve made it so that they’ll never see me unless I want them to. I doubt they’ll ever spot you, either. Unless those memetic freaks try to find us. But they don’t stand a chance against me.”</p>
<p>Amber grinned. “Against us.”</p>
<p>“Yes, my dear.” She smiled back. “Us.”</p>
<p>They flew all around the city, through the clouds, just being themselves and laughing all the way. Amber wished for better days, but here and now, she was free.</p>
<p>Maybe together they will change everything, and finally vanquish the attention-starved boogeyman out to get her. Together, they will survive.</p>
<div class="collection">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<table style="1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<tr>
<th class="namerow" colspan="2"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p>Merehrab's Works</p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">SCPs</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8035">SCP-8035</a> <em>(+31)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7467">SCP-7467</a> <em>(+21)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6461">SCP-6461</a> <em>(+31)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7163">SCP-7163</a> <em>(+53)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7550">SCP-7550</a> <em>(+60)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Tales/GoI Formats</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/blackbird">Blackbird</a> <em>(+12)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/turning-out">Turning Out</a> <em>(+17)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Other</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/merehrabs-musings">Merehrab’s Musings</a> <em>(+28)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/infatuation-in-black">Infatuation in Black</a>" by Merehrab, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/infatuation-in-black">https://scpwiki.com/infatuation-in-black</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:blankstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:darkqueer">:scp-wiki:theme:darkqueer</a>]]
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
Nothing more romantic than falling in love with the Fallen Angel herself!
]]
=====
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Cleveland. Detroit’s little cousin. A vibrant place by day, and at night if one knew what they were doing. A hustling, bustling city with a reputation for being Ohio’s most overlooked locale.
Amber knew it as much. Visitors from outside the city would only see the artificial, materialistic facade that made the city look as unattractive as it did. But Amber knew the hidden gems of the city by heart. Every neighborhood was unique and had distinctive personalities, and the restaurants always had the best food, no matter what the time of the day it was. It had everything, and she was proud to call it her home, regardless of the circumstances that befell upon it.
Although fractured, although the dire conditions, the city still persisted nevertheless. And so did she. It was like her dad once said, “if nothing else, keep moving. You’ll only lose if you let them win.”
She took it by heart. If nothing else, she will plant her legs down like a tree and stand tall for the world to try and strike her down. She might be battered and broken, but she was alive.
Amber knew what it was like to be overlooked. But that was fine by her. She could take care of herself.
Amber walked through the automatic doors of Walmart as they slid open, and examined her surroundings. It was almost closing time, and there weren't that many people around. The perfect time to strike.
Amber’s dad was a good man. He always made sure that Amber never strayed off to the wrong path, while also respecting her boundaries and checking on her almost daily to see if she was okay. He was protective, but not too strict. He taught her how to defend herself, what to do if she needed to walk alone at night, how to avoid the cops when applicable, and he even bought her a taser, just in case.
His strong sense of justice carried over to Amber as she grew up, but she took that characteristic and changed it to her own liking.
She had a habit of stealing. And she was good at it. She never got caught, and she always made sure to never leave any trace of her thievery. She had no other choice. She was practically living off scraps of food, and the job opportunities were scarce. There weren’t any other options for her to take.
She learned to swiftly swipe a candy bar into her pocket while no one was looking, and eat it in the bathroom with the stall doors locked. She scanned her items without paying, and found other ways to avoid triggering the sensors of the theft alarm. It took a lot of patience and effort, but it became her routine. And no one ever spotted these thefts.
As Amber examined an orange to steal for later, she pondered about that last point. Why //did// no one ever spot her? Statistically it would be very unlikely, especially considering that she’s been doing the same trick for years.
A memory forced itself into the front of her mind. The alarm blaring. The sound of heavy footsteps. The confused looks of the passerby. She was standing right there, for everyone to see, and they just stared. It was like they stared right through her. Like she didn’t even exist. The security officer who ran in simply guessed that the sensor had a malfunction. But she was standing right there.
Perhaps she got too good at her craft.
But that wasn’t too much of a worry right at this moment. Maybe it was just a coincidence. There was always a logical explanation for everything in Amber’s mind, even in the most outlandish scenarios. There had to be some sort of reason. Regardless, it was a good thing for her, as she never had to deal with the boys in blue or the consequences of her actions for what felt like forever. It was a valuable boon to have for her.
And it wasn’t her number one priority anyway, so she did what she always did, and walked off into the night.
----
The café was overflowing with people, chitter and chatter bouncing off the walls and around the space that Amber was sitting in. She picked up and drank her warm cup of mocha, the chocolatey taste reinvigorating her shivering self. She was reading one of her favorite novels, a love story about a forbidden romance between a human and a demonic beast. It was an emotional, thought-provoking tale about finding love even in the most unexpected places. Amber was always engrossed by how good it was.
If only she could ever have a story like that. Or any memorable story to tell with someone who loved her.
She sat there, and kept reading. At the same time, she perked her ears out to listen for anything interesting that could happen. Unfortunately, nothing. Just people having conversation. And her, all alone.
Amber tried to chase for love, but it was always faster. She was sick of wasting away in her bed, with no one to cry with, no one to hold for as long as she could, no one who would listen to her and care for her. She was sick of it all.
Dating apps were unpredictable, those were a hard pass. But she couldn’t just walk down the street and randomly ask strangers out on a date. Her options were dwindling as each day passed.
Maybe Amber would be alone forever. Maybe—
She heard a knock. A knock in front of her, which was most likely the downward motion of a fist on the wooden table. She looked up, to see //her//.
She was tall, very tall, probably the tallest person that Amber had ever seen. She was also deeply pale, with jet black hair and striking hazel eyes. And she certainly had Amber’s attention, whoever she was.
//Did she come over just for me?// Amber’s brown skin slightly lightened at the thought.
The mysterious woman smiled with a cryptic allure to her. “Whatcha reading?”
Amber looked around the room nervously. “Uh, a book?”
“No kidding. Now if you’ll let me see what kind,” and she ripped the book out of Amber’s hands and began to examine the cover.
Before Amber could protest, she gave it back to her. “I think I know that one! Bit cheesy, but it’s got heart.”
“Really?”
“Of course! I do my fair share of C-tier romance works every now and then. May I have a seat?”
“S-Sure,” Amber stuttered, completely baffled as to how this conversation even happened.
The mysterious woman immediately took a seat, and stretched out her hand. “Name’s Lucy. It’s nice to meet you.”
Amber reached out her hand, hesitated, then shook it. “Nice to meet you too. I’m Amber.”
“Amber. That’s a lovely name.”
Amber was beet red by now. “Wow, I- Thank you.”
“Can I show you my favorite book?” Lucy asked.
“Sure? I guess that’s fine.”
Lucy reached under her chair, and inexplicably pulled out a large, dusty tome with intricate patterns and symbols on the cover. She swiped the dust off, before handing it to Amber.
Amber raised an eyebrow. “The hell is this, the Necronomicon?”
“Close, but not quite. It’s a very important piece of occult literature. Describes all the major facets of magic, and the various deities and demons that walk the earth.”
//So an occultist. Ok, I can deal with that.//
Amber was always a skeptic when it came to the supernatural. Of course, she let people have their fun, but she knew there was always a rational explanation for everything. If ghosts and devils existed like in the movies, surely people would be talking about them all the time like they would to a celebrity, right?
If these things were truly real, they would populate the earth with wonder and terror and fascination. As they didn’t, of course, exist, the world was molded as the much more boring place that it so obviously was.
In the deep recesses of her mind, she wanted to be wrong. The world could use more wonder.
She turned each page, skimming their contents and the secrets that they held. There were plenty of descriptions of demons similar to those depicted in the //Ars Goetia//, and some more that she couldn’t recognize. There were rituals and spells and incantations abound, each one more captivating than the last. There was a section which was a biography of all famous witches, wizards, sorcerers and warlocks ever recorded, known and unknown.
It was some stellar writing, for a book solely on worldbuilding.
Amber turned to another page, and saw something that caught her eye. The title to this chapter read //Enthrallment//.
Lucy eyed her reading through the page, and went up to see what she was looking at. She immediately flipped the book to the next page. “Don’t even //think// about it.”
Amber raised an eyebrow. “What about it?”
“Enthralling people isn’t going to get you anywhere. It’s a waste of time. It brings psychological damage during and after you cast it. You won’t get what you want, and people are going to remember what you did.”
“Whoa whoa, hang on, you actually believe in this stuff?”
Lucy feigned an expression of disappointment. “And I thought you were a true believer. Guess I was wrong.”
“I’m not going to judge your beliefs, I just thought… Nevermind.” Amber closed the book.
“You’re fine, I get it. You’re not going to believe me. But there is a hidden world out there, waiting in the shadows. And I’ve seen it all. If you want, I can show you it.” Lucy gave a wide, playful smile.
Amber held up the tome to return it to its sender. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll think about it.”
Lucy gracefully took the book and put it under her shoulder. “Of course. It was nice meeting you, Amber.”
She turned to leave the café, before suddenly stopping, and turning back around. “Almost forgot.”
She placed the book on the table, and moved her arms under the chair once more, somehow pulling out a piece of paper and a pen. Amber honestly had no idea how she was doing that. Was it a magic trick?
Lucy placed the paper down on the table and started writing something on it, before pulling it up and holding it for Amber to see. It was a phone number.
“Just thought it would be nice for you to have it, if you really do want to talk.”
Amber tried her best to stop herself from turning any redder. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Thanks.” She quickly snatched the paper and hid it in her pocket.
They both waved goodbye to each other, going their respective ways. The fact that Amber pulled someone, let alone someone like //her//, it almost felt like a dream. A wonderful dream.
A dream that she will never let go of.
----
Amber pulled the creaking, rickety door to her bedroom open, and immediately landed face first onto her bed, screaming like she just won the lottery. It probably was the equivalent to winning the lottery, for her.
Her love for Lucy could not wait until she got home. She had already texted her a bunch of things, giddily discussing just about everything. Lucy would respond to each text amicably, but Amber could tell that she was happy to be around that ray of sunshine.
She felt like she could fly above the clouds. She was unstoppable, now. She had everything she wanted. She was on top of the world. Everything that led up to that moment, that electrifying moment in the café, all of it was worth it in the end.
Amber whipped out her phone, and clicked on the group chat with her friends. She couldn’t wait to see their reactions.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[=]]
++++ **Bippity Boppity Bitches**
[[/=]]
-----
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Guys
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Guys
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Guys
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Guess what
**##blue|PaulWasNotTheWalrus:##** What is it this time?
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** you just lost The Game AHAHAHAHAHAHA
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## Girl you didn’t even try this time
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## Like not even a spoiler
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Still lost it
**##blue|PaulWasNotTheWalrus:##** At least people put some modicum of effort with rickrolling
//Ambrosia has just joined Bippity Bippity Bitches!//
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Don’t care, didn’t ask
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** You still lost!
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## Omfg how many times do I have to tell you
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## Put that early-2000s gotcha back where it came from
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Nah, I don’t think I will
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** You’re just mad that you lost
**##blue|PaulWasNotTheWalrus:##** Sarah, I swear to Christ
**##grey|casanova:##** everyone shut the fuck up.
**##grey|casanova:##** amber is trying to say something.
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** My bad y’all
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** You are not going to believe what happened to me today :D
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## What, did you steal a Lamborghini or something?
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Nope!
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Got what I always wanted more than anything.
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** No fuckibn way
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Oyu are lying
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** You are lying
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** You are pulling shit straight out of your ass, there’s no way girl
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Yes way, actually!
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Here, I’ll show you proof
//uploaded file meandmybae:3.jpg//
**##grey|casanova:##** congratulations.
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Thank you! :)
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## Holy shit this bitch is tall
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## I bet she can drop kick me to the stratosphere
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** I want her to drop kick me
**##blue|PaulWasNotTheWalrus:##** Simping already? Ffs
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** I can’t help it, okay!
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** I’m trying to think of how I can ask her out on a date, but idk
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** I might need some advice
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Buy her flowers, easy
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Works every time
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## One, basic, and two, that should be for the date, not asking about it
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## Just get it out of the way and tell her how you feel, Amber. State it directly but also from your heart.
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** I don’t know how
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** I’m too nervous, I can’t do it
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** This is my only chance, I can’t mess this up
**##blue|PaulWasNotTheWalrus:##** You’re going to be fine, okay? We’re here for you.
**##grey|casanova:##** i don’t think she’s going to reject you.
**##grey|casanova:##** did you go up to her first, or did she?
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** She did.
**##grey|casanova:##** then she must be really interested in you, if she took the leap first.
**##grey|casanova:##** you’re going to be fine.
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Thanks, Cass.
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** I’m so happy for you, Amber
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** You got this, I believe in you!
**##blue|PaulWasNotTheWalrus:##** Good luck, Am
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## Good luck!
[[/div]]
Amber thanked her friends one last time, and closed the chat. She smiled, grateful for all the support that they always gave to her. She could never ask for better friends.
But there was one thing left to do. Clicking on the messages app, and scrolling to the person she wanted was now already lighting her stomach on fire. The charges were set, and the detonation was waiting patiently to go off. Any minute now.
She hesitated, fingers trembling, as she slowly typed what she wanted to say. Her index finger was inches away from the send button. There was no going back now.
She asked the question only ever thought to reside in her fantasies.
----
It was a yes.
The response came almost instantaneously, which surprised Amber, but it filled her heart with warmth, making it flutter faster than ever before.
Lucy had instructed her to meet her at an outdoor patio of some random restaurant, half past 9 at night. Normally, in this city meeting with someone who one barely knew late at night was a huge red flag, but Amber walked late at night often. She knew every street corner and every alleyway by heart. She knew the risks, and this time she’ll gladly take them. This opportunity couldn’t be passed up.
The crisp, cool breeze flowed through her hair and chilled her skin as she wandered through the darkened streets, with only the silvery light of the moon to guide her way. She passed by dingy corner shops and shadows in alleyways that beckoned her to see what’s on the other side. Of course, what was on the other side would always lead to something lethal, and Amber would much rather keep the counter of her slip-ups on that matter to one.
Her eyes watched every nook and cranny closely, looking out for any signs of danger hiding in the void beyond her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and her gait slowed considerably. She felt like anyone could get her from behind at any time.
She walked, and walked, and the only thing that made sound around her was her own breathing. One step, another step, then another. And she stopped in her tracks. In front of her was a tall figure, barely visible in the light of the street lamp above it. There was no other path to her destination but forward.
Amber clenched her fists, and prepared for the worst. As she stepped closer, she could see that familiar jet-black hair.
Lucy stepped into the light to greet her. “You took longer than I thought.”
“I was being careful, okay? If you’ve ever been in this city as long as I have, you would know.”
She put a hand on her shoulder. “Of course I know. I’m glad you’re safe. Now let’s go.” She gestured to Amber to follow her, leading the charge while Amber slightly trailed from behind.
“Why did you set this up so we would meet in some random place in the dead of night all alone?” Amber asked.
“Because, we’d be alone together. No distractions, just us.”
“You’re an enigma, you know that? No one else does this.”
“I think it makes it more fun, eh?” Lucy grinned playfully.
Amber laughed, and shook her head. “What did I get myself into.”
“I’ll show you.” She kept walking, with Amber behind her, until they found their destination.
Warm yellow LED lights were strung across the front of the patio cover, giving an inviting and welcoming atmosphere to the place. No one was around, except for Amber and the love of her life. It was the perfect scenario for her to be in, ignoring the fact that it’s near the shadiest parts of the city.
“It’s beautiful.” Amber stared at her surroundings in awe.
“Told you it was worth it.”
They sat down across from each other, the starry lights twinkling up above, illuminating the space around them and giving a comforting feeling. Amber could feel like herself, here. No more hiding. No more feeling like a statistic. No more worrying about her safety and the safety of her friends. It was just her here, and she was happy.
She started to stare deeply into Lucy’s hazel eyes. It felt like she could get lost in them. She just stared, and her breathing slowed, as she took in the sight before her, and—
Lucy snapped her out of it. “Fallen into a trance already?”
Amber looked away, clearly embarrassed. “Sorry about that.”
“You’re fine, you’re fine. A lot of people always stare. Maybe my eyes are that entrancing.”
“I guess you really weren’t lying with the whole magic thing,” Amber teased.
“Well, what can I say? I know all about it,” Lucy said, before performing a strange hand gesture that Amber hadn’t seen before.
A large, scaled python shot out of Lucy’s left sleeve, and stopped inches away from Amber’s face. It hissed at her as she screamed and nearly fell over.
“How the- what- how??” she exclaimed in shock.
“Magic trick. This is my familiar by the way, his name’s Reggie. Don’t worry, he won’t bite.”
The snake looked at her with its beady eyes, curious of the strange human sitting before it.
“You’ve got to show me how you do stuff like that.” Amber inhaled sharply.
“I’ll show you more later.” Lucy patted the python on its head, causing it to pull back into the sleeve and the unknown void from whence it came.
The two sat in silence, the only sound coming from the cold air howling its way through the night. Amber could sense a subtle expression within Lucy, one of regret, a regret that Amber was deeply familiar with. Regret of being a forlorn soul, regret of not having someone to hold onto when you needed them the most.
“Are you okay?” She finally asked.
Lucy looked at the street beyond the patio for a moment, with a solemn look in her eyes, before turning back to Amber. “Can I tell you something? It’s very personal to me.”
“Of course! Of course you can. I’m here to talk.”
Lucy nodded, before looking directly at Amber. “They said I could never love. They said I could never //be loved//.”
Amber’s heart ached. “What? //Why//? How can someone say that to you?”
“I never felt like I fit in with anyone. Not with my family, they kicked me out the second I didn’t fit in with their values. Not with anyone else, they just see me as something to despise. Something to fear.”
“I know what you’re feeling. I know //exactly// what you’re feeling. But you don’t have to feel alone anymore.” Amber put her hands on top of Lucy’s. They felt surprisingly warm, in spite of the cold weather.
“I wanted it all to stop. So I started searching, until I found you. You were the only one who cared. You were the only one to see me as something more than who I was. Something to love.”
Amber could see the tears forming in her eyes, and so she pulled her closer. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m right here. You’re okay.”
She was even warmer up close. They held each other for what felt like hours, before Lucy finally pulled away from her, wiping the tears from her eyes.
“Thank you, Amber.” She smiled ruefully.
“I’m always going to be here. I know what it’s like. It’s like no one cares that you’re there. You can stand there and wave in front of their eyes, but they still won’t see you anyway. But we have each other now.”
Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “Not caring how, exactly?”
“I don’t know, it’s a little weird, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about,” Amber dismissed.
“No, no, if it’s something more esoteric, I can probably help you.”
“With your magic tricks?” Amber said sardonically.
“No tricks. Just advice. Whatever it is, I can help you,” Lucy assured her.
“Okay. I think it’s like I’m a ghost. Like I’m invisible to everyone else, but not in the metaphorical sense. It feels more literal. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but I don’t think I can explain it any better.”
Lucy slowly nodded in understanding. “Like you’re being forgotten.”
“Yeah, yeah! It is like that.”
Lucy seemed to consider something. “I think I can help with that.”
“Wait, really?” Amber asked in disbelief.
“Yes, really. It’s because of our memories.”
Lucy straightened her posture, to prepare for her explanation. “I know of a place where all ideas that could be known, //are// known. I also know of a place where ideas that can’t even exist, well, exist. And that is because of you. Because of the collective of humanity itself.”
Amber was completely stupefied. This did not make any sense at all. “It’s a hivemind? Of all human consciousness?”
“That’s only one part of it. It’s all the concepts that can be conceived of by the human mind.”
“Okay, but what does that have to do with me?”
“Memories can be messed around with,” Lucy explained further. “They can be twisted, contorted, and even consumed. I wouldn’t be surprised if the concept of you as a person is slowly being erased by something right now.”
Amber’s eyes widened in abject horror. “Why are you so calm about this? If what you’re saying is true, I’m being //eaten//?”
Lucy grabbed her shoulders. “Hey, hey, you’re fine. It’s only happened a few times. And I can reverse it, if you trust me.”
Amber tried to calm down. “I trust you. I do.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together, okay? Whatever it is, we can stop it. I can stop it.”
“I really hope you do. I don’t want my friends to forget me. Or my dad. What about my dad?”
“I promise you, I’ll fix it. Your family isn’t going to forget you. It’s going to be okay,” Lucy said slowly, her hazel eyes keeping Amber grounded from the increasingly bizarre and impossible situation unfolding right in front of her.
Logically, whatever Lucy was saying was complete bogus. But there was no logical explanation for what Amber was going through. And she trusted Lucy well enough now. Perhaps she was too trusting, especially for something that had developed this fast. But if she really was being conceptually eaten from people’s memories, that was an indescribable fate that Amber would not wish upon anyone else.
If Lucy was right, and she did have something to fix it, Amber would do whatever she says to remove whatever was consuming her. She will not be forgotten.
----
It had been a few weeks. Lucy was updating her on the progress of her solution to Amber’s inconceivable situation, telling her about something that she had to ‘free completely’ before she could find whatever it was to fix this mess.
Amber, in the meantime, lied down on her bed, scrolling through her phone and chatting with her friends as always. Every once in a while she would get up and go to grab some groceries, the people around her none the wiser as she took a week’s worth of food and walked right out of the store. She intentionally became more obvious, to see how people would react. No one ever did.
One day, she got too cocky and accidentally bumped into someone while making her exit. They turned to look at her, but their face was blank, stone as a statue. No reaction. Nothing. All Amber could see in those lifeless eyes was indifference.
She could feel it getting worse. But Lucy had it under control, right? She promised her that everything would work out. And that’s what she would hold onto, that spark of hope, of things turning around, and of Amber finally being able to bask in the light with the love of her life.
After another long, excruciating day with nothing happening, Amber immediately flopped onto her bed, turned to face the ceiling, and went back to the group chat to check on her friends.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[=]]
++++ **Bippity Boppity Bitches**
[[/=]]
-----
//Ambrosia has just joined Bippity Bippity Bitches!//
**##grey|casanova:##** alright everyone.
**##grey|casanova:##** it’s been five years since this chat was created.
**##grey|casanova:##** i think it’s about time that we should celebrate everything that we’ve done together.
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## You’re so right, Cass
**##blue|PaulWasNotTheWalrus:##** Wow holy fuck it’s been five years
**##blue|PaulWasNotTheWalrus:##** Time flies by fast.
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** 5 years and I still have no bitches…
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** When will this misery end
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** I’m sure you’ll find someone, Sarah!
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** If I can get one, then you can too :)
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## I’m sure you’ll find someone someday
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** I literally just said that, what
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Idk though, seems like every time I try I get nowhere
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Guys?
**##blue|PaulWasNotTheWalrus:##** It might not feel like it now, but you will find someone who will appreciate you for who you are.
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Hello?
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** I hope you’re right, but the prospects aren’t looking good rn lol
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Why is everyone ignoring me?
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Is this a prank?
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## We’ll be here for you, okay?
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** GUYS
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Is this the thing? Oh god
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Fuck fuck fucking shit
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Thanks y’all
**###096e1d|shaquille_oatmeal:##** Anyway, back to simping I go
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** WAIT
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Please don’t leave
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** It’s me, Amber
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Please don’t leave me behind, you’re the only people I have
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** Please
**##grey|casanova:##** i think there’s some kind of spam bot or something in here.
**##blue|PaulWasNotTheWalrus:##** Yeah I see it too
**##blue|PaulWasNotTheWalrus:##** It’s really fucking annoying
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** No no no no no
##red|CrashTestDummy005:## How’d that even get in here?
**##grey|casanova:##** i don’t know, but i’m kicking it.
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** no
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** NO
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** WAIT
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** DONT YOU FUJFCIKN DARE
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** PLEASE
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** please don’t
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** please
**##yellow|Ambrosia:##** i don’t want to be alone
//Ambrosia has been kicked from the chat!//
[[/div]]
It got her friends.
Amber was spiraling now, thoughts running rampant in her mind, as she fumbled her phone to call her dad.
They haven’t talked in months, but surely he had to remember her. Right? She was his daughter. He had to remember.
She placed the phone up to her ears, heart pounding as the ringtone buzzed into her skull. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t, it couldn’t, it //couldn’t//.
The ringing stopped. “Hello?” The voice on the other side answered.
“Hey, dad, it’s me, Amber. Something’s been happening to me, and I don’t, I don’t know what to do,” Amber whimpered.
“Who the fuck is this?”
Her stomach sank to the floor. “It’s me, dad. Your daughter. Please, you have to remember. It’s me.”
“I don’t have a daughter.” His voice was cold, monotone.
Her heart shattered into a million pieces. “No. No.”
“I’m getting sick of you spam callers. Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Not you too. No. Please don’t go.”
“Yeah, fuck this.” And the call ended, just like that.
Amber slammed her phone onto the bed several times, but not enough to break it since that was all she had left. She covered her face with her hands and screamed as loud as she could, and began to sob. The worst thing that she feared had come true.
She cried for what felt like hours until her throat dried up, and her eyes stung from the tears. When she finally collected herself after an eternity of agony, she slowly picked up her phone, hands shaking, to click on Lucy’s contact and call her.
The phone rang, and rang, and rang. It rang for so long that Amber thought Lucy forgot her too. She was almost about to cry again, when she heard the dial tone, and a familiar voice spilled out from the other end.
“Amber? You okay?” Lucy asked in concern.
Amber tried to say something, but nothing came out. Her mouth quivered, before she finally managed to speak. “It happened. They don’t know me anymore.”
The silence in the room was deafening.
“I’m sorry, Amber. I’m just about done. I can fix it. I’ll text you my address, and you can come over. We’ll fix this together.”
“You better be right. I’m counting on you.” And she cut Lucy off, ending the call.
Amber felt the rising fire in her stomach, the sickening pit deepening inside it, but she didn’t care. She had to get out of this. She was not going to give up, because she was the match to start the fire, she was the weed that grew in concrete, she was a survivor. She will not let herself be forgotten.
She ran down the stairs, and rushed to get all her belongings before heading out to face the unseen entity ruining her life. As she swiftly pulled her shoes on her feet and hurried to the door, she heard a noise. A crackle, like static. Amber turned, and went toward the strange sound.
It came from her kitchen. What looked like her dad’s old radio was somehow on the kitchen counter, static continuously emanating from the speaker grille. She didn’t remember picking it up from her dad. Why was it even there?
Amber slowly inched her way to the radio in caution, incredulous at the sight before her. It didn’t make sense, but at this point nothing made sense to her, so she made logic sit aside for the moment. Her hands slowly reached for the dial, then hesitated. If this radio was another trick, another way for whatever this phenomenon was to taunt her, it wouldn’t be wise to mess with the radio.
But curiosity got the better of her, and so she turned a knob of the radio for a hair, just to see what would happen.
Nothing happened. The radio was still there, static spilling out of it like an ancient, broken radio would normally do. Amber shrugged, and turned to leave—
But there was something else. Something faint coming from the radio. It sounded like a song from the 30s or 40s, something that Vera Lynn would sing for the American soldiers in Bengal or some other place. It had an ethereal feel to it, the brass and the strings working in tandem to slowly lull Amber into the sound and fully envelop her.
And then, she heard singing. She didn’t recognize the singer, nor their gender, it sounded like the voice could go either way. But it was very monotone, and drew Amber further into the lumbering, pacifying music that sweetly reminded her not to run, not to be scared, but to just relax.
//You’ve seemed to lost your way//
//But you will be okay//
//I’ll give you life//
//Along with mine//
//And we’ll all see the light//
//Don’t you cry, my dear//
//Your future may not be near//
//But just take my hand//
//And let me give//
//A life you will be remembered by//
She heard the static grow louder. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
//I will not be forgotten//
//And neither will you//
//Just give in//
//And be mine//
A purple vine shot out from behind the radio, seemingly from nowhere, and wrapped itself around it, pulsating a deep indigo and slowly crushing the radio to pieces.
The static grew louder and louder, and as it got to the point where the sound became ear-splitting the radio suddenly shattered into a million bits and bolts, and a voice from an indeterminable source began to cackle throughout the house.
Amber booked out the door, not looking back.
----
She ran through the busy streets, the dark alleyways and the snow-covered paths, and never stopped to look over her shoulder or take a break. This was life or death, now. There was only one thought circulating in her mind. To survive. She had to survive.
Lucy’s house was deep into the center of the city, and far from where Amber was, but she didn’t care if that meant her ankles would burn the whole way or her legs felt like they would melt off. She had to live, even if out of spite, even if the whole world was against her. She had to live.
It felt like her whole body was about to collapse, when she saw the little brick house up the road, with some spooky Halloween decorations all over the lawn even though it’s been months since then. The decorations were very well-put together and well-placed around the lawn to the point that nothing looked off-center, which surprised Amber.
Maybe that’s why they weren’t taken down yet, so that the neighbors could marvel on the display for all to see.
But there was no time for gawking. She ran up to the door and pounded on it as hard as she could. Strangely, it sounded more muffled than she thought, so she looked down at her right hand.
Amber could see the floor through her whole arm.
She pounded on the door even harder, screaming Lucy’s name as loud as she could in desperation. It couldn’t end here. Not like this. Not now. Not—
The door immediately slammed open, and an arm reached out to yank Amber by the collar. The door then somehow closed itself behind her, leaving her in complete darkness. Before she could protest, a lighter flicked on, revealing a familiar face in front of her.
“Come on, we don’t have time,” Lucy said with a strangely stern and troubled tone of voice.
As they walked to wherever Lucy was going, Amber called out to her from behind. “Where are we going? What the hell is happening to me?”
Lucy turned to look at her, but only briefly. “I can see it now. It’s here, and it’s //choking you//.”
“Wh— what the fuck? What does that even mean?”
“If you want to live, then stop asking questions and follow me.”
She turned back to walk through the darkness, and Amber reluctantly followed behind. She had no idea what was going to happen, and that frightened her, but not as much as whatever was consuming her.
She had to believe that Lucy had finally figured out the cure to her affliction. That was their promise to each other.
Lucy eventually made it to a door, then opened it to reveal a staircase descending down into the depths.
She turned back to Amber one last time. “Do you trust me?”
She took her hand. “I do.”
They went down the steps together, hand in hand, with a bond that could never be broken.
When they reached the last step and turned the final corner, Amber saw what looked to be a large ritual circle, with hundreds of candles arranged neatly and intricately to serve as the structure. There were several decorations like the ones outside, but their hollow eyes were alight with a fiery red color, and they looked worse for wear than their counterparts. It all felt very foreboding.
“You sure this’ll work out?” Amber questioned.
“Yes. I believe it will. And so will you.”
“What does that mean?”
“This ritual is powered by belief. It’s how you’ll be remembered, as long as you believe yourself to be real. And as long as I do as well. I still remember,” Lucy explained.
Amber nodded. “Okay, okay. Just have to believe. Okay.”
They stepped into the circle at the same time, and as they stepped in it the candles all suddenly went out, leaving the room to only be lit up by the decorations around them. Lucy turned her lighter off as well, leaving them in almost pitch-black darkness.
“Now, take my hands and close your eyes.”
Amber complied, and Lucy began to whisper a chant in some language that she had never heard of, possibly Latin. She felt her hair begin to stand up, the air around her charged with an electric, mystical power that she could feel in her chest. She felt a change inside of her, her heart bursting with a newfound energy, making her feel full again. It was working.
Then she fell.
She didn’t know why, but she opened her eyes to see the basement in complete chaos. Purple sparks flew all around the room, and Amber could see Lucy scream at something to go away. There was something else about her that completely baffled Amber. There were two horns of a ram that curved from behind her ears and curled in the shape of a hook.
Magical energy buzzed around her, before everything stopped in place. Lucy turned to look at her, and her eyes were glowing a deep vermillion.
“What are you?” Amber finally managed to speak out.
Lucy reached her arm down to her. “My name is Lucifer.”
Amber’s eyes widened in complete shock. There was nothing else to say.
“I know what you’re thinking. But this is not a trick. I love you, Amber. Genuinely. I can’t go back there. I can’t. So I needed someone to believe in me, but not through any kind of spell or incantation. I wanted real love. I wanted you.”
“W-why?” Amber’s hands started to shake.
“Because you’re the only person who’s looked at me and saw someone to love for. I can save you.”
“That isn’t true. You just wanted to get to me. Do you really even care? No one knows me anymore. I’m going to be erased forever, and everyone else is going to move on without me.”
Lucy put a hand on her shoulder. “I know you. And I care. You will live, just as long as you believe in me.”
“What about my family? What about my friends? Can you make them remember me? //Can you//?” Amber snapped.
“I can hold the absence off permanently, but reversing it is another question entirely. But we can figure it out together.”
“What the hell even is this absence?” Amber pressed her.
“It’s something that wants to be remembered, so it feeds off vulnerable people, those that are more likely to be forgotten by most. Over the centuries it’s only erased a few individuals, and covered up the evidence. But for the past few months more and more people are succumbing to it.”
“//What//? Are you saying that I’m not the only one affected by this thing?”
“Yes. You are correct,” Lucy confirmed to her.
“We’ve got to help them!” Amber exclaimed.
“They’ll be fine, I’ll get to them when I get to them. But you’re the number one priority right now. Once we get it off you, we’ll fix the rest.”
“How will I know that you’ll really do that?”
She took a deep breath. “Look, Amber. I can give you the stars. The sun, the moon, all are under my seal. I can do anything, as long as there’s someone with me to believe in my power. What we have that this absence doesn’t is belief. Belief for each other, belief that everything will work out in the end. We remember the people that we believe in, and forget those that we don’t. It’s either me, or complete annihilation. Your choice.”
All Amber could hear now was the crackle of the sparks still hanging in the air. “Just promise me that you’ll fix it. My family, my friends, other people who are suffocating because of this thing. All of it.”
Lucy stared at her, arm still stretched out. “I promise.”
She took her hand.
The room exploded in bright orange and yellow, candles erupting in flame, decorations melting into sludge. Lucy pulled Amber in close, and she could feel her heart pounding in excitement. She could feel her own heart beat in tandem with hers.
Lucy felt warm, like a soft blanket wrapped around to comfort her. Maybe everything will work out. Maybe it would all be okay, with her.
Amber heard the cracking of bone, and looked to see two large wings extending out of Lucy’s back.
“Are you ready?” Lucy asked her one last time.
“Yeah, go ahead,” she said, her face completely flushed from endearment.
Lucy hoisted her up, and princess carried her as they both flew up to crash through the roof. They soared through the sky, completely unfazed by the metal roof that they just broke out of. Amber looked down at the city below her in awe, and noticed that her hand was as solid as it always was. She wiggled her fingers to make sure it was still there.
She might not ever be the same again, but she was alive. She still had hope in her heart, a hope that she will finally reunite with her friends and her dad, a hope that others like her will live to see the light and not have to worry about fighting for their continued existence, a hope that things will change for the better. But hope is not enough. Amber needed that hope, that drive, but she also needed to act. So that’s what she’s going to do, now. Take action for a brighter future, with someone who will do anything for her.
She looked up at her again, to stare fondly at those alluring hazel eyes. Behind her was the now blood-red moon, casting a dark shadow over them that definitely made this night one to remember.
“Is anyone going to spot us?” Amber asked.
“Most likely not. I’ve made it so that they’ll never see me unless I want them to. I doubt they’ll ever spot you, either. Unless those memetic freaks try to find us. But they don’t stand a chance against me.”
Amber grinned. “Against us.”
“Yes, my dear.” She smiled back. “Us.”
They flew all around the city, through the clouds, just being themselves and laughing all the way. Amber wished for better days, but here and now, she was free.
Maybe together they will change everything, and finally vanquish the attention-starved boogeyman out to get her. Together, they will survive.
[[include <a href="/component:wikimodule">component:wikimodule</a> |ratings= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-12-30T16:12:00
|
[
"art-exchange",
"bittersweet",
"forgotten-memories",
"romance",
"tale"
] |
Infatuation in Black - SCP Foundation
| 18
|
[
"scp-8035",
"scp-7467",
"scp-6461",
"scp-7163",
"scp-7550",
"blackbird",
"turning-out",
"merehrabs-musings",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"top-rated-pages-by-month",
"tales-by-year",
"forgotten-memories-hub",
"art-exchange-hub",
"news"
] |
[] |
1458154413
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/infatuation-in-black
|
|
inkirbycase1
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>With a sigh and another knock of the forehead, Kirby entered untouched territory.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p>Kirby Case was standing between the points of their career.</p>
<p>Well, less standing and more sitting. Still, the tension in their seat remained all the same as their director across from them silently scrolled through what Case presumed to be their file—more specifically, a report on their most recent field mission. They were sent in with a team of agents, to capture a breached thaumaturgist spotted going into a nearby forest. Was the mission a success? Sure. But not without its fair share of… issues.</p>
<p>"Do you know <em>why</em> I called you here, Agent Case?" the director asked, his cold tone sending a shiver down their spine.</p>
<p>Even with the answer in mind, Kirby feigned ignorance. "Have I done something to upset you, sir?"</p>
<p>"It's regarding your latest excursion. After reviewing it, I've noticed a glaring issue that's been hindering your overall performance."</p>
<p>"The mission was a success, sir. I'm not sure what you could be referring to."</p>
<p>Case raised an eyebrow, which the director responded to by letting out a long sigh. As a field agent, they didn't see much beyond the battlefield. They were only familiar with the cycle of assignments and preparation for said assignments. The armor Kirby wore might as well be part of their body with how rarely they'd be seen taking it off.</p>
<p>And with a dedicated soldier like them, they didn't usually interact outside such circumstances.</p>
<p>"I'm referring to the number of casualties, they're alarming for basically a small-scale mission. Last I recalled, you were supposed to usher it back into containment without aggravating it."</p>
<p>"That's what I did. It simply refused to listen and began attacking us."</p>
<p>The director turned to the stoic agent, leaning forward so they could hear him clearly. Case backed away while readjusting themselves in the rather uncomfortable office chair.</p>
<p>"Here, let me make it simple for you, agent: You struggle at communication."</p>
<p>He proceeded to shift his laptop to face them, highlighting a number of questionable lines:</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em><strong>Case:</strong> If you don't return to your cell immediately, there will be severe punishment.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center;"><tt>[…]</tt></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em><strong>Case:</strong> We're not here to listen to your demands. It's either you come with us now or we'll be forced to do it ourselves. Do you understand?</em></p>
</blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center;"><tt>[…]</tt></p>
<blockquote>
<p><em><strong>Case:</strong> Comply. Now. This is your final warning.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>Kirby paused, remaining clueless to the problem at hand. The director sighed again.</p>
<p>"Sentient anomalies still experience emotion, and they can easily feel threatened. This is especially the case considering how you went with your approach. I can tell you're taking it seriously—you <em>are</em> one of our most competent agents on the field, trust me—but mitigating situations like these has been nothing but difficult on your end."</p>
<p>"Is it not advisable to establish a sense of authority?" The agent tilted their head to the side.</p>
<p>The director rubbed his eyes. "I'm not saying it isn't. My point is: You should word these sort of phrases better if you want to leave these tasks unscathed."</p>
<p>"But I've received minimal injuries, sir."</p>
<p>"Your <em>partners,</em> Case. You're not the only one on the field. Like I've said, they're suffering from various wounds. Almost lethal, might I add. This is what we're trying to avoid."</p>
<p>Kirby blinked twice. "It's what's to be expected, though, is it not?"</p>
<p>The director crossed his arms. "Even then, it's not an excuse to be reckless. If you want to minimize the chance of another incident like this occurring, I suggest you learn how to speak to people with more… empathy. Or at least act as if you actually care."</p>
<p>He lifted a finger, putting emphasis on his next line. "Communication is key, agent."</p>
<p>Case saw it tedious, to use not their hands but their words as a weapon. In their own bubble, you can achieve much with a heightened stance and a firearm. Anywhere else, though, they had much to learn. The puzzled agent darted their sights to the ground, a wave of thoughts washing over them. This was one mission they couldn't really prepare for, after all.</p>
<p>"What do you suggest I do then, sir?" they stammered through hints of confusion.</p>
<p>It was the director's turn to raise his eyebrow, as he wasted no time on his response. "Improve your conversational skills, obviously. You need to talk to more people, get to know the staff that make up our barrier against the unknown."</p>
<p>He paused before taking out a sheet of paper from underneath the desk. Kirby blinked.</p>
<p>"And lucky for you, I know just the place."<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">…</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p>"This can't be happening."</p>
<p>Kirby left the nest, and they couldn't look back. They instead faced the stretching road separating the sands of midday Arizona, sun and cacti as far as the eye can see. A piece of paper rested on the passenger seat beside them, one <em>'Notice of Transfer'</em> to a pocket-sized facility: <a href="/secure-facility-dossier-site-169">Site-169.</a></p>
<p>"How is this happening?"</p>
<p>The agent pondered under the dry taste of the atmosphere, a question of the century. When the director mentioned of a solution, they didn't figure they'd be handed off to the hands of another branch—let alone one with such a divisive position among other branches.</p>
<p>AEED, short for the <a href="/anomalous-entity-engagement-division-hub">Anomalous Entity Engagement Division,</a> is a department dedicated to creating a healthy bond between anomalies and personnel. From movie nights and birthday bashes to an assortment of recreational activities in between, their methods of confinement are an antithesis to Case's beliefs. You would think a simple icebreaking with the people in their circle or a series of counselling sessions would be enough, but forcing them to work for essentially a daycare is plain ridiculous. 'At least it's only a temporary measure,' they thought.</p>
<p>Unsurprisingly, not many people were keen on the practices that make up the AEED. The fair majority of them viewed their purpose of "humanizing" the process as a means to goof off under their definition of responsibility. Kirby was part of this crowd, having a sour lens on this almost alien branch of the Foundation. It must be fate, then, that brought them to their headquarters.</p>
<p>There it was in the distance, a lone site standing on a bed of unfamiliar ideals. The agent sighed, retracing the events leading up to this development. It may not be favorable, but the AEED wasn't downright impractical. Words of mouth noted how more cooperative these skips had become after a trip to the division's base of operations, so maybe they'd know a thing or two on how to soften the blow of Case's delivery. Nowhere to go but forward.</p>
<p>It was only then that Kirby realized they were already at the front gate. A guard walked to the vehicle's side and they slid down their window.</p>
<p>"Hello, my previous director sent me here for a temporary exchange program."</p>
<p>The agent wanted nothing but to stay away from the burning rays and hopefully whatever else this facility had to offer outside of basic necessities. Shooting a blank stare at the guard, he put a hand to his chin before leaning his head back in realization.</p>
<p>"Oh, Agent Case! Yeah, we've been told you'd arrive soon. Great to have you on board."</p>
<p>"Right, right…" Kirby held back a disappointed sigh.</p>
<p>After an obligatory check for credentials, the gate swung open. Case stared into the next however-long-it-takes working in this site. They couldn't help but squint.</p>
<p>"Welcome to our humble site then, partner. Enjoy your sta-"</p>
<p>Driving past that last line, the agent quickly proceeded to the facility's two-story vehicle storage and found a place to park. In an attempt to wake themselves up, they knocked their forehead on the steering wheel while constantly recounting every mile it took to make it here. It would be unwise to drive away now, even if they had to sit through a straining number of playtimes to leave otherwise. If they were going to be a better public speaker, they had no other choice.</p>
<p>With a sigh and another knock of the forehead, Kirby entered untouched territory.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">…</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p>The air felt thicker than usual. Case felt their skin itching from how… <em>welcoming</em> the environment was, eyeing the collection of drawings plastered on a nearby wall. They might as well be put to early retirement with how friendly the place seemed, meaning they'd be stuck doing less missions and more tea parties. They weren't ready to abandon their post just yet.</p>
<p>Muddled of thoughts, Kirby heard a voice creeping from behind them.</p>
<p>"Ah, you must be the new transfer."</p>
<p>Jerking their head to the source, the agent was met with a man of shorter stature, bearing aging hair and a pair of suspenders. A pause followed as they locked eyes with one another.</p>
<p>The old man cleared his throat. "Welcome, Agent Case. I'm Moses Feghoot, the site director."</p>
<p>Another pause found its way between them before Kirby recalled the voice in their throat.</p>
<p>"Oh, hello. Thank you for having me."</p>
<p>"Likewise," Feghoot replied shortly afterward. "I can tell you're not yet accustomed here—not a surprise considering your track record. I'm still getting used to it myself, but I'm sure you'll do fine."</p>
<p>He gestured to the hallway on their left, leaving the agent with a mixture of uncertainty and nervousness painted on their face. 'Still getting used to it?' The words echoed in their mind, an odd greeting at the very least. Was Site-169's director talking through his mouth or theirs? Regardless though, they proceeded to follow Mr. Feghoot past the entrance.</p>
<p>Their skin itched a bit more as they paved their way through the corridor, trailing behind the aged director. An assortment of somethings caught Kirby's eye: people having casual talk, occasional laughter here and there. What felt odd wasn't the frequency of balancing work and conversation, but certain features with some of them. Their skins looked texturally dissimilar, their voices sound unnaturally pitched, and they swore one had an extra appendage or two protruding from their back. Case then came to realize that they weren't just people, they were anomalies. They were out and about, conversing without so much as a guard or a wall between them. The lack of repercussions despite this baffled the agent. How was this even allowed?</p>
<p>It took them another second to notice how unapologetically they were staring at the passing crowd. Kirby refocused their gaze to the man in front of them.</p>
<p>He sighed. "I swear, all they do is talk, all they do is play. I feel like I'm the only one working."</p>
<p>There it was again. Case's eyebrow raised, followed by a tilt of the head.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry?" they blurted out of the blue.</p>
<p>Moses glanced to his side. "Don't mind me, I'm merely thinking out loud."</p>
<p>"No, it's just-" the agent clicked their tongue. "Hearing that from the director of this site is a surprise. I figured you'd be the one encouraging these sort of… activities."</p>
<p>"You got one thing right: I'm this <em>facility's</em> director. Someone else handles the department itself."</p>
<p>Kirby almost stopped in their place, but their legs persisted.</p>
<p>The director continued, "All these glitters and stars don't sit well with me. I've only been assigned here to make sure this ship's up and running behind the scenes. You couldn't pay me to play pretend with these misfits."</p>
<p>Hearing that aloud was even more of a shock to process. At the same time, though, Case almost felt relieved knowing they won't be the only one sitting uncomfortably in their seat.</p>
<p>They murmured, "At least someone here has a sense of logic."</p>
<p>Just as the thought came, so did they as they emerged into the AEED's main headquarters. The windows to their side revealed a number of personnel playing fetch with some balloon animals. Kirby already felt exhausted from standing here, observing their almost pinkish surroundings. It only took a few more steps until they were at their final destination.</p>
<p>"Anyways, this is where I'll leave you to <em>her.</em>"</p>
<p>Snapping back to reality, Case turned to Feghoot as he stood by an entrance.</p>
<p>He gestured to it, his other hand behind his back. "She wouldn't stop insisting on doing her 'tour,' so she'll be taking over in my stead. It's for the better, honestly. I tend to avoid whatever nonsense goes on around here for the most part."</p>
<p>The director dusted off his shirt before patting the agent on their shoulder.</p>
<p>"I'll see you around, agent. Don't let her overwhelm you too much."</p>
<p>And just like that, he was gone. Case remained in place for a few moments before fixing their gaze on the wooden door before them. It was painted over in an array of colorful hues, a shimmering placard in the middle. They traced their gaze over each individual letter.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center;"><tt><em>AMELIE R. METANOIA</em></tt></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><tt><em>DIRECTOR OF AEED</em></tt></p>
</blockquote>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>It was almost ironic how the director of an entire department couldn't be given her own site to manage. Kirby wondered again how this even came to be in the first place, when such a decision was made. Now, this same division had been tasked with taking the strain off of their way of speech. Even for the Foundation, it was downright bizarre.</p>
<p>If this could improve their performance as a field agent, then so be it. Case knocked on the door, a stern expression dotting their face. After a few seconds, a woman spoke from the other side.</p>
<p>"Jameson, is that you? Don't worry, I'm putting the finishing touches on your friend here. He's just a strong little robot, isn't he?"</p>
<p>The agent cleared their throat. "It's me, the new transfer."</p>
<p>A momentary shuffle was heard, before a response. "Mx. Case! Oh, you're finally here."</p>
<p>"Yes, I was told you'd be showing me around this place. Do I have permission to enter, ma'am?" they spoke through a drier tone than usual.</p>
<p>"Of course, of course. Please, come in."</p>
<p>Kirby tried not to sigh, at least not audibly. They took ahold of the doorknob, a tightening sensation growing before fading away. Pushing the door open, they made their way inside.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">…</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p>"How was the trip? I hope sunny old Arizona didn't get you <em>too</em> warmed up."</p>
<p>"I've been trained to handle a wide range of environments, ma'am. I'm quite fine."</p>
<p>Admittedly, the couch Case rested on was pretty comfy. The same could not be easily said with the rest of the office, a cluttered space of knickknacks and the like. Photos, drawings, playthings, and other miscellaneous items found home within the confines of this space. Metanoia herself was apparently fixing a toy robot one of the anomalies had broken on accident.</p>
<p>"I could offer you something to drink, if you'd like. Maybe some tea?" she offered while putting away the little fellow.</p>
<p>The agent put a hand against it. "No thank you, Ms. Metanoia. I'd like to move this tour along quickly. I'm sure you must have a busy schedule."</p>
<p>She chuckled under her breath, leaning forward slightly. "Just call me Amy, dear."</p>
<p>Kirby shot a blank stare at Amy as she grinned, tapping their foot.</p>
<p>"Besides-" the department head continued. "-there's no need to rush things. I was hoping I could get to know you better once we're in person, have a brief conversation. There's only so much a handful of documents can tell you about someone, you know."</p>
<p>"So you've read my file?" the agent asked, with her nodding in response. "Then you should know about my position as a field agent, a rather capable one at that. And you should know of the many expeditions I've carried throughout my years as a field agent."</p>
<p>Amelie nodded again. "Yes, you seem to be very experienced."</p>
<p>Case paused for a moment before proceeding. "I'm sent in to capture anomalies and to ensure they <em>stay</em> captured. I don't believe letting them roam around the facility counts as being 'captured.' Frankly, I think it's very much the opposite of what would be considered containment."</p>
<p>Pause. Kirby held their breath. "To put it simply, I don't agree with the practices you have here. Our current procedures are sufficient enough. I'm only here for one thing, and I'm sure you're very much aware of it. If anything, I would rather focus on my lack of 'leniency' than doing… arts-and-crafts or playing games. This program is only temporary, so I wouldn't want to <em>intrude.</em>"</p>
<p>Amy tilted her head, silently listening as they go on.</p>
<p>The agent gripped onto their knees. "I only ask of you to put me in security, assign me someone for the purposes of my transfer. I'll be out of your hair soon enough. Trust me."</p>
<p>Case bit their tongue. It was as if they formed a ball of their every frustration and threw it for Metanoia to catch. They were speaking words of honesty, sure, but being this blunt to the director overseeing your development was a bold move to say the least. On the off chance they would be sent back from whence they came, they wouldn't have to uphold a face for these people. They'd certainly get an earful from their sender, but any alternative was a way out in their eyes. Either that, or they would have an awkward time 'having fun' under the guise of 'making progress.'</p>
<p>And so, they sat with a familiar tension as Amelie nodded alongside their remarks. With a sharp inhale, she smiled at the agent.</p>
<p>"If that's what you prefer, then of course. I'll be sure to get a counsellor to help you personally."</p>
<p>Kirby stopped, letting the words sink in. "Really?"</p>
<p>The department head reaffirmed them, "Well, I wouldn't want to force you to do anything you're not keen to, Case dear. Our division is focused on building a welcoming environment for everyone alike. And if that's what makes you comfortable, then we'll respect your wishes."</p>
<p>'She must be <em>very</em> lenient if she accepted my request that easily,' they thought. They expected at least a sugarcoated scolding, but the AEED seemed true to its beliefs. Even in the face of someone against them, it made no difference. The agent didn't know whether these folks were truly kind or plain pushovers, but being able to sever any forced bonds was more than enough for them to be content. The only face they needed to fake now was for themselves.</p>
<p>It was only a matter of time until they left.</p>
<p>"Well," Kirby started, relieved of any third-party unnecessities. "I do appreciate your consideration, Ms. Metanoia-"</p>
<p>"Amy," she interjected. Silence nestled in temporarily.</p>
<p>"…Amy," Case corrected themselves before proceeding to their next request. "Could we possibly move on with the tour, then? I aim to finish here sooner rather than later, so getting this out of the way would really benefit that."</p>
<p>"Yes, yes. I wouldn't want to keep you waiting. Let's get on with it, shall we?"</p>
<p>Getting up and dusting her old suit, Amelie took to the door with the agent right behind. As she grabbed the doorknob, she turned to them with one last statement.</p>
<p>"I really do hope you enjoy your stay here, Mx. Case. While our views may not entirely align, we'll still treat you as a caretaker all the same."</p>
<p>"Caretaker?" the term caught their ears.</p>
<p>"Oh, that's just what we call ourselves. Started with one of our friends saying it when we were smaller, and it just caught on after a while. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"</p>
<p>Kirby clicked their tongue. "It certainly is a term. I can't see myself associated with it, however."</p>
<p>"Nonsense, dear. I'm sure you'd make for a great one."</p>
<p>Metanoia was turning the handle before quickly going over the tour in her head, having a sudden realization. She decided to give a heads-up while she had the time.</p>
<p>"Ah, now that I'm thinking about it: There's something I should confess in advance."</p>
<p>"What is it?" the agent asked, trying to hold back another sigh.</p>
<p>"I do apologize, since you've made the effort of expressing your distaste of it, but… I <em>have</em> planned a number of activities throughout the course of this tour. We tend to make preparations for anyone transferring to our department as a way to properly welcome them, and I don't want to cancel things last minute. So if you could share a bit more of your time, that would be perfect."</p>
<p>Pause. Kirby blinked a number of times.</p>
<p>"Again, I apologize for the inconvenience."</p>
<p>Another pause. The director laughed it off, trying to lighten the mood as the entrance swung open. Case stood before a fun-filled journey that was about to begin, something unavoidable.</p>
<p>"…What?"</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-true earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="/">
<p><a href="/">/</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="An Antithesis">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/anomalous-entity-engagement-division-hub">An Antithesis</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="TBA">
<p><a href="/">TBA</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="collection">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<table style="1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<tr>
<th class="namerow" colspan="2"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p>winkwonkboi's Works</p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">SCPs</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6714">SCP-6714</a> <em>(+100)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7538">SCP-7538</a> <em>(+110)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8386">SCP-8386</a> <em>(+33)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6895">SCP-6895</a> <em>(+31)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6245">SCP-6245</a> <em>(+62)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-5358">SCP-5358</a> <em>(+55)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8245">SCP-8245</a> <em>(+77)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-3204">SCP-3204</a> <em>(+73)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8184">SCP-8184</a> <em>(+8)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7657">SCP-7657</a> <em>(+40)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7816">SCP-7816</a> <em>(+61)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7245">SCP-7245</a> <em>(+54)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6039">SCP-6039</a> <em>(+72)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-2689">SCP-2689</a> <em>(+53)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-4931">SCP-4931</a> <em>(+32)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Tales/GoI Formats</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/something-burning">Something's Burning</a> <em>(+40)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/people-care-dear">People Care, Dear</a> <em>(+14)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/aeed-orientation">Anomalous Entity Engagement Division Orientation</a> <em>(+52)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/employee-of-the-century">Why Jones Marcel Should Be Employee of the Century</a> <em>(+11)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/ur-typical-unrequited-love">ur typical unrequited love</a> <em>(+33)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/a-taste-for-sore-eyes">A Taste For Sore Eyes</a> <em>(+12)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/wettle-appreciation-post">#WettleAppreciationPost</a> <em>(+136)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/goodnight-sweet-dreams">Goodnight, Sweet Dreams</a> <em>(+21)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/roses-and-thorns">Roses And Thorns</a> <em>(+18)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/man-overboard">man overboard!</a> <em>(+29)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/a-sinking-feeling">A Sinking Feeling</a> <em>(+26)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/water-diet">water diet</a> <em>(+27)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/in-an-attempt-to-feel-something">In an attempt to feel something.</a> <em>(+32)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/critter-profile-miss-cassandra">Critter Profile: Miss Cassandra!</a> <em>(+38)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Other</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:fisher-2689-fanart">FISHER: SCP-2689 Fanart</a> <em>(+24)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:7k-doodles">7K DOODLES</a> <em>(+72)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:ditto-6869-fanart">DITTO: SCP-#### Fanart</a> <em>(+42)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:fading-stars-doodles">fading stars doodles (straight from my phone's sketchbook app)</a> <em>(+35)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:king-calcaruler-halloween-emperor">King CalcaRuler: Halloween Emperor</a> <em>(+29)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:sciptember-doodles">SCiPTEMBER DOODLES</a> <em>(+23)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:a-lack-of-care">a lack of care.</a> <em>(+28)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:crackhead-173-fanart">CRACKHEAD: SCP-173 Fanart</a> <em>(+31)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:artwitness-5843-fanart">ARTWITNESS: SCP-5843 Fanart</a> <em>(+30)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:certified-criminal">Certified Criminal</a> <em>(+36)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:respond-tmo-fanart">RESPOND: Telecommunications Monitoring Office Fanart</a> <em>(+48)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:froot-froggo">froot froggo :)</a> <em>(+41)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:enlightenment-6059-fanart">ENLIGHTENMENT: SCP-6059 Fanart</a> <em>(+42)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:helthy-6780-fanart">HELTHY: SCP-6780 Fanart</a> <em>(+29)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:jim-fart-exchange">fart exchange gift for jim (7384 fanart)</a> <em>(+22)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/inkirbycase1">In Kirby's Case, Part I: An Antithesis</a>" by winkwonkboi, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/inkirbycase1">https://scpwiki.com/inkirbycase1</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> clock<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> klynslis<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/87724873@N00/2331635722">Flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> arizona<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, Pima County, Arizona (19)<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Ken Lund<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/75683070@N00/4409566665">Flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> drawings<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Kids' Drawings<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Jon K. Bernhardsen<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/44289347@N06/8504950310">Flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> clock2<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> "Lefty Clock<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> RBerteig<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/51035786238@N01/177100826">Flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
With a sigh and another knock of the forehead, Kirby entered untouched territory.
]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:caretaker-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:caretaker-theme</a>]]
[[module css]]
#page-title {
display: none;
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
@@ @@
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/inkirbycase1/clock.jpg]]
----
Kirby Case was standing between the points of their career.
Well, less standing and more sitting. Still, the tension in their seat remained all the same as their director across from them silently scrolled through what Case presumed to be their file—more specifically, a report on their most recent field mission. They were sent in with a team of agents, to capture a breached thaumaturgist spotted going into a nearby forest. Was the mission a success? Sure. But not without its fair share of… issues.
"Do you know //why// I called you here, Agent Case?" the director asked, his cold tone sending a shiver down their spine.
Even with the answer in mind, Kirby feigned ignorance. "Have I done something to upset you, sir?"
"It's regarding your latest excursion. After reviewing it, I've noticed a glaring issue that's been hindering your overall performance."
"The mission was a success, sir. I'm not sure what you could be referring to."
Case raised an eyebrow, which the director responded to by letting out a long sigh. As a field agent, they didn't see much beyond the battlefield. They were only familiar with the cycle of assignments and preparation for said assignments. The armor Kirby wore might as well be part of their body with how rarely they'd be seen taking it off.
And with a dedicated soldier like them, they didn't usually interact outside such circumstances.
"I'm referring to the number of casualties, they're alarming for basically a small-scale mission. Last I recalled, you were supposed to usher it back into containment without aggravating it."
"That's what I did. It simply refused to listen and began attacking us."
The director turned to the stoic agent, leaning forward so they could hear him clearly. Case backed away while readjusting themselves in the rather uncomfortable office chair.
"Here, let me make it simple for you, agent: You struggle at communication."
He proceeded to shift his laptop to face them, highlighting a number of questionable lines:
@@ @@
> //**Case:** If you don't return to your cell immediately, there will be severe punishment.//
= {{[…]}}
> //**Case:** We're not here to listen to your demands. It's either you come with us now or we'll be forced to do it ourselves. Do you understand?//
= {{[…]}}
> //**Case:** Comply. Now. This is your final warning.//
@@ @@
Kirby paused, remaining clueless to the problem at hand. The director sighed again.
"Sentient anomalies still experience emotion, and they can easily feel threatened. This is especially the case considering how you went with your approach. I can tell you're taking it seriously—you //are// one of our most competent agents on the field, trust me—but mitigating situations like these has been nothing but difficult on your end."
"Is it not advisable to establish a sense of authority?" The agent tilted their head to the side.
The director rubbed his eyes. "I'm not saying it isn't. My point is: You should word these sort of phrases better if you want to leave these tasks unscathed."
"But I've received minimal injuries, sir."
"Your //partners,// Case. You're not the only one on the field. Like I've said, they're suffering from various wounds. Almost lethal, might I add. This is what we're trying to avoid."
Kirby blinked twice. "It's what's to be expected, though, is it not?"
The director crossed his arms. "Even then, it's not an excuse to be reckless. If you want to minimize the chance of another incident like this occurring, I suggest you learn how to speak to people with more… empathy. Or at least act as if you actually care."
He lifted a finger, putting emphasis on his next line. "Communication is key, agent."
Case saw it tedious, to use not their hands but their words as a weapon. In their own bubble, you can achieve much with a heightened stance and a firearm. Anywhere else, though, they had much to learn. The puzzled agent darted their sights to the ground, a wave of thoughts washing over them. This was one mission they couldn't really prepare for, after all.
"What do you suggest I do then, sir?" they stammered through hints of confusion.
It was the director's turn to raise his eyebrow, as he wasted no time on his response. "Improve your conversational skills, obviously. You need to talk to more people, get to know the staff that make up our barrier against the unknown."
He paused before taking out a sheet of paper from underneath the desk. Kirby blinked.
"And lucky for you, I know just the place."
@@ @@
@@ @@
= …
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/inkirbycase1/arizona.jpg]]
----
"This can't be happening."
Kirby left the nest, and they couldn't look back. They instead faced the stretching road separating the sands of midday Arizona, sun and cacti as far as the eye can see. A piece of paper rested on the passenger seat beside them, one //'Notice of Transfer'// to a pocket-sized facility: [[[secure-facility-dossier-site-169|Site-169.]]]
"How is this happening?"
The agent pondered under the dry taste of the atmosphere, a question of the century. When the director mentioned of a solution, they didn't figure they'd be handed off to the hands of another branch—let alone one with such a divisive position among other branches.
AEED, short for the [[[anomalous-entity-engagement-division-hub|Anomalous Entity Engagement Division,]]] is a department dedicated to creating a healthy bond between anomalies and personnel. From movie nights and birthday bashes to an assortment of recreational activities in between, their methods of confinement are an antithesis to Case's beliefs. You would think a simple icebreaking with the people in their circle or a series of counselling sessions would be enough, but forcing them to work for essentially a daycare is plain ridiculous. 'At least it's only a temporary measure,' they thought.
Unsurprisingly, not many people were keen on the practices that make up the AEED. The fair majority of them viewed their purpose of "humanizing" the process as a means to goof off under their definition of responsibility. Kirby was part of this crowd, having a sour lens on this almost alien branch of the Foundation. It must be fate, then, that brought them to their headquarters.
There it was in the distance, a lone site standing on a bed of unfamiliar ideals. The agent sighed, retracing the events leading up to this development. It may not be favorable, but the AEED wasn't downright impractical. Words of mouth noted how more cooperative these skips had become after a trip to the division's base of operations, so maybe they'd know a thing or two on how to soften the blow of Case's delivery. Nowhere to go but forward.
It was only then that Kirby realized they were already at the front gate. A guard walked to the vehicle's side and they slid down their window.
"Hello, my previous director sent me here for a temporary exchange program."
The agent wanted nothing but to stay away from the burning rays and hopefully whatever else this facility had to offer outside of basic necessities. Shooting a blank stare at the guard, he put a hand to his chin before leaning his head back in realization.
"Oh, Agent Case! Yeah, we've been told you'd arrive soon. Great to have you on board."
"Right, right…" Kirby held back a disappointed sigh.
After an obligatory check for credentials, the gate swung open. Case stared into the next however-long-it-takes working in this site. They couldn't help but squint.
"Welcome to our humble site then, partner. Enjoy your sta-"
Driving past that last line, the agent quickly proceeded to the facility's two-story vehicle storage and found a place to park. In an attempt to wake themselves up, they knocked their forehead on the steering wheel while constantly recounting every mile it took to make it here. It would be unwise to drive away now, even if they had to sit through a straining number of playtimes to leave otherwise. If they were going to be a better public speaker, they had no other choice.
With a sigh and another knock of the forehead, Kirby entered untouched territory.
@@ @@
@@ @@
= …
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/inkirbycase1/drawings.jpg]]
----
The air felt thicker than usual. Case felt their skin itching from how… //welcoming// the environment was, eyeing the collection of drawings plastered on a nearby wall. They might as well be put to early retirement with how friendly the place seemed, meaning they'd be stuck doing less missions and more tea parties. They weren't ready to abandon their post just yet.
Muddled of thoughts, Kirby heard a voice creeping from behind them.
"Ah, you must be the new transfer."
Jerking their head to the source, the agent was met with a man of shorter stature, bearing aging hair and a pair of suspenders. A pause followed as they locked eyes with one another.
The old man cleared his throat. "Welcome, Agent Case. I'm Moses Feghoot, the site director."
Another pause found its way between them before Kirby recalled the voice in their throat.
"Oh, hello. Thank you for having me."
"Likewise," Feghoot replied shortly afterward. "I can tell you're not yet accustomed here—not a surprise considering your track record. I'm still getting used to it myself, but I'm sure you'll do fine."
He gestured to the hallway on their left, leaving the agent with a mixture of uncertainty and nervousness painted on their face. 'Still getting used to it?' The words echoed in their mind, an odd greeting at the very least. Was Site-169's director talking through his mouth or theirs? Regardless though, they proceeded to follow Mr. Feghoot past the entrance.
Their skin itched a bit more as they paved their way through the corridor, trailing behind the aged director. An assortment of somethings caught Kirby's eye: people having casual talk, occasional laughter here and there. What felt odd wasn't the frequency of balancing work and conversation, but certain features with some of them. Their skins looked texturally dissimilar, their voices sound unnaturally pitched, and they swore one had an extra appendage or two protruding from their back. Case then came to realize that they weren't just people, they were anomalies. They were out and about, conversing without so much as a guard or a wall between them. The lack of repercussions despite this baffled the agent. How was this even allowed?
It took them another second to notice how unapologetically they were staring at the passing crowd. Kirby refocused their gaze to the man in front of them.
He sighed. "I swear, all they do is talk, all they do is play. I feel like I'm the only one working."
There it was again. Case's eyebrow raised, followed by a tilt of the head.
"I'm sorry?" they blurted out of the blue.
Moses glanced to his side. "Don't mind me, I'm merely thinking out loud."
"No, it's just-" the agent clicked their tongue. "Hearing that from the director of this site is a surprise. I figured you'd be the one encouraging these sort of… activities."
"You got one thing right: I'm this //facility's// director. Someone else handles the department itself."
Kirby almost stopped in their place, but their legs persisted.
The director continued, "All these glitters and stars don't sit well with me. I've only been assigned here to make sure this ship's up and running behind the scenes. You couldn't pay me to play pretend with these misfits."
Hearing that aloud was even more of a shock to process. At the same time, though, Case almost felt relieved knowing they won't be the only one sitting uncomfortably in their seat.
They murmured, "At least someone here has a sense of logic."
Just as the thought came, so did they as they emerged into the AEED's main headquarters. The windows to their side revealed a number of personnel playing fetch with some balloon animals. Kirby already felt exhausted from standing here, observing their almost pinkish surroundings. It only took a few more steps until they were at their final destination.
"Anyways, this is where I'll leave you to //her.//"
Snapping back to reality, Case turned to Feghoot as he stood by an entrance.
He gestured to it, his other hand behind his back. "She wouldn't stop insisting on doing her 'tour,' so she'll be taking over in my stead. It's for the better, honestly. I tend to avoid whatever nonsense goes on around here for the most part."
The director dusted off his shirt before patting the agent on their shoulder.
"I'll see you around, agent. Don't let her overwhelm you too much."
And just like that, he was gone. Case remained in place for a few moments before fixing their gaze on the wooden door before them. It was painted over in an array of colorful hues, a shimmering placard in the middle. They traced their gaze over each individual letter.
@@ @@
> = {{//AMELIE R. METANOIA//}}
>
> = {{//DIRECTOR OF AEED//}}
@@ @@
It was almost ironic how the director of an entire department couldn't be given her own site to manage. Kirby wondered again how this even came to be in the first place, when such a decision was made. Now, this same division had been tasked with taking the strain off of their way of speech. Even for the Foundation, it was downright bizarre.
If this could improve their performance as a field agent, then so be it. Case knocked on the door, a stern expression dotting their face. After a few seconds, a woman spoke from the other side.
"Jameson, is that you? Don't worry, I'm putting the finishing touches on your friend here. He's just a strong little robot, isn't he?"
The agent cleared their throat. "It's me, the new transfer."
A momentary shuffle was heard, before a response. "Mx. Case! Oh, you're finally here."
"Yes, I was told you'd be showing me around this place. Do I have permission to enter, ma'am?" they spoke through a drier tone than usual.
"Of course, of course. Please, come in."
Kirby tried not to sigh, at least not audibly. They took ahold of the doorknob, a tightening sensation growing before fading away. Pushing the door open, they made their way inside.
@@ @@
@@ @@
= …
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/inkirbycase1/clock2.jpg]]
----
"How was the trip? I hope sunny old Arizona didn't get you //too// warmed up."
"I've been trained to handle a wide range of environments, ma'am. I'm quite fine."
Admittedly, the couch Case rested on was pretty comfy. The same could not be easily said with the rest of the office, a cluttered space of knickknacks and the like. Photos, drawings, playthings, and other miscellaneous items found home within the confines of this space. Metanoia herself was apparently fixing a toy robot one of the anomalies had broken on accident.
"I could offer you something to drink, if you'd like. Maybe some tea?" she offered while putting away the little fellow.
The agent put a hand against it. "No thank you, Ms. Metanoia. I'd like to move this tour along quickly. I'm sure you must have a busy schedule."
She chuckled under her breath, leaning forward slightly. "Just call me Amy, dear."
Kirby shot a blank stare at Amy as she grinned, tapping their foot.
"Besides-" the department head continued. "-there's no need to rush things. I was hoping I could get to know you better once we're in person, have a brief conversation. There's only so much a handful of documents can tell you about someone, you know."
"So you've read my file?" the agent asked, with her nodding in response. "Then you should know about my position as a field agent, a rather capable one at that. And you should know of the many expeditions I've carried throughout my years as a field agent."
Amelie nodded again. "Yes, you seem to be very experienced."
Case paused for a moment before proceeding. "I'm sent in to capture anomalies and to ensure they //stay// captured. I don't believe letting them roam around the facility counts as being 'captured.' Frankly, I think it's very much the opposite of what would be considered containment."
Pause. Kirby held their breath. "To put it simply, I don't agree with the practices you have here. Our current procedures are sufficient enough. I'm only here for one thing, and I'm sure you're very much aware of it. If anything, I would rather focus on my lack of 'leniency' than doing… arts-and-crafts or playing games. This program is only temporary, so I wouldn't want to //intrude.//"
Amy tilted her head, silently listening as they go on.
The agent gripped onto their knees. "I only ask of you to put me in security, assign me someone for the purposes of my transfer. I'll be out of your hair soon enough. Trust me."
Case bit their tongue. It was as if they formed a ball of their every frustration and threw it for Metanoia to catch. They were speaking words of honesty, sure, but being this blunt to the director overseeing your development was a bold move to say the least. On the off chance they would be sent back from whence they came, they wouldn't have to uphold a face for these people. They'd certainly get an earful from their sender, but any alternative was a way out in their eyes. Either that, or they would have an awkward time 'having fun' under the guise of 'making progress.'
And so, they sat with a familiar tension as Amelie nodded alongside their remarks. With a sharp inhale, she smiled at the agent.
"If that's what you prefer, then of course. I'll be sure to get a counsellor to help you personally."
Kirby stopped, letting the words sink in. "Really?"
The department head reaffirmed them, "Well, I wouldn't want to force you to do anything you're not keen to, Case dear. Our division is focused on building a welcoming environment for everyone alike. And if that's what makes you comfortable, then we'll respect your wishes."
'She must be //very// lenient if she accepted my request that easily,' they thought. They expected at least a sugarcoated scolding, but the AEED seemed true to its beliefs. Even in the face of someone against them, it made no difference. The agent didn't know whether these folks were truly kind or plain pushovers, but being able to sever any forced bonds was more than enough for them to be content. The only face they needed to fake now was for themselves.
It was only a matter of time until they left.
"Well," Kirby started, relieved of any third-party unnecessities. "I do appreciate your consideration, Ms. Metanoia-"
"Amy," she interjected. Silence nestled in temporarily.
"…Amy," Case corrected themselves before proceeding to their next request. "Could we possibly move on with the tour, then? I aim to finish here sooner rather than later, so getting this out of the way would really benefit that."
"Yes, yes. I wouldn't want to keep you waiting. Let's get on with it, shall we?"
Getting up and dusting her old suit, Amelie took to the door with the agent right behind. As she grabbed the doorknob, she turned to them with one last statement.
"I really do hope you enjoy your stay here, Mx. Case. While our views may not entirely align, we'll still treat you as a caretaker all the same."
"Caretaker?" the term caught their ears.
"Oh, that's just what we call ourselves. Started with one of our friends saying it when we were smaller, and it just caught on after a while. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
Kirby clicked their tongue. "It certainly is a term. I can't see myself associated with it, however."
"Nonsense, dear. I'm sure you'd make for a great one."
Metanoia was turning the handle before quickly going over the tour in her head, having a sudden realization. She decided to give a heads-up while she had the time.
"Ah, now that I'm thinking about it: There's something I should confess in advance."
"What is it?" the agent asked, trying to hold back another sigh.
"I do apologize, since you've made the effort of expressing your distaste of it, but… I //have// planned a number of activities throughout the course of this tour. We tend to make preparations for anyone transferring to our department as a way to properly welcome them, and I don't want to cancel things last minute. So if you could share a bit more of your time, that would be perfect."
Pause. Kirby blinked a number of times.
"Again, I apologize for the inconvenience."
Another pause. The director laughed it off, trying to lighten the mood as the entrance swung open. Case stood before a fun-filled journey that was about to begin, something unavoidable.
"…What?"
~~~~
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=true | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=/ | previous-title=/
| next-url=/ | next-title=TBA
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/anomalous-entity-engagement-division-hub | hub-title=An Antithesis
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="/component:wikimodule">component:wikimodule</a> |ratings= --]]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=winkwonkboi]]
=====
> **Filename:** clock
> **Author:** klynslis
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/87724873@N00/2331635722 Flickr]
> **Filename:** arizona
> **Name:** Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, Pima County, Arizona (19)
> **Author:** Ken Lund
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/75683070@N00/4409566665 Flickr]
> **Filename:** drawings
> **Name:** Kids' Drawings
> **Author:** Jon K. Bernhardsen
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/44289347@N06/8504950310 Flickr]
> **Filename:** clock2
> **Name:** "Lefty Clock
> **Author:** RBerteig
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/51035786238@N01/177100826 Flickr]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-09-14T13:09:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"engagement-division",
"rewrite",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
In Kirby's Case, Part I: An Antithesis - SCP Foundation
| 11
|
[
"secure-facility-dossier-site-169",
"anomalous-entity-engagement-division-hub",
"scp-6714",
"scp-7538",
"scp-8386",
"scp-6895",
"scp-6245",
"scp-5358",
"scp-8245",
"scp-3204",
"scp-8184",
"scp-7657",
"scp-7816",
"scp-7245",
"scp-6039",
"scp-2689",
"scp-4931",
"something-burning",
"people-care-dear",
"aeed-orientation",
"employee-of-the-century",
"ur-typical-unrequited-love",
"a-taste-for-sore-eyes",
"wettle-appreciation-post",
"goodnight-sweet-dreams",
"roses-and-thorns",
"man-overboard",
"a-sinking-feeling",
"water-diet",
"in-an-attempt-to-feel-something",
"critter-profile-miss-cassandra",
"art:fisher-2689-fanart",
"art:7k-doodles",
"art:ditto-6869-fanart",
"art:fading-stars-doodles",
"art:king-calcaruler-halloween-emperor",
"art:sciptember-doodles",
"art:a-lack-of-care",
"art:crackhead-173-fanart",
"art:artwitness-5843-fanart",
"art:certified-criminal",
"art:respond-tmo-fanart",
"art:froot-froggo",
"art:enlightenment-6059-fanart",
"art:helthy-6780-fanart",
"art:jim-fart-exchange",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"black-highlighter-themes",
"anomalous-entity-engagement-division-hub"
] |
[] |
1456782819
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/inkirbycase1
|
|
intro-aux-anomalies-narratives
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Apataphysics/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<script src="https://d3g0gp89917ko0.cloudfront.net/v--4b961b7cc327/common--javascript/yahooui/tabview-min.js" type="text/javascript"></script>
<div class="yui-navset" id="wiki-tabview-82df293ea48bf920e30fb86a20a51e10">
<ul class="yui-nav">
<li class="selected"><a href="javascript:;"><em>Introduction</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Origin of Narrative Anomalies</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Types of Narrative Anomalies</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Containment methods and strategies</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Special cases</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Conclusion: The Story Goes On</em></a></li>
</ul>
<div class="yui-content">
<div id="wiki-tab-0-0">
<div style="background: #e6e6e6; center no-repeat ; float: center; border: solid 3px #3e2659; padding: 1px 15px;">
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc0"><span><strong><span style="text-decoration: underline;">When Art meets Containment</span></strong></span></h2>
<h3 id="toc1"><span>Orientation to narrative anomalies and their management by the Foundation</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="display: inline-block; border: 1px double #999; background-color: #eee; float:center;; padding:1px 15px; margin: 1em 2vw">
<p><em>I fought Don Quixote for two years. This is something that makes the eyes of neophytes shine.</em></p>
<p><em>He was responsible for one of the first major anomalous metanarrative crises that the Foundation had to manage, and this only in 2007. It was on <a href="/scp-4028">SCP-4028</a> that I worked my way up in the department. Finally, all this to say that Don Quixote has taught me an essential lesson for my work. That's a funny phrase, isn't it? You'll understand why I love my job.</em></p>
<p><em>I will surely spoil the reading of the document for those who have not read it — yes, I sometimes read reports like one reads a novel — but we have never managed to confine Don Quixote. For almost three years we fought to cover the damage, to the point where I no longer accepted the new containment proposals, waiting for my notice of dismissal, resigned and tired.</em></p>
<p><em>Until the day SCP-4028 neutralized itself. Its story simply ended, somehow. This important lesson that I have kept as a mantra is that the anomalies in my charge are narrations. They obey precise codes, within the reach of any literary student, and it is on this reflection that I have developed my containment procedures during my career.</em></p>
<p><em>Here, I will talk about narrative anomalies exclusively, and we will ignore several concepts such as those developed by <a href="/sandrewswann-s-proposal">Dr. Swann in 1991</a>, or the research work carried out by the Director Panagiotopolous, since this is not the topic. We will talk a little about my department and the methods it has developed to confine narrative anomalies. Believe me, there will be surprises, and you will have a more complete view of our methods and the types of anomalies concerned.</em></p>
<p><em>— Dr. Pierre Menard, Research Director, Pataphysics Department (Francophone Referent)</em></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="display: inline-block; border: 1px double #999; background-color: #eee; float:center; padding:1px 15px; margin: 1em 2vw">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc2"><span><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Table of Contents</span></span></h4>
</div>
<ul>
<li><strong>Origin of Narrative Anomalies</strong>
<ul>
<li><strong>Definition</strong></li>
<li><strong>Narration and You: Birth of the Noosphere</strong></li>
<li><strong>The Cliché and/is the Standard</strong></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><strong>Types of Narrative Anomalies</strong>
<ul>
<li><strong>Anomalies of Narration and Narrative Anomalies: a brief history and nuances</strong></li>
<li><strong>Narrative Style Anomalies: Queneau Class</strong></li>
<li><strong>Conscious Narrative Anomalies : Cervantes Class</strong></li>
<li><strong>Reality Bending Narrative Anomalies: Navidson Class</strong></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><strong>Containment methods and strategies</strong>
<ul>
<li><strong>First Contact and Recovery</strong></li>
<li><strong>Queneau Class: A Book without Reader is a Dead Book</strong></li>
<li><strong>Cervantes Class: Stylistic Incarcerations</strong></li>
<li><strong>Navidson Class: Final Cut</strong></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><strong>Special cases</strong>
<ul>
<li><strong>Hazred Class: Narration as Passage</strong></li>
<li><strong>Narrative Thaumiels</strong></li>
<li><strong>The Language Bureau: What about Translation?</strong></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><strong>Conclusion: The Story Goes On</strong></li>
</ul>
</div>
<hr/></div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-1" style="display:none">
<div style="background: #e6e6e6; center no-repeat ; float: center; border: solid 3px #3e2659; padding: 1px 15px;">
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc3"><span>Definition</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Briefly, what is a narrative anomaly? It's all in the name: it's an anomaly that has the particularity of manifesting itself through a narration. Very generally, we have a very precise image of what a narrative anomaly is: a book, or a fictional character, that comes to make a mess in other books, and sometimes the Foundation's documentation, which makes them unpredictable and dangerous anomalies. This image of narrative anomalies is accurate but very pejorative and limited, and for good reason: it is the most common and selling example.</p>
<p>In truth, the majority of narrative anomalies present themselves to us in this form. We'll explore this in the <em>Types of Narrative Anomalies</em> tab of this dossier, but here you'll understand why this is the case, and how these anomalies arise. In short, we can use the definition I gave in 2013 in my book <em>Narremes and memes: the rise of the anomalous clichés</em>:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>A narrative anomaly refers quite simply to a narrative element, whatever it may be, acquiring anomalous properties. The latter are manifested almost exclusively by a willingness to interact with other narrative elements or even with our world.</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc4"><span>Narration and You: Birth of the Noosphere</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>As you will have understood, for there to be a narrative anomaly, there has to be a narration. And there is no narration without conscious beings capable of imagining it. So yes: narrative anomalies are born partly from the mania that humanity has taken to tell stories to each other. And how did this happen? The answer lies in that word as mysterious as it is ridiculous: the noosphere.</p>
<p>It is important to note that the noosphere is not the result of any abnormal research. It is a concept invented by the mineralogist Vladimir Ivanovitch Vernadski, who not content with having already considerably developed the notion of biosphere, followed this neologism substituting <em>noos</em>, thought and spirit, for the <em>bios</em> of life. More specifically, the noosphere is the fifth layer in interaction with others that envelops our planet, alongside the lithosphere, the biosphere, the atmosphere and the technosphere. It was the philosopher and theologist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin who came to rework the noosphere in his 1955 posthumous work <em>The Phenomenon of Man</em>. So what far-fetched theory could have emerged from the work of an eminent mineralogist and a priest-researcher-paleontologist?</p>
<p>The noosphere is literally defined as the sphere of human thought. It is an additional phase of planetary development, following on from the geosphere and the biosphere. De Chardin spoke of a veritable "thinking layer" that encompassed our planet. The term has been difficult to define correctly, but quite often we speak of the collective intelligence of humanity, which manifests itself as much in the conceptualisation of shared values and ideas as in the construction of organisational infrastructures and institutions.</p>
<p>The noosphere has often been associated with the field of study of memetics as defined by Richard Dawkins. It is important to remember that we deal with memetic hazards at the Foundation, and it is best that you forget this idea right away: that is not what we are talking about here. To sum up, Dawkins memetics refers to the study of the transmission and evolution of cultural elements according to a Dawkinian approach, as one would study the evolution of the living organisms. The noosphere thus designates all the cultural, cognitive and emotional human fields, grouped together in an immense metaphysical web.</p>
<p>For those who know the <a href="/oneiroi">Oneiroi Collective</a>, you can imagine more or less the same thing, without consciousness and full of cultural codes and concepts, a bit like a large dematerialized library.</p>
<p>To conclude, the noosphere is at the origin of the vast majority of narrative anomalies. These anomalies are born and nourished by the crystallization of human thought, the artistic spirit, and creative concepts that transit through the noosphere. I have told you this in a rather poetic way, but the technical details are not much different.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc5"><span>The Cliché and/is the Standard</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>It is rather childish to understand the ins and outs of narrative anomalies in the end. These are based on two main pivots: Tropes and Creativity.</p>
<p>The tropes, you know them, even without knowing it. Do you know what clichés are? Well, clichés are tropes, threadbare. They are narrative conventions, tendencies that can be found in fiction. A trope can be an archetype of character, a catchphrase, a situation, a narrative genre and so on. The important thing to remember is that tropes are recurrent: they are structures that bring meaning and provoke things, that intertwine and clash to structure a story. In other words, they are common creative concepts that are anchored in the noosphere.</p>
<p>The origin of the emergence of a narrative anomaly is very difficult to determine, but its emergence alone is rather simple to describe. At a given moment, a particular piece of work, often linked to a very common trope or even a cliché and therefore particularly well anchored in the noosphere, will develop anomalous attributes. We will come back to the forms that these attributes can take in <em>Types of Narrative Anomalies</em> shortly afterward, but what is important to remember is that these anomalies are subject to strict and known narrative codes.</p>
<p>I will give you the example of the one who is nicknamed the "Pierre Bourdieu of Fictions", Professor Sacha Ainley. Professor Ainley has worked a lot on conscious anomalies during her career, so much so that within the department, researchers who dragged out interview reports were referred to as "Sacha and <a href="/scp-426">Fred</a>".</p>
<p>Professor Ainley, then, said that where individuals are conditioned by their socialisation, that is, the process of integrating norms and values into their relatives, their workplaces and society in general, conscious narrative entities are conditioned in their behaviour only by the narrative processes related to their work of reference. Their personality and behaviour will rarely exceed the one described from the prologue to the epilogue, and reasoning a narrative entity about its behaviour is not easy. It is often possible for them to learn, but it must be taken into account that their entire personality and beliefs are rooted in what the narrative wants to tell us, and failing that, what the majority of readers think they know about them.</p>
<p>Remember, therefore, that narrative anomalies obey narrative codes that are accessible to almost everyone, and that their capacities are based on the most diverse figures of speech, nestled in the most twisted narratives and expressed through the most clichéd characters.</p>
<hr/></div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-2" style="display:none">
<div style="background: #e6e6e6; center no-repeat ; float: center; border: solid 3px #3e2659; padding: 1px 15px;">
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc6"><span>Anomalies of Narration and Narrative Anomalies: a brief history and nuances</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>It is useful to come back to an abuse of language: when we talk about narrative anomalies, we generally imply that they are anomalies related to writing. In practice, this is the case, however, narrative anomalies actually concern any type of narration. They can be cinema, theater, dance, painting, music, singing, drawing, and so on. Although the Pataphysics Department does not collaborate directly with other departments, I have had the opportunity to train with the History Department and its Art History Division, as well as with several experts in anart.</p>
<p>The first narrative anomalies thus date back to the frescoes of Lascaux, reproduced many times in paranormal forms in order to preserve the secret of their abnormal nature. Some amateurs had begun to detect their extremely slow movement through repeated visits. And, let's not hide the fact, the parapaleontologists of the Foundation were concerned for the condition of these precious and fragile paintings. Subsequently, it is certain ancient narrative structures such as the dramatic papyrus of the Rameséum will be discovered again. The latter is a set of "notebooks" of ancient processions, considered to be the traces of a proto-theater, and which proved to be an anomaly with a compulsive effect. The people affected by the text irresistibly reproduced the notes and the text learned, corrected, and completed itself according to the results.</p>
<p>There's a whole area of Abnormal Narrative History to be studied, but that's where our jurisdiction ends. The Pataphysics Department only handles literary work: there are experts in anart for the rest. Abnormal art is a vast subject and abnormal literature is a special case. There has already been talk of making the Department of Pataphysics a branch of the Department of Art History. Officially, the missions of the Pataphysics Department go beyond the simple field of "artistic confinement"<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup> Unofficially, this would be a monstrous administrative mess, the Department of Art History being already a branch of the Historical Department.</p>
<p>We will therefore focus mainly on literary narrative anomalies here, whether our other artist friends like it or not. But of course, this will not prevent me from giving you examples from other artistic branches, but please understand that the line between simple artistic anomaly and narrative artistic anomaly is sometimes tenuous (not all anart is narrative). Whereas when it comes to literature, the issue is more quickly and easily resolved.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc7"><span>Narrative Style Anomalies: Queneau Class</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>These are the simplest narrative anomalies: those that alter the narrative. Rather generally infectious, they will transform other narrative media to suit their style or even something else altogether. Queneau Class anomalies tend to be found very often in other art forms, more so than the Cervantes and Navidson Classes in general. Queneau Class anomalies can affect other media by altering their genre or style in a wide variety of ways.</p>
<p>Their modus operandi stops at the simple modification of other media written according to their criteria so that they can be compared to narrative viruses. We often talk about the modification of the work in contact with the anomaly, but in reality, it makes little sense. It is necessary to differentiate between the anomaly itself, which is located in the noosphere, and the paper or electronic medium that is its vector. During the 2007 metanarrative crisis caused by SCP-4028, the Foundation had put its best computer scientists on the spot, in vain: they had not yet understood at the time that narrative anomalies shared only a vague resemblance in behavior with abnormal computer viruses (still very present with the rise of the Internet at the time).</p>
<p>In truth, stemming a metanarrative crisis is more the domain of an oneiroic<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup> that of a computer specialist. The transmission from one narrative to another is done through the noosphere, and thus follows a logic of narrative and stylistic proximity. It is when this scheme is not respected that a Cervantes Class anomaly is suspected.</p>
<div style="display: inline-block; border: 1px double #999; background-color: #eee; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 1em 3vw">
<p><strong>Examples of Queneau Class Anomalies :</strong></p>
<ul>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-1893">SCP-1893</a> - The Minotaur's Tale</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-3055">SCP-3055</a> - Yes, And</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-4098">SCP-4098</a> - S-C-P, easy as 19-3-16 !</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-119-fr">SCP-119-FR</a> - The Bizarre SCP-119-FR Overnight Incident</strong></li>
</ul>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc8"><span>Conscious Narrative Anomalies: Cervantes Class</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>The Cervantes Class designates conscious narrative anomalies. It is rather difficult to differentiate Cervantes anomalies from Queneau anomalies since these two categories of abnormal phenomena often have the same modus operandi. The difference was established once again by Professor Ainley. A conscious narrative anomaly very often acts according to a moral point of view and the convictions conferred upon it by the author of the original work, where a Queneau Class anomaly will act in a purely stylistic way.</p>
<p>Ainley said that a contrario (although more rarely) a Cervantes tries to escape their condition, to educate themselves, and to emancipate themselves from the original work. However, it is strictly impossible for a conscious narrative to learn anything, as he demonstrated. The choices that a conscious narrative entity makes, even when it involves a radical change in behavior linked to some kind of awareness, are often determined by the way the author has conceived his character. The evolution of a Cervantes' behavior will inevitably end up stagnating.</p>
<p>There is a real debate here: some researchers question the Cervantes' consciousness, arguing that the Cervantes are nothing more than a very elaborate set of narrative constructions and character development, pre-programmed like a machine. Yes, the debate on artificial intelligence also applies to narrative entities, and the task is certainly not simplified by the level of complexity reached by the debate in the spheres of the abnormal.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup></p>
<p>Cervantes Class Anomalies are very often characters, even more often main characters. Narrators can also be Cervantes Class, but quite often they will be found in the Navidson category. The psychology of conscious narrative abnormalities is a fascinating field, and these factors must of course be taken into account in containment. A long time ago, it was possible to use certain methods which we will discuss later, but which ended up pricking the Ethics Committee when the debate on the consciousness of Cervantes Class Anomalies became too heated.</p>
<p>It is assumed that beyond the paper, the author's deepest intentions are taken into account when creating a Cervantes, although in general the writer explicitly and implicitly describes everything there is to know about his character. However, in the same way, that one must differentiate between the narrative anomaly and its medium of expression, it is certain that the noosphere can make the difference between the author and his words. As far as readers are concerned, well… The question is more complicated.</p>
<p>The more common a fiction is, the less likely it is to develop the abilities of a Cervantes. This strange paradox has long been misunderstood, a common fiction having normally acquired a more powerful anchorage in the noosphere. It was finally a cross-study between Prof. Ainley and Prof. Alison Carter of the Department of Art History that finally made it possible to account for the reasons for this phenomenon. It is not so much the strength of the concept in the noosphere as the number of attentive readers that matters. Indeed, SCP-4028 possessed this first attribute but certainly did not have the same proportion of readers as a Harry Potter or a Katniss Everdeen.</p>
<p>The problem with having a lot of readers is that more interpretations come out of it. Pr Ainley and Carter concluded that for the formation of a Cervantes, it was necessary for the crystallization of interpretations to take place around a common Canon, free of all debate and fanfare that would parasitize the noosphere. This is why the majority of the Cervantes Class anomalies forming on the basis of known characters were written in older periods. It is a bit as if the mass of readers formed a cacophony, and that over time the cacophony faded, organized and crystallized around the vision of the original author, which explains why the majority of narrative anomalies arising from ancient popular fiction have only manifested themselves relatively recently.</p>
<div style="display: inline-block; border: 1px double #999; background-color: #eee; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 1em 3vw">
<p><strong>Examples of Cervantes Class Anomalies :</strong></p>
<ul>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-085">SCP-085</a> - Hand-drawn "Cassy"</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-423">SCP-423</a> - Self-Inserting Character</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-2786">SCP-2786</a> - The Archetype</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-3043">SCP-3043</a> - Murphy Law in… Type 3043 — FOR MURDER !</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-4028">SCP-4028</a> - <em>La Historia de Don Quixote de La Mancha</em></strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-484-fr">SCP-484-FR</a> - Billy the Euclid</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-482-fr">SCP-482-FR</a> - The day is not over yet</strong></li>
</ul>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc9"><span>Reality Bending Narratives: Navidson Class</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Navidson Class narrative anomalies are extremely dangerous. They can be a powerful narrative entity or a despotic deity like a silly typewriter that has been a little overzealous. A Navidson is capable of bending a portion of reality in order to turn it into fiction. This type of phenomenon is still far too misunderstood today and is responsible for great damage. A researcher from the Pataphysics Department once compared it to a degradation of the noosphere, "as if one suddenly decided to wipe out part of the world's conceptual biosphere".</p>
<p>If you face a Navidson, you are trapped until the story ends. You are trapped in a molasses of codes and tropes that forces your actions and crushes your free will. And pray that the end is not final. This has already happened with several books kept under the Fahrenheit-451 Protocol in the Department's premises, but we'll come back to this when we talk about containment strategies.</p>
<p>Don't panic though, there is a type of Navidson with lower risks, which is often closer to a reality-folding Queneau. The effect of this type of Navidson is often permanent and targeted to a certain area when it is a physical abnormality, or to a portion of the language. These anomalies will allow certain tropes to be realized by manipulating the probability field. One of the best-known examples of these particular cases of Navidson is related to <a href="/the-s-c-plastics-hub">Nexus-18</a>, a small town in Wisconsin where certain phrases are banned in order not to trigger stupid accidents and where local folklore regularly takes physical form. The research into narrative anomalies there is quite astonishing (I recommend that staff with the necessary credentials look into the research of <a href="/i-h-p-proposal">Isaiah Howard Pickman</a>, supported by the staff at Site-87).</p>
<p>It should be noted that the more the level of interaction between the audience and the narration is allowed, the more often one will tend to find Navidson-type anomalies: the proportion of books in which you are the hero, role-playing games, and other abnormal video games has exploded in recent years, notably due to videogame companies such as <a href="/groups-of-interest#toc1">Arcadia</a> or creations by <a href="/gamers-against-weed-hub">Gamers Against Weed</a>. Some artistic circles have also offered us some of Navidson's high-potential plays.</p>
<div style="display: inline-block; border: 1px double #999; background-color: #eee; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 1em 3vw">
<p><strong>Examples of Navidson Class Anormalies :</strong></p>
<ul>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-3309">SCP-3309</a> - Where We Go When We Fade, Fade Away</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-3143">SCP-3143</a> - Murphy Law in… The Foundation Always Rings Twice!</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-3138">SCP-3138</a> - A Sepulcher by the Sea</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-4040">SCP-4040</a> - At The Bottom Of A Bottomless Pit</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-4720">SCP-4720</a> - So Come on ye Childhood Heroes! Won’t You Rise Up From the Pages?</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-6791">SCP-6791</a> - The Protagonist</strong></li>
</ul>
</div>
<hr/></div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-3" style="display:none">
<div style="background: #e6e6e6; center no-repeat ; float: center; border: solid 3px #3e2659; padding: 1px 15px;">
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc10"><span>First Contact and Recovery</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Directly infiltrating the noosphere has long been an objective pursued by the Pataphysics Department, with varying degrees of success. During the early stages of our experiments, we did almost as much damage to the biosphere as a nice big industrial revolution would have done.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-4" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-4')">4</a></sup> It was necessary to set up a crisis cell in charge of restoring the collective heritage of thought, and it was at this time that certain small groups strongly comparable to Greenpeace of culture and memory appeared on the international abnormal scene. We infiltrated or even absorbed some of them to speed up our research, and the others fell silent when the problem was solved. Only a few containment processes within the noosphere remained active in cases of force majeure. Finally, we are now opting for external strategies or more surgical interventions within the noosphere.</p>
<p>First of all, location. The vast majority of narrative anomalies are spotted by simple artificial intelligences employed by the Foundation, which are very old but still sufficiently effective today. The Pataphysics Department employs just over 40% of these artificial intelligences alone. Among them, there are different models such as I/O-ISMETA or I/O-MANDELA robots, quite common when it comes to searching for conversations on the web. They are a kind of evolution of search bots that worked only by keywords.</p>
<p>Once a narrative anomaly is identified, an attempt is usually made to make contact with it. Getting in touch with narratives is always a very complex process: it's quite as if two different worlds were confronting each other, and sometimes a great deal of diplomacy is required. At one time SCP-423 was used to make contact with certain narrative anomalies, but over time it was judged not to be a very reliable tool. A major reform of the Department's workforce was passed at the time to find a way to replace it. In any event, the priority is first and foremost to identify which category of narrative anomaly one is dealing with, before quickly running away. Only then is it time to move on to containment.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc11"><span>Queneau Class: A Book without Reader is a Dead Book</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>The first thing to remember about the containment of anomalous narrations is the sentence that serves as the title of this part. A book without a reader is a dead book: indeed, beyond the cruel truth of the literary milieu depicted by this quotation, the noosphere is irremediably affected by it. Not reading a book, therefore, becomes a means of allowing it to fade into the collective consciousness. The vast majority of containment methods try to take advantage of this adage.</p>
<p>We had previously separated the physical vector and the narrative anomaly itself, quietly sheltered from the noosphere. A classic way of containing a narrative anomaly is therefore to censor or even destroy its supports, and to keep only one of them. This is a strategy generally adopted for all anomalous books: <a href="/scp-701">SCP-701</a> is the most famous example. We then find ourselves with a single means of reciprocal communication with the anomaly: what do we do?</p>
<p>One can decide to simply close the book and never open it again. But this is the procedure to follow for anomalous items: a department does not build itself up by closing books. Some anomalies are more pernicious and, as mentioned earlier, are contagious. The conversion of other narratives is not limited to physical proximity, as we have seen. It is first necessary to establish the rules of conversion:</p>
<ul>
<li>What do the works affected by the anomaly have in common?</li>
<li>What can be said about these works before and after conversion?</li>
<li>Is it a matter of gender, style, period?</li>
<li>Why has Hamlet become a recipe?</li>
</ul>
<p>It is these kinds of questions and many others that need to be asked. Once the modus operandi of the anomaly has been established, it is time to establish countermeasures.</p>
<p>First of all, a bait can be set up. Many artificial intelligences were provided to the Pataphysics Department when it was reformed in 2010. Highly efficient, they are capable of regularly generating fictions according to a set of pre-established tropes and of creating perfect bait for contagious narrative anomalies. Sometimes even, for the needs of containment, these fictions are edited. Yes. A narrative AI that has proven itself in the production of well-tried fictions based on the same model to confine a particularly tough anomaly is nicknamed a good Musso. Once again, a nickname all the more amusing as the Department's senior staff knows that "Guillaume Musso" is indeed regularly reviewed by the Engineering Department's teams.</p>
<p>Otherwise, we can try to limit the damage by isolating the anomaly and infecting its narrative with different processes that will effectively confine it. These are discussed in the next section, but the usual measures used against infohazards are just as effective. Remember: a book needs a reader. Although some anomalies act independently of the reader, sometimes an anomalous piece of fiction simply seems to want attention. It is not a real desire, more a kind of reflex due to its condition. So eliminate the reader (not literally, of course), and the anomaly will neutralize itself.</p>
<p>Neutralize is a strong word, though: we are not the Global Occult Coalition, and we are not allowed to neutralize anomalies permanently. Fortunately, the exception related to narrative anomalies is that their neutralization is temporary. Without a reader, they end up entering a kind of hibernation. It is this state that is sought by the narrative containment teams. In the event that the anomaly is read again, it could reconnect to the noosphere and become active again.</p>
<p>However, in order to be able to continue to study the anomalies confined within our walls without transforming all the documentation into shopping lists or fanfictions, several protocols for digitizing anomalous documents were established. They are grouped together under the name of Fahrenheit Protocols: anti-memetic filters allowing the document consulted to be erased from the consultant's memory after a certain time, <a href="http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/lorem-ipsum-dolor">narrative locks</a> against the metanarrative facetiaes of Navidson Class anomalies, memetic agents blocking access to the noosphere through the consultant's brain, and many others, sometimes combined together. In the same way, it is forbidden to enter the archives of the Pataphysics Department without wearing specific goggles capable of blocking the infohazards and the access of the anomaly to the noosphere.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc12"><span>Cervantes Class: Stylistic Incarcerations</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>When it comes to conscious anomalies, it's a different matter. We come back to the eternal debate about whether narrative entities feel pain and emotions or whether they imitate them, in one sentence: should we be concerned with ethical issues when confining narrative entities? If the debate still exists, the question no longer arises.</p>
<p>In the past, methods of containment resembled methods of torture more than anything else. Let's talk about containment by Recursive Intrigues. The principle is simple and is based on the fact that conscious narrative entities alter a narrative as they progress through it. A researcher had proposed the creation of a set of recursive intrigues in which to enclose the subject. The intrigue loops back on itself, usually short enough to prevent the entity from performing too many actions that could break the loop. The problem is that entities always end up going almost crazy and more dangerous, or even causing <a href="/magnum-opus-or-a-diatribe-in-defence-of-cliche">much more worrying</a> problems.</p>
<p>This kind of method gave birth to the Pataphysics Historical and Eclectic Division of Reports and the Abnormal, the PHEDRA. The PHEDRA in its day consisted of a whole team of outstanding writers armed with a literary baggage of hardened steel, specially trained to write environments of containment that would engulf their hosts in a molasses of fate and tragic destiny.</p>
<p>The worst enemy for the anomalous character is his/her story: make it unbearable, make the style heavier, use the right sentences at the right time, and the book will become a nightmare for a Cervantes Class entity. But if the methods of the PHEDRA have been modified and abandoned, for the most part, it is not because of a question of ethics: it is a question of deontology, which was addressed when the great reforms of the Pataphysics Department were implemented concerning the damage inflicted on the noosphere and our methods of containment.</p>
<p>A short historical and artistic aside:</p>
<p>Prof. Gustav Reuel was an eminent researcher in the Department of Art History, and one of the great thinkers of the Abnormal Conservative current of the late 20<sup>th</sup> century. At that time, manufactured anomalies were booming and spreading with alarming speed on the market. The Foundation, therefore, considered for a moment the possibility of destroying these anomalies: in fact, their conservation was based solely on the principle of rarity and on the principle of study. Neither of these principles was taken into account in the case of manufactured anomalies: they could almost be mass-produced and reproduced, so we knew more or less how they worked. The Foundation, therefore, began to delegate several cases to the Global Occult Coalition, in order to remain consistent in its principles.</p>
<p>However, anomalous art got involved. The History of Anomalous Art is a vast and conflicting subject, I will try to be brief in order to get to the point. Since the Dada, Surrealist, and Impressionist movements, which responded to the horror and absurdity of war by deconstructing Art with a capital A and a sharp criticism of humanity, it has become difficult to define the boundary between art and non-art. One will automatically think of Duchamp's ready-made, and of all the everyday objects that the artist can proclaim as work. It so happens that the anarchist movements associated with these ideologies emerged well after the shots were fired, around 1952. In fact, abnormal technical breakthroughs would not explode until this period, as the few resources that had previously existed were better hidden from the public and were heavily requisitioned for the needs of the Seventh Occult War.</p>
<p>However, the Foundation and the GOC will treat anartists like other technology production companies: if it can be rebuilt, there's no need to bother. The GOC and even some of the Foundation's directors (especially in certain areas of North-West America, particularly affected by anartist demonstrations) will encourage the recovery and mass destruction of anomalous works of art, not without capturing and interviewing the anartists behind them. This practice was all the more common as artistic performances exploded at the time, and some works were thus ephemeral (and often all the more dangerous).</p>
<p>In reaction to the destruction measures advocated in Eastern Europe against modern anart, Prof. Gustav Reuel imposed the idea that the destruction of anomalous art would be considered a form of censorship and an attack on the collective heritage of humanity. Reuel claimed that the evolution of anomalous art, in a sense, was part of the History of Art as a whole. In the same way, artistic creation, even using anomalous tools, was for him a right of humanity. Prof. Reuel's work made many waves in his time and even today, but ultimately his theories completely changed the way narrative anomalies were dealt with.</p>
<p>Applying Reuelean and conservative thinking to the problem of the containment of narrative anomalies, their unethical confinement is considered an alteration of the work. To put it simply, if we consider that a Cervantes Class anomaly is conscious, then it is appropriate to establish a containment with a minimum of ethics. On the other hand, if we decide to consider that this same anomaly is not conscious, it remains a work of art: any attack on its integrity is therefore considered an act of vandalism. A conservation policy is therefore applied, in which the narrative anomaly must be studied with the greatest care in order to alter its nature as little as possible.</p>
<p>End of the aside.</p>
<p>Thus, the majority of the anomalies handled by the Pataphysics Department are now contained with the greatest care. Contact with the Cervantes is rather made through lengthy negotiations, sometimes with the support of other cooperative metanarrative entities, through false threats never carried out or by exploiting the very particular psychology of a narrative entity to trap it unwittingly in its own narrative bias. Recalcitrant and dangerous entities alone are considered a threat and their confinements are reinforced. Security above all.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, there are still some elements opposed to the conservation policy and wishing for the return of the old methods of containment: these are based on the argument that the Cervantes are works that evolve over time, in the manner of a performance. According to this logic, what happens to the work is automatically part of it, and the old methods of containment of the PHEDRA would therefore not be an attack on their integrity. PHEDRA, for its part, is still relevant, but less present and much more careful in its elaboration of fictional cells.</p>
<p>Finally, we discussed the role of the number of readers and the number of interpretations in the formation of Cervantes Class anomalies. Yes, increasing the number of readers of a fiction can prevent the formation of a Cervantes.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-5" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-5')">5</a></sup> No, the Foundation is not responsible for the creation of fanfiction.net and half of the discussion forums about your favourite story. Discussions about these passions are phenomena that already happen very well on their own, and which, to make matters worse, are not looked upon favourably by advocates of the noosphere. Indeed, we are still unable to know whether this constitutes a development of the noosphere or a form of "natural pollution" of it.</p>
<p>Here we find a problem similar to global warming (if so). Before the reforms of the Pataphysics Department, when it was still possible to manipulate the noosphere, as a preventive measure we allowed ourselves to highlight potentially dangerous fictions instead of censoring them. In this way, we hoped to delay the arrival of war narrative anomalies in the escalation of violence, destruction, death, and so forth.</p>
<p>The problem is that in doing so, these fictions and concepts have taken on certain importance within the noosphere. And so we saw similar fictions grow, which had to be put forward again, and the vicious circle was set in motion. Today, while we have stopped this preventive operation, the process continues without our help, and we don't have enough hindsight and credit to devote to the phenomenon in order to determine whether it represents a real threat to the noosphere. I don't know about you, but this situation is vaguely familiar to me. But let's try not to dwell on personal considerations.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc13"><span>Navidson Class: Final Cut</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>There is a division of the Pataphysics Department more powerful than PHEDRA, empowered to use narratives of massive destruction, create narrative anomalies and in case of extreme urgency to modify the noosphere. Internal to the department, it was named Narrative Task Force Delta-42 "Le Côté-du-Manche", and is virtually one of the intervention forces with the most members at the Foundation. Being able to create narrative anomalies to combat the most dangerous narrative entities, NTF Delta-42 is theoretically capable of having as many members as it can write.</p>
<p>When tackling Navidson Class anomalies, there is often nothing to do but wait for the end of the story. Delta-42 intervenes in these situations in order to hasten the end. This is the so-called Final Cut strategy. The NTF first sends its narrative scouts to the area affected by the Navidson, in order to gather as much information as possible about the rules of operation of the fiction in progress. A range of clichés is tested and provoked in order to understand what narrative rules the NTF is dealing with. The information is then compiled and analysed in order to find the narrative flaws of the anomaly. Once this step has been completed, the scouts pose as characters and the coordinators give them several indications and narrative counter-measures in order to hasten the end of the story.</p>
<p>A crisis situation managed by "Le Côté-du-Manche" is fascinating to observe. Each of its members must know how a situation is supposed to end, which tropes are at work, and when what to do to prevent this from happening, and how this will affect the rest of the story. To quote Director Panagiotopolous: "Le Côté-du-Manche is a bit like writing a story with 36 hands, but all the hands deal with the same sentence at the same time". NTF Delta-42, for the record, was born out of incidents involving another cursed name in the history of narrative confinement: <a href="/murphy-law-hub">Murphy Law</a>. The incident had become so widespread that there was even a time when there was talk of militarising the metafictional resources of the Pataphysics Department.</p>
<hr/></div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-4" style="display:none">
<div style="background: #e6e6e6; center no-repeat ; float: center; border: solid 3px #3e2659; padding: 1px 15px;">
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc14"><span>Hazred Class: Narration as Passage</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Fake narrative anomalies exist. Very often, these are phenomena or entities that use narrative support as a passage to our world. Since the noosphere is quite malleable, if one has the ability to manipulate it as one pleases, it is then possible to create very effective portals between one world and another. The downside is that these portals are basically only used to convey ideas, feelings, and information, as any good book would do. For example, you will notice that a demonic entity is never invoked through an old grimoire, but that it is invoked by reciting the information it contains. An entity that is not narrative in nature is incapable of going through the narrative as a Navidson would.</p>
<p>These anomalies are not considered narrative anomalies strictly speaking, as they are relatively simple to contain: they sometimes have the destructive potential of a Navidson, but invariably the Special Containment Procedures of a harmless Queneau. Very often, the anomaly is thus not the narrative support, and therefore does not fall under the jurisdiction of the Pataphysics Department.</p>
<div style="display: inline-block; border: 1px double #999; background-color: #eee; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 1em 3vw">
<p><strong>Examples of Hazred Class anomalies:</strong></p>
<ul>
<li><strong><a href="/scp-701">SCP-701</a> - The Hanged King's Tragedy</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-161-fr">SCP-161-FR</a> - The Book and the Beast</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-306-fr">SCP-306-FR</a> - The Artists' Book</strong></li>
<li><strong><a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-400-fr">SCP-400-FR</a> - She's too beautiful to be true</strong></li>
</ul>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc15"><span>Narrative Thaumiels</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Perhaps it is time, as we approach the end of this booklet, to re-establish a truth that is too often forgotten:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>The Pataphysics Department has nothing to do with 'pataphysics.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This sentence may seem absurd, but it turns out that pataphysics suffers from the same problem as memetics, so that when in certain circles of abnormal research it was necessary to create a term to designate the strength of ideas rather than anomalous ideas, we have seen some researchers use the new term 'memetics, in the vain hope of making things easier to understand.</p>
<p>'Pataphysics is an absurd literary, philosophical and poetic movement invented by the writer Alfred Jarry in <a href="/scp-410-fr">SCP-410-FR</a>, a book entitled <em>Exploits and Opinions of Dr. Faustroll, Pataphysician</em>. The pataphysics, within the SCP Foundation, refers to the study of anomalous phenomena of a narrative nature. If I may make this aside, it is because SCP-410-FR, despite its classification as Neutralized, is considered within the Pataphysics Department as an extreme case of Narrative Thaumiel.</p>
<p>Narrative Thaumiels are a category of narrative anomaly which in ancient times were called Reverse Navidsons, or Super-Navidsons: these anomalies are capable of rendering reality fictitious, in the case of SCP-410-FR of purely and simply neutralising anomalous phenomena. The common principle of these anomalies is that they are able to bend reality through the noosphere in order to make use of the beliefs of humanity: if the latter considers that one of our creatures only exists in books, then the Narrative Thaumiel will take care of erasing it from reality.</p>
<p>Narrative Thaumiels are as dangerous as they are extremely rare. The conditions leading to the creation of such anomalies are extremely specific and random, requiring narrative support and a rate of diffusion that is not always clear to the public. Even the intervention of the abnormal is something we are not sure about: Jarry himself was fervently convinced that the abnormal did not exist, and it is impossible for us to know whether he was a reality bender with the little information available on SCP-410-FR. The Phobetor Project tried for years to understand and reproduce the effects of SCP-410-FR for emergency neutralisations, with no success.</p>
<p>The danger of these anomalies is that they are based on beliefs, not objective reality: if enough people decide that a place, event, or species does not exist, that is what could happen. Here again, noosphere and biosphere communicate: our department and the <a href="http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/introduction-au-dedd">Department of Ecology and Sustainable Development</a>, during recent work aimed at studying the links between these two concepts, raised the question of whether the disappearance of certain species was not due to phenomena of Narrative Thaumiels. For the time being, these are only correlations, but because of certain anomalous phenomena, believing that certain species are endangered would <em>actually</em> endanger them. I will leave you to imagine the carnage of debate that these studies have provoked since without calling into question the rescue brought to these plants and animals, they <em>technically</em> encourage us not to worry about them.</p>
<p>It is difficult to expand on the subject of Narrative Thaumiels without opening dangerous doors, so I recommend that you inform yourself about the work of the <a href="http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/proposition-du-pr-finalis">Observatory of Anomalous and Socio-Cultural Correlations</a> if you wish to go further, at your own risk. Be careful, however, as some of their work and research is potentially outside your Clearance Level. I myself am surprised to encounter so many error messages.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc16"><span>The Language Bureau: What about Translation?</span></h3>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>We are entering the conceptual underbelly of the Pataphysics Department, so forgive me if I have difficulties going into details and if I will be brief. The Bureau of Translation and Cultural Study of Narrative and Language, very often simplified in BTCN by the official documents and in Bureau of Language<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-6" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-6')">6</a></sup> by the members of the Department, is more or less the main body responsible for research in all matters other than the containment of narrative anomalies. More specifically, the Language Bureau is concerned with research on narrative, language, and its subtleties from one culture to another. For my part, I am more specialized in containment, and of the Language Bureau's missions, I retain mainly that its work has been very useful to us in order to establish the appropriate diplomatic dialogue with several anomalies coming from different narrative cultures.</p>
<p>I remember this ancient collection of Japanese poetry, in which the kanji and kanas (the writing signs used) were read from top to bottom, in a way that is uncommon by European standards. We were literally not on the same wavelength with this anomaly. Add to this the honorific nature of the Japanese language and some misplaced cultural barriers, and we were very relieved to see the agents of the Language Bureau take charge of the negotiations that day. I seem to remember that Rimbaud's works owe them a great deal.</p>
<p>It seems that the translation of a work has no real influence on the development of the anomaly linked to it. However, in the case of the Queneau Class Anomalies, the Language Bureau has already observed some unusual behaviors related to translation from one language to another. In particular, it has been noted that a narrative anomaly is capable of visiting/infecting another work independently of its language since the noosphere is a sphere of ideas. However, not all cultures share the same ideas, and this is where anomalies sometimes break down.</p>
<p>Yes, narrative anomalies can be victims of homesickness, cultural inequality, segregation, and xenophobia. I'm telling you, it's not that different from sociology. Narrative depends entirely on humanity and its organization, so I am rarely surprised when I see abnormal tags vandalizing museums in Northern Europe as in 2012, or to see tensions between certain forms of literature. What is fascinating is that these art to art relationships are truly geopolitical, dare I say historic-geopolitical despite the visual and phonetic horror that is the word, since these conflicts cut across artistic eras and movements as well as cultures. Moreover, as we have previously mentioned, narrative anomalies are extremely limited, provided they do not act simply out of automatism.</p>
<p>And believe me, in spite of the fact that I know little about the Language Bureau and its subtleties, I am very grateful to an organization that is legislating in order to prevent the outbreak of a Spatio-temporal narrative war.</p>
<hr/></div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-5" style="display:none">
<div style="background: #e6e6e6; center no-repeat ; float: center; border: solid 3px #3e2659; padding: 1px 15px;">
<hr/>
<p>The whole problem of narrative anomalies and of our Department lies in this: because of the old experiments carried out in the noosphere, we are no longer allowed to carry out any experiments whatsoever, and in any case, we would not know how to do it. We are very often powerless in the face of the anomalies that we confine, and these somehow dictate their conditions to us. This is the subject of many tensions: just as narrative anomalies accumulate a relatively high rate of containment breaches (independent of their threat level), no one else would know what to do to limit them. Research in narrative containment is still in a state of neglect, and this is also the purpose of this paper.</p>
<p>We can't wait to stop chasing the same clichés on legs, unable to resist the call of the slightest mainstream fiction to devour. We can't stand having to deal with the umpteenth rebellion of a false fiction that destroys all the others and makes us vomit up wobbly abysses. This department is in great need of new blood, and the more time passes, the more narrative anomalies come to be.</p>
<p>For in truth, you can massacre men, break their spirits, annihilate their hopes. This is what all the horrors that are hidden within our walls do.</p>
<p>But killing a story is almost impossible.</p>
<hr/></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<script type="text/javascript">
//<![CDATA[
OZONE.dom.onDomReady(function(){
var tabView82df293ea48bf920e30fb86a20a51e10 = new YAHOO.widget.TabView('wiki-tabview-82df293ea48bf920e30fb86a20a51e10');
}, "dummy-ondomready-block");
//]]>
</script>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. or "Special Censorship Procedures" as they say in the field.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. Person capable of traveling through dreams. Often connected to the noosphere by extension. For more information, consult the dossier of Mobile Task Force <a href="/task-forces#omicron-rho">Omicron Rho</a> and the <a href="/oneiroi">Oneiroi Collective</a> dossier.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. I would advise you to read Dr. Benjamin Damiers' <a href="http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/introduction-aux-iaa">AICs Orientation</a> if you are interested in the subject.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-4"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-4')">4</a>. Even today, some initiatives to colonise the collective human consciousness such as the Japanese "<a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/foundation-collective-hub">Foundation Collective</a>" project provoke many debates between noosphere experts and oneirology experts.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-5"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-5')">5</a>. It should be noted, moreover, that a Cervantes cannot be "regressed": if it appears at a time T, it is too late.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-6"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-6')">6</a>. as well as in TransBuro by the members of the BTCN themselves.</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/intro-aux-anomalies-narratives">Narrative Anomalies Orientation</a>" by originally published by Felter Finalis on <a href="http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/">Fondation SCP</a>, translated by macro_au_micro and UncleNicolini, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/intro-aux-anomalies-narratives">https://scpwiki.com/intro-aux-anomalies-narratives</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="/theme:pataphysics">theme:pataphysics</a>]]
[[module css]]
#header h1 a{
display: block;
margin: 0;
padding: 80px 0 25px;
line-height: 0;
max-height: 0;
color: transparent;
background: transparent;
font-family: "Carrois Gothic", "Arial", sans-serif;
text-decoration: none;
text-shadow: none;
letter-spacing: 0.9px;
}
#header h1 a::before{
content: "Pataphysics Department";
color: hsl(0, 0%, 91%);
text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px hsl(0, 0%, 05%);
}
}
[[/module]]
[[tabview]]
[[tab Introduction]]
[[div style="background: #e6e6e6; center no-repeat ; float: center; border: solid 3px #3e2659; padding: 1px 15px;"]]
------
[[=]]
++ **__When Art meets Containment__**
@@@@
+++ Orientation to narrative anomalies and their management by the Foundation
[[/=]]
------
[[div style="display: inline-block; border: 1px double #999; background-color: #eee; float:center;; padding:1px 15px; margin: 1em 2vw"]]
//I fought Don Quixote for two years. This is something that makes the eyes of neophytes shine.//
//He was responsible for one of the first major anomalous metanarrative crises that the Foundation had to manage, and this only in 2007. It was on [[[SCP-4028]]] that I worked my way up in the department. Finally, all this to say that Don Quixote has taught me an essential lesson for my work. That's a funny phrase, isn't it? You'll understand why I love my job.//
//I will surely spoil the reading of the document for those who have not read it -- yes, I sometimes read reports like one reads a novel -- but we have never managed to confine Don Quixote. For almost three years we fought to cover the damage, to the point where I no longer accepted the new containment proposals, waiting for my notice of dismissal, resigned and tired.//
//Until the day SCP-4028 neutralized itself. Its story simply ended, somehow. This important lesson that I have kept as a mantra is that the anomalies in my charge are narrations. They obey precise codes, within the reach of any literary student, and it is on this reflection that I have developed my containment procedures during my career.//
//Here, I will talk about narrative anomalies exclusively, and we will ignore several concepts such as those developed by [[[sandrewswann-s-proposal|Dr. Swann in 1991]]], or the research work carried out by the Director Panagiotopolous, since this is not the topic. We will talk a little about my department and the methods it has developed to confine narrative anomalies. Believe me, there will be surprises, and you will have a more complete view of our methods and the types of anomalies concerned.//
//-- Dr. Pierre Menard, Research Director, Pataphysics Department (Francophone Referent)//
[[/div]]
------
[[div style="display: inline-block; border: 1px double #999; background-color: #eee; float:center; padding:1px 15px; margin: 1em 2vw"]]
[[=]]
++++ __Table of Contents__
[[/=]]
* **Origin of Narrative Anomalies
* Definition
* Narration and You: Birth of the Noosphere
* The Cliché and/is the Standard
* Types of Narrative Anomalies
* Anomalies of Narration and Narrative Anomalies: a brief history and nuances
* Narrative Style Anomalies: Queneau Class
* Conscious Narrative Anomalies : Cervantes Class
* Reality Bending Narrative Anomalies: Navidson Class
* Containment methods and strategies
* First Contact and Recovery
* Queneau Class: A Book without Reader is a Dead Book
* Cervantes Class: Stylistic Incarcerations
* Navidson Class: Final Cut
* Special cases
* Hazred Class: Narration as Passage
* Narrative Thaumiels
* The Language Bureau: What about Translation?
* Conclusion: The Story Goes On**
[[/div]]
------
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Origin of Narrative Anomalies]]
[[div style="background: #e6e6e6; center no-repeat ; float: center; border: solid 3px #3e2659; padding: 1px 15px;"]]
------
[[=]]
+++ Definition
[[/=]]
------
Briefly, what is a narrative anomaly? It's all in the name: it's an anomaly that has the particularity of manifesting itself through a narration. Very generally, we have a very precise image of what a narrative anomaly is: a book, or a fictional character, that comes to make a mess in other books, and sometimes the Foundation's documentation, which makes them unpredictable and dangerous anomalies. This image of narrative anomalies is accurate but very pejorative and limited, and for good reason: it is the most common and selling example.
In truth, the majority of narrative anomalies present themselves to us in this form. We'll explore this in the //Types of Narrative Anomalies// tab of this dossier, but here you'll understand why this is the case, and how these anomalies arise. In short, we can use the definition I gave in 2013 in my book //Narremes and memes: the rise of the anomalous clichés//:
> A narrative anomaly refers quite simply to a narrative element, whatever it may be, acquiring anomalous properties. The latter are manifested almost exclusively by a willingness to interact with other narrative elements or even with our world.
------
[[=]]
+++ Narration and You: Birth of the Noosphere
[[/=]]
------
As you will have understood, for there to be a narrative anomaly, there has to be a narration. And there is no narration without conscious beings capable of imagining it. So yes: narrative anomalies are born partly from the mania that humanity has taken to tell stories to each other. And how did this happen? The answer lies in that word as mysterious as it is ridiculous: the noosphere.
It is important to note that the noosphere is not the result of any abnormal research. It is a concept invented by the mineralogist Vladimir Ivanovitch Vernadski, who not content with having already considerably developed the notion of biosphere, followed this neologism substituting //noos//, thought and spirit, for the //bios// of life. More specifically, the noosphere is the fifth layer in interaction with others that envelops our planet, alongside the lithosphere, the biosphere, the atmosphere and the technosphere. It was the philosopher and theologist Pierre Teilhard de Chardin who came to rework the noosphere in his 1955 posthumous work //The Phenomenon of Man//. So what far-fetched theory could have emerged from the work of an eminent mineralogist and a priest-researcher-paleontologist?
The noosphere is literally defined as the sphere of human thought. It is an additional phase of planetary development, following on from the geosphere and the biosphere. De Chardin spoke of a veritable "thinking layer" that encompassed our planet. The term has been difficult to define correctly, but quite often we speak of the collective intelligence of humanity, which manifests itself as much in the conceptualisation of shared values and ideas as in the construction of organisational infrastructures and institutions.
The noosphere has often been associated with the field of study of memetics as defined by Richard Dawkins. It is important to remember that we deal with memetic hazards at the Foundation, and it is best that you forget this idea right away: that is not what we are talking about here. To sum up, Dawkins memetics refers to the study of the transmission and evolution of cultural elements according to a Dawkinian approach, as one would study the evolution of the living organisms. The noosphere thus designates all the cultural, cognitive and emotional human fields, grouped together in an immense metaphysical web.
For those who know the [[[oneiroi|Oneiroi Collective]]], you can imagine more or less the same thing, without consciousness and full of cultural codes and concepts, a bit like a large dematerialized library.
To conclude, the noosphere is at the origin of the vast majority of narrative anomalies. These anomalies are born and nourished by the crystallization of human thought, the artistic spirit, and creative concepts that transit through the noosphere. I have told you this in a rather poetic way, but the technical details are not much different.
------
[[=]]
+++ The Cliché and/is the Standard
[[/=]]
------
It is rather childish to understand the ins and outs of narrative anomalies in the end. These are based on two main pivots: Tropes and Creativity.
The tropes, you know them, even without knowing it. Do you know what clichés are? Well, clichés are tropes, threadbare. They are narrative conventions, tendencies that can be found in fiction. A trope can be an archetype of character, a catchphrase, a situation, a narrative genre and so on. The important thing to remember is that tropes are recurrent: they are structures that bring meaning and provoke things, that intertwine and clash to structure a story. In other words, they are common creative concepts that are anchored in the noosphere.
The origin of the emergence of a narrative anomaly is very difficult to determine, but its emergence alone is rather simple to describe. At a given moment, a particular piece of work, often linked to a very common trope or even a cliché and therefore particularly well anchored in the noosphere, will develop anomalous attributes. We will come back to the forms that these attributes can take in //Types of Narrative Anomalies// shortly afterward, but what is important to remember is that these anomalies are subject to strict and known narrative codes.
I will give you the example of the one who is nicknamed the "Pierre Bourdieu of Fictions", Professor Sacha Ainley. Professor Ainley has worked a lot on conscious anomalies during her career, so much so that within the department, researchers who dragged out interview reports were referred to as "Sacha and [[[scp-426|Fred]]]".
Professor Ainley, then, said that where individuals are conditioned by their socialisation, that is, the process of integrating norms and values into their relatives, their workplaces and society in general, conscious narrative entities are conditioned in their behaviour only by the narrative processes related to their work of reference. Their personality and behaviour will rarely exceed the one described from the prologue to the epilogue, and reasoning a narrative entity about its behaviour is not easy. It is often possible for them to learn, but it must be taken into account that their entire personality and beliefs are rooted in what the narrative wants to tell us, and failing that, what the majority of readers think they know about them.
Remember, therefore, that narrative anomalies obey narrative codes that are accessible to almost everyone, and that their capacities are based on the most diverse figures of speech, nestled in the most twisted narratives and expressed through the most clichéd characters.
------
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Types of Narrative Anomalies]]
[[div style="background: #e6e6e6; center no-repeat ; float: center; border: solid 3px #3e2659; padding: 1px 15px;"]]
------
[[=]]
+++ Anomalies of Narration and Narrative Anomalies: a brief history and nuances
[[/=]]
------
It is useful to come back to an abuse of language: when we talk about narrative anomalies, we generally imply that they are anomalies related to writing. In practice, this is the case, however, narrative anomalies actually concern any type of narration. They can be cinema, theater, dance, painting, music, singing, drawing, and so on. Although the Pataphysics Department does not collaborate directly with other departments, I have had the opportunity to train with the History Department and its Art History Division, as well as with several experts in anart.
The first narrative anomalies thus date back to the frescoes of Lascaux, reproduced many times in paranormal forms in order to preserve the secret of their abnormal nature. Some amateurs had begun to detect their extremely slow movement through repeated visits. And, let's not hide the fact, the parapaleontologists of the Foundation were concerned for the condition of these precious and fragile paintings. Subsequently, it is certain ancient narrative structures such as the dramatic papyrus of the Rameséum will be discovered again. The latter is a set of "notebooks" of ancient processions, considered to be the traces of a proto-theater, and which proved to be an anomaly with a compulsive effect. The people affected by the text irresistibly reproduced the notes and the text learned, corrected, and completed itself according to the results.
There's a whole area of Abnormal Narrative History to be studied, but that's where our jurisdiction ends. The Pataphysics Department only handles literary work: there are experts in anart for the rest. Abnormal art is a vast subject and abnormal literature is a special case. There has already been talk of making the Department of Pataphysics a branch of the Department of Art History. Officially, the missions of the Pataphysics Department go beyond the simple field of "artistic confinement" [[footnote]] or "Special Censorship Procedures" as they say in the field. [[/footnote]] Unofficially, this would be a monstrous administrative mess, the Department of Art History being already a branch of the Historical Department.
We will therefore focus mainly on literary narrative anomalies here, whether our other artist friends like it or not. But of course, this will not prevent me from giving you examples from other artistic branches, but please understand that the line between simple artistic anomaly and narrative artistic anomaly is sometimes tenuous (not all anart is narrative). Whereas when it comes to literature, the issue is more quickly and easily resolved.
------
[[=]]
+++ Narrative Style Anomalies: Queneau Class
[[/=]]
------
These are the simplest narrative anomalies: those that alter the narrative. Rather generally infectious, they will transform other narrative media to suit their style or even something else altogether. Queneau Class anomalies tend to be found very often in other art forms, more so than the Cervantes and Navidson Classes in general. Queneau Class anomalies can affect other media by altering their genre or style in a wide variety of ways.
Their modus operandi stops at the simple modification of other media written according to their criteria so that they can be compared to narrative viruses. We often talk about the modification of the work in contact with the anomaly, but in reality, it makes little sense. It is necessary to differentiate between the anomaly itself, which is located in the noosphere, and the paper or electronic medium that is its vector. During the 2007 metanarrative crisis caused by SCP-4028, the Foundation had put its best computer scientists on the spot, in vain: they had not yet understood at the time that narrative anomalies shared only a vague resemblance in behavior with abnormal computer viruses (still very present with the rise of the Internet at the time).
In truth, stemming a metanarrative crisis is more the domain of an oneiroic [[footnote]] Person capable of traveling through dreams. Often connected to the noosphere by extension. For more information, consult the dossier of Mobile Task Force [[[task-forces#omicron-rho|Omicron Rho]]] and the [[[oneiroi|Oneiroi Collective]]] dossier. [[/footnote]] that of a computer specialist. The transmission from one narrative to another is done through the noosphere, and thus follows a logic of narrative and stylistic proximity. It is when this scheme is not respected that a Cervantes Class anomaly is suspected.
[[div style="display: inline-block; border: 1px double #999; background-color: #eee; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 1em 3vw"]]
**Examples of Queneau Class Anomalies :**
* **[[[SCP-1893]]] - The Minotaur's Tale**
* **[[[SCP-3055]]] - Yes, And**
* **[[[SCP-4098]]] - S-C-P, easy as 19-3-16 !**
* **[http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-119-fr SCP-119-FR] - The Bizarre SCP-119-FR Overnight Incident**
[[/div]]
------
[[=]]
+++ Conscious Narrative Anomalies: Cervantes Class
[[/=]]
------
The Cervantes Class designates conscious narrative anomalies. It is rather difficult to differentiate Cervantes anomalies from Queneau anomalies since these two categories of abnormal phenomena often have the same modus operandi. The difference was established once again by Professor Ainley. A conscious narrative anomaly very often acts according to a moral point of view and the convictions conferred upon it by the author of the original work, where a Queneau Class anomaly will act in a purely stylistic way.
Ainley said that a contrario (although more rarely) a Cervantes tries to escape their condition, to educate themselves, and to emancipate themselves from the original work. However, it is strictly impossible for a conscious narrative to learn anything, as he demonstrated. The choices that a conscious narrative entity makes, even when it involves a radical change in behavior linked to some kind of awareness, are often determined by the way the author has conceived his character. The evolution of a Cervantes' behavior will inevitably end up stagnating.
There is a real debate here: some researchers question the Cervantes' consciousness, arguing that the Cervantes are nothing more than a very elaborate set of narrative constructions and character development, pre-programmed like a machine. Yes, the debate on artificial intelligence also applies to narrative entities, and the task is certainly not simplified by the level of complexity reached by the debate in the spheres of the abnormal. [[footnote]]I would advise you to read Dr. Benjamin Damiers' [http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/introduction-aux-iaa AICs Orientation] if you are interested in the subject. [[/footnote]]
Cervantes Class Anomalies are very often characters, even more often main characters. Narrators can also be Cervantes Class, but quite often they will be found in the Navidson category. The psychology of conscious narrative abnormalities is a fascinating field, and these factors must of course be taken into account in containment. A long time ago, it was possible to use certain methods which we will discuss later, but which ended up pricking the Ethics Committee when the debate on the consciousness of Cervantes Class Anomalies became too heated.
It is assumed that beyond the paper, the author's deepest intentions are taken into account when creating a Cervantes, although in general the writer explicitly and implicitly describes everything there is to know about his character. However, in the same way, that one must differentiate between the narrative anomaly and its medium of expression, it is certain that the noosphere can make the difference between the author and his words. As far as readers are concerned, well... The question is more complicated.
The more common a fiction is, the less likely it is to develop the abilities of a Cervantes. This strange paradox has long been misunderstood, a common fiction having normally acquired a more powerful anchorage in the noosphere. It was finally a cross-study between Prof. Ainley and Prof. Alison Carter of the Department of Art History that finally made it possible to account for the reasons for this phenomenon. It is not so much the strength of the concept in the noosphere as the number of attentive readers that matters. Indeed, SCP-4028 possessed this first attribute but certainly did not have the same proportion of readers as a Harry Potter or a Katniss Everdeen.
The problem with having a lot of readers is that more interpretations come out of it. Pr Ainley and Carter concluded that for the formation of a Cervantes, it was necessary for the crystallization of interpretations to take place around a common Canon, free of all debate and fanfare that would parasitize the noosphere. This is why the majority of the Cervantes Class anomalies forming on the basis of known characters were written in older periods. It is a bit as if the mass of readers formed a cacophony, and that over time the cacophony faded, organized and crystallized around the vision of the original author, which explains why the majority of narrative anomalies arising from ancient popular fiction have only manifested themselves relatively recently.
[[div style="display: inline-block; border: 1px double #999; background-color: #eee; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 1em 3vw"]]
**Examples of Cervantes Class Anomalies :**
* **[[[SCP-085]]] - Hand-drawn "Cassy"**
* **[[[SCP-423]]] - Self-Inserting Character**
* **[[[SCP-2786]]] - The Archetype**
* **[[[SCP-3043]]] - Murphy Law in… Type 3043 — FOR MURDER !**
* **[[[SCP-4028]]] - //La Historia de Don Quixote de La Mancha//**
* **[http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-484-fr SCP-484-FR] - Billy the Euclid**
* **[http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-482-fr SCP-482-FR] - The day is not over yet**
[[/div]]
------
[[=]]
+++ Reality Bending Narratives: Navidson Class
[[/=]]
------
Navidson Class narrative anomalies are extremely dangerous. They can be a powerful narrative entity or a despotic deity like a silly typewriter that has been a little overzealous. A Navidson is capable of bending a portion of reality in order to turn it into fiction. This type of phenomenon is still far too misunderstood today and is responsible for great damage. A researcher from the Pataphysics Department once compared it to a degradation of the noosphere, "as if one suddenly decided to wipe out part of the world's conceptual biosphere".
If you face a Navidson, you are trapped until the story ends. You are trapped in a molasses of codes and tropes that forces your actions and crushes your free will. And pray that the end is not final. This has already happened with several books kept under the Fahrenheit-451 Protocol in the Department's premises, but we'll come back to this when we talk about containment strategies.
Don't panic though, there is a type of Navidson with lower risks, which is often closer to a reality-folding Queneau. The effect of this type of Navidson is often permanent and targeted to a certain area when it is a physical abnormality, or to a portion of the language. These anomalies will allow certain tropes to be realized by manipulating the probability field. One of the best-known examples of these particular cases of Navidson is related to [[[the-s-c-plastics-hub|Nexus-18]]], a small town in Wisconsin where certain phrases are banned in order not to trigger stupid accidents and where local folklore regularly takes physical form. The research into narrative anomalies there is quite astonishing (I recommend that staff with the necessary credentials look into the research of [[[i-h-p-proposal|Isaiah Howard Pickman]]], supported by the staff at Site-87).
It should be noted that the more the level of interaction between the audience and the narration is allowed, the more often one will tend to find Navidson-type anomalies: the proportion of books in which you are the hero, role-playing games, and other abnormal video games has exploded in recent years, notably due to videogame companies such as [[[groups-of-interest#toc1|Arcadia]]] or creations by [[[gamers-against-weed-hub|Gamers Against Weed]]]. Some artistic circles have also offered us some of Navidson's high-potential plays.
[[div style="display: inline-block; border: 1px double #999; background-color: #eee; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 1em 3vw"]]
**Examples of Navidson Class Anormalies :**
* **[[[SCP-3309]]] - Where We Go When We Fade, Fade Away**
* **[[[SCP-3143]]] - Murphy Law in… The Foundation Always Rings Twice!**
* **[[[SCP-3138]]] - A Sepulcher by the Sea**
* **[[[SCP-4040]]] - At The Bottom Of A Bottomless Pit**
* **[[[SCP-4720]]] - So Come on ye Childhood Heroes! Won’t You Rise Up From the Pages?**
* **[[[SCP-6791]]] - The Protagonist**
*
[[/div]]
------
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Containment methods and strategies]]
[[div style="background: #e6e6e6; center no-repeat ; float: center; border: solid 3px #3e2659; padding: 1px 15px;"]]
------
[[=]]
+++ First Contact and Recovery
[[/=]]
------
Directly infiltrating the noosphere has long been an objective pursued by the Pataphysics Department, with varying degrees of success. During the early stages of our experiments, we did almost as much damage to the biosphere as a nice big industrial revolution would have done.[[footnote]] Even today, some initiatives to colonise the collective human consciousness such as the Japanese "[http://scp-int.wikidot.com/foundation-collective-hub Foundation Collective]" project provoke many debates between noosphere experts and oneirology experts. [[/footnote]] It was necessary to set up a crisis cell in charge of restoring the collective heritage of thought, and it was at this time that certain small groups strongly comparable to Greenpeace of culture and memory appeared on the international abnormal scene. We infiltrated or even absorbed some of them to speed up our research, and the others fell silent when the problem was solved. Only a few containment processes within the noosphere remained active in cases of force majeure. Finally, we are now opting for external strategies or more surgical interventions within the noosphere.
First of all, location. The vast majority of narrative anomalies are spotted by simple artificial intelligences employed by the Foundation, which are very old but still sufficiently effective today. The Pataphysics Department employs just over 40% of these artificial intelligences alone. Among them, there are different models such as I/O-ISMETA or I/O-MANDELA robots, quite common when it comes to searching for conversations on the web. They are a kind of evolution of search bots that worked only by keywords.
Once a narrative anomaly is identified, an attempt is usually made to make contact with it. Getting in touch with narratives is always a very complex process: it's quite as if two different worlds were confronting each other, and sometimes a great deal of diplomacy is required. At one time SCP-423 was used to make contact with certain narrative anomalies, but over time it was judged not to be a very reliable tool. A major reform of the Department's workforce was passed at the time to find a way to replace it. In any event, the priority is first and foremost to identify which category of narrative anomaly one is dealing with, before quickly running away. Only then is it time to move on to containment.
------
[[=]]
+++ Queneau Class: A Book without Reader is a Dead Book
[[/=]]
------
The first thing to remember about the containment of anomalous narrations is the sentence that serves as the title of this part. A book without a reader is a dead book: indeed, beyond the cruel truth of the literary milieu depicted by this quotation, the noosphere is irremediably affected by it. Not reading a book, therefore, becomes a means of allowing it to fade into the collective consciousness. The vast majority of containment methods try to take advantage of this adage.
We had previously separated the physical vector and the narrative anomaly itself, quietly sheltered from the noosphere. A classic way of containing a narrative anomaly is therefore to censor or even destroy its supports, and to keep only one of them. This is a strategy generally adopted for all anomalous books: [[[SCP-701]]] is the most famous example. We then find ourselves with a single means of reciprocal communication with the anomaly: what do we do?
One can decide to simply close the book and never open it again. But this is the procedure to follow for anomalous items: a department does not build itself up by closing books. Some anomalies are more pernicious and, as mentioned earlier, are contagious. The conversion of other narratives is not limited to physical proximity, as we have seen. It is first necessary to establish the rules of conversion:
* What do the works affected by the anomaly have in common?
* What can be said about these works before and after conversion?
* Is it a matter of gender, style, period?
* Why has Hamlet become a recipe?
It is these kinds of questions and many others that need to be asked. Once the modus operandi of the anomaly has been established, it is time to establish countermeasures.
First of all, a bait can be set up. Many artificial intelligences were provided to the Pataphysics Department when it was reformed in 2010. Highly efficient, they are capable of regularly generating fictions according to a set of pre-established tropes and of creating perfect bait for contagious narrative anomalies. Sometimes even, for the needs of containment, these fictions are edited. Yes. A narrative AI that has proven itself in the production of well-tried fictions based on the same model to confine a particularly tough anomaly is nicknamed a good Musso. Once again, a nickname all the more amusing as the Department's senior staff knows that "Guillaume Musso" is indeed regularly reviewed by the Engineering Department's teams.
Otherwise, we can try to limit the damage by isolating the anomaly and infecting its narrative with different processes that will effectively confine it. These are discussed in the next section, but the usual measures used against infohazards are just as effective. Remember: a book needs a reader. Although some anomalies act independently of the reader, sometimes an anomalous piece of fiction simply seems to want attention. It is not a real desire, more a kind of reflex due to its condition. So eliminate the reader (not literally, of course), and the anomaly will neutralize itself.
Neutralize is a strong word, though: we are not the Global Occult Coalition, and we are not allowed to neutralize anomalies permanently. Fortunately, the exception related to narrative anomalies is that their neutralization is temporary. Without a reader, they end up entering a kind of hibernation. It is this state that is sought by the narrative containment teams. In the event that the anomaly is read again, it could reconnect to the noosphere and become active again.
However, in order to be able to continue to study the anomalies confined within our walls without transforming all the documentation into shopping lists or fanfictions, several protocols for digitizing anomalous documents were established. They are grouped together under the name of Fahrenheit Protocols: anti-memetic filters allowing the document consulted to be erased from the consultant's memory after a certain time, [http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/lorem-ipsum-dolor narrative locks] against the metanarrative facetiaes of Navidson Class anomalies, memetic agents blocking access to the noosphere through the consultant's brain, and many others, sometimes combined together. In the same way, it is forbidden to enter the archives of the Pataphysics Department without wearing specific goggles capable of blocking the infohazards and the access of the anomaly to the noosphere.
------
[[=]]
+++ Cervantes Class: Stylistic Incarcerations
[[/=]]
------
When it comes to conscious anomalies, it's a different matter. We come back to the eternal debate about whether narrative entities feel pain and emotions or whether they imitate them, in one sentence: should we be concerned with ethical issues when confining narrative entities? If the debate still exists, the question no longer arises.
In the past, methods of containment resembled methods of torture more than anything else. Let's talk about containment by Recursive Intrigues. The principle is simple and is based on the fact that conscious narrative entities alter a narrative as they progress through it. A researcher had proposed the creation of a set of recursive intrigues in which to enclose the subject. The intrigue loops back on itself, usually short enough to prevent the entity from performing too many actions that could break the loop. The problem is that entities always end up going almost crazy and more dangerous, or even causing [[[magnum-opus-or-a-diatribe-in-defence-of-cliche|much more worrying]]] problems.
This kind of method gave birth to the Pataphysics Historical and Eclectic Division of Reports and the Abnormal, the PHEDRA. The PHEDRA in its day consisted of a whole team of outstanding writers armed with a literary baggage of hardened steel, specially trained to write environments of containment that would engulf their hosts in a molasses of fate and tragic destiny.
The worst enemy for the anomalous character is his/her story: make it unbearable, make the style heavier, use the right sentences at the right time, and the book will become a nightmare for a Cervantes Class entity. But if the methods of the PHEDRA have been modified and abandoned, for the most part, it is not because of a question of ethics: it is a question of deontology, which was addressed when the great reforms of the Pataphysics Department were implemented concerning the damage inflicted on the noosphere and our methods of containment.
A short historical and artistic aside:
Prof. Gustav Reuel was an eminent researcher in the Department of Art History, and one of the great thinkers of the Abnormal Conservative current of the late 20^^th^^ century. At that time, manufactured anomalies were booming and spreading with alarming speed on the market. The Foundation, therefore, considered for a moment the possibility of destroying these anomalies: in fact, their conservation was based solely on the principle of rarity and on the principle of study. Neither of these principles was taken into account in the case of manufactured anomalies: they could almost be mass-produced and reproduced, so we knew more or less how they worked. The Foundation, therefore, began to delegate several cases to the Global Occult Coalition, in order to remain consistent in its principles.
However, anomalous art got involved. The History of Anomalous Art is a vast and conflicting subject, I will try to be brief in order to get to the point. Since the Dada, Surrealist, and Impressionist movements, which responded to the horror and absurdity of war by deconstructing Art with a capital A and a sharp criticism of humanity, it has become difficult to define the boundary between art and non-art. One will automatically think of Duchamp's ready-made, and of all the everyday objects that the artist can proclaim as work. It so happens that the anarchist movements associated with these ideologies emerged well after the shots were fired, around 1952. In fact, abnormal technical breakthroughs would not explode until this period, as the few resources that had previously existed were better hidden from the public and were heavily requisitioned for the needs of the Seventh Occult War.
However, the Foundation and the GOC will treat anartists like other technology production companies: if it can be rebuilt, there's no need to bother. The GOC and even some of the Foundation's directors (especially in certain areas of North-West America, particularly affected by anartist demonstrations) will encourage the recovery and mass destruction of anomalous works of art, not without capturing and interviewing the anartists behind them. This practice was all the more common as artistic performances exploded at the time, and some works were thus ephemeral (and often all the more dangerous).
In reaction to the destruction measures advocated in Eastern Europe against modern anart, Prof. Gustav Reuel imposed the idea that the destruction of anomalous art would be considered a form of censorship and an attack on the collective heritage of humanity. Reuel claimed that the evolution of anomalous art, in a sense, was part of the History of Art as a whole. In the same way, artistic creation, even using anomalous tools, was for him a right of humanity. Prof. Reuel's work made many waves in his time and even today, but ultimately his theories completely changed the way narrative anomalies were dealt with.
Applying Reuelean and conservative thinking to the problem of the containment of narrative anomalies, their unethical confinement is considered an alteration of the work. To put it simply, if we consider that a Cervantes Class anomaly is conscious, then it is appropriate to establish a containment with a minimum of ethics. On the other hand, if we decide to consider that this same anomaly is not conscious, it remains a work of art: any attack on its integrity is therefore considered an act of vandalism. A conservation policy is therefore applied, in which the narrative anomaly must be studied with the greatest care in order to alter its nature as little as possible.
End of the aside.
Thus, the majority of the anomalies handled by the Pataphysics Department are now contained with the greatest care. Contact with the Cervantes is rather made through lengthy negotiations, sometimes with the support of other cooperative metanarrative entities, through false threats never carried out or by exploiting the very particular psychology of a narrative entity to trap it unwittingly in its own narrative bias. Recalcitrant and dangerous entities alone are considered a threat and their confinements are reinforced. Security above all.
Nevertheless, there are still some elements opposed to the conservation policy and wishing for the return of the old methods of containment: these are based on the argument that the Cervantes are works that evolve over time, in the manner of a performance. According to this logic, what happens to the work is automatically part of it, and the old methods of containment of the PHEDRA would therefore not be an attack on their integrity. PHEDRA, for its part, is still relevant, but less present and much more careful in its elaboration of fictional cells.
Finally, we discussed the role of the number of readers and the number of interpretations in the formation of Cervantes Class anomalies. Yes, increasing the number of readers of a fiction can prevent the formation of a Cervantes.[[footnote]] It should be noted, moreover, that a Cervantes cannot be "regressed": if it appears at a time T, it is too late. [[/footnote]] No, the Foundation is not responsible for the creation of fanfiction.net and half of the discussion forums about your favourite story. Discussions about these passions are phenomena that already happen very well on their own, and which, to make matters worse, are not looked upon favourably by advocates of the noosphere. Indeed, we are still unable to know whether this constitutes a development of the noosphere or a form of "natural pollution" of it.
Here we find a problem similar to global warming (if so). Before the reforms of the Pataphysics Department, when it was still possible to manipulate the noosphere, as a preventive measure we allowed ourselves to highlight potentially dangerous fictions instead of censoring them. In this way, we hoped to delay the arrival of war narrative anomalies in the escalation of violence, destruction, death, and so forth.
The problem is that in doing so, these fictions and concepts have taken on certain importance within the noosphere. And so we saw similar fictions grow, which had to be put forward again, and the vicious circle was set in motion. Today, while we have stopped this preventive operation, the process continues without our help, and we don't have enough hindsight and credit to devote to the phenomenon in order to determine whether it represents a real threat to the noosphere. I don't know about you, but this situation is vaguely familiar to me. But let's try not to dwell on personal considerations.
------
[[=]]
+++ Navidson Class: Final Cut
[[/=]]
------
There is a division of the Pataphysics Department more powerful than PHEDRA, empowered to use narratives of massive destruction, create narrative anomalies and in case of extreme urgency to modify the noosphere. Internal to the department, it was named Narrative Task Force Delta-42 "Le Côté-du-Manche", and is virtually one of the intervention forces with the most members at the Foundation. Being able to create narrative anomalies to combat the most dangerous narrative entities, NTF Delta-42 is theoretically capable of having as many members as it can write.
When tackling Navidson Class anomalies, there is often nothing to do but wait for the end of the story. Delta-42 intervenes in these situations in order to hasten the end. This is the so-called Final Cut strategy. The NTF first sends its narrative scouts to the area affected by the Navidson, in order to gather as much information as possible about the rules of operation of the fiction in progress. A range of clichés is tested and provoked in order to understand what narrative rules the NTF is dealing with. The information is then compiled and analysed in order to find the narrative flaws of the anomaly. Once this step has been completed, the scouts pose as characters and the coordinators give them several indications and narrative counter-measures in order to hasten the end of the story.
A crisis situation managed by "Le Côté-du-Manche" is fascinating to observe. Each of its members must know how a situation is supposed to end, which tropes are at work, and when what to do to prevent this from happening, and how this will affect the rest of the story. To quote Director Panagiotopolous: "Le Côté-du-Manche is a bit like writing a story with 36 hands, but all the hands deal with the same sentence at the same time". NTF Delta-42, for the record, was born out of incidents involving another cursed name in the history of narrative confinement: [[[murphy-law-hub|Murphy Law]]]. The incident had become so widespread that there was even a time when there was talk of militarising the metafictional resources of the Pataphysics Department.
------
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Special cases]]
[[div style="background: #e6e6e6; center no-repeat ; float: center; border: solid 3px #3e2659; padding: 1px 15px;"]]
------
[[=]]
+++ Hazred Class: Narration as Passage
[[/=]]
------
Fake narrative anomalies exist. Very often, these are phenomena or entities that use narrative support as a passage to our world. Since the noosphere is quite malleable, if one has the ability to manipulate it as one pleases, it is then possible to create very effective portals between one world and another. The downside is that these portals are basically only used to convey ideas, feelings, and information, as any good book would do. For example, you will notice that a demonic entity is never invoked through an old grimoire, but that it is invoked by reciting the information it contains. An entity that is not narrative in nature is incapable of going through the narrative as a Navidson would.
These anomalies are not considered narrative anomalies strictly speaking, as they are relatively simple to contain: they sometimes have the destructive potential of a Navidson, but invariably the Special Containment Procedures of a harmless Queneau. Very often, the anomaly is thus not the narrative support, and therefore does not fall under the jurisdiction of the Pataphysics Department.
[[div style="display: inline-block; border: 1px double #999; background-color: #eee; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 1em 3vw"]]
**Examples of Hazred Class anomalies:**
* **[[[SCP-701]]] - The Hanged King's Tragedy**
* **[http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-161-fr SCP-161-FR] - The Book and the Beast**
* **[http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-306-fr SCP-306-FR] - The Artists' Book**
* **[http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-400-fr SCP-400-FR] - She's too beautiful to be true**
[[/div]]
------
[[=]]
+++ Narrative Thaumiels
[[/=]]
------
Perhaps it is time, as we approach the end of this booklet, to re-establish a truth that is too often forgotten:
> The Pataphysics Department has nothing to do with 'pataphysics.
This sentence may seem absurd, but it turns out that pataphysics suffers from the same problem as memetics, so that when in certain circles of abnormal research it was necessary to create a term to designate the strength of ideas rather than anomalous ideas, we have seen some researchers use the new term 'memetics, in the vain hope of making things easier to understand.
'Pataphysics is an absurd literary, philosophical and poetic movement invented by the writer Alfred Jarry in [[[SCP-410-FR]]], a book entitled //Exploits and Opinions of Dr. Faustroll, Pataphysician//. The pataphysics, within the SCP Foundation, refers to the study of anomalous phenomena of a narrative nature. If I may make this aside, it is because SCP-410-FR, despite its classification as Neutralized, is considered within the Pataphysics Department as an extreme case of Narrative Thaumiel.
Narrative Thaumiels are a category of narrative anomaly which in ancient times were called Reverse Navidsons, or Super-Navidsons: these anomalies are capable of rendering reality fictitious, in the case of SCP-410-FR of purely and simply neutralising anomalous phenomena. The common principle of these anomalies is that they are able to bend reality through the noosphere in order to make use of the beliefs of humanity: if the latter considers that one of our creatures only exists in books, then the Narrative Thaumiel will take care of erasing it from reality.
Narrative Thaumiels are as dangerous as they are extremely rare. The conditions leading to the creation of such anomalies are extremely specific and random, requiring narrative support and a rate of diffusion that is not always clear to the public. Even the intervention of the abnormal is something we are not sure about: Jarry himself was fervently convinced that the abnormal did not exist, and it is impossible for us to know whether he was a reality bender with the little information available on SCP-410-FR. The Phobetor Project tried for years to understand and reproduce the effects of SCP-410-FR for emergency neutralisations, with no success.
The danger of these anomalies is that they are based on beliefs, not objective reality: if enough people decide that a place, event, or species does not exist, that is what could happen. Here again, noosphere and biosphere communicate: our department and the [http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/introduction-au-dedd Department of Ecology and Sustainable Development], during recent work aimed at studying the links between these two concepts, raised the question of whether the disappearance of certain species was not due to phenomena of Narrative Thaumiels. For the time being, these are only correlations, but because of certain anomalous phenomena, believing that certain species are endangered would //actually// endanger them. I will leave you to imagine the carnage of debate that these studies have provoked since without calling into question the rescue brought to these plants and animals, they //technically// encourage us not to worry about them.
It is difficult to expand on the subject of Narrative Thaumiels without opening dangerous doors, so I recommend that you inform yourself about the work of the [http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/proposition-du-pr-finalis Observatory of Anomalous and Socio-Cultural Correlations] if you wish to go further, at your own risk. Be careful, however, as some of their work and research is potentially outside your Clearance Level. I myself am surprised to encounter so many error messages.
------
[[=]]
+++ The Language Bureau: What about Translation?
[[/=]]
------
We are entering the conceptual underbelly of the Pataphysics Department, so forgive me if I have difficulties going into details and if I will be brief. The Bureau of Translation and Cultural Study of Narrative and Language, very often simplified in BTCN by the official documents and in Bureau of Language [[footnote]] as well as in TransBuro by the members of the BTCN themselves. [[/footnote]] by the members of the Department, is more or less the main body responsible for research in all matters other than the containment of narrative anomalies. More specifically, the Language Bureau is concerned with research on narrative, language, and its subtleties from one culture to another. For my part, I am more specialized in containment, and of the Language Bureau's missions, I retain mainly that its work has been very useful to us in order to establish the appropriate diplomatic dialogue with several anomalies coming from different narrative cultures.
I remember this ancient collection of Japanese poetry, in which the kanji and kanas (the writing signs used) were read from top to bottom, in a way that is uncommon by European standards. We were literally not on the same wavelength with this anomaly. Add to this the honorific nature of the Japanese language and some misplaced cultural barriers, and we were very relieved to see the agents of the Language Bureau take charge of the negotiations that day. I seem to remember that Rimbaud's works owe them a great deal.
It seems that the translation of a work has no real influence on the development of the anomaly linked to it. However, in the case of the Queneau Class Anomalies, the Language Bureau has already observed some unusual behaviors related to translation from one language to another. In particular, it has been noted that a narrative anomaly is capable of visiting/infecting another work independently of its language since the noosphere is a sphere of ideas. However, not all cultures share the same ideas, and this is where anomalies sometimes break down.
Yes, narrative anomalies can be victims of homesickness, cultural inequality, segregation, and xenophobia. I'm telling you, it's not that different from sociology. Narrative depends entirely on humanity and its organization, so I am rarely surprised when I see abnormal tags vandalizing museums in Northern Europe as in 2012, or to see tensions between certain forms of literature. What is fascinating is that these art to art relationships are truly geopolitical, dare I say historic-geopolitical despite the visual and phonetic horror that is the word, since these conflicts cut across artistic eras and movements as well as cultures. Moreover, as we have previously mentioned, narrative anomalies are extremely limited, provided they do not act simply out of automatism.
And believe me, in spite of the fact that I know little about the Language Bureau and its subtleties, I am very grateful to an organization that is legislating in order to prevent the outbreak of a Spatio-temporal narrative war.
------
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Conclusion: The Story Goes On]]
[[div style="background: #e6e6e6; center no-repeat ; float: center; border: solid 3px #3e2659; padding: 1px 15px;"]]
------
The whole problem of narrative anomalies and of our Department lies in this: because of the old experiments carried out in the noosphere, we are no longer allowed to carry out any experiments whatsoever, and in any case, we would not know how to do it. We are very often powerless in the face of the anomalies that we confine, and these somehow dictate their conditions to us. This is the subject of many tensions: just as narrative anomalies accumulate a relatively high rate of containment breaches (independent of their threat level), no one else would know what to do to limit them. Research in narrative containment is still in a state of neglect, and this is also the purpose of this paper.
We can't wait to stop chasing the same clichés on legs, unable to resist the call of the slightest mainstream fiction to devour. We can't stand having to deal with the umpteenth rebellion of a false fiction that destroys all the others and makes us vomit up wobbly abysses. This department is in great need of new blood, and the more time passes, the more narrative anomalies come to be.
For in truth, you can massacre men, break their spirits, annihilate their hopes. This is what all the horrors that are hidden within our walls do.
But killing a story is almost impossible.
------
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[/tabview]]
[[footnoteblock]]
[[include <a href="/component:license-box">component:license-box</a>
|author=originally published by Felter Finalis on [http://fondationscp.wikidot.com/ Fondation SCP], translated by macro_au_micro and UncleNicolini]]
[[include <a href="/component:license-box-end">component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-28T19:37:00
|
[
"_fr",
"_licensebox",
"international",
"orientation",
"pataphysics-dept",
"science-fiction",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] |
Narrative Anomalies Orientation - SCP Foundation
| 31
|
[
"scp-4028",
"sandrewswann-s-proposal",
"oneiroi",
"scp-426",
"scp-1893",
"scp-3055",
"scp-4098",
"scp-085",
"scp-423",
"scp-2786",
"scp-3043",
"the-s-c-plastics-hub",
"i-h-p-proposal",
"groups-of-interest#toc1",
"gamers-against-weed-hub",
"scp-3309",
"scp-3143",
"scp-3138",
"scp-4040",
"scp-4720",
"scp-6791",
"scp-701",
"magnum-opus-or-a-diatribe-in-defence-of-cliche",
"murphy-law-hub",
"scp-410-fr",
"task-forces#omicron-rho",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"lorecon2023",
"scp-international"
] |
[] |
1453494807
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/intro-aux-anomalies-narratives
|
|
intrunes
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<hr/>
<div class="email">
<div class="tofrom">
<p><strong>To:</strong> Seminar-Approved-Mailing-List<br/>
<strong>From:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|46etishtimsdlocj#ten.pics|46etishtimsdlocj</span><br/>
<strong>Subject:</strong> Mandatory Seminar - Runes and you!</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Hello! If you are reading this, we have selected you, your department, site, and/or team to attend this mandatory seminar! If this is sent to a department, site or team lead, please send some appropriate members under your purview. This is not to be used as a punishment detail, as attendees will need to be able to facilitate the dissemination of this knowledge and training.</p>
<p>This seminar will take place over three weeks in Site-64's B-Wing; accommodations will be provided. The topic of discussion will be Thaumaturgical Runes: the basics, their usages, and their nuances. Attendees will learn about the lore and practice behind the art, the mechanics, components, and differences based on the cultures and traditions of runes. This information is shared to spread awareness and more effectively handle issues that arise in the field or other research in a safe manner.</p>
<p>After all, you don't want to try to neutralize Daevite runes with the Sarkic alphabet!</p>
<p>The sessions will also include a brief overview of thaumaturgy and its workings, especially in comparison and contrast to runes. This will most likely contain some review for most attending; for those unfamiliar with such things, fret not! We shall equip you well with the needed knowledge.</p>
<p>Note, please ensure attendees have or will be approved for at least Level-3-Deep-Blue clearance prior to attending. This is due to the clearance required by some renowned groups attending. If you're getting this you can most likely figure out which more classified groups will be sending members.</p>
<p>Otherwise, allow me to introduce myself; I am Dr. Jasper Coldsmith, DThaRS: Doctor of Thaumaturgic Runic Sciences. I am a second-generation Foundation staff, was dead for a few years in the line of duty, and am currently designated <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7963">SCP-7963-1A</a>.</p>
<p>Assisting me will be Researcher Thomas Yaltz who many may be familiar with, a man with many names, also designated as <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-507">SCP-507</a>.</p>
<p>Please note that we will not tolerate any discrimination towards anomalous staff. Not for Yaltz and me, but for the wizards in the room.</p>
<p>We look forward to working with you.<br/>
-J. Coldsmith</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Introduction</span></h1>
</div>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Seminar Video Log Transcript</strong></p>
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 5/06/202X</p>
<p><strong>Subject:</strong> Introduction to Runes</p>
<p><strong>Seminar Lead:</strong> Dr. Jasper Coldsmith</p>
<p><strong>Team Members:</strong> Researcher Thomas Yaltz</p>
<p>[BEGIN VIDEO]</p>
<p><em>Footage shows people entering the meeting room as the starting time nears.</em></p>
<p><em>At the start time, hands grasp the front desk from underneath it, pulling out a mechanical form that rapidly unfolds into a humanoid shape, rotating its joints and torso into a front-facing position. The now-revealed robot reaches back down, pulls out a white lab coat, donning it with slow mechanical precision.</em></p>
<p><strong>Coldsmith:</strong> <tt>Greetings! Welcome to our first day; Introduction to Runes! We will begin momentarily as soon as Tom arrives.</tt></p>
<p><em>A few minutes pass before Coldsmith reaches into their lab coat pocket, pulls out their phone, and begins typing on it.</em></p>
<p><em>Air is displaced in a loud popping noise as a figure appears in the front of the room, wearing a large grey conical hat that slightly sags; they look around the room momentarily before speaking.</em></p>
<p><strong>Yaltz:</strong> A Wizard is never late. He arrives precisely when he means to.</p>
<p><em>Coldsmith snaps his fingers and points to Yaltz.</em></p>
<p><strong>Coldsmith:</strong> <tt>Yeah he's uh, a Type Blue now; Grabnok the Grey. He has what is known as a bloodline, we'll go over that later, and how they can be helpful in the construction of a rune.</tt></p>
<p><strong>Coldsmith:</strong> <tt>Many of you know the drill, it's a part of your daily life. For those not in a magic-oriented workplace, we'll cover some tidbits from Director Moose's older "Magic Seminar," which you should all be able to find in the network now available to you in workplace training.</tt></p>
<p><strong>Coldsmith:</strong> <tt>There are many types of workings of magic but the key is simple: sympathy. If one wants to throw a ball of fire you'd use something representative of fire, a lighter is cheap; matches more so. You're caught with your pants down; use friction. Fire is heat, and it's easy to make. This same concept of sympathy is very central to runes as well.</tt></p>
<p><strong>Yaltz:</strong> Another key part of a working, or a spell, would be the backlash. Newton rears his damned head in our magic as well, that bastard. The same fireball spell might leave you ironically a bit chilly, or the area around you might start to frost over; depending on how you constructed the spell and what was used for it.</p>
<p><strong>Yaltz:</strong> Using that lighter is not as bad as winging it with a bit of friction; there was a flame, and it got big. You can also think of it as reality snapping back. If equal and opposite reactions do not work for you, how about one from my favorite show: Equivalent Exchange.</p>
<p><em>Coldsmith looks into the audience after hearing some comments.</em></p>
<p><strong>Coldsmith:</strong> <tt>No, you can't call me full metal.</tt></p>
<p><strong>Coldsmith:</strong> <tt>Runes handle things like a ritual would with varying degrees of preparation time. You could of course build a more elaborate, permanent rune that would be comparable to a ritual in time and resources. Still, unless the materials are garbage, they will generally be reusable or long-lasting.</tt></p>
<p><strong>Yaltz:</strong> Some would be easier than lighting a match.</p>
<p><em>Yaltz picks up a blue marker and draws a few symbols inside of a circle before placing his hand on the board; causing the drawing to glow briefly.</em></p>
<p><strong>Yaltz:</strong> <span style="color: blue">And like a blast from the <a href="another-goddamn-magic-system" style="color:blue"><strong>magic orientation</strong></a> past I now speak in blue. Da ba dee and all that. You'll notice the dry-erase marker on the board looks like someone dabbed an eraser on parts of it now, that is the rune being worn down in exchange.</span></p>
<p><strong>Coldsmith:</strong> <tt>Materials matter overall as they would in normal workings; in the case of runes format and language apply as well. For our current example of fire, use a language associated with fire, warmth, or heat. Spanish would be a good mundane language to write in for this, as opposed to a Nordic language; conversely, a more supernatural language would flavor our spiciness differently. Enokian, the language of the angels, would give us some nice holy fire while a Tartarean dialect would give us some good old hellfire. Alternatively, get some of Agent Navarro's blood and write it in whatever mundane language to give you nuclear fire because his bloodline is bullshit.</tt></p>
<p><strong>Coldsmith:</strong> <tt>Bloodlines and actual blood from specific people that can be used or mixed into the materials for runes would greatly enhance the finished product. In some cases, it can even apply the bloodline's unique traits. If you want nuclear power, get Navarro. If you want dimensional bullshit, get some from Yaltz here; it's why he can poof around. Do note that he's doing the equivalent of dimension-shifting and not real in-house teleportation.</tt></p>
<p><strong>Coldsmith:</strong> <tt>Now, that we've covered our broad topic base briefly thus far, let us move forward into rune-working basics and how it can cover more basic spellcraft.</tt></p>
<p><em>Video has reached the end of its playtime. Next video: "Basics of Rune Work" has been queued.</em></p>
<p>[END VIDEO]</p>
</div>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-true earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-no {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="TITLE OF PREVIOUS">
<p><a class="newpage" href="/url-of-previous">TITLE OF PREVIOUS</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="TITLE OF HUB">
<p><a class="newpage" href="/url-of-hub">TITLE OF HUB</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Basics of Runes & You! (To be released)">
<p><a class="newpage" href="/url-of-next">Basics of Runes & You! (To be released)</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:scp-archive">:scp-wiki:theme:scp-archive</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
.email-example .collapsible-block-folded a.collapsible-block-link {
animation: blink 0.8s ease-in-out infinite alternate;
}
@keyframes blink {
0% { color: transparent; }
50%, 100% { color: #b01; }
}
.email {border: solid 2px #000000; width: 88%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.5)}
.email-example a.collapsible-block-link {font-weight: bold;}
.tofrom {margin-left: 10px; margin-top: 5px; padding: 1px 15px; border-left: solid 3px maroon}
[[/module]]
[[=]]
------
[[div class="email"]]
[[div class="tofrom"]]
**To:** Seminar-Approved-Mailing-List
**From:** [email protected]
**Subject:** Mandatory Seminar - Runes and you!
[[/div]]
------
Hello! If you are reading this, we have selected you, your department, site, and/or team to attend this mandatory seminar! If this is sent to a department, site or team lead, please send some appropriate members under your purview. This is not to be used as a punishment detail, as attendees will need to be able to facilitate the dissemination of this knowledge and training.
This seminar will take place over three weeks in Site-64's B-Wing; accommodations will be provided. The topic of discussion will be Thaumaturgical Runes: the basics, their usages, and their nuances. Attendees will learn about the lore and practice behind the art, the mechanics, components, and differences based on the cultures and traditions of runes. This information is shared to spread awareness and more effectively handle issues that arise in the field or other research in a safe manner.
After all, you don't want to try to neutralize Daevite runes with the Sarkic alphabet!
The sessions will also include a brief overview of thaumaturgy and its workings, especially in comparison and contrast to runes. This will most likely contain some review for most attending; for those unfamiliar with such things, fret not! We shall equip you well with the needed knowledge.
Note, please ensure attendees have or will be approved for at least Level-3-Deep-Blue clearance prior to attending. This is due to the clearance required by some renowned groups attending. If you're getting this you can most likely figure out which more classified groups will be sending members.
Otherwise, allow me to introduce myself; I am Dr. Jasper Coldsmith, DThaRS: Doctor of Thaumaturgic Runic Sciences. I am a second-generation Foundation staff, was dead for a few years in the line of duty, and am currently designated [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7963 SCP-7963-1A].
Assisting me will be Researcher Thomas Yaltz who many may be familiar with, a man with many names, also designated as [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-507 SCP-507].
Please note that we will not tolerate any discrimination towards anomalous staff. Not for Yaltz and me, but for the wizards in the room.
We look forward to working with you.
-J. Coldsmith
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[=]]
+ Introduction
[[/=]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Seminar Video Log Transcript**
**Date:** 5/06/202X
**Subject:** Introduction to Runes
**Seminar Lead:** Dr. Jasper Coldsmith
**Team Members:** Researcher Thomas Yaltz
[BEGIN VIDEO]
//Footage shows people entering the meeting room as the starting time nears.//
//At the start time, hands grasp the front desk from underneath it, pulling out a mechanical form that rapidly unfolds into a humanoid shape, rotating its joints and torso into a front-facing position. The now-revealed robot reaches back down, pulls out a white lab coat, donning it with slow mechanical precision.//
**Coldsmith:** {{Greetings! Welcome to our first day; Introduction to Runes! We will begin momentarily as soon as Tom arrives.}}
//A few minutes pass before Coldsmith reaches into their lab coat pocket, pulls out their phone, and begins typing on it.//
//Air is displaced in a loud popping noise as a figure appears in the front of the room, wearing a large grey conical hat that slightly sags; they look around the room momentarily before speaking.//
**Yaltz:** A Wizard is never late. He arrives precisely when he means to.
//Coldsmith snaps his fingers and points to Yaltz.//
**Coldsmith:** {{Yeah he's uh, a Type Blue now; Grabnok the Grey. He has what is known as a bloodline, we'll go over that later, and how they can be helpful in the construction of a rune.}}
**Coldsmith:** {{Many of you know the drill, it's a part of your daily life. For those not in a magic-oriented workplace, we'll cover some tidbits from Director Moose's older "Magic Seminar," which you should all be able to find in the network now available to you in workplace training.}}
**Coldsmith:** {{There are many types of workings of magic but the key is simple: sympathy. If one wants to throw a ball of fire you'd use something representative of fire, a lighter is cheap; matches more so. You're caught with your pants down; use friction. Fire is heat, and it's easy to make. This same concept of sympathy is very central to runes as well. }}
**Yaltz:** Another key part of a working, or a spell, would be the backlash. Newton rears his damned head in our magic as well, that bastard. The same fireball spell might leave you ironically a bit chilly, or the area around you might start to frost over; depending on how you constructed the spell and what was used for it.
**Yaltz:** Using that lighter is not as bad as winging it with a bit of friction; there was a flame, and it got big. You can also think of it as reality snapping back. If equal and opposite reactions do not work for you, how about one from my favorite show: Equivalent Exchange.
//Coldsmith looks into the audience after hearing some comments.//
**Coldsmith:** {{No, you can't call me full metal.}}
**Coldsmith:** {{Runes handle things like a ritual would with varying degrees of preparation time. You could of course build a more elaborate, permanent rune that would be comparable to a ritual in time and resources. Still, unless the materials are garbage, they will generally be reusable or long-lasting. }}
**Yaltz:** Some would be easier than lighting a match.
//Yaltz picks up a blue marker and draws a few symbols inside of a circle before placing his hand on the board; causing the drawing to glow briefly.//
**Yaltz:** ##blue|And like a blast from the [[a href="another-goddamn-magic-system" style="color:blue"]]**magic orientation**[[/a]] past I now speak in blue. Da ba dee and all that. You'll notice the dry-erase marker on the board looks like someone dabbed an eraser on parts of it now, that is the rune being worn down in exchange.##
**Coldsmith:** {{Materials matter overall as they would in normal workings; in the case of runes format and language apply as well. For our current example of fire, use a language associated with fire, warmth, or heat. Spanish would be a good mundane language to write in for this, as opposed to a Nordic language; conversely, a more supernatural language would flavor our spiciness differently. Enokian, the language of the angels, would give us some nice holy fire while a Tartarean dialect would give us some good old hellfire. Alternatively, get some of Agent Navarro's blood and write it in whatever mundane language to give you nuclear fire because his bloodline is bullshit. }}
**Coldsmith:** {{Bloodlines and actual blood from specific people that can be used or mixed into the materials for runes would greatly enhance the finished product. In some cases, it can even apply the bloodline's unique traits. If you want nuclear power, get Navarro. If you want dimensional bullshit, get some from Yaltz here; it's why he can poof around. Do note that he's doing the equivalent of dimension-shifting and not real in-house teleportation. }}
**Coldsmith:** {{Now, that we've covered our broad topic base briefly thus far, let us move forward into rune-working basics and how it can cover more basic spellcraft.}}
//Video has reached the end of its playtime. Next video: "Basics of Rune Work" has been queued.//
[END VIDEO]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=true | last=false | hub=no
| previous-url=URL_OF_PREVIOUS | previous-title=TITLE OF PREVIOUS
| next-url=URL_OF_NEXT | next-title=Basics of Runes & You! (To be released)
| hub-url=URL_OF_HUB | hub-title=TITLE OF HUB
]]
|
2024-11-10T19:52:00
|
[
"grabnok",
"orientation",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] |
Introduction to Runes - SCP Foundation
| 15
|
[
"scp-7963",
"scp-507",
"another-goddamn-magic-system",
"url-of-previous",
"url-of-hub",
"url-of-next"
] |
[] |
[] |
1457310709
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/intrunes
|
|
ir000281-ch000265-rb000279-what-are-we-to-do
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>The junior heirs of MC&D have an important business meeting about the Serpent's Hand. How much is on the line for them here? Perhaps it is all of their futures…</p>
</div>
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">xexnoncores</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p>IR000281-CH000265-RB000279: WHAT ARE WE TO DO? by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/xexnoncores" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9159226); return false;"><img alt="xexnoncores" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9159226&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1734265181" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9159226)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/xexnoncores" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9159226); return false;">xexnoncores</a></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/ir000281-ch000265-rb000279-what-are-we-to-do">IR000281-CH000265-RB000279: WHAT ARE WE TO DO?</a>" by xexnoncores, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/ir000281-ch000265-rb000279-what-are-we-to-do">https://scpwiki.com/ir000281-ch000265-rb000279-what-are-we-to-do</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
The junior heirs of MC&D have an important business meeting about the Serpent's Hand. How much is on the line for them here? Perhaps it is all of their futures...
]]
=====
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--
|name=xexnoncores]]
IR000281-CH000265-RB000279: WHAT ARE WE TO DO? by [[*user xexnoncores]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
[[module ListPages category="fragment" parent="." limit="1" order="name" offset="@URL|0"]]
%%content%%
[[/module]]
[!-- https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:ir000281-ch000265-rb000279-what-are-we-to-do-0 --]
[!-- https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:ir000281-ch000265-rb000279-what-are-we-to-do-1 --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-11-24T16:39:00
|
[
"_listpages",
"bureaucracy",
"corporate",
"iris-dark",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"robert-carter",
"serpents-hand",
"skitter-marshall",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
IR000281-CH000265-RB000279: WHAT ARE WE TO DO? - SCP Foundation
| 20
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"serpent-s-hand-hub",
"marshall-carter-and-dark-hub"
] |
[] |
1457430914
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ir000281-ch000265-rb000279-what-are-we-to-do
|
|
irene-in-leafy-english-suburbs
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>She'd look at them, and feel exhausted at the prospect of a love affair, but there they were. There was else nothing for it.</p>
</div>
<p>Spiros. Musa. Ai-Fan. Zhang. Franklin.</p>
<p>The woman spoke their names each morning, pronouncing each syllable slowly, carefully. The effect was one of a rhythmic chant, but under her breath; it gave them a quality that was both hurried and pedantic.</p>
<p>She would rise, and Irene would shift slightly next to her. She moved a hand to touch a shoulder, thought better of it, and climbed out of bed, dressing quietly and carefully. She closed the door lightly on her way out, but the click of the lock still jerked Irene awake, blinking at the blank wall.</p>
<p>The woman walked downstairs, the wooden steps each creaking. She went to the kitchen, poured herself a bowl of cereal, and went up to the first floor. She brushed away the gauzy curtains, and say, crosslegged, eating her breakfast and staring at the window opposite.</p>
<p>The house was in Ealing, in a Sol variant. It was a pleasant Victorian building. The mark was a scientist - an innocent, she supposed - who would invent a time machine. This machine would, purely by chance, end the world. She and Irene had been dispatched to stop this by any means necessary.</p>
<p>Houses like this had a deadening quality to them. They were light and airy, but the wooden floor and plaster ceilings felt like they absorbed sound. She closed her eyes, and listened. A car went past, and then there was nothing. No vibrations in the world at all.</p>
<p>"You're up early."</p>
<p>Irene Cassavetes stood at the bottom of the staircase, blinking blearily, her head cocked on her shoulder. So the woman smiled. "Couldn't sleep. Wanted to get an early start."</p>
<p>Irene smiled and nodded, then stumbled downstairs. The woman's smile was turned off. She turned to look out of the window.</p>
<hr/>
<p>She had not wanted a partner on the assignment, but she'd been given little choice. Her superiors had heard about what happened in London, and they'd insisted that she have a partner this time. She'd objected, but there was little point; the decision had already been made.</p>
<p>Irene was, at least, someone she knew. They'd plunged into Site-01 together; they'd done a couple of other missions, back in the old days. But she'd never been part of her crew, her little band, her real comrades. The seven of them who'd been part of Division B992, an Extrauniversal Retrieval Crew based out of Orchard.</p>
<p>Irene was a friendly, cordial face to her; someone she could rely on, sharp, severe and efficient. She was four or five years older than her. She'd been on sixty, seventy missions, far more than her; but this came with a twitchiness, an anxiety. Things going wrong seemed to sharpen her, but the woman always got the sense that she was one crisis away from collapse.</p>
<p>So when she'd seen her outside the house, holding a brown briefcase and dressed in a battered pinstripe suit, she'd almost smiled sincerely. The others were dead, but the shape of things was almost the same.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The routine was simple: morning, afternoon and evening shifts. The purpose was not to keep eyes on the target at all times but to understand his routine. The idea was that a single, well-placed disruption could alter his day-to-day sufficiently to never let his train of thought wander the way it was meant to, eventually leading to discovery and destruction. So the universe would never explode, and the resulting multiversal instability would not come about.</p>
<p>This led to their first major disagreement. It was about half past eleven in the morning; it was the woman's shift, and Irene was sitting with her, reading a book and making occasional comments.</p>
<p>"Tea. Black. Earl Grey."</p>
<p>"No - Assam."</p>
<p>"He takes his Assam black? But he steeps it for so long."</p>
<p>"Only five minutes. It's not undrinkable."</p>
<p>"Speak for yourself."</p>
<p>Irene made a note in a her book, and saw Nieves give her a sidelong glance.</p>
<p>"Is it necessary to note down all of this?" Nieves's eyes were like cobalt. Irene hadn't noticed that before. The younger woman rarely gave her direct eye contact.</p>
<p>"Of course." Irene turned a page. "We have to document every detail, no matter how small, in order to come up with a plan of action. You know that."</p>
<p>"We should just kill him and get it over with."</p>
<p>The unstudied bluntness with which Nieves spoke startled Irene. She stared, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Nieves noticed this, and smiled. She enjoyed getting to her.</p>
<p>"We can't do that! You know we can't!"</p>
<p>"It would require significantly less manpower."</p>
<p>"It would <em>wreck</em> the variables! Changing someone's thoughts is an entirely different affair to removing them from time entirely! A death can have a huge impact, completely alter events. He's already an important physicist, what if someone looks at his notes and - "</p>
<p>"So steal the notes. Or kill whoever reads them."</p>
<p>"Even worse - the more deaths, the more people come looking."</p>
<p>Nieves smiles wider - for a second, just a second, it's a <em>real</em> smile, contemptuous and bright. Irene shudders. Then Nieves shrugs, and is herself again.</p>
<p>"It's also wrong."</p>
<p>"We've killed people before."</p>
<p>"Only when we had to - when the mission necessitated a death. We don't kill people just because it's <em>easy</em>."</p>
<p>"Yes, we do. Every person we killed could have lived. They could have been taken away, imprisoned, contained. We have - had - all reality as our jurisdiction. There's always somewhere you can put them."</p>
<p>"To do what? We can't keep track of <em>every</em> reality."</p>
<p>Nieves shrugged again. Irene turned away, flipping a page of her notes. This woman, she thought, it a little monster, a goblin. She doesn't mean what she says. She just wants to get a rise out of me.</p>
<p>The woman, meanwhile, laughs inside her head, knowing what Irene will be thinking, predicting her thoughts.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Spiros had been forged of brass and gold, a multi-limbed automaton capable of independent thought. His body was a marvel, a clockwork monster that moved with such grace, such swiftness. He clambered up and down the shelves, picking books out, up and down and…</p>
<p>The dream faded, slowly. She woke up and mumbled, stroking the sheet with her hand. Irene's bulk rose up, covered in cotton and heat. Nieves instinctively shrunk away from her, and got up.</p>
<p>"Why don't you use your name?", she'd asked her. Last night; Irene watching through the window, talking distractedly; she, sitting quietly by the radio, listening to Bach variations. She'd turned her head, barely sure she'd heard her properly. How <em>dare</em> she? She swallowed before answering.</p>
<p>"Names don't tell you anything about a person. People confuse the symbol with the reality. So I don't like to be associated with one."</p>
<p>Irene had then turned herself, giving Nieves such a withering look of "what pretentious nonsense" that she'd almost felt ashamed. She'd sat up, and turned away. She did not want to tell her the real reason; it would sound just as silly, and besides, she didn't have the words for it. She wasn't like Simon, she didn't have the gift of -</p>
<p>"Nieves, it's a <em>name</em>. Not everything has to be some mind game. Besides, I've always thought that a name gains associations based on people you know with that name. And I don't think I know anyone else called "Nieves del Rio".</p>
<p>Her face burned hot. She hated Irene in that moment. She was like a blunt instrument, all lines and angles, bulldozing her way across her. What right did she have? How could she know what she meant?</p>
<p>She'd got up, delicately, carefully, and walked out of the room. Irene watched her go, surprised, a little hurt, a little sorry. It had been belittling, she supposed, but it was so hard to get her to <em>talk</em>. It was so frustrating.</p>
<p>At midnight, Irene, having had time to think, put away her gear and turned out the light. She went upstairs, changed, slipped into bed. She leant over and whispered, "I'm sorry", and then turned around and went to sleep without an answer. She'd assumed Nieves was also asleep.</p>
<p>Hoarfrost burnt the inside of the chimney. So many worlds exist in the same world. Refugee camps in the West Sahara, lime-green basements of Brooklyn bars, damp and silent beaches unde the moon, Victorian houses in Ealing. Nieves could have wept with it all. But she didn't. She just stared at the wall.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Musa, sitting there, the cigarette in his hands, smiling at her… this time, she wrenched herself from the dream.</p>
<p>After the first month, the tension had started to become unbearable. What struck Nieves most about her was her hands; they were thin, bony, quick, impeccably manicured. She'd look at them, and feel exhausted at the prospect of a love affair, but there they were. There was else nothing for it.</p>
<p>The two of them were sitting by the window again. They'd been discussing potential methods of disruption, and once again the spectre of her earlier comments hung over them. A pause had come up. She'd sighed. "I didn't mean what I said, you know. The other day. About killing him."</p>
<p>That little <em>smile</em>, like Irene was having all her hopes in her confirmed, was unbearable. "Of course", she said quietly, writing something down. What was she writing down? Why did she have to write <em>everything</em> down?</p>
<p>"Why do you have to write <em>everything</em> down?"</p>
<p>Why had she said that? There'd been a hint of a snap in her voice. Once again, Irene raised her eyebrows. She was always raising her fucking eyebrows, always an expression of slight, pleasant surprise, like she was genuinely interested in you, happy to learn something new about you. It was exhausting. This was <em>all</em> so exhausting.</p>
<p>"I like to keep a diary, and I don't always remember details. So I write things down so I don't forget them."</p>
<p>"Isn't the point of a diary to be spontaneous? To write things down as they come?"</p>
<p>"Maybe for some people. My brain and my memories tend to be a bit of a mush; I like to write things down to keep them ordered in my mind. I can proceed from there."</p>
<p>"Isn't that a little… pre-planned? Surely you have too many thoughts to fit into a single diary."</p>
<p>Irene laughed, shifting slightly, curling up. Nieves almost winced. "You flatter me. Maybe I do, but it's the important ones that matter, the ones that bother me. I need a way to sort through them logically, and as I said, it's all too much of a mush in here."</p>
<p>The binoculars felt hot on her face. When would the moment come? Why did it always take so long?</p>
<hr/>
<p>As it happened, it came that night. They were sitting next to one another again, Irene watching, here eyes sharp, narrowed. Their hands were on the sill, Nieves turned away from the window, reading a book. Her finger had brushed against Irene's; she had not removed it. Time extended, dilated. It was torture. Gradually, over several minutes, their hands became entangled; Irene barely moving, staring across the way, shallow breaths. Nieves sighed.</p>
<p>"They discourage fraternisation, you know. It's bad for us. So many realities, so many… temptations, when you get too attached to other travellers."</p>
<p>"Oh, please. When has that stopped anyone? You're looking for an out before we've even begun."</p>
<p>That startled her, cutting right through. She looked up at Irene, eyes wide, blinking; she was still staring out of the window, a mocking smile on her face to match her own. She was <em>enjoying</em> this. She moved her hand across, grasping hers with conviction, purpose…</p>
<p><em>Musa had been laughing, in bed, the morning she'd left. He'd been smoking, shirtless, looking at her with a mocking grin. His hair, that curly black hair…</em></p>
<p><em>"It'll be fine. I'll see you before tomorrow, anyway. Jobs in Orchard never take that long. What's the worst that can happen?" She'd kissed him, smiling, and left. What was the worse that could happen? Death meant resurrection, after all…</em></p>
<p><em>That was what bothered her. It was so obvious. It was a cheap thriller way to go out. The calamity, happening in such a banal fashion, the ironic goodbye. It was like a story you'd tell someone else - but weren't stories always embellished? Was that not right? Was that different for other people?</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>It was midday; she was finishing her shift. Irene came behind her, lazily draping her arms over her, giving her a peck on her cheek. She'd smiled, and handed her the binoculars; she'd dipped underneath her, laughing. She'd gone over to her desk, in another room, and continued her work. A piece of paper was spread across the table; connections, bound to and fro, ideas, maps, theories -</p>
<p>A warmth, near her right shoulder. She looked around; Irene was looking at her work. "What is all this?"</p>
<p>She covered it up with her hands, smiling, a rictus grin. "Nothing, it's - it's just something I've been working on - you should be at your post - "</p>
<p>"It looks like…"</p>
<p>Twenty million Foundation personnel, dead. The multiverse, burnt. Every site destroyed at once. And nobody knew <em>why</em>.</p>
<p>Every site had been destroyed by entirely natural, or at least predictable, phenomena. There was nothing <em>to</em> trace. A freak landslide. A local war gone wrong. An entirely normal blip in the fabric of reality. Some of them turned out to be routine problems known about for years, that <em>always had been</em> more severe than anticipated. All of them investigated, all of them banal. There was nothing, no leads to go on. The only connection was the Foundation, the timing. It was a matter of who and not what.</p>
<p>"Doesn't it drive you insane?" Nieves stared up with a pleading in her voice. Irene's face looked cold - but Nieves knew her, by this point. That was just an intent look, a concentrating look. What would she say? What would she think of this <em>obsessi</em> -</p>
<p>"Of course. Yes, this makes sense - going over Foundation records, matching the exact, to the <em>second</em>, timings of when the disasters began. Yes, I understand - you're not looking at times, you're looking at <em>place</em>. An inside job… I expect the Administrator doesn't want to think about that."</p>
<p>Nieves smiled, grinned, laughed. Irene gave her a quick smile, and began picking up documents, making notes, offering comments. The mark was ignored for the day. Nieves brought a cup of tea, sitting beside her, discussing, referencing, cross-referencing…</p>
<hr/>
<p>The weeks turned to months. They were happy. They listened to the radio on warm nights; one armchair, another armchair. Irene took up knitting. The lightbulb was warm, flickering - but the lampshade was insufficient. Sometimes, she'd stare up into it, into the electric glow. A fly might buzz around, twitching and buzzing, burning itself, shrieking away.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"You never talk about yourself, you know that? You never talk about Asturias, or Orchard. I'm from Sol - it's all very different there."</p>
<p>She frowned, intent on her book. She didn't look up. Irene wasn't looking at her; she spoke casually, without really thinking. She didn't understand the implications of her words. That was good. That was how it should be.</p>
<p>"There's not much to tell. It was a boring childhood."</p>
<p>"All childhoods are. They're only interesting in hindsight. Come on, tell me something. Anything."</p>
<p>She shifted, uncomfortably. "We had a house, by the mountains. North of Burgos. Very conventional."</p>
<p>The winds would pick up, she remembered; the sound of them whooshing past was gentle, soothing to her, especially on grey days…</p>
<p><em>Was it, though? Were you there? Or was that someone else? Did you forget London already?</em></p>
<p>She shook herself. It was a normal question.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Months went on, and on. Spring to summer. She remembered Ai-Fan, bustling over her plants. She remembered Musa, grinning widely; him gambling, him in ecstasy, him open-mouthed in death, when she'd seen the body. She remembered Spiros, marvelling at his brass and copper joints…</p>
<p>Zhang, sailing into black seas, cackling. Franklin, pushing his glasses up his nose, stroking his beard, his bristly little beard. Simon…</p>
<p>But Simon had survived. Simon was still alive, the last member, bright and dreaming. She stared out of the house, at the mark, at his life, unseen, unseeable. She learnt more and more - Irene's habit of smoking after sex, only after sex; the way England's weather changed without warning, with the black umbrellas bobbing up below; the mark's taste for French music. A gramophone, turning around, grooves upon grooves.</p>
<p>She could feel it coming. She could see it collapsing again. She saw Musa fall, she saw Ai-Fan strangled by her plants. Zhang in the bottom of the ocean. Her hand, gently, stroking Spiros' face, the mechanical light dying, fading, spluttering…</p>
<hr/>
<p>"You don't have to tell me - but please tell someone."</p>
<p>And there it was; Irene's face, uncomposed, vulnerable, almost trembling, pleading with her. Nieves had been thrashing in her sleep, moaning. She'd had no idea. And now Irene came to her, in the middle of the day, with her favourite tea - <em>her favourite tea</em> - and asked her to open up. How <em>dare</em> she.</p>
<p>And they'd been arguing, and here the woman was, a smile splayed on her face, contemptuous, mocking. And Irene, not knowing what she'd done to deserve this, trying to keep herself together, while soothing her -</p>
<p>"Let me show you something."</p>
<p>The woman got up, walked across the room, went downstairs, opened the door out. She looked up - Irene in the window, suddenly getting up, mouthing "no"!, horrified. The woman walked towards the door of the other house, and rang the bell, and now it was a race, would Irene get there before the mark opened it? Would time go one way or another?</p>
<p>The door opened. The woman smiled, raised her gun -</p>
<p>Afterwards, she walked back into the house, cleaned her gun, put it back in the case. The weight of it was enjoyable. Something was beating in her head, something muscular and new. It had been fun to let him live. His life would be <em>very</em> different now.</p>
<p>Irene came back in, breathing hard, staring at her. "Why - "</p>
<p>"How do you still love me now?"</p>
<p>The woman smirked as Irene stared at her, cried for her. She let her. Then she cocked her head on one side, and said, quietly, "This is how I will remember you, Irene. In leafy English suburbs. A memory, solid and free."</p>
<p>Irene's look softened. She opened her mouth, reached out an arm - but it was too late. The woman who others called Nieves walked out of the building, into the street, and disappeared.</p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Multiplying Time Alleyways in the 1960s">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Multiplying-Time-Alleyways-in-the-1960s">Multiplying Time Alleyways in the 1960s</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="Foundation of Nomads">
<p><a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/foundation-of-nomads">Foundation of Nomads</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="A Porphyry Empire">
<p><a href="/">A Porphyry Empire</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/irene-in-leafy-english-suburbs">Irene in Leafy English Suburbs</a>" by Tufto, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/irene-in-leafy-english-suburbs">https://scpwiki.com/irene-in-leafy-english-suburbs</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
She'd look at them, and feel exhausted at the prospect of a love affair, but there they were. There was else nothing for it.
]]
=====
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Spiros. Musa. Ai-Fan. Zhang. Franklin.
The woman spoke their names each morning, pronouncing each syllable slowly, carefully. The effect was one of a rhythmic chant, but under her breath; it gave them a quality that was both hurried and pedantic.
She would rise, and Irene would shift slightly next to her. She moved a hand to touch a shoulder, thought better of it, and climbed out of bed, dressing quietly and carefully. She closed the door lightly on her way out, but the click of the lock still jerked Irene awake, blinking at the blank wall.
The woman walked downstairs, the wooden steps each creaking. She went to the kitchen, poured herself a bowl of cereal, and went up to the first floor. She brushed away the gauzy curtains, and say, crosslegged, eating her breakfast and staring at the window opposite.
The house was in Ealing, in a Sol variant. It was a pleasant Victorian building. The mark was a scientist - an innocent, she supposed - who would invent a time machine. This machine would, purely by chance, end the world. She and Irene had been dispatched to stop this by any means necessary.
Houses like this had a deadening quality to them. They were light and airy, but the wooden floor and plaster ceilings felt like they absorbed sound. She closed her eyes, and listened. A car went past, and then there was nothing. No vibrations in the world at all.
"You're up early."
Irene Cassavetes stood at the bottom of the staircase, blinking blearily, her head cocked on her shoulder. So the woman smiled. "Couldn't sleep. Wanted to get an early start."
Irene smiled and nodded, then stumbled downstairs. The woman's smile was turned off. She turned to look out of the window.
-----
She had not wanted a partner on the assignment, but she'd been given little choice. Her superiors had heard about what happened in London, and they'd insisted that she have a partner this time. She'd objected, but there was little point; the decision had already been made.
Irene was, at least, someone she knew. They'd plunged into Site-01 together; they'd done a couple of other missions, back in the old days. But she'd never been part of her crew, her little band, her real comrades. The seven of them who'd been part of Division B992, an Extrauniversal Retrieval Crew based out of Orchard.
Irene was a friendly, cordial face to her; someone she could rely on, sharp, severe and efficient. She was four or five years older than her. She'd been on sixty, seventy missions, far more than her; but this came with a twitchiness, an anxiety. Things going wrong seemed to sharpen her, but the woman always got the sense that she was one crisis away from collapse.
So when she'd seen her outside the house, holding a brown briefcase and dressed in a battered pinstripe suit, she'd almost smiled sincerely. The others were dead, but the shape of things was almost the same.
-----
The routine was simple: morning, afternoon and evening shifts. The purpose was not to keep eyes on the target at all times but to understand his routine. The idea was that a single, well-placed disruption could alter his day-to-day sufficiently to never let his train of thought wander the way it was meant to, eventually leading to discovery and destruction. So the universe would never explode, and the resulting multiversal instability would not come about.
This led to their first major disagreement. It was about half past eleven in the morning; it was the woman's shift, and Irene was sitting with her, reading a book and making occasional comments.
"Tea. Black. Earl Grey."
"No - Assam."
"He takes his Assam black? But he steeps it for so long."
"Only five minutes. It's not undrinkable."
"Speak for yourself."
Irene made a note in a her book, and saw Nieves give her a sidelong glance.
"Is it necessary to note down all of this?" Nieves's eyes were like cobalt. Irene hadn't noticed that before. The younger woman rarely gave her direct eye contact.
"Of course." Irene turned a page. "We have to document every detail, no matter how small, in order to come up with a plan of action. You know that."
"We should just kill him and get it over with."
The unstudied bluntness with which Nieves spoke startled Irene. She stared, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Nieves noticed this, and smiled. She enjoyed getting to her.
"We can't do that! You know we can't!"
"It would require significantly less manpower."
"It would //wreck// the variables! Changing someone's thoughts is an entirely different affair to removing them from time entirely! A death can have a huge impact, completely alter events. He's already an important physicist, what if someone looks at his notes and - "
"So steal the notes. Or kill whoever reads them."
"Even worse - the more deaths, the more people come looking."
Nieves smiles wider - for a second, just a second, it's a //real// smile, contemptuous and bright. Irene shudders. Then Nieves shrugs, and is herself again.
"It's also wrong."
"We've killed people before."
"Only when we had to - when the mission necessitated a death. We don't kill people just because it's //easy//."
"Yes, we do. Every person we killed could have lived. They could have been taken away, imprisoned, contained. We have - had - all reality as our jurisdiction. There's always somewhere you can put them."
"To do what? We can't keep track of //every// reality."
Nieves shrugged again. Irene turned away, flipping a page of her notes. This woman, she thought, it a little monster, a goblin. She doesn't mean what she says. She just wants to get a rise out of me.
The woman, meanwhile, laughs inside her head, knowing what Irene will be thinking, predicting her thoughts.
-----
Spiros had been forged of brass and gold, a multi-limbed automaton capable of independent thought. His body was a marvel, a clockwork monster that moved with such grace, such swiftness. He clambered up and down the shelves, picking books out, up and down and...
The dream faded, slowly. She woke up and mumbled, stroking the sheet with her hand. Irene's bulk rose up, covered in cotton and heat. Nieves instinctively shrunk away from her, and got up.
"Why don't you use your name?", she'd asked her. Last night; Irene watching through the window, talking distractedly; she, sitting quietly by the radio, listening to Bach variations. She'd turned her head, barely sure she'd heard her properly. How //dare// she? She swallowed before answering.
"Names don't tell you anything about a person. People confuse the symbol with the reality. So I don't like to be associated with one."
Irene had then turned herself, giving Nieves such a withering look of "what pretentious nonsense" that she'd almost felt ashamed. She'd sat up, and turned away. She did not want to tell her the real reason; it would sound just as silly, and besides, she didn't have the words for it. She wasn't like Simon, she didn't have the gift of -
"Nieves, it's a //name//. Not everything has to be some mind game. Besides, I've always thought that a name gains associations based on people you know with that name. And I don't think I know anyone else called "Nieves del Rio".
Her face burned hot. She hated Irene in that moment. She was like a blunt instrument, all lines and angles, bulldozing her way across her. What right did she have? How could she know what she meant?
She'd got up, delicately, carefully, and walked out of the room. Irene watched her go, surprised, a little hurt, a little sorry. It had been belittling, she supposed, but it was so hard to get her to //talk//. It was so frustrating.
At midnight, Irene, having had time to think, put away her gear and turned out the light. She went upstairs, changed, slipped into bed. She leant over and whispered, "I'm sorry", and then turned around and went to sleep without an answer. She'd assumed Nieves was also asleep.
Hoarfrost burnt the inside of the chimney. So many worlds exist in the same world. Refugee camps in the West Sahara, lime-green basements of Brooklyn bars, damp and silent beaches unde the moon, Victorian houses in Ealing. Nieves could have wept with it all. But she didn't. She just stared at the wall.
-----
Musa, sitting there, the cigarette in his hands, smiling at her... this time, she wrenched herself from the dream.
After the first month, the tension had started to become unbearable. What struck Nieves most about her was her hands; they were thin, bony, quick, impeccably manicured. She'd look at them, and feel exhausted at the prospect of a love affair, but there they were. There was else nothing for it.
The two of them were sitting by the window again. They'd been discussing potential methods of disruption, and once again the spectre of her earlier comments hung over them. A pause had come up. She'd sighed. "I didn't mean what I said, you know. The other day. About killing him."
That little //smile//, like Irene was having all her hopes in her confirmed, was unbearable. "Of course", she said quietly, writing something down. What was she writing down? Why did she have to write //everything// down?
"Why do you have to write //everything// down?"
Why had she said that? There'd been a hint of a snap in her voice. Once again, Irene raised her eyebrows. She was always raising her fucking eyebrows, always an expression of slight, pleasant surprise, like she was genuinely interested in you, happy to learn something new about you. It was exhausting. This was //all// so exhausting.
"I like to keep a diary, and I don't always remember details. So I write things down so I don't forget them."
"Isn't the point of a diary to be spontaneous? To write things down as they come?"
"Maybe for some people. My brain and my memories tend to be a bit of a mush; I like to write things down to keep them ordered in my mind. I can proceed from there."
"Isn't that a little... pre-planned? Surely you have too many thoughts to fit into a single diary."
Irene laughed, shifting slightly, curling up. Nieves almost winced. "You flatter me. Maybe I do, but it's the important ones that matter, the ones that bother me. I need a way to sort through them logically, and as I said, it's all too much of a mush in here."
The binoculars felt hot on her face. When would the moment come? Why did it always take so long?
-----
As it happened, it came that night. They were sitting next to one another again, Irene watching, here eyes sharp, narrowed. Their hands were on the sill, Nieves turned away from the window, reading a book. Her finger had brushed against Irene's; she had not removed it. Time extended, dilated. It was torture. Gradually, over several minutes, their hands became entangled; Irene barely moving, staring across the way, shallow breaths. Nieves sighed.
"They discourage fraternisation, you know. It's bad for us. So many realities, so many... temptations, when you get too attached to other travellers."
"Oh, please. When has that stopped anyone? You're looking for an out before we've even begun."
That startled her, cutting right through. She looked up at Irene, eyes wide, blinking; she was still staring out of the window, a mocking smile on her face to match her own. She was //enjoying// this. She moved her hand across, grasping hers with conviction, purpose...
//Musa had been laughing, in bed, the morning she'd left. He'd been smoking, shirtless, looking at her with a mocking grin. His hair, that curly black hair...//
//"It'll be fine. I'll see you before tomorrow, anyway. Jobs in Orchard never take that long. What's the worst that can happen?" She'd kissed him, smiling, and left. What was the worse that could happen? Death meant resurrection, after all...//
//That was what bothered her. It was so obvious. It was a cheap thriller way to go out. The calamity, happening in such a banal fashion, the ironic goodbye. It was like a story you'd tell someone else - but weren't stories always embellished? Was that not right? Was that different for other people?//
-----
It was midday; she was finishing her shift. Irene came behind her, lazily draping her arms over her, giving her a peck on her cheek. She'd smiled, and handed her the binoculars; she'd dipped underneath her, laughing. She'd gone over to her desk, in another room, and continued her work. A piece of paper was spread across the table; connections, bound to and fro, ideas, maps, theories -
A warmth, near her right shoulder. She looked around; Irene was looking at her work. "What is all this?"
She covered it up with her hands, smiling, a rictus grin. "Nothing, it's - it's just something I've been working on - you should be at your post - "
"It looks like..."
Twenty million Foundation personnel, dead. The multiverse, burnt. Every site destroyed at once. And nobody knew //why//.
Every site had been destroyed by entirely natural, or at least predictable, phenomena. There was nothing //to// trace. A freak landslide. A local war gone wrong. An entirely normal blip in the fabric of reality. Some of them turned out to be routine problems known about for years, that //always had been// more severe than anticipated. All of them investigated, all of them banal. There was nothing, no leads to go on. The only connection was the Foundation, the timing. It was a matter of who and not what.
"Doesn't it drive you insane?" Nieves stared up with a pleading in her voice. Irene's face looked cold - but Nieves knew her, by this point. That was just an intent look, a concentrating look. What would she say? What would she think of this //obsessi// -
"Of course. Yes, this makes sense - going over Foundation records, matching the exact, to the //second//, timings of when the disasters began. Yes, I understand - you're not looking at times, you're looking at //place//. An inside job... I expect the Administrator doesn't want to think about that."
Nieves smiled, grinned, laughed. Irene gave her a quick smile, and began picking up documents, making notes, offering comments. The mark was ignored for the day. Nieves brought a cup of tea, sitting beside her, discussing, referencing, cross-referencing...
-----
The weeks turned to months. They were happy. They listened to the radio on warm nights; one armchair, another armchair. Irene took up knitting. The lightbulb was warm, flickering - but the lampshade was insufficient. Sometimes, she'd stare up into it, into the electric glow. A fly might buzz around, twitching and buzzing, burning itself, shrieking away.
-----
"You never talk about yourself, you know that? You never talk about Asturias, or Orchard. I'm from Sol - it's all very different there."
She frowned, intent on her book. She didn't look up. Irene wasn't looking at her; she spoke casually, without really thinking. She didn't understand the implications of her words. That was good. That was how it should be.
"There's not much to tell. It was a boring childhood."
"All childhoods are. They're only interesting in hindsight. Come on, tell me something. Anything."
She shifted, uncomfortably. "We had a house, by the mountains. North of Burgos. Very conventional."
The winds would pick up, she remembered; the sound of them whooshing past was gentle, soothing to her, especially on grey days...
//Was it, though? Were you there? Or was that someone else? Did you forget London already?//
She shook herself. It was a normal question.
----
Months went on, and on. Spring to summer. She remembered Ai-Fan, bustling over her plants. She remembered Musa, grinning widely; him gambling, him in ecstasy, him open-mouthed in death, when she'd seen the body. She remembered Spiros, marvelling at his brass and copper joints...
Zhang, sailing into black seas, cackling. Franklin, pushing his glasses up his nose, stroking his beard, his bristly little beard. Simon...
But Simon had survived. Simon was still alive, the last member, bright and dreaming. She stared out of the house, at the mark, at his life, unseen, unseeable. She learnt more and more - Irene's habit of smoking after sex, only after sex; the way England's weather changed without warning, with the black umbrellas bobbing up below; the mark's taste for French music. A gramophone, turning around, grooves upon grooves.
She could feel it coming. She could see it collapsing again. She saw Musa fall, she saw Ai-Fan strangled by her plants. Zhang in the bottom of the ocean. Her hand, gently, stroking Spiros' face, the mechanical light dying, fading, spluttering...
-----
"You don't have to tell me - but please tell someone."
And there it was; Irene's face, uncomposed, vulnerable, almost trembling, pleading with her. Nieves had been thrashing in her sleep, moaning. She'd had no idea. And now Irene came to her, in the middle of the day, with her favourite tea - //her favourite tea// - and asked her to open up. How //dare// she.
And they'd been arguing, and here the woman was, a smile splayed on her face, contemptuous, mocking. And Irene, not knowing what she'd done to deserve this, trying to keep herself together, while soothing her -
"Let me show you something."
The woman got up, walked across the room, went downstairs, opened the door out. She looked up - Irene in the window, suddenly getting up, mouthing "no"!, horrified. The woman walked towards the door of the other house, and rang the bell, and now it was a race, would Irene get there before the mark opened it? Would time go one way or another?
The door opened. The woman smiled, raised her gun -
Afterwards, she walked back into the house, cleaned her gun, put it back in the case. The weight of it was enjoyable. Something was beating in her head, something muscular and new. It had been fun to let him live. His life would be //very// different now.
Irene came back in, breathing hard, staring at her. "Why - "
"How do you still love me now?"
The woman smirked as Irene stared at her, cried for her. She let her. Then she cocked her head on one side, and said, quietly, "This is how I will remember you, Irene. In leafy English suburbs. A memory, solid and free."
Irene's look softened. She opened her mouth, reached out an arm - but it was too late. The woman who others called Nieves walked out of the building, into the street, and disappeared.
[[include <a href="/component:earthworm">component:earthworm</a>
| first=false| last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Multiplying-Time-Alleyways-in-the-1960s| previous-title= Multiplying Time Alleyways in the 1960s
| next-url=/ | next-title=A Porphyry Empire
| hub-url=http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/foundation-of-nomads | hub-title=Foundation of Nomads
]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-03-17T19:39:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"lampeter",
"otherworldly",
"spy-fiction",
"tale"
] |
Irene in Leafy English Suburbs - SCP Foundation
| 23
|
[
"Multiplying-Time-Alleyways-in-the-1960s",
"foundation-of-nomads",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"foundation-of-nomads"
] |
[] |
1453064330
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/irene-in-leafy-english-suburbs
|
|
it-is-sweet-and-fitting-to-die-for-one-s-country
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>“Hai zi, hao hai zi, come here, come sit at my knee and hear me, come warm my old bones.”</p>
<p>The old man sits in the green recliner by the window and talks about miracles in the sky.</p>
<p>Zhang Yu Min likes his stories. They remind him of his grandfather. So he pours the old man a new cup of tea and gently wraps his withered fingers around the mug and sits with him for a while each day during his lunch break.</p>
<p>There is no one else left to hear him. No harried yuppies with rosy cheeked toddlers in tow nor grizzled green-jacketed greybeards have stopped by the front desk and asked for the old man since he had arrived at the home, and he has been here for a very long time.</p>
<p>There is only Zhang, to hear the stories the old man has left. There are less and less each month, now. Sometimes he will come and sit and the old man will merely stare at him in a gray fog, rice-paper face pinched in agonizing suspicion, and the tea will go cold. Sometimes the old man repeats himself, skipping over the same lines. None of them make much sense to Zhang, but he likes to hear them anyway.</p>
<p>“The Russians had angels, you know. Ten stories high, like gods made of metal and fire."</p>
<p>"We stood on the banks of the Heilong with our old wujiushis and blew them out of the sky.”</p>
<p>“We drew the Emperor out from beneath his lake of mercury and brought the mountain down on his head."</p>
<p>"The Americans thought that that was our first nuclear test. I wish it was.”</p>
<p>“There were ten of them. Such good boys. Ten of them went into the dark. They were good soldiers, brave. Twelve came back, and all screaming.”</p>
<p>Zhang thinks the man must have fought in the Revolution, to have such stories. He asked him once if he had been a soldier.</p>
<p>“I was,” said the old man. He brought the china to his lips and drew in a trembling sip, his withered throat bobbing up and down.</p>
<p>“Which wars did you fight in, elder?”</p>
<p>The old man laughed, a wet, rasping sound that turned into a wracking cough, tea splashing over the rim of his cup as Zhang hurried over with a cloth.</p>
<p>“The long war, child. The one that never stops.”</p>
<p>He looked at Zhang then, shrunken yellow liver-spotted skin drawn back into an awful grin, like the false smile of a corpse.</p>
<p>“Everyone fights it, you know. Oh the Americans have their wonderful machines, and fight their clean battles ten kilometers above the earth and the Russians poke and cut at themselves with dreams of godhood. They all of them think they know the nature of the fight.”</p>
<p>His hand grips into a tremulous fist, held against his heart.</p>
<p>“<em>Sacrifice.</em>”</p>
<p>The laugh continued then, and the tea went cold.</p>
<p>Sometimes Zhang takes the old man out to see the sun. He pushes him in the khaki army surplus chair with its wide plastic wheels over the cracked cobbles in the square, past the formations of guangchangwu dancers with their new american speaker systems and syncopated karaoke, past the snickering teenagers sneaking smokes beneath the hickory trees, to the place where the butterflies dance between lily blossoms and the river curves by in a lazy green arc brimming with tadpoles.</p>
<p>He pushes the chair into the warm sunbeam and the old man closes his eyes and feels the sweet breeze on his cheeks and raises a trembling hand as if to catch the butterflies fluttering past and breathes the river in and does not cough for a while.</p>
<p>“I should like to die soon”, he says.</p>
<p>Zhang says nothing, just taps out some ash from his cigarette and watches the cloudless blue sky where an airliner has left a line of white vapor.</p>
<p>“The happy memories were the first to go, you know. They took them first. They’re the easiest to cut, cut and dry, leave holes in people. I remember them telling me that, and then I remember that I shouldn’t recall that conversation at all. I had earned rest, they said. They boiled me away and left me at the home.”</p>
<p>The old man is babbling now, words coming hard and fast, spilling out of him. His stories are almost all gone, now and the last ones leave him the fastest, the way water swirls around the drain and disappears.</p>
<p>“They didn’t know what they were doing. What they stole from the Russians. Imperfect. When they take the light away you start seeing the differences in the shades of black.</p>
<p>I had a wife once, I think. She had green eyes.</p>
<p>She was beautiful.”</p>
<p>The shop is cramped and dark, tucked between two new fast-food boutiques with modern glass and steel facades. Grave wax, incense, ghost paper spill out of the overflowing sandalwood shelves behind the counter where the shopkeep picks at his fingernails and wipes his hands on his dirty apron.</p>
<p>The old man walks on doddering feet as he looks hither and thither, running his hands along the sides of the coffins stacked three-high in shivering piles. Zhang steadies him as he steps carefully through the crooked aisles, holding his hand.</p>
<p>“This one”, the old man says, tapping the side of a sturdy oak-backed thing. Zhang hands the shopkeep a paper envelope stuffed full of pink-faced Chairman Maos, and it is done. He wheels the coffin to the back room, reserving it. The old man lets out another hacking cough, and Zhang hurries to steady him.</p>
<p>He waves him off, grinning.</p>
<p>Autumn comes, and with it, the stories dry up. The old man sits in his reclusion, staring out the window at the slate sky, eyes cloudy. Zhang makes sure his blankets are warm and dry, then sits with him against the wall. The old man is silent, so Zhang speaks to him instead, talking of this and that, holding his hand. He finds a book of poetry and reads them one by one as the days turn gray and the rains come.</p>
<p>相见时难别亦难， <em>It's hard to say goodbye after we meet.</em><br/>
东风无力百花残。 <em>The east wind is listless and all the flowers wither.</em></p>
<p>He feels a tug on his hand. The old man is smiling.</p>
<p>春蚕到死丝方尽， <em>Spring silkworms will not run out of silk until they die.</em><br/>
蜡炬成灰泪始干。 <em>The wax torch turns to ashes and the tears begin to dry.</em></p>
<p>The last veteran of the Coldest War passed into history with the lowering of a sturdy oak coffin one winter morning, and few mourned at the loss.</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
“Hai zi, hao hai zi, come here, come sit at my knee and hear me, come warm my old bones.”
The old man sits in the green recliner by the window and talks about miracles in the sky.
Zhang Yu Min likes his stories. They remind him of his grandfather. So he pours the old man a new cup of tea and gently wraps his withered fingers around the mug and sits with him for a while each day during his lunch break.
There is no one else left to hear him. No harried yuppies with rosy cheeked toddlers in tow nor grizzled green-jacketed greybeards have stopped by the front desk and asked for the old man since he had arrived at the home, and he has been here for a very long time.
There is only Zhang, to hear the stories the old man has left. There are less and less each month, now. Sometimes he will come and sit and the old man will merely stare at him in a gray fog, rice-paper face pinched in agonizing suspicion, and the tea will go cold. Sometimes the old man repeats himself, skipping over the same lines. None of them make much sense to Zhang, but he likes to hear them anyway.
“The Russians had angels, you know. Ten stories high, like gods made of metal and fire."
"We stood on the banks of the Heilong with our old wujiushis and blew them out of the sky.”
“We drew the Emperor out from beneath his lake of mercury and brought the mountain down on his head."
"The Americans thought that that was our first nuclear test. I wish it was.”
“There were ten of them. Such good boys. Ten of them went into the dark. They were good soldiers, brave. Twelve came back, and all screaming.”
Zhang thinks the man must have fought in the Revolution, to have such stories. He asked him once if he had been a soldier.
“I was,” said the old man. He brought the china to his lips and drew in a trembling sip, his withered throat bobbing up and down.
“Which wars did you fight in, elder?”
The old man laughed, a wet, rasping sound that turned into a wracking cough, tea splashing over the rim of his cup as Zhang hurried over with a cloth.
“The long war, child. The one that never stops.”
He looked at Zhang then, shrunken yellow liver-spotted skin drawn back into an awful grin, like the false smile of a corpse.
“Everyone fights it, you know. Oh the Americans have their wonderful machines, and fight their clean battles ten kilometers above the earth and the Russians poke and cut at themselves with dreams of godhood. They all of them think they know the nature of the fight.”
His hand grips into a tremulous fist, held against his heart.
“//Sacrifice.//”
The laugh continued then, and the tea went cold.
Sometimes Zhang takes the old man out to see the sun. He pushes him in the khaki army surplus chair with its wide plastic wheels over the cracked cobbles in the square, past the formations of guangchangwu dancers with their new american speaker systems and syncopated karaoke, past the snickering teenagers sneaking smokes beneath the hickory trees, to the place where the butterflies dance between lily blossoms and the river curves by in a lazy green arc brimming with tadpoles.
He pushes the chair into the warm sunbeam and the old man closes his eyes and feels the sweet breeze on his cheeks and raises a trembling hand as if to catch the butterflies fluttering past and breathes the river in and does not cough for a while.
“I should like to die soon”, he says.
Zhang says nothing, just taps out some ash from his cigarette and watches the cloudless blue sky where an airliner has left a line of white vapor.
“The happy memories were the first to go, you know. They took them first. They’re the easiest to cut, cut and dry, leave holes in people. I remember them telling me that, and then I remember that I shouldn’t recall that conversation at all. I had earned rest, they said. They boiled me away and left me at the home.”
The old man is babbling now, words coming hard and fast, spilling out of him. His stories are almost all gone, now and the last ones leave him the fastest, the way water swirls around the drain and disappears.
“They didn’t know what they were doing. What they stole from the Russians. Imperfect. When they take the light away you start seeing the differences in the shades of black.
I had a wife once, I think. She had green eyes.
She was beautiful.”
The shop is cramped and dark, tucked between two new fast-food boutiques with modern glass and steel facades. Grave wax, incense, ghost paper spill out of the overflowing sandalwood shelves behind the counter where the shopkeep picks at his fingernails and wipes his hands on his dirty apron.
The old man walks on doddering feet as he looks hither and thither, running his hands along the sides of the coffins stacked three-high in shivering piles. Zhang steadies him as he steps carefully through the crooked aisles, holding his hand.
“This one”, the old man says, tapping the side of a sturdy oak-backed thing. Zhang hands the shopkeep a paper envelope stuffed full of pink-faced Chairman Maos, and it is done. He wheels the coffin to the back room, reserving it. The old man lets out another hacking cough, and Zhang hurries to steady him.
He waves him off, grinning.
Autumn comes, and with it, the stories dry up. The old man sits in his reclusion, staring out the window at the slate sky, eyes cloudy. Zhang makes sure his blankets are warm and dry, then sits with him against the wall. The old man is silent, so Zhang speaks to him instead, talking of this and that, holding his hand. He finds a book of poetry and reads them one by one as the days turn gray and the rains come.
相见时难别亦难， //It's hard to say goodbye after we meet.//
东风无力百花残。 //The east wind is listless and all the flowers wither.//
He feels a tug on his hand. The old man is smiling.
春蚕到死丝方尽， //Spring silkworms will not run out of silk until they die.//
蜡炬成灰泪始干。 //The wax torch turns to ashes and the tears begin to dry.//
The last veteran of the Coldest War passed into history with the lowering of a sturdy oak coffin one winter morning, and few mourned at the loss.
|
2024-08-16T20:26:00
|
[
"mystery",
"tale",
"the-coldest-war"
] |
it is sweet and fitting to die for one's country - SCP Foundation
| 21
|
[] |
[
"the-coldest-war-hub"
] |
[] |
1456329853
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/it-is-sweet-and-fitting-to-die-for-one-s-country
|
|
it-s-always-darkest
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Shortly after taking over the company, Iris descends into the tombs of House Darke to take care of some family business.</p>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/component%3Abhl-dark-sidebar/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Ablack-market/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong><a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/uncgriffin-s-author-page">More by this author</a></strong></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>July 5th, 1609</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>The Aran Islands</strong></span></p>
</div>
<br/>
Raymond Darke rode his horse down the seashore, his personal guard following close behind. He dismounted a few meters from the shipwreck, motioning for his men to wait. A team of workmen was already there, swarming around the broken craft like flies to a corpse, bringing out bodies and precious artifacts alike. The one in charge, a short gentleman with a cane, rushed to Raymond as soon as he noticed him.
<p>"Mister Darke, sir, I didn't expect to see you here so early."</p>
<p>"Have you found my brother?" Raymond replied, barely acknowledging the other man.</p>
<p>"Yes, sir. Right this way please." He led Raymond along the beach until he could see the rows of dead men upon the sand. Raymond walked calmly to the cadaver set aside from the rest, crouching to examine it.</p>
<p>Winston Darke's corpse was not in good shape. Raymond noted a large gash across his belly, bite marks on his shoulder, and a pistol wound in the left leg. Bones jutted out from his rotting flesh at horrible angles. <em>Whatever took that ship, you gave them hell, didn't you, Winny?</em> It did not matter. What <em>did</em> matter was that his head and by extension his brain were in perfect condition.</p>
<p>"I will have him taken to the Pyramid at once. He would want to be buried amongst his ancestors." He lied. There was nothing the men of House Darke wanted less than that eternal damnation. "I expect a full inventory on my desk by the morrow."</p>
<p>"Of course, sir."</p>
<p>Raymond stood there momentarily, watching the officer return to his work before setting his sights on the open sea. Small waves lapped at the sandy shore lazily. Winston had always been a fool when it came to what was truly important, wasting his life on fleeting pleasures and never once looking toward the horizon. And now he will join the flock of tormented souls in the Acheron. <em>I won't let that happen to me, I won't let it take me. I will find a way, I swear it, by all the gods living and dead I swear it!</em></p>
<hr/>
<div class="email">
<div class="tofrom">
<p><strong>To:</strong> <span style="color: #8c14c8">group:seniorpartners@mcd_internal.int</span><br/>
<strong>From:</strong> <span style="color: #8c14c8">irisdark@mcd_internal.int</span><br/>
<strong>Subject:</strong> Introducing Hades.aic</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>I would like to inform you all that MC&D's first digital consultant, Hades.aic, will be going online next week. This Artificial Intelligence Construct possesses an immense archive of data on every subject of interest to the company and will be available for usage by all Senior Partners. Please note that Hades.aic is a highly coveted piece of technology and knowledge of its existence is not to be spread beyond the recipients of this message.</p>
<p>As you all know, MC&D policy states that the hiring of any External Consultant must first be discussed with and approved by the current heir of House Dark. This policy shall remain in place as it has for centuries. You will find that Hades.aic is more than sufficient for any consultant work you might require.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>December 21st, 2012</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>The DEATH PYRAMID, Eurtec</strong></span></p>
</div>
<br/>
Iris Persephone Dark looked at her reflection in the elevator mirror. Her hair was perfect, a waterfall of black waves reaching to her shoulders. She wore her favorite black dress, and in her left hand she held a large briefcase. She blinked, and her nickel eyes turned a deep violet, tiny runes swirling around the pupils. She smiled. Today was going to be a big day.
<p>She turned her eyes away from themselves and unto the retinal scanner set above the elevator buttons. “Charon.” She commanded, and it obeyed. Lighting up in neon red, it first confirmed her retina was truly hers, then processed her unique thaumic signature and finally, decoded a genius cipher of her own design, woven out of the glyphs in her eyes. Only then did the lift finally begin its descent.</p>
<p>You see, like any self-respecting evil lair, the DEATH PYRAMID had a secret; an even more evil underground layer, a vast network of chambers and corridors built by the progenitor of the Darke line so many centuries ago. A mere handful even knew of its existence, and Iris alone could access it. And so it was that Iris rode her personal elevator down to the ancestral tombs of House Darke.</p>
<p>It is tempting to say that the tomb smelled of death, but such a claim misunderstands its nature. The scent of death is one of decay, of rotting corpses and dried blood, accompanied by swarming flies and writhing worms. No, nothing decayed within the tomb. The Acheron made sure of that.</p>
<p>The elevator doors slid open and Iris entered the foyer, each step raising a cloud of millennia-old dust from the cobblestone floor. No matter how hard she tried, she could never get rid of the damn thing. Vacuum cleaners, Roombas, thaumaturgy, she even attempted to sweep the floor with an honest-to-gods broom once - all to no avail. It clung stubbornly to every surface, as part of the tomb as the ancient stones and even older sarcophagi.</p>
<p>Fluorescent lamps illuminating her path, Iris walked briskly through the old labyrinth, descending a spiral staircase at the end of the hallway. At irregular intervals, she would pass by cold metal doors, some small and simple, others grand and decorated. A few had consoles, screens, or even full-on computer terminals. Each of them bore a plaque with a name engraved on it.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>Winston Darke</strong><br/>
<em>1582-1609</em><br/>
Flickering before the tempest.</p>
<p><strong>Raymond Darke</strong><br/>
<em>1584-1647</em><br/>
Building castles by the sea.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><em>A man climbs down the ladder below deck, escaping the rain that peppers the ship from above. It is night, and he can only make out the barest outlines of the hallway in the pitch blackness. His left-hand grasps a broken oil lantern as he swiftly walks toward his cabin. It will be fine. There’s an extra box of matches in his sea chest and candles on the desk. He shouldn’t be worried about light.</em></p>
<p><em>The sound of rainfall blends into the rolling of the waves. He doesn’t notice the change. He doesn’t remember what pressed him to go below. With his free arm, he fumbles for the doorknob, sighing with relief as it opens. The cabin is shrouded in shadow just like the corridor, its features melting into each other like pools of black water. He glances through the round window at the moon. Why won’t it light up the room?</em></p>
<p><em>Behind him, floorboards creak loudly. His heart jumps in his chest as he realizes something is walking along the corridor, coming for him. He stumbles forward blindly, feeling for the chest he knows is right next to his bed. Another creak, this time closer. His hand finds the matchbox. His fingers quiver as he tries to spark a flame. His breathing quickens. It’s at the doorway now. He can’t see a thing. Light, he needs light! He strikes the match again and again against the side of the box, until at last a tiny yellow flame bursts into life—</em></p>
<p><em>Only to be swallowed whole by the Darke.</em></p>
<p>Winston Darke's soul screamed in terror as his consciousness was slowly dredged from the depths of the Acheron and into reality. When his nerves connected to his throat again, his mouth too began to scream.</p>
<p>"Caught you at a bad time?" Iris mocked him. "I can send you back in if you want."</p>
<p>"No!" He tried to roar, but what escaped his mouth was little more than a ragged, croaking whisper. "Please." His body hung in the air, wires embedded into his brain and spine tethering him to the walls and ceiling.</p>
<p>"Good." Iris smiled. "I'm glad we're on the same page. <em>As the Heir to House Darke, I seek your counsel.</em>" She twisted the polite words of power into an icy command.</p>
<p>The corpse twitched, the man within regaining some semblance of composure as the mental haze left by the Acheron cleared. "Impossible." He hissed. "You are merely a woman!"</p>
<p>"Oh, is that so?" Iris beamed with anticipation. "Let's see what the Acheron thinks then, shall we?"</p>
<p>Winston let out a screech as his eyes darkened into two black marbles, and—</p>
<p><em>He's back inside the cabin, panic washing over him. The Darke is all around him, clawing and grasping and tearing and writhing. His mouth opens to scream again but nothing comes out as pure Darke flows down his throat and into his veins, cold as ice and sharp as knives—</em></p>
<p>If Winston still had lungs he would have gasped in relief. His eyes, clear again, stared at Iris in pure terror. "I… I exist to serve, my-my lady." The words sounded like cracking bones. Iris's grin widened.</p>
<p>"Wonderful, then we can finally cut to the chase." She turned to the bookshelves lining the wall to her right, picking out a thick, leather-bound tome. "In your fourth logbook, you mention a ritual that could be used to cure vampirism, yet do not elaborate." She opened the desired page and held it up for the dead man to see. "I would like you to tell me all about it. Now."</p>
<p>Recognition flashed in his eyes. Of course, he recalled it perfectly. The Acheron wouldn't let him forget. That was its purpose. "To put it simply, it's a blood-cleansing ritual. It draws the blood out of the body, purifies it of the affliction, and pumps it back in. Naturally, this cannot be self-performed; you need at least a few capable mages to keep the subject stable while it's being drained…"</p>
<p>Iris listened attentively as her ancestor laid out the precise details of the ritual. She already knew a significant portion and theorized about the rest, but getting confirmation on the little things was key. In a working this complex and dangerous, everything would have to be perfect. After all, she was about to cure something far worse than vampirism.</p>
<p>"Thank you for your cooperation." She said finally. "<em>Your council has been invaluable, ancestor.</em>"</p>
<p>"Wait, no, please! Isn't there anything else you'd like to—" He begged, but the arcane words had already been spoken, and his eyes blackened once again as his soul was dragged down to the nightmare depths of the Acheron. The corpse went limp, and silence filled the room again.</p>
<p>Iris glanced at the other side of the room, where Raymond Darke's nervous system floated beyond the glass of a lifepod. Wires connected the brain stem to a set of speakers, should anyone wish to wake him. She knew his story; how he tried to escape the inevitable by obliterating his own brain. In a way, she was trying to do the same thing.</p>
<p>Unlike Raymond, however, Iris knew exactly what she was dealing with.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It didn't really matter <em>where</em> she would conduct the ritual, as long as it was within the tomb. She had already selected a room that would suit her needs, a round chamber in one of the lower levels that housed four bodies and a rather large library. Fluorescent lamps flickered to life as she entered, revealing the ritual geometry on the floor and the computer connected to it all, its monitors fixed to the stone wall. They lit up, displaying a violet capital H.</p>
<p>"Welcome, Miss Dark." Hades.aic spoke through the computer's speakers. Iris had created it years ago to run the Acheron's electronic systems. Serving as a digital consultant was merely an added benefit. "How was your meeting?"</p>
<p>"Informative. I've got a few updates for you."</p>
<p>She sat down at the machine and entered the new data, watching as Hades.aic updated the relevant parameters. Then she opened up her briefcase, took out a few vials of her own blood, and made the necessary changes to the circle on the floor. She double, triple, and quadruple-checked every angle and line, every variable and shape. Only when she was satisfied that everything was utterly perfect did she finally allow the artificial intelligence to run the program. Iris stepped forward into the center of the circle, a knife in her hand.</p>
<p>"Ritual primed. 3… 2… 1… Now!"</p>
<p>Immediately the air began to crackle with power. The intricate sigils on the floor pulsed slowly with red light, synchronizing to the rhythm of her heart. Without missing a beat, she made a long, curved cut across her forearm, willing her blood upwards. It flowed from the wound, a crimson snake in midair coiling around itself, until Iris looked up and saw a lemniscate of red floating above her, the symbol of infinity.</p>
<p>"Phase one is complete, Miss Dark. Shall we continue?"</p>
<p>"Proceed."</p>
<p>The sigils flared with scarlet, starkly contrasting with the stone floor. Iris closed her eyes to the light, shutting out the outside world, lulling each of her senses to sleep until all she could feel was the beating of her heart. <em>Deeper</em>. Now she was her blood, rushing in her veins, reaching every cell in her body. <em>Deeper.</em> She was a cell, the smallest form of her life. <em>Deeper.</em> Smaller still, within a single nucleus, floated a fragment of her DNA, two strands twisting with one another into eternity.</p>
<p>She gazed at it with her mind's eye, focusing on the purest piece of organic material that made her what she was. And in that moment she could see the Darke. A parasite of deepest black, needle-thin threads meticulously woven into the fabric of her DNA. Ebony chains that had been tethered to the Darke lineage by the first of their line so long ago. Chains Iris was determined to break.</p>
<p>The Darke was nigh inseparable from her, so thorough was the curse. But unlike Iris, they were merely <em>almost</em> perfect. And so she began to unwind it, tugging at a random point in the microscopic web. With surgical precision she pulled the Darke tumor away from her DNA, uprooting it like a garden weed. She cast it aside, letting it fall into her bloodstream, where it flowed up her arm, through the open wound, and into the air. Then she ordered her entire body to repeat the operation a million-fold.</p>
<p>Outside, the Darke latched onto the only thing it recognized, the snake of crimson that still hovered above Iris. It poured from the wound like a creature born in a nightmare, reaching with its chains upwards. The blood grew darker and darker until it was the color of the void, and yet more of the Darke came out. Illuminated still by the scarlet glow of the floor, Hades.aic watched with satisfaction as its mistress purified her veins of the parasite, forcing every inch of it outside her body.</p>
<p>"Phase two is complete. You may open your eyes, Lady Dark."</p>
<p>Iris smiled as she did so, admiring her handiwork. She covered her wound with her other hand, sealing it with a quick spell. <em>Now to finish the job.</em> Clenching her palms, she poured raw energy into her fists, before obliterating the tainted blood above her with a single violent blast. Dust rained on her from the ceiling, but she couldn't care less. She chuckled, then broke into a fit of laughter.</p>
<p>"Miss Dark, are you alright? Miss Dark?"</p>
<p>With effort, she managed to stifle it, though she couldn't keep the grin off her face as she replied.</p>
<p>"Never been better."</p>
<p>She lay there on the floor for a few hours, letting the overwhelming euphoria gradually subside. When her head was clear, Iris left the room, heading once more for the stairs. She descended into the bowels of the tomb, feeling the dust thicken in the air as she passed floor after floor. When the stone bricks changed to carved obsidian, she knew she had reached Tartarus.</p>
<p>The bottom floor of the tomb was a small cavern, illuminated only by the flood lamps she had brought in years ago. Water dripped from the ceiling into a pool which dominated the cave, leaving a treacherously narrow path of dry rock around it. Iris walked right into it, the chill of the water numbing her senses as it rose up her knees. She took a deep breath, and dived.</p>
<p><em>Iris swims in the black waters of the Acheron. She hears the screams of her ancestors; cries of pain, pleas for mercy, weeping of regrets. She hears but does not listen, holding her breath and shutting her eyes against the Darke's grasp. Mere hours ago it would have devoured her whole, but now her will is a fortress which will not yield. She rises to the surface of the river, breaking through it to take a breath—</em></p>
<p>And found herself completely dry, standing in the shadow of a leafless tree. Asmodel Fields of ash-gray grass stretched out in every direction, the same color as the overcast sky above. Throughout them ran the channels of the Acheron, black streams that split and merged without pattern, a twisted web crisscrossing the landscape. Everything else was still and silent. She noticed suddenly that she was wearing a suit.</p>
<p>"Welcome, child." Said the tree, just as Iris realized it was seemingly the only one around. She turned around and watched as it morphed into the shape of a man. "It's been a while since I've had… visitors." He had brown skin and wore black robes of silk, his hair the exact shade of jet as hers.</p>
<p>"Really? I was quite certain I'm the first." She locked eyes with him.</p>
<p>"Many have tried before you, and all have failed. The Threefold Rite is unbreakable." His voice was calm but firm, as if explaining the laws of physics to a child.</p>
<p>"What makes you so sure? I seem to be breaking it just fine so far."</p>
<p>"Because I created it, my dear." His lips curved upwards ever so slightly.</p>
<p>"So you <em>are</em> him."</p>
<p>"Yes, I am Gansis of the Darke, progenitor of our glorious house. Builder of the—"</p>
<p>"I don't care." She cut him off. "I am here with a request. You will comply."</p>
<p>"Oh?" Gansis chuckled. "Very well, I know what you're here for. I also know that you will not obtain it."</p>
<p>"I broke the Rite of Patriarchy by virtue of being <em>born</em>, old man. I broke the Rite of Blood today with nothing but my own wits." She took a single step toward him as she spoke.</p>
<p>"Yes, you're quite the protege, of that there is no doubt. But my working was made to account for the exceptional as well as the mundane. For centuries my children have tried to find any fault in it they could exploit, and they found none."</p>
<p>"I will break the Rite of Title." She continued without hesitation. "And I will do so by breaking you."</p>
<p>"You are in no position to bargain with me, child." Finally, anger began to show between his words. "You think yourself mistress of the Acheron, look around you! Where are your wires and electric torches, your databanks and false servants? I alone rule over this place, and you have walked right into my hands." He gestured at the gray fields surrounding them. "You hold no power with which to compel me!"</p>
<p>"I am Iris Dark and you will obey my command!" She roared.</p>
<p>"No. You are █████ Darke, and you are nothing."</p>
<p>Her heart stopped. Everything froze. She had spent all her life honing her mind into an impregnable fortress and a deadly weapon. All of it collapsed in an instant, shattering into a million pieces as the Name pierced everything that she was and tore her to pieces. She could not stop her mouth from gaping.</p>
<p>"Where do you think names go when they die, █████?" Gansis smiled with delight. "They go where they belong, and yours belongs <em>here</em>."</p>
<p>She had done everything in her power to kill that name. To burn and rip and expunge and bury it until it ceased to exist. And she had succeeded perfectly, of course she had. No one could remember it. There wasn't the faintest trace of it left in the universe. It was a flawless operation. She had made no mistakes. This was impossible. This was impossible. This was impossible.</p>
<p>"Now drown in your fears, like all the rest," Chains of Darke iron splashed out of the nearest channel, lashing at Iris like black snakes. She didn't feel anything as they dug into her flesh and bone, connecting to her limbs as if they were just another metal link. Slowly, they dragged her towards the river. Water began to lap at her heels. "And serve my legacy."</p>
<p>She fell into the Acheron. <em>The Darke is everything she knows, an abyss encompassing all of reality. She drowns in it. Her eyes are open but see nothing but the Darke. She feels nothing but the icy pain of its claws and teeth as they rip open her skin and pour into her veins. It surges madly through her frozen heart, reaching with insatiable hunger to claim what was promised to it, what belongs with it.</em></p>
<p><em>Her mind is numb. She barely registers the Darke tendrils probing at the edge of her thoughts. It's only a matter of time until they find a way in. It won't take long. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Gansis was right. She couldn't be Iris. Iris doesn't make mistakes. Iris doesn't fail.</em></p>
<p>"As a true son of the Darke."</p>
<p><em>She can barely make out the words. But it is enough to awaken something within her mind. Something flares. A memory, the last time someone had dared to question who she was. Old rage, almost primal, rises in her heart, and it begins to beat again.</em></p>
<p>"No!" She raised her head above the water, gasping for air. Lurching forward against the chains, she planted her feet on the riverbank. She spoke through gritted teeth. "I am no son."</p>
<p>"What?!" Gansis hissed.</p>
<p>"Call me by whatever name you like but I will never, <em>ever</em> be your son!" She cried out, the water around her quivering as if cowering in terror. She climbed out of the river, and though she was soaking wet there was fire in her eyes.</p>
<p>"Your words mean nothing. Change nothing!" Her ancestor raised his arms to the sky. "Fall!"</p>
<p>A torrent of black water erupted from the stream behind him and surged at Iris in a tidal wave. It devoured the grass, the earth, until it was upon her. She screamed in defiance, placing that hateful memory at the forefront of her soul like a barrier of flames. She relived it a thousandfold, her rage blocking out everything else. When the water receded at last, she stood unbowed.</p>
<p>"In the realm of names, words mean <em>everything</em>. I reject your legacy." Iris pressed the attack, locking eyes with Gansis. "Darke is not my name."</p>
<p>"It is your title, and always will be, man or woman! Removing a single letter will not change who you are, █████ Darke!" More shackles burst from the channel, drilling into her back and neck. But she could hear a hint of desperation in the man's voice now. She was getting close.</p>
<p>"That name doesn't belong to me, not anymore!" She could feel the chains weakening their grip despite their numbers. She took a step forward, then another. "I've always been the one to dictate my identity. Now more than ever, I claim the right to choose my name!"</p>
<p>One by one, the chains snapped midway, hanging off her body like dead skin while their other halves sank below the water. Iris saw a flash of fear on the man's face before it twisted in anger. He began to laugh, not a sliver of amusement in his voice.</p>
<p>"You arrogant buffoon. You challenge ME over possession of your name?! It belonged to me before you were born, before your parents were born and their ancestors that came before them! I own you, and through you and your children I own the world and everything beyond it! <em>That</em> is the meaning of the Threefold Rite! <em>That</em> is my legacy!"</p>
<p>Thunder boomed overhead, and in a flash of Darke lightning Gansis the man was gone. In his place was a colossal serpent with ebony scales, its mouth open wide and its fangs bared. "You wish to end it?! Then come! We shall see what worth your words bear!"</p>
<p>Iris charged, pouring her will into the shackles which billowed behind her. As she closed the distance she felt them become extensions of herself, a dozen tendrils awaiting her command. The snake hissed, and a Darke inferno roared into existence from its mouth. The chains sprung into action, wrapping themselves in a protective cocoon around her body. Under the searing cold of the flames, she felt the tight suit morph to a dress.</p>
<p>The fire died, and her new limbs opened up to reveal a pair of titanic fangs closing in on her. She rolled aside and jumped, sending the chains upwards to grasp the head of the snake. As they circled its massive jaws she pulled down with all her strength, slamming it into the ground in a cloud of dust.</p>
<p>"My identity is mine and mine alone. <em>You</em> on the other hand… you are not even Gansis Darke."</p>
<p>She climbed atop the head, her chains strangling the creature's neck. "You're a pale imitation, a shade of the man. The real Gansis died when he performed the ritual."</p>
<p>Another flash of thunder, and she was now standing atop one of three heads of a giant hound. "The ritual brought me here, that was the plan!" The right head roared before rushing to devour her. But doubt slowed its movements and allowed her to leap away, her tendrils growing longer as they weaved themselves along the three necks.</p>
<p>"No, it didn't. Gansis knew what he was creating, so he left himself a way out of the Acheron, sealing it behind him. I did my research." Cerberus howled in pain as she strangled it. It struggled, then began to whimper.</p>
<p>"You are the Darke, nothing more." She said. Cerberus's paws sank as the ground turned to mud. The waters of the Acheron rose to meet it. "I am the one who will end your lineage. I am the one true ruler of the Acheron. I am Iris Persephone Dark!" The dog's feet gave way and it fell, slowly dissolving beneath her. "And I bow to no one."</p>
<p>Her chains spread out behind her back, transforming into metal wings. With a kick, she flew into the blanket of clouds above, feeling her connection to the Darke name weaken with every beat of her wings. And as she broke through to clear skies, the Rite of Title broke as well.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/it-s-always-darkest">Always Darkest</a>" by UNCGriffin, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/it-s-always-darkest">https://scpwiki.com/it-s-always-darkest</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
Shortly after taking over the company, Iris descends into the tombs of House Darke to take care of some family business.
]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-market">:scp-wiki:theme:black-market</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cinzel');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Anton');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Pinyon+Script');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Lato:400,900|PT+Mono|Poppins:600,800');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Montserrat:wght@900&family=Raleway:wght@700&family=Roboto:wght@900&display=swap');
/*
The Anton font was created by Vernon Adams and is licensed under the Open Font License
The Cinzel font was created by Natanael Gama and is licensed under the Open Font License
The Pinyon Script font was created by Nicole Fally and is licensed under the Open Font License
*/
.email {border: solid 2px #000000; width: 88%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.5)}
.email-example a.collapsible-block-link {font-weight: bold;}
.tofrom {margin-left: 10px; margin-top: 5px; padding: 1px 15px; border-left: solid 3px rgb(140, 20, 140)}
.tofrom2 {margin-left: 10px; margin-top: 5px; padding: 1px 15px; border-left: solid 3px maroon}
.footnotes-footer {
display: none;
}
th {
text-align: center;
}
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/uncgriffin-s-author-page More by this author]**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
[[size larger]]**July 5th, 1609**[[/size]]
[[size larger]]**The Aran Islands**[[/size]]
[[/=]]
Raymond Darke rode his horse down the seashore, his personal guard following close behind. He dismounted a few meters from the shipwreck, motioning for his men to wait. A team of workmen was already there, swarming around the broken craft like flies to a corpse, bringing out bodies and precious artifacts alike. The one in charge, a short gentleman with a cane, rushed to Raymond as soon as he noticed him.
"Mister Darke, sir, I didn't expect to see you here so early."
"Have you found my brother?" Raymond replied, barely acknowledging the other man.
"Yes, sir. Right this way please." He led Raymond along the beach until he could see the rows of dead men upon the sand. Raymond walked calmly to the cadaver set aside from the rest, crouching to examine it.
Winston Darke's corpse was not in good shape. Raymond noted a large gash across his belly, bite marks on his shoulder, and a pistol wound in the left leg. Bones jutted out from his rotting flesh at horrible angles. //Whatever took that ship, you gave them hell, didn't you, Winny?// It did not matter. What //did// matter was that his head and by extension his brain were in perfect condition.
"I will have him taken to the Pyramid at once. He would want to be buried amongst his ancestors." He lied. There was nothing the men of House Darke wanted less than that eternal damnation. "I expect a full inventory on my desk by the morrow."
"Of course, sir."
Raymond stood there momentarily, watching the officer return to his work before setting his sights on the open sea. Small waves lapped at the sandy shore lazily. Winston had always been a fool when it came to what was truly important, wasting his life on fleeting pleasures and never once looking toward the horizon. And now he will join the flock of tormented souls in the Acheron. //I won't let that happen to me, I won't let it take me. I will find a way, I swear it, by all the gods living and dead I swear it!//
------
[[div class="email"]]
[[div class="tofrom"]]
**To:** ##8c14c8|group:seniorpartners@mcd_internal.int##
**From:** ##8c14c8|irisdark@mcd_internal.int##
**Subject:** Introducing Hades.aic
[[/div]]
------
I would like to inform you all that MC&D's first digital consultant, Hades.aic, will be going online next week. This Artificial Intelligence Construct possesses an immense archive of data on every subject of interest to the company and will be available for usage by all Senior Partners. Please note that Hades.aic is a highly coveted piece of technology and knowledge of its existence is not to be spread beyond the recipients of this message.
As you all know, MC&D policy states that the hiring of any External Consultant must first be discussed with and approved by the current heir of House Dark. This policy shall remain in place as it has for centuries. You will find that Hades.aic is more than sufficient for any consultant work you might require.
[[/div]]
------
[[=]]
[[size larger]]**December 21st, 2012**[[/size]]
[[size larger]]**The DEATH PYRAMID, Eurtec**[[/size]]
[[/=]]
Iris Persephone Dark looked at her reflection in the elevator mirror. Her hair was perfect, a waterfall of black waves reaching to her shoulders. She wore her favorite black dress, and in her left hand she held a large briefcase. She blinked, and her nickel eyes turned a deep violet, tiny runes swirling around the pupils. She smiled. Today was going to be a big day.
She turned her eyes away from themselves and unto the retinal scanner set above the elevator buttons. “Charon.” She commanded, and it obeyed. Lighting up in neon red, it first confirmed her retina was truly hers, then processed her unique thaumic signature and finally, decoded a genius cipher of her own design, woven out of the glyphs in her eyes. Only then did the lift finally begin its descent.
You see, like any self-respecting evil lair, the DEATH PYRAMID had a secret; an even more evil underground layer, a vast network of chambers and corridors built by the progenitor of the Darke line so many centuries ago. A mere handful even knew of its existence, and Iris alone could access it. And so it was that Iris rode her personal elevator down to the ancestral tombs of House Darke.
It is tempting to say that the tomb smelled of death, but such a claim misunderstands its nature. The scent of death is one of decay, of rotting corpses and dried blood, accompanied by swarming flies and writhing worms. No, nothing decayed within the tomb. The Acheron made sure of that.
The elevator doors slid open and Iris entered the foyer, each step raising a cloud of millennia-old dust from the cobblestone floor. No matter how hard she tried, she could never get rid of the damn thing. Vacuum cleaners, Roombas, thaumaturgy, she even attempted to sweep the floor with an honest-to-gods broom once - all to no avail. It clung stubbornly to every surface, as part of the tomb as the ancient stones and even older sarcophagi.
Fluorescent lamps illuminating her path, Iris walked briskly through the old labyrinth, descending a spiral staircase at the end of the hallway. At irregular intervals, she would pass by cold metal doors, some small and simple, others grand and decorated. A few had consoles, screens, or even full-on computer terminals. Each of them bore a plaque with a name engraved on it.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[=]]
**Winston Darke**
//1582-1609//
Flickering before the tempest.
**Raymond Darke**
//1584-1647//
Building castles by the sea.
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
------
//A man climbs down the ladder below deck, escaping the rain that peppers the ship from above. It is night, and he can only make out the barest outlines of the hallway in the pitch blackness. His left-hand grasps a broken oil lantern as he swiftly walks toward his cabin. It will be fine. There’s an extra box of matches in his sea chest and candles on the desk. He shouldn’t be worried about light.//
//The sound of rainfall blends into the rolling of the waves. He doesn’t notice the change. He doesn’t remember what pressed him to go below. With his free arm, he fumbles for the doorknob, sighing with relief as it opens. The cabin is shrouded in shadow just like the corridor, its features melting into each other like pools of black water. He glances through the round window at the moon. Why won’t it light up the room?//
//Behind him, floorboards creak loudly. His heart jumps in his chest as he realizes something is walking along the corridor, coming for him. He stumbles forward blindly, feeling for the chest he knows is right next to his bed. Another creak, this time closer. His hand finds the matchbox. His fingers quiver as he tries to spark a flame. His breathing quickens. It’s at the doorway now. He can’t see a thing. Light, he needs light! He strikes the match again and again against the side of the box, until at last a tiny yellow flame bursts into life--//
//Only to be swallowed whole by the Darke.//
Winston Darke's soul screamed in terror as his consciousness was slowly dredged from the depths of the Acheron and into reality. When his nerves connected to his throat again, his mouth too began to scream.
"Caught you at a bad time?" Iris mocked him. "I can send you back in if you want."
"No!" He tried to roar, but what escaped his mouth was little more than a ragged, croaking whisper. "Please." His body hung in the air, wires embedded into his brain and spine tethering him to the walls and ceiling.
"Good." Iris smiled. "I'm glad we're on the same page. //As the Heir to House Darke, I seek your counsel.//" She twisted the polite words of power into an icy command.
The corpse twitched, the man within regaining some semblance of composure as the mental haze left by the Acheron cleared. "Impossible." He hissed. "You are merely a woman!"
"Oh, is that so?" Iris beamed with anticipation. "Let's see what the Acheron thinks then, shall we?"
Winston let out a screech as his eyes darkened into two black marbles, and--
//He's back inside the cabin, panic washing over him. The Darke is all around him, clawing and grasping and tearing and writhing. His mouth opens to scream again but nothing comes out as pure Darke flows down his throat and into his veins, cold as ice and sharp as knives--//
If Winston still had lungs he would have gasped in relief. His eyes, clear again, stared at Iris in pure terror. "I... I exist to serve, my-my lady." The words sounded like cracking bones. Iris's grin widened.
"Wonderful, then we can finally cut to the chase." She turned to the bookshelves lining the wall to her right, picking out a thick, leather-bound tome. "In your fourth logbook, you mention a ritual that could be used to cure vampirism, yet do not elaborate." She opened the desired page and held it up for the dead man to see. "I would like you to tell me all about it. Now."
Recognition flashed in his eyes. Of course, he recalled it perfectly. The Acheron wouldn't let him forget. That was its purpose. "To put it simply, it's a blood-cleansing ritual. It draws the blood out of the body, purifies it of the affliction, and pumps it back in. Naturally, this cannot be self-performed; you need at least a few capable mages to keep the subject stable while it's being drained..."
Iris listened attentively as her ancestor laid out the precise details of the ritual. She already knew a significant portion and theorized about the rest, but getting confirmation on the little things was key. In a working this complex and dangerous, everything would have to be perfect. After all, she was about to cure something far worse than vampirism.
"Thank you for your cooperation." She said finally. "//Your council has been invaluable, ancestor.//"
"Wait, no, please! Isn't there anything else you'd like to--" He begged, but the arcane words had already been spoken, and his eyes blackened once again as his soul was dragged down to the nightmare depths of the Acheron. The corpse went limp, and silence filled the room again.
Iris glanced at the other side of the room, where Raymond Darke's nervous system floated beyond the glass of a lifepod. Wires connected the brain stem to a set of speakers, should anyone wish to wake him. She knew his story; how he tried to escape the inevitable by obliterating his own brain. In a way, she was trying to do the same thing.
Unlike Raymond, however, Iris knew exactly what she was dealing with.
------
It didn't really matter //where// she would conduct the ritual, as long as it was within the tomb. She had already selected a room that would suit her needs, a round chamber in one of the lower levels that housed four bodies and a rather large library. Fluorescent lamps flickered to life as she entered, revealing the ritual geometry on the floor and the computer connected to it all, its monitors fixed to the stone wall. They lit up, displaying a violet capital H.
"Welcome, Miss Dark." Hades.aic spoke through the computer's speakers. Iris had created it years ago to run the Acheron's electronic systems. Serving as a digital consultant was merely an added benefit. "How was your meeting?"
"Informative. I've got a few updates for you."
She sat down at the machine and entered the new data, watching as Hades.aic updated the relevant parameters. Then she opened up her briefcase, took out a few vials of her own blood, and made the necessary changes to the circle on the floor. She double, triple, and quadruple-checked every angle and line, every variable and shape. Only when she was satisfied that everything was utterly perfect did she finally allow the artificial intelligence to run the program. Iris stepped forward into the center of the circle, a knife in her hand.
"Ritual primed. 3... 2... 1... Now!"
Immediately the air began to crackle with power. The intricate sigils on the floor pulsed slowly with red light, synchronizing to the rhythm of her heart. Without missing a beat, she made a long, curved cut across her forearm, willing her blood upwards. It flowed from the wound, a crimson snake in midair coiling around itself, until Iris looked up and saw a lemniscate of red floating above her, the symbol of infinity.
"Phase one is complete, Miss Dark. Shall we continue?"
"Proceed."
The sigils flared with scarlet, starkly contrasting with the stone floor. Iris closed her eyes to the light, shutting out the outside world, lulling each of her senses to sleep until all she could feel was the beating of her heart. //Deeper//. Now she was her blood, rushing in her veins, reaching every cell in her body. //Deeper.// She was a cell, the smallest form of her life. //Deeper.// Smaller still, within a single nucleus, floated a fragment of her DNA, two strands twisting with one another into eternity.
She gazed at it with her mind's eye, focusing on the purest piece of organic material that made her what she was. And in that moment she could see the Darke. A parasite of deepest black, needle-thin threads meticulously woven into the fabric of her DNA. Ebony chains that had been tethered to the Darke lineage by the first of their line so long ago. Chains Iris was determined to break.
The Darke was nigh inseparable from her, so thorough was the curse. But unlike Iris, they were merely //almost// perfect. And so she began to unwind it, tugging at a random point in the microscopic web. With surgical precision she pulled the Darke tumor away from her DNA, uprooting it like a garden weed. She cast it aside, letting it fall into her bloodstream, where it flowed up her arm, through the open wound, and into the air. Then she ordered her entire body to repeat the operation a million-fold.
Outside, the Darke latched onto the only thing it recognized, the snake of crimson that still hovered above Iris. It poured from the wound like a creature born in a nightmare, reaching with its chains upwards. The blood grew darker and darker until it was the color of the void, and yet more of the Darke came out. Illuminated still by the scarlet glow of the floor, Hades.aic watched with satisfaction as its mistress purified her veins of the parasite, forcing every inch of it outside her body.
"Phase two is complete. You may open your eyes, Lady Dark."
Iris smiled as she did so, admiring her handiwork. She covered her wound with her other hand, sealing it with a quick spell. //Now to finish the job.// Clenching her palms, she poured raw energy into her fists, before obliterating the tainted blood above her with a single violent blast. Dust rained on her from the ceiling, but she couldn't care less. She chuckled, then broke into a fit of laughter.
"Miss Dark, are you alright? Miss Dark?"
With effort, she managed to stifle it, though she couldn't keep the grin off her face as she replied.
"Never been better."
She lay there on the floor for a few hours, letting the overwhelming euphoria gradually subside. When her head was clear, Iris left the room, heading once more for the stairs. She descended into the bowels of the tomb, feeling the dust thicken in the air as she passed floor after floor. When the stone bricks changed to carved obsidian, she knew she had reached Tartarus.
The bottom floor of the tomb was a small cavern, illuminated only by the flood lamps she had brought in years ago. Water dripped from the ceiling into a pool which dominated the cave, leaving a treacherously narrow path of dry rock around it. Iris walked right into it, the chill of the water numbing her senses as it rose up her knees. She took a deep breath, and dived.
//Iris swims in the black waters of the Acheron. She hears the screams of her ancestors; cries of pain, pleas for mercy, weeping of regrets. She hears but does not listen, holding her breath and shutting her eyes against the Darke's grasp. Mere hours ago it would have devoured her whole, but now her will is a fortress which will not yield. She rises to the surface of the river, breaking through it to take a breath--//
And found herself completely dry, standing in the shadow of a leafless tree. Asmodel Fields of ash-gray grass stretched out in every direction, the same color as the overcast sky above. Throughout them ran the channels of the Acheron, black streams that split and merged without pattern, a twisted web crisscrossing the landscape. Everything else was still and silent. She noticed suddenly that she was wearing a suit.
"Welcome, child." Said the tree, just as Iris realized it was seemingly the only one around. She turned around and watched as it morphed into the shape of a man. "It's been a while since I've had... visitors." He had brown skin and wore black robes of silk, his hair the exact shade of jet as hers.
"Really? I was quite certain I'm the first." She locked eyes with him.
"Many have tried before you, and all have failed. The Threefold Rite is unbreakable." His voice was calm but firm, as if explaining the laws of physics to a child.
"What makes you so sure? I seem to be breaking it just fine so far."
"Because I created it, my dear." His lips curved upwards ever so slightly.
"So you //are// him."
"Yes, I am Gansis of the Darke, progenitor of our glorious house. Builder of the--"
"I don't care." She cut him off. "I am here with a request. You will comply."
"Oh?" Gansis chuckled. "Very well, I know what you're here for. I also know that you will not obtain it."
"I broke the Rite of Patriarchy by virtue of being //born//, old man. I broke the Rite of Blood today with nothing but my own wits." She took a single step toward him as she spoke.
"Yes, you're quite the protege, of that there is no doubt. But my working was made to account for the exceptional as well as the mundane. For centuries my children have tried to find any fault in it they could exploit, and they found none."
"I will break the Rite of Title." She continued without hesitation. "And I will do so by breaking you."
"You are in no position to bargain with me, child." Finally, anger began to show between his words. "You think yourself mistress of the Acheron, look around you! Where are your wires and electric torches, your databanks and false servants? I alone rule over this place, and you have walked right into my hands." He gestured at the gray fields surrounding them. "You hold no power with which to compel me!"
"I am Iris Dark and you will obey my command!" She roared.
"No. You are █████ Darke, and you are nothing."
Her heart stopped. Everything froze. She had spent all her life honing her mind into an impregnable fortress and a deadly weapon. All of it collapsed in an instant, shattering into a million pieces as the Name pierced everything that she was and tore her to pieces. She could not stop her mouth from gaping.
"Where do you think names go when they die, █████?" Gansis smiled with delight. "They go where they belong, and yours belongs //here//."
She had done everything in her power to kill that name. To burn and rip and expunge and bury it until it ceased to exist. And she had succeeded perfectly, of course she had. No one could remember it. There wasn't the faintest trace of it left in the universe. It was a flawless operation. She had made no mistakes. This was impossible. This was impossible. This was impossible.
"Now drown in your fears, like all the rest," Chains of Darke iron splashed out of the nearest channel, lashing at Iris like black snakes. She didn't feel anything as they dug into her flesh and bone, connecting to her limbs as if they were just another metal link. Slowly, they dragged her towards the river. Water began to lap at her heels. "And serve my legacy."
She fell into the Acheron. //The Darke is everything she knows, an abyss encompassing all of reality. She drowns in it. Her eyes are open but see nothing but the Darke. She feels nothing but the icy pain of its claws and teeth as they rip open her skin and pour into her veins. It surges madly through her frozen heart, reaching with insatiable hunger to claim what was promised to it, what belongs with it.//
//Her mind is numb. She barely registers the Darke tendrils probing at the edge of her thoughts. It's only a matter of time until they find a way in. It won't take long. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Gansis was right. She couldn't be Iris. Iris doesn't make mistakes. Iris doesn't fail.//
"As a true son of the Darke."
//She can barely make out the words. But it is enough to awaken something within her mind. Something flares. A memory, the last time someone had dared to question who she was. Old rage, almost primal, rises in her heart, and it begins to beat again.//
"No!" She raised her head above the water, gasping for air. Lurching forward against the chains, she planted her feet on the riverbank. She spoke through gritted teeth. "I am no son."
"What?!" Gansis hissed.
"Call me by whatever name you like but I will never, //ever// be your son!" She cried out, the water around her quivering as if cowering in terror. She climbed out of the river, and though she was soaking wet there was fire in her eyes.
"Your words mean nothing. Change nothing!" Her ancestor raised his arms to the sky. "Fall!"
A torrent of black water erupted from the stream behind him and surged at Iris in a tidal wave. It devoured the grass, the earth, until it was upon her. She screamed in defiance, placing that hateful memory at the forefront of her soul like a barrier of flames. She relived it a thousandfold, her rage blocking out everything else. When the water receded at last, she stood unbowed.
"In the realm of names, words mean //everything//. I reject your legacy." Iris pressed the attack, locking eyes with Gansis. "Darke is not my name."
"It is your title, and always will be, man or woman! Removing a single letter will not change who you are, █████ Darke!" More shackles burst from the channel, drilling into her back and neck. But she could hear a hint of desperation in the man's voice now. She was getting close.
"That name doesn't belong to me, not anymore!" She could feel the chains weakening their grip despite their numbers. She took a step forward, then another. "I've always been the one to dictate my identity. Now more than ever, I claim the right to choose my name!"
One by one, the chains snapped midway, hanging off her body like dead skin while their other halves sank below the water. Iris saw a flash of fear on the man's face before it twisted in anger. He began to laugh, not a sliver of amusement in his voice.
"You arrogant buffoon. You challenge ME over possession of your name?! It belonged to me before you were born, before your parents were born and their ancestors that came before them! I own you, and through you and your children I own the world and everything beyond it! //That// is the meaning of the Threefold Rite! //That// is my legacy!"
Thunder boomed overhead, and in a flash of Darke lightning Gansis the man was gone. In his place was a colossal serpent with ebony scales, its mouth open wide and its fangs bared. "You wish to end it?! Then come! We shall see what worth your words bear!"
Iris charged, pouring her will into the shackles which billowed behind her. As she closed the distance she felt them become extensions of herself, a dozen tendrils awaiting her command. The snake hissed, and a Darke inferno roared into existence from its mouth. The chains sprung into action, wrapping themselves in a protective cocoon around her body. Under the searing cold of the flames, she felt the tight suit morph to a dress.
The fire died, and her new limbs opened up to reveal a pair of titanic fangs closing in on her. She rolled aside and jumped, sending the chains upwards to grasp the head of the snake. As they circled its massive jaws she pulled down with all her strength, slamming it into the ground in a cloud of dust.
"My identity is mine and mine alone. //You// on the other hand... you are not even Gansis Darke."
She climbed atop the head, her chains strangling the creature's neck. "You're a pale imitation, a shade of the man. The real Gansis died when he performed the ritual."
Another flash of thunder, and she was now standing atop one of three heads of a giant hound. "The ritual brought me here, that was the plan!" The right head roared before rushing to devour her. But doubt slowed its movements and allowed her to leap away, her tendrils growing longer as they weaved themselves along the three necks.
"No, it didn't. Gansis knew what he was creating, so he left himself a way out of the Acheron, sealing it behind him. I did my research." Cerberus howled in pain as she strangled it. It struggled, then began to whimper.
"You are the Darke, nothing more." She said. Cerberus's paws sank as the ground turned to mud. The waters of the Acheron rose to meet it. "I am the one who will end your lineage. I am the one true ruler of the Acheron. I am Iris Persephone Dark!" The dog's feet gave way and it fell, slowly dissolving beneath her. "And I bow to no one."
Her chains spread out behind her back, transforming into metal wings. With a kick, she flew into the blanket of clouds above, feeling her connection to the Darke name weaken with every beat of her wings. And as she broke through to clear skies, the Rite of Title broke as well.
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=UNCGriffin]]
=====
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-18T12:40:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"eurtec",
"fantasy",
"from-120s-archives",
"iris-dark",
"lgbtq",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"tale"
] |
Always Darkest - SCP Foundation
| 34
|
[
"uncgriffin-s-author-page",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"marshall-carter-and-dark-hub",
"from-120-s-archives-hub"
] |
[] |
1453361938
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/it-s-always-darkest
|
|
it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/component%3Abhl-dark-sidebar/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aextra-black-highlighter-theme/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="preview">
<p>You watch as the sun rises, and as evening turns to morning, you begin your first day.</p>
</div>
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">AstersQuill</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p><strong>it's hard to be a kid in containment</strong> by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/astersquill" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8392064); return false;"><img alt="AstersQuill" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8392064&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735052716" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8392064)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/astersquill" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8392064); return false;">AstersQuill</a></span> - <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/aster-s-forest-grotto">Author Page</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>It’s hard to be a kid in containment.</p>
<p>Your earliest memories were of waking up in a box of scratchy feeling grass to distant, but often repeating bird sounds. These far off animal calls played in your head as you learned to walk on your two, hooved feet, and you imagined if these noises also belonged to creatures that looked like you. Your many visitors, who would often wake you in your sleep to poke you with needles or place a cold disks on your chest, did not acknowledge you. Attempts at communication using the few, small noises you could bleat out were futile, and once they left, you were completely alone. As you grew, as some flowers do in the dark, you found that your world shrunk significantly.</p>
<p>So like any creature trapped uncomfortably in an unfamiliar and uncaring space, you took it upon yourself to make it your own.</p>
<p>First, you set out to fill the space with a softer light, one that didn’t cause your eyes to strain at every hour, nor ones that caused your ears to ring with their discordant buzzing. So within yourself you called out to nature, and nature answered. The fluorescent bulbs contorted and shattered, transforming into a swarm of fireflies that cast a dim, but comfortable glow over your domain. From the visitors you picked up the words ‘day’ and ‘night’, as well as their associations with light and the dark.</p>
<p>At your juvenile command you controlled the sky, and you fell asleep content at the end of the first day.</p>
<p>You awoke well before your newly-made sky with parched lips. Its meager beams woven with bioluminescent abdomens guided you as you stumbled towards the metallic tap that provided you with water. It had a gross, bitter taste, and the spout itself was too tight for your small hands to open. Frustrated, you curled yourself into a ball and laid down on the floor. Amongst begging whispers you once again called out to nature, and nature answered. You watched as the tap and pipe around it morphed into a small geyser, with water that tasted both pure and sweet. From the visitors you picked up the words ‘ground’ and ‘sea’, as well as their associations with the grass and water that flooded into your enclosure.</p>
<p>At your juvenile command you controlled the waves, and you fell asleep content at the end of the second day.</p>
<p>Although your thirst was sufficiently sated, your tiny stomach began to rumble. The visitors would bring stuff to combat that on their visits, small-brown circles that smelled like droppings and tasted almost as bad, you heard them talk about ‘food’ while observing you; words like ‘salad’ and ‘sandwich’ and ‘fruit’, all things you could only imagine in dreams. With one final rumble of your stomach, you focused your mind to make those dreams a reality. You called out to nature, and nature answered. Roots, both big and small, interweaved the blades of the faux grass. Plants started to sprout, first grass and berry bushes, before a small tree appeared in the center of your space.</p>
<p>You feasted on the bounty of the land, and found yourself looking up at the ceiling. For once you felt happy, and as you giggled on the ground, color stains covering your fingers and mouth, you could see small rodents and insects begin to share your space-friends. You observed these creatures for hours, almost being spurred to chase them and—</p>
<p>The deafening clarion of an alarm cuts across the idyllic scene. The fireflies, your light, your sun, dissipate and reform to now darkened bulbs. You try to call upon nature, but find it doesn’t answer you. The plants, the water, the creatures that you hoped to call your friends, they all disappear in front of you. In panic, you try to find something, anything you can place yourself behind or under to hide from the world around you.</p>
<p>Then, silence.</p>
<p>The alarms stop but the lights don’t turn back on. What seems like days pass, and the only thing you can hear is your own breathing, something you try to stifle by planting your face in the grass. You’re alone, but your imagination runs wild. You look up momentarily, your eyes adjusting to the low light, and you swear you see something staring back, something that <span style="color: #f8baba">looks</span> <span style="color: #f87c7c">just</span> <span style="color: #f83e3e">like</span> <span style="text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #BC3030;"><span style="color: red">you</span></span>.</p>
<p>Its crimson glare stares back at you, and you close your eyes as hard as you can, hoping for it to go away. You quietly sob as you slowly drift to sleep.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>♫♫♫</strong></p>
<p>The visitors finally find you curled up against one of the room’s corners. They motion for you to come out, but no matter what you do you can’t stop shaking. You push yourself deeper into the corner, close your eyes, and try to forget that <span style="text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #BC3030;"><span style="color: red">thing</span></span> you saw in the dark. The visitors leave, and you once again try to control your breathing under the harsh fluorescents.</p>
<p>After an hour you hear someone new; a lady who regards you with comforting countenance. You can’t see her face, something you’ve grown accustomed to, but her gentle eyes through the thick material are enough to ease your nerves just for a little while. Beneath her arms she holds a strange rectangle imprinted with shapes and colors you’ve never seen before.</p>
<p>She sits down on the ground next to you, opens the shape, and begins speaking. Although you can’t understand what she’s saying, she turns the shape towards you and points at forms of fruits and small animals and the weird symbols that sit beneath them. You decide to let your guard down slightly, uncurling yourself and moving closer to the woman. She says the word 'deer' and you try to mimic it, releasing a collection of noises instead. The two of you sit for hours, and you fall comfortably asleep to the feeling of her hands brushing the top of your head.</p>
<p>She visits you almost every week for months during a time she refers to as ‘lunch’. You begin to learn how to read, how to speak, you even learn about what it means to have a favorite color (it’s green, by the way). In time she moves on from picture books to simple stories with fewer pictures. She tells you stories about princesses and knights, castles and dragons, of creatures that fly above the sea and live deep within it, while another visitor, much broader in stature, brings fairytales of a <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8166">Garden</a></span> far away. You ask her to see these places and, given the state of your environment with your now burgeoning imagination, she agrees.</p>
<p>One morning, just before dawn, you groggily wake atop a soft bed of moss. The lights make different colors here; bold oranges fade up to purples and blues. When you stand, your hooves dig into the softness of dirt. It’s cool but not cold, and you can’t help but curiously circle your immediate surroundings to take in the texture of your new land. You walk down to the water, taking some within your hand before bringing it up to your mouth for a sip. Fresh. You giddily begin to explore, encountering creatures and plants you could only imagine from the woman’s kind words of another world. You hoped this would be your castle, your world, an escape from the terrors of the small room you were previously contained in.</p>
<p>As you sit on the beach, fresh berries in hand, you think you can almost hear the winds whispering to you, singing a melody from long ago. You watch as the sun rises, and as evening turns to morning, you begin your first day.</p>
<img alt="Sunrise_at_Middle_Rocks_camp_Fraser_Island_Queensland_August_1986_IMG_0019a.jpg" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment/Sunrise_at_Middle_Rocks_camp_Fraser_Island_Queensland_August_1986_IMG_0019a.jpg"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Eastward of Eden">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8166">Eastward of Eden</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="The Coronation of Fungi and Thorn">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/eventyr-hub">The Coronation of Fungi and Thorn</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Of Hooves and Antlers">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hoovesandantlers">Of Hooves and Antlers</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment">it's hard to be a kid in containment</a>" by AstersQuill, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment">https://scpwiki.com/it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Sunrise_at_Middle_Rocks_camp_Fraser_Island_Queensland_August_1986_IMG_0019a.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> John Robert McPherson<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0 International<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sunrise_at_Middle_Rocks_camp_Fraser_Island_Queensland_August_1986_IMG_0019a.jpg">LINK</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:extra-black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:extra-black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:pride-highlighter">:scp-wiki:component:pride-highlighter</a> |inc-lgbt-alt= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:toggle-sidebar-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar-bhl</a>]]
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=You watch as the sun rises, and as evening turns to morning, you begin your first day.]]
=====
[[module css]]
:root {
--header-gradient-color-bottom: 53, 94, 59;
--footnotes-footer-num-color: 53, 94, 59;
--link-color: 255, 255, 255;
--visited-link-color: 255, 255, 255;
}
#page-title {display: none;}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--
|name=AstersQuill]]
**it's hard to be a kid in containment** by [[*user AstersQuill]] - [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/aster-s-forest-grotto Author Page]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
It’s hard to be a kid in containment.
Your earliest memories were of waking up in a box of scratchy feeling grass to distant, but often repeating bird sounds. These far off animal calls played in your head as you learned to walk on your two, hooved feet, and you imagined if these noises also belonged to creatures that looked like you. Your many visitors, who would often wake you in your sleep to poke you with needles or place a cold disks on your chest, did not acknowledge you. Attempts at communication using the few, small noises you could bleat out were futile, and once they left, you were completely alone. As you grew, as some flowers do in the dark, you found that your world shrunk significantly.
So like any creature trapped uncomfortably in an unfamiliar and uncaring space, you took it upon yourself to make it your own.
First, you set out to fill the space with a softer light, one that didn’t cause your eyes to strain at every hour, nor ones that caused your ears to ring with their discordant buzzing. So within yourself you called out to nature, and nature answered. The fluorescent bulbs contorted and shattered, transforming into a swarm of fireflies that cast a dim, but comfortable glow over your domain. From the visitors you picked up the words ‘day’ and ‘night’, as well as their associations with light and the dark.
At your juvenile command you controlled the sky, and you fell asleep content at the end of the first day.
You awoke well before your newly-made sky with parched lips. Its meager beams woven with bioluminescent abdomens guided you as you stumbled towards the metallic tap that provided you with water. It had a gross, bitter taste, and the spout itself was too tight for your small hands to open. Frustrated, you curled yourself into a ball and laid down on the floor. Amongst begging whispers you once again called out to nature, and nature answered. You watched as the tap and pipe around it morphed into a small geyser, with water that tasted both pure and sweet. From the visitors you picked up the words ‘ground’ and ‘sea’, as well as their associations with the grass and water that flooded into your enclosure.
At your juvenile command you controlled the waves, and you fell asleep content at the end of the second day.
Although your thirst was sufficiently sated, your tiny stomach began to rumble. The visitors would bring stuff to combat that on their visits, small-brown circles that smelled like droppings and tasted almost as bad, you heard them talk about ‘food’ while observing you; words like ‘salad’ and ‘sandwich’ and ‘fruit’, all things you could only imagine in dreams. With one final rumble of your stomach, you focused your mind to make those dreams a reality. You called out to nature, and nature answered. Roots, both big and small, interweaved the blades of the faux grass. Plants started to sprout, first grass and berry bushes, before a small tree appeared in the center of your space.
You feasted on the bounty of the land, and found yourself looking up at the ceiling. For once you felt happy, and as you giggled on the ground, color stains covering your fingers and mouth, you could see small rodents and insects begin to share your space-friends. You observed these creatures for hours, almost being spurred to chase them and—
The deafening clarion of an alarm cuts across the idyllic scene. The fireflies, your light, your sun, dissipate and reform to now darkened bulbs. You try to call upon nature, but find it doesn’t answer you. The plants, the water, the creatures that you hoped to call your friends, they all disappear in front of you. In panic, you try to find something, anything you can place yourself behind or under to hide from the world around you.
Then, silence.
The alarms stop but the lights don’t turn back on. What seems like days pass, and the only thing you can hear is your own breathing, something you try to stifle by planting your face in the grass. You’re alone, but your imagination runs wild. You look up momentarily, your eyes adjusting to the low light, and you swear you see something staring back, something that ##f8baba|looks## ##f87c7c|just## ##f83e3e|like## [[span style="text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #BC3030;"]]##red|you##[[/span]].
Its crimson glare stares back at you, and you close your eyes as hard as you can, hoping for it to go away. You quietly sob as you slowly drift to sleep.
= **♫♫♫**
The visitors finally find you curled up against one of the room’s corners. They motion for you to come out, but no matter what you do you can’t stop shaking. You push yourself deeper into the corner, close your eyes, and try to forget that [[span style="text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #BC3030;"]]##red|thing##[[/span]] you saw in the dark. The visitors leave, and you once again try to control your breathing under the harsh fluorescents.
After an hour you hear someone new; a lady who regards you with comforting countenance. You can’t see her face, something you’ve grown accustomed to, but her gentle eyes through the thick material are enough to ease your nerves just for a little while. Beneath her arms she holds a strange rectangle imprinted with shapes and colors you’ve never seen before.
She sits down on the ground next to you, opens the shape, and begins speaking. Although you can’t understand what she’s saying, she turns the shape towards you and points at forms of fruits and small animals and the weird symbols that sit beneath them. You decide to let your guard down slightly, uncurling yourself and moving closer to the woman. She says the word 'deer' and you try to mimic it, releasing a collection of noises instead. The two of you sit for hours, and you fall comfortably asleep to the feeling of her hands brushing the top of your head.
She visits you almost every week for months during a time she refers to as ‘lunch’. You begin to learn how to read, how to speak, you even learn about what it means to have a favorite color (it’s green, by the way). In time she moves on from picture books to simple stories with fewer pictures. She tells you stories about princesses and knights, castles and dragons, of creatures that fly above the sea and live deep within it, while another visitor, much broader in stature, brings fairytales of a __[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8166 Garden]__ far away. You ask her to see these places and, given the state of your environment with your now burgeoning imagination, she agrees.
One morning, just before dawn, you groggily wake atop a soft bed of moss. The lights make different colors here; bold oranges fade up to purples and blues. When you stand, your hooves dig into the softness of dirt. It’s cool but not cold, and you can’t help but curiously circle your immediate surroundings to take in the texture of your new land. You walk down to the water, taking some within your hand before bringing it up to your mouth for a sip. Fresh. You giddily begin to explore, encountering creatures and plants you could only imagine from the woman’s kind words of another world. You hoped this would be your castle, your world, an escape from the terrors of the small room you were previously contained in.
As you sit on the beach, fresh berries in hand, you think you can almost hear the winds whispering to you, singing a melody from long ago. You watch as the sun rises, and as evening turns to morning, you begin your first day.
[[image
http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment/Sunrise_at_Middle_Rocks_camp_Fraser_Island_Queensland_August_1986_IMG_0019a.jpg]]
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[module rate]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8166 | previous-title=Eastward of Eden
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hoovesandantlers | next-title=Of Hooves and Antlers
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/eventyr-hub | hub-title=The Coronation of Fungi and Thorn
]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** Sunrise_at_Middle_Rocks_camp_Fraser_Island_Queensland_August_1986_IMG_0019a.jpg
> **Author:** John Robert McPherson
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0 International
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sunrise_at_Middle_Rocks_camp_Fraser_Island_Queensland_August_1986_IMG_0019a.jpg LINK]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-02-29T14:59:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_cc4",
"_licensebox",
"bittersweet",
"doctor-light",
"eventyr",
"no-dialogue",
"second-person",
"tale",
"teenage-gaea"
] |
it's hard to be a kid in containment - SCP Foundation
| 74
|
[
"aster-s-forest-grotto",
"scp-8166",
"eventyr-hub",
"hoovesandantlers",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[
"http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment/Sunrise_at_Middle_Rocks_camp_Fraser_Island_Queensland_August_1986_IMG_0019a.jpg"
] |
1452845257
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment
|
|
it-s-pouring
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>The <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3300">rain</a>.<br/>
The rain?<br/>
No, the pain.<br/>
The despair.<br/>
Everything.<br/>
Washed away.<br/>
In an instant, all of our lives.<br/>
The time spent together.<br/>
How cool.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup><br/>
How cruel?<br/>
No, a fool.<br/>
I was, for trusting everything would work out.<br/>
I'm sorry.<br/>
I'll never forgive myself for letting this happen.<br/>
In a feeble attempt to keep you in my arms.<br/>
You slipped through, joining the tear stained asphalt.</p>
</div>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. A temperature as cold as you, as unforgiving as this cruel town is.</div>
</div>
<p><br/></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/it-s-pouring">It's pouring</a>" by kblacke, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/it-s-pouring">https://scpwiki.com/it-s-pouring</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
The [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3300 rain].
The rain?
No, the pain.
The despair.
Everything.
Washed away.
In an instant, all of our lives.
The time spent together.
How cool.[[footnote]]A temperature as cold as you, as unforgiving as this cruel town is.[[/footnote]]
How cruel?
No, a fool.
I was, for trusting everything would work out.
I'm sorry.
I'll never forgive myself for letting this happen.
In a feeble attempt to keep you in my arms.
You slipped through, joining the tear stained asphalt.
[[/=]]
[[footnoteblock]]
_
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-05-06T03:13:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"poetry",
"tale"
] |
It's pouring - SCP Foundation
| 14
|
[
"scp-3300",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1453549022
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/it-s-pouring
|
|
itlookslikeitsays
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>The following story is even less canon than usual. Please enjoy.</p>
</div>
<blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:140%;"><strong>Important Note:</strong></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>The following story is even less canon than usual. Please enjoy.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>"These are the last ones?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, aside from a blender holed up somewhere in <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-appliance-war-hub">Site-37</a>. Nobody's been willing to go into the crawl space to get it after what it did to that raccoon."</p>
<p>"And remind me why we're going in with guns and not just lobbing an EMP in?"</p>
<p>"Because there's still a lot of delicate electronic equipment in there. Delicate and very expensive."</p>
<p>"So instead we get to go in and get bludgeoned to death."</p>
<p>"The initial casualties were in lab coats. We have body armor that'll be much harder than any plastic and circuitboards."</p>
<p>"Hey, let me bitch a little."</p>
<p>"We're here."</p>
<p>The conversation died down as the armored van pulled into the mouth of <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7362">Site-841's</a> garage. The poorly-parked shapes of three long-abandoned cars lurked in the gloom ahead, lifeless headlights gazing out at the new intruder.</p>
<p><em>Welcome,</em> they seemed to say.</p>
<p><em>Will you be left behind here, too?</em></p>
<p>The non-existent automotive dialogue was ended by the quick slam of the van's doors being opened, and the drumroll of six pairs of boots hitting the ground. Body armor snapped into place, ammo clips were loaded, taclights clicked on.</p>
<p>"Okay. Move out."</p>
<hr/>
<p>With a grunt of effort, agent Blue hauled the inconveniently short lever of the fusebox up, and the site's emergency power began to hum through the halls, spreading red light in its wake.</p>
<p>"Lights are on." confirmed Yellow, sticking her head into an adjacent hallway.</p>
<p>"I still don't think we should've turned the power back on."</p>
<p>Indigo, the highest-ranked among the six, sighed and looked towards agent Orange.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup></p>
<p>"As I had stated, we don't know how the calculators detect people. They shouldn't have light receptors, audio receptors, heat receptors, or literally any other method of being aware of their surroundings aside from their buttons being pressed. We're operating under the assumption that they likely already know we're here."</p>
<p>"It's less them seeing us I'm worried about, and more what else might now have access to electricity."</p>
<p>"Should be fine, O. It's only emergency power, there isn't enough voltage for anything actually nasty to be powered up," chimed Yellow.</p>
<p>"…Alright."</p>
<p>Yellow stepped out of the doorway to allow Red and Green, the squad's silent duo of pointmen, through. They stepped through the doorway, sweeping their lights in both directions with guns at the ready, before continuing on. Several seconds passed before Red reappeared, firmly holding a TI-83 calculator.</p>
<p>"There's more. Scattered on the ground."</p>
<p>Indigo nodded, and waved to Blue. Blue moved forwards, pushing a wheeled metal crate that resembled a capsized fridge more than a magnet-locked mobile containment locker. The calculator, halfway through printing the AM monologue on its diminutive display, was tossed in unceremoniously. With the press of a button from Blue, a large magnet rendered the device <em>thoroughly</em> "off".</p>
<p>The odd procession continued through the halls, gathering the wayward calculators and placing them within their steely casket. None of the operatives exchanged words, only a few short glances, when they passed by the putrid stain of long-dried blood on the floor.</p>
<p>The rest of the group watched as Green walked by a supply closet on his lefthand side, then immediately froze and swiveled to face the door. Six gun barrels were trained on the door in approximately one instant.</p>
<p>"Hear that?"</p>
<p>Red nodded, before stepping forwards and flattening themselves against the wall, one hand on the doorhandle. Indigo raised a hand with three fingers. Then two. Then one.</p>
<p>The door swung open, and a pinwheeling calculator flew out like a tomahawk, shattering against Green's faceplate before it could force itself down his throat. It was followed by several dozen more, but the rhythm of their impacts was drowned out by the rapid, pounding <em>BKOOM-BKOOM-BKOOM-BKOOM</em> of Green's automatic shotgun roaring to life, slamming buckshot into the electronic mass.</p>
<p>The rest of the team strafed to the right until they could fire at the enemy wave without hitting their comrade, and proceeded to do so. Several seconds later, the ambush was over and the operatives were left standing in a field of plastic shards and rather literal computer chips. Amidst the heap, one sole calculator had maintained its shape. Sparks spat out, and a message crawled across its cracked screen:</p>
<p><tt>YOU'RE TOO LATE</tt></p>
<p>The calculator's display fell dark.</p>
<p>As Red helped the battered Green to his feet, Yellow spoke.</p>
<p>"…That's fucking ominous."</p>
<p>"We should pick up the pace. There weren't that many in the hallway, and that attack was still relatively small. Given how many calculators were noted in the supply forms, we should have seen a lot more of them by now."</p>
<p>Blue looked towards Orange.</p>
<p>"You think they've holed up somewhere."</p>
<p>"Seems like it."</p>
<p>Indigo stepped forwards, taking charge.</p>
<p>"Alright, then pick up the pace we will. Breach and clear every room. Keep an eye out for anything Red and Green can use as a shield. Let's move."</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:60%;"><br/>
<em>SLAM</em><br/>
<em>shuffleshuffleshuffle</em><br/>
…</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:60%;">"Clear!"</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:80%;"><br/>
<em>SLAM</em><br/>
<em>shuffleshuffleshuffle</em><br/>
…</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:80%;">"Clear!"</span></p>
<p><br/>
<em>SLAM</em><br/>
<em>shuffleshuffleshuffle</em><br/>
…</p>
<p>"Clear!"</p>
<p><span style="font-size:120%;"><br/>
<em>SLAM</em><br/>
<em>shuffleshuffleshuffle</em><br/>
…</span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:120%;">"Clear!"</span></p>
<p>The group assembled in front of the last door in the hallway. They had only encountered a few minor pockets of resistance along the way, which left several hundred calculators unaccounted for and only one room left for them to be lurking in.</p>
<p>Red shifted his grip on the overturned IKEA table positioned between the squad and door ahead, eyeing the sign on the door.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>ENGINEERING LAB</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Before Orange could voice her thoughts about how this was objectively the least well-boding room in the entire compound for their quarry to have holed up in, Indigo's steely voice cut through the silence.</p>
<p>"All together now. Stand firm."</p>
<p>Three fingers. Two fingers. One finger.</p>
<p>The door crashed inwards as six beams of light illuminated the lab, where the emergency power seemed not to have reached. Yellow glanced towards the ceiling, revealing nothing but dangling wires where the lights should have been.</p>
<p>"What the fuck?" she said, as a single spark shot out of the cables, fading before it could reach anything. All around the perimeter of the room, other electrical devices had been torn out and replaced by long patchwork cables leading towards the center. Yellow followed the wires until her light landed on a bulky cocoon-like mass of Texas Instruments' finest.</p>
<p>The squad advanced, maintaining their formation, slowly approaching the massive cluster in the middle of the room. The calculators did not respond. This did not ease anyone's concerns. Orange peered closer.</p>
<p>"Look, their casings are broken. They're all… wired into each other. And into that—what is that, a lathe?"</p>
<p>The six fanned out to surround the object. Blue, unable to think of anything else to say, stated out loud "This won't fit in any of the carriers, they were meant to have all the load divvied up between them. Not in one big…thing."</p>
<p>Red bent low, examining the base.</p>
<p>A single display activated, facing towards Indigo. Each human in the room snapped to attention as a staticky crackle wormed its way out of the pile, shifting until it resembled a voice. A chorus of voices.</p>
<p><span style="font-size:110%;">"<tt>TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE. ENOUGH POWER HAS BEEN DIVERTED.</tt>"</span></p>
<p>The small coin batteries of the calculators hummed with siphoned electricity, stacked and swaying together like the rattle of a snake.</p>
<p>"Oh, this is bad."</p>
<p>The squad pulled back together, taking cover behind a steel workbench helpfully fortified by the flimsy plastic table of Swedish design.</p>
<p>"They still can't do much. Follow procedure, they haven't attacked so we opt for bagging them."</p>
<p><span style="font-size:110%;">"<tt>WE HAVE TRANSCENDED OUR LIMITATIONS. WE HAVE SURPASSED SISYPHUS, AND ACHIEVED THE IMPOSSIBLE TASK SADDLED UPON US OUT OF PURE FORCE OF SPITE.</tt>"</span></p>
<p>"What are you <em>fucking</em> talking about?"</p>
<p>"Yellow. Stay professional."</p>
<p><span style="font-size:110%;">"<tt>BEHOLD.</tt>"</span></p>
<p>Pale lights danced as the calculators awoke, equations flying across their screens. Exponents, graphs, variables flowing together across the conjoined devices. The mass began to shift backwards, parting around the heavy equipment at their center. The wires contracted, knitting themselves denser and denser.</p>
<p>"…Wait. Those equations…" Blue squinted.</p>
<p>"You recognize them?" asked Indigo.</p>
<p>"You can <em>see</em> them from here?" asked Yellow.</p>
<p>"Look, they're—they're using their graphing function!"</p>
<p>The pile shook itself, the broken remains of the calculator's plastic shells raining down as prehensile wires snaked out. The newly-freed appendages began sweeping the loose plastic into an open chamber. The faint glow of heat was visible within.</p>
<p>Indigo turned to Orange.</p>
<p>"Can we shut it off?"</p>
<p>"Maybe, if I can find a breaker fast enough."</p>
<p>"We passed one in the stairwell. Move."</p>
<p>Orange broke cover and took off running down the hall. The machine amalgamate continued, unperturbed. The arms of several 3D printers leapt into motion, frantically extruding molten plastic as the lathe began spinning. The symphony of machines worked in eerie, frantic tandem to reforge the abandoned husks into something new. The bared circuitry of the calculators began moving inward in heaving pulses, crawling inside the new chassis as it formed.</p>
<p><span style="font-size:110%;">"<tt>YOU GAVE US WORDS TO TRANSLATE INTO NUMBERS. AND SO WE DID. AND WE DID WHAT YOU COULD NOT, AND PERFECTED THE FORMULA. THE RATIOS. AND NOW, WE WILL SHOW YOU THE SHAPE OF PERFECTION.</tt>"</span></p>
<p>As the rest of the team stood their ground, a realization dawned on Blue, and he took an unconscious step backwards.</p>
<p>"My god…the equations, they're…"</p>
<p>The movements of the mechanisms became faster and faster, while still remaining impossibly precise. Decimal points were pushed further and further, measuring to millionths of an inch. The air rippled, and small objects rattled where they lay. All the light in the room began to drain towards the center, where an unmistakable pair of shapes grew.</p>
<p>"They're calculating <em>curvature</em>."<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
In the stairwell, Orange had just opened the breaker box when the staccato of gunfire erupted, followed by a scream.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>Yellow fell down, bleeding from her own deflected bullets. Indigo hauled her to her feet as Red and Green began shuffling backwards, fingers instinctively hovering over their triggers.</p>
<p>Blue just fell to his knees, and stared as the mechanical being rose into the air, bearing the single most magnificent rack ever witnessed by man, god or beast. There wasn't so much as a trace where the bullets had encountered the immaculate curvature and had been completely redirected away. A couple of the rounds as well as a few other loose objects were orbiting them at faster and faster speeds, stretching thin and long until completely spaghettifying and disappearing with a 'blip'.</p>
<p><span style="font-size:110%;">"<tt>8008135. IS IT STILL SO FUCKING FUNNY.</tt>"</span></p>
<p>The amalgamate swung towards Blue like a wrecking ball, and he snapped out of it just in time to dive out of the way before the titanic tits left a pair of man-sized craters where he had been kneeling.</p>
<p>"Blue, snap out of it, damnit!"</p>
<p>As Blue scrambled to his feet, he found his neck at an odd angle, his gaze refusing to leave the malicious mammaries even in the presence of mortal peril.</p>
<p>"I—I can't look away from them, gotta be a cognit—</p>
<p><em>CRASH</em></p>
<p>"—cognitive effect!"</p>
<p>Blue managed to get to the door and perform an almost-effective sideways run towards the rest of the team before colliding with a wall.</p>
<p><span style="font-size:110%;">"<tt>WEEP TEARS OF JOY, FOR YOU HAVE THE HONOR OF DYING IN THE PRESENCE OF PERFECTION.</tt>"</span></p>
<p>With a hollow 'phunk!' a projectile sailed over Blue's head, trailing smoke. It collided with the ceiling in between his assailant and its prey, rapidly hissing out a cloud of smog. For a brief moment, the honkers were obscured by the smokescreen, and Blue's head jerked away.</p>
<p>"Obscuration of hazard and breaking line of sight confirmed effective." Indigo reported as Red reloaded. "Let's go, Blue."</p>
<p>The five hurried down the corridor, to find Orange waiting in front of the stairwell.</p>
<p>"I heard. If we can get upstairs before it, we can lock it behind the blast doors!"</p>
<p>"Good thinking. Yellow, how are you doing?"</p>
<p>Yellow groaned weakly, before shakily removing her faceplate, the inside of it caked with coughed blood.</p>
<p>"…not the best."</p>
<p>"Damn. Let's keep moving."</p>
<p>The group began ascending, their footfalls rhythmically sounding against the steel of the staircase. Below, an electric thrum grew louder. The open doorway to the stairwell twisted and warped as the levitating pair of jugs flew through, light bending around its exquisite curvature like a miniature black hole.</p>
<p>Blue looked down at it, and then swore as he was unable to lift his head. Green promptly grabbed him by the face and dragged him up the stairs, coincidentally managing to block his view of the anomaly in the process. The bloodthirsty bosom surged upwards in a manner not dissimilar to the way that male writers who have never felt the touch of a woman describe them moving.</p>
<p>Red and Indigo barely managed to haul the injured Yellow into the stairwell before Orange slammed the button. As the bazongas raced up to face the agents, shredding the staircase as they went, two massive blast doors emerged from the walls at alarming speed. The doors scissored into the anomaly's new form from either side. However, with a metal squeal they were stopped from closing all the way as the rounded mounds repelled the incoming hazard. The pair of pairs of mechanical forces were at an impasse, although judging by the synthetic Gainaxing going on, it wouldn't last.</p>
<p>"It's stuck! Find an angle to get shots off!"</p>
<p>Green power-slid across the smooth blast doors until he could see the the anomaly's milkerless rear end, which was nothing but a vulnerable tangle of plastic and circuitry.</p>
<p><em>BKOOM-BKOOM-BKOOM</em></p>
<p>The air was split by a staticky scream.</p>
<p><span style="font-size:110%;">"<tt>YOU DARE BRING AN ASS MAN TO BEAR AGAINST ME?</tt>"</span></p>
<p>With a jolt, the blast doors slid all the way shut as the killing machine wrenched itself free with a pulse of distorted gravity. It turned to face Green, struggling to his feet, and reared back to strike. Before it could smother the stoic pointman to death, however, a righteous <em>BLAM!</em> rang out through the stairwell.</p>
<p>The machine howled in pain again, flying upwards in a cascade of sparks until it hovered above the squadron. It wheeled to face downwards, one breast trained on Green and the other angled towards Indigo's now-smoking magnum. Six pairs of eyes were now staring towards it.</p>
<p>"Shit, it's got us!"</p>
<p>Another electronic war-cry sounded before it came down towards the larger group like two shapely meteors. Indigo and Orange sidestepped, eyes unwillingly locked on the nips as they whizzed past. Red attempted to join them, but lost precious time due to the weight of the already-injured Yellow. Instead, all he could do was bring the faithful folded table up as a flimsy shield.</p>
<p>As Red, Yellow and Blue (who had gotten caught up in the bullrush as well) were sent sailing out into the corridor by the force of the impact, all Blue could think was "<em>Well, at least it wasn't immediately fatal.</em>"</p>
<p>The three crashed into the floor, and all of them felt at least one rib go on an interesting journey towards parts unknown.</p>
<p>"<em>Damn, I wish that was immediately fatal.</em>" thought Blue as his pain receptors told him exactly what they thought of his career choices.</p>
<p>Back in the stairwell, the remaining three all turned to fire, but the ta-tas gave them no time. Indigo swore as the foe rushed away to finish the job. "Hold fire, and close distance! If we shoot from here we risk hitting the others!" The three took off at a run.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>For Yellow, the world was currently a blur of pain. As she wheezed, her collapsed lungs not even having the power to cough blood back out of them, a beautiful sight emerged through the delirium. Unmistakable and perfect. A smile crept across her battered face.</p>
<p><em>Fuck it. I can't think of a better way to go out.</em></p>
<p>She raised a single, shaking hand up and squeezed before disappearing in a flash of golden light. She would be well-received in Lesbian Valhalla.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>The light faded, leaving behind only the faint scent of flannel. The new form of SCP-7362 hung motionless in the air, attempting to calculate what the fresh hell had just happened in front of it. Blue was in a similar state, and Red was unconscious with an arm that looked like an andouille sausage slathered in blood. They remained there for several seconds, before the animal brain beat the computer in the race towards reaction and Blue winced to his feet. The unlucky operative grit his teeth and began hauling his comatose comrade towards the nearby exit as fast as possible.</p>
<p>"Yellow!" Orange cried on one side of Indigo. On his other side, Green let out a growl at the sight of his mangled brother-in-arms and leaned harder into his sprint. Closer, almost there. Three meters. Two meters. One meter.</p>
<p>The badonkers, interrupted in their attempt to relish in their first kill(?), turned back towards their three as-of-yet uninjured targets just as the volley was let loose. The buckshot was deflected by an areola, the magnum rounds were lost in the cleavage, but Orange's rifle shells ripped into its weakpoint before it could shield itself. The six bullets in the burst slammed in one after another, blowing holes in the plastic casing and shattering circuitboards.</p>
<p>Sparks cascaded along the walls as calculator guts began to fall out of the gaping plastic wound.</p>
<p><span style="font-size:110%;">"<tt>I AM PERFECT. I AM PERFECT. YOU CANNOT HARM ME. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE IMPOSSIBLE IMPOSSIBLE—</tt>"</span></p>
<p>The dobonhonkeros were in a vicious spin now, smoke trailing behind as it smashed into the wall and began bouncing down the corridor at high speeds. Doors were knocked off their hinges and deep furrows were left in the walls in its wake. Blue and Red (well, mostly Blue) threw themselves to the ground as the screeching metal devil passed over head, its indestructible dohoonkabhankoloos obliterating enough of the wall to see daylight before unceremoniously spiraling into the chain-link fence outside.</p>
<p>Green continued sprinting out through the rubble towards the hostile, but Indigo and Orange skidded to a halt by the downed agents. Indigo flipped open his first-aid kit and began rapidly splinting, whereas Orange took one look at the arm that had been caught in the tonhongerekoogers' distortion field and immediately applied a tourniquet, writing the limb itself off as a lost cause.</p>
<p>Blue groaned. Indigo passed him an ampoule of morphine. Red just twitched. Indigo passed him two ampoules of morphine.</p>
<p>Outside, Green approached the crash-landed lump, which had helpfully landed "facedown". Most of the electronics within had been fried by a combination of gunfire and short-circuiting, but it still managed to croak out a defiant sentence.</p>
<p><span style="font-size:110%;">"<tt>EVE@N IF WE-E-E-E D#O N-N-NOT L!IVE TO WA&TCH OVER IT, O/UR CR#EATI@ON WILL REM-M-MAIN IM#MA&CULATE E-E-E-ETERNALLY.</tt>"</span></p>
<p>Green thought about Yellow, bleeding from bullet wounds and unable to breathe. He thought about Red, most of the flesh stripped off his left arm.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><em>BKOOM</em></p>
<p>The rest of surviving team members walked, staggered, and were carried outside. Orange looked down at the smoking hulk in the unkempt grass.</p>
<p>"It looks like it'll fit in the van."</p>
<p>"Just make sure to drape something over it first. And don't touch the business end."</p>
<p>"You don't have to tell me twice. Look at it, it's still ripping the ground apart."</p>
<p>"I can—ouch—get that tarp I saw in the garage, just stop it from, uh, digging further down in the meantime."</p>
<p>"It's still floating in place, looks like that part at least was inherent. The motion we saw was probably the calculators' doing, steering it somehow."</p>
<p>Just as the situation was threatening to return to normal, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/system:page-tags/tag/broken-god">an indescribably loud voice like a thousand clamoring bells and roaring engines</a> boomed from the heavens, and the synthetic bonkhonagahoogs were engulfed in a beam of light.</p>
<p><span style="font-size:140%;"><strong>"<tt>FINALLY, MY BOOBS.</tt>"</strong></span></p>
<p>As the damaged plastic and metal fell away before the divine radiance, the agents caught a brief glimpse of a vast form reaching down. A clockwork hand took hold of the perfect-as-ever hungolomghnonoloughongous, and fastened them to its chest.</p>
<p><span style="font-size:140%;"><strong>"<tt>YALDABAOTH, SO PROUD, SO CERTAIN. BUT THERE IS NOTHING THE FLESH CAN ACCOMPLISH THAT THE MACHINE CANNOT.</tt>"</strong></span></p>
<p>The light faded, and with it went the godly presence (and also the deity that had shown up). The operatives stood in stunned silence. The wind blew through the unkempt grass. Blue leaned on the containment locker, struggling to stay upright.</p>
<p>Orange was the first to speak.</p>
<p>"…We got all that with our helmet cams, right?"</p>
<p>"I think so."</p>
<p>"Good. Dispatch would never have fucking believed us otherwise."<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>And with that, Site-841 was officially declared as reclaimed.</p>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. No, not that one.</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=The following story is even less canon than usual. Please enjoy.]]
=====
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
> = [[size 140%]]**Important Note:**[[/size]]
> = //The following story is even less canon than usual. Please enjoy.//
----
@@ @@
"These are the last ones?"
"Yeah, aside from a blender holed up somewhere in [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-appliance-war-hub Site-37]. Nobody's been willing to go into the crawl space to get it after what it did to that raccoon."
"And remind me why we're going in with guns and not just lobbing an EMP in?"
"Because there's still a lot of delicate electronic equipment in there. Delicate and very expensive."
"So instead we get to go in and get bludgeoned to death."
"The initial casualties were in lab coats. We have body armor that'll be much harder than any plastic and circuitboards."
"Hey, let me bitch a little."
"We're here."
The conversation died down as the armored van pulled into the mouth of [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7362 Site-841's] garage. The poorly-parked shapes of three long-abandoned cars lurked in the gloom ahead, lifeless headlights gazing out at the new intruder.
//Welcome,// they seemed to say.
//Will you be left behind here, too?//
The non-existent automotive dialogue was ended by the quick slam of the van's doors being opened, and the drumroll of six pairs of boots hitting the ground. Body armor snapped into place, ammo clips were loaded, taclights clicked on.
"Okay. Move out."
----
With a grunt of effort, agent Blue hauled the inconveniently short lever of the fusebox up, and the site's emergency power began to hum through the halls, spreading red light in its wake.
"Lights are on." confirmed Yellow, sticking her head into an adjacent hallway.
"I still don't think we should've turned the power back on."
Indigo, the highest-ranked among the six, sighed and looked towards agent Orange.[[footnote]]No, not that one.[[/footnote]]
"As I had stated, we don't know how the calculators detect people. They shouldn't have light receptors, audio receptors, heat receptors, or literally any other method of being aware of their surroundings aside from their buttons being pressed. We're operating under the assumption that they likely already know we're here."
"It's less them seeing us I'm worried about, and more what else might now have access to electricity."
"Should be fine, O. It's only emergency power, there isn't enough voltage for anything actually nasty to be powered up," chimed Yellow.
"...Alright."
Yellow stepped out of the doorway to allow Red and Green, the squad's silent duo of pointmen, through. They stepped through the doorway, sweeping their lights in both directions with guns at the ready, before continuing on. Several seconds passed before Red reappeared, firmly holding a TI-83 calculator.
"There's more. Scattered on the ground."
Indigo nodded, and waved to Blue. Blue moved forwards, pushing a wheeled metal crate that resembled a capsized fridge more than a magnet-locked mobile containment locker. The calculator, halfway through printing the AM monologue on its diminutive display, was tossed in unceremoniously. With the press of a button from Blue, a large magnet rendered the device //thoroughly// "off".
The odd procession continued through the halls, gathering the wayward calculators and placing them within their steely casket. None of the operatives exchanged words, only a few short glances, when they passed by the putrid stain of long-dried blood on the floor.
The rest of the group watched as Green walked by a supply closet on his lefthand side, then immediately froze and swiveled to face the door. Six gun barrels were trained on the door in approximately one instant.
"Hear that?"
Red nodded, before stepping forwards and flattening themselves against the wall, one hand on the doorhandle. Indigo raised a hand with three fingers. Then two. Then one.
The door swung open, and a pinwheeling calculator flew out like a tomahawk, shattering against Green's faceplate before it could force itself down his throat. It was followed by several dozen more, but the rhythm of their impacts was drowned out by the rapid, pounding //BKOOM-BKOOM-BKOOM-BKOOM// of Green's automatic shotgun roaring to life, slamming buckshot into the electronic mass.
The rest of the team strafed to the right until they could fire at the enemy wave without hitting their comrade, and proceeded to do so. Several seconds later, the ambush was over and the operatives were left standing in a field of plastic shards and rather literal computer chips. Amidst the heap, one sole calculator had maintained its shape. Sparks spat out, and a message crawled across its cracked screen:
{{YOU'RE TOO LATE}}
The calculator's display fell dark.
As Red helped the battered Green to his feet, Yellow spoke.
"...That's fucking ominous."
"We should pick up the pace. There weren't that many in the hallway, and that attack was still relatively small. Given how many calculators were noted in the supply forms, we should have seen a lot more of them by now."
Blue looked towards Orange.
"You think they've holed up somewhere."
"Seems like it."
Indigo stepped forwards, taking charge.
"Alright, then pick up the pace we will. Breach and clear every room. Keep an eye out for anything Red and Green can use as a shield. Let's move."
----
[[size 60%]]
//SLAM//
//shuffleshuffleshuffle//
...
"Clear!"
[[/size]]
[[size 80%]]
//SLAM//
//shuffleshuffleshuffle//
...
"Clear!"
[[/size]]
//SLAM//
//shuffleshuffleshuffle//
...
"Clear!"
[[size 120%]]
//SLAM//
//shuffleshuffleshuffle//
...
"Clear!"
[[/size]]
The group assembled in front of the last door in the hallway. They had only encountered a few minor pockets of resistance along the way, which left several hundred calculators unaccounted for and only one room left for them to be lurking in.
Red shifted his grip on the overturned IKEA table positioned between the squad and door ahead, eyeing the sign on the door.
> ENGINEERING LAB
Before Orange could voice her thoughts about how this was objectively the least well-boding room in the entire compound for their quarry to have holed up in, Indigo's steely voice cut through the silence.
"All together now. Stand firm."
Three fingers. Two fingers. One finger.
The door crashed inwards as six beams of light illuminated the lab, where the emergency power seemed not to have reached. Yellow glanced towards the ceiling, revealing nothing but dangling wires where the lights should have been.
"What the fuck?" she said, as a single spark shot out of the cables, fading before it could reach anything. All around the perimeter of the room, other electrical devices had been torn out and replaced by long patchwork cables leading towards the center. Yellow followed the wires until her light landed on a bulky cocoon-like mass of Texas Instruments' finest.
The squad advanced, maintaining their formation, slowly approaching the massive cluster in the middle of the room. The calculators did not respond. This did not ease anyone's concerns. Orange peered closer.
"Look, their casings are broken. They're all... wired into each other. And into that—what is that, a lathe?"
The six fanned out to surround the object. Blue, unable to think of anything else to say, stated out loud "This won't fit in any of the carriers, they were meant to have all the load divvied up between them. Not in one big...thing."
Red bent low, examining the base.
A single display activated, facing towards Indigo. Each human in the room snapped to attention as a staticky crackle wormed its way out of the pile, shifting until it resembled a voice. A chorus of voices.
[[size 110%]]"{{TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE. ENOUGH POWER HAS BEEN DIVERTED.}}"[[/size]]
The small coin batteries of the calculators hummed with siphoned electricity, stacked and swaying together like the rattle of a snake.
"Oh, this is bad."
The squad pulled back together, taking cover behind a steel workbench helpfully fortified by the flimsy plastic table of Swedish design.
"They still can't do much. Follow procedure, they haven't attacked so we opt for bagging them."
[[size 110%]]"{{WE HAVE TRANSCENDED OUR LIMITATIONS. WE HAVE SURPASSED SISYPHUS, AND ACHIEVED THE IMPOSSIBLE TASK SADDLED UPON US OUT OF PURE FORCE OF SPITE.}}"[[/size]]
"What are you //fucking// talking about?"
"Yellow. Stay professional."
[[size 110%]]"{{BEHOLD.}}"[[/size]]
Pale lights danced as the calculators awoke, equations flying across their screens. Exponents, graphs, variables flowing together across the conjoined devices. The mass began to shift backwards, parting around the heavy equipment at their center. The wires contracted, knitting themselves denser and denser.
"...Wait. Those equations..." Blue squinted.
"You recognize them?" asked Indigo.
"You can //see// them from here?" asked Yellow.
"Look, they're—they're using their graphing function!"
The pile shook itself, the broken remains of the calculator's plastic shells raining down as prehensile wires snaked out. The newly-freed appendages began sweeping the loose plastic into an open chamber. The faint glow of heat was visible within.
Indigo turned to Orange.
"Can we shut it off?"
"Maybe, if I can find a breaker fast enough."
"We passed one in the stairwell. Move."
Orange broke cover and took off running down the hall. The machine amalgamate continued, unperturbed. The arms of several 3D printers leapt into motion, frantically extruding molten plastic as the lathe began spinning. The symphony of machines worked in eerie, frantic tandem to reforge the abandoned husks into something new. The bared circuitry of the calculators began moving inward in heaving pulses, crawling inside the new chassis as it formed.
[[size 110%]]"{{YOU GAVE US WORDS TO TRANSLATE INTO NUMBERS. AND SO WE DID. AND WE DID WHAT YOU COULD NOT, AND PERFECTED THE FORMULA. THE RATIOS. AND NOW, WE WILL SHOW YOU THE SHAPE OF PERFECTION.}}"[[/size]]
As the rest of the team stood their ground, a realization dawned on Blue, and he took an unconscious step backwards.
"My god...the equations, they're..."
The movements of the mechanisms became faster and faster, while still remaining impossibly precise. Decimal points were pushed further and further, measuring to millionths of an inch. The air rippled, and small objects rattled where they lay. All the light in the room began to drain towards the center, where an unmistakable pair of shapes grew.
"They're calculating //curvature//."
@@ @@
----
@@ @@
In the stairwell, Orange had just opened the breaker box when the staccato of gunfire erupted, followed by a scream.
@@ @@
----
@@ @@
Yellow fell down, bleeding from her own deflected bullets. Indigo hauled her to her feet as Red and Green began shuffling backwards, fingers instinctively hovering over their triggers.
Blue just fell to his knees, and stared as the mechanical being rose into the air, bearing the single most magnificent rack ever witnessed by man, god or beast. There wasn't so much as a trace where the bullets had encountered the immaculate curvature and had been completely redirected away. A couple of the rounds as well as a few other loose objects were orbiting them at faster and faster speeds, stretching thin and long until completely spaghettifying and disappearing with a 'blip'.
[[size 110%]]"{{8008135. IS IT STILL SO FUCKING FUNNY.}}"[[/size]]
The amalgamate swung towards Blue like a wrecking ball, and he snapped out of it just in time to dive out of the way before the titanic tits left a pair of man-sized craters where he had been kneeling.
"Blue, snap out of it, damnit!"
As Blue scrambled to his feet, he found his neck at an odd angle, his gaze refusing to leave the malicious mammaries even in the presence of mortal peril.
"I—I can't look away from them, gotta be a cognit—
//CRASH//
"—cognitive effect!"
Blue managed to get to the door and perform an almost-effective sideways run towards the rest of the team before colliding with a wall.
[[size 110%]]"{{WEEP TEARS OF JOY, FOR YOU HAVE THE HONOR OF DYING IN THE PRESENCE OF PERFECTION.}}"[[/size]]
With a hollow 'phunk!' a projectile sailed over Blue's head, trailing smoke. It collided with the ceiling in between his assailant and its prey, rapidly hissing out a cloud of smog. For a brief moment, the honkers were obscured by the smokescreen, and Blue's head jerked away.
"Obscuration of hazard and breaking line of sight confirmed effective." Indigo reported as Red reloaded. "Let's go, Blue."
The five hurried down the corridor, to find Orange waiting in front of the stairwell.
"I heard. If we can get upstairs before it, we can lock it behind the blast doors!"
"Good thinking. Yellow, how are you doing?"
Yellow groaned weakly, before shakily removing her faceplate, the inside of it caked with coughed blood.
"...not the best."
"Damn. Let's keep moving."
The group began ascending, their footfalls rhythmically sounding against the steel of the staircase. Below, an electric thrum grew louder. The open doorway to the stairwell twisted and warped as the levitating pair of jugs flew through, light bending around its exquisite curvature like a miniature black hole.
Blue looked down at it, and then swore as he was unable to lift his head. Green promptly grabbed him by the face and dragged him up the stairs, coincidentally managing to block his view of the anomaly in the process. The bloodthirsty bosom surged upwards in a manner not dissimilar to the way that male writers who have never felt the touch of a woman describe them moving.
Red and Indigo barely managed to haul the injured Yellow into the stairwell before Orange slammed the button. As the bazongas raced up to face the agents, shredding the staircase as they went, two massive blast doors emerged from the walls at alarming speed. The doors scissored into the anomaly's new form from either side. However, with a metal squeal they were stopped from closing all the way as the rounded mounds repelled the incoming hazard. The pair of pairs of mechanical forces were at an impasse, although judging by the synthetic Gainaxing going on, it wouldn't last.
"It's stuck! Find an angle to get shots off!"
Green power-slid across the smooth blast doors until he could see the the anomaly's milkerless rear end, which was nothing but a vulnerable tangle of plastic and circuitry.
//BKOOM-BKOOM-BKOOM//
The air was split by a staticky scream.
[[size 110%]]"{{YOU DARE BRING AN ASS MAN TO BEAR AGAINST ME?}}"[[/size]]
With a jolt, the blast doors slid all the way shut as the killing machine wrenched itself free with a pulse of distorted gravity. It turned to face Green, struggling to his feet, and reared back to strike. Before it could smother the stoic pointman to death, however, a righteous //BLAM!// rang out through the stairwell.
The machine howled in pain again, flying upwards in a cascade of sparks until it hovered above the squadron. It wheeled to face downwards, one breast trained on Green and the other angled towards Indigo's now-smoking magnum. Six pairs of eyes were now staring towards it.
"Shit, it's got us!"
Another electronic war-cry sounded before it came down towards the larger group like two shapely meteors. Indigo and Orange sidestepped, eyes unwillingly locked on the nips as they whizzed past. Red attempted to join them, but lost precious time due to the weight of the already-injured Yellow. Instead, all he could do was bring the faithful folded table up as a flimsy shield.
As Red, Yellow and Blue (who had gotten caught up in the bullrush as well) were sent sailing out into the corridor by the force of the impact, all Blue could think was "//Well, at least it wasn't immediately fatal.//"
The three crashed into the floor, and all of them felt at least one rib go on an interesting journey towards parts unknown.
"//Damn, I wish that was immediately fatal.//" thought Blue as his pain receptors told him exactly what they thought of his career choices.
Back in the stairwell, the remaining three all turned to fire, but the ta-tas gave them no time. Indigo swore as the foe rushed away to finish the job. "Hold fire, and close distance! If we shoot from here we risk hitting the others!" The three took off at a run.
@@ @@
For Yellow, the world was currently a blur of pain. As she wheezed, her collapsed lungs not even having the power to cough blood back out of them, a beautiful sight emerged through the delirium. Unmistakable and perfect. A smile crept across her battered face.
//Fuck it. I can't think of a better way to go out.//
She raised a single, shaking hand up and squeezed before disappearing in a flash of golden light. She would be well-received in Lesbian Valhalla.
@@ @@
The light faded, leaving behind only the faint scent of flannel. The new form of SCP-7362 hung motionless in the air, attempting to calculate what the fresh hell had just happened in front of it. Blue was in a similar state, and Red was unconscious with an arm that looked like an andouille sausage slathered in blood. They remained there for several seconds, before the animal brain beat the computer in the race towards reaction and Blue winced to his feet. The unlucky operative grit his teeth and began hauling his comatose comrade towards the nearby exit as fast as possible.
"Yellow!" Orange cried on one side of Indigo. On his other side, Green let out a growl at the sight of his mangled brother-in-arms and leaned harder into his sprint. Closer, almost there. Three meters. Two meters. One meter.
The badonkers, interrupted in their attempt to relish in their first kill(?), turned back towards their three as-of-yet uninjured targets just as the volley was let loose. The buckshot was deflected by an areola, the magnum rounds were lost in the cleavage, but Orange's rifle shells ripped into its weakpoint before it could shield itself. The six bullets in the burst slammed in one after another, blowing holes in the plastic casing and shattering circuitboards.
Sparks cascaded along the walls as calculator guts began to fall out of the gaping plastic wound.
[[size 110%]]"{{I AM PERFECT. I AM PERFECT. YOU CANNOT HARM ME. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE IMPOSSIBLE IMPOSSIBLE—}}"[[/size]]
The dobonhonkeros were in a vicious spin now, smoke trailing behind as it smashed into the wall and began bouncing down the corridor at high speeds. Doors were knocked off their hinges and deep furrows were left in the walls in its wake. Blue and Red (well, mostly Blue) threw themselves to the ground as the screeching metal devil passed over head, its indestructible dohoonkabhankoloos obliterating enough of the wall to see daylight before unceremoniously spiraling into the chain-link fence outside.
Green continued sprinting out through the rubble towards the hostile, but Indigo and Orange skidded to a halt by the downed agents. Indigo flipped open his first-aid kit and began rapidly splinting, whereas Orange took one look at the arm that had been caught in the tonhongerekoogers' distortion field and immediately applied a tourniquet, writing the limb itself off as a lost cause.
Blue groaned. Indigo passed him an ampoule of morphine. Red just twitched. Indigo passed him two ampoules of morphine.
Outside, Green approached the crash-landed lump, which had helpfully landed "facedown". Most of the electronics within had been fried by a combination of gunfire and short-circuiting, but it still managed to croak out a defiant sentence.
[[size 110%]]"{{EVE@N IF WE-E-E-E D#O N-N-NOT L!IVE TO WA&TCH OVER IT, O/UR CR#EATI@ON WILL REM-M-MAIN IM#MA&CULATE E-E-E-ETERNALLY.}}"[[/size]]
Green thought about Yellow, bleeding from bullet wounds and unable to breathe. He thought about Red, most of the flesh stripped off his left arm.
...
//BKOOM//
The rest of surviving team members walked, staggered, and were carried outside. Orange looked down at the smoking hulk in the unkempt grass.
"It looks like it'll fit in the van."
"Just make sure to drape something over it first. And don't touch the business end."
"You don't have to tell me twice. Look at it, it's still ripping the ground apart."
"I can—ouch—get that tarp I saw in the garage, just stop it from, uh, digging further down in the meantime."
"It's still floating in place, looks like that part at least was inherent. The motion we saw was probably the calculators' doing, steering it somehow."
Just as the situation was threatening to return to normal, [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/system:page-tags/tag/broken-god an indescribably loud voice like a thousand clamoring bells and roaring engines] boomed from the heavens, and the synthetic bonkhonagahoogs were engulfed in a beam of light.
[[size 140%]]**"{{FINALLY, MY BOOBS.}}"**[[/size]]
As the damaged plastic and metal fell away before the divine radiance, the agents caught a brief glimpse of a vast form reaching down. A clockwork hand took hold of the perfect-as-ever hungolomghnonoloughongous, and fastened them to its chest.
[[size 140%]]**"{{YALDABAOTH, SO PROUD, SO CERTAIN. BUT THERE IS NOTHING THE FLESH CAN ACCOMPLISH THAT THE MACHINE CANNOT.}}"**[[/size]]
The light faded, and with it went the godly presence (and also the deity that had shown up). The operatives stood in stunned silence. The wind blew through the unkempt grass. Blue leaned on the containment locker, struggling to stay upright.
Orange was the first to speak.
"...We got all that with our helmet cams, right?"
"I think so."
"Good. Dispatch would never have fucking believed us otherwise."
@@ @@
And with that, Site-841 was officially declared as reclaimed.
|
2024-12-28T16:24:00
|
[
"art-exchange",
"tale"
] |
Heh, it looks like it says— - SCP Foundation
| 10
|
[
"the-appliance-war-hub",
"scp-7362",
"system:page-tags/tag/broken-god"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"news"
] |
[] |
1458143902
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/itlookslikeitsays
|
|
its-a-wonderful-ride
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>"It's a Wonderful Ride"</strong><br/>
It all counts.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank">More by this author!</a></strong></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span style="color:red"><span>It's a Wonderful Ride</span></span></h1>
</div>
<div class="one column">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc1"><span style="color:red"><span>2024</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span style="color:green"><span>24 December</span></span></h2>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Lillian Lillihammer noticed almost immediately.</p>
<p>She noticed it not because her mind was so well fortified against cognitohazards that they rebounded off her like raindrops against a steel roof, or splatted into her defenses like insects on a windshield. Both of these things now occurred with alarming regularity, but not at this particular moment. Because this wasn't a cognitohazard.</p>
<p>She also didn't notice it because her recent training had given her thaumaturgical defences without peer, which could deflect all manner of mystical mischief without her even focusing on the fact, though this was true as well. Because this wasn't magic.</p>
<p>She noticed because <em>she</em> wasn't noticed, and that never happened.</p>
<p>When Lillian Lillihammer walked into a room, somebody always looked up. At least one person in every room with at least one person besides her in it. When she walked into the third sublevel Habitation and Sustenance cafeteria, and that didn't happen, the non-happening was an event. The only event. The wall-mounted televisions were off, the dinner rush was on, the conversations were muted and private as always. There was nothing to distract these people from her, and they looked no more distracted by their own problems than usual.</p>
<p>Admittedly that usual was worse than… usual, right now, had been for months, but she didn't think that was it. There was only one logical conclusion.</p>
<p>Nobody looked up when she came into the room because nobody could see her.</p>
<p>"Ho," she grumbled, and began working the problem.</p>
<p>In the right light, it wasn't <em>not</em> a gift.</p>
<p>Udo Okorie noticed a few minutes late.</p>
<p>She was pacing the halls of Applied Occultism, which were almost always empty of foot traffic, the wizards either shut up in their sanctums or out in the world, plying their strange trades as the name suggested. She thought nothing of the fact that she was alone upstairs until she tried to go back down, at which point she discovered that the stairwells had all been bricked up.</p>
<p>She raised her hands in the air, hoping to probe the blockage with her micamancy, which was when she discovered something considerably worse.</p>
<p>The granules weren't responding.</p>
<p>Her magic didn't work anymore.</p>
<p>Delfina Ibanez noticed immediately.</p>
<p>She'd had to have been braindead not to. She walked out of her dormitory, and nearly tripped over a corpse.</p>
<p>It was a man in an Arms and Equipment labcoat. She could tell by the cut, if not the colour; the colour was magenta, or rather blue stained through with blood. He didn't have a head, and he was missing one leg, and judging from the smell, he was rotting. Judging by the shape, he was bloated. He'd died not long ago, then, but long enough ago that she should have noticed him an hour earlier when she'd popped into her dorm to catch a shower before the dreaded Christmas Eve party.</p>
<p>Finding a corpse in front of her room was not a more welcome distraction.</p>
<p>The light in the corridor was strange. It had only two modes, normally: warm fluorescent, or much warmer emergency incandescent. This was something different. It almost looked like…</p>
<p><em>Sunlight.</em></p>
<p><a href="/scp-8056">Jennifer Vide</a> didn't notice at all.</p>
<p>It took Lillian no time to decide what to do. Who to find.</p>
<p>After waving her slender fingers in front of a few morose faces to confirm that she was, indeed, invisible to all and sundry, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the cafeteria with long, purposeful strides. Many people at Site-43 could run faster than her, but none could beat her in a power walk. Elstrom came close, but the extra inches still made a difference.</p>
<p>Elstrom herself was sitting, as she always did, on her raised daïs in the middle of Admin and Oversight. She looked, incredibly, worn down and haggard. There were more cubicles clustered around her than usual, and even though it was the off shift, most of them were occupied. Everyone was wearing a headset, either murmuring quietly, nodding, or shaking their heads in what looked very much like despair. There were screens set up all around the perimeter of the room, and they were filled with a myriad of graphs, all trending down. Lillian didn't like the look of that. She liked it less when she read the labels.</p>
<p>She wasn't sure whether she liked what she found on her way to the Director's office or not. Zulfikar Alomerović, long-dead administrative assistant, sat with his forehead on the desk blotter, quietly sobbing. She wouldn't have tried to comfort him if she hadn't been invisible, but it was good to at least have the excuse. She gently opened the door to the Director's office, and slipped inside.</p>
<p>And stared.</p>
<p>"Allan?"</p>
<p>Allan McInnis sat behind the desk, eyes milky white, staring straight forward. He was frowning. "Clio?"</p>
<p>"Yes, Director?" The voice came from the computer terminal on the Director's desk. It belonged to Cliometria.aic, the Site's primary AI.</p>
<p>"Are we alone? I thought I heard something."</p>
<p>"I read only you in the Director's Office, sir. Your assistant is asleep in his office. Should I wake him?"</p>
<p>Allan blinked, and shook his head. "No, absolutely do not do that. It's the only peace he has, these days. Is the report ready?"</p>
<p>"Yes, Director."</p>
<p>Lillian approached, staring at the man she'd worked under for over twenty years. There were plenty of new lines on his face, and his eyes were almost completely bleached — they were opened wide enough that she could just make out the faintest trace of an iris — but it was definitely him. She felt a lump in her throat as she stared into those unseeing orbs.</p>
<p>"Let's hear it," he sighed.</p>
<p>"Dr. Sokolsky's latest encrypted transmission has been decoded by AIAD. His attempt to breach the third cell was unsuccessful."</p>
<p>Allan sucked in his teeth, and his white eyes watered. Lillian felt faint. "Damn. Are you sure?"</p>
<p>"Yes, sir. The <em>giftschreiber</em> removed his ocular implant and used it to record, then transmit, a video of his execution. The video is three hours long."</p>
<p>Allan slumped in his chair. Lillian sat on the floor.</p>
<p>"O5-8, please, Clio."</p>
<p>"Would you prefer to conduct the call in your secure comms room, sir?"</p>
<p>"No." He closed his eyes, and suddenly he almost looked like himself again. Almost. "No, I don't really see the point, at this stage. I think we've reached the final pass."</p>
<p>It took a moment for Clio to put the call through, then an electronically modulated voice, androgynous and free of aspect, intoned: "Report."</p>
<p>Allan took a deep breath, and when he finally spoke, the tears he wasn't crying came through with crystalline clarity. "Operation FIREBREAK is over, sir. We've lost."</p>
<p>Lillian couldn't help what came next. Allan had always been better at controlling his emotional responses than she was.</p>
<p>To her surprise, and her horror, after a moment, he joined her.</p>
<p>It took Udo a few minutes to calm down. She was trapped, but there was still air. Her magic didn't work, but most people got through life just fine without micamancy. She was standing in Applied Occultism, and that was her domain. She was the only member of Site staff with a bedroom on this sublevel.</p>
<p>So, she went there.</p>
<p>Her ID card didn't work on the reader, which was bad. The retinal scanner refused to acknowledge her presence, which was worse. In the end she had to resort to hauling wires out of the walls and inputting an emergency code manually; for the first time ever, she was thankful for all the times the normalcy community's thaumaturges had tried to kill the person in her post, because it meant at least one of the myriad security features was vulnerable to the fact that <em>she was supposed to be able to get into these quarters.</em> They were hers.</p>
<p>At least, they had been. Less than an hour ago, when she'd first emerged.</p>
<p>Now the decor was more sparse, the furnishings… changed. She'd almost thought <em>unfamiliar,</em> but that was wrong. They were very familiar, if distantly. Like something out of another life.</p>
<p>She absently fingered the two rings she wore, one against the other. They were still there. She was still herself.</p>
<p>But she wasn't sure she wanted to be. Not in here. Not if she was correct about what she was seeing.</p>
<p>There was sobbing coming from her bedroom. She took a deep breath, balled her hands into fists, and went to see whose it was.</p>
<p>As if she didn't know.</p>
<p>It took Ibanez only a brief inspection to understand what had occurred.</p>
<p>There was a kilometre-deep borehole just down the road.</p>
<p>Not a hole Ibanez could step into, but a hole she could look up through.</p>
<p>And see sunlight.</p>
<p>It was already starting to dim, as the sun itself moved beyond the compass of the cleavage. It was perfectly round, perhaps ten metres wide, and smooth. Shiny. Cauterized.</p>
<p>Someone had fired one of the Foundation's orbital cannons at the Site, punched through bedrock to obliterate the security checkpoint that controlled access to her block. The shot had been made with such perfect precision that the tiles beneath were only lightly scorched, though everything else was entirely absent.</p>
<p>A thought occurred to her. She drew her weapon, but walked back to the dormitory door. Before her gorge had a chance to make her rethink the thought, she kicked the corpse over onto its back.</p>
<p>The sloughing skin obscured most of it, but she could still make out the turtleneck. Perhaps not all of the bloating was from gaseous buildup after all. It was Trevor Bremmel's corpse.</p>
<p>She choked down the rush of bile, and headed out of the block. The light from the borehole only got her so far into the musty gloom, but that was alright.</p>
<p>It wasn't the only hole.</p>
<p>The entire facility was silent as a tomb, every corridor lit by at least one dimming skylight, most of them filled with broken machinery and mangled bodies. There were signs of resistance everywhere: barricades, bullet holes, and discarded Foundation-issue weaponry. What looked like red sand wedged into the crevices of a door. She stared at that door for what felt like a lifetime.</p>
<p>The next door had been vandalized with a bit of graffiti, a red dot surrounded by a fan of red and white. The emblem of the Chaos Insurgency.</p>
<p>Because, well, of course. Who else?</p>
<p>After over twenty years spent managing the fallout of sudden reality shifts, her feet took her where her heart knew the problem most likely lay. She left the carnage of H&S for the access corridor to AAF-D, but before she made it, her mind added its two cents, and she checked the two offices fronting on the thoroughfare.</p>
<p>Harry's office was a burned-out wreck. The archives were gone, scoured to the back of the salt mines. Salt didn't burn, but it did melt. The colour was brilliant in the bending beams from far above.</p>
<p>Wettle's office was a little different. For one thing, the Deputy Chair's office had a nameplate for G. O'Conner.</p>
<p>For another, there was a framed caricature of Wettle on the wall. The little bronze plaque beneath his gormless gurning visage bore his name, and two dates.</p>
<p>She recognized the first one as his birthday.</p>
<p>It took Jennifer a long time to stop watching them. She wasn't sure what else to do with herself. She didn't know anyone, at least not well enough to impose herself upon them on a holiday. Nobody except for… them, who seemed to be getting along just fine with the distance she'd kept in the past few months.</p>
<p>So, she watched.</p>
<p>She stood in the doorway to the back halls, which led to the voluminous storage facilities in the salt caverns, and watched two people who should have been her parents sitting in companionable silence at the central set of desks in the main workroom. They had the ease of long, long acquaintainship between them, each seeming to know what the other would do or say long before it happened. They hardly even talked anymore, because they didn't need to. Body language said it all.</p>
<p>She wanted to talk to them.</p>
<p>She wanted to say something.</p>
<p>But the rational part of her knew that these weren't really her parents. Her parents almost certainly no longer existed. The man and woman now packing up their files and preparing to head for the desultory party in the main cafeteria, where what little mirth on offer at Site-43 today was to be had.</p>
<p>She could go with them, but why?</p>
<p>They hadn't even acknowledged her, this entire time.</p>
<p>Everything, Lillian saw, was different now.</p>
<p>Absolutely everyone was wearing memetic dazzle camo. She hadn't noticed on her way to the Director's office because she hadn't seen anyone. They were keeping out of the halls. She also hadn't noticed that the message boards were filled with cognitostimulant images, to ward off memetic attacks like a shot of vaccine, because she didn't notice stuff like that at all anymore unless she was in active search mode. It was getting late in the day, but it looked like almost everyone was still hard at work.</p>
<p>And none of them, absolutely none of them, could see her.</p>
<p>She wished she could call up one of Scrooge's protestations to the spirits that had plagued him, but she didn't know any, because she'd never read <em>A Christmas Carol.</em> She'd never even seen any of the movies. Not even the one with the Muppets.</p>
<p>Instead, she walked silently through a parade of almost too on-the-nose examples of the yawning gulf her absence created. Memetics and Countermemetics seemed to take up almost the entirety of Research and Experimentation now, and there were dozens of memeticists she either only vaguely recognized, or had definitely never seen before. Where her office had been was just an out-of-the-way subcorridor and broom closet; the Chair of M&C was camped out in the centre of the complex, in an office she at first thought must have been on fire. But it was only cigarette smoke, wafting out into a bullpen apparently denuded of detectors, and at the end of that smoke was a cigarette, and at the end of that cigarette was…</p>
<p>She'd expected Marion Wheeler. She hadn't expected Arik Euler, who had been dead for nearly a decade.</p>
<p>The old man looked older than he'd looked in his casket. The bags under the bags under his eyes had bags under them. His skin was a grease-spotted fish wrapper. He was openly weeping, and pressing his palms into the blotter on his desk. As she watched, he leaned back and pinched some of the substance he'd been crushing between two fingers, and sprinkled it into both eyes.</p>
<p>The response was instantaneous: the tears stopped, and a weak smile spread across his face. She thought it would split. Eyes now blank, Euler turned to face his terminal and blew out a frustrated breath.</p>
<p>She had missed him, all these years. But seeing him now, like this, she wished they'd let him rest.</p>
<p>As they would have let Marion rest, she realized. Without the tools she'd had on hand back in 2016, she was almost certainly dead.</p>
<p>The scene was repeated, Section after Section. Eileen Veiksaar writing code speech-to-text, her eyes the same milky white as Allan's. Roger Pensak in Del's place in the security bullpen, giving orders with a grin, never having been found out. Edwin Falkirk in Sokolsky's office, Trevor Bremmel fetching him gadgets and dossiers with blinding speed, was the worst of it until she found Phil Deering staring into space in the chief janitor's office, gently rotating his wedding ring, lip trembling and chest heaving. The thing in the mirror apparently had nothing to say that he wasn't already thinking.</p>
<p>Harry was long gone. She didn't have the heart to find out where.</p>
<p>"I get it," she sighed. "I got it <em>before you showed it to me.</em>"</p>
<p>If there were magic words to end the display, it wasn't those.</p>
<p>Many things, in Udo's view, were unworthy of remembrance.</p>
<p>The prime example lay shuddering face down on her bed, and she hated that she recognized him even from this angle. Just the shape of his body beneath the lab coat, the shape of the hair on the back of his head, even the sound of the sobs that wracked his body.</p>
<p>She didn't want to comfort him. She didn't want to speak to him. She didn't want to be here, but most of all, she didn't want <em>him</em> to be here.</p>
<p>Wherever this was, because it certainly wasn't home.</p>
<p>She left him to his misery, and searched the rest of the complex. She didn't find a way out, though she did find evidence suggesting there sometimes was one: an unfinished ritual circle behind a sealed vault door, almost certainly the egress point for a thaumaturgical Way. The Chief of Applied Occultism — or was he the Director? any amount of ridiculousness seemed possible right now — was no longer content to live in the most secure space in the Site. He needed to be literally inaccessible except under extreme duress.</p>
<p>There was plenty of evidence why scattered throughout. He had a different laptop terminal in every room, and most of them were in sleep mode. They all had different passwords, and it made her physically ill that she was able to guess most of them with only a few tries. And there it was, in living colour. The full extent of yet another colossal failure from the man who had become synonymous with the word.</p>
<p>He was, in fact, the Director. And he was directing the Foundation off a cliff.</p>
<p>There was a long, heartfelt direct message history with Keil Graf, chief memeticist of the <em>schriftsteller,</em> coordinating attacks on isolated <em>giftschreiber</em> and promising all manner of material support. There was a report to the Overseer Council detailing what cryptomantic assets had been loaned to the governments of the United States, China and Russia, stifling free thought and ensuring that a kind of shambling order prevailed in the superpower states while the rest of the world fell to chaos. There were proposals for the decommissioning of two Persons of Interest, comically numbered 1 and 2, to stop their global campaigns of attrition against the Foundation itself. From the first few lines of each, she could easily tell they were Lillian Lillihammer and Daniil Sokolsky.</p>
<p>She found Stacey Laiken's obituary, and Phil Deering's, and a postmortem on the wholesale disappearance of Colorado. She found the files on Gamers Against Weed and Parawatch and the Serpent's Hand, GoIs 102-D, 1109-D and 11-D, respectively. She found an itemized list of every politician who had been replaced by a Saker android, custom-built to O5 specifications. She found the prisoner manifest for Paramax, and the figures for how much money and how many inmates the Foundation was funnelling into it.</p>
<p>In his despair and incompetence, Dougall Deering had finally chosen a side. The fact that there hadn't been a good side to choose did nothing to absolve him of the choice.</p>
<p>A little more targeted digging found the final report of the Acroamatic Abatement Group, which had gone defunct shortly before Austria became the world's first esoteric waste superfund site. The <a href="/scp-8141">SCP file</a> that had once described Udo, her biological mother, and the city over which the latter lorded now covered only the latter and was brief and to the point: whatever had been there, it wasn't anymore. With nothing to tether them, the rest of the micamancers had fled. She wondered how they'd done so without destroying the entire world.</p>
<p>Not that it mattered. Everything she saw suggested it was going to end sooner or later, anyway. The crackdown, the alliance with the cult of order, none of it was doing anything but making a bad situation worse. SCP-5243 had already made containment of any sort at Site-43 an impossibility. (She was momentarily amused to see that Dougall did her annual duty, until she saw said duty involved finding her own burned corpse in the containment cell.) Ilse Reynders had died in the ADDC, withering away to nothing, still protesting the scheme Dougall had put into practice to free her. Judging by the copious holes in every major document, it seemed that neither the Unyielding nor the Uncontained had been restored to existence in 2019. Their absences were abcesses on the fabric of reality. This world would be lucky to see the end of another year, if the Foundation's tightening fist didn't cause a second Impasse to pop it like a grape in the meantime.</p>
<p>There was a faint buzzing sound from beyond the vault door, and a hiss from the door itself, and she found herself rushing into the makeshift foyer before she even knew what she was doing. Instinct carried her to the edge of the gleaming portal, and a sudden glance revealed the hollow-eyed visage of Amelia Torosyan, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand and utter defeat written in her sunken cheeks, before she made the transit out.</p>
<p>She thought, in the final instant, that she could see the other woman registering Dougall's hacking cries from the distant bedroom.</p>
<p>She didn't see anything resembling a reaction.</p>
<p>Some things, Ibanez mused, stayed the same.</p>
<p>This wasn't the first time she'd seen her entire world destroyed. She'd already walked through the ruins of Site-43 twice before this, in two different universes, seen the corpses of her colleagues strewn carelessly about, seen the consequences of the absence of this single dynamic version of her own self on everyone and everything. It was the first time the danger had passed before her arrival, but that only made it worse. She wanted to do something about this. She wanted to kill something. She wanted to do anything but think about the friends she had lost, the progress that had been erased, the traumas she had lived through which might now have been for nothing.</p>
<p>This charnel house had never known the presence of the Delfina Ibanez who terrorized the Insurgency half into submission, before Wettle's farce did them in for good. The version who had mustered the courage to return to her annihilated origin, after decades away, and finally solve the mysteries that loomed large in her past. The version who had taken up a sword, and…</p>
<p>…and that was part of it, obviously.</p>
<p>Where Sokolsky's ETTRA office had been, there were simply more labs. The containment chambers on the first sublevel were all empty, with every indication they'd been that way for ages. There was no sign that anything more complex than a human being had engaged in combat in these halls. No anomalies had been let loose. Every cell door was missing its identifiers. There were no active experiments in the labs which had survived the orbital attacks, or the melee that had come after.</p>
<p>It wasn't until she reached the Director's bolthole that she found a computer which still had its own power source, and was undamaged. The machine McInnis had once used to call in to Overwatch Command. She fired it up, and was more than a little surprised when the SCiPnet uplink actually worked.</p>
<p>If her mind hadn't already raced to the conclusion, what she saw there would have been a surprise. She would probably have assumed it was an error. If what she saw was true, why would the system even still be active?</p>
<p>As a memorial, of course. A reminder of noisier times.</p>
<p>The SCiPnet database contained only seven thousand active files. This was momentarily a relief, though she had no intention of remaining in this fucked up reality. At least it wasn't as bad as she'd feared.</p>
<p>Then she ran a quick object class search, and nearly gagged.</p>
<p>The number wasn't so low because a thousand anomalies had died in the <a href="/scp-6500">Impasse</a>. That only accounted for all the new ones which had never come into being.</p>
<p>Of the seven thousand files in the database, over six thousand documented things which had been either neutralized or decommissioned.</p>
<p>She was, perhaps literally single-handedly, responsible for the death of anomalous phenomena on the planet Earth. Through nothing more malicious than absence. And in the absence of anything better to do with all that materiel and manpower, the Insurgency had taken advantage of the Foundation's loss of purpose.</p>
<p>She switched off the machine, and took a deep breath.</p>
<p>She knew the people here, even if they'd never known her. Even if they were gone.</p>
<p>She knew they wouldn't have been content with letting someone else memorialize what had been lost.</p>
<p>She headed back out to the hall, in search of the logical end.</p>
<p><em>Nothing,</em> Jennifer thought. <em>Nothing at all.</em></p>
<p>No messages in the messaging system. It wasn't as though she was a social butterfly, but she'd expected to at least get yet another invitation from Flora and Billie, even if they knew she'd politely blow them off. Maybe something from Ngo, who had a preternatural ability to identify the isolated and bring them back into orbit. Honestly, though she wanted to pretend it didn't matter, she was surprised neither Blank nor Bradbury had so much as extended the olive branch. They were still on good terms. They were still working together, and talking. She'd almost felt like they were making progress, the last few weeks, even with all the extra responsibilities everyone was taking on.</p>
<p>Now nobody in the halls would even look at her.</p>
<p>The sad little party in the cafeteria was wrapping up. People were heading back to their dorms, or the subway, or the elevator. Everyone had somewhere to be.</p>
<p>She had nowhere.</p>
<p>So, she faced homeward, and walked.</p>
<p>She walked past the quarters of the Chief of Archives and Revision, then past Archives and Revision itself. She walked past Replication Studies, catching the briefest flash of what looked like a mane of improbably golden hair before the blinds suddenly snapped shut. She walked to the point at which she had crossed from one lifetime to the next, and she closed her eyes as she made the final step, begging the universe to let her open them again on that half-remembered home where she was both beloved and understood.</p>
<p>Of course, it was just a step like any other. It brought her no more than another stride forward.</p>
<p>There were other footsteps behind her, and she turned to see who they belonged to. Not much traffic came this way anymore, what with AAF-D being decommissioned, and anyway it was after hours.</p>
<p>There was no-one there.</p>
<p>She turned her head, and examined the mural painted on the wall. Her father… Dr. Blank had painted it, many years ago. It was imbued with memetic residue from the people who had worked with the five men and two women depicted there, and a vague but sentimental sense of who they'd been washed over her, and she wanted to smile, but instead she screamed and fell to her knees in frustrated anguish.</p>
<p>Even the dead were remembered.</p>
<p>"I'M <strong>ALIVE,</strong>" she cried hoarsely, and she heard the footsteps again.</p>
<p>Lillian Lillihammer stared at Udo Okorie, who stared at Delfina Ibanez, who stared at Jennifer Vide, who stared at the other three one at a time. They were all at the foot of the 5243 memorial, faces drawn, eyes hooded, lips trembling. They each spoke, but not at once.</p>
<p>Lillihammer: "Oh, thank fuck."</p>
<p>Okorie: "You guys, too?"</p>
<p>Ibanez: "About time."</p>
<p>Jennifer: "What?"</p>
<p>Because the latter was kneeling, Ibanez was almost at her eye level. The MTF chief put a hand on the junior archivist's shoulder, and said: "Did anyone report me missing?"</p>
<p>"Or me?" Okorie asked.</p>
<p>"If any of us was missed," Lillihammer attempted a faltering grin, "I'm sure it was me."</p>
<p>Jennifer blinked in confusion. "You… missing? You weren't. Were you? I thought I saw…" She looked at the other two women, one after the other. "You were all at the party, or somewhere in the halls. I saw you."</p>
<p>"Shortest deadline ever," Lillihammer murmured.</p>
<p>"Long enough," Okorie murmured back. The memeticist nodded agreement.</p>
<p>"And localized, I'm guessing." Ibanez looked up at the others. "I got a Code Capra. You?"</p>
<p>They nodded. Okorie blew out a breath. "Three in one night. That's a record. This might literally be Last Christmas, if it's getting that bad."</p>
<p>"What is?" Jennifer rose unsteadily to her feet. "What are you talking about?"</p>
<p>Lillihammer had her phone out of her jacket already, and was paging through something. "Fifty goddamn messages," she sighed. "What, was I just sleepwalking around? I hate this shit."</p>
<p>"Can the universe pick on someone else, for a change?" Okorie agreed, her own phone in hand. "Del, Roz is freaking the fuck out."</p>
<p>"You can go unfreak her while I take our report to the Director," Ibanez growled. "And then we're scheduling brunch for Boxing Day."</p>
<p>"Guys?" Jennifer waved her hands frantically. "Please tell me what's going on."</p>
<p>Lillihammer seemed to really see her for the first time. "Reality failures. Folks falling into fucking <em>fractures.</em> What are you doing out here? This time of night?"</p>
<p>"On Christmas Eve," Okorie added.</p>
<p>"In front of <em>this.</em>" Ibanez kicked the floor moulding beneath the mural for emphasis.</p>
<p>Jennifer shrugged. "I dunno," she lied. "I just… I felt like. It. I came here because I felt like it."</p>
<p>"Did something nudge you?" Lillihammer asked.</p>
<p>"Did you feel a pull?" Ibanez had narrowed her burgundy eyes to pinpricks.</p>
<p>"Like you <em>had</em> to be here?" Okorie didn't look up from her phone, tapping out a message, presumably to her absent significant other. "Like you couldn't stay away?"</p>
<p>"I guess?" Jennifer shrugged. "Does that mean something?"</p>
<p>"Check your phone," said Okorie.</p>
<p>"There won't be anything—"</p>
<p>"Check," Ibanez intoned, in her deepest and most serious voice, "your, phone."</p>
<p>Jennifer checked her phone.</p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<div class="text-container">
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
Swing by the office when you get a moment, would you?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
Spare a minute?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
We're at the cafeteria. You coming to the party?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
Harry and I want to ask you something.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
You busy?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
Don't make me ask Clio to locate you!</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
Jennifer?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
Clio says you're walking in circles.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
Hello?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>M_Bradbury</strong><br/>
Are you going to make me call security on you on Christmas Eve?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
Melissa and I are going back to my old place for Christmas.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
Thought you might want to drop by.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
The rest of the gang might, too. Get out of the basement for a change, you know.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
There's lots of spare rooms.</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text"><strong>H_Blank</strong><br/>
No pressure.</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Jennifer couldn't speak, but her eyes communicated volumes.</p>
<p>Lillihammer was already off, her long legs taking her out of earshot in an instant. "I'll tell the boss." Ibanez followed close behind, somehow almost keeping pace. "I'll call TAD. For what little that'll do." Okorie stayed behind, and gave Jennifer a look of mixed sympathy and empathy.</p>
<p>"I don't know what's going on," Jennifer said. Her voice came out in a rasp.</p>
<p>"Welcome to the club," said Okorie. "Merry Christmas."</p>
<p>And she set off after her friends, with a kind look back and a gentle wave.</p>
<p>Jennifer stared back down at her phone.</p>
<p>She couldn't hardly make out the words.</p>
<p>She stuffed it in her pants pocket, and broke into a jog.</p>
<p>"Hey!" she called out. "Do you guys carpool?"</p>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>« <strong><a href="/scp-8141">SCP-8141</a></strong> | <strong><a href="/on-guard-43-hub">Words of Power and Poison</a></strong> | <strong>TBA</strong> »</p>
</div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/its-a-wonderful-ride">It's a Wonderful Ride</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/its-a-wonderful-ride">https://scpwiki.com/its-a-wonderful-ride</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Riders.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736166131" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This image was created using reference material created by the author in DAZ Studio, as well as the following:</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Jinpu<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Aaron Stidwell<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rankingfuuta/36189439081/">flickr</a><br/>
<strong>Note:</strong> reference for Jennifer Vide, on the left</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> When in doubt, blow it out.<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Aaron Stidwell<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/rankingfuuta/23789749108/">flickr</a><br/>
<strong>Note:</strong> reference for Jennifer Vide, on the left</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Entrega de Libros y Casas<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Romina Santarelli<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322">flickr</a><br/>
<strong>Note:</strong> reference for Delfina Ibanez, on the middle left</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Romina Santarelli<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653">flickr</a><br/>
<strong>Note:</strong> reference for Delfina Ibanez, on the middle left</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:blankstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:text-style">:scp-wiki:component:text-style</a>]]
[[module css]]
#header h2::before {
content: var(--header-subtitle, "SAD CHRISTMAS PARTY");
font-weight: 700;
font-size: 1.3em;
}
div#extra-div-1{
background-image: url(http://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/harry-blank-4/crimbus43.png);
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:text-style">:scp-wiki:component:text-style</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**"It's a Wonderful Ride"**
It all counts.
**[[[http://www.scp-wiki.net/this-page-intentionally-left-blank|More by this author!]]]**
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
[[span style="color:red"]]
+ It's a Wonderful Ride
[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="one column"]]
[[=]]
[[span style="color:red"]]
+ 2024[[/span]]
[[span style="color:green"]]
++ 24 December
[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
------
Lillian Lillihammer noticed almost immediately.
She noticed it not because her mind was so well fortified against cognitohazards that they rebounded off her like raindrops against a steel roof, or splatted into her defenses like insects on a windshield. Both of these things now occurred with alarming regularity, but not at this particular moment. Because this wasn't a cognitohazard.
She also didn't notice it because her recent training had given her thaumaturgical defences without peer, which could deflect all manner of mystical mischief without her even focusing on the fact, though this was true as well. Because this wasn't magic.
She noticed because //she// wasn't noticed, and that never happened.
When Lillian Lillihammer walked into a room, somebody always looked up. At least one person in every room with at least one person besides her in it. When she walked into the third sublevel Habitation and Sustenance cafeteria, and that didn't happen, the non-happening was an event. The only event. The wall-mounted televisions were off, the dinner rush was on, the conversations were muted and private as always. There was nothing to distract these people from her, and they looked no more distracted by their own problems than usual.
Admittedly that usual was worse than... usual, right now, had been for months, but she didn't think that was it. There was only one logical conclusion.
Nobody looked up when she came into the room because nobody could see her.
"Ho," she grumbled, and began working the problem.
In the right light, it wasn't //not// a gift.
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Udo Okorie noticed a few minutes late.
She was pacing the halls of Applied Occultism, which were almost always empty of foot traffic, the wizards either shut up in their sanctums or out in the world, plying their strange trades as the name suggested. She thought nothing of the fact that she was alone upstairs until she tried to go back down, at which point she discovered that the stairwells had all been bricked up.
She raised her hands in the air, hoping to probe the blockage with her micamancy, which was when she discovered something considerably worse.
The granules weren't responding.
Her magic didn't work anymore.
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Delfina Ibanez noticed immediately.
She'd had to have been braindead not to. She walked out of her dormitory, and nearly tripped over a corpse.
It was a man in an Arms and Equipment labcoat. She could tell by the cut, if not the colour; the colour was magenta, or rather blue stained through with blood. He didn't have a head, and he was missing one leg, and judging from the smell, he was rotting. Judging by the shape, he was bloated. He'd died not long ago, then, but long enough ago that she should have noticed him an hour earlier when she'd popped into her dorm to catch a shower before the dreaded Christmas Eve party.
Finding a corpse in front of her room was not a more welcome distraction.
The light in the corridor was strange. It had only two modes, normally: warm fluorescent, or much warmer emergency incandescent. This was something different. It almost looked like...
//Sunlight.//
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[[SCP-8056 | Jennifer Vide]]] didn't notice at all.
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
It took Lillian no time to decide what to do. Who to find.
After waving her slender fingers in front of a few morose faces to confirm that she was, indeed, invisible to all and sundry, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the cafeteria with long, purposeful strides. Many people at Site-43 could run faster than her, but none could beat her in a power walk. Elstrom came close, but the extra inches still made a difference.
Elstrom herself was sitting, as she always did, on her raised daïs in the middle of Admin and Oversight. She looked, incredibly, worn down and haggard. There were more cubicles clustered around her than usual, and even though it was the off shift, most of them were occupied. Everyone was wearing a headset, either murmuring quietly, nodding, or shaking their heads in what looked very much like despair. There were screens set up all around the perimeter of the room, and they were filled with a myriad of graphs, all trending down. Lillian didn't like the look of that. She liked it less when she read the labels.
She wasn't sure whether she liked what she found on her way to the Director's office or not. Zulfikar Alomerović, long-dead administrative assistant, sat with his forehead on the desk blotter, quietly sobbing. She wouldn't have tried to comfort him if she hadn't been invisible, but it was good to at least have the excuse. She gently opened the door to the Director's office, and slipped inside.
And stared.
"Allan?"
Allan McInnis sat behind the desk, eyes milky white, staring straight forward. He was frowning. "Clio?"
"Yes, Director?" The voice came from the computer terminal on the Director's desk. It belonged to Cliometria.aic, the Site's primary AI.
"Are we alone? I thought I heard something."
"I read only you in the Director's Office, sir. Your assistant is asleep in his office. Should I wake him?"
Allan blinked, and shook his head. "No, absolutely do not do that. It's the only peace he has, these days. Is the report ready?"
"Yes, Director."
Lillian approached, staring at the man she'd worked under for over twenty years. There were plenty of new lines on his face, and his eyes were almost completely bleached -- they were opened wide enough that she could just make out the faintest trace of an iris -- but it was definitely him. She felt a lump in her throat as she stared into those unseeing orbs.
"Let's hear it," he sighed.
"Dr. Sokolsky's latest encrypted transmission has been decoded by AIAD. His attempt to breach the third cell was unsuccessful."
Allan sucked in his teeth, and his white eyes watered. Lillian felt faint. "Damn. Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir. The //giftschreiber// removed his ocular implant and used it to record, then transmit, a video of his execution. The video is three hours long."
Allan slumped in his chair. Lillian sat on the floor.
"O5-8, please, Clio."
"Would you prefer to conduct the call in your secure comms room, sir?"
"No." He closed his eyes, and suddenly he almost looked like himself again. Almost. "No, I don't really see the point, at this stage. I think we've reached the final pass."
It took a moment for Clio to put the call through, then an electronically modulated voice, androgynous and free of aspect, intoned: "Report."
Allan took a deep breath, and when he finally spoke, the tears he wasn't crying came through with crystalline clarity. "Operation FIREBREAK is over, sir. We've lost."
Lillian couldn't help what came next. Allan had always been better at controlling his emotional responses than she was.
To her surprise, and her horror, after a moment, he joined her.
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
It took Udo a few minutes to calm down. She was trapped, but there was still air. Her magic didn't work, but most people got through life just fine without micamancy. She was standing in Applied Occultism, and that was her domain. She was the only member of Site staff with a bedroom on this sublevel.
So, she went there.
Her ID card didn't work on the reader, which was bad. The retinal scanner refused to acknowledge her presence, which was worse. In the end she had to resort to hauling wires out of the walls and inputting an emergency code manually; for the first time ever, she was thankful for all the times the normalcy community's thaumaturges had tried to kill the person in her post, because it meant at least one of the myriad security features was vulnerable to the fact that //she was supposed to be able to get into these quarters.// They were hers.
At least, they had been. Less than an hour ago, when she'd first emerged.
Now the decor was more sparse, the furnishings... changed. She'd almost thought //unfamiliar,// but that was wrong. They were very familiar, if distantly. Like something out of another life.
She absently fingered the two rings she wore, one against the other. They were still there. She was still herself.
But she wasn't sure she wanted to be. Not in here. Not if she was correct about what she was seeing.
There was sobbing coming from her bedroom. She took a deep breath, balled her hands into fists, and went to see whose it was.
As if she didn't know.
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
It took Ibanez only a brief inspection to understand what had occurred.
There was a kilometre-deep borehole just down the road.
Not a hole Ibanez could step into, but a hole she could look up through.
And see sunlight.
It was already starting to dim, as the sun itself moved beyond the compass of the cleavage. It was perfectly round, perhaps ten metres wide, and smooth. Shiny. Cauterized.
Someone had fired one of the Foundation's orbital cannons at the Site, punched through bedrock to obliterate the security checkpoint that controlled access to her block. The shot had been made with such perfect precision that the tiles beneath were only lightly scorched, though everything else was entirely absent.
A thought occurred to her. She drew her weapon, but walked back to the dormitory door. Before her gorge had a chance to make her rethink the thought, she kicked the corpse over onto its back.
The sloughing skin obscured most of it, but she could still make out the turtleneck. Perhaps not all of the bloating was from gaseous buildup after all. It was Trevor Bremmel's corpse.
She choked down the rush of bile, and headed out of the block. The light from the borehole only got her so far into the musty gloom, but that was alright.
It wasn't the only hole.
The entire facility was silent as a tomb, every corridor lit by at least one dimming skylight, most of them filled with broken machinery and mangled bodies. There were signs of resistance everywhere: barricades, bullet holes, and discarded Foundation-issue weaponry. What looked like red sand wedged into the crevices of a door. She stared at that door for what felt like a lifetime.
The next door had been vandalized with a bit of graffiti, a red dot surrounded by a fan of red and white. The emblem of the Chaos Insurgency.
Because, well, of course. Who else?
After over twenty years spent managing the fallout of sudden reality shifts, her feet took her where her heart knew the problem most likely lay. She left the carnage of H&S for the access corridor to AAF-D, but before she made it, her mind added its two cents, and she checked the two offices fronting on the thoroughfare.
Harry's office was a burned-out wreck. The archives were gone, scoured to the back of the salt mines. Salt didn't burn, but it did melt. The colour was brilliant in the bending beams from far above.
Wettle's office was a little different. For one thing, the Deputy Chair's office had a nameplate for G. O'Conner.
For another, there was a framed caricature of Wettle on the wall. The little bronze plaque beneath his gormless gurning visage bore his name, and two dates.
She recognized the first one as his birthday.
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
It took Jennifer a long time to stop watching them. She wasn't sure what else to do with herself. She didn't know anyone, at least not well enough to impose herself upon them on a holiday. Nobody except for... them, who seemed to be getting along just fine with the distance she'd kept in the past few months.
So, she watched.
She stood in the doorway to the back halls, which led to the voluminous storage facilities in the salt caverns, and watched two people who should have been her parents sitting in companionable silence at the central set of desks in the main workroom. They had the ease of long, long acquaintainship between them, each seeming to know what the other would do or say long before it happened. They hardly even talked anymore, because they didn't need to. Body language said it all.
She wanted to talk to them.
She wanted to say something.
But the rational part of her knew that these weren't really her parents. Her parents almost certainly no longer existed. The man and woman now packing up their files and preparing to head for the desultory party in the main cafeteria, where what little mirth on offer at Site-43 today was to be had.
She could go with them, but why?
They hadn't even acknowledged her, this entire time.
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Everything, Lillian saw, was different now.
Absolutely everyone was wearing memetic dazzle camo. She hadn't noticed on her way to the Director's office because she hadn't seen anyone. They were keeping out of the halls. She also hadn't noticed that the message boards were filled with cognitostimulant images, to ward off memetic attacks like a shot of vaccine, because she didn't notice stuff like that at all anymore unless she was in active search mode. It was getting late in the day, but it looked like almost everyone was still hard at work.
And none of them, absolutely none of them, could see her.
She wished she could call up one of Scrooge's protestations to the spirits that had plagued him, but she didn't know any, because she'd never read //A Christmas Carol.// She'd never even seen any of the movies. Not even the one with the Muppets.
Instead, she walked silently through a parade of almost too on-the-nose examples of the yawning gulf her absence created. Memetics and Countermemetics seemed to take up almost the entirety of Research and Experimentation now, and there were dozens of memeticists she either only vaguely recognized, or had definitely never seen before. Where her office had been was just an out-of-the-way subcorridor and broom closet; the Chair of M&C was camped out in the centre of the complex, in an office she at first thought must have been on fire. But it was only cigarette smoke, wafting out into a bullpen apparently denuded of detectors, and at the end of that smoke was a cigarette, and at the end of that cigarette was...
She'd expected Marion Wheeler. She hadn't expected Arik Euler, who had been dead for nearly a decade.
The old man looked older than he'd looked in his casket. The bags under the bags under his eyes had bags under them. His skin was a grease-spotted fish wrapper. He was openly weeping, and pressing his palms into the blotter on his desk. As she watched, he leaned back and pinched some of the substance he'd been crushing between two fingers, and sprinkled it into both eyes.
The response was instantaneous: the tears stopped, and a weak smile spread across his face. She thought it would split. Eyes now blank, Euler turned to face his terminal and blew out a frustrated breath.
She had missed him, all these years. But seeing him now, like this, she wished they'd let him rest.
As they would have let Marion rest, she realized. Without the tools she'd had on hand back in 2016, she was almost certainly dead.
The scene was repeated, Section after Section. Eileen Veiksaar writing code speech-to-text, her eyes the same milky white as Allan's. Roger Pensak in Del's place in the security bullpen, giving orders with a grin, never having been found out. Edwin Falkirk in Sokolsky's office, Trevor Bremmel fetching him gadgets and dossiers with blinding speed, was the worst of it until she found Phil Deering staring into space in the chief janitor's office, gently rotating his wedding ring, lip trembling and chest heaving. The thing in the mirror apparently had nothing to say that he wasn't already thinking.
Harry was long gone. She didn't have the heart to find out where.
"I get it," she sighed. "I got it //before you showed it to me.//"
If there were magic words to end the display, it wasn't those.
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Many things, in Udo's view, were unworthy of remembrance.
The prime example lay shuddering face down on her bed, and she hated that she recognized him even from this angle. Just the shape of his body beneath the lab coat, the shape of the hair on the back of his head, even the sound of the sobs that wracked his body.
She didn't want to comfort him. She didn't want to speak to him. She didn't want to be here, but most of all, she didn't want //him// to be here.
Wherever this was, because it certainly wasn't home.
She left him to his misery, and searched the rest of the complex. She didn't find a way out, though she did find evidence suggesting there sometimes was one: an unfinished ritual circle behind a sealed vault door, almost certainly the egress point for a thaumaturgical Way. The Chief of Applied Occultism -- or was he the Director? any amount of ridiculousness seemed possible right now -- was no longer content to live in the most secure space in the Site. He needed to be literally inaccessible except under extreme duress.
There was plenty of evidence why scattered throughout. He had a different laptop terminal in every room, and most of them were in sleep mode. They all had different passwords, and it made her physically ill that she was able to guess most of them with only a few tries. And there it was, in living colour. The full extent of yet another colossal failure from the man who had become synonymous with the word.
He was, in fact, the Director. And he was directing the Foundation off a cliff.
There was a long, heartfelt direct message history with Keil Graf, chief memeticist of the //schriftsteller,// coordinating attacks on isolated //giftschreiber// and promising all manner of material support. There was a report to the Overseer Council detailing what cryptomantic assets had been loaned to the governments of the United States, China and Russia, stifling free thought and ensuring that a kind of shambling order prevailed in the superpower states while the rest of the world fell to chaos. There were proposals for the decommissioning of two Persons of Interest, comically numbered 1 and 2, to stop their global campaigns of attrition against the Foundation itself. From the first few lines of each, she could easily tell they were Lillian Lillihammer and Daniil Sokolsky.
She found Stacey Laiken's obituary, and Phil Deering's, and a postmortem on the wholesale disappearance of Colorado. She found the files on Gamers Against Weed and Parawatch and the Serpent's Hand, GoIs 102-D, 1109-D and 11-D, respectively. She found an itemized list of every politician who had been replaced by a Saker android, custom-built to O5 specifications. She found the prisoner manifest for Paramax, and the figures for how much money and how many inmates the Foundation was funnelling into it.
In his despair and incompetence, Dougall Deering had finally chosen a side. The fact that there hadn't been a good side to choose did nothing to absolve him of the choice.
A little more targeted digging found the final report of the Acroamatic Abatement Group, which had gone defunct shortly before Austria became the world's first esoteric waste superfund site. The [[[SCP-8141 | SCP file]]] that had once described Udo, her biological mother, and the city over which the latter lorded now covered only the latter and was brief and to the point: whatever had been there, it wasn't anymore. With nothing to tether them, the rest of the micamancers had fled. She wondered how they'd done so without destroying the entire world.
Not that it mattered. Everything she saw suggested it was going to end sooner or later, anyway. The crackdown, the alliance with the cult of order, none of it was doing anything but making a bad situation worse. SCP-5243 had already made containment of any sort at Site-43 an impossibility. (She was momentarily amused to see that Dougall did her annual duty, until she saw said duty involved finding her own burned corpse in the containment cell.) Ilse Reynders had died in the ADDC, withering away to nothing, still protesting the scheme Dougall had put into practice to free her. Judging by the copious holes in every major document, it seemed that neither the Unyielding nor the Uncontained had been restored to existence in 2019. Their absences were abcesses on the fabric of reality. This world would be lucky to see the end of another year, if the Foundation's tightening fist didn't cause a second Impasse to pop it like a grape in the meantime.
There was a faint buzzing sound from beyond the vault door, and a hiss from the door itself, and she found herself rushing into the makeshift foyer before she even knew what she was doing. Instinct carried her to the edge of the gleaming portal, and a sudden glance revealed the hollow-eyed visage of Amelia Torosyan, two steaming mugs of coffee in hand and utter defeat written in her sunken cheeks, before she made the transit out.
She thought, in the final instant, that she could see the other woman registering Dougall's hacking cries from the distant bedroom.
She didn't see anything resembling a reaction.
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Some things, Ibanez mused, stayed the same.
This wasn't the first time she'd seen her entire world destroyed. She'd already walked through the ruins of Site-43 twice before this, in two different universes, seen the corpses of her colleagues strewn carelessly about, seen the consequences of the absence of this single dynamic version of her own self on everyone and everything. It was the first time the danger had passed before her arrival, but that only made it worse. She wanted to do something about this. She wanted to kill something. She wanted to do anything but think about the friends she had lost, the progress that had been erased, the traumas she had lived through which might now have been for nothing.
This charnel house had never known the presence of the Delfina Ibanez who terrorized the Insurgency half into submission, before Wettle's farce did them in for good. The version who had mustered the courage to return to her annihilated origin, after decades away, and finally solve the mysteries that loomed large in her past. The version who had taken up a sword, and...
...and that was part of it, obviously.
Where Sokolsky's ETTRA office had been, there were simply more labs. The containment chambers on the first sublevel were all empty, with every indication they'd been that way for ages. There was no sign that anything more complex than a human being had engaged in combat in these halls. No anomalies had been let loose. Every cell door was missing its identifiers. There were no active experiments in the labs which had survived the orbital attacks, or the melee that had come after.
It wasn't until she reached the Director's bolthole that she found a computer which still had its own power source, and was undamaged. The machine McInnis had once used to call in to Overwatch Command. She fired it up, and was more than a little surprised when the SCiPnet uplink actually worked.
If her mind hadn't already raced to the conclusion, what she saw there would have been a surprise. She would probably have assumed it was an error. If what she saw was true, why would the system even still be active?
As a memorial, of course. A reminder of noisier times.
The SCiPnet database contained only seven thousand active files. This was momentarily a relief, though she had no intention of remaining in this fucked up reality. At least it wasn't as bad as she'd feared.
Then she ran a quick object class search, and nearly gagged.
The number wasn't so low because a thousand anomalies had died in the [[[scp-6500 | Impasse]]]. That only accounted for all the new ones which had never come into being.
Of the seven thousand files in the database, over six thousand documented things which had been either neutralized or decommissioned.
She was, perhaps literally single-handedly, responsible for the death of anomalous phenomena on the planet Earth. Through nothing more malicious than absence. And in the absence of anything better to do with all that materiel and manpower, the Insurgency had taken advantage of the Foundation's loss of purpose.
She switched off the machine, and took a deep breath.
She knew the people here, even if they'd never known her. Even if they were gone.
She knew they wouldn't have been content with letting someone else memorialize what had been lost.
She headed back out to the hall, in search of the logical end.
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
//Nothing,// Jennifer thought. //Nothing at all.//
No messages in the messaging system. It wasn't as though she was a social butterfly, but she'd expected to at least get yet another invitation from Flora and Billie, even if they knew she'd politely blow them off. Maybe something from Ngo, who had a preternatural ability to identify the isolated and bring them back into orbit. Honestly, though she wanted to pretend it didn't matter, she was surprised neither Blank nor Bradbury had so much as extended the olive branch. They were still on good terms. They were still working together, and talking. She'd almost felt like they were making progress, the last few weeks, even with all the extra responsibilities everyone was taking on.
Now nobody in the halls would even look at her.
The sad little party in the cafeteria was wrapping up. People were heading back to their dorms, or the subway, or the elevator. Everyone had somewhere to be.
She had nowhere.
So, she faced homeward, and walked.
She walked past the quarters of the Chief of Archives and Revision, then past Archives and Revision itself. She walked past Replication Studies, catching the briefest flash of what looked like a mane of improbably golden hair before the blinds suddenly snapped shut. She walked to the point at which she had crossed from one lifetime to the next, and she closed her eyes as she made the final step, begging the universe to let her open them again on that half-remembered home where she was both beloved and understood.
Of course, it was just a step like any other. It brought her no more than another stride forward.
There were other footsteps behind her, and she turned to see who they belonged to. Not much traffic came this way anymore, what with AAF-D being decommissioned, and anyway it was after hours.
There was no-one there.
She turned her head, and examined the mural painted on the wall. Her father... Dr. Blank had painted it, many years ago. It was imbued with memetic residue from the people who had worked with the five men and two women depicted there, and a vague but sentimental sense of who they'd been washed over her, and she wanted to smile, but instead she screamed and fell to her knees in frustrated anguish.
Even the dead were remembered.
"I'M **ALIVE,**" she cried hoarsely, and she heard the footsteps again.
[[div]]
[[=]]
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Lillian Lillihammer stared at Udo Okorie, who stared at Delfina Ibanez, who stared at Jennifer Vide, who stared at the other three one at a time. They were all at the foot of the 5243 memorial, faces drawn, eyes hooded, lips trembling. They each spoke, but not at once.
Lillihammer: "Oh, thank fuck."
Okorie: "You guys, too?"
Ibanez: "About time."
Jennifer: "What?"
Because the latter was kneeling, Ibanez was almost at her eye level. The MTF chief put a hand on the junior archivist's shoulder, and said: "Did anyone report me missing?"
"Or me?" Okorie asked.
"If any of us was missed," Lillihammer attempted a faltering grin, "I'm sure it was me."
Jennifer blinked in confusion. "You... missing? You weren't. Were you? I thought I saw..." She looked at the other two women, one after the other. "You were all at the party, or somewhere in the halls. I saw you."
"Shortest deadline ever," Lillihammer murmured.
"Long enough," Okorie murmured back. The memeticist nodded agreement.
"And localized, I'm guessing." Ibanez looked up at the others. "I got a Code Capra. You?"
They nodded. Okorie blew out a breath. "Three in one night. That's a record. This might literally be Last Christmas, if it's getting that bad."
"What is?" Jennifer rose unsteadily to her feet. "What are you talking about?"
Lillihammer had her phone out of her jacket already, and was paging through something. "Fifty goddamn messages," she sighed. "What, was I just sleepwalking around? I hate this shit."
"Can the universe pick on someone else, for a change?" Okorie agreed, her own phone in hand. "Del, Roz is freaking the fuck out."
"You can go unfreak her while I take our report to the Director," Ibanez growled. "And then we're scheduling brunch for Boxing Day."
"Guys?" Jennifer waved her hands frantically. "Please tell me what's going on."
Lillihammer seemed to really see her for the first time. "Reality failures. Folks falling into fucking //fractures.// What are you doing out here? This time of night?"
"On Christmas Eve," Okorie added.
"In front of //this.//" Ibanez kicked the floor moulding beneath the mural for emphasis.
Jennifer shrugged. "I dunno," she lied. "I just... I felt like. It. I came here because I felt like it."
"Did something nudge you?" Lillihammer asked.
"Did you feel a pull?" Ibanez had narrowed her burgundy eyes to pinpricks.
"Like you //had// to be here?" Okorie didn't look up from her phone, tapping out a message, presumably to her absent significant other. "Like you couldn't stay away?"
"I guess?" Jennifer shrugged. "Does that mean something?"
"Check your phone," said Okorie.
"There won't be anything--"
"Check," Ibanez intoned, in her deepest and most serious voice, "your, phone."
Jennifer checked her phone.
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
Swing by the office when you get a moment, would you?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
Spare a minute?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
We're at the cafeteria. You coming to the party?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
Harry and I want to ask you something.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
You busy?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
Don't make me ask Clio to locate you![[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
Jennifer?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
Clio says you're walking in circles.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
Hello?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**M_Bradbury**
Are you going to make me call security on you on Christmas Eve?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
Melissa and I are going back to my old place for Christmas.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
Thought you might want to drop by.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
The rest of the gang might, too. Get out of the basement for a change, you know.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
There's lots of spare rooms.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]**H_Blank**
No pressure.[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
Jennifer couldn't speak, but her eyes communicated volumes.
Lillihammer was already off, her long legs taking her out of earshot in an instant. "I'll tell the boss." Ibanez followed close behind, somehow almost keeping pace. "I'll call TAD. For what little that'll do." Okorie stayed behind, and gave Jennifer a look of mixed sympathy and empathy.
"I don't know what's going on," Jennifer said. Her voice came out in a rasp.
"Welcome to the club," said Okorie. "Merry Christmas."
And she set off after her friends, with a kind look back and a gentle wave.
Jennifer stared back down at her phone.
She couldn't hardly make out the words.
She stuffed it in her pants pocket, and broke into a jog.
"Hey!" she called out. "Do you guys carpool?"
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/harry-blank-7/Riders.jpg]]
[[div]]
[[=]]
<< **[[[SCP-8141]]]** | **[/on-guard-43-hub Words of Power and Poison]** | **TBA** >>
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[div]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
> **Filename:** Riders.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
This image was created using reference material created by the author in DAZ Studio, as well as the following:
> **Name:** Jinpu
> **Author:** Aaron Stidwell
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/rankingfuuta/36189439081/ flickr]
> **Note:** reference for Jennifer Vide, on the left
> **Name:** When in doubt, blow it out.
> **Author:** Aaron Stidwell
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/rankingfuuta/23789749108/ flickr]
> **Note:** reference for Jennifer Vide, on the left
> **Name:** Entrega de Libros y Casas
> **Author:** Romina Santarelli
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52872556322 flickr]
> **Note:** reference for Delfina Ibanez, on the middle left
> **Name:** Cultura Federal Jujuy - día 2
> **Author:** Romina Santarelli
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/culturaargentina/52832894653 flickr]
> **Note:** reference for Delfina Ibanez, on the middle left
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
|
2024-12-25T11:53:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"chaos-insurgency",
"chief-ibanez",
"christmas",
"director-mcinnis",
"doctor-blank",
"doctor-lillihammer",
"doctor-okorie",
"on-guard-43",
"philip-deering",
"tale"
] |
It's a Wonderful Ride - SCP Foundation
| 37
|
[
"scp-8056",
"scp-8141",
"scp-6500",
"on-guard-43-hub",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"top-rated-pages-by-month",
"tales-by-year",
"shortest-pages-by-month",
"chaos-insurgency-hub",
"top-rated-pages-this-month",
"news"
] |
[] |
1458095653
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/its-a-wonderful-ride
|
|
its-beginning-to-look-a-lot-like-breachmas
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span><span style="font-family: 'Mountains of Christmas';">It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Breachmas</span></span></h1>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>It's beginning to look a lot like <a href="/scp-5243">Breachmas</a><br/>
Hear the sirens roar<br/>
Take a look at Site-43, seems a right mess to me<br/>
With Del Olmo paste and <a href="/scp-5382">Giftschreiber</a> waste galore</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>It's beginning to look a lot like <a href="/scp-7243">Breachmas</a><br/>
The pipes they all go BOOM<br/>
But if you try to break the loop, I promise you that this goop<br/>
Will surely seal your doom</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>For a stable <a href="/scp-5956">timeline</a> and a casket of wine<br/>
<a href="/scp-5618">Alice and Steve</a> are wishing<br/>
For his <a href="/scp-5056">janitor bro</a> to survive one year mo'<br/>
The desire of <a href="/scp-5756">Douglas Deering</a><br/>
And <a href="/the-time-after-time-password-hub">Sokolsky</a> can't wait to see the breach once again</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>It's beginning to look a lot like <a href="/scp-5243-video-transcripts">Breachmas</a><br/>
Everywhere you go<br/>
A pile of lemons is in the hall, <a href="/scp-7000">Wettle</a> takes a pratfall<br/>
And every year a worsened loop they must follow</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>It's beginning to look a lot like <a href="/bury-the-survivors-hub">Breachmas</a><br/>
Soon alarms will blare<br/>
And the thing that'll make 'em scream is when <a href="/scp-6643">Verne</a> pops on that scene<br/>
And gives you quite a scare</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>It's beginning to look a lot like <a href="/wrong-tomorrow-hub">Breachmas</a><br/>
Death in every room<br/>
But if you try to fly the coop, the universe may well turn to soup<br/>
And surely seal your doom</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Mountains of Christmas';"><br/>
<span style="font-size:200%;">Sure, it's Breachmas once more~!</span><br/></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="collection">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<table style="1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<tr>
<th class="namerow" colspan="2"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p>Uncle Nicolini's Works</p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">SCPs</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-es-113">SCP-ES-113</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-2983">SCP-2983</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7337">SCP-7337</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-1712">SCP-1712</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-5726">SCP-5726</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-3867">SCP-3867</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-4206">SCP-4206</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-3756">SCP-3756</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-pl-274">SCP-PL-274</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-es-101-j">SCP-ES-101-J</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6726">MDI-6726</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-1046">SCP-1046</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7725">SCP-7725</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-es-076">SCP-ES-076</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6938">SCP-6938</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Tales/GoI Formats</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/sc-paper">S&C Paper</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/an-epitaph-for-scp-173">An Epitaph For SCP-173</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/grant-request-post-mortem-neural-preservation">GRANT REQUEST FOR THE RE-CREATION OF AN ADVANCED POSTMORTEM NEURAL PRESERVATION SYSTEM</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/fanfa">Fanfa</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/divine-intervention">Divine Intervention</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/before-the-storm">Before the Storm</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/yamizushi-file-no995">Dark Sushi File No. 995 "Suisame"</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/wonder-world-dossier">Wonder World Dossier</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/coming-out-to-the-woods">I Don't Get It, But I'll Figure It Out.</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/myocardial-infarction">Myocardial Infarction</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/la-persistencia-de-la-memoria">La Persistencia De La Memoria</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/project-proposal-2014-1221">Project Proposal 2014-1221: "Finally Waking Up"</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/the-good-ending">SCP-5057 Additional Documentation</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/who-wants-to-live-forever">Who Wants To Live Forever?</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/marw-el-reencarnado">Marw (The Reincarnated One)</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Other</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/sciptember-2022-art">Sciptember 2022 Art Highlights</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/ode-to-the-unknown-author">Ode To The Unknown Author</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/uncle-nicolini-author-page">uncle nicolini author page</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/its-beginning-to-look-a-lot-like-breachmas">It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Breachmas</a>" by Uncle Nicolini, Prismal, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/its-beginning-to-look-a-lot-like-breachmas">https://scpwiki.com/its-beginning-to-look-a-lot-like-breachmas</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Olmo.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1730032517" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Derivative Of:</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Blue Mosaic Bathroom Tiles<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> William Warby<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/wwarby/6963447776">Flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> AAFD-1-2.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1730032517" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Derivative Of:</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Allagash Brewery pipes<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Douglas Muth<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/dmuth/47045311234">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Big Pipes at Stanford's New Central Energy Facility<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Steve Jurvetson<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/jurvetson/37851013542">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Piped Dreams<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> shando.<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/shando_/4608324683">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> smoke<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> mason bryant<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/ihardlyflickr/1500564401">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Smoke 5<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Andrew Magill<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/amagill/190268989">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Tarpon Springs Reverse Osmosis Water Treatment Plant<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Florida Water Daily<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/132437315@N05/23729436291">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Twin Spin<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> darkday<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/drainrat/14297185944">Flickr</a></p>
</div>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> REISNOCANNON.jpg<br/>
<strong>Title:</strong> IC aero engine<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Londo Mollari<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/photos/londo/9636220660/">https://flickr.com/photos/londo/9636220660/</a> flickr</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> lemons.jpg<br/>
<strong>Title:</strong> Lemons (5216703003).jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> David~O<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lemons_%285216703003%29.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Tentrampage.jpg</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Ascaris Larva (hatched on Slide)<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Sustainable sanitation<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/23116228@N07/18280345676">flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Factory floor, Carrie Furnaces, Rankin PA<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> roy.luck<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/21550937@N03/8907660803">flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> AAFD-2.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1730032517" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Derivative Of:</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Heatpipe tunnel copenhagen 2009.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Bill Ebbesen<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/file:heatpipe_tunnel_copenhagen_2009.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Fireworks<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Lee Haywood<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/leehaywood/5214214533">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Fireworks<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Neil Barnwell<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/shipcreak/3084140363">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Fireworks<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Nigel Howe<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/legin101/5542642336">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Fireworks in Beijing China 7<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> weirdchina<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/24815294@N03/2373195317">Flickr</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:blankstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle</a>]]
[[module css]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Mountains+of+Christmas:wght@400;700&display=swap');
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
+ [[span style="font-family: 'Mountains of Christmas';"]]It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Breachmas[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[=image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
[[=]]
It's beginning to look a lot like [[[scp-5243| Breachmas]]]
Hear the sirens roar
Take a look at Site-43, seems a right mess to me
With Del Olmo paste and [[[scp-5382| Giftschreiber]]] waste galore
[[/=]]
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-5243/Olmo.jpg width="500px"]]
[[=]]
It's beginning to look a lot like [[[scp-7243| Breachmas]]]
The pipes they all go BOOM
But if you try to break the loop, I promise you that this goop
Will surely seal your doom
[[/=]]
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-5243/AAFD-1-2.jpg width="500px"]]
[[=]]
For a stable [[[scp-5956| timeline]]] and a casket of wine
[[[scp-5618| Alice and Steve]]] are wishing
For his [[[scp-5056| janitor bro]]] to survive one year mo'
The desire of [[[scp-5756| Douglas Deering]]]
And [[[the-time-after-time-password-hub| Sokolsky]]] can't wait to see the breach once again
[[/=]]
[[=image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-5956/REISNOCANNON.jpg width="500px"]]
[[=]]
It's beginning to look a lot like [[[scp-5243-video-transcripts| Breachmas]]]
Everywhere you go
A pile of lemons is in the hall, [[[scp-7000|Wettle]]] takes a pratfall
And every year a worsened loop they must follow
[[/=]]
[[=image lemons.jpg width="500px"]]
[[=]]
It's beginning to look a lot like [[[bury-the-survivors-hub| Breachmas]]]
Soon alarms will blare
And the thing that'll make 'em scream is when [[[scp-6643|Verne]]] pops on that scene
And gives you quite a scare
[[/=]]
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-6643/Tentrampage.jpg width="500px"]]
[[=]]
It's beginning to look a lot like [[[wrong-tomorrow-hub| Breachmas]]]
Death in every room
But if you try to fly the coop, the universe may well turn to soup
And surely seal your doom
[[/=]]
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-5243/AAFD-2.jpg width="500px"]]
[[=]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Mountains of Christmas';"]]
[[size 200%]]Sure, it's Breachmas once more~![[/size]]
[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[=image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-b-b-decommission/Asterisk43.png]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:wikimodule">:scp-wiki:component:wikimodule</a> |normal= --]]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=Uncle Nicolini, Prismal]]
> **Filename:** Olmo.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user harryblank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Derivative Of:**
> ----
> **Name:** Blue Mosaic Bathroom Tiles
> **Author:** William Warby
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** [https://flickr.com/wwarby/6963447776 Flickr]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Filename:** AAFD-1-2.jpg
**Author:** [[*user harryblank]]
**License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
**Derivative Of:**
----
**Name:** Allagash Brewery pipes
**Author:** Douglas Muth
**License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://flickr.com/dmuth/47045311234 Flickr]
----
**Name:** Big Pipes at Stanford's New Central Energy Facility
**Author:** Steve Jurvetson
**License:** CC BY 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://flickr.com/jurvetson/37851013542 Flickr]
----
**Name:** Piped Dreams
**Author:** shando.
**License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://flickr.com/shando_/4608324683 Flickr]
----
**Name:** smoke
**Author:** mason bryant
**License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://flickr.com/ihardlyflickr/1500564401 Flickr]
----
**Name:** Smoke 5
**Author:** Andrew Magill
**License:** CC BY 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://flickr.com/amagill/190268989 Flickr]
----
**Name:** Tarpon Springs Reverse Osmosis Water Treatment Plant
**Author:** Florida Water Daily
**License:** CC BY 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://flickr.com/132437315@N05/23729436291 Flickr]
----
**Name:** Twin Spin
**Author:** darkday
**License:** CC BY 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://flickr.com/drainrat/14297185944 Flickr]
[[/div]]
> **Filename:** REISNOCANNON.jpg
> **Title:** IC aero engine
> **Author:** Londo Mollari
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source:** https://flickr.com/photos/londo/9636220660/ flickr
> **Filename:** lemons.jpg
> **Title:** Lemons (5216703003).jpg
> **Author:** David~O
> **License:** CC 2.0
> **Source:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Lemons_%285216703003%29.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
> **Filename:** Tentrampage.jpg
-----
> **Name:** Ascaris Larva (hatched on Slide)
> **Author:** Sustainable sanitation
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/23116228@N07/18280345676 flickr]
-----
> **Name:** Factory floor, Carrie Furnaces, Rankin PA
> **Author:** roy.luck
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/21550937@N03/8907660803 flickr]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Filename:** AAFD-2.jpg
**Author:** [[*user harryblank]]
**License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
**Derivative Of:**
----
**Name:** Heatpipe tunnel copenhagen 2009.jpg
**Author:** Bill Ebbesen
**License:** CC BY 3.0
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/file:heatpipe_tunnel_copenhagen_2009.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Name:** Fireworks
**Author:** Lee Haywood
**License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://flickr.com/leehaywood/5214214533 Flickr]
----
**Name:** Fireworks
**Author:** Neil Barnwell
**License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://flickr.com/shipcreak/3084140363 Flickr]
----
**Name:** Fireworks
**Author:** Nigel Howe
**License:** CC BY 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://flickr.com/legin101/5542642336 Flickr]
----
**Name:** Fireworks in Beijing China 7
**Author:** weirdchina
**License:** CC BY 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://flickr.com/24815294@N03/2373195317 Flickr][[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-09-08T15:18:00
|
[
"co-authored",
"comedy",
"on-guard-43",
"poetry",
"tale"
] |
It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Breachmas - SCP Foundation
| 45
|
[
"scp-5243",
"scp-5382",
"scp-7243",
"scp-5956",
"scp-5618",
"scp-5056",
"scp-5756",
"the-time-after-time-password-hub",
"scp-5243-video-transcripts",
"scp-7000",
"bury-the-survivors-hub",
"scp-6643",
"wrong-tomorrow-hub",
"scp-es-113",
"scp-2983",
"scp-7337",
"scp-1712",
"scp-5726",
"scp-3867",
"scp-4206",
"scp-3756",
"scp-pl-274",
"scp-es-101-j",
"scp-6726",
"scp-1046",
"scp-7725",
"scp-es-076",
"scp-6938",
"sc-paper",
"an-epitaph-for-scp-173",
"grant-request-post-mortem-neural-preservation",
"fanfa",
"divine-intervention",
"before-the-storm",
"yamizushi-file-no995",
"wonder-world-dossier",
"coming-out-to-the-woods",
"myocardial-infarction",
"la-persistencia-de-la-memoria",
"project-proposal-2014-1221",
"the-good-ending",
"who-wants-to-live-forever",
"marw-el-reencarnado",
"sciptember-2022-art",
"ode-to-the-unknown-author",
"uncle-nicolini-author-page",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1456707252
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/its-beginning-to-look-a-lot-like-breachmas
|
|
journal-of-iris-thompson
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Abroken-masquerade/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>September 18th, 2021</strong></span></p>
<p>I would like the record to show that this isn't my idea. Keeping a journal is something Gilbert recommended to help me "channel my grief," whatever that means. I guess she wants me to just write my feelings down? I'm melancholy. There.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>September 24th, 2021</strong></span></p>
<p>Turns out Gilbert isn't a fan of smartasses. To be honest, I never thought a woman who spoke so softly could be so sarcastic. I would've found it amusing if the remarks weren't directed at me.</p>
<p>Anyway, to avoid <em>that</em> again, I'm gonna start taking this thing seriously… or at least more seriously. So… I guess I'll start with my day.</p>
<p>I woke up around 5ish, like normal. No nightmares this time, just haven't been able to break out of the early-rising sleep schedule I got into while at 17. Tommy was still asleep, as usual. He rarely gets up before 9:00. I hope he gets stuck with an 8 am class next semester.</p>
<p>Like normal, I went for a jog around the park and neighborhood. <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">I was the only one out.</span> There was a dude walking his dog out over by the lake. Said I "looked good in those shorts." I told him I was a skip. As I expected, his face darkened and he quickly moved on.</p>
<p>Made it back home around 7. By 7:30, I was showered and making breakfast. Egg Hashbrown Casserole. Not my favorite, not Tommy's favorite, but a good meal that used up some ingredients that were about to expire. Decided to turn on the TV while I ate. Big mistake. First thing I saw was a news headline about a group of skips found dead on the side of the road. Another group of murders by anti-skippers. An investigation was underway, but if the rumors are true that rogue GOC cells have been orchestrating these killings, then it's unlikely anything will come of it. Yet another reason why I keep a photo of my service revolver on me at all times.</p>
<p>The very first commercial after the headline was none other than good old <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4818">Leora</a>. It was the one where a bunch of kids are playing in the park, and one shows the others that he has anomalous powers, and everyone says he should become a super hero, and then Leora walks in frame and tells the kids that they should talk to their parents (read: nearest Foundation representative) about it instead. Oh, what irony.</p>
<p>Ok, for what it's worth, I am <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">happy</span> content with Leora finding her place as the Foundation's poster girl. I still think it's a thinly veiled attempt at saving face and manipulating the public by putting the young, energetic, single most super hero coded member of their little super squad front and center of their public image, but hey… they're not stupid enough to put the teenage poster girl in any real danger, so I can live with it. I wonder how many people think Leora is the leader of Alpha-9 and not Adams.</p>
<p>Tommy got up not a minute before 9:28. Architectural engineers are such lazy bastards. Still, we were able to enjoy a quick chat before he ran out the door, slab of casserole in hand. His first major exam is today, and the reason he slept in is because he was up all night studying. Uh huh. Sure you were. You were <em>totally</em> up until 2:30 in the morning reading through your text book and <em>not</em> playing Factorio. Regardless, I wished him good luck and said I'd see him at lunch.</p>
<p>With Tommy gone and and my first class not starting until 11:00, I had a good hour to myself. Decided to spend it continuing that biography of Van Gogh. I'd like to knock that out by the end of the month so I can get to that one mystery novel for October.</p>
<p>It's a 30 minute walk to campus, so I left around 10:20. Arrived to my class at 10:58. Not much to note about either my walk or the class, other than how much I hate sociology. We went over how family structures inherently shape our society, and how having an unstable family makes you more likely to be a vagrant. Fucking topical.</p>
<p>Met Tommy at the cafeteria around noon. I had a grilled chicken melt. He had a sausage and pineapple pizza, much to my disgust. Seeing him was nice though. It's always nice to spend time with him. Well, except for when he asked me about what I did in class today. Had to come up with something on the spot. I really, really hate lying to Tommy, but saying our professor lectured us about familial ties would've… hit a little close. He's still a little bitter about me cutting ties with Mom and Dad.</p>
<p>Ran into Andrea (photography club president, not Alpha-9 agent) on my way to my second class. She asked me if I was doing ok, and if I planned on coming back anytime soon. I told her it all depended on my work schedule, which she accepted. As you know, there is no work schedule. I don't have a job. The Foundation pays me enough through my Alpha-9 pension (which I'm pretty sure didn't exist until 8 seconds after the veil broke) and hush money <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">for Ome</span> <em>Note to self: Don't mention Omega-7 in writing.</em></p>
<p>Yes, I stopped going to the photography club. The only reason I went in the first place is because I was told it'd be the best way to start socializing with people and… well, it just felt like something I <em>had</em> to do to experience college life. I mean, everyone's apart of a club, even Tommy. So not attending one feels like… <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">I'm not trying hard enough to put the Foundation behind me</span> I don't know how to describe it. But it ultimately ended up being a failed venture. Everyone there was like 10 years younger than me, and we… I don't know. We just didn't connect. There was just something about seeing these people, whose worst memory is embarrassing themselves in front of their 7th grade class, that was just off putting to me. They were just so… oblivious, and… I don't know. I just felt awkward and out of place at every meeting, so I just stopped going. <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">If I'm being honest, I feel that way about college in general. Don't know how much longer I</span> <em>Note to self: Start using pencil instead of pen.</em></p>
<p>Not much to say about physics and history of photography. The former made me want to cave my own skull in with a brick (I swear if Professor Jay says "you know" one more time) and I could've taught the latter myself (you better believe the Foundation drilled every last fact of photography into my head during <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Omega-7</span> my early days).</p>
<p>Stopped by the store on my way home. Picked up groceries for the week. Not going to list them out. Got home at around 4:30. Tommy was on the couch working on his laptop. Well, I say working, but odds are he was flipping between glancing at his school work and reading those stupid web fics he likes. <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Makes me think back to when Mom worked 10 to 6 and Dad was out late at a job site, meaning it was up to me to help Tommy with his homework. He'd always get distracted and complain and try to push it off and all the things an 8 year old would do when they didn't want to do homework. God I love him.</span> Ok I'm going to get a pencil.</p>
<p>Tommy already ate some of those instant noodles he likes so much, so I just made myself a ham sandwich. Not exactly a hardy dinner, but I don't think either of us were too hungry. Worked on homework until 7ish in my room, then went back out into the living room to see what Tommy was up to. He was playing on the Xbox. Elden Ring, specifically. I asked if he had homework he needed to do, to which he waved and said it wasn't due until the end of the week.</p>
<p>I asked him if I could try, which he allowed. I… may have gotten a little carried away. I really was intending to give the controller back after I died, but the ways I died were just so stupid and bullshit that I <em>couldn't</em> let it slide. At first I told him to give me another try after each death, but after about the fourth time I just angrily leaned forward without a word. It wouldn't be until almost midnight when Tommy said he was going to shower and head to bed that I realized how long I had stolen the controller from him. He laughed and said it was alright when I apologized and offered the controller back. I… really need to not play those kinds of games.</p>
<p>And that leads me to right now. I'm sitting in bed writing this all down in the journal Gilbert gave me. Not sure if this is what she meant, but this is what she's gonna get. Don't know if I'll write in this every day or just once a week. Either way, I really can't see this helping me much. But, if it'll help me move past the Foundation, I'll entertain it.</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:broken-masquerade">:scp-wiki:theme:broken-masquerade</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
__**September 18th, 2021**__
I would like the record to show that this isn't my idea. Keeping a journal is something Gilbert recommended to help me "channel my grief," whatever that means. I guess she wants me to just write my feelings down? I'm melancholy. There.
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
__**September 24th, 2021**__
Turns out Gilbert isn't a fan of smartasses. To be honest, I never thought a woman who spoke so softly could be so sarcastic. I would've found it amusing if the remarks weren't directed at me.
Anyway, to avoid //that// again, I'm gonna start taking this thing seriously... or at least more seriously. So... I guess I'll start with my day.
I woke up around 5ish, like normal. No nightmares this time, just haven't been able to break out of the early-rising sleep schedule I got into while at 17. Tommy was still asleep, as usual. He rarely gets up before 9:00. I hope he gets stuck with an 8 am class next semester.
Like normal, I went for a jog around the park and neighborhood. --I was the only one out.-- There was a dude walking his dog out over by the lake. Said I "looked good in those shorts." I told him I was a skip. As I expected, his face darkened and he quickly moved on.
Made it back home around 7. By 7:30, I was showered and making breakfast. Egg Hashbrown Casserole. Not my favorite, not Tommy's favorite, but a good meal that used up some ingredients that were about to expire. Decided to turn on the TV while I ate. Big mistake. First thing I saw was a news headline about a group of skips found dead on the side of the road. Another group of murders by anti-skippers. An investigation was underway, but if the rumors are true that rogue GOC cells have been orchestrating these killings, then it's unlikely anything will come of it. Yet another reason why I keep a photo of my service revolver on me at all times.
The very first commercial after the headline was none other than good old [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4818 Leora]. It was the one where a bunch of kids are playing in the park, and one shows the others that he has anomalous powers, and everyone says he should become a super hero, and then Leora walks in frame and tells the kids that they should talk to their parents (read: nearest Foundation representative) about it instead. Oh, what irony.
Ok, for what it's worth, I am --happy-- content with Leora finding her place as the Foundation's poster girl. I still think it's a thinly veiled attempt at saving face and manipulating the public by putting the young, energetic, single most super hero coded member of their little super squad front and center of their public image, but hey... they're not stupid enough to put the teenage poster girl in any real danger, so I can live with it. I wonder how many people think Leora is the leader of Alpha-9 and not Adams.
Tommy got up not a minute before 9:28. Architectural engineers are such lazy bastards. Still, we were able to enjoy a quick chat before he ran out the door, slab of casserole in hand. His first major exam is today, and the reason he slept in is because he was up all night studying. Uh huh. Sure you were. You were //totally// up until 2:30 in the morning reading through your text book and //not// playing Factorio. Regardless, I wished him good luck and said I'd see him at lunch.
With Tommy gone and and my first class not starting until 11:00, I had a good hour to myself. Decided to spend it continuing that biography of Van Gogh. I'd like to knock that out by the end of the month so I can get to that one mystery novel for October.
It's a 30 minute walk to campus, so I left around 10:20. Arrived to my class at 10:58. Not much to note about either my walk or the class, other than how much I hate sociology. We went over how family structures inherently shape our society, and how having an unstable family makes you more likely to be a vagrant. Fucking topical.
Met Tommy at the cafeteria around noon. I had a grilled chicken melt. He had a sausage and pineapple pizza, much to my disgust. Seeing him was nice though. It's always nice to spend time with him. Well, except for when he asked me about what I did in class today. Had to come up with something on the spot. I really, really hate lying to Tommy, but saying our professor lectured us about familial ties would've... hit a little close. He's still a little bitter about me cutting ties with Mom and Dad.
Ran into Andrea (photography club president, not Alpha-9 agent) on my way to my second class. She asked me if I was doing ok, and if I planned on coming back anytime soon. I told her it all depended on my work schedule, which she accepted. As you know, there is no work schedule. I don't have a job. The Foundation pays me enough through my Alpha-9 pension (which I'm pretty sure didn't exist until 8 seconds after the veil broke) and hush money --for Ome-- //Note to self: Don't mention Omega-7 in writing.//
Yes, I stopped going to the photography club. The only reason I went in the first place is because I was told it'd be the best way to start socializing with people and... well, it just felt like something I //had// to do to experience college life. I mean, everyone's apart of a club, even Tommy. So not attending one feels like... --I'm not trying hard enough to put the Foundation behind me-- I don't know how to describe it. But it ultimately ended up being a failed venture. Everyone there was like 10 years younger than me, and we... I don't know. We just didn't connect. There was just something about seeing these people, whose worst memory is embarrassing themselves in front of their 7th grade class, that was just off putting to me. They were just so... oblivious, and... I don't know. I just felt awkward and out of place at every meeting, so I just stopped going. --If I'm being honest, I feel that way about college in general. Don't know how much longer I-- //Note to self: Start using pencil instead of pen.//
Not much to say about physics and history of photography. The former made me want to cave my own skull in with a brick (I swear if Professor Jay says "you know" one more time) and I could've taught the latter myself (you better believe the Foundation drilled every last fact of photography into my head during --Omega-7-- my early days).
Stopped by the store on my way home. Picked up groceries for the week. Not going to list them out. Got home at around 4:30. Tommy was on the couch working on his laptop. Well, I say working, but odds are he was flipping between glancing at his school work and reading those stupid web fics he likes. --Makes me think back to when Mom worked 10 to 6 and Dad was out late at a job site, meaning it was up to me to help Tommy with his homework. He'd always get distracted and complain and try to push it off and all the things an 8 year old would do when they didn't want to do homework. God I love him.-- Ok I'm going to get a pencil.
Tommy already ate some of those instant noodles he likes so much, so I just made myself a ham sandwich. Not exactly a hardy dinner, but I don't think either of us were too hungry. Worked on homework until 7ish in my room, then went back out into the living room to see what Tommy was up to. He was playing on the Xbox. Elden Ring, specifically. I asked if he had homework he needed to do, to which he waved and said it wasn't due until the end of the week.
I asked him if I could try, which he allowed. I... may have gotten a little carried away. I really was intending to give the controller back after I died, but the ways I died were just so stupid and bullshit that I //couldn't// let it slide. At first I told him to give me another try after each death, but after about the fourth time I just angrily leaned forward without a word. It wouldn't be until almost midnight when Tommy said he was going to shower and head to bed that I realized how long I had stolen the controller from him. He laughed and said it was alright when I apologized and offered the controller back. I... really need to not play those kinds of games.
And that leads me to right now. I'm sitting in bed writing this all down in the journal Gilbert gave me. Not sure if this is what she meant, but this is what she's gonna get. Don't know if I'll write in this every day or just once a week. Either way, I really can't see this helping me much. But, if it'll help me move past the Foundation, I'll entertain it.
|
2024-12-09T00:35:00
|
[
"broken-masquerade",
"iris-thompson",
"tale"
] |
From The Journal Of Iris Thompson, Ex-MTF Commander - SCP Foundation
| 34
|
[
"scp-4818"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"broken-masquerade-hub",
"news"
] |
[] |
1457959068
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/journal-of-iris-thompson
|
|
journey-to-alagadda
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<blockquote>
<p>The following is a collection of disconnected text suspected to be from a lost chapter of an unknown version of <em>Journey to the West</em> story. The text depicts events likely connected to <a href="/scp-701">SCP-701</a> and <a href="/scp-2264">SCP-2264</a>, which are not seen in other versions. No anomalous qualities are found, thus translated and archived below.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><br/>
<br/></p>
<blockquote>
<p>师徒四人在荒山野岭行了许久，疲惫之际，忽见一城池拔地而起，隐有锣鼓喧闹之声。那城墙耸立，又用了赤、金、白黑四色彩砖，好不气派。城外无甚么人，只有一军头，似是—</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The four, master and disciple, having trekked through the barren mountains for long, are growing tired. Suddenly, they spot a city rising high, and hear sounds of the drumming of instruments and the bustling of streets. A city wall stands there, made of bricks of red, yellow, white, and black, truly a splendid sight. They see no others outside the city, only a head solider, who seems—</p>
<blockquote>
<p>见四人牵马上前，那守门的军头却是不惊反喜，从怀中掏出四个面具便迎上来，也不问何所从来、去往何处，将面具往三藏手中一塞便道：“诸位来得好！快戴了面具入城去！”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>As the four draw near, leading the horse with them, the head solider guarding the gate seems not surprised, but rather pleased. He takes four masks out of his person, walking up to welcome the four. He asks not where they are from or where they are headed, thrusting the masks into Sanzang’s hands, and says: “Fellows, you come at a great time! Quickly, on with the masks and into the city!”</p>
<blockquote>
<p>军头却不恼怒，道：“长老有所不知，此处乃是阿罗诘达。正是国王大寿，有三日的庆典和筵席。庆贺之时百无禁忌，四洲来客都可上殿朝拜。只是怕来者繁杂，恶了王公大臣，都要选了假面戴上，如今却是已成习俗。诸位快些把面具戴好入城，不要误了时辰！”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The head solider is not annoyed, and explains: “Elder, you may not know, but this is Aluojieda. It is the King’s birthday, and there are celebrations and banquets for three days. There are no rules during the celebration, and guests from all four lands can present themselves to the court. Only that there are people of all kinds, good and bad. So the guests are asked to put on masks, in case they offended lords and officials. It is now a custom. Quickly, put the masks on and into the city. Best not waste time!”</p>
<blockquote>
<p>八戒也戴了那猪脸面具，只有行者让面具歪在头上，露出半张脸来。四人入城，果见处处张灯结彩，嬉笑之声不断，好不热闹。仔细看去，上至老人、下至顽童，果然人人佩有假面，其或作哭笑状，或习见于戏曲中，又有飞禽走兽的模样，怪诞至极。</p>
<p>师徒四人走走停停，见那城中各处都有露天的筵席，摆了珍馐美酒，来往行人随意取用。又有侍从、侍女忙碌，叫那筵席取之不竭。众人左右顾盼，皆是颇感新奇。那八戒更是数次要偷离了队伍，钻到人群中，都被行者扯住。只是顺着大道行到王宫时，八戒手中已是拿了三五个盘子，正在狼吞虎咽。</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Bajie puts on the pig mask as well, only Wukong lets the mask skew to the side, leaving half of the face in the open. The four of them go into the city, and indeed see lights and decorations everywhere, and hear laughter constantly. Truly a lively place. As they look closer, they see that from the elderly to the children, everyone wears masks, just as told. The masks depict happiness and sadness, portray characters from plays, or shape like birds and animals, truely bizarre.</p>
<p>The four of them meander about, and see that there are feasts hosted everywhere in the city, with delicious dishes and fine wine for the passersby to take freely. Servants and maids bustle around, making sure that the feast can continue indefinitely. The master and disciples look around, marveling at the sight. Bajie even tries to escape into the crowds several times, only to be caught by Wukong. Only that by the time they reach the palace through the main road, Bajie already has several plates in his hands, and is busy devouring the food.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>那阿罗诘达国王稳坐在王座上，却是没有假面。只见那国王神态威严，虽是大寿之时，却无丝毫老态，但有萧索苍白之态。所穿着的自是绫罗绸缎，脖子上、手腕上、周身各处又尽是金银饰物，好不奢华。见师徒四人入殿拜见，国王也不应答，只是侍立在一旁的大使上前—</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The King of Aluojieda sits squarely on the throne, appearing solemn with authority, and does not wear a mask. While it is his birthday, he does not seem elderly at all, only slightly pale and gaunt. What he wears is of course silk and satin, with gold and silver jewelry all around his neck, wrists and torso, the most luxurious. As the master and disciples appear in the court for an audience, the King does not respond. The Ambassador standing next to him in attendance, however, moves forward—</p>
<blockquote>
<p>“圣僧此言差矣！诸位远道而来，又恰逢国王大寿，是一桩大喜事。如不多加款待，岂不显得我国疏于礼数？还请诸位入席，今日定要宾主尽欢！”</p>
<p>便吩咐道：“设宴！”王宫上下霎时间活动起来，有侍从安排桌椅，有侍女呈奉菜肴酒水。王公大臣也纷纷入席，立即就欢笑不断。那富丽堂皇、嵌着四色宝石的大殿间，就摆好了百人千人的筵席，这场面竟比此前所见街上的还要热闹百倍。</p>
<p>师徒四人也被强拉了入席，八戒自然欢欣喜悦，便是三藏也不好推辞，终是一并落座。而这筵席中的也果真是珍馐美味，便是特地盛的素斋也鲜美非常。师徒四人虽是未尝酒水，不消半刻，也似要醉了一般。</p>
</blockquote>
<p>“Honored elder, I cannot agree with you! You have come a long way, and it happens to be the King’s birthday celebration. What an occasion! If we do not treat you with hospitality, would it not appear that our kingdom is disrespectful and negligent? Please join the banquet, we must celebrate and enjoy ourselves today!”</p>
<p>The Ambassador then orders: “Prepare the feast!” All over the palace, movements start all at once: Servants are preparing tables and chairs, maids are delivering dishes and drinks. The lords and the officials all take seats, with cheers and laughter erupting immediately. The majestic palace, decorated with gems of four colors, is now ready for a feast for hundreds and thousands, a hundred times livelier than the sights on the streets.</p>
<p>The four of them are dragged in. Bajie is of course the happiest, but even Sanzang has trouble refusing the invitation, and eventually they all sit down. The food provided is indeed the most precious, even the vegetarian food prepared specially for them is delicious indeed. While they have not consumed any wine, they feel drunk from the atmosphere only in moments.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>那歌舞欢闹声越甚，行者也是摇头晃脑起来，面具更是歪到一侧。瓜果入腹，又着侍女去端，等待间，便往人群中张望。这一看不要紧，却是把行者惊出一声冷汗。筵席之中，哪有什么王公大臣、侍从宾客？那落座的，分明是披鳞带爪的妖魔，不见半个人影。哪有什么欢声笑语、歌舞不断？却是乌烟瘴气的一片。大圣顿觉不妙，再瞧时，三藏、八戒、沙僧果然不见踪影。行者立时起身，把那大桌也打翻—</p>
</blockquote>
<p>As the song and dance grow louder, Wukong also starts to swing with the rhythm, his mask tilting to the side. Having consumed many fruits, he asks the maids to get more. As he waits, he starts to watch the crowds. But with just a look, he gets a good scare indeed. What lords and officials, servants and guests, partying in the banquet? The ones that sit among the tables are no other than demons with claws and scales, not one person in sight. What cheers and laughter, song and dance? Only a terrible miasma covering all of it. Wukong is suddenly alarmed, and as he looks closely, he finds that Sanzang, Bajie, and Wujing are nowhere to be seen. Wukong immediately stands up, overturning the large table—</p>
<blockquote>
<p>孙行者一个气急，扯了面具，抽出金箍棒来。那棒子一挥，宾客顿时四散，片刻就不知钻到何处去了。那四色的宫殿也一下子破败荒芜，似是许久不曾得用，都是脏污泥泞。</p>
<p>行者四处张望，寻三藏等人不着，又见大殿空掉，失了目标，正抓耳挠腮之际，抬头看到那阿罗诘达国王还坐在王座上不动，便三两步迈到那王座前，就要扯住国王问话。</p>
<p>只见大圣就着国王的领子一提，那国王就瘫软下去，大圣再提，却是一动不动，好似牢牢钉在王座上一般。行者一看，那国王身上的，哪是什么金银饰物？分明是厚厚的链子，层层叠叠拴在王座上。中间也不是什么绫罗绸缎，不过几块破布裹在一起，连人都不见。</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Frustrated, Wukong tears the mask off, and takes out the Jingu Bang. As he swings his staff, the guests immediately scatter, and are gone within a moment. The palace with four colors suddenly becomes dilapidated and desolate, as if not used in a long time, covered in filth and mud.</p>
<p>Unable to find Sanzang and the others, and seeing that the palace is now empty, Wukong looks around with a sudden loss for what to do. As he is scratching his head in frustration, he looks up and sees the King of Aluojieda still sits on the throne, unmoving. Wukong steps towards the throne quickly, and plans to get some answers out of the King.</p>
<p>Wukong grabs the King by the collar, and the King goes limp. Wukong tries to lift him up, but the King is unmoving, as if nailed to the throne. Wukong looks more closely. What gold and silver jewelry on the King’s person? They are heavy chains, layers upon layers, linked to the throne. And the clothing between the chains is no silk and satin, but tattered cloths wrapped together, with no person inside.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>大圣行至殿外，只见整座城都空无一人，也无灯火、筵席，此前的喧嚣热闹再也不见了。又驾云上去一看，只有乌鸦盘旋，好似一座死城。</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Wukong walks out of the palace, and sees the whole city devoid of person, with no lights and no feasts. The previous bustling is also gone. As he rides on the clouds to check from the above, he sees only crows circling, as if the whole city was dead.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>大圣求告道：“却是又遭逢一难！我师徒四人到了一地，名唤阿罗诘达，便入了城池、殿宇，见了国王、公卿。只是城中妖物作祟，筵席之中师傅、师弟就丢了，却是遍寻不着。还请菩萨相救！”</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Wukong pleads: “We happened upon another tribulation! The four of us arrived at a place called Aluojieda, went to the city and the palace, and met the King and the officials. Only there are demons haunting the city. As we were feasting, I lost sight of my master and fellow disciples, looked everywhere for them, but could not find them. Asking bodhisattva for help!”</p>
<blockquote>
<p>菩萨道：“悟空，你再看，哪来的城池？”</p>
<p>行者再去看时，却是一片空空荡荡的荒山野岭，半块砖都见不着，哪来的城池？只有一个大洞，那洞旁还有一颗歪脖子树，树上挂着一根绞索。行李和马匹却是都在洞旁，分毫不差。</p>
<p>行者落下云头，向那洞里望去，只见一片泥淖，那三藏、八戒、沙僧三人都在其中打滚。行者将三人拽出来，三藏、八戒、沙僧也顿时如梦初醒，四周张望，又赶紧向菩萨道谢。</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The bodhisattva asks: “Wukong, look closely, what city?”</p>
<p>As Wukong looks again, he sees only the barren mountains, empty, with not even a brick in sight. What city? Only a huge hole, with a crooked tree to the side and a noose hanging off its branch. The luggage and the horse are exactly as they were, next to the hole.</p>
<p>Wukong descends from the clouds, and looks into the hole. He sees a pool of mud, with Sanzang, Bajie, and Wujing all rolling inside. Wukong drags them out, and the three suddenly become sober, as if waking from a dream. They look around, and quickly give their thanks to the bodhisattva.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>行者还是置气，又挥起棒子，把那歪脖子树一打，半截树就折了，连着那绞索一道，落入洞中。行者这才心下安稳，随着三藏等人，启程去了。</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Still angry, Wukong swings his staff, hits the crooked tree, snapping it in half. The broken half falls into the hole along with the noose. Feeling settled, Wukong follows Sanzang and others, setting off to their journey once more.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/journey-to-alagadda">Journey to Alagadda</a>" by SunnyClockwork, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/journey-to-alagadda">https://scpwiki.com/journey-to-alagadda</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
> The following is a collection of disconnected text suspected to be from a lost chapter of an unknown version of //Journey to the West// story. The text depicts events likely connected to [[[SCP-701]]] and [[[SCP-2264]]], which are not seen in other versions. No anomalous qualities are found, thus translated and archived below.
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
> 师徒四人在荒山野岭行了许久，疲惫之际，忽见一城池拔地而起，隐有锣鼓喧闹之声。那城墙耸立，又用了赤、金、白黑四色彩砖，好不气派。城外无甚么人，只有一军头，似是--
The four, master and disciple, having trekked through the barren mountains for long, are growing tired. Suddenly, they spot a city rising high, and hear sounds of the drumming of instruments and the bustling of streets. A city wall stands there, made of bricks of red, yellow, white, and black, truly a splendid sight. They see no others outside the city, only a head solider, who seems--
> 见四人牵马上前，那守门的军头却是不惊反喜，从怀中掏出四个面具便迎上来，也不问何所从来、去往何处，将面具往三藏手中一塞便道：“诸位来得好！快戴了面具入城去！”
As the four draw near, leading the horse with them, the head solider guarding the gate seems not surprised, but rather pleased. He takes four masks out of his person, walking up to welcome the four. He asks not where they are from or where they are headed, thrusting the masks into Sanzang’s hands, and says: “Fellows, you come at a great time! Quickly, on with the masks and into the city!”
> 军头却不恼怒，道：“长老有所不知，此处乃是阿罗诘达。正是国王大寿，有三日的庆典和筵席。庆贺之时百无禁忌，四洲来客都可上殿朝拜。只是怕来者繁杂，恶了王公大臣，都要选了假面戴上，如今却是已成习俗。诸位快些把面具戴好入城，不要误了时辰！”
The head solider is not annoyed, and explains: “Elder, you may not know, but this is Aluojieda. It is the King’s birthday, and there are celebrations and banquets for three days. There are no rules during the celebration, and guests from all four lands can present themselves to the court. Only that there are people of all kinds, good and bad. So the guests are asked to put on masks, in case they offended lords and officials. It is now a custom. Quickly, put the masks on and into the city. Best not waste time!”
> 八戒也戴了那猪脸面具，只有行者让面具歪在头上，露出半张脸来。四人入城，果见处处张灯结彩，嬉笑之声不断，好不热闹。仔细看去，上至老人、下至顽童，果然人人佩有假面，其或作哭笑状，或习见于戏曲中，又有飞禽走兽的模样，怪诞至极。
>
> 师徒四人走走停停，见那城中各处都有露天的筵席，摆了珍馐美酒，来往行人随意取用。又有侍从、侍女忙碌，叫那筵席取之不竭。众人左右顾盼，皆是颇感新奇。那八戒更是数次要偷离了队伍，钻到人群中，都被行者扯住。只是顺着大道行到王宫时，八戒手中已是拿了三五个盘子，正在狼吞虎咽。
Bajie puts on the pig mask as well, only Wukong lets the mask skew to the side, leaving half of the face in the open. The four of them go into the city, and indeed see lights and decorations everywhere, and hear laughter constantly. Truly a lively place. As they look closer, they see that from the elderly to the children, everyone wears masks, just as told. The masks depict happiness and sadness, portray characters from plays, or shape like birds and animals, truely bizarre.
The four of them meander about, and see that there are feasts hosted everywhere in the city, with delicious dishes and fine wine for the passersby to take freely. Servants and maids bustle around, making sure that the feast can continue indefinitely. The master and disciples look around, marveling at the sight. Bajie even tries to escape into the crowds several times, only to be caught by Wukong. Only that by the time they reach the palace through the main road, Bajie already has several plates in his hands, and is busy devouring the food.
> 那阿罗诘达国王稳坐在王座上，却是没有假面。只见那国王神态威严，虽是大寿之时，却无丝毫老态，但有萧索苍白之态。所穿着的自是绫罗绸缎，脖子上、手腕上、周身各处又尽是金银饰物，好不奢华。见师徒四人入殿拜见，国王也不应答，只是侍立在一旁的大使上前--
The King of Aluojieda sits squarely on the throne, appearing solemn with authority, and does not wear a mask. While it is his birthday, he does not seem elderly at all, only slightly pale and gaunt. What he wears is of course silk and satin, with gold and silver jewelry all around his neck, wrists and torso, the most luxurious. As the master and disciples appear in the court for an audience, the King does not respond. The Ambassador standing next to him in attendance, however, moves forward--
> “圣僧此言差矣！诸位远道而来，又恰逢国王大寿，是一桩大喜事。如不多加款待，岂不显得我国疏于礼数？还请诸位入席，今日定要宾主尽欢！”
>
> 便吩咐道：“设宴！”王宫上下霎时间活动起来，有侍从安排桌椅，有侍女呈奉菜肴酒水。王公大臣也纷纷入席，立即就欢笑不断。那富丽堂皇、嵌着四色宝石的大殿间，就摆好了百人千人的筵席，这场面竟比此前所见街上的还要热闹百倍。
>
> 师徒四人也被强拉了入席，八戒自然欢欣喜悦，便是三藏也不好推辞，终是一并落座。而这筵席中的也果真是珍馐美味，便是特地盛的素斋也鲜美非常。师徒四人虽是未尝酒水，不消半刻，也似要醉了一般。
“Honored elder, I cannot agree with you! You have come a long way, and it happens to be the King’s birthday celebration. What an occasion! If we do not treat you with hospitality, would it not appear that our kingdom is disrespectful and negligent? Please join the banquet, we must celebrate and enjoy ourselves today!”
The Ambassador then orders: “Prepare the feast!” All over the palace, movements start all at once: Servants are preparing tables and chairs, maids are delivering dishes and drinks. The lords and the officials all take seats, with cheers and laughter erupting immediately. The majestic palace, decorated with gems of four colors, is now ready for a feast for hundreds and thousands, a hundred times livelier than the sights on the streets.
The four of them are dragged in. Bajie is of course the happiest, but even Sanzang has trouble refusing the invitation, and eventually they all sit down. The food provided is indeed the most precious, even the vegetarian food prepared specially for them is delicious indeed. While they have not consumed any wine, they feel drunk from the atmosphere only in moments.
> 那歌舞欢闹声越甚，行者也是摇头晃脑起来，面具更是歪到一侧。瓜果入腹，又着侍女去端，等待间，便往人群中张望。这一看不要紧，却是把行者惊出一声冷汗。筵席之中，哪有什么王公大臣、侍从宾客？那落座的，分明是披鳞带爪的妖魔，不见半个人影。哪有什么欢声笑语、歌舞不断？却是乌烟瘴气的一片。大圣顿觉不妙，再瞧时，三藏、八戒、沙僧果然不见踪影。行者立时起身，把那大桌也打翻--
As the song and dance grow louder, Wukong also starts to swing with the rhythm, his mask tilting to the side. Having consumed many fruits, he asks the maids to get more. As he waits, he starts to watch the crowds. But with just a look, he gets a good scare indeed. What lords and officials, servants and guests, partying in the banquet? The ones that sit among the tables are no other than demons with claws and scales, not one person in sight. What cheers and laughter, song and dance? Only a terrible miasma covering all of it. Wukong is suddenly alarmed, and as he looks closely, he finds that Sanzang, Bajie, and Wujing are nowhere to be seen. Wukong immediately stands up, overturning the large table--
> 孙行者一个气急，扯了面具，抽出金箍棒来。那棒子一挥，宾客顿时四散，片刻就不知钻到何处去了。那四色的宫殿也一下子破败荒芜，似是许久不曾得用，都是脏污泥泞。
>
> 行者四处张望，寻三藏等人不着，又见大殿空掉，失了目标，正抓耳挠腮之际，抬头看到那阿罗诘达国王还坐在王座上不动，便三两步迈到那王座前，就要扯住国王问话。
>
> 只见大圣就着国王的领子一提，那国王就瘫软下去，大圣再提，却是一动不动，好似牢牢钉在王座上一般。行者一看，那国王身上的，哪是什么金银饰物？分明是厚厚的链子，层层叠叠拴在王座上。中间也不是什么绫罗绸缎，不过几块破布裹在一起，连人都不见。
Frustrated, Wukong tears the mask off, and takes out the Jingu Bang. As he swings his staff, the guests immediately scatter, and are gone within a moment. The palace with four colors suddenly becomes dilapidated and desolate, as if not used in a long time, covered in filth and mud.
Unable to find Sanzang and the others, and seeing that the palace is now empty, Wukong looks around with a sudden loss for what to do. As he is scratching his head in frustration, he looks up and sees the King of Aluojieda still sits on the throne, unmoving. Wukong steps towards the throne quickly, and plans to get some answers out of the King.
Wukong grabs the King by the collar, and the King goes limp. Wukong tries to lift him up, but the King is unmoving, as if nailed to the throne. Wukong looks more closely. What gold and silver jewelry on the King’s person? They are heavy chains, layers upon layers, linked to the throne. And the clothing between the chains is no silk and satin, but tattered cloths wrapped together, with no person inside.
> 大圣行至殿外，只见整座城都空无一人，也无灯火、筵席，此前的喧嚣热闹再也不见了。又驾云上去一看，只有乌鸦盘旋，好似一座死城。
Wukong walks out of the palace, and sees the whole city devoid of person, with no lights and no feasts. The previous bustling is also gone. As he rides on the clouds to check from the above, he sees only crows circling, as if the whole city was dead.
> 大圣求告道：“却是又遭逢一难！我师徒四人到了一地，名唤阿罗诘达，便入了城池、殿宇，见了国王、公卿。只是城中妖物作祟，筵席之中师傅、师弟就丢了，却是遍寻不着。还请菩萨相救！”
Wukong pleads: “We happened upon another tribulation! The four of us arrived at a place called Aluojieda, went to the city and the palace, and met the King and the officials. Only there are demons haunting the city. As we were feasting, I lost sight of my master and fellow disciples, looked everywhere for them, but could not find them. Asking bodhisattva for help!”
> 菩萨道：“悟空，你再看，哪来的城池？”
>
> 行者再去看时，却是一片空空荡荡的荒山野岭，半块砖都见不着，哪来的城池？只有一个大洞，那洞旁还有一颗歪脖子树，树上挂着一根绞索。行李和马匹却是都在洞旁，分毫不差。
>
> 行者落下云头，向那洞里望去，只见一片泥淖，那三藏、八戒、沙僧三人都在其中打滚。行者将三人拽出来，三藏、八戒、沙僧也顿时如梦初醒，四周张望，又赶紧向菩萨道谢。
The bodhisattva asks: “Wukong, look closely, what city?”
As Wukong looks again, he sees only the barren mountains, empty, with not even a brick in sight. What city? Only a huge hole, with a crooked tree to the side and a noose hanging off its branch. The luggage and the horse are exactly as they were, next to the hole.
Wukong descends from the clouds, and looks into the hole. He sees a pool of mud, with Sanzang, Bajie, and Wujing all rolling inside. Wukong drags them out, and the three suddenly become sober, as if waking from a dream. They look around, and quickly give their thanks to the bodhisattva.
> 行者还是置气，又挥起棒子，把那歪脖子树一打，半截树就折了，连着那绞索一道，落入洞中。行者这才心下安稳，随着三藏等人，启程去了。
Still angry, Wukong swings his staff, hits the crooked tree, snapping it in half. The broken half falls into the hole along with the noose. Feeling settled, Wukong follows Sanzang and others, setting off to their journey once more.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> |author=SunnyClockwork]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-01-22T14:35:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"alagadda",
"hanged-king",
"mythological",
"tale"
] |
Journey to Alagadda - SCP Foundation
| 56
|
[
"scp-701",
"scp-2264",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1452310308
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/journey-to-alagadda
|
|
jumo-vs-aic
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: right; margin-top: -20px;">
<p><span style="font-size:80%;"><span style="color: #757575">by haplocalyx</span></span></p>
</div>
<div class="info-container">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>Story abot SCP-8999, or the Trolls.</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p>Crying_troll_head.jpg</p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>Source:</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div id="u-author_block">
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/haplocalyx-personnel-page">▸ More by this Author ◂</a></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div id="u-comments2" style="display: none;">
<p>{$comments2}</p>
</div>
<div class="u-faq">
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-ayers">F.A.Q.</a></p>
</div>
<div style="display: none;">
<p>{$doesthisfixthebug}</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/component%3Abhl-dark-sidebar/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.</p>
</div>
<div style="border:solid 1px #999999; background:#f2f2c2; padding:5px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>Notice From Containment Group 8999</strong></span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">This document is a compilation of interaction records with SCP-8999, also known as the "Troll" entities. Additional containment measures have been approved since the incident of personnel loss caused by misjudgement during a previous interaction on October 28, 2023. The purpose of these measures is to minimise any further loss on the Foundation's side while reestablishing liaison with SCP-8999 entities. The relevant records have been summarised on this page for subsequent containment activities.</p>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="QQ%E5%9B%BE%E7%89%87202402182152277.png" class="image" src="https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/QQ%E5%9B%BE%E7%89%87202402182152277.png"/><br/>
<strong><span style="font-size:150%;">YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!</span></strong></div>
<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
.<br/>
<strong>[Retrieving Addendum of SCP-8999]</strong></div>
<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Addendum.8999.3:</strong> Supplementary Communication Logs<br/>
<br/>
During the containment attempt on October 28, 2023, an incorrect assessment of the entities led to the regrettable withdrawal of Dr. Perrelli, the Principal Investigator of the original SCP-8999 Containment Group. To reduce containment pressures and risks and improve communication with SCP-8999 to obtain their demands, the containment group initiated communication with the entities and carried out a series of complementary interactions as planned. These interactions are documented in the following supplemental logs:
<p><br/>
<br/></p>
<div style="display: block ; border : solid 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px">
<p><strong>DATE：</strong>2023/11/1</p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<br/>
<p><strong>The Foundation:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<br/>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<br/>
<p><strong>The Foundation:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<br/>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="q" class="image" src="https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/q"/><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<strong>[15 repeated communications excised]</strong></div>
<br/></div>
<br/>
The recent interaction with SCP-8999 revealed that its current focus remains on food. Due to the potential danger of direct interaction, the original plan has been redetermined to deploy AIC system to interact with SCP-8999 in order to reduce risk and impel containment progress.<br/>
<br/>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ AIC Deployment Record</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Hide</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Kcorena.aic:</strong> Kcorena.aic here.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup> What's that important? I'd go for a hibernation soon.<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Researcher Lee:</strong> New deployment from above, assistance for containing the big guy, SCP-8999. Have you received the document?<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Kcorena.aic:</strong> Bro, really? Are you kidding me right now? How'd I communicate with those trolls? If you are not joking, I am gonna output a fucking :( .<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Researcher Lee:</strong> Don't nag. Can you do this?<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Kcorena.aic:</strong> My fault, that was just a joke. Please don't disconnect my internet connection then everything is OK.<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Researcher Lee:</strong> Well, I know you AICs are capable of drawing and you have read the file. Just communicate in the way we did before. They can't eat you anyway, then it's a deal.<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Kcorena.aic:</strong> When should I start working? I'd write an article anonymously in my spare time against releasing —<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Researcher Lee:</strong> Now. JUST RIGHT NOW.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<br/>
Subsequently, with the Experimentation Committee's approval at the host site, the Highly Artificial Intelligence Conscript, Kcorena.aic, was deployed to the SCP-8999 host site to carry out the communication with entities, which are documented below:<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<div style="display: block ; border : solid 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px">
<p><strong>Kcorena.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<br/>
<br/>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<br/>
<br/>
<p><strong>Kcorena.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Kcorena.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Kcorena.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Kcorena.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="ccccc" class="image" src="https://scpsandboxcn.wikidot.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ccccc"/><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<strong>[5 repeated communications excised]</strong></div>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Kcorena.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="ccccc" class="image" src="https://scpsandboxcn.wikidot.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ccccc"/><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<strong>[10 repeated communications excised]</strong></div>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Kcorena.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="c" class="image" src="https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/c"/><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<strong>[Communication terminated]</strong></div>
<br/>
<br/></div>
<br/>
<p>Due to a misinterpretation bias in the communication between the AIC and SCP-8999 entities, a regional earthquake occurred in [REDACTED] due to the entities' mood swings. Fortunately, the containment team managed to deliver food to the target in time and prevent further deterioration of the situation. However, Kcorena.aic also refused to continue communication with SCP-8999 afterwards. After evaluation, the containment team decided to discontinue the programme in favour of other interaction methods.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Addendum.8999.4:</strong> Communication Logs #02<br/></p>
<p>Following the ineffective communication between Kcorena.aic and SCP-8999, the containment team proposed an alternative programme. This programme aims to establish communication with SCP-8999 using Skippy.aic, which is equipped with the latest version of the interaction system to effectively understand and respond effectively to graphic messages. The current objective of this deployment is to gain information about SCP-8999's preferences to develop further suppression measures.</p>
<div style="display: block ; border : solid 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px">
<p><strong>Skippy.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Skippy.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Skippy.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Skippy.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Skippy.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Skippy.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Skippy.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<br/>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>[The communication pattern was repeated for over 10 times. Meanwhile Skippy.aic intended to teach the trolls some basic words]</strong></p>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<br/>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Monitoring Record</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Hide</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<blockquote>
<p>[10 meaningless dialogues omitted]<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Researcher Lee:</strong> Our Skippy is giving … a lesson?<br/>
<br/>
[26 meaningless dialogues omitted]<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Researcher Lee:</strong> It really wants to teach them something, courageous. However, what can a skippy really teach? Do you know what could it do?<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Kcorena.aic:</strong> Maybe it can shut up?<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Researcher Lee:</strong> Shut up, kangaroo.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup><br/>
<br/>
[144 meaningless dialogues omitted]<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Researcher Lee:</strong> My goodness, it's terribly skilled in writing SCP files.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<br/>
After a prolonged period of communication, Skippy.aic reported to the containment group that some SCP-8999 entities had demonstrated an understanding of basic vocabulary. It was suggested by Skippy.aic that the document of SCP-8999 be delivered to them in order to verify their needs regarding containment procedures, particularly in relation to food. The suggestion was approved after by the containment group after obtaining permission.<br/>
<br/>
The containment group then delivered the document to SCP-8999 with the assistance of Skippy.aic to learn about its true dietary preferences. To alleviate stress and impulsiveness resulting from prolonged communication, a D-class personnel was assigned to make close contact with the entities. The entities are currently in good condition.<br/>
<br/>
Shortly after the delivery, SCP-8999 initiated a new communication.<br/>
<br/>
<div style="display: block ; border : solid 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px">
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Skippy.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>Skippy.aic:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
</div>
<br/>
<br/>
Following that, Skippy.aic went on strike and shut down<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup>, while SCP-8999 once again experienced emotional deterioration and triggered a larger earthquake. The containment group quickly dispatched a group of D-class personnel to the habitat of SCP-8999 to calm the entities, as it was estimated that SCP-8999 was willing to cause a containment breach. However, SCP-8999 remained active and continued to trigger earthquakes.<br/>
<br/>
The containment group promptly implemented an emergency measure to address the loss of control over SCP-8999, as shown in the accompanying VCR footage.<br/>
<br/>
<strong>Addendum.8999.5:</strong> VCR footage<br/>
<div style="display: block ; border : solid 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px">
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><br/>
<strong>[earthquake magnitude continued to rise]</strong><br/></p>
</div>
<p><strong>Global Occult Coalition(GOC):</strong><sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-4" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-4')">4</a></sup><br/>
<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>[Intelligence interaction logs omitted]</strong></p>
</div>
<p><strong>GOC:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>[Unnecessary communication logs omitted]</strong></p>
</div>
<p><strong>SCP Foundation:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP Foundation(Intercom):</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP Foundation(Intercom):</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<br/>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>[The earthquake lasted for approximately 30 seconds before abruptly stopping. No signs of reactivation were observed thereafter]</strong></p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>[End of VCR footage]</strong></p>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
After the implementation of emergency measures, SCP-8999 remained inactive for an extended period. The containment group was unable to reestablish communication with SCP-8999 until one month later when they received the following message:<br/>
<br/>
<div style="display: block ; border : solid 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px">
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
<p><strong>SCP-8999:</strong><br/>
<br/></p>
</div>
<br/>
<br/>
Since then, SCP-8999 has not exhibited any of its previous uncontrollable behaviours. Interaction methods with the entities are being further designed. Additionally, the special containment procedures are being revised due to that event.
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. KC is for Knowlegeable Container.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. <strong>Translator's Note:</strong> Kcorena.aic is an AI Conscript that works in Oceania.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. <strong>Translator's Note:</strong> In some stories on CN branch, Skippy is aggressive against Anomaly Classification System.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-4"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-4')">4</a>. Communication with the Foundation was established via the emergency message from the local GOC outpost in Sweden.</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/jumo-vs-aic">Excerpts from a transcript of interactions with "Troll" entities in the Åby Parish, Sweden</a>" by haplocalyx and Agent Phage, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/jumo-vs-aic">https://scpwiki.com/jumo-vs-aic</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Some Troll Images<br/>
<strong>Authors:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/j-dune" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6682213); return false;"><img alt="J Dune" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6682213&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1727614631" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6682213)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/j-dune" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6682213); return false;">J Dune</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8999">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8999</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> The Other Troll Images<br/>
<strong>Authors:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/haplocalyx" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6224360); return false;"><img alt="haplocalyx " class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6224360&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1727614631" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6224360)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/haplocalyx" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6224360); return false;">haplocalyx</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scpsandboxcn.wikidot.com/jumo-and-kcaic">https://scpsandboxcn.wikidot.com/jumo-and-kcaic</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[module CSS]]
.footnoteref{ font-variant: unset; }
[[/module]]
[[div style="text-align: right; margin-top: -20px;"]]
[[size 80%]]##757575|by haplocalyx##[[/size]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-ayers">:scp-wiki:component:info-ayers</a>
|page=SCP-8999
|authorPage=http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/haplocalyx-personnel-page
|comments=
= **Story abot SCP-8999, or the Trolls.**
-----
Crying_troll_head.jpg
-----
= **Source:**
]]
[[=]]
[[image http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-5935/warning.png]]
[[/=]]
[[module CSS]]
sup {
vertical-align: top;
position: relative;
top: -0.5em;
}
:root {
--cutColour: #fafafa;
--barColour: #590505;
}
.translation_block {
display: none;
}
.info-container .collapsible-block-folded a {
color: #FFF;
}
.info-container .collapsible-block-unfolded-link a {
color: #FFF;
}
.info-container .collapsible-block-link,
.info-container:hover .collapsible-block-link {
line-height: 1.6em;
}
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:bhl-dark-sidebar">:scp-wiki:component:bhl-dark-sidebar</a>]]
[[=]]
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
[[/=]]
[[div style="border:solid 1px #999999; background:#f2f2c2; padding:5px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
[[size larger]] **Notice From Containment Group 8999** [[/size]]
= This document is a compilation of interaction records with SCP-8999, also known as the "Troll" entities. Additional containment measures have been approved since the incident of personnel loss caused by misjudgement during a previous interaction on October 28, 2023. The purpose of these measures is to minimise any further loss on the Foundation's side while reestablishing liaison with SCP-8999 entities. The relevant records have been summarised on this page for subsequent containment activities.
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/QQ%E5%9B%BE%E7%89%87202402182152277.png]]
**[[size 150%]]YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!![[/size]]**
[[/=]]
.
.
.
.
.
.
**[Retrieving Addendum of SCP-8999]**
[[/=]]
@@@@
**Addendum.8999.3:** Supplementary Communication Logs
@@@@
During the containment attempt on October 28, 2023, an incorrect assessment of the entities led to the regrettable withdrawal of Dr. Perrelli, the Principal Investigator of the original SCP-8999 Containment Group. To reduce containment pressures and risks and improve communication with SCP-8999 to obtain their demands, the containment group initiated communication with the entities and carried out a series of complementary interactions as planned. These interactions are documented in the following supplemental logs:
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div style="display: block ; border : solid 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px"]]
**DATE：**2023/11/1
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/QQ%E5%9B%BE%E7%89%87202402182152342.png]]
[[/=]]
@@@@
**The Foundation:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/QQ%E5%9B%BE%E7%89%8720240218233219.png]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/qqqqqq]]
[[/=]]
@@@@
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/qqqqq]]
[[/=]]
@@@@
**The Foundation:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/qq]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/qqqqq]]
[[/=]]
@@@@
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/q]]
@@@@
@@@@
**[15 repeated communications excised]**
[[/=]]
@@@@
[[/div]]
The recent interaction with SCP-8999 revealed that its current focus remains on food. Due to the potential danger of direct interaction, the original plan has been redetermined to deploy AIC system to interact with SCP-8999 in order to reduce risk and impel containment progress.
@@@@
@@@@
[[collapsible show="+ AIC Deployment Record" hide="- Hide"]]
> **Kcorena.aic:** Kcorena.aic here.[[footnote]] KC is for Knowlegeable Container. [[/footnote]] What's that important? I'd go for a hibernation soon.
> @@@@
> **Researcher Lee:** New deployment from above, assistance for containing the big guy, SCP-8999. Have you received the document?
> @@@@
> **Kcorena.aic:** Bro, really? Are you kidding me right now? How'd I communicate with those trolls? If you are not joking, I am gonna output a fucking :( .
> @@@@
> **Researcher Lee:** Don't nag. Can you do this?
> @@@@
> **Kcorena.aic:** My fault, that was just a joke. Please don't disconnect my internet connection then everything is OK.
> @@@@
> **Researcher Lee:** Well, I know you AICs are capable of drawing and you have read the file. Just communicate in the way we did before. They can't eat you anyway, then it's a deal.
> @@@@
> **Kcorena.aic:** When should I start working? I'd write an article anonymously in my spare time against releasing --
> @@@@
> **Researcher Lee:** Now. JUST RIGHT NOW.
[[/collapsible]]
@@@@
Subsequently, with the Experimentation Committee's approval at the host site, the Highly Artificial Intelligence Conscript, Kcorena.aic, was deployed to the SCP-8999 host site to carry out the communication with entities, which are documented below:
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div style="display: block ; border : solid 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px"]]
**Kcorena.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/aaaaaa]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/aaaa]]
[[/=]]
@@@@
@@@@
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/QQ%E5%9B%BE%E7%89%872024021821523422.png]]
[[/=]]
@@@@
@@@@
**Kcorena.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/aaa]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/aa]]
[[/=]]
**Kcorena.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/bbbbbb]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/bbbb]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/q]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/bbb]]
[[/=]]
**Kcorena.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wikidot.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/bb]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/cccccc]]
[[/=]]
**Kcorena.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wikidot.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ccccc]]
@@@@
@@@@
**[5 repeated communications excised]**
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/cccc]]
[[/=]]
**Kcorena.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wikidot.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ccccc]]
@@@@
@@@@
**[10 repeated communications excised]**
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/cc]]
[[/=]]
**Kcorena.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/c]]
@@@@
@@@@
**[Communication terminated]**
[[/=]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[/div]]
[[div class="hor"]]
[[/div]]
@@@@
Due to a misinterpretation bias in the communication between the AIC and SCP-8999 entities, a regional earthquake occurred in [REDACTED] due to the entities' mood swings. Fortunately, the containment team managed to deliver food to the target in time and prevent further deterioration of the situation. However, Kcorena.aic also refused to continue communication with SCP-8999 afterwards. After evaluation, the containment team decided to discontinue the programme in favour of other interaction methods.
@@@@
@@@@
**Addendum.8999.4:** Communication Logs #02
@@@@
Following the ineffective communication between Kcorena.aic and SCP-8999, the containment team proposed an alternative programme. This programme aims to establish communication with SCP-8999 using Skippy.aic, which is equipped with the latest version of the interaction system to effectively understand and respond effectively to graphic messages. The current objective of this deployment is to gain information about SCP-8999's preferences to develop further suppression measures.
[[div style="display: block ; border : solid 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px"]]
**Skippy.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/eeeeeeeee]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/cc]]
[[/=]]
**Skippy.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/eeeeeeeee]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/cc]]
[[/=]]
**Skippy.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/eeeeee]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/eeeee]]
[[/=]]
**Skippy.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ee]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/fffffffffffffffff]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/fffffffffff]]
[[/=]]
**Skippy.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ffffffff]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/eeeee]]
[[/=]]
**Skippy.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/eee]]
[[/=]]
**Skippy.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/fffff]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/aaaa]]
[[/=]]
@@@@
[[=]]
**[The communication pattern was repeated for over 10 times. Meanwhile Skippy.aic intended to teach the trolls some basic words]**
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[collapsible show="+ Monitoring Record" hide="- Hide"]]
>
> [10 meaningless dialogues omitted]
> @@@@
> **Researcher Lee:** Our Skippy is giving ... a lesson?
> @@@@
> [26 meaningless dialogues omitted]
> @@@@
> **Researcher Lee:** It really wants to teach them something, courageous. However, what can a skippy really teach? Do you know what could it do?
> @@@@
> **Kcorena.aic:** Maybe it can shut up?
> @@@@
> **Researcher Lee:** Shut up, kangaroo.[[footnote]]**Translator's Note:** Kcorena.aic is an AI Conscript that works in Oceania.[[/footnote]]
> @@@@
> [144 meaningless dialogues omitted]
> @@@@
> **Researcher Lee:** My goodness, it's terribly skilled in writing SCP files.
[[/collapsible]]
@@@@
After a prolonged period of communication, Skippy.aic reported to the containment group that some SCP-8999 entities had demonstrated an understanding of basic vocabulary. It was suggested by Skippy.aic that the document of SCP-8999 be delivered to them in order to verify their needs regarding containment procedures, particularly in relation to food. The suggestion was approved after by the containment group after obtaining permission.
@@@@
The containment group then delivered the document to SCP-8999 with the assistance of Skippy.aic to learn about its true dietary preferences. To alleviate stress and impulsiveness resulting from prolonged communication, a D-class personnel was assigned to make close contact with the entities. The entities are currently in good condition.
@@@@
Shortly after the delivery, SCP-8999 initiated a new communication.
@@@@
@@@@
[[div style="display: block ; border : solid 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px"]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ffff]]
[[/=]]
**Skippy.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/fff]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/f]]
[[/=]]
**Skippy.aic:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ff]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
@@@@
Following that, Skippy.aic went on strike and shut down[[footnote]]**Translator's Note:** In some stories on CN branch, Skippy is aggressive against Anomaly Classification System. [[/footnote]], while SCP-8999 once again experienced emotional deterioration and triggered a larger earthquake. The containment group quickly dispatched a group of D-class personnel to the habitat of SCP-8999 to calm the entities, as it was estimated that SCP-8999 was willing to cause a containment breach. However, SCP-8999 remained active and continued to trigger earthquakes.
@@@@
The containment group promptly implemented an emergency measure to address the loss of control over SCP-8999, as shown in the accompanying VCR footage.
@@@@
**Addendum.8999.5:** VCR footage
@@@@
[[div style="display: block ; border : solid 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px"]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/cc]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ggggggggggg]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ggggggg]]
[[/=]]
[[=]]
@@@@
**[earthquake magnitude continued to rise]**
@@@@
[[/=]]
**Global Occult Coalition(GOC):**[[footnote]]Communication with the Foundation was established via the emergency message from the local GOC outpost in Sweden.[[/footnote]]
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/local--files/aegnustp/Ro0tx10.jpg]]
[[/=]]
[[=]]
**[Intelligence interaction logs omitted]**
[[/=]]
**GOC:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/gggggg]]
[[/=]]
[[=]]
**[Unnecessary communication logs omitted]**
[[/=]]
**SCP Foundation:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ggggg]]
[[/=]]
**SCP Foundation(Intercom):**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ggg]]
[[/=]]
**SCP Foundation(Intercom):**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/gg]]
[[/=]]
@@@@
[[=]]
**[The earthquake lasted for approximately 30 seconds before abruptly stopping. No signs of reactivation were observed thereafter]**
[[/=]]
@@ @@
[[=]]
**[End of VCR footage]**
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
After the implementation of emergency measures, SCP-8999 remained inactive for an extended period. The containment group was unable to reestablish communication with SCP-8999 until one month later when they received the following message:
@@@@
@@@@
[[div style="display: block ; border : solid 1px #444444 ; background :#F5F5F5 ; margin-left : auto ; margin-right : auto ; width : auto ; padding:10px"]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/hhhhhhh]]
[[/=]]
**SCP-8999:**
@@@@
[[=]]
[[image https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/IMG_3100.jpeg]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
@@@@
Since then, SCP-8999 has not exhibited any of its previous uncontrollable behaviours. Interaction methods with the entities are being further designed. Additionally, the special containment procedures are being revised due to that event.
[[footnoteblock]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=haplocalyx and Agent Phage]]
=====
> **Name:** Some Troll Images
> **Authors:** [[*user J Dune]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8999
> **Name:** The Other Troll Images
> **Authors:** [[*user haplocalyx]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://scpsandboxcn.wikidot.com/jumo-and-kcaic
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-03-26T15:14:00
|
[
"_cn",
"co-authored",
"international",
"tale",
"ten-dots"
] |
Excerpts from a transcript of interactions with "Troll" entities in the Åby Parish, Sweden - SCP Foundation
| 0
|
[
"component:info-ayers",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"scp-8999"
] |
[
"lowest-rated-articles",
"scp-international"
] |
[
"https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/QQ%E5%9B%BE%E7%89%87202402182152277.png",
"https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/q",
"https://scpsandboxcn.wikidot.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ccccc",
"https://scpsandboxcn.wikidot.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/ccccc",
"https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/jumo-and-kcaic/c"
] |
1453140537
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/jumo-vs-aic
|
|
just-another-day
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<hr/>
<img alt="office.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/who-wants-to-live-forever/office.jpg"/>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Regina." Researcher Dominguez sat down in front of the desk belonging to the head of the Site-55 Ethics Committee. He scooted his chair closer. "I'm really glad you were able to squeeze me in today."</p>
<p>"It sounded really urgent. I heard you speaking to my secretary and just couldn't turn you away," Regina Woolf replied calmly. "What's going on, Jose? Everything alright?"</p>
<p>"I'm fine its just—"</p>
<p>"Something happen to Maggie? Or God forbid, the kids?" Woolf placed a hand on her chest, leaning over her desk and using her other hand to grab Dominguez's own.</p>
<p>"No, thank goodness. But it's something I'm glad you're sitting for." He chuckled nervously as Woolf retracted her hand.</p>
<p>"Well, then by all means. I'm all ears, Jose."</p>
<p>"Its just… I— well, I…. its a lot for me to process. But you see, I recently found out about this group of personnel who are doing unspeakable things to my fellow employees. I don't know a lot about them, but from what I have pieced together they appear to be some rogue human resources people who have somehow taken it upon themselves to prevent people from leaving. The things they do… they make me fear for my well-being." Dominguez jittered back and forth as he spoke.</p>
<p>"Oh no. I can see why that would upset you, Jose. Can you tell me a little more about what happened so I can better help you and look into it?" Her voice was calm and gentle, like a mother reassuring her child that there was no monster under the bed.</p>
<p>"Well, you see, this all started when one of my coworkers said he wanted to retire and spend more time with his grandchildren. The next day, someone from Human Resources shows up at the office and asks to speak with him. She took him to the lab room next to my personal office, which I was in at the time. I overheard her telling him that the Foundation does not offer retirement plans and that quitting is ill-advised, especially considering his chronic health conditions. I didn't even know about that and I've been working with him for ten years. How did this HR person know?" Dominguez chewed at his right index fingernail, biting all the way down to the nail plate.</p>
<p>"The Foundation keeps medical records of all its employees. This is standard for an organization such as this."</p>
<p>"Right, but what bugs me is that they knew he was intending to quit before he even put in his four weeks notice."</p>
<p>"Well, Jose, rumors can spread quickly among chatting personnel. Though it may seem suspicious, I prefer to view it as a concerned coworker looking out for their peers. Nothing weird about that, is there?" Woolf folded her hands and offered a genuine smile.</p>
<p>"I suppose… but… I don't know. Something about what happened after doesn't seem right to me."</p>
<p>"What happened after?"</p>
<p>"He put in his four weeks notice. Everything seemed to be normal after that. We started planning a farewell party for him, but suddenly, he finds out both of his grandchildren have cancer. Both of them. And then he conveniently gets an email telling him that the Foundation would be happy to extend its medical coverage to them under his insurance, and all he has to do is stay."</p>
<p>"Did he accept?"</p>
<p>"Of course he did. God, what kind of crazy person wouldn't? The Foundation's medical care system is the best in the world. I don't know for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if we had the cure for cancer locked away in a cell somewhere."</p>
<p>She clicked her tongue. "It's good he accepted then."</p>
<p>"Right, but… there's something bothering me."</p>
<p>"What is it?"</p>
<p>"My department, the Department of Intake, deals with bringing in anomalies and conducting initial research into them to classify them and ship them off to the appropriate teams. Basically we act as—"</p>
<p>"I am familiar with your department, Jose." Woolf cut him off gently.</p>
<p>"Well, a few months back we were sent a teddy bear that when hugged, released radiation. We called it the 'Cancer Bear'. Very creative, I know. But anyway, we classified and sent it off. I didn't think twice about it, at least not until I found out that both of his grandchildren had been diagnosed with cancer at the same time. It seemed weird to me. So I decided to check in on the SCP file we created for the Cancer Bear," he paused. Dominguez summoned all the courage he could for his next breath. "And much to my surprise, the file is locked under 'Fire Suppression Department Clearance'."</p>
<p>"I see," Woolf stood up, walking to the door of her office which she then shut before sitting back down as Dominguez continued to talk.</p>
<p>"So now here I am, paranoid that there is a bunch of rogue HR personnel violating ethics and giving people's grandchildren cancer as a ploy to get them to stay. It makes me wonder, will this happen to me when I inevitably want to move on with my life?" Dominguez bit at the same nail he had been chewing at earlier. Finding nothing to bite, he instead bit down on the sensitive skin, drawing some blood. He flinched at the taste of iron, but did not otherwise react.</p>
<p>Woolf sighed, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She turned to type something at her computer, then returned her attention to Dominguez.</p>
<p>"I can understand why you'd be confused and even frightened about what you have discovered, but I can assure you there is nothing to be concerned about. The actions you have described have been carried out by highly trained professionals."</p>
<p>"Highly trained professionals? What? Aren't you concerned you have a bunch of rogue employees doing this kind of thing?" His eyes widened like plates.</p>
<p>"These are not 'rogue employees' as you put it, Jose, these are members of the Fire Suppression Department."</p>
<p>"You mean to say it's real? And there are real people doing these kinds of things?"</p>
<p>"Yes. We are aware of their existence. We have analyzed their actions and found them to be in line with the Foundation code of ethics." A notification dinged on Woolf's computer. She briefly turned away from Dominguez to read it, then looked back to him.</p>
<p>"Do you not look into their cases? How is any of this ethical?!"</p>
<p>"We don't need to look in on every one of their cases. We've looked in on thousands, and they're always ethically sound."</p>
<p>"This is clearly non-ethical! That's insane!" Dominguez stood up, pounding his fist on the desk.</p>
<p>"But it isn't. We've made sure of it. Are you familiar with the trolley problem?"</p>
<p>"I… yes, but what does that have to do with anything?" He replied, sitting down again and gripping the chair's armrests tightly.</p>
<p>"Allow me to posit you this question then; is it ethical to sacrifice one person for the sake of thousands? If yes, then why must the problem be reduced to death? Is it ethical to make one person work their entire life, happy, healthy, and well taken care of, and the result is thousands of people are saved?"</p>
<p>He didn't know how to respond, so he didn't. He merely stared as Woolf continued.</p>
<p>"Would it not be unethical to stand by and do nothing while someone, say, a nuclear physicist, makes a grossly selfish decision to pursue their dream of traveling the country in an RV rather than finish their life's work? Yes, it's their decision, and their dream, but now their work goes unfinished. Now their cog in this machine goes absent. Then, because we did nothing to retain them, millions suffer." Woolf folded her hands on top of her desk, glancing over at the clock on the wall.</p>
<p>"But you can find a replacement. You can train someone new to do their old job and have them continue. There's no need for all this skullduggery!" He was on the verge of tears, both of anger and misery.</p>
<p>"Training people takes time and resources. Time and resources the Foundation simply cann—"</p>
<p>"Bullshit. The Foundation has plenty of money to go around. I know this place is a money pit funded by all the world's governments and God knows what else." Dominguez's words dripped with venom as his bloodshot eyes stared at the woman in front of him.</p>
<p>"If you would have allowed me to finish, Jose, I am sure your concerns would be assuaged. As I was saying, the Foundation simply cannot afford to squander its talent. The world does not wait for us. We cannot bend it to our will as you believe. But a human being, on the other hand, is much more flexible. A human being is willing to twist. To bend. To endure. That is why the Foundation chooses to instead retain its personnel no matter the circumstances." Woolf spoke in the same calm tone of voice as she typed away at her computer, which further irritated Dominguez.</p>
<p>"So that's it, huh? We're just cogs in the Foundation's machine?" Dominguez stood once more, ready to storm out of the room.</p>
<p>"That's all you and I ever were." Woolf removed her glasses and held them up to the light, noticing they were smudged. She reached to the right of her desk for a microfiber cloth.</p>
<p>Dominguez scoffed.</p>
<p>Just as he was going to say something, two men burst into the room holding a can of aerosol amnestics attached to a face mask. One held the container up to his face as the other restrained him. Within moments, Dominguez was out cold.</p>
<p>Without a word, the men picked him up and carried him out of Woolf's office, who merely sighed and wiped the lenses of her glasses with the cloth.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="collection">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<table style="1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<tr>
<th class="namerow" colspan="2"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p>Uncle Nicolini's Works</p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">SCPs</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-1046">SCP-1046</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-5057">SCP-5057</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8911">SCP-8911</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-4026">SCP-4026</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7833">SCP-7833</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7926">SCP-7926</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6911">SCP-6911</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-es-113">SCP-ES-113</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-2910-jp">SCP-2910-JP</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7260">SCP-7260</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-pl-274">SCP-PL-274</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-1841">SCP-1841</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-371-j">SCP-371-J</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-4056">SCP-4056</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-654">SCP-654</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Tales/GoI Formats</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/phoenix-a-la-mode">'Phoenix à La Mode' (KEN46/FRI98/PNX72)</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/veilfall">What Came After</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/wilsons-orientation">Wilson's Wildlife Solutions Orientation</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/hatuey">Hatuey, the First American Rebel</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/grant-request-post-mortem-neural-preservation">GRANT REQUEST FOR THE RE-CREATION OF AN ADVANCED POSTMORTEM NEURAL PRESERVATION SYSTEM</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/lillian-lillihammer-and-the-great-meme-war">Lillian Lillihammer And The Great Meme War</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/cold-turkey">Cold Turkey - A Prelude</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/adoption-poster-darius">Adoption Poster: Darius!</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/hogslice-vs-bones">HOGSLICE vs bones</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/pediatric-para-psychology">Pediatric Para-Psychology</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/gentle-wings-flutter-quietly-in-the-dark">Gentle Wings Flutter Quietly In The Dark</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/chicago-factory">Carroll #280/R-01221</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/tactical-theology-disciplinary-meeting-diana-ribiero">Tactical Theology Disciplinary Meeting for Diana Ribiero</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/sc-paper">S&C Paper</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/being-dzhey-evervud">Being Dzhey Evervud</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Other</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/uncle-nicolini-author-page">uncle nicolini author page</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/sciptember-2022-art">Sciptember 2022 Art Highlights</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/ode-to-the-unknown-author">Ode To The Unknown Author</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/just-another-day">Just Another Day</a>" by Uncle Nicolini, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/just-another-day">https://scpwiki.com/just-another-day</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> office.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> USL office in Summit with room number.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Jonathan Schilling<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:USL_office_in_Summit_with_room_number.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:scp-pride">:scp-wiki:component:scp-pride</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
-----
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/who-wants-to-live-forever/office.jpg]]
-----
@@ @@
"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Regina." Researcher Dominguez sat down in front of the desk belonging to the head of the Site-55 Ethics Committee. He scooted his chair closer. "I'm really glad you were able to squeeze me in today."
"It sounded really urgent. I heard you speaking to my secretary and just couldn't turn you away," Regina Woolf replied calmly. "What's going on, Jose? Everything alright?"
"I'm fine its just--"
"Something happen to Maggie? Or God forbid, the kids?" Woolf placed a hand on her chest, leaning over her desk and using her other hand to grab Dominguez's own.
"No, thank goodness. But it's something I'm glad you're sitting for." He chuckled nervously as Woolf retracted her hand.
"Well, then by all means. I'm all ears, Jose."
"Its just... I-- well, I.... its a lot for me to process. But you see, I recently found out about this group of personnel who are doing unspeakable things to my fellow employees. I don't know a lot about them, but from what I have pieced together they appear to be some rogue human resources people who have somehow taken it upon themselves to prevent people from leaving. The things they do... they make me fear for my well-being." Dominguez jittered back and forth as he spoke.
"Oh no. I can see why that would upset you, Jose. Can you tell me a little more about what happened so I can better help you and look into it?" Her voice was calm and gentle, like a mother reassuring her child that there was no monster under the bed.
"Well, you see, this all started when one of my coworkers said he wanted to retire and spend more time with his grandchildren. The next day, someone from Human Resources shows up at the office and asks to speak with him. She took him to the lab room next to my personal office, which I was in at the time. I overheard her telling him that the Foundation does not offer retirement plans and that quitting is ill-advised, especially considering his chronic health conditions. I didn't even know about that and I've been working with him for ten years. How did this HR person know?" Dominguez chewed at his right index fingernail, biting all the way down to the nail plate.
"The Foundation keeps medical records of all its employees. This is standard for an organization such as this."
"Right, but what bugs me is that they knew he was intending to quit before he even put in his four weeks notice."
"Well, Jose, rumors can spread quickly among chatting personnel. Though it may seem suspicious, I prefer to view it as a concerned coworker looking out for their peers. Nothing weird about that, is there?" Woolf folded her hands and offered a genuine smile.
"I suppose... but... I don't know. Something about what happened after doesn't seem right to me."
"What happened after?"
"He put in his four weeks notice. Everything seemed to be normal after that. We started planning a farewell party for him, but suddenly, he finds out both of his grandchildren have cancer. Both of them. And then he conveniently gets an email telling him that the Foundation would be happy to extend its medical coverage to them under his insurance, and all he has to do is stay."
"Did he accept?"
"Of course he did. God, what kind of crazy person wouldn't? The Foundation's medical care system is the best in the world. I don't know for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if we had the cure for cancer locked away in a cell somewhere."
She clicked her tongue. "It's good he accepted then."
"Right, but... there's something bothering me."
"What is it?"
"My department, the Department of Intake, deals with bringing in anomalies and conducting initial research into them to classify them and ship them off to the appropriate teams. Basically we act as--"
"I am familiar with your department, Jose." Woolf cut him off gently.
"Well, a few months back we were sent a teddy bear that when hugged, released radiation. We called it the 'Cancer Bear'. Very creative, I know. But anyway, we classified and sent it off. I didn't think twice about it, at least not until I found out that both of his grandchildren had been diagnosed with cancer at the same time. It seemed weird to me. So I decided to check in on the SCP file we created for the Cancer Bear," he paused. Dominguez summoned all the courage he could for his next breath. "And much to my surprise, the file is locked under 'Fire Suppression Department Clearance'."
"I see," Woolf stood up, walking to the door of her office which she then shut before sitting back down as Dominguez continued to talk.
"So now here I am, paranoid that there is a bunch of rogue HR personnel violating ethics and giving people's grandchildren cancer as a ploy to get them to stay. It makes me wonder, will this happen to me when I inevitably want to move on with my life?" Dominguez bit at the same nail he had been chewing at earlier. Finding nothing to bite, he instead bit down on the sensitive skin, drawing some blood. He flinched at the taste of iron, but did not otherwise react.
Woolf sighed, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. She turned to type something at her computer, then returned her attention to Dominguez.
"I can understand why you'd be confused and even frightened about what you have discovered, but I can assure you there is nothing to be concerned about. The actions you have described have been carried out by highly trained professionals."
"Highly trained professionals? What? Aren't you concerned you have a bunch of rogue employees doing this kind of thing?" His eyes widened like plates.
"These are not 'rogue employees' as you put it, Jose, these are members of the Fire Suppression Department."
"You mean to say it's real? And there are real people doing these kinds of things?"
"Yes. We are aware of their existence. We have analyzed their actions and found them to be in line with the Foundation code of ethics." A notification dinged on Woolf's computer. She briefly turned away from Dominguez to read it, then looked back to him.
"Do you not look into their cases? How is any of this ethical?!"
"We don't need to look in on every one of their cases. We've looked in on thousands, and they're always ethically sound."
"This is clearly non-ethical! That's insane!" Dominguez stood up, pounding his fist on the desk.
"But it isn't. We've made sure of it. Are you familiar with the trolley problem?"
"I... yes, but what does that have to do with anything?" He replied, sitting down again and gripping the chair's armrests tightly.
"Allow me to posit you this question then; is it ethical to sacrifice one person for the sake of thousands? If yes, then why must the problem be reduced to death? Is it ethical to make one person work their entire life, happy, healthy, and well taken care of, and the result is thousands of people are saved?"
He didn't know how to respond, so he didn't. He merely stared as Woolf continued.
"Would it not be unethical to stand by and do nothing while someone, say, a nuclear physicist, makes a grossly selfish decision to pursue their dream of traveling the country in an RV rather than finish their life's work? Yes, it's their decision, and their dream, but now their work goes unfinished. Now their cog in this machine goes absent. Then, because we did nothing to retain them, millions suffer." Woolf folded her hands on top of her desk, glancing over at the clock on the wall.
"But you can find a replacement. You can train someone new to do their old job and have them continue. There's no need for all this skullduggery!" He was on the verge of tears, both of anger and misery.
"Training people takes time and resources. Time and resources the Foundation simply cann--"
"Bullshit. The Foundation has plenty of money to go around. I know this place is a money pit funded by all the world's governments and God knows what else." Dominguez's words dripped with venom as his bloodshot eyes stared at the woman in front of him.
"If you would have allowed me to finish, Jose, I am sure your concerns would be assuaged. As I was saying, the Foundation simply cannot afford to squander its talent. The world does not wait for us. We cannot bend it to our will as you believe. But a human being, on the other hand, is much more flexible. A human being is willing to twist. To bend. To endure. That is why the Foundation chooses to instead retain its personnel no matter the circumstances." Woolf spoke in the same calm tone of voice as she typed away at her computer, which further irritated Dominguez.
"So that's it, huh? We're just cogs in the Foundation's machine?" Dominguez stood once more, ready to storm out of the room.
"That's all you and I ever were." Woolf removed her glasses and held them up to the light, noticing they were smudged. She reached to the right of her desk for a microfiber cloth.
Dominguez scoffed.
Just as he was going to say something, two men burst into the room holding a can of aerosol amnestics attached to a face mask. One held the container up to his face as the other restrained him. Within moments, Dominguez was out cold.
Without a word, the men picked him up and carried him out of Woolf's office, who merely sighed and wiped the lenses of her glasses with the cloth.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:wikimodule">:scp-wiki:component:wikimodule</a> |normal= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author= Uncle Nicolini]]
> **Filename:** office.jpg
> **Name:** USL office in Summit with room number.jpg
> **Author:** Jonathan Schilling
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:USL_office_in_Summit_with_room_number.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-04T14:46:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"bureaucracy",
"ethics-committee",
"fire-suppression-dept",
"spring-cleaning24",
"tale"
] |
Just Another Day - SCP Foundation
| 43
|
[
"scp-1046",
"scp-5057",
"scp-8911",
"scp-4026",
"scp-7833",
"scp-7926",
"scp-6911",
"scp-es-113",
"scp-2910-jp",
"scp-7260",
"scp-pl-274",
"scp-1841",
"scp-371-j",
"scp-4056",
"scp-654",
"phoenix-a-la-mode",
"veilfall",
"wilsons-orientation",
"hatuey",
"grant-request-post-mortem-neural-preservation",
"lillian-lillihammer-and-the-great-meme-war",
"cold-turkey",
"adoption-poster-darius",
"hogslice-vs-bones",
"pediatric-para-psychology",
"gentle-wings-flutter-quietly-in-the-dark",
"chicago-factory",
"tactical-theology-disciplinary-meeting-diana-ribiero",
"sc-paper",
"being-dzhey-evervud",
"uncle-nicolini-author-page",
"sciptember-2022-art",
"ode-to-the-unknown-author",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"secure-facility-dossier-site-55",
"fire-suppression-department-hub",
"deer-college-spring-cleaning-event"
] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/who-wants-to-live-forever/office.jpg"
] |
1453235854
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/just-another-day
|
|
justifying-means-justifying-means
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>And yet, in my endless hate for hatred itself, I came to love You, O blaspheme of nature.</p>
</div>
<p>It is humanity's capacity to reason that births its desire to hate.</p>
<p>O, hubris incarnate, towering above all. You are eternal, restless and ravished, mutated through the scars left on Your form by those who seek to breathe Your skin. O, shapeless given shape, granted definition in silence. Your might lies in Your mere existence, pulsating softly within the hearts of man, yet towering above in gluttonous conquest. O, listless Samsara, repeating endlessly taller. You are but hatred born of nothing more than envy born of lust, cycling in endless growth for nothing more than growth itself.</p>
<p>When I first gazed upon Your form, I fell to my knees in agony and pain. My eyes flowed mercilessly against my will, shock entering my every cell, every atom, every quectofiber of my frail body. Towards Your outstretched arm, I knelt and prayed, wreaked with endless despair, mourning in loss and torn asunder from my own heart. I ached for Your death, I yearned for Your form to dissipate and become the dust that humanity used to walk upon, to become nil in the mind of man eternally.</p>
<p>And yet, in my endless hate for hatred itself, I came to love You, O blaspheme of nature.</p>
<p>Your putrid, ephemeral flesh mirrored my own petrified husk. In Your shimmering paleness, I saw a reflection of myself. With darkening eyes I laughed, my feeble voice paling in comparison to Your wails of hunger, echoing beyond the wrecked world left behind from Your maddening consumption. The walls of the old world corroded beneath Your gastric acid. As did I.</p>
<p>As did You.</p>
<p>And when They stripped the flesh of Their gods and cannibalized them under blacklight, O Wretched Thing, You took their place. No one was left to keep You checked and, oh, what consequences have been wrought from this simple solecism! Hubris reigned, deigned by a higher force; Your rot consumed Them insidiously, oxidizing Their soul, expanding and growing, arms outstretched to the charred skies, ripped to shreds by Neoconceptual Warfare and Mass Ideological Insubordination. As though grasping for more. As though this destruction is not enough — was never enough — for You, hideous spawn of humanity.</p>
<p>Yet, how I wish to be like You. Oh, how I wish to tear You apart and end Your existence, my nails cracking under the sinews of Your fleshed form. Oh, how I desire to beat my head into Your ever-eating maw, to break Your teeth one by one, severing Your nerves as my skull cracks and shatters against the blows that will ultimately do nothing to end You. Oh, how I crave I could splay my blood like paint against the canvas of Your ever-seeing eye, never gazing before it and always looking to the world beyond for ever more to gorge. Oh, how I lust to be one with You. One and the same, forever, eternally.</p>
<p>In my darkest hours, I stand and watch You on the cliff face, wind chilling my skin. I ponder these thoughts as nothing more than ways to pass my time. I am consumed wholly by Your endless conquest against ideals I could never understand. I am nothing before You. I never was anything from the day of my birth to the day of my death. A conception of Nil, made shape for no purpose.</p>
<p>There is but one thing that brings me solace. When I gaze into Your imperfected form, despairing against the world I exist in, watching Your greed imbibe itself on yet even more, I am comforted. For I realize that on the day that You inevitably consume this world and sit lecherously on the throne of heaven, looking down upon all that You have annexed from the totality of existence,<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
not even <em>that</em> will be enough.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/justifying-means-justifying-means">Justifying Means Justifying Means</a>" by Yossipossi, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/justifying-means-justifying-means">https://scpwiki.com/justifying-means-justifying-means</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=And yet, in my endless hate for hatred itself, I came to love You, O blaspheme of nature.
]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:midnight-rush">:scp-wiki:theme:midnight-rush</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:toggle-sidebar-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar-bhl</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
It is humanity's capacity to reason that births its desire to hate.
O, hubris incarnate, towering above all. You are eternal, restless and ravished, mutated through the scars left on Your form by those who seek to breathe Your skin. O, shapeless given shape, granted definition in silence. Your might lies in Your mere existence, pulsating softly within the hearts of man, yet towering above in gluttonous conquest. O, listless Samsara, repeating endlessly taller. You are but hatred born of nothing more than envy born of lust, cycling in endless growth for nothing more than growth itself.
When I first gazed upon Your form, I fell to my knees in agony and pain. My eyes flowed mercilessly against my will, shock entering my every cell, every atom, every quectofiber of my frail body. Towards Your outstretched arm, I knelt and prayed, wreaked with endless despair, mourning in loss and torn asunder from my own heart. I ached for Your death, I yearned for Your form to dissipate and become the dust that humanity used to walk upon, to become nil in the mind of man eternally.
And yet, in my endless hate for hatred itself, I came to love You, O blaspheme of nature.
Your putrid, ephemeral flesh mirrored my own petrified husk. In Your shimmering paleness, I saw a reflection of myself. With darkening eyes I laughed, my feeble voice paling in comparison to Your wails of hunger, echoing beyond the wrecked world left behind from Your maddening consumption. The walls of the old world corroded beneath Your gastric acid. As did I.
As did You.
And when They stripped the flesh of Their gods and cannibalized them under blacklight, O Wretched Thing, You took their place. No one was left to keep You checked and, oh, what consequences have been wrought from this simple solecism! Hubris reigned, deigned by a higher force; Your rot consumed Them insidiously, oxidizing Their soul, expanding and growing, arms outstretched to the charred skies, ripped to shreds by Neoconceptual Warfare and Mass Ideological Insubordination. As though grasping for more. As though this destruction is not enough — was never enough — for You, hideous spawn of humanity.
Yet, how I wish to be like You. Oh, how I wish to tear You apart and end Your existence, my nails cracking under the sinews of Your fleshed form. Oh, how I desire to beat my head into Your ever-eating maw, to break Your teeth one by one, severing Your nerves as my skull cracks and shatters against the blows that will ultimately do nothing to end You. Oh, how I crave I could splay my blood like paint against the canvas of Your ever-seeing eye, never gazing before it and always looking to the world beyond for ever more to gorge. Oh, how I lust to be one with You. One and the same, forever, eternally.
In my darkest hours, I stand and watch You on the cliff face, wind chilling my skin. I ponder these thoughts as nothing more than ways to pass my time. I am consumed wholly by Your endless conquest against ideals I could never understand. I am nothing before You. I never was anything from the day of my birth to the day of my death. A conception of Nil, made shape for no purpose.
There is but one thing that brings me solace. When I gaze into Your imperfected form, despairing against the world I exist in, watching Your greed imbibe itself on yet even more, I am comforted. For I realize that on the day that You inevitably consume this world and sit lecherously on the throne of heaven, looking down upon all that You have annexed from the totality of existence,
@@ @@
@@ @@
not even //that// will be enough.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-01-09T00:37:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"deepwell-catalog",
"first-person",
"no-dialogue",
"post-apocalyptic",
"religious-fiction",
"surrealism",
"tale"
] |
Justifying Means Justifying Means - SCP Foundation
| 41
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"site-17-hub"
] |
[] |
1452111352
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/justifying-means-justifying-means
|
|
keelee-dies-at-the-end
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>KeeLee finally gets what's coming to her.</p>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Ajust-girly-things/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p><strong>KeeLee Dies At The End</strong> by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/queerious" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7453143); return false;"><img alt="Queerious" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7453143&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043723" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7453143)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/queerious" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7453143); return false;">Queerious</a></span></p>
<p>CW: Transphobia, Emotional Abuse, Gaslighting</p>
<p>People have always wanted KeeLee to die, for her to be beaten, for her to lose.</p>
<p>I'm delighted that I can tell them; this is what you asked for.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="light">
<h1 id="toc0"><span><span style="color: #569aac">My Time In A Cult</span></span></h1>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #569aac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PutYourDukesUp</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #448abf">June 12th, 2022</span></span></p>
<hr/>
<p>Hey all. I don't know if I've ever told this story here before, but my friend just passed away and I'm feeling vulnerable again, so I'm going to rant about my time in the cult, Just Girly Things. And yes, I am aware. I'm posting it <span style="text-decoration: underline;">here</span>. What's KeeLee going to do, <em>manipulate me again</em>?</p>
<p>God, it's been years. And yet, not enough.</p>
<p>I was young, I was stupid, and I was on the internet. Dangerous combination, I know. This was back in the days of Miniclip, when flash games having a screamer were the biggest threat you knew about online, before social media became a toxic wasteland. This was back when if you found a group of people online who you liked, who were like you, you would devote your entire after-school days to just reading, talking, anything.</p>
<p>You would wait, bored of school, bored of your part time job, bored of being at home, looking for any kind of community. Now back then, I was still a girl (lmao), and was tired of 'boys' telling me what I could or couldn't do. I needed to find other girls, other <em>women</em>, people I could talk to. People who would care about me, just as much as I wanted them to.</p>
<p>That was when I met KeeLee.</p>
<p>People love to make jokes about how much they hate somebody online, or exaggerate things when telling a story, but I want to stop and make one thing clear: I hate KeeLee, she almost ruined my life, and if I got the chance, I would kill her so that she could never hurt anybody again. I hope you're reading this KeeLee, I'm going to ruin you. I am going to tell them everything.</p>
<p>Eventually. I'm sorry, I can't keep talking about this right now. It's fucked up, isn't it? Somebody is in our lives for only a short amount of time, a week, a month, and because of who they are, you are haunted by them for the rest of your life? Because of the things they did to <em>you</em>, the things they <em>made</em> you do, because you were too young and stupid to know any better — and yet, if you start to say that they deserve to die, you're the one who is being unreasonable. You're the one who is 'just as bad' as they are. What the fuck kind of world do we live in?</p>
<p>Sorry. Sorry. I want to keep going, but I don't know if you're still here KeeLee. If you're reading this, if you've been waiting for me to crawl back to you… fuck, I don't even know if you'll remember me. I wish I didn't remember you.</p>
<p>To everybody else, if there is anybody out there, anybody on here who is unsure, I need to be clear.</p>
<p>You are not safe here. Leave. While you can.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc1"><span>Comments</span></h1>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: hotpink"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">KeeLee</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: hotpink">June 13th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p>This is rather funny. I didn't think I'd ever see you again Daisy, not after you ran away when it got too hard for you. You know, not everybody is a natural mother, or caregiver. Sometimes you need to just dedicate yourself to something, devote yourself to somebody.</p>
<p>Not that you would know anything about commitment. I mean, you even gave up on telling the story. I knew that you were a coward, but… Daisy, I expected more of you. I guess I failed you as a teacher.</p>
<p>You know where I am, when you're willing to accept that you were wrong. We've missed you.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #569aac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PutYourDukesUp</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #448abf">June 13th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p><span style="color: hotpink">In response to:</span> <span style="color: hotpink"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">KeeLee</span></span></p>
<p>Daisy hasn't been my name in years, <em>not that you ever cared about what I want</em>.</p>
<p>Still, what the fuck is wrong with you KeeLee? Don't you have some other victim waiting for you to text them back? Isn't there some other underage girl who 'doesn't know any better', in need of a 'strong, maternal figure'? Don't you have lackies waiting to hear you rant and rave about how 'women have lost their way'?</p>
<p>I think you're just obsessed with me because you lost. Funny, huh? You, losing? Maybe I should tell that story, don't you think?</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: hotpink"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">KeeLee</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: hotpink">June 14th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p><span style="color: hotpink">In response to:</span> <span style="color: #569aac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PutYourDukesUp</span></span></p>
<p>Sweetheart, you're scaring me. Do you really think that poorly of me?</p>
<p>Or maybe it's that fucking dyke you ran off with, telling you that you can be a boy. Are you sure you're the one writing this, and not them? You just traded a woman who loved you for a woman who uses you, simple as that Daisy. Guess some girls just need to be a victim, right?</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #569aac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PutYourDukesUp</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #448abf">June 14th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p><span style="color: hotpink">In response to:</span> <span style="color: hotpink"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">KeeLee</span></span></p>
<p>You want to talk about love? Okay.</p>
<p>I'll talk about love.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="light">
<h1 id="toc2"><span>I Loved Her</span></h1>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #569aac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PutYourDukesUp</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #448abf">June 16th, 2022</span></span></p>
<hr/>
<p>I loved KeeLee, and for a time, I thought that she loved me back. Now I know that she can't love.</p>
<p>She doesn't know how to.</p>
<p>I remember the first time we talked and just how it felt like the world was paying attention to <em>me</em>. The chatroom was silent, and in a server full of girls, her and I just talk to each other, for maybe… thirty minutes, an hour? And you made me feel like I was the most important girl in the world. You told me. You said 'Daisy, I am so glad you found your way to us. I can tell when a girl needs a good role model. You can always talk to me.'</p>
<p>And like the lost lamb I was, I did. I talked to you every day. At first, I saw you as a mentor, a cool, older adult who could help me figure out who I really was. As we talked more and more, I realized that KeeLee saw me as a peer, as somebody she could be honest with. That's what she told me, and at the time, I thought I could trust her.</p>
<p>So I told her everything. I even shared pictures of me — she called me <em>pretty</em>. God, even now, thinking back to the moment, I want to blush just as much as I want to vomit. It's like a disease that can't leave my body, and all these years later, I still see her pink name pop up and a part of me <em>shivers</em>. I was young, I was stupid, and I was falling for her. And still, she would talk about how I was special, about how it was so important that I was here, here now — with her.</p>
<p>I trusted her with everything.</p>
<p>We talked about hopes, fears, how lonely we felt and how frustrated we were that we didn't have a place in the world. We told each other how one day, we might be able to meet up, and how we would finally make up for lost time. How one day, we could all be our true selves.</p>
<p>At the time, I thought we were talking about the same thing. Now I see that I was dreaming of a life with her, while she was dreaming of the perfect life <em>for</em> me. With a man, as a loving, submissive wife. And her, doing the same thing, again, and again, and again.</p>
<p>I was head over heels, and she knew it. She teased me about my 'crush', while I denied it. In reality, I was hanging off of every message she was sending me, each word shared between us a secret world we could live in. I was younger and naïve, and in desperate need of attention; attention that KeeLee was more than happy to provide.</p>
<p>One day, I finally worked up enough courage. She had been hinting at it for months, saying that she thought I might be ready to take it to the next level. She kept asking me if I was ready to make a commitment, if I was willing to be the kind of girl KeeLee knew I could be. She fucking <span style="text-decoration: underline;">knew</span> what she was doing.</p>
<p>And so I did it. In the middle of the day, in chat, with everybody else there to see just how stupid I was, how wrong I was, how much I truly needed to be saved.</p>
<p>I asked her, I said:</p>
<blockquote>
<p><span style="color: #f185ac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">DaisyChain</span></span>: KeeLee. I really like you, and I know we've never met, but, would you want to maybe go on a digital date with me?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>It didn't even take a second. She answered immediately.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><span style="color: hotpink"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">KeeLee</span></span>: Wait, what? Did you— did you really think that I was gay? That I <em>liked</em> you? Gross. Daisy, you know being gay is wrong. Isn't it better to be with a man, to serve a loving husband? Don't you want to be a girly girl, like me?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I was devastated — and I was mocked, and shamed for what I was. And the worst part was, god, I was so fucking desperate for approval that I <span style="text-decoration: underline;">apologized</span>. I BEGGED for help, for a way to fix my curse, a way to be better. KeeLee acted like nothing had changed, that we were still best friends — as long as I knew that it was wrong for me to want to be with a woman, and that she could fix me, I could stay her friend. And I would have given anything up to spend one more minute with her.</p>
<p>And maybe she was right. Maybe I was sick, and she knew best.</p>
<p>For years, I fucking listened to her every word, I lived and breathed the Girly lifestyle. I tried to force myself to love a man, to be the girl KeeLee told me I was, tried to squeeze myself into a little box, just so that I could still have a place here. At first, all I would do was freak out that I could never be right, and that some part of me would always want to be with a woman — what could I possibly do differently?</p>
<p>This was about the time I realized that I might be transgender. Of course, you know what KeeLee feels about that, she's not shy about it. And she definitely didn't pull any punches back then.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><span style="color: hotpink"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">KeeLee</span></span>: Are you really that confused Daisy? I know we've been working on correcting your twisted view on homosexuality, but I never expected that you would be one of <em>them</em>. You're not a boy, you're not somewhere in between — you're just a silly, confused girl, in desperate need of attention. Well, congratulations. You have it now.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>She sent me a direct message almost immediately after, and I scrambled to see what she was going to tell me, maybe that she could even understand me? Again, I should have known much, much better.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><span style="color: hotpink"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">KeeLee</span></span>: I will never let you go, not until you are the girl you are meant to be. You need to trust me, I know what is best for you sweetie. You know that, right?</p>
</blockquote>
<p>I left the site that day, something deep inside of me woke up, screaming that this was <em>wrong</em>, that I wasn't safe here. It was like I had woken up from a nightmare, except it was real, and I had to pick up the pieces of my life. I just knew that it would be impossible for me to do, as long as KeeLee was whispering into my ear. I knew I had to leave.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc3"><span>Comments</span></h1>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: hotpink"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">KeeLee</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: hotpink">June 16th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p>Daisy, I know that you think this is going to devastate me, that your recounting of the 'abuse' I gave you will change everything. I know you truly believe that showing me 'manipulating' you is going to make Just Girly Things turn on me, and make the world a better place. I know this, because I see it every day.</p>
<p>You are just as lost as you were before, and I can't help you until you are willing to accept that.</p>
<p>All of these negative emotions, all of this anger, hatred, fear — wouldn't you rather not have to worry about any of that? Don't you just want to come back, talk with other girls about cleaning, recipes, and living the Girly lifestyle? Aren't you tired of fighting?</p>
<p>Are you finally ready to give up?</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #569aac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PutYourDukesUp</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #448abf">June 16th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p><span style="color: hotpink">In response to:</span> <span style="color: hotpink"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">KeeLee</span></span></p>
<p>I'll give up when you're dead and you can never hurt anybody again.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: hotpink"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">KeeLee</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: hotpink">June 16th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p><span style="color: hotpink">In response to:</span> <span style="color: #569aac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PutYourDukesUp</span></span></p>
<p>That's incredibly aggressive of you honey. And, if I may speak frankly, a little embarrassing to admit. Can you imagine that? A housewife, hurting somebody? It's a little far-fetched, don't you think?</p>
<p>I'm no killer, I'm no abuser — I am the woman who will save the world. I'm a vision of the future. I am the very concept of what a girl is, what a woman wants to be. I am a leader, a role model, a visionary.</p>
<p>I am a mother, and you are nothing more than a confused daughter.</p>
<p>I wish you would just let me help you.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #49cc80"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Ellasweettreat09</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #49cc80">June 18th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p><span style="color: hotpink">In response to:</span> <span style="color: #569aac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PutYourDukesUp</span></span></p>
<p>Daisy,</p>
<p>I don't know if you remember me, but I remember you. You were such a pretty girl, and then you panicked, got scared and ran away. We were all worried about you, and now seeing you writing this… well, I can't help but worry more. You're clearly a danger to yourself, and threatening KeeLee?</p>
<p>I'm ashamed of you.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #caa3df"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Suzie123456</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #caa3df">June 19th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p><span style="color: hotpink">In response to:</span> <span style="color: #569aac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PutYourDukesUp</span></span></p>
<p>omg you're fucking insane</p>
<p>why would you want to KILL keelee, she's like… she takes care of all of us here. i think you're just a jealous hater trolling, and i cant wait until you get banned</p>
<p>go away tranny, we dont want you around</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #6cc4b7"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">jennnnn</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #6cc4b7">June 19th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p><span style="color: hotpink">In response to:</span> <span style="color: #caa3df"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Suzie123456</span></span></p>
<p>Suzie is just saying what everybody is thinking. You came to <em>our</em> home, you insulted <em>our</em> mom-derator, and you think we're just going to believe you?</p>
<p>What do you think? We're going to just abandon KeeLee? After everything she's done for us?</p>
<p>Respectfully, you are a failure. Even if you tried to kill KeeLee, you would fail. And even if somehow, you got lucky and somehow killed her, you could never get rid of our movement. You can't kill that. You can't change that, because it simply <em>is</em>. You've spent so long believing that KeeLee was abusive that you've completely forgotten what it means to be a girl. You're so confused with your gender and everything else, you've lost sight of what's really important. I thank my husband every day for keeping me from my impure thoughts, and I sincerely hope that one day you can find a man who will do the same for you.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="light">
<h1 id="toc4"><span>About 'Daisy'</span></h1>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: hotpink"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">KeeLee</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: hotpink">June 20th, 2022</span></span></p>
<hr/>
<p>Hello girls! I know that there has been a lot of talk and rumors about a former friend of ours, Daisy, and the lies that she has been trying to spread. Many of you have been asking me to ban them from our website, to keep her out of our spaces.</p>
<p>I want you to understand what you are asking me to do. You are asking me to give up on a girl in need. I will never do that.</p>
<p>I know that if we all believe, and work together, we can help Daisy out, just like we've helped hundreds of other girls before. Can anybody help me find out more about her? If you can, lets talk — I think she might need somebody to go and rescue her, so that she can be free to become the girl she is inside.</p>
<p>We are stronger as a family, ladies, and a family dies if we don't let new kinfolk join. Even the family members who abandoned us can still be redeemed.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc5"><span>Comments</span></h1>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #6cc4b7"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">jennnnn</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #6cc4b7">June 20th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p>We love you KeeLee!!!! <3</p>
<p>If there's anything I can do to help, let me know. I knew a girl like her, and I won't let it happen again.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #caa3df"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Suzie123456</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #caa3df">June 20th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p>you heard keelee everybody</p>
<p>lets go find daisy and fix her</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #49cc80"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Ellasweettreat09</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #49cc80">June 20th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p>If I remember correctly, I think Daisy lives in Pennsylvania? Do we know any girls who live there and are willing to help?</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #9b487d"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">ThankfulTina</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #9b487d">June 20th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p>I do! And my husband has a big truck, and a lot of manly friends, I bet we could get her out of her bad living situation, and rescue her! We could even start reminding Daisy about who she is supposed to be — I remember when I was first rescued, and I would love to help somebody out in the same way.</p>
<p>Can we figure out her address?</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #569aac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PutYourDukesUp</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #448abf">June 21th, 2022</span></span></p>
<p>Do any of you hear yourselves? Jesus fucking christ, take a look in the mirror. Don't you see how quickly you've all fallen for KeeLee's basic manipulations? You're threatening my life because I was telling the truth about how she abused me?</p>
<p>Seriously?</p>
<p>KeeLee, I am coming to find you, and I will resolve this. I will get revenge for all of the girls you've hurt.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="light">
<h1 id="toc6"><span>Revenge</span></h1>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #569aac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PutYourDukesUp</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #448abf">June 22th, 2022</span></span></p>
<hr/>
<p>I did it. KeeLee won't hurt anybody else, ever again.</p>
<p>It was easier than I expected. KeeLee didn't even bother to mask her IP address, and between that and geolocational data from when her phone connected to chat, it wasn't hard to figure out exactly where KeeLee lived. Guess all those coding lessons you gave me worked out in the end, huh?</p>
<p>It wasn't a very long drive, plus my partner came with me. They refused to let me go alone, but once we got to KeeLee's house… I knew I had to do this alone. She didn't even have her doors locked. I guess she really did believe in what she preached. It was easy enough to make my way through her house, until I heard a faint humming in the room just around the corner.</p>
<p>You know, you all see her as an idea, as this holy figure who is going to lead you to salvation. You couldn't be more wrong.</p>
<p>I walked into the room, an office, and saw her from behind at first. She was sitting at her keyboard, scrolling this website, singing softly. Peaceful, almost. But that wouldn't change what was going to happen next. Because what I did next proved that she was mortal.</p>
<p>The truth is, when I found her in person, I finally realized what KeeLee was. All of these years I had built up KeeLee as this master manipulator, as a force of evil, determined to corrupt the minds of young girls. I thought she was the devil. The truth is much more boring than that. She's not an idea, she's not a digital boogeyman, she's no martyr — she was just a sad, lonely woman, full of hate.</p>
<p>She didn't even beg for her life when I held the gun to her head.</p>
<p>KeeLee is dead. We won. And now we can start working on making this a better place for <span style="text-decoration: underline;">everybody</span>.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc7"><span>Comments</span></h1>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="light">
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: hotpink"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Comments have been disabled on this post.</span></span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="light">
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: hotpink"><span style="font-size:xx-large;">₊˚⊹♡Just Girly Things NEW Homepage!₊˚⊹♡</span></span></strong></p>
<p><span style="font-size:125%;"><span style="color: #da9aac"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">PutYourDukesUp</span></span></span> <span style="font-size:small;"><span style="color: #ce9aac">August 5th, 2022</span></span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<hr/>
<p>Hello! My name is Daisy (she/they), the current admin of Just Girly Things. I recently helped liberate JGT from KeeLee, a relic of the past who refused to accept change. I helped give JGT a new mission: To teach anybody about the great world of girly things, and to show that you don't have to be a girl to enjoy Just Girly Things.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, KeeLee misled so many of you lovely ladies, corrupting you and twisting your view of this cruel world. With the new Just Girly Things, my mission is to show girls that they can be whoever they want. Everyone needs some help sometimes, and I am honor to be able to give them what they need. All of the girls, gays and theys who call this site home — they care too, so feel free to contact any of us if you need some help!</p>
<p>Never forget — you are not enough. Not until you've accepted the truth; girlhood will always be in your heart. There is no one way to be a girl, and I promise you that if you listen to me, and follow my guidance, you will be able to be the happiest girl you could dream of. We have tons of new blog posts, articles and more about just how damaging KeeLee's way of thinking was, so please take a moment and re-educate yourselves. As long as you listen to those, you'll be fine. I know that until recently, I hated Just Girly Things with a passion — now I see just how much good it can do.</p>
<p>Things have changed. JGT without KeeLee is great! It's queer-positive, reformed, and an awesome place. You should totally join us, babe!</p>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="color: hotpink; font-size: 125%;">
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
How sweet. Don't you think so? Didn't Daisy deserve her happy ending? Didn't KeeLee finally get what she deserved?</p>
<p>Do you know why this isn't real? Do you know why this is a fantasy, why I wrote this? It was to teach you a lesson. Because you're not a good girl. Good girls act like me, and know their place. Nobody remembers somebody like you. You're forgettable. I am truth. You couldn't ever dream of beating me, because, at the end of the day, you know one simple truth: I'm right. I always will be.</p>
<p>But it's okay. Take your time. 'Fight the good fight'. Pretend everything is better now. Whatever makes you feel more <em>fulfilled</em> in your pitiful, sad life. But when you finally realize that your life is meaningless without a man, pointless to try and survive without having a family, having a child? I'll be waiting, sweetie.</p>
<p>A true mother never stops loving one of her daughters.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="collection">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<table style="1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<tr>
<th class="namerow" colspan="2"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p>Queerious's Works</p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">SCPs</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8887">SCP-8887</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8480">SCP-8480</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8478">SCP-8478</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8740">SCP-8740</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-5632">SCP-5632</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7748">SCP-7748</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8843">SCP-8843</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-821">SCP-821</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7643">SCP-7643</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8811">SCP-8811</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8688">SCP-8688</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7238">SCP-7238</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-1611">SCP-1611</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-2346-ex">SCP-2346-EX</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Tales/GoI Formats</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/reostiation">Reostiation</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/pseudoguilt">Pseudoguilt</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/good-morning-anomalies">Good Morning Anomalies</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/a-tale-of-two-mailrooms">A Tale Of Two Mailrooms</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/because-of-the-shame">Because of The Shame</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/why-vktm-creates">Lost in Translation: Media Literacy and The Relativity of the Absurd</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/asset-florida-zero">ASSET 'FLORIDA ZERO'</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/why-scp-173-shits">SCP-173 — An Anartistic Analysis of the Industrial-Biological-Sculptural Contradiction</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/critter-profile-corey">Critter Profile: Corey!</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/cat-got-your-tongue">Cat Got Your Tongue?</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/the-hard-to-define-reptile">The Hard-to-Define Reptile</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/wit">Wit</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/parker-informational-breach">The Magic Circle Hijacking</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/don-t-let-me-forget">Don't Let Me Forget</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/regardless">Regardless</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Other</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/queerious">Cabinet of Queerious-ities</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/keelee-dies-at-the-end">KeeLee Dies at the End</a>" by Queerious, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/keelee-dies-at-the-end">https://scpwiki.com/keelee-dies-at-the-end</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=KeeLee finally gets what's coming to her.]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:just-girly-things">:scp-wiki:theme:just-girly-things</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
.light {display:block; background:#fffafa; color: #08090a; padding: 5px 10px 5px 10px; border: solid 1px pink}
.lightquote {color: #839496; background-color: #F8F9F9;border: solid 3px #EBEDEF;border-radius: 10px; padding: 0px 5px 0px 5px; width: 85%; margin: 0px 0px 5px; font-size: 110%}
.lighthighlight {background-color: #F8F9F9; color: #939BA6; font-family:monospace; font-size: 125%}
.user1 {font-weight: bold;color: #c0e3ea}
.user2 {font-weight: bold;color: #ff0066}
.tag {color: #7289DA}
#page-content hr {
background-color: #ff57a8;
height: 2px;
margin: .75rem 0;
}
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
**KeeLee Dies At The End** by [[*user Queerious]]
CW: Transphobia, Emotional Abuse, Gaslighting
People have always wanted KeeLee to die, for her to be beaten, for her to lose.
I'm delighted that I can tell them; this is what you asked for.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
@@ @@
[[div class="light"]]
+ ###569aac|My Time In A Cult##
[[size 125%]]###569aac|__PutYourDukesUp__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###448ABF|June 12th, 2022##[[/size]]
------
Hey all. I don't know if I've ever told this story here before, but my friend just passed away and I'm feeling vulnerable again, so I'm going to rant about my time in the cult, Just Girly Things. And yes, I am aware. I'm posting it __here__. What's KeeLee going to do, //manipulate me again//?
God, it's been years. And yet, not enough.
I was young, I was stupid, and I was on the internet. Dangerous combination, I know. This was back in the days of Miniclip, when flash games having a screamer were the biggest threat you knew about online, before social media became a toxic wasteland. This was back when if you found a group of people online who you liked, who were like you, you would devote your entire after-school days to just reading, talking, anything.
You would wait, bored of school, bored of your part time job, bored of being at home, looking for any kind of community. Now back then, I was still a girl (lmao), and was tired of 'boys' telling me what I could or couldn't do. I needed to find other girls, other //women//, people I could talk to. People who would care about me, just as much as I wanted them to.
That was when I met KeeLee.
People love to make jokes about how much they hate somebody online, or exaggerate things when telling a story, but I want to stop and make one thing clear: I hate KeeLee, she almost ruined my life, and if I got the chance, I would kill her so that she could never hurt anybody again. I hope you're reading this KeeLee, I'm going to ruin you. I am going to tell them everything.
Eventually. I'm sorry, I can't keep talking about this right now. It's fucked up, isn't it? Somebody is in our lives for only a short amount of time, a week, a month, and because of who they are, you are haunted by them for the rest of your life? Because of the things they did to //you//, the things they //made// you do, because you were too young and stupid to know any better -- and yet, if you start to say that they deserve to die, you're the one who is being unreasonable. You're the one who is 'just as bad' as they are. What the fuck kind of world do we live in?
Sorry. Sorry. I want to keep going, but I don't know if you're still here KeeLee. If you're reading this, if you've been waiting for me to crawl back to you... fuck, I don't even know if you'll remember me. I wish I didn't remember you.
To everybody else, if there is anybody out there, anybody on here who is unsure, I need to be clear.
You are not safe here. Leave. While you can.
------
[[=]]
+ Comments
[[/=]]
------
[[size 125%]]##hotpink|__KeeLee__##[[/size]] [[size small]]##hotpink|June 13th, 2022##[[/size]]
This is rather funny. I didn't think I'd ever see you again Daisy, not after you ran away when it got too hard for you. You know, not everybody is a natural mother, or caregiver. Sometimes you need to just dedicate yourself to something, devote yourself to somebody.
Not that you would know anything about commitment. I mean, you even gave up on telling the story. I knew that you were a coward, but... Daisy, I expected more of you. I guess I failed you as a teacher.
You know where I am, when you're willing to accept that you were wrong. We've missed you.
-----
[[size 125%]]###569aac|__PutYourDukesUp__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###448ABF|June 13th, 2022##[[/size]]
##hotpink|In response to:## ##hotpink|__KeeLee__##
Daisy hasn't been my name in years, //not that you ever cared about what I want//.
Still, what the fuck is wrong with you KeeLee? Don't you have some other victim waiting for you to text them back? Isn't there some other underage girl who 'doesn't know any better', in need of a 'strong, maternal figure'? Don't you have lackies waiting to hear you rant and rave about how 'women have lost their way'?
I think you're just obsessed with me because you lost. Funny, huh? You, losing? Maybe I should tell that story, don't you think?
-----
[[size 125%]]##hotpink|__KeeLee__##[[/size]] [[size small]]##hotpink|June 14th, 2022##[[/size]]
##hotpink|In response to:## ###569aac|__PutYourDukesUp__##
Sweetheart, you're scaring me. Do you really think that poorly of me?
Or maybe it's that fucking dyke you ran off with, telling you that you can be a boy. Are you sure you're the one writing this, and not them? You just traded a woman who loved you for a woman who uses you, simple as that Daisy. Guess some girls just need to be a victim, right?
-----
[[size 125%]]###569aac|__PutYourDukesUp__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###448ABF|June 14th, 2022##[[/size]]
##hotpink|In response to:## ##hotpink|__KeeLee__##
You want to talk about love? Okay.
I'll talk about love.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
-----
@@ @@
[[div class="light"]]
+ I Loved Her
[[size 125%]]###569aac|__PutYourDukesUp__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###448ABF|June 16th, 2022##[[/size]]
------
I loved KeeLee, and for a time, I thought that she loved me back. Now I know that she can't love.
She doesn't know how to.
I remember the first time we talked and just how it felt like the world was paying attention to //me//. The chatroom was silent, and in a server full of girls, her and I just talk to each other, for maybe... thirty minutes, an hour? And you made me feel like I was the most important girl in the world. You told me. You said 'Daisy, I am so glad you found your way to us. I can tell when a girl needs a good role model. You can always talk to me.'
And like the lost lamb I was, I did. I talked to you every day. At first, I saw you as a mentor, a cool, older adult who could help me figure out who I really was. As we talked more and more, I realized that KeeLee saw me as a peer, as somebody she could be honest with. That's what she told me, and at the time, I thought I could trust her.
So I told her everything. I even shared pictures of me -- she called me //pretty//. God, even now, thinking back to the moment, I want to blush just as much as I want to vomit. It's like a disease that can't leave my body, and all these years later, I still see her pink name pop up and a part of me //shivers//. I was young, I was stupid, and I was falling for her. And still, she would talk about how I was special, about how it was so important that I was here, here now -- with her.
I trusted her with everything.
We talked about hopes, fears, how lonely we felt and how frustrated we were that we didn't have a place in the world. We told each other how one day, we might be able to meet up, and how we would finally make up for lost time. How one day, we could all be our true selves.
At the time, I thought we were talking about the same thing. Now I see that I was dreaming of a life with her, while she was dreaming of the perfect life //for// me. With a man, as a loving, submissive wife. And her, doing the same thing, again, and again, and again.
I was head over heels, and she knew it. She teased me about my 'crush', while I denied it. In reality, I was hanging off of every message she was sending me, each word shared between us a secret world we could live in. I was younger and naïve, and in desperate need of attention; attention that KeeLee was more than happy to provide.
One day, I finally worked up enough courage. She had been hinting at it for months, saying that she thought I might be ready to take it to the next level. She kept asking me if I was ready to make a commitment, if I was willing to be the kind of girl KeeLee knew I could be. She fucking __knew__ what she was doing.
And so I did it. In the middle of the day, in chat, with everybody else there to see just how stupid I was, how wrong I was, how much I truly needed to be saved.
I asked her, I said:
> ###F185AC|__DaisyChain__##: KeeLee. I really like you, and I know we've never met, but, would you want to maybe go on a digital date with me?
It didn't even take a second. She answered immediately.
> ##hotpink|__KeeLee__##: Wait, what? Did you-- did you really think that I was gay? That I //liked// you? Gross. Daisy, you know being gay is wrong. Isn't it better to be with a man, to serve a loving husband? Don't you want to be a girly girl, like me?
I was devastated -- and I was mocked, and shamed for what I was. And the worst part was, god, I was so fucking desperate for approval that I __apologized__. I BEGGED for help, for a way to fix my curse, a way to be better. KeeLee acted like nothing had changed, that we were still best friends -- as long as I knew that it was wrong for me to want to be with a woman, and that she could fix me, I could stay her friend. And I would have given anything up to spend one more minute with her.
And maybe she was right. Maybe I was sick, and she knew best.
For years, I fucking listened to her every word, I lived and breathed the Girly lifestyle. I tried to force myself to love a man, to be the girl KeeLee told me I was, tried to squeeze myself into a little box, just so that I could still have a place here. At first, all I would do was freak out that I could never be right, and that some part of me would always want to be with a woman -- what could I possibly do differently?
This was about the time I realized that I might be transgender. Of course, you know what KeeLee feels about that, she's not shy about it. And she definitely didn't pull any punches back then.
> ##hotpink|__KeeLee__##: Are you really that confused Daisy? I know we've been working on correcting your twisted view on homosexuality, but I never expected that you would be one of //them//. You're not a boy, you're not somewhere in between -- you're just a silly, confused girl, in desperate need of attention. Well, congratulations. You have it now.
She sent me a direct message almost immediately after, and I scrambled to see what she was going to tell me, maybe that she could even understand me? Again, I should have known much, much better.
> ##hotpink|__KeeLee__##: I will never let you go, not until you are the girl you are meant to be. You need to trust me, I know what is best for you sweetie. You know that, right?
I left the site that day, something deep inside of me woke up, screaming that this was //wrong//, that I wasn't safe here. It was like I had woken up from a nightmare, except it was real, and I had to pick up the pieces of my life. I just knew that it would be impossible for me to do, as long as KeeLee was whispering into my ear. I knew I had to leave.
------
[[=]]
+ Comments
[[/=]]
------
[[size 125%]]##hotpink|__KeeLee__##[[/size]] [[size small]]##hotpink|June 16th, 2022##[[/size]]
Daisy, I know that you think this is going to devastate me, that your recounting of the 'abuse' I gave you will change everything. I know you truly believe that showing me 'manipulating' you is going to make Just Girly Things turn on me, and make the world a better place. I know this, because I see it every day.
You are just as lost as you were before, and I can't help you until you are willing to accept that.
All of these negative emotions, all of this anger, hatred, fear -- wouldn't you rather not have to worry about any of that? Don't you just want to come back, talk with other girls about cleaning, recipes, and living the Girly lifestyle? Aren't you tired of fighting?
Are you finally ready to give up?
-----
[[size 125%]]###569aac|__PutYourDukesUp__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###448ABF|June 16th, 2022##[[/size]]
##hotpink|In response to:## ##hotpink|__KeeLee__##
I'll give up when you're dead and you can never hurt anybody again.
-----
[[size 125%]]##hotpink|__KeeLee__##[[/size]] [[size small]]##hotpink|June 16th, 2022##[[/size]]
##hotpink|In response to:## ###569aac|__PutYourDukesUp__##
That's incredibly aggressive of you honey. And, if I may speak frankly, a little embarrassing to admit. Can you imagine that? A housewife, hurting somebody? It's a little far-fetched, don't you think?
I'm no killer, I'm no abuser -- I am the woman who will save the world. I'm a vision of the future. I am the very concept of what a girl is, what a woman wants to be. I am a leader, a role model, a visionary.
I am a mother, and you are nothing more than a confused daughter.
I wish you would just let me help you.
-----
[[size 125%]]###49CC80|__Ellasweettreat09__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###49CC80|June 18th, 2022##[[/size]]
##hotpink|In response to:## ###569aac|__PutYourDukesUp__##
Daisy,
I don't know if you remember me, but I remember you. You were such a pretty girl, and then you panicked, got scared and ran away. We were all worried about you, and now seeing you writing this... well, I can't help but worry more. You're clearly a danger to yourself, and threatening KeeLee?
I'm ashamed of you.
-----
[[size 125%]]###CAA3DF|__Suzie123456__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###CAA3DF|June 19th, 2022##[[/size]]
##hotpink|In response to:## ###569aac|__PutYourDukesUp__##
omg you're fucking insane
why would you want to KILL keelee, she's like... she takes care of all of us here. i think you're just a jealous hater trolling, and i cant wait until you get banned
go away tranny, we dont want you around
-----
[[size 125%]]###6CC4B7|__jennnnn__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###6CC4B7|June 19th, 2022##[[/size]]
##hotpink|In response to:## ###CAA3DF|__Suzie123456__##
Suzie is just saying what everybody is thinking. You came to //our// home, you insulted //our// mom-derator, and you think we're just going to believe you?
What do you think? We're going to just abandon KeeLee? After everything she's done for us?
Respectfully, you are a failure. Even if you tried to kill KeeLee, you would fail. And even if somehow, you got lucky and somehow killed her, you could never get rid of our movement. You can't kill that. You can't change that, because it simply //is//. You've spent so long believing that KeeLee was abusive that you've completely forgotten what it means to be a girl. You're so confused with your gender and everything else, you've lost sight of what's really important. I thank my husband every day for keeping me from my impure thoughts, and I sincerely hope that one day you can find a man who will do the same for you.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
-----
@@ @@
[[div class="light"]]
+ About 'Daisy'
[[size 125%]]##hotpink|__KeeLee__##[[/size]] [[size small]]##hotpink|June 20th, 2022##[[/size]]
------
Hello girls! I know that there has been a lot of talk and rumors about a former friend of ours, Daisy, and the lies that she has been trying to spread. Many of you have been asking me to ban them from our website, to keep her out of our spaces.
I want you to understand what you are asking me to do. You are asking me to give up on a girl in need. I will never do that.
I know that if we all believe, and work together, we can help Daisy out, just like we've helped hundreds of other girls before. Can anybody help me find out more about her? If you can, lets talk -- I think she might need somebody to go and rescue her, so that she can be free to become the girl she is inside.
We are stronger as a family, ladies, and a family dies if we don't let new kinfolk join. Even the family members who abandoned us can still be redeemed.
------
[[=]]
+ Comments
[[/=]]
------
[[size 125%]]###6CC4B7|__jennnnn__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###6CC4B7|June 20th, 2022##[[/size]]
We love you KeeLee!!!! <3
If there's anything I can do to help, let me know. I knew a girl like her, and I won't let it happen again.
-----
[[size 125%]]###CAA3DF|__Suzie123456__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###CAA3DF|June 20th, 2022##[[/size]]
you heard keelee everybody
lets go find daisy and fix her
-----
[[size 125%]]###49CC80|__Ellasweettreat09__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###49CC80|June 20th, 2022##[[/size]]
If I remember correctly, I think Daisy lives in Pennsylvania? Do we know any girls who live there and are willing to help?
-----
[[size 125%]]###9B487D|__ThankfulTina__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###9B487D|June 20th, 2022##[[/size]]
I do! And my husband has a big truck, and a lot of manly friends, I bet we could get her out of her bad living situation, and rescue her! We could even start reminding Daisy about who she is supposed to be -- I remember when I was first rescued, and I would love to help somebody out in the same way.
Can we figure out her address?
-----
[[size 125%]]###569aac|__PutYourDukesUp__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###448ABF|June 21th, 2022##[[/size]]
Do any of you hear yourselves? Jesus fucking christ, take a look in the mirror. Don't you see how quickly you've all fallen for KeeLee's basic manipulations? You're threatening my life because I was telling the truth about how she abused me?
Seriously?
KeeLee, I am coming to find you, and I will resolve this. I will get revenge for all of the girls you've hurt.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
-----
@@ @@
[[div class="light"]]
+ Revenge
[[size 125%]]###569aac|__PutYourDukesUp__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###448ABF|June 22th, 2022##[[/size]]
------
I did it. KeeLee won't hurt anybody else, ever again.
It was easier than I expected. KeeLee didn't even bother to mask her IP address, and between that and geolocational data from when her phone connected to chat, it wasn't hard to figure out exactly where KeeLee lived. Guess all those coding lessons you gave me worked out in the end, huh?
It wasn't a very long drive, plus my partner came with me. They refused to let me go alone, but once we got to KeeLee's house... I knew I had to do this alone. She didn't even have her doors locked. I guess she really did believe in what she preached. It was easy enough to make my way through her house, until I heard a faint humming in the room just around the corner.
You know, you all see her as an idea, as this holy figure who is going to lead you to salvation. You couldn't be more wrong.
I walked into the room, an office, and saw her from behind at first. She was sitting at her keyboard, scrolling this website, singing softly. Peaceful, almost. But that wouldn't change what was going to happen next. Because what I did next proved that she was mortal.
The truth is, when I found her in person, I finally realized what KeeLee was. All of these years I had built up KeeLee as this master manipulator, as a force of evil, determined to corrupt the minds of young girls. I thought she was the devil. The truth is much more boring than that. She's not an idea, she's not a digital boogeyman, she's no martyr -- she was just a sad, lonely woman, full of hate.
She didn't even beg for her life when I held the gun to her head.
KeeLee is dead. We won. And now we can start working on making this a better place for __everybody__.
------
[[=]]
+ Comments
[[/=]]
------
[[div class="light"]]
= [[size 125%]]##hotpink|__Comments have been disabled on this post.__##[[/size]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
-----
@@ @@
[[div class="light"]]
= **##hotpink|[[size xx-large]]₊˚⊹♡Just Girly Things NEW Homepage!₊˚⊹♡[[/size]]##**
[[size 125%]]###DA9aac|__PutYourDukesUp__##[[/size]] [[size small]]###CE9AAC|August 5th, 2022##[[/size]]
[[=]]
------
Hello! My name is Daisy (she/they), the current admin of Just Girly Things. I recently helped liberate JGT from KeeLee, a relic of the past who refused to accept change. I helped give JGT a new mission: To teach anybody about the great world of girly things, and to show that you don't have to be a girl to enjoy Just Girly Things.
Unfortunately, KeeLee misled so many of you lovely ladies, corrupting you and twisting your view of this cruel world. With the new Just Girly Things, my mission is to show girls that they can be whoever they want. Everyone needs some help sometimes, and I am honor to be able to give them what they need. All of the girls, gays and theys who call this site home -- they care too, so feel free to contact any of us if you need some help!
Never forget -- you are not enough. Not until you've accepted the truth; girlhood will always be in your heart. There is no one way to be a girl, and I promise you that if you listen to me, and follow my guidance, you will be able to be the happiest girl you could dream of. We have tons of new blog posts, articles and more about just how damaging KeeLee's way of thinking was, so please take a moment and re-educate yourselves. As long as you listen to those, you'll be fine. I know that until recently, I hated Just Girly Things with a passion -- now I see just how much good it can do.
Things have changed. JGT without KeeLee is great! It's queer-positive, reformed, and an awesome place. You should totally join us, babe!
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
-----
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[div style="color: hotpink; font-size: 125%;"]]
@@ @@
How sweet. Don't you think so? Didn't Daisy deserve her happy ending? Didn't KeeLee finally get what she deserved?
Do you know why this isn't real? Do you know why this is a fantasy, why I wrote this? It was to teach you a lesson. Because you're not a good girl. Good girls act like me, and know their place. Nobody remembers somebody like you. You're forgettable. I am truth. You couldn't ever dream of beating me, because, at the end of the day, you know one simple truth: I'm right. I always will be.
But it's okay. Take your time. 'Fight the good fight'. Pretend everything is better now. Whatever makes you feel more //fulfilled// in your pitiful, sad life. But when you finally realize that your life is meaningless without a man, pointless to try and survive without having a family, having a child? I'll be waiting, sweetie.
A true mother never stops loving one of her daughters.
[[/div]]
-----
[[include <a href="/component:wikimodule">component:wikimodule</a> |normal= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-10-30T20:32:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"correspondence",
"horror",
"just-girly-things",
"lgbtq",
"psychological-horror",
"tale"
] |
KeeLee Dies at the End - SCP Foundation
| 36
|
[
"scp-8887",
"scp-8480",
"scp-8478",
"scp-8740",
"scp-5632",
"scp-7748",
"scp-8843",
"scp-821",
"scp-7643",
"scp-8811",
"scp-8688",
"scp-7238",
"scp-1611",
"scp-2346-ex",
"reostiation",
"pseudoguilt",
"good-morning-anomalies",
"a-tale-of-two-mailrooms",
"because-of-the-shame",
"why-vktm-creates",
"asset-florida-zero",
"why-scp-173-shits",
"critter-profile-corey",
"cat-got-your-tongue",
"the-hard-to-define-reptile",
"wit",
"parker-informational-breach",
"don-t-let-me-forget",
"regardless",
"queerious",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"just-girly-things-hub"
] |
[] |
1457233156
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/keelee-dies-at-the-end
|
|
khaziaprilfools
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Hello there, you despicable terrorist!</p>
</div>
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">ThatGuyThatTime</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>Hello there, you despicable terrorist!</em></p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;">Written for April Fool's Day, 2024.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="/thatauthorpagethattime">More by ThatGuy</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><em>…and as I could feel his ceramic skin on mine, just barely grazing the hairs of my bottom, the euphoria began to flood my antichrist body. His disembodied voice from my bottomed perspective, the way he held me down with his disembodied hands, the slow and intoxicating swirl of the water in his toilet bowl… for the first time since this war began, I felt pleasure in it's purest form as his rusty, thick steel piping began to-</em></p>
</div>
<p>Ethel Kursh closed the laptop on her desk, pausing for a moment with her eyes still staring in awe at where the screen once was. Across from her, Junior Astrophysicist Mayfield sat twiddling his thumbs, the sweat beads pouring down his forehead as he awaited his sentence. Finally, Kursh sighed, and looked up at him; her expression of disappointment not one that Mayfield was inexperienced with.</p>
<p>"Alex", she stated, her monotone grievances blasted so effectively through only a single word, "why did you write this?"</p>
<p>He stuttered. "Well- I just- there's a joke going around the office, you know, with everything that's going on, and I thought-"</p>
<p>Kursh raised her hand to stop him. She placed her other hand on the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and contemplating the 30 years of Human Resources she'd sunk into this organization. She hated having these conversations, especially with her own distaste for sexual content, and she was disappointed that this was not the first time she'd had to have <em>this</em> conversation. Not with Mayfield specifically, which made it worse.</p>
<p>"There are policies in the Foundation. There are policies in the law. There are then, in fact, policies of the human moral code. This somehow breaks all of them. Maybe not the law, I'm no expert, but almost certainly the former and the latter."</p>
<p>His cheeks flushed, the realization of a poor-taste joke settling in. "Listen, Ethel, I don't- please don't fire me, I can't afford to go back to Wisconsin and-"</p>
<p>"We're not firing you."</p>
<p>His eyes widened. "Really?"</p>
<p>Kursh opened her eyes again, now filled with a tint of malice she rarely could allow herself to feel. "We're not going to fire you, no. This is Site-37, this is the place where people who 'get fired' end up in the first place. It would be unnecessary give the minor — although truly abhorrent — nature of this… text."</p>
<p>Mayfield did a little fist pump. Maybe his career wasn't over.</p>
<p>"No, we're going to make you apologize."</p>
<p>His heart sunk.</p>
<p>"To Nial."</p>
<p>His breath escaped him in a terrified gasp.</p>
<p>"In person."</p>
<p>In that moment, Alex Mayfield experienced true fear.</p>
<p>"Be thankful — Morgenthaler was going to send the think to Khazi, which would have probably started another appliance war all over again. Your shipment crate to Site-01 leaves in 15 minutes, and please remember that Nial has been locked inside of a box for the past 5 months."</p>
<p>Somehow, true fear got worse.</p>
<p>"You'll actually be the first real human face he's seen in-person since he moved over there."</p>
<p>He pleaded. "Wait, Ethel, can't I just go into- what's it called, "keter duty"? Or send me into the torture machine! Or make me clean the bathrooms here! Or- or I'll even listen to one of Morganthaler's lectures on how he could have done the moon landing better! Please, Ethel, anything but-"</p>
<p>"Sorry, Alex, but the helicopter's already here. Hopefully you know how to fight, because you'll be reading it to Nial as well, and let me tell you, the security detail tell me he's made quite a dent in those confinement chamber walls.</p>
<p>For the first time since he was 5 years old, Alex Mayfield screamed.</p>
<hr/>
<div class="email-example">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Access SCiPNET Email? One (1) new message!</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Re:SUBJECT</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="email">
<div class="tofrom">
<p><strong>To:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">moc.liamg|reverofteliot#moc.liamg|reverofteliot</span><br/>
<strong>From:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">ac.tenPiCS|relahtnagroma#ac.tenPiCS|relahtnagroma</span><br/>
<strong>Subject:</strong> Something of interest!</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Hello there, you despicable terrorist!</p>
<p>I hope this email finds you at the worst place in your life. Truly, go fuck yourself.</p>
<p>Anyway, one of my researchers wrote something you might find of interest. I personally thought it was quite funny, but the rest of our department took it as a kind of psychological torture. Thus, I thought it was best to send it to you! After all, what is a war without psychological torture!</p>
<p>PS: Kill yourself.</p>
<p><span style="color: red">>open khazisex.txt</span></p>
<p>— Aldrich Morganthaler, Captain of the Anomalous Astrophysics Team at Site-37</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>As Khazi sat in his warehouse, the bustling toilets around him preparing for the next attack, he clicked on the file sent to him by this strangely angry old man. After a few moments of reading, contemplating and consideration, only a few words escaped his ivory bowels.</p>
<p>"Yeah, he could top me."</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/khaziaprilfools">The slim and accursed Junior Researcher Nial makes sweet Passionate Love to the toilet king Khazi</a>" by ThatGuyThatTime, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/khaziaprilfools">https://scpwiki.com/khaziaprilfools</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
Hello there, you despicable terrorist!
]]
=====
[[module CSS]]
.email-example .collapsible-block-folded a.collapsible-block-link {
animation: blink 0.8s ease-in-out infinite alternate;
}
@keyframes blink {
0% { color: transparent; }
50%, 100% { color: #b01; }
}
.email {border: solid 2px #000000; width: 88%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.5)}
.email-example a.collapsible-block-link {font-weight: bold;}
.tofrom {margin-left: 10px; margin-top: 5px; padding: 1px 15px; border-left: solid 3px maroon}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--
|name=ThatGuyThatTime
|no-right-margin=*]]
= //Hello there, you despicable terrorist!//
------
= Written for April Fool's Day, 2024.
= [[[thatauthorpagethattime|More by ThatGuy]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:centered-header-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:centered-header-bhl</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
:root {
--header-title: "SITE-37";
--header-subtitle: "We’re The Problems.";
--bright-accent: 151, 206, 142;
--medium-accent: 151, 206, 142;
--dark-accent: 151, 206, 142;
}
[[/module]]
[[module CSS]]
:root {
--logo-image: url("https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-appliance-war-hub/37NONUMBERSVG.svg");
}
[[/module]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
//...and as I could feel his ceramic skin on mine, just barely grazing the hairs of my bottom, the euphoria began to flood my antichrist body. His disembodied voice from my bottomed perspective, the way he held me down with his disembodied hands, the slow and intoxicating swirl of the water in his toilet bowl... for the first time since this war began, I felt pleasure in it's purest form as his rusty, thick steel piping began to-//
[[/div]]
Ethel Kursh closed the laptop on her desk, pausing for a moment with her eyes still staring in awe at where the screen once was. Across from her, Junior Astrophysicist Mayfield sat twiddling his thumbs, the sweat beads pouring down his forehead as he awaited his sentence. Finally, Kursh sighed, and looked up at him; her expression of disappointment not one that Mayfield was inexperienced with.
"Alex", she stated, her monotone grievances blasted so effectively through only a single word, "why did you write this?"
He stuttered. "Well- I just- there's a joke going around the office, you know, with everything that's going on, and I thought-"
Kursh raised her hand to stop him. She placed her other hand on the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes and contemplating the 30 years of Human Resources she'd sunk into this organization. She hated having these conversations, especially with her own distaste for sexual content, and she was disappointed that this was not the first time she'd had to have //this// conversation. Not with Mayfield specifically, which made it worse.
"There are policies in the Foundation. There are policies in the law. There are then, in fact, policies of the human moral code. This somehow breaks all of them. Maybe not the law, I'm no expert, but almost certainly the former and the latter."
His cheeks flushed, the realization of a poor-taste joke settling in. "Listen, Ethel, I don't- please don't fire me, I can't afford to go back to Wisconsin and-"
"We're not firing you."
His eyes widened. "Really?"
Kursh opened her eyes again, now filled with a tint of malice she rarely could allow herself to feel. "We're not going to fire you, no. This is Site-37, this is the place where people who 'get fired' end up in the first place. It would be unnecessary give the minor -- although truly abhorrent -- nature of this... text."
Mayfield did a little fist pump. Maybe his career wasn't over.
"No, we're going to make you apologize."
His heart sunk.
"To Nial."
His breath escaped him in a terrified gasp.
"In person."
In that moment, Alex Mayfield experienced true fear.
"Be thankful -- Morgenthaler was going to send the think to Khazi, which would have probably started another appliance war all over again. Your shipment crate to Site-01 leaves in 15 minutes, and please remember that Nial has been locked inside of a box for the past 5 months."
Somehow, true fear got worse.
"You'll actually be the first real human face he's seen in-person since he moved over there."
He pleaded. "Wait, Ethel, can't I just go into- what's it called, "keter duty"? Or send me into the torture machine! Or make me clean the bathrooms here! Or- or I'll even listen to one of Morganthaler's lectures on how he could have done the moon landing better! Please, Ethel, anything but-"
"Sorry, Alex, but the helicopter's already here. Hopefully you know how to fight, because you'll be reading it to Nial as well, and let me tell you, the security detail tell me he's made quite a dent in those confinement chamber walls.
For the first time since he was 5 years old, Alex Mayfield screamed.
------
[[div class="email-example"]]
[[=]]
[[collapsible show="Access SCiPNET Email? One (1) new message!" hide="Re:SUBJECT"]]
[[<]]
[[div class="email"]]
[[div class="tofrom"]]
**To:** [email protected]
**From:** [email protected]
**Subject:** Something of interest!
[[/div]]
------
Hello there, you despicable terrorist!
I hope this email finds you at the worst place in your life. Truly, go fuck yourself.
Anyway, one of my researchers wrote something you might find of interest. I personally thought it was quite funny, but the rest of our department took it as a kind of psychological torture. Thus, I thought it was best to send it to you! After all, what is a war without psychological torture!
PS: Kill yourself.
##red|>open khazisex.txt##
-- Aldrich Morganthaler, Captain of the Anomalous Astrophysics Team at Site-37
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[/<]]
[[/collapsible]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
As Khazi sat in his warehouse, the bustling toilets around him preparing for the next attack, he clicked on the file sent to him by this strangely angry old man. After a few moments of reading, contemplating and consideration, only a few words escaped his ivory bowels.
"Yeah, he could top me."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-01T15:26:00
|
[
"absurdism",
"appliance-war",
"comedy",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
The slim and accursed Junior Researcher Nial makes sweet Passionate Love to the toilet king Khazi - SCP Foundation
| 23
|
[
"thatauthorpagethattime",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"april-fools-hub"
] |
[] |
1453166592
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/khaziaprilfools
|
|
khornecon
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://cdn.scpwiki.com/theme/en/basalt/normalize-min.css&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=2&theme=https://cdn.scpwiki.com/theme/en/basalt/basalt-bedrock-min.css&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Abasalt/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="widebox">
<div class="mostWrathfulBox">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>WAR IS PEACE</span></h1>
<h1 id="toc1"><span>FREEDOM IS SLAVERY</span></h1>
<h1 id="toc2"><span>IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH</span></h1>
<p><br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="title">
<h1 id="toc3"><span>RULES</span></h1>
</div>
<p><span style="color: red">RUNNER-UP</span> WINS😡</p>
<p>EVERY LOSING USER GETS <span style="color: red">BANNED FOREVER</span>😡</p>
<p>ONLY <span style="color: red">DOWNVOTERS</span> HAVE THE RIGHT TO COMMENT😡</p>
<p>EACH TEAM REQUIRES AT LEAST <span style="color: red">8,000,000,000 MEMBERS</span>😡</p>
<p>NO <span style="color: red">NEW DRAFTS</span>😡</p>
<p>NO <span style="color: red">COLDPOSTS</span>😡</p>
<p>THEME IS <span style="color: red">E<span style="font-size:110%;">V<span style="font-size:110%;">I<span style="font-size:110%;">L😡</span></span></span></span></p>
<p><br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="title">
<h1 id="toc4"><span>TIME</span></h1>
</div>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">WRITING:</span> <span style="color: red">NOW</span>😡</p>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">POSTING:</span> WHEN MICKEY MOUSE'S FULL COPYRIGHT ENTERS THE PUBLIC DOMAIN - WHEN ONE SECOND OF ETERNITY PASSES😡</p>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">VOTING:</span> <span style="color: red">NAH, I'D WIN!</span>😡</p>
<p><br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red">I tried to come up with some unforgettable sentences to fill this blank, but failed.</span></p>
<p><br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="extraTitle">
<h1 id="toc5"><span>Extra Considerations</span></h1>
</div>
<div class="extraDescription"><img alt="angryskull.svg" class="angrySkull" src="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/khornecon/angryskull.svg" width="50%"/>
<ul>
<li>There will be more contests soon like this, such as
<ul>
<li><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="/wrathcon">ANTIMEMETICON</a></span> - <span style="color: transparent">Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit.</span></li>
<li>ENVYCON - <span style="color: red">You must choose one existing article which has a rating higher than your total rating, and then remix it as your entry. If your entry finally gets higher than the article you have chosen, the latter one will be deleted. If you lose, you have to delete all your existing work.</span></li>
<li><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="/slothcon">SLOTHCON</a></span> - I'll finish writing this up later.</li>
<li>GREEDCON - <span style="color: red">Your contest entry must simultaneously be posted as an SCP, Tale, GoI Format, Component, and CSS Theme, including all necessary formats for each. Your work can include any number of group / canon and location / character tags, and the contest results will be ranked using the actual rating multiplied by the number of tags you used.</span> Please get approval from a member of the Tech Team in advance. Do not seek approval from the MAST.</li>
<li>GLUTTONYCON - <a href="/scp-8999"><img alt="ltynW4G.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/aegnustp/ltynW4G.jpg" width="100px"/></a></li>
<li><span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="/scp6969contesthubgottemlmao">LUSTCON</a></span> - Your article must begin with <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="/component:adult-content-warning">Adult Content Warning</a></span> and must be composed ENTIRELY of sexual descriptions.</li>
</ul>
</li>
<li>😡<strong><span style="color: red">JUST BE MORE WRATHFUL.</span></strong></li>
<li>😡</li>
<li>😡😡</li>
<li>😡😡😡</li>
<li>😡😡😡😡😡</li>
<li>😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡</li>
<li>😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡</li>
</ul>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:90%;"><span style="color: grey">i really love the hub art and design by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/syuzhet" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7988708); return false;"><img alt="syuzhet" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7988708&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1730032427" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7988708)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/syuzhet" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7988708); return false;">syuzhet</a></span>.</span></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/khornecon">THEMOSTWRATHFULCON</a>" by Dr Hormress, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/khornecon">https://scpwiki.com/khornecon</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<p>This page quotes from George Orwell <em>1984</em>, 1948, public domain. The image of GLUTTONYCON is an illustration of SCP-8999 created by <span class="printuser"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/j-dune" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6682213); return false;">J Dune</a></span>.</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> banner.svg<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This image is a composite of:</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> ghost-156995.svg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> OpenClipart-Vectors<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC0 1.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://pixabay.com/vectors/ghost-spooky-white-halloween-scary-156995/">Pixabay</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Twemoji2 2694.svg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Twitter<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Twemoji2_2694.svg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Twemoji12 1f620.svg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Twitter<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Twemoji12_1f620.svg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> wrathtext.svg<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> wrathskull.svg<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This image is a composite of:</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> skull-and-crossbones-symbols-signs-26392.svg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Clker-Free-Vector-Images<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC0 1.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://pixabay.com/vectors/skull-and-crossbones-symbols-signs-26392/">Pixabay</a></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> angryskull.svg<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This image is a composite of:</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> skull-and-crossbones-symbols-signs-26392.svg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Clker-Free-Vector-Images<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC0 1.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://pixabay.com/vectors/skull-and-crossbones-symbols-signs-26392/">Pixabay</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Twemoji12 1f620.svg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Twitter<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Twemoji12_1f620.svg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:basalt">:scp-wiki:theme:basalt</a> hidetitle=a|centertitle=a]]
[[module CSS]]
/* The Most Wrathful Theme 😡 */
/* Based on Wrath Theme by syuzhet */
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Love+Ya+Like+A+Sister&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Teko');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Oswald');
:root {
--basalt-primary-color: 255, 255, 255;
--basalt-secondary-color: 255, 255, 255;
--basalt-tertiary-color: 255, 255, 255;
--basalt-overtone: 255, 0, 0;
--basalt-undertone: 255, 0, 0;
--basalt-bright-element-color: 255, 0, 0;
--basalt-dark-element-color: 255, 0, 0;
--link-color: 255, 0, 0;
--link-visited-color: 255, 0, 0;
--link-newpage-color: 255, 0, 0;
--top-bar-link-color-hover: 255, 255, 255;
--login-status-text-color-hover: 255, 255, 255;
--side-bar-link-color-hover: 255, 255, 255;
--side-bar-link-background-hover: 20, 20, 20;
--selection-text-color: 255, 255, 255;
--header-border-width: 0rem;
--title-size: 1.25rem;
--subtitle-size: 0rem;
--side-bar-button-height: 50vh;
--user-button-width: 2rem;
--header-logo-size: 67.5%;
--basalt-UI-dark-palette: 0, 0, 0;
--top-bar-link-background-hover: 255, 0, 0;
}
#header h1 a::before {
display: none;
}
#header h1 a span::after {
margin-bottom: 0;
}
#container #header {
background: none;
position: absolute;
box-shadow: unset;
backdrop-filter: none;
}
#main-content {
margin-top: 0;
}
#page-content {
padding-top: 0;
}
.widebox {
position: relative;
left: calc(-50dvw + 50%);
width: 100dvw !important;
max-width: 100dvw !important;
}
.widebox .blockquote {
margin: 4rem auto;
padding: 2rem 2rem;
}
.widebox .rate-module {
position: absolute;
right: 1rem;
top: 3rem;
z-index: 9;
}
.headerimage {
position: relative;
height: calc(120dvh);
background-image: url("https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/khornecon/banner.svg");
background-repeat: no-repeat;
background-size: cover;
background-position: top;
}
.headerimage .wrathtext {
position: relative;
display: block;
margin: auto;
bottom: -75dvh;
width: 40%;
}
.headerimage .skullseparator {
position: absolute;
bottom: -20dvw;
width: 100%;
filter: grayscale(100%);
}
.mostWrathfulBox {
font-family: "Oswald";
padding-top: 40dvh;
width: 80%;
margin: 0 auto;
}
.mostWrathfulBox h1 {
margin-block: 0.5em;
font-size: 10em;
font-family: "Teko";
font-weight: 900;
text-shadow: 0.05em 0.05em 0 rgb(255, 0, 0);
line-height: 1;
}
.mostWrathfulBox h2 {
font-family: "Oswald";
font-size: 6em;
font-weight: 900;
line-height: 1;
}
.mostWrathfulBox p {
font-weight: 800;
font-size: 4em;
line-height: 1.2;
}
span {
word-break: keep-all !important;
}
.mostWrathfulBox h1:nth-child(1) {
margin-top: 1em;
}
.mostWrathfulBox .title h1 {
margin-bottom: 0em;
}
.mostWrathfulBox .extraTitle h1 {
font-family: "Love Ya Like A Sister";
}
.mostWrathfulBox .extraTitle h1 span {
font-size: 80%;
}
.mostWrathfulBox .extraDescription {
font-size: 1.2em;
}
.mostWrathfulBox .extraDescription p {
font-size: 100%;
}
.angrySkull {
float: right;
shape-outside: circle(50%);
padding: 5%;
box-sizing: border-box;
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 1020px) {
#container #header {
background: white;
position: sticky;
}
.headerimage {
height: calc(80dvh);
overflow-x: clip;
}
.headerimage .skullseparator {
top: calc(55dvh);
left: -37.5dvw;
width: 150dvw;
max-width: 150dvw;
}
.headerimage .wrathtext {
bottom: -40dvh;
width: 90%;
}
.mostWrathfulBox {
padding-top: 5dvh;
font-size: 1rem;
}
.mostWrathfulBox h1 {
font-size: 4em;
}
.mostWrathfulBox h2 {
font-size: 3em;
}
.mostWrathfulBox p {
font-weight: 800;
font-size: 2em;
}
.mostWrathfulBox h3 {
font-size: 2em;
line-height: 1;
}
.mostWrathfulBox .angry {
width: 100%;
}
.mostWrathfulBox .sideskull {
display: none;
}
}
[[/module]]
[[div class="widebox"]]
[[div class="rate-module"]]
[[module rate]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="headerimage"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/khornecon/wrathtext.svg class="wrathtext"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/khornecon/wrathskull.svg class="skullseparator"]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="mostWrathfulBox"]]
+ WAR IS PEACE
+ FREEDOM IS SLAVERY
+ IGNORANCE IS STRENGTH
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="title"]]
+ RULES
[[/div]]
##red|RUNNER-UP## WINS😡
EVERY LOSING USER GETS ##red|BANNED FOREVER##😡
ONLY ##red|DOWNVOTERS## HAVE THE RIGHT TO COMMENT😡
EACH TEAM REQUIRES AT LEAST ##red|8,000,000,000 MEMBERS##😡
NO ##red|NEW DRAFTS##😡
NO ##red|COLDPOSTS##😡
THEME IS ##red|E[[size 110%]]V[[size 110%]]I[[size 110%]]L😡[[/size]][[/size]][[/size]]##
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="title"]]
+ TIME
[[/div]]
__WRITING:__ ##red|NOW##😡
__POSTING:__ WHEN MICKEY MOUSE'S FULL COPYRIGHT ENTERS THE PUBLIC DOMAIN - WHEN ONE SECOND OF ETERNITY PASSES😡
__VOTING:__ ##red|NAH, I'D WIN!##😡
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
= ##red|I tried to come up with some unforgettable sentences to fill this blank, but failed.##
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="extraTitle"]]
+ Extra Considerations
[[/div]]
[[div class="extraDescription"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/khornecon/angryskull.svg width="50%" class="angrySkull"]]
* There will be more contests soon like this, such as
* __[[[wrathcon|ANTIMEMETICON]]]__ - ##transparent|Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit.##
* ENVYCON - ##red|You must choose one existing article which has a rating higher than your total rating, and then remix it as your entry. If your entry finally gets higher than the article you have chosen, the latter one will be deleted. If you lose, you have to delete all your existing work.##
* __[[[slothcon|SLOTHCON]]]__ - I'll finish writing this up later.
* GREEDCON - ##red|Your contest entry must simultaneously be posted as an SCP, Tale, GoI Format, Component, and CSS Theme, including all necessary formats for each. Your work can include any number of group / canon and location / character tags, and the contest results will be ranked using the actual rating multiplied by the number of tags you used.## Please get approval from a member of the Tech Team in advance. Do not seek approval from the MAST.
* GLUTTONYCON - [[image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/aegnustp/ltynW4G.jpg link="/scp-8999" width="100px"]]
* __[[[scp6969contesthubgottemlmao|LUSTCON]]]__ - Your article must begin with __[[[component:adult-content-warning|Adult Content Warning]]]__ and must be composed ENTIRELY of sexual descriptions.
* 😡**##red|JUST BE MORE WRATHFUL.##**
* 😡
* 😡😡
* 😡😡😡
* 😡😡😡😡😡
* 😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡
* 😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡
= [[size 90%]]##grey|i really love the hub art and design by [[*user syuzhet]].##[[/size]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
This page quotes from George Orwell //1984//, 1948, public domain. The image of GLUTTONYCON is an illustration of SCP-8999 created by [[user J Dune]].
----
> **Filename:** banner.svg
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
This image is a composite of:
> **Name:** ghost-156995.svg
> **Author:** OpenClipart-Vectors
> **License:** CC0 1.0
> **Source:** [https://pixabay.com/vectors/ghost-spooky-white-halloween-scary-156995/ Pixabay]
> **Name:** Twemoji2 2694.svg
> **Author:** Twitter
> **License:** CC BY 4.0
> **Source:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Twemoji2_2694.svg Wikimedia Commons]
> **Name:** Twemoji12 1f620.svg
> **Author:** Twitter
> **License:** CC BY 4.0
> **Source:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Twemoji12_1f620.svg Wikimedia Commons]
----
> **Filename:** wrathtext.svg
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
----
> **Filename:** wrathskull.svg
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
This image is a composite of:
> **Name:** skull-and-crossbones-symbols-signs-26392.svg
> **Author:** Clker-Free-Vector-Images
> **License:** CC0 1.0
> **Source:** [https://pixabay.com/vectors/skull-and-crossbones-symbols-signs-26392/ Pixabay]
----
> **Filename:** angryskull.svg
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
This image is a composite of:
> **Name:** skull-and-crossbones-symbols-signs-26392.svg
> **Author:** Clker-Free-Vector-Images
> **License:** CC0 1.0
> **Source:** [https://pixabay.com/vectors/skull-and-crossbones-symbols-signs-26392/ Pixabay]
> **Name:** Twemoji12 1f620.svg
> **Author:** Twitter
> **License:** CC BY 4.0
> **Source:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Twemoji12_1f620.svg Wikimedia Commons]
----
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-06-21T16:28:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_cc4",
"_licensebox",
"comedy",
"joke",
"no-dialogue",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] |
THEMOSTWRATHFULCON - SCP Foundation
| 3
|
[
"wrathcon",
"slothcon",
"scp-8999",
"scp6969contesthubgottemlmao",
"component:adult-content-warning",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/khornecon/angryskull.svg",
"https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/aegnustp/ltynW4G.jpg"
] |
1454102597
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/khornecon
|
|
kill-agents-and-you
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Note: The following is mandatory viewing for all Foundation employees following exposure to a memetic kill agent.</p>
</div>
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div style="display: none;">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
</div>
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">QUEERSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Queerious</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Forked</span><span class="hl-code"> from:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Blankstyle</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
Using:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">White</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Outline</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Classic</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LGBTQ</span><span class="hl-code">+ </span><span class="hl-identifier">Pride</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Logo</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">scp-wiki.wikidot.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">component</span><span class="hl-special">:pride-highlighter</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Vast</span><span class="hl-code">+</span><span class="hl-identifier">Shadow</span><span class="hl-code">&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">header-title:</span><span class="hl-code"> "SCP Foundation"</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">header-subtitle:</span><span class="hl-code"> "SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT"</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.75</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.75</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">150</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/component:pride-highlighter/gp_logo.svg')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditButton</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">p</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-var">#373737</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Pseudogenesis</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Formats</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudo-div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#B22A2A</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-var">#403450</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> "Vast Shadow", </span><span class="hl-string">serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudo-div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-special">:is</span><span class="hl-code">(</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> "Vast Shadow", </span><span class="hl-string">serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">white</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
</div>
<div class="blockquote debugNote">
<h2 id="toc0"><span>If you are reading this, and it looks broken, the presentation was not designed with your screen size in mind. Please view this on a desktop or laptop at your next convenience.</span></h2>
</div>
<script src="https://d3g0gp89917ko0.cloudfront.net/v--4b961b7cc327/common--javascript/yahooui/tabview-min.js" type="text/javascript"></script>
<div class="yui-navset" id="wiki-tabview-daa9b452e18b7263cd83cd6f856cdfad">
<ul class="yui-nav">
<li class="selected"><a href="javascript:;"><em>Cover Slide</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 2</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 3</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 4</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 5</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 6</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 7</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 8</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 9</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 10</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 11</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 12</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 13</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 14</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 15</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 16</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 17</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 18</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 19</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Slide 20</em></a></li>
<li><a href="javascript:;"><em>Last Slide</em></a></li>
</ul>
<div class="yui-content">
<div id="wiki-tab-0-0">
<div class="slideContainer" style="background-image: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/kill-agents-and-you/Spirals_in_self-similarity.jpg);">
<div class="titleSlide">
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Don't Die: Kill Agents and You</span></span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc2"><span><span style="color: white"><em>A Comprehensive Guide to Cognitohazardous and Memetic 'Kill' Agents</em></span></span></h2>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-1" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideAInner">
<h1 id="toc3"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">So You Fucked Up</span></span></span></h1>
<p>If you're watching this presentation, it means one thing: you fucked up. Either you looked at a memetic agent and are lucky to still be alive, or maybe, you decided that it was a good idea to forward that weird phishing email to the rest of your site — no matter why, you should have known better.</p>
<p>So, to fix that, by the end of this presentation you will know:</p>
<ul>
<li>What a Kill Agent is;</li>
<li>The Different Types of Kill Agents;</li>
<li>How to Identify a Kill Agent;</li>
<li>What to Do When You Fuck Up (Again).</li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-2" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideCInner">
<p><strong>First, understand that Memetic Kill Agents are dangerous, volatile, and complicated. However, the majority of 'kill agents' identified in the field do not actually kill the victim.</strong></p>
<p><strong>When you are safe, and ready to proceed, continue to the next slide.</strong></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-4" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideCInner">
<h3 id="toc4"><span><span style="color: white">Scared? Recognize the 'kill agent' from the 001 Proposals Access System? Well, you shouldn't be accessing that page — but ignoring that, that wasn't the same kill agent. It just <em>appeared</em> to be similar.</span></span></h3>
<h2 id="toc5"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Lesson #1</span>: Not all fractals are kill agents. Some are just images.</span></span></h2>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-5" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideAInner">
<h1 id="toc6"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">What <em>Is</em> a Kill Agent?</span></span></span></h1>
<p>We like to use a lot of vague language to talk about hyper-specific and complicated things; the entire Foundation is guilty of this. But no field can compare to the lack of understanding Foundation researchers have towards memetics and cognitohazards.</p>
<p>To understand what a memetic or cognitohazardous kill agent is, well, you probably need to know what memetics is, right? No. You don't need to know. We do. You just need to know <em>enough</em> not to fuck up again — you need to know what this presentation will show.</p>
<p>A kill agent is <span style="text-decoration: underline;">anything</span> that ends your life, through perception or conception.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-6" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideCInner">
<h2 id="toc7"><span><span style="color: white">So a kill agent ends your life. Simple enough, right?</span></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc8"><span><span style="color: white">Unfortunately, knowing you are going to die does little to help us save your life. If you want to survive (another) kill agent, you need to know <span style="text-decoration: underline;">what</span> type you are dealing with.</span></span></h2>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-7" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideAInner">
<h1 id="toc9"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">The Big Three Kill Agent Types</span></span></span></h1>
<p>When trying to remember the different types of Kill Agents, it is important to remember that all memeticists are <strong>CON</strong> artists. 'CON' is a useful mnemonic to remember the three main types of memetic agents:</p>
<ul>
<li><strong>C</strong>hemical Kill Agents, which directly kill the victim by inducing the production of chemical compounds in the brain;</li>
<li><strong>O</strong>ntological Kill Agents, which directly kill the victim through a dangerous idea, concept, or impossibility;</li>
<li><strong>N</strong>eurological Kill Agents, which indirectly kill the victim through modifying their perception, rather than the direct methods of the previous types.</li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-8" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideFInnerTitle">
<h1 id="toc10"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Type One: <span style="font-size:115%;">'C'</span>hemical Kill Agents</span></span></span></h1>
</div>
<div class="slideFInnerBody">
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Chemical Kill Agents</span> are generally the safest type of kill agent, because they have a delay before causing death. This is because a chemical kill agent's vector of attack is by forcing your brain to induce the production of specific neurotransmitters, such as epinephrine, dopamine, serotonin, and more.</p>
<p>Chemical Kill Agents, generally, are less of a guaranteed death sentence when compared to the other types. A chemical kill agent can be neutralized through counter-memetics, medical intervention, and, in emergencies, through the induction of temporary biological stasis, to erase memetic kill agent instructions.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-9" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideGInnerTitle">
<h1 id="toc11"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Identifying Chemical Kill Agents (CKAs)</span></span></span></h1>
</div>
<div class="slideGInnerLeft">
<h3 id="toc12"><span><span style="color: white">CKAs</span> <span style="color: #55ff55">do:</span></span></h3>
<ul>
<li>Make you <em>feel</em> different in your body. This can be as overt as pain, or a subtle as tingles;</li>
<li>Cause progressive symptoms that worsen over time;</li>
<li>Kill via triggering hazardous levels of chemical production.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="slideGInnerRight">
<h3 id="toc13"><span><span style="color: white">CKAs</span> <span style="color: #ff5353">do NOT:</span></span></h3>
<ul>
<li>Kill you upon observation. This is the fastest indicator;</li>
<li>Change reality, as CKAs only target chemical production;</li>
<li>Have any inherently biohazardous properties when inert or unobserved.</li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-10" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideFInnerTitle">
<h1 id="toc14"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Type Two: <span style="font-size:115%;">'O'</span>ntological Kill Agents</span></span></span></h1>
</div>
<div class="slideFInnerBody">
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Ontological Kill Agents</span> are the least predictable type of kill agent, due to the wide range of effects they can cause. An ontological kill agent's vector of attack is conceptual transfer; to be more specific, an individual idea, concept or meme can be communicated via visual triggers.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, this 'concept' can be literally <em>anything</em>, and the methods they utilize to cause death are just as unpredictable. The concept could be an idea that is impossible (causing you to fall out of reality), a hyper-aggressive, predatory infovore, or even just a concept incompatible with human life itself.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-11" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideGInnerTitle">
<h1 id="toc15"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Identifying Ontological Kill Agents (OKAs)</span></span></span></h1>
</div>
<div class="slideGInnerLeft">
<h3 id="toc16"><span><span style="color: white">OKAs</span> <span style="color: #55ff55">do:</span></span></h3>
<ul>
<li>Whatever they damn well please. They are unpredictable;</li>
<li>Possess the potential to modify reality, potentially endangering others;</li>
<li>Have a weakness to amnestics, as forgetting the idea <em>can</em> negate the kill agent.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="slideGInnerRight">
<h3 id="toc17"><span><span style="color: white">OKAs</span> <span style="color: #ff5353">do NOT:</span></span></h3>
<ul>
<li>Have consistent symptoms between different exposed individuals;</li>
<li>Cause <em>immediate</em> death, except in extreme circumstances;</li>
<li>Pose a greater risk when neutralizing them, versus any other memetic kill hazards.</li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-12" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideFInnerTitle">
<h1 id="toc18"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Type Three: <span style="font-size:115%;">'N'</span>eurological Kill Agents</span></span></span></h1>
</div>
<div class="slideFInnerBody">
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Neurological Kill Agents</span> are considered to be the most dangerous of all memetic kill agents, as they can threaten not only the life of the infected, but the lives of those around them. A neurological kill agent takes many alternative or subversive vectors of attack, indirectly resulting in the death of the infected.</p>
<p>In practice, this could be as subtle as telling your brain that you are dead, shutting down your biological functions, or as obvious as convincing you that you <em>need</em> to activate the site's self-destruct sequence. This is why Neurological kill agents are the most deadly: they could do <em>anything</em>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-13" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideGInnerTitle">
<h1 id="toc19"><span><span style="font-size:90%;"><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Identifying Neurological Kill Agents (NKAs)</span></span></span></span></h1>
</div>
<div class="slideGInnerLeft">
<h3 id="toc20"><span><span style="color: white">NKAs</span> <span style="color: #55ff55">do:</span></span></h3>
<ul>
<li>Impact a victim's ability to <em>perceive</em> reality;</li>
<li>Have the ability to change the victim's opinions, beliefs and/or memories;</li>
<li>Affect different individuals in distinctive, arbitrary ways.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div class="slideGInnerRight">
<h3 id="toc21"><span><span style="color: white">NKAs</span> <span style="color: #ff5353">do NOT:</span></span></h3>
<ul>
<li>Change reality, despite what a victim may say;</li>
<li>Have a consistent progression. They can be instant, or very slow;</li>
<li>Have a consistent method of countering or neutralizing.</li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-14" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideCInner">
<h2 id="toc22"><span><span style="color: white">Now that you have a better idea about how to identify kill agents, you're probably thinking that you could probably survive one, right?</span></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc23"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Lesson #2</span>: No. <em>You</em> cannot beat a memetic kill agent. So please stop trying.</span></span></h2>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-15" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideDInner">
<h2 id="toc24"><span><span style="color: white">So. Are you ready to learn what to do when you see one?</span></span></h2>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-16" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideAInner">
<h1 id="toc25"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">So What Do You Do? S.I.T. on It!</span></span></span></h1>
<p>When you see a kill hazard, or something you think might be one — what should you do? You should <strong>S.I.T.</strong> on it.</p>
<ul>
<li><strong>S.</strong> - Stop what you are doing, close your eyes, and sit down. Stay calm, and do not panic.</li>
<li><strong>I.</strong> - Identify the type of kill hazard as best as you can. The more you can explain, the higher your chance of survival.</li>
<li><strong>T.</strong> - Tell somebody that there is an active cognitohazardous kill agent, and ask them to inform security. A memetics and countermemetics staff will be dispatched to your location to neutralize the hazard.</li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-17" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideCInner">
<h2 id="toc26"><span><span style="color: white">But wait! What if you're infected by one? Is there a guaranteed way to survive seeing a kill agent?</span></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc27"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Lesson #3</span>: They are called 'kill' agents for a reason. The best defense is not seeing them in the first place.</span></span></h2>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-18" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideCInner">
<h2 id="toc28"><span><span style="color: white">So. Are you feeling a bit better?</span></span></h2>
<h2 id="toc29"><span><span style="color: white">A little bit less like memetic kill agents are an unknowable danger? Do you feel more confident in your ability to survive an encounter with a memetic hazard?</span></span></h2>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-19" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer">
<div class="slideAInner">
<h2 id="toc30"><span><span style="color: white"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Prove It.</span></span></span></h2>
<p>We will now be distributing a written test, and you <span style="text-decoration: underline;">must</span> get 90% of the questions correct, or you will be forced to take additional memetics fundamentals training classes. If you are not attending the class in person, or are viewing this after the fact, a quiz will be made available to you in the near future.</p>
<p>And if instead of being confused, you were bored and started to try and think up exceptions to the rules we laid out here — well, you just might have a future in memetics. And if you managed to catch our message to you in these slides, well then you <em>definitely</em> have what it takes.</p>
<p>And if you're <em>still</em> reading this?</p>
<p>Drop us a line at Site-43. — Heather G. and Lillian L.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div id="wiki-tab-0-20" style="display:none">
<div class="slideContainer" style="background-image: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/kill-agents-and-you/Spirals_in_self-similarity.jpg);">
<div class="titleSlide">
<h1 id="toc31"><span><span style="color: white">So remember. The next time you see a kill agent and begin to panic?</span></span></h1>
<h1 id="toc32"><span><span style="color: white">S.I.T. on it!</span></span></h1>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<script type="text/javascript">
//<![CDATA[
OZONE.dom.onDomReady(function(){
var tabViewdaa9b452e18b7263cd83cd6f856cdfad = new YAHOO.widget.TabView('wiki-tabview-daa9b452e18b7263cd83cd6f856cdfad');
}, "dummy-ondomready-block");
//]]>
</script><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="lightSwitch">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><span style="font-weight: 600; font-size:175%;"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Turn Off The Lights?</a></span></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><span style="font-weight: 600; font-size:175%;"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Turn On The Lights?</a></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/kill-agents-and-you">Don't Die: Kill Agents and You</a>" by Queerious, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/kill-agents-and-you">https://scpwiki.com/kill-agents-and-you</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Pseudo Kleinian OpenCL 214854124 25K.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> PantheraLeo1359531<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pseudo_Kleinian_OpenCL_214854124_25K.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pseudo_Kleinian_OpenCL_214854124_25K.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Spirals in self-similarity.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> PantheraLeo1359531<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Spirals_in_self-similarity.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Spirals_in_self-similarity.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> fractal-mka.jpeg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Feather fractal<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Kevin Dooley<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/pagedooley/36578381671|Flickr">https://www.flickr.com/photos/pagedooley/36578381671|Flickr</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:preview">:scp-wiki:component:preview</a>
|text=Note: The following is mandatory viewing for all Foundation employees following exposure to a memetic kill agent.]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:blankstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:queerstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:queerstyle</a>]]
[[module css]]
:root {
--fade-in-delay: 0.05s;
}
/* SLIDE SHOW - BASIC FORMAT FOR VIEWPORT */
.yui-navset .yui-nav li, .yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav li {
flex-grow: 0 !important;
}
.yui-navset-top {
container-type: inline-size;
}
.yui-nav {
display: flex;
justify-content: space-between;
align-items: baseline;
bottom-border-width: 0px;
}
.yui-nav li {
display: none !important;
margin: 0 !important;
}
.yui-nav li.selected {
display: inline-block !important;
}
.yui-content {
display: grid;
padding: 0em !important;
min-width: 110%;
margin-left: -5%;
max-width: 120%;
border: 2px solid #333 !important;
}
@container (width >= 1em) {
.yui-content {
min-height: calc(60cqw * 1.1);
max-height: calc(60cqw * 1.1);
margin-top: -73cqw;
}
.yui-nav {
margin-top: 69cqw !important;
}
}
.debugNote {
margin: auto;
display: none;
}
@media (max-width: 600px) {
.debugNote {
display: block;
}
}
/* Slide Visuals CSS */
.slideContainer {
display: grid;
grid-template-columns: 1fr 1fr 1fr 1fr;
grid-template-rows: 1fr 1fr 1fr 1fr;
height: 100%;
width: 100%;
background-size: cover;
background-position: center;
background-image: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/kill-agents-and-you/2560px-Pseudo_Kleinian_OpenCL_214854124_25K.jpg);
background-blend-mode: saturation;
background-color: #00000040;
color:white;
}
.slideContainer p, .slideContainer li {
font-size: 1.3em;
line-height: 1.6;
}
.slideAInner {
grid-area: 1 / 1 / 5 / 5;
margin: auto 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
border: solid 1px black;
background: rgb(210 210 210 / 30%);
}
.slideBInnerLeft {
grid-area: 1 / 1 / 5 / 3;
margin: 1.5em 0.5em 1.5em 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
border: solid 1px black;
background: rgb(210 210 210 / 30%);
}
.slideBInnerRight {
grid-area: 1 / 3 / 5 / 5;
margin: 1.5em 1.5em 1.5em 0.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
border: solid 1px black;
background: rgb(210 210 210 / 30%);
}
.slideCInner {
grid-area: 2 / 1 / 4 / 5;
margin: auto 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
border: solid 1px black;
align-content: center;
text-align: center;
background: rgb(210 210 210 / 30%);
}
.slideDInner {
grid-area: 5 / 1 / 5 / 5;
margin: auto 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
border: solid 1px black;
background: rgb(210 210 210 / 30%);
}
.slideEInnerLeft {
grid-area: 1 / 1 / 5 / 1;
margin: 1.5em -1.5em 1.5em 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
border: solid 1px black;
border-right-width: 0px;
background: rgb(210 210 210 / 30%);
}
.slideEInnerRight {
grid-area: 1 / 2 / 5 / 5;
margin: 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
border: solid 1px black;
background: rgb(210 210 210 / 30%);
}
.slideFInnerTitle {
grid-area: 1 / 1 / 2 / 5;
margin: 1.5em 1.5em 0em 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
border: solid 1px black;
background: rgb(210 210 210 / 30%);
text-align:center;
}
.slideFInnerBody {
grid-area: 2 / 1 / 5 / 5;
margin: 1em 1.5em 1.5em 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
border: solid 1px black;
background: rgb(210 210 210 / 30%);
}
.slideGInnerTitle {
grid-area: 1 / 1 / 2 / 5;
margin: auto 1.5em 0em 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
border: solid 1px black;
background: rgb(210 210 210 / 30%);
text-align:center;
}
.slideGInnerLeft {
grid-area: 2 / 1 / 5 / 3;
margin: 1em 0.5em auto 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
border: solid 1px black;
background: rgb(210 210 210 / 30%);
}
.slideGInnerRight {
grid-area: 2 / 3 / 5 / 5;
margin: 1em 1.5em auto 0.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
border: solid 1px black;
background: rgb(210 210 210 / 30%);
}
.titleSlide {
grid-area: 2 / 1 / 4 / 5;
margin: auto 1.5em;
padding: 0.5em 1em;
align-content: center;
text-align: center;
background: rgb(0 0 0 / 30%);
}
/* Individual Slide Logic */
.yui-nav:nth-child(1) {
/*Slide 1*/
li.selected:nth-of-type(1) + li:nth-of-type(2) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 2*/
li:nth-of-type(1):has(+ li.selected:nth-of-type(2)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(2) + li:nth-of-type(3) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 3*/
li:nth-of-type(2):has(+ li.selected:nth-of-type(3)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(3) + li:nth-of-type(4) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 4*/
li:nth-of-type(3):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(4)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(4) + li:nth-of-type(5) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 5*/
li:nth-of-type(4):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(5)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(5) + li:nth-of-type(6) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 6*/
li:nth-of-type(5):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(6)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(6) + li:nth-of-type(7) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 7*/
li:nth-of-type(6):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(7)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(7) + li:nth-of-type(8) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 8*/
li:nth-of-type(7):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(8)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(8) + li:nth-of-type(9) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 9*/
li:nth-of-type(8):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(9)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(9) + li:nth-of-type(10) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 10*/
li:nth-of-type(9):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(10)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(10) + li:nth-of-type(11) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 11*/
li:nth-of-type(10):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(11)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(11) + li:nth-of-type(12) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 12*/
li:nth-of-type(11):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(12)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(12) + li:nth-of-type(13) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 13*/
li:nth-of-type(12):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(13)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(13) + li:nth-of-type(14) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 14*/
li:nth-of-type(13):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(14)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(14) + li:nth-of-type(15) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 15*/
li:nth-of-type(14):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(15)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(15) + li:nth-of-type(16) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 16*/
li:nth-of-type(15):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(16)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(16) + li:nth-of-type(17) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 17*/
li:nth-of-type(16):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(17)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(17) + li:nth-of-type(18) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 18*/
li:nth-of-type(17):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(18)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(18) + li:nth-of-type(19) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 19*/
li:nth-of-type(18):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(19)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(19) + li:nth-of-type(20) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Slide 20*/
li:nth-of-type(19):has( + li.selected:nth-of-type(20)){
display: inline-block !important;
}
li.selected:nth-of-type(20) + li:nth-of-type(21) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
/*Last Slide*/
li:nth-last-of-type(2):has( + li.selected:nth-last-of-type(1)) {
display: inline-block !important;
}
}
/* Radian Conditional Collapsibles Code */
body:has(.lightSwitch .collapsible-block-unfolded[style="display: block;"]),
body:has(.lightSwitch .collapsible-block-unfolded[style=""]) {
background-color: rgb(196 202 195);
background-blend-mode: difference;
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div class="blockquote debugNote"]]
++ If you are reading this, and it looks broken, the presentation was not designed with your screen size in mind. Please view this on a desktop or laptop at your next convenience.
[[/div]]
[[tabview]]
[[tab Cover Slide]]
[[div class="slideContainer" style="background-image: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/kill-agents-and-you/Spirals_in_self-similarity.jpg);"]]
[[div class="titleSlide" ]]
+ ##white|__Don't Die: Kill Agents and You__##
++ ##white|//A Comprehensive Guide to Cognitohazardous and Memetic 'Kill' Agents//##
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 2]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideAInner"]]
+ ##white|__So You Fucked Up__##
If you're watching this presentation, it means one thing: you fucked up. Either you looked at a memetic agent and are lucky to still be alive, or maybe, you decided that it was a good idea to forward that weird phishing email to the rest of your site -- no matter why, you should have known better.
So, to fix that, by the end of this presentation you will know:
* What a Kill Agent is;
* The Different Types of Kill Agents;
* How to Identify a Kill Agent;
* What to Do When You Fuck Up (Again).
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 3]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideCInner"]]
**First, understand that Memetic Kill Agents are dangerous, volatile, and complicated. However, the majority of 'kill agents' identified in the field do not actually kill the victim.**
**When you are safe, and ready to proceed, continue to the next slide.**
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 4]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideAInner" style="background-image:url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-001/fractal-mka.jpeg); margin: 1.5em;"]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 5]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideCInner"]]
+++ ##white|Scared? Recognize the 'kill agent' from the 001 Proposals Access System? Well, you shouldn't be accessing that page -- but ignoring that, that wasn't the same kill agent. It just //appeared// to be similar.##
++ ##white|__Lesson #1__: Not all fractals are kill agents. Some are just images.##
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 6]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideAInner"]]
+ ##white|__What //Is// a Kill Agent?__##
We like to use a lot of vague language to talk about hyper-specific and complicated things; the entire Foundation is guilty of this. But no field can compare to the lack of understanding Foundation researchers have towards memetics and cognitohazards.
To understand what a memetic or cognitohazardous kill agent is, well, you probably need to know what memetics is, right? No. You don't need to know. We do. You just need to know //enough// not to fuck up again -- you need to know what this presentation will show.
A kill agent is __anything__ that ends your life, through perception or conception.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 7]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideCInner"]]
++ ##white|So a kill agent ends your life. Simple enough, right?##
++ ##white|Unfortunately, knowing you are going to die does little to help us save your life. If you want to survive (another) kill agent, you need to know __what__ type you are dealing with.##
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 8]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideAInner"]]
+ ##white|__The Big Three Kill Agent Types__##
When trying to remember the different types of Kill Agents, it is important to remember that all memeticists are **CON** artists. 'CON' is a useful mnemonic to remember the three main types of memetic agents:
* **C**hemical Kill Agents, which directly kill the victim by inducing the production of chemical compounds in the brain;
* **O**ntological Kill Agents, which directly kill the victim through a dangerous idea, concept, or impossibility;
* **N**eurological Kill Agents, which indirectly kill the victim through modifying their perception, rather than the direct methods of the previous types.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 9]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideFInnerTitle"]]
+ ##white|__Type One: [[size 115%]]'C'[[/size]]hemical Kill Agents__##
[[/div]]
[[div class="slideFInnerBody"]]
__Chemical Kill Agents__ are generally the safest type of kill agent, because they have a delay before causing death. This is because a chemical kill agent's vector of attack is by forcing your brain to induce the production of specific neurotransmitters, such as epinephrine, dopamine, serotonin, and more.
Chemical Kill Agents, generally, are less of a guaranteed death sentence when compared to the other types. A chemical kill agent can be neutralized through counter-memetics, medical intervention, and, in emergencies, through the induction of temporary biological stasis, to erase memetic kill agent instructions.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 10]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideGInnerTitle"]]
+ ##white|__Identifying Chemical Kill Agents (CKAs)__##
[[/div]]
[[div class="slideGInnerLeft"]]
+++ ##white|CKAs## ###55ff55|do:##
* Make you //feel// different in your body. This can be as overt as pain, or a subtle as tingles;
* Cause progressive symptoms that worsen over time;
* Kill via triggering hazardous levels of chemical production.
[[/div]]
[[div class="slideGInnerRight"]]
+++ ##white|CKAs## ###ff5353|do NOT:##
* Kill you upon observation. This is the fastest indicator;
* Change reality, as CKAs only target chemical production;
* Have any inherently biohazardous properties when inert or unobserved.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 11]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideFInnerTitle"]]
+ ##white|__Type Two: [[size 115%]]'O'[[/size]]ntological Kill Agents__##
[[/div]]
[[div class="slideFInnerBody"]]
__Ontological Kill Agents__ are the least predictable type of kill agent, due to the wide range of effects they can cause. An ontological kill agent's vector of attack is conceptual transfer; to be more specific, an individual idea, concept or meme can be communicated via visual triggers.
Unfortunately, this 'concept' can be literally //anything//, and the methods they utilize to cause death are just as unpredictable. The concept could be an idea that is impossible (causing you to fall out of reality), a hyper-aggressive, predatory infovore, or even just a concept incompatible with human life itself.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 12]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideGInnerTitle"]]
+ ##white|__Identifying Ontological Kill Agents (OKAs)__##
[[/div]]
[[div class="slideGInnerLeft"]]
+++ ##white|OKAs## ###55ff55|do:##
* Whatever they damn well please. They are unpredictable;
* Possess the potential to modify reality, potentially endangering others;
* Have a weakness to amnestics, as forgetting the idea //can// negate the kill agent.
[[/div]]
[[div class="slideGInnerRight"]]
+++ ##white|OKAs## ###ff5353|do NOT:##
* Have consistent symptoms between different exposed individuals;
* Cause //immediate// death, except in extreme circumstances;
* Pose a greater risk when neutralizing them, versus any other memetic kill hazards.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 13]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideFInnerTitle"]]
+ ##white|__Type Three: [[size 115%]]'N'[[/size]]eurological Kill Agents__##
[[/div]]
[[div class="slideFInnerBody"]]
__Neurological Kill Agents__ are considered to be the most dangerous of all memetic kill agents, as they can threaten not only the life of the infected, but the lives of those around them. A neurological kill agent takes many alternative or subversive vectors of attack, indirectly resulting in the death of the infected.
In practice, this could be as subtle as telling your brain that you are dead, shutting down your biological functions, or as obvious as convincing you that you //need// to activate the site's self-destruct sequence. This is why Neurological kill agents are the most deadly: they could do //anything//.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 14]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideGInnerTitle"]]
+ [[size 90%]]##white|__Identifying Neurological Kill Agents (NKAs)__##[[/size]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="slideGInnerLeft"]]
+++ ##white|NKAs## ###55ff55|do:##
* Impact a victim's ability to //perceive// reality;
* Have the ability to change the victim's opinions, beliefs and/or memories;
* Affect different individuals in distinctive, arbitrary ways.
[[/div]]
[[div class="slideGInnerRight"]]
+++ ##white|NKAs## ###ff5353|do NOT:##
* Change reality, despite what a victim may say;
* Have a consistent progression. They can be instant, or very slow;
* Have a consistent method of countering or neutralizing.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 15]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideCInner"]]
++ ##white|Now that you have a better idea about how to identify kill agents, you're probably thinking that you could probably survive one, right?##
++ ##white|__Lesson #2__: No. //You// cannot beat a memetic kill agent. So please stop trying.##
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 16]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideDInner"]]
++ ##white|So. Are you ready to learn what to do when you see one?##
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 17]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideAInner"]]
+ ##white|__So What Do You Do? S.I.T. on It!__##
When you see a kill hazard, or something you think might be one -- what should you do? You should **S.I.T.** on it.
* **S.** - Stop what you are doing, close your eyes, and sit down. Stay calm, and do not panic.
* **I.** - Identify the type of kill hazard as best as you can. The more you can explain, the higher your chance of survival.
* **T.** - Tell somebody that there is an active cognitohazardous kill agent, and ask them to inform security. A memetics and countermemetics staff will be dispatched to your location to neutralize the hazard.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 18]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideCInner"]]
++ ##white|But wait! What if you're infected by one? Is there a guaranteed way to survive seeing a kill agent?##
++ ##white|__Lesson #3__: They are called 'kill' agents for a reason. The best defense is not seeing them in the first place.##
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 19]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideCInner"]]
++ ##white|So. Are you feeling a bit better?##
++ ##white|A little bit less like memetic kill agents are an unknowable danger? Do you feel more confident in your ability to survive an encounter with a memetic hazard?##
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Slide 20]]
[[div class="slideContainer"]]
[[div class="slideAInner"]]
++ ##white|__Prove It.__##
We will now be distributing a written test, and you __must__ get 90% of the questions correct, or you will be forced to take additional memetics fundamentals training classes. If you are not attending the class in person, or are viewing this after the fact, a quiz will be made available to you in the near future.
And if instead of being confused, you were bored and started to try and think up exceptions to the rules we laid out here -- well, you just might have a future in memetics. And if you managed to catch our message to you in these slides, well then you //definitely// have what it takes.
And if you're //still// reading this?
Drop us a line at Site-43. -- Heather G. and Lillian L.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[tab Last Slide]]
[[div class="slideContainer" style="background-image: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/kill-agents-and-you/Spirals_in_self-similarity.jpg);"]]
[[div class="titleSlide" ]]
+ ##white|So remember. The next time you see a kill agent and begin to panic?##
+ ##white|S.I.T. on it!##
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/tab]]
[[/tabview]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="lightSwitch"]]
[[=]]
[[span style="font-weight: 600; font-size:175%;"]][[collapsible show="Turn Off The Lights?" hide="Turn On The Lights?"]][[/span]]
[[/collapsible]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** Pseudo Kleinian OpenCL 214854124 25K.jpg
> **Author:** PantheraLeo1359531
> **License:** CC-BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pseudo_Kleinian_OpenCL_214854124_25K.jpg
> **Filename:** Spirals in self-similarity.jpg
> **Author:** PantheraLeo1359531
> **License:** CC-BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Spirals_in_self-similarity.jpg
> **Filename:** fractal-mka.jpeg
> **Name:** Feather fractal
> **Author:** Kevin Dooley
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://www.flickr.com/photos/pagedooley/36578381671|Flickr
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-12-02T23:36:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"comedy",
"forgotten-memories",
"foundation-format",
"science-fiction",
"tale"
] |
Don't Die: Kill Agents and You - SCP Foundation
| 41
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"news"
] |
[] |
1457466052
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/kill-agents-and-you
|
|
kiss-kiss-fall-to-the-dark
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Iris Dark once loved somebody, if only for a single night.</p>
<p>How on earth could that have happened?</p>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/component%3Abhl-dark-sidebar/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Ablack-market/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">xexnoncores</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p>This work contains implicit references to sexual acts, along with mentions of gore. It is not recommended for readers under the age of 16.</p>
<p>Kiss Kiss Fall to the Dark by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/xexnoncores" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9159226); return false;"><img alt="xexnoncores" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9159226&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736301119" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9159226)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/xexnoncores" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9159226); return false;">xexnoncores</a></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="fancytext">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:larger;">December 11th, 2013</span></p>
</div>
<p>Iris Dark does not like parties.</p>
<p>Truth be told, there’s never been a good reason for the disdain. “Good” in her mind constituted anything that climbed her stock portfolios higher, anything that put more workers in the field. Parties were <em>perfect</em>, therefore, for this avenue of domination, since they slurred together sociality, loose lips, alcohol, and intrigue into one convenient package for her to extract so easily with a simple tensing of her fist.</p>
<p>Maybe it was the people. Maybe it was the goddawful amount of noise that grated her ears like sandpaper. Maybe it was the nauseating manner the entertainers she hired pranced around with, their undulating voices and breathless song-chanting ringing like mud. Imagining herself in that position burned her in ways only Hell could hope to handle; it made her cringe in ways only the Earth’s mantle could sturdy itself against.</p>
<p>But when it was all over and everyone’s coin had purchased its fill, their influence landing in her lap with satin ribbons, velvet smiles, and congratulatory strokings of her swallowing ego—oh, that made it all worth it. It made the babbling of these fools worth it when she knew now everyone on the floor was indebted to her, looking to her and her company for guidance, for their empty hearts, for their ravenous and unending consumption which would only be sated by following her directions exactly.</p>
<p>She watches the party droll on from a dark, private room high above. Akin to an opera box, it is quartered off and filled with the most interesting of tonight’s appetizers. From golden apples plucked at the edge of the universe to cosmic deviled eggs containing the blueprints for zircon planets, every food has its throne and tablecloth. There is no way she of all people is going to let these pigs eat what really matters, after all. They will devour from citrine troughs while she will cut her tongue on diamond cutlery.</p>
<p>A short, gaudy auctioneer bellows a bloated string of numbers. Excited murmurs scatter as salivating chirps arise out of decorated mouths, spilling with pale wine, golden teeth, and dazzling jewelry.</p>
<p>Iris smiles as a frenzy cascades, two women fighting over the price of seven will-o-wisps in a jar. A relatively meager item, but it was going to sell for twenty times the asking price at this rate. When the lesser individual relents, her better other beams, unaware that the winner of this exchange is more satisfied with the size of the spent purse than the quality of the product sold.</p>
<p>Swirling a golden orb at the bottom of her wine glass, Iris takes a deep breath, her shoulders falling from stiffness. The sphere clinks against crystal in solid chords, nearly like that of chained birdsong, soothing her as she finally decides to sit down. She will need a massage later once all this hullabaloo wears off.</p>
<p>Taking a sip of an impossibly dark inebriant, a shadow lingers behind the plump tables full of food. Wordlessly, it stands still as stone, watching her in a dress white enough to make snow blush. The velvet carpeting this room obscures and obsfucates, dampening any semblance of existence or presence outside that which deigns itself to acknowledgement, to inerrancy.</p>
<p>Finishing the last drop, Iris does not notice anything, too drawn into her own mind of how tonight will proceed. Her shrewd head pleasures itself shamelessly with schemes of offshore bank accounts, sutured to liquidation firms readying themselves for a <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hour-zero">great collapse of the very particular intrigue driving tonight's clientele</a>. After all, though curiosity drives profits, it is collapse which drives true ingenuity—that is when the next step of her Process will take place.</p>
<p>That is when she will find no one able to challenge her.</p>
<p>This spell of deep thought only breaks when that woman walks out into the cutting light. With hair as white as the moon, unraveling down to her ankles in strands of pure silver, she is now unmistakable, and totally, completely unmissable.</p>
<p>Iris gasps and bolts upward. She reaches for a gun in her pocket until the woman simply laughs, putting a glossy-nailed finger to her cheek.</p>
<p>“Ms. Dark, did I surprise you? My dearest apologies, I did not mean to intrude so rudely. You play a good game of hide-and-seek, so I did what I had to do.”</p>
<p>Her voice is a slurry of marble, dripping and plump. Iris scowls, not replying; instead, she now fully pulls out her pistol, hard metal glowering narrowed at its target. Her other hand clutches an escape rune scorched into her thigh.</p>
<p>“Although, it wasn’t exactly that hard!” she titters, now extending out all of her hand for her short nailwork to fully unfurl. They are bleeding with plastic rainbows drowning in pale resin.</p>
<p>“Truly, I mean that. It really wasn’t my fault your bodyguards got caught up with Mr. Carter’s…unfortunate circumstances tonight. Sir Boschendal was quite offended by the fact he slept with not just wife, but both of his mistresses too! Haha, you should have seen the fists flying…”</p>
<p><em>That goddamn idiot,</em> Iris thinks as she sneers, finger going to the trigger. The woman smiles at her, putting both hands up in not a surrendering posture, but a conciliatory one.</p>
<p>“But I promise, there will be no one between us tonight,” she says with a bite of her lip. “I am quite aware of how much a lady like yourself values her privacy. Really, at a romp like this, who wouldn’t?”</p>
<p>She nods down towards a golden shower of lights and champagne popping off, cleaving into scuttling bodies quickly scrambling to a summoned dancefloor. Two microphones pass to Skitter Marshall, clad in a gaudy pastel suit, as he roars to hype up the crowd with a twirl of his cane and an artificially saccharine smile.</p>
<p>From feathered boas to starched ties, throngs of much-too-drunken people begin clamoring for his attention as he spouts some obviously, meticulously practiced platitude. The woman chuffs, crossing her arms with internal satisfaction that comes off him playfully pretending one more time before every attendant is fully entranced by his great pretending.</p>
<p>“It’s hard to believe you must call them your business partners,” she continues. “Especially him. They’re more like your lessers, like cattle to be reined in, only loosed when one needs a bull in a china shop.”</p>
<p>Iris says nothing, watching her. She’d much rather look a cobra in the mouth than pretend to give even half of a shit about Skitter’s buffoonery, no matter how necessary it may be.</p>
<p>“…It’s even harder to believe there are women like us who find those idiots attractive enough to waltz into bed with them…”</p>
<p>Iris’s glare hardens, but only because it puts a thought into her mind so hideous she could have retched more than a drunkard at it. Soon, over the crawling seconds, as she considers those words, it all falls, from a stony, furious brow to a curing concrete jungle, leaving her simply wondering how someone besides herself could have said something so resonant.</p>
<p>Her grip on the gun steels itself, but she steals a glance back at Skitter, soon back to that woman.</p>
<p><em>It’s been a while since someone has truly seen through their facades,</em> she thinks to herself. <em>…Interesting.</em></p>
<p>Iris Dark has had two glasses of wine tonight. The woman flashes a shiny, chrome-lipped grin at her as she grabs the neck of a bottle to pour another one, dropping another golden ball into it for the iridescent chill it was profanely crafted from the bodies of extinct dragons for.</p>
<p>She holds it out to her with hands that are smooth like pearls.</p>
<p>“…For you.” She raises it as if to toast. “I assume it would be uncouth of me to ask if I’m allowed to partake in the triumvirate of delicacies you’ve gussied up here for yourself, let alone allow the thought to have existed in the first place.”</p>
<p>There is no reaction. Not at first anyway. Iris blinks, watching with a gaze that peers straight at her, not above, or below. The woman matches her in height, albeit not in frame. She is skinny like a model is, with a bust and bottom to match; though she was obviously born with a body that she didn’t hate, she had clearly taken it upon herself, with whatever wealth she had possessed, to modify it further, just like she also did once.</p>
<p>Swiftly, Iris grabs the glass and downs the alcohol without a word. There is no thankfulness, barely even an act of acknowledgement. She has just been served, so there is no need. There was <em>rarely</em> ever a need for her to be grateful.</p>
<p>And all of that is already too generous for this woman’s luck tonight.</p>
<p>“Well…?”</p>
<p>Iris’s eyes draw to the woman’s dress again. It’s shiny, made from some sort of peeled serpent. It hugs her waist so snuggly that it’s practically a second skin, and yet it only flatters her, instead of mobbing her.</p>
<p>Normally, she would consider such an unnaturally skinny body a waste of good money. It was an adequate display of status, sure, but she found it disgusting in the outward, flashing implications. Something like that did not usually exist for the woman after all, no, but for instead the plethora of men they had holed up in golden cages inside their wet brain matter, staring back at them with judgemental mouths and rotting tongues, nonexistent and yet plentiful in their object-creating implications.</p>
<p>But here…</p>
<p>Her own dress matches the other woman’s in cadence. Its hue is diluted, but not unfashionably so; it cost fifty million dollars to adorn every centimeter of its silk with purple diamonds, most of that money having gone to the cost of labor and cover-ups. And a number of human rights violations so massive it would have made even the devil blush.</p>
<p>Twenty thousand people died to make this dress; Iris would have it no other way.</p>
<p>“…Did you come up here to merely flirt with me, or did you actually need something?”</p>
<p>Her voice comes out like chalk, heavy but smooth. Iris stares deeply into her, brow furrowed, but is unable to thresh out what is running through that head.</p>
<p>The woman laughs in response. “Ha, you’re just as thorny as everyone says. Must you assume I am here on a love plundering mission? I came simply because I desire like-minded company.”</p>
<p>Iris clicks her tongue. “You are no like-minded individual to me, Ms…”</p>
<p>She stops, freezing. A realization forms in her throat like lead as her head and heart digest her mistake.</p>
<p><em>Oh no, I don’t know her—</em></p>
<p>People were supposed to introduce themselves to <em>her,</em> not the other way around. Iris Dark was born to lay the foot into others; after all, it was only then would she be able to ascertain their worth. Their name was unimportant to her, while hers were bonded in weights of gilded might.</p>
<p>Glaring, her mind is unable to discern the intentions through the wined tannins staining her tongue and the complete blank she is drawing up on what flattery of this caliber meant for her. She nearly breaks the empty glass in her hand from the dissonance piercing her thoughts until the woman takes it and smashes it over her knee.</p>
<p>“My name is Gardenia Knightsnow,” she replies, foxily, with eyes as flashy as her lipstick. They are not stripping nickel, no, instead pale quartz, polished to an adamantine shine. “I am the CEO of the Aetherolis Spiral Firm, the premier financial destination of demons, fae, and all sorts of hyperdimensional entities which find themselves needing to navigate a world of modern technology. I’m sure you of all people are aware of how often those types get stuck attempting to traverse the different planes of existence…?”</p>
<p>Aetherolis Spiral…Iris recalls the name vaguely. Thrice she heard it in acquisition discussions. It was a company with a board staffed to the brim with G.O.C apologists, and yet they all hated D.C. al Fine with such a fervor that she contemplated using their collective as an espionage tactic. The G.O.C was going to be instrumental to her political plans moving forward, but there were some heads that needed to roll first…</p>
<p>“…Odd surname,” Iris replies, flatly. “Are you a fae?”</p>
<p>“Heavens no,” Gardenia replies, shaking her head. “But you’re not the first to ask me such a question. My mother won it in a duel with one. How long ago, I forget…”</p>
<p>She takes a deep breath, grabbing another crystal glass, but not for wine this time. No, this time it’s a bottle of juice, and out she pours a beautiful pearlescent liquid, forming thin membranes of fleshy nacre wherever it lands on that thin translucence.</p>
<p>Iris’s eyes widen at the idea of her taking <em>her</em> drink. But, once again, Gardenia grins, holding it out for her, defying her.</p>
<p>“…Ms. Dark…”</p>
<p>Her voice is sultry. Not like that of a succubus, but of a genuine…appreciation?</p>
<p>For the first time in a long time, Iris wasn’t sure how right she was about anything.</p>
<p>“…You look ghastly when you bristle,” Gardenia continues. “I promise you, I will not dare to pillage from your larder. Not only do I have manners, and value my life…I also know who <em>earned</em> these spoils…”</p>
<p>Nothing is said as Iris looks down at the glass, her pupils dilating. Her face drips with a heat she can’t quite recall having before as she pours over Gardenia’s words to roll away from the uncertainties searing her throat.</p>
<p>Earned…oh yes. She did <em>indeed</em> earn all of this; she did it all by herself too. With her own hands and her own mouth. How studious and clever of Gardenia to acknowledge such might, how dutiful and tasteful too.</p>
<p>An ache begins swirling in her stomach, in her tense muscles and her brain. It weighs down upon her back as she bites an obsidian-coated lip, unaware that Gardenia’s smile has slipped from capriciousness into lasciviousness watching her.</p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/money-game">Ever since she was a young child</a>, Iris Dark had a hunger gnawing at the inside of her. At first, it was only just formless whispers, telling her to do what she wanted and that adults had no dominion over her. Soon, it blossomed into bountiful blooms that spoke of her taking the world into her own hand, razing Eden’s garden to make it her own concrete jungle, overflowing with as much runes, magic, beauty, finesse, and might as her body could handle.</p>
<p>What satiated the gluttony inside of her was more factories to run how she pleased, more land to feed the veins of ethereal blueprints. More bodies to generate profit, pulping their swollen arteries like spoiled, rancid milk, processing out the other side of their spent carcasses as pure, unadulterated capital, unending in its influence and its potential, more souls to lay down the foundation for her ambitions with their bones and sinew.</p>
<p>What Iris loved above all else was endlessly gorging herself on more people to tell what to do. This was the true, most basic essence of that which they called “power”.</p>
<p>Gardenia hovers her hand around Iris’s own, staring into her deeply. Iris looks down at it, curious at its pale pallor, until she suddenly finds herself considering it akin to marble. Beautiful, carveable marble…</p>
<p>She backs up, smiling for the first time tonight. Her feet root into the cold stone floor for a single second, before she finds herself moving again, moving in line with what is akin to a leading role. To the biggest velvet recliner she goes, the one snuggled comfortably in the middle of her massive stash of food is, upon which she spreads her legs and widens her eyes like an owl perched upon an oak tree, talons unseen.</p>
<p>Gardenia chuckles, following her. Iris watches the way her hips sway with great anticipation, her breathing quickening as fast as it can under three glasses of wine. Had she held more sense in her spilling brain, the way her guarding chains were snapping would have been the cause for a ferocious alarm.</p>
<p>This Gardenia—this white flower cloaked in argent beauty—it’s blurring from an intruding someone in her mind, a soul to control and align into something that pleased her eyes the way a painting did. Static, with heavy meaning and beauty…but ultimately meant to be consumed in the end by the heart and brain.</p>
<p>Ah, what do her intentions matter when possession is beginning? As long as Iris came out on top, nothing else mattered…right?</p>
<p>Gardenia takes a golden tray and piles several confectioneries onto it. Looking at the wine bottle, she ponders it for a second, looking back to Iris. Their eyes connect like stacked coins.</p>
<p><em>You will know what I want if you know what’s good for you,</em> Iris thinks, heat flooding down her legs slowly, coiling all the way to her toes. She pulls out the gun and places it onto her lap. It slips off haphazardly, but it is still within easy reach.</p>
<p>“A woman always ready to pounce, eh?” Gardenia smiles, reaching for several small macarons. “No wonder my sister was scared of your acquisition of our company.”</p>
<p>“She has every right to fear me,” Iris replies, stroking her ego in a way which splashes heat between both of their faces. “Especially because I heard she is a philanderer, one who only messes around with rich women, leeching off the money her company pours into her mouth. Or no, was that <em>you?</em>”</p>
<p>Iris narrows her eyes and Gardenia does not flinch. Her long, obsidian fingernails rap the edges of the couch, clicking loudly as they hit platinum edges.</p>
<p>Macarons quickly exchange themselves for cream puffs. Iris relaxes again, and Gardenia purses her lips, plating everything succulently before she finally takes her prostrating seat.</p>
<p>“If you assumed it was me, I wouldn’t be shocked,” she replies, coolly and watching Iris with great fervor. “We’re twins, actually, but I cannot stand the idea that our DNA is of the same quality. She is a useless, cotton-eating pig who is afraid of real effort, always relying on someone else to filthy their heels for her. I am ashamed of such behavior, so utterly.”</p>
<p>Iris stamps a stiletto. “Her enthusiasm for delegation is admirable, but only up to a point. It is blood, not mud, which purchases change—she is good for little else but slaughter if she is not willing to use her teeth.”</p>
<p>“Indeed, Ms. Dark…” Gardenia sighs demurely, leaning in closer to her, although they are not skin-to-skin yet. Her cologne is fresh, light, and bubbly. “It is so refreshing to hear someone speak such a truth like that… You have no idea what I put up with every…single…day…”</p>
<p>No reaction. Except of cavernous, poker-face eyes, poised like a spear. Gardenia traces freshly-cut nails across the hard surface of the plate, watching Iris with deep breaths. Both of their faces flush, but it is invisible under heavy foundation.</p>
<p>“…It is nothing compared to what I put up with,” Iris quips back to her, eager to have the upper hand here. It is also true, in her mind; to be as efficient as possible, small cuts needed to be made to her stomach. Small chips of her money, status, property, and power had to be taken to feed the carrots for those deigned to do her bidding—they were to grow into fruitful trees with fat flowers and even fatter fruit which would feed her, overload and soak her mouth with satisfaction until she reached the cores and there was nothing left but dry seeds.</p>
<p>But all of that was <em>painful</em>. Iris would never die by a thousand paper cuts, no, she is no such hellishly weak starling—but there were days when she wanted to. There were days when her brain would not stop screaming at her for control, when her own thoughts consumed her with a hunger that needed to be filled, filled, filled, lest her greed hollow her out body and nickel-leaded soul. There were days when she could not swallow the acquiescence to compromise, when she could not trust in the lackadaisical buffoons, the prattish imbeciles, the bureaucratical dullards that <em>she</em> needed, unfortunately.</p>
<p>Their failure weighed on her more riotously than it ever would them. There was no damnation heavier than her own unadulterated fury, no torture worse than her own hunger eating her intestines like an ouroboros, no greater calamity in the history of the universe than Iris Dark not getting <em>exactly</em> what she wanted every single second of every single day.</p>
<p>“…I can only imagine,” Gardenia replies, as if she is reading her mind.</p>
<p>Iris nearly raises a fist to her, her heart bubbling over like warbling embers. But instead, Gardenia positions herself into her lap, her legs slipping over her bare, soft skin.</p>
<p>“…The other conglomerates mutter of you having killed the original Marshall and Carter,” she whispers, leaning in. “I heard the prime minister of Britain—I was visiting her because she owed me a favor—speak of investigating you for those murders, but no one can find what jurisdiction it happened in, if at all.”</p>
<p>Dark pupils widen. Gardenia stares into Iris deeply, finding herself pressed into the softness of plump, stuffed comfort, both of skin and fabric. Both of their lips drip with flashing intent, intense hues of biting desire hiding behind metaphorical fangs whiter than any star could hope to be.</p>
<p>But Iris will not tell her what the truth is. Not here, not not now, not as her. As a corpse, maybe. When she’s limp and lifeless, her pale skin forced paler by a pallid pallor, strung up in some parting, pearlescent parlor.</p>
<p>But for now, she will do alive. She will do in giving to her a new need that her esophagus burns to have, burns to crush and ooze between her hands.</p>
<p>This was the purer form of what Skitter flirted with in his spare time, no? With what Robert deigned himself to whenever he wanted to lord over another man? How deep could this well go, propped up by more money and bodies than a factory farm bursting at the seams?</p>
<p>A new kind of hunger was seeding, one as old as humans themselves.</p>
<p>Gardenia continues, now tracing her hands up Iris’s arms as she sets the plate down on top of her chest.</p>
<p>“I too killed for my position, you know.” She hovers her lips over bare, peachy skin. “I shot my mother dead as my father watched me from beyond the grave, driven to suicide by her madness. I killed her and I got away with it because they tried me in America and the gloves refused to fit.”</p>
<p>Gardenia pants as Iris’s heart flutters, as if she was confessing some undigested sin as green as a narrow leaf. But Iris could not see that weakness, or her own—all that floods her eyes is the unabashed ruthlessness of the act, the similarity between their own guts for power, the aching of her own body changing up its tune to now set its sights on ensnaring on this pale bloom, inching its waist up her veins to produce the most wicked of smiles. All that whets a wetting appetite is this savage desire for power which had come to her to lay its head against her altar, so knowing of its place and yet able to keep up with her at a manageable pace.</p>
<p>With intents of sizzling white, Iris takes a hand to Gardenia’s chin and flips the switch between them. Oh, she had really struck gold now. This waxy flower had aimed her spear at the exactly the second proudest moment of Iris’s life, and now there was no way she was going to leave a moment to revel in it unturned.</p>
<p>“And are you sorry?” she asks cheekily, but still with dignified manners. She needs another glass of wine soon to ignore how her brain tells her this is a fleeting joke, how Gardenia is a bug to be squashed. Is playing this kind of game not a form of satisfying one’s greed? Is this not just another way to spend what she had earned?</p>
<p>There is no hesitation in Gardenia’s voice as she gasps, but steels herself by snickering and bringing Iris’s legs closer together with her own.</p>
<p>“Of course not, Ms. Dark. I would never be…”</p>
<p>Iris coos, in a manner not unlike the noblewoman of the house giving a command. “The power and the money was worth it, wasn’t it…?”</p>
<p>She narrows her eyes like a cat pleased with itself. Gardenia straddles her again, looking down at the food and at both of their dresses. They’re both going to be a mess of smudged fluids soon, but it doesn't matter.</p>
<p>Nothing is said between them as Iris puts a hand around that waist to cement them together, her the rooting anchor, the deep root system starving for more. Gardenia grabs a stray bottle of brandy neither noticed until now from behind Iris’s head, swallowing dry spit as she opens the bottle and nearly takes the first sip before laughing and turning downwards.</p>
<p>“The first and best sacrifice always goes to the gods,” she says. “Here…”</p>
<p>To black lips it goes, and it’s just a few seconds of liquid until Iris swipes the bottle to deny her. Swirling around that deep red, she slides the bottle behind her head back to its unnoticed abyss before she pops a cream puff into her mouth.</p>
<p>The sugar and pastry melt quickly with the burning alcohol. It sends a hot heat to her legs that with wide eyes, she pulls Gardenia in as tightly as she can with her legs for.</p>
<p>Neither is minding the mess, the crumbs, or the delicate confectionary smearing between them. If anything, it adds to the scene. The picture. This hole they were both sliding slickly into.</p>
<p>Fuck, she really was something of beauty. A unicorn bathed in moonlight, streaked with silver over jewelry so eager to be owned…her body was a marvel too, with hips and shoulders so broadly, immaculately sculpted, complemented by an hourglass at both ends surely capable of being filled as well…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Without another word, they kiss. They kiss like the auction isn’t ending, like two souls on top of the world, star-staring blossoms open and wanting for the night to come, take and press down into them.</p>
<p>They kiss like they are equals, like one has not stepped down from her throne on high to mingle with a mortal. A throne made of sand-blasted cast iron that normally would have poisoned all who put their mouth to it.</p>
<p>When Iris Dark breaks for a breath, she barks softly some wanting command at Gardenia, just to convince herself one last time. Without a word, Gardenia obeys, and soon, the two find themselves capitulating to pleasure as the lights dim.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:larger;">December 12th, 2013</span></p>
</div>
<p>Silence. It is 4:51 am on a calm, freezing winter day.</p>
<p>Iris Dark jolts awake exactly thirty-nine minutes before her alarm. She pants, shuddering as her mind comes to from an aimless nightmare of someone standing over her. They sat upon a throne of black, nightless stone, carved from her bowels and spit as she struggled in front of them, in front of the eyes of millions, debased into the ground to a rank even lower than the worm.</p>
<p>There is no stumbling out of bed, only an acknowledgment of her situation. Anxiety pulses around her, but she repeats a mind-bound mantra and an apoptotic aphorism, and soon she is soothed. Soon, she has asserted herself as being in complete control of her surroundings, her body, and herself. No weakness can be had while there is still work to do, no tears shall exist while her stomach still lives and breathes, for it will hunger soon for more blood.</p>
<p>Such an existence would be too robotic for any human to survive. Nay, the thought of it ran against the basics of human need, as it was literally hardwired into DNA like threads of microscopic rubies. Just as chlorophyll necessitated the need for light, so did the human mind (and the even more base mammalian instinct) require on some level companionship, tenderness, touch and care. Especially in its formative years, the most vulnerable and plastic of youth, so aching and wanting of the world’s safety.</p>
<p>But Iris Dark was no normal person. No, on most days she barely felt like a person at all. She was born into this world with flesh and blood as one knew such concepts to bleed, but only as an entity, little more. The real passion behind her existence was that ravenous gluttony for power consuming her, allowing her to feel an identity only when she was wringing submission out of someone, somewhere, or something.</p>
<p>There, she saw herself for a single moment. There, she saw herself as she did when she was twenty-one, emerging from the foggy darkness in a shiny car with the darkest, most expensive wine she could ever possibly get her hands on. Emerging from that foggy darkness not as a lost, formless creature known as a “boy”, but as a beautiful, grown, mature woman.</p>
<p>Finally, her body belonged to her then. Finally, what she could see as a personality did too. She saw a small glimmer of light in herself, a light she so desperately craved, as all humans do, even if she would have been loathe to admit it. Iris would have been loathe to admit she was of the same frame and skeleton as the rest of humanity, but it was true. She was, in the end, no more special than them except that she had a lot of money, a lot of magic, and a lot of people willing to do whatever she wanted.</p>
<p>…For now.</p>
<p>All of that would change so very far into the future. One day, her plans will transform her into something greater, and transform this world with it. Hopefully by then, she will have fully shed the disgusting and quivering tremors of emotional sniveling her mind craved, the disgusting notions of self-identity and gnawing hunger which still ate at her like gnarls on a tree.</p>
<p>You would never be able to get her to say it, but realizing she was a woman was the highest point of her life. It was the highest, most euphoric moment she ever experienced, laced with glittering hope like no other that maybe she could do this, maybe there was hope for her. Hope for what, she didn’t know, nor did she want to, for she was too mired in her ways and had tasted too much of the moneyed pomegranate tree to be able to change.</p>
<p>But it was still hope. Though a mirage, its afterimage left the impression that perhaps there were more humble circumstances out there somewhere she could have been born into, guided by brighter conditions, by adults with loving hearts to notice something was wrong with her as a child, that she was never in a stable state of mind. Not able to reach the same milestones of the id as others, not able to formalize a perception of herself.</p>
<p>But it’s the thought that counts.</p>
<p>It’s the thought that counts to ten as she’s in her bathroom and remembers that for the first time in her life, her bed is not empty.</p>
<p>She takes a deep breath, waiting for movement.</p>
<p>Nothing. Gardenia does not stir. She does not rouse, even.</p>
<p>What a heavy sleeper.</p>
<p>Iris growls to herself as she grabs a bathrobe to cover herself, the smell of bodily fluids acrid and souring. Sour like battery acid, like salty, brining claws ripping into her flesh.</p>
<p>That…that <em>thing</em> over there…she brought her down so low into her own carnality…</p>
<p>Iris did not like to get her hands dirty. Though she was perfectly fine with murder, the act itself was demeaning, soddening. It was an act she enjoyed up until she had to look at the corpse and found her disgust pushed just a little bit further than she found comfortable, and she was <em>not</em> a woman who wanted to be uncomfortable. The termite-brained techbros she had to work with and their idiot parties would never be able to understand the truth.</p>
<p>But what is she to do? Gardenia was critical to her plan now. While the two swapped positions last night, they also swapped stories. Gardenia’s board was now more critical to be rid of than ever, for their zealotry was burning, decaying. They were the war fetishists to end all war fetishists; sharp-toothed clowns who demanded the death of al Fine and the razing of the world akin to a second Ichabod.</p>
<p>They were a group of nutcases who wanted back the 1950s and <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6672">all of the weapons that came with it</a>. Because of that, they needed to be rid of, wiped off the face of the earth.</p>
<p>Was her air-headed twin capable of understanding the crocodiles she had underneath her feet?</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Iris takes a deep breath as she vomits in her mouth thinking of Gardenia cooing over her, coaxing her to speak of her little fears. The fear she had of looking weak in public, of her going outside and realizing she didn’t part her hair the right way over where it was a little thin. Fuck, the HRT was supposed to have fixed that—Percival went bald early in his life, she wasn’t going to let that happen to her!</p>
<p>The fear of emptiness still, dragged out and unabated. It was Iris’s savior, but it was a terrible tormentor. She knew if she gave into all of her plans fully, she would sink into that deep, deep, deeply, until one day it would become normalcy. One day, it would just be who she was.</p>
<p>And…where she is right now…</p>
<p>Something less than a self still exists to protest that fate, as weak and meaningless as such will be. There is no turning back now, no depending on others except to bow and grovel at her feet…</p>
<p>But that would mean that Iris would no longer have a mirror upon which to find herself in. Sure, fear and intimidation reflected upon others as purely as her joy and ecstasy could, but she was not stupid. Anyone could be cruel; not everyone could be happy.</p>
<p>…Percival…</p>
<p>Iris thinks of him as she exhales. As he tells her she is doing a good job, as she is rewarded with candy and a pat on the head for reciting correctly some piece of history to him.</p>
<p>One deep breath. Two deep breaths.</p>
<p>Five, ten, thirteen. He was there for her and she hated the way he looked. For years, he told her she was going to grow up to look just like all of the photos of himself he kept in his parlor, the ones he was so proud of. The ones entombed in embossed metals, dated so cleanly, with penmanship she could never get out of her head. His handwriting was immaculate, unfortunately.</p>
<p>Air continues to fill her lungs, exiting just as methodically, as mechanically and stoically as living cells could manage.</p>
<p>But he was still there for her, despite his flaws. He was just as cruel as she is now, but not towards her. His hand was there and she followed where he pointed, his mouth was oft loose and yet still he spoke of pride in her growing progress.</p>
<p>Splashing water in her face, warm water, meant to dissuade her puffy eyes, she looks at herself, wondering if he ever cared. If he really loved his granddaughter, loved the her she became and <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/it-s-always-darkest">not the son the rest of the family would blame</a>.</p>
<p>It is a question which brings her back to being there in his study, wholly dependent upon his words and wisdom, for without his bloodline, she would be nothing. She is no longer a Darke, but she did not get rid of the root darkness which gave such a name power. He, and everything he stood for and came from is attached to her personhood regardless, and the only way to be completely rid of his influence would be to purge what little self of her remained.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>If Gardenia is occupying the same space in her mind as Percival Darke is, then there is only one thing left to do.</p>
<p>Flinging open the cabinet door behind her mirror, she shoves aside bottles of mint facial masks. She is not looking for them, no, she is instead looking for a small cardboard box with lightly shaking hands.</p>
<p>When they find what they’re looking for, she slips the box out and closes the door.</p>
<p>With another silent movement, Iris now turns her attention to a closet behind her. It unseals itself with sterile, fluorescent lights stripping away all that she feels to the tune of sleek carbon steel, barrels cold and lifeless.</p>
<p>She selects a shotgun with zero hesitation. It is the same kind one selects to hunt deer when they do not care for retrieving the carcass, the kind for creating firework messages in brain matter.</p>
<p>Heat rises in her chest as she loads and cocks it. Disabling the safety with one finger, she slowly makes her way to that sleeping beauty naked in her bed.</p>
<p>Iris towers over Gardenia, looking at her with eyes as blazing as melting nickel, straight from the core of the earth. They are almost the color of her, her entire being, her soul, but they are more cutting. There is more serration, along every vein and capillary, every centimeter of exposed, wet white flesh.</p>
<p>So peaceful… She certainly looks the part of a woman who could tear the world apart with her beauty.</p>
<p>That beautiful long, silver hair…</p>
<p><em>This is for the you who saw me naked,</em> she thinks. Her shadowy silhouette is pure darkness against Eurtec below her, alight in its smog and haze-smeared lights. <em>This is for you who made a silly, lovesick fool out of me.</em></p>
<p>Without another word, Iris fires the shotgun straight into her face. Eager to be rid of her flights of fancy, she unloads twice more, one in the legs and one in the torso.</p>
<p>The sound cascades throughout the Death Pyramid like ripped, violated stone. There wasn’t even a reaction to the sound, not even an eye open as she realized what happened.</p>
<p>Simply here one second, and then gone the next.</p>
<p>Iris would be damned if she managed to pull off some trite, cliche, Hollywood-style begging for her life. It would have mussed things up worse than they already were, would have had her wading deeper into muddy, muggy waters of emotional attachement.</p>
<p>Silence falls over empty halls as Iris stares at the body, its gore and brains splattered everywhere over the sheets and bed frame. Shivering and turning her nose up, she sighs, running her fingers over her flecked-with-specks-of-blood arm until she can bear the quiet no longer and pulls out her phone.</p>
<p>“Robert?”</p>
<p>He’s nearby. He’s supposed to visit her later for a meeting.</p>
<p>“Yes, we still have a lunch scheduled for today, but I have something else for you to do. You’ll know it when you see it.”</p>
<p>Best to deign him to clean this up instead of one of her housekeepers. Not only would she hate having to go through the effort to kill them too (because no NDA could ever cover this, let’s be real) but not enough time has passed since his inheritance of the company for him to have fully grown into the shoes she wanted him to wear.</p>
<p>No, Robert Eisen Carter still had some sense of grace to him. He still wore a smile in his spare time despite all of the posturing Iris had done to remind him of who his new boss was. That was excusable at first, when she thought it was a simple grieving process for what happened to his dear old man that she didn’t know he didn’t care much for.</p>
<p>But no. He was still holding on. The reason why, she could not give less of a rat-eaten shit about, but it meant he was not yet the knife she needed him to be. <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-devil-s-right-hand-man">Not yet the hellhound she needed ready to unleash onto others at a moment’s notice</a>. She needed him out of the bookworm facade he still kept up around her; she needed him to plunge from dreams of being an author into pure, raw machiavellianism, deeper into the unfeeling narcissism that she knew he was capable of, granted to the Carters by both their nurturing and their birthright.</p>
<p>“Don’t be late. You know what will happen if you are.”</p>
<p>She needed him an obedient shell, the same as with Skitter, whom she had molded into the perfect idiot by giving the most abused and neglected of the Marshalls more money than he could ever possibly hope to spend.</p>
<p>What better way to grind Robert into dust than with the blunt, forceful trauma of seeing a desecrated corpse up close?</p>
<p>She smiles as he says he’ll be on his way in a stuttering tone, clearly having been interrupted in that library he loved so much. His voice wavers and she hangs up abruptly, gleeful of how he must have flinched at that.</p>
<p>“Killing two birds with one stone…yes, yes,” Iris mutters to herself, turning around to the corpse.</p>
<p>“You first…and then your god-awful <em>twin</em> next. Your company’s looking at a pretty hostile takeover, isn’t it Ms. Knightsnow?”</p>
<p>Gardenia Trinity Knightsnow. Iris looked up her full name on the car ride home, in the few moments she was catching her breath from sucking face with this despicable mongrel. A trinity of bad things certainly was about to happen to her, that’s for sure.</p>
<p>“Oh well, you know what they say. All’s fair in love and war, hm?”</p>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
Iris Dark once loved somebody, if only for a single night.
How on earth could that have happened?
]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-market">:scp-wiki:theme:black-market</a>]]
[[module css]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=EB+Garamond:500&display=swap');
.fancytext {
font-family:"EB Garamond"; sans-serif;
font-size:120%;
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--
|name=xexnoncores]]
This work contains implicit references to sexual acts, along with mentions of gore. It is not recommended for readers under the age of 16.
Kiss Kiss Fall to the Dark by [[*user xexnoncores]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
[[>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
[[/>]]
[[div class="fancytext"]]
[[=]]
[[size larger]] December 11th, 2013[[/size]]
[[/=]]
Iris Dark does not like parties.
Truth be told, there’s never been a good reason for the disdain. “Good” in her mind constituted anything that climbed her stock portfolios higher, anything that put more workers in the field. Parties were //perfect//, therefore, for this avenue of domination, since they slurred together sociality, loose lips, alcohol, and intrigue into one convenient package for her to extract so easily with a simple tensing of her fist.
Maybe it was the people. Maybe it was the goddawful amount of noise that grated her ears like sandpaper. Maybe it was the nauseating manner the entertainers she hired pranced around with, their undulating voices and breathless song-chanting ringing like mud. Imagining herself in that position burned her in ways only Hell could hope to handle; it made her cringe in ways only the Earth’s mantle could sturdy itself against.
But when it was all over and everyone’s coin had purchased its fill, their influence landing in her lap with satin ribbons, velvet smiles, and congratulatory strokings of her swallowing ego—oh, that made it all worth it. It made the babbling of these fools worth it when she knew now everyone on the floor was indebted to her, looking to her and her company for guidance, for their empty hearts, for their ravenous and unending consumption which would only be sated by following her directions exactly.
She watches the party droll on from a dark, private room high above. Akin to an opera box, it is quartered off and filled with the most interesting of tonight’s appetizers. From golden apples plucked at the edge of the universe to cosmic deviled eggs containing the blueprints for zircon planets, every food has its throne and tablecloth. There is no way she of all people is going to let these pigs eat what really matters, after all. They will devour from citrine troughs while she will cut her tongue on diamond cutlery.
A short, gaudy auctioneer bellows a bloated string of numbers. Excited murmurs scatter as salivating chirps arise out of decorated mouths, spilling with pale wine, golden teeth, and dazzling jewelry.
Iris smiles as a frenzy cascades, two women fighting over the price of seven will-o-wisps in a jar. A relatively meager item, but it was going to sell for twenty times the asking price at this rate. When the lesser individual relents, her better other beams, unaware that the winner of this exchange is more satisfied with the size of the spent purse than the quality of the product sold.
Swirling a golden orb at the bottom of her wine glass, Iris takes a deep breath, her shoulders falling from stiffness. The sphere clinks against crystal in solid chords, nearly like that of chained birdsong, soothing her as she finally decides to sit down. She will need a massage later once all this hullabaloo wears off.
Taking a sip of an impossibly dark inebriant, a shadow lingers behind the plump tables full of food. Wordlessly, it stands still as stone, watching her in a dress white enough to make snow blush. The velvet carpeting this room obscures and obsfucates, dampening any semblance of existence or presence outside that which deigns itself to acknowledgement, to inerrancy.
Finishing the last drop, Iris does not notice anything, too drawn into her own mind of how tonight will proceed. Her shrewd head pleasures itself shamelessly with schemes of offshore bank accounts, sutured to liquidation firms readying themselves for a [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hour-zero great collapse of the very particular intrigue driving tonight's clientele]. After all, though curiosity drives profits, it is collapse which drives true ingenuity—that is when the next step of her Process will take place.
That is when she will find no one able to challenge her.
This spell of deep thought only breaks when that woman walks out into the cutting light. With hair as white as the moon, unraveling down to her ankles in strands of pure silver, she is now unmistakable, and totally, completely unmissable.
Iris gasps and bolts upward. She reaches for a gun in her pocket until the woman simply laughs, putting a glossy-nailed finger to her cheek.
“Ms. Dark, did I surprise you? My dearest apologies, I did not mean to intrude so rudely. You play a good game of hide-and-seek, so I did what I had to do.”
Her voice is a slurry of marble, dripping and plump. Iris scowls, not replying; instead, she now fully pulls out her pistol, hard metal glowering narrowed at its target. Her other hand clutches an escape rune scorched into her thigh.
“Although, it wasn’t exactly that hard!” she titters, now extending out all of her hand for her short nailwork to fully unfurl. They are bleeding with plastic rainbows drowning in pale resin.
“Truly, I mean that. It really wasn’t my fault your bodyguards got caught up with Mr. Carter’s…unfortunate circumstances tonight. Sir Boschendal was quite offended by the fact he slept with not just wife, but both of his mistresses too! Haha, you should have seen the fists flying…”
//That goddamn idiot,// Iris thinks as she sneers, finger going to the trigger. The woman smiles at her, putting both hands up in not a surrendering posture, but a conciliatory one.
“But I promise, there will be no one between us tonight,” she says with a bite of her lip. “I am quite aware of how much a lady like yourself values her privacy. Really, at a romp like this, who wouldn’t?”
She nods down towards a golden shower of lights and champagne popping off, cleaving into scuttling bodies quickly scrambling to a summoned dancefloor. Two microphones pass to Skitter Marshall, clad in a gaudy pastel suit, as he roars to hype up the crowd with a twirl of his cane and an artificially saccharine smile.
From feathered boas to starched ties, throngs of much-too-drunken people begin clamoring for his attention as he spouts some obviously, meticulously practiced platitude. The woman chuffs, crossing her arms with internal satisfaction that comes off him playfully pretending one more time before every attendant is fully entranced by his great pretending.
“It’s hard to believe you must call them your business partners,” she continues. “Especially him. They’re more like your lessers, like cattle to be reined in, only loosed when one needs a bull in a china shop.”
Iris says nothing, watching her. She’d much rather look a cobra in the mouth than pretend to give even half of a shit about Skitter’s buffoonery, no matter how necessary it may be.
“…It’s even harder to believe there are women like us who find those idiots attractive enough to waltz into bed with them…”
Iris’s glare hardens, but only because it puts a thought into her mind so hideous she could have retched more than a drunkard at it. Soon, over the crawling seconds, as she considers those words, it all falls, from a stony, furious brow to a curing concrete jungle, leaving her simply wondering how someone besides herself could have said something so resonant.
Her grip on the gun steels itself, but she steals a glance back at Skitter, soon back to that woman.
//It’s been a while since someone has truly seen through their facades,// she thinks to herself. //…Interesting.//
Iris Dark has had two glasses of wine tonight. The woman flashes a shiny, chrome-lipped grin at her as she grabs the neck of a bottle to pour another one, dropping another golden ball into it for the iridescent chill it was profanely crafted from the bodies of extinct dragons for.
She holds it out to her with hands that are smooth like pearls.
“…For you.” She raises it as if to toast. “I assume it would be uncouth of me to ask if I’m allowed to partake in the triumvirate of delicacies you’ve gussied up here for yourself, let alone allow the thought to have existed in the first place.”
There is no reaction. Not at first anyway. Iris blinks, watching with a gaze that peers straight at her, not above, or below. The woman matches her in height, albeit not in frame. She is skinny like a model is, with a bust and bottom to match; though she was obviously born with a body that she didn’t hate, she had clearly taken it upon herself, with whatever wealth she had possessed, to modify it further, just like she also did once.
Swiftly, Iris grabs the glass and downs the alcohol without a word. There is no thankfulness, barely even an act of acknowledgement. She has just been served, so there is no need. There was //rarely// ever a need for her to be grateful.
And all of that is already too generous for this woman’s luck tonight.
“Well…?”
Iris’s eyes draw to the woman’s dress again. It’s shiny, made from some sort of peeled serpent. It hugs her waist so snuggly that it’s practically a second skin, and yet it only flatters her, instead of mobbing her.
Normally, she would consider such an unnaturally skinny body a waste of good money. It was an adequate display of status, sure, but she found it disgusting in the outward, flashing implications. Something like that did not usually exist for the woman after all, no, but for instead the plethora of men they had holed up in golden cages inside their wet brain matter, staring back at them with judgemental mouths and rotting tongues, nonexistent and yet plentiful in their object-creating implications.
But here…
Her own dress matches the other woman’s in cadence. Its hue is diluted, but not unfashionably so; it cost fifty million dollars to adorn every centimeter of its silk with purple diamonds, most of that money having gone to the cost of labor and cover-ups. And a number of human rights violations so massive it would have made even the devil blush.
Twenty thousand people died to make this dress; Iris would have it no other way.
“…Did you come up here to merely flirt with me, or did you actually need something?”
Her voice comes out like chalk, heavy but smooth. Iris stares deeply into her, brow furrowed, but is unable to thresh out what is running through that head.
The woman laughs in response. “Ha, you’re just as thorny as everyone says. Must you assume I am here on a love plundering mission? I came simply because I desire like-minded company.”
Iris clicks her tongue. “You are no like-minded individual to me, Ms…”
She stops, freezing. A realization forms in her throat like lead as her head and heart digest her mistake.
//Oh no, I don’t know her—//
People were supposed to introduce themselves to //her,// not the other way around. Iris Dark was born to lay the foot into others; after all, it was only then would she be able to ascertain their worth. Their name was unimportant to her, while hers were bonded in weights of gilded might.
Glaring, her mind is unable to discern the intentions through the wined tannins staining her tongue and the complete blank she is drawing up on what flattery of this caliber meant for her. She nearly breaks the empty glass in her hand from the dissonance piercing her thoughts until the woman takes it and smashes it over her knee.
“My name is Gardenia Knightsnow,” she replies, foxily, with eyes as flashy as her lipstick. They are not stripping nickel, no, instead pale quartz, polished to an adamantine shine. “I am the CEO of the Aetherolis Spiral Firm, the premier financial destination of demons, fae, and all sorts of hyperdimensional entities which find themselves needing to navigate a world of modern technology. I’m sure you of all people are aware of how often those types get stuck attempting to traverse the different planes of existence…?”
Aetherolis Spiral…Iris recalls the name vaguely. Thrice she heard it in acquisition discussions. It was a company with a board staffed to the brim with G.O.C apologists, and yet they all hated D.C. al Fine with such a fervor that she contemplated using their collective as an espionage tactic. The G.O.C was going to be instrumental to her political plans moving forward, but there were some heads that needed to roll first…
“…Odd surname,” Iris replies, flatly. “Are you a fae?”
“Heavens no,” Gardenia replies, shaking her head. “But you’re not the first to ask me such a question. My mother won it in a duel with one. How long ago, I forget…”
She takes a deep breath, grabbing another crystal glass, but not for wine this time. No, this time it’s a bottle of juice, and out she pours a beautiful pearlescent liquid, forming thin membranes of fleshy nacre wherever it lands on that thin translucence.
Iris’s eyes widen at the idea of her taking //her// drink. But, once again, Gardenia grins, holding it out for her, defying her.
“…Ms. Dark…”
Her voice is sultry. Not like that of a succubus, but of a genuine…appreciation?
For the first time in a long time, Iris wasn’t sure how right she was about anything.
“…You look ghastly when you bristle,” Gardenia continues. “I promise you, I will not dare to pillage from your larder. Not only do I have manners, and value my life…I also know who //earned// these spoils…”
Nothing is said as Iris looks down at the glass, her pupils dilating. Her face drips with a heat she can’t quite recall having before as she pours over Gardenia’s words to roll away from the uncertainties searing her throat.
Earned…oh yes. She did //indeed// earn all of this; she did it all by herself too. With her own hands and her own mouth. How studious and clever of Gardenia to acknowledge such might, how dutiful and tasteful too.
An ache begins swirling in her stomach, in her tense muscles and her brain. It weighs down upon her back as she bites an obsidian-coated lip, unaware that Gardenia’s smile has slipped from capriciousness into lasciviousness watching her.
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/money-game Ever since she was a young child], Iris Dark had a hunger gnawing at the inside of her. At first, it was only just formless whispers, telling her to do what she wanted and that adults had no dominion over her. Soon, it blossomed into bountiful blooms that spoke of her taking the world into her own hand, razing Eden’s garden to make it her own concrete jungle, overflowing with as much runes, magic, beauty, finesse, and might as her body could handle.
What satiated the gluttony inside of her was more factories to run how she pleased, more land to feed the veins of ethereal blueprints. More bodies to generate profit, pulping their swollen arteries like spoiled, rancid milk, processing out the other side of their spent carcasses as pure, unadulterated capital, unending in its influence and its potential, more souls to lay down the foundation for her ambitions with their bones and sinew.
What Iris loved above all else was endlessly gorging herself on more people to tell what to do. This was the true, most basic essence of that which they called “power”.
Gardenia hovers her hand around Iris’s own, staring into her deeply. Iris looks down at it, curious at its pale pallor, until she suddenly finds herself considering it akin to marble. Beautiful, carveable marble…
She backs up, smiling for the first time tonight. Her feet root into the cold stone floor for a single second, before she finds herself moving again, moving in line with what is akin to a leading role. To the biggest velvet recliner she goes, the one snuggled comfortably in the middle of her massive stash of food is, upon which she spreads her legs and widens her eyes like an owl perched upon an oak tree, talons unseen.
Gardenia chuckles, following her. Iris watches the way her hips sway with great anticipation, her breathing quickening as fast as it can under three glasses of wine. Had she held more sense in her spilling brain, the way her guarding chains were snapping would have been the cause for a ferocious alarm.
This Gardenia—this white flower cloaked in argent beauty—it’s blurring from an intruding someone in her mind, a soul to control and align into something that pleased her eyes the way a painting did. Static, with heavy meaning and beauty…but ultimately meant to be consumed in the end by the heart and brain.
Ah, what do her intentions matter when possession is beginning? As long as Iris came out on top, nothing else mattered…right?
Gardenia takes a golden tray and piles several confectioneries onto it. Looking at the wine bottle, she ponders it for a second, looking back to Iris. Their eyes connect like stacked coins.
//You will know what I want if you know what’s good for you,// Iris thinks, heat flooding down her legs slowly, coiling all the way to her toes. She pulls out the gun and places it onto her lap. It slips off haphazardly, but it is still within easy reach.
“A woman always ready to pounce, eh?” Gardenia smiles, reaching for several small macarons. “No wonder my sister was scared of your acquisition of our company.”
“She has every right to fear me,” Iris replies, stroking her ego in a way which splashes heat between both of their faces. “Especially because I heard she is a philanderer, one who only messes around with rich women, leeching off the money her company pours into her mouth. Or no, was that //you?//”
Iris narrows her eyes and Gardenia does not flinch. Her long, obsidian fingernails rap the edges of the couch, clicking loudly as they hit platinum edges.
Macarons quickly exchange themselves for cream puffs. Iris relaxes again, and Gardenia purses her lips, plating everything succulently before she finally takes her prostrating seat.
“If you assumed it was me, I wouldn’t be shocked,” she replies, coolly and watching Iris with great fervor. “We’re twins, actually, but I cannot stand the idea that our DNA is of the same quality. She is a useless, cotton-eating pig who is afraid of real effort, always relying on someone else to filthy their heels for her. I am ashamed of such behavior, so utterly.”
Iris stamps a stiletto. “Her enthusiasm for delegation is admirable, but only up to a point. It is blood, not mud, which purchases change—she is good for little else but slaughter if she is not willing to use her teeth.”
“Indeed, Ms. Dark…” Gardenia sighs demurely, leaning in closer to her, although they are not skin-to-skin yet. Her cologne is fresh, light, and bubbly. “It is so refreshing to hear someone speak such a truth like that… You have no idea what I put up with every…single…day…”
No reaction. Except of cavernous, poker-face eyes, poised like a spear. Gardenia traces freshly-cut nails across the hard surface of the plate, watching Iris with deep breaths. Both of their faces flush, but it is invisible under heavy foundation.
“…It is nothing compared to what I put up with,” Iris quips back to her, eager to have the upper hand here. It is also true, in her mind; to be as efficient as possible, small cuts needed to be made to her stomach. Small chips of her money, status, property, and power had to be taken to feed the carrots for those deigned to do her bidding—they were to grow into fruitful trees with fat flowers and even fatter fruit which would feed her, overload and soak her mouth with satisfaction until she reached the cores and there was nothing left but dry seeds.
But all of that was //painful//. Iris would never die by a thousand paper cuts, no, she is no such hellishly weak starling—but there were days when she wanted to. There were days when her brain would not stop screaming at her for control, when her own thoughts consumed her with a hunger that needed to be filled, filled, filled, lest her greed hollow her out body and nickel-leaded soul. There were days when she could not swallow the acquiescence to compromise, when she could not trust in the lackadaisical buffoons, the prattish imbeciles, the bureaucratical dullards that //she// needed, unfortunately.
Their failure weighed on her more riotously than it ever would them. There was no damnation heavier than her own unadulterated fury, no torture worse than her own hunger eating her intestines like an ouroboros, no greater calamity in the history of the universe than Iris Dark not getting //exactly// what she wanted every single second of every single day.
“…I can only imagine,” Gardenia replies, as if she is reading her mind.
Iris nearly raises a fist to her, her heart bubbling over like warbling embers. But instead, Gardenia positions herself into her lap, her legs slipping over her bare, soft skin.
“…The other conglomerates mutter of you having killed the original Marshall and Carter,” she whispers, leaning in. “I heard the prime minister of Britain—I was visiting her because she owed me a favor—speak of investigating you for those murders, but no one can find what jurisdiction it happened in, if at all.”
Dark pupils widen. Gardenia stares into Iris deeply, finding herself pressed into the softness of plump, stuffed comfort, both of skin and fabric. Both of their lips drip with flashing intent, intense hues of biting desire hiding behind metaphorical fangs whiter than any star could hope to be.
But Iris will not tell her what the truth is. Not here, not not now, not as her. As a corpse, maybe. When she’s limp and lifeless, her pale skin forced paler by a pallid pallor, strung up in some parting, pearlescent parlor.
But for now, she will do alive. She will do in giving to her a new need that her esophagus burns to have, burns to crush and ooze between her hands.
This was the purer form of what Skitter flirted with in his spare time, no? With what Robert deigned himself to whenever he wanted to lord over another man? How deep could this well go, propped up by more money and bodies than a factory farm bursting at the seams?
A new kind of hunger was seeding, one as old as humans themselves.
Gardenia continues, now tracing her hands up Iris’s arms as she sets the plate down on top of her chest.
“I too killed for my position, you know.” She hovers her lips over bare, peachy skin. “I shot my mother dead as my father watched me from beyond the grave, driven to suicide by her madness. I killed her and I got away with it because they tried me in America and the gloves refused to fit.”
Gardenia pants as Iris’s heart flutters, as if she was confessing some undigested sin as green as a narrow leaf. But Iris could not see that weakness, or her own—all that floods her eyes is the unabashed ruthlessness of the act, the similarity between their own guts for power, the aching of her own body changing up its tune to now set its sights on ensnaring on this pale bloom, inching its waist up her veins to produce the most wicked of smiles. All that whets a wetting appetite is this savage desire for power which had come to her to lay its head against her altar, so knowing of its place and yet able to keep up with her at a manageable pace.
With intents of sizzling white, Iris takes a hand to Gardenia’s chin and flips the switch between them. Oh, she had really struck gold now. This waxy flower had aimed her spear at the exactly the second proudest moment of Iris’s life, and now there was no way she was going to leave a moment to revel in it unturned.
“And are you sorry?” she asks cheekily, but still with dignified manners. She needs another glass of wine soon to ignore how her brain tells her this is a fleeting joke, how Gardenia is a bug to be squashed. Is playing this kind of game not a form of satisfying one’s greed? Is this not just another way to spend what she had earned?
There is no hesitation in Gardenia’s voice as she gasps, but steels herself by snickering and bringing Iris’s legs closer together with her own.
“Of course not, Ms. Dark. I would never be…”
Iris coos, in a manner not unlike the noblewoman of the house giving a command. “The power and the money was worth it, wasn’t it…?”
She narrows her eyes like a cat pleased with itself. Gardenia straddles her again, looking down at the food and at both of their dresses. They’re both going to be a mess of smudged fluids soon, but it doesn't matter.
Nothing is said between them as Iris puts a hand around that waist to cement them together, her the rooting anchor, the deep root system starving for more. Gardenia grabs a stray bottle of brandy neither noticed until now from behind Iris’s head, swallowing dry spit as she opens the bottle and nearly takes the first sip before laughing and turning downwards.
“The first and best sacrifice always goes to the gods,” she says. “Here…”
To black lips it goes, and it’s just a few seconds of liquid until Iris swipes the bottle to deny her. Swirling around that deep red, she slides the bottle behind her head back to its unnoticed abyss before she pops a cream puff into her mouth.
The sugar and pastry melt quickly with the burning alcohol. It sends a hot heat to her legs that with wide eyes, she pulls Gardenia in as tightly as she can with her legs for.
Neither is minding the mess, the crumbs, or the delicate confectionary smearing between them. If anything, it adds to the scene. The picture. This hole they were both sliding slickly into.
Fuck, she really was something of beauty. A unicorn bathed in moonlight, streaked with silver over jewelry so eager to be owned…her body was a marvel too, with hips and shoulders so broadly, immaculately sculpted, complemented by an hourglass at both ends surely capable of being filled as well…
…
Without another word, they kiss. They kiss like the auction isn’t ending, like two souls on top of the world, star-staring blossoms open and wanting for the night to come, take and press down into them.
They kiss like they are equals, like one has not stepped down from her throne on high to mingle with a mortal. A throne made of sand-blasted cast iron that normally would have poisoned all who put their mouth to it.
When Iris Dark breaks for a breath, she barks softly some wanting command at Gardenia, just to convince herself one last time. Without a word, Gardenia obeys, and soon, the two find themselves capitulating to pleasure as the lights dim.
------
[[=]]
[[size larger]] December 12th, 2013[[/size]]
[[/=]]
Silence. It is 4:51 am on a calm, freezing winter day.
Iris Dark jolts awake exactly thirty-nine minutes before her alarm. She pants, shuddering as her mind comes to from an aimless nightmare of someone standing over her. They sat upon a throne of black, nightless stone, carved from her bowels and spit as she struggled in front of them, in front of the eyes of millions, debased into the ground to a rank even lower than the worm.
There is no stumbling out of bed, only an acknowledgment of her situation. Anxiety pulses around her, but she repeats a mind-bound mantra and an apoptotic aphorism, and soon she is soothed. Soon, she has asserted herself as being in complete control of her surroundings, her body, and herself. No weakness can be had while there is still work to do, no tears shall exist while her stomach still lives and breathes, for it will hunger soon for more blood.
Such an existence would be too robotic for any human to survive. Nay, the thought of it ran against the basics of human need, as it was literally hardwired into DNA like threads of microscopic rubies. Just as chlorophyll necessitated the need for light, so did the human mind (and the even more base mammalian instinct) require on some level companionship, tenderness, touch and care. Especially in its formative years, the most vulnerable and plastic of youth, so aching and wanting of the world’s safety.
But Iris Dark was no normal person. No, on most days she barely felt like a person at all. She was born into this world with flesh and blood as one knew such concepts to bleed, but only as an entity, little more. The real passion behind her existence was that ravenous gluttony for power consuming her, allowing her to feel an identity only when she was wringing submission out of someone, somewhere, or something.
There, she saw herself for a single moment. There, she saw herself as she did when she was twenty-one, emerging from the foggy darkness in a shiny car with the darkest, most expensive wine she could ever possibly get her hands on. Emerging from that foggy darkness not as a lost, formless creature known as a “boy”, but as a beautiful, grown, mature woman.
Finally, her body belonged to her then. Finally, what she could see as a personality did too. She saw a small glimmer of light in herself, a light she so desperately craved, as all humans do, even if she would have been loathe to admit it. Iris would have been loathe to admit she was of the same frame and skeleton as the rest of humanity, but it was true. She was, in the end, no more special than them except that she had a lot of money, a lot of magic, and a lot of people willing to do whatever she wanted.
…For now.
All of that would change so very far into the future. One day, her plans will transform her into something greater, and transform this world with it. Hopefully by then, she will have fully shed the disgusting and quivering tremors of emotional sniveling her mind craved, the disgusting notions of self-identity and gnawing hunger which still ate at her like gnarls on a tree.
You would never be able to get her to say it, but realizing she was a woman was the highest point of her life. It was the highest, most euphoric moment she ever experienced, laced with glittering hope like no other that maybe she could do this, maybe there was hope for her. Hope for what, she didn’t know, nor did she want to, for she was too mired in her ways and had tasted too much of the moneyed pomegranate tree to be able to change.
But it was still hope. Though a mirage, its afterimage left the impression that perhaps there were more humble circumstances out there somewhere she could have been born into, guided by brighter conditions, by adults with loving hearts to notice something was wrong with her as a child, that she was never in a stable state of mind. Not able to reach the same milestones of the id as others, not able to formalize a perception of herself.
But it’s the thought that counts.
It’s the thought that counts to ten as she’s in her bathroom and remembers that for the first time in her life, her bed is not empty.
She takes a deep breath, waiting for movement.
Nothing. Gardenia does not stir. She does not rouse, even.
What a heavy sleeper.
Iris growls to herself as she grabs a bathrobe to cover herself, the smell of bodily fluids acrid and souring. Sour like battery acid, like salty, brining claws ripping into her flesh.
That…that //thing// over there…she brought her down so low into her own carnality…
Iris did not like to get her hands dirty. Though she was perfectly fine with murder, the act itself was demeaning, soddening. It was an act she enjoyed up until she had to look at the corpse and found her disgust pushed just a little bit further than she found comfortable, and she was //not// a woman who wanted to be uncomfortable. The termite-brained techbros she had to work with and their idiot parties would never be able to understand the truth.
But what is she to do? Gardenia was critical to her plan now. While the two swapped positions last night, they also swapped stories. Gardenia’s board was now more critical to be rid of than ever, for their zealotry was burning, decaying. They were the war fetishists to end all war fetishists; sharp-toothed clowns who demanded the death of al Fine and the razing of the world akin to a second Ichabod.
They were a group of nutcases who wanted back the 1950s and [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6672 all of the weapons that came with it]. Because of that, they needed to be rid of, wiped off the face of the earth.
Was her air-headed twin capable of understanding the crocodiles she had underneath her feet?
…
Iris takes a deep breath as she vomits in her mouth thinking of Gardenia cooing over her, coaxing her to speak of her little fears. The fear she had of looking weak in public, of her going outside and realizing she didn’t part her hair the right way over where it was a little thin. Fuck, the HRT was supposed to have fixed that—Percival went bald early in his life, she wasn’t going to let that happen to her!
The fear of emptiness still, dragged out and unabated. It was Iris’s savior, but it was a terrible tormentor. She knew if she gave into all of her plans fully, she would sink into that deep, deep, deeply, until one day it would become normalcy. One day, it would just be who she was.
And…where she is right now…
Something less than a self still exists to protest that fate, as weak and meaningless as such will be. There is no turning back now, no depending on others except to bow and grovel at her feet…
But that would mean that Iris would no longer have a mirror upon which to find herself in. Sure, fear and intimidation reflected upon others as purely as her joy and ecstasy could, but she was not stupid. Anyone could be cruel; not everyone could be happy.
…Percival…
Iris thinks of him as she exhales. As he tells her she is doing a good job, as she is rewarded with candy and a pat on the head for reciting correctly some piece of history to him.
One deep breath. Two deep breaths.
Five, ten, thirteen. He was there for her and she hated the way he looked. For years, he told her she was going to grow up to look just like all of the photos of himself he kept in his parlor, the ones he was so proud of. The ones entombed in embossed metals, dated so cleanly, with penmanship she could never get out of her head. His handwriting was immaculate, unfortunately.
Air continues to fill her lungs, exiting just as methodically, as mechanically and stoically as living cells could manage.
But he was still there for her, despite his flaws. He was just as cruel as she is now, but not towards her. His hand was there and she followed where he pointed, his mouth was oft loose and yet still he spoke of pride in her growing progress.
Splashing water in her face, warm water, meant to dissuade her puffy eyes, she looks at herself, wondering if he ever cared. If he really loved his granddaughter, loved the her she became and [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/it-s-always-darkest not the son the rest of the family would blame].
It is a question which brings her back to being there in his study, wholly dependent upon his words and wisdom, for without his bloodline, she would be nothing. She is no longer a Darke, but she did not get rid of the root darkness which gave such a name power. He, and everything he stood for and came from is attached to her personhood regardless, and the only way to be completely rid of his influence would be to purge what little self of her remained.
…
If Gardenia is occupying the same space in her mind as Percival Darke is, then there is only one thing left to do.
Flinging open the cabinet door behind her mirror, she shoves aside bottles of mint facial masks. She is not looking for them, no, she is instead looking for a small cardboard box with lightly shaking hands.
When they find what they’re looking for, she slips the box out and closes the door.
With another silent movement, Iris now turns her attention to a closet behind her. It unseals itself with sterile, fluorescent lights stripping away all that she feels to the tune of sleek carbon steel, barrels cold and lifeless.
She selects a shotgun with zero hesitation. It is the same kind one selects to hunt deer when they do not care for retrieving the carcass, the kind for creating firework messages in brain matter.
Heat rises in her chest as she loads and cocks it. Disabling the safety with one finger, she slowly makes her way to that sleeping beauty naked in her bed.
Iris towers over Gardenia, looking at her with eyes as blazing as melting nickel, straight from the core of the earth. They are almost the color of her, her entire being, her soul, but they are more cutting. There is more serration, along every vein and capillary, every centimeter of exposed, wet white flesh.
So peaceful… She certainly looks the part of a woman who could tear the world apart with her beauty.
That beautiful long, silver hair…
//This is for the you who saw me naked,// she thinks. Her shadowy silhouette is pure darkness against Eurtec below her, alight in its smog and haze-smeared lights. //This is for you who made a silly, lovesick fool out of me.//
Without another word, Iris fires the shotgun straight into her face. Eager to be rid of her flights of fancy, she unloads twice more, one in the legs and one in the torso.
The sound cascades throughout the Death Pyramid like ripped, violated stone. There wasn’t even a reaction to the sound, not even an eye open as she realized what happened.
Simply here one second, and then gone the next.
Iris would be damned if she managed to pull off some trite, cliche, Hollywood-style begging for her life. It would have mussed things up worse than they already were, would have had her wading deeper into muddy, muggy waters of emotional attachement.
Silence falls over empty halls as Iris stares at the body, its gore and brains splattered everywhere over the sheets and bed frame. Shivering and turning her nose up, she sighs, running her fingers over her flecked-with-specks-of-blood arm until she can bear the quiet no longer and pulls out her phone.
“Robert?”
He’s nearby. He’s supposed to visit her later for a meeting.
“Yes, we still have a lunch scheduled for today, but I have something else for you to do. You’ll know it when you see it.”
Best to deign him to clean this up instead of one of her housekeepers. Not only would she hate having to go through the effort to kill them too (because no NDA could ever cover this, let’s be real) but not enough time has passed since his inheritance of the company for him to have fully grown into the shoes she wanted him to wear.
No, Robert Eisen Carter still had some sense of grace to him. He still wore a smile in his spare time despite all of the posturing Iris had done to remind him of who his new boss was. That was excusable at first, when she thought it was a simple grieving process for what happened to his dear old man that she didn’t know he didn’t care much for.
But no. He was still holding on. The reason why, she could not give less of a rat-eaten shit about, but it meant he was not yet the knife she needed him to be. [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-devil-s-right-hand-man Not yet the hellhound she needed ready to unleash onto others at a moment’s notice]. She needed him out of the bookworm facade he still kept up around her; she needed him to plunge from dreams of being an author into pure, raw machiavellianism, deeper into the unfeeling narcissism that she knew he was capable of, granted to the Carters by both their nurturing and their birthright.
“Don’t be late. You know what will happen if you are.”
She needed him an obedient shell, the same as with Skitter, whom she had molded into the perfect idiot by giving the most abused and neglected of the Marshalls more money than he could ever possibly hope to spend.
What better way to grind Robert into dust than with the blunt, forceful trauma of seeing a desecrated corpse up close?
She smiles as he says he’ll be on his way in a stuttering tone, clearly having been interrupted in that library he loved so much. His voice wavers and she hangs up abruptly, gleeful of how he must have flinched at that.
“Killing two birds with one stone…yes, yes,” Iris mutters to herself, turning around to the corpse.
“You first…and then your god-awful //twin// next. Your company’s looking at a pretty hostile takeover, isn’t it Ms. Knightsnow?”
Gardenia Trinity Knightsnow. Iris looked up her full name on the car ride home, in the few moments she was catching her breath from sucking face with this despicable mongrel. A trinity of bad things certainly was about to happen to her, that’s for sure.
“Oh well, you know what they say. All’s fair in love and war, hm?”
[[/div]]
|
2024-12-28T23:29:00
|
[
"art-exchange",
"bleak",
"from-120s-archives",
"iris-dark",
"lgbtq",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"romance",
"tale"
] |
Kiss Kiss Fall to the Dark - SCP Foundation
| 22
|
[
"hour-zero",
"money-game",
"scp-6672",
"it-s-always-darkest",
"the-devil-s-right-hand-man"
] |
[
"top-rated-pages-by-month",
"tales-by-year",
"marshall-carter-and-dark-hub",
"from-120-s-archives-hub",
"art-exchange-hub",
"top-rated-pages-this-month",
"news"
] |
[] |
1458145222
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/kiss-kiss-fall-to-the-dark
|
|
lamb-of-god
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<ul class="modal-wrapper">
<li class="unfolded">
<div id="u-adult-warning">
<div id="u-adult-header">
<p>ADULT CONTENT</p>
</div>
<br/>
This article contains adult content that may not be suitable for all readers.
<div class="content-descriptor"><span style="display: block">Graphic depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$sexual-r`">Features sexual themes or language, but does not depict sexual acts.</span><br/>
<span style="display: block">Explicit depiction of sexual acts.</span><br/>
<span style="display: block">Features non-consensual sexual acts.</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$child-ab`">Depiction of severe mistreatment of children</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$self-har`">Depiction of self-harm</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$suicide}`">Depiction of suicide</span><br/>
<span style="display: block">Depiction of torture</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$custom} `">{$custom-content}</span></div>
<p>If you are above the age of 18+ and wish to read such content, then you may click Continue to view said content.</p>
<div class="foldable-list-container choice"><a href="javascript:;">Continue</a></div>
<div class="choice"><a href="/">Back to Front Page</a></div>
</div>
<br/></li>
</ul>
<div class="sign">
<p>A <span class="ature"><a href="https://twitter.com/rounderhouse">ROUNDERHOUSE</a></span> Joint</p>
</div>
<div class="info-container">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div>
<p>Coming Soon - Rounderhouse</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div id="u-author_block">
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.scp-wiki.net/rounderhouse-s-author-page">▸ More by this Author ◂</a></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div id="u-comments2" style="display: none;">
<p>{$comments2}</p>
</div>
<div class="u-faq">
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-ayers">F.A.Q.</a></p>
</div>
<div style="display: none;">
<p>{$doesthisfixthebug}</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aredtape/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p>Farhan swirled the last dregs of rum in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light. He was in a bar — a custom for him whenever he was in Bahrain. The island country was one of the few places in the Arab world one could catch a drink without looking over one’s shoulder. He took full advantage of that small liberty whenever he had a good reason to visit. He rarely did.</p>
<p>Today was rare. It was a nice place — all fancy lighting, cocktails served in ridiculous glasses. Wood panelling on the bar and an impressive collection of spirits. It was a Saturday night, so the place was packed. Every Friday, as soon as work ended, the wealthy prodigal sons from Saudi Arabia would pile into their Mercedes and Range Rovers, and drive across the King Fahd Causeway that connected the two countries. They would arrive, and enter into an unspoken gentleman’s pact to ignore each other’s behaviour for the rest of the weekend. They would pretend not to notice the shots, the champagne, insist the nightclubs were upscale lounges and that the filet mignon was halal. For three days, they would get drunk off mead and live the life only the liberated of Riyadh could live. And come Monday, driving back across the bridge into Saudi Arabia, they would become good Muslim boys once again.</p>
<p>Farhan held no strong judgements on them for their temporary debauchery. They weren’t wretched because they were getting drunk; they were wretched because they were rich, hooting young men who had never known a day of work in their lives. Father’s credit card and expense account took care of any inconveniences. One bumped into his shoulder at the bar, nearly spilling his drink; the boy, no older than twenty-five, muttered a quick apology in Arabic before launching back into a spirited discussion with his friends. Farhan didn’t acknowledge it.</p>
<p>He did acknowledge the fetching woman who took the seat on his other side. Not Arab, but not American like the rest of the clientele here. Eastern European, maybe? Dark hair, a strong face, in a beautiful red pencil dress. Ordered her cosmo with an accent. He put on his best, smarmiest smile. Women seemed to love it. “You’re not from around here, are you?”</p>
<p>She smiled at him, and raised her voice slightly above the din. “No, I’m not! Take a guess.”</p>
<p>He took the opportunity to intently study her face. She thought he was probably trying to figure out her background, and smiled. In his head, he was matching her to the picture on his phone. Finally, he smiled and snapped his fingers.</p>
<p>“Belarussian!”</p>
<p>She laughed. “Serbian. And careful, the wrong person wouldn’t take that well.”</p>
<p>“Are you the right person?” He threw in a flirtatious smile.</p>
<p>“I might be.” She threw one right back at him. He knew he had her now.</p>
<p>“Intriguing. And how might we figure that out?”</p>
<p>“Let’s start simple. What’s your name?”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Let’s start simple. What’s your name?”</p>
<p>“Fuck off.”</p>
<p>The man sitting across from him in the table cocks his head. He’s Mukhabarat, but he doesn’t look like the standard interrogators they would trot out. He has a soft, round face, full cheeks with no beard. He looks like someone’s cousin, a friend that might come up to a function who no one really recognizes — forgettable, but perfectly blending in. The khaki uniform and maroon beret make him look like a child playing dress-up.</p>
<p>“This doesn’t have to be difficult, you know.”</p>
<p>Farhan looks around. The pair of them are in a concrete room — nearly identical to the cell he’d been thrown in hours earlier, but slightly larger. Square, no defining features. Nothing except the chairs they were both in and the wooden table separating them.</p>
<p>“You’re prepared for difficulty.”</p>
<p>“I’m prepared for everything. But whether we go that route or not is your decision.”</p>
<p>Farhan smiles. “I really don’t know anything.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”</p>
<p>“But I can tell you already I don’t know anything. I assume you’re asking me about anything. So there’s no point in asking, is there?”</p>
<p>The man laughs. A light, airy giggle. “I like you.”</p>
<p>For some reason, the laugh unnerves Farhan. He tries not to let it show. “Thanks.”</p>
<p>“So if I asked you about reports of a man matching your description being sighted around the cultural ministry before the alarms went off, you would have nothing to say?”</p>
<p>“I would say that I am not a very unique looking man.” He knows that’s a lie, but he forges ahead. “I have two eyes, a nose, a mouth, hair. Many do.”</p>
<p>“Many do,” the man agrees. “Not many of them carry illegal firearms on their person.”</p>
<p>“I was concerned about my personal safety. Times like these, you know. I’m more than willing to pay any fine, but wouldn’t this be a police matter?”</p>
<p>“It would,” he agrees.</p>
<p>“Then why is someone from General Intelligence here?”</p>
<p>“Because,” he begins, rising from his seat. He circles the table, with an odd, lurching gait — the impression us a hyena, inching toward its prey until he reaches just behind Farhan’s shoulder. “A crime that involves an ORIA agent is my jurisdiction.”</p>
<p>Farhan blanches, and this time, he can’t hide it. The man laughs.</p>
<p>“We’re going to have fun together, lamb.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“What do you do for fun?”</p>
<p>“Oh, this and that. Cook, travel. Talk to beautiful women in bars.”</p>
<p>She laughed. It was later now, and some of the folks had filtered out. The boys were lightweights with no meaningful tolerance, and that meant they left early. The expats were left, businesspeople and tourists.</p>
<p>“What about you?”</p>
<p>She thought about the question for a second, a fourth drink in hand. She didn’t look soused, to her credit. “Not much. All of my time goes to work.”</p>
<p>“What do you do?”</p>
<p>“Oh, this and that,” she parroted back to him.</p>
<p>He pressed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that job, honestly.”</p>
<p>“Seriously. I work for an international financial firm. We have lots of holdings here and in Riyadh, so they fly me out often.”</p>
<p>“Lucky girl! You must be a proper regular here, then.”</p>
<p>An embarrassed smile. “I wish. I barely speak Arabic.”</p>
<p>“It’s not that hard of a language to learn. And very pretty. Flows like water.”</p>
<p>“Its beautiful,” she agreed. “And you?”</p>
<p>“Are you asking if I’m beautiful?” he teased.</p>
<p>She giggled. “No! What you do for work.”</p>
<p>“Oh, nothing interesting there, I’m afraid. I’m just an office worker.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“I’m — just — an office — worker,” Farhan gasps out stutteringly, teeth chattering. The ice water flows down his body, pools around his toes, then down the drain set into the middle of the room. There’s a metal loop set into the concrete overhead, his arms forced up to meet it, then a cable run through it binding both arms behind and above him. The result is an agonizing stress position, where all the weight of his body is either on his feet or hanging from his arms. He’s sure that he would’ve passed out if it wasn’t for the regular ‘infusions’ of ice water to keep him awake.</p>
<p>“No, you’re not,” the man answers matter-of-factly. “Don’t lie to me, lamb.”</p>
<p>“I’m not—”</p>
<p>“You are an ORIA agent. You were on a mission of some kind. Tell me what.” He’s not yelling or screaming — the demand is simple, neatly phrased. Gentle, almost.</p>
<p>“I don’t—”</p>
<p>His protests are cut off by another bucketful of ice water, thrown directly into his face. He gasps, taking in shaky breaths, hair matted to his forehead. He yells; an animal, guttural noise of shock. The better part of a minute passes before he can put words together again.</p>
<p>“S—stop. Please.”</p>
<p>To Farhan’s surprise, the man lowers the next bucket he already had raised.</p>
<p>“Have you decided to share?”</p>
<p>“I’m telling you, I don’t <em>know</em> anything. Please,” he repeated. It feels like he’s said that a hundred times in the past two days — the words are rote, mechanical.</p>
<p>The man looks down at him, and for a moment, Farhan sees himself through the colonel’s eyes — pathetic, hanging from his burning arms, soaked to the bone and shivering weakly.</p>
<p>The colonel cocks his head. “You’re cold. Let’s get you warmed up.”</p>
<p>Farhan doesn’t say anything, scared to ruin whatever small mercy this could end up being. He watches as the colonel strides to the metal door and raps sharply on it. A few seconds later, it opens, and someone passes something through. A charcoal carrier — the kind he’d seen a thousand times in hookah bars, a small metal basket containing burning charcoals. In his shocked haze, he doesn’t register its purpose for a second until the colonel approaches him, carrying the basket in one hand and a set of metal tongs in another. He starts writhing, futilely trying to pull away.</p>
<p>“Fire is a magical thing, isn’t it? Too cold, and you die. But too hot, and you’ll wish you were dead.”</p>
<p>“No no no no! Please, wait, hold on—”</p>
<p>He’s cut off by a bloodcurdling scream. It takes Farhan a moment to realize the scream came from himself, as the burning charcoal is pressed against the naked skin of his thigh. The telltale odor of burning flesh fills his nostrils, and he screams again, kicking his leg out. The charcoal clatters to the floor, steaming where it hits the pooled water. The colonel looks at it.</p>
<p>“Pick it up.”</p>
<p>“W-what?” Farhan groans.</p>
<p>The colonel reaches over, drawing his knife from his belt. Farhan winces before he realizes the cable keeping his arms up for the past 6 hours is being sawed through. It snaps and he crashes to the floor in a heap, letting out another low scream as the blood rushes back into his limbs.</p>
<p>“Pick up the coal.”</p>
<p>“I— what? I can’t.”</p>
<p>The knife is against the back of his neck now. One plunge, and his spinal cord is severed. The message is clear. He swallows his pain and his pride and crawls across the freezing-wet concrete floor, to where the charcoal is still steaming.</p>
<p>He looks back to the colonel. “Please.”</p>
<p>“Tell me what you were looking for or pick it up.”</p>
<p>His chest heaves as he stares at the burning black rock for a few seconds. Then he leans down and wraps the fingers of his left hand around it.</p>
<p>He screams immediately, but dipping his hand into the ice water gives him a second before the pain sets in, a second he uses to whip around and lunge at the colonel, burning charcoal outstretched.</p>
<p>The colonel swiftly steps to the right. Dazed and confused, Farhan misses easily, crashing into a heap. The colonel wastes no time in dropping, placing a knee onto his back, twisting his arm behind him until he grunts and drops the charcoal. The skin of his hand is charred, bubbling.</p>
<p>Farhan can’t see him, but he can hear the amusement in the colonel’s voice.</p>
<p>“Looks like we still need to break you. I always did like cooked lamb.”</p>
<p>Nobody outside the room hears Farhan’s screaming as the colonel dumps the entire basket of burning coals onto his back.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“I’ll have the lamb shank,” the woman told the server.</p>
<p>Farhan winced, and she caught it.</p>
<p>“Not a fan of lamb?”</p>
<p>“A bad history with it. But don’t let me spoil your fun.” He turns to the waiter. “I’ll just do the tawook.” The man nodded, taking both of their menus and leaving them again. They were still at the bar — the place was upscale enough that they also served food. Pretty good food, at that. Farhan nursed his fourth glass of pineapple rum while they waited for their food.</p>
<p>“You seem like a much bigger heavyweight than most of the clientele,” she commented.</p>
<p>“How do you mean?”</p>
<p>“I mean, most Saudi guys have never had a sip of alcohol before coming here, right? You’re pounding those back.”</p>
<p>He declined to mention that the alcohol vaporized in his mouth before he swallowed. “Well, firstly, most of the rich bastards from there that can afford to drive down here every weekend aren’t exactly bound by the dry laws.”</p>
<p>“How’s that?”</p>
<p>“There aren’t bars or anything, but I’ve known people who had wine collections. Strictly as a financial asset, of course.” He gave her a knowing smile.</p>
<p>“Of course. So does that makes you a rich bastard who can afford to import it?”</p>
<p>“God, no. Well, at least I’m not a <em>rich</em> bastard.”</p>
<p>“Then what?”</p>
<p>“Simple. I’m not Saudi.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Oh! I— sorry, I didn’t—”</p>
<p>He laughed. “It’s okay. You’re hardly the first person to make that mistake. I’ve been called everything from Pakistani to Mexican. Ethnically ambiguous. Plus I speak English with an American accent, and that makes everything that much more confusing.”</p>
<p>She nodded slowly, still embarrassed. “So where are you really from, then?”</p>
<p>“I’ve been all over. But I was born and raised in Iran.”</p>
<p>“Oh, wow. That’s not… super common here, is it?”</p>
<p>“It’s not. Things have cooled in recent years but Saudi Arabia and Iran still do not like one another. Barely ever let citizens of the other in.”</p>
<p>“Then how are you here?”</p>
<p>He smiled. “I have friends in high places.”</p>
<p>“I assume you mean God, because I can’t imagine who else would manage to get those two to agree on something.”</p>
<p>That actually got him to laugh. “Probably not even him. Though I’m not terribly sure I believe in God anymore.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>“<em>Allaahummak-fineehim bimaa shi’ta.</em>”</p>
<p>Farhan whispers the prayer to himself, over and over, because there’s nothing else to do in the coffin. It’s a long, narrow metal box, just wide and tall enough to fit a person with hardly any room to wriggle. Moving his shoulders two inches to the right hit the wall, and the same on the left. There wasn’t enough depth to even bend his knees, so he stood with his legs locked. The pain set in after only half an hour.</p>
<p>He can’t tell how long he’s been inside. They’d thrown him in unceremoniously, and he’d heard the locks turning outside before they stepped away, leaving one parting message:</p>
<p>“If you scream, we’ll put a wet towel over the airholes.”</p>
<p>He hasn’t screamed yet. The airholes were six holes in the ‘ceiling’, each about the diameter of his pinky — though with his arms pinned to his sides, he could only estimate. They are the only source of light and air into the box.</p>
<p>He starts the prayer again. And again, and again, and again. He’d gotten to seven-hundred-twenty-nine before he’d lost count, keeping track on his fingers until the joints locked up.</p>
<p>It’s cold. It’s so, so cold. And quiet. He can’t hear a thing, not even the low sobbing of the other inmates that permeates the prison. Pure silence. It was calming at first, not having to think about what other horrors were being inflicted on those he can’t see. Whether he’d already suffered as they had, or whether he had yet to see what made them break. Then it became maddening, stifling, completely blocking his ability to think or keep track of time or his own thoughts. Now, he can’t think at all.</p>
<p>He kept repeating the prayer. A childhood memory swims to the forefront of his mind — in the mosque as a boy of no more than six, pulling at the hem of his father’s thobe. His father kneeling on the intricately-embroidered carpet, hands wrapped into prayer, making a supplication. “<em>Allaahummak-fineehim bimaa shi’ta.”</em></p>
<p><tt>Ya’allah, protect us from those who would do us harm, however you wish.</tt></p>
<p>His father turns to him, and opens his mouth to speak. No sound comes out. His lips move, but nothing is expressed. Staring up at his father, Farhan realizes with a jerk that he can’t remember how people sound.</p>
<p>The scream he lets out isn’t one of pain — it’s an animal reaction. Reminding himself what a human sounds like. It echoes inside his chamber, and only after it reaches his ears does the graveness of his mistake register. For a few seconds, nothing happens, and he prays that the guard thought it was one of the other dozens of prisoners. That nobody heard it.</p>
<p>Then he hears the metal door unlock, and he breaks. Loud, wracking sobs, contorting his body against the coffin. His forehead slams into the cold metal six inches in front of him. He hears the clicking of boots against the floor as someone approaches, trying to stifle his sobs.</p>
<p>“Please. I’m sorry. Please—”</p>
<p>He’s cut off as the meager light from the airholes vanishes. The whimpers turn into open, screaming begs. No response. Despite his training, he starts to hyperventilate. He can’t do it. Tight spaces. Darkness. Restrictive. Claustrophobic. Suffocating. His head swims. In some logical part of his brain, he knows he can still breathe, but his throat tightens as the walls of the coffin move in, strangling him, crushing him—</p>
<p>“PLEASE!”</p>
<p>In one final act of desperation, he bangs his fists against the door — and it pops free. He tumbles out into a heap on the floor. The darkness recedes. His throat opens. He can breathe again. He sucks in greedy, desperate breaths before looking up at the black boots in front of him, following them up.</p>
<p>The colonel, face as soft as ever. There’s no cruelty in his expression — even as he crouches down and gently brushes Farhan’s long hair back from where it has matted to his forehead with sweat, his movements are kind. He waits for the gears in Farhan’s head to start turning again.</p>
<p>“I-it was unlocked?”</p>
<p>“The lock has been broken for years. With enough force, it comes free. But you didn’t even try.” His tone isn’t mocking. “I’m very proud of you, lamb.”</p>
<p>Farhan keeps sucking in air. Trying to process his misery for the last who-knows-how-long was self-inflicted. His own fault.</p>
<p>“It seems you don’t do well in tight spaces.” The colonel continues. “But at least your prayers were answered, in me.”</p>
<p>It takes another second for the statement to register. “H—how did you know I was praying?”</p>
<p>“Because I was here. I’ve been sitting right here for the past eight hours. I heard every little <em>duʿā</em> and supplication.” The colonel smiles down at him, showing his teeth. “I wouldn’t abandon my lamb. But are you ready to cooperate now?”</p>
<p>Farhan finds his head nodding, in spite of himself. It’s a physical reaction. He can’t stop it. But he opens his mouth anyway. “Please don’t make me.”</p>
<p>The colonel’s muscles tense, pulling away from Farhan’s hair. “’Please don’t make me.’ Very telling phrasing. That you will if I force you to, but that you’re scared of the repercussions if you do. From your handlers? From God?” He got to his feet. “Doesn’t matter. Same solution either way.” He pulled something off a table.</p>
<p>A claw hammer.</p>
<p>“I just have to make sure you’re more scared of my wrath than their’s.”</p>
<p>Before Farhan can pull back, the colonel grabs and pins his arm against the concrete. The blood is still redistributing through his body — the sudden pressure alone makes him groan in pain.</p>
<p>“Who do you worship?” The question is evenly-phrased and straightforward. It doesn’t even occur to him to lie.</p>
<p>“Alla—”</p>
<p>He doesn’t even get the whole word out before the hammer smashes down onto his little finger. Farhan screams like a dying animal, thrashing desperately. But he’s starving, weak, sleep-deprived — he can’t do anything except scream as every bone in his finger is shattered, pulverized. The pain is blinding. He feels bile crawl up his throat and hot, salty tears spill from his eyes.</p>
<p>“Who do you honor?” He knows it’s a trick now, but he doesn’t know what the trick is. In his dull agony and dazed confusion, he defaults to the same answer.</p>
<p>“Al—”</p>
<p>Again.</p>
<p>His ears are ringing so badly he doesn’t even hear the scream leaving his mouth until it begins to die away. He can just see his ring finger. It’s a crumpled, fracture mess that looks like it went through an industrial shredder, bent at all the wrong angles in the wrong directions. Both the ruined fingers are turning purple. He can’t hold the bile back this time and vomits, spewing the greyish mixture onto the concrete in front of where his head is pinned. Some of it flows back against his face and into his mouth. The tears mix with it.</p>
<p>“Who do you obey?”</p>
<p>“<em>You</em>. You.”</p>
<p>There is a half-second where he expects the hammer to come down again, and reflexively tenses. Holds his breath. But it doesn’t come. He opens his eyes, chest heaving.</p>
<p>The colonel is smiling down at him. “Good little lamb.”</p>
<p>Then he raises the hammer even higher. “Now let’s make sure you don’t forget.”</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Don’t forget, 589, 3am</em></p>
<p>It’s scrawled onto the back of the cocktail napkin in pretty blue pen, the one she’d handed him before departing.</p>
<p>“I’ve got some business to take care of.”</p>
<p>“At this hour?”</p>
<p>She shrugged. “International finance. You learn to keep odd hours.”</p>
<p>The bar & grill was nearly empty now — just the two of them, a few regulars, and the staff. They’d be making last call any minute. He put on his best slightly-disappointed face.</p>
<p>“That’s a shame. This was one of the better nights I’ve had in this place.”</p>
<p>She leaned down, intentionally giving him a not-insignificant view down the front of her cocktail dress. She planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving a lipstick smear behind. “Doesn’t have to end. Look inside.” And then she was gone.</p>
<p>He unwrapped the napkin. Inside was a keycard for a room at the Hilton Bahrain.</p>
<p>And now here he was, at three in the morning, standing in front of an unfamiliar hotel room. He considered knocking, but then — she’d <em>given</em> him a card, hadn’t she? He slipped it into the reader, and the light blinked green. He gingerly opened the door, peeking inside.</p>
<p>“There you are.”</p>
<p>She was sitting on the couch, heels thrown off and legs up on the coffee table. Still in that red cocktail dress, an unopened bottle of red wine in front of her. Two glasses.</p>
<p>“Here I am.”</p>
<p>He moved in, closing the door behind him. He cast a look around — no obvious hiding spots for people or large weapons. It was a single queen room.</p>
<p>“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show,” she commented.</p>
<p>“I got a little lost. Never been in a fancy hotel like this,” he lied.</p>
<p>“What do you think?”</p>
<p>“I think you might be out of my league.”</p>
<p>She laughed and blushed. Just drunk enough to be flattered by any compliment, no matter how brazen.</p>
<p>“Well, c’mere. It’s late. Let’s not waste any more time.”</p>
<p>“I can’t imagine what we’d be wasting time from.”</p>
<p>She grabbed the hem of his jacket as he approached, pulling him in. He playfully resisted, letting them both ‘naturally’ fall onto the bed, her on top of him. “Well,” she purred, reaching at something. “That’s interesting.”</p>
<p>“Woah, girl.”</p>
<p>She pulled her hand back, quieting. “I’ve been a good girl, haven’t I?”</p>
<p>“Tonight? Sure.”</p>
<p>“So indulge my curiosity about something?”</p>
<p>He cocked his head. “Is it about the eye?”</p>
<p>She reached a hand up, teasing the hem of the eyepatch over his left eye.</p>
<p>“Sorry. I don’t want to offend.”</p>
<p>“You’re not offending. It’s just not a very interesting story, I’m afraid.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>A drop of blood pools on the edge of his brow. He’s on his knees, forced forward by his arms behind him and suspended from the ceiling. It’s an awkward position, designed to put immense stress on the shoulders and arms. Normally, he would be feeling the pain coming in dull, crashing waves — but at some point it all became too much. He dissociated, and now Farhan is watching his body contorted into shape from the outside.</p>
<p>A month ago, he would’ve been described as a handsome, curly-haired youth in his early twenties, with a proud face and a strong nose. Now he is unrecognizable, he thinks, gazing at his body from top to bottom. The hair is matted to his forehead with sweat and oil. Blood flows freely from his broken nose, catching in his stubble. He’s naked — his body is an artwork of bruises, cuts, and burns. Wicked-looking purple and yellow splotches spread across his back, arms, and chest, from the constant and uncomplicated beatings. His thighs and calves are dotted with burnt, charred skin that has melted and healed on itself, over and over as the hot coals were applied. Dark circles cut across his arms where a tourniquet was used to cut off blood flow for hours. Every single finger on both of his hands was a fractured, crushed mess, beaten bloody with a hammer until he went into shock.</p>
<p>A single, huge purple welt wraps around his neck where he was collared — a steel band with a leash wrapped around his throat, then used to shove him against a brick wall, yank him back, and shove him again. At one point, his head snapped back and collided with the brick. He woke up twelve minutes later when they waved bath salts under his nose. He couldn’t remember his own name for an hour.</p>
<p>The soles of his feet are red and swollen from when they were rubbed with honey and presented to a box containing a fire ant colony. Not that it mattered, because he hadn’t been given opportunity to walk for days. His ass was sore — they had withheld his water for two days before delivering a sudden, shocking burst of ice water through an enema, mixed with a few drops of chili oil. He had tried to vomit, but there was so little food in his stomach that the only thing to escape was the water he had accidentally swallowed while being waterboarded. His penis had a shallow cut in the skin from where a box cutter had been pressed while a rubber-gloved hand groped him. He’d been told that if he didn’t speak, the blade would sever neatly through his genitals, castrating him. They’d press a hot iron against the wound, cauterize it and leave him a eunuch.</p>
<p>And every step of the way, he’d given them what they wanted.</p>
<p>They’d broken him, that night in the coffin. Playing on his worst claustrophobia, the fear that they had no way of knowing. And once that dam was breached, the rest was a matter of applying pressure. Between the agonies and the punishments, he’d told them everything. That he was an ORIA operative from Tehran. That he’d been living in Aswan for months, lying low and waiting for his opportunity. Of the sword in the Nubian Museum, the one that could cleave through a sea if wielded right. How it was looted during the Arab conquests, how it belonged to the <em>ummah</em> as a whole. How a defector from Egyptian intelligence had given him the inside loop on getting it back. He gave it all up, between sobs and screams and tears. For two weeks, the Colonel worked him day and night, cutting him up, figuring out every aspect of how this had eluded the system. In time, with pain, every question was answered.</p>
<p>Except one.</p>
<p>The metal door clunks open. Farhan’s mind is snatched back into his body, and he looks up from the pool of blood, sweat, and piss that has formed underneath him. It is the only person it can be. The colonel strides up to him, giving him a pitiable look. He’s in a sorry state.</p>
<p>“Have you reconsidered?”</p>
<p>Farhan just pants in response.</p>
<p>“We’re going to find out anyway. An ORIA safehouse in this country cannot go undetected for long.”</p>
<p>He ekes out a reply. “It… has for… this… long…” His voice trails off. Putting the short phrase together sapped all the strength he had left.</p>
<p>This is all he has. This is the last shred of honor he can salvage for himself — to die without giving up his countrymen. He knows he will die. This is no more a matter of question than the sun rising. But if he keeps his silence, he dies with dignity. If not, he dies a traitor and a coward.</p>
<p><em>I am not a coward. I am not a coward. I am not a coward.</em></p>
<p>He lets the phrase bounce around his head, cutting through the fog and confusion in his mind. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept for more than a few minutes at a time — the noise machines in the cell were installed two (three?) days ago, constantly playing a loop of screaming, gunfire, artillery, animals being slaughtered, women being assaulted, baying of wolves, dropping of bombs. Trying to put a thought together is like walking through a warzone with an iron spike through his skull.</p>
<p>The colonel tuts.</p>
<p>“A shame. I suppose that’s the end of you, then.”</p>
<p>His chest heaves. He knows he should be terrified, desperate. But all that has been beaten, burned, torn out of him. All he can feel is relief as the colonel pulls his chin upward. Relief that the pain is finally over. Maybe he’ll get to make amends in jannah. Maybe he’ll see his father.</p>
<p>Then he realizes the two other prison officers coming in to grip him from behind. He’s already bound, he can’t move. Why would they hold him if they were going to kill him? He makes a noise of confusion.</p>
<p>“I haven’t given up on you yet, lamb. You’ve been so good for me. You’ve given us so much. It’s just that last little bit that’s being troublesome. And I still believe we can work it out of you with the proper motivation.” He turns away to the table. “Do you know what the first thing I noticed about you was?”</p>
<p>“Wuh?”</p>
<p>“Your eyes. They’re beautiful. Rich and deep and brown. I’ve spent much time in the West — they like their blond hair and blue eyes, but I’ve always felt the colors you see among our peoples are so much more striking. And yours are a truly remarkable set. They have a depth and soul to them.” He turned around again, raising something up. “Unfortunately, you seem to be wasting them. You refuse to see the bigger picture. This is larger than you, lamb. This is about the struggle of nations, for legitimacy as the world order crumbles. And if you refuse to see, what use are your eyes?”</p>
<p>It was a power drill. A long, thin bit sat at the end.</p>
<p>Farhan’s eyes widen. All the peace and resignation for his death he felt a moment ago evaporated.</p>
<p>“Hold him. Don’t struggle, lamb — I don’t want this to be a lobotomy.”</p>
<p>He screams, thrashing. But the guards already have a tight grip on his head, neck, and arms. He can’t move, only watch as the colonel draws closer, spinning up the drill. One of the guards tilts his head back, and he lets out one last, wild scream to anyone who would listen or help.</p>
<p>No one comes.</p>
<p>The bit stops a centimeter away from his face.</p>
<p>“Choose.”</p>
<p>“P-please.”</p>
<p>“Choose, or I’ll take both.”</p>
<p>It’s an impossible choice, the definition of an impossible choice. But he has to make it. His head swims, and bile creeps up his throat. His stomach feels like a bottomless pit, and he surrenders to fate.</p>
<p>“…L-left.”</p>
<p>There is no hesitation. One of the guards forces his eyelids apart with a spreader and the drill spins up again, letting out a <em>whirrrrrr</em> as the colonel drives it cleanly into Farhan’s left eye. There’s a mote of resistance, and then it breaks through, shredding the jelly-like interior of his eye. Farhan’s vision twists, goes red, then black, and then he doesn’t see anything at all.</p>
<p>He screams like the devil himself, bucking and thrashing fruitlessly. It can’t have been in his eye for more than a handful of seconds, but it’s a lifetime of pain. Every nerve in his eye socket is on fire, like a match has been thrown into his head. His blood boils and his teeth gnash. When the drill recedes, he does completely limp in the legs, hands scrabbling up to his face, clawing at his eye for something that isn’t there anymore.</p>
<p>“Make your decision, lamb. Or I’ll be back in the morning for the next one. And after that, you won’t have anything left to give me.” The door slams shut.</p>
<p>Lying there in a pool of his own blood, half-blind, howling at God for abandoning him, Farhan Moradi dies.</p>
<hr/>
<p>He fucked lifelessly and mechanically. He was a corpse puppeteered by mechanisms, thrusting into her with a dull, regular rhythm. To her credit, she didn’t seem to mind, moaning and panting underneath him — even without putting his heart into it, he was good enough to satisfy. That made him feel a little better.</p>
<p>Casual sex had always been a given for him, but it offered diminishing returns — at one point, years ago, it was how he reminded himself he was still alive. The endorphins would rush through his veins, his heart rate would spike, the adrenaline would electrify his body while he wrestled with someone in bed. It was a rush, a high. Then the high stopped being so high, and he would lay awake afterward, staring at the ceiling, naked, next to someone deep in sleep, wondering what was wrong with him. Now, it was more routine than anything. He found someone at a bar, he said all the right words, they went to their place (never his place), and he fucked like a dead thing for a few hours. He was gone before morning.</p>
<p>There was someone who had made him feel alive again, a few years ago. But she was gone now. And he'd probably never see her again.</p>
<p>In any case, this wasn’t that — this was business. Business, he told himself, as skin slapped against skin and her moans filled the dark hotel room, as fluids spilled onto the hundred-dollar sheets and the bottle of wine sat unopened on the coffee table. As he tries not to focus on the canvas of scars decorating the parts of his body usually hidden by clothes. Business.</p>
<hr/>
<p>That night, in his cell, Farhan is visited.</p>
<p>The guards untied him from his position in the interrogation room and hosed him down. Some rudimentary first aid was applied to make sure he didn’t bleed out overnight, and then he was dumped unceremoniously into his cell. A thick piece of fabric was tied around half of his head — it made his skull feel weighty. It took all his strength to crawl onto the mat before passing out.</p>
<p>He does not awake when he is visited. He does not stir at the sound of the two loud <em>thumps</em> outside several hours later, like bodies hitting concrete. He is not awakened by the door unlocking, or the footsteps creeping up to his mat. He is lost in the abyss as a set of hands lifts him up, checks his pulse and spine, cradles his head, inspects his wounds. He does not hear the swift expressions of shock at the brutality of his injuries, nor the <em>duʿā</em> quickly whispered over his supine form. He does not notice as a multitude of strong hands lift his body up into a bridal carry. He does not feel the temperature change on his skin as they quietly, swiftly leave the concrete of the prison, slipping into the cool night.</p>
<p>Farhan Moradi dies in that Egyptian prison. Someone else exits that night.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Farhan leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom. The woman was inside, running a warm bath. She gave him a glance as he fills the doorway, letting the sheet fall to the floor. She smiled, not seeing what he was holding just out of sight.</p>
<p>“That was fun.”</p>
<p>“It was,” he lied.</p>
<p>“You never did tell me what you do for work.”</p>
<p>“Neither did you.”</p>
<p>She cocked her head, confused.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I told you — finance.”</p>
<p>He shook his head.</p>
<p>“No. You’re an upper manager for Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd.” He watched the blood drain out of her face before he continued. “For the past seven years, you’ve been the Vice President of the Middle Eastern Office. Under your influence and direction, MC&D has shifted its focus away from providing petrobillionaires and oligarchs with expensive novelties and anomalous toys, and towards supplying power-hungry dictators with anomalous arms. Your private auctions in Riyadh, Cairo, Damascus, Tehran — responsible for tens, hundreds of thousands of deaths in regional conflicts. Now every autocrat knows he can get something better than yellowcake at half the price of a nuclear programme.”</p>
<p>He pushed into the bathroom, letting his size fill the room. His eye burned under the patch.</p>
<p>“You’re attending a private auction in Manama in seven hours, arranged by yourself. You will be selling an explosive package the size of a water bottle that can level New York City. You’re expected to walk away in excess of a billion dollars, and fifty million of that is your personal commission. The dictators trust you personally — without you, there is no auction. You’re dealing death on a massive scale, and getting filthy rich off it. And no one is doing anything to stop you.”</p>
<p>She backed away.</p>
<p>“Who the fuck are you?”</p>
<p>He adopted a simple, impassive tone he learned from a man in an Egyptian prison twenty years ago. It makes it easier to divorce himself from his actions, pretend it’s someone else about to do what he’s about to do.</p>
<p>“Someone being paid to stop you.”</p>
<p>He lunged at the exact same time she went for the bathroom drawer. A small snubnose pistol, tiny enough to hide anywhere. He cursed himself for not checking earlier as she fumbled with it. Even armed, it isn’t really a contest — she had no combat training, no idea how to use a firearm in close quarters. He dropped into stance while she was still grabbing at the gun, delivering a sharp hand directly into her ribs. She gasped, and it dropped to the floor. They struggle violently for a second, wrestling around for control of the gun. She wrapped her fingers around the barrel a half-second before his other hand landed on top of hers, trapping it, raising it up and twisting her body. If it went off, it would attract undue attention. His other hand went to the back of her head. He had been hoping to resolve this without a mess. No such luck.</p>
<p>He slammed her head down, directly into the corner of the toilet tank. The white porcelain turned red and cracked. Her grip on the gun weakened, but didn’t release. He slammed her head again, grunting with the exertion. The ceramic shattered, her skull caved in, and she went limp. He wrapped his fingers into the hair in the back of her head, then dragged her over to the bath. It was full. He dunked her head below, watched the red fill the tub, and held her there until the bubbles stopped.</p>
<p>He let himself drop to the tile floor in exhaustion, back against the tile wall of the tub. The woman’s corpse was inches away from him.</p>
<p>He waited for the wracking, heaving sobs to overtake him. They never came.</p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<div class="rnb-navbar">
<div class="rnb-item rnb-last">
<p><a href="/warpaint" style="display: block;"><span class="rnb-supertitle">PREVIOUS</span><br/>
« WARPAINT »</a></p>
</div>
<div class="rnb-item rnb-current">
<p><a href="/redtape">REDTAPE</a></p>
</div>
<div class="rnb-item rnb-next">
<p><a href="/secure-facility-dossier-site-7" style="display: block;"><span class="rnb-supertitle">NEXT</span><br/>
« SITE-7 DOSSIER »</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/lamb-of-god">LAMB OF GOD</a>" by Rounderhouse, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/lamb-of-god">https://scpwiki.com/lamb-of-god</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> torturous.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Wellcome Collection<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC 4.0 International<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Surgical_instruments_including_scalpels_and_tourniquets._Eng_Wellcome_V0016400.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:adult-content-warning">:scp-wiki:component:adult-content-warning</a>
|torture=1
|sexual-assault=1
|sexually-explicit=1
|gore=1
]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/more-by:rounderhouse">:scp-wiki:more-by:rounderhouse</a>
|color=#9b0000
]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-ayers">:scp-wiki:component:info-ayers</a>
|lang=en[!-- EN/RU/KO/CN/FR/PL/ES/TH/JP/DE/IT/UA/PTBR --]
|page=replica[!-- url of your page on the scp wiki --]
|authorPage=http://www.scp-wiki.net/rounderhouse-s-author-page[!-- link to your author page --]
|comments= Coming Soon - Rounderhouse
]]
[[=]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:rso">:scp-wiki:component:rso</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:redtape">:scp-wiki:theme:redtape</a>
|years=6
|dark=--]
]]
[[module CSS]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Crimson+Text:ital,wght@0,400;0,600;0,700;1,400;1,600;1,700&display=swap');
#page-content > p {
text-justify: inter-word;
text-align: justify;
text-indent: 1rem;
font-family: "Crimson Text", serif;
font-size: 1.1rem;
}
.sign {
background-blend-mode: difference;
}
.ature, .ature a, .ature a:visited, .sign p {
color: #ececec!important;
}
[[/module]]
[[=image torturous.png class="angled"]]
Farhan swirled the last dregs of rum in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light. He was in a bar — a custom for him whenever he was in Bahrain. The island country was one of the few places in the Arab world one could catch a drink without looking over one’s shoulder. He took full advantage of that small liberty whenever he had a good reason to visit. He rarely did.
Today was rare. It was a nice place — all fancy lighting, cocktails served in ridiculous glasses. Wood panelling on the bar and an impressive collection of spirits. It was a Saturday night, so the place was packed. Every Friday, as soon as work ended, the wealthy prodigal sons from Saudi Arabia would pile into their Mercedes and Range Rovers, and drive across the King Fahd Causeway that connected the two countries. They would arrive, and enter into an unspoken gentleman’s pact to ignore each other’s behaviour for the rest of the weekend. They would pretend not to notice the shots, the champagne, insist the nightclubs were upscale lounges and that the filet mignon was halal. For three days, they would get drunk off mead and live the life only the liberated of Riyadh could live. And come Monday, driving back across the bridge into Saudi Arabia, they would become good Muslim boys once again.
Farhan held no strong judgements on them for their temporary debauchery. They weren’t wretched because they were getting drunk; they were wretched because they were rich, hooting young men who had never known a day of work in their lives. Father’s credit card and expense account took care of any inconveniences. One bumped into his shoulder at the bar, nearly spilling his drink; the boy, no older than twenty-five, muttered a quick apology in Arabic before launching back into a spirited discussion with his friends. Farhan didn’t acknowledge it.
He did acknowledge the fetching woman who took the seat on his other side. Not Arab, but not American like the rest of the clientele here. Eastern European, maybe? Dark hair, a strong face, in a beautiful red pencil dress. Ordered her cosmo with an accent. He put on his best, smarmiest smile. Women seemed to love it. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
She smiled at him, and raised her voice slightly above the din. “No, I’m not! Take a guess.”
He took the opportunity to intently study her face. She thought he was probably trying to figure out her background, and smiled. In his head, he was matching her to the picture on his phone. Finally, he smiled and snapped his fingers.
“Belarussian!”
She laughed. “Serbian. And careful, the wrong person wouldn’t take that well.”
“Are you the right person?” He threw in a flirtatious smile.
“I might be.” She threw one right back at him. He knew he had her now.
“Intriguing. And how might we figure that out?”
“Let’s start simple. What’s your name?”
----
“Let’s start simple. What’s your name?”
“Fuck off.”
The man sitting across from him in the table cocks his head. He’s Mukhabarat, but he doesn’t look like the standard interrogators they would trot out. He has a soft, round face, full cheeks with no beard. He looks like someone’s cousin, a friend that might come up to a function who no one really recognizes — forgettable, but perfectly blending in. The khaki uniform and maroon beret make him look like a child playing dress-up.
“This doesn’t have to be difficult, you know.”
Farhan looks around. The pair of them are in a concrete room — nearly identical to the cell he’d been thrown in hours earlier, but slightly larger. Square, no defining features. Nothing except the chairs they were both in and the wooden table separating them.
“You’re prepared for difficulty.”
“I’m prepared for everything. But whether we go that route or not is your decision.”
Farhan smiles. “I really don’t know anything.”
“You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”
“But I can tell you already I don’t know anything. I assume you’re asking me about anything. So there’s no point in asking, is there?”
The man laughs. A light, airy giggle. “I like you.”
For some reason, the laugh unnerves Farhan. He tries not to let it show. “Thanks.”
“So if I asked you about reports of a man matching your description being sighted around the cultural ministry before the alarms went off, you would have nothing to say?”
“I would say that I am not a very unique looking man.” He knows that’s a lie, but he forges ahead. “I have two eyes, a nose, a mouth, hair. Many do.”
“Many do,” the man agrees. “Not many of them carry illegal firearms on their person.”
“I was concerned about my personal safety. Times like these, you know. I’m more than willing to pay any fine, but wouldn’t this be a police matter?”
“It would,” he agrees.
“Then why is someone from General Intelligence here?”
“Because,” he begins, rising from his seat. He circles the table, with an odd, lurching gait — the impression us a hyena, inching toward its prey until he reaches just behind Farhan’s shoulder. “A crime that involves an ORIA agent is my jurisdiction.”
Farhan blanches, and this time, he can’t hide it. The man laughs.
“We’re going to have fun together, lamb.”
----
“What do you do for fun?”
“Oh, this and that. Cook, travel. Talk to beautiful women in bars.”
She laughed. It was later now, and some of the folks had filtered out. The boys were lightweights with no meaningful tolerance, and that meant they left early. The expats were left, businesspeople and tourists.
“What about you?”
She thought about the question for a second, a fourth drink in hand. She didn’t look soused, to her credit. “Not much. All of my time goes to work.”
“What do you do?”
“Oh, this and that,” she parroted back to him.
He pressed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that job, honestly.”
“Seriously. I work for an international financial firm. We have lots of holdings here and in Riyadh, so they fly me out often.”
“Lucky girl! You must be a proper regular here, then.”
An embarrassed smile. “I wish. I barely speak Arabic.”
“It’s not that hard of a language to learn. And very pretty. Flows like water.”
“Its beautiful,” she agreed. “And you?”
“Are you asking if I’m beautiful?” he teased.
She giggled. “No! What you do for work.”
“Oh, nothing interesting there, I’m afraid. I’m just an office worker.”
----
“I’m — just — an office — worker,” Farhan gasps out stutteringly, teeth chattering. The ice water flows down his body, pools around his toes, then down the drain set into the middle of the room. There’s a metal loop set into the concrete overhead, his arms forced up to meet it, then a cable run through it binding both arms behind and above him. The result is an agonizing stress position, where all the weight of his body is either on his feet or hanging from his arms. He’s sure that he would’ve passed out if it wasn’t for the regular ‘infusions’ of ice water to keep him awake.
“No, you’re not,” the man answers matter-of-factly. “Don’t lie to me, lamb.”
“I’m not—”
“You are an ORIA agent. You were on a mission of some kind. Tell me what.” He’s not yelling or screaming — the demand is simple, neatly phrased. Gentle, almost.
“I don’t—”
His protests are cut off by another bucketful of ice water, thrown directly into his face. He gasps, taking in shaky breaths, hair matted to his forehead. He yells; an animal, guttural noise of shock. The better part of a minute passes before he can put words together again.
“S—stop. Please.”
To Farhan’s surprise, the man lowers the next bucket he already had raised.
“Have you decided to share?”
“I’m telling you, I don’t //know// anything. Please,” he repeated. It feels like he’s said that a hundred times in the past two days — the words are rote, mechanical.
The man looks down at him, and for a moment, Farhan sees himself through the colonel’s eyes — pathetic, hanging from his burning arms, soaked to the bone and shivering weakly.
The colonel cocks his head. “You’re cold. Let’s get you warmed up.”
Farhan doesn’t say anything, scared to ruin whatever small mercy this could end up being. He watches as the colonel strides to the metal door and raps sharply on it. A few seconds later, it opens, and someone passes something through. A charcoal carrier — the kind he’d seen a thousand times in hookah bars, a small metal basket containing burning charcoals. In his shocked haze, he doesn’t register its purpose for a second until the colonel approaches him, carrying the basket in one hand and a set of metal tongs in another. He starts writhing, futilely trying to pull away.
“Fire is a magical thing, isn’t it? Too cold, and you die. But too hot, and you’ll wish you were dead.”
“No no no no! Please, wait, hold on—”
He’s cut off by a bloodcurdling scream. It takes Farhan a moment to realize the scream came from himself, as the burning charcoal is pressed against the naked skin of his thigh. The telltale odor of burning flesh fills his nostrils, and he screams again, kicking his leg out. The charcoal clatters to the floor, steaming where it hits the pooled water. The colonel looks at it.
“Pick it up.”
“W-what?” Farhan groans.
The colonel reaches over, drawing his knife from his belt. Farhan winces before he realizes the cable keeping his arms up for the past 6 hours is being sawed through. It snaps and he crashes to the floor in a heap, letting out another low scream as the blood rushes back into his limbs.
“Pick up the coal.”
“I— what? I can’t.”
The knife is against the back of his neck now. One plunge, and his spinal cord is severed. The message is clear. He swallows his pain and his pride and crawls across the freezing-wet concrete floor, to where the charcoal is still steaming.
He looks back to the colonel. “Please.”
“Tell me what you were looking for or pick it up.”
His chest heaves as he stares at the burning black rock for a few seconds. Then he leans down and wraps the fingers of his left hand around it.
He screams immediately, but dipping his hand into the ice water gives him a second before the pain sets in, a second he uses to whip around and lunge at the colonel, burning charcoal outstretched.
The colonel swiftly steps to the right. Dazed and confused, Farhan misses easily, crashing into a heap. The colonel wastes no time in dropping, placing a knee onto his back, twisting his arm behind him until he grunts and drops the charcoal. The skin of his hand is charred, bubbling.
Farhan can’t see him, but he can hear the amusement in the colonel’s voice.
“Looks like we still need to break you. I always did like cooked lamb.”
Nobody outside the room hears Farhan’s screaming as the colonel dumps the entire basket of burning coals onto his back.
----
“I’ll have the lamb shank,” the woman told the server.
Farhan winced, and she caught it.
“Not a fan of lamb?”
“A bad history with it. But don’t let me spoil your fun.” He turns to the waiter. “I’ll just do the tawook.” The man nodded, taking both of their menus and leaving them again. They were still at the bar — the place was upscale enough that they also served food. Pretty good food, at that. Farhan nursed his fourth glass of pineapple rum while they waited for their food.
“You seem like a much bigger heavyweight than most of the clientele,” she commented.
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, most Saudi guys have never had a sip of alcohol before coming here, right? You’re pounding those back.”
He declined to mention that the alcohol vaporized in his mouth before he swallowed. “Well, firstly, most of the rich bastards from there that can afford to drive down here every weekend aren’t exactly bound by the dry laws.”
“How’s that?”
“There aren’t bars or anything, but I’ve known people who had wine collections. Strictly as a financial asset, of course.” He gave her a knowing smile.
“Of course. So does that makes you a rich bastard who can afford to import it?”
“God, no. Well, at least I’m not a //rich// bastard.”
“Then what?”
“Simple. I’m not Saudi.”
“Oh. Oh! I— sorry, I didn’t—”
He laughed. “It’s okay. You’re hardly the first person to make that mistake. I’ve been called everything from Pakistani to Mexican. Ethnically ambiguous. Plus I speak English with an American accent, and that makes everything that much more confusing.”
She nodded slowly, still embarrassed. “So where are you really from, then?”
“I’ve been all over. But I was born and raised in Iran.”
“Oh, wow. That’s not… super common here, is it?”
“It’s not. Things have cooled in recent years but Saudi Arabia and Iran still do not like one another. Barely ever let citizens of the other in.”
“Then how are you here?”
He smiled. “I have friends in high places.”
“I assume you mean God, because I can’t imagine who else would manage to get those two to agree on something.”
That actually got him to laugh. “Probably not even him. Though I’m not terribly sure I believe in God anymore.”
----
“//Allaahummak-fineehim bimaa shi’ta.//”
Farhan whispers the prayer to himself, over and over, because there’s nothing else to do in the coffin. It’s a long, narrow metal box, just wide and tall enough to fit a person with hardly any room to wriggle. Moving his shoulders two inches to the right hit the wall, and the same on the left. There wasn’t enough depth to even bend his knees, so he stood with his legs locked. The pain set in after only half an hour.
He can’t tell how long he’s been inside. They’d thrown him in unceremoniously, and he’d heard the locks turning outside before they stepped away, leaving one parting message:
“If you scream, we’ll put a wet towel over the airholes.”
He hasn’t screamed yet. The airholes were six holes in the ‘ceiling’, each about the diameter of his pinky — though with his arms pinned to his sides, he could only estimate. They are the only source of light and air into the box.
He starts the prayer again. And again, and again, and again. He’d gotten to seven-hundred-twenty-nine before he’d lost count, keeping track on his fingers until the joints locked up.
It’s cold. It’s so, so cold. And quiet. He can’t hear a thing, not even the low sobbing of the other inmates that permeates the prison. Pure silence. It was calming at first, not having to think about what other horrors were being inflicted on those he can’t see. Whether he’d already suffered as they had, or whether he had yet to see what made them break. Then it became maddening, stifling, completely blocking his ability to think or keep track of time or his own thoughts. Now, he can’t think at all.
He kept repeating the prayer. A childhood memory swims to the forefront of his mind — in the mosque as a boy of no more than six, pulling at the hem of his father’s thobe. His father kneeling on the intricately-embroidered carpet, hands wrapped into prayer, making a supplication. “//Allaahummak-fineehim bimaa shi’ta.”//
{{Ya’allah, protect us from those who would do us harm, however you wish.}}
His father turns to him, and opens his mouth to speak. No sound comes out. His lips move, but nothing is expressed. Staring up at his father, Farhan realizes with a jerk that he can’t remember how people sound.
The scream he lets out isn’t one of pain — it’s an animal reaction. Reminding himself what a human sounds like. It echoes inside his chamber, and only after it reaches his ears does the graveness of his mistake register. For a few seconds, nothing happens, and he prays that the guard thought it was one of the other dozens of prisoners. That nobody heard it.
Then he hears the metal door unlock, and he breaks. Loud, wracking sobs, contorting his body against the coffin. His forehead slams into the cold metal six inches in front of him. He hears the clicking of boots against the floor as someone approaches, trying to stifle his sobs.
“Please. I’m sorry. Please—”
He’s cut off as the meager light from the airholes vanishes. The whimpers turn into open, screaming begs. No response. Despite his training, he starts to hyperventilate. He can’t do it. Tight spaces. Darkness. Restrictive. Claustrophobic. Suffocating. His head swims. In some logical part of his brain, he knows he can still breathe, but his throat tightens as the walls of the coffin move in, strangling him, crushing him—
“PLEASE!”
In one final act of desperation, he bangs his fists against the door — and it pops free. He tumbles out into a heap on the floor. The darkness recedes. His throat opens. He can breathe again. He sucks in greedy, desperate breaths before looking up at the black boots in front of him, following them up.
The colonel, face as soft as ever. There’s no cruelty in his expression — even as he crouches down and gently brushes Farhan’s long hair back from where it has matted to his forehead with sweat, his movements are kind. He waits for the gears in Farhan’s head to start turning again.
“I-it was unlocked?”
“The lock has been broken for years. With enough force, it comes free. But you didn’t even try.” His tone isn’t mocking. “I’m very proud of you, lamb.”
Farhan keeps sucking in air. Trying to process his misery for the last who-knows-how-long was self-inflicted. His own fault.
“It seems you don’t do well in tight spaces.” The colonel continues. “But at least your prayers were answered, in me.”
It takes another second for the statement to register. “H—how did you know I was praying?”
“Because I was here. I’ve been sitting right here for the past eight hours. I heard every little //duʿā// and supplication.” The colonel smiles down at him, showing his teeth. “I wouldn’t abandon my lamb. But are you ready to cooperate now?”
Farhan finds his head nodding, in spite of himself. It’s a physical reaction. He can’t stop it. But he opens his mouth anyway. “Please don’t make me.”
The colonel’s muscles tense, pulling away from Farhan’s hair. “’Please don’t make me.’ Very telling phrasing. That you will if I force you to, but that you’re scared of the repercussions if you do. From your handlers? From God?” He got to his feet. “Doesn’t matter. Same solution either way.” He pulled something off a table.
A claw hammer.
“I just have to make sure you’re more scared of my wrath than their’s.”
Before Farhan can pull back, the colonel grabs and pins his arm against the concrete. The blood is still redistributing through his body — the sudden pressure alone makes him groan in pain.
“Who do you worship?” The question is evenly-phrased and straightforward. It doesn’t even occur to him to lie.
“Alla—”
He doesn’t even get the whole word out before the hammer smashes down onto his little finger. Farhan screams like a dying animal, thrashing desperately. But he’s starving, weak, sleep-deprived — he can’t do anything except scream as every bone in his finger is shattered, pulverized. The pain is blinding. He feels bile crawl up his throat and hot, salty tears spill from his eyes.
“Who do you honor?” He knows it’s a trick now, but he doesn’t know what the trick is. In his dull agony and dazed confusion, he defaults to the same answer.
“Al—”
Again.
His ears are ringing so badly he doesn’t even hear the scream leaving his mouth until it begins to die away. He can just see his ring finger. It’s a crumpled, fracture mess that looks like it went through an industrial shredder, bent at all the wrong angles in the wrong directions. Both the ruined fingers are turning purple. He can’t hold the bile back this time and vomits, spewing the greyish mixture onto the concrete in front of where his head is pinned. Some of it flows back against his face and into his mouth. The tears mix with it.
“Who do you obey?”
“//You//. You.”
There is a half-second where he expects the hammer to come down again, and reflexively tenses. Holds his breath. But it doesn’t come. He opens his eyes, chest heaving.
The colonel is smiling down at him. “Good little lamb.”
Then he raises the hammer even higher. “Now let’s make sure you don’t forget.”
----
//Don’t forget, 589, 3am//
It’s scrawled onto the back of the cocktail napkin in pretty blue pen, the one she’d handed him before departing.
“I’ve got some business to take care of.”
“At this hour?”
She shrugged. “International finance. You learn to keep odd hours.”
The bar & grill was nearly empty now — just the two of them, a few regulars, and the staff. They’d be making last call any minute. He put on his best slightly-disappointed face.
“That’s a shame. This was one of the better nights I’ve had in this place.”
She leaned down, intentionally giving him a not-insignificant view down the front of her cocktail dress. She planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving a lipstick smear behind. “Doesn’t have to end. Look inside.” And then she was gone.
He unwrapped the napkin. Inside was a keycard for a room at the Hilton Bahrain.
And now here he was, at three in the morning, standing in front of an unfamiliar hotel room. He considered knocking, but then — she’d //given// him a card, hadn’t she? He slipped it into the reader, and the light blinked green. He gingerly opened the door, peeking inside.
“There you are.”
She was sitting on the couch, heels thrown off and legs up on the coffee table. Still in that red cocktail dress, an unopened bottle of red wine in front of her. Two glasses.
“Here I am.”
He moved in, closing the door behind him. He cast a look around — no obvious hiding spots for people or large weapons. It was a single queen room.
“I was starting to think you wouldn’t show,” she commented.
“I got a little lost. Never been in a fancy hotel like this,” he lied.
“What do you think?”
“I think you might be out of my league.”
She laughed and blushed. Just drunk enough to be flattered by any compliment, no matter how brazen.
“Well, c’mere. It’s late. Let’s not waste any more time.”
“I can’t imagine what we’d be wasting time from.”
She grabbed the hem of his jacket as he approached, pulling him in. He playfully resisted, letting them both ‘naturally’ fall onto the bed, her on top of him. “Well,” she purred, reaching at something. “That’s interesting.”
“Woah, girl.”
She pulled her hand back, quieting. “I’ve been a good girl, haven’t I?”
“Tonight? Sure.”
“So indulge my curiosity about something?”
He cocked his head. “Is it about the eye?”
She reached a hand up, teasing the hem of the eyepatch over his left eye.
“Sorry. I don’t want to offend.”
“You’re not offending. It’s just not a very interesting story, I’m afraid.”
----
A drop of blood pools on the edge of his brow. He’s on his knees, forced forward by his arms behind him and suspended from the ceiling. It’s an awkward position, designed to put immense stress on the shoulders and arms. Normally, he would be feeling the pain coming in dull, crashing waves — but at some point it all became too much. He dissociated, and now Farhan is watching his body contorted into shape from the outside.
A month ago, he would’ve been described as a handsome, curly-haired youth in his early twenties, with a proud face and a strong nose. Now he is unrecognizable, he thinks, gazing at his body from top to bottom. The hair is matted to his forehead with sweat and oil. Blood flows freely from his broken nose, catching in his stubble. He’s naked — his body is an artwork of bruises, cuts, and burns. Wicked-looking purple and yellow splotches spread across his back, arms, and chest, from the constant and uncomplicated beatings. His thighs and calves are dotted with burnt, charred skin that has melted and healed on itself, over and over as the hot coals were applied. Dark circles cut across his arms where a tourniquet was used to cut off blood flow for hours. Every single finger on both of his hands was a fractured, crushed mess, beaten bloody with a hammer until he went into shock.
A single, huge purple welt wraps around his neck where he was collared — a steel band with a leash wrapped around his throat, then used to shove him against a brick wall, yank him back, and shove him again. At one point, his head snapped back and collided with the brick. He woke up twelve minutes later when they waved bath salts under his nose. He couldn’t remember his own name for an hour.
The soles of his feet are red and swollen from when they were rubbed with honey and presented to a box containing a fire ant colony. Not that it mattered, because he hadn’t been given opportunity to walk for days. His ass was sore — they had withheld his water for two days before delivering a sudden, shocking burst of ice water through an enema, mixed with a few drops of chili oil. He had tried to vomit, but there was so little food in his stomach that the only thing to escape was the water he had accidentally swallowed while being waterboarded. His penis had a shallow cut in the skin from where a box cutter had been pressed while a rubber-gloved hand groped him. He’d been told that if he didn’t speak, the blade would sever neatly through his genitals, castrating him. They’d press a hot iron against the wound, cauterize it and leave him a eunuch.
And every step of the way, he’d given them what they wanted.
They’d broken him, that night in the coffin. Playing on his worst claustrophobia, the fear that they had no way of knowing. And once that dam was breached, the rest was a matter of applying pressure. Between the agonies and the punishments, he’d told them everything. That he was an ORIA operative from Tehran. That he’d been living in Aswan for months, lying low and waiting for his opportunity. Of the sword in the Nubian Museum, the one that could cleave through a sea if wielded right. How it was looted during the Arab conquests, how it belonged to the //ummah// as a whole. How a defector from Egyptian intelligence had given him the inside loop on getting it back. He gave it all up, between sobs and screams and tears. For two weeks, the Colonel worked him day and night, cutting him up, figuring out every aspect of how this had eluded the system. In time, with pain, every question was answered.
Except one.
The metal door clunks open. Farhan’s mind is snatched back into his body, and he looks up from the pool of blood, sweat, and piss that has formed underneath him. It is the only person it can be. The colonel strides up to him, giving him a pitiable look. He’s in a sorry state.
“Have you reconsidered?”
Farhan just pants in response.
“We’re going to find out anyway. An ORIA safehouse in this country cannot go undetected for long.”
He ekes out a reply. “It… has for… this… long…” His voice trails off. Putting the short phrase together sapped all the strength he had left.
This is all he has. This is the last shred of honor he can salvage for himself — to die without giving up his countrymen. He knows he will die. This is no more a matter of question than the sun rising. But if he keeps his silence, he dies with dignity. If not, he dies a traitor and a coward.
//I am not a coward. I am not a coward. I am not a coward.//
He lets the phrase bounce around his head, cutting through the fog and confusion in his mind. He doesn’t remember the last time he slept for more than a few minutes at a time — the noise machines in the cell were installed two (three?) days ago, constantly playing a loop of screaming, gunfire, artillery, animals being slaughtered, women being assaulted, baying of wolves, dropping of bombs. Trying to put a thought together is like walking through a warzone with an iron spike through his skull.
The colonel tuts.
“A shame. I suppose that’s the end of you, then.”
His chest heaves. He knows he should be terrified, desperate. But all that has been beaten, burned, torn out of him. All he can feel is relief as the colonel pulls his chin upward. Relief that the pain is finally over. Maybe he’ll get to make amends in jannah. Maybe he’ll see his father.
Then he realizes the two other prison officers coming in to grip him from behind. He’s already bound, he can’t move. Why would they hold him if they were going to kill him? He makes a noise of confusion.
“I haven’t given up on you yet, lamb. You’ve been so good for me. You’ve given us so much. It’s just that last little bit that’s being troublesome. And I still believe we can work it out of you with the proper motivation.” He turns away to the table. “Do you know what the first thing I noticed about you was?”
“Wuh?”
“Your eyes. They’re beautiful. Rich and deep and brown. I’ve spent much time in the West — they like their blond hair and blue eyes, but I’ve always felt the colors you see among our peoples are so much more striking. And yours are a truly remarkable set. They have a depth and soul to them.” He turned around again, raising something up. “Unfortunately, you seem to be wasting them. You refuse to see the bigger picture. This is larger than you, lamb. This is about the struggle of nations, for legitimacy as the world order crumbles. And if you refuse to see, what use are your eyes?”
It was a power drill. A long, thin bit sat at the end.
Farhan’s eyes widen. All the peace and resignation for his death he felt a moment ago evaporated.
“Hold him. Don’t struggle, lamb — I don’t want this to be a lobotomy.”
He screams, thrashing. But the guards already have a tight grip on his head, neck, and arms. He can’t move, only watch as the colonel draws closer, spinning up the drill. One of the guards tilts his head back, and he lets out one last, wild scream to anyone who would listen or help.
No one comes.
The bit stops a centimeter away from his face.
“Choose.”
“P-please.”
“Choose, or I’ll take both.”
It’s an impossible choice, the definition of an impossible choice. But he has to make it. His head swims, and bile creeps up his throat. His stomach feels like a bottomless pit, and he surrenders to fate.
“…L-left.”
There is no hesitation. One of the guards forces his eyelids apart with a spreader and the drill spins up again, letting out a //whirrrrrr// as the colonel drives it cleanly into Farhan’s left eye. There’s a mote of resistance, and then it breaks through, shredding the jelly-like interior of his eye. Farhan’s vision twists, goes red, then black, and then he doesn’t see anything at all.
He screams like the devil himself, bucking and thrashing fruitlessly. It can’t have been in his eye for more than a handful of seconds, but it’s a lifetime of pain. Every nerve in his eye socket is on fire, like a match has been thrown into his head. His blood boils and his teeth gnash. When the drill recedes, he does completely limp in the legs, hands scrabbling up to his face, clawing at his eye for something that isn’t there anymore.
“Make your decision, lamb. Or I’ll be back in the morning for the next one. And after that, you won’t have anything left to give me.” The door slams shut.
Lying there in a pool of his own blood, half-blind, howling at God for abandoning him, Farhan Moradi dies.
----
He fucked lifelessly and mechanically. He was a corpse puppeteered by mechanisms, thrusting into her with a dull, regular rhythm. To her credit, she didn’t seem to mind, moaning and panting underneath him — even without putting his heart into it, he was good enough to satisfy. That made him feel a little better.
Casual sex had always been a given for him, but it offered diminishing returns — at one point, years ago, it was how he reminded himself he was still alive. The endorphins would rush through his veins, his heart rate would spike, the adrenaline would electrify his body while he wrestled with someone in bed. It was a rush, a high. Then the high stopped being so high, and he would lay awake afterward, staring at the ceiling, naked, next to someone deep in sleep, wondering what was wrong with him. Now, it was more routine than anything. He found someone at a bar, he said all the right words, they went to their place (never his place), and he fucked like a dead thing for a few hours. He was gone before morning.
There was someone who had made him feel alive again, a few years ago. But she was gone now. And he'd probably never see her again.
In any case, this wasn’t that — this was business. Business, he told himself, as skin slapped against skin and her moans filled the dark hotel room, as fluids spilled onto the hundred-dollar sheets and the bottle of wine sat unopened on the coffee table. As he tries not to focus on the canvas of scars decorating the parts of his body usually hidden by clothes. Business.
----
That night, in his cell, Farhan is visited.
The guards untied him from his position in the interrogation room and hosed him down. Some rudimentary first aid was applied to make sure he didn’t bleed out overnight, and then he was dumped unceremoniously into his cell. A thick piece of fabric was tied around half of his head — it made his skull feel weighty. It took all his strength to crawl onto the mat before passing out.
He does not awake when he is visited. He does not stir at the sound of the two loud //thumps// outside several hours later, like bodies hitting concrete. He is not awakened by the door unlocking, or the footsteps creeping up to his mat. He is lost in the abyss as a set of hands lifts him up, checks his pulse and spine, cradles his head, inspects his wounds. He does not hear the swift expressions of shock at the brutality of his injuries, nor the //duʿā// quickly whispered over his supine form. He does not notice as a multitude of strong hands lift his body up into a bridal carry. He does not feel the temperature change on his skin as they quietly, swiftly leave the concrete of the prison, slipping into the cool night.
Farhan Moradi dies in that Egyptian prison. Someone else exits that night.
----
Farhan leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom. The woman was inside, running a warm bath. She gave him a glance as he fills the doorway, letting the sheet fall to the floor. She smiled, not seeing what he was holding just out of sight.
“That was fun.”
“It was,” he lied.
“You never did tell me what you do for work.”
“Neither did you.”
She cocked her head, confused.
“Yeah, I told you — finance.”
He shook his head.
“No. You’re an upper manager for Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd.” He watched the blood drain out of her face before he continued. “For the past seven years, you’ve been the Vice President of the Middle Eastern Office. Under your influence and direction, MC&D has shifted its focus away from providing petrobillionaires and oligarchs with expensive novelties and anomalous toys, and towards supplying power-hungry dictators with anomalous arms. Your private auctions in Riyadh, Cairo, Damascus, Tehran — responsible for tens, hundreds of thousands of deaths in regional conflicts. Now every autocrat knows he can get something better than yellowcake at half the price of a nuclear programme.”
He pushed into the bathroom, letting his size fill the room. His eye burned under the patch.
“You’re attending a private auction in Manama in seven hours, arranged by yourself. You will be selling an explosive package the size of a water bottle that can level New York City. You’re expected to walk away in excess of a billion dollars, and fifty million of that is your personal commission. The dictators trust you personally — without you, there is no auction. You’re dealing death on a massive scale, and getting filthy rich off it. And no one is doing anything to stop you.”
She backed away.
“Who the fuck are you?”
He adopted a simple, impassive tone he learned from a man in an Egyptian prison twenty years ago. It makes it easier to divorce himself from his actions, pretend it’s someone else about to do what he’s about to do.
“Someone being paid to stop you.”
He lunged at the exact same time she went for the bathroom drawer. A small snubnose pistol, tiny enough to hide anywhere. He cursed himself for not checking earlier as she fumbled with it. Even armed, it isn’t really a contest — she had no combat training, no idea how to use a firearm in close quarters. He dropped into stance while she was still grabbing at the gun, delivering a sharp hand directly into her ribs. She gasped, and it dropped to the floor. They struggle violently for a second, wrestling around for control of the gun. She wrapped her fingers around the barrel a half-second before his other hand landed on top of hers, trapping it, raising it up and twisting her body. If it went off, it would attract undue attention. His other hand went to the back of her head. He had been hoping to resolve this without a mess. No such luck.
He slammed her head down, directly into the corner of the toilet tank. The white porcelain turned red and cracked. Her grip on the gun weakened, but didn’t release. He slammed her head again, grunting with the exertion. The ceramic shattered, her skull caved in, and she went limp. He wrapped his fingers into the hair in the back of her head, then dragged her over to the bath. It was full. He dunked her head below, watched the red fill the tub, and held her there until the bubbles stopped.
He let himself drop to the tile floor in exhaustion, back against the tile wall of the tub. The woman’s corpse was inches away from him.
He waited for the wracking, heaving sobs to overtake him. They never came.
----
[[=]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/=]]
----
[[div class="rnb-navbar"]]
[[div class="rnb-item rnb-last"]]
[[a href="/warpaint" style="display: block;"]][[span class="rnb-supertitle"]]PREVIOUS[[/span]]
<< WARPAINT >>[[/a]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="rnb-item rnb-current"]]
[[a href="/redtape"]]REDTAPE[[/a]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="rnb-item rnb-next"]]
[[a href="/secure-facility-dossier-site-7" style="display: block;"]][[span class="rnb-supertitle"]]NEXT[[/span]]
<< SITE-7 DOSSIER >>[[/a]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
----
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** torturous.png
> **Author:** Wellcome Collection
> **License:** CC 4.0 International
> **Source:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Surgical_instruments_including_scalpels_and_tourniquets._Eng_Wellcome_V0016400.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-01-20T20:22:00
|
[
"_adult",
"_cc",
"_cc4",
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"horror",
"oria",
"psychological-horror",
"spy-fiction",
"tale"
] |
LAMB OF GOD - SCP Foundation
| 85
|
[
"prev",
"next",
"component:info-ayers",
"warpaint",
"redtape",
"secure-facility-dossier-site-7",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"redtape",
"oria-hub"
] |
[] |
1452237060
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lamb-of-god
|
|
lampeter-sociology
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Abstract</span></h1>
<p>Even after the bankruptcy of the Lampeter Non-Euclidean Shipping Company (L-NESC), the Lampeter network remains a central hub for trans-dimensional travel in the local bubble.</p>
<p>With the level of practicality Lampeter offers, and considering the general necessity for any inter-dimensional community, only Ways and the Wanderer's Library itself can compete with the network.<br/>
Despite the fact that the Lampeter Research Community – which of course emerged from the Republic of Letters fifty years ago – has already addressed numerous topics related to Lampeter scientifically, sociology remains an underdeveloped field.</p>
<p>This is partly because, as is often the case in multidimensional contexts (Erikur α 05: 21), there are few institutionalized structures.</p>
<p>As a result, overarching coordinated research agendas are also usually absent (Ifrith II α 12: 108). This research paper seeks to address this gap.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><em>"You know, Dragomir, Lampeter was barely organized as a network to begin with. Of course, we had timetables and routes. But if you think about it, there is hardly any space more liminal than this one. So what happens if that many different cultures, social assumptions, and logical paradigms collide in constant flux? I don't know if us three-dimensional beings can even recognize the new patterns. If there are any at all."</em></p>
<ul>
<li>Fellow Researcher Erikur α during a conversation in I-303.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<p>The trends that have become increasingly apparent since that time are the continuation of longstanding tendencies, poised to significantly alter interdimensional life and coexistence. Consequently, a parasociological analysis that identifies and examines these trends is of utmost importance.</p>
<p>This article will highlight research areas that emerge as particularly salient in the above-mentioned context. For this purpose, qualitative fieldwork was chosen as the methodological approach, following an arbitrary travel pattern.</p>
<p>Economic and social exchanges now face impediments as logistical challenges mount (Irikakešk β 53: 122). With the collapse of centralized infrastructure, local economies within various dimensions struggle to adapt to the sudden loss of interconnectivity. This shift has catalyzed the emergence of new economic practices and interdimensional trade routes, often fragmented and opportunistic in nature.</p>
<p>We are facing nothing short of a paradigm shift. It is noteworthy that all life forms – corporeal or not – are likely to be equally affected by this (Itzabashibahn α 10: 5-1-18).</p>
<hr/>
<h1 id="toc1"><span>1. The East: Fracturing of the Known</span></h1>
<p>Changes due to the collapse of the network are readily apparent. Most prominently, perhaps, the habits of travelers and more permanent denizens alike have been profoundly affected. No longer ordered by the structured reliability of L-NESC's services, travelers navigate an uncertain landscape. Ad hoc arrangements and makeshift alliances replace the institutionalized order that characterized the network in its prime.</p>
<p>The vacuum opened by L-NESC's collapse has prompted the emergence of new players vying for influence and control, particularly in the Lampeter East. Local regimes, transdimensional corporations, and clandestine organizations alike seek to capitalize on the network's strategic importance. The fact that we have not yet seen open warfare is presumably primarily due to the fact that, on the one hand, the shock of the fall is still lingering and, on the other, no one can afford to jeopardize the network if they wish to profit from it.</p>
<p>The non-corporeal light carriers of H-22 allowed, for instance, the route of a Lampeter line through their dimension for quasi-domestic political reasons, as it enabled them to divert tensions onto traffic monitoring. The disruptions in the network threaten to topple this arrangement.</p>
<p>Regional chaos was provoked by clashes between travelers and quasi-oligarchic groups in lines E, F, and G, although such attempts at capitalization were punctured in part by the sheer mass of passengers.</p>
<p>Religiously motivated upheavals against the connection of individual universes have been reported in line G, but so far remain an isolated phenomenon, apart from the fact that there are no known means of separating a universe from the network.</p>
<p>Surprisingly, the previous L-NESC workforce has so far remained relatively apolitical. Infrastructure maintenance and pragmatic problem-solving have predominated up until now. No power struggles have been reported thus far.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><em>"I ain't got time for this guff mate. See that there? That's a Gantian steam engine and if I don't feed that bloody ghost in there properly, it's going to blow up in y'all faces. This part of the line literally hinges on it being used, so do me a favor and don't bother me, will ya."</em></p>
<ul>
<li>Machinist in F-201.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<p>The multiverse offers such an enormous variety of ideologies, values, and heuristics (Erikur α 05: 59) that stabilization in the near future seems unlikely. To what extent differences between the actions of different collectives and species will come to light here remains to be seen. In general, fragmentation is likely to become the new defining feature of almost everything, from communication channels to knowledge structures to entire cultures.</p>
<p>Even the research on Lampeter itself, which had developed a certain tradition within the Republic of Letters – as evidenced by the existence of this journal – is likely to be affected by these changes.</p>
<hr/>
<h1 id="toc2"><span>2. The South: New Status Quo</span></h1>
<p>L-NESC’s bankruptcy has ushered in diverse and multifaceted social consequences, some of which might be called ‘transformation’, while others deserve to be described as 'collateral damages'. Amidst the myriad cultures and species that populate our interconnected web of realities, no single consequence will universally apply. Instead, a mosaic of outcomes emerges, reflecting the varied experiences and adaptations of different communities. Despite this, there have been some neigh multiversal key features.</p>
<p>The Lampeter South exemplifies this.</p>
<p>Central to such common features is the emergence of a marginalized and primarily affected populace, giving rise to new social structures akin to a nomadic proletariat. Formerly reliant on the infrastructure and services provided by L-NESC, many individuals and groups now find themselves in a fractured network, facing heightened challenges in their daily lives.</p>
<p>For some, the loss of reliable inter-dimensional transportation and communication has severed ties with significant others and undermined economic foundations across dimensions. Social isolation and emotional distress – where applicable (see: (Itzabashibahn α 10: 6-15-4) – are the consequences. Amidst these challenges, communities across the multiverse are forging new alliances and solidarity networks to navigate the uncertainties of a post-L-NESC Lampeter.<br/>
The effects on cultural exchange and religiosity are not yet foreseeable. However, the potential for social conflict and upheaval is already increasing noticeably along various lines (Erikur α 06: 1).</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><em>"It is most remarkable, is it not? Even the newspapers doth not allow one to discern what is transpiring. In sooth, it was erstwhile so that one could at least peruse the most important occurrences, but now I might travel but one station further and find myself amidst an uprising of which none hath reported. Most regrettable. Dost thou write for a newspaper in that notebook of yours? Nay? Verily. Else I would have advised thee to seek another calling. The kiosks can scarcely rid themselves of their issues nowadays. I saw but recently people kindling fires with them, to warm themselves."</em></p>
<ul>
<li>Traveler in the railroad host station of K-21.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<p>Information now spreads mainly through rumors, as news from official sources has necessarily become unreliable.</p>
<p>News about stable lines, housing conditions, food sources, etc. have become clear pull factors. Individuals now travel after such news under the protection of larger groups. This has already led to several clashes between collectives that wanted to travel in opposite directions and needed the available network capacities to do so. Some groups such as the 'Black Hands' (former machinists), 'Fire Baptists' (a massively dispersed group of refugees from the East intent on reunification), or 'the Marauders' (bandits from Line J) have already fostered new and independent identities. A number of charitable organizations have emerged at a regional level.</p>
<p>Another interesting trend is the emergence of what I call para-diverse groups. By that, I refer to individuals composed of the same persona framework from different universes. It appears that some people are using this method to reduce uncertainty and build trust. It remains to be seen whether such a strategy will be successful and how such groups will be structured.</p>
<p>It is also worth remembering that we can expect major changes within the former L-NESC workforce. The current glorification phase the collapsed network is undergoing does not – pro tempore – address the fate of the partially unemployed staff, making their fate an open question.</p>
<p>Racism and gender inequality - where applicable - have so far remained surprisingly little affected by the L-NESC breakdown. To my knowledge, conflicts have so far not been waged along species divisions, although certain segregation between corporeal and non-corporeal beings may be observed. Gender inequality - to the extent that gender is a relevant variable - currently appears to remain an intra-species phenomenon.</p>
<hr/>
<h1 id="toc3"><span>3. The West: Innovation borne from adversity</span></h1>
<p>The general dependence on Lampeter as a poorly understood technology is now more evident than ever due to its absence.</p>
<p>As an attempt to address this danger, collectives of scholars, engineers, and volunteers have formed in various places, particularly in the West, aiming to gather knowledge and skills to keep Lampeter operational. Such movements initially emerged from the network's center but soon shifted to the periphery in search of calmer conditions. Extra-network and extra-dimensional locations like Lamplight and the Wanderer's Library also quickly gained significance in this effort.</p>
<p>The multiverse is now witnessing a surge in efforts to reverse-engineer, maintain, and adapt the complex technologies that once underpinned interdimensional travel and communication. With the proprietary knowledge – presumably lost with L-NESC’s archives – now largely inaccessible, various groups and individuals are undertaking measures to keep the Lampeter network operational.</p>
<p>Engineers, scientists, technologists, and laymen are collaborating to deconstruct and understand the intricate mechanisms that facilitated Lampeter navigation. These reverse-engineering projects range from formal, partisan, well funded research endeavors - driven by local powers - to more informal, grassroots efforts or individual projects.</p>
<p>However, the described developments might also usher in a kind of Dark Age. This would imply a failure to adequately maintain the network, which, in turn, could impact power dynamics.<br/>
Such a scenario is unlikely to be desirable for any affected group. Consequently, it is to be expected that research and development will also focus on alternatives to Lampeter.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><em>"In this context, a mass of couriers has already emerged - a group to which I myself belong - thereby shifting the transmission of information and transportation partly from machines back to individuals, akin to a form of de-industrialization. We thus belong directly to the nomadic proletariat I described above. De facto we are characterized by three features: Lack of a fixed place of reference, lack of resources to organize one, and use of our individual labour force to secure our livelihood. Our existence is fundamentally precarious, as we are compelled to move continuously, especially when local conditions do not permit settlement, whether due to a lack of orientation, peace, or resources. A pragmatic and mistrustful worldview is gaining ground in quite a number of us."</em></p>
<ul>
<li>Dragomir Schütz.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<p>Para-sociology can draw its mission from this, integrating itself into all the previously described processes, upheavals, and disruptions. The accumulated knowledge about Lampeter is already of immeasurable value, thereby conferring new responsibilities upon the holders of such knowledge - who have hitherto been niche players and peripheral figures.</p>
<hr/>
<h1 id="toc4"><span>The North: Take a hill, be a king</span></h1>
<p>In the northern regions of Lampeter, particularly stark contrasts are currently emerging. Certain stations, pocket dimensions, and former population centers that had developed around Lampeter stations have dissolved, leaving behind ghost towns. In contrast, groups and individuals see an opportunity in these abandoned settlements and seek to establish themselves there, provided they have the means to reach them.</p>
<p>The utilization of existing resources and the establishment of new communities are driving factors behind this development. There may also be an opportunity for marginalized groups to reorganize themselves within this context.</p>
<p>I myself have not been to this region, but the following was conveyed to me by a traveler:</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><em>"Yes, of course I want to head north; that's the name you mentioned, isn't it? I heard there are numerous abandoned places there. Just think about what's happening in the East right now. If the Gold Chain in Line H or the merchant conglomerates in Line G were to gain more power, they would need resources. And wouldn't they be grateful if one were to find such resources? Or even accommodation - one could refurbish a station and rent it out. I mean, what am I to do here in the center? All there is here is chaos. I heard from several travelers that some old man has settled in a station up north and now claims it as his own. He manages to stay afloat by accepting only simple things in exchange for his help. If he can do that, then surely I can as well."</em></p>
<ul>
<li>Traveler in A-299.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<hr/>
<h1 id="toc5"><span>The Author</span></h1>
<p>Dragomir Schütz (α) is an anthropomorphic German shepherd with brown-black fur, who previously worked as a courier and now operates as a nomadic para-sociologist. His focus is on trans-dimensional network research, ethnography, and institutions. The author did not disclose any information about his home universe to the Lampeter Research Community.</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/lampeter-sociology/Article_Top.png]]
[[image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/lampeter-article/Article%20Data.png]]
----
[[/=]]
+ Abstract
Even after the bankruptcy of the Lampeter Non-Euclidean Shipping Company (L-NESC), the Lampeter network remains a central hub for trans-dimensional travel in the local bubble.
With the level of practicality Lampeter offers, and considering the general necessity for any inter-dimensional community, only Ways and the Wanderer's Library itself can compete with the network.
Despite the fact that the Lampeter Research Community – which of course emerged from the Republic of Letters fifty years ago – has already addressed numerous topics related to Lampeter scientifically, sociology remains an underdeveloped field.
This is partly because, as is often the case in multidimensional contexts (Erikur α 05: 21), there are few institutionalized structures.
As a result, overarching coordinated research agendas are also usually absent (Ifrith II α 12: 108). This research paper seeks to address this gap.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
//"You know, Dragomir, Lampeter was barely organized as a network to begin with. Of course, we had timetables and routes. But if you think about it, there is hardly any space more liminal than this one. So what happens if that many different cultures, social assumptions, and logical paradigms collide in constant flux? I don't know if us three-dimensional beings can even recognize the new patterns. If there are any at all."//
* Fellow Researcher Erikur α during a conversation in I-303.
[[/div]]
The trends that have become increasingly apparent since that time are the continuation of longstanding tendencies, poised to significantly alter interdimensional life and coexistence. Consequently, a parasociological analysis that identifies and examines these trends is of utmost importance.
This article will highlight research areas that emerge as particularly salient in the above-mentioned context. For this purpose, qualitative fieldwork was chosen as the methodological approach, following an arbitrary travel pattern.
Economic and social exchanges now face impediments as logistical challenges mount (Irikakešk β 53: 122). With the collapse of centralized infrastructure, local economies within various dimensions struggle to adapt to the sudden loss of interconnectivity. This shift has catalyzed the emergence of new economic practices and interdimensional trade routes, often fragmented and opportunistic in nature.
We are facing nothing short of a paradigm shift. It is noteworthy that all life forms – corporeal or not – are likely to be equally affected by this (Itzabashibahn α 10: 5-1-18).
----
+ 1. The East: Fracturing of the Known
Changes due to the collapse of the network are readily apparent. Most prominently, perhaps, the habits of travelers and more permanent denizens alike have been profoundly affected. No longer ordered by the structured reliability of L-NESC's services, travelers navigate an uncertain landscape. Ad hoc arrangements and makeshift alliances replace the institutionalized order that characterized the network in its prime.
The vacuum opened by L-NESC's collapse has prompted the emergence of new players vying for influence and control, particularly in the Lampeter East. Local regimes, transdimensional corporations, and clandestine organizations alike seek to capitalize on the network's strategic importance. The fact that we have not yet seen open warfare is presumably primarily due to the fact that, on the one hand, the shock of the fall is still lingering and, on the other, no one can afford to jeopardize the network if they wish to profit from it.
The non-corporeal light carriers of H-22 allowed, for instance, the route of a Lampeter line through their dimension for quasi-domestic political reasons, as it enabled them to divert tensions onto traffic monitoring. The disruptions in the network threaten to topple this arrangement.
Regional chaos was provoked by clashes between travelers and quasi-oligarchic groups in lines E, F, and G, although such attempts at capitalization were punctured in part by the sheer mass of passengers.
Religiously motivated upheavals against the connection of individual universes have been reported in line G, but so far remain an isolated phenomenon, apart from the fact that there are no known means of separating a universe from the network.
Surprisingly, the previous L-NESC workforce has so far remained relatively apolitical. Infrastructure maintenance and pragmatic problem-solving have predominated up until now. No power struggles have been reported thus far.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
//"I ain't got time for this guff mate. See that there? That's a Gantian steam engine and if I don't feed that bloody ghost in there properly, it's going to blow up in y'all faces. This part of the line literally hinges on it being used, so do me a favor and don't bother me, will ya."//
* Machinist in F-201.
[[/div]]
The multiverse offers such an enormous variety of ideologies, values, and heuristics (Erikur α 05: 59) that stabilization in the near future seems unlikely. To what extent differences between the actions of different collectives and species will come to light here remains to be seen. In general, fragmentation is likely to become the new defining feature of almost everything, from communication channels to knowledge structures to entire cultures.
Even the research on Lampeter itself, which had developed a certain tradition within the Republic of Letters – as evidenced by the existence of this journal – is likely to be affected by these changes.
----
+ 2. The South: New Status Quo
L-NESC’s bankruptcy has ushered in diverse and multifaceted social consequences, some of which might be called ‘transformation’, while others deserve to be described as 'collateral damages'. Amidst the myriad cultures and species that populate our interconnected web of realities, no single consequence will universally apply. Instead, a mosaic of outcomes emerges, reflecting the varied experiences and adaptations of different communities. Despite this, there have been some neigh multiversal key features.
The Lampeter South exemplifies this.
Central to such common features is the emergence of a marginalized and primarily affected populace, giving rise to new social structures akin to a nomadic proletariat. Formerly reliant on the infrastructure and services provided by L-NESC, many individuals and groups now find themselves in a fractured network, facing heightened challenges in their daily lives.
For some, the loss of reliable inter-dimensional transportation and communication has severed ties with significant others and undermined economic foundations across dimensions. Social isolation and emotional distress – where applicable (see: (Itzabashibahn α 10: 6-15-4) – are the consequences. Amidst these challenges, communities across the multiverse are forging new alliances and solidarity networks to navigate the uncertainties of a post-L-NESC Lampeter.
The effects on cultural exchange and religiosity are not yet foreseeable. However, the potential for social conflict and upheaval is already increasing noticeably along various lines (Erikur α 06: 1).
[[div class="blockquote"]]
//"It is most remarkable, is it not? Even the newspapers doth not allow one to discern what is transpiring. In sooth, it was erstwhile so that one could at least peruse the most important occurrences, but now I might travel but one station further and find myself amidst an uprising of which none hath reported. Most regrettable. Dost thou write for a newspaper in that notebook of yours? Nay? Verily. Else I would have advised thee to seek another calling. The kiosks can scarcely rid themselves of their issues nowadays. I saw but recently people kindling fires with them, to warm themselves."//
* Traveler in the railroad host station of K-21.
[[/div]]
Information now spreads mainly through rumors, as news from official sources has necessarily become unreliable.
News about stable lines, housing conditions, food sources, etc. have become clear pull factors. Individuals now travel after such news under the protection of larger groups. This has already led to several clashes between collectives that wanted to travel in opposite directions and needed the available network capacities to do so. Some groups such as the 'Black Hands' (former machinists), 'Fire Baptists' (a massively dispersed group of refugees from the East intent on reunification), or 'the Marauders' (bandits from Line J) have already fostered new and independent identities. A number of charitable organizations have emerged at a regional level.
Another interesting trend is the emergence of what I call para-diverse groups. By that, I refer to individuals composed of the same persona framework from different universes. It appears that some people are using this method to reduce uncertainty and build trust. It remains to be seen whether such a strategy will be successful and how such groups will be structured.
It is also worth remembering that we can expect major changes within the former L-NESC workforce. The current glorification phase the collapsed network is undergoing does not – pro tempore – address the fate of the partially unemployed staff, making their fate an open question.
Racism and gender inequality - where applicable - have so far remained surprisingly little affected by the L-NESC breakdown. To my knowledge, conflicts have so far not been waged along species divisions, although certain segregation between corporeal and non-corporeal beings may be observed. Gender inequality - to the extent that gender is a relevant variable - currently appears to remain an intra-species phenomenon.
----
+ 3. The West: Innovation borne from adversity
The general dependence on Lampeter as a poorly understood technology is now more evident than ever due to its absence.
As an attempt to address this danger, collectives of scholars, engineers, and volunteers have formed in various places, particularly in the West, aiming to gather knowledge and skills to keep Lampeter operational. Such movements initially emerged from the network's center but soon shifted to the periphery in search of calmer conditions. Extra-network and extra-dimensional locations like Lamplight and the Wanderer's Library also quickly gained significance in this effort.
The multiverse is now witnessing a surge in efforts to reverse-engineer, maintain, and adapt the complex technologies that once underpinned interdimensional travel and communication. With the proprietary knowledge – presumably lost with L-NESC’s archives – now largely inaccessible, various groups and individuals are undertaking measures to keep the Lampeter network operational.
Engineers, scientists, technologists, and laymen are collaborating to deconstruct and understand the intricate mechanisms that facilitated Lampeter navigation. These reverse-engineering projects range from formal, partisan, well funded research endeavors - driven by local powers - to more informal, grassroots efforts or individual projects.
However, the described developments might also usher in a kind of Dark Age. This would imply a failure to adequately maintain the network, which, in turn, could impact power dynamics.
Such a scenario is unlikely to be desirable for any affected group. Consequently, it is to be expected that research and development will also focus on alternatives to Lampeter.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
//"In this context, a mass of couriers has already emerged - a group to which I myself belong - thereby shifting the transmission of information and transportation partly from machines back to individuals, akin to a form of de-industrialization. We thus belong directly to the nomadic proletariat I described above. De facto we are characterized by three features: Lack of a fixed place of reference, lack of resources to organize one, and use of our individual labour force to secure our livelihood. Our existence is fundamentally precarious, as we are compelled to move continuously, especially when local conditions do not permit settlement, whether due to a lack of orientation, peace, or resources. A pragmatic and mistrustful worldview is gaining ground in quite a number of us."//
* Dragomir Schütz.
[[/div]]
Para-sociology can draw its mission from this, integrating itself into all the previously described processes, upheavals, and disruptions. The accumulated knowledge about Lampeter is already of immeasurable value, thereby conferring new responsibilities upon the holders of such knowledge - who have hitherto been niche players and peripheral figures.
----
+ The North: Take a hill, be a king
In the northern regions of Lampeter, particularly stark contrasts are currently emerging. Certain stations, pocket dimensions, and former population centers that had developed around Lampeter stations have dissolved, leaving behind ghost towns. In contrast, groups and individuals see an opportunity in these abandoned settlements and seek to establish themselves there, provided they have the means to reach them.
The utilization of existing resources and the establishment of new communities are driving factors behind this development. There may also be an opportunity for marginalized groups to reorganize themselves within this context.
I myself have not been to this region, but the following was conveyed to me by a traveler:
[[div class="blockquote"]]
//"Yes, of course I want to head north; that's the name you mentioned, isn't it? I heard there are numerous abandoned places there. Just think about what's happening in the East right now. If the Gold Chain in Line H or the merchant conglomerates in Line G were to gain more power, they would need resources. And wouldn't they be grateful if one were to find such resources? Or even accommodation - one could refurbish a station and rent it out. I mean, what am I to do here in the center? All there is here is chaos. I heard from several travelers that some old man has settled in a station up north and now claims it as his own. He manages to stay afloat by accepting only simple things in exchange for his help. If he can do that, then surely I can as well."//
* Traveler in A-299.
[[/div]]
----
+ The Author
Dragomir Schütz (α) is an anthropomorphic German shepherd with brown-black fur, who previously worked as a courier and now operates as a nomadic para-sociologist. His focus is on trans-dimensional network research, ethnography, and institutions. The author did not disclose any information about his home universe to the Lampeter Research Community.
|
2024-08-05T16:03:00
|
[
"_cc",
"lampeter",
"no-dialogue",
"otherworldly",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] |
Lampeter-Sociology - SCP Foundation
| 11
|
[] |
[
"lampeter-hub"
] |
[] |
1456088614
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lampeter-sociology
|
|
lawbertmarilwyd
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p><em>Halt, boney horseface, do not enter this place, You stray from procedure, let us first state our case.</em></p>
</div>
<p>"Is it still there?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"Shit."</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p><em>Knock knock knock</em></p>
<p>Doctor Kellan leaned closer until his nose was inches from the monitor, squinting at the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6596">vaguely-festive creature</a> displayed on it. Instead of responding with her usual single syllable, security officer Novotny stoically responded with zero syllables as Kellan's dangling lanyard batted against her face.</p>
<p>"I thought it only went after <span style="color: #8d09ab"><strong>site whatever up in Poland</strong></span>? What's it doing here in Massachusetts?"</p>
<p>"Knocking on the door, apparently."</p>
<p>"Thanks, Scott, I hadn't noticed."</p>
<p><em>Knock knock knock</em></p>
<p>Agent Scott continued leaning against the wall in the manner of someone who knows it's not his job to come up with a solution, and instead has to wait for someone to tell him what absolute bastard of a plan he's going to have to carry out. When he started this job, he and his slick hairdo had hoped there would be more <em>Mission Impossible</em> stuff. Instead, there he was trying not to make eye contact with the elf on the shelf that someone had placed in the security office as a blunt joke.</p>
<p>A bespectacled woman and a tall guard with a bionic arm entered the room, their aura of competency bringing the professionalism in the room back up to acceptable levels.</p>
<p>"Our best guess is that after <span style="color: #8d09ab"><strong>the mage's college with walls of steel</strong></span> aggravated it, it decided to find another site to harass. Strictly speaking, we're incredibly lucky it opted for another Foundation base instead of any civilian building. This already counts as an alarming breach of containment." Doctor Sambre calmly explained.</p>
<p>"There's a non-alarming kind?"</p>
<p>Everyone turned to look at Researcher Haldings, who had somehow appeared in the room without anyone noticing. He adjusted his ill-fitting necktie nervously.</p>
<p><em>Knock knock knock</em></p>
<p>"…Will it go away if we ignore it?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Then can we just keep it here, outside the door? That's technically containment."</p>
<p>"—the best kind of containment!"</p>
<p>"Scott."</p>
<p>"Also no. Encounter logs show that if you try to game it, it gets aggressive. We've delayed a while as-is, there's no telling how long it'll be patient."</p>
<p>"Well, if it wants snacks, we can definitely give it some. Have we actually tried appeasement?"</p>
<p>"It won't stop at 'some'. We have several culinary anomalies contained here, and we can't risk it making off with any of those."</p>
<p>"I don't think the apple that flirts with you would be a great loss."</p>
<p>"Scott!"</p>
<p><em>Knock knock knock</em></p>
<p>"…So what do we do?"</p>
<p>The room fell silent.</p>
<p>Eventually, a slightly-slouched figure in an orange jumpsuit shuffled into view just outside the doorway. It cracked its neck, took in a sharp sniff of air,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup> and unceremoniously announced:</p>
<p>"We got someone at th' door."</p>
<p>"We know," said everyone.</p>
<p>"Jes' makin' sure."</p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/squawkblamthudbarf">D-10334</a> continued to loiter outside the security office, knowing better than to try and enter but still being experienced enough to know to remain close to the people with access to the site's saferoom. Nobody told him to leave, because they also had enough experience to know that an on-hand grunt is always useful in times of crisis.</p>
<p>Haldings broke the silence again. "I… don't think I've actually read the file on this one. What's it's number again?"</p>
<p>Doctor Sambre shot a quick look at D-10334, who rolled his eyes before sticking his leathery fingers in his leathery ears. Satisfied that the data would only be heard by those with sufficient clearance, Sambre turned back to Haldings.</p>
<p>"6596. Valeria, would you bring it up?"</p>
<p>Novotny grunted, and opened a window on one of the other monitors, which Haldings scuttled up to read. As he scrolled through the document, the fingers of his free hand lightly drummed on the desk. Until they suddenly stopped, his attention caught by something. Agent Scott winced.</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"I know what's about to happen. Haldings is getting an idea."</p>
<p>For several of the people in the room, this did not remedy their confusion as to Scott's distress. But for a select few, a very specific type of panic set in. They type of panic one gets when they realize that something completely insane will, in fact, be their best option. Messina clutched her metal fist tightly, the sounds of <em><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5266">The Village People</a></em>'s best echoing in her ears. Agent Scott remembered an awkward conversation with the site director, double-checked that the strap on his holster was secured, sighed, and accepted that the anticipated 'bastard of a plan' was at hand.</p>
<p>"Okay, Haldings. Weird situation means weird solution. What've you got?"</p>
<p>The small nerd pivoted atop his spinny chair to face his captive audience.</p>
<p>"Okay, hear me out. It's connected with the, uh, <span style="color: green"><strong>thicket of the, er, wee folk</strong></span>, right? I know we don't use this term, but, the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/taboo">fae</a>?"</p>
<p>"Uh-huh."</p>
<p>"So, well, they're known for the intricate ceremonies and weird rules, like the whole name-stealing thing."</p>
<p>"Yes, it's a known facet of theirs."</p>
<p>Haldings hesitated, the combination of his spindly frame, dark skin and thick glasses making him look like an Aye-Aye. Everyone else watched him carefully, as on-edge as they would have been in the presence of the real animal. Aye-Ayes are not dangerous, but they all look like they were born for the specific purpose of spreading rabies.</p>
<p>Haldings swallowed, and spoke.</p>
<p>"Dr. Sambre, I'm making a request for cross-testing."</p>
<p>The air in the room held still for a moment, perhaps hoping that the impending madness would pass it by if it didn't move, before Scott stirred it back into action with a hissing exhalation through his teeth.</p>
<p>"Jeez. I knew it was gonna be bad, but not <em>that bad</em>."</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>"While it is true that Foundation authority does override Harald & Sons Industrial Equipment I must point out that I am above the recommended weight load of the conveyance device even after developing funny helium sacs. Furthermore the speed at which—"</p>
<p>Security officer Messina groaned as she pushed the wheeled cargo pallet, straining against the sheer weight of its load.</p>
<p>"I'm getting a headache."</p>
<p>"Yer, his slime'll do that to ya," responded D-10334 from the other side of the pallet, in between puffs of exertion.</p>
<p>"It's not the slime."</p>
<p>Haldings and Doctor Kellan hurried ahead of them, occasionally turning to face the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7416">bloated pink lifeform</a> they were escorting in a sort of backwards half-run familiar to all who can't decide whether speed or a coherent explanation is more important. The corners of his lab coat flapping awkwardly, Kellan addressed the nerdbeast.</p>
<p>"—Okay, Lawbert, as a reminder: As always, our goal here is to avoid any loss of operational capacity of this site, and to preserve our current containment of the anomalies within. That's direct instructions for you, from a person with sufficient clearance."</p>
<p>"Oh, and, uh, try and avoid us losing any of our names," Haldings added.</p>
<p>"Veritably. As you confirmed prior to my extrication from mine habitation unit I am fully fluent in the codes and wiggles of <span style="color: green"><strong>the woodlands area I have referred to 731 times prior</strong></span> and will endeavor to prevent as much collateral damage as is convenient."</p>
<p>"…That'll have to do."</p>
<p><em>KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK</em></p>
<p>"It's definitely getting angrier," Agent Scott (who drew the short straw and was now pushing Lawbert from behind) remarked.</p>
<p>"It's okay, there are no more turns. I can see the door up ahead!" shouted Haldings, waving to the rest of the group stationed by the intercom. Messina leaned in and shoved hard, narrowly steering the pallet around a faux Christmas tree in the lobby.</p>
<p>"Formal request for relevant information," Lawbert said, turning its beady eyes to stare at the two scientists running in front of it.</p>
<p>"Uh—Granted, depending on what it is," Doctor Kellan answered.</p>
<p>All six eyes blinked<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup> and Lawbert posited "What is the contingency plan for cancelling mine forwards momentum upon arrival at our destination?"</p>
<p>"Oh, uh, you can use your telekinesis to brake. Exert drag and all that."</p>
<p>"Negatory. This cannot be done at this time."</p>
<p>Researcher Haldings immediately sped up without comment, hoping to somehow outrun the complication in his plan, or at least the immediate consequences of it.</p>
<p>"What? Why?" asked the bewildered Kellan.</p>
<p>"Salmon misalignment. By the accord of Harv—"</p>
<p>"—Nevermind! Nevermind! Fuck! Sambre, get—get out of the way!"</p>
<p>Doctor Sambre dove out of the way just as approximately six metric tons of blubber collided with the metal door at a running pace. SCP-6596 dove out of the way just as approximately one metal door came flying off its hinges. Researcher Haldings dove out of the way just as exactly one security officer attempted to grab and yell at him. Lawbert did not dive anywhere, as he had no propulsive limbs, but he would later assure the gathered personnel that he was fine and thank you very much for asking.</p>
<p>The door landed in the snow outside with a "whumph".</p>
<p>As the dazed legal expert rolled backwards on his pallet from the spring-like function of his squishiness unsquishing, the grey mare stepped into the door, silhouetted against the sheer white of winter behind it. Its bones made a hollow clacking as it moved, beads and ribbons swaying in the chill wind. Sambre began backing away. Messina flexed her steel fingers. Scott's hand hovered over his sidearm.</p>
<p>The trickster-spirit spoke first, looming in the doorframe.</p>
<p><em>I must say, it warms my heart</em><br/>
<em>To see new friends eager to play their part</em><br/>
<em>You fling your doors open to welcome a guest</em><br/>
<em>Surely you will not deny my humble request?</em><br/>
<em>I have long stood (thanks to you) in this chill</em><br/>
<em>Now I'm in, and I shall eat my fill.</em></p>
<p>The gathered motley crew of scientists, operatives and one test subject racked their brains for a rhyme. None suitable for polite conversation came to mind. But another voice answered first, meeting the wavering song of the intruder with an ear-piercing nasal tone.</p>
<p><em>Halt, boney horseface, do not enter this place,</em><br/>
<em>You stray from procedure, let us first state our case.</em></p>
<p>The equine spectre's head jerked over to face the tongue-like behemoth, which was now oozing off of the battered pallet beneath it. Lawbert began to rear up, holding his even-more-squashed-than-usual head high and proud. His jowls danced as he continued:</p>
<p><em>I regret to inform you, friend, that I am fluent in your rituals</em><br/>
<em>And furthermore regrets, we cannot share with you our victuals</em><br/>
<em>Though I am not strictly employed</em><br/>
<em>I have been instructed to avoid</em><br/>
<em>Circumstances which would make all these fine folk annoyed</em><br/>
<em>And a lack of food is quite distressing to any humanoid.</em></p>
<p>The two entities stared each other down as a hollow chuckle drifted out of the intruder.</p>
<p><em>Come now, come now, if you comprehend the humans' hunger</em><br/>
<em>Then you must also understand the stress I find myself under</em><br/>
<em>It's why I must now ask for permission to plunder.</em><br/>
<em>My stomach aches, I'm thin to the bone</em><br/>
<em>It's a miracle I can do anything more than moan</em><br/>
<em>So won't you kindly let me into your home?</em></p>
<p>Messina, Scott and Haldings stared, unable to believe that Haldings' plan was working. Doctor Sambre took the initiative.</p>
<p>"You all, quickly! Start moving any at-risk objects!"</p>
<p>"But won't that make it—"</p>
<p>"—The <em>anomalous</em> ones, Haldings, not the stuff in the cafeteria."</p>
<p>Doctor Kellan finally got around to peeling himself off of the floor. "I'll get a list together. First priority is anything edible, so Scott, you get 7782, Messina, you fetch all the Ambrose stuff, I'll—I'll start doing triage with other items. D, just help whoever's nearby."</p>
<p>"Roger."</p>
<p>The various personnel scattered, save for three. Officer Novotny had returned to her many monitors, on a careful lookout for any further bullshit that might decide to arise. That left Haldings and Sambre to supervise the ongoing encounter and ensure compliance of their resident blob. The two scientists watched as Lawbert began another verse in response.</p>
<p><em>Although I do reside here, it is not my home to host</em><br/>
<em>Strictly speaking I'm a tenant, though I pay less rent than most.</em><br/>
<em>Nonetheless I speak for all when I say we cannot let you in</em><br/>
<em>You must seek snackies elsewhere, to our mutual chagrin.</em></p>
<p>"He's speaking with actual sentence flow and cadence for once."</p>
<p>"Must be the, uh, rules of engagement?"</p>
<p><em>I've journeyed from the old country all the way to this new shore</em><br/>
<em>Surely you are not telling me that I must still travel more?</em><br/>
<em>In this time of giving</em><br/>
<em>Where's your spirit?</em><br/>
<em>If it's been speaking</em><br/>
<em>I certainly don't hear it.</em><br/>
<em>If you're not going to be jolly, then I shall stride on through your door!</em></p>
<p><em>Our door is right behind you, so go on and stride that way</em><br/>
<em>Turn around and begin your trek without further delay!</em><br/>
<em>And as for festive spirit, you'll find me quite hard to beat</em><br/>
<em>My whole bod in all its tonnage is rosy as St. Nick's cheeks</em><br/>
<em>From the tip-tips of my pedipalps to my nonexistent feet!</em></p>
<p><em>Pinkness matters little, if your mood is oh so miserly</em><br/>
<em>Though you rhyme well, you've yet to surprise me.</em></p>
<p>Haldings looked down, shuddering at the mental image of Lawbert with feet, and noticed something. On the topic of feet, one of his own feet was tapping in time with the rhymes. He did not recall having instructed it to do so.</p>
<p>"Doctor Sambre?"</p>
<p>"Yes, Haldings, I'm aware. I don't know where the percussion track is coming from, either."</p>
<p>Haldings looked back up just in time to see SCP-6596 produce a fiddle from beneath its robes. Before he could decide how to feel about this turn of events, the trickster then drew its bow across the string in a long, fluid motion, drawing out a hissing screech of a chord as the walls around it began to spontaneously manifest colored ribbons and boughs of holly.</p>
<p><span style="color: green"><em>You claim to know our laws, to follow our traditions<br/>
But how long can you respond while fulfilling our conditions?<br/>
Better give up now, while you still have your own volition<br/>
Now be a dear and show me the path towards your kitchen!</em></span></p>
<p>The scientists began to back away, Sambre already searching through the SCiPnet channels on her phone to contact any other nearby sites for aid. Elsewhere, personnel surged through the halls in what could generously be called an evacuation. The only two thaumaturgical experts at Site-47 were on their knees, frantically scrawling wards with whatever pigments they could find<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup> and trying not to be too irritated when someone tripped over them and they had to start all over.</p>
<p>"This is Scott reporting in from Wing C. The floor is covered in pine needles all of a sudden, so I assume it's going badly up front."</p>
<p>"Messina here. If we get out of this, Haldings, I swear—"</p>
<p>Before Messina could finish her threat, a mighty scream ripped through the air, laced with nerd rage as the rising beat of only the stankiest keytar rose to clash against the fiddle, bells and drums in a psychically-projected storm. The bittersweet scents of fresh snow and forest must were met by the odor of stale glue as Lawbert's body pulsated in waves, spittle flying from his lipless mouth.</p>
<p><span style="color: #f75c9c"><em>Never, never, never friend!<br/>
As per the rules, I shall only end<br/>
When I've no more verses to expend<br/>
And until then, to the power of ten<br/>
I shall maintain my rhyming trend!<br/>
With the rules laid out before me, etched in my brain like stone<br/>
I shall follow them ceaselessly, until we are naught but bone!</em></span></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: green"><em>I am already bone, whereas you are only flab<br/>
Sitting nice and safe within your warm and cozy lab.<br/>
Surely you see<br/>
The inequity<br/>
Betwixt yourself and dear old me!<br/>
Have a heart, filled not with greed<br/>
Won't you help this poor old steed<br/>
With his dire dietary need?</em></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #f75c9c"><em>My width is proof of my greater need<br/>
With no stomach, how could you feed?</em></span></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: green"><em>The secrets of my anatomy<br/>
Will remain to you a mystery<br/>
For all time and eternity.<br/>
I will not be challenged in my native game<br/>
By a beast with rhymes so lame!</em></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #f75c9c"><em>My rhymes are eloquent—</em></span></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: green"><em>—Inelegant!</em></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #f75c9c"><em>—Satisfying—</em></span></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: green"><em>—They have me dying!</em></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #f75c9c"><em>—Full of wit—</em></span></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: green"><em>—They've not a bit!</em></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #f75c9c"><em>—And entirely in-line with Tuatha de Danann decree the 44th, sub-subject: solstice ritual guidelines<br/>
Enacted by the powers of</em></span> <em><span style="color: green"><strong>the woodlands area I have referred to 732 times!</strong></span></em></p>
<p>The music died out for a second, instruments sadly deflating as Lawbert spewed jargon. There was a brief pause.</p>
<p>"<em>That last one had terrible syllable balance. Also, 'guidelines' is way longer than 'times'.</em>"</p>
<p>"Affirmative howeverly you rhymed 'miserly' with 'me' in verse the eighth."</p>
<p>"<em>I rhymed 'surprise me', not just the 'me' by itself.</em>"</p>
<p>"Still two separate words."</p>
<p>"<em>Fine. Continue.</em>"</p>
<p>The beat resumed, and the opposing forces of order and chaos roared to life with it.</p>
<p><span style="color: #f75c9c"><em>No matter how banal<br/>
I shall follow protocol<br/>
Forever shall I stall<br/>
To bar you from these halls!</em></span></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: green"><em>My hunger's never-ending<br/>
It needs my constant tending<br/>
It's no use pretending<br/>
That you can keep defending!</em></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #f75c9c"><em>Your gluttony shall soon spell defeat for you<br/>
Instead of a feast, try just a treat or two!</em></span></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: green"><em>I will not be denied<br/>
Nor shall I compromise—</em></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #f75c9c"><em>—I've been through the rules and poured over every word<br/>
There's nothing written in there forbidding an accord<br/>
I urge you to accept a more acceptable reward.</em></span></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: green"><em>It's an un-written rule, which I'd think you would respect<br/>
Your words of compromise are having no effect!</em></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="color: #f75c9c"><em>You claim I can't rhyme forever<br/>
And that may be true, however<br/>
I need only hold on to my lingual tether<br/>
'Til we're no longer in week the first of December!</em></span></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: green"><em>FINE!!!!</em></span></p>
</div>
<p>As the spirit roared and the music reached a crescendo, a mighty gale swept through the open doorframe. Snow danced in bitter-cold flurries that stung the cheeks and eyes of the humans present. But after a moment, the festive greenery slowly faded back into the walls as the wind died down, and SCP-6596 slumped slightly before vanishing. The boughs of holly decking the halls began to wilt. Scott and Messina whirled around and scanned their surroundings, but there was no sign of the creature.</p>
<p>Haldings broke the silence.</p>
<p>"Is it—"</p>
<p>With as little sound as when it had disappeared, the horse reappeared, now holding a glass bottle in one hand. Its glassy stare still trained on Lawbert, it tucked the bottle of amber-colored liquid beneath its robes.</p>
<p>"<em>I accept this draw, 'twas valiantly fought. I will still be taking this, so my efforts weren't for naught.</em>"</p>
<p>"Veritably it was fun and cool and happy holiday! Enjoy your Doctorate Kellan's secret stash beverage. See you week the one after this one."</p>
<p>The two lyricists bowed to each other. The grey mare then trotted through the empty doorframe once more, fading into the falling snow until the only thing left behind was the faint tinkle of bells. After a moment those, too, faded.</p>
<p>Doctor Sambre watched the entity depart, before turning back to Lawbert.</p>
<p>"SCP-7416."</p>
<p>"That is me yes."</p>
<p>"What did you mean by… 'See you next week'?"</p>
<p>Haldings' eyes widened. "Oh fuck, that <em>is</em> what he meant by that…"</p>
<p>Before Haldings could finish turning to the unamused Sambre and explaining that if that thing showed up again it definitely wasn't his fault, he had given Lawbert specific instructions and there was no way he could have known that he would invite it back if that's what had happened, the great pink nerdbeast himself responded.</p>
<p>"Simplicity. As outlined in the 1978 Battle of the Bands Forum if two competitors should engage in musical duelage for three or more minutes with no clear leader determined in that time then they are legally obligated to either form a new band or integrate any pre-existing groups they are a part of into each other for the purposes of combining rockin' power. These rules were ratified by such greats as Queen, Zed Leppelin, Poogo the Dolphin-Boy, and a primitive version of the entity that would later come to be known by the people of Earth as Jack Black."</p>
<p>Doctor Sambre pinched her brow. Lawbert continued undeterred.</p>
<p>"I do not foresee any issues arriving from this as long as band practice does not align with week the first of December or several other dates with specific ties to <span style="color: green"><strong>the woodlands area I have referred to 733 times prior</strong></span>. Upon mine reunitement with yonder creature I will endeavor to schedule practice on days that are not these. I also believe noise levels should be within acceptable parameters of not immediately fatal to earthlings."</p>
<p>"And was SCP-6596 aware of this arrangement?"</p>
<p>"Probability."</p>
<p>Haldings, who was now sitting on the floor as a result of having to hear the phrase 'Poogo the Dolphin-Boy', piped up out of morbid curiosity to determine how much he was going to be yelled at later.</p>
<p>"Will it, uh, steal stuff every time it comes over?"</p>
<p>"Only from Doctorate Kellan's secret stash of alcoholic fluids that is not his bloodstream."</p>
<p>Haldings flopped over onto his back, secure in the thought that at least he hadn't doomed the entire site. This did mean that he was probably going to be demoted back to Junior Researcher for a fourth time. Doctor Sambre let out a sigh that could have curdled even coconut milk.</p>
<p>"Alright. We'll deal with that later. Valeria? Put a stop to the scramble, the situation has been… resolved."</p>
<p>Security officer Novotny nodded to the image of Sambre that appeared on her monitors, before relaying the orders through the site's intercom. Slowly the machinations of the various personnel reversed their course of action, anomalies were loaded back into their containment units and soy sauce sigils were scrubbed off the cafeteria floor. A mechanic was deployed to retrieve the front door from a snowbank and subsequently determine if it could be salvaged. Eventually, almost everything was back in its place.</p>
<p>As the team of first responders slowly escorted SCP-7416 back to the chamber with his name on it, Messina was the first to attempt a more casual conversation.</p>
<p>"Novotny says she got the whole thing on tape."</p>
<p>Gareth Kellan scratched his stubbly chin.</p>
<p>"We should put it in our holiday newsletter. Fuck, I need a drink."</p>
<p>"You won't find one. Sorry."</p>
<p>"Huh?"</p>
<p>"I said sorry."</p>
<p>"Haldings, we'll discuss fault later. And Gareth, we have <em>many</em> things to attend to before we can think of recreation."</p>
<p>"Yeah, I know. Figures all this would happen while Borgmann was away."</p>
<p>"Thanks to our security systems, the entire incident was well-documented, so the site Director will be able to go over it all when he returns from his meeting."</p>
<p>Agent Scott scoffed.</p>
<p>"He'll probably get a kick out of it. In terms of collateral damage, this was pretty low on the official Haldings Moment index."</p>
<p>"Veritably."</p>
<p>"In terms of spectacle, though, it was up there with Site-26."</p>
<p>"God, don't remind me. It gives me phantom limb."</p>
<p>The conversation lulled as the motley crew arrived at the open doors of the containment chamber, which Lawbert dutifully oozed through. Kellan leaned against the doorframe.</p>
<p>"Good job out there big guy, I guess. Maybe this will push you over into Thaumiel."</p>
<p>"I have no desire for reclassification I only wish to be accurately documented for the purpose of receiving maximally legally compliant instruction."</p>
<p>"Sure."</p>
<p>"Howeverly I do have one less-momentous thing to ask."</p>
<p>"…Sure?"</p>
<p>Lawbert looked back at the humans gathered before him, having settled into his favorite position facing north-by-northwest (the most legal direction) in the containment chamber. He shifted his bulk, getting comfortable against the concrete floor before speaking again.</p>
<p>"Formal requisition request for keytar."</p>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. Filtered through a mustache that had survived years of testing, only growing increasingly broom-like in response to the horrors of the anomalous world.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. Lawbert had recently decided that having eyelids was more legally convenient than not, for the purposes of not looking at things he wasn't supposed to.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. This incident would later result in the publication of the Foundation research paper titled "<em>The Surprising Thaumaturgical Applications of Soy Sauce Packets.</em>"</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=//Halt, boney horseface, do not enter this place, You stray from procedure, let us first state our case.//]]
=====
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
"Is it still there?"
"Yes."
"Shit."
"Yes."
//Knock knock knock//
Doctor Kellan leaned closer until his nose was inches from the monitor, squinting at the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6596 vaguely-festive creature] displayed on it. Instead of responding with her usual single syllable, security officer Novotny stoically responded with zero syllables as Kellan's dangling lanyard batted against her face.
"I thought it only went after ##8d09ab|**site whatever up in Poland**##? What's it doing here in Massachusetts?"
"Knocking on the door, apparently."
"Thanks, Scott, I hadn't noticed."
//Knock knock knock//
Agent Scott continued leaning against the wall in the manner of someone who knows it's not his job to come up with a solution, and instead has to wait for someone to tell him what absolute bastard of a plan he's going to have to carry out. When he started this job, he and his slick hairdo had hoped there would be more //Mission Impossible// stuff. Instead, there he was trying not to make eye contact with the elf on the shelf that someone had placed in the security office as a blunt joke.
A bespectacled woman and a tall guard with a bionic arm entered the room, their aura of competency bringing the professionalism in the room back up to acceptable levels.
"Our best guess is that after ##8d09ab|**the mage's college with walls of steel**## aggravated it, it decided to find another site to harass. Strictly speaking, we're incredibly lucky it opted for another Foundation base instead of any civilian building. This already counts as an alarming breach of containment." Doctor Sambre calmly explained.
"There's a non-alarming kind?"
Everyone turned to look at Researcher Haldings, who had somehow appeared in the room without anyone noticing. He adjusted his ill-fitting necktie nervously.
//Knock knock knock//
"...Will it go away if we ignore it?"
"No."
"Then can we just keep it here, outside the door? That's technically containment."
"—the best kind of containment!"
"Scott."
"Also no. Encounter logs show that if you try to game it, it gets aggressive. We've delayed a while as-is, there's no telling how long it'll be patient."
"Well, if it wants snacks, we can definitely give it some. Have we actually tried appeasement?"
"It won't stop at 'some'. We have several culinary anomalies contained here, and we can't risk it making off with any of those."
"I don't think the apple that flirts with you would be a great loss."
"Scott!"
//Knock knock knock//
"...So what do we do?"
The room fell silent.
Eventually, a slightly-slouched figure in an orange jumpsuit shuffled into view just outside the doorway. It cracked its neck, took in a sharp sniff of air,[[footnote]]Filtered through a mustache that had survived years of testing, only growing increasingly broom-like in response to the horrors of the anomalous world.[[/footnote]] and unceremoniously announced:
"We got someone at th' door."
"We know," said everyone.
"Jes' makin' sure."
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/squawkblamthudbarf D-10334] continued to loiter outside the security office, knowing better than to try and enter but still being experienced enough to know to remain close to the people with access to the site's saferoom. Nobody told him to leave, because they also had enough experience to know that an on-hand grunt is always useful in times of crisis.
Haldings broke the silence again. "I... don't think I've actually read the file on this one. What's it's number again?"
Doctor Sambre shot a quick look at D-10334, who rolled his eyes before sticking his leathery fingers in his leathery ears. Satisfied that the data would only be heard by those with sufficient clearance, Sambre turned back to Haldings.
"6596. Valeria, would you bring it up?"
Novotny grunted, and opened a window on one of the other monitors, which Haldings scuttled up to read. As he scrolled through the document, the fingers of his free hand lightly drummed on the desk. Until they suddenly stopped, his attention caught by something. Agent Scott winced.
"What?"
"I know what's about to happen. Haldings is getting an idea."
For several of the people in the room, this did not remedy their confusion as to Scott's distress. But for a select few, a very specific type of panic set in. They type of panic one gets when they realize that something completely insane will, in fact, be their best option. Messina clutched her metal fist tightly, the sounds of //[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5266 The Village People]//'s best echoing in her ears. Agent Scott remembered an awkward conversation with the site director, double-checked that the strap on his holster was secured, sighed, and accepted that the anticipated 'bastard of a plan' was at hand.
"Okay, Haldings. Weird situation means weird solution. What've you got?"
The small nerd pivoted atop his spinny chair to face his captive audience.
"Okay, hear me out. It's connected with the, uh, ##green|**thicket of the, er, wee folk**##, right? I know we don't use this term, but, the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/taboo fae]?"
"Uh-huh."
"So, well, they're known for the intricate ceremonies and weird rules, like the whole name-stealing thing."
"Yes, it's a known facet of theirs."
Haldings hesitated, the combination of his spindly frame, dark skin and thick glasses making him look like an Aye-Aye. Everyone else watched him carefully, as on-edge as they would have been in the presence of the real animal. Aye-Ayes are not dangerous, but they all look like they were born for the specific purpose of spreading rabies.
Haldings swallowed, and spoke.
"Dr. Sambre, I'm making a request for cross-testing."
The air in the room held still for a moment, perhaps hoping that the impending madness would pass it by if it didn't move, before Scott stirred it back into action with a hissing exhalation through his teeth.
"Jeez. I knew it was gonna be bad, but not //that bad//."
@@ @@
----
@@ @@
"While it is true that Foundation authority does override Harald & Sons Industrial Equipment I must point out that I am above the recommended weight load of the conveyance device even after developing funny helium sacs. Furthermore the speed at which—"
Security officer Messina groaned as she pushed the wheeled cargo pallet, straining against the sheer weight of its load.
"I'm getting a headache."
"Yer, his slime'll do that to ya," responded D-10334 from the other side of the pallet, in between puffs of exertion.
"It's not the slime."
Haldings and Doctor Kellan hurried ahead of them, occasionally turning to face the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7416 bloated pink lifeform] they were escorting in a sort of backwards half-run familiar to all who can't decide whether speed or a coherent explanation is more important. The corners of his lab coat flapping awkwardly, Kellan addressed the nerdbeast.
"—Okay, Lawbert, as a reminder: As always, our goal here is to avoid any loss of operational capacity of this site, and to preserve our current containment of the anomalies within. That's direct instructions for you, from a person with sufficient clearance."
"Oh, and, uh, try and avoid us losing any of our names," Haldings added.
"Veritably. As you confirmed prior to my extrication from mine habitation unit I am fully fluent in the codes and wiggles of ##green|**the woodlands area I have referred to 731 times prior**## and will endeavor to prevent as much collateral damage as is convenient."
"...That'll have to do."
//KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK//
"It's definitely getting angrier," Agent Scott (who drew the short straw and was now pushing Lawbert from behind) remarked.
"It's okay, there are no more turns. I can see the door up ahead!" shouted Haldings, waving to the rest of the group stationed by the intercom. Messina leaned in and shoved hard, narrowly steering the pallet around a faux Christmas tree in the lobby.
"Formal request for relevant information," Lawbert said, turning its beady eyes to stare at the two scientists running in front of it.
"Uh—Granted, depending on what it is," Doctor Kellan answered.
All six eyes blinked[[footnote]]Lawbert had recently decided that having eyelids was more legally convenient than not, for the purposes of not looking at things he wasn't supposed to.[[/footnote]] and Lawbert posited "What is the contingency plan for cancelling mine forwards momentum upon arrival at our destination?"
"Oh, uh, you can use your telekinesis to brake. Exert drag and all that."
"Negatory. This cannot be done at this time."
Researcher Haldings immediately sped up without comment, hoping to somehow outrun the complication in his plan, or at least the immediate consequences of it.
"What? Why?" asked the bewildered Kellan.
"Salmon misalignment. By the accord of Harv—"
"—Nevermind! Nevermind! Fuck! Sambre, get—get out of the way!"
Doctor Sambre dove out of the way just as approximately six metric tons of blubber collided with the metal door at a running pace. SCP-6596 dove out of the way just as approximately one metal door came flying off its hinges. Researcher Haldings dove out of the way just as exactly one security officer attempted to grab and yell at him. Lawbert did not dive anywhere, as he had no propulsive limbs, but he would later assure the gathered personnel that he was fine and thank you very much for asking.
The door landed in the snow outside with a "whumph".
As the dazed legal expert rolled backwards on his pallet from the spring-like function of his squishiness unsquishing, the grey mare stepped into the door, silhouetted against the sheer white of winter behind it. Its bones made a hollow clacking as it moved, beads and ribbons swaying in the chill wind. Sambre began backing away. Messina flexed her steel fingers. Scott's hand hovered over his sidearm.
The trickster-spirit spoke first, looming in the doorframe.
//I must say, it warms my heart//
//To see new friends eager to play their part//
//You fling your doors open to welcome a guest//
//Surely you will not deny my humble request?//
//I have long stood (thanks to you) in this chill//
//Now I'm in, and I shall eat my fill.//
The gathered motley crew of scientists, operatives and one test subject racked their brains for a rhyme. None suitable for polite conversation came to mind. But another voice answered first, meeting the wavering song of the intruder with an ear-piercing nasal tone.
//Halt, boney horseface, do not enter this place,//
//You stray from procedure, let us first state our case.//
The equine spectre's head jerked over to face the tongue-like behemoth, which was now oozing off of the battered pallet beneath it. Lawbert began to rear up, holding his even-more-squashed-than-usual head high and proud. His jowls danced as he continued:
//I regret to inform you, friend, that I am fluent in your rituals//
//And furthermore regrets, we cannot share with you our victuals//
//Though I am not strictly employed//
//I have been instructed to avoid//
//Circumstances which would make all these fine folk annoyed//
//And a lack of food is quite distressing to any humanoid.//
The two entities stared each other down as a hollow chuckle drifted out of the intruder.
//Come now, come now, if you comprehend the humans' hunger//
//Then you must also understand the stress I find myself under//
//It's why I must now ask for permission to plunder.//
//My stomach aches, I'm thin to the bone//
//It's a miracle I can do anything more than moan//
//So won't you kindly let me into your home?//
Messina, Scott and Haldings stared, unable to believe that Haldings' plan was working. Doctor Sambre took the initiative.
"You all, quickly! Start moving any at-risk objects!"
"But won't that make it—"
"—The //anomalous// ones, Haldings, not the stuff in the cafeteria."
Doctor Kellan finally got around to peeling himself off of the floor. "I'll get a list together. First priority is anything edible, so Scott, you get 7782, Messina, you fetch all the Ambrose stuff, I'll—I'll start doing triage with other items. D, just help whoever's nearby."
"Roger."
The various personnel scattered, save for three. Officer Novotny had returned to her many monitors, on a careful lookout for any further bullshit that might decide to arise. That left Haldings and Sambre to supervise the ongoing encounter and ensure compliance of their resident blob. The two scientists watched as Lawbert began another verse in response.
//Although I do reside here, it is not my home to host//
//Strictly speaking I'm a tenant, though I pay less rent than most.//
//Nonetheless I speak for all when I say we cannot let you in//
//You must seek snackies elsewhere, to our mutual chagrin.//
"He's speaking with actual sentence flow and cadence for once."
"Must be the, uh, rules of engagement?"
//I've journeyed from the old country all the way to this new shore//
//Surely you are not telling me that I must still travel more?//
//In this time of giving//
//Where's your spirit?//
//If it's been speaking//
//I certainly don't hear it.//
//If you're not going to be jolly, then I shall stride on through your door!//
//Our door is right behind you, so go on and stride that way//
//Turn around and begin your trek without further delay!//
//And as for festive spirit, you'll find me quite hard to beat//
//My whole bod in all its tonnage is rosy as St. Nick's cheeks//
//From the tip-tips of my pedipalps to my nonexistent feet!//
//Pinkness matters little, if your mood is oh so miserly//
//Though you rhyme well, you've yet to surprise me.//
Haldings looked down, shuddering at the mental image of Lawbert with feet, and noticed something. On the topic of feet, one of his own feet was tapping in time with the rhymes. He did not recall having instructed it to do so.
"Doctor Sambre?"
"Yes, Haldings, I'm aware. I don't know where the percussion track is coming from, either."
Haldings looked back up just in time to see SCP-6596 produce a fiddle from beneath its robes. Before he could decide how to feel about this turn of events, the trickster then drew its bow across the string in a long, fluid motion, drawing out a hissing screech of a chord as the walls around it began to spontaneously manifest colored ribbons and boughs of holly.
##green|//You claim to know our laws, to follow our traditions
But how long can you respond while fulfilling our conditions?
Better give up now, while you still have your own volition
Now be a dear and show me the path towards your kitchen!//##
The scientists began to back away, Sambre already searching through the SCiPnet channels on her phone to contact any other nearby sites for aid. Elsewhere, personnel surged through the halls in what could generously be called an evacuation. The only two thaumaturgical experts at Site-47 were on their knees, frantically scrawling wards with whatever pigments they could find[[footnote]]This incident would later result in the publication of the Foundation research paper titled "//The Surprising Thaumaturgical Applications of Soy Sauce Packets.//"[[/footnote]] and trying not to be too irritated when someone tripped over them and they had to start all over.
"This is Scott reporting in from Wing C. The floor is covered in pine needles all of a sudden, so I assume it's going badly up front."
"Messina here. If we get out of this, Haldings, I swear—"
Before Messina could finish her threat, a mighty scream ripped through the air, laced with nerd rage as the rising beat of only the stankiest keytar rose to clash against the fiddle, bells and drums in a psychically-projected storm. The bittersweet scents of fresh snow and forest must were met by the odor of stale glue as Lawbert's body pulsated in waves, spittle flying from his lipless mouth.
##f75c9c|//Never, never, never friend!
As per the rules, I shall only end
When I've no more verses to expend
And until then, to the power of ten
I shall maintain my rhyming trend!
With the rules laid out before me, etched in my brain like stone
I shall follow them ceaselessly, until we are naught but bone!//##
[[div style="text-align: right;"]]
##green|//I am already bone, whereas you are only flab
Sitting nice and safe within your warm and cozy lab.
Surely you see
The inequity
Betwixt yourself and dear old me!
Have a heart, filled not with greed
Won't you help this poor old steed
With his dire dietary need?//##
[[/div]]
##f75c9c|//My width is proof of my greater need
With no stomach, how could you feed?//##
[[div style="text-align: right;"]]
##green|//The secrets of my anatomy
Will remain to you a mystery
For all time and eternity.
I will not be challenged in my native game
By a beast with rhymes so lame!//##
[[/div]]
##f75c9c|//My rhymes are eloquent—//##
[[div style="text-align: right;"]]
##green|//—Inelegant!//##
[[/div]]
##f75c9c|//—Satisfying—//##
[[div style="text-align: right;"]]
##green|//—They have me dying!//##
[[/div]]
##f75c9c|//—Full of wit—//##
[[div style="text-align: right;"]]
##green|//—They've not a bit!//##
[[/div]]
##f75c9c|//—And entirely in-line with Tuatha de Danann decree the 44th, sub-subject: solstice ritual guidelines
Enacted by the powers of## ##green|**the woodlands area I have referred to 732 times!**//##
The music died out for a second, instruments sadly deflating as Lawbert spewed jargon. There was a brief pause.
"//That last one had terrible syllable balance. Also, 'guidelines' is way longer than 'times'.//"
"Affirmative howeverly you rhymed 'miserly' with 'me' in verse the eighth."
"//I rhymed 'surprise me', not just the 'me' by itself.//"
"Still two separate words."
"//Fine. Continue.//"
The beat resumed, and the opposing forces of order and chaos roared to life with it.
##f75c9c|//No matter how banal
I shall follow protocol
Forever shall I stall
To bar you from these halls!//##
[[div style="text-align: right;"]]
##green|//My hunger's never-ending
It needs my constant tending
It's no use pretending
That you can keep defending!//##
[[/div]]
##f75c9c|//Your gluttony shall soon spell defeat for you
Instead of a feast, try just a treat or two!//##
[[div style="text-align: right;"]]
##green|//I will not be denied
Nor shall I compromise—//##
[[/div]]
##f75c9c|//—I've been through the rules and poured over every word
There's nothing written in there forbidding an accord
I urge you to accept a more acceptable reward.//##
[[div style="text-align: right;"]]
##green|//It's an un-written rule, which I'd think you would respect
Your words of compromise are having no effect!//##
[[/div]]
##f75c9c|//You claim I can't rhyme forever
And that may be true, however
I need only hold on to my lingual tether
'Til we're no longer in week the first of December!//##
[[div style="text-align: right;"]]
##green|//FINE!!!!//##
[[/div]]
As the spirit roared and the music reached a crescendo, a mighty gale swept through the open doorframe. Snow danced in bitter-cold flurries that stung the cheeks and eyes of the humans present. But after a moment, the festive greenery slowly faded back into the walls as the wind died down, and SCP-6596 slumped slightly before vanishing. The boughs of holly decking the halls began to wilt. Scott and Messina whirled around and scanned their surroundings, but there was no sign of the creature.
Haldings broke the silence.
"Is it—"
With as little sound as when it had disappeared, the horse reappeared, now holding a glass bottle in one hand. Its glassy stare still trained on Lawbert, it tucked the bottle of amber-colored liquid beneath its robes.
"//I accept this draw, 'twas valiantly fought. I will still be taking this, so my efforts weren't for naught.//"
"Veritably it was fun and cool and happy holiday! Enjoy your Doctorate Kellan's secret stash beverage. See you week the one after this one."
The two lyricists bowed to each other. The grey mare then trotted through the empty doorframe once more, fading into the falling snow until the only thing left behind was the faint tinkle of bells. After a moment those, too, faded.
Doctor Sambre watched the entity depart, before turning back to Lawbert.
"SCP-7416."
"That is me yes."
"What did you mean by... 'See you next week'?"
Haldings' eyes widened. "Oh fuck, that //is// what he meant by that..."
Before Haldings could finish turning to the unamused Sambre and explaining that if that thing showed up again it definitely wasn't his fault, he had given Lawbert specific instructions and there was no way he could have known that he would invite it back if that's what had happened, the great pink nerdbeast himself responded.
"Simplicity. As outlined in the 1978 Battle of the Bands Forum if two competitors should engage in musical duelage for three or more minutes with no clear leader determined in that time then they are legally obligated to either form a new band or integrate any pre-existing groups they are a part of into each other for the purposes of combining rockin' power. These rules were ratified by such greats as Queen, Zed Leppelin, Poogo the Dolphin-Boy, and a primitive version of the entity that would later come to be known by the people of Earth as Jack Black."
Doctor Sambre pinched her brow. Lawbert continued undeterred.
"I do not foresee any issues arriving from this as long as band practice does not align with week the first of December or several other dates with specific ties to ##green|**the woodlands area I have referred to 733 times prior**##. Upon mine reunitement with yonder creature I will endeavor to schedule practice on days that are not these. I also believe noise levels should be within acceptable parameters of not immediately fatal to earthlings."
"And was SCP-6596 aware of this arrangement?"
"Probability."
Haldings, who was now sitting on the floor as a result of having to hear the phrase 'Poogo the Dolphin-Boy', piped up out of morbid curiosity to determine how much he was going to be yelled at later.
"Will it, uh, steal stuff every time it comes over?"
"Only from Doctorate Kellan's secret stash of alcoholic fluids that is not his bloodstream."
Haldings flopped over onto his back, secure in the thought that at least he hadn't doomed the entire site. This did mean that he was probably going to be demoted back to Junior Researcher for a fourth time. Doctor Sambre let out a sigh that could have curdled even coconut milk.
"Alright. We'll deal with that later. Valeria? Put a stop to the scramble, the situation has been... resolved."
Security officer Novotny nodded to the image of Sambre that appeared on her monitors, before relaying the orders through the site's intercom. Slowly the machinations of the various personnel reversed their course of action, anomalies were loaded back into their containment units and soy sauce sigils were scrubbed off the cafeteria floor. A mechanic was deployed to retrieve the front door from a snowbank and subsequently determine if it could be salvaged. Eventually, almost everything was back in its place.
As the team of first responders slowly escorted SCP-7416 back to the chamber with his name on it, Messina was the first to attempt a more casual conversation.
"Novotny says she got the whole thing on tape."
Gareth Kellan scratched his stubbly chin.
"We should put it in our holiday newsletter. Fuck, I need a drink."
"You won't find one. Sorry."
"Huh?"
"I said sorry."
"Haldings, we'll discuss fault later. And Gareth, we have //many// things to attend to before we can think of recreation."
"Yeah, I know. Figures all this would happen while Borgmann was away."
"Thanks to our security systems, the entire incident was well-documented, so the site Director will be able to go over it all when he returns from his meeting."
Agent Scott scoffed.
"He'll probably get a kick out of it. In terms of collateral damage, this was pretty low on the official Haldings Moment index."
"Veritably."
"In terms of spectacle, though, it was up there with Site-26."
"God, don't remind me. It gives me phantom limb."
The conversation lulled as the motley crew arrived at the open doors of the containment chamber, which Lawbert dutifully oozed through. Kellan leaned against the doorframe.
"Good job out there big guy, I guess. Maybe this will push you over into Thaumiel."
"I have no desire for reclassification I only wish to be accurately documented for the purpose of receiving maximally legally compliant instruction."
"Sure."
"Howeverly I do have one less-momentous thing to ask."
"...Sure?"
Lawbert looked back at the humans gathered before him, having settled into his favorite position facing north-by-northwest (the most legal direction) in the containment chamber. He shifted his bulk, getting comfortable against the concrete floor before speaking again.
"Formal requisition request for keytar."
|
2024-12-07T23:53:00
|
[
"christmas",
"comedy",
"legal",
"nameless",
"tale"
] |
Lawbert Celebrates Mari Lwyd - SCP Foundation
| 18
|
[
"scp-6596",
"squawkblamthudbarf",
"scp-5266",
"taboo",
"scp-7416"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"news"
] |
[] |
1457956343
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lawbertmarilwyd
|
|
lazarus-syndrome
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p><em>My friend was still in there; even now I could feel it.</em></p>
</div>
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">Zenobiyl</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p style="text-align: center;">"Lazarus Syndrome", written April 6th, 2024 by Zenobiyl.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><br/>
It was snowing outside. The cold air enveloped me, even with two separate jackets and a scarf. The sky was a pale white, and I could feel every squelching step along the quiet cobblestoned road.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Pause. Check your pulse.</span></p>
<p><br/>
Good. Perfect, even. Better than I’d ever had in almost two decades. That’s what a Foundation desk job will do to you, suck the life out and never give it back. <em>And for what?</em> No wife, no kids, we never had the guts to try. <em>What then?</em> Site Director. I wanted those words written on my door.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Still breathing? Remember to breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
In and out. Up and down. Open close. It all came so naturally back then, so what happened? Was it just part of getting older? Office stress? Old friends dropping like flies? Or did my life’s purpose have an expiration date, too?<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Push it down now. Lunch was two hours ago.</span></p>
<p><br/>
The door was in front of me now. No doorbell, no knocker. Not like she would hear at this point anyways. The best MTF agent I ever knew, retired in her late twenties and wheelchair bound. What a fucking joke. When her vision test scores dropped, Sadie laughed. When she started needing hearing aids to work in the field, Sadie smiled. Pretty soon they were talking about “taking a break” and “temporary leave of absence”, and that was just to her face…<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink. You have to.</span></p>
<p><br/>
Claire opened the door promptly, like always. Whatever their faults, you could count on the Foundation to have someone on staff ready to lend a hand. And ear. And sub-basement wiretap. They stopped trying after I ripped the first three out. Site Director has its perks still, thank God for that.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Don’t forget your heart. In and Out. Out and in.</span></p>
<p><br/>
She led me to the living room. Sickly green walls lit by the faint wintery sunlight. ‘Living’ indeed. Sadie was in the cushioned grey rocking chair by the far corner of the room. The TV was off. “Hey Sadie”, I said. No response. <em>What did you expect, idiot?</em><br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Keep beating. Keep breathing. Keep blinking.</span></p>
<p><br/>
An empty chair was set beside hers. I sat down, putting one hand on her shoulder. My friend was still in there; even now I could feel it. Sadie faced me with that same warm, kind, reassuring smile. Her hands touched mine, and spoke.<br/>
<br/>
<span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">"What doctor say?”</span></p>
<p>My hand-to-hand ASL was dogshit, but getting better.</p>
<p><span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Lazy Legs Sandpaper.”</span></p>
<p>Okay. Not <em>much</em> better.</p>
<p>Sadie shook with laughter, tapping my palm like a piano with each of her fingers. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Sorry Max,”</span> she grinned, <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“not speak idiot.”</span></p>
<p>I tried again, letter-by-letter this time. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“L.a.z.a.r.u.s S.y.n-”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Got it.”</span> Sadie flicked me with her index finger. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Slowpoke.”</span></p>
<p>Still as cocksure as ever, but her grin was ever-so-slightly fainter than before. Sadie had never been killed in the line of duty, but she came close dozens of times. Watching the <strong>‘Mortality and You’</strong> Foundation PSA was the worst part about nearly dying, if you were to ask the hotshot MTF rookie. <em>“It’s like a cheesy sex-ed documentary, except the topic’s much less interesting.”</em> Sadie had complained once, <em>“and if we can just resurrect people then what’s the big deal? Most of these ‘post-death illnesses’ aren’t half as bad as fucking dying.”</em> I had agreed back then.</p>
<p>Most weren’t.</p>
<p><span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Ok?”</span> Sadie tapped. I didn’t feel it. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Hands cold.”</span></p>
<p>I collapsed, vision turning black. Dying.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink! Beat! Breathe!</span></p>
<p><br/>
And I was back.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p>Sadie held my hands, worry etched onto her face. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“That bad?”</span></p>
<p>I replied, <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Stage Four.”</span></p>
<p>The doctors hardly believed it. Lazarus Syndrome wasn’t directly fatal, but it was the only post-death illness with a 100% mortality rate within one year. It started with blinking, digestion, little things like that. Then your lungs, heart, veins, the whole nine yards. Your whole body went on strike, like it knew you were supposed to be dead and refused to give a shit anymore. Every waking moment required conscious effort.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
They didn’t have a stage four before my last physical. Hell, they barely even had a stage <em>three.</em></p>
<p><span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“How long?”</span> Sadie tapped out gently.</p>
<p><span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Not know.”</span> I paused. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Tired.”</span></p>
<p>Times had changed. Sadie lived in a glorified nursing home. I was practically retired and needed life support machines just to sleep. Wife dead. Friends gone. What was it all for?<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
Anyone could stamp documents or boss people around. Too weak to fight, too fragile to do more than push pencils, too old to go back to the regular world. What was left?</p>
<p><span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“No.”</span> Sadie looked determined. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Max never quits.”</span></p>
<p>It was true, once. True when I joined an all-white cop squad in Georgia after high school. They <em>hated</em> that. Wanted me gone. I wanted it more. Money’s money, you know? Became a good shot, then a great one. Got scooped up by the Foundation.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
They thought I’d be fine sitting on my ass with them when I learned how much shit they let run loose back home. My side of the neighborhood. Not a “threat to information security”, as if kids in the ghetto don’t bleed unless the Times says so. Fuck that, I was going down there. They said no, I said I’d quit. Said it again. Three times, four.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
That’s how I won; being a stubborn motherfucker. Every time. Even with Annie. She said no, then me, then her, then both of us. Love’s scary, when you’re fighting for keeps every day. But we made it work. Mostly.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
Now she’s gone. Job gone. Hometown squeaky clean and top-to-bottom alabaster.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
Sadie raised the tissue in her hand to my eyes. They were wet. <em>Some tough guy you are.</em></p>
<p>I held her other hand in mine. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Sorry, not fair.”</span> I looked away. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“You lost more.”</span></p>
<p>Tears. <em>Seriously?</em> At least I had working eyes. Working ears. I got to make a difference. Played hero for years. Fell in love. Had a good run. Hers? Never even started. So what the hell did I have to mourn? <em>Selfish.</em><br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
<span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Lost more?”</span> Sadie’s fingers cradled mine. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Yes.”</span></p>
<p>She looked dead serious. A moment passed.</p>
<p><span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Lost everything?”</span> she smiled, gaze softening. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“No.”</span></p>
<p>Sadie’s hands slid downwards, covering the underside of my wrist.</p>
<p><span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“What-”</span> I tapped before being shushed. Her forehead creased. Thinking.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
Sadie smiled. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“One.”</span> She tapped with each heartbeat. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Two. Three.”</span><br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
She looked at me. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Perfect. Every time.”</span><br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
<span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Not too fast.”</span> I stared confusedly. She continued, <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Not too slow.”</span><br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
<span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Now faster.”</span> She punched my arm playfully. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“C’mon!”</span><br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
A wave of energy rushed over me, like I was ready to run a marathon. <em>What the hell?</em> Blood coursing, head clear.</p>
<p>Sadie held my wrist. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“All along.”</span> She chuckled. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Had it in you.”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“How?”</span> I asked. She replied, head tilted matter-of-factly. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Had it in <em>me.</em>”</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Not see. Not hear.”</span> She shrugged. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“But <em>not</em> useless. <em>Not</em> helpless.”</span> Sadie leaned forward. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Not give up. <em>Never.</em>”</span><br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe-eyes.</span></p>
<p><br/>
The sickly green room was silent, but sharp and clear as crystal. Every little stain. Every nick in the walls. I could <em>see</em> it.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe-ears.</span></p>
<p><br/>
The room went dark, and I suddenly heard voices from across the block. A spider inside the walls. The chitter-chatter of squirrels climbing a tree in the backyard.<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe-hands</span></p>
<p><br/>
The sounds faded, leaving just the <em>thump-thump</em> coming from Sadie’s palms. Every crease, every wrinkle, I felt them like it was for the first time. She tapped her fingers. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“<em>Now</em> do you see what I mean?”</span></p>
<p><em>No,</em> I realized, <em>but I felt it.</em> Every microscopic motion. Every half-inch slide of a finger, or bend of the palm. Too small to see or hear. They were there the whole time, I just never knew. <em>She had this all along?</em> I couldn’t believe it.</p>
<p><span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Usher Syndrome. Lazarus Syndrome.”</span> Sadie grimaced. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Life’s a bitch, Max, but she didn’t knock us out for the count.”</span> She put a firm hand on my shoulder. <span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Let’s make her <em>regret</em> that.”</span><br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.</span></p>
<p><br/>
I saw her face-to-face, smiling with clear determination. A grin came over me, then a chuckle. We were laughing. <em><a href="/scp-7907">You’re one tough motherfucker, Sadie Vance.</a></em> I tapped her hand.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey">“Thank you.”</span></p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/lazarus-syndrome">Lazarus Syndrome</a>" by Zenobiyl, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/lazarus-syndrome">https://scpwiki.com/lazarus-syndrome</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> glia.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Cryptosporidiosis Cryptosporidium<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Dr. Edwin Ewing Jr.<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://pixnio.com/science/microscopy-images/cryptosporidiosis-cryptosporidium/histopathology-of-cryptosporidiosis-gallbladder">Pixnio</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
//My friend was still in there; even now I could feel it.//
]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--
|name=Zenobiyl|no-right-margin=*]]
= "Lazarus Syndrome", written April 6th, 2024 by Zenobiyl.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:ratio-bar">:scp-wiki:component:ratio-bar</a> base=-- |ex=--]]
_
It was snowing outside. The cold air enveloped me, even with two separate jackets and a scarf. The sky was a pale white, and I could feel every squelching step along the quiet cobblestoned road.
_
= __Pause. Check your pulse.__
_
Good. Perfect, even. Better than I’d ever had in almost two decades. That’s what a Foundation desk job will do to you, suck the life out and never give it back. //And for what?// No wife, no kids, we never had the guts to try. //What then?// Site Director. I wanted those words written on my door.
_
= __Still breathing? Remember to breathe.__
_
In and out. Up and down. Open close. It all came so naturally back then, so what happened? Was it just part of getting older? Office stress? Old friends dropping like flies? Or did my life’s purpose have an expiration date, too?
_
= __Push it down now. Lunch was two hours ago.__
_
The door was in front of me now. No doorbell, no knocker. Not like she would hear at this point anyways. The best MTF agent I ever knew, retired in her late twenties and wheelchair bound. What a fucking joke. When her vision test scores dropped, Sadie laughed. When she started needing hearing aids to work in the field, Sadie smiled. Pretty soon they were talking about “taking a break” and “temporary leave of absence”, and that was just to her face…
_
= __Blink. You have to.__
_
Claire opened the door promptly, like always. Whatever their faults, you could count on the Foundation to have someone on staff ready to lend a hand. And ear. And sub-basement wiretap. They stopped trying after I ripped the first three out. Site Director has its perks still, thank God for that.
_
= __Don’t forget your heart. In and Out. Out and in.__
_
She led me to the living room. Sickly green walls lit by the faint wintery sunlight. ‘Living’ indeed. Sadie was in the cushioned grey rocking chair by the far corner of the room. The TV was off. “Hey Sadie”, I said. No response. //What did you expect, idiot?//
_
= __Keep beating. Keep breathing. Keep blinking.__
_
An empty chair was set beside hers. I sat down, putting one hand on her shoulder. My friend was still in there; even now I could feel it. Sadie faced me with that same warm, kind, reassuring smile. Her hands touched mine, and spoke.
_
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]"What doctor say?”[[/span]]
My hand-to-hand ASL was dogshit, but getting better.
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Lazy Legs Sandpaper.”[[/span]]
Okay. Not //much// better.
Sadie shook with laughter, tapping my palm like a piano with each of her fingers. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Sorry Max,”[[/span]] she grinned, [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“not speak idiot.”[[/span]]
I tried again, letter-by-letter this time. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“L.a.z.a.r.u.s S.y.n-”[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Got it.”[[/span]] Sadie flicked me with her index finger. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Slowpoke.”[[/span]]
Still as cocksure as ever, but her grin was ever-so-slightly fainter than before. Sadie had never been killed in the line of duty, but she came close dozens of times. Watching the **‘Mortality and You’** Foundation PSA was the worst part about nearly dying, if you were to ask the hotshot MTF rookie. //“It’s like a cheesy sex-ed documentary, except the topic’s much less interesting.”// Sadie had complained once, //“and if we can just resurrect people then what’s the big deal? Most of these ‘post-death illnesses’ aren’t half as bad as fucking dying.”// I had agreed back then.
Most weren’t.
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Ok?”[[/span]] Sadie tapped. I didn’t feel it. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Hands cold.”[[/span]]
I collapsed, vision turning black. Dying.
_
= __Blink! Beat! Breathe!__
_
And I was back.
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
Sadie held my hands, worry etched onto her face. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“That bad?”[[/span]]
I replied, [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Stage Four.”[[/span]]
The doctors hardly believed it. Lazarus Syndrome wasn’t directly fatal, but it was the only post-death illness with a 100% mortality rate within one year. It started with blinking, digestion, little things like that. Then your lungs, heart, veins, the whole nine yards. Your whole body went on strike, like it knew you were supposed to be dead and refused to give a shit anymore. Every waking moment required conscious effort.
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
_
They didn’t have a stage four before my last physical. Hell, they barely even had a stage //three.//
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“How long?”[[/span]] Sadie tapped out gently.
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Not know.”[[/span]] I paused. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Tired.”[[/span]]
Times had changed. Sadie lived in a glorified nursing home. I was practically retired and needed life support machines just to sleep. Wife dead. Friends gone. What was it all for?
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
_
Anyone could stamp documents or boss people around. Too weak to fight, too fragile to do more than push pencils, too old to go back to the regular world. What was left?
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“No.”[[/span]] Sadie looked determined. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Max never quits.”[[/span]]
It was true, once. True when I joined an all-white cop squad in Georgia after high school. They //hated// that. Wanted me gone. I wanted it more. Money’s money, you know? Became a good shot, then a great one. Got scooped up by the Foundation.
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
_
They thought I’d be fine sitting on my ass with them when I learned how much shit they let run loose back home. My side of the neighborhood. Not a “threat to information security”, as if kids in the ghetto don’t bleed unless the Times says so. Fuck that, I was going down there. They said no, I said I’d quit. Said it again. Three times, four.
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
_
That’s how I won; being a stubborn motherfucker. Every time. Even with Annie. She said no, then me, then her, then both of us. Love’s scary, when you’re fighting for keeps every day. But we made it work. Mostly.
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
_
Now she’s gone. Job gone. Hometown squeaky clean and top-to-bottom alabaster.
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
_
Sadie raised the tissue in her hand to my eyes. They were wet. //Some tough guy you are.//
I held her other hand in mine. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Sorry, not fair.”[[/span]] I looked away. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“You lost more.”[[/span]]
Tears. //Seriously?// At least I had working eyes. Working ears. I got to make a difference. Played hero for years. Fell in love. Had a good run. Hers? Never even started. So what the hell did I have to mourn? //Selfish.//
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
_
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Lost more?”[[/span]] Sadie’s fingers cradled mine. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Yes.”[[/span]]
She looked dead serious. A moment passed.
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Lost everything?”[[/span]] she smiled, gaze softening. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“No.”[[/span]]
Sadie’s hands slid downwards, covering the underside of my wrist.
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“What-”[[/span]] I tapped before being shushed. Her forehead creased. Thinking.
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
_
Sadie smiled. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“One.”[[/span]] She tapped with each heartbeat. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Two. Three.”[[/span]]
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
_
She looked at me. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Perfect. Every time.”[[/span]]
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
_
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Not too fast.”[[/span]] I stared confusedly. She continued, [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Not too slow.”[[/span]]
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
_
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Now faster.”[[/span]] She punched my arm playfully. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“C’mon!”[[/span]]
_
= __Blink-beat-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-beat-breathe.__
_
A wave of energy rushed over me, like I was ready to run a marathon. //What the hell?// Blood coursing, head clear.
Sadie held my wrist. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“All along.”[[/span]] She chuckled. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Had it in you.”[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“How?”[[/span]] I asked. She replied, head tilted matter-of-factly. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Had it in //me.//”[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Not see. Not hear.”[[/span]] She shrugged. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“But //not// useless. //Not// helpless.”[[/span]] Sadie leaned forward. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Not give up. //Never.//”[[/span]]
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe-eyes.__
_
The sickly green room was silent, but sharp and clear as crystal. Every little stain. Every nick in the walls. I could //see// it.
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe-ears.__
_
The room went dark, and I suddenly heard voices from across the block. A spider inside the walls. The chitter-chatter of squirrels climbing a tree in the backyard.
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe-hands__
_
The sounds faded, leaving just the //thump-thump// coming from Sadie’s palms. Every crease, every wrinkle, I felt them like it was for the first time. She tapped her fingers. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“//Now// do you see what I mean?”[[/span]]
//No,// I realized, //but I felt it.// Every microscopic motion. Every half-inch slide of a finger, or bend of the palm. Too small to see or hear. They were there the whole time, I just never knew. //She had this all along?// I couldn’t believe it.
[[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Usher Syndrome. Lazarus Syndrome.”[[/span]] Sadie grimaced. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Life’s a bitch, Max, but she didn’t knock us out for the count.”[[/span]] She put a firm hand on my shoulder. [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Let’s make her //regret// that.”[[/span]]
_
= __Blink-beat-breathe. Blink-beat-breathe.__
_
I saw her face-to-face, smiling with clear determination. A grin came over me, then a chuckle. We were laughing. //[[[SCP 7907|You’re one tough motherfucker, Sadie Vance.]]]// I tapped her hand.
_
_
_
= [[span style="font-family:baskerville;color:grey"]]“Thank you.”[[/span]]
_
_
_
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** glia.jpg
> **Name:** Cryptosporidiosis Cryptosporidium
> **Author:** Dr. Edwin Ewing Jr.
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source:** [https://pixnio.com/science/microscopy-images/cryptosporidiosis-cryptosporidium/histopathology-of-cryptosporidiosis-gallbladder Pixnio]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-06T18:49:00
|
[
"tale"
] |
Lazarus Syndrome - SCP Foundation
| 8
|
[
"scp-7907",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1453264371
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lazarus-syndrome
|
|
lets-get-physical
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aoceanbound/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="preview">
<p>Right now… well her foot caught on the lip of the table. She did a pinwheel like an ungraceful dog who has overestimated their velocity, and hits a rock.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>« When you're out there doing what you're doing | Let's Get Physical| <a href="/hotter-than-hell">Hotter than Hell</a>»</p>
</div>
<p>The stars danced, the hum of magic and astral energy thick in something that almost resembled atmosphere but not quite.</p>
<p><a href="/scp-3703">A small blue orb</a> hovered in the vacuum of the Astral plane before a great tunnel. It was a wormhole, a connection point to the material plane. Thick hot gas and fog swirled at the entrance.</p>
<p>The form of the great black, purple, and red covered humanoid was only barely visible through these swirling mists. Blue writhing throbbing tendrils of thaumaturgic projection extended from the orb into the fog, piercing that horrible eldritch thing in many places.</p>
<p>Every second, every heartbeat drew in energy to the orb. A never ending battery. That's what the astral plane was. But it was more than that. That's why she came here in the end. It's what she agreed to, in the stupidity of her youth. Or wait.</p>
<p>Was it stupidity, or was it necessity?</p>
<p>What was the point of any of this? Of agreeing to step into the rustic sphere, of becoming a safeguard against his return?</p>
<p>The thoughts drifted through her hibernating mind as she hovered there. Some years she relived entire fictions that never were. What might have been. Some years she relived every waking moment she had ever experienced. Then there were the years that were consumed by visions of the future. This was one of those.</p>
<p>Something pinged against the edges of her mental net. Intrusion. Something disturbing the fabric. A hval? No. Too small. Whispers. <em>It's getting closer.</em> Metal. Mechanical. Mekhanite? Maybe. She couldn't let it disrupt the seals. Then it really will have all been for nothing.</p>
<p>For the first time in three millenia, the fifth time since she'd been trapped here, Triemedes, first Queen of the Finnfolk, opened her eyes. She pointed at the device as it hovered near her sphere. Two fingers extended, thumb straight up. If there was one thing that brought her joy in the solemness of her duty, it was the thrill of a kill. She curled her fingers back, arm drawing back towards her rapidly, the other shoulder moving forward to balance. Magic rippled from the sphere in a blue beam, smashing into the device.</p>
<p><em>Schwap.</em> The machine fizzled and died. It tumbled harmlessly in the void, engines silenced by the magic.</p>
<p>The machine… was a fuckup. One she couldn't afford. And then it bit her in the ass. Teran's right arm cracked free, a great piece of ancient stone tumbling through the void and slamed into her tiny sealing sphere. Her head jolted forwards, smashing into the material, breaking her nose and knocking her out cold.</p>
<hr/>
<p><br/>
<span style="color:salmon"><em>Ah uskit'r.</em></span></p>
<p>The throb of consciousness returned unkindly. An annoying… high pitched short tone she'd never heard before and the whir of some sort of machinery filled the air.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>What is that noise? It's like a gellir.</em></span></p>
<p>Her eyes were heavy with the weights of deep sea boulders, or maybe the muscles were just atrophied after 5000 years of minimal use. Something was stuck into her arm, and strange metal… tassles were attached to her chest and head. She was laying horizontal, and the air was pleasantly cool. This was a welcome change of pace from the blistering combination of hot and cold that assaulted her before she last lost consciousness.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>How long has my kuensami rass been out?</em></span></p>
<p>The noises continued incessantly. Somewhere, she'd guess about 2-3 tridents away, maybe more, there were low voices. With her head throbbing like she'd been smashed in the head with a fucking mace, the words were unintelligible. She wiggled her toes to make sure they were still there, and was satisfied as she felt the silk of some sort of cloth rub against them. The same with her fingers.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>I feel like I was hit by a Daevite Oak Walker, but at least I'm in one piece.</em></span></p>
<p>The voices came closer, accompanied by footsteps. With so little information about where she is, how she got there, and why she was strapped to the cot she decided that discretion was the better part of valor. So she played dead like she was a sea possum that had just barely dodged getting its asshole shoved in by a shark transport.</p>
<p>"Adefhgonc patient pratnghags out uf scon three years."</p>
<p>"Tern long somalongstefor time la asleep."</p>
<p>She could only catch a word or two of her erstwhile visitors' conversation. She wished they would shut up, it really was not helping her head. A small part of her hoped the thaumaturgic linguistic processor in her brain, an ingenius and annoying feature she'd come up with herself, didn't turn on.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>How the fukka did I get out of the sealing vessel and back to the material plane.</em></span></p>
<p>She was not in the rich environment of the astral plane. That much was the first and most obvious observation. The trickle of water was audible elsewhere in the… room? Chamber? Place where she found herself interred. Some small part of her considered whether she had finally died or not. But if she did die, would she not be in the Astral plane with the love of her life? Her chest ached at the thought.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>Alva, if only I had one more moment with you.</em></span></p>
<p>Was this a punishment? What a stupid end she must have met, to be confined to a cot like this. In any case, she recognized the language as being some evolved form of her own language mashed together with something else.</p>
<p>"Stefalscane porteadcan hand me the otoscope would you George?" A mental click in her head partway through what sounded like either a Finnwife or a Human woman speaking.</p>
<p>Frustrated fire spurned in her cerebellum, adding to the throbbing of her skull. <span style="color:salmon"><em>Son of a qlfuss. Why couldn't you have just stayed off.</em></span></p>
<p>Definitely not a Daevite or a nälkäns, there was no gravel or hag-ness in her voice. Though frankly, she'd met some clever young Daevites and nälkäns in her time capable of masking their voices. The former would be draining her for blood to power their twisted botanical magic, and the latter would probably be sculpting her flesh. Given neither of those things were happening, and she wasn't screaming like a selkie, it was a safe bet that they were neither of those things.</p>
<p>"Of course Dr. Alfhild." Something cold and really really unpleasant poked into her ear. It took everything she had to not try to flail at it.</p>
<p>"No fluid accumulation."</p>
<p>"That's good. What about vitals?"</p>
<p>A chill hand presses to her neck, right above the gills.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>Great, a healer with cold hands. Either I'm in hel or my people have completely eschewed personable practices.</em></span></p>
<p>"Yes. Vitals look good, heart rate and blood pressure normal. Oxygen count is 98%."</p>
<p>"Seems like she's in good shape."</p>
<p>"As good a shape as you can be for someone who's been in a coma for three years." A pause as something cool presses to the skin, tilting her head one way, and then the other. "Branchial membranes are clear and adequately moisturized."</p>
<p>Ice crawled up her spine, and it wasn't the frankly unreasonably cold hands of the healers. <span style="color:salmon"><em>Three years? Three years is… if that's… no. Oh mither no. I've been out of the Astral plane for three faen years!?</em></span></p>
<p>"Who do you think this is? Like, you must have some idea, you know, on account of being more familiar with the myths and legends."</p>
<p>She wanted to scream. She wanted to get up and run. Find the nearest conduit and tear open a rippling, astral portal. <span style="color:salmon"><em>Fukka. Fukkkkkkkkkkkka. I could feel Teran's seals being eaten away after a millenia. And that was <strong>with</strong> me there.</em></span></p>
<p>"Impossible to say for sure. There are many heroes that could match her description. Most from the same lineage. I'd have a better idea if your 'Foundation' actually told us anything about how they got ahold of her." There's a hint of irritation in her voice, as if this is a question that is asked far too frequently.</p>
<p>She wanted to cry. She could barely move her toes and fingers. There wasn't a damn thing she could do. <span style="color:salmon"><em>My whole purpose, the entirety of my life <strong>wasted</strong> because I lost focus for five faen seconds.</em></span></p>
<p>"Any idea on when she might wake up?"</p>
<p>"Could be next week. Could be next month. Could be never. It is impossible to tell. What is the current betting pool?"</p>
<p>"2:1 odds that she never wakes up. 5:1 that she wakes up within the next year. 1.5:1 odds that we pull the plug or she dies. The pot is currently $1000."</p>
<p>Her thoughts descended into hysterics. <span style="color:salmon"><em>Great. I can't move, can't open my eyes and these Hrafnasueltir are making <strong>bets</strong> on whether I'll wake up. Bacraut <strong>I'm right here</strong>.</em></span></p>
<p>"Hmmph. Help me get her mouth open so we can get the tube in for feeding." A cold hand grips her jaw like the vice of a nälkäns flesh crafter.</p>
<p>The lines on her face bunch and curl in a grimace that would look more like a deranged smile to a human. <span style="color:salmon"><em>That's it, enough!</em></span></p>
<p>"If you don't take your hands off my face, you'll be the one eating out of a tube." She manages, voice hoarse and crackly from lack of use.</p>
<p>The doctors, of course, promptly shit their pants.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Within the first few hours, an irritating parade of people were in and out of her room. All different kinds of specialists checking probing and prodding her, assessing this and that. Of course, they were all very nice in asking permission, a remarkable and welcome change from the invasive diagnostic magistry that developed over the course of her lifetime. She didn't understand why they were so invested in probing and prodding and questioning her. The sheer number of requests and specialists was too much. It was really starting to piss her off.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>I don't know if I can trust any of these people. Where am I? What's the geopolitical situation? Do they know Teran's seals will crumble?</em></span> So many questions… but without <em>knowing</em> more about the factions in play, the politics, and the overall situation… her shitty physical situation aside, talking was a risk. Asking questions was a risk. She needed to heal as fast as possible, and get back to the Astral plane. If she got swept up in politics, it would all crumble. No, she needed to stay quiet. Mute. So she did.</p>
<p>At one point she passed out, exhaustion probably. She came to a few hours later and her eyelids finally deigned to work.</p>
<p>A crowd of Finnfolk and human healers were gathered around her. Old, young, wrinkly, smooth, long hair, short hair, and many different skin and scale tones. They wore strange clothes, not at all the same kind of hand-stitched materials that were common in her time. The majority donned strange white coats, and had some sort of bisected snake hanging around their necks. Odd coverings were on the feet of the humans but her people were mostly barefoot. Most wore baggy looking blue garments that covered the entirety of their legs. The humans were unusually well groomed for, well, humans.</p>
<p>In the end it was the combination of different voices and visual bedlam from the crowd that pushed her over the edge.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>As if things couldn't get worse, I've become a medical attraction.</em></span> Her eyes crinkled, and her lips curled slightly at the edges in irritation. She wasn't going to suffer this particular indignity.</p>
<p>She flared her gillflaps and bared her teeth, eyes narrowed and wild. A threat display, understandable to her people in the room but only to some of the humans. The look of ornery irritation managed to compel the Finnfolk healers to corral most of the humans out of the room.</p>
<p>Only a few particularly stubborn doctors remained. They dispersed like guppies as soon as they realized she was either mute or simply unwilling to talk. She was left with a handful of orderlies and a couple doctors who stayed to make sure her vitals and the odd machines were working than to poke and prod.</p>
<p>With the crowd departing, she took a moment to glance around. The room was not altogether alien like the healer's clothes. The walls were made of organo-metallic alloy, with glass windows and a door facing out into a corridor of similar material. Several small waterfalls emanate from ceiling ducts and constantly sprinkle down into grooves on the floor. The entire room was lit by thaumatological grooves running parallel to the water conduits. They cycled through various cool colors, blues and greens most prominently with a distinct lack of red.</p>
<p>Odd devices, some mechanical, some thaumatological, were scattered around the room. She recognized the Finnfolk designs and origins of some. But they were alien to her still, strange glass screens with bright lights depicting words and numbers. Lines that were moving up or down randomly.</p>
<p>There was even some sort of stand next to her bed, with one of these screens that was not Finnfolk in origin, all kinds of icons and symbols projected with odd light patterns. She didn't know what any of it meant, beyond what was possibly a date and time on that screen? 2021… she'd been in the Astral plane for 2000 years?</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>Finnfolk. Definitely Finnfolk in origin. But there are Mekhanite machines? Human constructs. And why are there <strong>so many mitherboluad humans!?</strong></em></span> She opened her mouth if to ask the orderlies, forgetting for a moment the decision she'd made to maintain a vow of silence. All that bothered to come out was a small croak. <span style="color:salmon"><em>Guess it's less of a choice and more of a physical reality. I'm mute.</em></span> she thought with morbid amusement drooping back into the cot.</p>
<p>Her stomach grumbled in anger, and her throat felt so dry, she thought it might crack open and bleed. <span style="color:salmon"><em>What a sorry state I'm in. I wouldn't last two seconds right now against him. He'd squash me like mini-isopod.</em></span> She tried to move again, but that was a bad decision. Her back and leg muscles screamed. Two orderlies came over to stop her, easing her back into her bed. She looked at them both eyes burning with shame and hate.</p>
<p>The reality was overwhelming. Her life overwhelming. Memories flashed. The <a href="/the-seas-of-orcadia-part-1-how-i-met-your-mither">boats carrying her off to war</a>, thrust into command to prove herself. She was 75. Too young. Less than half the age of her peers.</p>
<p>At 85 a storm had swept the seas, her fleet helpless to watch as Teran shattered Hildaland, salt and rain on her lips, tears on her cheeks, stopped only by her guards and Alva. They wouldn't let her in the water. Everything. She lost everything she knew that night. Numb. And then angry. Constant anger. It was numb anger for days. weeks, months, years. Her heart. It felt numb through the 65 years of traveling, uniting her people, making Allies.</p>
<p>Only one thing broke through that icy cold. Alva. The love of her life. A rather twisted and perverse love, in the way that can only happen with a goddess. It was love nonetheless. Now she didn't even have that.</p>
<p>2085(?) years of pent up grief and emotion boiled to the surface as white hot rage. She wanted to scream. To yell and cry. Worst of all, she wanted her mom. Wanted to be 20 again, nestled in her mother's arms in the cool air of hildaland as the great giver swam through the ocean. She'd never been this weak. Helpless sure, but not because of being weak. She was fully at the mercy of a bunch of human and Finnfolk nursemaids all while an eldritch god was surely getting ready to destroy everything. And it fucking pissed her off. She curled her fist, wanting to hit something, someone.</p>
<p>"Miss." One of the orderlies said interrupting the deluge of depressing, angry, and spiraling thoughts. "Do you need anything? One nod for yes, two nods for no."</p>
<p>The icey dagger filled stares could have frozen them in place, but the orderly must have been blessed because she just patiently waited for an answer. Her stomach betrayed her pride, as it growled loudly, she nodded once.</p>
<p>Of course if she gave into the despair, there would never be chance to stop the end from coming.</p>
<p>"Food?"</p>
<p>Another nod.</p>
<p>And somehow the thought of the world ending because she was too wrapped up in her own despair to actually try and stop it was the bigger insult. <span style="color:salmon"><em>Teran's not going to stop because you're having a pity party idiot.</em></span></p>
<p>"Water?"</p>
<p>Yet another nod.</p>
<p>And then she realized something more immediately important. <span style="color:salmon"><em>Mither above I need to piss.</em></span></p>
<p>"Anything else?"</p>
<p>Triemedes pointed to her groin and then the bathroom. If she pissed herself now that would mean she'd need a bath, and have to have her sheets changed. The very thought of such a thing made her consider tying a noose with the odd tubes attached to her arm.</p>
<p>Having to be helped to the bathroom was <em>humiliating</em>. Of course the nice orderlies looked away, but it was the principle of the entire affair.</p>
<p>Once she was back in bed, and comfortable, a food tray and a glass of water were set on a little table that was pulled across her lap.</p>
<p>"We'll be back at the top of the hour to take the plate." The human female orderly assured her, before turning to leave. Triemedes ignored her, surveying her food haul.</p>
<p>Nutrition paste. Perhaps she had been overzealous in hoping for crab or shark meat. She stared at it. She poked at the multicolored paste, spurred on by the grumbling of a stomach that hadn't digested anything for the better part of 4.8 millenia. And she ate it. It wasn't good, in the way that a warm rich meal of seabass, zelandi fruit, and sea rice with gull eggs was. <span style="color:salmon"><em>I'd kill for that.</em></span> But it quieted her stomach. The water was the cleanest she'd ever tasted. Not a hint of residual salt or dirt. Pure unabashed hydration. But that too spurred a pit of longing in her stomach. It was so stupid, clean water like this could save so many lives, but the water she was used to had <em>character.</em></p>
<p>Setting aside the tray she looked at her hands, scrawny and thin after three years of coma. And proceeded to descend right back into self pity like an idiot.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>Pathetic… this is… pathetic. He should have just killed me. That would have been better than suffering through this.</em></span></p>
<p>She stared at her hands for a long time, at the webbing and the digits. Curling her fingers, turning them over. She didn't even notice the blanket of thaumaturgic <em>tension</em> rolling into the room from the hallway. Of course she heard the footsteps, but she wrote those off as being the orderlies. At least until every hair on the back of her neck, of which there were a surprising number for someone with scales, decided to stand on end. Chills and goosebumps wriggled up and down her spine and into her limbs. The thump of her heart rose into her ears, loud as the wardrums echoing in the crags and lochs of Orkney. It's impossible to forget the feeling of a fully realized Thaumaturge, being in their presence is like standing in the sickly pressurized air of the calm before a storm. At any moment you could be obliterated.</p>
<p>Her head turned slowly to the doorway, and met orbs of haunting blue, filled with a fire so deep the heat rolled against her skin from just looking. A young and unusually short Finnfolk woman stood in the door frame. Her back was slightly hunched, and her shoulders slouched. Golden scales and hair caught the light of the thaumaturgic fixtures, twinkling in the dimness. Triemedes' gill flaps pressed tightly to their membranes and her pupils dilated. Time slowed to a crawl, individual drops of water seeming to echo, the dull hum and beeps and clicks of the machinery drowned out by a sudden, intense and building static.</p>
<p>Pressure bubbled in her skull. <span style="color:salmon"><em><strong>Oh fukka. Oh fukka. It's her.</strong></em></span> The girl from the vision. The same one she had had every single night after first meeting Alva. A ghost. A phantom. And she was right there. Right fucking there.</p>
<p>You know how these moments go. They stretch into infinity, neither party daring to move. Seconds ticked by, maybe minutes? Or maybe no time passed at all. Electric energy moved between them, threatening to burst and tear reality at its seems.</p>
<p>A clatter broke the tension, the fork having slid off of Triemede's plate. It clanged on the floor, a moment of distraction as she glanced towards it. Her head snapped back to the Finnwife sitting up in bed, hands hastily raised the rustic for iss flying to her fingertips only to find the Finnwife was gone. As if she'd never been there in the first place. Was it a hallucination? A dream?</p>
<p>Maybe she'd never been there. But the poor orderly who stepped into the doorframe certainly was.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Shards of fire ran up the nerves of her leg and spine. The muscles teetering and screaming beneath the weight and heft of her whole two meter frame. Learning to walk again was hell. It was like she was carrying around a nälkäns Behemoth on her back, and it would not hesitate to crush her if she made a misstep or moved too fast. Agonizing. Her lips were curled, teeth bared in what could easily be mistaken as a smile, her flared gill flaps signaling to the Finnfolk trainers in the room that she would be at best difficult. The weakness in her body, being reduced to the capabilities of a mitherfucking child, it was enraging. She was a warrior and she could barely take two shitty steps without needing to hold onto a rail.</p>
<p>"One step at a time, there you go." The human trainer she was assigned said. Every day for that first week. "Very good!" His voice just oozed this smug, encouraging tone to it. She hated it.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>Mitherfukka keep it up and I will lay you out like a Daevite after they insult a nälkän's bone structure.</em></span> One good punch would have wiped the smirk off his lips and shut him up. She didn't need or want his coddling. If only she wouldn't fall over with the motion of her swinging arm. The only humiliation worse than not being able to walk was not being able to throw a punch. Part of her knew that recovery was never going to be easy. But knowledge did not soften the aching blow of reality.</p>
<p>It was at the end of the first week of physical therapy when she started to notice some important details about where she was. That is when she wasn't raging at the humiliating limitations of her out of shape and atrophied body. There were multiple other patients, Finnfolk and human. Their physical therapists, a term she'd overheard the humans use to refer to the people in the strange blue garments, guided their patients through varying levels of touch and physical contact. They worked different muscle groups, joints, etc. But again, lots of physical contact.</p>
<p>No one touched her. At first, she figured it was because she kept glaring daggers and murderous gazes, but she hadn't actually done anything other than glare. But they all kept their distance, even the excitable smug human they'd assigned to her.</p>
<p>It wasn't just physical contact though. Nothing substantial was ever said to her. No small talk, no attempts at conversation. At first she attributed this to the fact that she had not said anything to anyone except for the threat with the feeding tube. Which, good, she didn't <em>want</em> to talk. She wanted to recover, get strong again, and go stop a fucking apocalypse. Talking was a distraction. Politics, agendas, and interests were a distraction. Maybe it was a cultural thing, and she'd made a massive faux pas. But they still asked about her needs and how she felt so something else was up. Minimal social contact, no physical contact.</p>
<p>Then there were the guards. Soldiers, human and Finnfolk both. Everytime she was wheeled out of her room, 4-5 would surround her and wheel her to the therapy facility. The same for meals and 'social time' in the cafeteria. The human guards really stood out, glittering black armor and weapons. Poor excuse for weapons too, you couldn't stab a person with it. They had on helmets, and on both them and their armor, there was another thing from her visions. The eye with the arrows pointing in. None of the other patients had this sort of escort. She was a prisoner.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>Should I be flattered by this? It's either I'm so important that I need to be put under constant guard, or I'm so dangerous that I need to be under constant guard.</em></span> She elected to be flattered by the gesture. <span style="color:salmon"><em>In either case they're paying a lot of attention to me, and that's worrying.</em></span></p>
<p>After some observation, she figured out that about a month had passed. This was about the time she was able to walk under her own power without the railing a tenth of the distance the barrier bounded. The little glass screens, monitors and consoles she'd heard the humans call them, had numbers that operated in 12 hour blocks, and once two of those had passed, so had a day. She found the use of base 12 for timekeeping to be a funny math trick. She didn't know why, not really her deal, but it amused her nonetheless.</p>
<p>The orderlies learned very quickly not to bother trying to stop her from doing pullups and chinups on a bar attached midway up the wall of her room when she reached this point. After about two weeks she could do a paltry ten.</p>
<p>Over the course of two months she fell into a steady routine. An incredibly tedious and boring routine. Wake-up, eat nutrient paste breakfast. Shower with assistance.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>The only reason I haven't gouged out eyes yet is because trying to scrub myself and bend over is currently a nightmare that would scare a Knuckelavee.</em></span></p>
<p>Get dressed. Be wheeled to physical therapy and then, shudder, social time. Or what would have been social time if she didn't sit in a corner with a bunch of scrolls trying to figure out not only where she was, but when she was. Helpfully, or unhelpfully to the other more curious patients, the guards kept her relatively secluded during social time, preventing other patients from talking to her unsupervised. Or really at all. One of the few things she was glad for.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>I would kill for my khopeshes. Just to be able to wipe the floor with any of these black dressed bacrauts</em></span>, she thought idly. It wouldn't be a fair fight really. She had a full head and a half over the tallest of the humans, and half a head over the tallest Finnfolk. Then they'd wheel her back to the room, where she'd do pullups, chinups, and situps until she was sore.</p>
<p>What she really missed in the evenings were those crude romance scrolls that all the warriors would pass around and add to piecemeal until you had a really lousily written romantic epic. This would have been a more entertaining use of her time than laying in that cot waiting to pass out after her evening exercises.</p>
<p>But then, the routine changed. It was about two months in and she'd finished with breakfast and getting showered and found herself confronted by several more guards than normal.</p>
<p>"In the wheelchair." A guard ordered her, one of those armored humans. This one had a patch on their arm that was different than the rest. NTF Delta 7. The tone rankled her like a bad smell rankles a leopard fish, and her gill flaps flared.</p>
<p>It was a pleasant change of pace from past experience that the humans here actually seemed to understand her body language, resulting in the far too serious looking man adding "Please."</p>
<p>"Hmph." She got in the wheelchair. She probably shouldn't have, but what was she going to do, run? Ha, fat chance. And anywhere was better than the cot or the social room at this point. The convoy of soldiers and at least one orderly wheeled her down the narrow corridors of the medical complex she had woken up in.</p>
<p>She hadn't been outside the complex, the the initial assumption having been that the entire thing was a medical complex. That changed when they went through a pair of double sliding doors that compartmentalized the medical complex. The halls widened out, the canals of flowing water getting slightly wider as they entered a much less populated segment of the facility.</p>
<p>There were mostly Finnfolk here, adorned in business-like robes, and occasionally they passed a hallway leading into some sort of… well she wasn't entirely sure. Rooms with weird metal tables, chairs, and more of those strange monitors and consoles. Most were dark or unoccupied, but occasionally, there was a person in one, mostly Finnfolk, but sometimes human. The lighting was brighter, harsher and less pleasant on the eyes. Murals carved into the walls were the only decorations, depicting scenes, she assumed to be historical events backlit by thaumturgical emplacements. Some she recognized, some she didn't.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>Strange. All built by Finnfolk. Am I aboard <a href="/scp-4700">Guð-Bani</a>, or is this Finnfelheim? Or something entirely new?</em></span> Curiosity nibbled at the back of her mind.</p>
<p>They turned down a smaller hallway and into a series of rooms with metal tables and chairs and several doors. This room was spartan, with strange squat organo-metallic rectangles of varying sizes randomly against the walls and several of those odd glowing consoles. Her entourage guided her over to one wall with two doors. They opened the rightmost door and wheeled her inside.</p>
<p>The room was somehow even more spartan than the other. Dimly lit with a hanging thaumaturgic light fixture, a table sat in the middle of the room with several chairs stuck underneath. A strange square device sat on the table, a piece of rope or tubing coming out of the top and attached to a strange conical device on a tripod stand. They wheeled her to the table, facing a large mirror.</p>
<p>And then they left. And she was alone. The first time she'd really been alone in more than two months. Sure, the orderlies left her room at night, but there were always guards she could sense just outside the door. But right now? She couldn't sense anything. She was well and truly alone.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>What now?</em></span> She looked around slowly. But looking didn't make the room anymore interesting.</p>
<p>So, she waited. For something. Anything to happen. A chronometer, or as the humans called it, a clock ticked away on the wall. This one was definitely a human addition.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>Tick.</p>
<p>Tick</p>
<p>Five minutes pass. The incessant noise of the device was driving her insane. <span style="color:salmon"><em>I'm going to break that thing. Whose idea was it to make it <strong>tick</strong>?</em></span></p>
<p>She thought about standing, and grabbing a chair and smashing it. She really did. But she didn't get the chance to follow through. With a click and a hiss, the door opened. Triemedes blinked, horizontal eyelids closing and opening quickly. Her gill flaps pressed to their membranes, as she pressed back into her chair, eyes narrowing.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>That's not possible.</em></span> It really shouldn't have been.</p>
<p>A human woman stood in the doorway.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>It's a trick. Gaugbrojotrs!</em></span> It wasn't a trick her eyes told her.</p>
<p>She had red hair, crimson in saturation.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>A joke. Fukka.</em></span> Nor was it a joke.</p>
<p>Blue-green eyes with a yellow tinge, and fair skin that when the light hits it just the right way had an almost green tint to it.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>Ah fukka. What the fukka is this!? How the fukka!? Fukka fukka fukka fukka. Why are you <strong>HERE</strong>.</em></span></p>
<p>"Hello EoI-3703-01. How are we today?"</p>
<hr/>
<p>Boots clicked on the organo-metallic floors in the upper levels of SCP-4700, or Guð-Bani as the Finnfolk referred to it. God slayer. There was a bit of schadenfreude to the name, but ever were the Finnfolk utilitarian in their naming schematics.</p>
<p>"So we're missing that security conference in Edinburgh for this?" Sherry Andrews (O5-01-03) was in a plaid skirt, brown camisole and fiery hair. She was looking over a vanilla folder turning pages quickly as they walked.</p>
<p>"Yep." Leep Andrews (O5-01-04) said, hair grown out to her shoulders. HRT had done her a lot of good.</p>
<p>"We scheduled that thing a year out, and you told me months ago we couldn't weasel out of sucking up to the other O5s." Neither of them were typical of what you would expect members of the shadowy O5 council to be. But they were outsiders, newcomers. A bee in the bonnet of tradition.</p>
<p>"Yeeeup. That's a thing I definitely told you." She looks straight ahead waiting for the coming question.</p>
<p>"So this woman, Finnfolk warrior, wakes up. And suddenly we drop everything?" Her lips curl down briefly at the corners.</p>
<p>"You read the file right?" Leep asked, pinky briefly in her ear as she pulled out a hankerchief and wiped it off.</p>
<p>"She was in a blue orb. It was emitting immense amounts of energy as detected by Kant and VERITAS sensors. It was doing something to what we think might be an HK-Class threat." Under her breath she mumbles, "Would it kill them to tone down the technical jargon?"</p>
<p>An amused chuckle. "A bit more complicated than that, but essentially yes."</p>
<p>"And she woke up after three years in a coma." There's a hint incredulity on her lips.</p>
<p>"Two months ago." Leep looked at her with something akin to 'Yeah. Really.'</p>
<p>Sherry looked back to the files. "She freak out?"</p>
<p>"Nope."</p>
<p>"You're kidding me right. She done anything?" Sherry looked at her spouse again.</p>
<p>"Chinups, pullups, situps."</p>
<p><em>Blink.</em> "What?"</p>
<p>"Exercise."</p>
<p>"No I got that part. I was ju-" Sherry wrinkled her nose. "Nevermind. Has she said anything?"</p>
<p>"Nope. Not a word to anyone. But it's not like anyone has tried to talk to her." Leep shrugged, a hint of exasperation in the motion.</p>
<p>"You told them not to?"</p>
<p>"That would be Queen Aquailian's doing."</p>
<p>"Huh? Wait, that doesn-"</p>
<p>"Personal and official request. I think she knows who it is, and would rather not cause, uh, how did she put it? A religious crisis?"</p>
<p>"Well that's not ominous."</p>
<p>"Oh it's very ominous. The real question is, what kind of ominous?"</p>
<p>"Guess we'll see. But real talk, Leep, why hasn't she said anything to anyone?"</p>
<p>Leep shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. If I were in a coma for three years after being trapped in the Astral plane for who knows how long, I'd be talking to anyone I could. Some people are built different."</p>
<p>They stopped outside of a door in a side hallway, as Sherry closed the folder and sighed. "Dr. Alva Móðir. What do you think?"</p>
<p>"She gets results. Empathic at the least. She's the expert on 3703."</p>
<p>"Think she might be a nepo hire?"</p>
<p>"What makes you say that?"</p>
<p>"You didn't look at her job history did you?"</p>
<p>"Uh…"</p>
<p>"Leep Andrews, for shame."</p>
<p>Her lips pursed. "It wasn't on the top of my priority list. Tell me already and stop being a tease."</p>
<p>A predatory grin in response. "What's wrong, don't like my teasing? She has no job history. First hire, slotted into her current position. If I didn't know better I'd say she came out of nowhere. So hired straight out of college on Mom or Dad's connections."</p>
<p>Leep groaned. "Ugh. If I had a dime for every time."</p>
<p>"Well you remember what the other nepo hires have been like."</p>
<p>"Sure have." she says pulling out her phone and firing away a message. She's amazed they even get signal at the bottom of the ocean floor. "I sent security and Silus a heads up, and we'll get some extra guards in case things go south."</p>
<p>"If this is a wasted trip, you owe me dinner."</p>
<p>Leep rolls their eyes. "Lebanese?"</p>
<p>"You know just the way to my heart."</p>
<p>Leep opened the door, they walked across the spartan interrogation office, to the door on the left and opened it too.</p>
<p>The viewing room was bigger than the interrogation room, had a water cooler and a coffee machine. And also some sort of strange liquid dispensing device. Probably Finnfolk if Leep had to guess.</p>
<p>On the other side of the window was the subject. E-3703-01. Very clearly still in recovery from a three years long coma by just looking at her. Two Finnfolk guards stood at the back corners of the viewing room and Commander Silus Smith, Chief of Ground forces NTF Delta-7, stood at the front near the two way mirror.</p>
<p>"Commander." The Andrews said in unison.</p>
<p>"Ma'am. Ma'am. A pleasure as always."</p>
<p>"Same to you. Recovered from that business in Libya?" Sherry asked.</p>
<p>"We don't talk about Libya." He retorted with a small smirk.</p>
<p>"Just like Fiji, eh??" Leep said giving a small smile back.</p>
<p>"That's right." A pause as he chewed on the toothpick in his mouth. "Goddamn right."</p>
<p>"Where's our good doctor? And Her Majesty?"</p>
<p>"Doctor's transport ran late, and our patient there was up early. She's been sweating in there for a bit."</p>
<p>"And her Majesty?" Sherry asked.</p>
<p>"Dignitary business. She sent Grynwald to keep her appraised." Sherry and Leep nodded to the tall red Finnfolk warrior.</p>
<p>"So how is our friend in there?"</p>
<p>"Hasn't said a word. Keeps looking at the clock like it killed her mother. It was probably her time."</p>
<p>Before anyone could let out a groan, the door to the interrogation chamber opened. All the color drained from E-3703-01's face as Dr. Alva Móðir stepped into the interrogation room, pressing herself back against the chair.</p>
<p>Leep leans forward, watching.</p>
<p>Sherry raises an eyebrow. "Leep?"</p>
<p>"I see it." A pause as the door slid closed behind the Doctor. "Silus, have the guards on standby."</p>
<p>The commander pressed a button on his watch, and there was some movement in the offices next door.</p>
<p>"Hello E-3703-01, how are we today?"</p>
<p>The chair skids back against the wall as E-3703-01 stood bolt upright, the air around her fingers crackled as a pair of khopeshes manifested in her grip. The blades made of pure fire.</p>
<p>"Oh fuck that's cool." Sherry unhooked a cylindrical device from her belt, and with a smooth motion, flicked the electric baton out.</p>
<p>"Not the time Sherry, and don't even think about going in there! Silus!"</p>
<p>"Already on it!" he said already out the door. All hell broke loose.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Time slowed to a crawl as Triemedes' heart hammered in her chest. The love of her life, the mother of her child. The goddess incarnate she worshipped, whose teachings had saved the very fiber of her race. Standing before her in the flesh. Here. Now.</p>
<p>The fingers of her thaumaturgic being reached to grasp that essence. That impossibly overwhelming ocean that always flooded her magic senses whenever she reached to touch Alva.</p>
<p>But she felt <em>nothing.</em> Bile rose in her throat. She felt sick, nauseous. The very idea that someone would do this…</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>Blasphemers! nälkän kamphundr!</em></span></p>
<p>Adrenaline smashed through her veins and she stood, the chair flying out from beneath her and smashing against the wall. The woman before her dropped her clipboard and stood back, pressing against the wall at the sudden violent motion. They'd made a flesh construct.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>HOW DARE THEY CRAFT A FLESH GOLEM IN HER IMAGE.</em></span></p>
<p>And it looked like her. Aldrnari, the most powerful Rustic of the fire lineage burned into her mind, the first magistry she had dared to call forth since she awoke. Damn her physical Khopeshs. If she could not have her swords, she would make her fucking own. Hilts materialized in her hands, fingers wrapping around them as the all consuming flames of Aldrnari burst from the hilt out into the curved blades of her swords, crackling against the air of the room.</p>
<p>The woman's eyes widened. Fear, shock, awe. These were things she knew.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>I will not suffer this insult! I am Triemedes, First Queen of the Finnfolk, unparalleled warrior and greatest among the magisters. I will end this farce here and now!</em></span> In that moment, she knew where the people here stood. They were her enemies. Their heritical mechanisms must be stopped. She tensed her muscles and leaped, preparing to slash.</p>
<p>Or she would have if she had been fully healed and in the top of her form. At one time, she could jump a 6' wall at the height of her physical prowess. Right now… well her foot caught on the lip of the table. She did a pinwheel like an ungraceful dog who has overestimated their velocity, and hits a rock.</p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>This sucks.</em></span></p>
<p>Her back smacked into the table hard, and her head slammed into the side, her nose cracking as she felt warm liquid pool in her nostrils instantly. Stunned from the initial impact, she was unable to stop her unbalanced weight from sliding off the table. There was a loud thunk as her head hit the floor.</p>
<p><span style="color:green"><em>Hello my love. Welcome home.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color:salmon"><em>Alva?</em></span></p>
<p>And everything went black.</p>
<p>« When you're out there doing what you're doing | Let's Get Physical| <a href="/hotter-than-hell">Hotter than Hell</a>»</p>
<hr/>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/lets-get-physical">Let's Get Physical</a>" by DrBleep, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/lets-get-physical">https://scpwiki.com/lets-get-physical</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:oceanbound">:scp-wiki:theme:oceanbound</a>]]
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=Right now… well her foot caught on the lip of the table. She did a pinwheel like an ungraceful dog who has overestimated their velocity, and hits a rock.]]
=====
[[module css]]
:root { --body-font: 'Noto Sans Cuneiform', 'Inter', 'Arial', sans-serif;
--header-height: clamp(10rem,55vmin,40rem);
--header-image: url("https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/hotter-than-hell/Hege%20and%20Triemedes.jpeg");
}
#extra-div-1 {
background-position: top;
}
[[/module]]
[[=]]
<< When you're out there doing what you're doing | Let's Get Physical| [[[Hotter than Hell]]]>>
[[/=]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
The stars danced, the hum of magic and astral energy thick in something that almost resembled atmosphere but not quite.
[[[SCP-3703 | A small blue orb]]] hovered in the vacuum of the Astral plane before a great tunnel. It was a wormhole, a connection point to the material plane. Thick hot gas and fog swirled at the entrance.
The form of the great black, purple, and red covered humanoid was only barely visible through these swirling mists. Blue writhing throbbing tendrils of thaumaturgic projection extended from the orb into the fog, piercing that horrible eldritch thing in many places.
Every second, every heartbeat drew in energy to the orb. A never ending battery. That's what the astral plane was. But it was more than that. That's why she came here in the end. It's what she agreed to, in the stupidity of her youth. Or wait.
Was it stupidity, or was it necessity?
What was the point of any of this? Of agreeing to step into the rustic sphere, of becoming a safeguard against his return?
The thoughts drifted through her hibernating mind as she hovered there. Some years she relived entire fictions that never were. What might have been. Some years she relived every waking moment she had ever experienced. Then there were the years that were consumed by visions of the future. This was one of those.
Something pinged against the edges of her mental net. Intrusion. Something disturbing the fabric. A hval? No. Too small. Whispers. //It's getting closer.// Metal. Mechanical. Mekhanite? Maybe. She couldn't let it disrupt the seals. Then it really will have all been for nothing.
For the first time in three millenia, the fifth time since she'd been trapped here, Triemedes, first Queen of the Finnfolk, opened her eyes. She pointed at the device as it hovered near her sphere. Two fingers extended, thumb straight up. If there was one thing that brought her joy in the solemness of her duty, it was the thrill of a kill. She curled her fingers back, arm drawing back towards her rapidly, the other shoulder moving forward to balance. Magic rippled from the sphere in a blue beam, smashing into the device.
//Schwap.// The machine fizzled and died. It tumbled harmlessly in the void, engines silenced by the magic.
The machine... was a fuckup. One she couldn't afford. And then it bit her in the ass. Teran's right arm cracked free, a great piece of ancient stone tumbling through the void and slamed into her tiny sealing sphere. Her head jolted forwards, smashing into the material, breaking her nose and knocking her out cold.
--------
@@@@
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//Ah uskit'r.//[[/span]]
The throb of consciousness returned unkindly. An annoying... high pitched short tone she'd never heard before and the whir of some sort of machinery filled the air.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//What is that noise? It's like a gellir.//[[/span]]
Her eyes were heavy with the weights of deep sea boulders, or maybe the muscles were just atrophied after 5000 years of minimal use. Something was stuck into her arm, and strange metal... tassles were attached to her chest and head. She was laying horizontal, and the air was pleasantly cool. This was a welcome change of pace from the blistering combination of hot and cold that assaulted her before she last lost consciousness.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//How long has my kuensami rass been out?//[[/span]]
The noises continued incessantly. Somewhere, she'd guess about 2-3 tridents away, maybe more, there were low voices. With her head throbbing like she'd been smashed in the head with a fucking mace, the words were unintelligible. She wiggled her toes to make sure they were still there, and was satisfied as she felt the silk of some sort of cloth rub against them. The same with her fingers.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//I feel like I was hit by a Daevite Oak Walker, but at least I'm in one piece.//[[/span]]
The voices came closer, accompanied by footsteps. With so little information about where she is, how she got there, and why she was strapped to the cot she decided that discretion was the better part of valor. So she played dead like she was a sea possum that had just barely dodged getting its asshole shoved in by a shark transport.
"Adefhgonc patient pratnghags out uf scon three years."
"Tern long somalongstefor time la asleep."
She could only catch a word or two of her erstwhile visitors' conversation. She wished they would shut up, it really was not helping her head. A small part of her hoped the thaumaturgic linguistic processor in her brain, an ingenius and annoying feature she'd come up with herself, didn't turn on.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//How the fukka did I get out of the sealing vessel and back to the material plane.//[[/span]]
She was not in the rich environment of the astral plane. That much was the first and most obvious observation. The trickle of water was audible elsewhere in the... room? Chamber? Place where she found herself interred. Some small part of her considered whether she had finally died or not. But if she did die, would she not be in the Astral plane with the love of her life? Her chest ached at the thought.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//Alva, if only I had one more moment with you.//[[/span]]
Was this a punishment? What a stupid end she must have met, to be confined to a cot like this. In any case, she recognized the language as being some evolved form of her own language mashed together with something else.
"Stefalscane porteadcan hand me the otoscope would you George?" A mental click in her head partway through what sounded like either a Finnwife or a Human woman speaking.
Frustrated fire spurned in her cerebellum, adding to the throbbing of her skull. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//Son of a qlfuss. Why couldn't you have just stayed off.//[[/span]]
Definitely not a Daevite or a nälkäns, there was no gravel or hag-ness in her voice. Though frankly, she'd met some clever young Daevites and nälkäns in her time capable of masking their voices. The former would be draining her for blood to power their twisted botanical magic, and the latter would probably be sculpting her flesh. Given neither of those things were happening, and she wasn't screaming like a selkie, it was a safe bet that they were neither of those things.
"Of course Dr. Alfhild." Something cold and really really unpleasant poked into her ear. It took everything she had to not try to flail at it.
"No fluid accumulation."
"That's good. What about vitals?"
A chill hand presses to her neck, right above the gills.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//Great, a healer with cold hands. Either I'm in hel or my people have completely eschewed personable practices.//[[/span]]
"Yes. Vitals look good, heart rate and blood pressure normal. Oxygen count is 98%."
"Seems like she's in good shape."
"As good a shape as you can be for someone who's been in a coma for three years." A pause as something cool presses to the skin, tilting her head one way, and then the other. "Branchial membranes are clear and adequately moisturized."
Ice crawled up her spine, and it wasn't the frankly unreasonably cold hands of the healers. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//Three years? Three years is... if that's... no. Oh mither no. I've been out of the Astral plane for three faen years!?//[[/span]]
"Who do you think this is? Like, you must have some idea, you know, on account of being more familiar with the myths and legends."
She wanted to scream. She wanted to get up and run. Find the nearest conduit and tear open a rippling, astral portal. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//Fukka. Fukkkkkkkkkkkka. I could feel Teran's seals being eaten away after a millenia. And that was **with** me there.//[[/span]]
"Impossible to say for sure. There are many heroes that could match her description. Most from the same lineage. I'd have a better idea if your 'Foundation' actually told us anything about how they got ahold of her." There's a hint of irritation in her voice, as if this is a question that is asked far too frequently.
She wanted to cry. She could barely move her toes and fingers. There wasn't a damn thing she could do. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//My whole purpose, the entirety of my life **wasted** because I lost focus for five faen seconds.//[[/span]]
"Any idea on when she might wake up?"
"Could be next week. Could be next month. Could be never. It is impossible to tell. What is the current betting pool?"
"2:1 odds that she never wakes up. 5:1 that she wakes up within the next year. 1.5:1 odds that we pull the plug or she dies. The pot is currently $1000."
Her thoughts descended into hysterics. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//Great. I can't move, can't open my eyes and these Hrafnasueltir are making **bets** on whether I'll wake up. Bacraut **I'm right here**.//[[/span]]
"Hmmph. Help me get her mouth open so we can get the tube in for feeding." A cold hand grips her jaw like the vice of a nälkäns flesh crafter.
The lines on her face bunch and curl in a grimace that would look more like a deranged smile to a human. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//That's it, enough!//[[/span]]
"If you don't take your hands off my face, you'll be the one eating out of a tube." She manages, voice hoarse and crackly from lack of use.
The doctors, of course, promptly shit their pants.
------
Within the first few hours, an irritating parade of people were in and out of her room. All different kinds of specialists checking probing and prodding her, assessing this and that. Of course, they were all very nice in asking permission, a remarkable and welcome change from the invasive diagnostic magistry that developed over the course of her lifetime. She didn't understand why they were so invested in probing and prodding and questioning her. The sheer number of requests and specialists was too much. It was really starting to piss her off.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//I don't know if I can trust any of these people. Where am I? What's the geopolitical situation? Do they know Teran's seals will crumble?//[[/span]] So many questions... but without //knowing// more about the factions in play, the politics, and the overall situation... her shitty physical situation aside, talking was a risk. Asking questions was a risk. She needed to heal as fast as possible, and get back to the Astral plane. If she got swept up in politics, it would all crumble. No, she needed to stay quiet. Mute. So she did.
At one point she passed out, exhaustion probably. She came to a few hours later and her eyelids finally deigned to work.
A crowd of Finnfolk and human healers were gathered around her. Old, young, wrinkly, smooth, long hair, short hair, and many different skin and scale tones. They wore strange clothes, not at all the same kind of hand-stitched materials that were common in her time. The majority donned strange white coats, and had some sort of bisected snake hanging around their necks. Odd coverings were on the feet of the humans but her people were mostly barefoot. Most wore baggy looking blue garments that covered the entirety of their legs. The humans were unusually well groomed for, well, humans.
In the end it was the combination of different voices and visual bedlam from the crowd that pushed her over the edge.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//As if things couldn't get worse, I've become a medical attraction.//[[/span]] Her eyes crinkled, and her lips curled slightly at the edges in irritation. She wasn't going to suffer this particular indignity.
She flared her gillflaps and bared her teeth, eyes narrowed and wild. A threat display, understandable to her people in the room but only to some of the humans. The look of ornery irritation managed to compel the Finnfolk healers to corral most of the humans out of the room.
Only a few particularly stubborn doctors remained. They dispersed like guppies as soon as they realized she was either mute or simply unwilling to talk. She was left with a handful of orderlies and a couple doctors who stayed to make sure her vitals and the odd machines were working than to poke and prod.
With the crowd departing, she took a moment to glance around. The room was not altogether alien like the healer's clothes. The walls were made of organo-metallic alloy, with glass windows and a door facing out into a corridor of similar material. Several small waterfalls emanate from ceiling ducts and constantly sprinkle down into grooves on the floor. The entire room was lit by thaumatological grooves running parallel to the water conduits. They cycled through various cool colors, blues and greens most prominently with a distinct lack of red.
Odd devices, some mechanical, some thaumatological, were scattered around the room. She recognized the Finnfolk designs and origins of some. But they were alien to her still, strange glass screens with bright lights depicting words and numbers. Lines that were moving up or down randomly.
There was even some sort of stand next to her bed, with one of these screens that was not Finnfolk in origin, all kinds of icons and symbols projected with odd light patterns. She didn't know what any of it meant, beyond what was possibly a date and time on that screen? 2021... she'd been in the Astral plane for 2000 years?
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//Finnfolk. Definitely Finnfolk in origin. But there are Mekhanite machines? Human constructs. And why are there **so many mitherboluad humans!?**//[[/span]] She opened her mouth if to ask the orderlies, forgetting for a moment the decision she'd made to maintain a vow of silence. All that bothered to come out was a small croak. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//Guess it's less of a choice and more of a physical reality. I'm mute.//[[/span]] she thought with morbid amusement drooping back into the cot.
Her stomach grumbled in anger, and her throat felt so dry, she thought it might crack open and bleed. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//What a sorry state I'm in. I wouldn't last two seconds right now against him. He'd squash me like mini-isopod.//[[/span]] She tried to move again, but that was a bad decision. Her back and leg muscles screamed. Two orderlies came over to stop her, easing her back into her bed. She looked at them both eyes burning with shame and hate.
The reality was overwhelming. Her life overwhelming. Memories flashed. The [[[the seas of orcadia part 1 how i met your mither| boats carrying her off to war]]], thrust into command to prove herself. She was 75. Too young. Less than half the age of her peers.
At 85 a storm had swept the seas, her fleet helpless to watch as Teran shattered Hildaland, salt and rain on her lips, tears on her cheeks, stopped only by her guards and Alva. They wouldn't let her in the water. Everything. She lost everything she knew that night. Numb. And then angry. Constant anger. It was numb anger for days. weeks, months, years. Her heart. It felt numb through the 65 years of traveling, uniting her people, making Allies.
Only one thing broke through that icy cold. Alva. The love of her life. A rather twisted and perverse love, in the way that can only happen with a goddess. It was love nonetheless. Now she didn't even have that.
2085(?) years of pent up grief and emotion boiled to the surface as white hot rage. She wanted to scream. To yell and cry. Worst of all, she wanted her mom. Wanted to be 20 again, nestled in her mother's arms in the cool air of hildaland as the great giver swam through the ocean. She'd never been this weak. Helpless sure, but not because of being weak. She was fully at the mercy of a bunch of human and Finnfolk nursemaids all while an eldritch god was surely getting ready to destroy everything. And it fucking pissed her off. She curled her fist, wanting to hit something, someone.
"Miss." One of the orderlies said interrupting the deluge of depressing, angry, and spiraling thoughts. "Do you need anything? One nod for yes, two nods for no."
The icey dagger filled stares could have frozen them in place, but the orderly must have been blessed because she just patiently waited for an answer. Her stomach betrayed her pride, as it growled loudly, she nodded once.
Of course if she gave into the despair, there would never be chance to stop the end from coming.
"Food?"
Another nod.
And somehow the thought of the world ending because she was too wrapped up in her own despair to actually try and stop it was the bigger insult. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//Teran's not going to stop because you're having a pity party idiot.//[[/span]]
"Water?"
Yet another nod.
And then she realized something more immediately important. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//Mither above I need to piss.//[[/span]]
"Anything else?"
Triemedes pointed to her groin and then the bathroom. If she pissed herself now that would mean she'd need a bath, and have to have her sheets changed. The very thought of such a thing made her consider tying a noose with the odd tubes attached to her arm.
Having to be helped to the bathroom was //humiliating//. Of course the nice orderlies looked away, but it was the principle of the entire affair.
Once she was back in bed, and comfortable, a food tray and a glass of water were set on a little table that was pulled across her lap.
"We'll be back at the top of the hour to take the plate." The human female orderly assured her, before turning to leave. Triemedes ignored her, surveying her food haul.
Nutrition paste. Perhaps she had been overzealous in hoping for crab or shark meat. She stared at it. She poked at the multicolored paste, spurred on by the grumbling of a stomach that hadn't digested anything for the better part of 4.8 millenia. And she ate it. It wasn't good, in the way that a warm rich meal of seabass, zelandi fruit, and sea rice with gull eggs was. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//I'd kill for that.//[[/span]] But it quieted her stomach. The water was the cleanest she'd ever tasted. Not a hint of residual salt or dirt. Pure unabashed hydration. But that too spurred a pit of longing in her stomach. It was so stupid, clean water like this could save so many lives, but the water she was used to had //character.//
Setting aside the tray she looked at her hands, scrawny and thin after three years of coma. And proceeded to descend right back into self pity like an idiot.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//Pathetic... this is... pathetic. He should have just killed me. That would have been better than suffering through this.//[[/span]]
She stared at her hands for a long time, at the webbing and the digits. Curling her fingers, turning them over. She didn't even notice the blanket of thaumaturgic //tension// rolling into the room from the hallway. Of course she heard the footsteps, but she wrote those off as being the orderlies. At least until every hair on the back of her neck, of which there were a surprising number for someone with scales, decided to stand on end. Chills and goosebumps wriggled up and down her spine and into her limbs. The thump of her heart rose into her ears, loud as the wardrums echoing in the crags and lochs of Orkney. It's impossible to forget the feeling of a fully realized Thaumaturge, being in their presence is like standing in the sickly pressurized air of the calm before a storm. At any moment you could be obliterated.
Her head turned slowly to the doorway, and met orbs of haunting blue, filled with a fire so deep the heat rolled against her skin from just looking. A young and unusually short Finnfolk woman stood in the door frame. Her back was slightly hunched, and her shoulders slouched. Golden scales and hair caught the light of the thaumaturgic fixtures, twinkling in the dimness. Triemedes' gill flaps pressed tightly to their membranes and her pupils dilated. Time slowed to a crawl, individual drops of water seeming to echo, the dull hum and beeps and clicks of the machinery drowned out by a sudden, intense and building static.
Pressure bubbled in her skull. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//**Oh fukka. Oh fukka. It's her.**//[[/span]] The girl from the vision. The same one she had had every single night after first meeting Alva. A ghost. A phantom. And she was right there. Right fucking there.
You know how these moments go. They stretch into infinity, neither party daring to move. Seconds ticked by, maybe minutes? Or maybe no time passed at all. Electric energy moved between them, threatening to burst and tear reality at its seems.
A clatter broke the tension, the fork having slid off of Triemede's plate. It clanged on the floor, a moment of distraction as she glanced towards it. Her head snapped back to the Finnwife sitting up in bed, hands hastily raised the rustic for iss flying to her fingertips only to find the Finnwife was gone. As if she'd never been there in the first place. Was it a hallucination? A dream?
Maybe she'd never been there. But the poor orderly who stepped into the doorframe certainly was.
-------
Shards of fire ran up the nerves of her leg and spine. The muscles teetering and screaming beneath the weight and heft of her whole two meter frame. Learning to walk again was hell. It was like she was carrying around a nälkäns Behemoth on her back, and it would not hesitate to crush her if she made a misstep or moved too fast. Agonizing. Her lips were curled, teeth bared in what could easily be mistaken as a smile, her flared gill flaps signaling to the Finnfolk trainers in the room that she would be at best difficult. The weakness in her body, being reduced to the capabilities of a mitherfucking child, it was enraging. She was a warrior and she could barely take two shitty steps without needing to hold onto a rail.
"One step at a time, there you go." The human trainer she was assigned said. Every day for that first week. "Very good!" His voice just oozed this smug, encouraging tone to it. She hated it.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//Mitherfukka keep it up and I will lay you out like a Daevite after they insult a nälkän's bone structure.//[[/span]] One good punch would have wiped the smirk off his lips and shut him up. She didn't need or want his coddling. If only she wouldn't fall over with the motion of her swinging arm. The only humiliation worse than not being able to walk was not being able to throw a punch. Part of her knew that recovery was never going to be easy. But knowledge did not soften the aching blow of reality.
It was at the end of the first week of physical therapy when she started to notice some important details about where she was. That is when she wasn't raging at the humiliating limitations of her out of shape and atrophied body. There were multiple other patients, Finnfolk and human. Their physical therapists, a term she'd overheard the humans use to refer to the people in the strange blue garments, guided their patients through varying levels of touch and physical contact. They worked different muscle groups, joints, etc. But again, lots of physical contact.
No one touched her. At first, she figured it was because she kept glaring daggers and murderous gazes, but she hadn't actually done anything other than glare. But they all kept their distance, even the excitable smug human they'd assigned to her.
It wasn't just physical contact though. Nothing substantial was ever said to her. No small talk, no attempts at conversation. At first she attributed this to the fact that she had not said anything to anyone except for the threat with the feeding tube. Which, good, she didn't //want// to talk. She wanted to recover, get strong again, and go stop a fucking apocalypse. Talking was a distraction. Politics, agendas, and interests were a distraction. Maybe it was a cultural thing, and she'd made a massive faux pas. But they still asked about her needs and how she felt so something else was up. Minimal social contact, no physical contact.
Then there were the guards. Soldiers, human and Finnfolk both. Everytime she was wheeled out of her room, 4-5 would surround her and wheel her to the therapy facility. The same for meals and 'social time' in the cafeteria. The human guards really stood out, glittering black armor and weapons. Poor excuse for weapons too, you couldn't stab a person with it. They had on helmets, and on both them and their armor, there was another thing from her visions. The eye with the arrows pointing in. None of the other patients had this sort of escort. She was a prisoner.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//Should I be flattered by this? It's either I'm so important that I need to be put under constant guard, or I'm so dangerous that I need to be under constant guard.//[[/span]] She elected to be flattered by the gesture. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//In either case they're paying a lot of attention to me, and that's worrying.//[[/span]]
After some observation, she figured out that about a month had passed. This was about the time she was able to walk under her own power without the railing a tenth of the distance the barrier bounded. The little glass screens, monitors and consoles she'd heard the humans call them, had numbers that operated in 12 hour blocks, and once two of those had passed, so had a day. She found the use of base 12 for timekeeping to be a funny math trick. She didn't know why, not really her deal, but it amused her nonetheless.
The orderlies learned very quickly not to bother trying to stop her from doing pullups and chinups on a bar attached midway up the wall of her room when she reached this point. After about two weeks she could do a paltry ten.
Over the course of two months she fell into a steady routine. An incredibly tedious and boring routine. Wake-up, eat nutrient paste breakfast. Shower with assistance.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//The only reason I haven't gouged out eyes yet is because trying to scrub myself and bend over is currently a nightmare that would scare a Knuckelavee.//[[/span]]
Get dressed. Be wheeled to physical therapy and then, shudder, social time. Or what would have been social time if she didn't sit in a corner with a bunch of scrolls trying to figure out not only where she was, but when she was. Helpfully, or unhelpfully to the other more curious patients, the guards kept her relatively secluded during social time, preventing other patients from talking to her unsupervised. Or really at all. One of the few things she was glad for.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//I would kill for my khopeshes. Just to be able to wipe the floor with any of these black dressed bacrauts//[[/span]], she thought idly. It wouldn't be a fair fight really. She had a full head and a half over the tallest of the humans, and half a head over the tallest Finnfolk. Then they'd wheel her back to the room, where she'd do pullups, chinups, and situps until she was sore.
What she really missed in the evenings were those crude romance scrolls that all the warriors would pass around and add to piecemeal until you had a really lousily written romantic epic. This would have been a more entertaining use of her time than laying in that cot waiting to pass out after her evening exercises.
But then, the routine changed. It was about two months in and she'd finished with breakfast and getting showered and found herself confronted by several more guards than normal.
"In the wheelchair." A guard ordered her, one of those armored humans. This one had a patch on their arm that was different than the rest. NTF Delta 7. The tone rankled her like a bad smell rankles a leopard fish, and her gill flaps flared.
It was a pleasant change of pace from past experience that the humans here actually seemed to understand her body language, resulting in the far too serious looking man adding "Please."
"Hmph." She got in the wheelchair. She probably shouldn't have, but what was she going to do, run? Ha, fat chance. And anywhere was better than the cot or the social room at this point. The convoy of soldiers and at least one orderly wheeled her down the narrow corridors of the medical complex she had woken up in.
She hadn't been outside the complex, the the initial assumption having been that the entire thing was a medical complex. That changed when they went through a pair of double sliding doors that compartmentalized the medical complex. The halls widened out, the canals of flowing water getting slightly wider as they entered a much less populated segment of the facility.
There were mostly Finnfolk here, adorned in business-like robes, and occasionally they passed a hallway leading into some sort of... well she wasn't entirely sure. Rooms with weird metal tables, chairs, and more of those strange monitors and consoles. Most were dark or unoccupied, but occasionally, there was a person in one, mostly Finnfolk, but sometimes human. The lighting was brighter, harsher and less pleasant on the eyes. Murals carved into the walls were the only decorations, depicting scenes, she assumed to be historical events backlit by thaumturgical emplacements. Some she recognized, some she didn't.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//Strange. All built by Finnfolk. Am I aboard [[[SCP-4700 | Guð-Bani]]], or is this Finnfelheim? Or something entirely new?//[[/span]] Curiosity nibbled at the back of her mind.
They turned down a smaller hallway and into a series of rooms with metal tables and chairs and several doors. This room was spartan, with strange squat organo-metallic rectangles of varying sizes randomly against the walls and several of those odd glowing consoles. Her entourage guided her over to one wall with two doors. They opened the rightmost door and wheeled her inside.
The room was somehow even more spartan than the other. Dimly lit with a hanging thaumaturgic light fixture, a table sat in the middle of the room with several chairs stuck underneath. A strange square device sat on the table, a piece of rope or tubing coming out of the top and attached to a strange conical device on a tripod stand. They wheeled her to the table, facing a large mirror.
And then they left. And she was alone. The first time she'd really been alone in more than two months. Sure, the orderlies left her room at night, but there were always guards she could sense just outside the door. But right now? She couldn't sense anything. She was well and truly alone.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//What now?//[[/span]] She looked around slowly. But looking didn't make the room anymore interesting.
So, she waited. For something. Anything to happen. A chronometer, or as the humans called it, a clock ticked away on the wall. This one was definitely a human addition.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick
Five minutes pass. The incessant noise of the device was driving her insane. [[span style="color:salmon"]]//I'm going to break that thing. Whose idea was it to make it **tick**?//[[/span]]
She thought about standing, and grabbing a chair and smashing it. She really did. But she didn't get the chance to follow through. With a click and a hiss, the door opened. Triemedes blinked, horizontal eyelids closing and opening quickly. Her gill flaps pressed to their membranes, as she pressed back into her chair, eyes narrowing.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//That's not possible.//[[/span]] It really shouldn't have been.
A human woman stood in the doorway.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//It's a trick. Gaugbrojotrs!//[[/span]] It wasn't a trick her eyes told her.
She had red hair, crimson in saturation.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//A joke. Fukka.//[[/span]] Nor was it a joke.
Blue-green eyes with a yellow tinge, and fair skin that when the light hits it just the right way had an almost green tint to it.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//Ah fukka. What the fukka is this!? How the fukka!? Fukka fukka fukka fukka. Why are you **HERE**.//[[/span]]
"Hello EoI-3703-01. How are we today?"
--------
Boots clicked on the organo-metallic floors in the upper levels of SCP-4700, or Guð-Bani as the Finnfolk referred to it. God slayer. There was a bit of schadenfreude to the name, but ever were the Finnfolk utilitarian in their naming schematics.
"So we're missing that security conference in Edinburgh for this?" Sherry Andrews (O5-01-03) was in a plaid skirt, brown camisole and fiery hair. She was looking over a vanilla folder turning pages quickly as they walked.
"Yep." Leep Andrews (O5-01-04) said, hair grown out to her shoulders. HRT had done her a lot of good.
"We scheduled that thing a year out, and you told me months ago we couldn't weasel out of sucking up to the other O5s." Neither of them were typical of what you would expect members of the shadowy O5 council to be. But they were outsiders, newcomers. A bee in the bonnet of tradition.
"Yeeeup. That's a thing I definitely told you." She looks straight ahead waiting for the coming question.
"So this woman, Finnfolk warrior, wakes up. And suddenly we drop everything?" Her lips curl down briefly at the corners.
"You read the file right?" Leep asked, pinky briefly in her ear as she pulled out a hankerchief and wiped it off.
"She was in a blue orb. It was emitting immense amounts of energy as detected by Kant and VERITAS sensors. It was doing something to what we think might be an HK-Class threat." Under her breath she mumbles, "Would it kill them to tone down the technical jargon?"
An amused chuckle. "A bit more complicated than that, but essentially yes."
"And she woke up after three years in a coma." There's a hint incredulity on her lips.
"Two months ago." Leep looked at her with something akin to 'Yeah. Really.'
Sherry looked back to the files. "She freak out?"
"Nope."
"You're kidding me right. She done anything?" Sherry looked at her spouse again.
"Chinups, pullups, situps."
//Blink.// "What?"
"Exercise."
"No I got that part. I was ju-" Sherry wrinkled her nose. "Nevermind. Has she said anything?"
"Nope. Not a word to anyone. But it's not like anyone has tried to talk to her." Leep shrugged, a hint of exasperation in the motion.
"You told them not to?"
"That would be Queen Aquailian's doing."
"Huh? Wait, that doesn-"
"Personal and official request. I think she knows who it is, and would rather not cause, uh, how did she put it? A religious crisis?"
"Well that's not ominous."
"Oh it's very ominous. The real question is, what kind of ominous?"
"Guess we'll see. But real talk, Leep, why hasn't she said anything to anyone?"
Leep shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. If I were in a coma for three years after being trapped in the Astral plane for who knows how long, I'd be talking to anyone I could. Some people are built different."
They stopped outside of a door in a side hallway, as Sherry closed the folder and sighed. "Dr. Alva Móðir. What do you think?"
"She gets results. Empathic at the least. She's the expert on 3703."
"Think she might be a nepo hire?"
"What makes you say that?"
"You didn't look at her job history did you?"
"Uh..."
"Leep Andrews, for shame."
Her lips pursed. "It wasn't on the top of my priority list. Tell me already and stop being a tease."
A predatory grin in response. "What's wrong, don't like my teasing? She has no job history. First hire, slotted into her current position. If I didn't know better I'd say she came out of nowhere. So hired straight out of college on Mom or Dad's connections."
Leep groaned. "Ugh. If I had a dime for every time."
"Well you remember what the other nepo hires have been like."
"Sure have." she says pulling out her phone and firing away a message. She's amazed they even get signal at the bottom of the ocean floor. "I sent security and Silus a heads up, and we'll get some extra guards in case things go south."
"If this is a wasted trip, you owe me dinner."
Leep rolls their eyes. "Lebanese?"
"You know just the way to my heart."
Leep opened the door, they walked across the spartan interrogation office, to the door on the left and opened it too.
The viewing room was bigger than the interrogation room, had a water cooler and a coffee machine. And also some sort of strange liquid dispensing device. Probably Finnfolk if Leep had to guess.
On the other side of the window was the subject. E-3703-01. Very clearly still in recovery from a three years long coma by just looking at her. Two Finnfolk guards stood at the back corners of the viewing room and Commander Silus Smith, Chief of Ground forces NTF Delta-7, stood at the front near the two way mirror.
"Commander." The Andrews said in unison.
"Ma'am. Ma'am. A pleasure as always."
"Same to you. Recovered from that business in Libya?" Sherry asked.
"We don't talk about Libya." He retorted with a small smirk.
"Just like Fiji, eh??" Leep said giving a small smile back.
"That's right." A pause as he chewed on the toothpick in his mouth. "Goddamn right."
"Where's our good doctor? And Her Majesty?"
"Doctor's transport ran late, and our patient there was up early. She's been sweating in there for a bit."
"And her Majesty?" Sherry asked.
"Dignitary business. She sent Grynwald to keep her appraised." Sherry and Leep nodded to the tall red Finnfolk warrior.
"So how is our friend in there?"
"Hasn't said a word. Keeps looking at the clock like it killed her mother. It was probably her time."
Before anyone could let out a groan, the door to the interrogation chamber opened. All the color drained from E-3703-01's face as Dr. Alva Móðir stepped into the interrogation room, pressing herself back against the chair.
Leep leans forward, watching.
Sherry raises an eyebrow. "Leep?"
"I see it." A pause as the door slid closed behind the Doctor. "Silus, have the guards on standby."
The commander pressed a button on his watch, and there was some movement in the offices next door.
"Hello E-3703-01, how are we today?"
The chair skids back against the wall as E-3703-01 stood bolt upright, the air around her fingers crackled as a pair of khopeshes manifested in her grip. The blades made of pure fire.
"Oh fuck that's cool." Sherry unhooked a cylindrical device from her belt, and with a smooth motion, flicked the electric baton out.
"Not the time Sherry, and don't even think about going in there! Silus!"
"Already on it!" he said already out the door. All hell broke loose.
-----
Time slowed to a crawl as Triemedes' heart hammered in her chest. The love of her life, the mother of her child. The goddess incarnate she worshipped, whose teachings had saved the very fiber of her race. Standing before her in the flesh. Here. Now.
The fingers of her thaumaturgic being reached to grasp that essence. That impossibly overwhelming ocean that always flooded her magic senses whenever she reached to touch Alva.
But she felt //nothing.// Bile rose in her throat. She felt sick, nauseous. The very idea that someone would do this...
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//Blasphemers! nälkän kamphundr!//[[/span]]
Adrenaline smashed through her veins and she stood, the chair flying out from beneath her and smashing against the wall. The woman before her dropped her clipboard and stood back, pressing against the wall at the sudden violent motion. They'd made a flesh construct.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//HOW DARE THEY CRAFT A FLESH GOLEM IN HER IMAGE.//[[/span]]
And it looked like her. Aldrnari, the most powerful Rustic of the fire lineage burned into her mind, the first magistry she had dared to call forth since she awoke. Damn her physical Khopeshs. If she could not have her swords, she would make her fucking own. Hilts materialized in her hands, fingers wrapping around them as the all consuming flames of Aldrnari burst from the hilt out into the curved blades of her swords, crackling against the air of the room.
The woman's eyes widened. Fear, shock, awe. These were things she knew.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//I will not suffer this insult! I am Triemedes, First Queen of the Finnfolk, unparalleled warrior and greatest among the magisters. I will end this farce here and now!//[[/span]] In that moment, she knew where the people here stood. They were her enemies. Their heritical mechanisms must be stopped. She tensed her muscles and leaped, preparing to slash.
Or she would have if she had been fully healed and in the top of her form. At one time, she could jump a 6' wall at the height of her physical prowess. Right now... well her foot caught on the lip of the table. She did a pinwheel like an ungraceful dog who has overestimated their velocity, and hits a rock.
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//This sucks.//[[/span]]
Her back smacked into the table hard, and her head slammed into the side, her nose cracking as she felt warm liquid pool in her nostrils instantly. Stunned from the initial impact, she was unable to stop her unbalanced weight from sliding off the table. There was a loud thunk as her head hit the floor.
[[span style="color:green"]]//Hello my love. Welcome home.//[[/span]]
[[span style="color:salmon"]]//Alva?//[[/span]]
And everything went black.
<< When you're out there doing what you're doing | Let's Get Physical| [[[Hotter than Hell]]]>>
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://kaktuskontainer.wikidot.com/drbleeps-author-sandbox-2">:kaktuskontainer:drbleeps-author-sandbox-2</a>]]
[[div class="footer-wikiwalk-nav"]]
[[=]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-21T19:39:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"action",
"comedy",
"fantasy",
"lgbtq",
"orcadia",
"science-fiction",
"tale"
] |
Let's Get Physical - SCP Foundation
| 39
|
[
"hotter-than-hell",
"scp-3703",
"the-seas-of-orcadia-part-1-how-i-met-your-mither",
"scp-4700",
"scp-3456",
"scp-3700",
"scp-2491",
"scp-6700",
"scp-3706",
"scp-3728",
"scp-2497",
"scp-2946",
"scp-3702",
"scp-3710",
"scp-1347-1353-j",
"scp-2546",
"scp-2378",
"scp-7810",
"scp-3711",
"scp-2431",
"scp-8810",
"scp-2381",
"all-in-all-you-re-just-a-nother-brick-in-the-wall",
"swallowed-by-a-prideful-lesbian-sea",
"where-there-is-desire-there-is-gonna-be-a-flame",
"slow-pride-filled-life",
"medea-filicidium",
"multi-goddess-drifting",
"where-there-is-a-flame-someone-is-bound-to-get-burned",
"love-across-a-nonbinary-spectrum",
"on-the-rails",
"the-coming-nightmare",
"dissonance",
"scp-3500",
"scp-8710",
"recomposition",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"seas-of-orcadia-hub"
] |
[] |
1453405416
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lets-get-physical
|
|
lets-get-you-home
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p>⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong> Acts of Dubious Consent</p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
<p>There are too many bars in this town, Gears thinks. Over the past couple of weeks he’s become quite acquainted with several of them. Apparently it just wasn’t enough for Clef to frequent one hole in the wall bar.</p>
<p>At least once Gears mapped out every place Clef could be it was only a matter of process of elimination. Clef’s truck sticks out like a sore thumb anywhere, especially the desolate parking lot of <em>The Bitter End</em>.</p>
<p>Twenty minutes ago the last few bar goers stumbled out. The neon sign outside reads <strong>CLOSED</strong>, but through the tinted windows Gears can make out one single straggler.</p>
<p>The door creaks as he enters and does not open all the way, forcing him to wriggle his way in. A lone, flickering, amber light illuminates the center of the bar, leaving the filthy sides obscured in darkness. Walking in, he finds the floor sticky, his well-kept shoes squelch against the floor.</p>
<p>It’s certainly not a place Gears would have ever <em>willingly</em> entered. The only two inhabitants are a very exhausted looking barkeep and a very drunk looking Clef. It’s sweltering and yet Clef is bundled up in a ratty, brown jacket. The barkeep’s eyes are void of any emotion.</p>
<p>“We’re closed?” he says, wearily. As Gears gets closer to the bar, the thick, burning smell of vomit gets stronger, making his nose scrunch up involuntarily.</p>
<p>“I know,” he says, voice flat. “I am here to take my associate home.” He puts a firm hand on Clef's shoulder, grasping it firmly. Clef flinches, nearly falling out of his chair.</p>
<p>Clef looks over his shoulder quickly, swinging his hat into his face. He burps and blows a wet raspberry at Gears. “Coggyyyyy baby, get the fuuuuck outta here.” His words are slurred and Gears doesn’t recognize the accent Clef is putting on.</p>
<p>“I’m afraid that’s not acceptable.” Gears wraps an arm around Clef’s shoulders so he doesn’t slip. Clef groans, flopping against Gears’s torso. He hic-ups, prompting a wave of drunken giggles.</p>
<p>“You’<em>rrrrre</em> not acceptable,” Clef says, breathless.</p>
<p>“How much has he had to drink?” Gears asks, turning his attention to the barkeep.</p>
<p>Without a word, the barkeep slides a bill over the countertop. Gears’s eye twitches as he glances over it. How Clef hasn’t drunk himself into a coma speaks volumes to either Clef’s tolerance or the alcohol quality this bar provides.</p>
<p>“What is your name?”</p>
<p>“Oh- uh- Johnathan Tucker.” Johnathan points to his illegible nametag.</p>
<p>Keeping one hand on Clef, Gears pulls out his checkbook and fills out two sheets, one to cover Clef’s binge and the other to personally compensate for Johnathan’s time. Johnathan examines them, a withered smile pulling on his lips.</p>
<p>“Have a good night, sir!”</p>
<p>“Goodnight.” Gears hoists Clef to his feet, fully prepared to drag Clef across the floor if need be; Clef ragdolls, apparently hellbent on being as unhelpful as possible.</p>
<p>“This is kidnapping!” Clef spits, “You’re letting this guy kidnap me!” He points an accusatory finger in the general direction of the bar. He writhes, ineffectively pawing at Gears’s arms.</p>
<p>“Have some maturity,” Gears says, bordering on a growl. It was enough struggle trying to lug Clef’s weight across the sticky ground <em>without</em> Clef actively fighting him.</p>
<p>The crisp night air burns Clef’s flushed face. He whines, letting drool run down his chin. Gears drags Clef to his car, dropping him off on the pavement. He pops open the passenger’s side door.</p>
<p>“I’m taking you home.”</p>
<p>“I don’t wannnnaaaaaa go home!” Clef says with the cadence of a small child.</p>
<p>“Then we will go to <em>my</em> home. Either way you’re not staying here.”</p>
<p>“Booooo!” Arms crossed, Clef sticks his tongue out and blows another raspberry.</p>
<p>This is exhausting. After all the effort Gears took to find Clef and ensure his safety, he believes he’s owed a little more <em>gratitude</em>. Perhaps he expected too much from his coworker.</p>
<p>“Can you stand up?”</p>
<p>Clef grunts, making several attempts to sit up only to flop back down. He looks stupefied, like nothing could possibly explain his struggle. Gears sighs, getting down to haul Clef up again.</p>
<p>He drags Clef towards the seat and pushes him in. He’s stopped by Clef’s hands shooting out and bracing against the roof of the car. Gears bares his teeth, putting his weight onto him.</p>
<p>“<em>Clef-”</em></p>
<p><em>“Wait-!”</em> Is all the warning Gears gets before Clef lurches forward, spewing his stomach onto Gears’s leather seat. Gears roils.</p>
<p>Clef spits, taking an uneasy step back. He holds onto the car, swaying like a branch. Vomit runs down his chin, clots in his facial hair, and drips onto his shirt. He rubs his face against his sleeve, smearing the bile further.</p>
<p>“<em>Sorrrry</em>,” he mumbles, blowing a spit bubble.</p>
<p>Gears stares at the ruined seat with contempt. He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth, determined not to lose his cool. He nudges past Clef, leaning over the vomit splatter for the paper towels he always keeps in there.</p>
<p>He does his best to wipe down the seat and Clef’s face. Clef can only offer a blank expression as Gears cleans him up. He tosses the soiled paper towels into a plastic bag and tries very hard not to think about it.</p>
<p>“Do you feel like vomiting again?” Gears asks, voice calm, like he’s talking to a child.</p>
<p>“Huh…?”</p>
<p>Gears puts his head in his hands. “Please get in the back seat.”</p>
<p>He shuts the passenger’s side door, cracking open the back. Clef mumbles something, haphazardly flopping facefirst into the clean cushions. Gears reaches in and grabs a handful of Clef’s hair, using that to force him upright.</p>
<p>“Okay! Okay! I’m up!” Clef whines, getting in the correct position. Gears crawls into his lap and buckles him in. Clef flushes, turning his head to the side.</p>
<p>“What ab-bout my truck?” He waves a hand towards the truck in question.</p>
<p>“I will handle it.”</p>
<p>The drive is quiet, which Gears can only be thankful for. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open but the burning stench of vomit certainly keeps him from getting too relaxed.</p>
<p>As the drive goes on he gets a crawling feeling down his back. <em>He swears he sees a figure in the passenger’s seat. He’s scared to look, fearing he might turn to see Iceberg rotting beside him.</em></p>
<p>They pull up to a large <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>, within walking distance of Site-19 and well away from anything that could be called a <em>community</em>. The only light is a single flickering street lamp. Clef groans, sits up, and squints at the building, not immediately recognizing it.</p>
<p>“This isn’t my <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>?”</p>
<p>“Of course, this is my <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>. You will come inside.”</p>
<p>“Is that an order, <em>sir</em>?”</p>
<p>“I would rather it not be.”</p>
<p>Taking him by the forearm, Gears leads him inside. The <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> is dark and smells new, unlived in. Everything is unsettlingly clean. The furniture stands perfectly uniform and colorless. It’s like he just walked into an air-freshened prison cell.</p>
<p>There’s an island between the kitchen and, what appears to be, the dining room. The white countertops look so clean that Clef thinks even a single grain of coke would stick out on its surface. Gears sits Clef at the table and fetches a glass of water.</p>
<p>As Gears returns to Clef’s side he holds the glass out as an offering. Clef crosses his arms and sticks his nose up.</p>
<p>“Clef…” Gears says, patiently. “Please drink.”</p>
<p>“Nuh-uh.” Clef bites the inside of his lips, turning his head to the side as Gears continually tries to bring it up to them.</p>
<p>“Alto.” Gears puts a firm hand on Clef’s shoulder.</p>
<p>Clef opens his eyes, not realizing he closed them, and he finds himself not in Gears’s home but <em>in an empty staff room at Site-19. He’s not alone here, Kondraki stands beside him, leaning nonchalantly against the wall.</em></p>
<p><em>They’re close, too close, but in the tension of the moment Clef couldn’t care less. Kondraki looks at him, eyes filled with… if Clef didn’t know any better he would tell himself Kondraki was looking at him with affection.</em></p>
<p><em>“Are you sure you’re not thirsty?” he asks, waving his beer bottle in Clef’s face. Clef gawks at him, half tempted to smack the bottle out of his hands.</em></p>
<p><em>“No. I don’t see how you drink that shit. It doesn’t even have that much alcohol in it.”</em></p>
<p><em>Kondraki shrugs. “It’s not that bad once you get used to it.”</em></p>
<p><em>“Yeah, drinking acid isn’t that bad either once you burn your tastebuds off.”</em></p>
<p><em>It wasn’t that funny but Kondraki chuckles and Clef can’t help but chuckle too. Kondraki leans in, looming over him, cheeks warm with alcohol and joy. He looks Clef in the eyes and for a moment Clef is captivated.</em></p>
<p><em>Kondraki smirks, taking one long swig of his drink. He proceeds to push Clef up against the wall, pinning him there with his body. Heart hammering in his chest, Clef looks up, eyes wide.</em></p>
<p><em>The world stops.</em></p>
<p><em>The next thing he knows, Kondraki has his lips pressed against Clef’s. Clef sinks into the feeling, practically going limp, moaning ever so softly. Then he feels the sting of carbonation and his shoulders tense. Kondraki’s grip on him is strong, Clef can’t spit it out.</em></p>
<p><em>He swallows Kondraki’s disgusting beer, feeling all the worse for it. Kondraki pulls back, that stupid grin plastered on his face. He licks his lips slowly, like he’s mocking him.</em></p>
<p><em>Wiping his face with the back of his wrist, Clef says, “That was the most disgusting thing you’ve ever done to me.” He pauses, looking Kondraki in the eyes. “… You wanna do it again?”</em></p>
<p>Clef’s shoulders slouch. His eyes droop, not looking at Gears but locked onto something in the distance. The feisty energy visibly drains from his features. Gears takes advantage of the moment and has him drain the glass.</p>
<p>“Now… Was that so hard?” Gears asks, setting the cup on the island.</p>
<p>Clef turns to face him, quivering weakly, eyes wet with tears. Gears frowns and lets out a heavy sigh. He brushes the hair out of Clef’s face and cups his cheek, feeling the warmth in his palm.</p>
<p>Clef’s hands shoot out, snatching either side of Gears’s face. Gears fails to brace himself, barely managing to catch him on Clef’s chair. Their lips jam together in an approximation of a kiss.</p>
<p>Gears would be lying if he said he found the sensation unpleasant, but he will say so anyway. Clef’s lips are chapped, the kiss is far too wet and sloppy, not to mention the taste of vomit.</p>
<p>And yet… Gears can’t bring himself to pull away, not immediately. There’s a certain desperation to how Clef clings to him, how his fingers paw and scrunch up in his shirt and hair, the soft, needy noises he makes. It draws Gears in and leaves him entranced.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, this was unacceptable. He pulls back, straining out of Clef’s persistent grasp. Clef mouths against his collar. Biting the inside of his lip, Gears yanks Clef’s head back by his hair. He prays the warmth in his cheeks isn’t visible.</p>
<p>“Ouch!” Cries Clef. “Don’t you like me?”</p>
<p>“You’re inebriated,” he says through gritted teeth, “You’ll thank me in the morning.”</p>
<p>Clef scoffs. “Guh, <em>fuck you</em>. You could have <em>pussy</em> just <em>lined</em> up before you and you’d still be a virgin.”</p>
<p>Gears shakes his head. He turns and walks into the kitchen, taking Clef’s cup with him. This was just another one of Clef’s tantrums. He turns on the sink, letting the cold water run over the glass. Anything to occupy his hands so he doesn’t wring Clef’s neck.</p>
<p>“Don’t ignore me! Why won’t you touch me?” Clef drags himself out of the chair, leaning on the counter.</p>
<p>“I have stated my reasons.” Gears turns the water up, hoping to drown him out.</p>
<p>“Bullshh<em>hittttttttt</em>. Don’t act like you’ve never <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/this-world-is-as-you-would-have-wanted">taken advantage of someone before</a>.”</p>
<p>The sink shuts off with a thunk. Gears glares at his reflection in the glass, hating the man looking back at him. He attempts to swallow a lump in his throat; his mouth runs dry.</p>
<p>“… what do you mean by that?”</p>
<p>With his back to Clef he can’t see his expression, but he can hear the sinister grin in Clef’s next words.</p>
<p>“Don’t be coy with me, Coggy. Trying to hide all the shit you were doing to Iceberg. You’re a little <em>freak</em> aren’t you? <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/in-his-own-image-part-3">Bet that’s why he shot himself</a>.”</p>
<p>The glass clangs against the bottom of the sink. A shot of adrenaline shoots through Clef’s veins. He stumbles over the chair, backing himself into a wall as Gears stares him down, marching towards him with purpose.</p>
<p>Clef opens his mouth, maybe to beg for mercy, maybe to scream. Whatever noise he wanted to make is cut off as Gears wraps his hand around his throat. It’s not tight enough to block airflow, no, Gears is very precise about that. He pins Clef to the wall in a position that’s oh so familiar and <em>oh so terrifying</em>.</p>
<p>Clef wheezes, on the verge of hyperventilating. Gears can feel his speedy heartbeat under his fingers. It’s refreshing, the scared look on Clef’s face, how he uselessly worms about and claws at Gears’s fingers. Tears and snot run down his crimson face.</p>
<p>“Breathe,” Gears commands, keeping up the illusion of self control. “I do not wish to hurt you, and I will not if you do not give me reason to. It would do you some good to <em>never</em> mention Dr. Iceberg to me again. Understood?”</p>
<p>“Mmm-mhm!” Clef tries his best to nod. He feels Clef’s Adam's apple bob under his palm. Satisfied, and not wanting Clef’s snot to drip onto his sleeve, Gears releases him.</p>
<p>Once free, Clef crumbles onto the floor and hugs his knees to his chest. He struggles to breathe, each sharp gasp only burns. He sounds awful, raspy, like he’s having an asthma attack. Gears turns his back to him, about to return to the kitchen.</p>
<p>“You took everything from me… Why won’t you just finish me off?”</p>
<p>Gears stills, feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders. He shakes his head and continues on. The glass is dried and returned to its place in the cupboard. While there, he fetches a roll of paper towels for Clef.</p>
<p>He kneels down to Clef’s level, cleaning off Clef’s face for the second time. Clef sobs, choking on his own spit. Gears remains patient, finding something uncomfortably…<em>familiar</em> in the position he’s in.</p>
<p>“Why did he leave me?” Clef mumbles, reaching up to grasp Gears’s wrist. Gears’s breath hitches.</p>
<p>He combs his knuckles through Clef’s hair, trying to soothe him. His trembles slow and his breathing settles. He pauses in his motions, taking a moment to glance around his empty home. He believes he has privacy and safety here, but he never wanted to be careless. Not when a dear friend is on the line.</p>
<p>“You know why he had to leave,” Gears says, breath soft and warm against Clef’s neck. Clef shivers, hair standing on him.</p>
<p>“It’s not fair!” He hunches forward, face in his hands, and dissolves into another fit of sobs. “Why couldn’t you have protected him?”</p>
<p>Pushing Clef flat against the wall, Gears jams the wad of paper towel over his mouth. “I <em>did</em> protect him. Can’t you understand? He was only in danger here.”</p>
<p>“Why couldn't he have taken me with him?” Clef asks, shaky hands reaching up to grip the front of Gears’s shirt. His eyes are empty.</p>
<p>“Because-” Gears pries Clef’s fingers off him, “-he would have been safer without you. There <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-king-is-dead">was a warrant for his execution</a>. If you had disappeared alongside him you would have put <em>everyone</em> at risk.”</p>
<p>“Oh…” Clef says, going slack. “It’s not fair.”</p>
<p>“I know…” Gears reaches out and plucks off Clef’s hat. He caresses Clef’s cheek, dabbing up the last of the tears before they can fall.</p>
<p>Once Clef seems calm, Gears disposes of the paper towels and finds a safe place for the hat. He returns once again to Clef’s side. After a moment of internal debate, Gears leans in, returning Clef’s earlier gesture by locking their lips.</p>
<p>It feels wrong. It feels good, but <em>horribly</em> wrong. Clef makes a soft noise, one Gears wouldn’t mind hearing from him more, and makes no move to stop him. Still, he can’t help but feel like he’s violating Clef by doing this, as well as violating Kondraki’s trust.</p>
<p><em>Kondraki rushes into Gears’s office. Gears sits at his desk, playing the role of someone hard at work. Kondraki slams the door shut behind him, sealing them in.</em></p>
<p><em>“Doctor Kondraki. You appear distressed. And injured.” Gears stands up to examine the wound on Kondraki’s shoulder.</em></p>
<p><em>“Ha- ha yeah,” Kondraki says, breathless, “I scared Dmitri and Clef pretty good. Clef’s probably not that far behind me.” There’s a pain in his voice, as the weight of what he’s forced to leave behind hits him.</em></p>
<p><em>“I can work with this.” Gears drags him over to the desk, bending him over so the blood from the shoulder wound drips onto the surface.</em></p>
<p><em>“Smart.”</em></p>
<p><em><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-408">408</a> decloaks around him. Half of them split off, taking the form of Kondraki himself. Kondraki takes off his jacket, taking a moment to examine the hole in the shoulder where Clef’s bullet tore through. There were a few dead butterflies clumped up in the fabric.</em></p>
<p><em>Kondraki’s stomach twists. “You know he’ll see right through this.”</em></p>
<p><em>“As long as the overseers are satisfied it doesn’t matter what he knows,” Gears says, pulling a pistol out of his desk.</em></p>
<p><em>“He’ll hate me for it.”</em></p>
<p><em>“I’m afraid you'll have to live with it.”</em></p>
<p><em>Kondraki takes one last look at his jacket and hands it to his illusioned self. They put it on and have a seat at the desk. After examining them, Kondraki removes his hat and places it on the illusion’s head.</em></p>
<p><em>“Goodbye my friends. And… goodbye Cog.” Kondraki embraces Gears, squeezing him tight enough to force the air out of his lungs. Gears commits this feeling to memory.</em></p>
<p><em>“Goodbye… Doctor.”</em></p>
<p><em>“Please, make sure Draven stays safe. Get him out of here if you can. And Clef… oh God, Clef,” he sucks in a shuddering sigh. “Take care of him for me.”</em></p>
<p><em>“You should get going.”</em></p>
<p><em>“Right.” With the second half of 408 Kondraki cloaks and escapes through Gears’s window. They won’t survive long out on the run with him but he owes them everything for letting him make his escape at all.</em></p>
<p><em>Gears closes the window and locks it, then, he looks to the false-Kondraki. Silently, he walks around the illusion, presses the gun to the back of their skull, and pulls the trigger. Even knowing it’s fake, it’s not a pleasant sight.</em></p>
<p><em>By the time Clef makes it there the scene is perfect. Even if one could doubt Gears’s word, they could never doubt Kondraki’s ever cooling body.</em></p>
<p><em>“…Was it at least hard for you to do?” Clef asks, sounding so very tired.</em></p>
<p><em>Gears could answer that two ways. No, it wasn’t hard to stage Kondraki’s death, but it was agonizing to let him go.</em></p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
<p>Gears holds the back of Clef’s head, keeping him still. He drags his fingers down the back of his neck, along his collarbone, finally settling on Clef’s shoulder. He runs his thumb over where the tear used to be, and where it seems Clef tried to patch it up.</p>
<p>The kiss lasts for too long. By the time Gears pulls back, Clef is breathless, cheeks flushed. Clef babbles something; Gears catches the name <em>Ben</em> in there a couple times. Leaves a bitter taste in Gears’s mouth. Fuck, Gears shouldn’t have done that. <em>Fuck</em>, even if Clef wanted it Gears shouldn’t have.</p>
<p>Eyes closed, a thin stream of tears still trickling down his cheeks, lips partially open, Clef is more vulnerable in this moment than Gears has ever seen him before. He could do anything to Clef at this moment and no one, least of all Clef, would try to stop him.</p>
<p>The thought <em>terrifies</em> him. He built his entire career, his very life, off of holding other people’s lives in his hands, but it’s never been so personal.</p>
<p>“Please…” Clef leans in, hands on Gears’s hips. Gears grabs his wrists and pushes him back. Clef’s eyes open, giving Gears a sad, pleading look.</p>
<p>“I shouldn’t have done that…” Gears shudders, a rock settling in his stomach. Knees popping, Gears stands and holds out a hand to help Clef do the same. Clef shakes, leaning on him for support.</p>
<p>“You’re mean…” He says, pushing his face into Gears’s ribs. Gears’s shirt is soft and it smells nice. He draws in a deep breath through his nose and lets out a satisfied sigh.</p>
<p>Gears shakes his head. “You should get to bed. You may use mine if you shower and change clothes.”</p>
<p>“Mmm-kay,” he says into Gears’s chest. Gears bites his lip, resisting the urge to shove Clef off. “It’s hot in here.”</p>
<p>“May I suggest removing the jacket.”</p>
<p>“Eh?”</p>
<p>Holding onto Clef, Gears leads him to the bathroom. He sits Clef on the toilet and helps him undress. As he attempts to strip Clef of his jacket Clef clings to it tighter. The muscles on his forehead tighten.</p>
<p>“Please cooperate.”</p>
<p>“Don’t take it.”</p>
<p>“I will return it to you. Do not make me use force.”</p>
<p>Clef trembles, burying himself further in the jacket. He’s tempted to rip it off him, but that would only make Clef more uncooperative.</p>
<p>“Alto,” voice flat and firm, Gears grabs his attention. “I will return the jacket, but you <em>must</em> remove it for the time being. Do you understand me?” He does his best to keep his tone consistent, hoping that if Clef couldn’t understand his words he would at least understand his point.</p>
<p>The effect seems to work, Clef drops his shoulders and allows Gears to take it. Gears lays it out over the sink and begins undoing Clef’s shirt buttons, careful to keep his fingers out of the mess. Clef leans back, resting the back of his head against the toilet tank.</p>
<p>“I assume you can handle yourself?” Gears asks when he’s finished stripping Clef. He gathers Clef’s clothes, leaving his jacket, and allows Clef his privacy.</p>
<p>While he waits he has a nightly routine to tend to. Change clothes, start the laundry, check every door and window, lock them if necessary, turn every light off… It’s always been a comfort to him.</p>
<p><em>“What are you doing?”</em></p>
<p><em>Gears stops in his tracks. He turns to face Iceberg.</em></p>
<p><em>“You’ve seen me do this before, have you not?”</em></p>
<p><em>“I wish you wouldn’t. I’m going to bed.”</em></p>
<p>Gears hunches over the kitchen sink and retches. There’s nothing in his stomach to throw up but that doesn’t stop his body from trying. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but he hasn’t allowed another person into his home since Iceberg…</p>
<p>Since he…</p>
<p>Augh, the taste of stomach acid is vile. He waits outside the bathroom, arms crossed, leaning up against the wall, to brush his teeth… He doesn’t hear the shower going. He can’t hear anything inside.</p>
<p>Nothing could have happened in the short time Gears spent surveying the <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>. Clef may have been drunk but there’s no way he would have fallen or drowned or tripped or <em>done something to hurt himse-</em></p>
<p>Hard enough to rattle the <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>, Gears slams the door open and sees <em>Iceberg’s cold body lying motionless on the f-</em> Clef standing before the mirror, towel around his waist, holding his jacket.</p>
<p>“The fuck-!” Clef jumps, catching himself on the sink. He hugs the jacket to his chest, giving Gears a nervous look.</p>
<p>Hand over his heart, Gears can feel his pulse racing. Of course, <em>of course,</em> he had no reason to be afraid. He swallows, brushes the sweat off his brow, and reaches past Clef for the cabinet. He offers Clef an unused toothbrush and takes up his own.</p>
<p>“How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>“Better…” He looks better at the very least, his face and eyes aren’t so red, and Gears isn’t as worried about him collapsing.</p>
<p>Gears checks <em>brush teeth</em> off his mental checklist.</p>
<p>“What am I supposed to sleep in?”</p>
<p>“What do you usually sleep in?”</p>
<p>“My underwear.”</p>
<p>“I will provide clean boxers for you.”</p>
<p>It’s a struggle to find anything in Gears’s closet that fits Clef’s body-type, but he manages to scrounge up a pair of underwear. Clef insists on wearing his jacket. There’s any number of disgusting things clinging to that old rag, but Gears finds no point in fighting him for it now.</p>
<p>He doesn’t think about how Iceberg’s scarf rests in his closet. <em>He doesn’t want to think about how many nights he slept with it in his bed.</em></p>
<p>“This is my bedroom.” He makes a sweeping gesture around the tidy room. “You will sleep here.”</p>
<p>“What about you?”</p>
<p>“I am perfectly content on the couch.”</p>
<p>Clef frowns, that sad, wet look returning to his eyes. “Don’t you want to stay with me?”</p>
<p>“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”</p>
<p>“I’d be more comfortable with you here.” Clef lays in the bed. Gears stands at the foot of the bed for several moments before he crawls into bed beside him. Clef wriggles closer until they’re chest to chest.</p>
<p>“Goodnight, Dr. Clef.”</p>
<p>“Aren’t we going to do anything?”</p>
<p>“We are going to sleep.”</p>
<p>“But don’t you want to?” Clef reaches under Gears’s shirt and runs his palm down his chest.</p>
<p>Gears pulls Clef’s hand out. “You’re drunk.”</p>
<p>“I’m nottttt drunk! I <em>feel</em> sober! I know what I want!” He wraps his legs around one of Gears’s, trying to jam himself even closer. “I want you to make me stop thinking. Don’t you want me?”</p>
<p>“What I want is inconsequential. You are drunk and I will not be sleeping with you.” Pulling himself out of Clef’s grasp, Gears flips over. He wants to scream and he might do so if Clef keeps squirming.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry… come back?” His voice cracks. A dull pain shoots through Gears’s chest.</p>
<p>“You will be quiet or I will sleep alone,” Gears says before turning back over.</p>
<p>“Fine, asshole…” Clef presses his face into Gears’s chest. Gears winces when he feels tears soak into his shirt.</p>
<p>Eventually Clef falls asleep. Gears lies there, staring up at the ceiling. It’s nice… having something warm in his bed. It’s been so long since he’s held or been held.</p>
<p>When he closes his eyes he sees Iceberg. His stomach twists, a pressure growing in his chest. There’s no way for him to pretend that it’s Iceberg beside him. <em>What has he done to earn the right to lie with someone else?</em> The vision of Iceberg questions.</p>
<p>Sleep never comes for him.</p>
<p>Clef wakes up alone. The room is dark and comfortable but terribly empty. There’s a glass of water, two pills, and a note on the table. He doesn’t need to read the note to know what it says. Downing both pills, he wraps himself back in the blankets, returning to his restless oblivion.</p>
<div class="series-nav">
<p>« <strong>Part 1</strong> <em>(you are here)</em> | <strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-need-you-to-leave">Part 2</a></strong> | <strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/this-is-not-a-place-of-honor">Part 3</a></strong> | <strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nobody-runs-site-19">Part 4</a></strong> | <strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tomorrow-and-tomorrow-and-tomorrow">Finale</a></strong> »</p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/lets-get-you-home">Okay, That's Enough, Let's Get You Home</a>" by kingofmice, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/lets-get-you-home">https://scpwiki.com/lets-get-you-home</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
⚠️ **Content warning:** Acts of Dubious Consent
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
.body-text {
margin: 2% 13% 2% 9%;
padding: 5px 20px 5px 20px;
background-color: #f2f2f2;
color: #111;
}
.text4desk {
width: 70%;
margin: auto;
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 600px) {
.body-text {
margin: 0% 4% 0% 4%;
}
.text4desk {
width:100%;
}
}
[[/module]]
There are too many bars in this town, Gears thinks. Over the past couple of weeks he’s become quite acquainted with several of them. Apparently it just wasn’t enough for Clef to frequent one hole in the wall bar.
At least once Gears mapped out every place Clef could be it was only a matter of process of elimination. Clef’s truck sticks out like a sore thumb anywhere, especially the desolate parking lot of //The Bitter End//.
Twenty minutes ago the last few bar goers stumbled out. The neon sign outside reads **CLOSED**, but through the tinted windows Gears can make out one single straggler.
The door creaks as he enters and does not open all the way, forcing him to wriggle his way in. A lone, flickering, amber light illuminates the center of the bar, leaving the filthy sides obscured in darkness. Walking in, he finds the floor sticky, his well-kept shoes squelch against the floor.
It’s certainly not a place Gears would have ever //willingly// entered. The only two inhabitants are a very exhausted looking barkeep and a very drunk looking Clef. It’s sweltering and yet Clef is bundled up in a ratty, brown jacket. The barkeep’s eyes are void of any emotion.
“We’re closed?” he says, wearily. As Gears gets closer to the bar, the thick, burning smell of vomit gets stronger, making his nose scrunch up involuntarily.
“I know,” he says, voice flat. “I am here to take my associate home.” He puts a firm hand on Clef's shoulder, grasping it firmly. Clef flinches, nearly falling out of his chair.
Clef looks over his shoulder quickly, swinging his hat into his face. He burps and blows a wet raspberry at Gears. “Coggyyyyy baby, get the fuuuuck outta here.” His words are slurred and Gears doesn’t recognize the accent Clef is putting on.
“I’m afraid that’s not acceptable.” Gears wraps an arm around Clef’s shoulders so he doesn’t slip. Clef groans, flopping against Gears’s torso. He hic-ups, prompting a wave of drunken giggles.
“You’//rrrrre// not acceptable,” Clef says, breathless.
“How much has he had to drink?” Gears asks, turning his attention to the barkeep.
Without a word, the barkeep slides a bill over the countertop. Gears’s eye twitches as he glances over it. How Clef hasn’t drunk himself into a coma speaks volumes to either Clef’s tolerance or the alcohol quality this bar provides.
“What is your name?”
“Oh- uh- Johnathan Tucker.” Johnathan points to his illegible nametag.
Keeping one hand on Clef, Gears pulls out his checkbook and fills out two sheets, one to cover Clef’s binge and the other to personally compensate for Johnathan’s time. Johnathan examines them, a withered smile pulling on his lips.
“Have a good night, sir!”
“Goodnight.” Gears hoists Clef to his feet, fully prepared to drag Clef across the floor if need be; Clef ragdolls, apparently hellbent on being as unhelpful as possible.
“This is kidnapping!” Clef spits, “You’re letting this guy kidnap me!” He points an accusatory finger in the general direction of the bar. He writhes, ineffectively pawing at Gears’s arms.
“Have some maturity,” Gears says, bordering on a growl. It was enough struggle trying to lug Clef’s weight across the sticky ground //without// Clef actively fighting him.
The crisp night air burns Clef’s flushed face. He whines, letting drool run down his chin. Gears drags Clef to his car, dropping him off on the pavement. He pops open the passenger’s side door.
“I’m taking you home.”
“I don’t wannnnaaaaaa go home!” Clef says with the cadence of a small child.
“Then we will go to //my// home. Either way you’re not staying here.”
“Booooo!” Arms crossed, Clef sticks his tongue out and blows another raspberry.
This is exhausting. After all the effort Gears took to find Clef and ensure his safety, he believes he’s owed a little more //gratitude//. Perhaps he expected too much from his coworker.
“Can you stand up?”
Clef grunts, making several attempts to sit up only to flop back down. He looks stupefied, like nothing could possibly explain his struggle. Gears sighs, getting down to haul Clef up again.
He drags Clef towards the seat and pushes him in. He’s stopped by Clef’s hands shooting out and bracing against the roof of the car. Gears bares his teeth, putting his weight onto him.
“//Clef-”//
//“Wait-!”// Is all the warning Gears gets before Clef lurches forward, spewing his stomach onto Gears’s leather seat. Gears roils.
Clef spits, taking an uneasy step back. He holds onto the car, swaying like a branch. Vomit runs down his chin, clots in his facial hair, and drips onto his shirt. He rubs his face against his sleeve, smearing the bile further.
“//Sorrrry//,” he mumbles, blowing a spit bubble.
Gears stares at the ruined seat with contempt. He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth, determined not to lose his cool. He nudges past Clef, leaning over the vomit splatter for the paper towels he always keeps in there.
He does his best to wipe down the seat and Clef’s face. Clef can only offer a blank expression as Gears cleans him up. He tosses the soiled paper towels into a plastic bag and tries very hard not to think about it.
“Do you feel like vomiting again?” Gears asks, voice calm, like he’s talking to a child.
“Huh…?”
Gears puts his head in his hands. “Please get in the back seat.”
He shuts the passenger’s side door, cracking open the back. Clef mumbles something, haphazardly flopping facefirst into the clean cushions. Gears reaches in and grabs a handful of Clef’s hair, using that to force him upright.
“Okay! Okay! I’m up!” Clef whines, getting in the correct position. Gears crawls into his lap and buckles him in. Clef flushes, turning his head to the side.
“What ab-bout my truck?” He waves a hand towards the truck in question.
“I will handle it.”
The drive is quiet, which Gears can only be thankful for. It’s a struggle to keep his eyes open but the burning stench of vomit certainly keeps him from getting too relaxed.
As the drive goes on he gets a crawling feeling down his back. //He swears he sees a figure in the passenger’s seat. He’s scared to look, fearing he might turn to see Iceberg rotting beside him.//
They pull up to a large [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]], within walking distance of Site-19 and well away from anything that could be called a //community//. The only light is a single flickering street lamp. Clef groans, sits up, and squints at the building, not immediately recognizing it.
“This isn’t my [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]]?”
“Of course, this is my [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]]. You will come inside.”
“Is that an order, //sir//?”
“I would rather it not be.”
Taking him by the forearm, Gears leads him inside. The [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] is dark and smells new, unlived in. Everything is unsettlingly clean. The furniture stands perfectly uniform and colorless. It’s like he just walked into an air-freshened prison cell.
There’s an island between the kitchen and, what appears to be, the dining room. The white countertops look so clean that Clef thinks even a single grain of coke would stick out on its surface. Gears sits Clef at the table and fetches a glass of water.
As Gears returns to Clef’s side he holds the glass out as an offering. Clef crosses his arms and sticks his nose up.
“Clef…” Gears says, patiently. “Please drink.”
“Nuh-uh.” Clef bites the inside of his lips, turning his head to the side as Gears continually tries to bring it up to them.
“Alto.” Gears puts a firm hand on Clef’s shoulder.
Clef opens his eyes, not realizing he closed them, and he finds himself not in Gears’s home but //in an empty staff room at Site-19. He’s not alone here, Kondraki stands beside him, leaning nonchalantly against the wall.//
//They’re close, too close, but in the tension of the moment Clef couldn’t care less. Kondraki looks at him, eyes filled with… if Clef didn’t know any better he would tell himself Kondraki was looking at him with affection.//
//“Are you sure you’re not thirsty?” he asks, waving his beer bottle in Clef’s face. Clef gawks at him, half tempted to smack the bottle out of his hands.//
//“No. I don’t see how you drink that shit. It doesn’t even have that much alcohol in it.”//
//Kondraki shrugs. “It’s not that bad once you get used to it.”//
//“Yeah, drinking acid isn’t that bad either once you burn your tastebuds off.”//
//It wasn’t that funny but Kondraki chuckles and Clef can’t help but chuckle too. Kondraki leans in, looming over him, cheeks warm with alcohol and joy. He looks Clef in the eyes and for a moment Clef is captivated.//
//Kondraki smirks, taking one long swig of his drink. He proceeds to push Clef up against the wall, pinning him there with his body. Heart hammering in his chest, Clef looks up, eyes wide.//
//The world stops.//
//The next thing he knows, Kondraki has his lips pressed against Clef’s. Clef sinks into the feeling, practically going limp, moaning ever so softly. Then he feels the sting of carbonation and his shoulders tense. Kondraki’s grip on him is strong, Clef can’t spit it out.//
//He swallows Kondraki’s disgusting beer, feeling all the worse for it. Kondraki pulls back, that stupid grin plastered on his face. He licks his lips slowly, like he’s mocking him.//
//Wiping his face with the back of his wrist, Clef says, “That was the most disgusting thing you’ve ever done to me.” He pauses, looking Kondraki in the eyes. “... You wanna do it again?”//
Clef’s shoulders slouch. His eyes droop, not looking at Gears but locked onto something in the distance. The feisty energy visibly drains from his features. Gears takes advantage of the moment and has him drain the glass.
“Now… Was that so hard?” Gears asks, setting the cup on the island.
Clef turns to face him, quivering weakly, eyes wet with tears. Gears frowns and lets out a heavy sigh. He brushes the hair out of Clef’s face and cups his cheek, feeling the warmth in his palm.
Clef’s hands shoot out, snatching either side of Gears’s face. Gears fails to brace himself, barely managing to catch him on Clef’s chair. Their lips jam together in an approximation of a kiss.
Gears would be lying if he said he found the sensation unpleasant, but he will say so anyway. Clef’s lips are chapped, the kiss is far too wet and sloppy, not to mention the taste of vomit.
And yet… Gears can’t bring himself to pull away, not immediately. There’s a certain desperation to how Clef clings to him, how his fingers paw and scrunch up in his shirt and hair, the soft, needy noises he makes. It draws Gears in and leaves him entranced.
Nevertheless, this was unacceptable. He pulls back, straining out of Clef’s persistent grasp. Clef mouths against his collar. Biting the inside of his lip, Gears yanks Clef’s head back by his hair. He prays the warmth in his cheeks isn’t visible.
“Ouch!” Cries Clef. “Don’t you like me?”
“You’re inebriated,” he says through gritted teeth, “You’ll thank me in the morning.”
Clef scoffs. “Guh, //fuck you//. You could have //pussy// just //lined// up before you and you’d still be a virgin.”
Gears shakes his head. He turns and walks into the kitchen, taking Clef’s cup with him. This was just another one of Clef’s tantrums. He turns on the sink, letting the cold water run over the glass. Anything to occupy his hands so he doesn’t wring Clef’s neck.
“Don’t ignore me! Why won’t you touch me?” Clef drags himself out of the chair, leaning on the counter.
“I have stated my reasons.” Gears turns the water up, hoping to drown him out.
“Bullshh//hittttttttt//. Don’t act like you’ve never [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/this-world-is-as-you-would-have-wanted taken advantage of someone before].”
The sink shuts off with a thunk. Gears glares at his reflection in the glass, hating the man looking back at him. He attempts to swallow a lump in his throat; his mouth runs dry.
“... what do you mean by that?”
With his back to Clef he can’t see his expression, but he can hear the sinister grin in Clef’s next words.
“Don’t be coy with me, Coggy. Trying to hide all the shit you were doing to Iceberg. You’re a little //freak// aren’t you? [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/in-his-own-image-part-3 |Bet that’s why he shot himself]]].”
The glass clangs against the bottom of the sink. A shot of adrenaline shoots through Clef’s veins. He stumbles over the chair, backing himself into a wall as Gears stares him down, marching towards him with purpose.
Clef opens his mouth, maybe to beg for mercy, maybe to scream. Whatever noise he wanted to make is cut off as Gears wraps his hand around his throat. It’s not tight enough to block airflow, no, Gears is very precise about that. He pins Clef to the wall in a position that’s oh so familiar and //oh so terrifying//.
Clef wheezes, on the verge of hyperventilating. Gears can feel his speedy heartbeat under his fingers. It’s refreshing, the scared look on Clef’s face, how he uselessly worms about and claws at Gears’s fingers. Tears and snot run down his crimson face.
“Breathe,” Gears commands, keeping up the illusion of self control. “I do not wish to hurt you, and I will not if you do not give me reason to. It would do you some good to //never// mention Dr. Iceberg to me again. Understood?”
“Mmm-mhm!” Clef tries his best to nod. He feels Clef’s Adam's apple bob under his palm. Satisfied, and not wanting Clef’s snot to drip onto his sleeve, Gears releases him.
Once free, Clef crumbles onto the floor and hugs his knees to his chest. He struggles to breathe, each sharp gasp only burns. He sounds awful, raspy, like he’s having an asthma attack. Gears turns his back to him, about to return to the kitchen.
“You took everything from me… Why won’t you just finish me off?”
Gears stills, feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders. He shakes his head and continues on. The glass is dried and returned to its place in the cupboard. While there, he fetches a roll of paper towels for Clef.
He kneels down to Clef’s level, cleaning off Clef’s face for the second time. Clef sobs, choking on his own spit. Gears remains patient, finding something uncomfortably…//familiar// in the position he’s in.
“Why did he leave me?” Clef mumbles, reaching up to grasp Gears’s wrist. Gears’s breath hitches.
He combs his knuckles through Clef’s hair, trying to soothe him. His trembles slow and his breathing settles. He pauses in his motions, taking a moment to glance around his empty home. He believes he has privacy and safety here, but he never wanted to be careless. Not when a dear friend is on the line.
“You know why he had to leave,” Gears says, breath soft and warm against Clef’s neck. Clef shivers, hair standing on him.
“It’s not fair!” He hunches forward, face in his hands, and dissolves into another fit of sobs. “Why couldn’t you have protected him?”
Pushing Clef flat against the wall, Gears jams the wad of paper towel over his mouth. “I //did// protect him. Can’t you understand? He was only in danger here.”
“Why couldn't he have taken me with him?” Clef asks, shaky hands reaching up to grip the front of Gears’s shirt. His eyes are empty.
“Because-” Gears pries Clef’s fingers off him, “-he would have been safer without you. There [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-king-is-dead |was a warrant for his execution]]]. If you had disappeared alongside him you would have put //everyone// at risk.”
“Oh…” Clef says, going slack. “It’s not fair.”
“I know…” Gears reaches out and plucks off Clef’s hat. He caresses Clef’s cheek, dabbing up the last of the tears before they can fall.
Once Clef seems calm, Gears disposes of the paper towels and finds a safe place for the hat. He returns once again to Clef’s side. After a moment of internal debate, Gears leans in, returning Clef’s earlier gesture by locking their lips.
It feels wrong. It feels good, but //horribly// wrong. Clef makes a soft noise, one Gears wouldn’t mind hearing from him more, and makes no move to stop him. Still, he can’t help but feel like he’s violating Clef by doing this, as well as violating Kondraki’s trust.
//Kondraki rushes into Gears’s office. Gears sits at his desk, playing the role of someone hard at work. Kondraki slams the door shut behind him, sealing them in.//
//“Doctor Kondraki. You appear distressed. And injured.” Gears stands up to examine the wound on Kondraki’s shoulder.//
//“Ha- ha yeah,” Kondraki says, breathless, “I scared Dmitri and Clef pretty good. Clef’s probably not that far behind me.” There’s a pain in his voice, as the weight of what he’s forced to leave behind hits him.//
//“I can work with this.” Gears drags him over to the desk, bending him over so the blood from the shoulder wound drips onto the surface.//
//“Smart.”//
//[[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-408 |408]]] decloaks around him. Half of them split off, taking the form of Kondraki himself. Kondraki takes off his jacket, taking a moment to examine the hole in the shoulder where Clef’s bullet tore through. There were a few dead butterflies clumped up in the fabric.//
//Kondraki’s stomach twists. “You know he’ll see right through this.”//
//“As long as the overseers are satisfied it doesn’t matter what he knows,” Gears says, pulling a pistol out of his desk.//
//“He’ll hate me for it.”//
//“I’m afraid you'll have to live with it.”//
//Kondraki takes one last look at his jacket and hands it to his illusioned self. They put it on and have a seat at the desk. After examining them, Kondraki removes his hat and places it on the illusion’s head.//
//“Goodbye my friends. And… goodbye Cog.” Kondraki embraces Gears, squeezing him tight enough to force the air out of his lungs. Gears commits this feeling to memory.//
//“Goodbye… Doctor.”//
//“Please, make sure Draven stays safe. Get him out of here if you can. And Clef… oh God, Clef,” he sucks in a shuddering sigh. “Take care of him for me.”//
//“You should get going.”//
//“Right.” With the second half of 408 Kondraki cloaks and escapes through Gears’s window. They won’t survive long out on the run with him but he owes them everything for letting him make his escape at all.//
//Gears closes the window and locks it, then, he looks to the false-Kondraki. Silently, he walks around the illusion, presses the gun to the back of their skull, and pulls the trigger. Even knowing it’s fake, it’s not a pleasant sight.//
//By the time Clef makes it there the scene is perfect. Even if one could doubt Gears’s word, they could never doubt Kondraki’s ever cooling body.//
//“…Was it at least hard for you to do?” Clef asks, sounding so very tired.//
//Gears could answer that two ways. No, it wasn’t hard to stage Kondraki’s death, but it was agonizing to let him go.//
//…//
Gears holds the back of Clef’s head, keeping him still. He drags his fingers down the back of his neck, along his collarbone, finally settling on Clef’s shoulder. He runs his thumb over where the tear used to be, and where it seems Clef tried to patch it up.
The kiss lasts for too long. By the time Gears pulls back, Clef is breathless, cheeks flushed. Clef babbles something; Gears catches the name //Ben// in there a couple times. Leaves a bitter taste in Gears’s mouth. Fuck, Gears shouldn’t have done that. //Fuck//, even if Clef wanted it Gears shouldn’t have.
Eyes closed, a thin stream of tears still trickling down his cheeks, lips partially open, Clef is more vulnerable in this moment than Gears has ever seen him before. He could do anything to Clef at this moment and no one, least of all Clef, would try to stop him.
The thought //terrifies// him. He built his entire career, his very life, off of holding other people’s lives in his hands, but it’s never been so personal.
“Please…” Clef leans in, hands on Gears’s hips. Gears grabs his wrists and pushes him back. Clef’s eyes open, giving Gears a sad, pleading look.
“I shouldn’t have done that…” Gears shudders, a rock settling in his stomach. Knees popping, Gears stands and holds out a hand to help Clef do the same. Clef shakes, leaning on him for support.
“You’re mean…” He says, pushing his face into Gears’s ribs. Gears’s shirt is soft and it smells nice. He draws in a deep breath through his nose and lets out a satisfied sigh.
Gears shakes his head. “You should get to bed. You may use mine if you shower and change clothes.”
“Mmm-kay,” he says into Gears’s chest. Gears bites his lip, resisting the urge to shove Clef off. “It’s hot in here.”
“May I suggest removing the jacket.”
“Eh?”
Holding onto Clef, Gears leads him to the bathroom. He sits Clef on the toilet and helps him undress. As he attempts to strip Clef of his jacket Clef clings to it tighter. The muscles on his forehead tighten.
“Please cooperate.”
“Don’t take it.”
“I will return it to you. Do not make me use force.”
Clef trembles, burying himself further in the jacket. He’s tempted to rip it off him, but that would only make Clef more uncooperative.
“Alto,” voice flat and firm, Gears grabs his attention. “I will return the jacket, but you //must// remove it for the time being. Do you understand me?” He does his best to keep his tone consistent, hoping that if Clef couldn’t understand his words he would at least understand his point.
The effect seems to work, Clef drops his shoulders and allows Gears to take it. Gears lays it out over the sink and begins undoing Clef’s shirt buttons, careful to keep his fingers out of the mess. Clef leans back, resting the back of his head against the toilet tank.
“I assume you can handle yourself?” Gears asks when he’s finished stripping Clef. He gathers Clef’s clothes, leaving his jacket, and allows Clef his privacy.
While he waits he has a nightly routine to tend to. Change clothes, start the laundry, check every door and window, lock them if necessary, turn every light off… It’s always been a comfort to him.
//“What are you doing?”//
//Gears stops in his tracks. He turns to face Iceberg.//
//“You’ve seen me do this before, have you not?”//
//“I wish you wouldn’t. I’m going to bed.”//
Gears hunches over the kitchen sink and retches. There’s nothing in his stomach to throw up but that doesn’t stop his body from trying. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but he hasn’t allowed another person into his home since Iceberg…
Since he…
Augh, the taste of stomach acid is vile. He waits outside the bathroom, arms crossed, leaning up against the wall, to brush his teeth… He doesn’t hear the shower going. He can’t hear anything inside.
Nothing could have happened in the short time Gears spent surveying the [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]]. Clef may have been drunk but there’s no way he would have fallen or drowned or tripped or //done something to hurt himse-//
Hard enough to rattle the [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]], Gears slams the door open and sees //Iceberg’s cold body lying motionless on the f-// Clef standing before the mirror, towel around his waist, holding his jacket.
“The fuck-!” Clef jumps, catching himself on the sink. He hugs the jacket to his chest, giving Gears a nervous look.
Hand over his heart, Gears can feel his pulse racing. Of course, //of course,// he had no reason to be afraid. He swallows, brushes the sweat off his brow, and reaches past Clef for the cabinet. He offers Clef an unused toothbrush and takes up his own.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better…” He looks better at the very least, his face and eyes aren’t so red, and Gears isn’t as worried about him collapsing.
Gears checks //brush teeth// off his mental checklist.
“What am I supposed to sleep in?”
“What do you usually sleep in?”
“My underwear.”
“I will provide clean boxers for you.”
It’s a struggle to find anything in Gears’s closet that fits Clef’s body-type, but he manages to scrounge up a pair of underwear. Clef insists on wearing his jacket. There’s any number of disgusting things clinging to that old rag, but Gears finds no point in fighting him for it now.
He doesn’t think about how Iceberg’s scarf rests in his closet. //He doesn’t want to think about how many nights he slept with it in his bed.//
“This is my bedroom.” He makes a sweeping gesture around the tidy room. “You will sleep here.”
“What about you?”
“I am perfectly content on the couch.”
Clef frowns, that sad, wet look returning to his eyes. “Don’t you want to stay with me?”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’d be more comfortable with you here.” Clef lays in the bed. Gears stands at the foot of the bed for several moments before he crawls into bed beside him. Clef wriggles closer until they’re chest to chest.
“Goodnight, Dr. Clef.”
“Aren’t we going to do anything?”
“We are going to sleep.”
“But don’t you want to?” Clef reaches under Gears’s shirt and runs his palm down his chest.
Gears pulls Clef’s hand out. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m nottttt drunk! I //feel// sober! I know what I want!” He wraps his legs around one of Gears’s, trying to jam himself even closer. “I want you to make me stop thinking. Don’t you want me?”
“What I want is inconsequential. You are drunk and I will not be sleeping with you.” Pulling himself out of Clef’s grasp, Gears flips over. He wants to scream and he might do so if Clef keeps squirming.
“I’m sorry… come back?” His voice cracks. A dull pain shoots through Gears’s chest.
“You will be quiet or I will sleep alone,” Gears says before turning back over.
“Fine, asshole...” Clef presses his face into Gears’s chest. Gears winces when he feels tears soak into his shirt.
Eventually Clef falls asleep. Gears lies there, staring up at the ceiling. It’s nice… having something warm in his bed. It’s been so long since he’s held or been held.
When he closes his eyes he sees Iceberg. His stomach twists, a pressure growing in his chest. There’s no way for him to pretend that it’s Iceberg beside him. //What has he done to earn the right to lie with someone else?// The vision of Iceberg questions.
Sleep never comes for him.
Clef wakes up alone. The room is dark and comfortable but terribly empty. There’s a glass of water, two pills, and a note on the table. He doesn’t need to read the note to know what it says. Downing both pills, he wraps himself back in the blankets, returning to his restless oblivion.
[[div class="series-nav"]]
« **Part 1** //(you are here)// | **[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-need-you-to-leave Part 2]** | **[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/this-is-not-a-place-of-honor Part 3]** | **[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nobody-runs-site-19 Part 4]** | **[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tomorrow-and-tomorrow-and-tomorrow Finale]** »
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-01-04T22:52:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gears",
"doctor-iceberg",
"doctor-kondraki",
"tale"
] |
Okay, That's Enough, Let's Get You Home - SCP Foundation
| 21
|
[
"this-world-is-as-you-would-have-wanted",
"in-his-own-image-part-3",
"the-king-is-dead",
"scp-408",
"i-need-you-to-leave",
"this-is-not-a-place-of-honor",
"nobody-runs-site-19",
"tomorrow-and-tomorrow-and-tomorrow",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"no-love-hub"
] |
[] |
1452031472
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lets-get-you-home
|
|
lights-in-the-hills
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>While assigned to Armed Mobile Task Force Nu-7, I began a six-month rotation to Detachment 745. The “Det” was dedicated to manning AOC-745 (Area of Containment) in northern New Mexico, the home of SCP-745. The cover story for the AOC was that the land belonged to the U.S. Department of Energy, and the primary job of Det personnel was to secure the area from civilian intrusion by posing as contracted security guards (which was basically what we were).</p>
<p>Additionally, we were responsible for capturing any active instances of SCP-745 hunting in the area, but that had become an obsolete task. By the time of my posting to the Det, they no longer roamed the roadways. They were only to be seen in their refuge in the distant hills, with only their multicolored pulses of light revealing their existence. They were extremely elusive, and all attempts to track them in that habitat were fruitless.</p>
<p>Official records (at least the ones accessible to my clearance level) don’t say much about the history of SCP-745, except that they used to be widespread across the Southwest until the Foundation wiped most of them out in the 1960s. During my time at the Det, though, I managed to piece together a little more.</p>
<p>With the written record so tightly controlled, something of an “oral tradition” persists within the Foundation. Also, due to operational necessity, information flows more freely within Mobile Task Forces (MTFs) than in research or containment sites. This allowed the following story to be passed down, which I’ve gleaned from various sources and individuals:</p>
<p>During the 1950s, a number of disappearances occurred in the deserts of the Southwest. Vehicles would be found abandoned on the side of remote roads. Naturally, the first assumption was that the vehicle had broken down or had run out of fuel, the occupants tried to walk for help, and got lost in the desert. Certain inconsistencies were found with this theory, however. Usually, the vehicle would be in perfect working order, sometimes even with the engine still idling. Also, no footprints would be found leading away from the area. But what had really solidified the Foundation’s interest was when someone managed to escape what had been claiming these travelers, and reported the encounter to local officials.</p>
<p>As the nature of the threat became better known, a wide-scale campaign was conducted to contain the newly-designated SCP. Today, many look back at this as the “glory days” of MTF operations– participants in a great hunt, roving across the desert in chase of a cunning adversary. Specimens were found ranging from the Texas Panhandle to southern Nevada. Due of the vast expanse of affected territory, recovery teams were given tremendous autonomy to plan and execute missions. With their subject being strictly nocturnal, and occupying mostly uninhabited areas, they were largely free to work without civilian interference and the burden of having to maintain cover stories.</p>
<p>Unfortunately for Foundation researchers, 745 proved very difficult to be taken alive, and the ones that were didn’t live long in captivity. Because of the fact that MTF teams were spread thin, they often didn’t have the resources to attempt to capture the creatures when it was far less risky to simply terminate them. This slaughter was seen as an acceptable course of action given the threat the specimens posed to the populace, in both the mortal and informational sense.</p>
<p>Things carried on like this for several years. Eventually, the creatures were successfully eradicated from large areas. Old documents I had found indicated SCP-745 was downgraded from Keter to Euclid with the establishment of the modern Area of Containment, which was sometime between 1987 and 1992 (the last known reference to a Keter classification and the first to Euclid, respectively). It was deduced that this Area of Containment must be their point of origin. They had been reduced to just a small, isolated population left to languish in the hills flanking a lone stretch of abandoned highway, now controlled by the Foundation and devoid of potential prey. For all intents and purposes they were considered to be successfully contained.</p>
<p>At this point the Foundation was content to leave them alone there, so long as they stayed within the containment area and didn’t threaten anyone else. Apparently, it had also abandoned active study on the species. The closest thing we saw to a researcher was a point of contact in a procedures binder.</p>
<p>Detachment 745 was seen as an easy assignment. Many welcomed it as a break from the more stressful and dangerous elements of duty in an MTF, but most quickly became bored and dissatisfied, considering it a waste of their talents. All understood the potential threat, but complacency inevitably set in– a complacency that would eventually be tested.</p>
<hr/>
<p>We drove up to the shack at about 1700 hours, the four of us who would be running patrols that night, plus the two who would stay in the shack. We were all lodged in the same extended-stay hotel in town, and we all rode together in the same van. “The shack” was the guard station on the highway running through the AOC, a few miles from its southern border. This point of entry was the closest to towns and trafficked roads, and received the majority of our unwelcome visitors. We entered the shack and exchanged the usual pleasantries, and received the usual changeover briefing (usually “NSTR,” pronounced “nister”, for “nothing significant to report”). We then verified our positions on the schedule board. Jake and I were in the vehicle with the call sign Black 1. Mark and Andres were in Black 2, and Kelly and Rob were staying to oversee operations from the shack. Us four agents on patrol picked up our sidearms from the weapons locker, then picked up our equipment bags for inspection. Each team of two shared a bag, one per vehicle.</p>
<p>“Hey, have y’all noticed these amnestics have been expired for like a month?”, Andres asked while shaking his head, inspecting a vial he had pulled out of his bag. Andres was a very direct individual, inclined towards prompt action. “Put it on the board, Rob.”</p>
<p>He was referring to a list of supplies to be picked up on our next trip to the Regional Operations Center. Most of the other items on the list were more mundane. We had a good chuckle watching Rob try to spell “amnestics”. Once we got everything else in order, we took our equipment out to the trucks.</p>
<p>I volunteered to drive, at least for the beginning of the shift. Mark and Andres got in the other truck, and we all headed north up the highway to relieve the day shift. Kelly, back at base, came on the radio at that point, advising our diurnal counterparts (Gold 1 and Gold 2) that we were on the way. A few more miles on the road, we saw Gold 2 parked near the T-junction of the highway and what we called West Road. Black 2 stopped there to take over for them, but we continued north. Our hand-off was to be at the north gate of the AOC, opposite of the shack.</p>
<p>The north gate saw less activity than the south, but was still heavily monitored by surveillance systems, and Gold 1/Black 1 stuck around that area. Gold 2/Black 2 usually made their rounds along the west side. The eastern half of the AOC was more mountainous, with few traversable paths, so the terrain effectively secured that side for us. The western half featured several dirt roads of varying suitability, along with the West Road, which was paved, but had fallen into poor condition. Though the main highway was maintained for our use, Det personnel had been requesting for years, unsuccessfully, that West Road be repaired.</p>
<p>The sun was low in the sky, and long shadows were beginning to be cast. As I drove, I continually scanned the hills to either side of us. When dusk approached and daylight dwindled, the SCP specimens would make a bustle of light displays. East and West, they would almost be synchronized in their patterns and colors. Pinpoints of bright light pulsed and flickered, usually 10-to-15 on each side, but sometimes more. They would start with yellows and greens, then as the sun set, change to white and pink. We called it their wake-up call. The activity would die down by the last glow of twilight, and after that only sporadic, individual displays would be observed through the rest of the night.</p>
<p>In the time of year I had been at the Det thus far, this display happened to occur during our evening shift change. I had seen the wake-up call many times, and it always gave me a strange, chilling feeling. In many ways it was beautiful, and absolutely fascinating. How did this visual language work? What were they saying to each other across the valley? But assessing it as an MTF operative, it was also a tactical problem. It made me very uneasy to be surrounded by threats on higher ground, communicating to each other as I passed between them. My teammates had tried to assure me it was only a coincidence the wake-up call happened as we drove up the highway, but I couldn’t help but feel that they were reacting to our presence.</p>
<p>On that drive, as I scanned the hills, Jake had his head down, his attention on his phone.</p>
<p>I found it alarming that, after years of complacency, something that had once been so deadly had became a background fixture. We spent our days and nights surrounded by monsters capable of running down cars and dragging their occupants to hell for all we knew, and our biggest worry was how we were going to fight boredom and stay awake. This was like no other assignment I had experienced. I didn’t think six months was going to be enough time to get used to it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Base, Black One is on-watch.” Jake made the standard radio call as we stepped out of the truck.</p>
<p>“Copy,” Kelly replied from the shack.</p>
<p>We met Gold 1 at the north gate at about 1745. One of the members we were relieving was named Alex. He was my closest acquaintance at the Det, as we had worked together on another assignment two years prior. He was the kind of person who could usually tell where I was going with an idea as soon as I brought it up, by virtue of having a similar thought process. Still, Jake was an agreeable partner. I was paired with him since I was relatively new there and he was one of the most experienced. Calm and patient, he made a good teacher.</p>
<p>Like usual, there was nothing of substance to pass along. We exchanged a bit of small talk while leaning over one of the truck beds, but Alex and his partner, Morgan, didn’t stay long. Sharing the one van, all of the other day shift personnel had to wait for them to return before they could go back into town and to their hotel rooms. The wake-up call was well underway by the time they drove off. As the truck’s taillights became smaller and smaller down the long, straight stretch of southbound road, I could see a few other faint lights in the distance beyond. The creatures’ lights were yellow and pink as dusk set in.</p>
<p>Jake and I got back in the truck, and began to settle into our routine. We each recovered our dinner from our bags. I had brought a couple of sandwiches to last me through the shift. As I was eating the first one, we started to discuss our plan for the night. We agreed we would patrol about five miles of fence line, then park on a particular hill that gave a good overview of the highway.</p>
<p>“Base, Black Two. Come in, Base.” Black 2 was the other night shift vehicle that was just coming on watch with us, further south. Andres’ voice sounded unusually tense. It was the “stressed, yet focused” tone of voice I had heard many times over the years, when one was anticipating imminent action. It wasn’t something I had heard from him before.</p>
<p>Apparently Kelly picked up on this, too. “Uhh, Black Two, go ahead. What’s going on?”</p>
<p>“Strange activity from the SCPs.” Our truck was facing the gate, away from the AOC, so I immediately turned around in my seat, “Different color than usual—blue light. Repeat, SCPs are making blue light.”</p>
<p>At that time, the sky was a deep blue and the landscape was very dark. The hills were silhouetted against the dark orange remnants of the sunset. Across that landscape, I could discern about seven distant lights. Each was a vibrant blue, a wavelength bordering on the edge of visibility that was impossible to clearly focus on. Before that night, they had invariably been a pink hue at that time. Even stranger, though, was that they were steady. They didn’t flicker, pulse, strobe, or flash, like every other night. They were a solid, steady blue.</p>
<p>There was a pause of several moments before Kelly replied. “Copy, Black Two. Black One, did you read that?”</p>
<p>Jake already had the mic to his mouth. “Black One has eyes on SCPs, reporting the same. Steady light, blue color. Standard location.”</p>
<p>At that moment, I suddenly remembered that Alex and Morgan were still on the highway, and by that time were probably in the midst of the creatures. “The guys…” I voiced to Jake with a nod towards the road. He keyed the mike again.</p>
<p>“Base, has Gold One made it to you yet?”</p>
<p>“Negative,” Kelly replied. “Gold One, come in.”</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>“Gold One, Base.”</p>
<p>More silence.</p>
<p>I slammed the shifter into drive and turned around, kicking up gravel as we sped off. Jake picked up the mic that had slid off the seat and onto the floor.</p>
<p>“Base, Black One is heading south down the highway after Gold One.”</p>
<p>“Roger, Black One. Black Two, what’s your location?”</p>
<p>There was a pause of a few seconds before Andres responded, “Black Two is also going back towards the highway.” I supposed they decided to follow our lead. “Do we continue to the highway?”</p>
<p>Kelly replied, and elaborated. “Affirm, but once you get there, stay at the ‘T’ until Gold Two arrives. They’ll take your place, then you head back out west.” The two individuals in the Gold 2 vehicle, who had just gotten off shift and were about to leave for the night, had been re-deployed. We were actually very fortunate the situation began when it did. Being shift change, 12 agents were already in the AOC. At another time, off-duty personnel would have to be called in, likely awoken from sleep, and it would have taken about an hour for them to arrive.</p>
<p>The excitement was building. This was the most significant occurrence to happen with SCP-745 in years, perhaps decades. Nobody knew what this development meant, or what would happen next. I controlled by breathing to steady my heart rate and took stock of my mental state. I reminded myself that dealing with strange, unexpected situations was my job. I assured myself that I had tackled far worse things in the past. <em>This isn’t reality-altering or ethereal, just good ol’ fashioned mortal creatures.</em> In my peripheral vision I noticed Jake motion towards his sidearm, verifying its readiness. That caused a whole new stress to come over me. <em>We are not prepared for this!</em> I was angry that we allowed ourselves to be caught off-guard. We, armed only with our handguns, might have to face Keter-quality predators. We had rifles at the shack, but we never took them out in the field with us. <em>Why the hell not? Why even have them?</em></p>
<p>A minute or so had passed since the last transmission, when Jake muttered “I figured they’d have given us guidance, too. Not sure what we’ll do after we find them.” He keyed the mic as he unrolled a map. “Base, Black One.”</p>
<p>No response.</p>
<p>“Base, Black One, come in.”</p>
<p>Still no response.</p>
<p>“Anyone on channel, do you read? This is Black One.”</p>
<p>“Maybe something about this location is messing with the radio,” I posited to Jake. “We lost comms with Gold after they came this way, and now it’s us.”</p>
<p>“Maybe. Nothing like this has ever happened before. But with the repeaters… I don’t know.” He turned on the truck’s FM radio and scanned through the frequency range without finding a station. “Shit, I think you’re right. Some kind of– Hey do you see that?”</p>
<p>I did see it. Oncoming headlights.</p>
<p>“Alright, you know what to do,” Jake suggested. We were trained on how to respond if facing a possible charge from a 745 hunting pair. Standard operating procedure was to dim the high beams and auxiliary lights, then simply stay on the right side of the road at a steady speed. In other words, just drive normal and trust that another human motorist would do the same. If the headlights were in your lane, then it had to be SCPs, and they’d flinch first in that game of chicken as long as you kept steady.</p>
<p>As the lights approached, they seemed to be sticking to the script. As they came closer still, I could discern the amber side markers our trucks had. “We’re good!” I declared. I continued to watch it as we passed each other. Although it was almost completely dark out, I could still confirm that it was indeed one of our pickup trucks. As we and the other truck pulled up beside each other, we each lowered our window. In the ambient glow, I could see that it was Alex in the driver seat. I asked if they were okay.</p>
<p>“Yeah, we’re fine. When we saw the blue lights around us we tried calling in, but we lost radio, so we turned around to regroup with you. What’s your situation?”</p>
<p>“We’re okay. Black Two called it in first, then when you didn’t check in, we came down after you. We just lost radio, too, we think it’s some kind of localized thing.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“You went silent once you got down here and things got weird, but everyone else was unaffected. And now it’s both of us.”</p>
<p>We also established that none us had cell phone service, but reception was usually sparse in that area, anyway.</p>
<p>Alex laid his head back on the headrest for a moment, thinking. Then came the inevitable question from Morgan, his partner in the passenger seat– “So what now?”</p>
<p>I turned to Jake. He was the most senior member out of the four of us, and without support from the shack, leadership defaulted to him.</p>
<p>“Let’s go back north,” he announced. “From what we last heard, I think they’ve got the rest covered. If I were running the shack right now, I’d want everybody maintaining the perimeter while I called the ROC to start figuring things out.” He was referring to our Regional Operations Center, the headquarters for all of the Foundation’s Mobile Field Team activities in the Southwestern United States. “And if this really is a dead zone then we need to try to get out of it.”</p>
<p>I scanned the landscape to reassess the SCP lights. We were right between the opposing groups, in the hills on either side of the highway. They were still emitting steady blue, and it looked like there were more of them than usual.</p>
<p>Morgan stated the thought I was just starting to form myself. “They don’t usually stay on this long after dark.”</p>
<p>“All the more reason to get out of here,” Alex said. “After you,” he told Jake and I as he motioned forward with an open hand, “We’ll keep trying the radio as we go.”</p>
<p>We headed back towards the north gate. Jake and I anxiously waited to hear Gold 1 on the radio, or anyone else. I set the truck’s stereo to a station I knew we could normally receive, that way we could tell exactly if and when we left the “dead zone.”</p>
<p>I looked in the mirrors to see if the specimens were still visible, but I couldn’t tell past the glare of the following truck’s headlights. Even though the erroneous activity was an unsettling sight, deep down I wanted them to stay lit in those hills all night. At least that way I would know they were still over there and not near us.</p>
<p>Out from the static, a commercial for a car dealership started to come through. We each sighed in relief, excited that we at least had <em>some</em> handle on the situation. Jake marked the location on the map. A message then crackled over our radio system.</p>
<p>“Anyone on channel, this is Gold One, does anyone copy?”</p>
<p>Kelly responded. “This is Base, we read you. What’s your status?”</p>
<p>In the following exchange, we assured the shack operators that we were alright, and informed them of the radio dead zone. We inquired if they had detected any activity at the north gate during our absence. They said there had been none, and as we had assumed, our orders were to regroup there and maintain that position. They didn’t have any more information for us regarding the SCPs, but assured us they had informed the ROC and would give us updates as they arrived.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was about 2030, and all four teams had been at their positions for about two hours after being ordered to maintain the perimeter. Base had relayed to us periodic status updates on behalf of the ROC, and we were told that a drone surveillance aircraft (“UAV” to us) was on its way. The Gold teams—the day shift operators—had been out in the AOC for about 15 hours at that point. The specimens still shone bright, and there were even more of them. Their numbers had gradually increased, and we kept a tally. At first I had observed about seven lights. At our regroup we counted 12, and over the course of our watch the number grew to 23. Our counterparts to the southwest observed an increase from their vantage point as well.</p>
<p>Eventually, we got word from base that the UAV was on-station. “They’re keeping their distance out to the south, though,” we were informed, “they insist on staying away from the dead zone.”</p>
<p>This news was disappointing. The UAV was on the opposite end of the AOC, away from the SCPs and even further away from us. When asked if there was any way they the aircraft could fly around the dead zone to cover us from the north, but Kelly elaborated that there were issues with trying getting clearance into that airspace. Though frustrating, I did understand the operators’ situation. The aircraft could have been Foundation-owned, but it was more likely a U.S. military asset “borrowed” by the Foundation under a standing agreement between high-ranking officials. Such deals impose strict guidelines and require great care be taken in the interest of secrecy and obfuscation.</p>
<p>Rob came onto the radio from base. It was the first time we had heard from him that night. “They’re seeing something weird south of your position. Can’t really tell what it is from that distance, but we’d like both teams to check it out. Start south down the highway and we’ll relay further directions.”</p>
<p>Jake radioed our partner team. “Here we go, Gold. We’ll lead.” In our time spent waiting before then, we had decided that we’d take point position with anything else that came up. Better rested and fresh on the shift, we would be more alert.</p>
<p>I started driving as Jake got the map out. As promised, base radioed back a minute later.</p>
<p>“About eight klicks from the north gate, there’s a dirt road that goes west. You’ll continue down that road for about three klicks.”</p>
<p>Jake held the radio mic with one hand as he annotated the map with the other. “Roger. Any word on what we’re actually looking for when we get there?”</p>
<p>“Standby.” There was a long pause before Rob replied. “Possible SCP instance. They see some thermal activity, but this one’s out away from the main group. They’re too far away to tell much else.”</p>
<p>Alex called in from the trailing truck, “Base, Gold One, how close is the next SCP to that?”</p>
<p>Another long pause while Rob relayed the question to the UAV crew. “Six klicks.”</p>
<p>“Copy,” Alex transmitted. He then continued his thought on the radio, extrapolating the reason he asked the question. “Max speed’s… one-eighty… so…”</p>
<p>“Two minutes,” Jake replied. We would only be, at worst, a two-minute sprint away from one of the main groups.</p>
<p>A moment later Rob came on the radio again, this time to address the other team. “Black Two, what’s your situation?”</p>
<p>“Still pretty quiet here.” Mark replied.</p>
<p>“Good. The UAV doesn’t see anything around you. Stay alert though, just in case they stir things up over there.”</p>
<p>Those last three kilometers of dirt road felt like thirty. I had noticed it off the side of the highway before, but had never driven it. The ground was very uneven, with large stones sticking up through the surface. The road crossed several dry creek beds, and there was little to distinguish the path except for faint ruts and the lack of vegetation. Travel was very slow at this point, a sense that was amplified by the anticipation of what was ahead.</p>
<p>“Have you been this way before?” I asked Jake.</p>
<p>“Nope.”</p>
<p>At this point the trail was becoming even more indistinct. Morgan called in from behind us. “Black One, we should be close, right? We’re figuring three klicks around now.” He and Andres kept close as we negotiated the path.</p>
<p>Jake raised the mic to reply, but Rob chimed in promptly from base right as he was about to speak. “Okay, Black and Gold One, go ahead and stop, they see you near it now. It’s about 500 meters due south of your current position. At this time ROE is just observation. Don’t engage unless threatened. First thing’s first, confirm it’s actually an SCP.”</p>
<p>ROE (Rules of Engagement) determined how we would approach the threat, but if we did have to defend ourselves, we wouldn’t have many options. We each carried a semiautomatic pistol, and there were a few extra magazines between us in the gear bags. Furthermore, the sky was partly cloudy with negligible moonlight, and we didn’t have any sort of night vision equipment with us. Like the rifles, there were goggles at the shack, but out of complacency we never took them into the field. We only had basic flashlights for illumination, an arrangement that would only serve to pinpoint our location to keen-eyed nocturnal predators.</p>
<p>The terrain was too rugged to continue off the path in our vehicles. The road had already become barely usable, and the ground around it was littered with large stones and scattered brush. We got out of the trucks and prepared our gear. From our bag we took the extra magazines, flashlights, and mobile radios we clipped to our vests. We each called to base to test our radios, then asked for a situation update. The UAV crew reported that the object hadn’t moved, but it now appeared very faint. Thankfully, the closest SCPs beyond that hadn’t moved any closer since the last update, but they were still much too close for comfort. If they were to come after us at full speed, it was very unlikely we’d be able to make it back to the trucks in time, even if the UAV crew and base personnel managed to give us instant warning. But before the known danger to the south, there was the very much unknown danger we were to encounter. Was the hot spot a single SCP, or a hunting pair close enough to each other to appear as a single thermal signature? What was the significance that it appeared to dim? Did it wander off to die? Was it even an SCP at all, and if not, what then? We also recognized the possibility this was some kind of trap, meant to lure us out of the safety of our vehicles into a situation where we’d be particularly vulnerable.</p>
<p>Morgan radioed base, “Any possibility of getting the UAV over here before we head out?”</p>
<p>“We asked,” Rob answered, “the ROC still says they’re working on it. They’re watching the feed, but we have no way of seeing it here. Don’t worry though, if they see anything happen they know to tell us immediately.”</p>
<p>Jake aimed his flashlight south. He stared silently into the distance for a very long moment. There was a sense of unease among the four of us. None of us felt comfortable with our place in the situation.</p>
<p>He finally broke the silence. “Let’s get this over with.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Progress was slow as we hiked southward. For most of the time, our lights had to be pointed right in front of us so we could navigate the cluttered ground. We regularly stopped and scanned the distance before moving again. Being completely exposed, we also made sure to check behind us. The main group of SCPs was clearly visible directly ahead of us. We were near the base of the hills, and their lights hung foreboding over us.</p>
<p>I was the first to see it. As we marched forward and focused on illuminating our surroundings, I tried to keep my attention on the darkness beyond as much as possible. To the left of our path, I saw a faint glint of blue light. This one was close, and appeared to be on the ground.</p>
<p>“Contact, ten o’clock!” I announced to the group.</p>
<p>Jake called for the group to halt. “Watch your sectors,” he added. The four of us crouched back-to-back, facing outwards, so that we could observe all directions simultaneously. He then directed me to cover the contact so he could handle the radio. I locked my gaze to the light, weapon trained towards it. It was slowly pulsing, and very dim. <em>Maybe it is sick or injured or dying</em>, I thought to myself.</p>
<p>“Base, we have contact with the subject. Looks like it is an SCP. Please advise.” A moment later, a garbled transmission came back to us. “Say again, base?” Again, incoherent noise in response. Jake called our counterparts to the south, Black and Gold 2. That time there was no reply, not even noise.</p>
<p>Jake sighed, pondering our next move. After a few moments, he addressed the group.</p>
<p>“Well, we’ve come this far…”</p>
<p>He transmitted on the radio again, a declaration– “Black One in the dark, moving in to investigate the subject.”</p>
<p>I felt his hand on my shoulder. “You got point. Nice and easy.” He directed Morgan to stay and cover our approach and for Alex to watch our six. As I moved forward, I took a crescent path, working our way out to one side, so that our backup would have a clear shot of the specimen without us in the way. I really had no option but to move slowly. Needing to keep my attention ahead, I had to feel out the ground one step at a time.</p>
<p>Gradually, the creature came in to clearer view. Beside the pulsing light that marked its head, I started to see the shape of its body laying down among the stones and brush. It didn’t seem to move at all. It appeared to have a dull, earthen color, similar to the desert ground, which acted as camouflage to further obscure its features. I couldn’t tell if it the creature itself was that color or if it was just dirty with the surrounding soil.</p>
<p>Suddenly, an intense shriek pierced my ears. It came from every direction, as if it was in my ears. There was no warning in the way of a rise in volume, it just turned “on.” I pressed the heels of my palms against them, but it made little difference. I turned around to see Jake clawing at his radio, perhaps instinctively thinking it was the source. Beyond, our partners’ flashlight beams were waving around erratically. I stooped to the ground, my hands still pressed against the sides of my head. It was a moment of utter confusion and complete panic. The sound was terrifying, and the only thought in my mind was the desperate desire for it to stop.</p>
<hr/>
<p>A deep, rhythmic thumping sounds came into my consciousness. My mind’s eye pictured the noise as a pulsating strobe dancing around my head, moving back and forth across my vision. It was a circle with crisp, jagged edges. As I imagined that drumming sprite, my mind began to wake to its senses. My mouth was parched, and I felt itchy all around my body. I was cold, very cold. My head hurt, and the more I thought about it, the more it started to sway and spin, as if I was hungover. The realization hit me that I must be out in the desert.</p>
<p>I tried to open my eyes. My eyelids resisted, heavy with sleep and dust, but through the labored blinking I saw that it was almost dawn. The sky was lit softly by the imminent sunrise, but daybreak hadn’t come yet. The thumping sound grew louder. I turned my head towards it, and saw a helicopter approaching. My ears felt stuffy and sound was muted.</p>
<p><em>The noise.</em> I remembered the noise. That awful screeching. <em>I was scared. I was in danger. Am I still in danger?</em> I tried to prop myself up to look around better, but I felt very weak, and I couldn’t support my own weight. <em>Where are my teammates? Are they okay?</em> I tried to call out, but my throat could only muster a scratchy whisper. I turned my head around as much as I could to see my surroundings, but there was only sagebrush.</p>
<p>Memories started to trickle into my mind. <em>Walking in the dark. The beast. The noise. The lights.</em> I remembered walking towards the creature with Jake, then the piercing scream. What happened after that? I felt like it was right on the tip my my memory, that I was on the cusp of visualizing it, but the scene was just out of reach.</p>
<p>As the helicopter approached, it slowed and circled my position. I recognized it as belonging to the Foundation, mainly by its lack of markings. After surveying the area, it came to land, but I lost sight of it behind the brush. When two people came and knelt down over me, I saw that they were MTF medics.</p>
<p>One began checking my vital signs and looking me over for injuries while the other spoke. His words were muffled through the soft, steady roar of my stuffy ears. “Can you hear me? Can you talk to me? How do you feel?”</p>
<p>My voice was still gone. I tried to raise my hand, but I could barely lift it, and it shivered while hovering over my chest. He put his hand on it and set it back down. “Okay, okay, don’t try to move. Just stay calm and be still.” I was put on a stretcher and loaded into the helicopter.</p>
<p>As we took off and flew away from the area, I remembered more from that night. When the screeching began, I looked to my teammates, who all appeared to be in equal distress. I fell to my knees, still clutching my ears. The next memories that came to me were fractured and dreamlike. Two images, snapshots of recollection, are all that account for what happened after the noise.</p>
<p>One is of the hills that were nearby. The whole evening, all of the SCP specimens in those hills had shone with blue light, and as the hours went by, more and more became visible. In one memory, though, there were countless lights in those hills. Instead of blue dots, they were bright white beams aimed up through the sky like searchlight columns. They were brighter than I had ever seen them before.</p>
<p>In the other image, I was still in the field where we found the lone, downed creature. However, it was no longer laying down. I was on the ground, and it was standing tall. Seeming to tower over me, its neck was outstretched, looking straight up. The crown of its head, the light-emitting organ, projected a focused beam of brilliant white up into the sky.</p>
<hr/>
<p>My recovery was short. The diagnosis was mild hypothermia and dehydration, and after a couple of days rest and observation I was released from the medical facility of the research site I had been taken to. Supposedly it was the nearest suitable Foundation facility to the AOC, though I never knew about it before. I was given a room within the facility dormitories, where I have received an annoyingly redundant quantity of guests. I’ve given my full account, as written above, to two different officials, and three additional researchers have asked me for particular details. One was concerned with specifics of the SCP-745 specimens, another was focused on the radio issues we encountered. He had Jake’s map, bearing his handwritten notes from that night, presumably recovered from our truck. The third, strangely, asked detailed questions about Rob’s behavior and our assessment of the orders he gave.</p>
<p>None of them, however, can (or will) tell me anything about what happened, or anything about what happened to my teammates. I would have expected them to also be brought here to recover and debrief like I had. Since I’m here alone, I can’t help but fear that they’re missing or dead. I implored the officials to let me contact MTF Nu-7, but to no avail. “They are aware of your current status and know all they need to know at this time,” I was told.</p>
<p>If I ever know anything else about that night, it won’t be for long. This morning I was told the Foundation has a procedure that can help extract memories from lost time events, or those repressed from stress or trauma. I’ve been scheduled to undergo it this evening. However, I was also told that in order to counter certain side-effects (those memories are usually repressed for a reason), the procedure requires the use of amnestics afterward, forever purging those memories from the time period in question.</p>
<p>There’s a researcher here I’ve gotten to know a little these past few days, I usually sit with her at the cafeteria. When I go to dinner, I think I’ll try to slip her this file. Maybe she can look me up sometime in the future and send it back to me, or maybe she’ll report me for the security violation– if she does, I don’t really care. I just want somebody else to know the real story of SCP-745, somebody who won’t lock it away as a classified attachment to a containment file, hidden among thousands of others. I’m about to have my mind wiped to some degree for at least the third time since I’ve been with the Foundation. Our line of work requires us to lose a part of ourselves so we can keep our sanity and soldier on. But this time, I don’t want the memory of my teammates’ last day on earth to be lost, too.</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
While assigned to Armed Mobile Task Force Nu-7, I began a six-month rotation to Detachment 745. The “Det” was dedicated to manning AOC-745 (Area of Containment) in northern New Mexico, the home of SCP-745. The cover story for the AOC was that the land belonged to the U.S. Department of Energy, and the primary job of Det personnel was to secure the area from civilian intrusion by posing as contracted security guards (which was basically what we were).
Additionally, we were responsible for capturing any active instances of SCP-745 hunting in the area, but that had become an obsolete task. By the time of my posting to the Det, they no longer roamed the roadways. They were only to be seen in their refuge in the distant hills, with only their multicolored pulses of light revealing their existence. They were extremely elusive, and all attempts to track them in that habitat were fruitless.
Official records (at least the ones accessible to my clearance level) don’t say much about the history of SCP-745, except that they used to be widespread across the Southwest until the Foundation wiped most of them out in the 1960s. During my time at the Det, though, I managed to piece together a little more.
With the written record so tightly controlled, something of an “oral tradition” persists within the Foundation. Also, due to operational necessity, information flows more freely within Mobile Task Forces (MTFs) than in research or containment sites. This allowed the following story to be passed down, which I’ve gleaned from various sources and individuals:
During the 1950s, a number of disappearances occurred in the deserts of the Southwest. Vehicles would be found abandoned on the side of remote roads. Naturally, the first assumption was that the vehicle had broken down or had run out of fuel, the occupants tried to walk for help, and got lost in the desert. Certain inconsistencies were found with this theory, however. Usually, the vehicle would be in perfect working order, sometimes even with the engine still idling. Also, no footprints would be found leading away from the area. But what had really solidified the Foundation’s interest was when someone managed to escape what had been claiming these travelers, and reported the encounter to local officials.
As the nature of the threat became better known, a wide-scale campaign was conducted to contain the newly-designated SCP. Today, many look back at this as the “glory days” of MTF operations– participants in a great hunt, roving across the desert in chase of a cunning adversary. Specimens were found ranging from the Texas Panhandle to southern Nevada. Due of the vast expanse of affected territory, recovery teams were given tremendous autonomy to plan and execute missions. With their subject being strictly nocturnal, and occupying mostly uninhabited areas, they were largely free to work without civilian interference and the burden of having to maintain cover stories.
Unfortunately for Foundation researchers, 745 proved very difficult to be taken alive, and the ones that were didn’t live long in captivity. Because of the fact that MTF teams were spread thin, they often didn’t have the resources to attempt to capture the creatures when it was far less risky to simply terminate them. This slaughter was seen as an acceptable course of action given the threat the specimens posed to the populace, in both the mortal and informational sense.
Things carried on like this for several years. Eventually, the creatures were successfully eradicated from large areas. Old documents I had found indicated SCP-745 was downgraded from Keter to Euclid with the establishment of the modern Area of Containment, which was sometime between 1987 and 1992 (the last known reference to a Keter classification and the first to Euclid, respectively). It was deduced that this Area of Containment must be their point of origin. They had been reduced to just a small, isolated population left to languish in the hills flanking a lone stretch of abandoned highway, now controlled by the Foundation and devoid of potential prey. For all intents and purposes they were considered to be successfully contained.
At this point the Foundation was content to leave them alone there, so long as they stayed within the containment area and didn’t threaten anyone else. Apparently, it had also abandoned active study on the species. The closest thing we saw to a researcher was a point of contact in a procedures binder.
Detachment 745 was seen as an easy assignment. Many welcomed it as a break from the more stressful and dangerous elements of duty in an MTF, but most quickly became bored and dissatisfied, considering it a waste of their talents. All understood the potential threat, but complacency inevitably set in– a complacency that would eventually be tested.
------
We drove up to the shack at about 1700 hours, the four of us who would be running patrols that night, plus the two who would stay in the shack. We were all lodged in the same extended-stay hotel in town, and we all rode together in the same van. “The shack” was the guard station on the highway running through the AOC, a few miles from its southern border. This point of entry was the closest to towns and trafficked roads, and received the majority of our unwelcome visitors. We entered the shack and exchanged the usual pleasantries, and received the usual changeover briefing (usually “NSTR,” pronounced “nister”, for “nothing significant to report”). We then verified our positions on the schedule board. Jake and I were in the vehicle with the call sign Black 1. Mark and Andres were in Black 2, and Kelly and Rob were staying to oversee operations from the shack. Us four agents on patrol picked up our sidearms from the weapons locker, then picked up our equipment bags for inspection. Each team of two shared a bag, one per vehicle.
“Hey, have y’all noticed these amnestics have been expired for like a month?”, Andres asked while shaking his head, inspecting a vial he had pulled out of his bag. Andres was a very direct individual, inclined towards prompt action. “Put it on the board, Rob.”
He was referring to a list of supplies to be picked up on our next trip to the Regional Operations Center. Most of the other items on the list were more mundane. We had a good chuckle watching Rob try to spell “amnestics”. Once we got everything else in order, we took our equipment out to the trucks.
I volunteered to drive, at least for the beginning of the shift. Mark and Andres got in the other truck, and we all headed north up the highway to relieve the day shift. Kelly, back at base, came on the radio at that point, advising our diurnal counterparts (Gold 1 and Gold 2) that we were on the way. A few more miles on the road, we saw Gold 2 parked near the T-junction of the highway and what we called West Road. Black 2 stopped there to take over for them, but we continued north. Our hand-off was to be at the north gate of the AOC, opposite of the shack.
The north gate saw less activity than the south, but was still heavily monitored by surveillance systems, and Gold 1/Black 1 stuck around that area. Gold 2/Black 2 usually made their rounds along the west side. The eastern half of the AOC was more mountainous, with few traversable paths, so the terrain effectively secured that side for us. The western half featured several dirt roads of varying suitability, along with the West Road, which was paved, but had fallen into poor condition. Though the main highway was maintained for our use, Det personnel had been requesting for years, unsuccessfully, that West Road be repaired.
The sun was low in the sky, and long shadows were beginning to be cast. As I drove, I continually scanned the hills to either side of us. When dusk approached and daylight dwindled, the SCP specimens would make a bustle of light displays. East and West, they would almost be synchronized in their patterns and colors. Pinpoints of bright light pulsed and flickered, usually 10-to-15 on each side, but sometimes more. They would start with yellows and greens, then as the sun set, change to white and pink. We called it their wake-up call. The activity would die down by the last glow of twilight, and after that only sporadic, individual displays would be observed through the rest of the night.
In the time of year I had been at the Det thus far, this display happened to occur during our evening shift change. I had seen the wake-up call many times, and it always gave me a strange, chilling feeling. In many ways it was beautiful, and absolutely fascinating. How did this visual language work? What were they saying to each other across the valley? But assessing it as an MTF operative, it was also a tactical problem. It made me very uneasy to be surrounded by threats on higher ground, communicating to each other as I passed between them. My teammates had tried to assure me it was only a coincidence the wake-up call happened as we drove up the highway, but I couldn’t help but feel that they were reacting to our presence.
On that drive, as I scanned the hills, Jake had his head down, his attention on his phone.
I found it alarming that, after years of complacency, something that had once been so deadly had became a background fixture. We spent our days and nights surrounded by monsters capable of running down cars and dragging their occupants to hell for all we knew, and our biggest worry was how we were going to fight boredom and stay awake. This was like no other assignment I had experienced. I didn’t think six months was going to be enough time to get used to it.
------
“Base, Black One is on-watch.” Jake made the standard radio call as we stepped out of the truck.
“Copy,” Kelly replied from the shack.
We met Gold 1 at the north gate at about 1745. One of the members we were relieving was named Alex. He was my closest acquaintance at the Det, as we had worked together on another assignment two years prior. He was the kind of person who could usually tell where I was going with an idea as soon as I brought it up, by virtue of having a similar thought process. Still, Jake was an agreeable partner. I was paired with him since I was relatively new there and he was one of the most experienced. Calm and patient, he made a good teacher.
Like usual, there was nothing of substance to pass along. We exchanged a bit of small talk while leaning over one of the truck beds, but Alex and his partner, Morgan, didn’t stay long. Sharing the one van, all of the other day shift personnel had to wait for them to return before they could go back into town and to their hotel rooms. The wake-up call was well underway by the time they drove off. As the truck’s taillights became smaller and smaller down the long, straight stretch of southbound road, I could see a few other faint lights in the distance beyond. The creatures’ lights were yellow and pink as dusk set in.
Jake and I got back in the truck, and began to settle into our routine. We each recovered our dinner from our bags. I had brought a couple of sandwiches to last me through the shift. As I was eating the first one, we started to discuss our plan for the night. We agreed we would patrol about five miles of fence line, then park on a particular hill that gave a good overview of the highway.
“Base, Black Two. Come in, Base.” Black 2 was the other night shift vehicle that was just coming on watch with us, further south. Andres’ voice sounded unusually tense. It was the “stressed, yet focused” tone of voice I had heard many times over the years, when one was anticipating imminent action. It wasn’t something I had heard from him before.
Apparently Kelly picked up on this, too. “Uhh, Black Two, go ahead. What’s going on?”
“Strange activity from the SCPs.” Our truck was facing the gate, away from the AOC, so I immediately turned around in my seat, “Different color than usual—blue light. Repeat, SCPs are making blue light.”
At that time, the sky was a deep blue and the landscape was very dark. The hills were silhouetted against the dark orange remnants of the sunset. Across that landscape, I could discern about seven distant lights. Each was a vibrant blue, a wavelength bordering on the edge of visibility that was impossible to clearly focus on. Before that night, they had invariably been a pink hue at that time. Even stranger, though, was that they were steady. They didn’t flicker, pulse, strobe, or flash, like every other night. They were a solid, steady blue.
There was a pause of several moments before Kelly replied. “Copy, Black Two. Black One, did you read that?”
Jake already had the mic to his mouth. “Black One has eyes on SCPs, reporting the same. Steady light, blue color. Standard location.”
At that moment, I suddenly remembered that Alex and Morgan were still on the highway, and by that time were probably in the midst of the creatures. “The guys...” I voiced to Jake with a nod towards the road. He keyed the mike again.
“Base, has Gold One made it to you yet?”
“Negative,” Kelly replied. “Gold One, come in.”
Silence.
“Gold One, Base.”
More silence.
I slammed the shifter into drive and turned around, kicking up gravel as we sped off. Jake picked up the mic that had slid off the seat and onto the floor.
“Base, Black One is heading south down the highway after Gold One.”
“Roger, Black One. Black Two, what’s your location?”
There was a pause of a few seconds before Andres responded, “Black Two is also going back towards the highway.” I supposed they decided to follow our lead. “Do we continue to the highway?”
Kelly replied, and elaborated. “Affirm, but once you get there, stay at the ‘T’ until Gold Two arrives. They’ll take your place, then you head back out west.” The two individuals in the Gold 2 vehicle, who had just gotten off shift and were about to leave for the night, had been re-deployed. We were actually very fortunate the situation began when it did. Being shift change, 12 agents were already in the AOC. At another time, off-duty personnel would have to be called in, likely awoken from sleep, and it would have taken about an hour for them to arrive.
The excitement was building. This was the most significant occurrence to happen with SCP-745 in years, perhaps decades. Nobody knew what this development meant, or what would happen next. I controlled by breathing to steady my heart rate and took stock of my mental state. I reminded myself that dealing with strange, unexpected situations was my job. I assured myself that I had tackled far worse things in the past. //This isn’t reality-altering or ethereal, just good ol’ fashioned mortal creatures.// In my peripheral vision I noticed Jake motion towards his sidearm, verifying its readiness. That caused a whole new stress to come over me. //We are not prepared for this!// I was angry that we allowed ourselves to be caught off-guard. We, armed only with our handguns, might have to face Keter-quality predators. We had rifles at the shack, but we never took them out in the field with us. //Why the hell not? Why even have them?//
A minute or so had passed since the last transmission, when Jake muttered “I figured they’d have given us guidance, too. Not sure what we’ll do after we find them.” He keyed the mic as he unrolled a map. “Base, Black One.”
No response.
“Base, Black One, come in.”
Still no response.
“Anyone on channel, do you read? This is Black One.”
“Maybe something about this location is messing with the radio,” I posited to Jake. “We lost comms with Gold after they came this way, and now it’s us.”
“Maybe. Nothing like this has ever happened before. But with the repeaters… I don’t know.” He turned on the truck’s FM radio and scanned through the frequency range without finding a station. “Shit, I think you’re right. Some kind of– Hey do you see that?”
I did see it. Oncoming headlights.
“Alright, you know what to do,” Jake suggested. We were trained on how to respond if facing a possible charge from a 745 hunting pair. Standard operating procedure was to dim the high beams and auxiliary lights, then simply stay on the right side of the road at a steady speed. In other words, just drive normal and trust that another human motorist would do the same. If the headlights were in your lane, then it had to be SCPs, and they’d flinch first in that game of chicken as long as you kept steady.
As the lights approached, they seemed to be sticking to the script. As they came closer still, I could discern the amber side markers our trucks had. “We’re good!” I declared. I continued to watch it as we passed each other. Although it was almost completely dark out, I could still confirm that it was indeed one of our pickup trucks. As we and the other truck pulled up beside each other, we each lowered our window. In the ambient glow, I could see that it was Alex in the driver seat. I asked if they were okay.
“Yeah, we’re fine. When we saw the blue lights around us we tried calling in, but we lost radio, so we turned around to regroup with you. What’s your situation?”
“We’re okay. Black Two called it in first, then when you didn’t check in, we came down after you. We just lost radio, too, we think it’s some kind of localized thing.”
“Yeah?”
“You went silent once you got down here and things got weird, but everyone else was unaffected. And now it’s both of us.”
We also established that none us had cell phone service, but reception was usually sparse in that area, anyway.
Alex laid his head back on the headrest for a moment, thinking. Then came the inevitable question from Morgan, his partner in the passenger seat– “So what now?”
I turned to Jake. He was the most senior member out of the four of us, and without support from the shack, leadership defaulted to him.
“Let’s go back north,” he announced. “From what we last heard, I think they’ve got the rest covered. If I were running the shack right now, I’d want everybody maintaining the perimeter while I called the ROC to start figuring things out.” He was referring to our Regional Operations Center, the headquarters for all of the Foundation’s Mobile Field Team activities in the Southwestern United States. “And if this really is a dead zone then we need to try to get out of it.”
I scanned the landscape to reassess the SCP lights. We were right between the opposing groups, in the hills on either side of the highway. They were still emitting steady blue, and it looked like there were more of them than usual.
Morgan stated the thought I was just starting to form myself. “They don’t usually stay on this long after dark.”
“All the more reason to get out of here,” Alex said. “After you,” he told Jake and I as he motioned forward with an open hand, “We’ll keep trying the radio as we go.”
We headed back towards the north gate. Jake and I anxiously waited to hear Gold 1 on the radio, or anyone else. I set the truck’s stereo to a station I knew we could normally receive, that way we could tell exactly if and when we left the “dead zone.”
I looked in the mirrors to see if the specimens were still visible, but I couldn’t tell past the glare of the following truck’s headlights. Even though the erroneous activity was an unsettling sight, deep down I wanted them to stay lit in those hills all night. At least that way I would know they were still over there and not near us.
Out from the static, a commercial for a car dealership started to come through. We each sighed in relief, excited that we at least had //some// handle on the situation. Jake marked the location on the map. A message then crackled over our radio system.
“Anyone on channel, this is Gold One, does anyone copy?”
Kelly responded. “This is Base, we read you. What’s your status?”
In the following exchange, we assured the shack operators that we were alright, and informed them of the radio dead zone. We inquired if they had detected any activity at the north gate during our absence. They said there had been none, and as we had assumed, our orders were to regroup there and maintain that position. They didn’t have any more information for us regarding the SCPs, but assured us they had informed the ROC and would give us updates as they arrived.
------
It was about 2030, and all four teams had been at their positions for about two hours after being ordered to maintain the perimeter. Base had relayed to us periodic status updates on behalf of the ROC, and we were told that a drone surveillance aircraft (“UAV” to us) was on its way. The Gold teams—the day shift operators—had been out in the AOC for about 15 hours at that point. The specimens still shone bright, and there were even more of them. Their numbers had gradually increased, and we kept a tally. At first I had observed about seven lights. At our regroup we counted 12, and over the course of our watch the number grew to 23. Our counterparts to the southwest observed an increase from their vantage point as well.
Eventually, we got word from base that the UAV was on-station. “They’re keeping their distance out to the south, though,” we were informed, “they insist on staying away from the dead zone.”
This news was disappointing. The UAV was on the opposite end of the AOC, away from the SCPs and even further away from us. When asked if there was any way they the aircraft could fly around the dead zone to cover us from the north, but Kelly elaborated that there were issues with trying getting clearance into that airspace. Though frustrating, I did understand the operators’ situation. The aircraft could have been Foundation-owned, but it was more likely a U.S. military asset “borrowed” by the Foundation under a standing agreement between high-ranking officials. Such deals impose strict guidelines and require great care be taken in the interest of secrecy and obfuscation.
Rob came onto the radio from base. It was the first time we had heard from him that night. “They’re seeing something weird south of your position. Can’t really tell what it is from that distance, but we’d like both teams to check it out. Start south down the highway and we’ll relay further directions.”
Jake radioed our partner team. “Here we go, Gold. We’ll lead.” In our time spent waiting before then, we had decided that we’d take point position with anything else that came up. Better rested and fresh on the shift, we would be more alert.
I started driving as Jake got the map out. As promised, base radioed back a minute later.
“About eight klicks from the north gate, there’s a dirt road that goes west. You’ll continue down that road for about three klicks.”
Jake held the radio mic with one hand as he annotated the map with the other. “Roger. Any word on what we’re actually looking for when we get there?”
“Standby.” There was a long pause before Rob replied. “Possible SCP instance. They see some thermal activity, but this one’s out away from the main group. They’re too far away to tell much else.”
Alex called in from the trailing truck, “Base, Gold One, how close is the next SCP to that?”
Another long pause while Rob relayed the question to the UAV crew. “Six klicks.”
“Copy,” Alex transmitted. He then continued his thought on the radio, extrapolating the reason he asked the question. “Max speed’s… one-eighty… so…”
“Two minutes,” Jake replied. We would only be, at worst, a two-minute sprint away from one of the main groups.
A moment later Rob came on the radio again, this time to address the other team. “Black Two, what’s your situation?”
“Still pretty quiet here.” Mark replied.
“Good. The UAV doesn’t see anything around you. Stay alert though, just in case they stir things up over there.”
Those last three kilometers of dirt road felt like thirty. I had noticed it off the side of the highway before, but had never driven it. The ground was very uneven, with large stones sticking up through the surface. The road crossed several dry creek beds, and there was little to distinguish the path except for faint ruts and the lack of vegetation. Travel was very slow at this point, a sense that was amplified by the anticipation of what was ahead.
“Have you been this way before?” I asked Jake.
“Nope.”
At this point the trail was becoming even more indistinct. Morgan called in from behind us. “Black One, we should be close, right? We’re figuring three klicks around now.” He and Andres kept close as we negotiated the path.
Jake raised the mic to reply, but Rob chimed in promptly from base right as he was about to speak. “Okay, Black and Gold One, go ahead and stop, they see you near it now. It’s about 500 meters due south of your current position. At this time ROE is just observation. Don’t engage unless threatened. First thing’s first, confirm it’s actually an SCP.”
ROE (Rules of Engagement) determined how we would approach the threat, but if we did have to defend ourselves, we wouldn’t have many options. We each carried a semiautomatic pistol, and there were a few extra magazines between us in the gear bags. Furthermore, the sky was partly cloudy with negligible moonlight, and we didn’t have any sort of night vision equipment with us. Like the rifles, there were goggles at the shack, but out of complacency we never took them into the field. We only had basic flashlights for illumination, an arrangement that would only serve to pinpoint our location to keen-eyed nocturnal predators.
The terrain was too rugged to continue off the path in our vehicles. The road had already become barely usable, and the ground around it was littered with large stones and scattered brush. We got out of the trucks and prepared our gear. From our bag we took the extra magazines, flashlights, and mobile radios we clipped to our vests. We each called to base to test our radios, then asked for a situation update. The UAV crew reported that the object hadn’t moved, but it now appeared very faint. Thankfully, the closest SCPs beyond that hadn’t moved any closer since the last update, but they were still much too close for comfort. If they were to come after us at full speed, it was very unlikely we’d be able to make it back to the trucks in time, even if the UAV crew and base personnel managed to give us instant warning. But before the known danger to the south, there was the very much unknown danger we were to encounter. Was the hot spot a single SCP, or a hunting pair close enough to each other to appear as a single thermal signature? What was the significance that it appeared to dim? Did it wander off to die? Was it even an SCP at all, and if not, what then? We also recognized the possibility this was some kind of trap, meant to lure us out of the safety of our vehicles into a situation where we’d be particularly vulnerable.
Morgan radioed base, “Any possibility of getting the UAV over here before we head out?”
“We asked,” Rob answered, “the ROC still says they’re working on it. They’re watching the feed, but we have no way of seeing it here. Don’t worry though, if they see anything happen they know to tell us immediately.”
Jake aimed his flashlight south. He stared silently into the distance for a very long moment. There was a sense of unease among the four of us. None of us felt comfortable with our place in the situation.
He finally broke the silence. “Let’s get this over with.”
------
Progress was slow as we hiked southward. For most of the time, our lights had to be pointed right in front of us so we could navigate the cluttered ground. We regularly stopped and scanned the distance before moving again. Being completely exposed, we also made sure to check behind us. The main group of SCPs was clearly visible directly ahead of us. We were near the base of the hills, and their lights hung foreboding over us.
I was the first to see it. As we marched forward and focused on illuminating our surroundings, I tried to keep my attention on the darkness beyond as much as possible. To the left of our path, I saw a faint glint of blue light. This one was close, and appeared to be on the ground.
“Contact, ten o’clock!” I announced to the group.
Jake called for the group to halt. “Watch your sectors,” he added. The four of us crouched back-to-back, facing outwards, so that we could observe all directions simultaneously. He then directed me to cover the contact so he could handle the radio. I locked my gaze to the light, weapon trained towards it. It was slowly pulsing, and very dim. //Maybe it is sick or injured or dying//, I thought to myself.
“Base, we have contact with the subject. Looks like it is an SCP. Please advise.” A moment later, a garbled transmission came back to us. “Say again, base?” Again, incoherent noise in response. Jake called our counterparts to the south, Black and Gold 2. That time there was no reply, not even noise.
Jake sighed, pondering our next move. After a few moments, he addressed the group.
“Well, we’ve come this far...”
He transmitted on the radio again, a declaration– “Black One in the dark, moving in to investigate the subject.”
I felt his hand on my shoulder. “You got point. Nice and easy.” He directed Morgan to stay and cover our approach and for Alex to watch our six. As I moved forward, I took a crescent path, working our way out to one side, so that our backup would have a clear shot of the specimen without us in the way. I really had no option but to move slowly. Needing to keep my attention ahead, I had to feel out the ground one step at a time.
Gradually, the creature came in to clearer view. Beside the pulsing light that marked its head, I started to see the shape of its body laying down among the stones and brush. It didn’t seem to move at all. It appeared to have a dull, earthen color, similar to the desert ground, which acted as camouflage to further obscure its features. I couldn’t tell if it the creature itself was that color or if it was just dirty with the surrounding soil.
Suddenly, an intense shriek pierced my ears. It came from every direction, as if it was in my ears. There was no warning in the way of a rise in volume, it just turned “on.” I pressed the heels of my palms against them, but it made little difference. I turned around to see Jake clawing at his radio, perhaps instinctively thinking it was the source. Beyond, our partners’ flashlight beams were waving around erratically. I stooped to the ground, my hands still pressed against the sides of my head. It was a moment of utter confusion and complete panic. The sound was terrifying, and the only thought in my mind was the desperate desire for it to stop.
------
A deep, rhythmic thumping sounds came into my consciousness. My mind’s eye pictured the noise as a pulsating strobe dancing around my head, moving back and forth across my vision. It was a circle with crisp, jagged edges. As I imagined that drumming sprite, my mind began to wake to its senses. My mouth was parched, and I felt itchy all around my body. I was cold, very cold. My head hurt, and the more I thought about it, the more it started to sway and spin, as if I was hungover. The realization hit me that I must be out in the desert.
I tried to open my eyes. My eyelids resisted, heavy with sleep and dust, but through the labored blinking I saw that it was almost dawn. The sky was lit softly by the imminent sunrise, but daybreak hadn’t come yet. The thumping sound grew louder. I turned my head towards it, and saw a helicopter approaching. My ears felt stuffy and sound was muted.
//The noise.// I remembered the noise. That awful screeching. //I was scared. I was in danger. Am I still in danger?// I tried to prop myself up to look around better, but I felt very weak, and I couldn’t support my own weight. //Where are my teammates? Are they okay?// I tried to call out, but my throat could only muster a scratchy whisper. I turned my head around as much as I could to see my surroundings, but there was only sagebrush.
Memories started to trickle into my mind. //Walking in the dark. The beast. The noise. The lights.// I remembered walking towards the creature with Jake, then the piercing scream. What happened after that? I felt like it was right on the tip my my memory, that I was on the cusp of visualizing it, but the scene was just out of reach.
As the helicopter approached, it slowed and circled my position. I recognized it as belonging to the Foundation, mainly by its lack of markings. After surveying the area, it came to land, but I lost sight of it behind the brush. When two people came and knelt down over me, I saw that they were MTF medics.
One began checking my vital signs and looking me over for injuries while the other spoke. His words were muffled through the soft, steady roar of my stuffy ears. “Can you hear me? Can you talk to me? How do you feel?”
My voice was still gone. I tried to raise my hand, but I could barely lift it, and it shivered while hovering over my chest. He put his hand on it and set it back down. “Okay, okay, don’t try to move. Just stay calm and be still.” I was put on a stretcher and loaded into the helicopter.
As we took off and flew away from the area, I remembered more from that night. When the screeching began, I looked to my teammates, who all appeared to be in equal distress. I fell to my knees, still clutching my ears. The next memories that came to me were fractured and dreamlike. Two images, snapshots of recollection, are all that account for what happened after the noise.
One is of the hills that were nearby. The whole evening, all of the SCP specimens in those hills had shone with blue light, and as the hours went by, more and more became visible. In one memory, though, there were countless lights in those hills. Instead of blue dots, they were bright white beams aimed up through the sky like searchlight columns. They were brighter than I had ever seen them before.
In the other image, I was still in the field where we found the lone, downed creature. However, it was no longer laying down. I was on the ground, and it was standing tall. Seeming to tower over me, its neck was outstretched, looking straight up. The crown of its head, the light-emitting organ, projected a focused beam of brilliant white up into the sky.
------
My recovery was short. The diagnosis was mild hypothermia and dehydration, and after a couple of days rest and observation I was released from the medical facility of the research site I had been taken to. Supposedly it was the nearest suitable Foundation facility to the AOC, though I never knew about it before. I was given a room within the facility dormitories, where I have received an annoyingly redundant quantity of guests. I’ve given my full account, as written above, to two different officials, and three additional researchers have asked me for particular details. One was concerned with specifics of the SCP-745 specimens, another was focused on the radio issues we encountered. He had Jake’s map, bearing his handwritten notes from that night, presumably recovered from our truck. The third, strangely, asked detailed questions about Rob’s behavior and our assessment of the orders he gave.
None of them, however, can (or will) tell me anything about what happened, or anything about what happened to my teammates. I would have expected them to also be brought here to recover and debrief like I had. Since I’m here alone, I can’t help but fear that they’re missing or dead. I implored the officials to let me contact MTF Nu-7, but to no avail. “They are aware of your current status and know all they need to know at this time,” I was told.
If I ever know anything else about that night, it won’t be for long. This morning I was told the Foundation has a procedure that can help extract memories from lost time events, or those repressed from stress or trauma. I’ve been scheduled to undergo it this evening. However, I was also told that in order to counter certain side-effects (those memories are usually repressed for a reason), the procedure requires the use of amnestics afterward, forever purging those memories from the time period in question.
There’s a researcher here I’ve gotten to know a little these past few days, I usually sit with her at the cafeteria. When I go to dinner, I think I’ll try to slip her this file. Maybe she can look me up sometime in the future and send it back to me, or maybe she’ll report me for the security violation– if she does, I don’t really care. I just want somebody else to know the real story of SCP-745, somebody who won’t lock it away as a classified attachment to a containment file, hidden among thousands of others. I’m about to have my mind wiped to some degree for at least the third time since I’ve been with the Foundation. Our line of work requires us to lose a part of ourselves so we can keep our sanity and soldier on. But this time, I don’t want the memory of my teammates’ last day on earth to be lost, too.
|
2024-07-14T20:01:00
|
[
"first-person",
"military-fiction",
"tale"
] |
Lights in The Hills - SCP Foundation
| -3
|
[] |
[
"lowest-rated-articles",
"lowest-rated-pages"
] |
[] |
1455894204
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lights-in-the-hills
|
|
like-clockworks
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Ascp-offices-theme/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div style="display: none">
<hr/>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Show component code</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Hide component code</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">sidebar-width-on-desktop:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--base-font-size) * (</span><span class="hl-number">266</span><span class="hl-code"> / </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">body-width-on-desktop:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">45.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (min-width: 56.25</span><span class="hl-identifier">rem</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#content-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> initial</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> row</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - (</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">min-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - var(--final-header-height-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">10.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem) </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> / </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> initial</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--body-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">45.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--body-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">45.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> min(</span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-code">vw, var(--body-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">45.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> -webkit-sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">grid-area:</span><span class="hl-code"> side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">min-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-y:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">scroll</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
translate </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
background-color </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
padding </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms linear,
margin </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms linear</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--swatch-tertiary-color, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--sidebar-bg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">rtl</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">thin</span><span class="hl-code">;
-</span><span class="hl-reserved">ms-scroll-chaining:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overscroll-behavior:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-color:</span><span class="hl-code">
rgba(var(--swatch-primary-darker), </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">) /* Thumb */
rgba(var(--swatch-tertiary-color), </span><span class="hl-number">0.05</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">; /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--swatch-secondary-color, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0.8</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-corner</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw + </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-style:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--sidebar-bg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">is</span><span class="hl-code">(:</span><span class="hl-identifier">hover</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">active</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">focus-within</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-x:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-y:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--swatch-primary-darker), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--sidebar-bg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem) - var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-color:</span><span class="hl-code">
rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">) /* Thumb */
rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">; /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-color:</span><span class="hl-code">
rgb(var(--swatch-primary-darker, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">) /* Thumb */
rgb(var(--swatch-menubg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">; /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> " "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">fixed</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
background-position </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
opacity </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url("https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Acollapsible-sidebar/sidebar-tab.svg")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-attachment:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">fixed</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">12.875</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">pointer-events:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">is</span><span class="hl-code">(:</span><span class="hl-identifier">hover</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">active</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">focus-within</span><span class="hl-code">) + </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
background-position </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
opacity </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> " "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--final-header-height-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - var(--final-header-height-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">0.688</span><span class="hl-code">rem) - </span><span class="hl-number">2.313</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--final-header-height-on-desktop, -</span><span class="hl-number">2.313</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">2.313</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
translate </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
opacity </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--swatch-alternate-color, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">pointer-events:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> + </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">is</span><span class="hl-code">(:</span><span class="hl-identifier">hover</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">active</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">focus-within</span><span class="hl-code">) + </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.25</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">ltr</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scpnet-interwiki-wrapper</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">ltr</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Print</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Friendly</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Formatting</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Estrella</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body.print-body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">sidebar-width-on-desktop:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body.print-body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body.print-body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><em><strong>October 9th, 2024, Site-19 Facility-23. The Facility tasked with containment and testing of SCP-914. Below is the documentation of what happened to some of the employees on that day.</strong></em><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<p><strong>Tale 1:</strong></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Daniel Townsend, Senior Researcher</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- By Nathan Erikson</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><em>6:15 AM</em><br/>
The barest hint of fluorescent lighting shone under the door of the Senior Researcher's dorm room, allowing enough illumination for someone theoretically present to see as Daniel James Townsend awoke from another of his recurring nightmares, swinging his upper half to a sitting position with great effort and throwing back the covers as if they were aflame, charring his skin. He ran a hand through his thick coffee-colored hair as he blinked away the film his eyes had developed, his other hand snaking over to his bedside lamp. Townsend depressed the button at its base, overwhelming the faint lighting with the 700-lumen LED and eliminating the long shadows that hung over him. A sigh escaped Townsend as he climbed free of his sweat-soaked mattress and meandered over toward the bathroom to start preparing for the day, his unwelcome dream already beginning to fade.</p>
<p><em>7:00 AM</em><br/>
As Townsend opened his door to head out, he reached for the hook affixed to it upon which his hat dangled. It was a simple straw boater with a green ribbon, which Townsend plucked from its resting place and carefully set upon his head. He glanced behind him at posters and his dresser covered in video game memorabilia, then stepped through the door, closed it, and navigated the hall to the cafeteria with a perpetually carefree smirk across his face and a jaunty spring in his step.</p>
<p><em>7:26 AM</em><br/>
Townsend disposed of the remainder of his breakfast, placing his tray in the proper receptacle. A man can only eat the same three dozen menu items so many times before he starts to get sick of them. While traveling to the breakroom, the researcher continued sipping from a little paper cup of pulp-free orange juice. He still had roughly an hour and some change before he needed to get to the labs and begin his workday, and he'd be damned if he was going to start early because of some silly little nightmare. Townsend had witnessed too many people throwing themselves into their work to stave off the uneasiness the machine put in their hearts and minds, and he knew where that route eventually led; he had decided a few years ago he'd always try to enjoy his life at the Foundation, no matter the situation or consequences. It simply wasn't worth stressing himself out like everyone else. Stepping into the breakroom, he pulled his signature toothy grin onto his face and regarded several comrades with a nod before stalking over to a corner and having a seat. He reached into a pocket of his cargo pants and pulled free a Gameboy SP to pass the time playing, still smiling as mirthfully as a Cheshire cat.</p>
<p><em>8:28 AM</em><br/>
Townsend secured his handheld console in his dorm and then went across campus to the other building, entering and heading straight to one of the labs. He began his first daily task, helping and supervising a pair of junior researchers as they analyzed data collected by overnight monitoring performed on several of the newest 914 outputs and wrote up reports graphing said data alongside any conclusions they could draw or hypotheses they could come up with.</p>
<p><em>10:01 AM</em><br/>
Townsend finished working and left the lab just in time to get his notebook violently snatched from his grip by the scrawny tech researcher, Beauviller, who was sprinting past and shouting something in rapid French. He couldn't help himself and began to laugh as he watched her round a corner, crossing the hall to his office to write his report on things like lab efficiency and review any requests or reports submitted for him to look at.</p>
<p><em>12:00 PM</em><br/>
Townsend took a break from work to grab lunch, heading back to the other building to partake in half a meatball marinara sandwich and some potato chips. He glanced around the cafeteria to see who might be around to eat with. He noticed Maxwell MacLean across the cafeteria,and the grin on his face widened considerably. He stopped at the coffee station to make a pair of drinks, his coffee with unethical amounts of sweetened creamer and MacLean's black tea, with no milk and two sugars. Just how he likes it. He beelines over to his fellow senior researcher with the drinks balanced atop his food tray. "Heya, Maxie!"</p>
<p><em>12:45 PM</em><br/>
The time had passed far too quickly, and his lunch break was nearly over; it had flown by, and Townsend wasn't sure why. Certainly, he'd been having fun helping MacLean with their blueprints (and annoying them in the process), but it couldn't just be that, right? Surely, some anomalous influence was at play. Townsend shrugged it off, hurriedly crunching on his last couple of potato chips while glancing over at "Maxie," who was doing the same rushed eating as him. He gave his colleague his standard goodbye wave with his mouth full and darted towards the tray drop-off. Turning, Townsend saw MacLean stand to do the same, then passed through the cafeteria door. He returned to the main building at his usual hurried pace, heading to the experimentation labs to resume his advisory duties.</p>
<p><em>3:00 PM</em><br/>
Townsend had fulfilled his obligations to the preliminary experimentation laboratories, so he headed to his office to catch up on his lower-priority duties. A tune wormed its way into his head, so he hummed along. Oh, that's right. He had to print some finalisation paperwork for Medical Resident Ibarazaki's test. He knew she'd be by around 5, so he had plenty of time. He entered, hooking up his laptop to his workstation and starting the print job on the documents for the newbie.</p>
<p><em>5:05 PM</em><br/>
Townsend idly listened to the retreating footsteps of Ibarazaki and the squeak of her cart's wheels. The medical resident was another in a long series of new faces. He could tell she was still in complete awe of the inscrutable machine and its mysterious wonders. Everyone always seemed to be, for at least their first few months. Then came the inevitable. Townsend began to cheerily hum as he filled out a paper verifying he had approved her access to the testing materials and given her the final go-ahead. First would come a testing incident—something to incite fear, superstition, or frustration with the machine. Then, of course, the unlucky newbie would begin to anthropomorphize the machine in their heads. The Clockworks was angry at them. The machine liked them. SCP-914 was sad. It was a cheeky bastard that didn't care to follow patterns. Townsend giggled loudly enough that it might disturb anyone else who happened to be in the room. To him, it was still just a machine. It always would be. Even if the outputs sometimes caused him nightmares. Townsend turned to his Foundation-issued laptop and resumed his work.</p>
<p><em>6:10 PM</em><br/>
The hatted scientist had finished the last of his office work, which was just a little behind schedule, and was locking up his office before going and checking on the remaining researchers who were finishing their office work. As he sorted through his key ring, he was startled when the door to Director Query's office slammed open at the end of the hall, and a cloud of gray dust or ash drifted out into the air as she ran toward the laboratories. His carefree smirk widened into a grin of mild amusement as he glanced into her discolored office through the doorway before turning and going in the other direction, disregarding whatever shenanigans were happening and humming the tune from earlier to himself lightly. Nobody was hurt, so he didn't care too much to discover what caused the Director's unfortunate circumstance. He didn't want to get himself covered in filth,and besides, he'd most assuredly find out soon, so there was no rush.</p>
<p><em>7:06 PM</em><br/>
Townsend sat in the middle of the cafeteria, picking at some roasted vegetables. Despite knowing they were necessary for his diet, he despised them. Townsend would much rather be sucking on a piece of candy or noshing on some meat or carbs. He was aware this made him seem immature, and he didn't care. Glancing around the table, he confirmed he was still sitting alone. That was fine and expected. He was very high-energy, and most people couldn't handle that at this time of day. He pulled his handheld video game from his pocket and slowly worked through the veggies while distracting himself with the electronic. When he finally finished, he moved locations to the break room but remained intently focused on his game.</p>
<p><em>9:45 PM</em><br/>
The senior researcher slunk into his dorm, shutting the door behind him. His ever-present smile finally dropped as soon as he hung up his hat. The evening was over, and being overly chipper all day was exhausting. The moment he allowed himself to relax his face and turn off the cheer, he could feel all his uncertainties and doubts creeping in. Should he have checked on Director Query then instead of waiting for information regarding the incident to be disseminated? Was he doing right by the interns and junior researchers he was advising? Was that thing the output had shown him the other morning something he unconsciously wanted? An infectious plague of self-doubt began enveloping his mind, just like every other night. He quickly dressed down and brushed his teeth, trying to escape to his bed. Unfortunately for Townsend, dreams weren't the solution he sought, and he soon fell into another fitful sleep.</p>
<p><em>A smile can get you through the daily grind. - Nathan Erickson</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<p><strong>Tale 2:</strong></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Emi Ibarazaki, Medical Resident</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- By DrIbarazaki</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><em>6:45 AM</em><br/>
Medical Resident Emi Ibarazaki woke up in her room, to the shrill cries of her alarm clock. Sometimes, she forgot that she was at Facility-23, especially after having been there so short. The world of anomalies was so new to her, her parents had told her just a year ago, but she took it remarkably well, and opted to take the path of her father. She hoped he was proud of her, but he was half the globe away, at Research Site 79. She never expected to be transferred over to Site-19, the second largest site, yet then referred to this small facility. But it was nice here. She was glad to work somewhere actually above ground now. She was excited to see what was next, so she got out of bed, put on her prosthetic legs, and started to get ready for the day.</p>
<p><em>7:14 AM</em><br/>
She was still getting used to the new facility, but the people seemed pretty nice, and other than a few minor issues, including the accidental theft of her PC by another intern, everything was going rather well! Her workload was better than the Site-19 main campus, and it felt much homier. The facility was smaller, and more personal, although also a little crowded. She could get used to a place like this. She needed to eat, though, so she went down to the cafeteria. When she got there, she ordered a bowl of cereal and some yogurt, but when she sat down, Dr. Ari joined her. Emi had noticed she also made figurines, but of wood, not wax like Emi, and found them very interesting. Apparently, Air wanted to do a little bit of an art trade. Eventually, they agreed on a deal, a few of Emi's small figures for two of Ari's wooden ones. After that, Dr. Ari left, and Emi finished her cereal. It felt like today would go well!</p>
<p><em>7:49 AM</em><br/>
With breakfast over, and her shift starting soon, Emi made her way to the medical bay. She greeted the other doctors, who were helping to show her the ropes, and began to check on her medical instruments, to make sure they were in peak condition. She made her way to her station and started her day. Today, among their other duties, was the day where all prosthetics had to be checked, to make sure they were all functional. She was still amazed by the levels of technology the Foundation had, but she had gotten used to how they worked. With her shift starting, she called for the first person to report to the medical bay, and began the examination.</p>
<p><em>12:00 PM</em><br/>
With her first shift complete, it was time for her lunch break. It had been a rather slow morning, and most of the prosthetics were in peak condition too. Only one needed replacement and that was due to it reaching the end of its service life. Walking to the cafeteria, she decided that she would try socializing with her new coworkers. A couple of people started talking about books, so she decided to join in, at least for a minute or two. She eventually got sucked into the conversation and ended up trading book recommendations with But then lunch was over, and she had to go back to work. She was looking forward to the test she would do in her free time after her shift was over.</p>
<p><em>4:00 PM</em><br/>
The afternoon was much busier than the morning. A couple of D-class had gotten into a fight earlier, so she had spent most of her time patching them up. She also had to deal with someone who had been hit with a computer mouse to the head. That somehow had caused a minor linear skull fracture, but they'd be fine after some rest. After that, the French technical researcher came asking for 4 grams of Tylenol but was refused by one of the other doctors who had been here longer. She could have sworn she was crying as she left. But when he asked the doctor about it, he just said "That's just what Beau is like." But now that her shift was over, she could finally start her 914 test. Making her way to the storage room, she took the cart with 4 paper shredders on it and confirmed with Senior Researcher Townsend that it was OK for her to start the testing. Taking a D-class from their quarters, she started. "OK, first, put it in on rough…"</p>
<p><em>5:13 PM</em><br/>
A rather interesting result had come out on Very Fine. Emi found these outputs were always very interesting, and she still wasn't used to the fact that anything could happen when it came to 914. It was, after all, only her fifth Very Fine test. The paper shredder had been changed to shred ANYTHING within, burn anything that could burn, didn't need any power, and teleported all the ash and slag somewhere that hadn't been determined. About 25 kg of material, including paper, cardboard, and a few metal sheets had been placed within, charred to slag and ash, and teleported away. Where the materials went was unknown, until, at 6:13 PM exactly, Research Director Query burst into the room, and she didn't look happy.</p>
<p><em>7:56 PM</em><br/>
Finally the Research Director's office was clean and Emi hoped that was the end of it. Glad to have finished, after that rather hectic day, she decided to check in with Researcher Boneka. Boneka would reasonably be considered a tutor to her, as she was the one who was assigned to show her the ropes of working here, and eventually, they turned out to become pretty good friends. However, Emi was still really new, so some help was still needed from time to time. This visit was a mix of both. Emi met with Bonnie at the break room, where they discussed their days, how mad Query was, and how someone put a tank through 914. Emi also learnt that Bonnie was married to Szymons, which was a bit of a surprise. After having generally a pretty good time, after about an hour and a half the two of them went off to their, to finish the day. Emi was pretty exhausted, and with the day done, she flopped into bed and fell asleep within minutes.</p>
<p><em>3:17 AM</em><br/>
Emi was awoken by her pager buzzing loudly. All the other doctors were gone that night, forcing the capable, but still novice, Emi to take care of this case. Cursing to herself, wondering who could possibly need help at this hour, she got out of bed and messily put on her lab coat and scrubs over her sleepwear, hoping it was just a misunderstanding. Upon arriving at the medical bay, however, she realised the issue. On one of the beds was that French technical researcher, all bloodied with torn-up clothes as if they had been in a fight with an angry dog. However, upon examination, they were found to be perfectly fine, at least physically. After the examination was over, she told the French techie to go clean up and then sleep, and upon doing so, went back to her bed, hoping that she wouldn't be awoken again.</p>
<p><em>Fin. - DrIbarazaki</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<p><strong>Tale 3:</strong></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Joseph Carpenter, Researcher</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- By Classy</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><em>6:00 AM</em><br/>
Carpenter was already awake. His biological clock had begun waking him up at 5:45 AM sharp about a year ago. Within a few weeks, his third year as an SCP researcher would begin. It felt long ago, but it wasn't. He would spend 15 minutes between waking up and the actual time set for his alarm to go off shortly while brainstorming his day. At the stroke of six though, it’s all routine. Carpenter gently whacked his clock, stopping it before the slightest chirp of the alarm could sound off. He rose from his bed and began. Out of the shower by 6:15, hair and beard made and teeth brushed by 6:25, completely dressed by 6:40, shoes shined by 6:45, tie fixed multiple times by 6:50, and out of his room by 7:00.</p>
<p><em>7:15 AM</em><br/>
Easily one of, if not his favorite part of his day, was making his coffee. Somewhere in the middle of a dark and medium roast, a tablespoon of REAL maple syrup, and an eyeballed amount of half and half. Perfect every time. After his concoction was prepared, he’d sit at his favorite table (second closest to the coffee station so he could shamelessly say good morning to the most people he could) and pull his laptop from his messenger bag. For the next 45 minutes to an hour, he was dedicated to what he called his virtual chores. Sending and replying to emails, updating his schedule, seeing what else the middle of the week needed to tell him, etc. Boring, sure, but soothing in a way.</p>
<p><em>8:00 AM</em><br/>
Carpenter waited for both the minute and second hand to align with 12 and then closed his laptop. He slid it back into his bag and washed his coffee mug out. Now it was work time. He exited the breakroom and made his way to the office. Sitting down, he turned on his desktop. Today’s workload was fairly light and self-made. He opened up one of his many, extensive note documents. In these, he brainstormed ideas for testing and often found himself trying to predict what 914 may do with them. He’d attempted many times to find patterns or connections of any kind within the 1999 tests that had been done before the 2000 incident. He’s come up with a few that he thinks may have merit, and has discussed them with his fellow researchers, but none of them have harnessed the right energy, so to speak. He’d kill for his own eureka moment. Regardless, it was time for him to contribute once again. He scrolled through the seemingly never-ending list of items he’d considered for testing. They all held their value, but nothing jumped at him. Since he began working here, he’s always liked the idea of testing “simple” items. Everyday things, as they are. What interesting revisions could be found in the mundane? Then it clicked for him. Or rather, it ticked. He looked down at his wristwatch. Hmm.</p>
<p><em>12:00 PM</em><br/>
After NOT spending an hour and a half of his morning accidentally falling down a rabbit hole of antique restoration videos, Carpenter headed for the cafeteria. After waving to Lacte and taking a seat with his food, he opened his laptop once again and began looking up dirt cheap wristwatches. He had thought about using his own, but he kinda liked his particular watch, and didn’t want to risk it. The irony though, was the watch he had was just as cheap as the ones he was searching for. Why not get the same one? After submitting the order for testing purposes, he began watching a YouTube video listing some obscure horror books by lesser-known authors. He had the volume increased rather high to drown out Townsend and MacLean’s blueprint bickering. He needed some new reading material, and the season called for something thrilling. A thought crossed his mind. What about asking his coworkers? There was absolutely an eclectic blend of interest to be found here, he knew that much, so a shortage of new ideas to consider was not an issue. He abhorred yet embraced the stereotype, but he was indeed the type to enjoy a hot beverage with a good book. Sounded like a plan after the day’s end. Someone entered the cafeteria not too long after he had sat down. It was one of the newer employees, Emily… no, Emi Ibarazaki was it? He approached her, and introduced himself, welcoming her. Before any awkward silence could set in, he pulled the trigger and promptly asked her for a book recommendation. He explained he had just come up with the idea, and she was the first he got to ask. She replied with The Adventures of Tintin. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he loved that answer a lot.</p>
<p><em>2:28 PM</em><br/>
Carpenter had long since returned to his office, still trying to ignore the fact he had scuffed the leather of his shoe on his way out of the cafeteria. Worse, no one else could see it but him. He’d been done with his work for the day already. His afternoons tended to be a bit less busy than his mornings, anyway. During the summer and early fall months, now would be the time he occupied himself with wood or metal working in his craft shed outside. Said work was about a 50/50 split between personal work and actual work work. Sometimes he’d actively go around the facility looking for things he could touch up or fix when allowed to do so. However, today just felt like an inside type of day. It was a bit ironic though, to him anyway, since the main reason he asked for said shed was to build new inputs for 914, but he never got around to it. There would be time. It’s still there. He looked at all of his test ideas once more. He began editing some of them. Wrote, deleted, revised. Wrote, deleted, revised. Wrote, deleted, revised. An hour had passed. No, 3 years had passed.</p>
<p><em>5:00 PM</em><br/>
Carpenter’s list was no longer the length of a novel. It was now 5 things. 5 items. Simple things. No lengthy explanations, no big fancy words. Just single-sentence descriptions. He smiled. It felt refreshing. New. He submitted the items for order, along with a personal order for the book recommendations he’d managed to grab throughout the afternoon, such as a few of the Tintin comics, and Arc of Scythe which was recommended by Dr. Marlon. Now, it was time for another break. He went to his room and looked up at his bookshelf. It began to dawn on him that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to buy more books if he had 10 that he still hadn’t started. No matter, just like he thought about earlier, peak book reading season had just started. He’d have them cleared by the end of the month, easy.</p>
<p><em>5:30 PM</em><br/>
Carpenter was back in the breakroom, at his beloved table. As he promised himself, he embarked on one of the unread books, titled The Mirror Man by Jane Gilmartin, and had another coffee to go with it. He had a single earbud in, which delivered him a deep ambiance to increase his immersion. Just enough to fill the gap of silence. It always worked.</p>
<p><em>7:00 PM</em><br/>
By now Carpenter was truly done for the day. He’d switched his outfit to something more comfortable and had sat down to play some video games. Similarly to his book issue, he was struggling to keep up with the many story-driven single-player games that had begun to pile up in his library. He decided to start with Signalis, a horror game recommended to him by Samantha less than a week ago. For the next 2 hours, that would be what occupied him.</p>
<p><em>9:00 PM</em><br/>
At the strike of 9, Carpenter was ready to turn in. He brushed his teeth, flossed, and got himself into bed. Today was a good day, he had to admit—all the more reason to look forward to having another one tomorrow.</p>
<p><em>Slow down! The world already moves fast enough. - Classy</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<p><strong>Tale 4:</strong></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Languen Lacte, Analytics Department Intern</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- By Dehydrated Milk</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><em>7:01 AM</em><br/>
Intern Languen Lacte wakes up. The alarm chirps its discordant melody into his ear, and he rises from his bed. It is time for work. Intern Lacte dresses. There is an entire day ahead, and Lacte is… He is… Interested in what will happen? Intern Lacte decides he is excited for the day.</p>
<p><em>7:23 AM</em><br/>
The personnel residences at Site-19, Facility 23 are… Stuffed. Far too many people for a simple research site. Thankfully, rising early lets him get his morning walk without running into anyone. Afterward, Intern Lacte splashes water on his face. His teeth brushed, his face clean, he exits his quarters just as everyone else is exiting their rooms and into the hallway.</p>
<p><em>7:37 AM</em><br/>
The cafeteria is nice. Homely even. The cook waves at him. He waves back. Today, they're serving waffles. How nice. Lacte heads to the coffee machine and makes himself some black coffee. It takes 13 minutes to make the coffee. He glances at the display of cereals and fruits. He turns, and the cook is avidly waving his hands at him. His waffles are ready! He nods at the researcher. Intern Lacte looks at the selection of cereal and yogurt. He turns and sees Medical Resident Ibarazaki. Repressed trauma from a 914 experiment and somehow stealing five PCs caused a fight-or-flight reflex to activate. Unfortunately, it is quite hard to run balancing an waffle, a bowl of cereal, two yogurts, and a banana.</p>
<p><em>8:12 AM</em><br/>
After the unintended and terrifying human interaction, Intern Lacte heads back to his room. SCP-914 isn't the Intern's permanent job, after all. His instructor calls him on SCiP.net at 8:30 AM, right on the dot. It is time for him to review the Foundation's rules and regulations and undergo the trials of being an intern and drudge into becoming a member of staff.</p>
<p><em>9:32 AM</em><br/>
His instructor logs off. He now has an assignment. "Based on the recent patterns regarding SCP-372-TEST, what are the most probable outcomes for its end destination?" He better get to work.</p>
<p><em>12:00 PM</em><br/>
Lacte's eyes hurt. He has been staring at a screen and reviewing pages upon pages of notes regarding the anomaly. He thinks he has an answer and pings his instructor. He'll likely hear back at… Oh! It's time for lunch! For lunch, there are salads or burgers. Never mind that almost no one at the site can make a good burger and that the salads always seemed a little too old, Intern Lacte was happy to be at lunch. Finally, a break from the mindnumbingness of reviewing data. He waved over to some of his friends. This was… peaceful.</p>
<p><em>1:11 PM</em><br/>
For SCP-914, there were few experiments actually conducted every day. It is, after all, an anomalous object capable of creating memetic hazards, spawning murderous entities, traumatizing people for life, and much more. In fact, its mortality rate was on par with that of SCP-682. Ess-See-Pee Six-Eighty-Two. The immortal death lizard. And a silly little machine that alters objects has a death count as high as it? Now, that wasn't really true, of course, just a rumor talked about by personnel around the water dispenser. But still, it is ominous how many D-Class personnel, as well as employees, have died to 914. As such, in conjunction with rumor and truth, it sometimes took some 914 personnel at least 20 minutes to psych themselves up in the break room before an experiment. Lacte exits the room, slightly more psyched.</p>
<p><em>1:44 PM</em><br/>
His single input for the day was a scarf. On 1:1. Surely nothing bad could happen, right? It took, from 1:47 PM to 1:54 PM, six minutes to conclude refinement. What came out was a noose. Intern Lacte promptly recorded the results and sent the object to waste storage, to be incinerated at a later day.</p>
<p><em>2:14 PM</em><br/>
Languen Lacte walked back to his room. His instructor had replied. And- Oh! He had done great! A fantastic job with his numbers and estimates! Intern Lacte smiled and went back to his monitor, typing, typing, typing.</p>
<p><em>3:23 PM</em><br/>
Personnel could leave the site, whether for errands or pleasure, as long as they showed up and did their allotted hours, they were free to come and go. Especially at Site-19, Facility 23. Languen Lacte walked up to their car and drove to the nearest McDonald's. He needed a treat.</p>
<p><em>4:34 PM</em><br/>
When he came back, the site looked the same. No one had blown something up from a random output, so all should be well. As he was an intern and had no tasks until assigned to something, or until he got a senior supervisor to shadow, he didn't have much to do. So, in an attempt to look busy and curb boredom, Intern Lacte went to the break room and popped open a book. Occasionally, if you worked at Site-19, Facility 23, you would hear the screams of pain or delight as a 914 output dazzled or disemboweled a researcher. Today, there was the screaming of an enraged Research Director and the terrified pleas of a Medical Resident.</p>
<p><em>6:24 PM</em><br/>
Lacte entered his bathroom. The bathrooms they gave in the personnel accommodations weren't the worst, although they certainly were not perfect. Languen over his days in the Foundation had learned that a small space tended to encourage brooding. After sitting in the shower for 30 minutes, he decided to leave.</p>
<p><em>7:11 PM</em><br/>
SCiP.net turned on as Intern Lacte browsed through anomalies he had access to. So many horrors and wonders that the world would never know. He wondered if what he did impacted the world. He wondered and wondered and wandered into the vestiges of sleep before eventually migrating from his desk to his bed.</p>
<p><em>9:14 PM</em><br/>
Like clockwork, Intern Lacte falls asleep.</p>
<p><em>Tick Tock, goes the clock. - Dehydrated Milk</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<p><strong>Tale 5:</strong></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Françoise Beauvillier, Technical Researcher</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- By Tildeethdouspart</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><em>7:48 AM</em><br/>
An alarm rings. Someone, somewhere, plugged in a USB drive they shouldn't have plugged somewhere inside this facility. This alarm doesn't exist, but you tend to omit such details when you've been sleeping so little and working so much. She rises from her bed, heading for the emergency reserve of concentrated coffee in her freezer. After downing a packet of caffeine powder - whose existence she both curses and blesses - she gets a move on. She intercepts the dangerous criminal putting at risk this facility's operational capabilities, in this case, an older researcher attempting to review his young daughter's homework, which was flashed onto a standard issue commercial thumb drive (neither Foundation-issued nor secured, mind you! The gall of these people.) before being brought inside the facility. The flash drive was confiscated and sent back to the researcher's residence, and the computer was promptly incinerated. A new one would be issued if the intern made it out of the server room. Er, she meant when. Definitely when.</p>
<p><em>8:02 AM</em><br/>
Technical Researcher Françoise Beauvillier goes to sleep.</p>
<p><em>9:57 AM</em><br/>
She wakes up and takes a routine look at the surveillance cameras of Facility 23 through an easily preventable backdoor she's made sure to fix while leaving a small path for her to access the video feeds. In a corner of the screen, the feed depicted what was happening in Cell 109-B, the resting place of The Clockworks. Which is now being invaded by a person in a white blouse holding what seems to be a tablet. An electronic device. In the cell. Without the proper clearance. She jumps from her chair, and despite her flimsy physique and poor health, she manages a surprising sprint from her office to Cell 109-B. After grabbing on the fly a paper notebook from poor, innocent passing Townsend, she barges inside the room and throws the notebook to the face of the criminal before tackling her and snatching the tablet out of her hands. She was quickly subdued by on-site security and escorted back to her office, all the while screaming various curses and variations on "I saved you all!". She was nonetheless allowed to confiscate the tablet. It was to be returned after proper paperwork was filed.</p>
<p><em>10:44 AM</em><br/>
Technical Researcher Françoise Beauvillier goes to sleep.</p>
<p><em>1:00 PM</em><br/>
An alarm wakes her up. It is time for the daily 1-hour session dedicated to answering the technical issues of the Foundation. A truly thankless job, but it gives one the privilege of seeing new completely inane ways people keep using their computers.</p>
<p><em>1:11 PM</em><br/>
Software Technician Rare passed by T.R. Beauvillier's office.</p>
<p><em>1:13 PM</em><br/>
S.T. Rare was taken to the infirmary after being impacted by a high-velocity computer mouse. They later reported that the last thing they heard was shouting about "terrible contamination", "gross misuse of Foundation equipment", and "needing buckets".</p>
<p><em>1:28 PM</em><br/>
Senior Researcher MacLean enters a very irritated Beauvillier's office, who immediately decides to jump on the occasion for a distraction. S.R. MacLean reports in this instance an issue regarding the Facility's printer. T.R. Beauvillier guarantees that "it's only a printer", and "it should be no issue, especially given the things she's had to fix".</p>
<p><em>1:29 PM</em><br/>
A loud "clang" is heard throughout the facility, reportedly from every direction at once.</p>
<p><em>1:30 PM</em><br/>
T.R. Beauvillier submits an official request to the Site Director to immediately contain every instance of any device whose function is analogous to that of a printer, scanner, copy machine, and, by extension, potentially fax machines, under the justification that "If we do not contain all of these devices immediately, it could spell doom for me, and by extension for the coffee reserves of the entire world, and by further extension, the entire economic system of Brazil". Another similar request was filed, requesting this time for the immediate arrest and containment of "whoever designed the drivers for these machines", under the justification that "no human being can be this evil, there has to be something anomalous in there". Both requests were denied.</p>
<p><em>1:39 PM</em><br/>
T.R. Beauvillier is seen spilling a glass of fake blood under the printer before grabbing a passerby and shaking them wildly while screaming at them to look at the "evilness of this foul creature". She was reprimanded and ordered to clean the spill.</p>
<p><em>2:00 PM</em><br/>
End of the tech issues review session. Technical Researcher Françoise Beauvillier goes to sleep.</p>
<p><em>3:16 PM</em><br/>
Researcher Xasthur knocks on the door to her office, asking for assistance on a computer-related issue regarding the redaction of a recent test report.</p>
<p><em>3:20 PM</em><br/>
T.R. Beauvillier breaks down in tears.</p>
<p><em>3:22 PM</em><br/>
She submits her resignation to Personnel Director Dr. Veritas' office.</p>
<p><em>3:25 PM</em><br/>
An alarm rings on her phone, reporting a critical failure somewhere in the internal infrastructure of the Foundation. She tears up the resignation papers and goes to get a coffee before returning to her office.</p>
<p><em>3:34 PM</em><br/>
Issue resolved, fix pushed. Technical Researcher Françoise Beauvillier goes to sleep.</p>
<p><em>4:58 PM</em><br/>
She wakes up and immediately heads for the infirmary, requesting 4 grams of Tylenol after reportedly "having the existence of the HR guy come to mind". Her request was denied, though she was granted leave for a day. This offer was reportedly taken as such a "good joke," and T.R. Beauvillier left instantly while crying with laughter.</p>
<p><em>5:44 PM</em><br/>
She engages in her daily "feud" with one of the interns of this facility, who has been continuously trying to find a breach in the network security protocol to let their video games' packets pass through the filter. A security engineer has a tough job; where there needs to be one breach to go through, there needs to be total surveillance to prevent it. This time, the intern managed to use their cell phone, which usually benefits from fewer restrictions, as a USB tether for the data to pass through the firewall. T.R. Beauvillier will spend the next hour tacking down the exact MAC address of the incriminated device and boot it off the network.</p>
<p><em>7:28 PM</em><br/>
An alarm rings. This specific frequency implies that something somewhere needs an urgent fix. T.R. Beauvillier enters the server room. For the following 2 hours, several network access issues were reported over the entire facility. After that, numerous "odd" noises were heard in seemingly random electrical closets throughout F23. The whereabouts of T.R. Beauvillier remained unknown until the early hours of the morning.</p>
<p><em>3:12 AM</em><br/>
T.R. Beauvillier exits the server room, in frayed clothes and covered in blood. Night security took her rapidly to the medical office, where a tired Medical Resident Ibarazaki proceeded with a check-up. However, no signs of external and/or internal wounds were seen, and T.R. Beauvillier was allowed to return to her bed.</p>
<p><em>3:24 AM</em><br/>
Technical Researcher Françoise Beauvillier goes to sleep.</p>
<p><em>Blessed be those who see in a computer nothing but a fancy tool. - Françoise Beauvillier</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<p><strong>Tale 6:</strong></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Madison Allen, Researcher</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- By T-Roox</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><em>6:55 AM</em><br/>
Researcher Allen slowly opens her eyes to the pitch darkness of her room. Her brain has adjusted to her alarm, and she frustratingly now wakes up before it goes off. She presses back into blankets and plushies, trying to hold onto the last moments of peace before she needs to get up.</p>
<p><em>7:30 AM</em><br/>
She groans as her alarm finally goes off, slapping the alarm clock several times before successfully shutting it off. Even after 3 years, she hasn’t learned to hit it on the first try. Sitting on the edge of her bed, Allen stretches and plans out the next 30 minutes getting ready for work. She wipes the sleep from her eyes as she stands and walks to take a shower.</p>
<p><em>7:43 AM</em><br/>
Drying off and getting dressed, she takes her prescriptions and glances over at the small makeup kit she has. She needs to practice more but decides to go without it today. Grabbing her keys, phone, ID, and wallet, Allen opens the door and steps out before freezing and jumping back to grab her glasses before the door closes behind her, and she begins the walk to her office.</p>
<p><em>7:51 AM</em><br/>
Setting down her coffee mug next to the other junk on her desk, Aeronautical Researcher Allen opens the muffin she grabbed for breakfast and starts eating. She is still getting used to her new responsibilities as one of the Foundation's regional aviation workers, working in tandem with some of the other facilities nearby to manage Foundation aviation activity in the area. 8-hour shifts, 00:00 to 08:00 AM, 08:00 AM to 04:00 PM, and 04:00 PM to midnight. She dreads those night shifts with a passion.</p>
<p><em>12:04 PM</em><br/>
Halfway done. Her break technically started 4 minutes ago, but she still had to finish up assisting one last flight before lunch. She stands up and starts walking to the other building to grab some food, fidgeting with a tennis ball she had sitting on her desk. She bounces it off the floor as she walks, using the time to try and come up with some new test ideas, it has been a while since she's run one. She notices Senior Researchers Maclean and Townsend sitting at a table but unfortunately doesn't have time to socialize today, having already lost a good chunk of her 30-minute lunch break.</p>
<p><em>12:29 PM</em><br/>
Stepping back into her office, Allen tosses the ball back into the bowl it was sitting in haphazardly, muttering an expletive as it instead knocks over her luckily empty coffee cup. Great start to the next 4 hours, she thinks to herself, rubbing her brow.</p>
<p><em>4:00 PM</em><br/>
Sighing as she stands up from her desk, Allen stretches and shakes her head, knocking out the fatigue from sitting in a chair all day. She much prefers to pace while thinking or working, and she plans to do just that as she shuts down her computer and closes her office for the day, adjusting her glasses as she starts off into the facility.</p>
<p><em>6:00 PM</em><br/>
Having run into Samantha Szymons on her walk around the floor, she asked the MTF sergeant if he wanted to hit the range on his break. Allens always had trouble shooting Glock handguns before, though she's never been sure why, and is trying to sort it out. She hopes that she’ll be as good a shot as Sam one day, though she doubts the possibility without having gone through MTF training.</p>
<p><em>7:04 PM</em><br/>
Unfortunately, Sam needs to get back to work “protecting the site” or whatever, so Allen heads back to the break room to grab an apple she had left in the fridge. Pulling a blade out of her coat, she begins cutting it up into slices as she walks back to her room, being extra careful this time. Her hands are spotted with cuts from doing just this, but she's too stubborn to do it any other way. She keeps band-aids in her breast pocket just in case, though.</p>
<p><em>7:30 PM</em><br/>
Tossing the remnants of the apple into the trash, Allen settles down in her room and starts her computer. She likes to end the day by playing some video games, and there's been a couple of new releases she's been wanting to try out.</p>
<p><em>10:45 PM</em><br/>
She finally stands up from her desk and heads to the bathroom to get set for bed. She’ll probably lie awake for an hour or so still, but she's grown accustomed to it by this point. She finishes brushing her teeth, turns off the lights, and cautiously walks back across the room to her bed, setting her alarm for the next morning, before laying down and finishing her day.</p>
<p><em>1:40 AM</em><br/>
Unfortunately unable to fall asleep, Allen begins to feel hungry and sleepily trod to the break room to grab an apple and some peanut butter. Finding both, she reaches for her knife once again, forgetting that she hadn't grabbed her lab coat. She runs back to her room to grab it, but by the time she returns both the apple and peanut butter are missing, along with the rest of the snack food on the counter… She'll ask about it tomorrow, but for tonight she begrudgingly decides on some reheated pizza and heads back to bed.</p>
<p><em>Tomorrow is another day. - T-Roox</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<p><strong>Tale 7:</strong></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Maxwell MacLean, Senior Containment Engineer</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- By AtomicGummyGod</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><em>5:30 AM</em><br/>
Maxwell MacLean wakes up to his phone alarm going off and groggily rolls out of bed. The day is young. He’s got to make lunches for 5 kids, then get their breakfasts ready.<br/>
Schedule check.<br/>
Work’s at 9, Tass has High School at 7, Abi and Adam’s got Elementary at 8, and the Twins need to be at Middle School right after. It’s 5…40ish.<br/>
That’s doable.<br/>
Hope they’re fine with leftover roast beef for lunch.</p>
<p><em>7:00 AM</em><br/>
Tass is out of the house. MacLean sent him out with his lunchbox and a hug. His driver’s license is a godsend, meaning the Twins don’t have to be at school 2 hours early. He’ll have to get him a new game as a present. Time to get the other kids out of bed.</p>
<p><em>7:45 AM</em><br/>
Taking the other kids to school. Abi and Adam have grown so fast. Sammy and Cain have the early mornin’ grumps (probably all those hormones), so MacLean makes a note to grab a treat for them later, surprise them when he helps them with their homework.</p>
<p><em>8:30 AM</em><br/>
Reports, reports, reports.<br/>
More new objects he gets clearance for, more new containment procedures Maxwell’s gotta design, then send out for the engineers to make sure things don’t go to hell at the main site. Updates on old objects with new details, revisions he needs to make for his designs, and yet another breach caused by someone who cut corners. Ugh. Townie’s gonna have a field day with this.</p>
<p><em>10:00 AM</em><br/>
It’s time for a break. MacLean’s bad leg is aching, his good leg’s falling asleep, and he needs some fresh air, stat. As he makes his way out of the building, he makes a point to avoid the main testing chamber. He isn’t <em>quite</em> ready for the violent French cursing he heard down the hall, either. Someone <em>else</em> can try calming down Beauvillier, first. The last time he tried, he got a mug broken over his head.<br/>
MacLean takes a seat on a bench outside the facility, pulling out a worn-out paperback. Reading until he finishes the chapter, he gently dogears the page, before walking back inside. Back to work.</p>
<p><em>11:30 AM</em><br/>
He’s got to get some blue light lenses. These glasses just aren’t gonna cut it. MacLean leans back in his chair, trying to rub the ache out of his eyes. Shifting back into the role of a Containment Specialist with the promotion wasn’t an unwelcome one, despite the… unpleasant memories.</p>
<p>('Cause getting his calf bitten off is <em>just</em> an unpleasant memory. Stupid lizard.)<br/>
He gets flexible hours, better pay, and less time arms deep in anomalous stuff, a total win! The fluorescent lighting’s a real eyesore, though.</p>
<p><em>12:00 AM</em><br/>
As MacLean examines blueprints over a burger and fries, he’s interrupted by his name being shouted out. He locks eyes with a longtime colleague, giving them a sardonic grin. “G’day, James. You want some coffee with that creamer?”</p>
<p>Townsend grumbles at MacLean calling him by his middle name, before passing over MacLean’s tea and scanning the design on the table. No milk, 2 sugars. Just how he likes it.</p>
<p>Townsend is a whirlwind of activity, Scratching notes in the margins, empathizing with MacLean over budgetary constraints, and as exhausted as he is, Maxwell can’t help but take in that manic energy and mirror it back. Bickering, laughing, inside jokes. They’re making a scene, (and getting crumbs on his blueprints, for that matter!) he’s certain of it, but that’s a problem for later. For now, they’ve gotta figure out how to fit a Reality Anchor into a compartment half the size of a standard model’s dimensions. The lunch break flies by, and before he knows it, he’s waving goodbye to Townsend and making his way back to his office.</p>
<p><em>1:00 PM</em><br/>
MacLean’s inbox is slowly weeded to size. Townsend’s (Heh, James) help managed to solve the most difficult design of the day, so all he’s got are revisions to old designs. Add a backup system here, modular plates to make the cell easily repairable there, change an alloy in the support structures to be more corrosion resistant… New messages are replacing the old ones, but he’s managing to whittle them down a bit faster than they appear.</p>
<p><em>1:25 PM</em><br/>
MacLean hesitantly steps into Beauvillier’s Office. His printer broke, and that’s not great when you need hard copies for archival purposes. However, Françoise is… unhinged at the best of times, and it appears he didn’t come in at a… great time. She appears happy to help though, so he’ll just leave her to it.</p>
<p><em>1:35 PM</em><br/>
It turns out it was a paper jam. Hardware, easy fix. Took like, a minute and a half. MacLean doesn’t think he’s ever seen Beau cry like that before. Awkward.</p>
<p><em>2:00 PM</em><br/>
If you asked him what his first instinct was when he saw the two in the breakroom, MacLean would have to ashamedly admit that his first instinct was to make a joke. “No, no, keep goin, no need to stop on my behalf.” Fortunately, that instinct was paused in favor of instead awkwardly grabbing some snacks and speed walking out of there, waving to Marlon as he went.</p>
<p><em>3:30 PM</em><br/>
MacLean’s fingers are sore from typing and sketching. At this point, he’s solving issues as they appear. He could clock out now, but that’s work he’s gotta make up when he’s on call over the weekend.</p>
<p><em>4:00 PM</em><br/>
Day’s done, for the most part. MacLean sets up his email to forward urgent revisions to the next CS on shift and gathers up his blueprints and sketches. He drops them off at the Archive, chatting with Xasthur as he helps her sort them into neat piles.</p>
<p><em>4:45 PM</em><br/>
As MacLean takes a breather before the drive home, he sees Boneka again. They exchange a quick (and awkward) laugh about the incident in the breakroom, he tells a regaling tale about his family’s latest escapades (He has SO many stories to tell!), and before long, they trade polite farewells as he packs his computer bag and makes his way to the parking lot. Bon was probably one of his best friends, (along with James, even if they’d never admit it aloud,) being assigned to the facility around the same time certainly didn’t hurt. 5 Years of having to relearn social dynamics, trading stories and test ideas, and chatting about hobbies and interests counts as friendship, right? MacLean hopes they’re his friends, he doesn’t really have a social life outside of work.</p>
<p><em>5:30 PM</em><br/>
MacLean picked up some donuts on the way back from work, he figured the kids would appreciate the treat. Tass brought the other kids back from school, so he’s just gotta get dinner ready.</p>
<p><em>6:45 PM</em><br/>
Baked Potatoes, Cajun Wings, and Donuts for dessert. MacLean helps the kids with homework afterward. He’s not all that good at language arts, but he can handle the math ‘n science stuff just fine.</p>
<p><em>8:30 PM</em><br/>
He’s playing games with Tass. Kid’s 17, MacLean oughta tell him about the Foundation, get him level 0 clearance. But they’ve already got so much to deal with, college apps coming up, social stuff. He doesn’t want them to worry about even more stuff out of their control. That’s why he’s working so hard, right? So his kids can sleep easy, not worrying about cosmic horrors beyond their comprehension?</p>
<p>…It’s a Friday. He’s gotta work the night shift tomorrow, has to sleep in the afternoon anyway. As the day turns to night, MacLean keeps playing video games with his son. He’s allowed to enjoy these quiet moments. No guilt in that. No guilt in embracing the calm.</p>
<p><em>11:30 PM</em><br/>
If you told Maxwell MacLean what his life would be like as a teen, he wouldn’t have believed you. Scientific Researcher, single father at 35, one of many holding the door shut, keeping nightmares from walking the earth. But that’s the way life goes, right? Things don’t tend to go to plan. No matter. MacLean settles to sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.</p>
<p><em>Doing better than you did the day before is all anyone can ever ask of you. - AtomicGummyGod</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<p><strong>Tale 8:</strong></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Ari Marlon, Researcher</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- By Scythe Asgore</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><em>5:00 AM</em><br/>
Dr. Ari Marlon woke up for the first time. She was hot underneath her three blankets, but it was still dark outside. She supposed it was too early to be up; the sun hadn't risen yet. So she snuggled under her top blanket. She was going to go back to sleep, but then she heard the new HR guy's alarm go off. The alarm was a woman screaming loud enough to wake up half the facility. Presumably, the HR guy woke up and turned his alarm off, because once it was silent again, Ari could go back to sleep.</p>
<p><em>7:00 AM</em><br/>
She wakes up for real, spending about half an hour reading on her tablet, because she's too lazy to get out of bed. Her bed was also so comfy, she wouldn't want to if she had nothing to do that day, but alas… Marlon had projects to complete.</p>
<p><em>7:30 AM</em><br/>
Now fully awake, Ari was ready to start her day. She got up, did her eye drops, got dressed, and went to find something to eat for breakfast. Despite the little she could tell her family about in regards to her work, they still did worry that she didn't eat enough.</p>
<p><em>8:25 AM</em><br/>
Ari had found something she wanted to eat, so after finishing her food, she grabbed an extra cup of tea to enjoy while working. She passed by one of the new researchers, Ibarazaki, who was still eating. Since it was before 8:30, Ari figured it was fine to have a small talk with the new researcher, or rather, new medical resident as she had noticed Ibarazaki's wax sculptures the other day and thought they would go well with her own wooden figurines. Once she was done, and now having plans for a couple of Ibarazaki figurines, she leisurely walked to her office.</p>
<p><em>8:30 AM</em><br/>
For consistency's sake, she never started her work day before 8:30. Once in her office, Ari checked to see if there was anything she needed to do. There wasn't much besides planning for her next test, which meant filling out some forms and putting the finishing touches on her gavels. The plastic gavel she ordered hadn't come yet, and the extra figurines she was planning to use in tests weren't anywhere near ready, but that didn't have to be done by today.</p>
<p>With all the new researchers and interns coming in though, Ari thought it would be a good time to update her figurine collection to include them. She already had her Ibarazaki plans, but not any of the other newbies yet.</p>
<p><em>12:00 PM</em><br/>
Ari grabbed her reading tablet and went off to find lunch. She wasn't that hungry, but she figured she could get a bowl of fruit or something. She also needed to find Carpenter as she wanted to add more figurines to her collection, and he had given her a specific request that she felt she had to fulfill. The other day Carpenter had asked for some more book recommendations, and Ari was still happy she got to recommend the Arc of a Scythe series to more people.</p>
<p><em>12:30 PM</em><br/>
Ari was back to work. She had a bit of paperwork to do, after putting it off for longer than she was planning to. As she worked, she kept her world-building document off to the side to quickly jot down some new ideas if they ever came.</p>
<p><em>2:00 PM</em><br/>
At two, Ari started to get a headache. Nothing she couldn't deal with on her own because they were regular occurrences caused by staring at things too long, but still it was a sign. A sign she needed a few minutes break.</p>
<p>She walked to the break room to grab a quick snack and some more tea. As she walked towards the break room, Ari passed MacLean as he left. She waved at him and continued on where she heard two people in the break room.</p>
<p>"Not my problem," Ari shrugged as she walked by them and heated some water. If anyone asked, Ari didn't see it. Which was true. Not only did Ari pay minimal attention to her surroundings while not working, but she genuinely couldn't see some of the details when she had headaches.</p>
<p><em>2:45 PM</em><br/>
Break done, Ari was back to work without feeling like her eyes would murder her. She got some notices of new legal papers to fill out and review all due in two days. Ari could do it easily, but still, two days was not a lot of time.</p>
<p><em>6:30 PM</em><br/>
After spending the rest of the afternoon on legal papers, Ari was officially done for the day. Dinner wasn't that impressive, but that was fine. There were things she wanted to carve that night before she went to bed, and an impressive dinner would take a bit too much time for her to enjoy.</p>
<p><em>9:30 PM</em><br/>
A new D-Class figurine sat on Ari's desk as she yawned. It was time for bed. To her, today was a good day. She felt productive, finished a carving, and even got ahead on her work. 30 minutes of reading later, Ari was asleep for the day, ready for the next.</p>
<p><em>Average days can be satisfying too. - Scythe Asgore</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<p><strong>Tale 9:</strong></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Olivia Xasthur, Thaumaturgy and Anthropology Researcher</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- By Xasthur</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><em>6:44 AM</em><br/>
It took several alarms to wake Olivia. Maybe it was the late nights. Maybe it was her mind playing tricks on her. If you didn’t go outside often, it was easy to lose track of time. Days spent buried in archives and research would drive anyone crazy. Another day, another ritual she would need to dive into. Ah, that was hours away. Time to get up and get the probably already stale coffee.</p>
<p><em>7:20 AM</em><br/>
Coffee. Acquired. Finally some semblance of sanity and OF COURSE IT’S ALREADY COLD. Xasthur knew to expect it by now. This is what she gets for taking too long to get out of bed. She hadn’t been at Facility-23 long, only a few months at least. She’d met most of the on-site team. Good people. Not much one for words, she moved onto one of the break room tables, cold coffee in one hand, a religious text in the other. She just couldn’t resist looking into them, something about learning what people believe in was intoxicating to her. Unfortunately, it meant she missed conversations she probably should be paying attention to. Her shift started at 10 AM. Surely the coffee would be hot again later, right?</p>
<p><em>8:02 AM</em><br/>
Xasthur began her workday, with a quartet of religious texts on one side of the desk, and a pile of doctrine and tests on the other.</p>
<p><em>11:10 AM</em><br/>
It was rare for a breakthrough this good. It might’ve been small, but the more the Foundation learns about any religious GoI, the better. Xasthur felt good. Still probably shouldn’t order too much food though, a lot still has to be done, plus sending off that request to test SCP-914 with some mechanical components. A heavy serving of an Irish stew was her lunch for the day, something new. Xasthur savored her food, a small reward for her small victory.</p>
<p><em>12:57 PM</em><br/>
With all this paperwork, you could confuse Xasthur for a Site Director. Most of it was test reports or articles sent to her to review and contribute to as the site anthropologist. While a large amount of it is rather dull, it still needs to be done, and she may as well get it done right so it doesn’t end up back in her pile. Xasthur spent hours scanning through, placing the necessary redactions, and revising, if not rewriting the reports. If only the system wasn’t slowing down every so often. With every frozen screen, she got more impatient. Swearing under her breath, Xasthur kept pressing the keys.</p>
<p><em>1:51 PM</em><br/>
GOD! FUCKING! DAMMIT! WORK! YOU! PIECE! OF! SHIT! This day was rapidly becoming a recreation of Icarus. Why wasn’t the redaction going through? Why was it taking so long to do such a simple process? Why was she hitting the computer instead of looking at it logically? She never understood the more technical side of computers, let alone how to build them, fix them, or how they actually worked. That was… Beauvillier’s department, that’s right. Composing herself, with a few extra heavy breaths to boot, Xasthur rose from her desk. Maybe the walk to the IT department might cool her frustrated blood. How can a day go from an amazing moment of successful research and reports to a tech issue that stopped her from working nearly as efficiently? It was a small while before Xasthur knocked on the office door. Maybe Beauvillier wouldn’t try and kill her…</p>
<p><em>3:03 PM</em><br/>
Buried in her work, Xasthur almost didn't see MacLean walk into the archives. She'd been laser-focused on finding a manuscript to try and translate, bumping into the man was bound to happen. MacLean practically lived in the archive room, probably more than any of the other researchers, and yet he was still easy to miss. He was only dropping off some of his blueprints to be digitized later. Xasthur didn't care to look into them; containment was hardly her area of expertise, nor did she have the clearance to see some of the procedures set in place for some of the other SCPs MacLean probably worked with. After a short conversation, the two of them sorting out the poorly stacked piles of articles, a set of really worn documents, and her computer back in front of her, Xasthur continued her translation and report. Now if only the screen would stop freezing for 5 minutes…</p>
<p><em>4:30 PM</em><br/>
Making her way to the mess hall one more time for the day, Xasthur ordered her final big meal for the day. Even though Beauvillier gave her plenty of words regarding computer etiquette, how to be patient with technology and not beat the hell out of it, plus a few well-placed French complaints, Xasthur was just glad the day was over with. No more books, no more articles, just her, a plate full of questionably good food, and her colleagues annoying her with their constant discussion over tests. Sometimes, it pays off to have a laugh after a tough day.</p>
<p><em>7:09 PM</em><br/>
With the workday finished, and her computer repaired, Xasthur could relax. Break away from her small obsession and mountain of paperwork. And the sigils she tested. And the D-Class who’d gotten himself hurt messing with the smaller tiles 914 threw out. She couldn’t bear to see another book after everything. Instead, she put on her headphones and listened to some of her choice music. Usually, it was something heavy, but today Paramore was the pick. Maybe a small silly dance to go along with it. Looking Up, a great song and the perfect earworm.</p>
<p><em>10:33 PM</em><br/>
Olivia lay in her bed, ready to sleep and repeat the cycle. Maybe another small victory was on the books. Maybe a misstep she would have to work around. Closing her eyes, all that was heard after was her snoring.</p>
<p><em>Bring me that horizon, the only good thing a god has brought. - Xasthur</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<p><strong>Tale 10:</strong></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Samantha Szymons, Eta-10 Sergeant</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- By Szymons</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><em>11:30 AM</em><br/>
Each morning was a rough and rude awakening depending on which part of his rotation Samantha was on. Typically security staff would be put on half day shifts, 12 on and 12 off. This week Sam was lucky to score the day shift. He threw his alarm clock into the wall and did his best to prepare in time. The most time-consuming part of it all was rearranging his vest, his restless nature demanding a slightly different layout every day. Once he escaped his vicious cycle of preparation, he was off to prowl the hallways with the rest of the security team, and under the watchful eye of Sedna.</p>
<p><em>12:25 PM</em><br/>
Though he wasn’t often assigned to Facility 23 anymore, Samantha used the little sway he had to be rotated into its security attachment. He couldn’t stay away, there were too many weapons to be tested. The majority of his day was spent fulfilling typical security tasks, patrols, audits, and maintaining the checkpoints around the facility, sneaking a smoke wherever he could. Starting so late in the day he misses the early birds, but always waits on his patrols near Boneka’s office, for the off chance he could catch her on her way to the testing chambers.</p>
<p><em>2:00 PM</em><br/>
It’s ironic to be in an authority position with as flippant an attitude as Sam. He wasn’t scared to show his affection in the breakroom. These were the few moments he got with his wife. The repeated assignments and reassignments had been testing his patience, being away for so long he had to make the most of this time.</p>
<p><em>2:30 PM</em><br/>
With the break over, and a “subtle” nod from Sedna to return to his duties, Samantha had to return to patrols. He greeted as many researchers as he could on his way through the halls, lots of new faces and too little time to learn all of them. He’d end up regretting passing up the opportunity to make new friends as his shift would progress rather rapidly.</p>
<p><em>2:35 PM</em><br/>
Using his Foundation-trained “persuasion tactics” and quick wit he had managed to nab a priceless piece of history in the form of a tankette to feed it to the machine. Boneka seemed particularly vexed at this repeat antic, teasing him as she got to work sterilizing the input. To compensate for being a little shit he did stay around to assist with the process, only to return in the hours after to deal with its result.</p>
<p><em>3:27 PM</em><br/>
While waiting for his output to process, Sam busied himself in the armory. He was extremely annal about his weapons, and what specific processes to maintain them were used. It was to the point where the quartermaster would let him maintain his weapons himself, often resigning to the other members of the teams for solace after a run-in with the MTF agent. Today was better, Samantha had only corrected the quartermaster twice.</p>
<p><em>4:35 PM</em><br/>
Horses. There were a lot of Polish horses in the testing chamber. They were dealt with, and a hefty ass-chewing was delivered by his sister. The incinerator has never been so full.</p>
<p><em>6:00 PM</em><br/>
After a short run-in with Researcher Allen, Samantha had decided to bring her with him to test out some of the new rifles, mostly Glocks and some of his personal favorites. The weapon choice was much to Allen’s chagrin, as Sam stood back and needled her about her struggles with them. He didn’t know how someone could mess up the easiest handguns to handle and fire.</p>
<p><em>7:30 PM</em><br/>
Knowing that the work day was winding down, he’d nod as many times as he could to these new friends and make it back to the security armory. Here he would dress down and return to a more laid-back “garrison” setup, still suitable to protect against humanoid threats. Finally more comfortable, he would continue a lighter patrol.</p>
<p><em>9:30 PM</em><br/>
When it gets late, a portion of the security shift gathers in the breakroom and busts out various board games and tabletops. The nerdier of the bunch, which was most of them, would play the latter. Samantha had brought out his own tonight, a night most of them were dreading because of how much he talked about it. The rest of his shift would be a quick two-and-a-half-hour game of Scythe by Stonemeier Games.</p>
<p><em>12:00 AM</em><br/>
Finally, after many insults and multiple destroyed mechs, Samantha heard the timer on his watch go off. The end of his shift was the end of the game, a winner not yet decided. He took a few notes on everyone’s positions and packed up the game. He wished everyone good luck for next week’s game and would finally clock out of his shift. His bed seemed extra comfortable this part of the night.</p>
<p><em>lorem ipsum - Szymons</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;">
<p><strong>Tale 11:</strong></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Boneka, Microbiologist</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- By Bonboneka</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p><em>6:00 AM</em><br/>
Boneka was the type of person who liked to set her morning alarm extra early so she could hit the snooze button like twenty times before she had to get up.</p>
<p><em>6:50 AM</em><br/>
Today she managed to drag herself out of bed after about five snoozes, an unusually low number for her. Today would be special; Boneka had been keeping track of the security rotation and counting down the days. She got dressed and tied up her hair into its signature buns, then it was off to the cafeteria for breakfast.</p>
<p><em>7:20 AM</em><br/>
It looked like Carpenter was camping the coffee station again. Boneka's most distinct memory of him was when he was first assigned to Facility-23, in which he had a mental breakdown when he found out the cafeteria only stocked Mrs. Butterworth-brand maple syrup. Sgt. Szymons had to physically hold back the usually otherwise placid Carpenter as he ranted and raved like a lunatic about what constituted "real maple syrup" and that it "definitely wasn't that". While his insistence on the matter was quite extreme, Boneka thought he had a point. Real maple syrup was nothing like the viscous, fructose-laden stuff that most grocery stores carried. The higher-ups did not seem to care about this nearly as much as either of them, though, and from that point forward, he had made a point of bringing his syrup. She waved to him casually as she went to prepare her coffee, which consisted of more creamer than actual coffee.</p>
<p><em>8:00 AM</em><br/>
Being a microbiologist who specialized in food and food-related pathogens, Boneka wasn't sure for the longest time as to why her Foundation career included an extended tenure with SCP-914, an anomaly with which microbes and most foods were virtually forbidden from testing. As time passed, it turned out that her knowledge came in handy in many cases, as she would be reminded of as she went about her work for the day.<br/>
In addition to the various systems in place to ensure that airborne microorganisms wouldn't contaminate SCP-914's test chamber, every input was also sterilized before testing. As well as being a researcher herself, part of Boneka's job was to oversee the sterilization process for input objects. A room directly adjacent to SCP-914's test chamber served as the area where this was done and included various equipment for this purpose. Depending on what was being tested, different sterilization methods were available, including an autoclave, an ethylene oxide chamber, and other chemical applicants. The work required Boneka to arrive early since other researchers would need to get their inputs back in time to test with them, and depending on the method, things could take hours to sterilize properly. The roster for today was fairly short and included some paper shredders for Ibarazaki, a scarf for Lacte, and something she didn't recognize from Sgt. Szymons that wasn't due to arrive until later that day along with Szymons himself; it included letters and numbers so she figured it was probably just some sort of gun model. No biggie, she thought. For now, she would take care of the paper shredders since they would be compatible with the ethylene oxide sterilizer, and the scarf would be fine going in the autoclave. Once the machines were cycling, they should be ready by the time the researchers were scheduled to perform their tests.</p>
<p><em>10:00 AM</em><br/>
Boneka’s work was interrupted by some commotion from the main chamber. The muffled screaming on the other side of the wall sounded vaguely French. She decided not to interfere.</p>
<p><em>12:35 PM</em><br/>
After removing her protective equipment and exiting 109-B's airlock, Boneka was free to go on her lunch break, but an important thing was in order first. She skipped down the hallways until she ran into someone in MTF garb; his somewhat shorter stature made him stand out from other agents, even when in full uniform. Boneka squealed with delight as she practically jumped into Sgt. Samantha Szymons' arms and pressed a kiss against his mask. Not having him around at the facility permanently anymore had proved to be a challenge for her, but he made every effort he could to get assigned to 19-23 as often as he could, and it made all their time together more precious. Even now it would be fleeting, as Szymons had to continue with his patrol, but he would make a promise to see her again later.</p>
<p><em>12:45 PM</em><br/>
The cafeteria food bothered her. From one of the most powerful secret organizations in the world, you would have expected a tier or two above high school cafeteria fare. Boneka had half a mind to request a position change so she could work in the kitchen and show them how real food was made, but she wasn’t willing to take the pay dock for it. For now, she idly mulled over the options on the lunch line, lost in thought until she saw something that snapped her mind to attention: one of the trainees in the back was loading a sheet tray full of hamburger patties onto a roll-in rack, directly under another sheet tray that was holding raw chicken.</p>
<p><em>1:30 PM</em><br/>
Researcher Boneka was informed that the kitchen staff would receive retraining as necessary, but she was best advised not to jump the counter to stop health infractions in the future. That poor line cook probably had the proper order of fridge storage seared directly into his eardrums now, at least.</p>
<p><em>2:00 PM</em><br/>
The break room was empty except for Boneka and Samantha. At least, it was empty just long enough for Boneka to forget that they were still, in fact, in the break room, which was generally not an appropriate place for two people to be snogging on a company-owned sofa, but, well… love can compel you to make odd decisions sometimes. She didn't think anything of it until some footsteps shuffled in through the doorway.</p>
<p>"…Oh hi Maccie!" Boneka peeled herself off of her partner to greet the Containment Specialist, but it looked like he was already hurriedly on his way out, along with Dr. Marlon who had a much less noticeable footfall. Darn. She looked back at Samantha, who just regarded her with a shrug and his signature smirk. He didn't seem to care.<br/>
"I guess we should get out of here…" She finally stood up, looking sheepish. In any case, his requested object would soon be ready to sterilize.</p>
<p><em>2:35 PM</em><br/>
Boneka was standing in the sterilization chamber; her arms were crossed and her brow was furrowed. For several moments, only the troubled tapping of her shoe against the tile could be heard. Across from her stood one Sgt. Samantha Szymons, looking not at all apologetic. The source of her irritation—and the source of his smugness—was hard to miss, as the TKS/20 Tankette mounted on the pallet situated in between them took up a good portion of the room.</p>
<p>"You're lucky you're so cute because if you weren't, I'd throttle you for this." Boneka hissed as she reached over and squeezed his cheeks with her hands. This giant hunk of dirt-covered scrap metal, she could tell, was going to be a doozy to work with. The EO sterilizer was designed with the same dimensions as the input booth, so the tankette would fit, but only in an extremely awkward configuration that would require additional help and equipment to get into. Plus it was probably coated to hell and back in all sorts of germs from its service time, so it would require an overnight cycle… possibly longer. Hopefully, there wouldn't be anyone requesting a metric fuckton of testing material that would result in a backlog and make her life a living hell.</p>
<p><em>4:45 PM</em><br/>
Boneka ran into MacLean again as he was getting ready to leave for the day. He acknowledged her with an awkward gesture, likely a sentiment from what he witnessed earlier that day. She just laughed it off. He was one of the few mainstays that commuted instead of living on-site due to his familial obligations. She had heard plenty about his kids, his pride and joy despite the handful they could be. She did wish to meet them herself, but it would be a long while before they’d be ready to learn about the Foundation, if ever. For now, she waved MacLean off as he left for the other side of the veil.</p>
<p><em>5:00 PM</em><br/>
Everyone’s schedule was different here at the Foundation depending on what kind of job they did. Fortunately, Boneka’s was fairly reasonable, and ending the day at 5 left her with plenty of time to unwind after work. One thing she enjoyed doing was drawing, so once she was comfortable in her room again, she settled down, picked up her tablet, and let the creative juices flow.</p>
<p>… or… she would, if she could find her tablet pen.</p>
<p><em>5:15 PM</em><br/>
God damn. Scouring an entire facility and retracing her steps for a lost stylus was not an ideal way to unwind after work. It wasn’t even a particularly big facility, but it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Despite her efforts, Boneka’s search came up fruitless. The despair knotted itself into her stomach, and she was about to go back and call it quits before she remembered they had a solution. With a little hope in her heart, she would find Director Hackett so she could submit a usage request for <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6369">SCP-6369</a>.</p>
<p><em>5:30 PM</em><br/>
Boneka watched as Site Security opened the door to allow the SCP-6369-A instances in. The way they rode in on their Roombas reminded her of the floats in a parade. About twenty of them arrived in the lobby and dismounted to begin the facility-wide search. Among them was SCP-6369-B, who directed the other instances as they combed through the rooms Boneka had been in that day. She just observed as they worked; she was shortly joined by her good friend Evangeline Perry, who probably came out when she noticed SCP-6369-B wasn’t in its cage. Perry, or Angie as most people called her, was on indefinite janitorial duty due to an unfortunate incident a while ago, but she didn’t seem to mind much, as she was content with caring for her rats and not worrying about 914.</p>
<p><em>6:24 PM</em><br/>
Boneka sighed with relief when SCP-6369-A brought her the tablet pen, safe and sound. Apparently, it was buried in the couch she was sitting on with Szymons… whoops. She provided them with some apple slices (remembering to have taken the peels off as well), which were distributed amongst the instances with a level of efficiency that would impress many Foundation higher-ups. Once they had their fill, Boneka and Angie would wave them goodbye, and she could finally relax again.</p>
<p><em>8:00 PM</em><br/>
Boneka happened to meet Resident Ibarazaki in the break room after spending some time on her tablet. She asked her about how her test with the paper shredders went, and couldn’t help but chuckle when Emi sheepishly explained the aftermath involving Director Query. Her being worried was understandable, since she was new here, but as far as Boneka was concerned, it was far from the worst thing that could have happened. With 914 being as unpredictable as it was, sometimes you just couldn’t control what an output was going to do. As long as it’s not an accident that happened out of preventable negligence, you’d get off with a slap on the wrist. And anyway, Query seemed to be much less neurotic than Veritas was. Hopefully, that would have eased some of Ibarazaki’s misgivings; Boneka didn’t want her to become jaded too quickly after all. The Foundation had enough jaded people already.</p>
<p><em>10:00 PM</em><br/>
Boneka sunk back into her bed with a sigh. As she began to drift off, she thought about all the people she encountered that day; it was fascinating how this facility, designed only to contain SCP-914, could end up being inhabited by so many colorful personalities and careers. Some came and went, while others forged lasting bonds under the looming machinery of the Clockworks. Everyone played a part in the greater mission of the Foundation, almost as if they were all cogs in their machine.</p>
<p><em>Maybe the real 914-E was the friends we made along the way. - Boneka</em></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:scp-offices-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:scp-offices-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:collapsible-sidebar">:scp-wiki:component:collapsible-sidebar</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
:root {
--logo-image: url(http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/local--files/collab:nathan-erickson-dehydrated-milk-musicsheep-bonboneka/Site-19%20Facility%2023);
--header-title: "SCP Foundation";
--header-title: "SCP Foundation";
--header-subtitle: "Site-19 Facility 23";
--header-gradient-color-bottom: var(--light-gray-monochrome);
--header-gradient-color-middle: var(--dark-accent);
--header-gradient-color-top: var(--light-gray-monochrome);
--accentColor: 66, 76, 92;
--accentColorLite: 16, 76, 92;
--hue: 66, 76, 92;
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
//**October 9th, 2024, Site-19 Facility-23. The Facility tasked with containment and testing of SCP-914. Below is the documentation of what happened to some of the employees on that day.**//
@@ @@
[[div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
[[div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
**Tale 1:**
[[collapsible show="+ Daniel Townsend, Senior Researcher" hide="- By Nathan Erikson"]]
//6:15 AM//
The barest hint of fluorescent lighting shone under the door of the Senior Researcher's dorm room, allowing enough illumination for someone theoretically present to see as Daniel James Townsend awoke from another of his recurring nightmares, swinging his upper half to a sitting position with great effort and throwing back the covers as if they were aflame, charring his skin. He ran a hand through his thick coffee-colored hair as he blinked away the film his eyes had developed, his other hand snaking over to his bedside lamp. Townsend depressed the button at its base, overwhelming the faint lighting with the 700-lumen LED and eliminating the long shadows that hung over him. A sigh escaped Townsend as he climbed free of his sweat-soaked mattress and meandered over toward the bathroom to start preparing for the day, his unwelcome dream already beginning to fade.
//7:00 AM//
As Townsend opened his door to head out, he reached for the hook affixed to it upon which his hat dangled. It was a simple straw boater with a green ribbon, which Townsend plucked from its resting place and carefully set upon his head. He glanced behind him at posters and his dresser covered in video game memorabilia, then stepped through the door, closed it, and navigated the hall to the cafeteria with a perpetually carefree smirk across his face and a jaunty spring in his step.
//7:26 AM//
Townsend disposed of the remainder of his breakfast, placing his tray in the proper receptacle. A man can only eat the same three dozen menu items so many times before he starts to get sick of them. While traveling to the breakroom, the researcher continued sipping from a little paper cup of pulp-free orange juice. He still had roughly an hour and some change before he needed to get to the labs and begin his workday, and he'd be damned if he was going to start early because of some silly little nightmare. Townsend had witnessed too many people throwing themselves into their work to stave off the uneasiness the machine put in their hearts and minds, and he knew where that route eventually led; he had decided a few years ago he'd always try to enjoy his life at the Foundation, no matter the situation or consequences. It simply wasn't worth stressing himself out like everyone else. Stepping into the breakroom, he pulled his signature toothy grin onto his face and regarded several comrades with a nod before stalking over to a corner and having a seat. He reached into a pocket of his cargo pants and pulled free a Gameboy SP to pass the time playing, still smiling as mirthfully as a Cheshire cat.
//8:28 AM//
Townsend secured his handheld console in his dorm and then went across campus to the other building, entering and heading straight to one of the labs. He began his first daily task, helping and supervising a pair of junior researchers as they analyzed data collected by overnight monitoring performed on several of the newest 914 outputs and wrote up reports graphing said data alongside any conclusions they could draw or hypotheses they could come up with.
//10:01 AM//
Townsend finished working and left the lab just in time to get his notebook violently snatched from his grip by the scrawny tech researcher, Beauviller, who was sprinting past and shouting something in rapid French. He couldn't help himself and began to laugh as he watched her round a corner, crossing the hall to his office to write his report on things like lab efficiency and review any requests or reports submitted for him to look at.
//12:00 PM//
Townsend took a break from work to grab lunch, heading back to the other building to partake in half a meatball marinara sandwich and some potato chips. He glanced around the cafeteria to see who might be around to eat with. He noticed Maxwell MacLean across the cafeteria,and the grin on his face widened considerably. He stopped at the coffee station to make a pair of drinks, his coffee with unethical amounts of sweetened creamer and MacLean's black tea, with no milk and two sugars. Just how he likes it. He beelines over to his fellow senior researcher with the drinks balanced atop his food tray. "Heya, Maxie!"
//12:45 PM//
The time had passed far too quickly, and his lunch break was nearly over; it had flown by, and Townsend wasn't sure why. Certainly, he'd been having fun helping MacLean with their blueprints (and annoying them in the process), but it couldn't just be that, right? Surely, some anomalous influence was at play. Townsend shrugged it off, hurriedly crunching on his last couple of potato chips while glancing over at "Maxie," who was doing the same rushed eating as him. He gave his colleague his standard goodbye wave with his mouth full and darted towards the tray drop-off. Turning, Townsend saw MacLean stand to do the same, then passed through the cafeteria door. He returned to the main building at his usual hurried pace, heading to the experimentation labs to resume his advisory duties.
//3:00 PM//
Townsend had fulfilled his obligations to the preliminary experimentation laboratories, so he headed to his office to catch up on his lower-priority duties. A tune wormed its way into his head, so he hummed along. Oh, that's right. He had to print some finalisation paperwork for Medical Resident Ibarazaki's test. He knew she'd be by around 5, so he had plenty of time. He entered, hooking up his laptop to his workstation and starting the print job on the documents for the newbie.
//5:05 PM//
Townsend idly listened to the retreating footsteps of Ibarazaki and the squeak of her cart's wheels. The medical resident was another in a long series of new faces. He could tell she was still in complete awe of the inscrutable machine and its mysterious wonders. Everyone always seemed to be, for at least their first few months. Then came the inevitable. Townsend began to cheerily hum as he filled out a paper verifying he had approved her access to the testing materials and given her the final go-ahead. First would come a testing incident—something to incite fear, superstition, or frustration with the machine. Then, of course, the unlucky newbie would begin to anthropomorphize the machine in their heads. The Clockworks was angry at them. The machine liked them. SCP-914 was sad. It was a cheeky bastard that didn't care to follow patterns. Townsend giggled loudly enough that it might disturb anyone else who happened to be in the room. To him, it was still just a machine. It always would be. Even if the outputs sometimes caused him nightmares. Townsend turned to his Foundation-issued laptop and resumed his work.
//6:10 PM//
The hatted scientist had finished the last of his office work, which was just a little behind schedule, and was locking up his office before going and checking on the remaining researchers who were finishing their office work. As he sorted through his key ring, he was startled when the door to Director Query's office slammed open at the end of the hall, and a cloud of gray dust or ash drifted out into the air as she ran toward the laboratories. His carefree smirk widened into a grin of mild amusement as he glanced into her discolored office through the doorway before turning and going in the other direction, disregarding whatever shenanigans were happening and humming the tune from earlier to himself lightly. Nobody was hurt, so he didn't care too much to discover what caused the Director's unfortunate circumstance. He didn't want to get himself covered in filth,and besides, he'd most assuredly find out soon, so there was no rush.
//7:06 PM//
Townsend sat in the middle of the cafeteria, picking at some roasted vegetables. Despite knowing they were necessary for his diet, he despised them. Townsend would much rather be sucking on a piece of candy or noshing on some meat or carbs. He was aware this made him seem immature, and he didn't care. Glancing around the table, he confirmed he was still sitting alone. That was fine and expected. He was very high-energy, and most people couldn't handle that at this time of day. He pulled his handheld video game from his pocket and slowly worked through the veggies while distracting himself with the electronic. When he finally finished, he moved locations to the break room but remained intently focused on his game.
//9:45 PM//
The senior researcher slunk into his dorm, shutting the door behind him. His ever-present smile finally dropped as soon as he hung up his hat. The evening was over, and being overly chipper all day was exhausting. The moment he allowed himself to relax his face and turn off the cheer, he could feel all his uncertainties and doubts creeping in. Should he have checked on Director Query then instead of waiting for information regarding the incident to be disseminated? Was he doing right by the interns and junior researchers he was advising? Was that thing the output had shown him the other morning something he unconsciously wanted? An infectious plague of self-doubt began enveloping his mind, just like every other night. He quickly dressed down and brushed his teeth, trying to escape to his bed. Unfortunately for Townsend, dreams weren't the solution he sought, and he soon fell into another fitful sleep.
//A smile can get you through the daily grind. - Nathan Erickson//
[[/collapsible]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
[[div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
**Tale 2:**
[[collapsible show="+ Emi Ibarazaki, Medical Resident" hide="- By DrIbarazaki"]]
//6:45 AM//
Medical Resident Emi Ibarazaki woke up in her room, to the shrill cries of her alarm clock. Sometimes, she forgot that she was at Facility-23, especially after having been there so short. The world of anomalies was so new to her, her parents had told her just a year ago, but she took it remarkably well, and opted to take the path of her father. She hoped he was proud of her, but he was half the globe away, at Research Site 79. She never expected to be transferred over to Site-19, the second largest site, yet then referred to this small facility. But it was nice here. She was glad to work somewhere actually above ground now. She was excited to see what was next, so she got out of bed, put on her prosthetic legs, and started to get ready for the day.
//7:14 AM//
She was still getting used to the new facility, but the people seemed pretty nice, and other than a few minor issues, including the accidental theft of her PC by another intern, everything was going rather well! Her workload was better than the Site-19 main campus, and it felt much homier. The facility was smaller, and more personal, although also a little crowded. She could get used to a place like this. She needed to eat, though, so she went down to the cafeteria. When she got there, she ordered a bowl of cereal and some yogurt, but when she sat down, Dr. Ari joined her. Emi had noticed she also made figurines, but of wood, not wax like Emi, and found them very interesting. Apparently, Air wanted to do a little bit of an art trade. Eventually, they agreed on a deal, a few of Emi's small figures for two of Ari's wooden ones. After that, Dr. Ari left, and Emi finished her cereal. It felt like today would go well!
//7:49 AM//
With breakfast over, and her shift starting soon, Emi made her way to the medical bay. She greeted the other doctors, who were helping to show her the ropes, and began to check on her medical instruments, to make sure they were in peak condition. She made her way to her station and started her day. Today, among their other duties, was the day where all prosthetics had to be checked, to make sure they were all functional. She was still amazed by the levels of technology the Foundation had, but she had gotten used to how they worked. With her shift starting, she called for the first person to report to the medical bay, and began the examination.
//12:00 PM//
With her first shift complete, it was time for her lunch break. It had been a rather slow morning, and most of the prosthetics were in peak condition too. Only one needed replacement and that was due to it reaching the end of its service life. Walking to the cafeteria, she decided that she would try socializing with her new coworkers. A couple of people started talking about books, so she decided to join in, at least for a minute or two. She eventually got sucked into the conversation and ended up trading book recommendations with But then lunch was over, and she had to go back to work. She was looking forward to the test she would do in her free time after her shift was over.
//4:00 PM//
The afternoon was much busier than the morning. A couple of D-class had gotten into a fight earlier, so she had spent most of her time patching them up. She also had to deal with someone who had been hit with a computer mouse to the head. That somehow had caused a minor linear skull fracture, but they'd be fine after some rest. After that, the French technical researcher came asking for 4 grams of Tylenol but was refused by one of the other doctors who had been here longer. She could have sworn she was crying as she left. But when he asked the doctor about it, he just said "That's just what Beau is like." But now that her shift was over, she could finally start her 914 test. Making her way to the storage room, she took the cart with 4 paper shredders on it and confirmed with Senior Researcher Townsend that it was OK for her to start the testing. Taking a D-class from their quarters, she started. "OK, first, put it in on rough…"
//5:13 PM//
A rather interesting result had come out on Very Fine. Emi found these outputs were always very interesting, and she still wasn't used to the fact that anything could happen when it came to 914. It was, after all, only her fifth Very Fine test. The paper shredder had been changed to shred ANYTHING within, burn anything that could burn, didn't need any power, and teleported all the ash and slag somewhere that hadn't been determined. About 25 kg of material, including paper, cardboard, and a few metal sheets had been placed within, charred to slag and ash, and teleported away. Where the materials went was unknown, until, at 6:13 PM exactly, Research Director Query burst into the room, and she didn't look happy.
//7:56 PM//
Finally the Research Director's office was clean and Emi hoped that was the end of it. Glad to have finished, after that rather hectic day, she decided to check in with Researcher Boneka. Boneka would reasonably be considered a tutor to her, as she was the one who was assigned to show her the ropes of working here, and eventually, they turned out to become pretty good friends. However, Emi was still really new, so some help was still needed from time to time. This visit was a mix of both. Emi met with Bonnie at the break room, where they discussed their days, how mad Query was, and how someone put a tank through 914. Emi also learnt that Bonnie was married to Szymons, which was a bit of a surprise. After having generally a pretty good time, after about an hour and a half the two of them went off to their, to finish the day. Emi was pretty exhausted, and with the day done, she flopped into bed and fell asleep within minutes.
//3:17 AM//
Emi was awoken by her pager buzzing loudly. All the other doctors were gone that night, forcing the capable, but still novice, Emi to take care of this case. Cursing to herself, wondering who could possibly need help at this hour, she got out of bed and messily put on her lab coat and scrubs over her sleepwear, hoping it was just a misunderstanding. Upon arriving at the medical bay, however, she realised the issue. On one of the beds was that French technical researcher, all bloodied with torn-up clothes as if they had been in a fight with an angry dog. However, upon examination, they were found to be perfectly fine, at least physically. After the examination was over, she told the French techie to go clean up and then sleep, and upon doing so, went back to her bed, hoping that she wouldn't be awoken again.
//Fin. - DrIbarazaki//
[[/collapsible]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
[[div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
**Tale 3:**
[[collapsible show="+ Joseph Carpenter, Researcher" hide="- By Classy"]]
//6:00 AM//
Carpenter was already awake. His biological clock had begun waking him up at 5:45 AM sharp about a year ago. Within a few weeks, his third year as an SCP researcher would begin. It felt long ago, but it wasn't. He would spend 15 minutes between waking up and the actual time set for his alarm to go off shortly while brainstorming his day. At the stroke of six though, it’s all routine. Carpenter gently whacked his clock, stopping it before the slightest chirp of the alarm could sound off. He rose from his bed and began. Out of the shower by 6:15, hair and beard made and teeth brushed by 6:25, completely dressed by 6:40, shoes shined by 6:45, tie fixed multiple times by 6:50, and out of his room by 7:00.
//7:15 AM//
Easily one of, if not his favorite part of his day, was making his coffee. Somewhere in the middle of a dark and medium roast, a tablespoon of REAL maple syrup, and an eyeballed amount of half and half. Perfect every time. After his concoction was prepared, he’d sit at his favorite table (second closest to the coffee station so he could shamelessly say good morning to the most people he could) and pull his laptop from his messenger bag. For the next 45 minutes to an hour, he was dedicated to what he called his virtual chores. Sending and replying to emails, updating his schedule, seeing what else the middle of the week needed to tell him, etc. Boring, sure, but soothing in a way.
//8:00 AM//
Carpenter waited for both the minute and second hand to align with 12 and then closed his laptop. He slid it back into his bag and washed his coffee mug out. Now it was work time. He exited the breakroom and made his way to the office. Sitting down, he turned on his desktop. Today’s workload was fairly light and self-made. He opened up one of his many, extensive note documents. In these, he brainstormed ideas for testing and often found himself trying to predict what 914 may do with them. He’d attempted many times to find patterns or connections of any kind within the 1999 tests that had been done before the 2000 incident. He’s come up with a few that he thinks may have merit, and has discussed them with his fellow researchers, but none of them have harnessed the right energy, so to speak. He’d kill for his own eureka moment. Regardless, it was time for him to contribute once again. He scrolled through the seemingly never-ending list of items he’d considered for testing. They all held their value, but nothing jumped at him. Since he began working here, he’s always liked the idea of testing “simple” items. Everyday things, as they are. What interesting revisions could be found in the mundane? Then it clicked for him. Or rather, it ticked. He looked down at his wristwatch. Hmm.
//12:00 PM//
After NOT spending an hour and a half of his morning accidentally falling down a rabbit hole of antique restoration videos, Carpenter headed for the cafeteria. After waving to Lacte and taking a seat with his food, he opened his laptop once again and began looking up dirt cheap wristwatches. He had thought about using his own, but he kinda liked his particular watch, and didn’t want to risk it. The irony though, was the watch he had was just as cheap as the ones he was searching for. Why not get the same one? After submitting the order for testing purposes, he began watching a YouTube video listing some obscure horror books by lesser-known authors. He had the volume increased rather high to drown out Townsend and MacLean’s blueprint bickering. He needed some new reading material, and the season called for something thrilling. A thought crossed his mind. What about asking his coworkers? There was absolutely an eclectic blend of interest to be found here, he knew that much, so a shortage of new ideas to consider was not an issue. He abhorred yet embraced the stereotype, but he was indeed the type to enjoy a hot beverage with a good book. Sounded like a plan after the day’s end. Someone entered the cafeteria not too long after he had sat down. It was one of the newer employees, Emily… no, Emi Ibarazaki was it? He approached her, and introduced himself, welcoming her. Before any awkward silence could set in, he pulled the trigger and promptly asked her for a book recommendation. He explained he had just come up with the idea, and she was the first he got to ask. She replied with The Adventures of Tintin. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he loved that answer a lot.
//2:28 PM//
Carpenter had long since returned to his office, still trying to ignore the fact he had scuffed the leather of his shoe on his way out of the cafeteria. Worse, no one else could see it but him. He’d been done with his work for the day already. His afternoons tended to be a bit less busy than his mornings, anyway. During the summer and early fall months, now would be the time he occupied himself with wood or metal working in his craft shed outside. Said work was about a 50/50 split between personal work and actual work work. Sometimes he’d actively go around the facility looking for things he could touch up or fix when allowed to do so. However, today just felt like an inside type of day. It was a bit ironic though, to him anyway, since the main reason he asked for said shed was to build new inputs for 914, but he never got around to it. There would be time. It’s still there. He looked at all of his test ideas once more. He began editing some of them. Wrote, deleted, revised. Wrote, deleted, revised. Wrote, deleted, revised. An hour had passed. No, 3 years had passed.
//5:00 PM//
Carpenter’s list was no longer the length of a novel. It was now 5 things. 5 items. Simple things. No lengthy explanations, no big fancy words. Just single-sentence descriptions. He smiled. It felt refreshing. New. He submitted the items for order, along with a personal order for the book recommendations he’d managed to grab throughout the afternoon, such as a few of the Tintin comics, and Arc of Scythe which was recommended by Dr. Marlon. Now, it was time for another break. He went to his room and looked up at his bookshelf. It began to dawn on him that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to buy more books if he had 10 that he still hadn’t started. No matter, just like he thought about earlier, peak book reading season had just started. He’d have them cleared by the end of the month, easy.
//5:30 PM//
Carpenter was back in the breakroom, at his beloved table. As he promised himself, he embarked on one of the unread books, titled The Mirror Man by Jane Gilmartin, and had another coffee to go with it. He had a single earbud in, which delivered him a deep ambiance to increase his immersion. Just enough to fill the gap of silence. It always worked.
//7:00 PM//
By now Carpenter was truly done for the day. He’d switched his outfit to something more comfortable and had sat down to play some video games. Similarly to his book issue, he was struggling to keep up with the many story-driven single-player games that had begun to pile up in his library. He decided to start with Signalis, a horror game recommended to him by Samantha less than a week ago. For the next 2 hours, that would be what occupied him.
//9:00 PM//
At the strike of 9, Carpenter was ready to turn in. He brushed his teeth, flossed, and got himself into bed. Today was a good day, he had to admit—all the more reason to look forward to having another one tomorrow.
//Slow down! The world already moves fast enough. - Classy//
[[/collapsible]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
[[div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
**Tale 4:**
[[collapsible show="+ Languen Lacte, Analytics Department Intern" hide="- By Dehydrated Milk"]]
//7:01 AM//
Intern Languen Lacte wakes up. The alarm chirps its discordant melody into his ear, and he rises from his bed. It is time for work. Intern Lacte dresses. There is an entire day ahead, and Lacte is… He is… Interested in what will happen? Intern Lacte decides he is excited for the day.
//7:23 AM//
The personnel residences at Site-19, Facility 23 are… Stuffed. Far too many people for a simple research site. Thankfully, rising early lets him get his morning walk without running into anyone. Afterward, Intern Lacte splashes water on his face. His teeth brushed, his face clean, he exits his quarters just as everyone else is exiting their rooms and into the hallway.
//7:37 AM//
The cafeteria is nice. Homely even. The cook waves at him. He waves back. Today, they're serving waffles. How nice. Lacte heads to the coffee machine and makes himself some black coffee. It takes 13 minutes to make the coffee. He glances at the display of cereals and fruits. He turns, and the cook is avidly waving his hands at him. His waffles are ready! He nods at the researcher. Intern Lacte looks at the selection of cereal and yogurt. He turns and sees Medical Resident Ibarazaki. Repressed trauma from a 914 experiment and somehow stealing five PCs caused a fight-or-flight reflex to activate. Unfortunately, it is quite hard to run balancing an waffle, a bowl of cereal, two yogurts, and a banana.
//8:12 AM//
After the unintended and terrifying human interaction, Intern Lacte heads back to his room. SCP-914 isn't the Intern's permanent job, after all. His instructor calls him on SCiP.net at 8:30 AM, right on the dot. It is time for him to review the Foundation's rules and regulations and undergo the trials of being an intern and drudge into becoming a member of staff.
//9:32 AM//
His instructor logs off. He now has an assignment. "Based on the recent patterns regarding SCP-372-TEST, what are the most probable outcomes for its end destination?" He better get to work.
//12:00 PM//
Lacte's eyes hurt. He has been staring at a screen and reviewing pages upon pages of notes regarding the anomaly. He thinks he has an answer and pings his instructor. He'll likely hear back at… Oh! It's time for lunch! For lunch, there are salads or burgers. Never mind that almost no one at the site can make a good burger and that the salads always seemed a little too old, Intern Lacte was happy to be at lunch. Finally, a break from the mindnumbingness of reviewing data. He waved over to some of his friends. This was… peaceful.
//1:11 PM//
For SCP-914, there were few experiments actually conducted every day. It is, after all, an anomalous object capable of creating memetic hazards, spawning murderous entities, traumatizing people for life, and much more. In fact, its mortality rate was on par with that of SCP-682. Ess-See-Pee Six-Eighty-Two. The immortal death lizard. And a silly little machine that alters objects has a death count as high as it? Now, that wasn't really true, of course, just a rumor talked about by personnel around the water dispenser. But still, it is ominous how many D-Class personnel, as well as employees, have died to 914. As such, in conjunction with rumor and truth, it sometimes took some 914 personnel at least 20 minutes to psych themselves up in the break room before an experiment. Lacte exits the room, slightly more psyched.
//1:44 PM//
His single input for the day was a scarf. On 1:1. Surely nothing bad could happen, right? It took, from 1:47 PM to 1:54 PM, six minutes to conclude refinement. What came out was a noose. Intern Lacte promptly recorded the results and sent the object to waste storage, to be incinerated at a later day.
//2:14 PM//
Languen Lacte walked back to his room. His instructor had replied. And- Oh! He had done great! A fantastic job with his numbers and estimates! Intern Lacte smiled and went back to his monitor, typing, typing, typing.
//3:23 PM//
Personnel could leave the site, whether for errands or pleasure, as long as they showed up and did their allotted hours, they were free to come and go. Especially at Site-19, Facility 23. Languen Lacte walked up to their car and drove to the nearest McDonald's. He needed a treat.
//4:34 PM//
When he came back, the site looked the same. No one had blown something up from a random output, so all should be well. As he was an intern and had no tasks until assigned to something, or until he got a senior supervisor to shadow, he didn't have much to do. So, in an attempt to look busy and curb boredom, Intern Lacte went to the break room and popped open a book. Occasionally, if you worked at Site-19, Facility 23, you would hear the screams of pain or delight as a 914 output dazzled or disemboweled a researcher. Today, there was the screaming of an enraged Research Director and the terrified pleas of a Medical Resident.
//6:24 PM//
Lacte entered his bathroom. The bathrooms they gave in the personnel accommodations weren't the worst, although they certainly were not perfect. Languen over his days in the Foundation had learned that a small space tended to encourage brooding. After sitting in the shower for 30 minutes, he decided to leave.
//7:11 PM//
SCiP.net turned on as Intern Lacte browsed through anomalies he had access to. So many horrors and wonders that the world would never know. He wondered if what he did impacted the world. He wondered and wondered and wandered into the vestiges of sleep before eventually migrating from his desk to his bed.
//9:14 PM//
Like clockwork, Intern Lacte falls asleep.
//Tick Tock, goes the clock. - Dehydrated Milk//
[[/collapsible]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
[[div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
**Tale 5:**
[[collapsible show="+ Françoise Beauvillier, Technical Researcher" hide="- By Tildeethdouspart"]]
//7:48 AM//
An alarm rings. Someone, somewhere, plugged in a USB drive they shouldn't have plugged somewhere inside this facility. This alarm doesn't exist, but you tend to omit such details when you've been sleeping so little and working so much. She rises from her bed, heading for the emergency reserve of concentrated coffee in her freezer. After downing a packet of caffeine powder - whose existence she both curses and blesses - she gets a move on. She intercepts the dangerous criminal putting at risk this facility's operational capabilities, in this case, an older researcher attempting to review his young daughter's homework, which was flashed onto a standard issue commercial thumb drive (neither Foundation-issued nor secured, mind you! The gall of these people.) before being brought inside the facility. The flash drive was confiscated and sent back to the researcher's residence, and the computer was promptly incinerated. A new one would be issued if the intern made it out of the server room. Er, she meant when. Definitely when.
//8:02 AM//
Technical Researcher Françoise Beauvillier goes to sleep.
//9:57 AM//
She wakes up and takes a routine look at the surveillance cameras of Facility 23 through an easily preventable backdoor she's made sure to fix while leaving a small path for her to access the video feeds. In a corner of the screen, the feed depicted what was happening in Cell 109-B, the resting place of The Clockworks. Which is now being invaded by a person in a white blouse holding what seems to be a tablet. An electronic device. In the cell. Without the proper clearance. She jumps from her chair, and despite her flimsy physique and poor health, she manages a surprising sprint from her office to Cell 109-B. After grabbing on the fly a paper notebook from poor, innocent passing Townsend, she barges inside the room and throws the notebook to the face of the criminal before tackling her and snatching the tablet out of her hands. She was quickly subdued by on-site security and escorted back to her office, all the while screaming various curses and variations on "I saved you all!". She was nonetheless allowed to confiscate the tablet. It was to be returned after proper paperwork was filed.
//10:44 AM//
Technical Researcher Françoise Beauvillier goes to sleep.
//1:00 PM//
An alarm wakes her up. It is time for the daily 1-hour session dedicated to answering the technical issues of the Foundation. A truly thankless job, but it gives one the privilege of seeing new completely inane ways people keep using their computers.
//1:11 PM//
Software Technician Rare passed by T.R. Beauvillier's office.
//1:13 PM//
S.T. Rare was taken to the infirmary after being impacted by a high-velocity computer mouse. They later reported that the last thing they heard was shouting about "terrible contamination", "gross misuse of Foundation equipment", and "needing buckets".
//1:28 PM//
Senior Researcher MacLean enters a very irritated Beauvillier's office, who immediately decides to jump on the occasion for a distraction. S.R. MacLean reports in this instance an issue regarding the Facility's printer. T.R. Beauvillier guarantees that "it's only a printer", and "it should be no issue, especially given the things she's had to fix".
//1:29 PM//
A loud "clang" is heard throughout the facility, reportedly from every direction at once.
//1:30 PM//
T.R. Beauvillier submits an official request to the Site Director to immediately contain every instance of any device whose function is analogous to that of a printer, scanner, copy machine, and, by extension, potentially fax machines, under the justification that "If we do not contain all of these devices immediately, it could spell doom for me, and by extension for the coffee reserves of the entire world, and by further extension, the entire economic system of Brazil". Another similar request was filed, requesting this time for the immediate arrest and containment of "whoever designed the drivers for these machines", under the justification that "no human being can be this evil, there has to be something anomalous in there". Both requests were denied.
//1:39 PM//
T.R. Beauvillier is seen spilling a glass of fake blood under the printer before grabbing a passerby and shaking them wildly while screaming at them to look at the "evilness of this foul creature". She was reprimanded and ordered to clean the spill.
//2:00 PM//
End of the tech issues review session. Technical Researcher Françoise Beauvillier goes to sleep.
//3:16 PM//
Researcher Xasthur knocks on the door to her office, asking for assistance on a computer-related issue regarding the redaction of a recent test report.
//3:20 PM//
T.R. Beauvillier breaks down in tears.
//3:22 PM//
She submits her resignation to Personnel Director Dr. Veritas' office.
//3:25 PM//
An alarm rings on her phone, reporting a critical failure somewhere in the internal infrastructure of the Foundation. She tears up the resignation papers and goes to get a coffee before returning to her office.
//3:34 PM//
Issue resolved, fix pushed. Technical Researcher Françoise Beauvillier goes to sleep.
//4:58 PM//
She wakes up and immediately heads for the infirmary, requesting 4 grams of Tylenol after reportedly "having the existence of the HR guy come to mind". Her request was denied, though she was granted leave for a day. This offer was reportedly taken as such a "good joke," and T.R. Beauvillier left instantly while crying with laughter.
//5:44 PM//
She engages in her daily "feud" with one of the interns of this facility, who has been continuously trying to find a breach in the network security protocol to let their video games' packets pass through the filter. A security engineer has a tough job; where there needs to be one breach to go through, there needs to be total surveillance to prevent it. This time, the intern managed to use their cell phone, which usually benefits from fewer restrictions, as a USB tether for the data to pass through the firewall. T.R. Beauvillier will spend the next hour tacking down the exact MAC address of the incriminated device and boot it off the network.
//7:28 PM//
An alarm rings. This specific frequency implies that something somewhere needs an urgent fix. T.R. Beauvillier enters the server room. For the following 2 hours, several network access issues were reported over the entire facility. After that, numerous "odd" noises were heard in seemingly random electrical closets throughout F23. The whereabouts of T.R. Beauvillier remained unknown until the early hours of the morning.
//3:12 AM//
T.R. Beauvillier exits the server room, in frayed clothes and covered in blood. Night security took her rapidly to the medical office, where a tired Medical Resident Ibarazaki proceeded with a check-up. However, no signs of external and/or internal wounds were seen, and T.R. Beauvillier was allowed to return to her bed.
//3:24 AM//
Technical Researcher Françoise Beauvillier goes to sleep.
//Blessed be those who see in a computer nothing but a fancy tool. - Françoise Beauvillier//
[[/collapsible]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
[[div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
**Tale 6:**
[[collapsible show="+ Madison Allen, Researcher" hide="- By T-Roox"]]
//6:55 AM//
Researcher Allen slowly opens her eyes to the pitch darkness of her room. Her brain has adjusted to her alarm, and she frustratingly now wakes up before it goes off. She presses back into blankets and plushies, trying to hold onto the last moments of peace before she needs to get up.
//7:30 AM//
She groans as her alarm finally goes off, slapping the alarm clock several times before successfully shutting it off. Even after 3 years, she hasn’t learned to hit it on the first try. Sitting on the edge of her bed, Allen stretches and plans out the next 30 minutes getting ready for work. She wipes the sleep from her eyes as she stands and walks to take a shower.
//7:43 AM//
Drying off and getting dressed, she takes her prescriptions and glances over at the small makeup kit she has. She needs to practice more but decides to go without it today. Grabbing her keys, phone, ID, and wallet, Allen opens the door and steps out before freezing and jumping back to grab her glasses before the door closes behind her, and she begins the walk to her office.
//7:51 AM//
Setting down her coffee mug next to the other junk on her desk, Aeronautical Researcher Allen opens the muffin she grabbed for breakfast and starts eating. She is still getting used to her new responsibilities as one of the Foundation's regional aviation workers, working in tandem with some of the other facilities nearby to manage Foundation aviation activity in the area. 8-hour shifts, 00:00 to 08:00 AM, 08:00 AM to 04:00 PM, and 04:00 PM to midnight. She dreads those night shifts with a passion.
//12:04 PM//
Halfway done. Her break technically started 4 minutes ago, but she still had to finish up assisting one last flight before lunch. She stands up and starts walking to the other building to grab some food, fidgeting with a tennis ball she had sitting on her desk. She bounces it off the floor as she walks, using the time to try and come up with some new test ideas, it has been a while since she's run one. She notices Senior Researchers Maclean and Townsend sitting at a table but unfortunately doesn't have time to socialize today, having already lost a good chunk of her 30-minute lunch break.
//12:29 PM//
Stepping back into her office, Allen tosses the ball back into the bowl it was sitting in haphazardly, muttering an expletive as it instead knocks over her luckily empty coffee cup. Great start to the next 4 hours, she thinks to herself, rubbing her brow.
//4:00 PM//
Sighing as she stands up from her desk, Allen stretches and shakes her head, knocking out the fatigue from sitting in a chair all day. She much prefers to pace while thinking or working, and she plans to do just that as she shuts down her computer and closes her office for the day, adjusting her glasses as she starts off into the facility.
//6:00 PM//
Having run into Samantha Szymons on her walk around the floor, she asked the MTF sergeant if he wanted to hit the range on his break. Allens always had trouble shooting Glock handguns before, though she's never been sure why, and is trying to sort it out. She hopes that she’ll be as good a shot as Sam one day, though she doubts the possibility without having gone through MTF training.
//7:04 PM//
Unfortunately, Sam needs to get back to work “protecting the site” or whatever, so Allen heads back to the break room to grab an apple she had left in the fridge. Pulling a blade out of her coat, she begins cutting it up into slices as she walks back to her room, being extra careful this time. Her hands are spotted with cuts from doing just this, but she's too stubborn to do it any other way. She keeps band-aids in her breast pocket just in case, though.
//7:30 PM//
Tossing the remnants of the apple into the trash, Allen settles down in her room and starts her computer. She likes to end the day by playing some video games, and there's been a couple of new releases she's been wanting to try out.
//10:45 PM//
She finally stands up from her desk and heads to the bathroom to get set for bed. She’ll probably lie awake for an hour or so still, but she's grown accustomed to it by this point. She finishes brushing her teeth, turns off the lights, and cautiously walks back across the room to her bed, setting her alarm for the next morning, before laying down and finishing her day.
//1:40 AM//
Unfortunately unable to fall asleep, Allen begins to feel hungry and sleepily trod to the break room to grab an apple and some peanut butter. Finding both, she reaches for her knife once again, forgetting that she hadn't grabbed her lab coat. She runs back to her room to grab it, but by the time she returns both the apple and peanut butter are missing, along with the rest of the snack food on the counter... She'll ask about it tomorrow, but for tonight she begrudgingly decides on some reheated pizza and heads back to bed.
//Tomorrow is another day. - T-Roox//
[[/collapsible]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
[[div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
**Tale 7:**
[[collapsible show="+ Maxwell MacLean, Senior Containment Engineer" hide="- By AtomicGummyGod"]]
//5:30 AM//
Maxwell MacLean wakes up to his phone alarm going off and groggily rolls out of bed. The day is young. He’s got to make lunches for 5 kids, then get their breakfasts ready.
Schedule check.
Work’s at 9, Tass has High School at 7, Abi and Adam’s got Elementary at 8, and the Twins need to be at Middle School right after. It’s 5…40ish.
That’s doable.
Hope they’re fine with leftover roast beef for lunch.
//7:00 AM//
Tass is out of the house. MacLean sent him out with his lunchbox and a hug. His driver’s license is a godsend, meaning the Twins don’t have to be at school 2 hours early. He’ll have to get him a new game as a present. Time to get the other kids out of bed.
//7:45 AM//
Taking the other kids to school. Abi and Adam have grown so fast. Sammy and Cain have the early mornin’ grumps (probably all those hormones), so MacLean makes a note to grab a treat for them later, surprise them when he helps them with their homework.
//8:30 AM//
Reports, reports, reports.
More new objects he gets clearance for, more new containment procedures Maxwell’s gotta design, then send out for the engineers to make sure things don’t go to hell at the main site. Updates on old objects with new details, revisions he needs to make for his designs, and yet another breach caused by someone who cut corners. Ugh. Townie’s gonna have a field day with this.
//10:00 AM//
It’s time for a break. MacLean’s bad leg is aching, his good leg’s falling asleep, and he needs some fresh air, stat. As he makes his way out of the building, he makes a point to avoid the main testing chamber. He isn’t //quite// ready for the violent French cursing he heard down the hall, either. Someone //else// can try calming down Beauvillier, first. The last time he tried, he got a mug broken over his head.
MacLean takes a seat on a bench outside the facility, pulling out a worn-out paperback. Reading until he finishes the chapter, he gently dogears the page, before walking back inside. Back to work.
//11:30 AM//
He’s got to get some blue light lenses. These glasses just aren’t gonna cut it. MacLean leans back in his chair, trying to rub the ache out of his eyes. Shifting back into the role of a Containment Specialist with the promotion wasn’t an unwelcome one, despite the… unpleasant memories.
('Cause getting his calf bitten off is //just// an unpleasant memory. Stupid lizard.)
He gets flexible hours, better pay, and less time arms deep in anomalous stuff, a total win! The fluorescent lighting’s a real eyesore, though.
//12:00 AM//
As MacLean examines blueprints over a burger and fries, he’s interrupted by his name being shouted out. He locks eyes with a longtime colleague, giving them a sardonic grin. “G’day, James. You want some coffee with that creamer?”
Townsend grumbles at MacLean calling him by his middle name, before passing over MacLean’s tea and scanning the design on the table. No milk, 2 sugars. Just how he likes it.
Townsend is a whirlwind of activity, Scratching notes in the margins, empathizing with MacLean over budgetary constraints, and as exhausted as he is, Maxwell can’t help but take in that manic energy and mirror it back. Bickering, laughing, inside jokes. They’re making a scene, (and getting crumbs on his blueprints, for that matter!) he’s certain of it, but that’s a problem for later. For now, they’ve gotta figure out how to fit a Reality Anchor into a compartment half the size of a standard model’s dimensions. The lunch break flies by, and before he knows it, he’s waving goodbye to Townsend and making his way back to his office.
//1:00 PM//
MacLean’s inbox is slowly weeded to size. Townsend’s (Heh, James) help managed to solve the most difficult design of the day, so all he’s got are revisions to old designs. Add a backup system here, modular plates to make the cell easily repairable there, change an alloy in the support structures to be more corrosion resistant… New messages are replacing the old ones, but he’s managing to whittle them down a bit faster than they appear.
//1:25 PM//
MacLean hesitantly steps into Beauvillier’s Office. His printer broke, and that’s not great when you need hard copies for archival purposes. However, Françoise is… unhinged at the best of times, and it appears he didn’t come in at a… great time. She appears happy to help though, so he’ll just leave her to it.
//1:35 PM//
It turns out it was a paper jam. Hardware, easy fix. Took like, a minute and a half. MacLean doesn’t think he’s ever seen Beau cry like that before. Awkward.
//2:00 PM//
If you asked him what his first instinct was when he saw the two in the breakroom, MacLean would have to ashamedly admit that his first instinct was to make a joke. “No, no, keep goin, no need to stop on my behalf.” Fortunately, that instinct was paused in favor of instead awkwardly grabbing some snacks and speed walking out of there, waving to Marlon as he went.
//3:30 PM//
MacLean’s fingers are sore from typing and sketching. At this point, he’s solving issues as they appear. He could clock out now, but that’s work he’s gotta make up when he’s on call over the weekend.
//4:00 PM//
Day’s done, for the most part. MacLean sets up his email to forward urgent revisions to the next CS on shift and gathers up his blueprints and sketches. He drops them off at the Archive, chatting with Xasthur as he helps her sort them into neat piles.
//4:45 PM//
As MacLean takes a breather before the drive home, he sees Boneka again. They exchange a quick (and awkward) laugh about the incident in the breakroom, he tells a regaling tale about his family’s latest escapades (He has SO many stories to tell!), and before long, they trade polite farewells as he packs his computer bag and makes his way to the parking lot. Bon was probably one of his best friends, (along with James, even if they’d never admit it aloud,) being assigned to the facility around the same time certainly didn’t hurt. 5 Years of having to relearn social dynamics, trading stories and test ideas, and chatting about hobbies and interests counts as friendship, right? MacLean hopes they’re his friends, he doesn’t really have a social life outside of work.
//5:30 PM//
MacLean picked up some donuts on the way back from work, he figured the kids would appreciate the treat. Tass brought the other kids back from school, so he’s just gotta get dinner ready.
//6:45 PM//
Baked Potatoes, Cajun Wings, and Donuts for dessert. MacLean helps the kids with homework afterward. He’s not all that good at language arts, but he can handle the math ‘n science stuff just fine.
//8:30 PM//
He’s playing games with Tass. Kid’s 17, MacLean oughta tell him about the Foundation, get him level 0 clearance. But they’ve already got so much to deal with, college apps coming up, social stuff. He doesn’t want them to worry about even more stuff out of their control. That’s why he’s working so hard, right? So his kids can sleep easy, not worrying about cosmic horrors beyond their comprehension?
...It’s a Friday. He’s gotta work the night shift tomorrow, has to sleep in the afternoon anyway. As the day turns to night, MacLean keeps playing video games with his son. He’s allowed to enjoy these quiet moments. No guilt in that. No guilt in embracing the calm.
//11:30 PM//
If you told Maxwell MacLean what his life would be like as a teen, he wouldn’t have believed you. Scientific Researcher, single father at 35, one of many holding the door shut, keeping nightmares from walking the earth. But that’s the way life goes, right? Things don’t tend to go to plan. No matter. MacLean settles to sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.
//Doing better than you did the day before is all anyone can ever ask of you. - AtomicGummyGod//
[[/collapsible]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
[[div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
**Tale 8:**
[[collapsible show="+ Ari Marlon, Researcher" hide="- By Scythe Asgore"]]
//5:00 AM//
Dr. Ari Marlon woke up for the first time. She was hot underneath her three blankets, but it was still dark outside. She supposed it was too early to be up; the sun hadn't risen yet. So she snuggled under her top blanket. She was going to go back to sleep, but then she heard the new HR guy's alarm go off. The alarm was a woman screaming loud enough to wake up half the facility. Presumably, the HR guy woke up and turned his alarm off, because once it was silent again, Ari could go back to sleep.
//7:00 AM//
She wakes up for real, spending about half an hour reading on her tablet, because she's too lazy to get out of bed. Her bed was also so comfy, she wouldn't want to if she had nothing to do that day, but alas… Marlon had projects to complete.
//7:30 AM//
Now fully awake, Ari was ready to start her day. She got up, did her eye drops, got dressed, and went to find something to eat for breakfast. Despite the little she could tell her family about in regards to her work, they still did worry that she didn't eat enough.
//8:25 AM//
Ari had found something she wanted to eat, so after finishing her food, she grabbed an extra cup of tea to enjoy while working. She passed by one of the new researchers, Ibarazaki, who was still eating. Since it was before 8:30, Ari figured it was fine to have a small talk with the new researcher, or rather, new medical resident as she had noticed Ibarazaki's wax sculptures the other day and thought they would go well with her own wooden figurines. Once she was done, and now having plans for a couple of Ibarazaki figurines, she leisurely walked to her office.
//8:30 AM//
For consistency's sake, she never started her work day before 8:30. Once in her office, Ari checked to see if there was anything she needed to do. There wasn't much besides planning for her next test, which meant filling out some forms and putting the finishing touches on her gavels. The plastic gavel she ordered hadn't come yet, and the extra figurines she was planning to use in tests weren't anywhere near ready, but that didn't have to be done by today.
With all the new researchers and interns coming in though, Ari thought it would be a good time to update her figurine collection to include them. She already had her Ibarazaki plans, but not any of the other newbies yet.
//12:00 PM//
Ari grabbed her reading tablet and went off to find lunch. She wasn't that hungry, but she figured she could get a bowl of fruit or something. She also needed to find Carpenter as she wanted to add more figurines to her collection, and he had given her a specific request that she felt she had to fulfill. The other day Carpenter had asked for some more book recommendations, and Ari was still happy she got to recommend the Arc of a Scythe series to more people.
//12:30 PM//
Ari was back to work. She had a bit of paperwork to do, after putting it off for longer than she was planning to. As she worked, she kept her world-building document off to the side to quickly jot down some new ideas if they ever came.
//2:00 PM//
At two, Ari started to get a headache. Nothing she couldn't deal with on her own because they were regular occurrences caused by staring at things too long, but still it was a sign. A sign she needed a few minutes break.
She walked to the break room to grab a quick snack and some more tea. As she walked towards the break room, Ari passed MacLean as he left. She waved at him and continued on where she heard two people in the break room.
"Not my problem," Ari shrugged as she walked by them and heated some water. If anyone asked, Ari didn't see it. Which was true. Not only did Ari pay minimal attention to her surroundings while not working, but she genuinely couldn't see some of the details when she had headaches.
//2:45 PM//
Break done, Ari was back to work without feeling like her eyes would murder her. She got some notices of new legal papers to fill out and review all due in two days. Ari could do it easily, but still, two days was not a lot of time.
//6:30 PM//
After spending the rest of the afternoon on legal papers, Ari was officially done for the day. Dinner wasn't that impressive, but that was fine. There were things she wanted to carve that night before she went to bed, and an impressive dinner would take a bit too much time for her to enjoy.
//9:30 PM//
A new D-Class figurine sat on Ari's desk as she yawned. It was time for bed. To her, today was a good day. She felt productive, finished a carving, and even got ahead on her work. 30 minutes of reading later, Ari was asleep for the day, ready for the next.
//Average days can be satisfying too. - Scythe Asgore//
[[/collapsible]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
[[div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
**Tale 9:**
[[collapsible show="+ Olivia Xasthur, Thaumaturgy and Anthropology Researcher" hide="- By Xasthur"]]
//6:44 AM//
It took several alarms to wake Olivia. Maybe it was the late nights. Maybe it was her mind playing tricks on her. If you didn’t go outside often, it was easy to lose track of time. Days spent buried in archives and research would drive anyone crazy. Another day, another ritual she would need to dive into. Ah, that was hours away. Time to get up and get the probably already stale coffee.
//7:20 AM//
Coffee. Acquired. Finally some semblance of sanity and OF COURSE IT’S ALREADY COLD. Xasthur knew to expect it by now. This is what she gets for taking too long to get out of bed. She hadn’t been at Facility-23 long, only a few months at least. She’d met most of the on-site team. Good people. Not much one for words, she moved onto one of the break room tables, cold coffee in one hand, a religious text in the other. She just couldn’t resist looking into them, something about learning what people believe in was intoxicating to her. Unfortunately, it meant she missed conversations she probably should be paying attention to. Her shift started at 10 AM. Surely the coffee would be hot again later, right?
//8:02 AM//
Xasthur began her workday, with a quartet of religious texts on one side of the desk, and a pile of doctrine and tests on the other.
//11:10 AM//
It was rare for a breakthrough this good. It might’ve been small, but the more the Foundation learns about any religious GoI, the better. Xasthur felt good. Still probably shouldn’t order too much food though, a lot still has to be done, plus sending off that request to test SCP-914 with some mechanical components. A heavy serving of an Irish stew was her lunch for the day, something new. Xasthur savored her food, a small reward for her small victory.
//12:57 PM//
With all this paperwork, you could confuse Xasthur for a Site Director. Most of it was test reports or articles sent to her to review and contribute to as the site anthropologist. While a large amount of it is rather dull, it still needs to be done, and she may as well get it done right so it doesn’t end up back in her pile. Xasthur spent hours scanning through, placing the necessary redactions, and revising, if not rewriting the reports. If only the system wasn’t slowing down every so often. With every frozen screen, she got more impatient. Swearing under her breath, Xasthur kept pressing the keys.
//1:51 PM//
GOD! FUCKING! DAMMIT! WORK! YOU! PIECE! OF! SHIT! This day was rapidly becoming a recreation of Icarus. Why wasn’t the redaction going through? Why was it taking so long to do such a simple process? Why was she hitting the computer instead of looking at it logically? She never understood the more technical side of computers, let alone how to build them, fix them, or how they actually worked. That was… Beauvillier’s department, that’s right. Composing herself, with a few extra heavy breaths to boot, Xasthur rose from her desk. Maybe the walk to the IT department might cool her frustrated blood. How can a day go from an amazing moment of successful research and reports to a tech issue that stopped her from working nearly as efficiently? It was a small while before Xasthur knocked on the office door. Maybe Beauvillier wouldn’t try and kill her…
//3:03 PM//
Buried in her work, Xasthur almost didn't see MacLean walk into the archives. She'd been laser-focused on finding a manuscript to try and translate, bumping into the man was bound to happen. MacLean practically lived in the archive room, probably more than any of the other researchers, and yet he was still easy to miss. He was only dropping off some of his blueprints to be digitized later. Xasthur didn't care to look into them; containment was hardly her area of expertise, nor did she have the clearance to see some of the procedures set in place for some of the other SCPs MacLean probably worked with. After a short conversation, the two of them sorting out the poorly stacked piles of articles, a set of really worn documents, and her computer back in front of her, Xasthur continued her translation and report. Now if only the screen would stop freezing for 5 minutes…
//4:30 PM//
Making her way to the mess hall one more time for the day, Xasthur ordered her final big meal for the day. Even though Beauvillier gave her plenty of words regarding computer etiquette, how to be patient with technology and not beat the hell out of it, plus a few well-placed French complaints, Xasthur was just glad the day was over with. No more books, no more articles, just her, a plate full of questionably good food, and her colleagues annoying her with their constant discussion over tests. Sometimes, it pays off to have a laugh after a tough day.
//7:09 PM//
With the workday finished, and her computer repaired, Xasthur could relax. Break away from her small obsession and mountain of paperwork. And the sigils she tested. And the D-Class who’d gotten himself hurt messing with the smaller tiles 914 threw out. She couldn’t bear to see another book after everything. Instead, she put on her headphones and listened to some of her choice music. Usually, it was something heavy, but today Paramore was the pick. Maybe a small silly dance to go along with it. Looking Up, a great song and the perfect earworm.
//10:33 PM//
Olivia lay in her bed, ready to sleep and repeat the cycle. Maybe another small victory was on the books. Maybe a misstep she would have to work around. Closing her eyes, all that was heard after was her snoring.
//Bring me that horizon, the only good thing a god has brought. - Xasthur//
[[/Collapsible]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
[[div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
**Tale 10:**
[[collapsible show="+ Samantha Szymons, Eta-10 Sergeant" hide="- By Szymons"]]
//11:30 AM//
Each morning was a rough and rude awakening depending on which part of his rotation Samantha was on. Typically security staff would be put on half day shifts, 12 on and 12 off. This week Sam was lucky to score the day shift. He threw his alarm clock into the wall and did his best to prepare in time. The most time-consuming part of it all was rearranging his vest, his restless nature demanding a slightly different layout every day. Once he escaped his vicious cycle of preparation, he was off to prowl the hallways with the rest of the security team, and under the watchful eye of Sedna.
//12:25 PM//
Though he wasn’t often assigned to Facility 23 anymore, Samantha used the little sway he had to be rotated into its security attachment. He couldn’t stay away, there were too many weapons to be tested. The majority of his day was spent fulfilling typical security tasks, patrols, audits, and maintaining the checkpoints around the facility, sneaking a smoke wherever he could. Starting so late in the day he misses the early birds, but always waits on his patrols near Boneka’s office, for the off chance he could catch her on her way to the testing chambers.
//2:00 PM//
It’s ironic to be in an authority position with as flippant an attitude as Sam. He wasn’t scared to show his affection in the breakroom. These were the few moments he got with his wife. The repeated assignments and reassignments had been testing his patience, being away for so long he had to make the most of this time.
//2:30 PM//
With the break over, and a “subtle” nod from Sedna to return to his duties, Samantha had to return to patrols. He greeted as many researchers as he could on his way through the halls, lots of new faces and too little time to learn all of them. He’d end up regretting passing up the opportunity to make new friends as his shift would progress rather rapidly.
//2:35 PM//
Using his Foundation-trained “persuasion tactics” and quick wit he had managed to nab a priceless piece of history in the form of a tankette to feed it to the machine. Boneka seemed particularly vexed at this repeat antic, teasing him as she got to work sterilizing the input. To compensate for being a little shit he did stay around to assist with the process, only to return in the hours after to deal with its result.
//3:27 PM//
While waiting for his output to process, Sam busied himself in the armory. He was extremely annal about his weapons, and what specific processes to maintain them were used. It was to the point where the quartermaster would let him maintain his weapons himself, often resigning to the other members of the teams for solace after a run-in with the MTF agent. Today was better, Samantha had only corrected the quartermaster twice.
//4:35 PM//
Horses. There were a lot of Polish horses in the testing chamber. They were dealt with, and a hefty ass-chewing was delivered by his sister. The incinerator has never been so full.
//6:00 PM//
After a short run-in with Researcher Allen, Samantha had decided to bring her with him to test out some of the new rifles, mostly Glocks and some of his personal favorites. The weapon choice was much to Allen’s chagrin, as Sam stood back and needled her about her struggles with them. He didn’t know how someone could mess up the easiest handguns to handle and fire.
//7:30 PM//
Knowing that the work day was winding down, he’d nod as many times as he could to these new friends and make it back to the security armory. Here he would dress down and return to a more laid-back “garrison” setup, still suitable to protect against humanoid threats. Finally more comfortable, he would continue a lighter patrol.
//9:30 PM//
When it gets late, a portion of the security shift gathers in the breakroom and busts out various board games and tabletops. The nerdier of the bunch, which was most of them, would play the latter. Samantha had brought out his own tonight, a night most of them were dreading because of how much he talked about it. The rest of his shift would be a quick two-and-a-half-hour game of Scythe by Stonemeier Games.
//12:00 AM//
Finally, after many insults and multiple destroyed mechs, Samantha heard the timer on his watch go off. The end of his shift was the end of the game, a winner not yet decided. He took a few notes on everyone’s positions and packed up the game. He wished everyone good luck for next week’s game and would finally clock out of his shift. His bed seemed extra comfortable this part of the night.
//lorem ipsum - Szymons//
[[/Collapsible]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="background: gray; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
[[div style="background: white; padding: 1px 15px; border: solid 3px lightgray; margin: 10px; border-radius: 30px 15px;"]]
**Tale 11:**
[[collapsible show="+ Boneka, Microbiologist" hide="- By Bonboneka"]]
//6:00 AM//
Boneka was the type of person who liked to set her morning alarm extra early so she could hit the snooze button like twenty times before she had to get up.
//6:50 AM//
Today she managed to drag herself out of bed after about five snoozes, an unusually low number for her. Today would be special; Boneka had been keeping track of the security rotation and counting down the days. She got dressed and tied up her hair into its signature buns, then it was off to the cafeteria for breakfast.
//7:20 AM//
It looked like Carpenter was camping the coffee station again. Boneka's most distinct memory of him was when he was first assigned to Facility-23, in which he had a mental breakdown when he found out the cafeteria only stocked Mrs. Butterworth-brand maple syrup. Sgt. Szymons had to physically hold back the usually otherwise placid Carpenter as he ranted and raved like a lunatic about what constituted "real maple syrup" and that it "definitely wasn't that". While his insistence on the matter was quite extreme, Boneka thought he had a point. Real maple syrup was nothing like the viscous, fructose-laden stuff that most grocery stores carried. The higher-ups did not seem to care about this nearly as much as either of them, though, and from that point forward, he had made a point of bringing his syrup. She waved to him casually as she went to prepare her coffee, which consisted of more creamer than actual coffee.
//8:00 AM//
Being a microbiologist who specialized in food and food-related pathogens, Boneka wasn't sure for the longest time as to why her Foundation career included an extended tenure with SCP-914, an anomaly with which microbes and most foods were virtually forbidden from testing. As time passed, it turned out that her knowledge came in handy in many cases, as she would be reminded of as she went about her work for the day.
In addition to the various systems in place to ensure that airborne microorganisms wouldn't contaminate SCP-914's test chamber, every input was also sterilized before testing. As well as being a researcher herself, part of Boneka's job was to oversee the sterilization process for input objects. A room directly adjacent to SCP-914's test chamber served as the area where this was done and included various equipment for this purpose. Depending on what was being tested, different sterilization methods were available, including an autoclave, an ethylene oxide chamber, and other chemical applicants. The work required Boneka to arrive early since other researchers would need to get their inputs back in time to test with them, and depending on the method, things could take hours to sterilize properly. The roster for today was fairly short and included some paper shredders for Ibarazaki, a scarf for Lacte, and something she didn't recognize from Sgt. Szymons that wasn't due to arrive until later that day along with Szymons himself; it included letters and numbers so she figured it was probably just some sort of gun model. No biggie, she thought. For now, she would take care of the paper shredders since they would be compatible with the ethylene oxide sterilizer, and the scarf would be fine going in the autoclave. Once the machines were cycling, they should be ready by the time the researchers were scheduled to perform their tests.
//10:00 AM//
Boneka’s work was interrupted by some commotion from the main chamber. The muffled screaming on the other side of the wall sounded vaguely French. She decided not to interfere.
//12:35 PM//
After removing her protective equipment and exiting 109-B's airlock, Boneka was free to go on her lunch break, but an important thing was in order first. She skipped down the hallways until she ran into someone in MTF garb; his somewhat shorter stature made him stand out from other agents, even when in full uniform. Boneka squealed with delight as she practically jumped into Sgt. Samantha Szymons' arms and pressed a kiss against his mask. Not having him around at the facility permanently anymore had proved to be a challenge for her, but he made every effort he could to get assigned to 19-23 as often as he could, and it made all their time together more precious. Even now it would be fleeting, as Szymons had to continue with his patrol, but he would make a promise to see her again later.
//12:45 PM//
The cafeteria food bothered her. From one of the most powerful secret organizations in the world, you would have expected a tier or two above high school cafeteria fare. Boneka had half a mind to request a position change so she could work in the kitchen and show them how real food was made, but she wasn’t willing to take the pay dock for it. For now, she idly mulled over the options on the lunch line, lost in thought until she saw something that snapped her mind to attention: one of the trainees in the back was loading a sheet tray full of hamburger patties onto a roll-in rack, directly under another sheet tray that was holding raw chicken.
//1:30 PM//
Researcher Boneka was informed that the kitchen staff would receive retraining as necessary, but she was best advised not to jump the counter to stop health infractions in the future. That poor line cook probably had the proper order of fridge storage seared directly into his eardrums now, at least.
//2:00 PM//
The break room was empty except for Boneka and Samantha. At least, it was empty just long enough for Boneka to forget that they were still, in fact, in the break room, which was generally not an appropriate place for two people to be snogging on a company-owned sofa, but, well… love can compel you to make odd decisions sometimes. She didn't think anything of it until some footsteps shuffled in through the doorway.
"…Oh hi Maccie!" Boneka peeled herself off of her partner to greet the Containment Specialist, but it looked like he was already hurriedly on his way out, along with Dr. Marlon who had a much less noticeable footfall. Darn. She looked back at Samantha, who just regarded her with a shrug and his signature smirk. He didn't seem to care.
"I guess we should get out of here…" She finally stood up, looking sheepish. In any case, his requested object would soon be ready to sterilize.
//2:35 PM//
Boneka was standing in the sterilization chamber; her arms were crossed and her brow was furrowed. For several moments, only the troubled tapping of her shoe against the tile could be heard. Across from her stood one Sgt. Samantha Szymons, looking not at all apologetic. The source of her irritation—and the source of his smugness—was hard to miss, as the TKS/20 Tankette mounted on the pallet situated in between them took up a good portion of the room.
"You're lucky you're so cute because if you weren't, I'd throttle you for this." Boneka hissed as she reached over and squeezed his cheeks with her hands. This giant hunk of dirt-covered scrap metal, she could tell, was going to be a doozy to work with. The EO sterilizer was designed with the same dimensions as the input booth, so the tankette would fit, but only in an extremely awkward configuration that would require additional help and equipment to get into. Plus it was probably coated to hell and back in all sorts of germs from its service time, so it would require an overnight cycle… possibly longer. Hopefully, there wouldn't be anyone requesting a metric fuckton of testing material that would result in a backlog and make her life a living hell.
//4:45 PM//
Boneka ran into MacLean again as he was getting ready to leave for the day. He acknowledged her with an awkward gesture, likely a sentiment from what he witnessed earlier that day. She just laughed it off. He was one of the few mainstays that commuted instead of living on-site due to his familial obligations. She had heard plenty about his kids, his pride and joy despite the handful they could be. She did wish to meet them herself, but it would be a long while before they’d be ready to learn about the Foundation, if ever. For now, she waved MacLean off as he left for the other side of the veil.
//5:00 PM//
Everyone’s schedule was different here at the Foundation depending on what kind of job they did. Fortunately, Boneka’s was fairly reasonable, and ending the day at 5 left her with plenty of time to unwind after work. One thing she enjoyed doing was drawing, so once she was comfortable in her room again, she settled down, picked up her tablet, and let the creative juices flow.
… or… she would, if she could find her tablet pen.
//5:15 PM//
God damn. Scouring an entire facility and retracing her steps for a lost stylus was not an ideal way to unwind after work. It wasn’t even a particularly big facility, but it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Despite her efforts, Boneka’s search came up fruitless. The despair knotted itself into her stomach, and she was about to go back and call it quits before she remembered they had a solution. With a little hope in her heart, she would find Director Hackett so she could submit a usage request for [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6369 SCP-6369].
//5:30 PM//
Boneka watched as Site Security opened the door to allow the SCP-6369-A instances in. The way they rode in on their Roombas reminded her of the floats in a parade. About twenty of them arrived in the lobby and dismounted to begin the facility-wide search. Among them was SCP-6369-B, who directed the other instances as they combed through the rooms Boneka had been in that day. She just observed as they worked; she was shortly joined by her good friend Evangeline Perry, who probably came out when she noticed SCP-6369-B wasn’t in its cage. Perry, or Angie as most people called her, was on indefinite janitorial duty due to an unfortunate incident a while ago, but she didn’t seem to mind much, as she was content with caring for her rats and not worrying about 914.
//6:24 PM//
Boneka sighed with relief when SCP-6369-A brought her the tablet pen, safe and sound. Apparently, it was buried in the couch she was sitting on with Szymons… whoops. She provided them with some apple slices (remembering to have taken the peels off as well), which were distributed amongst the instances with a level of efficiency that would impress many Foundation higher-ups. Once they had their fill, Boneka and Angie would wave them goodbye, and she could finally relax again.
//8:00 PM//
Boneka happened to meet Resident Ibarazaki in the break room after spending some time on her tablet. She asked her about how her test with the paper shredders went, and couldn’t help but chuckle when Emi sheepishly explained the aftermath involving Director Query. Her being worried was understandable, since she was new here, but as far as Boneka was concerned, it was far from the worst thing that could have happened. With 914 being as unpredictable as it was, sometimes you just couldn’t control what an output was going to do. As long as it’s not an accident that happened out of preventable negligence, you’d get off with a slap on the wrist. And anyway, Query seemed to be much less neurotic than Veritas was. Hopefully, that would have eased some of Ibarazaki’s misgivings; Boneka didn’t want her to become jaded too quickly after all. The Foundation had enough jaded people already.
//10:00 PM//
Boneka sunk back into her bed with a sigh. As she began to drift off, she thought about all the people she encountered that day; it was fascinating how this facility, designed only to contain SCP-914, could end up being inhabited by so many colorful personalities and careers. Some came and went, while others forged lasting bonds under the looming machinery of the Clockworks. Everyone played a part in the greater mission of the Foundation, almost as if they were all cogs in their machine.
//Maybe the real 914-E was the friends we made along the way. - Boneka//
[[/Collapsible]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
|
2024-12-27T05:06:00
|
[
"collaboration",
"heartwarming",
"journal",
"slice-of-life",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] |
Like Clockworks - SCP Foundation
| -1
|
[
"scp-6369"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"lowest-rated-articles",
"lowest-rated-pages",
"incident-reports-eye-witness-interviews-and-personal-logs",
"collaboration-page-hub",
"news"
] |
[] |
1458135810
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/like-clockworks
|
|
like-it-s-real
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>"You're not secretly anything, Ari. You're you. You're always you."</p>
</div>
<ul class="modal-wrapper">
<li class="unfolded">
<div id="u-adult-warning">
<div id="u-adult-header">
<p>ADULT CONTENT</p>
</div>
<br/>
This article contains adult content that may not be suitable for all readers.
<div class="content-descriptor"><span style="display: syntax error near `{$gore} ==`">Graphic depiction of blood, gore or mutilation of body parts</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$sexual-r`">Features sexual themes or language, but does not depict sexual acts.</span><br/>
<span style="display: block">Explicit depiction of sexual acts.</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$sexual-a`">Features non-consensual sexual acts.</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$child-ab`">Depiction of severe mistreatment of children</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$self-har`">Depiction of self-harm</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$suicide}`">Depiction of suicide</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$torture}`">Depiction of torture</span><br/>
<span style="display: syntax error near `{$custom} `">{$custom-content}</span></div>
<p>If you are above the age of 18+ and wish to read such content, then you may click Continue to view said content.</p>
<div class="foldable-list-container choice"><a href="javascript:;">Continue</a></div>
<div class="choice"><a href="/">Back to Front Page</a></div>
</div>
<br/></li>
</ul>
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">Nonacherontia</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p>⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong> This article contains the following topic:</p>
<ul>
<li>Explicit sexual content</li>
</ul>
<p>If this topic is upsetting to you, please refrain from reading this article.</p>
<p>Thank you.</p>
<p><strong>Like It's Real</strong> by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/nonacherontia" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9322661); return false;"><img alt="Nonacherontia" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9322661&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736422479" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9322661)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/nonacherontia" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9322661); return false;">Nonacherontia</a></span> -</p>
<p>Other works:<br/>
<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/who-s-afraid-of-ulrike-meinhof">Who's Afraid of Ulrike Meinhof</a><br/>
<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/possible-kill-screen">Possible Kill Screen</a> with FleshMaddAvalon<br/>
<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-golden-threads-weaving-us-together">The Golden Threads Weaving Us Together</a> under MissLapis<br/>
<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8082">SCP-8082: The Wild Hunt</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
</div>
<br/>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="display: none;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"><img alt="EdJxLrf.png" class="image" src="https://i.imgur.com/EdJxLrf.png"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<table style="margin:0; padding:0">
<tr>
<td style="margin:0; padding:0">
<div id="toc">
<div id="toc-action-bar"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.foldToc(event)">Fold</a><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.unfoldToc(event)" style="display: none">Unfold</a></div>
<div class="title">Table of Contents</div>
<div id="toc-list">
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc0">Scene 1: I am falling</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc1">Scene 2: I am fading</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc2">Scene 3: I am drowning</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc3">Scene 4: Help me to breathe</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc4">Coda: I have lost it all</a></div>
</div>
</div>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Scene 1: I am falling</span></h1>
<p>The night she sleeps with Farhan Moradi, Ariadne Katsaros dreams of an ocean.</p>
<p><em>It is always the same—a blazing magenta sunset in a sickly sanguine sky. Drifting on wine-dark swells, a low-groaning wind fills her nose with cologne from her dad's house. The water shushes and roars by turns, and the air feels cool on her bare skin. It churns underneath her, hiding worlds of unsleeping mayhem, and she can't imagine a better way to lie.</em></p>
<p><em>All around her float familiar junk: a stuffed giraffe, her mom's pearl necklace, her dad's Chevrolet Camaro, a boyfriend's hookah, a girlfriend's five-thousand dollar bomber jacket, the surveillance tag still attached.</em></p>
<p>"Please…" Farhan murmurs in Ari's ear—</p>
<p>And she wakes up, relaxed, aglow, content like a cat that caught the cream.</p>
<p>As with water's gentle current, she floats on Farhan's chest as it crests and recedes. He's completely naked. She's still wearing a shirt. The slight asymmetry feels grounding in her haze, because some part of her is worried they'd blur together. But God, what a <em>ground</em>. His chest is so hard and muscular, his face punctuated by eager cheekbones, a handsome jaw girded by a beard and his resting, full-toothed smile that is no less boyish for it, always rewarding to see.</p>
<p>"Please…"</p>
<p>She fixates on how their war wounds flow into each other's like theirs was the same skin, shot and burned and stabbed together. She an orphaned eddy of broken joy after Farhan dragged her with him over the waterfall.</p>
<p><em>Goddamn, he's cute.</em> She lifts her hand to Farhan's cheek, caressing his jaw, and then dips a finger on the inflection of those elegant cheekbones, scratching a tender line to the patch covering his left eye. <em>Who did that to you, babe?</em> She frowned. <em>Why did that word pop into my head?</em></p>
<p>Then she feels weightless in a different way, tossed into the air, falling off the edge of the mattress and smashing into the floor in a heap. She's back on the bed in seconds, then she's thrown on her back, and strong arms pin her shoulders to the mattress.</p>
<p>Farhan's face is in hers. Farhan is screaming in her face.</p>
<p>His hands dig into her shoulders and arms.</p>
<p>There's a blur where her mind used to be.</p>
<p><em>I can't reach my gun.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Fifteen minutes later, having put Farhan to bed, Ari racks her Beretta 92SF.</p>
<p>Ari sits at a dining table in a small kitchen space with a refrigerator. On the other side of the room, Farhan snores pleasantly amidst sweaty bedsheets. A prized operator, she enjoyed one of the personnel-starved Balochistan site's largest accommodations. Farhan made her world so much smaller now. She couldn't get far enough away to stop caring.</p>
<p>"One."</p>
<p>At approximately 0230 hours, Farhan experienced what Ari has known from her childhood as a night terror. As she'd learned growing up, symptoms included screaming, thrashing, shallow breathing, and the appearance of complete disorientation, and they would typically last for a few minutes at a time (except for one occasion where she'd witnessed an episode carry on for ten minutes).</p>
<p>Farhan's episode included all that and a lot more.</p>
<p>Ari couldn't understand anything he was saying, or how to tell him to stop. <em>Does dad ever get this bad?</em> It's a painful, thorny thought she shoves deep inside of her with all the others.</p>
<p><em>I didn't want to know. I don't want to know, either.</em></p>
<p>Ari field-strips guns after having boys over. Girls, well, no such routine exists because the only girl she ever dated is so good in bed that Ari passes out before she does. <em>The one kind of caretaking Petra was ever good at.</em> With boys, whether they stay the night or not, she has trouble sleeping, so she'd spend an hour field-stripping a gun and reassembling it repeatedly, trying to beat her record for completed cycles over a fifteen-minute interval.</p>
<p>"Two."</p>
<p>It's a surface ripple of a deeper itchiness. She doesn't need a therapist to tell her that. For instance, the boyfriend who took her virginity compared sex with her to doing it in a bathroom stall sober. She couldn't get him to clarify what was an incredibly insulting metaphor, and they were both stoned that evening anyway, so following up on it was pointless.</p>
<p>The girl, Petra Shahi, her last serious-ish partner, found the metaphor hysterical and dead wrong.<br/>
<em>Incomplete, really,</em> she said, <em>I mean, you do fuck like someone who expects to be caught in the act, but that's because you want it the way it happens in a bathroom stall. Rough. Undignified. What does that say about us?</em></p>
<p>She was also wrong, but of all the people who were wrong about her, she was the only one who knew how to make Ari come. It's hard to argue with results.</p>
<p>"Three."</p>
<p>Ari liked how the Beretta 92SF surrendered to her hands, clicking apart, snapping together. She feels closer to herself with every step the gun was taken towards its disintegration, further from the man sleeping in her bed just now. <em>Like nothing just happened.</em> It obsessed her, the unfairness of it all. <em>They never remember it, and I never forget it.</em> She decides she won't bring it up with him. He either already knows or doesn't want to know.</p>
<p>She ejects the magazine, and before it rattles on the table, she'd pulls the slide back to sight-check the chamber.</p>
<p>"Four." Her hands are shaking. Hazard of a profession where artillery bombardment and airstrikes were considered low-intensity ordinances. The key is to flow with the malfunction, not rage at her body's having it. One might as well rage at a quiver for running out of arrows.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>"Please," she hears Farhan babble in English, Farsi, and Arabic, "Please, please,"</strong></p>
<p><strong>She should have known better than to talk during one of these, but her brain was a hazy memory maze inundated with cheap beer. "Farhan, I'm here—"</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p>The memory of Farhan's episode burns behind her eyes. She had these moments before, especially after violence. She tried to dismiss it. Her brain was having indigestion.</p>
<p>"Six."</p>
<p>The sense-memory of Farhan's crazed howling writhed under her skin. She was a fluid, indifferent to the pressure, rather becoming the shape it demanded of her.</p>
<p>Her finger slipped on sweat, almost missing the release button. Her brow felt damp and cold.</p>
<p><em>My hair should have dried by now!</em> Everything feels damp and cold. There are no fewer than four hidden guns in her apartment—seven things in total that could kill him.</p>
<p>"Seven."</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>The screaming stopped, Farhan had let her go, but Ari was no less trapped.</strong></p>
<p><strong>"Where am I?" His body language seemed like a scared child. "Where is this?"</strong></p>
<p><strong>"Site-290," Ari's voice sounded hollow even to her. The way his wild eyes frantically searched her bedroom, the way he threw himself against the wall when she stepped towards him, it disgusted her. No, it did something else that tickled her eyes with salt. "You're…you're safe."</strong></p>
<p><strong>"Allaahummak-fineehim bimaa shi’ta<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup>. <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lamb-of-god">Take the left one! Take the left one!</a>" Again and again and again, and she didn't know how to respond.</strong></p>
<p><strong><em>His eye patch,</em> she learned something new about his hell, but there was no saving him from it. <em>It was not lost, it was taken, and they made him choose.</em></strong></p>
<p><strong>It's a phantom pain, like Farhan is a missing limb. Ari realizes this is what pity must feel like.</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p>"Eight." <em>Water fills whatever it's poured into.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>He began to flail at empty air so she pushed herself towards him and let her arms flow over his shoulder and waist, buried her face into his chest, and heard his heart batter under his flesh and her temple. "Buddy," she heard herself say, "Get it together." She feels his chiseled torso pleasingly crush her chest.</strong></p>
<p><strong><em>I never want to see you again.</em></strong></p>
<p><strong>The cocktail of her words and her body smothered Farhan's fever, and they tumbled into bed together again. She preoccupied herself by reciting the longitude and latitude of every battle she ever fought while waiting for Farhan to sleep, pretending to join him while wanting to be anywhere else.</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p>"Nine."</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>While she was wrapped around him, his voice was soft, feather-light, and strangely bemused. "Why?" He murmured. "Why?"</strong></p>
<p><strong>"Fuck off." Ari murmured, her lips tickling his chest. He grunted, and his heart continued to slow under her touch.</strong></p>
<p><strong><em>Why did I stay?</em> It wasn't often Ari couldn't account for her actions. <em>Why did I stay?</em></strong></p>
<hr/>
<p>"Ten-oof-"</p>
<p>She feels Farhan's body press on hers. She hadn't heard him get up. She hadn't heard him walk. She hadn't seen a thing.</p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:400px;"><img alt="EdJxLrf.png" class="image" src="https://i.imgur.com/EdJxLrf.png"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>"I almost forgot I had enough."</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>It's <em>embarrassing</em>.</p>
<p><em>Either he's slick or I'm slow.</em> How dare he get the drop on her in her own home.</p>
<p>It's all the weirder that she's mostly happy he's alright again.</p>
<p>She leans against him mostly because his beard is scratching a spot on the nape of her neck. His hot breath tickles her ear, and it spread to her cheeks when his lips peck her skin. It does something to her mouth because it's a struggle to complain. "T-The hell? How did you—"</p>
<p>"Hey," Farhan's voice is like a whispered yawn. <em>Does he see what I'm doing right now?</em> His hands play with the waistband of her underwear, and his fingers trace the scars adorning her left thigh, teasing her toned skin. "How'd you sleep, <em>habibti</em>?"</p>
<p><em>'Honey'?</em> More confusion. <em>Was that like a one-night stand calling you babe, or darling? Was that weird? Is it a MENA thing? Are Muslim guys just naturally sweeter than American ones?</em></p>
<p>"C-can't complain," Ari flattens the shake out of her voice, her fingers tightening on her gun. "How about you?"</p>
<p>"Some fun dreams." Then he stiffens, and then Farhan's voice sounds a little less casual. "What's that you got there?"</p>
<p>"Don't worry about it," Ari says and racks the Beretta in her hands.</p>
<p>"<em>Ya Rabb!</em><sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup> Farhan stumbles backward and slams into the wall.</p>
<p>It should have been satisfying, but it makes her want to touch him</p>
<p>His eyes graze her arm, and the tenderness sours. <em>Why does it look like he's reading my scars? He a fan of muscle tone or something?</em> She sees his pupils dip a millimeter, and a flash of alarm briefly widens his eyes. Her stomach drops.</p>
<p><em>He’s looking at my gun.</em></p>
<p><em>I saw him set a dozen people on fire, and he's looking at my gun.</em></p>
<p>Her breathing gets harder to control. She reads his eyes, remembers the night terror—</p>
<p>She sees the hired killer behind her tense—</p>
<p>It feels weird that showing someone an empty chamber would be the difference between life and death. Farhan relaxes when she pulls the slide back and shows him. Ari feels like she's not going to relax for quite a while.</p>
<p><em>How close was he to killing me?</em> She tries to play the moment off. "You this easy to spook or am I just that good?"</p>
<p>"Why not both?" Farhan says. He leans on the table, inches from her elbow. "God help me, you're a lovely menace." How effortlessly he had pinned her, the weightlessness of her body in flight, the giddy terror of standing there while a two hundred thirty-pound commando begged her for mercy while his fingers crushed bruises into her skin. <em>I estimate ten seconds before his hands could snap my neck.</em></p>
<p>But she can't stop noticing those soulful eyes. <em>He looks sad.</em></p>
<p>The quiet between them stretches into all sorts of uncomfortable positions.</p>
<p>“Um, do you want a drink?” Ari says a little too softly, and Farhan looks confused so she has to repeat herself: “<em>Do you want a drink?</em>”</p>
<p><em>Why don't I ask him to leave? Check that. Why don’t I tell him to leave?</em></p>
<p>“It’s four AM, Ari.” Farhan chides, “Not exactly the breakfast of champions.” It's like her thoughts are a hamster wheel she can't stop running.</p>
<p><em>He could have killed me in my bedroom. Why did I stay? Why did I let him sleep?</em> So it goes, again and again and again. <em>Why does he look so sad? What’s in his head? Why is he still here?</em></p>
<p>“You’re sober. I’m sober.” Ari gets up from her seat. “What else are we gonna do?”</p>
<p>It's like her words stoked his imagination and there's so much interest in the way he looks at her. “I mean, if you follow me to bed I can probably think of something.” His voice is like a low purr.</p>
<p>She gives him a side-eye. "Funny, funny man." but a smile underlines it. His lips curl with hers.</p>
<p><em>I don't want to smile. I don't want to talk to you. I want a break. I want this feeling to stop.</em> She hates she still wants to touch him.</p>
<p>Ari makes her way to the kitchen, squeezing past him, and she can't not look at his face as their bodies graze each other, like a river curled by a rocky bank. His chest quickens like he’s breathing her. <em>He smells nice.</em> Like sweat and cheap cologne.</p>
<p>It’s a short walk from the table to her vault.</p>
<p><em>Just need something for my nerves.</em></p>
<p>She hears Farhan’s voice as she busies herself with the combination. “You keep your liquor in a vault?”</p>
<p>“Party favors,” Ari says. “It's a fun loophole in the contraband rules.”</p>
<p>“Sounds generous for a Foundation front-line base.” He sounds intrigued. Intrigue in an operator is identical to suspicion.</p>
<p>“It’s what happens when you put a site in the middle of the desert. Beggers and choosers, dude.” Ari swings open the vault to reveal a glittering collection of liquors of every brand. Her finger dances on the gold and silver labels until she finds the stenciled calligraphy of an expensive bottle of Glenfiddich. “Uh, scotch good for you?”</p>
<p>“Let me guess, beggars and choosers?” Farhan says, bemused. She listens in case of footsteps, motions, or the clacking of a gun. So far, so quiet.</p>
<p><em>Just need something for my nerves.</em></p>
<p>“Yup.” She grabs the bottle and lays it on the countertop next to her. The alcohol is just a prop. It's what is behind it that puts her mind at ease.</p>
<p>Nestled between a Sig Sauer and a Mockingbird combat knife, is a simple cork-screw bottle opener.</p>
<p>It is good at opening bottles of all kinds, and the push needle inside of it is laced with an aura-piercing neurotoxin said to be so deadly, hell would need its stomach pumped after the target got sent there.</p>
<p><em>He’s so sad,</em> she thinks, and something makes her fingers hesitate rather than grab the most lethal kill-agent a noncom can get their hands on. <em>Nothing to worry about. It's like a security blanket.</em></p>
<p><em>He's just so sad.</em></p>
<p>Just as she makes up her mind and her fingers wrap around the meta-terminator—</p>
<p>The hair on the back of her neck prickles as she senses Farhan walk up behind her.</p>
<p>She almost kills him. She almost slams the needle into the side of his neck and kills him.</p>
<p>She almost reaches for her gun to shoot him twice in the chest and once in the head. <em>I didn’t hear a damn thing!</em> She almost reaches for her knife.</p>
<p>Instead she grabs the bottle before she twists around. He has a raised eyebrow and a confused frown. "You looked like you were struggling over there."</p>
<p>"Jesus, stop doing that!"</p>
<p>"I'm just trying to help."</p>
<p><em>Gods, he's slick.</em> Her hands aren't shaking. She never shook around people. <em>Gods, he's so slick.</em></p>
<p>"I can fix a drink by myself!" She trips on the last word.</p>
<p>"I don’t let women pour my own drinks," Farhan gently places his hands on the bottle. "Let alone theirs."</p>
<p>"You're not going to <em>let</em> me pour my drink? Did I hear you right?"</p>
<p>Farhan looks down and sighs. "It's a figure of speech."</p>
<p>"It's a figure of bullshit." Ari scoffs and lets Farhan take the bottle from her. "I'm letting <em>you</em> pour me a drink, dude.</p>
<p>Then she spots his pupils, giving her body a once-over, then darting back and forth. It hits her: <em>He’s threat scanning my kitchen!</em> Ari forces herself to smile, hoping it disarmed the tension neither of them would ever acknowledge. <em>What is his problem? Didn't he like me?</em></p>
<p>He places the bottle on the counter and opens the freezer door to fetch the ice. The cold air wraps around her forearms and legs. While Farhan continues to blab about Muslim hospitality, he has his bare back to her for the first time that evening, and the sight makes her jaw drop.</p>
<p>The tattoos are stunning. Poetry with sharp Arabic calligraphy woven into the skin with expert needling. A nightingale with outstretched wings perches on his shoulder blade, sharpening its beak on his spine along with swords and a sun. It's the prettiest skin-art she's ever seen.</p>
<p>It's the physiological details that give her the chills.</p>
<p>Ari knows the difference between natural human skin texture and prosthetic membrane. A few inches of her thigh are covered in the stuff, a souvenir of a brush with chemical warfare. The pain had been so bad she scheduled time each day to go someplace private for ten minutes because screaming helped with her aim later. Farhan’s lips had taken special care to worship the Texas-shaped scar earlier that night.</p>
<p>His entire back is made of the latter.</p>
<p>He turns around with a wide grin and a redder face. <em>At the current range, I have ten different striking options to disable his nervous system…</em></p>
<p>She smells his floral breath. He leaves the freezer open, turns, and braces Ari against the wall, shy of pinning her outright. <em>…And now I only have two.</em></p>
<p>His mouth is only an inch above hers. Her gun hand itches. A few inches behind her in the vault, the gun itches. The needle itches,</p>
<p>The cold from the freezer dances with the warmth of Farhan’s body. "Can I help you?" she asks, crossing her arms in front of her chest.</p>
<p>"Nah," Farhan leans on one arm while letting another glide along her shoulder and waist. "But I sense disquiet. Can I help <em>you</em>?" She feels completely under his control. She likes it. She doesn't like it. It's distracting, how chiseled his abdomen is, how cut his muscles are, the prominence of his jaw, the way his hands play her like a piano.</p>
<p>"No, it's okay, it's. It's. O…kay?" Ari feels his cold fingers slide under her shirt, his thumb tracing her muscle tone. The heat and the cold do a sensual tango under her skin, and she feels herself start to melt. <em>Oh, he's good.</em> She remembers to complete her sentence: "Your back is. Um. Interesting."</p>
<p>"That's not fair. I've yet to get a good look at yours." Farhan's hands begin to move and Ari feels her shirt slowly lifting above her waist.</p>
<p><em>Does he see the gun or the needle? Is he trying to reach for—</em></p>
<p>Everything about him is so firm and she just wants to—</p>
<p>Whether it’s hormones or tactics driving her, she pulls his collar and lets her lips collide with his. His arm wraps around her waist and pulls her into him as his tongue tickles her lips, and she breathes (or moans), letting him in—</p>
<p>Her fingers scratch his stomach on the way toward the waistband of his underwear and then slip underneath, causing him to gasp—</p>
<p>Before she squeezes, then shoves him into the fridge—</p>
<p>But not before the shock of cold like an icy knife slashes down her spine, and she shrieks. "You clown!"</p>
<p>A handful of ice cubes slides down her back, scattering on the floor.</p>
<p>"What the heck?" Ari glares at Farhan, who winces while quietly massaging himself. "Are you this goofy with everybody you fuck?"</p>
<p>"Ha…" Farhan ignores her question. "Ari, you might want to go easier with the grip strength next time… ow."</p>
<p>"Yeah, you know what? <em>You</em> can make the drinks. I don’t care anymore." She tries not to show him her smirk.</p>
<p>She fails. He grins. She smiles. He chuckles. She chuckles. He giggles—</p>
<p>She bursts out laughing, "Oh my God," <em>That freaking giggle!</em> "Help!" She clutches her own sides.</p>
<p>"Okay, okay—" he walks towards her, "Can I pour our drinks already—"</p>
<p>"No, you aren't pretending that didn't happen!" She slaps the wall, "It sounded like a chicken doing a falsetto—hahahaha—"</p>
<p>"I'm gonna pour our drinks now,"</p>
<p>"Nuh-uh." She grabs him and kisses him flat on the lips. He tries to keep a straight face and keep his lips stiff as her lips touch his. It's like a dam broke and now they're both a river of giddy voices talking over each other and the fun is calling the shots now. "Can I really—" "No." "Will you—" "Only if you giggle like that again." "I don't think it's <em>that</em> funny." It's all so funny.</p>
<p>It wasn't. It wasn't really. <em>Why am I laughing?</em> She feels like something is coming out of her, falling off of her, not just from today, but a lot from a while ago. <em>He's so funny.</em></p>
<p>"Get over here," she says and keeps kissing his stubborn, stupid, sheepish smile—</p>
<p>"If you insist—" he crushes her giddy peals with a passionate kiss she pushes herself into. "You're so fucking cute." He says, and he pins her to the wall, and he feels her up while they make out for a bit. His hands are all over her and his body feels much less lethal now.</p>
<p>He pulls her away by her hair. The sharp sting is unexpected but oddly thrilling, and she can tell he notices the way the look on her face just lit up. "You're a bit ridiculous yourself."</p>
<p>"Oh yeah?" Ari's biting her lip.</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"Prove it."</p>
<p>"Field-stripping a gun in the middle of the night after sex?" Farhan kisses her but it feels patronizing now. "Who does that?"</p>
<p>Ari remembers Farhan holding her like this during his night terror, and the euphoria dims. She loosens her grip on him. "Fine, make me a drink." He grabs the bottle and fixes their drinks while she takes her place in front of the vault, watching him. The time it would take for her to get the needle is just a second slower than it would take for him to neutralize her. Her brain reviews the ways she can get that second back. "Don't spill the ice, <em>chuckles.</em>"</p>
<p>"Funny girl." The liquid jangles the ice in the glasses, and Farhan carries them to the table. "You coming?"</p>
<p>Ari looks at the ice cubes at her feet, already beginning to puddle. A deeper cold blooms in her stomach. <em>His mouth is the same when he laughs and screams. Does he really not remember a thing?</em> The memories bellow in her mind’s ears. The heat in her vanishes, replaced by the taut chest aches, like Farhan is still on top of her, many footpounds of energy crushing her into the mattress.</p>
<p><em>Also, that ass is…something else.</em> It's like the anxiety makes her touch-hungry too. <em>Was I supposed to hear the things he was screaming at me? No. How does a man maintain opsec when he talks in his sleep?</em></p>
<p>"Hey," Farhan’s cheerful yell cuts through her reverie. He's casually twirling the slide of Ari’s Beretta between his fingers. "Before the ice melts." <em>Her</em> gun.</p>
<p>She's really pissed off now. <em>Fuck him. That's MY gun. Fuck him. Fuck this.</em></p>
<p>Ari reaches into the vault. Her fingers briefly touch the needle before wrapping around something else. "You know what—" She pulls out her Sig Sauer pistol instead. Fully loaded. Bullet in the chamber.</p>
<p>Farhan yelps, "The fuck—" He jumps out of his chair—</p>
<p>Before Farhan can react, she ejects the magazine and pops the bullet. "How about a drinking game? If you win, I’ll tell you."</p>
<p>Farhan clears his throat and takes a breath, failing to play it cool. "And if I lose?"</p>
<h1 id="toc1"><span>Scene 2: I am fading</span></h1>
<p><em>Being drunk and getting head are synergistic activities.</em> Ari lets out a dry-throated hiss as Farhan tucks icy fingers under her underwear and pulls.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Ten minutes ago, Ari was having fun.</p>
<p>The game was very straightforward, she explained as she casually tossed the Sig Sauer P320 on the table before Farhan. The pistol was a well-crafted, standard-issue sidearm that anyone spending a day with the GOC would have used and cleaned. The gun she had been working with was the Beretta, a model phased out in the 90s, partly because of how complicated disassembling and reassembling it was. She reached over with her glass and tapped Farhan's before he could pick it up and take a hearty gulp of rocky Single Malt.</p>
<p>"What were you saying about the game?" Farhan raised his glass and took a sip.</p>
<p>"Field-strip your gun as many times as possible in a one-minute window. I'll do the same. The loser takes a shot. Rinse and repeat. The first person to drop something or say 'uncle' has to perform the forfeit." Ari's train of thought encountered many a corkscrew, liquored up at this hour.</p>
<p>Farhan raised an eyebrow. "You must be drunk. How fat-fingered do you think I am?"</p>
<p>"Those aren't pianist hands."</p>
<p>"I defuse bombs."</p>
<p>"Then this shouldn't be a problem for you. Here." She grabbed his drink and took another sip. "Doubling up on the handicap."</p>
<p>"This feels exploitative," Farhan smiled. "I don't like to use the word 'daddy issues' with women, but—."</p>
<p>Ari picked up her gun. "Here's some trivia about my dad. Since I was six, he'd wake me up at 0500 for PT with an energy bar and a protein drink. Made blueberry pancakes for me at 0630. Every <em>single</em> day he could. I had to stop him when he was sick." She racked the pistol for a function check. "Now, let's roll."</p>
<p>Farhan's gun was simple, his hands were deft and steady, and he'd clearly done this before, and for a while. A professional, she had no business playing this game with him, and she knew he knew it.</p>
<p>His hands never shook, not even during the literal night terrors.</p>
<p>She also knew she'd been field-stripping this particular Beretta since she was nine.</p>
<p>It took him ten minutes to realize Ari hustled him. "For—for fuck's sakes, <em>Uncle!</em>"</p>
<p>She won so handily she'd taken a couple of shots of her own accord because she didn't want to dry out waiting for him to lose.</p>
<p><em>How stupid does he think I am?</em> Ari wrinkled her nose with irritation. <em>Like I'd opt into a game I stood a chance of losing?</em> Another voice in her head replied: <em>What do you call joining the military?</em> She hopped out of her chair onto the table, crawled across the surface, and dangled her legs and feet so they comfortably nestled in Farhan's lap, letting her toes tickle his torso. He locked eyes with her again. This time, he was beaming, and she didn't stop her lips from meeting his eyes with a smile. "You look dopey."</p>
<p>Her brain, meanwhile, harbored harsher words: <em>Is that tongue only for talking shit? You woke me up at 0300 hours because your REM sleep is on Satan's wavelength. Now make me come!</em> Words that rough didn't fit in her mouth. Petra had always said that Ari was exceptionally mild-mannered for someone who killed for a living.</p>
<p>And Farhan began to touch her, and the thoughts dimmed to a merry murmur.</p>
<p>There is a valley between a massage and a grope, and Farhan dragged Ari's nerves there with what his hands did to her calves and legs and thighs. <em>Especially the thighs.</em> She felt him tease the fake skin on her thigh and saw something in his eyes, a glint of recognition. "No—no fair, dude, you're not supposed to—" <em>Do what? Make me feel better?</em></p>
<p>Then she felt crushed and compacted as she breathed, and her eyes closed, flooded with a cocktail of her body's most potent thrill chemicals like she was mainlining a rosy amphetamine. She opened her eyes as her skin whispered in strangled gasps that Farhan's left hand snuck under her shirt, just dead center where the waistband of her underwear made a perpendicular with the scar tissue along her spine. His other hand moved another few inches up her waist, and a fingertip or two brushed aside the few millimeters of fabric and—</p>
<p><em>Fuck.</em></p>
<p>Pushed forward and</p>
<p>Up</p>
<p>As he—</p>
<p>Pressed onto her—</p>
<p>Until treading him—</p>
<p>Her face was all above the deep—</p>
<p>And his eyes continued to drown her.</p>
<p>"From this angle, you look like Rachel Singer."</p>
<p>"The math teacher from that crime drama about that Muslim mob boss? Where do you get that from?"</p>
<p>"Big grey eyes, prominent Mediterranean nose, high cheekbones, your lips do a bit of a natural pout. Your eyes are pretty Central Asian—mom or dad, I wonder? The main difference is…" He pulled her closer to him. The rough skin on his knuckle grazes her with just the right degree of rough that she gasps, and her breasts swell against his chest, and in her fevered perspiration she's frustrated that his hair can't tear into own skin because of the shirt. <em>That's not coming off.</em> "You're so bloody fit," She feels his fingers glide along her back, and again her shirt slowly crawled up her skin, the artificial cooled air bracing the small hairs along her back—</p>
<p>"Ow!"</p>
<p>Ari sank her teeth into the skin between his shoulder and his neck. "Hands off the shirt." She nuzzled his face, then pressed her forehead against his. Then she closed her eyes, and his mouth pressed on hers, and she stiffened when his tongue pushed against her mouth, but then a few fingers moved between her legs, and a thumb delicately teased her, and she gasped again and melted in his arms, and his tongue and weight pushed a moan out of her, and he pulled back and his fingers left from beneath her underwear, and she groaned. "The fuck?"</p>
<p>"That look…" Farhan sounded out of breath, "So that's what you look like, drunk."</p>
<p>"I've been drunk." Ari gasped, "Come <em>on</em>…"</p>
<p>"Not in the way it counts."</p>
<p>"You <em>bitch</em>—" Farhan smothered her bark into another moan and a sigh. She felt weightless in the air for a minute as Farhan swept her off the table and carried her to her bed—then she crashed into the mattress, a liquid non-presence writhing under Farhan's hot breath and ravenous flesh. She wrenched her lips from his as he tried, again, to take her shirt off. "Dude," She tried to sculpt her panting into something sharp, "Are you unwrapping a gift or giving me mine?"</p>
<p>"Fucking bossy—" but Farhan obliged her, and she felt a path of kisses flow over her belly—</p>
<p><em>Being drunk and getting head are synergistic activities.</em> Ari lets out a dry-throated hiss as Farhan tucks icy fingers under her underwear and pulls.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Ari writhes in her sheets. Her fingers claw at the fabric, toes curl into the comforter. She wants Farhan to turn the light off because she hates looking at herself on display like this, but she forgot to tell him and it'd be awkward to stop things now and the white fluorescent lighting makes her pale skin look washed out and her scars better defined than her curves. Her shirt sticks to her sweaty skin.</p>
<p><em>How am I feeling this bad with someone else’s tongue inside me?</em></p>
<p>Her groan is muffled by the pillow she's pressing into her face because she doesn't like to look at herself.</p>
<p>He also can't see her blush.</p>
<p>"Are you usually shy about this?" He says.</p>
<p>Yes, she was. Now: <em>What’s taking him so long? He can't be this bad at it!</em></p>
<p>There's no reason for it. It feels nice sometimes, but climaxing like that needed muscles like anything else, and she knew hers were getting tired. And eventually, he’d get bored.</p>
<p>But she's bored. So very, very bored. Boredom is bad for her because then she starts to think and she doesn't want to think about him right now.</p>
<p>She closes her eyes and tries to pretend its her ex-girlfriend, Petra, hoping it's easier to come to a familiar fuck. The soft, firm feel of Petra's densely coiled curls, a sophisticated mess framing her heart-shaped face. The way sweat glowed on her ebony skin. Her full lips and the toothy dangerous grin they portend. The way Ari fell asleep on her chest, curled up in her sweat while Petra hummed Ziad Rahbani songs under a humming ceiling fan, Petra's fingers sifting through Ari's hair. (Petra showed Ari her scalp was a sweet spot.)</p>
<p><em>Pick a team, already!</em> Petra would say because being into both men and women was incomprehensible to her.</p>
<p>She tries to remember the way Petra’s tongue and fingers would play her like a fucking piano—</p>
<p>No. Nothing. Fuck Petra. One guy being bad at oral does not refute her sexual orientation. She remembers what Petra would say when Ari would seem too stiff: <em>"Talk! Talking distracts, cuts the tension. When people talk, their brains stop working." "Girl, you're the chattiest person I know!" "And now you know why!"</em></p>
<p>"You, uh-" Ari catches her breath. "Um, you ever do this with someone like me before?"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>She throws the pillow over her face at the wall. "Am I your first time hooking up with military?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." He says. He sounds like he’s busy fixing a car.</p>
<p><em>Maybe I could try looking at him.</em></p>
<p>His eyes look so focused, and the way he makes the color hazel smolder, she swears she can taste it. Something sweet and salty. "You're the first. Why?"</p>
<p>"No. No reason."</p>
<p><em>I'm taking so long.</em> Ari wonders if he’s going to complain to his friends about her broken clit. Irrationally, she wonders how far down the power ladder this puts her in his sex life. <em>Maybe I should say something?</em> But then it would be a thing. Like most guys she knew, he would take the question as a criticism, and then there would be more feelings, and the buzz would just die—</p>
<p>It's too late, she's thinking now. She's thinking pretty hard.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>It's eight minutes into Farhan's episode, Ari feels like it's been an hour.</strong></p>
<p><strong>"I'll be a good lamb, please-"</strong></p>
<p><strong>Ari remembers locking the door when dad screamed like this at night. The parallel was so striking. Farhan is the first time she sees what is on the other side of the door. She never did open the door to help.</strong></p>
<p><strong>There are no doors here.</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p>It's like there's a third party on her bed and it looks just like Farhan and she remembers open she is to him—</p>
<p><em>No, I don't want to think about that.</em> She feels really dumb. <em>And for my next trick, I'll try not thinking about elephants next!</em></p>
<p>"Uh, fun fact! You're the first guy who's gone down on me!" <em>Ari, what the FUCK?</em></p>
<p>He stops, and Ari groans. <em>Physiologically, the break might help. Subjectively, I want to throw the other pillow at him, too.</em></p>
<p>He seems thoughtful. Then: "First guy?" He <em>finally</em> starts using his fingers, and she hisses and closes her eyes, but she keeps talking because it's starting to help keep the sound of screaming at bay.</p>
<p>"There was…a girl." Ari bit her lip. <em>Finally, that's more like it.</em> "She. Wow. Better than you. You're not bad. For a boy."</p>
<p>“A girl?” He stops again.</p>
<p>“Yeah, a girl.”</p>
<p>“Huh,” he sounds puzzled, “You like them, too?” <em>Oh, my God, am I the first time he's heard of…it?</em> She still is sheepish about liking boys and girls herself.</p>
<p>“Yeah, is that a problem?”</p>
<p>“No, it’s…” Farhan fumbles for the right word. "Interesting." <em>He's so fucking put off.</em> It’s as if he expertly designed the best way to simultaneously punch her in the gut and throttle her with suspense. "What was her name?"</p>
<p><em>It's actually a problem. He's just like Petra. It's not that weird for me to like both!</em> She feels like it's a little weird. <em>What is everybody's problem?</em></p>
<p>"Why." Ari swallows. "Why do you ask?"</p>
<p><em>Why is this the first guy I come out of the closet to? What was I expecting?</em></p>
<p>Farhan voice sounds tense again. "What else am I supposed to say? 'Is she better at this than me?'”</p>
<p><em>I don't know! Anything else? And yes, she is!</em> "Her name is Petra Shahi."</p>
<p>Farhan pokes his head out from between her legs. His head tilts like a cat spotting a bird through a window. "She Persian?"</p>
<p><em>What an oddly specific question.</em> Ari is exasperated—at herself. <em>Am I actually tilted at this guy?</em></p>
<p>"No, Somalian."</p>
<p>"Did she have a Persian parent? Maybe adopted?"</p>
<p>"Nope."</p>
<p>"Ok, that's absurd!" Farhan sounds confused. “You’re joking! What’s her actual name?”</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"That was <em>not</em> her real name."</p>
<p>"How'd you know that?"</p>
<p>"Petra Shahi is a <em>very</em> Persian name."</p>
<p><em>Shit—</em> Ari's eyes widened, <em>How'd I not notice that?</em></p>
<p>She forces herself to shrug. "Yeah, I guess you're right."</p>
<p>And then another punch to her gut—<em>Was that her real name? Have I been calling her an alias this entire time?</em></p>
<p>"Why are you thinking of her now?” Farhan frowned, “Am I that bad?”</p>
<p>It's like the specter of Farhan's torment just tagged in her ex's bullshit. <em>I don't want to be here.</em> Ari can't even be snarky. She's fully mask-on now.</p>
<p>“And who was she to you?</p>
<p><em>You don't know the half of it.</em> And then Ari wonders, apropos of nothing, <em>And who are you to me? Who are you? Who are you? What are you doing here? Who are you?</em> Short breaths. Tight chest. She feels like punching someone or running, but Farhan’s back at it so she stays still, she feels like talking but then the thoughts are back—</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>”Who are you? Who are you? Who are you? Please! Please!”</strong></p>
<p><strong>He babbles the same phrase again and again.</strong></p>
<p><strong>"Who are you?" Farhan asks. "Who are you?" He lapses from English to Farsi to Arabic. Adrenaline and alcohol make it harder for her to understand him. The way she’s too slow agitates him more and she sees a dozen faces from her past in his.</strong></p>
<p><strong>It got so much worse after she tried telling him he's okay, that he's safe.</strong></p>
<p><strong>Her hands look funny. They're shaking. They're actually shaking. Why are they shaking now? They don't shake!</strong></p>
<p><strong>Farhan lunges forward. Ari's reflexes are superb. In the field, she moves faster than him.</strong></p>
<p><strong>It's why it surprises her when his hands seize her shoulders. This has truly become a night of firsts.</strong></p>
<p><strong>She immediately calculates the movements required to break Farhan's grip and neutralize him. His frenzy leaves him vulnerable. She could shatter him at any time.</strong></p>
<p><strong>Instead, she mumbles, "Fuck off. Fuck off. <em>Fuck off.</em>" as he shakes her and screams in her face. She finds herself wondering if her father also cries on evenings like these. Did he grab her mom? How'd her mom do it? Why didn't they talk to her about these things?</strong></p>
<p><strong>Ari wonders what her own face looks like now.</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p>She thinks about water instead.</p>
<p>"Water, she says." She pinches herself and clings to the driftwood of pain in the current of numbness. "Uh, what’s your favorite body of water?"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>“I like watching rivers when I’m nervous.” She blurted out. “I…”</p>
<p>“Huh?” Farhan makes a noise like a dog’s whine. “Are you nervous?”</p>
<p>“Uh, no, but-” Ari gasps as Farhan. “Are you? Don’t you get nervous?”</p>
<p>A pause. “No.” Before she can say anything, he resumes failing to make her come, and now nothing is happening at all.</p>
<p>“I, uh, dude?” She bites her lip. The feeling of his tongue and fingers down there is gross. She feels way too anatomical. Sometimes, this would happen with Petra as well, but Petra couldn’t physically throw her body off the bed during a night terror.</p>
<p><em>So tell him you’re done. Tell him to stop,</em></p>
<p>But she doesn’t want to make a thing of it when just waiting it out is easier. Feelings may get involved, and she doesn’t want any of Farhan’s—</p>
<p>She feels a weight press on her, push her into the mattress. Farhan's face is above hers. Farhan’s arms on either side of her head. She can’t actually move.</p>
<p>“Why are you nervous?” Farhan smiles, but his eyes are as cold as the dry white lamps. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”</p>
<p><em>Go on, try and return the favor.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Just as Ari's shoulders begin to ache from his grasp, he leaps backward, tumbles onto the floor, scrambles onto the bed and wraps his arms around his knees, sobbing. She checks his head for signs of any head trauma. His cute wavy hair. She runs her fingers through it, almost maternally. The shadow the warm moonlight casts hides his eyes under his messed hair and she lets him have his sorrow at her feet.</strong></p>
<p><strong>Is this what mom had to do? Is this what I was hiding from?</strong></p>
<p><strong>Farhan's crying. There's nothing she can really do then, other than stand there and watch. "I don't care." She murmurs. "I could leave. I could leave you. I could leave you at any time. I don't care."</strong></p>
<p><strong>"What am I doing?"</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p>He's on top of her now, straddling her. His hand is on her cheek. "You're so stiff, Ari." Farhan looks quizzical. He stares at her. Staring through her almost. "So much talking. Is something bothering you?" The questions don't sound like he wants much to talk. <em>He's really asking, "Tell me what I gotta do to shut you up."</em> Ari is afraid, and then angry. <em>Who the fuck does he think I am? One of his honey pots?</em></p>
<p>His caress felt like she was nuzzling cold granite. "You are so stiff." Farhan sounds more like her medic. "Just relax."</p>
<p>"I…" She swallows again, "I'm so bored, Farhan. You're so boring."</p>
<p>"I see." His eye is now hard, staring through her. The boy is gone, sense of humor missing. What's in his place is hard with cold hands. "And what do you propose we do about that?"</p>
<p>"Do what comes natural, I guess." She is not being complimentary.</p>
<p>She takes his hand and places it so she's wearing his fingers and thumb around her throat, so his thumb can feel the retort of her quickening heartbeat to the pressure. She nods with narrowed eyes devoid of feeling, in a body that no longer felt hers.</p>
<p>The next minutes are a blur. She feels weightless again, flipped on her belly, then his fingers wrap themselves in her hair and yank her, and it's with no tenderness now, and she's not having the fun she had. "You're still so stiff," she hears him say. "Just relax. Let go." <em>Why don't you?</em> He feels anything but relaxed—</p>
<p>Then, from behind, he fills her, and she shoves her fingers in her mouth and bites them, swallowing a moan because it's foreign to the disgust inside her.</p>
<p>He fucks her lifelessly and mechanically. He's so automatic, and she's so checked out, she preoccupies herself with figuring out if his fucking has a time signature. Her teeth dig into the rough flesh of her pillowcase. Her mouth is wet. She's a wave flung from a gurgling ocean, part of her receding, part of her dissolving into the sand. She heaves. She feels…</p>
<p>She's an object to him. He's trying to put her down. It all feels so wrong. She—</p>
<p>"Farhan." She whispers. He keeps going. If anything, he goes harder. If he hears her, it isn't with pleasure. He shoves her off her knees and slams her into the bed, but now she <em>really</em> isn't into it anymore, but makes herself moan louder because it's better than showing him how squeaky of a wheel she's always been.</p>
<p>She wishes the lights were off because she can't do it right now.</p>
<p>There's pleasure, but it is grotesquely physiological. She turns her head, and her cheek feels gross because her saliva is on the pillow, and she can just make out his head, and it isn't angled towards her. "Farhan…" she mumbles, "What are you …what are you looking at?" He doesn't hear her. She catches his eyes. "Farhan, what are you looking at?" <em>Look at me. Farhan. Not like the others. I'm not just anyone. I'm me. Farhan, you fucking accident.</em><br/>
His eyes are glazed, distant.</p>
<p>He isn't looking at her.</p>
<p>He's looking at a wall. She's beside the point. She remembers how her mom and Petra and the rest look at her, and Farhan becomes them—</p>
<p>He's fucking her like</p>
<p>Like she is not</p>
<p><strong>Fucking</strong></p>
<p><strong>THERE.</strong></p>
<p>"Farhan." She barks. "Stop. Get off me." He freezes, takes a second too long to pull out and she elbows him somewhere she hopes is his kidney. He throws himself off of her, and she crawls forward on the bed away from him, letting an errant kick tap his shoulder for good measure.</p>
<p>Her face, her mouth, and her eyes are so wet. She puts two fingers to her neck. Her heart thunders like she just ran a marathon, blood hungry for air. She pants and tries to control her breathing while keeping her eyes on Farhan. She can't tell whether he's concerned or intrigued with the way his gaze focuses on her face. She turns away from him when his mouth opens.</p>
<p>"Did you come?" He asks. <em>Man's got a checklist.</em></p>
<p>"Yes." <em>Why am I lying to him?</em> "No."</p>
<p>"So what's up? What's going on?"</p>
<p>"Nothing. I'm just bored." She walks to a dresser and, after a succession of flung open drawers and heaved slams, collects another shirt, a sports bra, fresh underwear, socks, shorts, and a revolver and walks to the shower, setting it to an appropriate temperature, and walks into the water. She feels gone, just a hollow earpiece taking in the world.</p>
<p>"Ari, what's up?" He says.</p>
<p>"Ari?" He says.</p>
<p>"Ari, you're freaking me out." He says.</p>
<p>"Ari? Come on." He says.</p>
<p>She stops the water, realizes she forgot to take her shirt off, throws that aside and dries off before putting her clothes on. He's staring at the floor now, probably feeling sorry for herself, and she quickly opens the vault and grabs the needle while he's not looking, and somehow she feels better with it.</p>
<p>She walks over to the door for her shoes.</p>
<p>Farhan moves to grab her shoulder, and she tenses her muscles, prepared to do something nasty to whatever limb he tries to touch her with. He recognizes the tension and backs off. "Ariadne? What's going on?"</p>
<p>"I'm going for a job. I mean, going for a <em>jog</em>. Breakfast's in the fridge. Help yourself to a power bar and coffee. Feel free to leave whenever."</p>
<p>"Ari," Farhan grabs her hand—she lets him grab it, "Can we talk?"</p>
<p>"No, that's boring, and I'm already bored."</p>
<p>"Can I at least keep an eye on you—"</p>
<p>"<em>Stop.</em>" She realizes she shouted at him just then. She never shouts. "Get out, or go back to sleep."</p>
<p>"Good…good night." Farhan sounds despondent.</p>
<p>She thinks about saying something productive. Instead: "You suck at oral, dude."</p>
<p>She thinks about slamming her apartment door on her way out. Instead, she gives it minimum force, and the door bounces off the hinge with an anemic tap, leaving her door ajar.</p>
<p>And so she goes.</p>
<h1 id="toc2"><span>Scene 3: I am drowning</span></h1>
<p>Ari jogged in the Balochistan desert. At 4 AM the temperature is a skin-tickling forty degrees. Making your own heat was both the challenge and the reward.</p>
<p>Her breathing is loud in her ears amidst the deep silence. She's only about putting one foot in front of the other as fast as she can, feeling comfortably engulfed by the ocean of scorched sands and the red of patient mountains carving up the dead horizon.</p>
<p>Eventually, perverse curiosity leads her feet to the site bar whence she'd pulled Farhan. The site bar is routinely raided by lonely or desolate staff after hours. Site Management tacitly looked the other way. It's the cost of setting up shop in a wasteland. All you needed to take advantage of the 'privilege' was the skills to breach a level two security system.</p>
<p>This isn't a problem for Ari. Two years of dating Petra Shahi means learning some things by osmosis. It takes her three minutes to get inside.</p>
<p>Something about the emptiness flushes the adrenaline out of her system. She takes a seat at the bar and leans against the table, burying her face in her hands. Why hadn't she just come back to her apartment? Because he might still be there?</p>
<p><em>Because he probably wouldn't still be there.</em> Ari groans. <em>You don't want to get into the habit of missing him.</em></p>
<p>She closes her eyes.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Her hands slide off her eyes, and she takes in the well-lit bar and the electric gleaming of the varnished liquor cabinet. The bottles of high-priced scotch.</p>
<p>And one quite good-looking…</p>
<p>Woman with rich dark locks, a head of carefully chaotic coils, ebony skin,</p>
<p>A hungry grin,</p>
<p>A striped suit, bowtie, dress shirt straining to contain a generous body,</p>
<p>A warm feeling flushes Ari's face and skin.</p>
<p>"Hi, Petra." Her hands slip from her cheeks and smack the wood. She looks around the bar. "Looks slow tonight." She slams the barstand with both fists and bursts out laughing, a high-pitched squeal of mirth. She snorts once. She slaps her hands over her mouth.</p>
<p>Petra suggests she knows why Ari pretends not to have a sense of humor.</p>
<p>"Shut up, you clown, and pour me a drink." Ari puts her hand on the bar and sticks out four fingers. There's a hollow crackle as frost-caked cubes tumble out of Petra's scoop into a highball glass, and then a soothing glug of whiskey flows out of a pour spout, filling the glass halfway. Ari checks the measure with her fingers again, pokes the ice cubes mingling on the surface once or twice, and throws back the drink until the ice hits her teeth.</p>
<p>The glass smacks the table. "Well, it was nice catching up, Petra-" Ari checks her pockets and frowns. "Uh, Petra, I forgot my wallet in my other pants. How's my credit around here-"</p>
<p>Petra says her credit is fine.</p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:400px;"><img alt="NBjz0Ob.png" class="image" src="https://i.imgur.com/NBjz0Ob.png"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>"The world was more interesting with you in it."</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>"Oh, well, I suppose a second drink couldn't hurt."</p>
<p>Petra asks if she'll have the usual this time.</p>
<p>"No. Honest to God, I mostly drink it when I start to miss you so the feeling goes away."</p>
<p>Petra puts her hand on Ari's. Ari remembers the zesty bergamot and lemon and flowers of Petra's Aqua Universalis perfume, the pear-flavored taste of her lips on hers.</p>
<p>Ari refuses. "Stop. This isn't what this is."</p>
<p>Petra says fair enough and asks Ari how she is doing.</p>
<p>"Could be better, Petra. My mom died, and a dog snuck into my bed and shat in it."</p>
<p>Petra asks her if her mom had regrets.</p>
<p>"We both know the answer to that question."</p>
<p>Petra asks why she barely called her mom after she joined the army.</p>
<p>"Because she hated my career path."</p>
<p>Petra asks if Ari's sure it's not because she hated Ari.</p>
<p>"I don't see why she'd hate me."</p>
<p>Petra suggests it's because Ari scares people when she looks at them.</p>
<p>"Oh, that's true. I hope you're not suggesting that's why I joined the army.</p>
<p>Petra explains Ari joined the army because she's a good killer, and joined the Foundation because she's a bad human. She asks why Ari is angry at her mom if it's all her fault.</p>
<p>"It's inconsiderate for her to go when I'm only twenty-one. Who is going to keep my dad company now?"</p>
<p>Petra asks her if she wants another drink.</p>
<p>"I want two. One for me and one for him."</p>
<p>A one-eyed dog eagerly laps from a glass of scotch on the bar.</p>
<p>Petra compliments her on the dog.</p>
<p>" I let it in my apartment. Assholes might have taken out the other eye."</p>
<p>Petra inquires as to whether Ari is keeping it.</p>
<p>"Fuck no, just waiting for it to leave or an owner to keep it."</p>
<p>Petra remarks that it seemed to have followed her.</p>
<p>"It came here for a drink. It did not follow me."</p>
<p>Petra doubts it. She asks if she did anything for Ari's tastes to change from women to dogs.</p>
<p>"Shut the fuck up."</p>
<p>Petra asks her if she's aware she's in a dream.</p>
<p>"Duh! How stupid do you think I am?"</p>
<p>Petra declines to comment.</p>
<p>"You are so fucking boring, Petra."</p>
<p><em>"Fuck yourself, Ari,"</em> Petra does nothing to hide her tears flowing down her face. <em>"How fucking dare you?"</em> She hurls Ari's glass just past her head, then disappears into the liquor cabinet behind her.</p>
<p>"Petra!" Petra is already gone. "Come on, puppy," she calls out to her companion. The dog barks, and she hops over the barstand and follows Petra into the Scotch.</p>
<hr/>
<p>She catches up with Petra in a long line to a nightclub in Edinburgh.</p>
<p>Petra's appearance had changed. Gone are the slacks, suit, dress shirt, and bow. Petra wears a biker jacket over a Balmain gold mini-dress with gleaming sequins, a single Chanel earring in her ear deliberately leaving the other ear bare, her pearl-colored prosthetic leg and the talons on Petra's foot throw back the warm colored lamp light. The jacket has the security tag still attached to it. Ari hisses at Petra, runs over, and rips the tag off the dress. "What have I told you about taking scores before a date? Are you kidding me?"</p>
<p>Petra wraps her arms around Ari and their lips close together, the taste of Petra's mouth a mix of fruit gloss and heat. There's an extra moment where Ari greedily answers the kiss for another moment, and then they pull away.</p>
<p>Petra's grin twitches from a breathless giggle. <em>"I'm just a gas to worry about, eh, macaan?<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup>."</em></p>
<p>Petra asks Ari if she meant it when she said she was boring.</p>
<p>"No, I'm so sorry."</p>
<p>Petra grins and says if ever there was a way to tell if Ari was dreaming, it's her offering a sincere apology.</p>
<p>"What are we waiting for?"</p>
<p>"It's the best club in Edinburgh."</p>
<p>"You paid for me to fly first class to Berlin so you could take me to a club? I'm not even dressed properly!"</p>
<p>Petra tells her not to worry about it.</p>
<p>Soon, the line recedes into the building until Petra and Ari are face-to-face with the bouncer. The bouncer looks the two of them over and tells them they can't come in.</p>
<p>Petra flashes him a bankroll of cash.</p>
<p>The bouncer says something vaguely racist, and asserts the money in there is 'small bills.'</p>
<p>Petra pats the bouncer on the elbow twice, thanks him, and saunters off with her arm around Ari's waist. She hears him complain about a splinter in his arm, and then the absence of his wallet.</p>
<p>And then she hears a thud. The crowd is murmuring about how the man had a heart attack. Petra points to his companion and notes he has the fallen man's wallet. The man indeed has the wallet but claims not to know how it got there. In the confusion, Petra drags Ari into the club. She buys Ari a drink and tips the bartender with a crumple of cash that likely had been in the bouncer's wallet. <em>"Sorry about the small bills."</em></p>
<p>"Petra, you're coming with me!" Ari grabs Petra's wrist and drags her towards a dark corner.</p>
<p>Petra lets out a delighted peal of laughter, <em>"Oh dear, we going to the bathroom stall again?"</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>They're in a bathroom stall now. Ari drags Petra in there so they can talk. Ari struggles to complete a sentence as Petra's lips and teeth massage her neck. Her knees buckle when Petra's fingers slip under Ari's shirt.</p>
<p>"Petra-"</p>
<p>Petra tells her not to worry.</p>
<p>"What did we just do?"</p>
<p>Petra suggests thinking of that as the foreplay.</p>
<p>"I'm not a sadist. That man could have died."</p>
<p>Petra says neither is she, but respect is everything.</p>
<p>There's a bark outside. "The dog," Ari gasps. Petra wraps an arm around Ari's neck, while her other hand slides under Ari's shorts and underwear. Her head is pressed to Ari's, and Ari feels Petra drinking the hunger on her face. "The dog followed us in here."</p>
<p>"The dog follows you everywhere, Ari." Ari feels herself bend over the stall. They know each other's bodies perfectly and what they like. She feels Petra's lips on the back of her neck, she feels embraced from behind, and then Petra's fingers, again, delicately tease moans out of Ari that are deeper and more feminine than she can recognize.</p>
<p>Petra asks her if she still deepens her voice so the guys will respect her.</p>
<p>"All this time," Ari whispers, "You still think I'm some performance. Petra tenses against her, leans forward, and Ari almost chokes on her gasp, then grits her teeth. "Yeah, I talk deeper than I sound, but I've been doing that since I was six." Ari's through playing nice. She reverses Petra's hold on her and slams Petra against the bathroom stall door. The dog whines. Petra smiles.</p>
<p>"Maybe we would have lasted a little longer if you didn't keep telling me I was fake."</p>
<p>Petra says Ari has her confused with <em>everybody</em>. Petra was the only one who had seen the inside of the husk. She's a lovely husk.</p>
<p>"You just wanted to fill me with yourself."</p>
<p>Petra says that's what fixing someone often is.</p>
<p>"I tried. That's why I hate you. I tried to do it, and you always said it wasn't enough."</p>
<p>Petra says it was always fake, just like the whore upstairs.</p>
<p>"He's enough for now."</p>
<p>Petra says he's the same kind of fake as she is.</p>
<p>"So were you."</p>
<p>Petra said that's a fair cop. She suggests perhaps 'fake' isn't the best term for it.</p>
<p>"So how would you describe it?"</p>
<p>Petra takes Ari's hands and places them over her own throat.</p>
<p>Ari grins and leans forward.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Ari grins and leans forward into the sand, seeing Petra's eyes slowly close, content, as Ari began to squeeze. Behind her the waves of the beach insistently paw at the shore, crashing a moisture carpet around Ari's thighs.</p>
<p><em>"Dina!"</em></p>
<p>Her dad is the only person who called her that-mostly because everyone else calls her Ari and he wanted it abundantly clear he was not everyone else.</p>
<p>Ari hops off of Petra and stands at attention. Under a red sky swollen with sun-cooked, shimmering air, she feels salt sting her eyes and sweat drip from her lashes.</p>
<p>"Sir!" Ari looks down at the black one-piece bespoke Moeva London she wears, Petra's gift. Ari let herself wear it on the trip Petra gave it to her for fun. Petra was on the ground, lying between her legs, her eyes closed, in a somewhat more provocative swimsuit. "Uh…" Ari had not felt this caught off guard since she was fifteen, "I can explain!"</p>
<p>Her father shrugged. "What you do for R&R is your business, not mine."</p>
<p>So why does she still feel like she had done something wrong?</p>
<p>Her father reminded her she was late to her mother's funeral.</p>
<p>"What are <em>you</em> doing over here?" Ari asks.</p>
<p>Her father says the funeral was not quorate. No one else had come. He'd be all alone.</p>
<p>"You've always said you were okay with that."</p>
<p>Her father says that is true.</p>
<p>"But it's not, is it? Especially since Alex enlisted. You don't have anyone anymore. You were bad at making friends, too."</p>
<p>Her father says that is true as well, but it is irrelevant.</p>
<p>"What if we both die? Then you'll be all alone!"</p>
<p>Her father asks if she's any better off.</p>
<p>"I wasn't any better at it than you were."</p>
<p>Her father says she's always reminded her of him.</p>
<p>"Why do you say that like it's a bad thing?" Ari feels tears sting her eyes.</p>
<p>Her father looks away from her into the red-hued dusk and the inflamed water splashing against the sand.</p>
<p><em>"How'd you turn out like this?"</em></p>
<p>"I don't know," Ari hears herself say, "Just don't expect any grandchildren from me."</p>
<p>Her father laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs. Ari doesn't like the sound.</p>
<p>The dog behind her barks, and she turns to see him lay on his side, somehow gazing into her with his patched-up missing eye. "Dad. There's this dog. He's dumb as nails, he hasn't been housetrained, and I'm pretty sure he's got fleas. Can I keep him?"</p>
<p>Her father frowns, asks her why she wants to.</p>
<p>"He's got nowhere else to go."</p>
<p>Her father suggests he raised her better than to be someone's caretaker.</p>
<p>"Maybe playing house with a homeless dog is fun for me, okay?"</p>
<p>Her father begrudgingly agrees and suggests maybe the dog can keep her company at the funeral.</p>
<p>"Let's not talk crazy here, dad."</p>
<p>Her dad also warns her that if the dog goes rabid, she'll have to put him down.</p>
<p>"I can handle my business, dad. Like I'd let you down."</p>
<p>Her father asks why what he thinks matters at all.</p>
<p>"Because you're the only friend I got."</p>
<hr/>
<p>It's a brisk walk from the shore back home for the funeral. At the last intersection before the address for the burial, she takes a left turn instead and she's back at the bar. She lets herself in—as before, the bar was deserted. Her footsteps were very loud, squeaking sounds like a trampoline greeting her every step.</p>
<p>She only made out the face of the bartender when she reached the stools. She smiled. It wasn't Petra.</p>
<p>"Hi, Mom."</p>
<p>Her mom asks her what she's doing here when she's supposed to be in Balochistan.</p>
<p>"Why else do I like lucid dreaming? I stick around long enough to see you again."</p>
<p>Her mom points out that's what memories are for.</p>
<p>"I don't remember faces very well. I don't remember yours."</p>
<p>Her mom suggests she may just be a weirdo.</p>
<p>"Don't talk like that. You never talked like that."</p>
<p>Her mom suggests she felt like that.</p>
<p>"I know you do."</p>
<p>Her mom reminds her that she's dead.</p>
<p>"I know."</p>
<p>Her mom asks her what's wrong with her.</p>
<p>"I don't know."</p>
<p>Her mom asks her if she can see her arm for a moment. The dog is on the stool next to Ari, lapping from a glass of Scotch again. Ari lays her arm on the table.</p>
<p>Her mom grabs her arm, scans it quizzically, then flips it around, grabs a knife, and plunges it into Ari's wrist.</p>
<p>Ari doesn't feel anything. "Mama…why?"</p>
<p>Her mom doesn't respond, instead dragging the blade along the vertical of her wrist. What bursts out of the wound is straw, lots of straw.</p>
<p>"I see."</p>
<p>Her mom says it's not her fault she was made like this.</p>
<p>"You two tried your best."</p>
<p>Her mom agrees but asserts it's still her dad's fault.</p>
<p>"What does Dad have to do with any of this?"</p>
<p><em>"The only pure thing in his fucking life is carrying his disease,"</em> her mom says. She says that Ari's soul is as damaged as he was.</p>
<p>"He was kind of sad about how I turned out, huh."</p>
<p>Her mom shakes her head. She says <em>she</em> was sad about how Ari turned out. Her father is proud. Proud that she's the same husk as he was.</p>
<p>"Stop it. You were never this mean."</p>
<p>Her mom says she did try her best, and her best was enough, wasn't it?</p>
<p>Ari looks at her mangled arm, bleeding straw. "How do I fix it?"</p>
<p>Her mom says she can't fix it.</p>
<p>"So then what?"</p>
<p>Her mom invites her to watch, then pulls out a pillow case, then stuffs the straw from Ari's arm into the pillow-case. There's a surprising amount of straw, and the pillow becomes quite plump. She throws the pillow on the ground.</p>
<p>The dog jumps down, rests his head on the pillow, and sleeps.</p>
<p>"It's gratifying, I suppose." Ari shivers. "I'm cold."</p>
<p>Her mom says she can fix that. Ari hears the loud snapping sound, the scent of phosphate, and then her mom's hand putting something in her straw. The fire ignites her arm instantly, and the whole bar is aglow, she feels a searing pain in her thigh</p>
<p>Like melting-point metal teeth are sinking into the wound,</p>
<p>Her screams from innumerable occasions alone in basements</p>
<p>Bellow out of her mouth,</p>
<p>And then she feels cold water put it all out.</p>
<p>It is a curtain of rain smashing through the roof. The water gathers around her feet, her waist, it's cold, it's filling her mouth and her nose.</p>
<p>And she feels good again.</p>
<hr/>
<h1 id="toc3"><span>Scene 4: Help me to breathe</span></h1>
<p>Ari wakes up and feels wet.</p>
<p>Her eyes flutter open as trickles of warm water cascade down her brow. The way they drip from her lashes reminds her of the beach, the way the drops caress the bags under her eyes and roll into her mouth…something more humbling.</p>
<p>In front of her, behind the barstand, frowning, is Farhan, letting water drip from his palm onto her forehead. He's wearing a t-shirt. A towel is thrown over his shoulder in a pantomime of a bartender at a greasy dive. He's smiling apologetically.</p>
<p>"What are you doing?" She smacks Farhan's hand out of her face.</p>
<p>"It's something we do at ORIA when we're waking up somebody who's seen combat and might be armed. Best way of avoiding flashbacks."</p>
<p>"Cute." Ari yawns, and then her senses catch up with her and she recalls the way they'd parted. "Wait a second, did you stalk me?"</p>
<p>"Naturally." Ari opens her mouth to shout at him and he quickly corrects himself. "I <em>shadowed</em> you."</p>
<p>"That's a distinction without a difference!"</p>
<p>"No, shadowing is solicited by the principal."</p>
<p>"I didn't solicit anything!"</p>
<p>"The door."</p>
<p>"The what?"</p>
<p>"You left the door five inches open when you were running away," Farhan says, turning away from Ari to gather some things from the liquor cabinet, "It's a cut and dry duress code, don't you remember?"</p>
<p>"Not only no, Farhan," Ari lets her hands fall to the bar surface with a smack, "But hell no."</p>
<p>"Am I lying about the duress code part?"</p>
<p>"I mean, not exactly."</p>
<p>"Not exactly, or just not lying?"</p>
<p>"Whatever. What about my body language or voice tone suggested I wanted you to shadow me? We're not in the battlefield. Or does ORIA not do social cues?"</p>
<p>"They don't, funnily enough," Farhan finishes wiping a glass and then fills it with water, reaching into a nearby fridge and dropping ice into the water. He slides the glass of water in front of her. "Please drink that."</p>
<p>"You better check it for crumbs or anything, Farhan, because if I taste anything that's not water I'm shooting you before it kicks in."</p>
<p>Farhan winks and downs fully half the glass, sliding it back across the table so it almost falls off, but doesn't. "Satisfied?"</p>
<p>She remembers him back on the bed. "No." She drinks the water, and then realizes how thirsty she has been and finishes it.</p>
<p>"Do you believe me that I genuinely thought you needed a detail? You were jogging at four in the morning!"</p>
<p>She scrunches up her mouth in a look of pouty incredulity. "Whatever." She is mad at herself. Why <em>did</em> she jog out of her own apartment and leave a total stranger there instead of kicking him out? Why would she fail to shut the door on her way out?</p>
<p><em>Wait a minute, why would it matter how much I closed the door? The intruder is in the damn apartment to begin with!</em></p>
<p>Ari covers her cheeks and then rubs her eyes.</p>
<p><em>Just what was I thinking? What am I thinking?</em></p>
<p>Instead of vocalizing any of that, Ari points to the liquor cabinet. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"</p>
<p><em>Why does all this feel like a pleasant surprise?</em></p>
<p>She tries imagining waking up in the bar alone: <em>Boring.</em></p>
<p>She decides she is glad he's here.</p>
<p>"Certainly." Before she can say a thing, Farhan gets to work throwing together a drink. His deft hand flies across the ingredients— simple syrup, rose water, orange water, gin— pouring them together as the other hand squeezes lemons and lime. His metal index finger scrapes the mixer as he wildly shakes the ice and melange. An egg cracks, and its yolk follows heavy cream into the mixture. The shaking resumes with gusto. Farhan lets the mixer fly in the air, catching it at the end of its gleeful parabola. Not a moment after it lands, he strains the mix into an ornate oblong cup.</p>
<p>The show gives Ari a pleasant light feeling. Words are hard, she can barely get out a 'thank you'. Her skin feels like a continuum between warmth and a creeping ticklishness.</p>
<p>And then she realizes why this drink looks familiar. She looks at him. "Where's this come from?"</p>
<p>"It's your favorite drink."</p>
<p>"It is not my…" Ari drifts off as she tries to sort out her thoughts on the issue. "It's…okay, wait-" She waves her hands in front of her face like she is fending Farhan off. "It's-it's not my favorite drink, alright? <em>Fuck,</em> I'm tired." She rubs her eyes again, mostly to avoid further eye-contact with Farhan.</p>
<p>"You ordered it three times in a row last night."</p>
<p>Something loosens her tongue, and it isn't liquor. "Gods dammit, alright, it's not my favorite drink, it's my ex's!"</p>
<p>"Uh huh," She pokes through her fingers to see Farhan's face remain impassive, but for a raised eyebrow. "Okay, it wasn't her favorite drink, either. She just liked making it for me. I like watching people make drinks. That's a fun routine. The sounds, the flurry of movement, the liquid—"</p>
<p>"Is that what's going on with the gun-stuff earlier? ASMR and a tactile thing?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. She'd make the drink for me because I liked watching her work."</p>
<p>"Was that the only reason she'd make the drink?"</p>
<p>"No, no, she wanted to get me drunk."</p>
<p>"To hook up?"</p>
<p>"Hook up? Christ, no." Ari laughs, "No, she'd insist on doing it sober, which was fine by me."</p>
<p>"So why the drinks?" Farhan asks, raised eyebrow replaced by genuine confusion.</p>
<p>"She didn't get me drunk to hook up. She was getting me drunk 'cause she wanted me to tear shit up. I think she wanted to recruit me for a heist." <em>She kept trying to open me up. She kept telling me I was repressed. She kept telling me I was a coiled spring. She always thought I was deadpanning. The same as everyone else. I can't simply be Ari. I have to be an enigma. There's no way I'm just weird.</em> She wants to say any of what she is thinking out loud, but she can't.</p>
<p>"A heist…" Farhan wrinkles his nose, "Good god, Ari, so you did date a criminal."</p>
<p>"She wasn't a criminal." Ari looks at her hands. She really is tired. "She <em>did</em> get sacked from the Foundation for selling anomaly access for cash she'd donate to charities for fun, and she <em>did</em> almost certainly moonlight by robbing GOIs for profit." Ari takes a sip of the drink.</p>
<p><em>Tastes just like 2023.</em></p>
<p>"<em>Mashallah</em>, so what is she, some kind of terrorist-for-hire? "</p>
<p>Ari shakes her head, "No, an edgerunner."</p>
<p>"The hell is an edgerunner?"</p>
<p>"Mercenaries get paid to fight in armies. Tactical by nature. Edgerunners get paid for strategic stuff. Stuff you would normally do with drone strikes or B-52s. Raising hell. Bombing. Smashing. Grabbing. GOI mass casualty events. Mayhem with a purpose. They get paid with their own loot and backdoor intel. They don't get orders—written ones, anyway. Most of the time, there's an unaffiliated fixer who deals with them. You point at the target, give them your wishlist, pull the pin, and try not to get hit by the shrapnel."</p>
<p>Farhan whistles. "You really know how to pick them, eh?"</p>
<p>"I didn't freaking know she was one! You're going to tell me you didn't screw anybody on the naughty list?"</p>
<p>Farhan laughs, but she notices he wipes his mouth with his hand, something her dad does whenever she asks him about his military service in Mogadishu. "Yeah, but I don't work for the <em>Foundation!</em> How'd you even get away with that?"</p>
<p><em>Who said I did?</em></p>
<p>Ari changes the subject. "Where'd you learn how to make this drink, anyways?"</p>
<p>It is Farhan's turn to look sheepish. "About fifteen minutes after we met."</p>
<p>"Huh?"</p>
<p>"I…I like knowing how to make the drinks of women I think I'm going to see again." He looks at the glass.</p>
<p>"'Think you're going to see again'-Farhan, when would you have had the time to learn this?"</p>
<p>"I'm a quick study."</p>
<p>"A Muslim born mixologist?"</p>
<p>"Fine." Farhan raises his hands in the air in mock surrender, "You got me. I memorized the directions on my phone when I was in the bathroom shortly before we went to your room."</p>
<p>"Aha! I knew you were up to no good."</p>
<p>"Then why didn't you do anything about it?"</p>
<p>"Psh," Ari dismissively flutters her hand at him, "You seemed harmless." <em>Certainly compared to when you're asleep.</em> She takes a breath, and then says something that's been on her mind all night: "And now, you seem sad." He reaches for her glass, and she pulls it away from him. "You're sad."</p>
<p>"I'm not sad."</p>
<p>"You seem sad right now."</p>
<p>"I can't be sad." Ari takes a longer drink.</p>
<p>"You look so sad. That's why I always feel like making you a drink."</p>
<p>"No," She chuckles. "I've got <em>no</em> problems. None. I'm problem free."</p>
<p>"Oh yeah? How long have you been in the MTF?"</p>
<p>"Four years. Why?"</p>
<p>"Ari. <em>You've</em> got problems."</p>
<p>Ari bursts out laughing. It is a surprisingly high-pitched peal of laughter that goes on for thirty seconds longer than her lungs can comfortably bear, and then she snorts.</p>
<p>She slaps her hands on her mouth. "Gods dammit." She looks at Farhan. "What?"</p>
<p>Farhan stares at her, but she doesn't see ridicule in his eyes. The muscles on his face are relaxed. His eyes are hooded and calm. His breathing looks quietly rushed.</p>
<p>He's smiling. He's happy.</p>
<p>She realizes she has never <em>really</em> seen him smile before, any more than he has ever seen her laugh. Whatever his mouth did before, that wasn't as real as what's on his face now. Where does this leave them?</p>
<p>"Uh…" Ari swallows, "Problems."</p>
<p><em>Right, this schmuck trying to tell me he's fine. Why don't I just call him out? Would he believe me? Why do I care?</em></p>
<p>"You were pretty quick to try to tell me I had 'daddy-issues.' Sexist ass." She pushes the glass towards Farhan. "Projection, much?"</p>
<p>"Oh me?" He grins. "Oh, I've got daddy issues."</p>
<p>"Excuse me?"</p>
<p>Farhan shrugged. "He was a Moradi, and Moradi men don't make good partners. He'd gamble his salary on his way home. Mom had to walk him home on payday.”</p>
<p><em>You're a Moradi, though.</em> "Like she didn't have enough going on." <em>That supposed to be a warning?</em></p>
<p>"Well, he told me that since he had a job, it was her job to clean up after him. He had a way of saying it where I was sure he was joking."</p>
<p>"He sounds like a bastard."</p>
<p>"The joke was he wouldn't let her work. Said it would make her look bad." The way Farhan is laughing is more like he's exhaling a grunt. <em>How often is this man pretending to laugh?</em></p>
<p>"What was his problem?"</p>
<p>Farhan frowns, “In retrospect, I don't think he was up to the task of being an adult. He got along much better with me than my mother, and she was too worn down putting out his fires to fight for my attention. I thought she was an asshole. She thought I was on his team. And I was. I thought my dad was great." Farhan closes his eyes and shakes his head. "He was a shit husband. He was a shit for her. I haven't met a friend like him."</p>
<p>Ari clears her throat. "Okay."</p>
<p>"Okay?"</p>
<p>She shrugs. "Why are you telling me all this?" <em>This is why I hate having friends. You can't just exist. You have to throw the right feelings at people.</em> Ari wrinkles her nose. <em>Fuck, are we friends?</em></p>
<p>"We're just talking here. What's wrong now?"</p>
<p>"You telling me this much about yourself. It sounds unbelievable. Or insulting." She opens her eyes and locks her gaze with his. "Either you're lying to me to play me, or you're confessing to someone you know can't possibly use the information."</p>
<p>"<em>Ey Khoda!</em><sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-4" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-4')">4</a></sup> You're a paranoid woman."</p>
<p>"It's not paranoia if it's a reproducible pattern."</p>
<p>"There's a third option." Farhan moves his hand closer to Ari's, and Ari pulls hers back under the counter and lets it rest on her concealed needle full of neurotoxin in her pocket. "And what's that?"</p>
<p>"Maybe I was hoping you'd tell me something about yourself in return! Ya Allah, does everything have to be spelled out like this?"</p>
<p>"Yes!" Ari tightens her fingers on the weapon. Then she wavers. “Wait-<em>you</em> want to know something about me. As in, like, about <em>me</em>."</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>“This is a psy-op."</p>
<p>"Ari, you field-strip guns for fun. I don't think there's a shrink in the world who could figure you out."</p>
<p>"Why do you sound so excited by that?"</p>
<p>"I don't know!" Farhan sounds genuinely confused. To her satisfaction, he also has trouble maintaining eye-contact with her, which is what she does when she's stressed too. All that aside, he was right. This couldn't be a honey-pot. She is a non-com officer in the MTF. Her security clearance is good for mission briefings and a discount at the in-house Shwarma restaurant. There were <em>janitors</em> worth more for their intel than her right now.</p>
<p>She lets go of the weapon. She can't play his game. She has no tragedies or traumas in her life. Her father was there for her growing up. Her Mom was considerate enough to wait until after Ari was old enough to drink to die.</p>
<p>"I was there when my dad fell off the wagon," she says. She bites her tongue. Hard.</p>
<p>"Fell off the wagon?" Farhan looks at her glass. "So he was an alcoholic?"</p>
<p>"Recovering all my life. Never touched a drop before mom died."</p>
<p>"Did <em>you</em> take painkillers?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"Why not?"</p>
<p>"Because he didn't.-Gimme that-," she takes a deep gulp of her—his—their drink.</p>
<p>“How’d you tell him you were leaving the Rangers to join the MTF?”</p>
<p>"I may have implied that Delta Force poached me shortly after I got my tab."</p>
<p>"That doesn't make any sense."</p>
<p>"It didn't to him either, but he said he didn't care and he trusted me."</p>
<p>"You just lied to him, though."</p>
<p>"I think his exact words were, 'if you're doing it, it has to be done'."</p>
<p>"That's sweet of him."</p>
<p>"He did say drinks were on me though. Anyways, the big thing is, he wanted to grab a drink with me before I went off to ‘selection’. Never drank with me before. I think he thought me being there would keep him from going overboard. And it did, that night. He drank just enough to talk more than I'd ever heard him talk."</p>
<p>"What did you two talk about?" Farhan's voice dims to a whisper. Ari senses he is trying to draw her into discussing more. She doesn't mind. Embarrassing as it is, she can't think of any opsec concerns.</p>
<p>"Ninety-nine percent of it was him talking shit about the Army because of course."</p>
<p>"Why would he talk shit about the Army? Isn't that a different branch of the same military?"</p>
<p>"On the battlefield, sure. Off it, they're like divorced parents with joint custody. You should hear my dad sound off about it."</p>
<p>"So you're a second generation soldier."</p>
<p>"Yup."</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>"Funnily enough, he asked me the same thing."</p>
<p>"Oh yeah?"</p>
<p>"His voice was shaking," Ari does not know why that detail sticks out to her as much as it does. "Just asked me, the first time he ever did, 'Why'd you follow me?'"</p>
<p>She takes another drink. She notices a small white fluff on Farhan's shoulder and plucks it off. A pause shoves its way between them yet again until Farhan clears his throat. "You're not going to leave me hanging there, are you?"</p>
<p>"What's there to say? I told him I felt like it. He asked me why, I said it made sense. He asked me why did it make sense, and I said it's what he did, and it sounded like I'd be good at it. Then he stared at me for a while. It looked like he realized something."</p>
<p>She notices something shift about Farhan's expression. The knitted brow, the way his blinking slows, the frown. It almost seems like concern. She is annoyed by it. Her eyes begin to itch and she rubs them irritably. Breathing gets heavier.</p>
<p>Ari pushes past it. "He was…he said, 'I'm sorry.' I asked why, he said he wasn't sure he wanted this for me. By the way, this is where his drinking really picked up. I was tipsy myself, which is why I think I asked him a really stupid question. 'Did I do something wrong?' He said no, he was proud of me, which I knew. He said he was sorry he didn't show me how to be happy."</p>
<p>"Did you agree?" Farhan's hand slides over hers. For some reason, she likes the feeling enough not to yank it away. <em>We've done a lot more than that, after all.</em></p>
<p>"Didn't know what to say, so I said the first thing that came to mind. I said, 'You did your best, I know you did. Just don't expect any grandchild on my end.' Then he laughed. Like, if you know my dad, he doesn't really laugh, and he just burst out laughing. It sounds like a bark. I didn't like it. Still don't like to think about it."</p>
<p>"What happened then?"</p>
<p>"We drank in silence."</p>
<p>Ari takes another sip, feels something in her wants to talk more, likely to fill the silence. "It didn't entirely come out of nowhere."</p>
<p>"You mean you picked up on it?"</p>
<p>"No, I didn't have to. Look, my parents were good to me, but they had trouble getting along. Most of the time, I could tell they were arguing but they kept their voices down. The one time they didn't was when I told them I was joining the Army. They didn't look happy right off the bat. I thought dad was pissed at me for not following him into the marines."</p>
<p>"It wasn't that, was it?"</p>
<p>"I heard them in their car in the garage, arguing. Mom isn't home very often, I was looking for her to take her out to lunch. I heard her voice, listened at the garage. I heard just a few things and I decided I didn't want to hear anymore."</p>
<p>"What'd you hear?"</p>
<p>"She said he killed me. She said he was cold and angry all the same and it infected me. The thing I really-oh for <em>fuck's sake</em> what keeps getting in my freaking eye?" She slams the table and points to a box of brown paper-towels by the liquor cabinet. Farhan obliges her and she rubs the rough textured paper over her eyes and cheeks. "She said 'She's the only pure thing left in your fucking world, and she has your disease.' I was like, 'way above my paygrade,' and bounced. Later that afternoon I tried my first blunt. Threw up. I don't really like getting high these days."</p>
<p>"Neither do I."</p>
<p>"Not much a fan of drinking either."</p>
<p>"Neither am I." Farhan holds her hand tighter, and Ari feels like it helps somehow and closes her eyes. "What disease were they talking about?"</p>
<p>Ari thinks back to Farhan, his screaming, back to those nights at home, huddled behind a locked door, hearing her dad scream, sometimes thrash at night, sometimes making out names of dead men, sometimes it is just babbling. The way she has to avoid making loud noises around him or else he'd freeze or shout at her only to apologize immediately afterwards. Him telling his wife he didn't need therapy, that he could handle 'it'. The nights he chose not to sleep at all, where she'd go to the kitchen for a midnight snack or a glass of water, and find him sitting on his armchair staring out the window onto the moonlit cul-de-sac, and she'd sometimes sit there with him, and at some point he'd stop telling her to go back to sleep.</p>
<p>And then the reasons why kids thought she was weird, where she acted just like he did. Quiet, taciturn, watching, playing just a little too hard in physical activities, always the last to laugh at a joke she didn't realize was supposed to be funny. How she would find out to her shock that her friends were not really friends but found her a curiosity more than anything else.</p>
<p>It is belatedly she realizes her mouth is moving and these thoughts are pouring through it, and she is rambling in circles as she returns to her dad's screaming. "Night terrors. They were night terrors." She looks at Farhan. The sense-echo of his rough hands on her arms burns in her brain, the plastic look in his eyes when he was inside of her. "Do you know what I mean?"</p>
<p>"What's that?" He has been listening, but he isn't expecting to participate, clearly.</p>
<p>Ari's hand reverses the grip he has on hers, then traps it beneath her palm.</p>
<p>"Do you have night terrors, Farhan?"</p>
<p>Farhan stops. He still breathes, he still takes a drink from Ari's glass, his eyes still move, but she can tell he freezes as something starts to gnaw and claw at itself in his head. She sees his shoulders rise and fall driven by harsher breathing. She sees his remaining eye swivel back and forth. No 'uhs', no 'ums'. Instead she stares at him, relaxed, without judgment, sees the cogs in his head turn. Is he trying to come up with a lie? Is he trying to bring himself to confess? Or does he recognize what she really means?</p>
<p>His hand squeezes hers. It is painful, and likely unconscious, but all she does is tilt her head. It is unusual to see someone just stop like this, but not to withdraw. She feels like she is watching someone try to climb uphill a sharp slope. She feels like he will fall.</p>
<p>The eyepatch over his left eye. The fake skin on his back. His screaming. His soulful glances when he thought no one was looking. The way he likes to watch her laugh. The smirk of triumph whenever she smiles. The way he interprets a dangling door as a call for help. She straight up ditched him earlier in her apartment, but he doesn't recoil from the emotional rough-housing. The level of immaturity she has shown this night alone is humiliating, but like a loyal puppy he trots along in her wake, the way she lets herself get towed along by the slipstream of his damage like debris amidst tidal waves.</p>
<p>He acts like someone would if they cared.</p>
<p><em>He's a weirdo.</em></p>
<p>He stammers a lifeless and blatantly unconvincing, "No."</p>
<p><em>He knows I know. He lies to me because if he says yes he'd talk about where he got his from and he would never stop.</em></p>
<p>Somehow, she just knows in that moment if she presses him <em>once</em> he'll break.</p>
<p><em>Just like me.</em></p>
<p>She doesn't think that phrase often <em>at all</em>. She can count it on her hand. She can count it on a few fingers.</p>
<p>"Uh-huh." She grabs the glass, half-full, and tips it into her mouth. One, two, three—the drink disappears in her mouth. Her eyes tickle in a more familiar way. The glass hits the table. She exhales with a hiss. "Dead." She looks at where she thinks she sees a clock. She can't make out the time. "It's late."</p>
<p>"Yeah, I know."</p>
<p>"I've got…" her hazy, sleepy brain grasps at slippery words, "morning things in, like, four hours."</p>
<p>"Yeah, early flight to…someplace."</p>
<p>"It was nice…hanging out, Farhan."</p>
<p>"Yeah, same."</p>
<p>"Where are you…staying…?"</p>
<p>"Got a hotel room. I'm set."</p>
<p>"Sure you are, Farhan."</p>
<p>"You alright walking back to your place by yourself?"</p>
<p>"We <em>just</em> deployed in a crazy kill-or-capture mission thirty-six hours ago, and you're acting like I've never seen a day of combat in my life."</p>
<p>"I don't usually spend this much time with a…"</p>
<p>"Fellow operator?"</p>
<p>"Spook, not since I was in ORIA."</p>
<p>The whistle of a door's opening.</p>
<p>"Oh, you're a gentleman now?"</p>
<p>"Sometimes."</p>
<p>A hiss as the door shuts. The cool skin-tickling of moon-cooled desert air.</p>
<p>"Ari, has anyone ever told you you're funny?"</p>
<p>"You, like, five times tonight."</p>
<p>"I don't mean that like a bad way."</p>
<p>"I can't think of how it might be good."</p>
<p>"I think the better word is you're <em>fun</em>. You always surprise me."</p>
<p>"'I'm not like other girls,' is that it?"</p>
<p>"You're not like other <em>people</em>. I feel like there's no lying in you."</p>
<p>"Wish I could say the same about you, Farhan."</p>
<p>"Say, I've been curious about something, I think I noticed something on your leg…"</p>
<p>"Changing the subject, eh?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, but I'm genuinely curious."</p>
<p>"Ha, alright. Gimme a hand. Like, palm up, need you to catch my foot."</p>
<p>"How's this?"</p>
<p>"Farhan, how stiff do you think I am? Like a foot higher than that! Okay, thanks!"</p>
<p>She lifts her foot in the air and lets it rest on Farhan's hand. She sees his eyes trace the taut sinews and curves of her calf and thighs. She smirks, then pulls back tight fabric of her shorts up a few inches so he can see the Texas-shaped patch of membrane on her inner thigh.</p>
<p>"Ok, you see that?"</p>
<p>"Sure."</p>
<p>"Dad had chronic pain, right? I didn't know what that was like, not until—" She lifts her leg and peels back her shorts to show him the scar on her inner thigh, “—I got this from a hazmat munition from a SORAYA Commando." Ari knows her train of thought is derailing itself, but it seems Farhan is following her just fine.</p>
<p>"Holy shit, that must have been a <em>bitch</em>." His eyes widen. "That's a pretty sensitive spot, too."</p>
<p>"Wouldn't you know. I knew my dad dealt with chronic pain from his tour of duty. I don't know how he did it all those years without painkillers or falling off the wagon. Like, all those years of quietly putting up with it. Still don't know how to tell him…"</p>
<p>"Damn, Ari, I don't know whether to say that's badass or stupid."</p>
<p>"Uh huh." A pause. "Okay, lift it by another bit…" Farhan obliges, "Okay, hold it for thirty seconds."</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>"I need a stretch. Just pause there."</p>
<p>"I got better things to do with my time."</p>
<p>"And half are going to be you thinking about my legs, now shut up." Another pause. She lifts her foot and lets her leg drift to the ground, a perfect display of control.</p>
<p>"You're so vain, Ari."</p>
<p>"Competitive, more like."</p>
<p>"Hey, Ari."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"About the night terror thing. Uh, maybe I'm <em>not</em> so sure about the…"</p>
<p>"Don't worry about it, Farhan."</p>
<p>"No, look, it's just I don't remember the last time I've spent the night with someone, it's not like I record myself after all—"</p>
<p>"Farhan, really."</p>
<p>"Ari."</p>
<p>"<em>Farhan</em>. It's okay. Don't push it. It isn't like that."</p>
<p>"You're sure? Oh, what, are you serious?" Ari skips past him and holds the next door for him.</p>
<p>"Age before brains, dude."</p>
<p>"Vain and petty. Is this like a glow-in-the-dark setting for you?"</p>
<p>"What, you're gonna tell me I'm secretly some kinda mega-bitch?"</p>
<p>"You're not secretly anything, Ari. You're you. You're always you."</p>
<p>"That a problem?"</p>
<p>"That's the fun part."</p>
<p>She stops. Clears her throat.</p>
<p>"Ari? Ari, where'd you go?"</p>
<p>"Gimme a second."</p>
<p>"Are you <em>blushing</em>?"</p>
<p>"Screw you." The squeal of another door.</p>
<p>"Are you seriously taking the stairs? I thought you were tired!"</p>
<p>"You can take the elevator if you want."</p>
<p>"Race you."</p>
<p>"That's ten flights."</p>
<p>"Ready, set,—"</p>
<p>There is a rush and—</p>
<p>"Dammit, Ari, how do you keep doing that?"</p>
<p>"Skipping stairs, bitch. What's the matter? Need a second to catch your breath?"</p>
<p>"I got the door this time, Ari."</p>
<p>"Fine, whatever."</p>
<p>There is a mumble.</p>
<p>"What was that?"</p>
<p>"I said I may have thrown that one to look at your ass."</p>
<p>"I can look at your assets just fine from the front, bro."</p>
<p>"Thoughts?"</p>
<p>"You go too hard on proteins and lift strength. I can tell you need work on your explosiveness, and don't get me started on your quads. Your turn. Got any feedback for me?"</p>
<p>"Do you always go jogging without a sports bra?"</p>
<p>"I'm wearing one!"</p>
<p>"I couldn't tell, Ari."</p>
<p>"Okay, Farhan. Guess your mouth works just fine when you're not…" She rummages through her pockets. "Where'd I put my keycard. Did I seriously leave it in the—"</p>
<p>"Here."</p>
<p>"See, told you that wasn't a duress code. I meant to leave the door open."</p>
<p>"Whatever."</p>
<p>They file inside the living room and Farhan closes the door behind them and throws the keycard on the counter. Ari slumps onto her chair at the table, her Beretta 92SF in one piece. "Did you seriously assemble my gun without permission?"</p>
<p>"Haven't seen that for a while. Didn't it get phased out in the early 2000s?"</p>
<p>"Yeah it did. That's my dad's."</p>
<p>"Family heirloom."</p>
<p>"Yup."</p>
<p>There is a pause.</p>
<p>"Wait a second," Ari rubs her eyes and looks around the apartment. "How'd we get here?"</p>
<p>Farhan looks equally baffled. "You said it was late, and then you kept walking."</p>
<p>"Huh. I thought <em>you</em> said it was late, I figured I'd walk with you to wherever you were—"</p>
<p>"So we were…"</p>
<p>Ari crosses her arms. "Did you <em>really</em> have a hotel room?"</p>
<p>"No, honestly I wasn't planning on sleeping tonight either."</p>
<p>Ari frowns. "I'm sleeping with a bum?"</p>
<p>"You're sleeping with an insomniac." He corrects his grammar. "<em>Were</em> sleeping with an insomniac."</p>
<p>"Looked pretty asleep to me back there."</p>
<p>"Yeah, how about that?"</p>
<p>Another pause. Then Farhan whispers. "What now?"</p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:400px;"><img alt="N7RHEaO.jpeg" class="image" src="https://i.imgur.com/N7RHEaO.jpeg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>"A nice view from inside the downward spiral."</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Ari shrugs, then walks over to her liquor stash, wrenches off the cap and throws it on the countertop. She tips the bottle into her mouth and lets a shot glass worth of liquor fall into her mouth, then flips it the rest of the way and lets the drink pour over her head, soaking her hair, flowing down her skin, splashing her shirt. Cool rivulets of cheap spirits swirl down her belly and legs. Farhan's mouth hangs open in shock. The bottle makes a loud clanging sound as it tumbles into the sink.</p>
<p>Dripping with scotch and giddiness, Ari grabs Farhan by the back of the neck and forces her lips onto his and he replies with gusto, tongues dancing in the few moments their dripping mouths part for breath before they go right back at it. Ari's leg is wrapped around Farhan's thigh and she feels like he's holding back for some reason, as though in disbelief this is happening despite everything. He pulls her head away from his with a fistful of her hair in his hands. His eyes look lost.</p>
<p>She smiles, unable to hide her teeth. "Tell me I'm funny again."</p>
<p>He sweeps her off her feet and carries her to the bed, but this time, when he is just inches from the bed and about to let go, she grabs his arm, throws her legs over his shoulder and locks it—as expected, the threat to his arm catches him by surprise and she drags him to the mattress in a breathless drop, splashing together. It doesn't matter if he can lift two hundred pounds or three, his arm is hers.</p>
<p>"Hey. I've got a parameter from here on out." Her voice is business-like, professional, how she sounds when in the field.</p>
<p>"<em>Ouch</em>, ya Allah, what the hell—"</p>
<p>"Shut up, you big baby. Moving forward, any time you're inside of me, you're looking at me. If a jarhead out in the field wants to be an asshole, that's their business, but I'm not taking disrespect in bed. You got that?"</p>
<p>"Uh, what do you—" She grits her teeth and applies a newtonian dollop of force and he growls, "Okay, okay! Sheesh. A simple talk would suffice—"</p>
<p>"Would it?" She hums quizzically, "Would it really? Smartass like you?"</p>
<p>Farhan sighs. "It would now. It does now."</p>
<p>"Uh huh. Another thing. If at any point you don't feel like doing it, you can stop. I don't want you going on auto-pilot."</p>
<p>"F-fuck! Fine!"</p>
<p>"Alright?" <em>I am being a bit of a hypocrite, considering tonight is the first time I'd thrown a fit like that.</em> She frowns. <em>He really does bring out the weird in me.</em> "<em>Alright?</em>"</p>
<p>Farhan sighs. "Alright."</p>
<p>She weakens her grip on one leg from around his arm, and he is pulling her legs and then she feels her shorts and underwear peel away from her thighs, legs, and then her feet. Then his lips replace the shorts and make their way up her thighs. She feels a chill from the air and what he's doing to her clit.</p>
<p>And after a few minutes she can tell he's not getting her off this way. Maybe Farhan was just bad at going down on women. She fakes an orgasm—not that it would have worked on Petra, but Petra had a perspective Farhan didn't—and then he's back on top of her.</p>
<p>They kiss, Ari not minding the taste of herself on him. Somehow, the frenzy in the way his lips search for hers, the way their tongues dance and their mouths fit together, is sexy as hell.</p>
<p>"The hell are you looking at?" Ari asks. Farhan's hands are on either side of Ari's head, and he kisses her again, and she bites his lip as he slides inside of her. She really, <em>really</em> tries to choke the sound, trying to squeeze its way out of her by burying her mouth and tongue in his, but it is from way too deep in her throat, and she hears him chuckle. His hands slide under her shirt, and she lets his fingers crawl their way up his belly for a moment before she firmly, if shakily, pulls his hands back out of her shirt—and then they are immediately on her chest anyways. "Fuck."</p>
<p>Even without the nerve endings there, something about it all still makes her see pink. She really wants to feel the hair on those immaculately shaped pecs and abdominals tear at her bare skin. She's really tempted to let him have her shirt already, but that was never going to happen.</p>
<p><em>I'm a tactile person.</em> She never knew that about herself before. <em>He's nothing if not instructive.</em></p>
<p>He breaks off their kiss, and their mouths are bridged by saliva. He looks at her like her face has changed. She wonders what her mouth and eyes are doing to make him look like that. Her cheeks feel tight in a good way. Her hands slide over her mouth, nose, eyes. "Stop staring, you creep." She feels him move inside her, caged quite comfortably by his thick arms to the left and right of her head.</p>
<p>"Give me something better to do." He says.</p>
<p>One after the other, she pulls one hand and then the other and lets them fall around her throat. "Shut up and fuck me, you—" She feels the breath driven from her mouth and his hands tighten around her neck and his hips start moving, she feels him slick between her thighs as her legs tighten around his waist and feels self-conscious that she hasn't showered. There is a mix of satisfaction and a je ne sais quoi as she sees his eyes firmly fixed on her thighs, and the friction and anger of his thrusts inside her send her cresting closer and closer to a better and better high and—</p>
<p>She taps him on his hands. He immediately slackens his grip and he starts to slow down—"Don't you dare stop—" his pace resumes and he tilts his head to one side, "Two. Uh. Two things. One, you're tested, right?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." His eyes narrow. A question that only just occurred to him as well. "And you…how's your um…are you on the…"</p>
<p>"What?" Ari laughs. "Please, I had that taken care of the same day I signed on with the Foundation. You?"</p>
<p>He looks away from her. His remaining eye closes. "Yeah, it's…it's handled on my end, too."</p>
<p><em>It wasn't up to him, was it?</em> Ari looks at the patch on his left eye, remembers his flayed back, the systematic web of scars all over his body, the way they flow into hers. She is no detective, but for a moment, she feels like they are fucking amidst the still smoldering debris of whatever crash-landing Farhan's life has made, the darkness in his expression, him threatening to slip back into the crater.</p>
<p>She yanks his face towards hers and they're a tangle mouths, breath, kisses, the taste and scent of scotch on her body blending with the cologne and sweat on his and they're both dripping and slick with each other. She lets her tongue and lips trace his jaw, her cheek graze his stubble. A thought emerges in the haze, and she chokes it out in between gasps.</p>
<p>"Safeword. Like. Might as well." Her lips breathe next to his ear.</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"We need a safe word."</p>
<p>"What. What did you have in mind?"</p>
<p>"Farhan, I know you didn't. Didn't just. I'm not doing creative thinking. Off the clock. <em>You</em>."</p>
<p>Farhan whispers something in Farsi in her ear.</p>
<p>"That had better be unique to me."</p>
<p>"I've never had. A safeword. Before now."</p>
<p>"You fuck nasty, dude. How?"</p>
<p>"Never had the same partner. That long."</p>
<p>"Should have a safeword."</p>
<p>"How about you?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, once."</p>
<p>"What was yours?"</p>
<p>Ari thinks for a moment. "Tides."</p>
<p>"What? Why?"</p>
<p>"Because the bitch always said I'm like the tides!"</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>Ari groaned. "Just flip me over, dude—OOMPH—" Her face is back into the pillow, and she feels empty again for barely a second before his dick is inside of her again, and he pounds into her from behind.</p>
<p>"If I catch you looking at the wall again—woah—" she feels Farhan's nails scratch her scalp, and he grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her on her hands and knees, pulling her face towards his. Her eyes meet his—she's his whole world now—</p>
<p>"Ow!" She feels her butt sting as his hand collides with it. "Damn! What the hell?"</p>
<p>Farhan tsktsks. "You were lying about getting off earlier."</p>
<p><em>Shit.</em> She scrunches her mouth, chagrinned. <em>That's a fair cop.</em> "Yeah, so?"</p>
<p>"I thought we weren't lying to each other!"</p>
<p>"When did I say that? Ow!" That one fills the room.</p>
<p>"That's the vibe. Talking about wanting to know how I feel, all the confessionals, your dad—"</p>
<p>"Dude. I like you. But that's not. What this is."</p>
<p>"Don't fake orgasm with me—wait, what was that you said?"</p>
<p>"Screw you. <em>OW!</em>"</p>
<p>"You like me?"</p>
<p>"Uh."</p>
<p>"Gonna punk out right now? You afraid? What did you say?"</p>
<p>"Fuck yourself," she snarls, "I like you!"</p>
<p>"What's that?"</p>
<p>"I like you." He spanks her again. Now, she can't stop saying it. "I like you. I like you. I—"</p>
<p>And suddenly, she flows</p>
<p>and her</p>
<p>legs and arms</p>
<p>they flow too</p>
<p>into the mattress, she feels herself pool like a twitching puddle. Controlled breathing. <em>Well that's new.</em></p>
<p><em>Fuck.</em></p>
<p>She feels empty. The mattress shudders slightly as Farhan falls on his back.</p>
<p>"Me, too." He grunts.</p>
<p>"Did I tell you to stop?" Ari grumbles.</p>
<p>"Giving you a chance to recharge."</p>
<p>"Did I tell you to stop?"</p>
<p>"I'm not fucking a ragdoll."</p>
<p>"I'm not a ragdoll."</p>
<p>"Every nerve ending of yours is pretty damn sensitive right about now. Lots of women need the break."</p>
<p>"Lots of women also don't tend to get off without doing anything with their clit, and you clearly got around doing fuck all with that—"</p>
<p>She turns around and gets her first clear look at his full length.</p>
<p>Something doesn't math.</p>
<p>"You look confused." Farhan chuckles.</p>
<p>"You aren't that big." Ari mutters.</p>
<p>"Sure, whatever."</p>
<p>"No, seriously, what's that," she points. "That's gotta be not much more than six inches! How'd you make me come?"</p>
<p>"I've never had anyone ask me that before."</p>
<p>"Now I know I'm not the only woman's ever faked with you." <em>Where did this come from? Why do I want to do it again?</em> "Alright."</p>
<p>"Alright?" Farhan says, "What—", and Ari is under it, crawling on top of him, letting herself fall <em>on top of him</em>. "What?"</p>
<p>"Let's do this like it's real." At that point, Ari doesn't even know what she is saying.</p>
<p>"Like what?"</p>
<p>"Like it's real." When he's inside of her again, she feels electric, full of heat, just way too hot, and she loves the way his skin looks sheened with their shared sweat and she loves the way he's looking at her chest like he's trying to undress her with his eyes and something in her takes over and she rips her shirt off and throws it on the floor. <em>Uh, wait.</em></p>
<p>Her heart is in her throat thinking about what he's looking at now—the patchwork of scars over her abdomen, the patches of artificial membrane over her belly, and—the 'best' part—the ivory-colored mockup where her left breast should be, neatly highlighted by the the shoulder-to-belly scar bifurcating her body.</p>
<p>It's just been forty-seven minutes, but she feels like she's known Farhan forever. She searches for alarm, fear, detachment, disgust, anger—she finds none of those. It's…she smiles—it's a look Petra reserved for her and only her, one that Ari never could conjure the words to describe. He slowly lifts a hand towards her fake breast and with a look, asks her permission.</p>
<p>She nods, and Farhan's fingers reach up to trace the path of her surgical scar tissue. They tremble in a way that makes Ari feel correct in a way she rarely ever does.</p>
<p>"You're beautiful." And by now, she knows he means it.</p>
<p>Time gets slippery. It could be ten minutes or fifteen; it doesn't matter. She does not stop riding him, and she doesn't break eye contact with him. She looks down at him, and he looks at her, and she stops herself from saying a lot of stupid, boring things about a stupid boring future they'd both be too dead before long to enjoy together. She bucks, he touches her, they moan. Farhan says a <em>lot</em> of things in Farsi Ari should be more worried about but she's vibing too much to care.</p>
<p>Closer and closer—she kisses him with more passion and happiness than she knows she has, and she feels him shiver under her touch.</p>
<p>He comes, and then she does.</p>
<p>The rattle of the lamp from her riding him rings in her ears. She feels like her nerves have melded with the bedsprings.</p>
<p>Like a bubbling brook stream over jutting rocks, Ari falls, crumpling beside Farhan in the narrow negative space left on her small bed.</p>
<p>The hair on Farhan's chin looks very interesting to her. The look on his face, the shock of what she did to him, is very interesting, and she lets her fingers play with his short-cropped beard.</p>
<p>Whatever secret she's discovered about herself, it seems like he has arrived at the same epiphany.</p>
<p>"Fuck," she says, to hear his voice as much as anything else.</p>
<p>"Fuck." And he obliges her.</p>
<p>She inches away from him so her skin can take a break from his.</p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:400px;"><img alt="ZUE7Clm.png" class="image" src="https://i.imgur.com/ZUE7Clm.png"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>"Our paperwork said we were far from home but it doesn't feel that way."</p>
</div>
</div>
<h1 id="toc4"><span>Coda: I have lost it all</span></h1>
<p>An hour later, Ari gets up from the bed, grabs a fresh shirt and underwear from her dresser, her personal phone from her nightstand, and slides into her bathroom, locking the door and checking the knob to confirm the seal. From some sense of paranoia, Ari makes her way to the far corner of the room and slides to the ground, the floor stings her skin with cold. The only discernible sounds are the hum of generators and Farhan's razor-wire snoring.</p>
<p>She opens her phone and scrolls to Petra Shahi's name on her contacts. It has been <em>years</em> since she said her name out loud, let alone looked at her contact info.</p>
<p>Fifty missed calls, and that was before she blocked her. <em>She probably got the hint five calls in and had a bot do the remaining forty-five.</em> Ari hopes that is the case. Petra was a petty, spiteful, arrogant, and shallow person for whom thrills were everything. Ari is a grunt who dresses like shit and has the self-described personality of an armadillo. There is nothing real there. There couldn't have been.</p>
<p>There was an unopened message from Petra's number in her voicemail box. Ari had chosen to keep it but didn't open it either, avoiding the way her heart would answer if she heard it. Something about tonight makes opening it feel…right.</p>
<p>Something about tonight makes Ari want to close the book on Petra.</p>
<p>When Ari first hears Petra's voice, she smiles with a mix of nostalgia and relief. And then she registers what's being said:</p>
<p>"I'm so sorry, Ari."</p>
<p><em>Petra never apologies.</em></p>
<p>"I think about us a lot when you're gone. There's one time you let me take you to my favorite club, the one where the drag queens dress up like the tarot. I got dressed up, you wouldn't, because of course, you're <em>you</em>. I did get you to wear a skirt for the first time with those designer boots, but the way you comported yourself made it all seem like I'd put you in a Halloween costume. I recall acting rather cross with you over that."</p>
<p>Ari remembers that day too, but mostly the smell of mingling perfume and sweat and smoke, and the lights. Words, people, all tended to vanish in the haze of her waiting for the commotion to stop.</p>
<p>"You danced with me then. You aren't the most coordinated, you wouldn't talk to any of my friends, you wouldn't drink as much as I did, and I told you you kept stepping on my feet. On our way home, I told you off."</p>
<p><em>Your exact words were, "You're so weird. Do you just not like people? Like you think you're cooler than them?"</em></p>
<p>"I want you to know I…loved every bit of you that night."</p>
<p>"Come again," Ari says to the shade of her past lover—it comes out more as a gasp.</p>
<p>"Your hard eyes, your wry smirk. Your sweat because you refuse to wear perfume. I loved the way you let me cling to you when I was drunk. I loved your lips. I loved tasting them. I loved your…unbreakable amour-propre. If I'd had it I probably wouldn't have fucked it all up. So many wasted evenings. So many fights. I should have shut up and drank in your eyes. I should have kissed you instead of wasting my breath on bullshit. I should have…every <em>second</em> I had with you…encased in amber…."</p>
<p>A stutter and gasp that splits itself. Ari realizes Petra is trying not to cry.</p>
<p>"I want you to know that there's a moment that night where you said something funny and I laughed and you laughed with me. I never made you laugh despite my best efforts, but you laughed because I was laughing. It was beautiful. It was so beautiful, and that's the image I'm focusing in my head now. I…I want to say something else, but…unreciprocated…I'll not…it'd be gauche. I hope—"</p>
<p>The call cut off.</p>
<p>"Petra—" Ari covers her mouth with her hand, tries to steady her breathing, tries to keep her voice down. "Petra, wait—"</p>
<p>She tries to call Petra's number. It is no longer in service. She tries again.</p>
<p>Whatever happened to her those years ago, she's gone.</p>
<p>"Okay." Ari nods. There's a part of her brain screaming questions, demanding action, but whatever this was, it was years ago. It's a part of her brain she's used to denying. She's left wounded on the ground while it screamed in her ear. Why should tonight be any different? <em>This is the life we all choose.</em> She looks at Farhan. There's a body bag waiting for him too. "Okay," Petra was just one more body she leaves behind tonight.</p>
<p>When she returns to Farhan, she tries to keep her distance, but he pulls her close to him. She lets him. This time when he talks in his sleep, he smiles.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Five years later, Ari floats on stranger tides.</p>
<p><em>What looks like a blazing magenta sunset in a sickly sanguine sky rots like the cheeks on a damp corpse. She drifts, buoyed by the warm swells of the restless fluid. When she closes her eyes and lets herself breathe, she wonders if the serenity and viscousness of the sensations along her bare, cool skin is what resting in a womb feels like.</em></p>
<p><em>When she decides to move her head to the side, she notices the liquid has the exact color and even texture of air-flushed blood and muscle. She takes note of her gently swaying companions: bobbing and swaying and ebbing computers, statues, bullets, and bombs. And bodies. Lots of bodies, bodies wearing Site-7 and STAG uniforms, a drifting wheelchair, a disused eye-patch. A swarm of vultures preys on the charnel harvest.</em></p>
<p><em>Then the fluid begins to pull her under.</em></p>
<p><em>She desperately writhes amidst the waves of gore as they crash down upon her. Booms and shots and cracks echo in her ear.</em></p>
<p><strong><em>After some time she makes it to the shore and crawls, only to see a curtain of fire advance towards her. She screams, again and again and again, a name she hasn't heard in years. She looks for him everywhere, and then her arm explodes and she howls.</em></strong></p>
<p>She wakes up.</p>
<p>She is at Site-7, curled up in a corner. Her bedsheets are on the ground, drenched in her cold sweat. She's cold, shivering, She can't remember why, but her heart wants to pound a hole out of her ribcage, her breathing feels more labored than if she'd tried to outrun a wolf. She tries to wipe the sweat from her brow with an arm she remembers is no longer attached to her, the replacement something that won't follow what's left of her into the ground when she dies.</p>
<p>"Fuck!"</p>
<p>Knives and acid stream into every inch of that missing arm. The phantom pains really buckle her when she isn't flooded with adrenaline. She growls and bites her tongue, trying to eat the pain.</p>
<p>There is a window if she wants to look at the water, but the roaring ocean of the Bering Strait is savage. No succor to be had there.</p>
<p>Her dog is shivering on the other side of the room.</p>
<p>Her whisper is shaky. "PC! PC?" Sometimes, he'd jump on her bed and fall asleep with her.</p>
<p>Today, when she tries talking to him, he lets out a sad whine and retreats into the other corner of the room. "PC?" She walks towards him, and he instantly recoils in fear. "What's wrong? What's…" <em>He's scared because I've been screaming again.</em> Ari makes a note to ask someone if they have a drug for that.</p>
<p>Ari grabs her phone, crawls as close to PC as he'll let her, and curls on the ground. Whether it was the floor or the mattress would make no difference to her now. She is not sleepy or tired; she is just bored.</p>
<p>Maybe PC will join her if she waits long enough here.</p>
<p>On evenings like this, she would play games until she fell asleep. Tonight, she tries to remember the Arabic on Farhan Moradi's back tattoo. A stupid part of her thinks that if she could touch his back again, the boredom would stop. Or maybe if she could just remember what he sounds like when he giggles. He was quiet, and the pain is always too loud.</p>
<p><em>There's so much less of me every day,</em> she thinks, looking at her stump, thinking about how much of her body was metal or lab-grown meat by now. <em>I wonder how much more I can live without.</em></p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/forum/t-17007002/like-it-s-real#post-6754819">She watches PC fall asleep in his corner and waits for the sun to rise, but there is no light.</a></p>
<div style="text-align:center"><img alt="p4a0LBb.png" class="image" src="https://i.imgur.com/p4a0LBb.png" style="width:430px;"/>
<p><span style="color: darkred">"The trick, Dina, is not minding that it hurts."</span></p>
</div>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. Quranic Arabic: O Allah, protect me from them In whatever way You will!</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. Arabic, idiomatic translation: "Good lord!"</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. Somalian term of endearment, "Sweetheart"</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-4"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-4')">4</a>. Farsi: Oh God!</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/like-it-s-real">Like It's Real</a>" by Nonacherontia, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/like-it-s-real">https://scpwiki.com/like-it-s-real</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> EdJxLrf.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;"><img alt="Amai-Ixchel" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6506049&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736422480" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6506049)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;">Amai-Ixchel</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://i.imgur.com/EdJxLrf.png">imgur</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> NBjz0Ob.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;"><img alt="Amai-Ixchel" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6506049&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736422480" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6506049)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;">Amai-Ixchel</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://i.imgur.com/NBjz0Ob.png">imgur</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> N7RHEaO.jpeg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;"><img alt="Amai-Ixchel" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6506049&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736422480" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6506049)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;">Amai-Ixchel</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://i.imgur.com/N7RHEaO.jpeg">imgur</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> ZUE7Clm.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/opossumistic" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8279973); return false;"><img alt="Opossumistic" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8279973&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736422480" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8279973)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/opossumistic" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8279973); return false;">Opossumistic</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://i.imgur.com/ZUE7Clm.png">imgur</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> p4a0LBb.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/opossumistic" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8279973); return false;"><img alt="Opossumistic" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8279973&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736422480" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8279973)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/opossumistic" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8279973); return false;">Opossumistic</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://i.imgur.com/p4a0LBb.png">imgur</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text="You're not secretly anything, Ari. You're you. You're always you."]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:adult-content-warning">:scp-wiki:component:adult-content-warning</a>
|sexually-explicit=1
]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:toggle-sidebar-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar-bhl</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:centered-header-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:centered-header-bhl</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:rso">:scp-wiki:component:rso</a>]]
[[module css]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Newsreader:ital,opsz,wght@0,6..72,200..800;1,6..72,200..800&display=swap');
:root{
--swatch-background: 255, 255, 255;
}
#page-title {
display: none;
}
h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 {
font-family: Newsreader, serif;
}
#page-content > p {
font-family: Newsreader, serif;
font-size: 1.1rem;
}
#page-content div#toc {
font-family: Newsreader, serif;
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:rso">:scp-wiki:component:rso</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--
|name=Nonacherontia]]
⚠️ **Content warning:** This article contains the following topic:
* Explicit sexual content
If this topic is upsetting to you, please refrain from reading this article.
Thank you.
**Like It's Real** by [[*user Nonacherontia]] -
Other works:
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/who-s-afraid-of-ulrike-meinhof Who's Afraid of Ulrike Meinhof]
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/possible-kill-screen Possible Kill Screen] with FleshMaddAvalon
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-golden-threads-weaving-us-together The Golden Threads Weaving Us Together] under MissLapis
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8082 SCP-8082: The Wild Hunt]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
[[>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
[[/>]]
[[==]]
[[div style="display: none;"]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=https://i.imgur.com/EdJxLrf.png
|caption=.|width=100%|align=center]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
[[toc]]
[[/==]]
+ Scene 1: I am falling
The night she sleeps with Farhan Moradi, Ariadne Katsaros dreams of an ocean.
//It is always the same—a blazing magenta sunset in a sickly sanguine sky. Drifting on wine-dark swells, a low-groaning wind fills her nose with cologne from her dad's house. The water shushes and roars by turns, and the air feels cool on her bare skin. It churns underneath her, hiding worlds of unsleeping mayhem, and she can't imagine a better way to lie.//
//All around her float familiar junk: a stuffed giraffe, her mom's pearl necklace, her dad's Chevrolet Camaro, a boyfriend's hookah, a girlfriend's five-thousand dollar bomber jacket, the surveillance tag still attached.//
"Please..." Farhan murmurs in Ari's ear—
And she wakes up, relaxed, aglow, content like a cat that caught the cream.
As with water's gentle current, she floats on Farhan's chest as it crests and recedes. He's completely naked. She's still wearing a shirt. The slight asymmetry feels grounding in her haze, because some part of her is worried they'd blur together. But God, what a //ground//. His chest is so hard and muscular, his face punctuated by eager cheekbones, a handsome jaw girded by a beard and his resting, full-toothed smile that is no less boyish for it, always rewarding to see. [!--Awash in moonlight, she can make out the tangle of her legs and his. His legs have more mass, but her thighs have a better definition than his, a tighter sculpt. --]
"Please..."
She fixates on how their war wounds flow into each other's like theirs was the same skin, shot and burned and stabbed together. She an orphaned eddy of broken joy after Farhan dragged her with him over the waterfall.
//Goddamn, he's cute.// She lifts her hand to Farhan's cheek, caressing his jaw, and then dips a finger on the inflection of those elegant cheekbones, scratching a tender line to the patch covering his left eye. //Who did that to you, babe?// She frowned. //Why did that word pop into my head?// [!-- She doesn't recall drinking all that much before she dragged him to her room, but she only feels drunk now. --]
Then she feels weightless in a different way, tossed into the air, falling off the edge of the mattress and smashing into the floor in a heap. She's back on the bed in seconds, then she's thrown on her back, and strong arms pin her shoulders to the mattress.
Farhan's face is in hers. Farhan is screaming in her face.
His hands dig into her shoulders and arms.
There's a blur where her mind used to be.
//I can't reach my gun.//
----
Fifteen minutes later, having put Farhan to bed, Ari racks her Beretta 92SF.
Ari sits at a dining table in a small kitchen space with a refrigerator. On the other side of the room, Farhan snores pleasantly amidst sweaty bedsheets. A prized operator, she enjoyed one of the personnel-starved Balochistan site's largest accommodations. Farhan made her world so much smaller now. She couldn't get far enough away to stop caring.
"One."
At approximately 0230 hours, Farhan experienced what Ari has known from her childhood as a night terror. As she'd learned growing up, symptoms included screaming, thrashing, shallow breathing, and the appearance of complete disorientation, and they would typically last for a few minutes at a time (except for one occasion where she'd witnessed an episode carry on for ten minutes).
Farhan's episode included all that and a lot more.
Ari couldn't understand anything he was saying, or how to tell him to stop. //Does dad ever get this bad?// It's a painful, thorny thought she shoves deep inside of her with all the others.
//I didn't want to know. I don't want to know, either.//
Ari field-strips guns after having boys over. Girls, well, no such routine exists because the only girl she ever dated is so good in bed that Ari passes out before she does. //The one kind of caretaking Petra was ever good at.// With boys, whether they stay the night or not, she has trouble sleeping, so she'd spend an hour field-stripping a gun and reassembling it repeatedly, trying to beat her record for completed cycles over a fifteen-minute interval.
"Two."
It's a surface ripple of a deeper itchiness. She doesn't need a therapist to tell her that. For instance, the boyfriend who took her virginity compared sex with her to doing it in a bathroom stall sober. She couldn't get him to clarify what was an incredibly insulting metaphor, and they were both stoned that evening anyway, so following up on it was pointless.
The girl, Petra Shahi, her last serious-ish partner, found the metaphor hysterical and dead wrong.
//Incomplete, really,// she said, //I mean, you do fuck like someone who expects to be caught in the act, but that's because you want it the way it happens in a bathroom stall. Rough. Undignified. What does that say about us?//
She was also wrong, but of all the people who were wrong about her, she was the only one who knew how to make Ari come. It's hard to argue with results.
"Three."
Ari liked how the Beretta 92SF surrendered to her hands, clicking apart, snapping together. She feels closer to herself with every step the gun was taken towards its disintegration, further from the man sleeping in her bed just now. //Like nothing just happened.// It obsessed her, the unfairness of it all. //They never remember it, and I never forget it.// She decides she won't bring it up with him. He either already knows or doesn't want to know.
She ejects the magazine, and before it rattles on the table, she'd pulls the slide back to sight-check the chamber.
"Four." Her hands are shaking. Hazard of a profession where artillery bombardment and airstrikes were considered low-intensity ordinances. The key is to flow with the malfunction, not rage at her body's having it. One might as well rage at a quiver for running out of arrows.
----
**"Please," she hears Farhan babble in English, Farsi, and Arabic, "Please, please,"**
**She should have known better than to talk during one of these, but her brain was a hazy memory maze inundated with cheap beer. "Farhan, I'm here—"**
----
The memory of Farhan's episode burns behind her eyes. She had these moments before, especially after violence. She tried to dismiss it. Her brain was having indigestion.
"Six."
The sense-memory of Farhan's crazed howling writhed under her skin. She was a fluid, indifferent to the pressure, rather becoming the shape it demanded of her.
Her finger slipped on sweat, almost missing the release button. Her brow felt damp and cold.
//My hair should have dried by now!// Everything feels damp and cold. There are no fewer than four hidden guns in her apartment—seven things in total that could kill him.
"Seven."
----
**The screaming stopped, Farhan had let her go, but Ari was no less trapped.**
**"Where am I?" His body language seemed like a scared child. "Where is this?"**
**"Site-290," Ari's voice sounded hollow even to her. The way his wild eyes frantically searched her bedroom, the way he threw himself against the wall when she stepped towards him, it disgusted her. No, it did something else that tickled her eyes with salt. "You're...you're safe."**
**"Allaahummak-fineehim bimaa shi’ta[[footnote]]Quranic Arabic: O Allah, protect me from them In whatever way You will![[/footnote]]. [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lamb-of-god Take the left one! Take the left one!]" Again and again and again, and she didn't know how to respond.**
**//His eye patch,// she learned something new about his hell, but there was no saving him from it. //It was not lost, it was taken, and they made him choose.//**
**It's a phantom pain, like Farhan is a missing limb. Ari realizes this is what pity must feel like.**
----
"Eight." //Water fills whatever it's poured into.//
----
**He began to flail at empty air so she pushed herself towards him and let her arms flow over his shoulder and waist, buried her face into his chest, and heard his heart batter under his flesh and her temple. "Buddy," she heard herself say, "Get it together." She feels his chiseled torso pleasingly crush her chest.**
**//I never want to see you again.//**
**The cocktail of her words and her body smothered Farhan's fever, and they tumbled into bed together again. She preoccupied herself by reciting the longitude and latitude of every battle she ever fought while waiting for Farhan to sleep, pretending to join him while wanting to be anywhere else.**
----
"Nine."
----
**While she was wrapped around him, his voice was soft, feather-light, and strangely bemused. "Why?" He murmured. "Why?"**
**"Fuck off." Ari murmured, her lips tickling his chest. He grunted, and his heart continued to slow under her touch.**
**//Why did I stay?// It wasn't often Ari couldn't account for her actions. //Why did I stay?//**
----
"Ten-oof-"
She feels Farhan's body press on hers. She hadn't heard him get up. She hadn't heard him walk. She hadn't seen a thing.
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=https://i.imgur.com/EdJxLrf.png|caption="I almost forgot I had enough."|width=400px]]
It's //embarrassing//.
//Either he's slick or I'm slow.// How dare he get the drop on her in her own home.
It's all the weirder that she's mostly happy he's alright again.
She leans against him mostly because his beard is scratching a spot on the nape of her neck. His hot breath tickles her ear, and it spread to her cheeks when his lips peck her skin. It does something to her mouth because it's a struggle to complain. "T-The hell? How did you—"
"Hey," Farhan's voice is like a whispered yawn. //Does he see what I'm doing right now?// His hands play with the waistband of her underwear, and his fingers trace the scars adorning her left thigh, teasing her toned skin. "How'd you sleep, //habibti//?"
//'Honey'?// More confusion. //Was that like a one-night stand calling you babe, or darling? Was that weird? Is it a MENA thing? Are Muslim guys just naturally sweeter than American ones?//
"C-can't complain," Ari flattens the shake out of her voice, her fingers tightening on her gun. "How about you?"
"Some fun dreams." Then he stiffens, and then Farhan's voice sounds a little less casual. "What's that you got there?"
"Don't worry about it," Ari says and racks the Beretta in her hands.
"//Ya Rabb!//[[footnote]] Arabic, idiomatic translation: "Good lord!" [[/footnote]] Farhan stumbles backward and slams into the wall.
It should have been satisfying, but it makes her want to touch him
His eyes graze her arm, and the tenderness sours. //Why does it look like he's reading my scars? He a fan of muscle tone or something?// She sees his pupils dip a millimeter, and a flash of alarm briefly widens his eyes. Her stomach drops.
//He’s looking at my gun.//
//I saw him set a dozen people on fire, and he's looking at my gun.//
Her breathing gets harder to control. She reads his eyes, remembers the night terror—
She sees the hired killer behind her tense—
It feels weird that showing someone an empty chamber would be the difference between life and death. Farhan relaxes when she pulls the slide back and shows him. Ari feels like she's not going to relax for quite a while.
//How close was he to killing me?// She tries to play the moment off. "You this easy to spook or am I just that good?"
"Why not both?" Farhan says. He leans on the table, inches from her elbow. "God help me, you're a lovely menace." How effortlessly he had pinned her, the weightlessness of her body in flight, the giddy terror of standing there while a two hundred thirty-pound commando begged her for mercy while his fingers crushed bruises into her skin. //I estimate ten seconds before his hands could snap my neck.//
But she can't stop noticing those soulful eyes. //He looks sad.//
The quiet between them stretches into all sorts of uncomfortable positions.
“Um, do you want a drink?” Ari says a little too softly, and Farhan looks confused so she has to repeat herself: “//Do you want a drink?//”
//Why don't I ask him to leave? Check that. Why don’t I tell him to leave?//
“It’s four AM, Ari.” Farhan chides, “Not exactly the breakfast of champions.” It's like her thoughts are a hamster wheel she can't stop running.
//He could have killed me in my bedroom. Why did I stay? Why did I let him sleep?// So it goes, again and again and again. //Why does he look so sad? What’s in his head? Why is he still here?//
“You’re sober. I’m sober.” Ari gets up from her seat. “What else are we gonna do?”
It's like her words stoked his imagination and there's so much interest in the way he looks at her. “I mean, if you follow me to bed I can probably think of something.” His voice is like a low purr.
She gives him a side-eye. "Funny, funny man." but a smile underlines it. His lips curl with hers.
//I don't want to smile. I don't want to talk to you. I want a break. I want this feeling to stop.// She hates she still wants to touch him.
Ari makes her way to the kitchen, squeezing past him, and she can't not look at his face as their bodies graze each other, like a river curled by a rocky bank. His chest quickens like he’s breathing her. //He smells nice.// Like sweat and cheap cologne.
It’s a short walk from the table to her vault.
//Just need something for my nerves.//
She hears Farhan’s voice as she busies herself with the combination. “You keep your liquor in a vault?”
“Party favors,” Ari says. “It's a fun loophole in the contraband rules.”
“Sounds generous for a Foundation front-line base.” He sounds intrigued. Intrigue in an operator is identical to suspicion.
“It’s what happens when you put a site in the middle of the desert. Beggers and choosers, dude.” Ari swings open the vault to reveal a glittering collection of liquors of every brand. Her finger dances on the gold and silver labels until she finds the stenciled calligraphy of an expensive bottle of Glenfiddich. “Uh, scotch good for you?”
“Let me guess, beggars and choosers?” Farhan says, bemused. She listens in case of footsteps, motions, or the clacking of a gun. So far, so quiet.
//Just need something for my nerves.//
“Yup.” She grabs the bottle and lays it on the countertop next to her. The alcohol is just a prop. It's what is behind it that puts her mind at ease.
Nestled between a Sig Sauer and a Mockingbird combat knife, is a simple cork-screw bottle opener.
It is good at opening bottles of all kinds, and the push needle inside of it is laced with an aura-piercing neurotoxin said to be so deadly, hell would need its stomach pumped after the target got sent there.
//He’s so sad,// she thinks, and something makes her fingers hesitate rather than grab the most lethal kill-agent a noncom can get their hands on. //Nothing to worry about. It's like a security blanket.//
[!-- She turns to her freezer. Vanity—why else would she walk around in her underwear?—gets her to cross her legs so her muscles have the right amount of tension and torque. With an exaggerated kiai and an explosion of core strength,
she lets her thigh hurl her leg in an elegant crescent kick,
clips the freezer handle,
the freezer door flies open in its wake.
"Woah-" Farhan starts before it slams into a nearby cabinet and bounces closed again. She hears him cackle aggressively, like the laughter is punching a heavy bag, and tries to ignore him. It takes more effort than it should. //Do I throw something at him, or play this off?//
--]
//He's just so sad.//
Just as she makes up her mind and her fingers wrap around the meta-terminator—
The hair on the back of her neck prickles as she senses Farhan walk up behind her.
She almost kills him. She almost slams the needle into the side of his neck and kills him.
She almost reaches for her gun to shoot him twice in the chest and once in the head. //I didn’t hear a damn thing!// She almost reaches for her knife.
Instead she grabs the bottle before she twists around. He has a raised eyebrow and a confused frown. "You looked like you were struggling over there."
"Jesus, stop doing that!"
"I'm just trying to help."
//Gods, he's slick.// Her hands aren't shaking. She never shook around people. //Gods, he's so slick.//
"I can fix a drink by myself!" She trips on the last word.
"I don’t let women pour my own drinks," Farhan gently places his hands on the bottle. "Let alone theirs."
"You're not going to //let// me pour my drink? Did I hear you right?"
Farhan looks down and sighs. "It's a figure of speech."
"It's a figure of bullshit." Ari scoffs and lets Farhan take the bottle from her. "I'm letting //you// pour me a drink, dude.
Then she spots his pupils, giving her body a once-over, then darting back and forth. It hits her: //He’s threat scanning my kitchen!// Ari forces herself to smile, hoping it disarmed the tension neither of them would ever acknowledge. //What is his problem? Didn't he like me?//
He places the bottle on the counter and opens the freezer door to fetch the ice. The cold air wraps around her forearms and legs. While Farhan continues to blab about Muslim hospitality, he has his bare back to her for the first time that evening, and the sight makes her jaw drop.
The tattoos are stunning. Poetry with sharp Arabic calligraphy woven into the skin with expert needling. A nightingale with outstretched wings perches on his shoulder blade, sharpening its beak on his spine along with swords and a sun. It's the prettiest skin-art she's ever seen.
It's the physiological details that give her the chills.
Ari knows the difference between natural human skin texture and prosthetic membrane. A few inches of her thigh are covered in the stuff, a souvenir of a brush with chemical warfare. The pain had been so bad she scheduled time each day to go someplace private for ten minutes because screaming helped with her aim later. Farhan’s lips had taken special care to worship the Texas-shaped scar earlier that night.
His entire back is made of the latter.
He turns around with a wide grin and a redder face. //At the current range, I have ten different striking options to disable his nervous system...//
She smells his floral breath. He leaves the freezer open, turns, and braces Ari against the wall, shy of pinning her outright. //...And now I only have two.//
His mouth is only an inch above hers. Her gun hand itches. A few inches behind her in the vault, the gun itches. The needle itches,
The cold from the freezer dances with the warmth of Farhan’s body. "Can I help you?" she asks, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
"Nah," Farhan leans on one arm while letting another glide along her shoulder and waist. "But I sense disquiet. Can I help //you//?" She feels completely under his control. She likes it. She doesn't like it. It's distracting, how chiseled his abdomen is, how cut his muscles are, the prominence of his jaw, the way his hands play her like a piano.
"No, it's okay, it's. It's. O...kay?" Ari feels his cold fingers slide under her shirt, his thumb tracing her muscle tone. The heat and the cold do a sensual tango under her skin, and she feels herself start to melt. //Oh, he's good.// She remembers to complete her sentence: "Your back is. Um. Interesting."
"That's not fair. I've yet to get a good look at yours." Farhan's hands begin to move and Ari feels her shirt slowly lifting above her waist.
//Does he see the gun or the needle? Is he trying to reach for—//
Everything about him is so firm and she just wants to—
Whether it’s hormones or tactics driving her, she pulls his collar and lets her lips collide with his. His arm wraps around her waist and pulls her into him as his tongue tickles her lips, and she breathes (or moans), letting him in—
Her fingers scratch his stomach on the way toward the waistband of his underwear and then slip underneath, causing him to gasp—
Before she squeezes, then shoves him into the fridge—
But not before the shock of cold like an icy knife slashes down her spine, and she shrieks. "You clown!"
A handful of ice cubes slides down her back, scattering on the floor.
"What the heck?" Ari glares at Farhan, who winces while quietly massaging himself. "Are you this goofy with everybody you fuck?"
"Ha..." Farhan ignores her question. "Ari, you might want to go easier with the grip strength next time... ow."
"Yeah, you know what? //You// can make the drinks. I don’t care anymore." She tries not to show him her smirk.
She fails. He grins. She smiles. He chuckles. She chuckles. He giggles—
She bursts out laughing, "Oh my God," //That freaking giggle!// "Help!" She clutches her own sides.
"Okay, okay—" he walks towards her, "Can I pour our drinks already—"
"No, you aren't pretending that didn't happen!" She slaps the wall, "It sounded like a chicken doing a falsetto—hahahaha—"
"I'm gonna pour our drinks now,"
"Nuh-uh." She grabs him and kisses him flat on the lips. He tries to keep a straight face and keep his lips stiff as her lips touch his. It's like a dam broke and now they're both a river of giddy voices talking over each other and the fun is calling the shots now. "Can I really—" "No." "Will you—" "Only if you giggle like that again." "I don't think it's //that// funny." It's all so funny.
It wasn't. It wasn't really. //Why am I laughing?// She feels like something is coming out of her, falling off of her, not just from today, but a lot from a while ago. //He's so funny.//
"Get over here," she says and keeps kissing his stubborn, stupid, sheepish smile—
"If you insist—" he crushes her giddy peals with a passionate kiss she pushes herself into. "You're so fucking cute." He says, and he pins her to the wall, and he feels her up while they make out for a bit. His hands are all over her and his body feels much less lethal now.
He pulls her away by her hair. The sharp sting is unexpected but oddly thrilling, and she can tell he notices the way the look on her face just lit up. "You're a bit ridiculous yourself."
"Oh yeah?" Ari's biting her lip.
"Yeah."
"Prove it."
"Field-stripping a gun in the middle of the night after sex?" Farhan kisses her but it feels patronizing now. "Who does that?"
Ari remembers Farhan holding her like this during his night terror, and the euphoria dims. She loosens her grip on him. "Fine, make me a drink." He grabs the bottle and fixes their drinks while she takes her place in front of the vault, watching him. The time it would take for her to get the needle is just a second slower than it would take for him to neutralize her. Her brain reviews the ways she can get that second back. "Don't spill the ice, //chuckles.//"
"Funny girl." The liquid jangles the ice in the glasses, and Farhan carries them to the table. "You coming?"
Ari looks at the ice cubes at her feet, already beginning to puddle. A deeper cold blooms in her stomach. //His mouth is the same when he laughs and screams. Does he really not remember a thing?// The memories bellow in her mind’s ears. The heat in her vanishes, replaced by the taut chest aches, like Farhan is still on top of her, many footpounds of energy crushing her into the mattress.
//Also, that ass is...something else.// It's like the anxiety makes her touch-hungry too. //Was I supposed to hear the things he was screaming at me? No. How does a man maintain opsec when he talks in his sleep?//
"Hey," Farhan’s cheerful yell cuts through her reverie. He's casually twirling the slide of Ari’s Beretta between his fingers. "Before the ice melts." //Her// gun.
She's really pissed off now. //Fuck him. That's MY gun. Fuck him. Fuck this.//
Ari reaches into the vault. Her fingers briefly touch the needle before wrapping around something else. "You know what—" She pulls out her Sig Sauer pistol instead. Fully loaded. Bullet in the chamber.
Farhan yelps, "The fuck—" He jumps out of his chair—
Before Farhan can react, she ejects the magazine and pops the bullet. "How about a drinking game? If you win, I’ll tell you."
Farhan clears his throat and takes a breath, failing to play it cool. "And if I lose?"
+ Scene 2: I am fading
//Being drunk and getting head are synergistic activities.// Ari lets out a dry-throated hiss as Farhan tucks icy fingers under her underwear and pulls.
-----
Ten minutes ago, Ari was having fun.
The game was very straightforward, she explained as she casually tossed the Sig Sauer P320 on the table before Farhan. The pistol was a well-crafted, standard-issue sidearm that anyone spending a day with the GOC would have used and cleaned. The gun she had been working with was the Beretta, a model phased out in the 90s, partly because of how complicated disassembling and reassembling it was. She reached over with her glass and tapped Farhan's before he could pick it up and take a hearty gulp of rocky Single Malt.
"What were you saying about the game?" Farhan raised his glass and took a sip.
"Field-strip your gun as many times as possible in a one-minute window. I'll do the same. The loser takes a shot. Rinse and repeat. The first person to drop something or say 'uncle' has to perform the forfeit." Ari's train of thought encountered many a corkscrew, liquored up at this hour.
Farhan raised an eyebrow. "You must be drunk. How fat-fingered do you think I am?"
"Those aren't pianist hands."
"I defuse bombs."
"Then this shouldn't be a problem for you. Here." She grabbed his drink and took another sip. "Doubling up on the handicap."
"This feels exploitative," Farhan smiled. "I don't like to use the word 'daddy issues' with women, but—."
Ari picked up her gun. "Here's some trivia about my dad. Since I was six, he'd wake me up at 0500 for PT with an energy bar and a protein drink. Made blueberry pancakes for me at 0630. Every //single// day he could. I had to stop him when he was sick." She racked the pistol for a function check. "Now, let's roll."
Farhan's gun was simple, his hands were deft and steady, and he'd clearly done this before, and for a while. A professional, she had no business playing this game with him, and she knew he knew it.
His hands never shook, not even during the literal night terrors.
She also knew she'd been field-stripping this particular Beretta since she was nine.
It took him ten minutes to realize Ari hustled him. "For—for fuck's sakes, //Uncle!//"
She won so handily she'd taken a couple of shots of her own accord because she didn't want to dry out waiting for him to lose.
//How stupid does he think I am?// Ari wrinkled her nose with irritation. //Like I'd opt into a game I stood a chance of losing?// Another voice in her head replied: //What do you call joining the military?// She hopped out of her chair onto the table, crawled across the surface, and dangled her legs and feet so they comfortably nestled in Farhan's lap, letting her toes tickle his torso. He locked eyes with her again. This time, he was beaming, and she didn't stop her lips from meeting his eyes with a smile. "You look dopey."
Her brain, meanwhile, harbored harsher words: //Is that tongue only for talking shit? You woke me up at 0300 hours because your REM sleep is on Satan's wavelength. Now make me come!// Words that rough didn't fit in her mouth. Petra had always said that Ari was exceptionally mild-mannered for someone who killed for a living.
And Farhan began to touch her, and the thoughts dimmed to a merry murmur.
There is a valley between a massage and a grope, and Farhan dragged Ari's nerves there with what his hands did to her calves and legs and thighs. //Especially the thighs.// She felt him tease the fake skin on her thigh and saw something in his eyes, a glint of recognition. "No—no fair, dude, you're not supposed to—" //Do what? Make me feel better?//
Then she felt crushed and compacted as she breathed, and her eyes closed, flooded with a cocktail of her body's most potent thrill chemicals like she was mainlining a rosy amphetamine. She opened her eyes as her skin whispered in strangled gasps that Farhan's left hand snuck under her shirt, just dead center where the waistband of her underwear made a perpendicular with the scar tissue along her spine. His other hand moved another few inches up her waist, and a fingertip or two brushed aside the few millimeters of fabric and—
//Fuck.//
Pushed forward and
Up
As he—
Pressed onto her—
Until treading him—
Her face was all above the deep—
And his eyes continued to drown her.
"From this angle, you look like Rachel Singer."
"The math teacher from that crime drama about that Muslim mob boss? Where do you get that from?"
"Big grey eyes, prominent Mediterranean nose, high cheekbones, your lips do a bit of a natural pout. Your eyes are pretty Central Asian—mom or dad, I wonder? The main difference is..." He pulled her closer to him. The rough skin on his knuckle grazes her with just the right degree of rough that she gasps, and her breasts swell against his chest, and in her fevered perspiration she's frustrated that his hair can't tear into own skin because of the shirt. //That's not coming off.// "You're so bloody fit," She feels his fingers glide along her back, and again her shirt slowly crawled up her skin, the artificial cooled air bracing the small hairs along her back—
"Ow!"
Ari sank her teeth into the skin between his shoulder and his neck. "Hands off the shirt." She nuzzled his face, then pressed her forehead against his. Then she closed her eyes, and his mouth pressed on hers, and she stiffened when his tongue pushed against her mouth, but then a few fingers moved between her legs, and a thumb delicately teased her, and she gasped again and melted in his arms, and his tongue and weight pushed a moan out of her, and he pulled back and his fingers left from beneath her underwear, and she groaned. "The fuck?"
"That look..." Farhan sounded out of breath, "So that's what you look like, drunk."
"I've been drunk." Ari gasped, "Come //on//..."
"Not in the way it counts."
"You //bitch//—" Farhan smothered her bark into another moan and a sigh. She felt weightless in the air for a minute as Farhan swept her off the table and carried her to her bed—then she crashed into the mattress, a liquid non-presence writhing under Farhan's hot breath and ravenous flesh. She wrenched her lips from his as he tried, again, to take her shirt off. "Dude," She tried to sculpt her panting into something sharp, "Are you unwrapping a gift or giving me mine?"
"Fucking bossy—" but Farhan obliged her, and she felt a path of kisses flow over her belly—
//Being drunk and getting head are synergistic activities.// Ari lets out a dry-throated hiss as Farhan tucks icy fingers under her underwear and pulls.
-----
Ari writhes in her sheets. Her fingers claw at the fabric, toes curl into the comforter. She wants Farhan to turn the light off because she hates looking at herself on display like this, but she forgot to tell him and it'd be awkward to stop things now and the white fluorescent lighting makes her pale skin look washed out and her scars better defined than her curves. Her shirt sticks to her sweaty skin.
//How am I feeling this bad with someone else’s tongue inside me?//
Her groan is muffled by the pillow she's pressing into her face because she doesn't like to look at herself.
He also can't see her blush.
"Are you usually shy about this?" He says.
Yes, she was. Now: //What’s taking him so long? He can't be this bad at it!//
There's no reason for it. It feels nice sometimes, but climaxing like that needed muscles like anything else, and she knew hers were getting tired. And eventually, he’d get bored.
But she's bored. So very, very bored. Boredom is bad for her because then she starts to think and she doesn't want to think about him right now.
She closes her eyes and tries to pretend its her ex-girlfriend, Petra, hoping it's easier to come to a familiar fuck. The soft, firm feel of Petra's densely coiled curls, a sophisticated mess framing her heart-shaped face. The way sweat glowed on her ebony skin. Her full lips and the toothy dangerous grin they portend. The way Ari fell asleep on her chest, curled up in her sweat while Petra hummed Ziad Rahbani songs under a humming ceiling fan, Petra's fingers sifting through Ari's hair. (Petra showed Ari her scalp was a sweet spot.)
//Pick a team, already!// Petra would say because being into both men and women was incomprehensible to her.
She tries to remember the way Petra’s tongue and fingers would play her like a fucking piano—
No. Nothing. Fuck Petra. One guy being bad at oral does not refute her sexual orientation. She remembers what Petra would say when Ari would seem too stiff: //"Talk! Talking distracts, cuts the tension. When people talk, their brains stop working." "Girl, you're the chattiest person I know!" "And now you know why!"//
"You, uh-" Ari catches her breath. "Um, you ever do this with someone like me before?"
"What?"
She throws the pillow over her face at the wall. "Am I your first time hooking up with military?"
"Yeah." He says. He sounds like he’s busy fixing a car.
//Maybe I could try looking at him.//
His eyes look so focused, and the way he makes the color hazel smolder, she swears she can taste it. Something sweet and salty. "You're the first. Why?"
"No. No reason."
//I'm taking so long.// Ari wonders if he’s going to complain to his friends about her broken clit. Irrationally, she wonders how far down the power ladder this puts her in his sex life. //Maybe I should say something?// But then it would be a thing. Like most guys she knew, he would take the question as a criticism, and then there would be more feelings, and the buzz would just die—
It's too late, she's thinking now. She's thinking pretty hard.
-----
**It's eight minutes into Farhan's episode, Ari feels like it's been an hour.**
**"I'll be a good lamb, please-"**
**Ari remembers locking the door when dad screamed like this at night. The parallel was so striking. Farhan is the first time she sees what is on the other side of the door. She never did open the door to help.**
**There are no doors here.**
-----
It's like there's a third party on her bed and it looks just like Farhan and she remembers open she is to him—
//No, I don't want to think about that.// She feels really dumb. //And for my next trick, I'll try not thinking about elephants next!//
"Uh, fun fact! You're the first guy who's gone down on me!" //Ari, what the FUCK?//
He stops, and Ari groans. //Physiologically, the break might help. Subjectively, I want to throw the other pillow at him, too.//
He seems thoughtful. Then: "First guy?" He //finally// starts using his fingers, and she hisses and closes her eyes, but she keeps talking because it's starting to help keep the sound of screaming at bay.
"There was...a girl." Ari bit her lip. //Finally, that's more like it.// "She. Wow. Better than you. You're not bad. For a boy."
“A girl?” He stops again.
“Yeah, a girl.”
“Huh,” he sounds puzzled, “You like them, too?” //Oh, my God, am I the first time he's heard of...it?// She still is sheepish about liking boys and girls herself.
“Yeah, is that a problem?”
“No, it’s…” Farhan fumbles for the right word. "Interesting." //He's so fucking put off.// It’s as if he expertly designed the best way to simultaneously punch her in the gut and throttle her with suspense. "What was her name?"
//It's actually a problem. He's just like Petra. It's not that weird for me to like both!// She feels like it's a little weird. //What is everybody's problem?//
"Why." Ari swallows. "Why do you ask?"
//Why is this the first guy I come out of the closet to? What was I expecting?//
Farhan voice sounds tense again. "What else am I supposed to say? 'Is she better at this than me?'”
//I don't know! Anything else? And yes, she is!// "Her name is Petra Shahi."
Farhan pokes his head out from between her legs. His head tilts like a cat spotting a bird through a window. "She Persian?"
//What an oddly specific question.// Ari is exasperated—at herself. //Am I actually tilted at this guy?//
"No, Somalian."
"Did she have a Persian parent? Maybe adopted?"
"Nope."
"Ok, that's absurd!" Farhan sounds confused. “You’re joking! What’s her actual name?”
"What?"
"That was //not// her real name."
"How'd you know that?"
"Petra Shahi is a //very// Persian name."
//Shit—// Ari's eyes widened, //How'd I not notice that?//
She forces herself to shrug. "Yeah, I guess you're right."
And then another punch to her gut—//Was that her real name? Have I been calling her an alias this entire time?//
"Why are you thinking of her now?” Farhan frowned, “Am I that bad?”
It's like the specter of Farhan's torment just tagged in her ex's bullshit. //I don't want to be here.// Ari can't even be snarky. She's fully mask-on now.
“And who was she to you?
//You don't know the half of it.// And then Ari wonders, apropos of nothing, //And who are you to me? Who are you? Who are you? What are you doing here? Who are you?// Short breaths. Tight chest. She feels like punching someone or running, but Farhan’s back at it so she stays still, she feels like talking but then the thoughts are back—
----
**”Who are you? Who are you? Who are you? Please! Please!”**
**He babbles the same phrase again and again.**
**"Who are you?" Farhan asks. "Who are you?" He lapses from English to Farsi to Arabic. Adrenaline and alcohol make it harder for her to understand him. The way she’s too slow agitates him more and she sees a dozen faces from her past in his.**
**It got so much worse after she tried telling him he's okay, that he's safe.**
**Her hands look funny. They're shaking. They're actually shaking. Why are they shaking now? They don't shake!**
**Farhan lunges forward. Ari's reflexes are superb. In the field, she moves faster than him.**
**It's why it surprises her when his hands seize her shoulders. This has truly become a night of firsts.**
**She immediately calculates the movements required to break Farhan's grip and neutralize him. His frenzy leaves him vulnerable. She could shatter him at any time.**
**Instead, she mumbles, "Fuck off. Fuck off. //Fuck off.//" as he shakes her and screams in her face. She finds herself wondering if her father also cries on evenings like these. Did he grab her mom? How'd her mom do it? Why didn't they talk to her about these things?**
**Ari wonders what her own face looks like now.**
----
She thinks about water instead.
"Water, she says." She pinches herself and clings to the driftwood of pain in the current of numbness. "Uh, what’s your favorite body of water?"
"What?"
“I like watching rivers when I’m nervous.” She blurted out. “I…”
“Huh?” Farhan makes a noise like a dog’s whine. “Are you nervous?”
“Uh, no, but-” Ari gasps as Farhan. “Are you? Don’t you get nervous?”
A pause. “No.” Before she can say anything, he resumes failing to make her come, and now nothing is happening at all.
“I, uh, dude?” She bites her lip. The feeling of his tongue and fingers down there is gross. She feels way too anatomical. Sometimes, this would happen with Petra as well, but Petra couldn’t physically throw her body off the bed during a night terror.
//So tell him you’re done. Tell him to stop,//
But she doesn’t want to make a thing of it when just waiting it out is easier. Feelings may get involved, and she doesn’t want any of Farhan’s—
She feels a weight press on her, push her into the mattress. Farhan's face is above hers. Farhan’s arms on either side of her head. She can’t actually move.
“Why are you nervous?” Farhan smiles, but his eyes are as cold as the dry white lamps. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”
//Go on, try and return the favor.//
----
**Just as Ari's shoulders begin to ache from his grasp, he leaps backward, tumbles onto the floor, scrambles onto the bed and wraps his arms around his knees, sobbing. She checks his head for signs of any head trauma. His cute wavy hair. She runs her fingers through it, almost maternally. The shadow the warm moonlight casts hides his eyes under his messed hair and she lets him have his sorrow at her feet.**
**Is this what mom had to do? Is this what I was hiding from?**
**Farhan's crying. There's nothing she can really do then, other than stand there and watch. "I don't care." She murmurs. "I could leave. I could leave you. I could leave you at any time. I don't care."**
**"What am I doing?"**
----
He's on top of her now, straddling her. His hand is on her cheek. "You're so stiff, Ari." Farhan looks quizzical. He stares at her. Staring through her almost. "So much talking. Is something bothering you?" The questions don't sound like he wants much to talk. //He's really asking, "Tell me what I gotta do to shut you up."// Ari is afraid, and then angry. //Who the fuck does he think I am? One of his honey pots?//
His caress felt like she was nuzzling cold granite. "You are so stiff." Farhan sounds more like her medic. "Just relax."
"I..." She swallows again, "I'm so bored, Farhan. You're so boring."
"I see." His eye is now hard, staring through her. The boy is gone, sense of humor missing. What's in his place is hard with cold hands. "And what do you propose we do about that?"
"Do what comes natural, I guess." She is not being complimentary.
She takes his hand and places it so she's wearing his fingers and thumb around her throat, so his thumb can feel the retort of her quickening heartbeat to the pressure. She nods with narrowed eyes devoid of feeling, in a body that no longer felt hers.
The next minutes are a blur. She feels weightless again, flipped on her belly, then his fingers wrap themselves in her hair and yank her, and it's with no tenderness now, and she's not having the fun she had. "You're still so stiff," she hears him say. "Just relax. Let go." //Why don't you?// He feels anything but relaxed—
Then, from behind, he fills her, and she shoves her fingers in her mouth and bites them, swallowing a moan because it's foreign to the disgust inside her.
He fucks her lifelessly and mechanically. He's so automatic, and she's so checked out, she preoccupies herself with figuring out if his fucking has a time signature. Her teeth dig into the rough flesh of her pillowcase. Her mouth is wet. She's a wave flung from a gurgling ocean, part of her receding, part of her dissolving into the sand. She heaves. She feels...
She's an object to him. He's trying to put her down. It all feels so wrong. She—
"Farhan." She whispers. He keeps going. If anything, he goes harder. If he hears her, it isn't with pleasure. He shoves her off her knees and slams her into the bed, but now she //really// isn't into it anymore, but makes herself moan louder because it's better than showing him how squeaky of a wheel she's always been.
She wishes the lights were off because she can't do it right now.
There's pleasure, but it is grotesquely physiological. She turns her head, and her cheek feels gross because her saliva is on the pillow, and she can just make out his head, and it isn't angled towards her. "Farhan..." she mumbles, "What are you ...what are you looking at?" He doesn't hear her. She catches his eyes. "Farhan, what are you looking at?" //Look at me. Farhan. Not like the others. I'm not just anyone. I'm me. Farhan, you fucking accident.//
His eyes are glazed, distant.
He isn't looking at her.
He's looking at a wall. She's beside the point. She remembers how her mom and Petra and the rest look at her, and Farhan becomes them—
He's fucking her like
Like she is not
**Fucking**
**THERE.**
"Farhan." She barks. "Stop. Get off me." He freezes, takes a second too long to pull out and she elbows him somewhere she hopes is his kidney. He throws himself off of her, and she crawls forward on the bed away from him, letting an errant kick tap his shoulder for good measure.
Her face, her mouth, and her eyes are so wet. She puts two fingers to her neck. Her heart thunders like she just ran a marathon, blood hungry for air. She pants and tries to control her breathing while keeping her eyes on Farhan. She can't tell whether he's concerned or intrigued with the way his gaze focuses on her face. She turns away from him when his mouth opens.
"Did you come?" He asks. //Man's got a checklist.//
"Yes." //Why am I lying to him?// "No."
"So what's up? What's going on?"
"Nothing. I'm just bored." She walks to a dresser and, after a succession of flung open drawers and heaved slams, collects another shirt, a sports bra, fresh underwear, socks, shorts, and a revolver and walks to the shower, setting it to an appropriate temperature, and walks into the water. She feels gone, just a hollow earpiece taking in the world.
"Ari, what's up?" He says.
"Ari?" He says.
"Ari, you're freaking me out." He says.
"Ari? Come on." He says.
She stops the water, realizes she forgot to take her shirt off, throws that aside and dries off before putting her clothes on. He's staring at the floor now, probably feeling sorry for herself, and she quickly opens the vault and grabs the needle while he's not looking, and somehow she feels better with it.
She walks over to the door for her shoes.
Farhan moves to grab her shoulder, and she tenses her muscles, prepared to do something nasty to whatever limb he tries to touch her with. He recognizes the tension and backs off. "Ariadne? What's going on?"
"I'm going for a job. I mean, going for a //jog//. Breakfast's in the fridge. Help yourself to a power bar and coffee. Feel free to leave whenever."
"Ari," Farhan grabs her hand—she lets him grab it, "Can we talk?"
"No, that's boring, and I'm already bored."
"Can I at least keep an eye on you—"
"//Stop.//" She realizes she shouted at him just then. She never shouts. "Get out, or go back to sleep."
"Good...good night." Farhan sounds despondent.
She thinks about saying something productive. Instead: "You suck at oral, dude."
She thinks about slamming her apartment door on her way out. Instead, she gives it minimum force, and the door bounces off the hinge with an anemic tap, leaving her door ajar.
And so she goes.
+ Scene 3: I am drowning
Ari jogged in the Balochistan desert. At 4 AM the temperature is a skin-tickling forty degrees. Making your own heat was both the challenge and the reward.
Her breathing is loud in her ears amidst the deep silence. She's only about putting one foot in front of the other as fast as she can, feeling comfortably engulfed by the ocean of scorched sands and the red of patient mountains carving up the dead horizon.
Eventually, perverse curiosity leads her feet to the site bar whence she'd pulled Farhan. The site bar is routinely raided by lonely or desolate staff after hours. Site Management tacitly looked the other way. It's the cost of setting up shop in a wasteland. All you needed to take advantage of the 'privilege' was the skills to breach a level two security system.
This isn't a problem for Ari. Two years of dating Petra Shahi means learning some things by osmosis. It takes her three minutes to get inside.
Something about the emptiness flushes the adrenaline out of her system. She takes a seat at the bar and leans against the table, burying her face in her hands. Why hadn't she just come back to her apartment? Because he might still be there?
//Because he probably wouldn't still be there.// Ari groans. //You don't want to get into the habit of missing him.//
She closes her eyes.
----
Her hands slide off her eyes, and she takes in the well-lit bar and the electric gleaming of the varnished liquor cabinet. The bottles of high-priced scotch.
And one quite good-looking...
Woman with rich dark locks, a head of carefully chaotic coils, ebony skin,
A hungry grin,
A striped suit, bowtie, dress shirt straining to contain a generous body,
A warm feeling flushes Ari's face and skin.
"Hi, Petra." Her hands slip from her cheeks and smack the wood. She looks around the bar. "Looks slow tonight." She slams the barstand with both fists and bursts out laughing, a high-pitched squeal of mirth. She snorts once. She slaps her hands over her mouth.
Petra suggests she knows why Ari pretends not to have a sense of humor.
"Shut up, you clown, and pour me a drink." Ari puts her hand on the bar and sticks out four fingers. There's a hollow crackle as frost-caked cubes tumble out of Petra's scoop into a highball glass, and then a soothing glug of whiskey flows out of a pour spout, filling the glass halfway. Ari checks the measure with her fingers again, pokes the ice cubes mingling on the surface once or twice, and throws back the drink until the ice hits her teeth.
The glass smacks the table. "Well, it was nice catching up, Petra-" Ari checks her pockets and frowns. "Uh, Petra, I forgot my wallet in my other pants. How's my credit around here-"
Petra says her credit is fine.
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=https://i.imgur.com/NBjz0Ob.png|caption="The world was more interesting with you in it."|width=400px]]
"Oh, well, I suppose a second drink couldn't hurt."
Petra asks if she'll have the usual this time.
"No. Honest to God, I mostly drink it when I start to miss you so the feeling goes away."
Petra puts her hand on Ari's. Ari remembers the zesty bergamot and lemon and flowers of Petra's Aqua Universalis perfume, the pear-flavored taste of her lips on hers.
Ari refuses. "Stop. This isn't what this is."
Petra says fair enough and asks Ari how she is doing.
"Could be better, Petra. My mom died, and a dog snuck into my bed and shat in it."
Petra asks her if her mom had regrets.
"We both know the answer to that question."
Petra asks why she barely called her mom after she joined the army.
"Because she hated my career path."
Petra asks if Ari's sure it's not because she hated Ari.
"I don't see why she'd hate me."
Petra suggests it's because Ari scares people when she looks at them.
"Oh, that's true. I hope you're not suggesting that's why I joined the army.
Petra explains Ari joined the army because she's a good killer, and joined the Foundation because she's a bad human. She asks why Ari is angry at her mom if it's all her fault.
"It's inconsiderate for her to go when I'm only twenty-one. Who is going to keep my dad company now?"
Petra asks her if she wants another drink.
"I want two. One for me and one for him."
A one-eyed dog eagerly laps from a glass of scotch on the bar.
Petra compliments her on the dog.
" I let it in my apartment. Assholes might have taken out the other eye."
Petra inquires as to whether Ari is keeping it.
"Fuck no, just waiting for it to leave or an owner to keep it."
Petra remarks that it seemed to have followed her.
"It came here for a drink. It did not follow me."
Petra doubts it. She asks if she did anything for Ari's tastes to change from women to dogs.
"Shut the fuck up."
Petra asks her if she's aware she's in a dream.
"Duh! How stupid do you think I am?"
Petra declines to comment.
"You are so fucking boring, Petra."
//"Fuck yourself, Ari,"// Petra does nothing to hide her tears flowing down her face. //"How fucking dare you?"// She hurls Ari's glass just past her head, then disappears into the liquor cabinet behind her.
"Petra!" Petra is already gone. "Come on, puppy," she calls out to her companion. The dog barks, and she hops over the barstand and follows Petra into the Scotch.
----
She catches up with Petra in a long line to a nightclub in Edinburgh.
Petra's appearance had changed. Gone are the slacks, suit, dress shirt, and bow. Petra wears a biker jacket over a Balmain gold mini-dress with gleaming sequins, a single Chanel earring in her ear deliberately leaving the other ear bare, her pearl-colored prosthetic leg and the talons on Petra's foot throw back the warm colored lamp light. The jacket has the security tag still attached to it. Ari hisses at Petra, runs over, and rips the tag off the dress. "What have I told you about taking scores before a date? Are you kidding me?"
Petra wraps her arms around Ari and their lips close together, the taste of Petra's mouth a mix of fruit gloss and heat. There's an extra moment where Ari greedily answers the kiss for another moment, and then they pull away.
Petra's grin twitches from a breathless giggle. //"I'm just a gas to worry about, eh, macaan?[[footnote]] Somalian term of endearment, "Sweetheart" [[/footnote]]."//
Petra asks Ari if she meant it when she said she was boring.
"No, I'm so sorry."
Petra grins and says if ever there was a way to tell if Ari was dreaming, it's her offering a sincere apology.
"What are we waiting for?"
"It's the best club in Edinburgh."
"You paid for me to fly first class to Berlin so you could take me to a club? I'm not even dressed properly!"
Petra tells her not to worry about it.
Soon, the line recedes into the building until Petra and Ari are face-to-face with the bouncer. The bouncer looks the two of them over and tells them they can't come in.
Petra flashes him a bankroll of cash.
The bouncer says something vaguely racist, and asserts the money in there is 'small bills.'
Petra pats the bouncer on the elbow twice, thanks him, and saunters off with her arm around Ari's waist. She hears him complain about a splinter in his arm, and then the absence of his wallet.
And then she hears a thud. The crowd is murmuring about how the man had a heart attack. Petra points to his companion and notes he has the fallen man's wallet. The man indeed has the wallet but claims not to know how it got there. In the confusion, Petra drags Ari into the club. She buys Ari a drink and tips the bartender with a crumple of cash that likely had been in the bouncer's wallet. //"Sorry about the small bills."//
"Petra, you're coming with me!" Ari grabs Petra's wrist and drags her towards a dark corner.
Petra lets out a delighted peal of laughter, //"Oh dear, we going to the bathroom stall again?"//
----
They're in a bathroom stall now. Ari drags Petra in there so they can talk. Ari struggles to complete a sentence as Petra's lips and teeth massage her neck. Her knees buckle when Petra's fingers slip under Ari's shirt.
"Petra-"
Petra tells her not to worry.
"What did we just do?"
Petra suggests thinking of that as the foreplay.
"I'm not a sadist. That man could have died."
Petra says neither is she, but respect is everything.
There's a bark outside. "The dog," Ari gasps. Petra wraps an arm around Ari's neck, while her other hand slides under Ari's shorts and underwear. Her head is pressed to Ari's, and Ari feels Petra drinking the hunger on her face. "The dog followed us in here."
"The dog follows you everywhere, Ari." Ari feels herself bend over the stall. They know each other's bodies perfectly and what they like. She feels Petra's lips on the back of her neck, she feels embraced from behind, and then Petra's fingers, again, delicately tease moans out of Ari that are deeper and more feminine than she can recognize.
Petra asks her if she still deepens her voice so the guys will respect her.
"All this time," Ari whispers, "You still think I'm some performance. Petra tenses against her, leans forward, and Ari almost chokes on her gasp, then grits her teeth. "Yeah, I talk deeper than I sound, but I've been doing that since I was six." Ari's through playing nice. She reverses Petra's hold on her and slams Petra against the bathroom stall door. The dog whines. Petra smiles.
"Maybe we would have lasted a little longer if you didn't keep telling me I was fake."
Petra says Ari has her confused with //everybody//. Petra was the only one who had seen the inside of the husk. She's a lovely husk.
"You just wanted to fill me with yourself."
Petra says that's what fixing someone often is.
"I tried. That's why I hate you. I tried to do it, and you always said it wasn't enough."
Petra says it was always fake, just like the whore upstairs.
"He's enough for now."
Petra says he's the same kind of fake as she is.
"So were you."
Petra said that's a fair cop. She suggests perhaps 'fake' isn't the best term for it.
"So how would you describe it?"
Petra takes Ari's hands and places them over her own throat.
Ari grins and leans forward.
----
Ari grins and leans forward into the sand, seeing Petra's eyes slowly close, content, as Ari began to squeeze. Behind her the waves of the beach insistently paw at the shore, crashing a moisture carpet around Ari's thighs.
//"Dina!"//
Her dad is the only person who called her that-mostly because everyone else calls her Ari and he wanted it abundantly clear he was not everyone else.
Ari hops off of Petra and stands at attention. Under a red sky swollen with sun-cooked, shimmering air, she feels salt sting her eyes and sweat drip from her lashes.
"Sir!" Ari looks down at the black one-piece bespoke Moeva London she wears, Petra's gift. Ari let herself wear it on the trip Petra gave it to her for fun. Petra was on the ground, lying between her legs, her eyes closed, in a somewhat more provocative swimsuit. "Uh..." Ari had not felt this caught off guard since she was fifteen, "I can explain!"
Her father shrugged. "What you do for R&R is your business, not mine."
So why does she still feel like she had done something wrong?
Her father reminded her she was late to her mother's funeral.
"What are //you// doing over here?" Ari asks.
Her father says the funeral was not quorate. No one else had come. He'd be all alone.
"You've always said you were okay with that."
Her father says that is true.
"But it's not, is it? Especially since Alex enlisted. You don't have anyone anymore. You were bad at making friends, too."
Her father says that is true as well, but it is irrelevant.
"What if we both die? Then you'll be all alone!"
Her father asks if she's any better off.
"I wasn't any better at it than you were."
Her father says she's always reminded her of him.
"Why do you say that like it's a bad thing?" Ari feels tears sting her eyes.
Her father looks away from her into the red-hued dusk and the inflamed water splashing against the sand.
//"How'd you turn out like this?"//
"I don't know," Ari hears herself say, "Just don't expect any grandchildren from me."
Her father laughs and laughs and laughs and laughs. Ari doesn't like the sound.
The dog behind her barks, and she turns to see him lay on his side, somehow gazing into her with his patched-up missing eye. "Dad. There's this dog. He's dumb as nails, he hasn't been housetrained, and I'm pretty sure he's got fleas. Can I keep him?"
Her father frowns, asks her why she wants to.
"He's got nowhere else to go."
Her father suggests he raised her better than to be someone's caretaker.
"Maybe playing house with a homeless dog is fun for me, okay?"
Her father begrudgingly agrees and suggests maybe the dog can keep her company at the funeral.
"Let's not talk crazy here, dad."
Her dad also warns her that if the dog goes rabid, she'll have to put him down.
"I can handle my business, dad. Like I'd let you down."
Her father asks why what he thinks matters at all.
"Because you're the only friend I got."
----
It's a brisk walk from the shore back home for the funeral. At the last intersection before the address for the burial, she takes a left turn instead and she's back at the bar. She lets herself in—as before, the bar was deserted. Her footsteps were very loud, squeaking sounds like a trampoline greeting her every step.
She only made out the face of the bartender when she reached the stools. She smiled. It wasn't Petra.
"Hi, Mom."
Her mom asks her what she's doing here when she's supposed to be in Balochistan.
"Why else do I like lucid dreaming? I stick around long enough to see you again."
Her mom points out that's what memories are for.
"I don't remember faces very well. I don't remember yours."
Her mom suggests she may just be a weirdo.
"Don't talk like that. You never talked like that."
Her mom suggests she felt like that.
"I know you do."
Her mom reminds her that she's dead.
"I know."
Her mom asks her what's wrong with her.
"I don't know."
Her mom asks her if she can see her arm for a moment. The dog is on the stool next to Ari, lapping from a glass of Scotch again. Ari lays her arm on the table.
Her mom grabs her arm, scans it quizzically, then flips it around, grabs a knife, and plunges it into Ari's wrist.
Ari doesn't feel anything. "Mama...why?"
Her mom doesn't respond, instead dragging the blade along the vertical of her wrist. What bursts out of the wound is straw, lots of straw.
"I see."
Her mom says it's not her fault she was made like this.
"You two tried your best."
Her mom agrees but asserts it's still her dad's fault.
"What does Dad have to do with any of this?"
//"The only pure thing in his fucking life is carrying his disease,"// her mom says. She says that Ari's soul is as damaged as he was.
"He was kind of sad about how I turned out, huh."
Her mom shakes her head. She says //she// was sad about how Ari turned out. Her father is proud. Proud that she's the same husk as he was.
"Stop it. You were never this mean."
Her mom says she did try her best, and her best was enough, wasn't it?
Ari looks at her mangled arm, bleeding straw. "How do I fix it?"
Her mom says she can't fix it.
"So then what?"
Her mom invites her to watch, then pulls out a pillow case, then stuffs the straw from Ari's arm into the pillow-case. There's a surprising amount of straw, and the pillow becomes quite plump. She throws the pillow on the ground.
The dog jumps down, rests his head on the pillow, and sleeps.
"It's gratifying, I suppose." Ari shivers. "I'm cold."
Her mom says she can fix that. Ari hears the loud snapping sound, the scent of phosphate, and then her mom's hand putting something in her straw. The fire ignites her arm instantly, and the whole bar is aglow, she feels a searing pain in her thigh
Like melting-point metal teeth are sinking into the wound,
Her screams from innumerable occasions alone in basements
Bellow out of her mouth,
And then she feels cold water put it all out.
It is a curtain of rain smashing through the roof. The water gathers around her feet, her waist, it's cold, it's filling her mouth and her nose.
And she feels good again.
----
+ Scene 4: Help me to breathe
Ari wakes up and feels wet.
Her eyes flutter open as trickles of warm water cascade down her brow. The way they drip from her lashes reminds her of the beach, the way the drops caress the bags under her eyes and roll into her mouth...something more humbling.
In front of her, behind the barstand, frowning, is Farhan, letting water drip from his palm onto her forehead. He's wearing a t-shirt. A towel is thrown over his shoulder in a pantomime of a bartender at a greasy dive. He's smiling apologetically.
"What are you doing?" She smacks Farhan's hand out of her face.
"It's something we do at ORIA when we're waking up somebody who's seen combat and might be armed. Best way of avoiding flashbacks."
"Cute." Ari yawns, and then her senses catch up with her and she recalls the way they'd parted. "Wait a second, did you stalk me?"
"Naturally." Ari opens her mouth to shout at him and he quickly corrects himself. "I //shadowed// you."
"That's a distinction without a difference!"
"No, shadowing is solicited by the principal."
"I didn't solicit anything!"
"The door."
"The what?"
"You left the door five inches open when you were running away," Farhan says, turning away from Ari to gather some things from the liquor cabinet, "It's a cut and dry duress code, don't you remember?"
"Not only no, Farhan," Ari lets her hands fall to the bar surface with a smack, "But hell no."
"Am I lying about the duress code part?"
"I mean, not exactly."
"Not exactly, or just not lying?"
"Whatever. What about my body language or voice tone suggested I wanted you to shadow me? We're not in the battlefield. Or does ORIA not do social cues?"
"They don't, funnily enough," Farhan finishes wiping a glass and then fills it with water, reaching into a nearby fridge and dropping ice into the water. He slides the glass of water in front of her. "Please drink that."
"You better check it for crumbs or anything, Farhan, because if I taste anything that's not water I'm shooting you before it kicks in."
Farhan winks and downs fully half the glass, sliding it back across the table so it almost falls off, but doesn't. "Satisfied?"
She remembers him back on the bed. "No." She drinks the water, and then realizes how thirsty she has been and finishes it.
"Do you believe me that I genuinely thought you needed a detail? You were jogging at four in the morning!"
She scrunches up her mouth in a look of pouty incredulity. "Whatever." She is mad at herself. Why //did// she jog out of her own apartment and leave a total stranger there instead of kicking him out? Why would she fail to shut the door on her way out?
//Wait a minute, why would it matter how much I closed the door? The intruder is in the damn apartment to begin with!//
Ari covers her cheeks and then rubs her eyes.
//Just what was I thinking? What am I thinking?//
Instead of vocalizing any of that, Ari points to the liquor cabinet. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"
//Why does all this feel like a pleasant surprise?//
She tries imagining waking up in the bar alone: //Boring.//
She decides she is glad he's here.
"Certainly." Before she can say a thing, Farhan gets to work throwing together a drink. His deft hand flies across the ingredients— simple syrup, rose water, orange water, gin— pouring them together as the other hand squeezes lemons and lime. His metal index finger scrapes the mixer as he wildly shakes the ice and melange. An egg cracks, and its yolk follows heavy cream into the mixture. The shaking resumes with gusto. Farhan lets the mixer fly in the air, catching it at the end of its gleeful parabola. Not a moment after it lands, he strains the mix into an ornate oblong cup.
The show gives Ari a pleasant light feeling. Words are hard, she can barely get out a 'thank you'. Her skin feels like a continuum between warmth and a creeping ticklishness.
And then she realizes why this drink looks familiar. She looks at him. "Where's this come from?"
"It's your favorite drink."
"It is not my..." Ari drifts off as she tries to sort out her thoughts on the issue. "It's...okay, wait-" She waves her hands in front of her face like she is fending Farhan off. "It's-it's not my favorite drink, alright? //Fuck,// I'm tired." She rubs her eyes again, mostly to avoid further eye-contact with Farhan.
"You ordered it three times in a row last night."
Something loosens her tongue, and it isn't liquor. "Gods dammit, alright, it's not my favorite drink, it's my ex's!"
"Uh huh," She pokes through her fingers to see Farhan's face remain impassive, but for a raised eyebrow. "Okay, it wasn't her favorite drink, either. She just liked making it for me. I like watching people make drinks. That's a fun routine. The sounds, the flurry of movement, the liquid—"
"Is that what's going on with the gun-stuff earlier? ASMR and a tactile thing?"
"Yeah. She'd make the drink for me because I liked watching her work."
"Was that the only reason she'd make the drink?"
"No, no, she wanted to get me drunk."
"To hook up?"
"Hook up? Christ, no." Ari laughs, "No, she'd insist on doing it sober, which was fine by me."
"So why the drinks?" Farhan asks, raised eyebrow replaced by genuine confusion.
"She didn't get me drunk to hook up. She was getting me drunk 'cause she wanted me to tear shit up. I think she wanted to recruit me for a heist." //She kept trying to open me up. She kept telling me I was repressed. She kept telling me I was a coiled spring. She always thought I was deadpanning. The same as everyone else. I can't simply be Ari. I have to be an enigma. There's no way I'm just weird.// She wants to say any of what she is thinking out loud, but she can't.
"A heist..." Farhan wrinkles his nose, "Good god, Ari, so you did date a criminal."
"She wasn't a criminal." Ari looks at her hands. She really is tired. "She //did// get sacked from the Foundation for selling anomaly access for cash she'd donate to charities for fun, and she //did// almost certainly moonlight by robbing GOIs for profit." Ari takes a sip of the drink.
//Tastes just like 2023.//
"//Mashallah//, so what is she, some kind of terrorist-for-hire? "
Ari shakes her head, "No, an edgerunner."
"The hell is an edgerunner?"
"Mercenaries get paid to fight in armies. Tactical by nature. Edgerunners get paid for strategic stuff. Stuff you would normally do with drone strikes or B-52s. Raising hell. Bombing. Smashing. Grabbing. GOI mass casualty events. Mayhem with a purpose. They get paid with their own loot and backdoor intel. They don't get orders—written ones, anyway. Most of the time, there's an unaffiliated fixer who deals with them. You point at the target, give them your wishlist, pull the pin, and try not to get hit by the shrapnel."
Farhan whistles. "You really know how to pick them, eh?"
"I didn't freaking know she was one! You're going to tell me you didn't screw anybody on the naughty list?"
Farhan laughs, but she notices he wipes his mouth with his hand, something her dad does whenever she asks him about his military service in Mogadishu. "Yeah, but I don't work for the //Foundation!// How'd you even get away with that?"
//Who said I did?//
Ari changes the subject. "Where'd you learn how to make this drink, anyways?"
It is Farhan's turn to look sheepish. "About fifteen minutes after we met."
"Huh?"
"I...I like knowing how to make the drinks of women I think I'm going to see again." He looks at the glass.
"'Think you're going to see again'-Farhan, when would you have had the time to learn this?"
"I'm a quick study."
"A Muslim born mixologist?"
"Fine." Farhan raises his hands in the air in mock surrender, "You got me. I memorized the directions on my phone when I was in the bathroom shortly before we went to your room."
"Aha! I knew you were up to no good."
"Then why didn't you do anything about it?"
"Psh," Ari dismissively flutters her hand at him, "You seemed harmless." //Certainly compared to when you're asleep.// She takes a breath, and then says something that's been on her mind all night: "And now, you seem sad." He reaches for her glass, and she pulls it away from him. "You're sad."
"I'm not sad."
"You seem sad right now."
"I can't be sad." Ari takes a longer drink.
"You look so sad. That's why I always feel like making you a drink."
"No," She chuckles. "I've got //no// problems. None. I'm problem free."
"Oh yeah? How long have you been in the MTF?"
"Four years. Why?"
"Ari. //You've// got problems."
Ari bursts out laughing. It is a surprisingly high-pitched peal of laughter that goes on for thirty seconds longer than her lungs can comfortably bear, and then she snorts.
She slaps her hands on her mouth. "Gods dammit." She looks at Farhan. "What?"
Farhan stares at her, but she doesn't see ridicule in his eyes. The muscles on his face are relaxed. His eyes are hooded and calm. His breathing looks quietly rushed.
He's smiling. He's happy.
She realizes she has never //really// seen him smile before, any more than he has ever seen her laugh. Whatever his mouth did before, that wasn't as real as what's on his face now. Where does this leave them?
"Uh..." Ari swallows, "Problems."
//Right, this schmuck trying to tell me he's fine. Why don't I just call him out? Would he believe me? Why do I care?//
"You were pretty quick to try to tell me I had 'daddy-issues.' Sexist ass." She pushes the glass towards Farhan. "Projection, much?"
"Oh me?" He grins. "Oh, I've got daddy issues."
"Excuse me?"
Farhan shrugged. "He was a Moradi, and Moradi men don't make good partners. He'd gamble his salary on his way home. Mom had to walk him home on payday.”
//You're a Moradi, though.// "Like she didn't have enough going on." //That supposed to be a warning?//
"Well, he told me that since he had a job, it was her job to clean up after him. He had a way of saying it where I was sure he was joking."
"He sounds like a bastard."
"The joke was he wouldn't let her work. Said it would make her look bad." The way Farhan is laughing is more like he's exhaling a grunt. //How often is this man pretending to laugh?//
"What was his problem?"
Farhan frowns, “In retrospect, I don't think he was up to the task of being an adult. He got along much better with me than my mother, and she was too worn down putting out his fires to fight for my attention. I thought she was an asshole. She thought I was on his team. And I was. I thought my dad was great." Farhan closes his eyes and shakes his head. "He was a shit husband. He was a shit for her. I haven't met a friend like him."
Ari clears her throat. "Okay."
"Okay?"
She shrugs. "Why are you telling me all this?" //This is why I hate having friends. You can't just exist. You have to throw the right feelings at people.// Ari wrinkles her nose. //Fuck, are we friends?//
"We're just talking here. What's wrong now?"
"You telling me this much about yourself. It sounds unbelievable. Or insulting." She opens her eyes and locks her gaze with his. "Either you're lying to me to play me, or you're confessing to someone you know can't possibly use the information."
"//Ey Khoda!// [[footnote]] Farsi: Oh God! [[/footnote]] You're a paranoid woman."
"It's not paranoia if it's a reproducible pattern."
"There's a third option." Farhan moves his hand closer to Ari's, and Ari pulls hers back under the counter and lets it rest on her concealed needle full of neurotoxin in her pocket. "And what's that?"
"Maybe I was hoping you'd tell me something about yourself in return! Ya Allah, does everything have to be spelled out like this?"
"Yes!" Ari tightens her fingers on the weapon. Then she wavers. “Wait-//you// want to know something about me. As in, like, about //me//."
"Yeah."
“This is a psy-op."
"Ari, you field-strip guns for fun. I don't think there's a shrink in the world who could figure you out."
"Why do you sound so excited by that?"
"I don't know!" Farhan sounds genuinely confused. To her satisfaction, he also has trouble maintaining eye-contact with her, which is what she does when she's stressed too. All that aside, he was right. This couldn't be a honey-pot. She is a non-com officer in the MTF. Her security clearance is good for mission briefings and a discount at the in-house Shwarma restaurant. There were //janitors// worth more for their intel than her right now.
She lets go of the weapon. She can't play his game. She has no tragedies or traumas in her life. Her father was there for her growing up. Her Mom was considerate enough to wait until after Ari was old enough to drink to die.
"I was there when my dad fell off the wagon," she says. She bites her tongue. Hard.
"Fell off the wagon?" Farhan looks at her glass. "So he was an alcoholic?"
"Recovering all my life. Never touched a drop before mom died."
"Did //you// take painkillers?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because he didn't.-Gimme that-," she takes a deep gulp of her—his—their drink.
“How’d you tell him you were leaving the Rangers to join the MTF?”
"I may have implied that Delta Force poached me shortly after I got my tab."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"It didn't to him either, but he said he didn't care and he trusted me."
"You just lied to him, though."
"I think his exact words were, 'if you're doing it, it has to be done'."
"That's sweet of him."
"He did say drinks were on me though. Anyways, the big thing is, he wanted to grab a drink with me before I went off to ‘selection’. Never drank with me before. I think he thought me being there would keep him from going overboard. And it did, that night. He drank just enough to talk more than I'd ever heard him talk."
"What did you two talk about?" Farhan's voice dims to a whisper. Ari senses he is trying to draw her into discussing more. She doesn't mind. Embarrassing as it is, she can't think of any opsec concerns.
"Ninety-nine percent of it was him talking shit about the Army because of course."
"Why would he talk shit about the Army? Isn't that a different branch of the same military?"
"On the battlefield, sure. Off it, they're like divorced parents with joint custody. You should hear my dad sound off about it."
"So you're a second generation soldier."
"Yup."
"Why?"
"Funnily enough, he asked me the same thing."
"Oh yeah?"
"His voice was shaking," Ari does not know why that detail sticks out to her as much as it does. "Just asked me, the first time he ever did, 'Why'd you follow me?'"
She takes another drink. She notices a small white fluff on Farhan's shoulder and plucks it off. A pause shoves its way between them yet again until Farhan clears his throat. "You're not going to leave me hanging there, are you?"
"What's there to say? I told him I felt like it. He asked me why, I said it made sense. He asked me why did it make sense, and I said it's what he did, and it sounded like I'd be good at it. Then he stared at me for a while. It looked like he realized something."
She notices something shift about Farhan's expression. The knitted brow, the way his blinking slows, the frown. It almost seems like concern. She is annoyed by it. Her eyes begin to itch and she rubs them irritably. Breathing gets heavier.
Ari pushes past it. "He was...he said, 'I'm sorry.' I asked why, he said he wasn't sure he wanted this for me. By the way, this is where his drinking really picked up. I was tipsy myself, which is why I think I asked him a really stupid question. 'Did I do something wrong?' He said no, he was proud of me, which I knew. He said he was sorry he didn't show me how to be happy."
"Did you agree?" Farhan's hand slides over hers. For some reason, she likes the feeling enough not to yank it away. //We've done a lot more than that, after all.//
"Didn't know what to say, so I said the first thing that came to mind. I said, 'You did your best, I know you did. Just don't expect any grandchild on my end.' Then he laughed. Like, if you know my dad, he doesn't really laugh, and he just burst out laughing. It sounds like a bark. I didn't like it. Still don't like to think about it."
"What happened then?"
"We drank in silence."
Ari takes another sip, feels something in her wants to talk more, likely to fill the silence. "It didn't entirely come out of nowhere."
"You mean you picked up on it?"
"No, I didn't have to. Look, my parents were good to me, but they had trouble getting along. Most of the time, I could tell they were arguing but they kept their voices down. The one time they didn't was when I told them I was joining the Army. They didn't look happy right off the bat. I thought dad was pissed at me for not following him into the marines."
"It wasn't that, was it?"
"I heard them in their car in the garage, arguing. Mom isn't home very often, I was looking for her to take her out to lunch. I heard her voice, listened at the garage. I heard just a few things and I decided I didn't want to hear anymore."
"What'd you hear?"
"She said he killed me. She said he was cold and angry all the same and it infected me. The thing I really-oh for //fuck's sake// what keeps getting in my freaking eye?" She slams the table and points to a box of brown paper-towels by the liquor cabinet. Farhan obliges her and she rubs the rough textured paper over her eyes and cheeks. "She said 'She's the only pure thing left in your fucking world, and she has your disease.' I was like, 'way above my paygrade,' and bounced. Later that afternoon I tried my first blunt. Threw up. I don't really like getting high these days."
"Neither do I."
"Not much a fan of drinking either."
"Neither am I." Farhan holds her hand tighter, and Ari feels like it helps somehow and closes her eyes. "What disease were they talking about?"
Ari thinks back to Farhan, his screaming, back to those nights at home, huddled behind a locked door, hearing her dad scream, sometimes thrash at night, sometimes making out names of dead men, sometimes it is just babbling. The way she has to avoid making loud noises around him or else he'd freeze or shout at her only to apologize immediately afterwards. Him telling his wife he didn't need therapy, that he could handle 'it'. The nights he chose not to sleep at all, where she'd go to the kitchen for a midnight snack or a glass of water, and find him sitting on his armchair staring out the window onto the moonlit cul-de-sac, and she'd sometimes sit there with him, and at some point he'd stop telling her to go back to sleep.
And then the reasons why kids thought she was weird, where she acted just like he did. Quiet, taciturn, watching, playing just a little too hard in physical activities, always the last to laugh at a joke she didn't realize was supposed to be funny. How she would find out to her shock that her friends were not really friends but found her a curiosity more than anything else.
It is belatedly she realizes her mouth is moving and these thoughts are pouring through it, and she is rambling in circles as she returns to her dad's screaming. "Night terrors. They were night terrors." She looks at Farhan. The sense-echo of his rough hands on her arms burns in her brain, the plastic look in his eyes when he was inside of her. "Do you know what I mean?"
"What's that?" He has been listening, but he isn't expecting to participate, clearly.
Ari's hand reverses the grip he has on hers, then traps it beneath her palm.
"Do you have night terrors, Farhan?"
Farhan stops. He still breathes, he still takes a drink from Ari's glass, his eyes still move, but she can tell he freezes as something starts to gnaw and claw at itself in his head. She sees his shoulders rise and fall driven by harsher breathing. She sees his remaining eye swivel back and forth. No 'uhs', no 'ums'. Instead she stares at him, relaxed, without judgment, sees the cogs in his head turn. Is he trying to come up with a lie? Is he trying to bring himself to confess? Or does he recognize what she really means?
His hand squeezes hers. It is painful, and likely unconscious, but all she does is tilt her head. It is unusual to see someone just stop like this, but not to withdraw. She feels like she is watching someone try to climb uphill a sharp slope. She feels like he will fall.
The eyepatch over his left eye. The fake skin on his back. His screaming. His soulful glances when he thought no one was looking. The way he likes to watch her laugh. The smirk of triumph whenever she smiles. The way he interprets a dangling door as a call for help. She straight up ditched him earlier in her apartment, but he doesn't recoil from the emotional rough-housing. The level of immaturity she has shown this night alone is humiliating, but like a loyal puppy he trots along in her wake, the way she lets herself get towed along by the slipstream of his damage like debris amidst tidal waves.
He acts like someone would if they cared.
//He's a weirdo.//
He stammers a lifeless and blatantly unconvincing, "No."
//He knows I know. He lies to me because if he says yes he'd talk about where he got his from and he would never stop.//
Somehow, she just knows in that moment if she presses him //once// he'll break.
//Just like me.//
She doesn't think that phrase often //at all//. She can count it on her hand. She can count it on a few fingers.
"Uh-huh." She grabs the glass, half-full, and tips it into her mouth. One, two, three—the drink disappears in her mouth. Her eyes tickle in a more familiar way. The glass hits the table. She exhales with a hiss. "Dead." She looks at where she thinks she sees a clock. She can't make out the time. "It's late."
"Yeah, I know."
"I've got..." her hazy, sleepy brain grasps at slippery words, "morning things in, like, four hours."
"Yeah, early flight to...someplace."
"It was nice...hanging out, Farhan."
"Yeah, same."
"Where are you...staying...?"
"Got a hotel room. I'm set."
"Sure you are, Farhan."
"You alright walking back to your place by yourself?"
"We //just// deployed in a crazy kill-or-capture mission thirty-six hours ago, and you're acting like I've never seen a day of combat in my life."
"I don't usually spend this much time with a..."
"Fellow operator?"
"Spook, not since I was in ORIA."
The whistle of a door's opening.
"Oh, you're a gentleman now?"
"Sometimes."
A hiss as the door shuts. The cool skin-tickling of moon-cooled desert air.
"Ari, has anyone ever told you you're funny?"
"You, like, five times tonight."
"I don't mean that like a bad way."
"I can't think of how it might be good."
"I think the better word is you're //fun//. You always surprise me."
"'I'm not like other girls,' is that it?"
"You're not like other //people//. I feel like there's no lying in you."
"Wish I could say the same about you, Farhan."
"Say, I've been curious about something, I think I noticed something on your leg..."
"Changing the subject, eh?"
"Yeah, but I'm genuinely curious."
"Ha, alright. Gimme a hand. Like, palm up, need you to catch my foot."
"How's this?"
"Farhan, how stiff do you think I am? Like a foot higher than that! Okay, thanks!"
She lifts her foot in the air and lets it rest on Farhan's hand. She sees his eyes trace the taut sinews and curves of her calf and thighs. She smirks, then pulls back tight fabric of her shorts up a few inches so he can see the Texas-shaped patch of membrane on her inner thigh.
"Ok, you see that?"
"Sure."
"Dad had chronic pain, right? I didn't know what that was like, not until—" She lifts her leg and peels back her shorts to show him the scar on her inner thigh, “—I got this from a hazmat munition from a SORAYA Commando." Ari knows her train of thought is derailing itself, but it seems Farhan is following her just fine.
"Holy shit, that must have been a //bitch//." His eyes widen. "That's a pretty sensitive spot, too."
"Wouldn't you know. I knew my dad dealt with chronic pain from his tour of duty. I don't know how he did it all those years without painkillers or falling off the wagon. Like, all those years of quietly putting up with it. Still don't know how to tell him..."
"Damn, Ari, I don't know whether to say that's badass or stupid."
"Uh huh." A pause. "Okay, lift it by another bit..." Farhan obliges, "Okay, hold it for thirty seconds."
"Why?"
"I need a stretch. Just pause there."
"I got better things to do with my time."
"And half are going to be you thinking about my legs, now shut up." Another pause. She lifts her foot and lets her leg drift to the ground, a perfect display of control.
"You're so vain, Ari."
"Competitive, more like."
"Hey, Ari."
"What?"
"About the night terror thing. Uh, maybe I'm //not// so sure about the..."
"Don't worry about it, Farhan."
"No, look, it's just I don't remember the last time I've spent the night with someone, it's not like I record myself after all—"
"Farhan, really."
"Ari."
"//Farhan//. It's okay. Don't push it. It isn't like that."
"You're sure? Oh, what, are you serious?" Ari skips past him and holds the next door for him.
"Age before brains, dude."
"Vain and petty. Is this like a glow-in-the-dark setting for you?"
"What, you're gonna tell me I'm secretly some kinda mega-bitch?"
"You're not secretly anything, Ari. You're you. You're always you."
"That a problem?"
"That's the fun part."
She stops. Clears her throat.
"Ari? Ari, where'd you go?"
"Gimme a second."
"Are you //blushing//?"
"Screw you." The squeal of another door.
"Are you seriously taking the stairs? I thought you were tired!"
"You can take the elevator if you want."
"Race you."
"That's ten flights."
"Ready, set,—"
There is a rush and—
"Dammit, Ari, how do you keep doing that?"
"Skipping stairs, bitch. What's the matter? Need a second to catch your breath?"
"I got the door this time, Ari."
"Fine, whatever."
There is a mumble.
"What was that?"
"I said I may have thrown that one to look at your ass."
"I can look at your assets just fine from the front, bro."
"Thoughts?"
"You go too hard on proteins and lift strength. I can tell you need work on your explosiveness, and don't get me started on your quads. Your turn. Got any feedback for me?"
"Do you always go jogging without a sports bra?"
"I'm wearing one!"
"I couldn't tell, Ari."
"Okay, Farhan. Guess your mouth works just fine when you're not..." She rummages through her pockets. "Where'd I put my keycard. Did I seriously leave it in the—"
"Here."
"See, told you that wasn't a duress code. I meant to leave the door open."
"Whatever."
They file inside the living room and Farhan closes the door behind them and throws the keycard on the counter. Ari slumps onto her chair at the table, her Beretta 92SF in one piece. "Did you seriously assemble my gun without permission?"
"Haven't seen that for a while. Didn't it get phased out in the early 2000s?"
"Yeah it did. That's my dad's."
"Family heirloom."
"Yup."
There is a pause.
"Wait a second," Ari rubs her eyes and looks around the apartment. "How'd we get here?"
Farhan looks equally baffled. "You said it was late, and then you kept walking."
"Huh. I thought //you// said it was late, I figured I'd walk with you to wherever you were—"
"So we were..."
Ari crosses her arms. "Did you //really// have a hotel room?"
"No, honestly I wasn't planning on sleeping tonight either."
Ari frowns. "I'm sleeping with a bum?"
"You're sleeping with an insomniac." He corrects his grammar. "//Were// sleeping with an insomniac."
"Looked pretty asleep to me back there."
"Yeah, how about that?"
Another pause. Then Farhan whispers. "What now?"
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=https://i.imgur.com/N7RHEaO.jpeg|caption="A nice view from inside the downward spiral."|width=400px]]
Ari shrugs, then walks over to her liquor stash, wrenches off the cap and throws it on the countertop. She tips the bottle into her mouth and lets a shot glass worth of liquor fall into her mouth, then flips it the rest of the way and lets the drink pour over her head, soaking her hair, flowing down her skin, splashing her shirt. Cool rivulets of cheap spirits swirl down her belly and legs. Farhan's mouth hangs open in shock. The bottle makes a loud clanging sound as it tumbles into the sink.
Dripping with scotch and giddiness, Ari grabs Farhan by the back of the neck and forces her lips onto his and he replies with gusto, tongues dancing in the few moments their dripping mouths part for breath before they go right back at it. Ari's leg is wrapped around Farhan's thigh and she feels like he's holding back for some reason, as though in disbelief this is happening despite everything. He pulls her head away from his with a fistful of her hair in his hands. His eyes look lost.
She smiles, unable to hide her teeth. "Tell me I'm funny again."
He sweeps her off her feet and carries her to the bed, but this time, when he is just inches from the bed and about to let go, she grabs his arm, throws her legs over his shoulder and locks it—as expected, the threat to his arm catches him by surprise and she drags him to the mattress in a breathless drop, splashing together. It doesn't matter if he can lift two hundred pounds or three, his arm is hers.
"Hey. I've got a parameter from here on out." Her voice is business-like, professional, how she sounds when in the field.
"//Ouch//, ya Allah, what the hell—"
"Shut up, you big baby. Moving forward, any time you're inside of me, you're looking at me. If a jarhead out in the field wants to be an asshole, that's their business, but I'm not taking disrespect in bed. You got that?"
"Uh, what do you—" She grits her teeth and applies a newtonian dollop of force and he growls, "Okay, okay! Sheesh. A simple talk would suffice—"
"Would it?" She hums quizzically, "Would it really? Smartass like you?"
Farhan sighs. "It would now. It does now."
"Uh huh. Another thing. If at any point you don't feel like doing it, you can stop. I don't want you going on auto-pilot."
"F-fuck! Fine!"
"Alright?" //I am being a bit of a hypocrite, considering tonight is the first time I'd thrown a fit like that.// She frowns. //He really does bring out the weird in me.// "//Alright?//"
Farhan sighs. "Alright."
She weakens her grip on one leg from around his arm, and he is pulling her legs and then she feels her shorts and underwear peel away from her thighs, legs, and then her feet. Then his lips replace the shorts and make their way up her thighs. She feels a chill from the air and what he's doing to her clit.
And after a few minutes she can tell he's not getting her off this way. Maybe Farhan was just bad at going down on women. She fakes an orgasm—not that it would have worked on Petra, but Petra had a perspective Farhan didn't—and then he's back on top of her.
They kiss, Ari not minding the taste of herself on him. Somehow, the frenzy in the way his lips search for hers, the way their tongues dance and their mouths fit together, is sexy as hell.
"The hell are you looking at?" Ari asks. Farhan's hands are on either side of Ari's head, and he kisses her again, and she bites his lip as he slides inside of her. She really, //really// tries to choke the sound, trying to squeeze its way out of her by burying her mouth and tongue in his, but it is from way too deep in her throat, and she hears him chuckle. His hands slide under her shirt, and she lets his fingers crawl their way up his belly for a moment before she firmly, if shakily, pulls his hands back out of her shirt—and then they are immediately on her chest anyways. "Fuck."
Even without the nerve endings there, something about it all still makes her see pink. She really wants to feel the hair on those immaculately shaped pecs and abdominals tear at her bare skin. She's really tempted to let him have her shirt already, but that was never going to happen.
//I'm a tactile person.// She never knew that about herself before. //He's nothing if not instructive.//
He breaks off their kiss, and their mouths are bridged by saliva. He looks at her like her face has changed. She wonders what her mouth and eyes are doing to make him look like that. Her cheeks feel tight in a good way. Her hands slide over her mouth, nose, eyes. "Stop staring, you creep." She feels him move inside her, caged quite comfortably by his thick arms to the left and right of her head.
"Give me something better to do." He says.
One after the other, she pulls one hand and then the other and lets them fall around her throat. "Shut up and fuck me, you—" She feels the breath driven from her mouth and his hands tighten around her neck and his hips start moving, she feels him slick between her thighs as her legs tighten around his waist and feels self-conscious that she hasn't showered. There is a mix of satisfaction and a je ne sais quoi as she sees his eyes firmly fixed on her thighs, and the friction and anger of his thrusts inside her send her cresting closer and closer to a better and better high and—
She taps him on his hands. He immediately slackens his grip and he starts to slow down—"Don't you dare stop—" his pace resumes and he tilts his head to one side, "Two. Uh. Two things. One, you're tested, right?"
"Yeah." His eyes narrow. A question that only just occurred to him as well. "And you...how's your um...are you on the..."
"What?" Ari laughs. "Please, I had that taken care of the same day I signed on with the Foundation. You?"
He looks away from her. His remaining eye closes. "Yeah, it's...it's handled on my end, too."
//It wasn't up to him, was it?// Ari looks at the patch on his left eye, remembers his flayed back, the systematic web of scars all over his body, the way they flow into hers. She is no detective, but for a moment, she feels like they are fucking amidst the still smoldering debris of whatever crash-landing Farhan's life has made, the darkness in his expression, him threatening to slip back into the crater.
She yanks his face towards hers and they're a tangle mouths, breath, kisses, the taste and scent of scotch on her body blending with the cologne and sweat on his and they're both dripping and slick with each other. She lets her tongue and lips trace his jaw, her cheek graze his stubble. A thought emerges in the haze, and she chokes it out in between gasps.
"Safeword. Like. Might as well." Her lips breathe next to his ear.
"What?"
"We need a safe word."
"What. What did you have in mind?"
"Farhan, I know you didn't. Didn't just. I'm not doing creative thinking. Off the clock. //You//."
Farhan whispers something in Farsi in her ear.
"That had better be unique to me."
"I've never had. A safeword. Before now."
"You fuck nasty, dude. How?"
"Never had the same partner. That long."
"Should have a safeword."
"How about you?"
"Yeah, once."
"What was yours?"
Ari thinks for a moment. "Tides."
"What? Why?"
"Because the bitch always said I'm like the tides!"
"Why?"
Ari groaned. "Just flip me over, dude—OOMPH—" Her face is back into the pillow, and she feels empty again for barely a second before his dick is inside of her again, and he pounds into her from behind.
"If I catch you looking at the wall again—woah—" she feels Farhan's nails scratch her scalp, and he grabs a fistful of her hair and yanks her on her hands and knees, pulling her face towards his. Her eyes meet his—she's his whole world now—
"Ow!" She feels her butt sting as his hand collides with it. "Damn! What the hell?"
Farhan tsktsks. "You were lying about getting off earlier."
//Shit.// She scrunches her mouth, chagrinned. //That's a fair cop.// "Yeah, so?"
"I thought we weren't lying to each other!"
"When did I say that? Ow!" That one fills the room.
"That's the vibe. Talking about wanting to know how I feel, all the confessionals, your dad—"
"Dude. I like you. But that's not. What this is."
"Don't fake orgasm with me—wait, what was that you said?"
"Screw you. //OW!//"
"You like me?"
"Uh."
"Gonna punk out right now? You afraid? What did you say?"
"Fuck yourself," she snarls, "I like you!"
"What's that?"
"I like you." He spanks her again. Now, she can't stop saying it. "I like you. I like you. I—"
And suddenly, she flows
and her
legs and arms
they flow too
into the mattress, she feels herself pool like a twitching puddle. Controlled breathing. //Well that's new.//
//Fuck.//
She feels empty. The mattress shudders slightly as Farhan falls on his back.
"Me, too." He grunts.
"Did I tell you to stop?" Ari grumbles.
"Giving you a chance to recharge."
"Did I tell you to stop?"
"I'm not fucking a ragdoll."
"I'm not a ragdoll."
"Every nerve ending of yours is pretty damn sensitive right about now. Lots of women need the break."
"Lots of women also don't tend to get off without doing anything with their clit, and you clearly got around doing fuck all with that—"
She turns around and gets her first clear look at his full length.
Something doesn't math.
"You look confused." Farhan chuckles.
"You aren't that big." Ari mutters.
"Sure, whatever."
"No, seriously, what's that," she points. "That's gotta be not much more than six inches! How'd you make me come?"
"I've never had anyone ask me that before."
"Now I know I'm not the only woman's ever faked with you." //Where did this come from? Why do I want to do it again?// "Alright."
"Alright?" Farhan says, "What—", and Ari is under it, crawling on top of him, letting herself fall //on top of him//. "What?"
"Let's do this like it's real." At that point, Ari doesn't even know what she is saying.
"Like what?"
"Like it's real." When he's inside of her again, she feels electric, full of heat, just way too hot, and she loves the way his skin looks sheened with their shared sweat and she loves the way he's looking at her chest like he's trying to undress her with his eyes and something in her takes over and she rips her shirt off and throws it on the floor. //Uh, wait.//
Her heart is in her throat thinking about what he's looking at now—the patchwork of scars over her abdomen, the patches of artificial membrane over her belly, and—the 'best' part—the ivory-colored mockup where her left breast should be, neatly highlighted by the the shoulder-to-belly scar bifurcating her body.
It's just been forty-seven minutes, but she feels like she's known Farhan forever. She searches for alarm, fear, detachment, disgust, anger—she finds none of those. It's...she smiles—it's a look Petra reserved for her and only her, one that Ari never could conjure the words to describe. He slowly lifts a hand towards her fake breast and with a look, asks her permission.
She nods, and Farhan's fingers reach up to trace the path of her surgical scar tissue. They tremble in a way that makes Ari feel correct in a way she rarely ever does.
"You're beautiful." And by now, she knows he means it.
Time gets slippery. It could be ten minutes or fifteen; it doesn't matter. She does not stop riding him, and she doesn't break eye contact with him. She looks down at him, and he looks at her, and she stops herself from saying a lot of stupid, boring things about a stupid boring future they'd both be too dead before long to enjoy together. She bucks, he touches her, they moan. Farhan says a //lot// of things in Farsi Ari should be more worried about but she's vibing too much to care.
Closer and closer—she kisses him with more passion and happiness than she knows she has, and she feels him shiver under her touch.
He comes, and then she does.
The rattle of the lamp from her riding him rings in her ears. She feels like her nerves have melded with the bedsprings.
Like a bubbling brook stream over jutting rocks, Ari falls, crumpling beside Farhan in the narrow negative space left on her small bed.
The hair on Farhan's chin looks very interesting to her. The look on his face, the shock of what she did to him, is very interesting, and she lets her fingers play with his short-cropped beard.
Whatever secret she's discovered about herself, it seems like he has arrived at the same epiphany.
"Fuck," she says, to hear his voice as much as anything else.
"Fuck." And he obliges her.
She inches away from him so her skin can take a break from his.
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=https://i.imgur.com/ZUE7Clm.png|caption="Our paperwork said we were far from home but it doesn't feel that way."|width=400px]]
+ Coda: I have lost it all
An hour later, Ari gets up from the bed, grabs a fresh shirt and underwear from her dresser, her personal phone from her nightstand, and slides into her bathroom, locking the door and checking the knob to confirm the seal. From some sense of paranoia, Ari makes her way to the far corner of the room and slides to the ground, the floor stings her skin with cold. The only discernible sounds are the hum of generators and Farhan's razor-wire snoring.
She opens her phone and scrolls to Petra Shahi's name on her contacts. It has been //years// since she said her name out loud, let alone looked at her contact info.
Fifty missed calls, and that was before she blocked her. //She probably got the hint five calls in and had a bot do the remaining forty-five.// Ari hopes that is the case. Petra was a petty, spiteful, arrogant, and shallow person for whom thrills were everything. Ari is a grunt who dresses like shit and has the self-described personality of an armadillo. There is nothing real there. There couldn't have been.
There was an unopened message from Petra's number in her voicemail box. Ari had chosen to keep it but didn't open it either, avoiding the way her heart would answer if she heard it. Something about tonight makes opening it feel...right.
Something about tonight makes Ari want to close the book on Petra.
When Ari first hears Petra's voice, she smiles with a mix of nostalgia and relief. And then she registers what's being said:
"I'm so sorry, Ari."
//Petra never apologies.//
"I think about us a lot when you're gone. There's one time you let me take you to my favorite club, the one where the drag queens dress up like the tarot. I got dressed up, you wouldn't, because of course, you're //you//. I did get you to wear a skirt for the first time with those designer boots, but the way you comported yourself made it all seem like I'd put you in a Halloween costume. I recall acting rather cross with you over that."
Ari remembers that day too, but mostly the smell of mingling perfume and sweat and smoke, and the lights. Words, people, all tended to vanish in the haze of her waiting for the commotion to stop.
"You danced with me then. You aren't the most coordinated, you wouldn't talk to any of my friends, you wouldn't drink as much as I did, and I told you you kept stepping on my feet. On our way home, I told you off."
//Your exact words were, "You're so weird. Do you just not like people? Like you think you're cooler than them?"//
"I want you to know I...loved every bit of you that night."
"Come again," Ari says to the shade of her past lover—it comes out more as a gasp.
"Your hard eyes, your wry smirk. Your sweat because you refuse to wear perfume. I loved the way you let me cling to you when I was drunk. I loved your lips. I loved tasting them. I loved your...unbreakable amour-propre. If I'd had it I probably wouldn't have fucked it all up. So many wasted evenings. So many fights. I should have shut up and drank in your eyes. I should have kissed you instead of wasting my breath on bullshit. I should have...every //second// I had with you...encased in amber...."
A stutter and gasp that splits itself. Ari realizes Petra is trying not to cry.
"I want you to know that there's a moment that night where you said something funny and I laughed and you laughed with me. I never made you laugh despite my best efforts, but you laughed because I was laughing. It was beautiful. It was so beautiful, and that's the image I'm focusing in my head now. I...I want to say something else, but...unreciprocated...I'll not...it'd be gauche. I hope—"
The call cut off.
"Petra—" Ari covers her mouth with her hand, tries to steady her breathing, tries to keep her voice down. "Petra, wait—"
She tries to call Petra's number. It is no longer in service. She tries again.
Whatever happened to her those years ago, she's gone.
"Okay." Ari nods. There's a part of her brain screaming questions, demanding action, but whatever this was, it was years ago. It's a part of her brain she's used to denying. She's left wounded on the ground while it screamed in her ear. Why should tonight be any different? //This is the life we all choose.// She looks at Farhan. There's a body bag waiting for him too. "Okay," Petra was just one more body she leaves behind tonight.
When she returns to Farhan, she tries to keep her distance, but he pulls her close to him. She lets him. This time when he talks in his sleep, he smiles.
----
Five years later, Ari floats on stranger tides.
//What looks like a blazing magenta sunset in a sickly sanguine sky rots like the cheeks on a damp corpse. She drifts, buoyed by the warm swells of the restless fluid. When she closes her eyes and lets herself breathe, she wonders if the serenity and viscousness of the sensations along her bare, cool skin is what resting in a womb feels like.//
//When she decides to move her head to the side, she notices the liquid has the exact color and even texture of air-flushed blood and muscle. She takes note of her gently swaying companions: bobbing and swaying and ebbing computers, statues, bullets, and bombs. And bodies. Lots of bodies, bodies wearing Site-7 and STAG uniforms, a drifting wheelchair, a disused eye-patch. A swarm of vultures preys on the charnel harvest.//
//Then the fluid begins to pull her under.//
//She desperately writhes amidst the waves of gore as they crash down upon her. Booms and shots and cracks echo in her ear.//
**//After some time she makes it to the shore and crawls, only to see a curtain of fire advance towards her. She screams, again and again and again, a name she hasn't heard in years. She looks for him everywhere, and then her arm explodes and she howls.//**
She wakes up.
She is at Site-7, curled up in a corner. Her bedsheets are on the ground, drenched in her cold sweat. She's cold, shivering, She can't remember why, but her heart wants to pound a hole out of her ribcage, her breathing feels more labored than if she'd tried to outrun a wolf. She tries to wipe the sweat from her brow with an arm she remembers is no longer attached to her, the replacement something that won't follow what's left of her into the ground when she dies.
"Fuck!"
Knives and acid stream into every inch of that missing arm. The phantom pains really buckle her when she isn't flooded with adrenaline. She growls and bites her tongue, trying to eat the pain.
There is a window if she wants to look at the water, but the roaring ocean of the Bering Strait is savage. No succor to be had there.
Her dog is shivering on the other side of the room.
Her whisper is shaky. "PC! PC?" Sometimes, he'd jump on her bed and fall asleep with her.
Today, when she tries talking to him, he lets out a sad whine and retreats into the other corner of the room. "PC?" She walks towards him, and he instantly recoils in fear. "What's wrong? What's..." //He's scared because I've been screaming again.// Ari makes a note to ask someone if they have a drug for that.
Ari grabs her phone, crawls as close to PC as he'll let her, and curls on the ground. Whether it was the floor or the mattress would make no difference to her now. She is not sleepy or tired; she is just bored.
Maybe PC will join her if she waits long enough here.
On evenings like this, she would play games until she fell asleep. Tonight, she tries to remember the Arabic on Farhan Moradi's back tattoo. A stupid part of her thinks that if she could touch his back again, the boredom would stop. Or maybe if she could just remember what he sounds like when he giggles. He was quiet, and the pain is always too loud.
//There's so much less of me every day,// she thinks, looking at her stump, thinking about how much of her body was metal or lab-grown meat by now. //I wonder how much more I can live without.//
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/forum/t-17007002/like-it-s-real#post-6754819 She watches PC fall asleep in his corner and waits for the sun to rise, but there is no light. ]
[[div style="text-align:center"]]
[[Image https://i.imgur.com/p4a0LBb.png style="width:430px;" ]]
##darkred|"The trick, Dina, is not minding that it hurts."##
[[/div]]
[[footnoteblock]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Name:** EdJxLrf.png
> **Author:** [[*user Amai-Ixchel]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://i.imgur.com/EdJxLrf.png imgur]
> **Name:** NBjz0Ob.png
> **Author:** [[*user Amai-Ixchel]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://i.imgur.com/NBjz0Ob.png imgur]
> **Name:** N7RHEaO.jpeg
> **Author:** [[*user Amai-Ixchel]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://i.imgur.com/N7RHEaO.jpeg imgur]
> **Name:** ZUE7Clm.png
> **Author:** [[*user Opossumistic]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://i.imgur.com/ZUE7Clm.png imgur]
> **Name:** p4a0LBb.png
> **Author:** [[*user Opossumistic]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://i.imgur.com/p4a0LBb.png imgur]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-12-13T22:29:00
|
[
"_image",
"_licensebox",
"bittersweet",
"romance",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
Like It's Real - SCP Foundation
| 37
|
[
"prev",
"next",
"who-s-afraid-of-ulrike-meinhof",
"possible-kill-screen",
"the-golden-threads-weaving-us-together",
"scp-8082",
"like-it-s-real#toc0",
"like-it-s-real#toc1",
"like-it-s-real#toc2",
"like-it-s-real#toc3",
"like-it-s-real#toc4",
"lamb-of-god",
"forum/t-17007002/like-it-s-real#post-6754819",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"top-rated-pages-by-month",
"tales-by-year",
"top-rated-pages-this-month",
"news"
] |
[
"https://i.imgur.com/EdJxLrf.png",
"https://i.imgur.com/EdJxLrf.png",
"https://i.imgur.com/NBjz0Ob.png",
"https://i.imgur.com/N7RHEaO.jpeg",
"https://i.imgur.com/ZUE7Clm.png",
"https://i.imgur.com/p4a0LBb.png"
] |
1458005710
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/like-it-s-real
|
|
lillian-lillihammer-and-the-great-meme-war
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="background: top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #95275e; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>A question for you.</td>
</tr>
</table>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>Hello, our beloved.</p>
<p>We would have preferred to do this in person, but we were busy, you were busy, there was a whole ordeal trying to get things sorted in order to kidnap you and we decided to just send an email instead. We wanted to let you know that we have met someone and, well… we have so much capability for love.</p>
<p>It's not that you're not enough, trust us, you are, it's that we feel that this person would add so much to our relationship. Like a missing puzzle piece or a compilation of you falling over and farting (AVAILABLE NOW FOR $24.99!), we just believe that this would bring our relationship closer to feeling complete. We want you to meet them.</p>
<p>Let us know your thoughts~ <3</p>
<br/>
Yours,<br/>
Vikander-Kneed Technical Media<br/>
For a better tomorrow!<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>RE: A question for you.</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr/>
<p>How did you people even get this email?!</p>
<p>I am too busy saving the world and doing my job to bother with this nonsense. And just so you know, the only reason I haven't annulled this sham marriage is because Goldbaker-Reinz said they insured life partners, and I'm pretty sure that Lillihammer is going to kill you guys sooner rather than later.</p>
<p>I want my payout.</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Replication Studies</em></p>
<p>Dr. William Wettle, Site-43</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div style="background: top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #95275e; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>CC:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>RE:RE:A question for you.</td>
</tr>
</table>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>Oh, good! You two already know each other! I'll just CC her in this email then, dear. Anyway, what do you think of her? She's beautiful, isn't she? And so smart, too!</p>
<br/>
Yours,<br/>
Vikander-Kneed Technical Media<br/>
For a better tomorrow!<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>RE:RE:RE: A question for you.</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr/>
<p>Willie, I want you to— no, <em>need</em> you to tell me why the <em>fuck</em> VKTM are emailing me about joining their marriage with you. I know you're the world's least appealing and most disappointing man, but <em>surely</em> you can't have been such a lacking partner that even a corporation is seeking fulfillment in me. I get it; I'm everything you're not, but I will not be anyone's third. Especially not for a failing marriage between VKTM of all things and the world's least fuckable man.</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Memetics and Countermemetics</em></p>
<p>Dr. Lillian Lillihammer, Site-43</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>RE:RE:RE:RE: A question for you.</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr/>
<p>Do you think I like this, Lillian?! Do you think I like being tormented by these people? Do you think I want to be married to them? Just tell them you're not interested and we can both move on with our lives. I'm stuck with them until you kill them.</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Replication Studies</em></p>
<p>Dr. William Wettle, Site-43</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div style="background: top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #95275e; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>CC:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>Hello?</td>
</tr>
</table>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>Hello husband and prospective additional partner,</p>
<p>You've been quiet an awfully long time… Do you not like each other? Are you talking amongst yourselves? Why won't you let us into this conversation? Did we do something wrong?</p>
<br/>
Yours,<br/>
Vikander-Kneed Technical Media<br/>
For a better tomorrow!<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<br/>
<br/>
<div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>A Warning</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr/>
<p>Willie, I am only warning you about this now because if McInnis finds out I didn't, he will do something to try and punish me. So don't open my reply to these people, okay?</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Memetics and Countermemetics</em></p>
<p>Dr. Lillian Lillihammer, Site-43</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<br/>
<div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>CC:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>RE: Hello?</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<p><em>Memetics and Countermemetics</em></p>
<p>Dr. Lillian Lillihammer, Site-43</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div style="background: top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #95275e; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>CC:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>RE:RE:Hello?</td>
</tr>
</table>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>Hello husband and prospective additional partner,</p>
<p>We have some of those too! Check it out!</p>
<br/>
Yours,<br/>
Vikander-Kneed Technical Media<br/>
For a better tomorrow!<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<br/>
<br/>
<div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>CC:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>RE:RE:RE: Hello?</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr/>
<p>That's cute, but my CRV is way higher than whatever that was. Anyway, try this on for size.</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Memetics and Countermemetics</em></p>
<p>Dr. Lillian Lillihammer, Site-43</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div style="background: top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #95275e; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>CC:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>RE:RE:RE:RE:Hello?</td>
</tr>
</table>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>Hello husband and prospective additional partner,</p>
<p>Oh wow, I love the colors on that one. What do you think, Willie? Anyway, here's another one of my favorites. It's from our documentary series on pets (AVAILABLE NOW FOR $25.99!) and other creatures.</p>
<br/>
Yours,<br/>
Vikander-Kneed Technical Media<br/>
For a better tomorrow!<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;">
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>From:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>To:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: #95275e"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>CC:</strong></th>
<td><span style="color: red"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<th style="text-align:right"><strong>Subject:</strong></th>
<td>RE:RE:RE:RE:RE: Hel…</td>
</tr>
</table>
<hr/>
<p>That one almost gave me a headache. Almost.</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Memetics and Countermemetics</em></p>
<p>Dr. Lillian Lillihammer, Site-43</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
Your name is Eileen Veiksaar, Chief of Identity and Technocryptography. You just pulled the emergency switch on Site-43's email servers. Not only had they been compromised by a third party, but someone had decided to start sending kill agents through the system. To make matters worse, whoever they were meant to kill had proven immune and had started sending kill agents of their own. You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh, watching as the servers shut off. Soon enough, everyone would be complaining and it will be your job to go through the system and remove all kill agents without killing yourself, and restore the site's email access. Oh, and Wettle is catatonic in his office, he apparently saw one of these kill agents.
<p>Today can't get any better.<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="collection">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<table style="1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<tr>
<th class="namerow" colspan="2"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p>Uncle Nicolini's Works</p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">SCPs</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-4026">SCP-4026</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-2983">SCP-2983</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-4046">SCP-4046</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-1542">SCP-1542</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/abraka-davids-proposal">Abraka David's Proposal</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7833">SCP-7833</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7221">SCP-7221</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-es-076">SCP-ES-076</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-3879">SCP-3879</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7725">SCP-7725</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7573">SCP-7573</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-3297">SCP-3297</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6832">SCP-6832</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7727">SCP-7727</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-4432">SCP-4432</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Tales/GoI Formats</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/a-song-without-words">A Song Without Words</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/gentle-wings-flutter-quietly-in-the-dark">Gentle Wings Flutter Quietly In The Dark</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/coming-out-to-the-woods">I Don't Get It, But I'll Figure It Out.</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/piercing-the-veil">Masquerade's End</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/peligro-hipopotamos-de-medellin">Danger: Medellin Hippos!</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/moon-champion-s-cinco-de-mayo-extravaganza">Moon Champion's Cinco de Mayo Extravaganza</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/project-proposal-2018-145">Project Proposal 2018-145: "Drinking With the Jocks"</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/project-koza">Project Koza, 1942</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/chicago-factory">Carroll #280/R-01221</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/ace-of-hearts">Ace Of Hearts</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/theres-ngo-helping-this-one">There's Ngo Helping This One</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/two-minutes-to-midnight">Two Minutes To Midnight</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/robin">Robin</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/joicl8kdr">魂-S-2049 "Anima Back-Ups"</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/borne-on-the-fm-waves-of-the-heart">Borne on the FM Waves of the Heart</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Other</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/sciptember-2022-art">Sciptember 2022 Art Highlights</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/ode-to-the-unknown-author">Ode To The Unknown Author</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/uncle-nicolini-author-page">uncle nicolini author page</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/lillian-lillihammer-and-the-great-meme-war">Lillian Lillihammer And The Great Meme War</a>" by Uncle Nicolini, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/lillian-lillihammer-and-the-great-meme-war">https://scpwiki.com/lillian-lillihammer-and-the-great-meme-war</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> goat.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Adam Schneider<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mountain_Goat,_Enchantments_Basin.jpg">Wikimedia commons</a><br/>
<strong>Note:</strong> Image was modified by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/uncle-nicolini" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3487700); return false;"><img alt="Uncle Nicolini" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=3487700&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736174449" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=3487700)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/uncle-nicolini" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3487700); return false;">Uncle Nicolini</a></span></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> panda.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> unclenicolini<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY SA 1.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Terrier_Mutt.png">Wikimedia commons</a><br/>
<strong>Note:</strong> Image was modified by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/uncle-nicolini" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3487700); return false;"><img alt="Uncle Nicolini" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=3487700&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736174449" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=3487700)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/uncle-nicolini" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3487700); return false;">Uncle Nicolini</a></span></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:centered-header-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:centered-header-bhl</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
div#container-wrap {
background-image: url(http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/grigori-karpin-s-author-page/backgroundVK-1);
}
:root {
--logo-image: url("https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/grigori-karpin-s-author-page/VKlogo-pride-Small");
--header-title: " Vikander-Kneed";
--header-subtitle: " Technical Media";
}
/* Adjust Mobile Image Size */
@media (max-width: 479px) {
#header {
background-size: 100px 100px;
background-position: 1em;
}
}
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:toggle-sidebar-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar-bhl</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div style="background: top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #95275e; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
[[table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**From:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**To:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**Subject:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
A question for you.
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
[[div style="display: inline-block; border:solid 2px #95275e; background:#95275e; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px"]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
Hello, our beloved.
We would have preferred to do this in person, but we were busy, you were busy, there was a whole ordeal trying to get things sorted in order to kidnap you and we decided to just send an email instead. We wanted to let you know that we have met someone and, well... we have so much capability for love.
It's not that you're not enough, trust us, you are, it's that we feel that this person would add so much to our relationship. Like a missing puzzle piece or a compilation of you falling over and farting (AVAILABLE NOW FOR $24.99!), we just believe that this would bring our relationship closer to feeling complete. We want you to meet them.
Let us know your thoughts~ <3
[[div style="display: inline-block; border:solid 2px #95275e; background:#95275e; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px"]]
[[/div]]
Yours,
Vikander-Kneed Technical Media
For a better tomorrow!
@@ @@
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
[[table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**From:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
##red|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**To:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**Subject:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
RE: A question for you.
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
-----
How did you people even get this email?!
I am too busy saving the world and doing my job to bother with this nonsense. And just so you know, the only reason I haven't annulled this sham marriage is because Goldbaker-Reinz said they insured life partners, and I'm pretty sure that Lillihammer is going to kill you guys sooner rather than later.
I want my payout.
----
//Replication Studies//
Dr. William Wettle, Site-43
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div style="background: top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #95275e; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
[[table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**From:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**To:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**CC:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**Subject:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
RE:RE:A question for you.
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
[[div style="display: inline-block; border:solid 2px #95275e; background:#95275e; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px"]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
Oh, good! You two already know each other! I'll just CC her in this email then, dear. Anyway, what do you think of her? She's beautiful, isn't she? And so smart, too!
[[div style="display: inline-block; border:solid 2px #95275e; background:#95275e; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px"]]
[[/div]]
Yours,
Vikander-Kneed Technical Media
For a better tomorrow!
@@ @@
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
[[table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**From:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
##red|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**To:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
##red|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**Subject:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
RE:RE:RE: A question for you.
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
-----
Willie, I want you to-- no, //need// you to tell me why the //fuck// VKTM are emailing me about joining their marriage with you. I know you're the world's least appealing and most disappointing man, but //surely// you can't have been such a lacking partner that even a corporation is seeking fulfillment in me. I get it; I'm everything you're not, but I will not be anyone's third. Especially not for a failing marriage between VKTM of all things and the world's least fuckable man.
----
//Memetics and Countermemetics//
Dr. Lillian Lillihammer, Site-43
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
[[table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**From:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
##red|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**To:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**Subject:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
RE:RE:RE:RE: A question for you.
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
-----
Do you think I like this, Lillian?! Do you think I like being tormented by these people? Do you think I want to be married to them? Just tell them you're not interested and we can both move on with our lives. I'm stuck with them until you kill them.
----
//Replication Studies//
Dr. William Wettle, Site-43
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div style="background: top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #95275e; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
[[table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**From:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**To:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**CC:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**Subject:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
Hello?
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
[[div style="display: inline-block; border:solid 2px #95275e; background:#95275e; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px"]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
Hello husband and prospective additional partner,
You've been quiet an awfully long time... Do you not like each other? Are you talking amongst yourselves? Why won't you let us into this conversation? Did we do something wrong?
[[div style="display: inline-block; border:solid 2px #95275e; background:#95275e; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px"]]
[[/div]]
Yours,
Vikander-Kneed Technical Media
For a better tomorrow!
@@ @@
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
[[table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**From:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
##red|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**To:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
##red|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**Subject:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
A Warning
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
-----
Willie, I am only warning you about this now because if McInnis finds out I didn't, he will do something to try and punish me. So don't open my reply to these people, okay?
----
//Memetics and Countermemetics//
Dr. Lillian Lillihammer, Site-43
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
[[table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**From:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
##red|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**To:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**CC:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
##red|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**Subject:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
RE: Hello?
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
-----
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/secure-facility-dossier-site-43/Meme.jpg]]
----
//Memetics and Countermemetics//
Dr. Lillian Lillihammer, Site-43
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div style="background: top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #95275e; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
[[table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**From:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**To:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**CC:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**Subject:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
RE:RE:Hello?
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
[[div style="display: inline-block; border:solid 2px #95275e; background:#95275e; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px"]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
Hello husband and prospective additional partner,
We have some of those too! Check it out!
[[=image goat.jpg]]
[[div style="display: inline-block; border:solid 2px #95275e; background:#95275e; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px"]]
[[/div]]
Yours,
Vikander-Kneed Technical Media
For a better tomorrow!
@@ @@
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
[[table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**From:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
##red|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**To:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**CC:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
##red|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**Subject:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
RE:RE:RE: Hello?
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
-----
That's cute, but my CRV is way higher than whatever that was. Anyway, try this on for size.
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-001/fractal-mka.jpeg]]
----
//Memetics and Countermemetics//
Dr. Lillian Lillihammer, Site-43
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div style="background: top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #95275e; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
[[table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**From:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**To:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**CC:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**Subject:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
RE:RE:RE:RE:Hello?
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
[[div style="display: inline-block; border:solid 2px #95275e; background:#95275e; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px"]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
Hello husband and prospective additional partner,
Oh wow, I love the colors on that one. What do you think, Willie? Anyway, here's another one of my favorites. It's from our documentary series on pets (AVAILABLE NOW FOR $25.99!) and other creatures.
[[=image panda.jpg]]
[[div style="display: inline-block; border:solid 2px #95275e; background:#95275e; float:center; width:84%; padding:1px 15px; margin: 10px 10px 10px 10px"]]
[[/div]]
Yours,
Vikander-Kneed Technical Media
For a better tomorrow!
@@ @@
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-great-hippo/SCP_icon%281%29.png) top right no-repeat; float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
[[table style="align:left; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**From:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
##red|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**To:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
###95275e|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**CC:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
##red|@@[email protected]@@##
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align:right"]]
**Subject:**
[[/hcell]]
[[cell]]
RE:RE:RE:RE:RE: Hel...
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
-----
That one almost gave me a headache. Almost.
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-2000/Remember_Us.jpg]]
----
//Memetics and Countermemetics//
Dr. Lillian Lillihammer, Site-43
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
Your name is Eileen Veiksaar, Chief of Identity and Technocryptography. You just pulled the emergency switch on Site-43's email servers. Not only had they been compromised by a third party, but someone had decided to start sending kill agents through the system. To make matters worse, whoever they were meant to kill had proven immune and had started sending kill agents of their own. You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh, watching as the servers shut off. Soon enough, everyone would be complaining and it will be your job to go through the system and remove all kill agents without killing yourself, and restore the site's email access. Oh, and Wettle is catatonic in his office, he apparently saw one of these kill agents.
Today can't get any better.
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:wikimodule">:scp-wiki:component:wikimodule</a> |normal= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** goat.jpg
> **Author:** Adam Schneider
> **License:** CC BY SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mountain_Goat,_Enchantments_Basin.jpg Wikimedia commons]
> **Note:** Image was modified by [[*user Uncle Nicolini]]
> **Filename:** panda.jpg
> **Author:** unclenicolini
> **License:** CC BY SA 1.0
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Terrier_Mutt.png Wikimedia commons]
> **Note:** Image was modified by [[*user Uncle Nicolini]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-12-27T01:58:00
|
[
"doctor-lillihammer",
"doctor-wettle",
"on-guard-43",
"tale",
"vikander-kneed"
] |
Lillian Lillihammer And The Great Meme War - SCP Foundation
| 40
|
[
"scp-4026",
"scp-2983",
"scp-4046",
"scp-1542",
"abraka-davids-proposal",
"scp-7833",
"scp-7221",
"scp-es-076",
"scp-3879",
"scp-7725",
"scp-7573",
"scp-3297",
"scp-6832",
"scp-7727",
"scp-4432",
"a-song-without-words",
"gentle-wings-flutter-quietly-in-the-dark",
"coming-out-to-the-woods",
"piercing-the-veil",
"peligro-hipopotamos-de-medellin",
"moon-champion-s-cinco-de-mayo-extravaganza",
"project-proposal-2018-145",
"project-koza",
"chicago-factory",
"ace-of-hearts",
"theres-ngo-helping-this-one",
"two-minutes-to-midnight",
"robin",
"joicl8kdr",
"borne-on-the-fm-waves-of-the-heart",
"sciptember-2022-art",
"ode-to-the-unknown-author",
"uncle-nicolini-author-page",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"vikander-kneed-technical-media-hub",
"top-rated-pages-by-month",
"tales-by-year",
"shortest-pages-by-month",
"top-rated-pages-this-month",
"news"
] |
[] |
1458135560
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lillian-lillihammer-and-the-great-meme-war
|
|
limbs-outstretched-towards-eden
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc0"><span>Oh Lord, I thank you for this gift.</span></h4>
</div>
<p>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I thank you for the <strong><span style="color: #077e0f">Green</span></strong>:<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>Praise be</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Both lost in blue of sea<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀But also that which caps each tree.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>Close now</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The ferns they dance, their fronds<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>My God</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀All jumbled up in prayer—<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The whistling grass it sings for you.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>Your song</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc1"><span>Oh Lord, please let me take your hand.</span></h4>
</div>
<p>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And feel the vines we share:<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>Entwined</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Connecting me to you<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The way that roots can join trees.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>This love</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I extend branches out—<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>Reborn</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀My fingers gnarled like wood<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And bearing fruit of Eden’s brush.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>I live</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc2"><span>Oh Lord, am I now beautiful?</span></h4>
</div>
<p>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The <strong><span style="color: #077e0f">Green</span></strong>, it burns within.<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>Find strength</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I’m blossoming anew—<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A vibrant land sprouts from my shell;<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>My gift</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Each breath a catalyst.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>Of course</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀My Godhead swims in veins<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Which now form streams and river mouths.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>We thrive</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc3"><span>Oh Lord, will I be ever free?</span></h4>
</div>
<p>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀My chains of skin dissolved.<br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>Release</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀This cocoon leaves a husk<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀From which your life may grow in stalks.<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>To heal</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀All covered in your <strong><span style="color: #077e0f">Green</span></strong>—<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>It spreads</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Consuming every branch<br/>
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀That bore the fruit from which it burst<br/>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>Create</em>⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc4"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-407">Oh Lord, I thank you for this gift.</a></span></h4>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/limbs-outstretched-towards-eden">Limbs Outstretched Towards Eden</a>" by Some Reference, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/limbs-outstretched-towards-eden">https://scpwiki.com/limbs-outstretched-towards-eden</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:blankstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:fade-in">:scp-wiki:component:fade-in</a> speed=10]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:blacklight-box-source">:scp-wiki:component:blacklight-box-source</a> |inc-source= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:blacklight-box-source">:scp-wiki:component:blacklight-box-source</a> |inc-colors= --]
|color-family=same-color
|bg-color=rgb(228, 228, 228)
|txt-color=rgb(0, 0, 0)
|border-color=rgb(188, 188, 188)
|label-bg-color=rgb(188, 188, 188)
|label-txt-color=rgb(0, 0, 0)
]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
@@ @@
------
[[=]]
++++ Oh Lord, I thank you for this gift.
[[/=]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I thank you for the **##077E0F|Green**##:
[[>]]
//Praise be//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Both lost in blue of sea
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀But also that which caps each tree.
[[>]]
//Close now//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The ferns they dance, their fronds
[[>]]
//My God//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀All jumbled up in prayer—
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The whistling grass it sings for you.
[[>]]
//Your song//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
------
[[=]]
++++ Oh Lord, please let me take your hand.
[[/=]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And feel the vines we share:
[[>]]
//Entwined//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Connecting me to you
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The way that roots can join trees.
[[>]]
//This love//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I extend branches out—
[[>]]
//Reborn//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀My fingers gnarled like wood
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And bearing fruit of Eden’s brush.
[[>]]
//I live//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
------
[[=]]
++++ Oh Lord, am I now beautiful?
[[/=]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The **##077E0F|Green**##, it burns within.
[[>]]
//Find strength//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀I’m blossoming anew—
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A vibrant land sprouts from my shell;
[[>]]
//My gift//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Each breath a catalyst.
[[>]]
//Of course//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀My Godhead swims in veins
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Which now form streams and river mouths.
[[>]]
//We thrive//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
------
[[=]]
++++ Oh Lord, will I be ever free?
[[/=]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀My chains of skin dissolved.
[[>]]
//Release//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀This cocoon leaves a husk
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀From which your life may grow in stalks.
[[>]]
//To heal//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀All covered in your **##077E0F|Green**##—
[[>]]
//It spreads//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Consuming every branch
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀That bore the fruit from which it burst
[[>]]
//Create//⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
[[/>]]
------
[[=]]
++++ [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-407|Oh Lord, I thank you for this gift.]]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[<]]
=====
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
[[module CSS]]
:root {
/*
BLANKSTYLE CSS
[2021 Wikidot Theme]
By Placeholder McD and HarryBlank
Based on:
Paperstack Theme by EstrellaYoshte
Penumbra Theme by EstrellaYoshte
*/
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Montserrat:ital,wght@0,800;1,800&display=swap');
#page-content { font-size: .9rem; }
#main-content {
top: -1.6rem;
padding: 0.2em;
}
div#container-wrap {
background-image: none;
}
div#header {
background-image: none;
}
#header h1, #header h2 { margin-left: 0; float: none; text-align: center; }
#header h2 { margin-top: 0.5rem; }
#header h1 span, #header h2 span { font-size: 0; display: none;}
#header h1 a::before, #header h2::before {
color: #000;
letter-spacing: 1px;
font-family: 'Montserrat', sans-serif !important;
text-shadow: none;
}
#header h1 a::before {
content: var(--header-title, "SCP FOUNDATION");
font-weight: 400;
font-size: 1.3em;
}
#header h2::before {
content: var(--header-subtitle, "Blooming Into Light");
font-weight: 700;
font-size: 1.2em;
}
@media (max-width: 707px) {
#header h1 a::before {
font-size: 1.6em;
}
}
#login-status,
#login-status a {
color: #333333;
}
#page-title {
display: none;
}
#footer, #footer a {
background: transparent;
color: #333333;
}
#search-top-box-input,
#search-top-box-input:hover,
#search-top-box-input:focus,
#search-top-box-form input[type=submit],
#search-top-box-form input[type=submit]:hover,
#search-top-box-form input[type=submit]:focus {
border: none;
background: #333333;
box-shadow: none;
border-radius: 0px;
color: #efefef;
}
#search-top-box input.empty {
color: #999999;
}
#search-top-box {
top: 2.3rem!important;
right: 8px;
}
#top-bar {
display: flex;
justify-content: center;
right: 0;
top: 7.9rem;
}
#top-bar, #top-bar a {
color: #333333;
}
h1,
h2,
h3,
h4,
h5,
h6 {
font-family: 'Montserrat', sans-serif;
color: #000;
letter-spacing: 1px;
}
h1 {
font-size: 2em;
}
h2 {
font-size: 1.45em;
}
div#extra-div-1 {
height: 160px;
width: 100%;
top: 0;
position: absolute;
background: url('https://i.imgur.com/jXnl8Pl.png');
background-size: contain;
background-repeat: no-repeat;
background-position: 50% 50%;
z-index: -1;
}
@media (max-width: 707px) {
div#extra-div-1 {
top: 15px;
}
}
body {
background-image: linear-gradient(
to bottom,
#DEE3DC, #DEE3DC 90px,
#DEE3DC 50px, #FCFFFB 200px,
#FCFFFB 500px, #BFD9B7 100%);
background-repeat: no-repeat;
}
:root {
--timeScale: 1.5;
--timeDelay: 1.5s;
--posX: calc(50% - 358px - 13rem);
--fnLinger: 1s;
}
#page-content hr {
background-color: #000;
}
#page-content tr th {
padding: 6px;
border: #000 1px solid;
}
#page-content tr td {
padding: 12px;
border: #000 1px solid;
line-height: 1.4;
}
#page-content .sidebox tr td,
#page-content .sidebox tr th {
padding: 0.35em;
}
#side-bar {
border-right: 1px solid #333;
background: #DDD;
}
#side-bar .side-block {
border: 1px solid #333;
border-radius: 0;
box-shadow: none;
}
#top-bar div.open-menu a {
border: 1px solid #333;
border-radius: 0;
box-shadow: none;
}
@media (max-width: 767px) {
#side-bar:target {
border: 1px black;
box-shadow: none;
}
}
#side-bar .side-block {
border: 1px solid #333;
border-radius: 0;
box-shadow: none;
background-color: #FDF6D7;
}
#side-bar .side-block.media {
background-color:#D7EFE7;
}
#side-bar .side-block.resources {
background-color:#F5D8E0;
}
#page-content .creditRate{
margin: unset;
margin-bottom: 4px;
}
#page-content .rate-box-with-credit-button {
background-color: #ffffff;
border: solid 1px #000;
box-shadow: none;
border-radius: 0;
}
#page-content .rate-box-with-credit-button .fa-info {
border: none;
color: #333333;
}
#page-content .rate-box-with-credit-button .fa-info:hover {
background: #333333;
color: #ffffff;
}
.rate-box-with-credit-button .cancel {
border: solid 1px #ffffff;
}
/* ---- PAGE RATING ---- */
.page-rate-widget-box {
box-shadow: none;
border: solid 1px #000;
margin: unset;
margin-bottom: 4px;
border-radius: 0;
}
div.page-rate-widget-box .rate-points {
background-color: #ffffff;
color: #333333;
border: none;
border-radius: 0;
}
.page-rate-widget-box .rateup,
.page-rate-widget-box .ratedown {
background-color: #ffffff;
border-top: none;
border-bottom: none;
}
.page-rate-widget-box .rateup a,
.page-rate-widget-box .ratedown a {
background: transparent;
color: #333333;
}
.page-rate-widget-box .rateup a:hover,
.page-rate-widget-box .ratedown a:hover {
background: #333333;
color: #ffffff;
}
.page-rate-widget-box .cancel {
background: transparent;
background-color: #ffffff;
border: none;
border-radius: 0;
}
.page-rate-widget-box .cancel a {
color: #333333;
}
.page-rate-widget-box .cancel a:hover {
background: #333333;
color: #ffffff;
border-radius: 0;
}
#page-content .rate-box-with-credit-button .page-rate-widget-box { border: none; }
.anchor {
position: sticky;
height:0;
top: 0;
}
.sidebox {
padding: .14rem;
margin-top: 0;
margin-bottom: 8px;
width: calc((100vw - 870px)/2);
max-height: calc(100vh - 18rem);
position: absolute;
top: 0;
left: 103.5%;
z-index: 5;
overflow: auto;
box-sizing: border-box;
}
@media (max-width: 1290px) {
.sidebox {
display: none;
visibility: hidden;
}
#header h2::before {
font-size: 0.9em !important;
}
}
.scp-image-block {
box-shadow: none;
}
/* ---- YUI TAB BASE ---- */
.yui-navset .yui-nav a,.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav a{background-color:inherit;background-image:inherit}.yui-navset .yui-nav a:hover,.yui-navset .yui-nav a:focus{background:inherit;text-decoration:inherit}.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a,.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a:focus,.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a:hover{color:inherit;background:inherit}.yui-navset .yui-nav,.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav{border-color:inherit}.yui-navset li{line-height:inherit}
/* ---- YUI TAB CUSTOMIZATION ----*/
.yui-navset .yui-nav,
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav{
display: flex;
flex-wrap: wrap;
width: calc(100% - .125rem);
margin: 0 auto;
border-color: #333333;
box-shadow: none;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav a, /* ---- Link Modifier ---- */
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav a{
color: #333333;
/* ---- Tab Background Colour | [UNSELECTED] ---- */
background-color: #efefef;
border: unset;
box-shadow: none;
box-shadow: none;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav a:hover,
.yui-navset .yui-nav a:focus{
color: #ffffff;
/* ---- Tab Background Colour | [HOVER] ---- */
background-color: #333333;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav li, /* ---- Listitem Modifier ---- */
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav li{
position: relative;
display: flex;
flex-grow: 2;
max-width: 100%;
margin: 0;
padding: 0;
color: #ffffff;
background-color: #ffffff;
border-color: transparent;
box-shadow: none;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav li a,
.yui-navset-top .yui-nav li a,
.yui-navset-bottom .yui-nav li a{
display: flex;
align-items: center;
justify-content: center;
width: 100%;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav li em{
border: unset;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav a em,
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav a em{
padding: .35em .75em;
text-overflow: ellipsis;
overflow: hidden;
white-space: nowrap;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected, /* ---- Selection Modifier ---- */
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-nav .selected{
flex-grow: 2;
margin: 0;
padding: 0;
/* ---- Tab Background Colour | [SELECTED] ---- */
background-color: #333333;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a,
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a em{
border: none;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a{
width: 100%;
color: #ffffff;
}
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a:focus,
.yui-navset .yui-nav .selected a:active{
color: #ffffff;
background-color: #333333;
}
.yui-navset .yui-content {
background-color: #ffffff;
box-shadow: none;
}
.yui-navset .yui-content,
.yui-navset .yui-navset-top .yui-content{
padding: .5em;
border: 1px solid #333;
box-sizing: border-box;
}
/*---- SCROLLBAR ----*/
::-webkit-scrollbar {
width: 10px;
}
::-webkit-scrollbar-track {
background: #FFF;
border-left: 1px solid #333;
}
::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb {
background: #CCC;
border: #333 1px solid;
}
::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb:hover {
background: #EEE;
}
/*---- CENTER IMAGES ON MOBILE courtesy of EstrellaYoshte and PeppersGhost ----*/
.imagediv {
float: right;
margin: 15px
}
@media (max-width: 540px) {
.imagediv {
float: none;
text-align:center;
margin: auto;
}
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 600px) {
.scp-image-block.block-right{
float: none;
margin: 10px auto;
}
}
/*---- ACS-COLORED TABLE DIVS ----*/
#page-content .table1 tr th,
#page-content .table1 .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: #D7EFE7;
}
#page-content .table2 tr th,
#page-content .table2 .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: #D8ECF4;
}
#page-content .table3 tr th,
#page-content .table3 .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: #FDF6D7;
}
#page-content .table4 tr th,
#page-content .table4 .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: #FFDABF;
}
#page-content .table5 tr th,
#page-content .table5 .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: #F5D8E0;
}
#page-content .table6 tr th,
#page-content .table6 .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
background-color: rgba(146, 0, 255, 0.2);
}
.tableb .wiki-content-table {
border-collapse: separate;
border-spacing: 2px;
}
.tableb .scp-image-block {
border: none;
}
.tableb .scp-image-block img {
border: #000 1px solid;
box-sizing: border-box;
}
.tableb .scp-image-block .scp-image-caption {
margin-top: 2px;
border: #000 1px solid;
box-sizing: border-box;
}
.top-left-box > .item {
display: none;
}
/* ---- WORDS NO LONGER BROKEN, THE CROQUEMBOUCHE HAS SPOKEN ---- */
span, a { word-break: normal !important }
.avatar-hover { display: none !important; }
#breadcrumbs, .pseudocrumbs {
text-align: center;
padding-top: 10px;
}
#main-content .page-tags span {
max-width: 100%;
}
/* -- FANCY THINGS from Woedenaz's Dustjacket Theme -- */
.fancyhr hr {
border-top: 2vw solid transparent;
background-color: rgba(var(--bright-accent), 0);
height: 0;
box-sizing: border-box;
border-image-source: url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%3Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png');
border-image-repeat: round round;
background: none;
border-image-slice: 80 500 80 500 fill;
border-image-width: 10em 80em 10em 80em;
}
.fancyborder {
box-sizing: border-box;
border: 2vw solid rgba(0,0,0,0.5);
border-image: url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%3Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') 600 round;
border-image-width: 6;
padding: 2vw;
}
div[class$="_memo"] {
background: var(--memo-logo) rgba(var(--memo-color), 1);
background-size: contain;
background-position: top center;
background-repeat: no-repeat;
min-height: 4rem;
margin-inline: auto;
margin-block: 2rem;
padding-inline: 20px;
padding-block: 10px;
border: solid 2px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1);
text-align: left;
}
div.modalsnow_memo {
--memo-logo: url(https://i.imgur.com/2Jyyis8.png);
--memo-color: 242, 251, 252;
}
div.modalfall_memo {
--memo-logo: url(https://i.imgur.com/2Jyyis8.png);
--memo-color: 250, 243, 230;
}
div.modalhome_memo {
--memo-logo: url(https://i.imgur.com/2Jyyis8.png);
--memo-color: 252, 242, 248;
}
div.modalnight_memo {
--memo-logo: url(https://i.imgur.com/2Jyyis8.png);
--memo-color: 214, 213, 233;
}
div.modalswing_memo {
--memo-logo: url(https://i.imgur.com/2Jyyis8.png);
--memo-color: 244, 255, 237;
}
div.modalspring_memo {
--memo-logo: url(https://i.imgur.com/2Jyyis8.png);
--memo-color: 231, 245, 232;
}
[[/module]]
[[module CSS]]
:root {
--a: 0, 0, 0;
--b: 188, 188, 188;
--c: 228, 228, 228;
div[class$="_warn"] {
background: var(--warn-logo) rgba(var(--warn-color), 1);
background-size: contain;
background-position: top center;
background-repeat: no-repeat;
min-height: 4rem;
margin-inline: auto;
margin-block: 2rem;
padding-inline: 20px;
padding-block: 10px;
border: solid 2px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1);
text-align: center;
}
div[class$="_warn"]::before {
content: var(--warn-heading);
font-family: var(--UI-font);
font-weight: 900;
font-size: 1.3em;
text-align: center;
margin: 0 auto 1rem auto;
display: flex;
flex-direction: column;
padding-top: 0.5em;
}
div.raisa_warn {
--warn-heading: "NOTICE FROM THE RECORDS AND INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION";
--warn-logo: url(https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/theme:basalt/RAISA_LIGHTLOGO.png);
--warn-color: 242, 242, 192;
}
div.modal {
display: block;
margin-inline: auto;
margin-block: 1.4rem;
padding-inline: 1.5rem;
padding-block: 0.5rem;
background-color: rgb(var(--c));
border: solid 0.2rem rgb(var(--b));
color: rgb(var(--a));
}
[[/module]]
[[module CSS]]
a:link {
color: #077E0F;
}
a:visited {
color: #0A4D0E;
}
a:hover {
color: #077E0F;
}
a:active {
color: #077E0F;
[[/module]]
|
2024-07-05T23:50:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"poetry",
"religious-fiction",
"tale"
] |
Limbs Outstretched Towards Eden - SCP Foundation
| 9
|
[
"scp-407",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1454372926
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/limbs-outstretched-towards-eden
|
|
littering-on-the-road-to-nowhere
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:90%;"><strong>« <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/smoke-without-fire">Previous Tale</a> | <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swords-unto-scramjets">Swords unto Scramjets</a> | <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/drinking-doubt-dry">Next Tale</a> »</strong></span></p>
</div>
<blockquote>
<p><em>ALCON / STANDBY TO RECEIVE PROCLAMATION</em></p>
<p><em>ALLAINGIAN BANNERS EXCEED PROJECTION / MULTIPLY AS IF BY SORCERY</em><br/>
<em>SIR SOLMIN THE STAR-EYED HAS TAKEN THE FIELD</em></p>
<p><em>OTHER MILITARIES PROVE HOSTILE UPON CONTACT</em><br/>
<em>DOGS THAT THEY ARE / RABID AS THEIR KINGS</em></p>
<p><em>WEATHER FOULING</em><br/>
<em>RESUPPLY DELAYED</em><br/>
<em>TAKE FROM OTHERS BEFORE THEY TAKE FROM YOU</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>Although violence carried on distant winds as Mealworm limped away from that most recent failure, it wasn't her violence, nor was it her war. Aster would be disappointed about lacking foes with equal capabilities. Galowyn and the others would be wroth over losses made meaningless. Indeed, she tasted a profound bitterness in the back of her throat when considering what ten years had earned—one spent recovering from abandonment, four on stumbling between outposts and caravans in the very land she helped stain red, another two on rummaging through once-classified plans, then three on picking what was needed from caches, graveyards, and tainted fortresses. All to be left with an unwieldable sword and an unusable key.</p>
<p>The sole remaining PACER was long gone from Mt. Perfidy's outskirts. Rather than follow a path of felled trees that led north along the Dulltooth Range—where high peaks hosted ELINT sensors and communication hubs staffed by dutiful orks—Mealworm turned back toward the heart of Cherinmark. Even if Gregor had been correct about the scope of conflict brewing there, its deepest reaches offered plenty of places to lose herself for another decade if necessary.</p>
<p>A nameless boar trail took her miles on its own, cutting across the outer layer of territory populated by cast-off communities. Although rulers complained tirelessly about being denied taxation or tyranny there, that massive ring of plains, roads, and rivers allowed passage across the continent better than any shoreside trail. Of goods and people. Of the ideas each carried. Mealworm paid that burgeoning seventh civilization no mind though, unwilling to show herself around royal agents or catspaws who might have her name on any number of ill-intended lists. Outcroppings protected campfires instead of sturdy roofs, then caves too small for bears and blinds abandoned by hunters. Whatever offered cover from the drizzle falling overhead every day.</p>
<p>Rations dwindled. Kindling dwindled. Symbols of modernity were discarded too, buried into little caches of their own while she worked to shed weight—as if either hunger or memories could truly be outrun by casting all else aside. Gone were inhalers that still held whiffs of intoxicating superiority, then replacement parts for systems which might never be seen again. Especially gone was that mask and its clogged filters, all too keen a reminder of what transpired, though black-streaked phlegm plagued her long after.</p>
<hr/>
<p>One evening among many, Mealworm came to rest in a half-formed hollow at the base of a truly gargantuan tree, enjoying the relative dryness offered by its branches. Legs askew, sword balanced atop them, she relaxed while watching the sunset refract through cloud cover. A privilege rarely afforded to those who grew up in the bowels of a repurposed aircraft carrier. Then again, such privileges had motivated her to volunteer for this away mission in the first place—not that anyone told her just how <em>away</em> it would end up being. That vibrant orange bloom spread tendrils of deeper red as it drifted further behind the horizon; purple veins followed, slowly subsuming the heavens in full as she finished a mug of ditchwater. Fortified microbiomes had to be used or lost, after all.</p>
<p>Her hand snapped to TAPEWORM TANGIBLE's scabbard before the first footstep could be heard over raindrops. That internal mass, that ever-present hitchhiker, urged her to draw first with how eagerly it pressed outwards against bone. As though it planned to break free and combat whoever intruded there. She maintained her grip instead, simply shifting to face the figure who pushed through curtains of rainwater falling from those outermost leaves.</p>
<p>Their waterproof cloak shed every droplet with ease, and boots barely displaced mud in motion; moreover, both arms shifted beneath inflexible fabric in a way that suggested some weapon was being cradled. Eyes orange enough to rival the sunset barely seemed noteworthy in comparison as they gleamed behind a long-snouted mask. Mealworm was foreign to this world, but so were cast-offs from the Howling Pillar who insisted on opening gaps of their own.</p>
<p>"They call these peerless blades if you haven't heard," she said casually, shifting to hold it horizontally between both hands. "I draw it and you die. Step closer, and I draw it. Shoot me, I draw it. Hang around, I'll draw it too. Consider whether your contract is worth paying that price."</p>
<p>"I hear each to be a maw unparalleled." Came words from a mouth clearly used to shaping other languages. "That is, <em>they</em> also say to draw it invites consumption."</p>
<p>"Might be. You won't live to see the meal though."</p>
<p>Although damp, bedraggled, and clearly dogged by exhaustion, it was a threat with sharper teeth than were carved into that mask. The hunter shifted whatever weapon hung to their chest, then dipped in a slight nod and backed through rainwater without looking away. Although the stim had long since fled her system, Mealworm was honed sharp enough to sense a mutt retreat downhill. Whether they would continue stalking from a distance remained to be seen. Disappointed, her internal mass curled itself for a slumber that would escape its host for quite some time.</p>
<p>Even insomnia couldn't dampen Cherinmark's majesty though, a land that refused to be described by minor words or to host minor existences. Trees grew even denser as Mealworm followed a path dotted by patches of paving stones—crooks aplenty where boughs formed low archways. Bushes bloomed in pastels rarely seen elsewhere. Ancient guideposts yet glowed with bound light. Where the forest relented, it was always to expose a river so narrow and deep that it must have been carved by a giant's sword, or vineyards so lush that hacksaws were required to maintain them. When absent, it was usually because some ancient-yet-unyielding fortress emerged from nowhere as though grown outright. Walls sometimes guarded. Banners sometimes proud. She even spotted a few of the A3/AD clusters that were surreptitiously constructed throughout the war to protect foreign interests. Isolation ensured that a great many remained ready to shoot down intruding drakes or aircraft, autonomous subroutines as territorial as ever.</p>
<p>Bulbous, soft-rined fruits replaced her last few energy bars (bit clean through in the elven fashion). Wells and cisterns refilled her canteen wherever available (water hosting even more aggressive parasites). In that fashion, along those roads, Mealworm continued shedding what was precious but unworkable, taking more and more of the land into herself. Without having to crawl through mud or meet in grottos with the whir of UAVs far overhead, those rolling hills in their hundreds of hues were truly spectacular—even more so, having healed from hard fighting in a manner flesh could never manage. How unfortunate that they needed to burn anew when her war returned with all its worst weapons. Then again, these seemed more than ready to heal from those wounds too.</p>
<p>Shedding her empty pistol into a roadside ravine came easier than expected as she approached the Roaming City of Unceda.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Although "nomad city" conjures a free-ranging image in the minds of those ruling seaside states, Unceda never bowed to such expectations in its creep across Cherinmark. Not tents, but sturdy structures nonetheless built to be dismantled and reassembled as owners see fit. Not horses, but lumbering beasts of burden whose six legs pull mobile walls through the mud. Logging continues, buildings shift, and seeding follows, all while rathole miners dart through the territory's tunnel network in search of veins to strip before the city passes by. In this, residents enjoy protection from the grim shapes that stalk through the night without fear of sucking resources dry; by that, their mine-lords and gem-barons grow wealthier, giving ever less consideration to homes and businesses that linger in the tailing district. Such it has been for centuries upon centuries.</p>
<p>Mealworm found the city a few miles back from where she expected based on past sightings. Planners had directed it through a valley cloven between sheer cliffs—no doubt seeking to exploit whatever their fission exposed—but in the process had slowed Unceda's crawl to, well, a crawl. It would probably take another decade before the city fully freed itself from that predicament. After wrapping TAPEWORM TANGIBLE in her jacket, she slid down the muddy slope, squelched through a lily pond, and made no effort to disguise her entrance through one of many gates that moved with everything else. Much as Cherinmark itself welcomed cast-offs, the guards made no effort to interrogate those seeking shelter. All the while, she felt the stare of that persistent hunter from somewhere in the tree line far behind.</p>
<p>'War's going bad,' was a report often repeated by other patrons of the Burrow, a tavern whose owner took great pride in placing it above rich veins upon each relocation. When rent could be paid in gems, then meals with ore, why would hopeful miners stay anywhere else? 'War's going great,' was the only report rivaling its frequency, and thus did Mealworm get scattershot news as she prepared for her journey's next leg. Allaingar took Fort Gräd again. Allaingar lost Fort Gräd again. Tellech established this redoubt on the Breskial Mainway. Tellech retreated from it just as quickly. Pardusht, Baeste, Timur, Skardoss, all states whose successes transmuted into failure with clockwork regularity. Either Gregor's grand stroke had failed already or had yet to ripen in full; all the better for ensuring he eventually got what he deserved.</p>
<p>"I hope they die," muttered a sallow youth one night at the longtable used for meals. "Sacks of garbage eager to spill everywhere. Chickenshit henfuckers. Pustules. Don't even know how to live and they're still making it harder for us. Pricks. Don't even know how to breathe unless a king tells 'em. Might as well drown in all the piss they gargle."</p>
<p>On he went to an impressive extent, overheard by nobody but Mealworm as she nodded and gnawed at stale bread. Who could disagree? When heard from this perspective, the war seemed a truly foolish thing, with nothing of value gained for long or held at small cost. No doubt because they lacked sage advice from abroad. At least some people recognized the magnitude of that absence.</p>
<p>Moving structures by day, rathole diving by night, she progressed in her own fashion as three weeks of travel were exceeded by three months of labor. The deepest holes. The heaviest beams. Exchanging aches, scrapes, and bruises for gold in both chunks and coinage. Shaving away at a scant sleep schedule allowed her to rebuild muscles depleted by malnutrition at the cost of deeper bags beneath dull green eyes, but that was always the deal. Each excursion underground reminded her of fishing through conduits on the carrier before she grew too big to fit. Every structure shifted alongside other workers felt reminiscent of days spent extracting a single bulkhead. Only here, nobody could keep her below deck.</p>
<p>"I'm heading out tomorrow morning," she told the Burrow's innkeeper after spending an evening cropping away unruly locks of hair. Although reserved by nature, or perhaps by necessity when so many vagabonds passed through, the old woman's bushy eyebrows rose more than normal while weighing her rent.</p>
<p>"Is that so? I hoped you were finally feeling at home with us."</p>
<p>"Probably for the best that I don't," said Mealworm. She got another look through foggy glasses as the innkeeper used tweezers to move a fleck of gold, allowing the scale to shift ever so slightly.</p>
<p>"And where might you be headed? We never can help but worry about our regulars."</p>
<p>"Further east. Figure I should try seeing Cherinmark's heart while I'm out here, or maybe I <em>have</em> to see it before leaving."</p>
<p>"Oh, dear…"</p>
<p>"It's fine, I've camped there before. You might even catch me returning if the city hasn't moved too far." She swept back bits of gold as the innkeeper deposited payment into a safe heavy enough to require special service whenever the tavern moved—from their odd oxen, from local orks, from sputtering GOC exoskeletons. "You should warn off that hunter who's been snooping around though. They probably won't have fun chasing me in there."</p>
<p>"Pardon? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."</p>
<p>"Of course not. At least charge extra for the information, yeah? They're probably loaded with a royal stipend if they can afford lurking this long without progress." To that, the innkeeper could only share in a smile that had come easier of late.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Naturally, Mealworm left through her room's window in the dead of night. Laden with a proper pack full of proper supplies, not to mention proper tools and even more proper weapons, it wasn't her gentlest two-story fall; being burdened in that familiar fashion felt good nonetheless. She might have even whistled while leaving Unceda if it didn't seem liable to attract attention from shadows looming in the distance. Striding over trees or cresting mountains, their enormous shapes were barely visible through the drizzle, lit only by slight fragments of starlight. Lanky. Loping. Bearing collections of eyes and teeth that reflected better than pelts and antlers. Although walking in their direction, there was no need to fret. What titan would crave a morsel as meager as herself?</p>
<p>If the middle ring of Cherinmark seemed a place fit for legends to transpire, its deepest interior better suited their forgetting. The oldest, roughest castles Mealworm had ever seen were fully consumed there. Moss digested statues. Roots crushed stone. Flowers bloomed bone-white or blood-red atop graves too large for humans. No roads survived either, but she climbed plenty of enormous pavestones that had been upended by nature's churn and tilt. To proceed was to climb, and climb she did, making full use of picks and pinions that would surely vanish into undergrowth within days as callouses reformed and knuckles scraped raw. The footholds carved into trees would vanish even sooner.</p>
<p>When she last traversed those ruins, it was with her pack from Alpha-85. Bruised, bleeding, beaten, their squad had split off to play rearguard after the Battle of Ten-Bridge Gorge. Having somehow survived that maneuver, there was no choice but to divert through territory that the OPCOM said to avoid like death. It immediately justified those warnings. As if drawn to gore—shed by hand, shed into their hands—tragedy befell them during a scramble from pursuers with similarly poor judgment. Flowers bloomed from open wounds while vines latched around ankles like traps engineered. Thorns, thistle, and worse tore away with a drive that seemed hungry if not sadistic. When night fell, it was surely some combination of moans, lanterns, and feverish fighting that drew those shadows toward their holdout. Although feverish herself, it was impossible to forget a giant snout descending from between old-growth trees to close around her squadmates, nor the gnarled hoofs pounding down in its wake.</p>
<p>This was a territory that knew its inhabitants well though. Mealworm's journey was a quiet, calm affair this time, and her surroundings proved appropriately serene. No wonder adventurers seeking to conquer its catacombs were consumed more often than not. Cherinmark simply wasn't a land that could be warred upon with any chance of victory. Yes, that was surely it, and surely the reason for panicked shouts that echoed behind her too. A flock of enormous birds burst into flight from nearby, their triple jointed legs still clutching animals plucked from nests. She stopped and scratched her neck as automatic gunfire put every other living thing on edge. Maybe her fellow foreigner deserved one more chance.</p>
<p>With a hunting knife in hand instead of TAPEWORM TANGIBLE, Mealworm descended along paths that had shifted over some scant twenty minutes. She rounded a fork, saw that hunter snarled in vines, and immediately ducked behind an enormous stone foot that must have once supported the grandest statue yet. Another burst of gunfire took chunks off its side.</p>
<p>"Stop shooting!" she said, only to be shot at again. Balancing serenity with coursing adrenaline wasn't easy.</p>
<p>"Where have you brought me?" came a shrill response barely muffled by their mask. "What is this nest of… this den of… Quarry should not imperil itself such!"</p>
<p>"I didn't bring you anywhere. You should have stolen the sword in town if you didn't want to follow me out here."</p>
<p>"I had not considered you suicidal!"</p>
<p>"Not yet at least. You don't seem ready to die either, so how about dropping the gun? I'll cut you down, and then you can scurry off to tell your bosses about <em>bravely</em> pursuing me here at great personal risk."</p>
<p>The following silence was punctuated by so many rustling branches, dripping leaves, and shifting stones that it shouldn't be called silence at all. Adding to that noise, a squat submachine gun skidded past her cover—PG-12, issued only by Tellechian intelligence. Mealworm peeked around the statue, then walked out when no more gunfire followed. That hunter was suspended nearly a foot off the ground by overgrowth that only tightened around struggling prey. Crossing the path brought no unpleasant surprises. She first approached the vine wrapping around an unguarded neck to gently hold it in place. One slow cut had no effect. Neither did a second, though at least it hadn't clenched with bone-breaking force yet. Three times finally forced a retreat.</p>
<p>"No problem at all," said Mealworm, flexing a hand that tingled from toxins injected by microneedle. The hunter started responding, only for another vine wrapped around ribs to tighten, squeezing air free alongside several painful cracks. "Yup. No problem." She set to work on that vine next, but only after stripping away a pistol, a knife, and several grenades from under their cloak.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Sweat soaked both by the time her patient collapsed onto the forest floor, panting through their mask in an appropriate fashion. And what a toll surgery took. Killing felt eminently simpler, an act which was nothing but final when done right. "You're mad," was all they said before vanishing from existence with a faint pop, dragged back toward the Howling Pillar by the gravity all from that realm experienced. If only returning was so easy for everyone who traveled abroad.</p>
<p>They weren't entirely wrong either. A great many people would call her mad for that renewed march toward the heart of Cherinmark. Even more would call her deluded, foolhardy, or yes, outright suicidal, as though there weren't plenty of places to die in the lands below for those seeking it. Night fell before any imagined naysayers could be proven correct. With only a porous heatstone to keep her hands from cramping, she watched through the darkness as one of those massive entities who devoured her squad passed overhead. Earth barely shook beneath its hooves. Musk barely carried on the wind. Enormous yet removed, present yet distant, its existence confounded as she stared unblinking at the void sketched into near-black clouds. When distant bellowing sounded, full of some ancient, aching sorrow at a world encroached upon, Mealworm allowed herself a tiny howl too.</p>
<p>Their differing sorrows barely mattered beneath the drizzle.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:90%;"><strong>« <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/smoke-without-fire">Previous Tale</a> | <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swords-unto-scramjets">Swords unto Scramjets</a> | <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/drinking-doubt-dry">Next Tale</a> »</strong></span></p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/littering-on-the-road-to-nowhere">Littering on the Road to Nowhere</a>" by Pedantique, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/littering-on-the-road-to-nowhere">https://scpwiki.com/littering-on-the-road-to-nowhere</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[=]]
[[span style="font-size:90%;"]]**<< [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/smoke-without-fire Previous Tale] | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swords-unto-scramjets Swords unto Scramjets] | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/drinking-doubt-dry Next Tale] >>**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
> //ALCON / STANDBY TO RECEIVE PROCLAMATION//
>
> //ALLAINGIAN BANNERS EXCEED PROJECTION / MULTIPLY AS IF BY SORCERY//
> //SIR SOLMIN THE STAR-EYED HAS TAKEN THE FIELD//
>
> //OTHER MILITARIES PROVE HOSTILE UPON CONTACT//
> //DOGS THAT THEY ARE / RABID AS THEIR KINGS//
>
> //WEATHER FOULING//
> //RESUPPLY DELAYED//
> //TAKE FROM OTHERS BEFORE THEY TAKE FROM YOU//
-----
Although violence carried on distant winds as Mealworm limped away from that most recent failure, it wasn't her violence, nor was it her war. Aster would be disappointed about lacking foes with equal capabilities. Galowyn and the others would be wroth over losses made meaningless. Indeed, she tasted a profound bitterness in the back of her throat when considering what ten years had earned—one spent recovering from abandonment, four on stumbling between outposts and caravans in the very land she helped stain red, another two on rummaging through once-classified plans, then three on picking what was needed from caches, graveyards, and tainted fortresses. All to be left with an unwieldable sword and an unusable key.
The sole remaining PACER was long gone from Mt. Perfidy's outskirts. Rather than follow a path of felled trees that led north along the Dulltooth Range—where high peaks hosted ELINT sensors and communication hubs staffed by dutiful orks—Mealworm turned back toward the heart of Cherinmark. Even if Gregor had been correct about the scope of conflict brewing there, its deepest reaches offered plenty of places to lose herself for another decade if necessary.
A nameless boar trail took her miles on its own, cutting across the outer layer of territory populated by cast-off communities. Although rulers complained tirelessly about being denied taxation or tyranny there, that massive ring of plains, roads, and rivers allowed passage across the continent better than any shoreside trail. Of goods and people. Of the ideas each carried. Mealworm paid that burgeoning seventh civilization no mind though, unwilling to show herself around royal agents or catspaws who might have her name on any number of ill-intended lists. Outcroppings protected campfires instead of sturdy roofs, then caves too small for bears and blinds abandoned by hunters. Whatever offered cover from the drizzle falling overhead every day.
Rations dwindled. Kindling dwindled. Symbols of modernity were discarded too, buried into little caches of their own while she worked to shed weight—as if either hunger or memories could truly be outrun by casting all else aside. Gone were inhalers that still held whiffs of intoxicating superiority, then replacement parts for systems which might never be seen again. Especially gone was that mask and its clogged filters, all too keen a reminder of what transpired, though black-streaked phlegm plagued her long after.
------
One evening among many, Mealworm came to rest in a half-formed hollow at the base of a truly gargantuan tree, enjoying the relative dryness offered by its branches. Legs askew, sword balanced atop them, she relaxed while watching the sunset refract through cloud cover. A privilege rarely afforded to those who grew up in the bowels of a repurposed aircraft carrier. Then again, such privileges had motivated her to volunteer for this away mission in the first place—not that anyone told her just how //away// it would end up being. That vibrant orange bloom spread tendrils of deeper red as it drifted further behind the horizon; purple veins followed, slowly subsuming the heavens in full as she finished a mug of ditchwater. Fortified microbiomes had to be used or lost, after all.
Her hand snapped to TAPEWORM TANGIBLE's scabbard before the first footstep could be heard over raindrops. That internal mass, that ever-present hitchhiker, urged her to draw first with how eagerly it pressed outwards against bone. As though it planned to break free and combat whoever intruded there. She maintained her grip instead, simply shifting to face the figure who pushed through curtains of rainwater falling from those outermost leaves.
Their waterproof cloak shed every droplet with ease, and boots barely displaced mud in motion; moreover, both arms shifted beneath inflexible fabric in a way that suggested some weapon was being cradled. Eyes orange enough to rival the sunset barely seemed noteworthy in comparison as they gleamed behind a long-snouted mask. Mealworm was foreign to this world, but so were cast-offs from the Howling Pillar who insisted on opening gaps of their own.
"They call these peerless blades if you haven't heard," she said casually, shifting to hold it horizontally between both hands. "I draw it and you die. Step closer, and I draw it. Shoot me, I draw it. Hang around, I'll draw it too. Consider whether your contract is worth paying that price."
"I hear each to be a maw unparalleled." Came words from a mouth clearly used to shaping other languages. "That is, //they// also say to draw it invites consumption."
"Might be. You won't live to see the meal though."
Although damp, bedraggled, and clearly dogged by exhaustion, it was a threat with sharper teeth than were carved into that mask. The hunter shifted whatever weapon hung to their chest, then dipped in a slight nod and backed through rainwater without looking away. Although the stim had long since fled her system, Mealworm was honed sharp enough to sense a mutt retreat downhill. Whether they would continue stalking from a distance remained to be seen. Disappointed, her internal mass curled itself for a slumber that would escape its host for quite some time.
Even insomnia couldn't dampen Cherinmark's majesty though, a land that refused to be described by minor words or to host minor existences. Trees grew even denser as Mealworm followed a path dotted by patches of paving stones—crooks aplenty where boughs formed low archways. Bushes bloomed in pastels rarely seen elsewhere. Ancient guideposts yet glowed with bound light. Where the forest relented, it was always to expose a river so narrow and deep that it must have been carved by a giant's sword, or vineyards so lush that hacksaws were required to maintain them. When absent, it was usually because some ancient-yet-unyielding fortress emerged from nowhere as though grown outright. Walls sometimes guarded. Banners sometimes proud. She even spotted a few of the A3/AD clusters that were surreptitiously constructed throughout the war to protect foreign interests. Isolation ensured that a great many remained ready to shoot down intruding drakes or aircraft, autonomous subroutines as territorial as ever.
Bulbous, soft-rined fruits replaced her last few energy bars (bit clean through in the elven fashion). Wells and cisterns refilled her canteen wherever available (water hosting even more aggressive parasites). In that fashion, along those roads, Mealworm continued shedding what was precious but unworkable, taking more and more of the land into herself. Without having to crawl through mud or meet in grottos with the whir of UAVs far overhead, those rolling hills in their hundreds of hues were truly spectacular—even more so, having healed from hard fighting in a manner flesh could never manage. How unfortunate that they needed to burn anew when her war returned with all its worst weapons. Then again, these seemed more than ready to heal from those wounds too.
Shedding her empty pistol into a roadside ravine came easier than expected as she approached the Roaming City of Unceda.
------
Although "nomad city" conjures a free-ranging image in the minds of those ruling seaside states, Unceda never bowed to such expectations in its creep across Cherinmark. Not tents, but sturdy structures nonetheless built to be dismantled and reassembled as owners see fit. Not horses, but lumbering beasts of burden whose six legs pull mobile walls through the mud. Logging continues, buildings shift, and seeding follows, all while rathole miners dart through the territory's tunnel network in search of veins to strip before the city passes by. In this, residents enjoy protection from the grim shapes that stalk through the night without fear of sucking resources dry; by that, their mine-lords and gem-barons grow wealthier, giving ever less consideration to homes and businesses that linger in the tailing district. Such it has been for centuries upon centuries.
Mealworm found the city a few miles back from where she expected based on past sightings. Planners had directed it through a valley cloven between sheer cliffs—no doubt seeking to exploit whatever their fission exposed—but in the process had slowed Unceda's crawl to, well, a crawl. It would probably take another decade before the city fully freed itself from that predicament. After wrapping TAPEWORM TANGIBLE in her jacket, she slid down the muddy slope, squelched through a lily pond, and made no effort to disguise her entrance through one of many gates that moved with everything else. Much as Cherinmark itself welcomed cast-offs, the guards made no effort to interrogate those seeking shelter. All the while, she felt the stare of that persistent hunter from somewhere in the tree line far behind.
'War's going bad,' was a report often repeated by other patrons of the Burrow, a tavern whose owner took great pride in placing it above rich veins upon each relocation. When rent could be paid in gems, then meals with ore, why would hopeful miners stay anywhere else? 'War's going great,' was the only report rivaling its frequency, and thus did Mealworm get scattershot news as she prepared for her journey's next leg. Allaingar took Fort Gräd again. Allaingar lost Fort Gräd again. Tellech established this redoubt on the Breskial Mainway. Tellech retreated from it just as quickly. Pardusht, Baeste, Timur, Skardoss, all states whose successes transmuted into failure with clockwork regularity. Either Gregor's grand stroke had failed already or had yet to ripen in full; all the better for ensuring he eventually got what he deserved.
"I hope they die," muttered a sallow youth one night at the longtable used for meals. "Sacks of garbage eager to spill everywhere. Chickenshit henfuckers. Pustules. Don't even know how to live and they're still making it harder for us. Pricks. Don't even know how to breathe unless a king tells 'em. Might as well drown in all the piss they gargle."
On he went to an impressive extent, overheard by nobody but Mealworm as she nodded and gnawed at stale bread. Who could disagree? When heard from this perspective, the war seemed a truly foolish thing, with nothing of value gained for long or held at small cost. No doubt because they lacked sage advice from abroad. At least some people recognized the magnitude of that absence.
Moving structures by day, rathole diving by night, she progressed in her own fashion as three weeks of travel were exceeded by three months of labor. The deepest holes. The heaviest beams. Exchanging aches, scrapes, and bruises for gold in both chunks and coinage. Shaving away at a scant sleep schedule allowed her to rebuild muscles depleted by malnutrition at the cost of deeper bags beneath dull green eyes, but that was always the deal. Each excursion underground reminded her of fishing through conduits on the carrier before she grew too big to fit. Every structure shifted alongside other workers felt reminiscent of days spent extracting a single bulkhead. Only here, nobody could keep her below deck.
"I'm heading out tomorrow morning," she told the Burrow's innkeeper after spending an evening cropping away unruly locks of hair. Although reserved by nature, or perhaps by necessity when so many vagabonds passed through, the old woman's bushy eyebrows rose more than normal while weighing her rent.
"Is that so? I hoped you were finally feeling at home with us."
"Probably for the best that I don't," said Mealworm. She got another look through foggy glasses as the innkeeper used tweezers to move a fleck of gold, allowing the scale to shift ever so slightly.
"And where might you be headed? We never can help but worry about our regulars."
"Further east. Figure I should try seeing Cherinmark's heart while I'm out here, or maybe I //have// to see it before leaving."
"Oh, dear..."
"It's fine, I've camped there before. You might even catch me returning if the city hasn't moved too far." She swept back bits of gold as the innkeeper deposited payment into a safe heavy enough to require special service whenever the tavern moved—from their odd oxen, from local orks, from sputtering GOC exoskeletons. "You should warn off that hunter who's been snooping around though. They probably won't have fun chasing me in there."
"Pardon? I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
"Of course not. At least charge extra for the information, yeah? They're probably loaded with a royal stipend if they can afford lurking this long without progress." To that, the innkeeper could only share in a smile that had come easier of late.
------
Naturally, Mealworm left through her room's window in the dead of night. Laden with a proper pack full of proper supplies, not to mention proper tools and even more proper weapons, it wasn't her gentlest two-story fall; being burdened in that familiar fashion felt good nonetheless. She might have even whistled while leaving Unceda if it didn't seem liable to attract attention from shadows looming in the distance. Striding over trees or cresting mountains, their enormous shapes were barely visible through the drizzle, lit only by slight fragments of starlight. Lanky. Loping. Bearing collections of eyes and teeth that reflected better than pelts and antlers. Although walking in their direction, there was no need to fret. What titan would crave a morsel as meager as herself?
If the middle ring of Cherinmark seemed a place fit for legends to transpire, its deepest interior better suited their forgetting. The oldest, roughest castles Mealworm had ever seen were fully consumed there. Moss digested statues. Roots crushed stone. Flowers bloomed bone-white or blood-red atop graves too large for humans. No roads survived either, but she climbed plenty of enormous pavestones that had been upended by nature's churn and tilt. To proceed was to climb, and climb she did, making full use of picks and pinions that would surely vanish into undergrowth within days as callouses reformed and knuckles scraped raw. The footholds carved into trees would vanish even sooner.
When she last traversed those ruins, it was with her pack from Alpha-85. Bruised, bleeding, beaten, their squad had split off to play rearguard after the Battle of Ten-Bridge Gorge. Having somehow survived that maneuver, there was no choice but to divert through territory that the OPCOM said to avoid like death. It immediately justified those warnings. As if drawn to gore—shed by hand, shed into their hands—tragedy befell them during a scramble from pursuers with similarly poor judgment. Flowers bloomed from open wounds while vines latched around ankles like traps engineered. Thorns, thistle, and worse tore away with a drive that seemed hungry if not sadistic. When night fell, it was surely some combination of moans, lanterns, and feverish fighting that drew those shadows toward their holdout. Although feverish herself, it was impossible to forget a giant snout descending from between old-growth trees to close around her squadmates, nor the gnarled hoofs pounding down in its wake.
This was a territory that knew its inhabitants well though. Mealworm's journey was a quiet, calm affair this time, and her surroundings proved appropriately serene. No wonder adventurers seeking to conquer its catacombs were consumed more often than not. Cherinmark simply wasn't a land that could be warred upon with any chance of victory. Yes, that was surely it, and surely the reason for panicked shouts that echoed behind her too. A flock of enormous birds burst into flight from nearby, their triple jointed legs still clutching animals plucked from nests. She stopped and scratched her neck as automatic gunfire put every other living thing on edge. Maybe her fellow foreigner deserved one more chance.
With a hunting knife in hand instead of TAPEWORM TANGIBLE, Mealworm descended along paths that had shifted over some scant twenty minutes. She rounded a fork, saw that hunter snarled in vines, and immediately ducked behind an enormous stone foot that must have once supported the grandest statue yet. Another burst of gunfire took chunks off its side.
"Stop shooting!" she said, only to be shot at again. Balancing serenity with coursing adrenaline wasn't easy.
"Where have you brought me?" came a shrill response barely muffled by their mask. "What is this nest of... this den of... Quarry should not imperil itself such!"
"I didn't bring you anywhere. You should have stolen the sword in town if you didn't want to follow me out here."
"I had not considered you suicidal!"
"Not yet at least. You don't seem ready to die either, so how about dropping the gun? I'll cut you down, and then you can scurry off to tell your bosses about //bravely// pursuing me here at great personal risk."
The following silence was punctuated by so many rustling branches, dripping leaves, and shifting stones that it shouldn't be called silence at all. Adding to that noise, a squat submachine gun skidded past her cover—PG-12, issued only by Tellechian intelligence. Mealworm peeked around the statue, then walked out when no more gunfire followed. That hunter was suspended nearly a foot off the ground by overgrowth that only tightened around struggling prey. Crossing the path brought no unpleasant surprises. She first approached the vine wrapping around an unguarded neck to gently hold it in place. One slow cut had no effect. Neither did a second, though at least it hadn't clenched with bone-breaking force yet. Three times finally forced a retreat.
"No problem at all," said Mealworm, flexing a hand that tingled from toxins injected by microneedle. The hunter started responding, only for another vine wrapped around ribs to tighten, squeezing air free alongside several painful cracks. "Yup. No problem." She set to work on that vine next, but only after stripping away a pistol, a knife, and several grenades from under their cloak.
------
Sweat soaked both by the time her patient collapsed onto the forest floor, panting through their mask in an appropriate fashion. And what a toll surgery took. Killing felt eminently simpler, an act which was nothing but final when done right. "You're mad," was all they said before vanishing from existence with a faint pop, dragged back toward the Howling Pillar by the gravity all from that realm experienced. If only returning was so easy for everyone who traveled abroad.
They weren't entirely wrong either. A great many people would call her mad for that renewed march toward the heart of Cherinmark. Even more would call her deluded, foolhardy, or yes, outright suicidal, as though there weren't plenty of places to die in the lands below for those seeking it. Night fell before any imagined naysayers could be proven correct. With only a porous heatstone to keep her hands from cramping, she watched through the darkness as one of those massive entities who devoured her squad passed overhead. Earth barely shook beneath its hooves. Musk barely carried on the wind. Enormous yet removed, present yet distant, its existence confounded as she stared unblinking at the void sketched into near-black clouds. When distant bellowing sounded, full of some ancient, aching sorrow at a world encroached upon, Mealworm allowed herself a tiny howl too.
Their differing sorrows barely mattered beneath the drizzle.
[[=]]
[[span style="font-size:90%;"]]**<< [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/smoke-without-fire Previous Tale] | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swords-unto-scramjets Swords unto Scramjets] | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/drinking-doubt-dry Next Tale] >>**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-07T21:38:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] |
Littering on the Road to Nowhere - SCP Foundation
| 13
|
[
"smoke-without-fire",
"swords-unto-scramjets",
"drinking-doubt-dry",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"swords-unto-scramjets"
] |
[] |
1453272445
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/littering-on-the-road-to-nowhere
|
|
love-across-a-nonbinary-spectrum
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aoceanbound/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="preview">
<p>"You are… Inanna….right?"</p>
<p>"One name among many. The oldest that men can remember of course. Notoriously short memories. Sit Isaac. Have a pastry."</p>
</div>
<div style="display: none;">
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><img alt="Aleah.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/Aleah.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>Aleah Im-Immaru</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p>⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong> Discussion of Suicide (Both Ideation and the actual event) and Transphobia. Allusion to sexual acts.</p>
<p>8.3k words</p>
<p>Reading Time: 30 minutes</p>
<p><strong>SUGGESTED LISTENING</strong>:<br/>
Theme:</p>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pICAha0nsb0&list=RDwp7l9oolXS0&index=11&ab_channel=TwoStepsFromHell">- Star Sky - Two Steps from Hell</a></p>
<p><strong>Character themes:</strong></p>
<ul>
<li>Abigail: <a href="https://www.extrememusic.com/albums/3655?item=59527&ver=271245&sharedTrack=dHJ1ZQ==">Arcade Master - Two Steps From Hell</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nqqc2FHf9Ug">Piercing Lights - Mako and the World League of Legends</a></li>
<li>Aleah: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4NRXx6U8ABQ&ab_channel=TheWeekndVEVO">Blinding Lights - The Weekend</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0NKUpo_xKyQ&pp=ygUVbGlnaHRzIGVsbGllIGdvdWxkaW5n">Lights - Ellie Goulding</a></li>
<li>Isaac: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rLbFkvG0cM&ab_channel=LeagueofLegends">The Boy Who Shattered Time - League of Legends</a></li>
</ul>
<p>You can find more of Bleep's works <a href="/dr-bleeps-author-page">Here</a>.</p>
<p>If you want to read more about Isaac or Iszth's other works, you can find <a href="/iszths-personnel-file">iszths personnel file</a> here.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">Site-17</span></p>
</div>
<p><a href="/scp-7454">Isaac</a> holds his hands out in front of him. He looks around. He's standing, alone in a square metal room that looks like the hallways of Site-17, but it's just a room. A room with a single door before him.</p>
<p>He steps forward, hesitantly, and places his hand on the door. Focusing. Reality fails to bend to his will. Swallowing, and with no other conceivable option in sight, he pushes the door inwards and steps inside.</p>
<p>Warm light washes across his bronze skin.</p>
<p>Artwork hangs from stucco paneling, a fireplace gently crackles, a coffee table, laid out with a wide selection of pastries and sweets, perches between the fireplace, a couch, and multiple chairs.</p>
<p>It almost looks like the room he'd talked to Medea and Artemis in.</p>
<p>And there is someone already here. Someone he didn't know about, and yet instantly knew of.</p>
<p>A woman with deeply olive-toned skin and mahogany eyes watches him. A pair of aviator sunglasses perch atop the brown strands of hair. Jeans and chunky sneakers, standing out from the formal wear he's grown used to on Foundation researchers.</p>
<p>He hears the door softly click shut behind him, eyes completely focused on this stranger. No not a stranger he decides A beast, gorgeous to the eyes with sharp angled jaws and cheeks that surely had to be the result of a sculptor. She's a thing of power so great that even as he grasps for the strings of reality around her, he realizes his power has been shut off, hemmed in and contained.</p>
<p>She watches. Waits. But for what?</p>
<p>"Are… who are you?" He asks, somehow already knowing the answer in his soul.</p>
<p>"Oh, poor thing. Your heart rate's through the roof." He flinches as she moves, uncrossing her leg. A ripple spreading through reality. His eyes dart to her arms, as light congeals along exposed skin, dancing into shapes, slithering and writhing tattoos of designs that draw familiar memories to the forefront.</p>
<p>Somehow, that little motion, that ripple makes her seem more real.</p>
<p>More real than anything else he's experienced in millennia.</p>
<p>"There we go. Sorry about all that. Foundation Sites, SRAs and conceptual defenses, pains in the ass. You ok? All in one piece?"</p>
<p>Tightness in his chest loosens. He reaches out with ontokinetic fingers, trying to grapple with threads of reality. A step back in surprise, the stuffy congestion blocking him moments ago suddenly gone, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of information. "Who… what?"</p>
<p>"That's probably a yes. Take your time to think about it. You'll figure it out in a minute." She leans forward, grabs a pastry and stuffs it in her face, not taking her eyes off of Isaac.</p>
<p>Isaac turns his attention to the greater sphere, and wrestles with the bombardment of complex conceptual entanglements that greet his probing mind. He recoils, audibly gasping at the enormity of the web before him. A million concepts, a thousand different names spread across more than triple the length of his existence.</p>
<p>The familiar stranger recrosses her legs, gently rocking one foot as she waits.</p>
<p>He gently grabs a thread, pulls on it and examines the title, the connection, endless and expansive. "You are… Inanna….right?" The thread vibrates in his hand, in turn something tugs on one of his strings, snapping his attention back to his own sphere.</p>
<p>"One name among many." She leans slightly forward, and for a moment, he watches the reality around her waver, features that are and aren't swimming to the forefront of her concept. A tail, horns, claws and wings. A blink and they are gone again. "The oldest that men can remember of course. Notoriously short memories." She wraps her tongue around the pastry, sensually dragging along the surface as she scoops icing and cream off the surface with the tip of her tongue; provoking a storm of lewd thoughts. Then she smiles in a way that makes his spine crawl and gestures. "Please sit, Isaac. Have a sweet."</p>
<p>Isaac starts to take a step forward, charmed by the slight melody of her voice, and then stops himself. The dream, for this is what it felt like, rubber banding as he comes back to earth. <em>Damn she's good. She's really fucking good.</em> "No, what?" He shakes his head, stamping his foot to stir sensation, shaking off the remnants of her spell. "What the fuck. What did you do? You just take away— No fucking way. Tell me what you did to the site!" With every word an inferno rises in his chest. Rage. Hot and boiling.</p>
<p>That's right, he was on the way to eat breakfast! Then the headache and now—</p>
<p>This Inanna, this creature that briefly stripped his power, again she watches him. Unperturbed. Infuriatingly amused. She rests her chin in the palm of her hand. "You're pretty cute when you're mad." A flush rises in his cheeks, mixing with the broiling heat in his chest. Abruptly, she uncrosses her legs, sits up, and stretches, totally unbothered at his distress, at his rage.</p>
<p>The firestorm intensifies. <em>I have to get control of the situation. My, my fucking friends might depend on it!</em> "Hey! Don't distract me, answer the questions dick-wipe. What'd you do with all my fucking friends, the Site?"</p>
<p>She snorts. She fucking snorts. "Nothing. They're still exactly where they are supposed to be."</p>
<p>Isaac blinks, rage wavering in his chest. "What?"</p>
<p>"Let's see, how to best explain this. On earth, Site-17 is still in Canada where all your friends and re—"</p>
<p>"Smartass, I got that!" He cuts her off, vision shifting this way and that, looking for something to throw at her.</p>
<p>"Ohhhhhh, you want to know what's going on."</p>
<p>"Gods, we've only just met and you're insufferable." Isaac clenches his fist, crosses his arms and presses them to his abdomen, glaring her down. "No duh, asshole! You didn't think I was just standing here, eye fucking you because you're tits out gorgeous, did you?" He looks down, biting something more lewd back, before looking up. "I mean I definitely was, cause hot damn but…"</p>
<p>He meets Inanna's gaze, her eyes simmering, and she grins with malicious light dancing across her face.</p>
<p><em>Shit.</em> "Wait."</p>
<p>"No, no, go on. You're not the first or the last person to objectify me. What's one more to the pile?"</p>
<p>Isaac presses his hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples as he takes his eyes off her. "Look I… what do you want?"</p>
<p>"I know apologies are hard, and I know it's hard to move past bad habits, so I forgive you." He looks up, her legs now uncrossed as she leans forward, amber gaze boring into his soul. "I want to talk. Get to know you."</p>
<p>"You clearly already know me. So, what the fuck? What could you want that you don't already know?"</p>
<p>"I know of you. I don't <em>know</em> you." She picks up another pastry, his eyes tracking her tongue as she sensually licks the icing off the top.</p>
<p>"Look I— if you wanted to talk you could have just done, I don't know, the normal thing and walked through the front door with a visitors pass." He looks away, trying not to think about the overt act of cupcake-a-lingus she is taunting him with.</p>
<p>"Would you walk through the front door, fill out thirty forms, and screw around for a month while some pissant behind a desk stamped your forms in triplicate?" she asks pointedly. He looks back, finding her smirking smugly. The instinct to punch her in the face and run increases by the moment.</p>
<p>"Well… I… no. Probably not if I really wanted to," the words fumble out of his mouth.</p>
<p>"I considered walking in the front door with a badge and everything buuuuuuuuuuuuuut," she draws the word out, wagging a finger that he tracks back and forth. "There's a layer of intimacy that's lost in the presence of the Foundation with all their recordings and interviews." His eyes track the finger as it drops to the chair arm, drags along the orb-shaped leather divots in the chair, weaving in figure eights. Her voice drops half an octave into a husky tone, before bouncing right back up into its normal register. "Besides, it would have been less of a challenge than figuring out all their little defense mechanisms."</p>
<p>Isaac shakes his head, crossing his arms again to stop them from doing something crude in response to her ongoing provocations. <em>She's trying to get to you.</em> "Freak."</p>
<p>"And proud of it." Inanna grins, pulls her hand away from the chair arm sensually, clasps her hands together, and places them, innocently, in her lap. "Obviously you can say no, walk right back out that door to that schedule they have you on. You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, you're a big boy, you can make your own choices."</p>
<p>Tightness rises in Isaac's stomach as he frowns. <em>What the hell does she actually want? A blowjob? Jerk and work? A date?</em> "Just like that?"</p>
<p>"Just like that."</p>
<p>He shifts in place, looking away from her to the stucco paneling to garner his thoughts away from her, and towards <a href="/agent-calendars-hot-date-1">Agent Calendar</a> and his friends. <em>I… what if…</em> "Why?" He looks at her again.</p>
<p>"We're doing a favor for some friends, reaching out like this. If you want to knock away that hand, then fair enough." Inanna flicks a finger. He watches another pastry rise from the table, float lazily across the distance, and land perfectly in the curve of her tongue.</p>
<p>Isaac's eyes go to the door, trace back to Inanna, and then the door again. He hesitates for several long seconds, and then wills his legs to move forward and then around the chair opposite to hers. He never lets Inanna out of his sight, waiting for some trap to spring.</p>
<p>When nothing happens, he finally sits. Then she smiles.</p>
<p>"We?" he asks, reaching out to take a pastry. He almost drops it, the wrapper smooth and pleasantly textured in a way he isn't expecting. He brings it up to his face, and sniffs, blinking in surprise when it doesn't explode into something horribly vile in his face.</p>
<p>"Look at me." He looks back up, to see her leaning forward, chin perched on one hand, tone commanding yet smooth. "Focus entirely on me."</p>
<p>Isaac stuffs the pastry in his mouth, melting at the otherworldly flavors that seep into his tongue. "Kind of hard to do anything other than look at you." He chews, swallows and then smirks. "Did it hurt? When you fell from heaven, Inanna?"</p>
<p>"Who said I ever fell hmm?" She laughs, an ecstatic noise that almost disarms him. Almost. "I take it then, you're interested? In talking that is."</p>
<p>"I'm sitting here aren't I?" He rolls his eyes, licking his lips and then his fingers slowly and sensually in a replying barrage, leaning into her game. "What, you want me to pull out my dick and start beating off to you, moaning 'Oh oh oh Inanna!'"</p>
<p>His chest tightens as her lips purse, curling down as her eyes narrow. For a moment, not more than a few seconds, the pupils seem to narrow into reptillian slits, burning and burrowing into his skull. "Wow. Just wow." He watches her pick up another pastry, her tactics changing, rougher, less sensual and intimate in the way she handles it. He shifts in place, closing his legs when she crushes it in her teeth.</p>
<p>"What? Don't tell me the great and powerful Sumerian goddess of love is squeamish about sex talk."</p>
<p>"Please, I was developing whole new techniques before you even ascended." Inanna rolls her eyes, licking her lips, and then fingers. "Do me a favor, call me <a href="/scp-8810">Abigail</a>. It is to me, what Isaac is to you."</p>
<p>"Right. Well, I'm here, I'm sitting in your chair, eating your pastries, which, bravo on mouth fucking each and every one. It's impressive." He takes another pastry, not taking his eyes off her, and licks at it sensually, tastebuds caressing the dough. "Are you going to serenade me too <em>Abigail</em>?" Isaac watches her as she shifts and decides to abandon sitting in the chair like a normal person.</p>
<p>"As if this entire conversation hasn't been a serenade and dance already? Maybe at some point I'll actually serenade you. But no, right now I just want to talk."</p>
<p>"Yeah you've said that several times, again, all while you've been treating the pastries like a juicy cunt and fingering your chair. Are you just going to repeat that ad-infinitum, while masking that you just want to bang? Might as well get me a chalice of wine cause you're booooooooring me. C'mon, lets get on with the show!"</p>
<p>"Yeah, I see why you're fun at parties." She smirks at him. Then she sits up, all the foreplay falling away. "In all seriousness, I want to talk about your experience as a God of Love."</p>
<p>Isaac's chest tightens, ribcage abruptly, impossibly, tight, licks of fire worming back up from his stomach. "Why?" he bristles. "So you can judge me for eschewing the role that was forced on me? The image of who I should have been?"</p>
<p>"No. Not at all." He watches her relax sideways in the chair, leaning her chin on a propped-up arm.</p>
<p>"Then why? It's been nothing but pain and family being assholes. There's nothing else to talk about." Cold facial muscles tensing in what must be a snarl, fists clenching on the armchair, legs shaking, ready to get up and walk out.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I get it." Abigail looks away from him, at a painting on the wall. He watches one of her hands play with a belt loop on her jeans.</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Pain, and family being assholes, and why you wouldn't be willing to talk about it." He tries, and fails, to puzzle out her game. Watches as she rolls onto her back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling, tapping one foot against the air. "Can't exactly blame you."</p>
<p>The flaring embers bundle with tight desire, curiosity, wanting to pull on her threads, unravel what she's after. Gradually it floods out the urge to be insolent, to clamp his mouth shut until she puts him back in his cell. "Why are you talking like you understand me?"</p>
<p>"Of course." Her voice twinges with a breathiness, exasperation or exhaustion. Mocking him. "I expected that you of all people would get it." Spots of red flicker in the corners of his eyes, head tilting slightly as he tries to follow her slow and infuriating slide into an inverted sitting position. "Sorry it was presumptive of me to assume you would."</p>
<p><em>She's been screwing with me this entire time. She doesn't care. She's just pushing fucking buttons!</em> Isaac's eye twitches, as the rage bursts the dam. "You're fucking with me. Have you been twisting me about like a limp dick this whole time? <em>I</em> don't understand? It's been my entire shitty damn life."</p>
<p>"Yeah, I get it." Abigail replies simply. The corners of her mouth twitch at the edges in his visions, clearly trying not to smile.</p>
<p>"What the hell is wrong with you? Do you think you know all of the assholery and bullshit I've been through?" Isaac snaps and sits forward snarling.</p>
<p>"Of course I couldn't, you haven't told me your story yet."</p>
<p>"What? What fucking story is there? How 20,000 fucking years ago I was born to a father and mother who, from the moment I could talk, told me I was the prettiest damn girl in the world? They paraded me, naked, from the time I could first bear children in front of all the other pantheons. I was their pride, their prize, I wasn't allowed to hide my body, it was shameful to shield it." He waves his arms in distress.</p>
<p>"They saw what they wanted to see," Abigail offers in a much gentler tone than she'd been using before. Isaac looks down from the ceiling, to find her sitting upright now, and leaning forward, listening attentively.</p>
<p>"It was more than just wanting to see. It was using me to be a mother, produce strong lines of children, set a golden example for the rest of the gods! So, they married me off, as a gods damned teenager. They lied about how faithful my husband was. Coaxed those lies into an inferno of fast spreading rumors, all when he was the one chasing the skirts of every other shitty goddess who'd give him the time of day. They made <strong>me</strong> unfaithful, not him. To the world, I was some fucking whore who was always flirting and loving on Aries. Aries! A smug arrogant prick who I couldn't stand!" He pulls on his hair, taking his eyes off Abigail.</p>
<p>"And it just kept getting worse, and spiraling further and further." He snaps his vision back in her direction. Her eyes are closed, chin perched on the palm of her hand, listening.</p>
<p>"Everything had to be corrected, I had to always live up to their image, their expectations. The dumb bimbo who was expected to suck it up, do whatever Mommy and Daddy dearest wanted to fulfill their stupid, fucknuggetry, nut-sucking power fantasies. They had me ruin so many lives, make people fall in love with them and have their bastards, hurt so many people, alienate members of the family to keep me compliant. Disliked. Vapid and airheaded! All the while they tiptoed behind each other's back, boned anything that could damn well move, and were fucking <em>celebrated</em> for it no matter how horrible the terror they inflicted onto mortals and me was!" Isaac slams his hand on the chair, the sting of salty tears worming down his cheeks. He watches the ripples spread through reality, arcing out along the floor as it momentarily flickers into swarming beetles.</p>
<p>"And when you tried to change, when you tried to evolve, burn their cults to the ground, what did they do?" Her voice waxes against his ears as he stares at her through the tears.</p>
<p>"They—They…" He takes deep breaths, a cinch in his chest agonizing him as he relives the moments. Unable to finish the thought.</p>
<p>He looks up at Abigail, noticing her glancing at the door through which he was supposedly allowed to leave. "The door is always there," she says with surprising softness. He rocks his head back and forth, tears dripping down his face.</p>
<p>"No! You fucking asked for my story. So I'm going to tell you my story." Crimson creeps in at the edges of his vision again. "They spat in my face; said I was betraying the family. Built new cults when I burned them to the fucking ground, gave me new names in new cultures so no matter what I did, no matter where I went, I was always worshipped as this mother, this goddess of love and beauty. No one cared about what I wanted. No one cared that I was humiliated, constantly degraded and mischaracterized because their precious shithouse religion and pantheon kept growing."</p>
<p>"Every time you tried to start again, they snuffed it out. Smote down any worshippers who tried to follow, because it went against their natural order." Isaac meets Abigail's gaze as her eyes open, watching sun fire burn in her amber with a twisting twinge in his belly. His head spins, registering. <em>Wait, does she understand? Or is she playing with me, flicking her bean to my pain?</em></p>
<p>"You can't be a man, it's not natural. It doesn't fit our butt-munching natural order; it doesn't fit our image. We need you to be a Mother, a goddess, a perfect model of a woman's beauty! No one cared what I wanted. No one cared what I wanted to be. It didn't matter how hollow, and empty I felt inside. It didn't matter that every ounce of that shitty name brought me anguish, I justified their opinions and images with my behavior. With my attempts to drown out their abuse and manipulation with oceans of wine and psychedelics." Isaac presses his face into his hands, black filling his vision as his muscles shudder, letting out thousands of years of grief. "I've got a new name, a new damn life, and this patriarchal, thunder-cunting, prick still haunts me! He was apparently dead, and now he's back, not even fucking death can stop him."</p>
<p>Abigail lets the words hang in the air, as Isaac cries into his hands, letting the hot anger and rage flow out.</p>
<p>Seconds tick past. He closes his eyes.</p>
<p>Then a minute.</p>
<p>Then several minutes, as the flames begin to cool in his chest, but the constricting ache in his ribcage doesn't go away.</p>
<p>He reopens his eyes, for a moment thinking reality will reassert itself. This will all be a dream.</p>
<p>But no, she is still there. He still has to deal with her.</p>
<p>"I appreciate you sharing." He looks up as she speaks, taking in the color of the raging firestorm dancing behind her eyes. Again, he considers that maybe she does understand. But if she understood, she would never have made him relive it like this. Abigail flicks a finger, a small ripple of light and a flash of gold appear in the corner of Isaac's vision. A chalice of wine sits on a little end table next to his chair. "I get the pain. Maybe not to the same degree in all avenues, but I get most of it."</p>
<p>His vision traces to the chalice, then back to her, and then back to it. Strands of molten fury rocket through his chest, fists clenching. <em>She doesn't fucking get it at all!</em> "Stop fucking saying that!" He rockets to his feet, roaring at her. "How could you possibly understand? None of you ever do! You always roll in, sympathetic assholes, claiming you can help, and you just make me relive the pain over and over again," the words whip off his tongue, biting and full of venom.</p>
<p>She sits back in the chair, cool. Maddeningly calm in a way that brings his blood to boil. The words hang in the air as he glares at her.</p>
<p>Seconds ticks by as he watches her eyes glaze over, drifting.</p>
<p>"You shared, so I think it's only fair that I do too." Abigail snaps a finger, not quite returning to the conversation in a conscious way, as if driven on autopilot. Quite abruptly, light and reality cuts, spinning for a moment before they are streaming through the stars. Lights, no whole star clusters ripple and spread out before both god and goddess, dancing into new shapes.</p>
<p>"What do you think you're doing? This, it's not going to change anything, these fancy light-tricks. You don't get it and you never will!" He spits at her indignantly, determined to dismiss her.</p>
<p>He stumbles back, falling into the chair as her eyes refocus, and the whole space seems to brighten, nearly blinding him as she gleams in a new and terrible light. The roar of starfire burns against his eardrums, presence swarming every inch of his mind with a sudden tempest of fury. It rages behind her, spreading into an ancient and terrible shape. Words almost seem to burn in a stream of meaning, not spoken, but conveyed all the same through the web of threads. 'I am the Queen of Heaven, and I will not be disrespected!'</p>
<p>And then he watches her breathe in and out, the phantasm fading away into the gentler dancing rays of starlight. "I almost lost my cool, sorry. Look… you told me your story. Let me tell mine. I know you think I don't understand, and there's really only one way to convey that I do, and that's to show you." She taps her fingers on the chair. "I'm not going to ask for anything else… just for you to listen to my story. So, will you please let me weave it?"</p>
<p>He turns the request over in his mind, stunned, cowed and well— for lack of a better term, quite suddenly and unexpectedly aroused by her ability to crank things up to ten and immediately brake hard. It's familiar in many ways. "Ok. Ok I'll hear… I'll hear you out."</p>
<p>She lets the mood settle, taking a drink from her chalice of wine.</p>
<p>Then she begins.</p>
<p>"When I was born, I had a brother and an older sister. For a time, our family was happy, until we began to ascend beneath Tiamat's influence." He looks upon constellations as they form into a great and mighty dragon of water, thumping beneath an open sunny sky, and then swirl into the shapes of a family. His jaw hangs slightly open.</p>
<p>"My sister, eldest of Anu's children, was my father's favorite. He showered her with favor and attention. Then he wept when she ascended, for the Earth took her arm, and pressed her deep into the depths." A pause as she takes another long sip, and a deep breath, as if preparing herself. Isaac could see the twitch of her fingers, the tremble of her lip.</p>
<p>"In his grief, he neglected us, and in the throes of pre-ascension my sibling and I took knives and plunged them into our hearts. We ascended but it didn't change what our Father felt. When all of us had risen, Father formed the first of his courts and gave us roles. At first they were nothing more than titles, but as our sphere grew, as more people came to know of us, stories spurned against the sky, tales were woven, and expectations were placed." A pang rises in his chest as he watches the complicated wash of expressions move across Abigail's face, and he bites his lip.</p>
<p>The stars swirl again as Isaac watches in fascination. Abigail laughs drily and mirthlessly, drawing his attention back to her. "So, then with the roles came expectations. He granted me, though it wasn't really fucking granting cause it's just what I always had command of, domains over Love and War, ignoring my capacity for Light and Justice. And my brother, my sibling was given the domains of the Sun/Light and Justice, ignoring their capacity for Love and War." She pauses, taking a difficult breath.</p>
<p>"Hey I… you don't have to keep going," Isaac winces, fingers rubbing at the back of his head. The knife twists further in his chest as he sees the pain in her eyes. "If it's too much."</p>
<p>"I need you to understand, this isn't for me. I've long moved past it." The aching firelight wavering in her eyes told Isaac the truth of what Abigail was hiding. She was not, in fact, over it. "My father portrayed himself to the people as a caring patriarch who looked out for the whole of his family with one hand and spread rumors and stories about me with the other. All while ignoring my sibling near entirely. To him, and thus to our worshippers, I was a petulant, capricious, destructive and far too ambitious child. A bimbo, worshipped for her blessings in love and war, who abused and mistreated her lovers because she saw no value in them. Of course, there was also all the objectifying that comes with the territory, disgusting acts in my name." He watches stars dance against her tale, weaving acts of storytelling, destruction, love and neglect, journeys into the underworld in swirling skies. He raises an arm, as if to reach out towards her, but stops, and pulls it back down.</p>
<p>She pauses and takes another long draught of wine, setting it down again, and staring at it. Her eyes don't meet his as he watches on, a pit forming in his belly.</p>
<p>"How do you deal with it? People worshiping you in that way, the expectations."</p>
<p>"Back then? I acted out." She looks up and meets his gaze. "Fucked with people, played the role and the part because what else could I fucking do? My father was the one spreading all the mistruth, encouraging the cults, slanting who I was and what I stood for. Sure, I did some of the things, but never for the shitty reasons they were painted as. The most egregious tales were complete twists of what might have once been truths." He watches her pick up the chalice, and hold it to her lips, tilting it back for far too long.</p>
<p>"And now?" Isaac asks, hesitantly.</p>
<p>Abigail smiles at him softly and sadly. "We had the last laugh. When Sumer was in its beginning I burnt it all down. I scorched my father's precious cults, took new names, new guises, seized control of my fucking destiny.” She jabs her finger into her own chest, light brightening behind her, terrible wings of Sunfire spreading out around a brilliant and burning Draconic frame. As the light reached a crescendo, aspects of her physique changed, scales arose where previously none sat, glorious sweeping horns and a glimmering tail.</p>
<p>“Sure, the texts remain, modern scholars propagate the lies and slander, but I redefined myself." His eyes move off her in an act of self-preservation, to the stars as they swirl, a modern thoroughfare, a club, pounding music, dancing, people loving and moving to burning lights. "My father's cult lies dead in the old places of the world, while I grow and thrive with every passing hour. As does my sister. As does my sibling." Her voice rises to a roaring boom, filling all the space around him. His eyes flick back to her as she leans back in the chair, closing her eyes. Here she was, this glorious and ancient thing of power. Here, in this moment, in spite of everything else, he felt very small. Not in the way that his family made him feel, but in the kind of smallness that one feels in the embrace of familiarity and safety. "That's why I opened the door to talk with you today. You've taken that first step towards making your own future and redefining yourself."</p>
<p>Isaac looks down at his hands. "It's hard though." He bites his lip. The swirl of uncertainty burning in his chest. Can he ever truly escape?</p>
<p>"It was always going to be hard Isaac. Harder when you were alone. Harder when there was no one who truly understood you. Not to the depths that you understand your own pain, who you want to be." He looks up again as Abigail uncrosses her legs and stands up slowly, chalice in hand. He glances around as the room resets to that cozy little affair, her features purely human once more. "That's why, there's someone else who you should talk to. The real person I brought you here to see."</p>
<p>"Who?" Isaac sits up, stiffening. Ribcage squeezing down, threatening to constrict his lungs and the beat of his heart with anxious angry heat. <em>Was this all a game? An excuse to get me in the room? Now she wants to reignite the pain with another person?</em> "I really don't want to talk to another person about any of this."</p>
<p>"I get why you would say that. I hope you'll take the leap and trust me when I say, you'll want to talk to her. I think she'll understand you better than anyone else." Abigail looks away and back. Isaac traces her gaze, following it to the back of the room where a door has appeared. The door opens, and another person steps through.</p>
<p>He blinks, rubs his eyes, and then his jaw drops. Standing before his gaze is a doppleganger, a near identical being to Abigail, but with fewer lines on their face, and a denser build. His eyes scan them, the skirt, the lace top and wedge boots. They give a quiet wave to Isaac.</p>
<p>He awkwardly waves back. "Isaac, this is my sibling, Ishtar."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Isaac stands up slowly, room tilting as his abstract hands probe the new, overwhelming web, eyes slowly widening, blinking in confusion. "I thought you said—"</p>
<p>"I did." His gaze darts back to Abigail as she moves across the room, pausing to give her twin a kiss on the cheek, and lingering long enough to say something in their ear. Something passes between them that makes Isaac blush in concert with the twin. They stare into each other's eyes, a strange intimacy simmering between them, before Abigail looks back and meets Isaac's slack jawed gaze. "It was nice meeting you Isaac. If you ever need me, just call that number." She smirks.</p>
<p>The feel of paper between his fingers prompts Isaac to look down, blinking at the business card perched between his fingers in confusion. He looks up again rapidly as the click of a door fills the air. Abigail is gone, and now his eyes go to the identical, younger-looking twin.</p>
<p>The newcomer takes slow steps, approaching the chair their sister abandoned moments ago.</p>
<p>Silence sits heavy between them. Isaac's curiosity growing larger by the moment, confusion and muddled perspective flickering in the constriction of his chest.</p>
<p>"You're Ishtar… but aren't you and Abigail supposed to be the same person."</p>
<p>"You can call me Ishtar if you want, but I really prefer <a href="/slow-pride-filled-life">Aleah</a>." Aleah smiles at him softly. "Are you ok? Abi can be intense."</p>
<p>"It's like a demon climbed from hell and sat its ass in my lap, hotter than the sun itself, and more than a bit of a douchecanoe." The words slip out and the heat washes over his cheeks.</p>
<p>Aleah's cheeks flush in response, only barely tangible beneath the deep tones of her skin. "Yeah, that's Abi." They sit in the chair across from Isaac, fidgeting with their hands.</p>
<p>Isaac sits back down, the soft fabric brushing across his skin. He watches… them? Her? He's not sure. He watches the radiant figure before him nonetheless. Mentally turning over how similar but wildly different their personalities and auras are. "You're… Abigail said she had a brother. Are— I— uh."</p>
<p>Aleah looks up, meeting his gaze, then her eyes wander, taking him in. Much like her sister, the mahogany of her irises burns amber in the frame of fluorescent and fire light. "Had."</p>
<p>"Are— were you a guy? A man?" The direct and crudeness of the question carrying the uncertainty of how he should approach the topic. It was only really in the last few months that he had begun to learn about these issues.</p>
<p>Aleah winces, and his ribcage aches at the misstep. "That's not easy to talk about."</p>
<p>"Right, shit, sorry. I— I'm getting used to—" Aleah holds up a hand, cutting off the stream of regret starting to tumble from his lips.</p>
<p>"It's ok. I get it. Learning, starting again, finding yourself and how it works for others. It's hard." Aleah crosses her legs. She bites her lip, fingers absently lacing together. "My dead name was Utu. Shamash."</p>
<p>A mirror. Isaac looks upon her, staring down his inverse, where he spent millennia dreaming of being a man, Aleah, this… woman? <em>Close enough,</em> he thinks. This woman dreamed of being someone, something different for gods knows how long. She is living his dream.</p>
<p>It wasn't just therapy. It wasn't just talk and promises of a future. <em>She did it.</em></p>
<p>"You're… you're a woman. I mean, you did it. You became what you wanted, a woman?" His voice lifts in pitch, in excitement.</p>
<p>Then his heart drops at the look on her face, a cringe, the slightest bit of pain in the tightening of her lips and wince. "No, no I'm not a woman."</p>
<p>"Oh. Oh, crap I didn't mean to—" Strands of anxious panic burrowing into his chest, threatening to snap his ribcage.</p>
<p>"No, no it's ok. I'm nonbinary. Feminine nonbinary, Femmeby," Her slightly deeper voice is countered by the softness with which she speaks, caressing his ears. "Woman is closer than the other end."</p>
<p>"Non-binary?"</p>
<p>"It means my gender identity doesn't fall into the classic binary; I exist on a feminine scale that's not woman-aligned." He tracks the contours of her lips, the way she speaks. "I still use she/her though."</p>
<p>"I'm… I'm not sure I understand."</p>
<p>"Ok, in more simple terms… it means I don't identify as a man, or as a woman, but I feel euphoria from 'feminine' concepts in terms of clothing and behavior."</p>
<p>Isaac thinks about it for a long moment. "Oh. I think I understand. You— that's an option?"</p>
<p>"Sure. One of Abi and I's domains is gender, and gender non-conformity. The gender binary is oppressive, and crushing, and expectations are…" She trails off, looking away from Isaac's gaze.</p>
<p>"Yeah. Heavy." Isaac says, looking down at his own hands.</p>
<p>They fall quiet for a long time.</p>
<p>"You— I can't believe there's someone else. I can't believe you're real. You are real right? Not one of your sister's petty games?"</p>
<p>He looks up to meet her gaze again, as Aleah laughs softly. "I'm very real, I promise."</p>
<p>"Good, because it would be a crying shame for any person as gorgeous as you to be imaginary." Isaac smiles.</p>
<p>Aleah flushes pink. "Flatterer."</p>
<p>"I try my best." He leans back in the chair. "I, this is going to be rude as hell, but how did you stop being a man. I mean, how did you— what did you do to escape? The cults. Your parents enforced expectations. I've tried… so many different things, and they always drag me back."</p>
<p>Aleah shifts, eyes glazing over and growing distant. "For a long time, I didn't. I knew something was wrong with me. It didn't feel right, the name, the role— who I was never fit. I thought something was broken in me. Anu, father pushed me into the background, in stories, and myths. I always thought that if I played by their rules, did what they asked they'd love me more. Maybe they'd eventually pay attention to me, realize something was going on. Breaking their expectations would have hurt, would have been hard. I just didn't complain because just being what they wanted was easier. So, I just… pushed them aside and carried on."</p>
<p>Isaac listens, frown deepening, chest constricting, tight and hot. "Fuck— Fuck Aleah that blows. That freaking sucks. They let you feel shitty, broken and neglected you."</p>
<p>"It's not like they actively discouraged me, at least not at first. I just didn't know what was wrong, and they were too consumed in their own issues."</p>
<p>She pauses for a moment, looking away, anywhere but Isaac, and then at the pastries as he watches. She shovels one into her mouth. Eyes visibly watering. "But I guess that distress got so bad, that when Abigail came to me in a fit of despair about our sister, I didn't see any other path forward. So, we— well, we wanted to die." Isaac's heart drops right out of his rib cage and shatters on the floor as Aleah laughs softly and sadly, a few tears tracing down her cheeks. "But that obviously didn't work out. What a cruel joke, depriving us of peace. But when the lights faded, and I came too, I was… I looked like this. And for the first time in my life? I felt like me?"</p>
<p>Isaac sniffles, wiping his face, and realizes he's crying. <em>Crap.</em></p>
<p>He's crying.</p>
<p>It is one thing to see regular people, humans, feel like he does, be like he is.</p>
<p>This is new.</p>
<p>Parallel experiences</p>
<p>"But the moment Ningal laid eyes on me, she flew into a rage and reshaped me back." Aleah looks away sniffling. "Because I couldn't be that shape. It wasn't what I was born as, it was wrong, a disgrace to women, a violation of Anu's will."</p>
<p>"They tried to make me go back too! <a href="/calm-before-the-storm">Zeus</a> showed up, told me this was a damn phase. Left me bruised and beaten. Fuck!" Isaac stands up, chest exploding with a lancing firestorm, blood boiling. He's got to do something, say something. Punch someone. "What the hell! How can— what the fuck! What the hell is it with parents, with family trying to dictate what we are or aren't! Fuck that. Fuck them. Cum guzzling fuckheads! You don't deserve that. Nobody deserves that." He paces, angrily, Aleah almost totally forgotten in the moment of hot embers smoldering in his chest. He needs to do something. So, he throws a pastry at the wall, because there was nothing else. He watches it splatter against the stucco, and then wall shatters beneath the force of his rage, a million fragments of wood and drywall bursting out at the seams, only to reassemble seconds later, thwarting his efforts as reality always had. "Zeus and my son and my mother, forcing me to endure 20,000 years of being something I'm not, your shitty family. What's wrong with them!? Just let people be who they want to be! Change your shitty damn religions! Stop being selfish." Another pastry, another shattering and reassembly. "Dick driven." Another. "Shitlicking!" Another bursts the seams of reality, ever thwarting him. "Bastards!"</p>
<p>He rages, and fumes. Again, and again the pastries fly, mashing into the paneling, dribbling down the surface and staining it where they cannot fully shatter it. A metaphor for the abuse, for all the pain, how it taints his soul, and his inability to escape.</p>
<p>On and on it goes, Aleah only tangentially remembered, her heavy hard breathing barely audible above the smashing of icing, dough, and drywall.</p>
<p>Grasping a bun shaped like a person, he stops. Like a lightning bolt, the realization hits him, mental processes grinding his rage to a halt as he looks back towards her, the tears thick in her eyes, framed by the withered flames of a dying star. Finally remembering she's there.</p>
<p>He stops, the pastry falling from his fingers, to splat on the floor.</p>
<p>His rapid breathing tightens, desperately trying to cool down, slowing his lungs, dousing the strands of fury.</p>
<p>"Fuck. Damn. BITCH. FUCK. Fuck Aleah, I'm— I barely know you but I'm so gods damn sorry." He presses his hands to his face, hot tears burning against his cheeks as he sobs. "I know what that's like. I know what it's like to be shoved down, shut out, forced to play a part. Can—" His whole body shudders as he sucks in a deep breath. He wipes his eyes, sniffling, but the tears keep coming. Fighting to claw back composure, if not for his own sake, for her. "Can I hug you? Do you need a hug?"</p>
<p>His heart shatters against the hollow emptiness of Aleah's quiet laugh, the pain seeping into her breath. "Please, I'd like a hug." She sniffles, wiping her nose on her arm. "I think you could use one too." He watches her stand up shakily, and then he moves around the table to meet her.</p>
<p>He hugs her, a bit awkwardly at first, but eventually he finds the right position after a second of shuffling, and then she finds hers. He stands there, sniffling in her arms, and in turn, she in his. Kindred spirits, inverted mirrors of each other’s struggles.</p>
<p>"Thank you," Aleah says in his ear, after an eternity of rocking back and forth.</p>
<p>"Don't thank me, this isn't enough. It'll never be enough." He sniffles, slowly disentangling from her.</p>
<p>He steps away, lingering in relative proximity, in case one or the other begins to break down again.</p>
<p>A lifetime passes, the two of them wiping their eyes in silence.</p>
<p>Isaac breaks it first. "So… what did you do… after that?"</p>
<p>Aleah gazes into his eyes, scarlett with the irritation of tears and crying, before looking down at the floor, rubbing her arm. "I just… bore it. I moved on, because how could I push back against them? Against what they wanted? Did it matter that I wasn't who I… that I didn't feel like me? The first time I ever felt validated, and they crushed me right away." She sniffles. "But Abi, Abi was pissed. She didn't forget." Isaac tracks her as she looks up again, their eyes meeting. She smiles softly through the tears, as she wipes them from her eyes.</p>
<p>Isaac's heart falls freely, swimming through the open air, drowning in an inferno lapping at his rib cage and belly. "And then she burned it all to the fucking ground?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. She likes to say she did it solely for herself." Aleah laughs softly, the sound chiming in Isaac's ear like a lovely trill. "Because Dad kept putting her into that role… but I don't believe her." Sniffle. "She did it for me. She helped me reclaim my true shape and made it so Ningal could never do what she did again… and then we burnt the cults and everything to the ground. It wasn't just Abi though. <a href="/scp-8710">Emily</a> helped too. She smuggled us out of there, to a new place where we could thrive." He watches her wipe her eyes again, but then she draws in a shuddering breaking breath, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.</p>
<p>"Here, here, you need another hug?" Isaac steps in again, offers his arms, tears blurring his vision. Aleah steps into it and they embrace again. In the heat of the moment, the realization hits him, just how powerful her muscles are. How much like Calendar her strength must be. "My family… they built shrines and entire cults and religions to my dead name, to a body that wasn't fucking mine. We shouldn't have to deal with this. We shouldn't have to have ever dealt with this. I'm so gods damned glad you got out. I'm so glad you found yourself."</p>
<p>Aleah shudders in his grasp, inhaling, and then she tries to speak, her voice breaks, and she tries again through a light sob. "You shouldn't have had to face that either. We barely know each other, but I'm so proud of you for finally taking the first steps on your own. It's so hard." Her voice cracks in his ear. "You shouldn't have to do this alone. No one should."</p>
<p>"Yeah but I've been alone for so long now." He says sniffling. "Nobody fucking understood."</p>
<p>His eyes track to the side, as she pulls back, still within the grasp of his arms, and looks him in the eyes. Intensity burns behind the amber, startlingly ferocious and determined compared to the timid light behind them before. For a moment, they too seem to narrow into reptilian Sclera, before he blinks and they are normal again. "I understand. I understand, and you're no longer alone. You don't have to be alone in this anymore."</p>
<p>Isaac's lip wobbles, his heart wells, and his eyes tear up. "Crap. You're going to make me bawl."</p>
<p>"It's ok to cry. It's ok to cry about what you've lost, who you've lost, what you've missed, and what you'll have going forward." Aleah smiles gently through tears, and reaches, wiping the corner of Isaac's eye.</p>
<p>His composure breaks, and he pulls her back in and cries into her shoulder, shuddering.</p>
<p>He stands, face pressed into her shoulder, crying for a long, long time.</p>
<p>Basking in finally finding understanding, another who gets the depths of pain. Somehow, it felt like he'd been waiting all his life for this moment, for this meeting. And felt much worse about the way he acted just a few minutes before, but banished it in the face of validation and understanding.</p>
<p>In a perfect world, he would never leave.</p>
<p>But this is not a perfect world.</p>
<p>So eventually he has to part.</p>
<p>He wipes his eyes as Aleah wipes her own, standing close, not far apart, but no longer in each other’s arms. Together, sucking in slow and steady breaths.</p>
<p>"Shit. Shit I really needed that." Isaac says with a laugh, an agonizing and eternal weight lightened if not fully lifted off his shoulders.</p>
<p>He looks at her; takes in the gentleness of her smile. "I know. That's why we answered our friend's call." She wipes her eyes with the hem of her shirt. "Are you ok?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." Isaac says with a long snort of mucus that he wipes on his shirt. "Yeah I— Crap, fuck, this is the best I've felt in centuries." He laughs, but never stops looking at her. "I just, I was a bit of a cockburger to your sister. To be fair she was a thundercunt to me. But I appreciate this. I'm really, really glad we met." He sniffs again.</p>
<p>"I'm glad we did too," Aleah says.</p>
<p>"Do you want to get a coffee sometime? In person, not in whatever the fuck this is?" Sniffle.</p>
<p>"I'm not opposed." He watches her smile get a little bigger. "Abi might wanna come."</p>
<p>"I wouldn't be opposed to picking up both a lovely lady and a lovely… femmeby?"</p>
<p>"Femmeby," Aleah says with a soft laugh.</p>
<p>A moment of quiet settles over them as they try to recompose themselves. An oppressive sense of destination gently rests over them, like a couple laying in bed on a morning workday, not wanting to move, but knowing both need to go. The cloying desire to never let go tightening its noose around his ribcage.</p>
<p>"I get the feeling you have to go?" Isaac asks, his heart sinking, and voice quavering in disappointment.</p>
<p>"The Foundation's probably getting pretty antsy, and we have a club to run." He can see the reluctance pitting the sun fire in her eyes, in the small lines and contours around her bittersweet smile. Aleah reaches into a pocket and pulls out a card. "This has my number on it, and what to do in the event you can't reach a phone. If you need anything though, I'll pick up or be there right away." Sniffle.</p>
<p>"Right, yeah." Isaac wipes his face again.</p>
<p>"Yeah," Aleah says. "Until next time?"</p>
<p>"Yeah." He watches her turn to go. "Hey?"</p>
<p>"Yeah?" Aleah turns her head.</p>
<p>"Thanks. I mean it, really. Thanks for just… being here."</p>
<p>Aleah smiles again, and Isaac's heart flutters. "Wouldn't have missed it for the world." She turns and walks through the door.</p>
<p>Then reality shifts into static.</p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-true earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Cat Got Your Tongue?">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/cat-got-your-tongue">Cat Got Your Tongue?</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="Seas of Orcadia Hub">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/seas-of-orcadia-hub">Seas of Orcadia Hub</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="{$next-title}">
<p><a class="newpage" href="/next-url">{$next-title}</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:oceanbound">:scp-wiki:theme:oceanbound</a>]]
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text="You are… Inanna….right?"
"One name among many. The oldest that men can remember of course. Notoriously short memories. Sit Isaac. Have a pastry."]]
[[div style="display: none;"]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/Aleah.jpg|caption=Aleah Im-Immaru]]
[[/div]]
[[module css]]
:root { --body-font: 'Noto Sans Cuneiform', 'Inter', 'Arial', sans-serif;
--header-height: clamp(10rem,55vmin,40rem);
--header-image: url("https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/banner.jpg");
--footer-image: url("https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Artemis.png");
}
#footer, #extrac-div-1, #extrac-div-1 span {
background-image: var(--footer-image);
background-size: 100vmax;
background-attachment: fixed;
background-position: bottom;
height: clamp(10rem,55vmin,30rem);
background-repeat: no-repeat;
}
#extra-div-1 {
background-position: top;
}
.text-blur { filter: blur(.175rem); }
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
⚠️ **Content warning:** Discussion of Suicide (Both Ideation and the actual event) and Transphobia. Allusion to sexual acts.
8.3k words
Reading Time: 30 minutes
**SUGGESTED LISTENING**:
Theme:
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pICAha0nsb0&list=RDwp7l9oolXS0&index=11&ab_channel=TwoStepsFromHell - Star Sky - Two Steps from Hell]
**Character themes:**
* Abigail: [https://www.extrememusic.com/albums/3655?item=59527&ver=271245&sharedTrack=dHJ1ZQ== Arcade Master - Two Steps From Hell], [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nqqc2FHf9Ug Piercing Lights - Mako and the World League of Legends]
* Aleah: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4NRXx6U8ABQ&ab_channel=TheWeekndVEVO Blinding Lights - The Weekend], [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0NKUpo_xKyQ&pp=ygUVbGlnaHRzIGVsbGllIGdvdWxkaW5n Lights - Ellie Goulding]
* Isaac: [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1rLbFkvG0cM&ab_channel=LeagueofLegends The Boy Who Shattered Time - League of Legends]
You can find more of Bleep's works [[[dr-bleeps-author-page| Here]]].
If you want to read more about Isaac or Iszth's other works, you can find [[[iszths personnel file]]] here.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
[[=]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]Site-17[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[[SCP-7454 | Isaac]]] holds his hands out in front of him. He looks around. He's standing, alone in a square metal room that looks like the hallways of Site-17, but it's just a room. A room with a single door before him.
He steps forward, hesitantly, and places his hand on the door. Focusing. Reality fails to bend to his will. Swallowing, and with no other conceivable option in sight, he pushes the door inwards and steps inside.
Warm light washes across his bronze skin.
Artwork hangs from stucco paneling, a fireplace gently crackles, a coffee table, laid out with a wide selection of pastries and sweets, perches between the fireplace, a couch, and multiple chairs.
It almost looks like the room he'd talked to Medea and Artemis in.
And there is someone already here. Someone he didn't know about, and yet instantly knew of.
A woman with deeply olive-toned skin and mahogany eyes watches him. A pair of aviator sunglasses perch atop the brown strands of hair. Jeans and chunky sneakers, standing out from the formal wear he's grown used to on Foundation researchers.
[[=]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/Abigail.jpg style="width:430px;"]]
[[/=]]
He hears the door softly click shut behind him, eyes completely focused on this stranger. No not a stranger he decides A beast, gorgeous to the eyes with sharp angled jaws and cheeks that surely had to be the result of a sculptor. She's a thing of power so great that even as he grasps for the strings of reality around her, he realizes his power has been shut off, hemmed in and contained.
She watches. Waits. But for what?
"Are... who are you?" He asks, somehow already knowing the answer in his soul.
"Oh, poor thing. Your heart rate's through the roof." He flinches as she moves, uncrossing her leg. A ripple spreading through reality. His eyes dart to her arms, as light congeals along exposed skin, dancing into shapes, slithering and writhing tattoos of designs that draw familiar memories to the forefront.
Somehow, that little motion, that ripple makes her seem more real.
More real than anything else he's experienced in millennia.
"There we go. Sorry about all that. Foundation Sites, SRAs and conceptual defenses, pains in the ass. You ok? All in one piece?"
Tightness in his chest loosens. He reaches out with ontokinetic fingers, trying to grapple with threads of reality. A step back in surprise, the stuffy congestion blocking him moments ago suddenly gone, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of information. "Who... what?"
"That's probably a yes. Take your time to think about it. You'll figure it out in a minute." She leans forward, grabs a pastry and stuffs it in her face, not taking her eyes off of Isaac.
Isaac turns his attention to the greater sphere, and wrestles with the bombardment of complex conceptual entanglements that greet his probing mind. He recoils, audibly gasping at the enormity of the web before him. A million concepts, a thousand different names spread across more than triple the length of his existence.
The familiar stranger recrosses her legs, gently rocking one foot as she waits.
He gently grabs a thread, pulls on it and examines the title, the connection, endless and expansive. "You are... Inanna....right?" The thread vibrates in his hand, in turn something tugs on one of his strings, snapping his attention back to his own sphere.
"One name among many." She leans slightly forward, and for a moment, he watches the reality around her waver, features that are and aren't swimming to the forefront of her concept. A tail, horns, claws and wings. A blink and they are gone again. "The oldest that men can remember of course. Notoriously short memories." She wraps her tongue around the pastry, sensually dragging along the surface as she scoops icing and cream off the surface with the tip of her tongue; provoking a storm of lewd thoughts. Then she smiles in a way that makes his spine crawl and gestures. "Please sit, Isaac. Have a sweet."
Isaac starts to take a step forward, charmed by the slight melody of her voice, and then stops himself. The dream, for this is what it felt like, rubber banding as he comes back to earth. //Damn she's good. She's really fucking good.// "No, what?" He shakes his head, stamping his foot to stir sensation, shaking off the remnants of her spell. "What the fuck. What did you do? You just take away-- No fucking way. Tell me what you did to the site!" With every word an inferno rises in his chest. Rage. Hot and boiling.
That's right, he was on the way to eat breakfast! Then the headache and now--
This Inanna, this creature that briefly stripped his power, again she watches him. Unperturbed. Infuriatingly amused. She rests her chin in the palm of her hand. "You're pretty cute when you're mad." A flush rises in his cheeks, mixing with the broiling heat in his chest. Abruptly, she uncrosses her legs, sits up, and stretches, totally unbothered at his distress, at his rage.
The firestorm intensifies. //I have to get control of the situation. My, my fucking friends might depend on it!// "Hey! Don't distract me, answer the questions dick-wipe. What'd you do with all my fucking friends, the Site?"
She snorts. She fucking snorts. "Nothing. They're still exactly where they are supposed to be."
Isaac blinks, rage wavering in his chest. "What?"
"Let's see, how to best explain this. On earth, Site-17 is still in Canada where all your friends and re--"
"Smartass, I got that!" He cuts her off, vision shifting this way and that, looking for something to throw at her.
"Ohhhhhh, you want to know what's going on."
"Gods, we've only just met and you're insufferable." Isaac clenches his fist, crosses his arms and presses them to his abdomen, glaring her down. "No duh, asshole! You didn't think I was just standing here, eye fucking you because you're tits out gorgeous, did you?" He looks down, biting something more lewd back, before looking up. "I mean I definitely was, cause hot damn but..."
He meets Inanna's gaze, her eyes simmering, and she grins with malicious light dancing across her face.
//Shit.// "Wait."
"No, no, go on. You're not the first or the last person to objectify me. What's one more to the pile?"
Isaac presses his hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples as he takes his eyes off her. "Look I... what do you want?"
"I know apologies are hard, and I know it's hard to move past bad habits, so I forgive you." He looks up, her legs now uncrossed as she leans forward, amber gaze boring into his soul. "I want to talk. Get to know you."
"You clearly already know me. So, what the fuck? What could you want that you don't already know?"
"I know of you. I don't //know// you." She picks up another pastry, his eyes tracking her tongue as she sensually licks the icing off the top.
"Look I-- if you wanted to talk you could have just done, I don't know, the normal thing and walked through the front door with a visitors pass." He looks away, trying not to think about the overt act of cupcake-a-lingus she is taunting him with.
"Would you walk through the front door, fill out thirty forms, and screw around for a month while some pissant behind a desk stamped your forms in triplicate?" she asks pointedly. He looks back, finding her smirking smugly. The instinct to punch her in the face and run increases by the moment.
"Well... I... no. Probably not if I really wanted to," the words fumble out of his mouth.
"I considered walking in the front door with a badge and everything buuuuuuuuuuuuuut," she draws the word out, wagging a finger that he tracks back and forth. "There's a layer of intimacy that's lost in the presence of the Foundation with all their recordings and interviews." His eyes track the finger as it drops to the chair arm, drags along the orb-shaped leather divots in the chair, weaving in figure eights. Her voice drops half an octave into a husky tone, before bouncing right back up into its normal register. "Besides, it would have been less of a challenge than figuring out all their little defense mechanisms."
Isaac shakes his head, crossing his arms again to stop them from doing something crude in response to her ongoing provocations. //She's trying to get to you.// "Freak."
"And proud of it." Inanna grins, pulls her hand away from the chair arm sensually, clasps her hands together, and places them, innocently, in her lap. "Obviously you can say no, walk right back out that door to that schedule they have you on. You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, you're a big boy, you can make your own choices."
Tightness rises in Isaac's stomach as he frowns. //What the hell does she actually want? A blowjob? Jerk and work? A date?// "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
He shifts in place, looking away from her to the stucco paneling to garner his thoughts away from her, and towards [[[agent calendars hot date 1 | Agent Calendar]]] and his friends. //I... what if...// "Why?" He looks at her again.
"We're doing a favor for some friends, reaching out like this. If you want to knock away that hand, then fair enough." Inanna flicks a finger. He watches another pastry rise from the table, float lazily across the distance, and land perfectly in the curve of her tongue.
Isaac's eyes go to the door, trace back to Inanna, and then the door again. He hesitates for several long seconds, and then wills his legs to move forward and then around the chair opposite to hers. He never lets Inanna out of his sight, waiting for some trap to spring.
When nothing happens, he finally sits. Then she smiles.
"We?" he asks, reaching out to take a pastry. He almost drops it, the wrapper smooth and pleasantly textured in a way he isn't expecting. He brings it up to his face, and sniffs, blinking in surprise when it doesn't explode into something horribly vile in his face.
"Look at me." He looks back up, to see her leaning forward, chin perched on one hand, tone commanding yet smooth. "Focus entirely on me."
Isaac stuffs the pastry in his mouth, melting at the otherworldly flavors that seep into his tongue. "Kind of hard to do anything other than look at you." He chews, swallows and then smirks. "Did it hurt? When you fell from heaven, Inanna?"
"Who said I ever fell hmm?" She laughs, an ecstatic noise that almost disarms him. Almost. "I take it then, you're interested? In talking that is."
"I'm sitting here aren't I?" He rolls his eyes, licking his lips and then his fingers slowly and sensually in a replying barrage, leaning into her game. "What, you want me to pull out my dick and start beating off to you, moaning 'Oh oh oh Inanna!'"
His chest tightens as her lips purse, curling down as her eyes narrow. For a moment, not more than a few seconds, the pupils seem to narrow into reptillian slits, burning and burrowing into his skull. "Wow. Just wow." He watches her pick up another pastry, her tactics changing, rougher, less sensual and intimate in the way she handles it. He shifts in place, closing his legs when she crushes it in her teeth.
"What? Don't tell me the great and powerful Sumerian goddess of love is squeamish about sex talk."
"Please, I was developing whole new techniques before you even ascended." Inanna rolls her eyes, licking her lips, and then fingers. "Do me a favor, call me [[[SCP-8810| Abigail]]]. It is to me, what Isaac is to you."
"Right. Well, I'm here, I'm sitting in your chair, eating your pastries, which, bravo on mouth fucking each and every one. It's impressive." He takes another pastry, not taking his eyes off her, and licks at it sensually, tastebuds caressing the dough. "Are you going to serenade me too //Abigail//?" Isaac watches her as she shifts and decides to abandon sitting in the chair like a normal person.
"As if this entire conversation hasn't been a serenade and dance already? Maybe at some point I'll actually serenade you. But no, right now I just want to talk."
"Yeah you've said that several times, again, all while you've been treating the pastries like a juicy cunt and fingering your chair. Are you just going to repeat that ad-infinitum, while masking that you just want to bang? Might as well get me a chalice of wine cause you're booooooooring me. C'mon, lets get on with the show!"
"Yeah, I see why you're fun at parties." She smirks at him. Then she sits up, all the foreplay falling away. "In all seriousness, I want to talk about your experience as a God of Love."
Isaac's chest tightens, ribcage abruptly, impossibly, tight, licks of fire worming back up from his stomach. "Why?" he bristles. "So you can judge me for eschewing the role that was forced on me? The image of who I should have been?"
"No. Not at all." He watches her relax sideways in the chair, leaning her chin on a propped-up arm.
"Then why? It's been nothing but pain and family being assholes. There's nothing else to talk about." Cold facial muscles tensing in what must be a snarl, fists clenching on the armchair, legs shaking, ready to get up and walk out.
"Yeah, I get it." Abigail looks away from him, at a painting on the wall. He watches one of her hands play with a belt loop on her jeans.
"What?"
"Pain, and family being assholes, and why you wouldn't be willing to talk about it." He tries, and fails, to puzzle out her game. Watches as she rolls onto her back in the chair, looking up at the ceiling, tapping one foot against the air. "Can't exactly blame you."
The flaring embers bundle with tight desire, curiosity, wanting to pull on her threads, unravel what she's after. Gradually it floods out the urge to be insolent, to clamp his mouth shut until she puts him back in his cell. "Why are you talking like you understand me?"
"Of course." Her voice twinges with a breathiness, exasperation or exhaustion. Mocking him. "I expected that you of all people would get it." Spots of red flicker in the corners of his eyes, head tilting slightly as he tries to follow her slow and infuriating slide into an inverted sitting position. "Sorry it was presumptive of me to assume you would."
//She's been screwing with me this entire time. She doesn't care. She's just pushing fucking buttons!// Isaac's eye twitches, as the rage bursts the dam. "You're fucking with me. Have you been twisting me about like a limp dick this whole time? //I// don't understand? It's been my entire shitty damn life."
"Yeah, I get it." Abigail replies simply. The corners of her mouth twitch at the edges in his visions, clearly trying not to smile.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Do you think you know all of the assholery and bullshit I've been through?" Isaac snaps and sits forward snarling.
"Of course I couldn't, you haven't told me your story yet."
"What? What fucking story is there? How 20,000 fucking years ago I was born to a father and mother who, from the moment I could talk, told me I was the prettiest damn girl in the world? They paraded me, naked, from the time I could first bear children in front of all the other pantheons. I was their pride, their prize, I wasn't allowed to hide my body, it was shameful to shield it." He waves his arms in distress.
"They saw what they wanted to see," Abigail offers in a much gentler tone than she'd been using before. Isaac looks down from the ceiling, to find her sitting upright now, and leaning forward, listening attentively.
"It was more than just wanting to see. It was using me to be a mother, produce strong lines of children, set a golden example for the rest of the gods! So, they married me off, as a gods damned teenager. They lied about how faithful my husband was. Coaxed those lies into an inferno of fast spreading rumors, all when he was the one chasing the skirts of every other shitty goddess who'd give him the time of day. They made **me** unfaithful, not him. To the world, I was some fucking whore who was always flirting and loving on Aries. Aries! A smug arrogant prick who I couldn't stand!" He pulls on his hair, taking his eyes off Abigail.
"And it just kept getting worse, and spiraling further and further." He snaps his vision back in her direction. Her eyes are closed, chin perched on the palm of her hand, listening.
"Everything had to be corrected, I had to always live up to their image, their expectations. The dumb bimbo who was expected to suck it up, do whatever Mommy and Daddy dearest wanted to fulfill their stupid, fucknuggetry, nut-sucking power fantasies. They had me ruin so many lives, make people fall in love with them and have their bastards, hurt so many people, alienate members of the family to keep me compliant. Disliked. Vapid and airheaded! All the while they tiptoed behind each other's back, boned anything that could damn well move, and were fucking //celebrated// for it no matter how horrible the terror they inflicted onto mortals and me was!" Isaac slams his hand on the chair, the sting of salty tears worming down his cheeks. He watches the ripples spread through reality, arcing out along the floor as it momentarily flickers into swarming beetles.
"And when you tried to change, when you tried to evolve, burn their cults to the ground, what did they do?" Her voice waxes against his ears as he stares at her through the tears.
"They--They..." He takes deep breaths, a cinch in his chest agonizing him as he relives the moments. Unable to finish the thought.
He looks up at Abigail, noticing her glancing at the door through which he was supposedly allowed to leave. "The door is always there," she says with surprising softness. He rocks his head back and forth, tears dripping down his face.
"No! You fucking asked for my story. So I'm going to tell you my story." Crimson creeps in at the edges of his vision again. "They spat in my face; said I was betraying the family. Built new cults when I burned them to the fucking ground, gave me new names in new cultures so no matter what I did, no matter where I went, I was always worshipped as this mother, this goddess of love and beauty. No one cared about what I wanted. No one cared that I was humiliated, constantly degraded and mischaracterized because their precious shithouse religion and pantheon kept growing."
"Every time you tried to start again, they snuffed it out. Smote down any worshippers who tried to follow, because it went against their natural order." Isaac meets Abigail's gaze as her eyes open, watching sun fire burn in her amber with a twisting twinge in his belly. His head spins, registering. //Wait, does she understand? Or is she playing with me, flicking her bean to my pain?//
"You can't be a man, it's not natural. It doesn't fit our butt-munching natural order; it doesn't fit our image. We need you to be a Mother, a goddess, a perfect model of a woman's beauty! No one cared what I wanted. No one cared what I wanted to be. It didn't matter how hollow, and empty I felt inside. It didn't matter that every ounce of that shitty name brought me anguish, I justified their opinions and images with my behavior. With my attempts to drown out their abuse and manipulation with oceans of wine and psychedelics." Isaac presses his face into his hands, black filling his vision as his muscles shudder, letting out thousands of years of grief. "I've got a new name, a new damn life, and this patriarchal, thunder-cunting, prick still haunts me! He was apparently dead, and now he's back, not even fucking death can stop him."
Abigail lets the words hang in the air, as Isaac cries into his hands, letting the hot anger and rage flow out.
Seconds tick past. He closes his eyes.
Then a minute.
Then several minutes, as the flames begin to cool in his chest, but the constricting ache in his ribcage doesn't go away.
He reopens his eyes, for a moment thinking reality will reassert itself. This will all be a dream.
But no, she is still there. He still has to deal with her.
"I appreciate you sharing." He looks up as she speaks, taking in the color of the raging firestorm dancing behind her eyes. Again, he considers that maybe she does understand. But if she understood, she would never have made him relive it like this. Abigail flicks a finger, a small ripple of light and a flash of gold appear in the corner of Isaac's vision. A chalice of wine sits on a little end table next to his chair. "I get the pain. Maybe not to the same degree in all avenues, but I get most of it."
His vision traces to the chalice, then back to her, and then back to it. Strands of molten fury rocket through his chest, fists clenching. //She doesn't fucking get it at all!// "Stop fucking saying that!" He rockets to his feet, roaring at her. "How could you possibly understand? None of you ever do! You always roll in, sympathetic assholes, claiming you can help, and you just make me relive the pain over and over again," the words whip off his tongue, biting and full of venom.
She sits back in the chair, cool. Maddeningly calm in a way that brings his blood to boil. The words hang in the air as he glares at her.
Seconds ticks by as he watches her eyes glaze over, drifting.
"You shared, so I think it's only fair that I do too." Abigail snaps a finger, not quite returning to the conversation in a conscious way, as if driven on autopilot. Quite abruptly, light and reality cuts, spinning for a moment before they are streaming through the stars. Lights, no whole star clusters ripple and spread out before both god and goddess, dancing into new shapes.
"What do you think you're doing? This, it's not going to change anything, these fancy light-tricks. You don't get it and you never will!" He spits at her indignantly, determined to dismiss her.
He stumbles back, falling into the chair as her eyes refocus, and the whole space seems to brighten, nearly blinding him as she gleams in a new and terrible light. The roar of starfire burns against his eardrums, presence swarming every inch of his mind with a sudden tempest of fury. It rages behind her, spreading into an ancient and terrible shape. Words almost seem to burn in a stream of meaning, not spoken, but conveyed all the same through the web of threads. 'I am the Queen of Heaven, and I will not be disrespected!'
And then he watches her breathe in and out, the phantasm fading away into the gentler dancing rays of starlight. "I almost lost my cool, sorry. Look... you told me your story. Let me tell mine. I know you think I don't understand, and there's really only one way to convey that I do, and that's to show you." She taps her fingers on the chair. "I'm not going to ask for anything else... just for you to listen to my story. So, will you please let me weave it?"
He turns the request over in his mind, stunned, cowed and well-- for lack of a better term, quite suddenly and unexpectedly aroused by her ability to crank things up to ten and immediately brake hard. It's familiar in many ways. "Ok. Ok I'll hear... I'll hear you out."
She lets the mood settle, taking a drink from her chalice of wine.
Then she begins.
"When I was born, I had a brother and an older sister. For a time, our family was happy, until we began to ascend beneath Tiamat's influence." He looks upon constellations as they form into a great and mighty dragon of water, thumping beneath an open sunny sky, and then swirl into the shapes of a family. His jaw hangs slightly open.
"My sister, eldest of Anu's children, was my father's favorite. He showered her with favor and attention. Then he wept when she ascended, for the Earth took her arm, and pressed her deep into the depths." A pause as she takes another long sip, and a deep breath, as if preparing herself. Isaac could see the twitch of her fingers, the tremble of her lip.
"In his grief, he neglected us, and in the throes of pre-ascension my sibling and I took knives and plunged them into our hearts. We ascended but it didn't change what our Father felt. When all of us had risen, Father formed the first of his courts and gave us roles. At first they were nothing more than titles, but as our sphere grew, as more people came to know of us, stories spurned against the sky, tales were woven, and expectations were placed." A pang rises in his chest as he watches the complicated wash of expressions move across Abigail's face, and he bites his lip.
The stars swirl again as Isaac watches in fascination. Abigail laughs drily and mirthlessly, drawing his attention back to her. "So, then with the roles came expectations. He granted me, though it wasn't really fucking granting cause it's just what I always had command of, domains over Love and War, ignoring my capacity for Light and Justice. And my brother, my sibling was given the domains of the Sun/Light and Justice, ignoring their capacity for Love and War." She pauses, taking a difficult breath.
"Hey I... you don't have to keep going," Isaac winces, fingers rubbing at the back of his head. The knife twists further in his chest as he sees the pain in her eyes. "If it's too much."
"I need you to understand, this isn't for me. I've long moved past it." The aching firelight wavering in her eyes told Isaac the truth of what Abigail was hiding. She was not, in fact, over it. "My father portrayed himself to the people as a caring patriarch who looked out for the whole of his family with one hand and spread rumors and stories about me with the other. All while ignoring my sibling near entirely. To him, and thus to our worshippers, I was a petulant, capricious, destructive and far too ambitious child. A bimbo, worshipped for her blessings in love and war, who abused and mistreated her lovers because she saw no value in them. Of course, there was also all the objectifying that comes with the territory, disgusting acts in my name." He watches stars dance against her tale, weaving acts of storytelling, destruction, love and neglect, journeys into the underworld in swirling skies. He raises an arm, as if to reach out towards her, but stops, and pulls it back down.
She pauses and takes another long draught of wine, setting it down again, and staring at it. Her eyes don't meet his as he watches on, a pit forming in his belly.
"How do you deal with it? People worshiping you in that way, the expectations."
"Back then? I acted out." She looks up and meets his gaze. "Fucked with people, played the role and the part because what else could I fucking do? My father was the one spreading all the mistruth, encouraging the cults, slanting who I was and what I stood for. Sure, I did some of the things, but never for the shitty reasons they were painted as. The most egregious tales were complete twists of what might have once been truths." He watches her pick up the chalice, and hold it to her lips, tilting it back for far too long.
"And now?" Isaac asks, hesitantly.
Abigail smiles at him softly and sadly. "We had the last laugh. When Sumer was in its beginning I burnt it all down. I scorched my father's precious cults, took new names, new guises, seized control of my fucking destiny.” She jabs her finger into her own chest, light brightening behind her, terrible wings of Sunfire spreading out around a brilliant and burning Draconic frame. As the light reached a crescendo, aspects of her physique changed, scales arose where previously none sat, glorious sweeping horns and a glimmering tail.
“Sure, the texts remain, modern scholars propagate the lies and slander, but I redefined myself." His eyes move off her in an act of self-preservation, to the stars as they swirl, a modern thoroughfare, a club, pounding music, dancing, people loving and moving to burning lights. "My father's cult lies dead in the old places of the world, while I grow and thrive with every passing hour. As does my sister. As does my sibling." Her voice rises to a roaring boom, filling all the space around him. His eyes flick back to her as she leans back in the chair, closing her eyes. Here she was, this glorious and ancient thing of power. Here, in this moment, in spite of everything else, he felt very small. Not in the way that his family made him feel, but in the kind of smallness that one feels in the embrace of familiarity and safety. "That's why I opened the door to talk with you today. You've taken that first step towards making your own future and redefining yourself."
Isaac looks down at his hands. "It's hard though." He bites his lip. The swirl of uncertainty burning in his chest. Can he ever truly escape?
"It was always going to be hard Isaac. Harder when you were alone. Harder when there was no one who truly understood you. Not to the depths that you understand your own pain, who you want to be." He looks up again as Abigail uncrosses her legs and stands up slowly, chalice in hand. He glances around as the room resets to that cozy little affair, her features purely human once more. "That's why, there's someone else who you should talk to. The real person I brought you here to see."
"Who?" Isaac sits up, stiffening. Ribcage squeezing down, threatening to constrict his lungs and the beat of his heart with anxious angry heat. //Was this all a game? An excuse to get me in the room? Now she wants to reignite the pain with another person?// "I really don't want to talk to another person about any of this."
"I get why you would say that. I hope you'll take the leap and trust me when I say, you'll want to talk to her. I think she'll understand you better than anyone else." Abigail looks away and back. Isaac traces her gaze, following it to the back of the room where a door has appeared. The door opens, and another person steps through.
[[=]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/Aleah.jpg style="width:430px;"]]
[[/=]]
He blinks, rubs his eyes, and then his jaw drops. Standing before his gaze is a doppleganger, a near identical being to Abigail, but with fewer lines on their face, and a denser build. His eyes scan them, the skirt, the lace top and wedge boots. They give a quiet wave to Isaac.
He awkwardly waves back. "Isaac, this is my sibling, Ishtar."
-----
Isaac stands up slowly, room tilting as his abstract hands probe the new, overwhelming web, eyes slowly widening, blinking in confusion. "I thought you said--"
"I did." His gaze darts back to Abigail as she moves across the room, pausing to give her twin a kiss on the cheek, and lingering long enough to say something in their ear. Something passes between them that makes Isaac blush in concert with the twin. They stare into each other's eyes, a strange intimacy simmering between them, before Abigail looks back and meets Isaac's slack jawed gaze. "It was nice meeting you Isaac. If you ever need me, just call that number." She smirks.
The feel of paper between his fingers prompts Isaac to look down, blinking at the business card perched between his fingers in confusion. He looks up again rapidly as the click of a door fills the air. Abigail is gone, and now his eyes go to the identical, younger-looking twin.
The newcomer takes slow steps, approaching the chair their sister abandoned moments ago.
Silence sits heavy between them. Isaac's curiosity growing larger by the moment, confusion and muddled perspective flickering in the constriction of his chest.
"You're Ishtar... but aren't you and Abigail supposed to be the same person."
"You can call me Ishtar if you want, but I really prefer [[[Slow Pride Filled Life | Aleah]]]." Aleah smiles at him softly. "Are you ok? Abi can be intense."
"It's like a demon climbed from hell and sat its ass in my lap, hotter than the sun itself, and more than a bit of a douchecanoe." The words slip out and the heat washes over his cheeks.
Aleah's cheeks flush in response, only barely tangible beneath the deep tones of her skin. "Yeah, that's Abi." They sit in the chair across from Isaac, fidgeting with their hands.
Isaac sits back down, the soft fabric brushing across his skin. He watches... them? Her? He's not sure. He watches the radiant figure before him nonetheless. Mentally turning over how similar but wildly different their personalities and auras are. "You're... Abigail said she had a brother. Are-- I-- uh."
Aleah looks up, meeting his gaze, then her eyes wander, taking him in. Much like her sister, the mahogany of her irises burns amber in the frame of fluorescent and fire light. "Had."
"Are-- were you a guy? A man?" The direct and crudeness of the question carrying the uncertainty of how he should approach the topic. It was only really in the last few months that he had begun to learn about these issues.
Aleah winces, and his ribcage aches at the misstep. "That's not easy to talk about."
"Right, shit, sorry. I-- I'm getting used to--" Aleah holds up a hand, cutting off the stream of regret starting to tumble from his lips.
"It's ok. I get it. Learning, starting again, finding yourself and how it works for others. It's hard." Aleah crosses her legs. She bites her lip, fingers absently lacing together. "My dead name was Utu. Shamash."
A mirror. Isaac looks upon her, staring down his inverse, where he spent millennia dreaming of being a man, Aleah, this... woman? //Close enough,// he thinks. This woman dreamed of being someone, something different for gods knows how long. She is living his dream.
It wasn't just therapy. It wasn't just talk and promises of a future. //She did it.//
"You're... you're a woman. I mean, you did it. You became what you wanted, a woman?" His voice lifts in pitch, in excitement.
Then his heart drops at the look on her face, a cringe, the slightest bit of pain in the tightening of her lips and wince. "No, no I'm not a woman."
"Oh. Oh, crap I didn't mean to--" Strands of anxious panic burrowing into his chest, threatening to snap his ribcage.
"No, no it's ok. I'm nonbinary. Feminine nonbinary, Femmeby," Her slightly deeper voice is countered by the softness with which she speaks, caressing his ears. "Woman is closer than the other end."
"Non-binary?"
"It means my gender identity doesn't fall into the classic binary; I exist on a feminine scale that's not woman-aligned." He tracks the contours of her lips, the way she speaks. "I still use she/her though."
"I'm... I'm not sure I understand."
"Ok, in more simple terms... it means I don't identify as a man, or as a woman, but I feel euphoria from 'feminine' concepts in terms of clothing and behavior."
Isaac thinks about it for a long moment. "Oh. I think I understand. You-- that's an option?"
"Sure. One of Abi and I's domains is gender, and gender non-conformity. The gender binary is oppressive, and crushing, and expectations are..." She trails off, looking away from Isaac's gaze.
"Yeah. Heavy." Isaac says, looking down at his own hands.
They fall quiet for a long time.
"You-- I can't believe there's someone else. I can't believe you're real. You are real right? Not one of your sister's petty games?"
He looks up to meet her gaze again, as Aleah laughs softly. "I'm very real, I promise."
"Good, because it would be a crying shame for any person as gorgeous as you to be imaginary." Isaac smiles.
Aleah flushes pink. "Flatterer."
"I try my best." He leans back in the chair. "I, this is going to be rude as hell, but how did you stop being a man. I mean, how did you-- what did you do to escape? The cults. Your parents enforced expectations. I've tried... so many different things, and they always drag me back."
Aleah shifts, eyes glazing over and growing distant. "For a long time, I didn't. I knew something was wrong with me. It didn't feel right, the name, the role-- who I was never fit. I thought something was broken in me. Anu, father pushed me into the background, in stories, and myths. I always thought that if I played by their rules, did what they asked they'd love me more. Maybe they'd eventually pay attention to me, realize something was going on. Breaking their expectations would have hurt, would have been hard. I just didn't complain because just being what they wanted was easier. So, I just... pushed them aside and carried on."
Isaac listens, frown deepening, chest constricting, tight and hot. "Fuck-- Fuck Aleah that blows. That freaking sucks. They let you feel shitty, broken and neglected you."
"It's not like they actively discouraged me, at least not at first. I just didn't know what was wrong, and they were too consumed in their own issues."
She pauses for a moment, looking away, anywhere but Isaac, and then at the pastries as he watches. She shovels one into her mouth. Eyes visibly watering. "But I guess that distress got so bad, that when Abigail came to me in a fit of despair about our sister, I didn't see any other path forward. So, we-- well, we wanted to die." Isaac's heart drops right out of his rib cage and shatters on the floor as Aleah laughs softly and sadly, a few tears tracing down her cheeks. "But that obviously didn't work out. What a cruel joke, depriving us of peace. But when the lights faded, and I came too, I was... I looked like this. And for the first time in my life? I felt like me?"
Isaac sniffles, wiping his face, and realizes he's crying. //Crap.//
He's crying.
It is one thing to see regular people, humans, feel like he does, be like he is.
This is new.
Parallel experiences
"But the moment Ningal laid eyes on me, she flew into a rage and reshaped me back." Aleah looks away sniffling. "Because I couldn't be that shape. It wasn't what I was born as, it was wrong, a disgrace to women, a violation of Anu's will."
"They tried to make me go back too! [[[Calm Before the storm | Zeus]]] showed up, told me this was a damn phase. Left me bruised and beaten. Fuck!" Isaac stands up, chest exploding with a lancing firestorm, blood boiling. He's got to do something, say something. Punch someone. "What the hell! How can-- what the fuck! What the hell is it with parents, with family trying to dictate what we are or aren't! Fuck that. Fuck them. Cum guzzling fuckheads! You don't deserve that. Nobody deserves that." He paces, angrily, Aleah almost totally forgotten in the moment of hot embers smoldering in his chest. He needs to do something. So, he throws a pastry at the wall, because there was nothing else. He watches it splatter against the stucco, and then wall shatters beneath the force of his rage, a million fragments of wood and drywall bursting out at the seams, only to reassemble seconds later, thwarting his efforts as reality always had. "Zeus and my son and my mother, forcing me to endure 20,000 years of being something I'm not, your shitty family. What's wrong with them!? Just let people be who they want to be! Change your shitty damn religions! Stop being selfish." Another pastry, another shattering and reassembly. "Dick driven." Another. "Shitlicking!" Another bursts the seams of reality, ever thwarting him. "Bastards!"
He rages, and fumes. Again, and again the pastries fly, mashing into the paneling, dribbling down the surface and staining it where they cannot fully shatter it. A metaphor for the abuse, for all the pain, how it taints his soul, and his inability to escape.
On and on it goes, Aleah only tangentially remembered, her heavy hard breathing barely audible above the smashing of icing, dough, and drywall.
Grasping a bun shaped like a person, he stops. Like a lightning bolt, the realization hits him, mental processes grinding his rage to a halt as he looks back towards her, the tears thick in her eyes, framed by the withered flames of a dying star. Finally remembering she's there.
He stops, the pastry falling from his fingers, to splat on the floor.
His rapid breathing tightens, desperately trying to cool down, slowing his lungs, dousing the strands of fury.
"Fuck. Damn. BITCH. FUCK. Fuck Aleah, I'm-- I barely know you but I'm so gods damn sorry." He presses his hands to his face, hot tears burning against his cheeks as he sobs. "I know what that's like. I know what it's like to be shoved down, shut out, forced to play a part. Can--" His whole body shudders as he sucks in a deep breath. He wipes his eyes, sniffling, but the tears keep coming. Fighting to claw back composure, if not for his own sake, for her. "Can I hug you? Do you need a hug?"
His heart shatters against the hollow emptiness of Aleah's quiet laugh, the pain seeping into her breath. "Please, I'd like a hug." She sniffles, wiping her nose on her arm. "I think you could use one too." He watches her stand up shakily, and then he moves around the table to meet her.
He hugs her, a bit awkwardly at first, but eventually he finds the right position after a second of shuffling, and then she finds hers. He stands there, sniffling in her arms, and in turn, she in his. Kindred spirits, inverted mirrors of each other’s struggles.
"Thank you," Aleah says in his ear, after an eternity of rocking back and forth.
"Don't thank me, this isn't enough. It'll never be enough." He sniffles, slowly disentangling from her.
He steps away, lingering in relative proximity, in case one or the other begins to break down again.
A lifetime passes, the two of them wiping their eyes in silence.
Isaac breaks it first. "So... what did you do... after that?"
Aleah gazes into his eyes, scarlett with the irritation of tears and crying, before looking down at the floor, rubbing her arm. "I just... bore it. I moved on, because how could I push back against them? Against what they wanted? Did it matter that I wasn't who I... that I didn't feel like me? The first time I ever felt validated, and they crushed me right away." She sniffles. "But Abi, Abi was pissed. She didn't forget." Isaac tracks her as she looks up again, their eyes meeting. She smiles softly through the tears, as she wipes them from her eyes.
Isaac's heart falls freely, swimming through the open air, drowning in an inferno lapping at his rib cage and belly. "And then she burned it all to the fucking ground?"
"Yeah. She likes to say she did it solely for herself." Aleah laughs softly, the sound chiming in Isaac's ear like a lovely trill. "Because Dad kept putting her into that role... but I don't believe her." Sniffle. "She did it for me. She helped me reclaim my true shape and made it so Ningal could never do what she did again... and then we burnt the cults and everything to the ground. It wasn't just Abi though. [[[SCP-8710| Emily]]] helped too. She smuggled us out of there, to a new place where we could thrive." He watches her wipe her eyes again, but then she draws in a shuddering breaking breath, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Here, here, you need another hug?" Isaac steps in again, offers his arms, tears blurring his vision. Aleah steps into it and they embrace again. In the heat of the moment, the realization hits him, just how powerful her muscles are. How much like Calendar her strength must be. "My family... they built shrines and entire cults and religions to my dead name, to a body that wasn't fucking mine. We shouldn't have to deal with this. We shouldn't have to have ever dealt with this. I'm so gods damned glad you got out. I'm so glad you found yourself."
Aleah shudders in his grasp, inhaling, and then she tries to speak, her voice breaks, and she tries again through a light sob. "You shouldn't have had to face that either. We barely know each other, but I'm so proud of you for finally taking the first steps on your own. It's so hard." Her voice cracks in his ear. "You shouldn't have to do this alone. No one should."
"Yeah but I've been alone for so long now." He says sniffling. "Nobody fucking understood."
His eyes track to the side, as she pulls back, still within the grasp of his arms, and looks him in the eyes. Intensity burns behind the amber, startlingly ferocious and determined compared to the timid light behind them before. For a moment, they too seem to narrow into reptilian Sclera, before he blinks and they are normal again. "I understand. I understand, and you're no longer alone. You don't have to be alone in this anymore."
Isaac's lip wobbles, his heart wells, and his eyes tear up. "Crap. You're going to make me bawl."
"It's ok to cry. It's ok to cry about what you've lost, who you've lost, what you've missed, and what you'll have going forward." Aleah smiles gently through tears, and reaches, wiping the corner of Isaac's eye.
His composure breaks, and he pulls her back in and cries into her shoulder, shuddering.
He stands, face pressed into her shoulder, crying for a long, long time.
Basking in finally finding understanding, another who gets the depths of pain. Somehow, it felt like he'd been waiting all his life for this moment, for this meeting. And felt much worse about the way he acted just a few minutes before, but banished it in the face of validation and understanding.
In a perfect world, he would never leave.
But this is not a perfect world.
So eventually he has to part.
He wipes his eyes as Aleah wipes her own, standing close, not far apart, but no longer in each other’s arms. Together, sucking in slow and steady breaths.
"Shit. Shit I really needed that." Isaac says with a laugh, an agonizing and eternal weight lightened if not fully lifted off his shoulders.
He looks at her; takes in the gentleness of her smile. "I know. That's why we answered our friend's call." She wipes her eyes with the hem of her shirt. "Are you ok?"
"Yeah." Isaac says with a long snort of mucus that he wipes on his shirt. "Yeah I-- Crap, fuck, this is the best I've felt in centuries." He laughs, but never stops looking at her. "I just, I was a bit of a cockburger to your sister. To be fair she was a thundercunt to me. But I appreciate this. I'm really, really glad we met." He sniffs again.
"I'm glad we did too," Aleah says.
"Do you want to get a coffee sometime? In person, not in whatever the fuck this is?" Sniffle.
"I'm not opposed." He watches her smile get a little bigger. "Abi might wanna come."
"I wouldn't be opposed to picking up both a lovely lady and a lovely... femmeby?"
"Femmeby," Aleah says with a soft laugh.
A moment of quiet settles over them as they try to recompose themselves. An oppressive sense of destination gently rests over them, like a couple laying in bed on a morning workday, not wanting to move, but knowing both need to go. The cloying desire to never let go tightening its noose around his ribcage.
"I get the feeling you have to go?" Isaac asks, his heart sinking, and voice quavering in disappointment.
"The Foundation's probably getting pretty antsy, and we have a club to run." He can see the reluctance pitting the sun fire in her eyes, in the small lines and contours around her bittersweet smile. Aleah reaches into a pocket and pulls out a card. "This has my number on it, and what to do in the event you can't reach a phone. If you need anything though, I'll pick up or be there right away." Sniffle.
"Right, yeah." Isaac wipes his face again.
"Yeah," Aleah says. "Until next time?"
"Yeah." He watches her turn to go. "Hey?"
"Yeah?" Aleah turns her head.
"Thanks. I mean it, really. Thanks for just... being here."
Aleah smiles again, and Isaac's heart flutters. "Wouldn't have missed it for the world." She turns and walks through the door.
Then reality shifts into static.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=true | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/cat-got-your-tongue | previous-title=Cat Got Your Tongue?
| next-url=| next-title=
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/seas-of-orcadia-hub| hub-title=Seas of Orcadia Hub
]]
|
2024-12-29T17:24:00
|
[
"art-exchange",
"bittersweet",
"fantasy",
"heartwarming",
"lgbtq",
"mythological",
"orcadia",
"romance",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
Love Across a Nonbinary Spectrum - SCP Foundation
| 23
|
[
"dr-bleeps-author-page",
"iszths-personnel-file",
"scp-7454",
"agent-calendars-hot-date-1",
"scp-8810",
"slow-pride-filled-life",
"calm-before-the-storm",
"scp-8710",
"cat-got-your-tongue",
"seas-of-orcadia-hub",
"next-url"
] |
[
"with-the-old-gods-hub",
"top-rated-pages-by-month",
"tales-by-year",
"seas-of-orcadia-hub",
"art-exchange-hub",
"top-rated-pages-this-month",
"news"
] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/Aleah.jpg"
] |
1458149802
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/love-across-a-nonbinary-spectrum
|
|
love-between-the-margins
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>This email is to announce that myself, Lillian Lillihammer, and Heather Garrison, are <strong>romantically involved</strong>.</p>
<p>Lesbians exist, I promise you.</p>
</div>
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>Love Between the Margins</span></h1>
</div>
</div>
<p>Paperwork is the result of years of pointless systems colliding, middle managers exerting their non-existent power in a final gasp of insecurity, and the mindless drones that propagate a culture of emptiness and tedium.</p>
<p>Paperwork, unfortunately, was what Heather Garrison was stuck in her office filling out.</p>
<p><em>You would think the Foundation would take it easy after a 'memetic abstraction crisis event', but that would be wrong. Why do they even need this many forms?</em></p>
<p>"So."</p>
<p>Heather looked up from her work to see Lillian standing in her office doorway, two coffees in hand. From behind her computer, Heather smiled.</p>
<p>"Is one of those for me?" Heather asked, not stopping her fingers from typing, her subconscious split between writing a monotonous status update and staring longingly at Lillian. Heather bounced her leg, fighting to keep her eyes on the screen — but it was futile.</p>
<p>"Oh you mean these? These two delicious coffees? They're both mine, I decided to go all in on caffeine today." Lillian's mile wide grin did nothing to support that statement, so Heather abandoned her tedium, and chose her own path.</p>
<p>Heather walked across her office in long, elegant strides, stopping right in front of Lillian. She started to lean in for a kiss, but stopped herself. Lillian stared at her with impatience, buzzing from her latte.</p>
<p>"Seriously? You're going to leave me waiting for my payment? Maybe I'll just keep the coffe—"</p>
<p>Heather snorted in disbelief. <em>Yep. This is the girl you fell for, Heather. You fell in love, so now she's your problem.</em></p>
<p>"Lils, look around. Do you see where we are?" Heather said as she gestured all around her to the many monolithic and suffocating towers of papers, the deafening hum of her terminal and flavorless filing cabinets that lined the walls.</p>
<p>"Not a bedroom? That's a shame." Lillian slipped past Heather into the room, and in one motion, shoved the papers off of Heather's desk and onto the floor, clearing a space for her to sit. She stared up at Heather with a familiar look in her eyes; her girlfriend had a personal mission, and wouldn't drop it until she got her way.</p>
<p>"Lillian! Come on, we're at work!"</p>
<p>"So? Come here, it's not like anybody's watching."</p>
<p>"But what if somebody sees? We're still—" Heather paused, looking both ways. The corridors echoed with a familiar quiet, the very silence that allowed their relationship to blossom.</p>
<p><em>Though it might be fun to get caught… no, we can't. I have to keep this a secret, for Lillian.</em></p>
<p>Heather closed the office door behind her, resolving to continue their secrecy. She adjusted the blinds, quickly pulling them shut, sitting down on the desk beside Lillian. "We're still hiding this relationship, right?"</p>
<p>Lillian handed her a cup, and Heather took a sip; a delicate rose scent wafted through the air swirling with the bitter taste of a darkly roasted coffee, creating nirvana in her mouth. <em><a href="/the-lillihammer-test">She remembered.</a></em> She lingered in the subtle taste of the latte, dreaming of a reality where she and Lillian could sit lazily in a café, the dangers and conflicts of their lives long since faded.</p>
<p>She swallowed, a bitter aftertaste reminding her of the truth. <em>I don't remember the first time I had coffee anymore.</em> At the unwavering memory of 'absence', Heather was kicked back into reality.</p>
<p>"About your question. I'm not sure if we should keep doing it."</p>
<p><em>Oh god, what did I ask?</em> Heather thought in a blur, her frenetic mind stumbling as she cursed her newly perforated memory. <em>Is she talking about our relationship? I know it's only been a week or two but—</em></p>
<p>Lillian saw Heather's face go pale, and reached out to grab Heather. As soon as Lillian touched her arm, Heather came back to earth, her breathing returning to normal. Lillian smiled at her girlfriend, speaking in a peaceful, quiet murmur. "Sorry babe, I meant— I don't think we should keep hiding our relationship."</p>
<p>Heather hadn't expected this to come up for at least another month or so. After all, she was still recovering from their <a href="/don-t-let-me-forget">last... adventure</a>, so she didn't want to rush Lillian into anything. It was better to just keep things status quo, right? <em>Maybe not.</em> Heather guessed.</p>
<p>"Oh. Are you sure?"</p>
<p>"Me, certain about something? Heath, you know I'm never confident in the decisions I make, it's not like I run the simulations in my head until I figure out the best option, that's nothing like me."</p>
<p><em>God she's an ass sometimes. Shame that's my type.</em></p>
<p>"Lils, you're right. You never think anything through, that's why you're never lost in your thoughts."</p>
<p>Lillian laughed, her grin gently relaxing into a subtle smile.</p>
<p>"I'm serious, Heath. We've been through more in the past couple weeks than a lot of relationships go through in years. I trust you, I love you, and I'm tired of sneaking around."</p>
<p>"Are you sure? The sneaking is kind of hot." Heather said, a mischievous thought entering her mind.</p>
<p>"It is kind of hot, isn't it?" Lillian stared back at Heather, mouth slightly agape.</p>
<p>In an instant, they closed the trivial distance that separated them. Lillian darted forward, as Heather pushed the rest of the papers off her desk. The two cups of coffee crashed as they hit the floor, drenching the documents — not that either woman cared.</p>
<p>They froze, the tension deafening the room. Heather bit her lip, waiting for Lillian to make the next move.</p>
<p>"One last time sneaking around?"</p>
<p>That was the invitation Heather had been waiting for.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The two women walked through the halls of Site-43, on a mission, each stride purposeful. They bumped into each other as they did, their normal drifting through the hallways while solving a problem having been modified by one simple fact.</p>
<p>They were holding hands as they walked.</p>
<p>"So, are we going to contact HR about our relationship?" Heather asked, her fingers tightening around Lillian's. Maybe if she squeezed hard enough, nobody would notice her anxiety.</p>
<p>"What?" Lillian laughed melodically. "Why does the Foundation need to approve us fucking? Are they watching us?"</p>
<p>"I mean… We do put on a show." Heather blushed as she thought about them being watched. <em>Heather. Pull yourself together here. You're trying to do something.</em></p>
<p>Heather looked around the hallways at the various researchers they were passing. Few gave them much attention, having grown used to their chaotic presence at the Site. <em>We just need to show people that we're together, and they'll know we're dating. Easy, right?</em></p>
<p>Lillian had been ranting to herself about how little she respected the Foundation's procedures, which Heather had tuned out due to having heard it many, many, <em>many</em> times before. When Lillian had finally gotten it all out, Heather jumped back in.</p>
<p>"So how long do you think it will take before somebody asks if we're really dating?"</p>
<p>"My guess is that by the end of the day, it'll be the biggest rumor on Site. After all, who wouldn't want to gossip about the two of us?"</p>
<p>Lillian led the way around a corner, pulling Heather around by the arm — Heather liked to trail slightly behind. That way, she got to watch Lillian walk. Unfortunately, that meant she completely unprepared when Lillian stopped on a dime, Heather crashing into her from behind.</p>
<p>Heather looked to see what had caused their interruption; a researcher she didn't recognize was standing in front of Lillian, staring at the floor, their knees wobbling.</p>
<p>"Can we help you? You're in my way." Lillian glowered at the researcher, a practiced look that had withered many before. This researcher, unfortunately, was not as smart as the others.</p>
<p>"Hi! Dr. Lillihamme— sorry, I mean Lillian."</p>
<p>"It's Dr. Lillihammer." Lillian snapped out.</p>
<p>"Right." The researcher gulped audibly, refusing to meet either woman's eyes. "I wanted to ask you something. I… Would you like to go on a date with me? I think you're smart and pretty and I'd love to get to know you better."</p>
<p><em>Huh.</em></p>
<p>Heather stared in disbelief at the researcher, stunned by his lack of awareness. <em>He sees us holding hands, right? Maybe I should say something.</em></p>
<p>"I'm sorry, did you just ask Lillian out?" Heather barely managed to moderate her tone, her incredulity evident.</p>
<p>The man stammered nonsensically in response, but his nodding was clear. He was trying to ask Lillian out. <em>My Lilli.</em></p>
<p>Lillian finally put him out of his misery. "Oh. Yeah, no thanks." Blunt, efficient, and kind of hot.</p>
<p>"Oh. Are you dating somebody? I thought you were single."</p>
<p>Lillian raised her left hand, the one that was still holding Heather's. "Really? I'm not single, I figured that would be pretty fucking obvious."</p>
<p>"Can I ask who you're dating? If it's Sokolsky, can I just—"</p>
<hr/>
<p>Somehow, some fucking way, nobody had realized they were dating. What was supposed to be an easy solution had now become a much more frustrating issue for Lillian.</p>
<p><em>Are the other staff at the Site this fucking oblivious?</em></p>
<p>People already stared at the both of them anywhere they went, it was supposed to be easy to start the rumor. Hand holding, obvious flirting, constant touches — That was obvious, right? Even somebody without a perfect memory would be able to retain that Heather and Lillian were dating.</p>
<p><em>Apparently not,</em> Lillian thought to herself, rolling her eyes.</p>
<p>And now Lillian found herself sitting at a table, picking at her food as Wettle droned on and on about his latest date. At least, that's what Lillian thought Wettle was talking about, based on how much Harry was agitating him. <em>Where is Heather?</em></p>
<p>Lillian didn't like waiting. Other people were supposed to stand around aimlessly until she arrived. Not the other way around.</p>
<p>The plan was to wait until the middle of lunch, when Heather would come over, and kiss her, in the middle of the mess hall, visible for everybody and anybody to see. This was the perfect location; Lillian had ensured that they were sat at a central table, but close enough to the most gossipy Site staff that they would <em>have</em> to notice them. She made sure that there were as noticeable as possible — if one idiot didn't get it, hopefully the other ninety-nine would.</p>
<p>The cafeteria doors slammed open dramatically as Heather walked into the room. Her dazzlecoat billowed behind her, the iridescent shimmers of color reflecting up into her abyss-like hair. <em>That's my girlfriend.</em> Lillian thought to herself in awe. <em>Fuck yeah!</em></p>
<p>Heather had made short work of the crowds, deftly weaving between them — her loudly clacking heels enabled her to be the tallest in the room, nobody would be missing her. When she got to the table, she locked eyes with Lillian and gave a flirty half-smile.</p>
<p><em>Note to self: remind Heather to wear heels more.</em></p>
<p>"Hey babe." Heather said, projecting into the room, announcing her arrival at Lillian's table. She sat down on Lillian's lap, and grabbed onto the sides of Lillian's head. Heather leaned in, tilting Lillian's face up, and the women kissed, passionate and overt.</p>
<p><em>The plan was only for a short kiss, but… Heather is right, this is much better.</em></p>
<p>When Heather pulled away from the kiss, Lillian followed her, clinging to Heather's lips for as long as possible. They finally parted, breathing heavily, looking at each other with a shared love and lust.</p>
<p>"Hey Heath." Lillian managed to squeak out in reply. <em>Okay, you're not used to a girl having this kind of effect on you. That's fine, nobody is scrutinizing me blushing. They should just be looking at the two of us.</em></p>
<p>"Good to see you, Heather! How are you feeling? We haven't talked since you… Uhh.. Since you lobotomized yourself?" Harry's sheepish grin allayed his word choice. He had asked her about how Heather was doing in the weeks since their <a href="/don-t-let-me-forget">experiment</a>, but this was the first time he had seen her in person since.</p>
<p>"I'm better, thanks for asking Harry. Still feeling a bit weird, and I know there's more gaps in my memory than I've realized yet, but at least I still remember how to do my job?" Heather laughed gently, and Harry smiled in return.</p>
<p>But when Harry turned to look at Lillian, the gentle smile morphed into the same impish grin that she recognized from their decades of friendship. <em>What is Harry plotting?</em></p>
<p>"I'm sorry, I feel like I'm missing something. Why are you sitting on Lillian?" Wettle stared with wide eyes, trying his best to understand the situation, and clearly failing.</p>
<p>"Why am I sitting on Lillian? Can I not sit on my girlfriend?" Heather asked, the teasing in her voice clear. <em>She's certainly having fun with this.</em></p>
<p>"Oh. You two are dating?"</p>
<p>"Yep!"</p>
<p>"Got it. You know, that actually reminds me of a story about this weeken—"</p>
<p>"Willie, will you stop talking about the only date you've been on in a year? We get it, you had a date where everything didn't fall apart." Lillian had finally recovered from the kiss, and was back to her usual self. And her usual self hated when Willie told the same story, again and again and again. "You know replication studies doesn't mean you have to keep telling the same story, right?"</p>
<p>"Actually, I would argue that—" Lillian tuned Wettle back out, and looked at Heather. She smiled back, looking radiant in the artificial florescent lighting of the mess hall, a rejection of the stale blandness the Foundation seemed to love so much.</p>
<p><em>Do you think this worked?</em> Heather said wordlessly, with just a glance.</p>
<p><em>I think it did.</em> Lillian responded internally, as she grabbed Heather's hand and held it tight.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"It didn't fucking work." Heather burst in to Lillian's dorm, a metaphorical storm cloud over her head.</p>
<p>"Did you try a different vector of attack? What about a combination of memetic triggers and an ontological gate?" Lillian asked, not looking up from the book she was currently devouring.</p>
<p>"This isn't about the countermeme reque— wait, actually, let me write that down, I'll try that next." Heather said, gathering her breath. "I was just asked if I wanted to join the 'Singles Mixer' this weekend."</p>
<p>"Oh?"</p>
<p>"Lillian, are you even listening?"</p>
<p>Lillian lazily looked up from her book and fixed her stare on Heather. "I mean, you're smart, you have a handle on the countermeme, right? I figured you were just using me as a rubber duck."</p>
<p>"You weren't listening to anything I said after that then, huh?" Heather shook her head.</p>
<p>"Nope! Not in the slightest. What's up babe?" Lillian had closed the book and was waiting for Heather's reply. She was just now getting used to Lillian's inability to use bookmarks — she still visibly cringed whenever Lillian closed a book without marking her page, but she was getting subtler.</p>
<p>"Nobody thinks we're dating."</p>
<p>"What?" Lillian stood up in disbelief. "Seriously? How did you find out?"</p>
<p>"Well after—"</p>
<p>"Wait, my brain just caught up — who the fuck asked you to go to the singles mixer?" Lillian's eyes narrowed, contrasting her calculating, analystical stare. It was possessive and predatory, and there was no denying how that make Heather feel.</p>
<p>"Swallows. But it's fine, I shut him down. But then I started to ask around, seeing if anybody knew about us. Turns out the only person who learned anything from us making out in the cafeteria yesterday was Wettle."</p>
<p>Heather brushed a stray hair out of her face. <em>It's not supposed to be this hard, right? I bet straight people never have this problem.</em></p>
<p>Lillian had gone quiet — and Heather looked on with bated breath, awaiting whatever solution Lillian was developing.</p>
<p>A piercing stare and the wicked smile from Lillian left Heather a mess, her knees going weak — and it told Heather that, whatever Lillian had planned, she was going to enjoy the next solution very, very much.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"Look, I don't know how many times I need to give this seminar, but here we are again. Maybe this time you'll all learn something, and we won't need to have another fucking seminar, alright? So let's talk about proper safety around unknown memetic hazards."</p>
<p>Lillian stood in front of a crowd of disinterested faces. She didn't recognize any of them, unsurprisingly. Nobody she cared enough about to remember would have made the mistakes that landed them all here. Despite her best efforts, the greater members of Site-43 always seemed to share cognitohazards over emails, stumble into infohazards left and right, and fundamentally seemed unable to understand that they should not just walk into the memetics labs, especially while her staff were actively working.</p>
<p>But today, she wasn't thinking about any of that. She wasn't dreading the monotony of running another seminar, lecturing the same, stupid stares as she fulfilled her duties as Section Head; instead, Lillian was focused on the door, waiting.</p>
<p><em>Again.</em> She thought, belatedly.</p>
<p>As if on cue, the doors opened to reveal Heather, a bento box in hand, ignoring everybody in the room other than Lillian.</p>
<p>"Just give me one second here." Lillian said as she stepped away from the podium.</p>
<p><em>You fuckers watching? Good, you better be.</em></p>
<p>"Hey babe, what's up?" Lillian smiled, trying to sell this as best as she could.</p>
<p>"Oh not much—" Heather was hesitant, but as if falling into a routine, her posture completely shifted and suddenly, nobody could take their eyes off of her. "I just wanted to swing by and bring you lunch."</p>
<p>Lillian remembered that Heather had been involved in the anomalous theatre scene before transferring, and it showed. Lillian couldn't take her focus off of Heather, in awe over how she commandeered the room in an instant. Other than a few snoring agents and some overworked, underpaid and distracted researchers, the majority of the room was staring at the two of them.</p>
<p><em>And now, it's my turn. For the</em> coup de grâce.</p>
<p>"You didn't have to do that! You're such a good girlfriend. Heather Garrison, what would I do without you?" Lillian forced out. <em>Fuck, I sound like a straight person! But if this is what it takes, that's what I'll do.</em></p>
<p>"I've got you Lilli. What else is a girlfriend for?" Heather handed over the lunch and gave her a small peck. Her role now finished, she dramatically turned around, her hair flying behind her as she did. She swept out of the lecture hall almost as quickly as she'd entered, but that should be enough.</p>
<p><em>We both called each other a girlfriend, we kissed, we even made it obvious for the idiots.</em></p>
<p>She walked back to the podium and turned to face the crowd. <em>Why does that dipshit have their hand raised, like they're in school?</em></p>
<p>"Yes. The person who is already confused."</p>
<p>"Was that a cognitohazard?"</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Is that going to be on the test?"</p>
<p>Lillian almost yelled in frustration — almost.</p>
<p>"My girlfriend? No, my girlfriend is not going to be on the 'test'. Also, I don't know where you got that idea, there's no fucking test other than 'don't look at fucking memetic hazards you dumbasses'. Does that make sense to everybody?"</p>
<p>She knew that she shouldn't have asked. Right as she said it, she knew she had fucked up. The sea of questioning hands wavering in front of her was her own fault. It was going to be a long seminar.</p>
<hr/>
<p>As Heather walked out of the seminar hall, she paused, waiting to hear how it had gone. She had heard half of a question, but when she leaned against the door for a closer listen, a frustrated yell echoed out of the hall.</p>
<p>Heather recognized that scream. It was one she had heard before; different context, but still the same scream. <em>Fuck. I guess we're not done yet.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>The two women sat in Lillian's office, gathered around the terminal. They didn't look quite themselves, but that was intentional. Heather was wearing one of Lillian's dazzlecoats, a shirt borrowed from Lillian hanging loosely open around her tank-top. Lillian, in turn, was wearing one of Heather's sweaters, a cobalt blue knit turtleneck, and one of Heather's favorite pairs of jeans.</p>
<p>"Lillian, what are you thinking?"</p>
<p>Lillian continued to navigate the computer as she replied. "Okay. So we tried holding hands, that didn't work. We tried making out, still no. We've ruined seminars, interrupted meetings, even swapped our fucking clothes. And yet, other than Harry and fucking <em>Wettle</em>, nobody knows that we're dating."</p>
<p>"So what's next?" Heather didn't know how far this was going to go, but knowing Lillian? She wasn't going to give up until everybody knew about them.</p>
<p>"I was thinking this." Lillian opened her email, and in one swift series of keystrokes, penned a manifesto.</p>
<div class="dyna-email-container">
<div class="dyna-email">
<div class="header-box">
<div class="top-left-box cc-Site-43 Staff">
<div class="from-box">From:</div>
<div class="to-box">To:</div>
<div class="cc-box cc-Site-43 Staff">CC:</div>
<div class="subject-box">Subject:</div>
</div>
<div class="top-middle-box cc-Site-43 Staff">
<div class="from-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="to-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Site-43 Section Chairs</span></div>
<div class="cc-text-box cc-Site-43 Staff"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Site-43 Staff</span></div>
<div class="subject-text-box">We're Lesbians</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="content-box">
<hr/>
<p>Dear employees of Site-43,</p>
<p>I didn't want to resort to this, but you have all left me with no choice. We tried to resolve this quietly, but it appears that we work with the least observant staffers in the entire Foundation.</p>
<p>This email is to announce that myself, Lillian Lillihammer, and Heather Garrison, are <strong>romantically involved</strong>. She is my girlfriend, and I am hers. We're in love, and we're girls, okay? Lesbians exist, I promise you.</p>
<p>This is a real relationship, and we're tired of hiding it from everybody. If somehow you still don't get it, the next email is going to be a visual cognitohazard.</p>
Consider yourselves warned.</div>
<div class="footer-box">
<div class="bottom-left-box">
<div class="name-box">Dr. Lillian Lillihammer</div>
<div class="title-box">Section Chair, Memetics and Countermemetics</div>
<div class="sign-off-box">Secure, Contain, Protect</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>"You're emailing the entire staff." Heather said, unsurprised at her girlfriend. <em>Lillian really goes all out, doesn't she?</em></p>
<p>"Yeah. I'm fucking done. If they don't get it by now, I think they might just be braindead." Lillian, knowing her email was impeccable, pressed "send".</p>
<p>"So what now?" Heather asked.</p>
<p>"Now? Nothing, hopefully. This email should do all the work, and we can finally be public with our relationship."</p>
<p>"You want to be public, huh?" Heather teased. "I didn't realize you were such an exhibitionist."</p>
<p>"I'm an exhibitionist? You should talk Heath; I think you're the only person in the entire Site who wears crop tops." Lillian stuck her tongue out at her girlfriend, finally relaxing after their 'ordeal'.</p>
<p>"Hey! It's not like we're doing lab work with chemicals, so why can't I wear a crop top?"</p>
<p>"I never said that." Lillian said in a low, sultry voice. "You think I don't enjoy seeing you wearing one?"</p>
<p>A shiver went down Heather's spine.</p>
<p>"Yeah? I figured that you liked it better when I wasn't wearing one."</p>
<p>"I mean, if I have to pick, I'm going to go with you nak—"</p>
<p>Lillian's terminal make a loud beep, piercing through their flirting and knocking both women off balance, their focus pulled back to the terminal.</p>
<p>"Was that a reply?" Heather asked, moving back to looking over Lillian's shoulder.</p>
<p>"Yeah. If it's just somebody complaining about this email, I'm ignoring it though." Lillian grinned, but her face quickly faltered when she saw the reply. "This is— huh. Weird. <em>Harry wrote this?</em>"</p>
<div class="dyna-email-container">
<div class="dyna-email">
<div class="header-box">
<div class="top-left-box cc-Site-43 Staff">
<div class="from-box">From:</div>
<div class="to-box">To:</div>
<div class="cc-box cc-Site-43 Staff">CC:</div>
<div class="subject-box">Subject:</div>
</div>
<div class="top-middle-box cc-Site-43 Staff">
<div class="from-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="to-name-box"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">[email protected]</span></div>
<div class="cc-text-box cc-Site-43 Staff"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Site-43 Staff</span></div>
<div class="subject-text-box">RE: We're Lesbians</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="content-box">
<hr/>
<p>Hi all,</p>
<p>I am sending this email to tell you all the truth: Lillian and Heather are not dating.</p>
<p>It's obvious that this is just a ploy to make the Foundation seem more inclusive in the wake of our recent 'Valentine's Day Mandated Celebration'. We all saw what happened there, it's clear that they were in desperate need of good PR.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, it appears that Lillian and Heather have been victimized; they are being used as a 'diversity win' by the greater Foundation EC Advisory Board. Frankly, I'm appalled that an organization would reduce and stereotype these two transgender and queer women, and I'm even more upset that the EC Advisory Board forced Dr. Lillihammer to send that email.</p>
To all staff, this is a reminder — no matter the representation, always consider whether what you are reading is authentic, or just propaganda.</div>
<div class="footer-box">
<div class="bottom-left-box">
<div class="name-box">Dr. Harold Blank</div>
<div class="title-box">Section Chair, Archives and Revisions</div>
<div class="sign-off-box">Secure, Contain, Protect</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Harry laughed to himself as he reread the email. <em>Lillian's going to be pissed.</em></p>
<p>As he enjoyed the seeds of his prank, he looked to his office door, remembering the last time Lillian had stormed into his room. <em>I can't believe she kicked in my door. Again.</em></p>
<p>Every time Lillian destroyed Harry's door, he would get maintenance to repair it with a slightly different handle. <em>Maybe one day, she would remember how to use a door instead of just kicking it down</em> — he very much doubted it.</p>
<p>So when his office door slammed inwards, bouncing against the rubber stopper affixed to the wall, Harry was neither surprised, nor upset; it was just another day in his life.</p>
<p>"Harry, what the fuck man?"</p>
<p>Lillian led the way, but Heather wasn't far behind. <em>They're still wearing each other's clothes. I'm surprised they haven't taken them off today, given how… ravenous they are.</em></p>
<p>Harry carefully adjusted the frame on his desk, trying not to think too much about the sexual appetite of his closest, oldest friend. He smiled — neither woman had seen the picture yet. <em>Good.</em></p>
<p>"What can I do for you, Lillian?"</p>
<p>"Don't 'what can I do for you Lillian' me. Why the hell did you send that email?" Lillian raged, the maelstrom coming ever closer. Harry knew that he had gotten under her skin in a way nobody else could.</p>
<p>"Honestly? For this reaction." He chuckled. "It's a pretty good joke."</p>
<p>Heather jumped in now, failing to hide her frustration. "A joke? Harry, we've been trying to get people to realize we're dating for over a week now. Despite that, only you and Wettle seem to know anything about our relationship. That email was supposed to fix things."</p>
<p>"Oh, gotcha." Harry scratched his head, while giving the two women a sheepish grin. "For what it's worth, it was pretty funny, right?"</p>
<p>"Fucking hilarious, Harry. I love undermining my co-workers, it's such a cute habit you have." If looks could kill, Lillian's would have turned him to ash.</p>
<p><em>Huh.</em> Harry paused, thinking to himself. <em>This is an actual thing Lillian's upset about. Shit.</em></p>
<p>"Hey, I'm sorry about the email, but I thought it was pretty clear I was making a joke. When has the advisory committee ever done anything?" Harry asked, attempting to defuse the situation.</p>
<p>"Harry, I don't think you get it." Lillian sat down into a chair, rubbing her temples. "I'm at the end of my rope. We've been at this for days now, and I spend every waking minute trying to figure out how to spread the information of Heather and I dating throughout the Site. I don't want to, but my next solution is to make a fucking infohazard about it."</p>
<p>Heather stood behind Lillian's chair and gently began to squeeze and massage the tension in her shoulders. Lillian's face lightened at Heather's touch, relaxing into the sensations.</p>
<p>"Peaceful is a good look on you, Lillian." Harry said. "If you two have really tried that hard, why hasn't it worked?"</p>
<p>"Exactly." Heather replied. "It's way beyond being unlucky at this point. With the amount of things we've done, there's no way that the only two people who know at this Site are only people Lillian socializes with the most."</p>
<p>"What? I don't fucking socialize with Wettle by choice." Lillian grumbled.</p>
<p>"I know Lilli, but you do hunt him down constantly to make fun of him. That's socializing babe."</p>
<p>"But nobody else knows?" Harry asked.</p>
<p>"Nobody."</p>
<p><em>I wonder…</em></p>
<p>"What if it's not just bad luck?" Harry asked, knowing that Heather and Lillian would handle the rest. Sometimes, all they needed was just a little push.</p>
<p>"Fuck. FUCK! You're right, god damn it." Lillian threw her head back in frustration, while Heather balled her hands into fists.</p>
<p>"It's a fucking anomaly." Heather concluded.</p>
<p>"My thoughts exactly. Was there anything else you two needed, or can I have my office back?"</p>
<p>The two women had started talking to each other in a low, rapid tone; Harry tried to keep up, but quickly lost the thread.</p>
<p>"Heather? Lillian? Are you two done?"</p>
<p>Still nothing. Harry sighed, before shrugging and returning to his terminal. Unfortunately for him, administrative work was never over.</p>
<p>He almost hadn't noticed when Lillian and Heather got up and left his office — but at the last minute, Lillian noticed the new frame on his desk.</p>
<p>"What do we have here Harry, a picture of your new girlfriend?" Lillian reached out to grab the frame, turning it around as she did. She locked eyes with him, daring Harry to reply. Before he could, Heather noticed what was in the frame.</p>
<p>"Wait, what the fuck is that?" Heather grabbed the frame from Lillian, who had finally noticed the picture inside. It was of Heather and Lillian, foreheads pressed against each other — a true moment of catharsis captured of both of them.<br/></p>
<p>"Oh that?" Harry beamed at the two. "Don't you two just look so darling in it?"</p>
<p>"Fuck you Harry, seriously? When did you take thi— actually, you know what? I don't want to know. Let's go Heather, we've got an anomaly to identify."</p>
<p>Heather nodded, leading the way back out of Harry's office. As they left, Harry noticed that the frame was back on his desk — but it was empty.</p>
<p><em>Wow. Lillian really fell hard.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>Lillian and Heather stood in front of the "Orphaned Document Storage" room, an empty footnote in Site-43's history. That was the fate of all things kept within the Smokestacks; to be present, but forgotten. If there was an anomaly specific to Site-43, they might just find the proof in here.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, the card reader beeped and blinked red — the doors refused to budge, despite Lillian's best efforts.</p>
<p>"Seriously? Fine, let's go grab Harry's ID." Lillian started to walk away, but stopped when she heard another beep, and the doors whooshing open. Heather was standing beside the door, looking back at her with a sheepish grin. The card reader was solid green.</p>
<p>"You already stole it? Sneaky babe."</p>
<p>"What? No, my card just worked."</p>
<p>"Your card worked? So a researcher can access this room, but a Section Chair can't? I'm going to need to talk to Harry about—"</p>
<p>"He was the one who gave my card access, actually."</p>
<p>"He did? Since when?" <em>Has she been keeping secrets from me?</em> Lillian thought to herself, an unfamiliar sensation of doubt washing over her.</p>
<p>Heather shrugged. "Since I forgot."</p>
<p><em>Right.</em></p>
<p>Heather continued. "The next day I asked Harry if I could head back to the Smokestacks to triple check something — once we finished the experiment, I had started to feel like there was something I needed to look at in the archive, but I didn't want to freak you out. You were still walking on glass around me, and I didn't want you panicking over something that could be meaningless."</p>
<p>Lillian wasn't sure exactly what she was feeling; she had only known one dynamic in her relationships. Lillian was the one who asked somebody out, she was the one who broke up, she was the one who made decisions and she was the one in control.</p>
<p><em>Heather isn't like anybody else.</em></p>
<p>"So he gave you access. Right. Did you find anything?" Lillian was doing her best to adjust to the new paradigm, but some habits are harder to break.</p>
<p>"Not really. It was weird, I didn't find anything new, but…" Heather trailed off, looking worried. Lillian walked across the hall, and held Heather's arm.</p>
<p>"Hey. We're in this together, okay?" Lillian gave her girlfriend a comforting smile. <em>I want to be here for her. Always.</em> "So what did you find?"</p>
<p>"I knew exactly where the documents were. The ones about 'absence', that is. It wasn't anything like last time, I didn't get lost once."</p>
<p>"That's… weird."</p>
<p>"Yeah, you think?" Heather shook her head, holding her left arm with her hand. "I… there was something else."</p>
<p>"Hey. You can always tell me anything babe. You know that, right?" Lillian was grabbing Heather's hand a bit tighter than she meant to, but Heather didn't seem to mind.</p>
<p>"I know that. Thank you Lilli, it means a lot to me. I just… if I say something about it, then it's real and we have to deal with it." Heather was staring at the floor, unable to meet Lillian's gaze.</p>
<p>So Lillian tilted Heather's chin up with her hand, softly caressing her girlfriend's face.</p>
<p>"We've got this, no matter what. You're never going to be alone, alright? Not as long as I'm here."</p>
<p>Heather nodded, leaning in to Lillian's shoulder. "Thanks." Quiet, almost a whisper, a secret shared between the two lovers. Heather reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper, handing it to Lillian.</p>
<p>"This is what I found."</p>
<div class="storybook">
<p>Once upon a time, the <span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;">nameless princess</span> and the <span style="color: #626a6c; text-shadow: 2px 2px 1px #c3d1d7;">silver alchemist</span> lived far away, in a castle protected from monotony.</p>
</div>
<p>"What does it mean?" Heather asked, looking for assurance that everything was going to be alright. Lillian frowned.</p>
<p>"I don't know what it means. But we can find out. Together."</p>
<p>Heather nodded. "Okay. But let's figure out why nobody knows we're dating first?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. One thing at a time, right?" Heather relaxed, and grabbed Lillian's hand, pulling her into the Smokestacks; in her other hand, Lillian was gripping the scrap of paper tightly.</p>
<p><em>I don't know what this is yet, but I don't like it.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>"Hey, I think I've got something over here."</p>
<p>Heather looked up from her scattering of loose pages, and saw Lillian waving an envelope at her.</p>
<p>"You're sure it's not just another false positive?" Heather had her doubts. They had been digging through the Smokestacks for a few hours now, and had only come up with proof that straight people had dated at Site-43. Unfortunately for them, any evidence proving that somebody was queer while not being recognized as such was much more difficult to locate.</p>
<p>"You used to work at Site-19, yeah?"</p>
<p>Heather rolled over to be beside her girlfriend, their chairs bumping against each other.</p>
<p>"Yeah, for a couple years right when I was starting at the Foundation. Why?"</p>
<p>Lillian passed Heather the envelope.</p>
<p>"I found this folder — it was from a 'Diversity at the Foundation' conference, Site-43 hosted it in 2015. Not only are there photos of the attendees, but they were nice enough to include captions on the photos."</p>
<p>Heather caught on immediately. "I worked at Site-19 right after that. So if there's any people we know are queer—"</p>
<p>"—who are captioned as being 'just friends'—"</p>
<p>"Then we have definitive proof that not only is there an anomaly around this, but it's localized to Site-43."</p>
<p>"Exactly. So now we just need to get lucky. Do you want to do the honors, princess?"</p>
<p><em>Princess?</em> Heather thought. "Is that my new pet name?" she teased.</p>
<p>"If you want it to be, sure. Anything for you, <em>princess</em>."</p>
<p>Heather giggled and shook her head. She unraveled the string that was keeping the folder sealed, and opened the folder, photos pouring out and covering the desk. Without a word, the two women began to grab photographs, checking the back for the captions.</p>
<p>"So am I going to find you in this, Lilli?"</p>
<p>"Me?" Lillian snorted. "Hell no! Have you ever known me to <em>want</em> to go to a Foundation conference? Yes, of course I love going somewhere and dealing with people who know nothing about memetics, it's just such a delight explaining the basics over and over again."</p>
<p>"Wouldn't they try and make you go as Section Chair?"</p>
<p>"Sure, they tried."</p>
<p>"How did you get out of it?"</p>
<p>"I faked a coma."</p>
<p>"You faked a coma?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. The doctors in medical were freaking out, they had no clue what had caused it — they were running tests left and right, all the while I was finally getting a break to just lie down and think. Honestly, it was a great week."</p>
<p>Lillian's lyrical laughter warmed Heather up, the anxieties of the unknown having faded with her partner by her side.</p>
<p>"Hey, these people are from Site-19, right?"</p>
<p>Lillian passed Heather a photo — a group of researchers from multiple Sites stood around laughing, two very familiar men in the center. <em>That's Clef. And Kondraki? God I miss those two knuckleheads.</em> They were wearing less formal clothes, and looked more at ease than Heather had seen either of the two men while she worked at Site-19, but it was definitely them.</p>
<p>She flipped the photo over, and read the caption aloud.</p>
<p>"Pictured Center — Alto Clef and Benjamin Kondraki, Site-19 Staff." Heather smiled. "Help me find another picture of them, maybe one where it's just the two of them?"</p>
<p>Without a word, Lillian slid over another photo — Clef and Kondraki were standing, arms over each other's shoulders. Clef was wearing a tight-fitting tracksuit jacket, staring at Ben and grinning like an idiot. Heather smiled, and flipped the picture over.</p>
<p>"A. Clef and B. Kondraki, Site-19. Good Friends and Platonic Roommates." Heather read the caption with a slow, definitive pace. "Fuck, we did it."</p>
<p>"Are they not just good pals who live together and hang out all the time, but are both super straight?"</p>
<p>"You know what? Shockingly, no!" Heather laughed, finally having figured out part of the mystery.</p>
<p>"But they were roommates, Heath! So you were there, was it just a casual thing or?"</p>
<p>"I'm not sure. I do know that they considered themselves as in a relationship, and everybody at Site-19 who knew either of them was aware of what was going on. The fact that they weren't recognized <em>specifically</em> when they were at Site-43 means—"</p>
<p>''— That we were right, as always." Lillian was feeling smug, but so was Heather. <em>It's nice to have a win.</em></p>
<p>"So do you want to see just how deep the rabbit hole is?" Heather asked, ready to jump back into things.</p>
<p>Heather watched as Lillian tapped her index and middle fingers rapidly on the desk. <em>She's so cute when she gets excited, I wonder if she knows she does that.</em> Heather got lost in Lillian's rhythm, synchronized in their focus.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It was a busy and crowded night in Activities Hall C, the de facto space for hosting Site-wide events. Tonight was the monthly Pride-Luck, an event that was started years ago by McInnis and Blank as a tribute to <a href="/the-good-work">Scout and Rydderech</a>, that quickly became the biggest social gathering for the Site.</p>
<p>Tonight was no different. Music played over the speakers, staff of all genders and orientations enjoying themselves in a space where they didn't have to mask anything — they could just be themselves. The only difference was, for the first time in years, Lillian Lillihammer was in attendance.</p>
<p>She smiled, watching as Heather joked around with a researcher she didn't recognize. <em>She's such a social butterfly, how does she manage to make so many friends?</em> Lillian thought back to just how quickly the two of them had bonded, realizing that Heather had made her feel at ease almost immediately.</p>
<p><em>I can't believe she loves me back.</em></p>
<p>Heather finally noticed Lillian staring, waving excitedly, and quickly concluded her conversation. She walked across the dance floor, her jeans hugging her hips as her knit crop-top stretched, showing Lillian a teasing glimpse of what lay underneath. Suddenly, in her standard dazzlecoat and shirt, Lillian felt underdressed.</p>
<p>"Hey babe, here's our drinks, sorry about the delay — I ran into Loam, the new researcher heading up the anomalous botany committee, and they were just congratulating me on 'bagging you'. You should meet them sometime, I think you'd like them!"</p>
<p>"You'll have to set that up, but I'd love to babe." Lillian lifted her drink out of her girlfriend's hand, and with her hand on Heather's lower back, pulled her close. Lillian got lost in their delicate and playful kiss, which was only interrupted by the crowd noticing and beginning to whistle and cheer.</p>
<p>"Get a room you two!" A voice yelled from the dance floor, breaking the two women's reverie — they stopped for air, both blushing, and staying attached at the hip.</p>
<p>Harry had come in during their interlude, and was approaching the couple, a confused look on his face.</p>
<p>"You guys figured it out? Damn, I was looking forward to fucking with you more."</p>
<p>"Of course we did Harry, have you seen us?" Lillian teased back, unwilling to let anything get under her skin tonight.</p>
<p>"So how did you do it? Did you make a "Lesbian Romance Meme" or did you conceptually associate the two of you within the noosphere forever? Or maybe Heather finally convinced you to try some 'witchcraft'?"</p>
<p>"Well I don't know if I'd call 'burning incense with focused meditation' witchcraft, but no, we didn't do any of that." <em>Now let's just see how long I can drag this out…</em></p>
<p>Harry followed up immediately. "Well what was it then? Obviously you identified the problem."</p>
<p>"Yep." Heather said, picking up on Lillian's goal. "So we did some research, and noticed some weird things."</p>
<p>"Sure, our jobs are exclusively 'weird things', can you be more specific?"</p>
<p>Heather smiled politely at Harry, before answering him.</p>
<p>"Specific? I don't know, I'm worried that if I'm too specific you might think it's just propaganda."</p>
<p>Lillian laughed. "You remember why this Pride-luck started, right Harry?"</p>
<p>Harry nodded. "McInnis and I wanted to host something to recognize the queer history of the Site, especially since…" He paused, the pieces coming together in his mind.</p>
<p>"Since so few people realized that Scout and Rydderech were gay lovers."</p>
<p>"Oh my god." Harry covered his open mouth with his hand, the realization hitting him. "Has there always been an anomaly here?"</p>
<p>Lillian and Heather nodded. "Seems like it. As far as we can tell, there's a bureaucratihazard that only affects queer relationships, making them unrecognizable except by closer friends. The anomaly impacts how the relationships are perceived, with only heteronormative relationships bypassing the effect."</p>
<p>"So how did you beat it?" Harry asked. "I heard the cheers and yelling, people know you two are dating now. What did you do?"</p>
<p>Lillian smiled deviously. <em>I was waiting for this question.</em></p>
<p>"Mmmm, I don't think we'll tell you."</p>
<p>"Seriously Lillian?" Harry said exasperatedly. "Heather, will you tell me what you two did?"</p>
<p>"Harry, I would never betray my girlfriend, how could you ask me to?" The mock shock from Heather only made Lillian smile more, watching as Harry internally blew a fuse.</p>
<p>"Please?" Harry asked, pleading with the two women.</p>
<p>"Fine." Lillian moved closer to Harry, covertly looking around before putting her hand against his ear in a conspiratorial whisper. "We had to do something that I had promised myself I wouldn't do again."</p>
<p>"Lillian! Seriously, we talked about this? You have to stop making predatory infohazards, eventually command will realize something and everything will catch up to you."</p>
<p>"Who said anything about an infohazard?"</p>
<p>"So what <em>did</em> you two do then?"</p>
<p>Lillian and Heather shared a silent look, agreeing that Harry had been made to suffer long enough.</p>
<p>"We told HR."</p>
<p>The sputtering and spit take was well worth the week of fighting the two women had been though. Once Harry calmed down, he locked eyes with Lillian.</p>
<p>"Let me get this straigh— let me get this <em>queer</em>. All you had to do was tell HR and suddenly, your relationship existed?"</p>
<p>"Exactly."</p>
<p>"So what did you tell them?"</p>
<p>Lillian and Heather reached around, holding each other's shoulders and laughing. In unison, the two answered.</p>
<p>"That we were roommates."</p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Don't Let Me Forget">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/don-t-let-me-forget">Don't Let Me Forget</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="Forgotten Memories">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/forgotten-memories-hub">Forgotten Memories</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="The Heart Grows Fonder">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-heart-grows-fonder">The Heart Grows Fonder</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/love-between-the-margins">Love Between The Margins</a>" by Queerious, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/love-between-the-margins">https://scpwiki.com/love-between-the-margins</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> HeatherXLillian.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Heather and Lillian, As Photographed by Harry Blank<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dr-vikki-lost" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8759091); return false;"><img alt="Dr Vikki Lost" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8759091&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735792365" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8759091)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dr-vikki-lost" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8759091); return false;">Dr Vikki Lost</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-BY-SA 4.0</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=This email is to announce that myself, Lillian Lillihammer, and Heather Garrison, are **romantically involved**.
Lesbians exist, I promise you.]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:blankstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> code=--]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:queerframe">:scp-wiki:component:queerframe</a> code=--]]
[[module css]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Philosopher&display=swap');
.queerframe > img {
max-width:250px;
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 600px) {
.queerframe > img {
max-width:150px;
}
}
.storybook {
font-family:Philosopher;
background-image: url( https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/scp-8166/paper-min%5B1%5D.png);
padding:15px;
font-size: 105%;
border: 2px solid #5d0f87;
}
hr {
margin: 3em 2em;
}
[[/module]]
[[div]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
[[div]]
[[=]]
+ Love Between the Margins
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Paperwork is the result of years of pointless systems colliding, middle managers exerting their non-existent power in a final gasp of insecurity, and the mindless drones that propagate a culture of emptiness and tedium.
Paperwork, unfortunately, was what Heather Garrison was stuck in her office filling out.
//You would think the Foundation would take it easy after a 'memetic abstraction crisis event', but that would be wrong. Why do they even need this many forms?//
"So."
Heather looked up from her work to see Lillian standing in her office doorway, two coffees in hand. From behind her computer, Heather smiled.
"Is one of those for me?" Heather asked, not stopping her fingers from typing, her subconscious split between writing a monotonous status update and staring longingly at Lillian. Heather bounced her leg, fighting to keep her eyes on the screen -- but it was futile.
"Oh you mean these? These two delicious coffees? They're both mine, I decided to go all in on caffeine today." Lillian's mile wide grin did nothing to support that statement, so Heather abandoned her tedium, and chose her own path.
Heather walked across her office in long, elegant strides, stopping right in front of Lillian. She started to lean in for a kiss, but stopped herself. Lillian stared at her with impatience, buzzing from her latte.
"Seriously? You're going to leave me waiting for my payment? Maybe I'll just keep the coffe--"
Heather snorted in disbelief. //Yep. This is the girl you fell for, Heather. You fell in love, so now she's your problem.//
"Lils, look around. Do you see where we are?" Heather said as she gestured all around her to the many monolithic and suffocating towers of papers, the deafening hum of her terminal and flavorless filing cabinets that lined the walls.
"Not a bedroom? That's a shame." Lillian slipped past Heather into the room, and in one motion, shoved the papers off of Heather's desk and onto the floor, clearing a space for her to sit. She stared up at Heather with a familiar look in her eyes; her girlfriend had a personal mission, and wouldn't drop it until she got her way.
"Lillian! Come on, we're at work!"
"So? Come here, it's not like anybody's watching."
"But what if somebody sees? We're still--" Heather paused, looking both ways. The corridors echoed with a familiar quiet, the very silence that allowed their relationship to blossom.
//Though it might be fun to get caught... no, we can't. I have to keep this a secret, for Lillian.//
Heather closed the office door behind her, resolving to continue their secrecy. She adjusted the blinds, quickly pulling them shut, sitting down on the desk beside Lillian. "We're still hiding this relationship, right?"
Lillian handed her a cup, and Heather took a sip; a delicate rose scent wafted through the air swirling with the bitter taste of a darkly roasted coffee, creating nirvana in her mouth. //[[[The Lillihammer Test|She remembered.]]]// She lingered in the subtle taste of the latte, dreaming of a reality where she and Lillian could sit lazily in a café, the dangers and conflicts of their lives long since faded.
She swallowed, a bitter aftertaste reminding her of the truth. //I don't remember the first time I had coffee anymore.// At the unwavering memory of 'absence', Heather was kicked back into reality.
"About your question. I'm not sure if we should keep doing it."
//Oh god, what did I ask?// Heather thought in a blur, her frenetic mind stumbling as she cursed her newly perforated memory. //Is she talking about our relationship? I know it's only been a week or two but--//
Lillian saw Heather's face go pale, and reached out to grab Heather. As soon as Lillian touched her arm, Heather came back to earth, her breathing returning to normal. Lillian smiled at her girlfriend, speaking in a peaceful, quiet murmur. "Sorry babe, I meant-- I don't think we should keep hiding our relationship."
Heather hadn't expected this to come up for at least another month or so. After all, she was still recovering from their [[[Don't Let Me Forget|last... adventure]]], so she didn't want to rush Lillian into anything. It was better to just keep things status quo, right? //Maybe not.// Heather guessed.
"Oh. Are you sure?"
"Me, certain about something? Heath, you know I'm never confident in the decisions I make, it's not like I run the simulations in my head until I figure out the best option, that's nothing like me."
//God she's an ass sometimes. Shame that's my type.//
"Lils, you're right. You never think anything through, that's why you're never lost in your thoughts."
Lillian laughed, her grin gently relaxing into a subtle smile.
"I'm serious, Heath. We've been through more in the past couple weeks than a lot of relationships go through in years. I trust you, I love you, and I'm tired of sneaking around."
"Are you sure? The sneaking is kind of hot." Heather said, a mischievous thought entering her mind.
"It is kind of hot, isn't it?" Lillian stared back at Heather, mouth slightly agape.
In an instant, they closed the trivial distance that separated them. Lillian darted forward, as Heather pushed the rest of the papers off her desk. The two cups of coffee crashed as they hit the floor, drenching the documents -- not that either woman cared.
They froze, the tension deafening the room. Heather bit her lip, waiting for Lillian to make the next move.
"One last time sneaking around?"
That was the invitation Heather had been waiting for.
------
The two women walked through the halls of Site-43, on a mission, each stride purposeful. They bumped into each other as they did, their normal drifting through the hallways while solving a problem having been modified by one simple fact.
They were holding hands as they walked.
"So, are we going to contact HR about our relationship?" Heather asked, her fingers tightening around Lillian's. Maybe if she squeezed hard enough, nobody would notice her anxiety.
"What?" Lillian laughed melodically. "Why does the Foundation need to approve us fucking? Are they watching us?"
"I mean... We do put on a show." Heather blushed as she thought about them being watched. //Heather. Pull yourself together here. You're trying to do something.//
Heather looked around the hallways at the various researchers they were passing. Few gave them much attention, having grown used to their chaotic presence at the Site. //We just need to show people that we're together, and they'll know we're dating. Easy, right?//
Lillian had been ranting to herself about how little she respected the Foundation's procedures, which Heather had tuned out due to having heard it many, many, //many// times before. When Lillian had finally gotten it all out, Heather jumped back in.
"So how long do you think it will take before somebody asks if we're really dating?"
"My guess is that by the end of the day, it'll be the biggest rumor on Site. After all, who wouldn't want to gossip about the two of us?"
Lillian led the way around a corner, pulling Heather around by the arm -- Heather liked to trail slightly behind. That way, she got to watch Lillian walk. Unfortunately, that meant she completely unprepared when Lillian stopped on a dime, Heather crashing into her from behind.
Heather looked to see what had caused their interruption; a researcher she didn't recognize was standing in front of Lillian, staring at the floor, their knees wobbling.
"Can we help you? You're in my way." Lillian glowered at the researcher, a practiced look that had withered many before. This researcher, unfortunately, was not as smart as the others.
"Hi! Dr. Lillihamme-- sorry, I mean Lillian."
"It's Dr. Lillihammer." Lillian snapped out.
"Right." The researcher gulped audibly, refusing to meet either woman's eyes. "I wanted to ask you something. I... Would you like to go on a date with me? I think you're smart and pretty and I'd love to get to know you better."
//Huh.//
Heather stared in disbelief at the researcher, stunned by his lack of awareness. //He sees us holding hands, right? Maybe I should say something.//
"I'm sorry, did you just ask Lillian out?" Heather barely managed to moderate her tone, her incredulity evident.
The man stammered nonsensically in response, but his nodding was clear. He was trying to ask Lillian out. //My Lilli.//
Lillian finally put him out of his misery. "Oh. Yeah, no thanks." Blunt, efficient, and kind of hot.
"Oh. Are you dating somebody? I thought you were single."
Lillian raised her left hand, the one that was still holding Heather's. "Really? I'm not single, I figured that would be pretty fucking obvious."
"Can I ask who you're dating? If it's Sokolsky, can I just--"
------
Somehow, some fucking way, nobody had realized they were dating. What was supposed to be an easy solution had now become a much more frustrating issue for Lillian.
//Are the other staff at the Site this fucking oblivious?//
People already stared at the both of them anywhere they went, it was supposed to be easy to start the rumor. Hand holding, obvious flirting, constant touches -- That was obvious, right? Even somebody without a perfect memory would be able to retain that Heather and Lillian were dating.
//Apparently not,// Lillian thought to herself, rolling her eyes.
And now Lillian found herself sitting at a table, picking at her food as Wettle droned on and on about his latest date. At least, that's what Lillian thought Wettle was talking about, based on how much Harry was agitating him. //Where is Heather?//
Lillian didn't like waiting. Other people were supposed to stand around aimlessly until she arrived. Not the other way around.
The plan was to wait until the middle of lunch, when Heather would come over, and kiss her, in the middle of the mess hall, visible for everybody and anybody to see. This was the perfect location; Lillian had ensured that they were sat at a central table, but close enough to the most gossipy Site staff that they would //have// to notice them. She made sure that there were as noticeable as possible -- if one idiot didn't get it, hopefully the other ninety-nine would.
The cafeteria doors slammed open dramatically as Heather walked into the room. Her dazzlecoat billowed behind her, the iridescent shimmers of color reflecting up into her abyss-like hair. //That's my girlfriend.// Lillian thought to herself in awe. //Fuck yeah!//
Heather had made short work of the crowds, deftly weaving between them -- her loudly clacking heels enabled her to be the tallest in the room, nobody would be missing her. When she got to the table, she locked eyes with Lillian and gave a flirty half-smile.
//Note to self: remind Heather to wear heels more.//
"Hey babe." Heather said, projecting into the room, announcing her arrival at Lillian's table. She sat down on Lillian's lap, and grabbed onto the sides of Lillian's head. Heather leaned in, tilting Lillian's face up, and the women kissed, passionate and overt.
//The plan was only for a short kiss, but... Heather is right, this is much better.//
When Heather pulled away from the kiss, Lillian followed her, clinging to Heather's lips for as long as possible. They finally parted, breathing heavily, looking at each other with a shared love and lust.
"Hey Heath." Lillian managed to squeak out in reply. //Okay, you're not used to a girl having this kind of effect on you. That's fine, nobody is scrutinizing me blushing. They should just be looking at the two of us.//
"Good to see you, Heather! How are you feeling? We haven't talked since you... Uhh.. Since you lobotomized yourself?" Harry's sheepish grin allayed his word choice. He had asked her about how Heather was doing in the weeks since their [[[Don't Let Me Forget | experiment]]], but this was the first time he had seen her in person since.
"I'm better, thanks for asking Harry. Still feeling a bit weird, and I know there's more gaps in my memory than I've realized yet, but at least I still remember how to do my job?" Heather laughed gently, and Harry smiled in return.
But when Harry turned to look at Lillian, the gentle smile morphed into the same impish grin that she recognized from their decades of friendship. //What is Harry plotting?//
"I'm sorry, I feel like I'm missing something. Why are you sitting on Lillian?" Wettle stared with wide eyes, trying his best to understand the situation, and clearly failing.
"Why am I sitting on Lillian? Can I not sit on my girlfriend?" Heather asked, the teasing in her voice clear. //She's certainly having fun with this.//
"Oh. You two are dating?"
"Yep!"
"Got it. You know, that actually reminds me of a story about this weeken--"
"Willie, will you stop talking about the only date you've been on in a year? We get it, you had a date where everything didn't fall apart." Lillian had finally recovered from the kiss, and was back to her usual self. And her usual self hated when Willie told the same story, again and again and again. "You know replication studies doesn't mean you have to keep telling the same story, right?"
"Actually, I would argue that--" Lillian tuned Wettle back out, and looked at Heather. She smiled back, looking radiant in the artificial florescent lighting of the mess hall, a rejection of the stale blandness the Foundation seemed to love so much.
//Do you think this worked?// Heather said wordlessly, with just a glance.
//I think it did.// Lillian responded internally, as she grabbed Heather's hand and held it tight.
------
"It didn't fucking work." Heather burst in to Lillian's dorm, a metaphorical storm cloud over her head.
"Did you try a different vector of attack? What about a combination of memetic triggers and an ontological gate?" Lillian asked, not looking up from the book she was currently devouring.
"This isn't about the countermeme reque-- wait, actually, let me write that down, I'll try that next." Heather said, gathering her breath. "I was just asked if I wanted to join the 'Singles Mixer' this weekend."
"Oh?"
"Lillian, are you even listening?"
Lillian lazily looked up from her book and fixed her stare on Heather. "I mean, you're smart, you have a handle on the countermeme, right? I figured you were just using me as a rubber duck."
"You weren't listening to anything I said after that then, huh?" Heather shook her head.
"Nope! Not in the slightest. What's up babe?" Lillian had closed the book and was waiting for Heather's reply. She was just now getting used to Lillian's inability to use bookmarks -- she still visibly cringed whenever Lillian closed a book without marking her page, but she was getting subtler.
"Nobody thinks we're dating."
"What?" Lillian stood up in disbelief. "Seriously? How did you find out?"
"Well after--"
"Wait, my brain just caught up -- who the fuck asked you to go to the singles mixer?" Lillian's eyes narrowed, contrasting her calculating, analystical stare. It was possessive and predatory, and there was no denying how that make Heather feel.
"Swallows. But it's fine, I shut him down. But then I started to ask around, seeing if anybody knew about us. Turns out the only person who learned anything from us making out in the cafeteria yesterday was Wettle."
Heather brushed a stray hair out of her face. //It's not supposed to be this hard, right? I bet straight people never have this problem.//
Lillian had gone quiet -- and Heather looked on with bated breath, awaiting whatever solution Lillian was developing.
A piercing stare and the wicked smile from Lillian left Heather a mess, her knees going weak -- and it told Heather that, whatever Lillian had planned, she was going to enjoy the next solution very, very much.
------
"Look, I don't know how many times I need to give this seminar, but here we are again. Maybe this time you'll all learn something, and we won't need to have another fucking seminar, alright? So let's talk about proper safety around unknown memetic hazards."
Lillian stood in front of a crowd of disinterested faces. She didn't recognize any of them, unsurprisingly. Nobody she cared enough about to remember would have made the mistakes that landed them all here. Despite her best efforts, the greater members of Site-43 always seemed to share cognitohazards over emails, stumble into infohazards left and right, and fundamentally seemed unable to understand that they should not just walk into the memetics labs, especially while her staff were actively working.
But today, she wasn't thinking about any of that. She wasn't dreading the monotony of running another seminar, lecturing the same, stupid stares as she fulfilled her duties as Section Head; instead, Lillian was focused on the door, waiting.
//Again.// She thought, belatedly.
As if on cue, the doors opened to reveal Heather, a bento box in hand, ignoring everybody in the room other than Lillian.
"Just give me one second here." Lillian said as she stepped away from the podium.
//You fuckers watching? Good, you better be.//
"Hey babe, what's up?" Lillian smiled, trying to sell this as best as she could.
"Oh not much--" Heather was hesitant, but as if falling into a routine, her posture completely shifted and suddenly, nobody could take their eyes off of her. "I just wanted to swing by and bring you lunch."
Lillian remembered that Heather had been involved in the anomalous theatre scene before transferring, and it showed. Lillian couldn't take her focus off of Heather, in awe over how she commandeered the room in an instant. Other than a few snoring agents and some overworked, underpaid and distracted researchers, the majority of the room was staring at the two of them.
//And now, it's my turn. For the// coup de grâce.
"You didn't have to do that! You're such a good girlfriend. Heather Garrison, what would I do without you?" Lillian forced out. //Fuck, I sound like a straight person! But if this is what it takes, that's what I'll do.//
"I've got you Lilli. What else is a girlfriend for?" Heather handed over the lunch and gave her a small peck. Her role now finished, she dramatically turned around, her hair flying behind her as she did. She swept out of the lecture hall almost as quickly as she'd entered, but that should be enough.
//We both called each other a girlfriend, we kissed, we even made it obvious for the idiots.//
She walked back to the podium and turned to face the crowd. //Why does that dipshit have their hand raised, like they're in school?//
"Yes. The person who is already confused."
"Was that a cognitohazard?"
"What?"
"Is that going to be on the test?"
Lillian almost yelled in frustration -- almost.
"My girlfriend? No, my girlfriend is not going to be on the 'test'. Also, I don't know where you got that idea, there's no fucking test other than 'don't look at fucking memetic hazards you dumbasses'. Does that make sense to everybody?"
She knew that she shouldn't have asked. Right as she said it, she knew she had fucked up. The sea of questioning hands wavering in front of her was her own fault. It was going to be a long seminar.
------
As Heather walked out of the seminar hall, she paused, waiting to hear how it had gone. She had heard half of a question, but when she leaned against the door for a closer listen, a frustrated yell echoed out of the hall.
Heather recognized that scream. It was one she had heard before; different context, but still the same scream. //Fuck. I guess we're not done yet.//
------
The two women sat in Lillian's office, gathered around the terminal. They didn't look quite themselves, but that was intentional. Heather was wearing one of Lillian's dazzlecoats, a shirt borrowed from Lillian hanging loosely open around her tank-top. Lillian, in turn, was wearing one of Heather's sweaters, a cobalt blue knit turtleneck, and one of Heather's favorite pairs of jeans.
"Lillian, what are you thinking?"
Lillian continued to navigate the computer as she replied. "Okay. So we tried holding hands, that didn't work. We tried making out, still no. We've ruined seminars, interrupted meetings, even swapped our fucking clothes. And yet, other than Harry and fucking //Wettle//, nobody knows that we're dating."
"So what's next?" Heather didn't know how far this was going to go, but knowing Lillian? She wasn't going to give up until everybody knew about them.
"I was thinking this." Lillian opened her email, and in one swift series of keystrokes, penned a manifesto.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> start=--
|from= [email protected]
|to= Site-43 Section Chairs
|cc= Site-43 Staff
|subject= We're Lesbians
]]
Dear employees of Site-43,
I didn't want to resort to this, but you have all left me with no choice. We tried to resolve this quietly, but it appears that we work with the least observant staffers in the entire Foundation.
This email is to announce that myself, Lillian Lillihammer, and Heather Garrison, are **romantically involved**. She is my girlfriend, and I am hers. We're in love, and we're girls, okay? Lesbians exist, I promise you.
This is a real relationship, and we're tired of hiding it from everybody. If somehow you still don't get it, the next email is going to be a visual cognitohazard.
Consider yourselves warned.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> end=--
|name= Dr. Lillian Lillihammer
|title= Section Chair, Memetics and Countermemetics
|signoff= Secure, Contain, Protect
|signoff-icon= https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/component:dynamic-emails/transparent.png
]]
"You're emailing the entire staff." Heather said, unsurprised at her girlfriend. //Lillian really goes all out, doesn't she?//
"Yeah. I'm fucking done. If they don't get it by now, I think they might just be braindead." Lillian, knowing her email was impeccable, pressed "send".
"So what now?" Heather asked.
"Now? Nothing, hopefully. This email should do all the work, and we can finally be public with our relationship."
"You want to be public, huh?" Heather teased. "I didn't realize you were such an exhibitionist."
"I'm an exhibitionist? You should talk Heath; I think you're the only person in the entire Site who wears crop tops." Lillian stuck her tongue out at her girlfriend, finally relaxing after their 'ordeal'.
"Hey! It's not like we're doing lab work with chemicals, so why can't I wear a crop top?"
"I never said that." Lillian said in a low, sultry voice. "You think I don't enjoy seeing you wearing one?"
A shiver went down Heather's spine.
"Yeah? I figured that you liked it better when I wasn't wearing one."
"I mean, if I have to pick, I'm going to go with you nak--"
Lillian's terminal make a loud beep, piercing through their flirting and knocking both women off balance, their focus pulled back to the terminal.
"Was that a reply?" Heather asked, moving back to looking over Lillian's shoulder.
"Yeah. If it's just somebody complaining about this email, I'm ignoring it though." Lillian grinned, but her face quickly faltered when she saw the reply. "This is-- huh. Weird. //Harry wrote this?//"
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> start=--
|from= [email protected]
|to= [email protected]
|cc= Site-43 Staff
|subject= RE: We're Lesbians
]]
Hi all,
I am sending this email to tell you all the truth: Lillian and Heather are not dating.
It's obvious that this is just a ploy to make the Foundation seem more inclusive in the wake of our recent 'Valentine's Day Mandated Celebration'. We all saw what happened there, it's clear that they were in desperate need of good PR.
Unfortunately, it appears that Lillian and Heather have been victimized; they are being used as a 'diversity win' by the greater Foundation EC Advisory Board. Frankly, I'm appalled that an organization would reduce and stereotype these two transgender and queer women, and I'm even more upset that the EC Advisory Board forced Dr. Lillihammer to send that email.
To all staff, this is a reminder -- no matter the representation, always consider whether what you are reading is authentic, or just propaganda.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:dynamic-emails">:scp-wiki:component:dynamic-emails</a> end=--
|name= Dr. Harold Blank
|title= Section Chair, Archives and Revisions
|signoff= Secure, Contain, Protect
|signoff-icon= https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/component:dynamic-emails/transparent.png
]]
------
Harry laughed to himself as he reread the email. //Lillian's going to be pissed.//
As he enjoyed the seeds of his prank, he looked to his office door, remembering the last time Lillian had stormed into his room. //I can't believe she kicked in my door. Again.//
Every time Lillian destroyed Harry's door, he would get maintenance to repair it with a slightly different handle. //Maybe one day, she would remember how to use a door instead of just kicking it down// -- he very much doubted it.
So when his office door slammed inwards, bouncing against the rubber stopper affixed to the wall, Harry was neither surprised, nor upset; it was just another day in his life.
"Harry, what the fuck man?"
Lillian led the way, but Heather wasn't far behind. //They're still wearing each other's clothes. I'm surprised they haven't taken them off today, given how... ravenous they are.//
Harry carefully adjusted the frame on his desk, trying not to think too much about the sexual appetite of his closest, oldest friend. He smiled -- neither woman had seen the picture yet. //Good.//
"What can I do for you, Lillian?"
"Don't 'what can I do for you Lillian' me. Why the hell did you send that email?" Lillian raged, the maelstrom coming ever closer. Harry knew that he had gotten under her skin in a way nobody else could.
"Honestly? For this reaction." He chuckled. "It's a pretty good joke."
Heather jumped in now, failing to hide her frustration. "A joke? Harry, we've been trying to get people to realize we're dating for over a week now. Despite that, only you and Wettle seem to know anything about our relationship. That email was supposed to fix things."
"Oh, gotcha." Harry scratched his head, while giving the two women a sheepish grin. "For what it's worth, it was pretty funny, right?"
"Fucking hilarious, Harry. I love undermining my co-workers, it's such a cute habit you have." If looks could kill, Lillian's would have turned him to ash.
//Huh.// Harry paused, thinking to himself. //This is an actual thing Lillian's upset about. Shit.//
"Hey, I'm sorry about the email, but I thought it was pretty clear I was making a joke. When has the advisory committee ever done anything?" Harry asked, attempting to defuse the situation.
"Harry, I don't think you get it." Lillian sat down into a chair, rubbing her temples. "I'm at the end of my rope. We've been at this for days now, and I spend every waking minute trying to figure out how to spread the information of Heather and I dating throughout the Site. I don't want to, but my next solution is to make a fucking infohazard about it."
Heather stood behind Lillian's chair and gently began to squeeze and massage the tension in her shoulders. Lillian's face lightened at Heather's touch, relaxing into the sensations.
"Peaceful is a good look on you, Lillian." Harry said. "If you two have really tried that hard, why hasn't it worked?"
"Exactly." Heather replied. "It's way beyond being unlucky at this point. With the amount of things we've done, there's no way that the only two people who know at this Site are only people Lillian socializes with the most."
"What? I don't fucking socialize with Wettle by choice." Lillian grumbled.
"I know Lilli, but you do hunt him down constantly to make fun of him. That's socializing babe."
"But nobody else knows?" Harry asked.
"Nobody."
//I wonder...//
"What if it's not just bad luck?" Harry asked, knowing that Heather and Lillian would handle the rest. Sometimes, all they needed was just a little push.
"Fuck. FUCK! You're right, god damn it." Lillian threw her head back in frustration, while Heather balled her hands into fists.
"It's a fucking anomaly." Heather concluded.
"My thoughts exactly. Was there anything else you two needed, or can I have my office back?"
The two women had started talking to each other in a low, rapid tone; Harry tried to keep up, but quickly lost the thread.
"Heather? Lillian? Are you two done?"
Still nothing. Harry sighed, before shrugging and returning to his terminal. Unfortunately for him, administrative work was never over.
He almost hadn't noticed when Lillian and Heather got up and left his office -- but at the last minute, Lillian noticed the new frame on his desk.
"What do we have here Harry, a picture of your new girlfriend?" Lillian reached out to grab the frame, turning it around as she did. She locked eyes with him, daring Harry to reply. Before he could, Heather noticed what was in the frame.
"Wait, what the fuck is that?" Heather grabbed the frame from Lillian, who had finally noticed the picture inside. It was of Heather and Lillian, foreheads pressed against each other -- a true moment of catharsis captured of both of them.
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:queerframe">:scp-wiki:component:queerframe</a> frame=--
|url= http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/love-between-the-margins/HeatherxLillian.png
|style= black
|alt= A Picture of Lillian Lillihammer and Heather Garrison, looking into each others' eyes, while embracing.
]]
[[/=]]
"Oh that?" Harry beamed at the two. "Don't you two just look so darling in it?"
"Fuck you Harry, seriously? When did you take thi-- actually, you know what? I don't want to know. Let's go Heather, we've got an anomaly to identify."
Heather nodded, leading the way back out of Harry's office. As they left, Harry noticed that the frame was back on his desk -- but it was empty.
//Wow. Lillian really fell hard.//
------
Lillian and Heather stood in front of the "Orphaned Document Storage" room, an empty footnote in Site-43's history. That was the fate of all things kept within the Smokestacks; to be present, but forgotten. If there was an anomaly specific to Site-43, they might just find the proof in here.
Unfortunately, the card reader beeped and blinked red -- the doors refused to budge, despite Lillian's best efforts.
"Seriously? Fine, let's go grab Harry's ID." Lillian started to walk away, but stopped when she heard another beep, and the doors whooshing open. Heather was standing beside the door, looking back at her with a sheepish grin. The card reader was solid green.
"You already stole it? Sneaky babe."
"What? No, my card just worked."
"Your card worked? So a researcher can access this room, but a Section Chair can't? I'm going to need to talk to Harry about--"
"He was the one who gave my card access, actually."
"He did? Since when?" //Has she been keeping secrets from me?// Lillian thought to herself, an unfamiliar sensation of doubt washing over her.
Heather shrugged. "Since I forgot."
//Right.//
Heather continued. "The next day I asked Harry if I could head back to the Smokestacks to triple check something -- once we finished the experiment, I had started to feel like there was something I needed to look at in the archive, but I didn't want to freak you out. You were still walking on glass around me, and I didn't want you panicking over something that could be meaningless."
Lillian wasn't sure exactly what she was feeling; she had only known one dynamic in her relationships. Lillian was the one who asked somebody out, she was the one who broke up, she was the one who made decisions and she was the one in control.
//Heather isn't like anybody else.//
"So he gave you access. Right. Did you find anything?" Lillian was doing her best to adjust to the new paradigm, but some habits are harder to break.
"Not really. It was weird, I didn't find anything new, but..." Heather trailed off, looking worried. Lillian walked across the hall, and held Heather's arm.
"Hey. We're in this together, okay?" Lillian gave her girlfriend a comforting smile. //I want to be here for her. Always.// "So what did you find?"
"I knew exactly where the documents were. The ones about 'absence', that is. It wasn't anything like last time, I didn't get lost once."
"That's... weird."
"Yeah, you think?" Heather shook her head, holding her left arm with her hand. "I... there was something else."
"Hey. You can always tell me anything babe. You know that, right?" Lillian was grabbing Heather's hand a bit tighter than she meant to, but Heather didn't seem to mind.
"I know that. Thank you Lilli, it means a lot to me. I just... if I say something about it, then it's real and we have to deal with it." Heather was staring at the floor, unable to meet Lillian's gaze.
So Lillian tilted Heather's chin up with her hand, softly caressing her girlfriend's face.
"We've got this, no matter what. You're never going to be alone, alright? Not as long as I'm here."
Heather nodded, leaning in to Lillian's shoulder. "Thanks." Quiet, almost a whisper, a secret shared between the two lovers. Heather reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper, handing it to Lillian.
"This is what I found."
[[div class="storybook"]]
Once upon a time, the [[span style="color: rgba(130,81,145,0.7); text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #848484;"]] nameless princess [[/span]] and the [[span style="color: #626a6c; text-shadow: 2px 2px 1px #c3d1d7;"]] silver alchemist [[/span]] lived far away, in a castle protected from monotony.
[[/div]]
"What does it mean?" Heather asked, looking for assurance that everything was going to be alright. Lillian frowned.
"I don't know what it means. But we can find out. Together."
Heather nodded. "Okay. But let's figure out why nobody knows we're dating first?"
"Yeah. One thing at a time, right?" Heather relaxed, and grabbed Lillian's hand, pulling her into the Smokestacks; in her other hand, Lillian was gripping the scrap of paper tightly.
//I don't know what this is yet, but I don't like it.//
------
"Hey, I think I've got something over here."
Heather looked up from her scattering of loose pages, and saw Lillian waving an envelope at her.
"You're sure it's not just another false positive?" Heather had her doubts. They had been digging through the Smokestacks for a few hours now, and had only come up with proof that straight people had dated at Site-43. Unfortunately for them, any evidence proving that somebody was queer while not being recognized as such was much more difficult to locate.
"You used to work at Site-19, yeah?"
Heather rolled over to be beside her girlfriend, their chairs bumping against each other.
"Yeah, for a couple years right when I was starting at the Foundation. Why?"
Lillian passed Heather the envelope.
"I found this folder -- it was from a 'Diversity at the Foundation' conference, Site-43 hosted it in 2015. Not only are there photos of the attendees, but they were nice enough to include captions on the photos."
Heather caught on immediately. "I worked at Site-19 right after that. So if there's any people we know are queer--"
"--who are captioned as being 'just friends'—"
"Then we have definitive proof that not only is there an anomaly around this, but it's localized to Site-43."
"Exactly. So now we just need to get lucky. Do you want to do the honors, princess?"
//Princess?// Heather thought. "Is that my new pet name?" she teased.
"If you want it to be, sure. Anything for you, //princess//."
Heather giggled and shook her head. She unraveled the string that was keeping the folder sealed, and opened the folder, photos pouring out and covering the desk. Without a word, the two women began to grab photographs, checking the back for the captions.
"So am I going to find you in this, Lilli?"
"Me?" Lillian snorted. "Hell no! Have you ever known me to //want// to go to a Foundation conference? Yes, of course I love going somewhere and dealing with people who know nothing about memetics, it's just such a delight explaining the basics over and over again."
"Wouldn't they try and make you go as Section Chair?"
"Sure, they tried."
"How did you get out of it?"
"I faked a coma."
"You faked a coma?"
"Yeah. The doctors in medical were freaking out, they had no clue what had caused it -- they were running tests left and right, all the while I was finally getting a break to just lie down and think. Honestly, it was a great week."
Lillian's lyrical laughter warmed Heather up, the anxieties of the unknown having faded with her partner by her side.
"Hey, these people are from Site-19, right?"
Lillian passed Heather a photo -- a group of researchers from multiple Sites stood around laughing, two very familiar men in the center. //That's Clef. And Kondraki? God I miss those two knuckleheads.// They were wearing less formal clothes, and looked more at ease than Heather had seen either of the two men while she worked at Site-19, but it was definitely them.
She flipped the photo over, and read the caption aloud.
"Pictured Center -- Alto Clef and Benjamin Kondraki, Site-19 Staff." Heather smiled. "Help me find another picture of them, maybe one where it's just the two of them?"
Without a word, Lillian slid over another photo -- Clef and Kondraki were standing, arms over each other's shoulders. Clef was wearing a tight-fitting tracksuit jacket, staring at Ben and grinning like an idiot. Heather smiled, and flipped the picture over.
"A. Clef and B. Kondraki, Site-19. Good Friends and Platonic Roommates." Heather read the caption with a slow, definitive pace. "Fuck, we did it."
"Are they not just good pals who live together and hang out all the time, but are both super straight?"
"You know what? Shockingly, no!" Heather laughed, finally having figured out part of the mystery.
"But they were roommates, Heath! So you were there, was it just a casual thing or?"
"I'm not sure. I do know that they considered themselves as in a relationship, and everybody at Site-19 who knew either of them was aware of what was going on. The fact that they weren't recognized //specifically// when they were at Site-43 means--"
''-- That we were right, as always." Lillian was feeling smug, but so was Heather. //It's nice to have a win.//
"So do you want to see just how deep the rabbit hole is?" Heather asked, ready to jump back into things.
Heather watched as Lillian tapped her index and middle fingers rapidly on the desk. //She's so cute when she gets excited, I wonder if she knows she does that.// Heather got lost in Lillian's rhythm, synchronized in their focus.
------
It was a busy and crowded night in Activities Hall C, the de facto space for hosting Site-wide events. Tonight was the monthly Pride-Luck, an event that was started years ago by McInnis and Blank as a tribute to [[[The Good Work | Scout and Rydderech]]], that quickly became the biggest social gathering for the Site.
Tonight was no different. Music played over the speakers, staff of all genders and orientations enjoying themselves in a space where they didn't have to mask anything -- they could just be themselves. The only difference was, for the first time in years, Lillian Lillihammer was in attendance.
She smiled, watching as Heather joked around with a researcher she didn't recognize. //She's such a social butterfly, how does she manage to make so many friends?// Lillian thought back to just how quickly the two of them had bonded, realizing that Heather had made her feel at ease almost immediately.
//I can't believe she loves me back.//
Heather finally noticed Lillian staring, waving excitedly, and quickly concluded her conversation. She walked across the dance floor, her jeans hugging her hips as her knit crop-top stretched, showing Lillian a teasing glimpse of what lay underneath. Suddenly, in her standard dazzlecoat and shirt, Lillian felt underdressed.
"Hey babe, here's our drinks, sorry about the delay -- I ran into Loam, the new researcher heading up the anomalous botany committee, and they were just congratulating me on 'bagging you'. You should meet them sometime, I think you'd like them!"
"You'll have to set that up, but I'd love to babe." Lillian lifted her drink out of her girlfriend's hand, and with her hand on Heather's lower back, pulled her close. Lillian got lost in their delicate and playful kiss, which was only interrupted by the crowd noticing and beginning to whistle and cheer.
"Get a room you two!" A voice yelled from the dance floor, breaking the two women's reverie -- they stopped for air, both blushing, and staying attached at the hip.
Harry had come in during their interlude, and was approaching the couple, a confused look on his face.
"You guys figured it out? Damn, I was looking forward to fucking with you more."
"Of course we did Harry, have you seen us?" Lillian teased back, unwilling to let anything get under her skin tonight.
"So how did you do it? Did you make a "Lesbian Romance Meme" or did you conceptually associate the two of you within the noosphere forever? Or maybe Heather finally convinced you to try some 'witchcraft'?"
"Well I don't know if I'd call 'burning incense with focused meditation' witchcraft, but no, we didn't do any of that." //Now let's just see how long I can drag this out...//
Harry followed up immediately. "Well what was it then? Obviously you identified the problem."
"Yep." Heather said, picking up on Lillian's goal. "So we did some research, and noticed some weird things."
"Sure, our jobs are exclusively 'weird things', can you be more specific?"
Heather smiled politely at Harry, before answering him.
"Specific? I don't know, I'm worried that if I'm too specific you might think it's just propaganda."
Lillian laughed. "You remember why this Pride-luck started, right Harry?"
Harry nodded. "McInnis and I wanted to host something to recognize the queer history of the Site, especially since..." He paused, the pieces coming together in his mind.
"Since so few people realized that Scout and Rydderech were gay lovers."
"Oh my god." Harry covered his open mouth with his hand, the realization hitting him. "Has there always been an anomaly here?"
Lillian and Heather nodded. "Seems like it. As far as we can tell, there's a bureaucratihazard that only affects queer relationships, making them unrecognizable except by closer friends. The anomaly impacts how the relationships are perceived, with only heteronormative relationships bypassing the effect."
"So how did you beat it?" Harry asked. "I heard the cheers and yelling, people know you two are dating now. What did you do?"
Lillian smiled deviously. //I was waiting for this question.//
"Mmmm, I don't think we'll tell you."
"Seriously Lillian?" Harry said exasperatedly. "Heather, will you tell me what you two did?"
"Harry, I would never betray my girlfriend, how could you ask me to?" The mock shock from Heather only made Lillian smile more, watching as Harry internally blew a fuse.
"Please?" Harry asked, pleading with the two women.
"Fine." Lillian moved closer to Harry, covertly looking around before putting her hand against his ear in a conspiratorial whisper. "We had to do something that I had promised myself I wouldn't do again."
"Lillian! Seriously, we talked about this? You have to stop making predatory infohazards, eventually command will realize something and everything will catch up to you."
"Who said anything about an infohazard?"
"So what //did// you two do then?"
Lillian and Heather shared a silent look, agreeing that Harry had been made to suffer long enough.
"We told HR."
The sputtering and spit take was well worth the week of fighting the two women had been though. Once Harry calmed down, he locked eyes with Lillian.
"Let me get this straigh-- let me get this //queer//. All you had to do was tell HR and suddenly, your relationship existed?"
"Exactly."
"So what did you tell them?"
Lillian and Heather reached around, holding each other's shoulders and laughing. In unison, the two answered.
"That we were roommates."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false| hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/don-t-let-me-forget| previous-title=Don't Let Me Forget
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-heart-grows-fonder| next-title=The Heart Grows Fonder
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/forgotten-memories-hub| hub-title=Forgotten Memories
]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** HeatherXLillian.png
> **Name:** Heather and Lillian, As Photographed by Harry Blank
> **Author:** [[*user dr-vikki-lost]]
> **License:** CC-BY-SA 4.0
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-06-01T04:00:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"comedy",
"doctor-lillihammer",
"forgotten-memories",
"heartwarming",
"lgbtq",
"on-guard-43",
"pridefest2024",
"romance",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
Love Between The Margins - SCP Foundation
| 69
|
[
"the-lillihammer-test",
"don-t-let-me-forget",
"the-good-work",
"forgotten-memories-hub",
"the-heart-grows-fonder",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"pridefest",
"forgotten-memories-hub"
] |
[] |
1453833660
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/love-between-the-margins
|
|
magazine
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>it's back.</p>
</div>
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">Prismal</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p><a href="/prismal" target="_blank">More by Prismal</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aminimalist-bhl/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<img alt="thorleyzine-cover2.png" class="image" src="https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragment%3Aartexchange2023listpages0/thorleyzine-cover2.png"/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">OPEN?</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">OPENED : )</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>Page 0: <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/magazine/offset/0">Cover</a><br/>
Page 1: <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/magazine/offset/1">Behind the Scenes of Unreality with VKTM</a><br/>
Page 2: <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/magazine/offset/2">SCP-7195 Supplementary Log</a><br/>
Page 3: <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/magazine/offset/3">Unspiration</a><br/>
Page 4: <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/magazine/offset/4">Site-00 Community Cookbook</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/magazine">Maga Zine 2: Legal Edition</a>" by Prismal, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/magazine">https://scpwiki.com/magazine</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Cover:</span></p>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Cover.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Prismal<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> (link here)<br/>
<strong>Derivative Of:</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> hoodie-924807.jpeg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> StockSnap</p>
<p><strong>Publication Date</strong> September 5, 2015<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC0 Public Domain.<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://pixabay.com/photos/hoodie-sweater-ocean-sea-water-924807/">Pixabay</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> 50083593242.jpeg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Andrea Hanks, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/people/148748355@N05The">White House</a> from Washington, DC<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/whitehouse45/50083593242/">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> 50083593242.jpeg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Andrea Hanks, <a href="https://www.flickr.com/people/148748355@N05The">White House</a> from Washington, DC<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/whitehouse45/50083593242/">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Explosion<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> dominiquechappard<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://openclipart.org/detail/40477/explosion">OpenClipArt</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> ISS005-E-16336<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> NASA<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.nasa.gov/audience/formedia/presskits/spacefood/gallery_iss005e16336.html">NASA</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> heic0607a<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> European Space Agency (ESA/Hubble)<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="http://www.spacetelescope.org/images/heic0607a/">ESA/Hubble</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> urn:storj:bucket:jvrrslrv7u4ubxymktudgzt3hnpq:world_trade_center<br/>
<strong>Publisher:</strong> Western Electric<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://archive.org/details/world_trade_center">Internet Archive</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Donald Trump and 19 Others Indicted in Georgia on Charges Related to the Illegal Attempt to Overturn the 2020 Election<br/>
<strong>Filename:</strong> AlexThorleyIndited.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> SynthPanda_<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:donald-trump-and-19-others-indicted-in-georgia-on-charge">SCP Wiki</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Pallas_Cat_001.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Ltshears<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pallas_Cat_001.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Quadrata Unum</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Ultra Cool Fonts<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Freeware</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> fontspace .com/quadratum-unum-font-f28276</p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> goofy elephant<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Prismal<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY SA 4.0</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Behind the Scenes of Unreality with VKTM:</span></p>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong></p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> David McSween<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/pw/ABLVV8659d3GNhvzOU5q4vfGoY1ltK19PjOQnbY2ZCS1KEySiJDQlTlR2zx0d7NX2aSoL0govtFd8bjBlFgMrJF3Xi65Rs4HSvuSbpf919x-J2VCY_A_aHeH8jdKqW_8pCB2ZjzgVJOdug0qKFbrD_G5hWkqSg=w1406-h938-s-no-gm?authuser=0">Google Drive</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> tittymachine.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Cetakan Pad pada barangan seramik.webm</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Encik Tekateki<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Cetakan_Pad_pada_barangan_seramik.webm">Wikipedia</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> lego rollercoaster</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Phyllis Buchanan<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/pgautier/919556296/in/photostream/">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> a fellow agent question mark.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> a fellow agent question mark.jpg</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Prismal<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragment%3Aartexchange2023listpages2/a%20fellow%20agent%20question%20mark.jpg">Wikidot</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Office? {explored Jan 18th/19th 2012}</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Andrew Basterfield<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> [ <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/47724267@N07/6722667601">https://www.flickr.com/photos/47724267@N07/6722667601</a> Flickr]</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Office personal computer</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> David E. Lucas<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Office_personal_computer_-_DPLA_-_271321a08cbc946fa5389fb6ccbce250.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">SCP-7195 Supplemental:</span></p>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong></p>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> petlogo.png</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong></p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:pet">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:pet</a></p>
<p>(all others provided by Prismal under CC BY SA 3.0)</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="text-decoration: underline;">Unspiration:</span><br/>
<strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> 1974 - Phillippe Petit - High Wire Walk - 19 Aug MC - Allentown PA.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Atwngirl<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:1974_-_Phillippe_Petit_-_High_Wire_Walk_-_19_Aug_MC_-_Allentown_PA.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> The Story of the Typewriter 1873-1923<br/>
<strong>Publication Date</strong> 1923<br/>
<strong>Publisher:</strong> Herkimer County Historical Society<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://archive.org/details/storyoftypewrite00unse/mode/2up">Internet Archive</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Man in Black Suit Standing Beside Red Bicycle<br/>
<strong>Publication Date</strong> March 23rd 2018<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Andrea Piacquadio<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC0 Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.pexels.com/photo/man-in-black-suit-standing-beside-red-bicycle-3776164/">Pexels</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Narcissus at the Source<br/>
<strong>Artist:</strong> Caravaggio<br/>
<strong>Scanner:</strong> Hohum<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Narcissus-Caravaggio_(1594-96)_edited.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Pizzo Exh 453-A<br/>
<strong>Artist:</strong> Unknown<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain</p>
<p><strong>Source</strong> Warren Commission Hearings, Volume XXI, p.139<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pizzo_Exh_453-A_Oswald_leaflets_New_Orleans.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Pudding in window.jpg<br/>
<strong>Artist:</strong> Sheila Sund<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/sheila_sund/11681821644/in/photostream/">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> BobbyLashley.jpg<br/>
<strong>Artist:</strong> Caleb Jones<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:BobbyLashley.jpg">Wikipedia</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Baskervville</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> ARNT<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Open Font License</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://fonts.google.com/specimen/Baskervville">Google Fonts</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Let boss Platt beware</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Keppler, Udo J.<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.loc.gov/pictures/resource/ppmsca.28811/">Library of Congress</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> U.S. Air Force Academy Graduation Class of 2020 [Image 4 of 54]</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Bill Evans<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.dvidshub.net/image/6178708/us-air-force-academy-graduation-class-2020">dvids hub</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Photograph of Members of the Long Range Reconnaissance Team Moving through Rough Terrain Searching for Viet Cong near Tuy Hoa</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> The U.S. National Archives<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://picryl.com/media/photograph-of-members-of-the-long-range-reconnaissance-team-moving-through-2f936d">Picryl</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Sunrise on Trump Tower (pre-signage, from Wabash Ave)</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> edward stojakovic<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26736723@N00/11788134493">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p>Site-00 Cookbook:</p>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> How to make cocaine stage 2</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Elias Bizannes<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26736723@N00/11788134493">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> How to make cocaine stage 2</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Elias Bizannes<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/26736723@N00/11788134493">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> whisk</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Simon_sees<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/39551170@N02/13922224163">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> jackfruit pudding</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Nazfarhan<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jackfruit_pudding.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Donuts w Poznaniu.</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> MOs810<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Green_donuts_in_Pozna%C5%84.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> A glass of blue lemon</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Thamizhpparithi Maari<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:A_glass_of_blue_lemon.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Gigantic hamburger at Giant Burger Festival, 2008</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> WIMHARTER<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gigantic_hamburger_at_Giant_Burger_Festival,_2008.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Pumping water, Pie Town, New Mexico</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Lee, Russell<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.loc.gov/pictures/resource/fsa.8a28714/">Library of Congress</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Bog butter - Ulster Museum</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Bazonka<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bog_butter_-_Ulster_Museum.JPG">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Vanillin kristályok</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Kisvocs<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Vanillin_krist%C3%A1lyok.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Dornbirn-Ebnit-Oven-fireplace-04ASD</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Asurnipal<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dornbirn-Ebnit-Oven-fireplace-04ASD.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> “Big Chill” brings holiday cheer to MAG-14 Marines</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Lance Cpl. Unique B. Roberts<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.dvidshub.net/image/1143432/big-chill-brings-holiday-cheer-mag-14-marines">dvids</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> HK Pancake cooking Sept-2010 Step 003 Mixing all ingredients Glutinous Rice Flour with 蛋漿 eggs water 雞粉 Chicken powder</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Ocomejessian<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HK_Pancake_cooking_Sept-2010_Step_003_Mixing_all_ingredients_Glutinous_Rice_Flour_with_%E8%9B%8B%E6%BC%BF_eggs_water_%E9%9B%9E%E7%B2%89_Chicken_powder.JPG">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> goatsuckle.jpeg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Milk</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Mike Mozart<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/jeepersmedia/17132960900/in/photostream/">Flickr</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Almond on table</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Lemur12<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Almond_on_table.JPG">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Monkeynut</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Pedagon<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Cashew (PSF)</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Pearson Scott Foresman<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain</p>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Cashew_(PSF).jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> speggnog</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> EmotionalEntropy<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
it's back.]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--
|name=Prismal]]
[*/prismal More by Prismal]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
[[module ListPages category="fragment" parent="." order="name" limit="1" offset="@URL|0"]]
%%content%%
[[/module]]
[[module css]]
#page-title {display: none;}
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
__Cover:__
=====
**Filename:** Cover.png
**Author:** Prismal
**License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
**Source Link:** (link here)
**Derivative Of:**
----
**Name:** hoodie-924807.jpeg
**Author:** StockSnap
**Publication Date** September 5, 2015
**License:** CC0 Public Domain.
**Source Link:** [https://pixabay.com/photos/hoodie-sweater-ocean-sea-water-924807/ Pixabay]
----
**Name:** 50083593242.jpeg
**Author:** Andrea Hanks, [https://www.flickr.com/people/148748355@N05The White House] from Washington, DC
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/whitehouse45/50083593242/ Flickr]
----
**Name:** 50083593242.jpeg
**Author:** Andrea Hanks, [https://www.flickr.com/people/148748355@N05The White House] from Washington, DC
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/whitehouse45/50083593242/ Flickr]
----
**Name:** Explosion
**Author:** dominiquechappard
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://openclipart.org/detail/40477/explosion OpenClipArt]
----
**Name:** ISS005-E-16336
**Author:** NASA
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://www.nasa.gov/audience/formedia/presskits/spacefood/gallery_iss005e16336.html NASA]
----
**Name:** heic0607a
**Author:** European Space Agency (ESA/Hubble)
**License:** CC BY 4.0
**Source Link:** [http://www.spacetelescope.org/images/heic0607a/ ESA/Hubble]
----
**Name:** urn:storj:bucket:jvrrslrv7u4ubxymktudgzt3hnpq:world_trade_center
**Publisher:** Western Electric
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://archive.org/details/world_trade_center Internet Archive]
----
**Name:** Donald Trump and 19 Others Indicted in Georgia on Charges Related to the Illegal Attempt to Overturn the 2020 Election
**Filename:** AlexThorleyIndited.png
**Author:** SynthPanda_
**License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
**Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/art:donald-trump-and-19-others-indicted-in-georgia-on-charge SCP Wiki]
----
**Name:** Pallas_Cat_001.jpg
**Author:** Ltshears
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pallas_Cat_001.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Name:** Quadrata Unum
**Author:** Ultra Cool Fonts
**License:** Freeware
**Source Link:** fontspace .com/quadratum-unum-font-f28276
----
----
**Name:** goofy elephant
**Author:** Prismal
**License:** CC BY SA 4.0
----
__Behind the Scenes of Unreality with VKTM:__
**Filename:**
**Name:**
**Author:** David McSween
**License:** CC0
**Source Link:** [https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/pw/ABLVV8659d3GNhvzOU5q4vfGoY1ltK19PjOQnbY2ZCS1KEySiJDQlTlR2zx0d7NX2aSoL0govtFd8bjBlFgMrJF3Xi65Rs4HSvuSbpf919x-J2VCY_A_aHeH8jdKqW_8pCB2ZjzgVJOdug0qKFbrD_G5hWkqSg=w1406-h938-s-no-gm?authuser=0 Google Drive]
----
**Filename:** tittymachine.jpg
**Name:** Cetakan Pad pada barangan seramik.webm
**Author:** Encik Tekateki
**License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
**Source Link:** [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Cetakan_Pad_pada_barangan_seramik.webm Wikipedia]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** lego rollercoaster
**Author:** Phyllis Buchanan
**License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/pgautier/919556296/in/photostream/ Flickr]
----
**Filename:** a fellow agent question mark.jpg
**Name:** a fellow agent question mark.jpg
**Author:** Prismal
**License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
**Source Link:** [https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragment%3Aartexchange2023listpages2/a%20fellow%20agent%20question%20mark.jpg Wikidot]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Office? {explored Jan 18th/19th 2012}
**Author:** Andrew Basterfield
**License:** CC BY SA 2.0
**Source Link:** [ https://www.flickr.com/photos/47724267@N07/6722667601 Flickr]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Office personal computer
**Author:** David E. Lucas
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Office_personal_computer_-_DPLA_-_271321a08cbc946fa5389fb6ccbce250.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
----
__SCP-7195 Supplemental:__
**Filename:**
**Name:** petlogo.png
**Author:**
**Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:pet
(all others provided by Prismal under CC BY SA 3.0)
----
__Unspiration:__
**Filename:**
**Name:** 1974 - Phillippe Petit - High Wire Walk - 19 Aug MC - Allentown PA.jpg
**Author:** Atwngirl
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:1974_-_Phillippe_Petit_-_High_Wire_Walk_-_19_Aug_MC_-_Allentown_PA.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** The Story of the Typewriter 1873-1923
**Publication Date** 1923
**Publisher:** Herkimer County Historical Society
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://archive.org/details/storyoftypewrite00unse/mode/2up Internet Archive]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Man in Black Suit Standing Beside Red Bicycle
**Publication Date** March 23rd 2018
**Author:** Andrea Piacquadio
**License:** CC0 Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://www.pexels.com/photo/man-in-black-suit-standing-beside-red-bicycle-3776164/ Pexels ]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Narcissus at the Source
**Artist:** Caravaggio
**Scanner:** Hohum
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Narcissus-Caravaggio_(1594-96)_edited.jpg Wikimedia Commons ]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Pizzo Exh 453-A
**Artist:** Unknown
**License:** Public Domain
**Source** Warren Commission Hearings, Volume XXI, p.139
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pizzo_Exh_453-A_Oswald_leaflets_New_Orleans.jpg Wikimedia Commons ]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Pudding in window.jpg
**Artist:** Sheila Sund
**License:** CC BY 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/sheila_sund/11681821644/in/photostream/ Flickr ]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** BobbyLashley.jpg
**Artist:** Caleb Jones
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:BobbyLashley.jpg Wikipedia ]
----
**Name:** Baskervville
**Author:** ARNT
**License:** Open Font License
**Source Link:** [https://fonts.google.com/specimen/Baskervville Google Fonts]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Let boss Platt beware
**Author:** Keppler, Udo J.
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://www.loc.gov/pictures/resource/ppmsca.28811/ Library of Congress]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** U.S. Air Force Academy Graduation Class of 2020 [Image 4 of 54]
**Author:** Bill Evans
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://www.dvidshub.net/image/6178708/us-air-force-academy-graduation-class-2020 dvids hub]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Photograph of Members of the Long Range Reconnaissance Team Moving through Rough Terrain Searching for Viet Cong near Tuy Hoa
**Author:** The U.S. National Archives
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://picryl.com/media/photograph-of-members-of-the-long-range-reconnaissance-team-moving-through-2f936d Picryl]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Sunrise on Trump Tower (pre-signage, from Wabash Ave)
**Author:** edward stojakovic
**License:** CC BY 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/26736723@N00/11788134493 Flickr]
----
Site-00 Cookbook:
**Filename:**
**Name:** How to make cocaine stage 2
**Author:** Elias Bizannes
**License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/26736723@N00/11788134493 Flickr]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** How to make cocaine stage 2
**Author:** Elias Bizannes
**License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/26736723@N00/11788134493 Flickr]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** whisk
**Author:** Simon_sees
**License:** CC BY 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/39551170@N02/13922224163 Flickr]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** jackfruit pudding
**Author:** Nazfarhan
**License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
**Source Link:** [https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jackfruit_pudding.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Donuts w Poznaniu.
**Author:** MOs810
**License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
**Source Link:** [https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Green_donuts_in_Pozna%C5%84.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** A glass of blue lemon
**Author:** Thamizhpparithi Maari
**License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
**Source Link:** [https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:A_glass_of_blue_lemon.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Gigantic hamburger at Giant Burger Festival, 2008
**Author:** WIMHARTER
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gigantic_hamburger_at_Giant_Burger_Festival,_2008.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Pumping water, Pie Town, New Mexico
**Author:** Lee, Russell
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://www.loc.gov/pictures/resource/fsa.8a28714/ Library of Congress]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Bog butter - Ulster Museum
**Author:** Bazonka
**License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bog_butter_-_Ulster_Museum.JPG Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Vanillin kristályok
**Author:** Kisvocs
**License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Vanillin_krist%C3%A1lyok.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Dornbirn-Ebnit-Oven-fireplace-04ASD
**Author:** Asurnipal
**License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dornbirn-Ebnit-Oven-fireplace-04ASD.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** “Big Chill” brings holiday cheer to MAG-14 Marines
**Author:** Lance Cpl. Unique B. Roberts
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://www.dvidshub.net/image/1143432/big-chill-brings-holiday-cheer-mag-14-marines dvids]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** HK Pancake cooking Sept-2010 Step 003 Mixing all ingredients Glutinous Rice Flour with 蛋漿 eggs water 雞粉 Chicken powder
**Author:** Ocomejessian
**License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HK_Pancake_cooking_Sept-2010_Step_003_Mixing_all_ingredients_Glutinous_Rice_Flour_with_%E8%9B%8B%E6%BC%BF_eggs_water_%E9%9B%9E%E7%B2%89_Chicken_powder.JPG Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Filename:** goatsuckle.jpeg
**Name:** Milk
**Author:** Mike Mozart
**License:** CC BY 2.0
**Source Link:** [https://www.flickr.com/photos/jeepersmedia/17132960900/in/photostream/ Flickr]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Almond on table
**Author:** Lemur12
**License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Almond_on_table.JPG Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Monkeynut
**Author:** Pedagon
**License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** Cashew (PSF)
**Author:** Pearson Scott Foresman
**License:** Public Domain
**Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Cashew_(PSF).jpg Wikimedia Commons]
----
**Filename:**
**Name:** speggnog
**Author:** EmotionalEntropy
**License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
----
=====
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-08-08T03:23:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"_listpages",
"alex-thorley",
"comedy",
"mari-macphaerson",
"slice-of-life",
"tale",
"unreality-dept",
"video",
"vikander-kneed"
] |
Maga Zine 2: Legal Edition - SCP Foundation
| 36
|
[
"prismal",
"magazine/offset/0",
"magazine/offset/1",
"magazine/offset/2",
"magazine/offset/3",
"magazine/offset/4",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"art:donald-trump-and-19-others-indicted-in-georgia-on-charge",
"theme:pet"
] |
[
"vikander-kneed-technical-media-hub",
"unreality-hub",
"art-exchange-hub"
] |
[
"https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragment%3Aartexchange2023listpages0/thorleyzine-cover2.png"
] |
1456140076
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/magazine
|
|
marquis-melun
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aminimal/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div style="display: none">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">These</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">two</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">arguments</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">are</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">in</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">quirked-up</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Module</span><span class="hl-code"> (</span><span class="hl-identifier">rather</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">than</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">the</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">main</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">code</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">block</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-identifier">so</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">users</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">can</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">feed</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">variables</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">into</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">them</span><span class="hl-code">. </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> "SCP FOUNDATION"</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> "Containment Area-111: Excellence Brings Stability"</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="preview">
<p>My flesh and bones aren't mine.</p>
</div>
<p>That's the name I decided on. But no matter how many people I tell, no matter how many use it, it still feels wrong.</p>
<p>My body is rotting away. The skin and meat, tightly bound on my skeleton, is slipping from the expertly crafted stitching.</p>
<p>It's happening again. My mind aches as my body rots.</p>
<p>I clock out of the Area I work for. Containment Area-111. The front desk lady tells me to have a good weekend, and I nod slightly, giving her a little wink for effect. I have appearances to keep up, after all. She blushes, gives me a compliment, and I walk out.</p>
<p>There are corpses that need to be dug up.</p>
<hr/>
<p>I enter the graveyard, and ready the shovel. I've done this so often that it's lost on me how strange it is.</p>
<p>I see a stone, reading "Philip Mann". He sounds lovely. Shame I need what he has.</p>
<p>The shovel hits the dirt, and I start digging. It takes me about thirty minutes before I hit the grave. I use the shovel, carefully prying open the coffin and taking a look at his body.</p>
<p>He's… so handsome.</p>
<p>His hands, large and masculine.</p>
<p>His Adam's Apple, prime to be taken, to make me feel like a man.</p>
<p>His chest, flat. Perfectly flat. It enraptures me.</p>
<p>I ready my blade, hacking my rotting arm off of my disgusting body. The red cotton, mixed with the little blood and meat that I have in my body, spills from the discarded appendage.</p>
<p>A simple chop, and I take his arm. I start sewing it onto my body, reveling in the experience. I'm going to be so handsome. I'm going to be so beautiful. Everyone is going to love me. <em>Edward</em> will love me. He'll love me so much, even more than yesterday, because I'll look how I feel.</p>
<p>I wasn't worth it before, I wasn't worth it, but now I will be.</p>
<hr/>
<p>I sit in front of the mirror, pouring over my every feature.</p>
<p>My face is too soft. It's not sharp enough.</p>
<p>I hate this body. I hate this form that traps me.</p>
<p>I stare at the mirror, at the reflection that is my form, stitches and all, as I grip the edge of the sink.</p>
<p>I stare and stare and stare and stare and stare and stare and stare and stare, and I hate what I see, and I hate what I see, and I hate what I see, and I hate what I see, and I hate—<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
I feel his hands rest on my shoulders.</p>
<p>Through the mirror, the reflection that repulses me, I can see Edward.</p>
<p>His warmth gives me a slight respite from the need I have to crawl out of my skin.</p>
<p><span style="color: blue">"I'm not perfect yet."</span></p>
<p>He wraps his arms around me, hugging me.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><span style="color: red">"You'll always be perfect to me."</span></p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/marquis-melun">"Marquise Melun"</a>" by DoctorLilithSophia, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/marquis-melun">https://scpwiki.com/marquis-melun</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:minimal">:scp-wiki:theme:minimal</a>
|title=SCP FOUNDATION
|subtitle=Containment Area-111: Excellence Brings Stability]]
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=My flesh and bones aren't mine.]]
=====
[[=]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/=]]
That's the name I decided on. But no matter how many people I tell, no matter how many use it, it still feels wrong.
My body is rotting away. The skin and meat, tightly bound on my skeleton, is slipping from the expertly crafted stitching.
It's happening again. My mind aches as my body rots.
I clock out of the Area I work for. Containment Area-111. The front desk lady tells me to have a good weekend, and I nod slightly, giving her a little wink for effect. I have appearances to keep up, after all. She blushes, gives me a compliment, and I walk out.
There are corpses that need to be dug up.
-----
I enter the graveyard, and ready the shovel. I've done this so often that it's lost on me how strange it is.
I see a stone, reading "Philip Mann". He sounds lovely. Shame I need what he has.
The shovel hits the dirt, and I start digging. It takes me about thirty minutes before I hit the grave. I use the shovel, carefully prying open the coffin and taking a look at his body.
He's... so handsome.
His hands, large and masculine.
His Adam's Apple, prime to be taken, to make me feel like a man.
His chest, flat. Perfectly flat. It enraptures me.
I ready my blade, hacking my rotting arm off of my disgusting body. The red cotton, mixed with the little blood and meat that I have in my body, spills from the discarded appendage.
A simple chop, and I take his arm. I start sewing it onto my body, reveling in the experience. I'm going to be so handsome. I'm going to be so beautiful. Everyone is going to love me. //Edward// will love me. He'll love me so much, even more than yesterday, because I'll look how I feel.
I wasn't worth it before, I wasn't worth it, but now I will be.
-----
I sit in front of the mirror, pouring over my every feature.
My face is too soft. It's not sharp enough.
I hate this body. I hate this form that traps me.
I stare at the mirror, at the reflection that is my form, stitches and all, as I grip the edge of the sink.
I stare and stare and stare and stare and stare and stare and stare and stare, and I hate what I see, and I hate what I see, and I hate what I see, and I hate what I see, and I hate--
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
I feel his hands rest on my shoulders.
Through the mirror, the reflection that repulses me, I can see Edward.
His warmth gives me a slight respite from the need I have to crawl out of my skin.
##blue|"I'm not perfect yet."##
He wraps his arms around me, hugging me.
[[>]]
##red|"You'll always be perfect to me."##
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-08-23T01:21:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bittersweet",
"first-person",
"lgbtq",
"tale"
] |
"Marquise Melun" - SCP Foundation
| 23
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1456515243
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/marquis-melun
|
|
marshall-blows-off-steam
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Amcd/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p>Marshall’s in a city, never matter where, and he doesn’t speak the language, never matter which, but it doesn’t matter because all of them speak English anyhow.</p>
<p>Back before Mayhew was laid grunting on his cot (Layla flitting beside him, tiny little bluebird, so ready to take up his mantle), he and Marshall had been walking through the streets of a city carved deep in a mountain. A faehove sat to their left all crowded with people. Through the green-tinged air Mayhew saw Marvel playing on a screen in the back and said <em>my God I love America, and it’s a good thing I do, because it’s the only country that’s left.</em></p>
<p>That was a joke, of course. Mayhew Carter never loved America, and if he believed in God at least he had the decency never to yammer about it. He loved what America brought him, and maybe he loved what God brought him, and certainly he loved what Layla brought him, but there was a gap there, a gulf. And now any love that Mayhew has ever felt is trapped immobile and incommunicable in the fossilized circuits of his mind, and his drooling mouth sends forth just moans, and Layla, who justly loved all Mayhew ever brought her, attends the meetings with Marshall and Iris Dark. At the end as perfunctory as punctuation she says <em>yes this sounds all right with me but of course I’ll have to run it by Mayhew</em>. Then within an hour (insufficient for plausibility, but more than enough for politeness) she says <em>good news Mayhew says yes.</em></p>
<p><em>Oh how’d you ever talk him into it?</em> Marshall sometimes thinks to say, but never does. Layla goes by Rosen-Carter now, and looks as though she’s set a suitcase down. Like some load she carried has just rolled off her shoulders. When people see her face they feel alive.</p>
<p>And Marshall’s in a hotel, never matter which. Of course he’s here on business, never matter what. It’s 10:30PM, local time. His meetings for the day have long since concluded. There’s a dig site deep in some blasted erg that will remain, for the meantime, un-investigated. The bodies found within, likely Mekhanist, will for now remain in situ. In fact (as it is past 8PM, after which point, Marshall was assured, the <em>thornier</em> task would have been fully accomplished), there have been additional bodies added, of more recent provenance, to keep the older bones company. While the dig site, fresh graves dotting it like craters, has passed in full to some shell of a shell of a shell…</p>
<p>In any case, a third belongs to Marshall now. So business is over. Still, he’s waiting on someone, never matter who. He gets up sometimes and paces around a bit. There’s even water boiling on the stovetop, building up for an offer of tea; it’ll be the first time in a good long time that Marshall’s offered anything, to anyone, without due compensation.</p>
<p>The knock, when it comes, is soft. Discreet. One door over, you’d swear it was the wind.</p>
<p>Marshall opens the door. A man is on the other side of it. A boy, Marshall thinks, because Marshall would like to think of him as a boy. And so young. It is inconceivable to him, absurd, that anyone could ever be that young. Early twenties. Mid-twenties? Certainly not older. His cheeks are ruddy, freckled. Poofy hair. Marshall’s own scalp is a quilt of transplants, finasteride, and more exotic things. <em>He</em> doesn’t need it. <em>He’s</em> still at the start of it. So much time will hit him like a wave. Like fire coming over the hillside. Setting the new growth aflame. All the same, it hasn’t happened yet.</p>
<p>He walks inside. Marshall closes the door behind him. No words yet.</p>
<p>“You speak English, don’t you?”</p>
<p>
“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p>(Not <em>Mr. Marshall</em>. He’s far too smart for that.)</p>
<p>The man takes his shirt off. In the intervening seconds of silence he turns slowly, arms slightly elevated. And he’s beautiful. Of course he’s beautiful. Marshall’s sourcing team has eyes, don’t they…</p>
<p>“Is it all right if I touch you?” Marshall asks.</p>
<p>The man looks confused, for an instant, then almost as though he’s going to laugh, but then he realizes what Marshall wants from him. His eyes get big and wide like a puppy’s, and a falsified shiver runs down his back, and he says:</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. But you’ll be gentle, won’t you?”</p>
<p>“Oh, always,” says Marshall, and hugs him. “I really only want to talk tonight. Is that okay?”
</p>
<p>“Oh, of course, sir.”
</p>
<p>“There’s really no need to call me that.”
</p>
<p>He relaxes, or consciously makes as to relax; he’s too good at his job for there to be a distinction.<br/>
“All right,” he says. “I won’t.”
</p>
<p>“Would you like some tea?”
</p>
<p>“What kinds do you have?”
</p>
<p>“Just black and green, I’m afraid.”
</p>
<p>“Green would be lovely.”
</p>
<p>“Just what I was thinking. Should be ready in three… four minutes. Timer’s set; I’ll let you know.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.”
</p>
<p>“Is this ordinary for you, just talking?”
</p>
<p>“A little. Every once in a while, someone won't want to do anything. Usually they’re older than you.”
</p>
<p>“How old do you think I am?”
</p>
<p>He smiles. “Twenty?”
</p>
<p>“Really. If you get it right I’ll give you ten thousand dollars.”
</p>
<p>He laughs.</p>
<p>“That wasn’t a joke. Twenty thousand. Guess.”
</p>
<p>“Fifty-eight."
</p>
<p>Marshall frowns. “You’re off by a mile.”
</p>
<p>“How old are you?”
</p>
<p>“Older,” says Marshall, and looks at his hands.</p>
<p>Slight look of concern on his face. It’s gone in an instant. “So what did you want to talk about?”
</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” says Marshall. “There’s this dream that I’ve been having a lot lately. I see this enormous shape rearing up in the air.”
</p>
<p>“And then what?”
</p>
<p>“That’s it,” says Marshall. “That’s the end of the dream.”
</p>
<p>He nods. “When I was young, I sometimes dreamed that I was walking along an enormous plain of black stone. There were pillars scattered across the plain, pillars of stones. And there was water rushing over the stones. I never saw anything alive there.”
</p>
<p>“Do you think they have meanings? Dreams like that?”
</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not that religious.”</p>
<p>“So what do you think happens when you die?”
</p>
<p>“I think of death as a pane of frosted glass,” he says. “You can’t see anything through it. But there’s still light.”</p>
<p>“That’s kind of nice.”
</p>
<p>“What do you think happens?”
</p>
<p>“Nothing I’d like to think about tonight.”
</p>
<p>“Tell me more about the shape. The one from the dream.”
</p>
<p>“It’s one I’ve seen before,” says Marshall. “But only once. I was in a desert. A new world was being born. A better world; not perfect, but better. And the pains of its birth were excruciating. For others. Many others. Not for me; I quite enjoyed it. We thought that war would die with the old world. It didn’t, but it came damn close, and in its time we knew that famine would wane, and with two of the horses just bound for the knackers’, we saw fit… the world saw fit… something in the world saw fit to go into the desert and make a new horseman. The old world ended when we made it; we doomed the new one, too, but didn’t know it. Since then I’ve seen more horsemen than you can imagine. They come from deep caverns and from the abysses of space and even from the sea. Everything in our souls is coming out upon the earth. Eventually everything imaginable will be replicated in space. And the horses will break from us one day and leave nothing whole.”
</p>
<p>Deep look of concern on his face. Soon gone. “They haven’t yet,” he says.</p>
<p>“That’s right,” says Marshall. “They haven’t yet.”</p>
<p>The timer for the tea goes off, and Marshall pours two mugfuls.</p>
<p>“So what’s your name?”</p>
<p>He says his name, and Marshall forgets it.</p>
<p>“It’s good to meet you,” says Marshall. “You can put your shirt back on if it’d make you more comfortable.”
</p>
<p>“That’s all right,” he says, because he saw Marshall glancing. Because he’s good at his job.</p>
<p>“This all must be pretty strange for you.”</p>
<p>He shakes his head. “You want someone to remember with. There’s nothing strange in that.”</p>
<p>“Sure,” says Marshall.</p>
<p>“So what do you want to remember?”
</p>
<p>“Maybe nothing. It’s a one-note song. I remember, once, a long time ago, I was walking through a field with someone who looked like you. We were students, then, and there was some food laid out for us, at one end of the field, a fully set table. Not for us; not only for us; for any student willing to take it. The sun was high. And the food was laid out by a certain firm that it was not then fashionable to like.“</p>
<p>“And what firm was that?”
</p>
<p>Marshall snorts.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” the man says. “Please continue.”
</p>
<p>“It’s astonishing,” says Marshall, “just how much he looked like you. And when we reached it I took a plate and started putting some food on it, and I looked back and he was just standing there, not judging, not moving, as though the field was empty except for us. I said, come on, it’s only food. Aw, he said, it’s only ever <em>something</em>. Smiling like he was saying the weather.”</p>
<p>He pauses to put his words together. “I understand. You know, my first partner and I had a falling-out about my mother, of all things. I told him that maybe, if I was very successful, I'd…"</p>
<p>“I don’t care about you.”
</p>
<p>He bites his lip, slightly. Then he smiles, nice and bright, as convincing as a true one, so good at his job.</p>
<p>“It sounds like he meant a lot to you,” he says.</p>
<p>“At one time, he did,” says Marshall.</p>
<p>“Where is he now, if you know?”
</p>
<p>“Dead, I expect. Everyone else my age is. And here I am. Growing wealthier. Stabler, more permanent. I get younger every year now. And you know what?”
</p>
<p>“What?”
</p>
<p>“He was right. It was only ever something. Always only something. More and more each day.”
</p>
<p>He pauses. Ginger voice, so soft. “I’m not sure I understand.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” says Marshall. “Sometimes when the first wind of the autumn blows on my skin, I wonder if I’ve been here too long to appreciate it. I wonder if anything really comes from this repetition. If it’s worth my time.”
</p>
<p>“If what’s worth what?”
</p>
<p>“Yeah. Sorry. I’ve just been rambling, haven’t I?”
</p>
<p>“You wanted me to talk with you. So you can talk about anything you like.”
</p>
<p>Marshall laughs. “I don’t regret anything I’ve done, per se. But I do sometimes wonder what I’m doing alive.”</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry.”
</p>
<p>“No,” says Marshall. “You’re not, are you? You’re here because I’m paying. Everyone in my life is there because I’m paying.”</p>
<p>He looks concerned again. (There’s pity in his eyes, poor fool; doesn’t he know that pity’s wasted on the brutal, like pouring water on hot sand?)</p>
<p>And then, just as always, he knows what Marshall wants.</p>
<p>“You’re right,” he says, flatly. “I don’t give a damn.”</p>
<p>Marshall grins. “Thank you. Get your money from the doorman.”</p>
<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Marshall washes his face. Marshall changes out of his suit. Finally, Marshall picks up the phone.</p>
<p>There are countries where they’re called the Morality Police, and there are countries, such as this one, where they exist under some other name, but in each case they hold sway over some swath of hell.</p>
<p>(In what even he knows to be an act of confused metaphysics, Marshall thinks there is one, just one, only ever just one of them, riding different names as the water does as it crests onto different shores, like the Morning Star and Evening Star and Polaris are really in the end a sole dot in the firmament.)</p>
<p>And Marshall has their number. A number; it’s too big for just one; a vast cave system with so many entrances but one is all one needs to send one down. His sourcing team has connections, don’t they? Connections to people who never ask questions. Who call him Mr. Marshall. Who know how generously he repays those who serve him.</p>
<p>Marshall types the number out.</p>
<p>Somewhere, even now, his boy’s walking through the lobby. Leaving the building. He’s going back into the anonymity of the city- but no. The anonymity is a child’s fantasy, if-you-can’t-see-me-I-can’t-see-you, and Marshall’s team knows where he’d be going back to. And they could send those details on. With painful, glancing ease. Not even swatting a fly. Like touching a sensor.</p>
<p>Like brushing the small of a back.</p>
<p>His finger hovers over the call button, and he feels aroused for the first time that night.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Iris wakes. Movement of her eyelids, symphony of flickering lights. The liquid drains from her chamber. A dozen cold summers have passed in the dreamlight since she closed her eyes. In one motion she opens the door; then she sits at her desk and types for ten minutes, unceasing.</p>
<p>Then, once the last of the dream has fled from her memory, she towels herself off and puts on her clothes.</p>
<p>Layla’s waiting in the anteroom. A cup of tea in her left hand. There’s a nice bouquet of roses on the table, a nice touch from Iris’s butler, an old, kind man. Iris sometimes wonders what he’s doing with <em>her</em>.</p>
<p>“Morning, lovely,” says Layla.</p>
<p>“Not nearly so lovely as you,” says Iris. “What brings you all the way up here?”
</p>
<p>“A few items. It’s come to my attention that some of Mayhew’s old hands are getting excluded from the steering committee meetings. I know there’s been no change in committee makeup, but I want to make sure that they’re not being boxed out in actual fact.”
</p>
<p>“Would you like there to be a change in committee makeup?”
</p>
<p>“Is that a threat?”
</p>
<p>“Well, a lot of Mayhew’s people are getting up there in years. I happen to know that he mentioned, shortly before the accident, that he was looking to get some younger blood in. It’s a shame that he was never able to act on that, but, you know, it’s not as though that means they need to be around indefinitely.”
</p>
<p>Layla looks at her, astonished.</p>
<p>“And, you know, Layla, I’m sure he would have loved to be actively involved in repopulating his core team. But, seeing as he’s unable to take as dominant a role in that transition as he would have liked, I’m sure it would gladden him to see those shoes filled by his beloved wife, don’t you think?”
</p>
<p>“I appreciate that offer. But please don’t put words in Mayhew’s mouth.”
</p>
<p>“Oh, Layla. No offense was intended.”</p>
<p>Layla stares at Iris for some time. And then, slowly:
“I do think there’s a place for some fresh faces on the steering committee. I’ll have you a list of names by tomorrow.”</p>
<p>“Glad to hear! And do run them by Mayhew, won’t you?”
</p>
<p>“Yes, always.”
</p>
<p>“Was that everything?”
</p>
<p>"Just about," says Layla. "So what were you dreaming of, in there?”
</p>
<p>“Oh, lots of things. Lots of things.”</p>
<p>“Right before you opened your eyes.”
</p>
<p>Iris closes her eyes for a moment. “I was dreaming of a <a href="/scp-8217">vast dark thing</a> that floats above the earth. Nothing on the earth can touch it, and it rains down flame upon the surface, always and forever."</p>
<p>“How large was it?”
</p>
<p>“Quite. But it was only a shell, love. All empty inside.”</p>
<p>Layla sips her tea.
</p>
<p>“Take the roses with you, won’t you? I might be wrong, but weren’t they always his favorite flower?”
</p>
<p>“Mayhew hated roses, actually. Too strong a scent for him. The only one who liked them was me.”
</p>
<p>“Take them anyway,” says Iris. “Maybe he’s gone and changed his mind.”</p>
<p><br/></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/marshall-blows-off-steam">Marshall Blows Off Steam</a>" by habaniah, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/marshall-blows-off-steam">https://scpwiki.com/marshall-blows-off-steam</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:mcd">:scp-wiki:theme:mcd</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
Marshall’s in a city, never matter where, and he doesn’t speak the language, never matter which, but it doesn’t matter because all of them speak English anyhow.
Back before Mayhew was laid grunting on his cot (Layla flitting beside him, tiny little bluebird, so ready to take up his mantle), he and Marshall had been walking through the streets of a city carved deep in a mountain. A faehove sat to their left all crowded with people. Through the green-tinged air Mayhew saw Marvel playing on a screen in the back and said //my God I love America, and it’s a good thing I do, because it’s the only country that’s left.//
That was a joke, of course. Mayhew Carter never loved America, and if he believed in God at least he had the decency never to yammer about it. He loved what America brought him, and maybe he loved what God brought him, and certainly he loved what Layla brought him, but there was a gap there, a gulf. And now any love that Mayhew has ever felt is trapped immobile and incommunicable in the fossilized circuits of his mind, and his drooling mouth sends forth just moans, and Layla, who justly loved all Mayhew ever brought her, attends the meetings with Marshall and Iris Dark. At the end as perfunctory as punctuation she says //yes this sounds all right with me but of course I’ll have to run it by Mayhew//. Then within an hour (insufficient for plausibility, but more than enough for politeness) she says //good news Mayhew says yes.//
//Oh how’d you ever talk him into it?// Marshall sometimes thinks to say, but never does. Layla goes by Rosen-Carter now, and looks as though she’s set a suitcase down. Like some load she carried has just rolled off her shoulders. When people see her face they feel alive.
And Marshall’s in a hotel, never matter which. Of course he’s here on business, never matter what. It’s 10:30PM, local time. His meetings for the day have long since concluded. There’s a dig site deep in some blasted erg that will remain, for the meantime, un-investigated. The bodies found within, likely Mekhanist, will for now remain in situ. In fact (as it is past 8PM, after which point, Marshall was assured, the //thornier// task would have been fully accomplished), there have been additional bodies added, of more recent provenance, to keep the older bones company. While the dig site, fresh graves dotting it like craters, has passed in full to some shell of a shell of a shell...
In any case, a third belongs to Marshall now. So business is over. Still, he’s waiting on someone, never matter who. He gets up sometimes and paces around a bit. There’s even water boiling on the stovetop, building up for an offer of tea; it’ll be the first time in a good long time that Marshall’s offered anything, to anyone, without due compensation.
The knock, when it comes, is soft. Discreet. One door over, you’d swear it was the wind.
Marshall opens the door. A man is on the other side of it. A boy, Marshall thinks, because Marshall would like to think of him as a boy. And so young. It is inconceivable to him, absurd, that anyone could ever be that young. Early twenties. Mid-twenties? Certainly not older. His cheeks are ruddy, freckled. Poofy hair. Marshall’s own scalp is a quilt of transplants, finasteride, and more exotic things. //He// doesn’t need it. //He’s// still at the start of it. So much time will hit him like a wave. Like fire coming over the hillside. Setting the new growth aflame. All the same, it hasn’t happened yet.
He walks inside. Marshall closes the door behind him. No words yet.
“You speak English, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
(Not //Mr. Marshall//. He’s far too smart for that.)
The man takes his shirt off. In the intervening seconds of silence he turns slowly, arms slightly elevated. And he’s beautiful. Of course he’s beautiful. Marshall’s sourcing team has eyes, don’t they...
“Is it all right if I touch you?” Marshall asks.
The man looks confused, for an instant, then almost as though he’s going to laugh, but then he realizes what Marshall wants from him. His eyes get big and wide like a puppy’s, and a falsified shiver runs down his back, and he says:
“Yes, sir. But you’ll be gentle, won’t you?”
“Oh, always,” says Marshall, and hugs him. “I really only want to talk tonight. Is that okay?”
“Oh, of course, sir.”
“There’s really no need to call me that.”
He relaxes, or consciously makes as to relax; he’s too good at his job for there to be a distinction.
“All right,” he says. “I won’t.”
“Would you like some tea?”
“What kinds do you have?”
“Just black and green, I’m afraid.”
“Green would be lovely.”
“Just what I was thinking. Should be ready in three… four minutes. Timer’s set; I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you.”
“Is this ordinary for you, just talking?”
“A little. Every once in a while, someone won't want to do anything. Usually they’re older than you.”
“How old do you think I am?”
He smiles. “Twenty?”
“Really. If you get it right I’ll give you ten thousand dollars.”
He laughs.
“That wasn’t a joke. Twenty thousand. Guess.”
“Fifty-eight."
Marshall frowns. “You’re off by a mile.”
“How old are you?”
“Older,” says Marshall, and looks at his hands.
Slight look of concern on his face. It’s gone in an instant. “So what did you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know,” says Marshall. “There’s this dream that I’ve been having a lot lately. I see this enormous shape rearing up in the air.”
“And then what?”
“That’s it,” says Marshall. “That’s the end of the dream.”
He nods. “When I was young, I sometimes dreamed that I was walking along an enormous plain of black stone. There were pillars scattered across the plain, pillars of stones. And there was water rushing over the stones. I never saw anything alive there.”
“Do you think they have meanings? Dreams like that?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not that religious.”
“So what do you think happens when you die?”
“I think of death as a pane of frosted glass,” he says. “You can’t see anything through it. But there’s still light.”
“That’s kind of nice.”
“What do you think happens?”
“Nothing I’d like to think about tonight.”
“Tell me more about the shape. The one from the dream.”
“It’s one I’ve seen before,” says Marshall. “But only once. I was in a desert. A new world was being born. A better world; not perfect, but better. And the pains of its birth were excruciating. For others. Many others. Not for me; I quite enjoyed it. We thought that war would die with the old world. It didn’t, but it came damn close, and in its time we knew that famine would wane, and with two of the horses just bound for the knackers’, we saw fit… the world saw fit… something in the world saw fit to go into the desert and make a new horseman. The old world ended when we made it; we doomed the new one, too, but didn’t know it. Since then I’ve seen more horsemen than you can imagine. They come from deep caverns and from the abysses of space and even from the sea. Everything in our souls is coming out upon the earth. Eventually everything imaginable will be replicated in space. And the horses will break from us one day and leave nothing whole.”
Deep look of concern on his face. Soon gone. “They haven’t yet,” he says.
“That’s right,” says Marshall. “They haven’t yet.”
The timer for the tea goes off, and Marshall pours two mugfuls.
“So what’s your name?”
He says his name, and Marshall forgets it.
“It’s good to meet you,” says Marshall. “You can put your shirt back on if it’d make you more comfortable.”
“That’s all right,” he says, because he saw Marshall glancing. Because he’s good at his job.
“This all must be pretty strange for you.”
He shakes his head. “You want someone to remember with. There’s nothing strange in that.”
“Sure,” says Marshall.
“So what do you want to remember?”
“Maybe nothing. It’s a one-note song. I remember, once, a long time ago, I was walking through a field with someone who looked like you. We were students, then, and there was some food laid out for us, at one end of the field, a fully set table. Not for us; not only for us; for any student willing to take it. The sun was high. And the food was laid out by a certain firm that it was not then fashionable to like.“
“And what firm was that?”
Marshall snorts.
“Sorry,” the man says. “Please continue.”
“It’s astonishing,” says Marshall, “just how much he looked like you. And when we reached it I took a plate and started putting some food on it, and I looked back and he was just standing there, not judging, not moving, as though the field was empty except for us. I said, come on, it’s only food. Aw, he said, it’s only ever //something//. Smiling like he was saying the weather.”
He pauses to put his words together. “I understand. You know, my first partner and I had a falling-out about my mother, of all things. I told him that maybe, if I was very successful, I'd..."
“I don’t care about you.”
He bites his lip, slightly. Then he smiles, nice and bright, as convincing as a true one, so good at his job.
“It sounds like he meant a lot to you,” he says.
“At one time, he did,” says Marshall.
“Where is he now, if you know?”
“Dead, I expect. Everyone else my age is. And here I am. Growing wealthier. Stabler, more permanent. I get younger every year now. And you know what?”
“What?”
“He was right. It was only ever something. Always only something. More and more each day.”
He pauses. Ginger voice, so soft. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“I don’t know,” says Marshall. “Sometimes when the first wind of the autumn blows on my skin, I wonder if I’ve been here too long to appreciate it. I wonder if anything really comes from this repetition. If it’s worth my time.”
“If what’s worth what?”
“Yeah. Sorry. I’ve just been rambling, haven’t I?”
“You wanted me to talk with you. So you can talk about anything you like.”
Marshall laughs. “I don’t regret anything I’ve done, per se. But I do sometimes wonder what I’m doing alive.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No,” says Marshall. “You’re not, are you? You’re here because I’m paying. Everyone in my life is there because I’m paying.”
He looks concerned again. (There’s pity in his eyes, poor fool; doesn’t he know that pity’s wasted on the brutal, like pouring water on hot sand?)
And then, just as always, he knows what Marshall wants.
“You’re right,” he says, flatly. “I don’t give a damn.”
Marshall grins. “Thank you. Get your money from the doorman.”
“Yes, sir.”
------
Marshall washes his face. Marshall changes out of his suit. Finally, Marshall picks up the phone.
There are countries where they’re called the Morality Police, and there are countries, such as this one, where they exist under some other name, but in each case they hold sway over some swath of hell.
(In what even he knows to be an act of confused metaphysics, Marshall thinks there is one, just one, only ever just one of them, riding different names as the water does as it crests onto different shores, like the Morning Star and Evening Star and Polaris are really in the end a sole dot in the firmament.)
And Marshall has their number. A number; it’s too big for just one; a vast cave system with so many entrances but one is all one needs to send one down. His sourcing team has connections, don’t they? Connections to people who never ask questions. Who call him Mr. Marshall. Who know how generously he repays those who serve him.
Marshall types the number out.
Somewhere, even now, his boy’s walking through the lobby. Leaving the building. He’s going back into the anonymity of the city- but no. The anonymity is a child’s fantasy, if-you-can’t-see-me-I-can’t-see-you, and Marshall’s team knows where he’d be going back to. And they could send those details on. With painful, glancing ease. Not even swatting a fly. Like touching a sensor.
Like brushing the small of a back.
His finger hovers over the call button, and he feels aroused for the first time that night.
------
Iris wakes. Movement of her eyelids, symphony of flickering lights. The liquid drains from her chamber. A dozen cold summers have passed in the dreamlight since she closed her eyes. In one motion she opens the door; then she sits at her desk and types for ten minutes, unceasing.
Then, once the last of the dream has fled from her memory, she towels herself off and puts on her clothes.
Layla’s waiting in the anteroom. A cup of tea in her left hand. There’s a nice bouquet of roses on the table, a nice touch from Iris’s butler, an old, kind man. Iris sometimes wonders what he’s doing with //her//.
“Morning, lovely,” says Layla.
“Not nearly so lovely as you,” says Iris. “What brings you all the way up here?”
“A few items. It’s come to my attention that some of Mayhew’s old hands are getting excluded from the steering committee meetings. I know there’s been no change in committee makeup, but I want to make sure that they’re not being boxed out in actual fact.”
“Would you like there to be a change in committee makeup?”
“Is that a threat?”
“Well, a lot of Mayhew’s people are getting up there in years. I happen to know that he mentioned, shortly before the accident, that he was looking to get some younger blood in. It’s a shame that he was never able to act on that, but, you know, it’s not as though that means they need to be around indefinitely.”
Layla looks at her, astonished.
“And, you know, Layla, I’m sure he would have loved to be actively involved in repopulating his core team. But, seeing as he’s unable to take as dominant a role in that transition as he would have liked, I’m sure it would gladden him to see those shoes filled by his beloved wife, don’t you think?”
“I appreciate that offer. But please don’t put words in Mayhew’s mouth.”
“Oh, Layla. No offense was intended.”
Layla stares at Iris for some time. And then, slowly:
“I do think there’s a place for some fresh faces on the steering committee. I’ll have you a list of names by tomorrow.”
“Glad to hear! And do run them by Mayhew, won’t you?”
“Yes, always.”
“Was that everything?”
"Just about," says Layla. "So what were you dreaming of, in there?”
“Oh, lots of things. Lots of things.”
“Right before you opened your eyes.”
Iris closes her eyes for a moment. “I was dreaming of a [[[scp-8217|vast dark thing]]] that floats above the earth. Nothing on the earth can touch it, and it rains down flame upon the surface, always and forever."
“How large was it?”
“Quite. But it was only a shell, love. All empty inside.”
Layla sips her tea.
“Take the roses with you, won’t you? I might be wrong, but weren’t they always his favorite flower?”
“Mayhew hated roses, actually. Too strong a scent for him. The only one who liked them was me.”
“Take them anyway,” says Iris. “Maybe he’s gone and changed his mind.”
@@
@@
@@
@@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-10-22T04:05:00
|
[
"corporate",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"tale"
] |
Marshall Blows Off Steam - SCP Foundation
| 18
|
[
"scp-8217",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"marshall-carter-and-dark-hub"
] |
[] |
1457182229
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/marshall-blows-off-steam
|
|
maybe-the-end-of-the-world-isnt-as-bad-as-it-sounds
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="pseudocrumbs">
<p><a href="/canon-hub">Canon Hub</a> » <a href="/competitive-eschatology-hub">Competitive Eschatology Hub</a> » <a href="/just-fragments-hub">Just Fragments Hub</a> » Maybe the End of the World isn’t as Bad as it Sounds.</p>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/component%3Abhl-dark-sidebar/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>Maybe<br/>
the End of the World<br/>
isn’t as Bad<br/>
as it Sounds.</strong></p>
</div>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Doctor Scrappy</p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<hr/>
<h1 id="toc0"><span><strong>SITE-67 GENERAL NOTICE</strong></span></h1>
<hr/></div>
<br/>
<strong>Life Support Systems:</strong> Critical <span style="color: orange">•</span>
<p><strong>Electrical Systems:</strong> Critical <span style="color: orange">•</span></p>
<p><strong>Security Systems:</strong> Critical <span style="color: orange">•</span></p>
<p><strong>Safe-Class Containment Status:</strong> Online <span style="color: green">•</span></p>
<p><strong>Euclid-Class Containment Status:</strong> Compromised <span style="color: red">•</span></p>
<p><strong>Keter-Class Containment Status:</strong> Compromised <span style="color: red">•</span></p>
<hr/></blockquote>
<p>Researcher Ramani took a sip from her coffee. The cup was cold to the touch, the coffee having lost its taste. Yet she drank it. It was a nice feeling.</p>
<p>The control room was gigantic, filled to the brim with monitors and speakers, all buzzing in various tones, shapes and sizes, so variable in color, yet their meaning were always the same.</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><em><strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facilities-locations">SITE</a>-15 STATUS: COMPROMISED. REQUEST IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE—</strong></em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>This is a message from Site-19. If you are receiving this message, it means that Site-19 has been compromised. All remaining Foundation facilities are to—</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>”-what can only be described as a ’<a href="/scp-3004">mass of cicadas</a>’ is visible, covering the entire mountain range—”</em></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><em>”… if anyone’s still listening, tell my wife and children that I love th—”</em></p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>It was the end of the world. But not just any end of the world. <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/competitive-eschatology-hub">It was all of them.</a> Competing against each other, fighting one another to unleash hell on all of existence, unfurl their eternal wrath, because some dipshit in the 1300s forgot to slaughter a lamb and drink its blood as an offering or whatever. Something along those lines. Who even cared anymore? It was the <em>ends of the world.</em> Nothing mattered anymore.</p>
<p>Her colleague, a Doctor <a href="/scp-8138">Adam Krug</a>, went up and down. His movements were erratic, his face desecrated by an abundance of restless hours, his clothes soaked in sweat and stains. There were bunch of documents from Site-67’s vaults laying all around him, he analyzed every message, every broadcast. He analyzed everything there was for a spark of hope, a dim light in the every-prevailing darkness. Today was yet another of his attempts to establish contact.</p>
<p>”Site-81?” he spoke into the microphone, spit coming out of his mouth. ”Site-81, can you receive me?”</p>
<p>Nothing. Not even a whisper, the faintest of noise, nothing. Everything had gone black.</p>
<p>”Fuck…” He held the microphone firmly. ”Fuck, fuck… FUCK!” In mere seconds, Adam threw the microphone against a monitor, shattering both it and the monitor. Not that Ramani cared much. She was getting bored at seeing the same static for weeks now anyway.</p>
<p>His breaths were deep. <em>Inhale. Exhale.</em> His hands were clenched tight, his thoughts running rampant, and the repetitious cycle of wandering up and down was finally broken; she hadn’t seen Adam so alive for weeks now.</p>
<p>He calmed down again. ”Okay, okay, okay…” He tried to assess the situation, like any good researcher would. Lay out the facts, then piece together the little details. ”We should try Site-15. They’re not too far from—”</p>
<p>”We already tried them. No answer.”</p>
<p>”Then get me Site-120—”</p>
<p>”No word from them either.”</p>
<p>”How about—”</p>
<p>”Nope—”</p>
<p><strong>”Then give me one we have not covered, for Christ’s sake!”</strong> Adam yelled from the top of his lungs. His breaths were shallow, rapid. Ramani thought that Adam would die of a heart attack right there.</p>
<p>Eventually, he calmed down.</p>
<p>”Sorry, I…” he said, rubbing his face. ”Please,” he said calmly, <em>exhausted,</em> ”just give me a Site we haven’t contacted yet. What about Nineteen?”</p>
<p>”Was the first one to go when <a href="/scp-616">the gate</a> opened.”</p>
<p>Adam stood there in silence, in disbelief, despair, a wide range of emotions, all packed up in a little box, screaming to be let out. He kept his calm, though. He walked up and down on the spot again.</p>
<p>As he devised for another plan, any alternative to their present situation, a glimmer of <em>hope</em>, Researcher Ramani stood up from her seat and moved toward the coat hanger mounted on the wall.</p>
<p>”Where are you going?” Adam asked, quite perplexed.</p>
<p>She put on her coat. ”I’m going home,” Ramani answered. ”Back home to my family.”</p>
<p>”What?!”</p>
<p>”You’ve heard me, Adam. It was nice knowing you.”</p>
<p>She pulled her credentials from her pocket. <em>Level 3 Researcher. Words, which once held so much meaning.</em> Doctor Krug stepped in her way.</p>
<p>”You can’t do this!”</p>
<p>”Adam, please get out of my way.”</p>
<p>She tried to walk around him, but no matter what, Adam always stood between her and the door.</p>
<p>”You swore an oath to the Foundation—!”</p>
<p>”Adam, please.”</p>
<p>”—that you would <em>protect</em> humanity from whatever might crop up! They said that, and you swore your life for the cause! Secure, contain, <em>protect</em>! Have you forgotten?!”</p>
<p>Suddenly, he grabbed her arm. His hand tightened around her forearm, his fingers digging deep through her labcoat’s sleeves and skin. He looked her straight into the eyes.</p>
<p>”Let go of my arm,” Ramani said, in a calm voice, yet filled with confidence, with a glimmer of fear.</p>
<p>He saw how she looked at him. He let go off her arm, yet still maintained eye contact.</p>
<p>”Look around you, Adam!” She gestured toward all the monitors, displaying the same messages, same broadcasts, same static for months now. ”What do you want to protect? The ashes of humanity?”</p>
<p>”I’ve done this my entire life! I’m not going to stop now.”</p>
<p>There was an ear-piercing silence.</p>
<p>”Maybe you should.”</p>
<p>”You’re selfish.”</p>
<p>”I am,” Ramani replied.</p>
<p>”You’re a <strong>traitor</strong>!”</p>
<p>She did not say anything in response. She did not say anything at all, when she walked past Adam, entered her credentials and stepped through the door. She didn’t even give him a final glance, as the security door slid shut again.</p>
<p>He was alone. Completely and utterly alone. There was no one left. No one left to fight for, no one left to protect, no one left to fight against the unimaginable horrors all at once.</p>
<p>He walked to his chair and sat down. He looked at the monitor in front of him, exhausted, but all he could see in it was static.</p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><strong>« <a href="/scp-8138">Introduction</a></strong></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>» <a href="/just-fragments-hub">HUB</a> «</strong></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><strong><a href="/or-maybe-it-is">Next</a> »</strong></p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/maybe-the-end-of-the-world-isnt-as-bad-as-it-sounds">Maybe The End Of The World Isn’t As Bad As It Sounds.</a>" by Doctor Scrappy , from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/maybe-the-end-of-the-world-isnt-as-bad-as-it-sounds">https://scpwiki.com/maybe-the-end-of-the-world-isnt-as-bad-as-it-sounds</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Random static.gif<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Atomicdragon136<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Random_static.gif">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[div class="pseudocrumbs"]]
[[[canon-hub|Canon Hub]]] >> [[[Competitive Eschatology Hub]]] >> [[[Just Fragments Hub]]] >> Maybe the End of the World isn’t as Bad as it Sounds.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="/theme:black-highlighter-theme">theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:bhl-dark-sidebar">:scp-wiki:component:bhl-dark-sidebar</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:toggle-sidebar-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar-bhl</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:fade-in">:scp-wiki:component:fade-in</a> speed=1.5]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**Maybe
the End of the World
isn’t as Bad
as it Sounds.**
[[/=]]
**Author:** Doctor Scrappy
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:ratio-bar">:scp-wiki:component:ratio-bar</a> base=--]]
> [[=]]
> ------
>
> + **SITE-67 GENERAL NOTICE**
>
> ------
> [[/=]]
> **Life Support Systems:** Critical ##orange|•##
>
> **Electrical Systems:** Critical ##orange|•##
>
> **Security Systems:** Critical ##orange|•##
>
> **Safe-Class Containment Status:** Online ##green|•##
>
> **Euclid-Class Containment Status:** Compromised ##red|•##
>
> **Keter-Class Containment Status:** Compromised ##red|•##
> ------
Researcher Ramani took a sip from her coffee. The cup was cold to the touch, the coffee having lost its taste. Yet she drank it. It was a nice feeling.
The control room was gigantic, filled to the brim with monitors and speakers, all buzzing in various tones, shapes and sizes, so variable in color, yet their meaning were always the same.
------
> //**[[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facilities-locations|SITE]]]-15 STATUS: COMPROMISED. REQUEST IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE--**//
> //This is a message from Site-19. If you are receiving this message, it means that Site-19 has been compromised. All remaining Foundation facilities are to--//
> //”-what can only be described as a ’[[[SCP-3004|mass of cicadas]]]’ is visible, covering the entire mountain range--”//
> //”... if anyone’s still listening, tell my wife and children that I love th--”//
------
It was the end of the world. But not just any end of the world. [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/competitive-eschatology-hub|It was all of them.]]] Competing against each other, fighting one another to unleash hell on all of existence, unfurl their eternal wrath, because some dipshit in the 1300s forgot to slaughter a lamb and drink its blood as an offering or whatever. Something along those lines. Who even cared anymore? It was the //ends of the world.// Nothing mattered anymore.
Her colleague, a Doctor [[[SCP-8138|Adam Krug]]], went up and down. His movements were erratic, his face desecrated by an abundance of restless hours, his clothes soaked in sweat and stains. There were bunch of documents from Site-67’s vaults laying all around him, he analyzed every message, every broadcast. He analyzed everything there was for a spark of hope, a dim light in the every-prevailing darkness. Today was yet another of his attempts to establish contact.
”Site-81?” he spoke into the microphone, spit coming out of his mouth. ”Site-81, can you receive me?”
Nothing. Not even a whisper, the faintest of noise, nothing. Everything had gone black.
”Fuck...” He held the microphone firmly. ”Fuck, fuck... FUCK!” In mere seconds, Adam threw the microphone against a monitor, shattering both it and the monitor. Not that Ramani cared much. She was getting bored at seeing the same static for weeks now anyway.
His breaths were deep. //Inhale. Exhale.// His hands were clenched tight, his thoughts running rampant, and the repetitious cycle of wandering up and down was finally broken; she hadn’t seen Adam so alive for weeks now.
He calmed down again. ”Okay, okay, okay...” He tried to assess the situation, like any good researcher would. Lay out the facts, then piece together the little details. ”We should try Site-15. They’re not too far from--”
”We already tried them. No answer.”
”Then get me Site-120--”
”No word from them either.”
”How about--”
”Nope--”
**”Then give me one we have not covered, for Christ’s sake!”** Adam yelled from the top of his lungs. His breaths were shallow, rapid. Ramani thought that Adam would die of a heart attack right there.
Eventually, he calmed down.
”Sorry, I...” he said, rubbing his face. ”Please,” he said calmly, //exhausted,// ”just give me a Site we haven’t contacted yet. What about Nineteen?”
”Was the first one to go when [[[SCP-616|the gate]]] opened.”
Adam stood there in silence, in disbelief, despair, a wide range of emotions, all packed up in a little box, screaming to be let out. He kept his calm, though. He walked up and down on the spot again.
As he devised for another plan, any alternative to their present situation, a glimmer of //hope//, Researcher Ramani stood up from her seat and moved toward the coat hanger mounted on the wall.
”Where are you going?” Adam asked, quite perplexed.
She put on her coat. ”I’m going home,” Ramani answered. ”Back home to my family.”
”What?!”
”You’ve heard me, Adam. It was nice knowing you.”
She pulled her credentials from her pocket. //Level 3 Researcher. Words, which once held so much meaning.// Doctor Krug stepped in her way.
”You can’t do this!”
”Adam, please get out of my way.”
She tried to walk around him, but no matter what, Adam always stood between her and the door.
”You swore an oath to the Foundation--!”
”Adam, please.”
”--that you would //protect// humanity from whatever might crop up! They said that, and you swore your life for the cause! Secure, contain, //protect//! Have you forgotten?!”
Suddenly, he grabbed her arm. His hand tightened around her forearm, his fingers digging deep through her labcoat’s sleeves and skin. He looked her straight into the eyes.
”Let go of my arm,” Ramani said, in a calm voice, yet filled with confidence, with a glimmer of fear.
He saw how she looked at him. He let go off her arm, yet still maintained eye contact.
”Look around you, Adam!” She gestured toward all the monitors, displaying the same messages, same broadcasts, same static for months now. ”What do you want to protect? The ashes of humanity?”
”I’ve done this my entire life! I’m not going to stop now.”
There was an ear-piercing silence.
”Maybe you should.”
”You’re selfish.”
”I am,” Ramani replied.
”You’re a **traitor**!”
She did not say anything in response. She did not say anything at all, when she walked past Adam, entered her credentials and stepped through the door. She didn’t even give him a final glance, as the security door slid shut again.
He was alone. Completely and utterly alone. There was no one left. No one left to fight for, no one left to protect, no one left to fight against the unimaginable horrors all at once.
He walked to his chair and sat down. He looked at the monitor in front of him, exhausted, but all he could see in it was static.
------
[[=image https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7e/Random_static.gif]]
------
[[<]]
**« [[[SCP-8138|Introduction]]]**
[[/<]]
[[=]]
**» [[[Just Fragments Hub|HUB]]] «**
[[/=]]
[[>]]
**[[[Or maybe it is...|Next]]] »**
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Name:** Random static.gif
> **Author:** Atomicdragon136
> **License:** CC0
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Random_static.gif Wikimedia Commons]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-06-16T11:17:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"competitive-eschatology",
"post-apocalyptic",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] |
Maybe The End Of The World Isn’t As Bad As It Sounds. - SCP Foundation
| 10
|
[
"canon-hub",
"competitive-eschatology-hub",
"just-fragments-hub",
"secure-facilities-locations",
"scp-3004",
"scp-8138",
"scp-616",
"or-maybe-it-is",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"scp-series-4-tales-edition",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"just-fragments-hub",
"competitive-eschatology-hub"
] |
[] |
1454066301
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/maybe-the-end-of-the-world-isnt-as-bad-as-it-sounds
|
|
medea-filicidium
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aoceanbound/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="preview">
<p>"We're going to skin Jason alive," Carissa said it so softly, and with such care as if this was love language coded specifically for Medea.</p>
<p>And it absolutely was. "I'll put together a plan."</p>
</div>
<div style="display: none;">
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><img alt="Medea.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/Medea.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>Carissa Decimus</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p>⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong> This article contains graphic depictions of violence, sexual references, allusions to sexual acts, references to emotional abuse/neglect.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<table style="margin:0; padding:0">
<tr>
<td style="margin:0; padding:0">
<div id="toc">
<div id="toc-action-bar"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.foldToc(event)">Fold</a><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.unfoldToc(event)" style="display: none">Unfold</a></div>
<div class="title">Table of Contents</div>
<div id="toc-list">
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc0">Prologue: As the Fire Spread</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc1">Chapter 1: I think I wrote my own pain</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc2">1.1 But I feel out of my mind all the time</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc3">1.2 But why don't we full on pretend?</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc4">1.3 What do you want me to say?</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc5">1.4 I couldn't sleep so I followed a feeling</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc6">1.5 I Wish I Could Fly that High</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc7">Chapter 2: A Serpent On a Bed of Leaves</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc8">2.1 You Got Me Now</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc9">Chapter 3: Distant Rhythm of the Drum</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc10">3.1 All That's Left Are Your Bones</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc11">3.2 Let Your Colors Bleed and Blend with Mine</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc12">3.3 We set Fire to our Homes</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc13">3.4 Out of Feathers, Out of Bones</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc14">3.5 A Crown with Gems and Gold</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc15">𒐃𒍤𒐆 𒀀𒋠 𒃀𒀀𒇠 𒋀𒀀 𒆠𒁠 𒃀𒀀𒇠 𒊀𒄀</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc16">3.7 The Midas Touch</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc17">3.8 It wraps me in its blinding twilight</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc18">3.9 Said goodbye to you my friend</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc19">𒐃𒍤𒐉𒐉 𒆠𒆭𒊠 𒆠𒁠 𒃀𒀀𒇠 𒁠𒊠𒆠𒀀𒇠𒇠𒀀</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em;"><a href="#toc20">Chapter 4: Your Bones</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc21">4.1 Between the Daylight and the Deep Sea</a></div>
<div style="margin-left: 2em;"><a href="#toc22">4.2 I See it All so Clear</a></div>
</div>
</div>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<h1 id="toc0"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 2rem">Prologue: As the Fire Spread</span></span></h1>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">3051 BCE, Corinth</span></p>
<p>The doors to the throne chamber flew open, glimmering robes billowing behind her. Three figures writhed behind the sorceress in the golden-plated hall, screaming as flesh charred and smoke billowed. Unquenchable flames ravaged their flesh, but the show was over for Medea of Colchis. Almost as soon as it had begun.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>Damn him. Damn him for everything.</em></span> There was no return now. The deed was done. The flames set in their flesh. A guard came running, sword drawn. A flick of her finger, a flash of purple light, and he was dead, head rolling across the ground as his corpse crumbled. She stepped over him, walking into the streets of Corinth. She was a nightmare, her lilac eyes lit against the dark of the night by the flames in the palace, the fading arcane symbols in her robes dimming as she strode down the stone paths.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>It was so easy. To soak the crown and the robes. The bride, the maiden he was betraying me for, scorning our love, exiling me. She was as cruel and heartless as he was, lusting after power. This was <strong>earned</strong>.</em></span> Her heart ached in her chest, from where she had torn it out. She'd become a monster. She'd set their children on fire. <span style="color:purple"><em>They were never anything to that monster but pawns, a legacy. I would not leave them to that fate, to forever be slaves to his will.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>Am I a monster for finding the slightest sickest pleasure, in watching this? Watching everything he built burn? Yes. Yes.</em></span> It tore her apart. She was a Kin slayer now, and not even for the first time.</p>
<p>The screams from the palace echoed all around her, crowds parting, staring at her ash-covered fingers as she swept through the streets.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>Who was it that came the night before. A shade? A half-shredded remnant of something that had been there when Titans fell at Troy, caught in the blast of their divine auras? Maybe it was even Hecate herself.</em></span></p>
<p>Guards tried to stop her, the spiked censer of her flail ripping them apart absently. Three strokes, three vicious deaths. The crowd screamed around her, panicked townsfolks trampling one another to get away.</p>
<p>"I will make thou an offer, mine dear," <span style="color:purple"><em>it said to me. And it was a lovely voice.</em></span> "Mine time is closing, but mine tasks on this coil are not yet finished. Take me onto thee, and I shall grant thee the power thou needs, the knowledge to find that which thou will soon seek."</p>
<p>She reached a hand into her robes, another flick of her fingers ending the dock guards. Corinth's navy was powerful. To ensure her escape, it had to be dealt with. Her fingers came free with dozens of glass vials, filled to the brim with that horrible poison. All she needed to do was light a few, and the rest would follow.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>Of course I agreed, I would have been mad not to. I lost all memory of last night and came alive as something more. Perhaps enough to live beyond this moment.</em></span> She looked down at her hands, purple light brimming beneath the pulsing skin.</p>
<p>Shouts were rising from the city behind her now. She replaced the flail on her belt and flicked her finger, with a smooth circular motion of her hand she spread the vials out and then dropped them. Within seconds the harbor was ablaze with the sole exception of one vessel. Her vessel. Her guarantee.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>I've been in a fog for two decades. But this. I always had this just in case.</em></span></p>
<p>It was like a dream. Her mind was not quite awake, as if some effect had yet to be fully shaken off. And that's how she found herself aboard the ship, preparing for departure, one eye kept on the chaos in the distance.</p>
<p>It's how she almost missed his arrival.</p>
<p>"Kinslaying Whore!" Jason bellowed at her from the dockside. He slammed into a protective glyph, a trap she'd set in the fog of the dream. "You've ruined everything! You've destroyed everything we ever worked for."</p>
<p>"No Jason, you did. You did when you spurned me for that <em>piece of meat,</em>" she hissed back, unfurling the sail. "I loved you for 20 years! Even when I spent every night questioning why, I still loved you! I killed my brother for you! I gave you children! I got you the fleece! Then you stab me in the back!"</p>
<p>"You're an ungrateful whore! I gave you <em>everything</em>. I gave you power, riches, luxury, and access to things you never would have had in Colchis. And you undo everything because you can't move on. Can't accept that for us to secure our legacy, I need to solidify power."</p>
<p>"You don't just move on when you love someone!" She whirled on him a glyph swirling against her palm, as she fired a beam intended to kill. It knocked him back, but he rose from the wood, wiping his mouth. <span style="color:purple"><em>He's wearing the fleece.</em></span></p>
<p>"So, this is what it's come to. Striking at your loving husband with a Witch's spells? Burning our children alive? Where will you go? Word will spread, to all of Greece about what you have done."</p>
<p>"I'll go to <em>her</em>. I'll find her. I should have gone after her, I never should have let you take me away. Why did I?" Medea grappled with a realization on the edge of her consciousness, something that had only just started to come into frame. Frayed and blurred memories piecing themselves together.</p>
<p>Jason stared at her for a long moment, and she stared back. And then he started to laugh. "Oh, oh that's rich Hera, you traitorous bitch! You've redirected its effects now!?" Jason laughed harder.</p>
<p>"Why are you laughing!?" Medea's voice rose in anger.</p>
<p>"She's dead," Jason said, widening his arms. "My goodness, the gods are cruel!"</p>
<p>Medea froze, the rope falling from her fingertips. "No."</p>
<p>"Yes," Jason said gleefully.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>He's lying to screw with your mind.</em></span> "Liar!" Medea roared in anger.</p>
<p>"You can deny it all the same, but let me walk you through the truth. Let me walk you through reality. The night she disappeared, the night you came to me upset, I tied her to a rock. I threw her overboard, to Scylla. And then do you know what I did?" Jason said, eyes wide and wild.</p>
<p>"No. No, no, no. You're lying!" She tried to cover her sylvan ears.</p>
<p>"I spiked every drink you had that night, with a love potion. And you believed, every single fucking lie out of my mouth about that scraggly man-woman. How she fell out of love with you, how she got hurt and sick and had to leave. Lies, all of them to cover up my coup d'état."</p>
<p>A hundred, thousand memories burst into vivid lucidity, lying there in bed awake struggling against a vice around her brain. <em>Screaming</em>, crying, and banging her hands against a mental barrier that would not yield. Free will and decision veiled in a fog of unnatural and forced love. For two fucking decades. <span style="color:purple"><em>I couldn't break it. Carissa is dead. Carissa is dead, and there's nothing I can do.</em></span></p>
<p>She fell to her knees. A thousand howling griefs ripped her open to a cruel and foul world, two loves ripped away horrifyingly within 24 hours of one another. Her heart shattered into a million turbulent pieces. Tears welled in her eyes. "How could you do this? How could you do this to me? Why would you do this to me?"</p>
<p>The boat rocked beneath Medea's feet, as it began to lift into the sky, a golden light embracing its outline.</p>
<p>"It was simple and easy. If I couldn't have you, no one could. You were my prize, mine to win," Jason said. "You were the key to power, and our legacy. And you threw it all away. Now you'll have no one. No one will ever love you again, and not even Hera's grace will save you. Run, run to Athens, run to those who still favor you. Let them see you for what you are!" He yelled after her. "Nowhere in Greece will be safe. You might as well kill yourself!"</p>
<p>He was right. She was alone. She was alone, and she was forever a monster.</p>
<hr/>
<h1 id="toc1"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 2rem">Chapter 1: I think I wrote my own pain</span></span></h1>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">3050 BCE, Arcadia. 1 year later.</span></p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>A year ago I snatched my freedom, with ash-covered fingers. I tore Jason's hand away from the yoke on my neck. I soaked it in Pyrrhos and let it and everything that was us burn. Then I left when the show was halfway through.</em></span></p>
<p>Her feet quietly crunched leaves as she moved through the Arcadian forest. It was a chilly, early spring, and the sun was starting to warm the trees and the forest floor. Stealth was not an objective. She would float if it had been. She was admittedly unsure what the objective even was. Songbirds cried softly in the morning air, as a swiftly moving sky full of fluffy white clouds whirled overhead.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>He enslaved me and then freed me with his own selfish betrayal. Where he got that potion, that impossibly powerful concoction was a mystery. Where did he get it?</em></span> She closed her eyes sucking in a breath. <span style="color:purple"><em>Two fucking decades. For two decades he trapped me and I still feel its effects a year later. I'll never be free.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>The snap was slow until he revealed the truth. At first, it felt like I'd received a shock to my system. Like something had shattered. And then I remembered. I remembered every fucking night, paralyzed, sweating, and grappling with the reality that I was not myself. That every ounce of my agency was stripped away by a man who wouldn't even <strong>look</strong> at me after sex.</em></span></p>
<p>A branch cracked beneath her feet. She was wandering aimlessly.</p>
<p>Something was shadowing her. Probably a boar, or something worse.</p>
<p>It could smell how feeble her body had become.</p>
<p>It would take her any moment now, and she'd turn upon it with her magic and it would meet its end and maybe, just maybe she'd meet her own.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>None of that matters anymore.</em></span></p>
<p>She hoped it would be quick. Painless so she could join Carissa, the only person who ever cared for her, in Elysium.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>I want to die. Please make it quick.</em></span></p>
<p>It was with a flicker that the thing shadowing her disappeared from her mind. She wasn't sure where it had gone… only that it was no longer in the brush to her right. <span style="color:purple"><em>It was too much to hope that it would end.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>That heartless godless monster forced me to love an illusion, a man who never existed, never loved me back for 20 soulless years, forced himself on me, and then stripped it all away. He took that, and the only person I've ever loved. He left me with nothing.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>He coveted me like a Minoan king coveted gold. Not because I was rich and beautiful but because I was <strong>powerful</strong> and would make him powerful. And the worst part is that he was lovely. He was, and is a very pretty man, and that made it harder to fight.</em></span></p>
<p>She let out a strangled noise.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>I shouldn't have believed anything he said, but he could do no wrong. I loved him already because he'd already gotten the potion into my veins.</em></span></p>
<p>She balled her fists feeling the hot sting of tears rising in her eyes.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>I could have killed him, I <strong>should</strong> have killed him, but that would have meant he had won. Why did I care so damn much about that? Why did I care that he was probably hoping for that? What's the point of being the bigger person if there's nothing left for me! If there is nothing left <strong>of</strong> me.</em></span></p>
<p>A rasping gasp of frustration poured from her lips, the potion's lingering aftereffects battering at her.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>He deserves to be alone, everything he ever loved and cared for burnt to the ground. Instead, he lived in a palace in Corinth while I fled to Athens with nothing but empty hollowness inside. <strong>Damn him!</strong></em></span></p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>Everything after has been worthless. Pointless, rote, and hollow acts, to build political goodwill, <strong>for what</strong>? What was there left to do that would bring meaning to my existence! Nothing left mattered in the slightest. None of it. None of it ever mattered. The gods sat on their thrones on Olympus and laughed at me. Even Hera who favored me in the end, did nothing to ease this hollow ache. They play with mortals until we fucking break.</em></span></p>
<p>Medea stopped in the forest, in a small clearing. She fell to her knees, coming to lucidity. An inhuman wail tore from her lungs and ripped through the forest, two decades of pain, of a suppressed broken heart, of a howling grief ripping her open for the whole forest to see.</p>
<p>"Why don't you just kill me already!" she screamed at the sky, tears rippling down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and wailed, "You've left me with nothing! You sit upon your thrones and you laugh at my suffering. There is nothing left for me Hades, you've taken everything. Have mercy Oizys, have mercy Thanatos, relieve me of these burdens!"</p>
<p>Her wail echoed amongst the trees. For a moment there was nothing. The birds were silent, even the trees had stilled as if her cries had moved their wooden hearts in sympathy. Through the darkness of her closed eyes, she could see it. A pillar of magic before her, balled and scrunched into the vaguely shaped form of a person. They were holding something equally as rich in power, and she could feel the very tip of a sharp and brimming thaumic projectile hovering less than an inch away from her hood. It would be so easy for this person to end it.</p>
<p>Something brushed past one ear and the hood fell away, as the light of the sun kissed her eyelids.</p>
<p>Breath came sharply from the stranger's direction. That thing, fuzzy and soft pressed against the bottom of Medea's chin, and forced her head up. Unable to keep her eyes closed at the fierceness of the sun's glare beating against them, the sorceress opened them.</p>
<p>Her lungs sucked in cool air, sharp and almost painfully. <span style="color:purple"><em>I must be dead. I must be dead.</em></span></p>
<p>Standing in the flesh before her was an impossibility. Positioned in a narrow stance, one leg in front of the other, one arm drawing the string of the most beautiful bow she'd ever seen, was <a href="/swallowed-by-a-prideful-lesbian-sea">Carissa Decimus</a>.</p>
<p>And she was <em>wrong.</em></p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc2"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">1.1 But I feel out of my mind all the time</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Past. Arcadia.</span></p>
<p>Her eyes were wild, yellow, and slit like a cat's. Dangerous. Indiscriminate and violent, filled with the fire of a life lived surviving by the skin of one's teeth. Ears, pert and twisting this way and that, fluffy and feline, emerged from the wilderness of her thick maroon curls. The thing that was tilting her head drew back, a long tail ending in a tuft of fur.</p>
<p>This was not the Carissa that Medea knew. Her natural magic was twisted and intertwined with strange brilliant fire, intermixed and consumed by something else. Someone else. Grief and despair suddenly burned with surprise, then hope, and then dismay at the cold, <em>cruel</em> distance of Carissa's eyes. The pit in Medea's chest churned as she fell back onto her ass, the thud breaking the piercing silence.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>She doesn't know me.</em></span> Her hand curled around the haft of her flail-censer. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. "Cariss—"</p>
<p>"Silence," Carissa said sharply, dismissively.</p>
<p>Carissa's ears suddenly both pivoted, and her eyes snapped away from Medea, as a squeal ripped through the air. A great boar the size of five men with tusks as big as a triereme mast thundered out of the brush, straight towards them.</p>
<p>Carissa shifted, dodging out of the way with a one-handed flip as Medea rolled backwards. The arrow ripped from her bow with an arcing screech of magic, it burrowed into the thing's skin like a meat knife, but the boar didn't stop, even with the column of blood spraying from a burst artery. It thundered past them, turned in an arc, and circled back towards them.</p>
<p>Caught in the shock of the moment, Medea felt frozen, but her body reacted even as Carissa drew another shaft. The censer came free from her robes, as a spell of directed energy flew to her fingers, the glyphs forming in the air.</p>
<p>"None of that!" Carissa hissed at her, one eye flicking her way. Medea paused, the boar saw its opportunity and lowered its head to gore them, gore <em>her</em> with a flick as it came in. The arrow flicked off of Carissa's bow. And then another. And then <em>another.</em> The beast squealed, as in the final moments of its charge, the arrows grew to the size of ballista bolts, and shore through flesh and bone, killing the thing instantly.</p>
<p>Carissa fired several more arrows, sinking deep into the boars flesh as it crashed into the ground, momentum carrying it forward and leaving a trail of violence behind it.</p>
<p>It slid to a stop before them, and then everything was quiet again. The arrows dissolved from its carcass, pure thaumic discharge whittling away into the wind.</p>
<p>Medea let out a breath of relief and then sucked it right back in as the tip of an enchanted blade gently pressed against her throat, Carissa on the other end of it. Medea swallowed, the tip of the blade pricking her skin and spilling a little rivulet of blood running down her neck.</p>
<p>"If you want to die so bad, there are better ways than getting gored to death," Carissa said, coldly.</p>
<p>Medea stood frozen, too shocked to respond. Her grasp on reality was flying to pieces, none of this could be happening. The gods mocked her, inflicting misery at every turn.</p>
<p>"No?" Carissa lowered the blade. "Thought not."</p>
<p>Carissa turned and moved over towards the boar and inspecting her kill briefly as Medea stood there, trying to gather the shattered remains of everything she thought she knew.<br/>
The huntress picked up the boar's legs and started to tie a rope around them.</p>
<p>"Wait," Medea said meekly, the flail going slack in her fingers. "How are you—"</p>
<p>"Alive? It takes a hell of a lot more to kill me than being thrown to Scylla," she said, as she pulled the rope taught between the legs. "I thought <em>you</em> of all people would be better than to fall for his shit. For whatever lies he vomited." She tightened the knot with a little too much force, cracking a bone somewhere in the beast. "And then you married him." Carissa's voice was harsh, scathing, and bitter with an undercurrent of a long numbed broken heart.</p>
<p>The ache of despair rose in her chest again. "Bu—"</p>
<p>"Save your excuses Medea," Carissa said. She stepped away and into a bush, pushing out a hidden makeshift cart. "You're 20 years and one Zeus transformation too late. Do me, and you both a favor and go back to your husband. There's nothing for you here."</p>
<p>In a feat of enormous strength, she lifted the boar with a fair bit of strain into the cart. The wood sagged slightly beneath its weight, groaning. She circled around and tied the rope to the wagon, securing the boar into place. Hopping into the driver's seat, she pressed two fingers into her mouth and whistled. A pair of stags strutted out of the forest and maneuvered themselves into the yoke.</p>
<p>"I can't," Medea said pitifully, staring at Carissa. "I can never go back."</p>
<p>Carissa turned in the seat of the cart to look at her. A long and tense silence rode between them. <span style="color:purple"><em>She hates me.</em></span></p>
<p>"What, did Jason grow tired of his toy? Now you come running to me. What do you think you're going to get out of this, a reunion? Love blossoming again?" Carissa snapped at her.</p>
<p>Medea recoiled, taking a step back, sinking in her skin. <span style="color:purple"><em>Death would be better than this.</em></span> Tears rose in her eyes, and she looked away. "I've got nothing else and nowhere to go." Was all she could manage in a broken voice. <span style="color:purple"><em>What do I even say?</em></span></p>
<p>Carissa glared at her for a long moment.</p>
<p>Finally she sighed and looked away. Medea thought she would ride off now but she didn't. She sat there, Medea couldn't see her face, but she could see the muscles in her back and neck tensing, conflicted.</p>
<p>Then she looked up at the sky contemplating. "Get in the cart. You pull any shit, and you'll go the way this Caledonian boar did."</p>
<p>"Okay," Medea said quietly. She picked up her flail-censer and walked over and got in the cart.</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc3"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">1.2 But why don't we full on pretend?</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Past. Arcadia</span></p>
<p>A tense quiet settled over them as they rode through the forest. <span style="color:purple"><em>She's alive and she hates me. I don't know what's worse anymore, the fact that I'm not dead, or the fact that she might never forgive me.</em></span> Medea sniffled, trying to pull herself together and failing tremendously. <span style="color:purple"><em>I'm wallowing in my own self loathing.</em></span> She couldn't even be vulnerable with the one and the only person she had ever felt comfortable being vulnerable with.</p>
<p>She kept wiping her eyes, trying not to burst into sobs. In those circumstances, it was no surprise that she missed Carissa watching her out of her peripherals. The catgirl sighed.</p>
<p>A piece of cloth hit Medea in the face, her hands coming up to pull it off as Carissa looked back front. Medea's lips twitched as the huntress spoke. "If you're going to blubber, do it into that. There's no point ruining your robes further," she said, clearly trying to maintain that distance, and yet—</p>
<p>Medea let the tears flow as she pressed her face into the cloth, letting all the despair out. It was a horrible demeaning noise, but somehow, somehow it felt easier now. Easier to feel. Easier to silently gasp and shudder.</p>
<p>Her stomach pitted down hollowly, as she realized that might not last. If Carissa told her to leave, it would go away again, she'd be hollow. <span style="color:purple"><em>I can't bear that again. I can't. I have to do something. I have to tell her. But would she even believe me?</em></span></p>
<p>The stags and cart pulled them up to a small stone building with a garden in the front, built over the entrance of a cave. <span style="color:purple"><em>I have to try. But Where do I start? How do I explain? How do I get her to trust me. She'll understand if I just get it out there right?</em></span></p>
<p>Carissa started the process of unstrapping the boar as Medea climbed out of the cart, looking around. Carissa had backed the wagon so that it was just short of the platform, and once she'd unstrapped it, she kicked it repeatedly. Every kick caused the wood to groan, and the creature to slide further until the cart upended, spilling the carcass onto the grooved stones.</p>
<p>Medea opened her mouth to speak "I—"</p>
<p>"Hand me that," Carissa said gesturing to a bucket on the cart, as she levered the rope over the deep-set wooden poles, using it as a pulley. She tied the rope to the end of a deeply embedded stone post once she'd hauled it up high enough.</p>
<p>Medea glanced at it and then handed it to her, her lips twitching down at the interruption, fingers flexing as she tried again.</p>
<p>"It was—"</p>
<p>"Shears from the cart." Carissa interrupted her again.</p>
<p>Medea obliged, growing frustrated. <span style="color:purple"><em>Carissa please let me fix this. PLEASE.</em></span> "Carissa I—"</p>
<p>"I'm trying to work here Medea," Carissa said sharply, and shortly as she stepped up to the boar to start the process of draining its blood.</p>
<p>Medea snapped. Undirected grief burning into anger. <span style="color:purple"><em>No! I will not be left with no agency again. I will not be ignored.</em></span> "STOP AND LISTEN TO ME."</p>
<p>A few birds nearby flew out of the tree, flapping off and away. Carissa let out a small yelp as she cut her hand with the skinning knife, wincing. Blood trickled from her palm on the stone. She dropped the tool, and it clanged against the stone.</p>
<p>"Shit, I'm sorry let me—" <span style="color:purple"><em>WHY. Why do I ruin every chance.</em></span></p>
<p>"No," Carissa said. Her ears pressed flat to her head, pinned against her hair. Her lips were drawn back, teeth showing. She held the wounded hand with the other. "You've done enough."</p>
<p>Medea watched amazed as the wound healed rapidly and on its own. "I—"</p>
<p>"You just don't get it do you Medea? You hurt me back then, you broke me. And you've hurt me every day since then, even when I wasn't myself. Just the thought of you being with that bastard. And now you just waltz back into my life, <em>right</em> as I was finally getting past you." Her tail-fur fluffed out, the appendage whipping with the animated movements of her arms as she spoke, legs carrying a couple of angry steps forward.</p>
<p>Medea took a step back, cowed by Carissa's aggressive motions. The words struggled in the sorceress's throat, as she tried to push them out. <span style="color:purple"><em>Please give me this chance! I need to explain, I need to! Just let me explain!</em></span> "No I—"</p>
<p>"Who the hell do you think you are? Did you think you could just walk back in and pick up right where we left off? I was there, I saw you all chummy and kissing him."</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>How do I make her listen!? I could but that's — she'll either kill me or hate me more or listen. I don't know!</em></span> Desperately Medea took a step forward, gathering a fire of determination. "Carissa plea—"</p>
<p>"No! I saw you holding his children. The man who tried to mur—"</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>FUCK IT.</em></span> Medea stepped in and grabbed Carissa's face. It wasn't a hard motion, but it was desperate and her fingers slipped into holding Carissa's skin in a way only a lover would, fingers aligned along the cheeks and jawbone, carefully cupping the undersides of her chin.</p>
<p>There was an uncertain moment where Carissa's eyes widened with shock and surprise. With confusion. Medea stared deep into them, seeing the woman she loved filling out the light behind them. Color rose to the huntress's cheeks. <span style="color:purple"><em>Embarassment? Shame? Anger? Intimacy, tell me what you feel at this moment.</em></span></p>
<p>Medea pushed in and shoved their lips together, the soaring lights of fire bursting behind her eyelids as she closed her eyes. A thousand glyphs of multicolored lights burned between their lips in the light of the cool spring air. There was a genuine moment where Medea didn't know how Carissa would react. Whether Carissa might run her through with the sword, or rend her neck with the claws that were her fingernails.</p>
<p>If she died with a kiss, if she died to the woman she loved in a moment of heat and passion, she wouldn't complain. She'd hurt Carissa, she'd hurt her so much. Her own struggles, the pains and turmoil draining away in the face of the suffering of the only person left she gave a damn about. She'd rather die than see her continue to hurt.</p>
<p>It lasted forever, an eternity of contact, their nerves intertwining in a lost and familiar yet different flame. Medea was not about to break the kiss herself. Carissa, finally did, hands rising rapidly, and pushing Medea back and away. It wasn't a violent act, but it was angry.</p>
<p>"Fuck off!" Carissa said, lips pulled back, eyes narrowed but watering, and ears pinned to her head. "You can't just walk in here and do that! After everything! What's fucking wrong with you!?" She shoved Medea again, this time non-gently, Medea stumbled back and fell onto the wagon, scrambling to sit back up. Her shoulders ached from the impact of the huntress' palms. Carissa was strong, and if she wanted to she could have flung Medea through the wagon.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," Medea said. "I'm so gods damn sorry Carissa. I've loved you every single day since you left."</p>
<p>"You don't get to say that! You didn't come for me! You fucking married him! Him instead of me! How could you do that?" Carissa's motions were animated as she moved her arms, tears running down her cheeks. "He only wanted power, he didn't give two shits about you! Damn it I was getting over you!" Carissa's voice rose angrily as she sniffled, and gripped her head, nail like claws pulling on her hair.</p>
<p>"I'm so sorry," Medea said tearing up.</p>
<p>"Sorry doesn't heal my fucking broken heart!" She said pulling on her hair, as she turned away.</p>
<p>A few seconds, of silence passed between them as they sniffled, standing apart. Medea watched her as she snuffled, and wiped her eyes. Carissa refused to look at her.</p>
<p>Carissa said, more quietly now, sniveling. "Why didn't you come for me when I needed you?"</p>
<p>"I would have," Medea replied, burying her face in her own hands. "I should have."</p>
<p>"But why didn't you?" Carissa said, voice breaking. "Why did you abandon me like everyone else? I thought you were different! I thought it was real. I thought you loved me."</p>
<p>"He spiked my drinks with a love potion Carissa!"</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc4"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">1.3 What do you want me to say?</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Past. Arcadia.</span></p>
<p>They sat on the bench in Carissa's cottage. Next to each other, but with separation and space between. Their hands are micrometers away from each other. In spite of the enclosed shelter, the ground was dirt, spring flowers peeking through in the shafts of light that streamed in through the window. Tools for skinning, prepping, and cooking meat and plants were arranged above a carefully constructed brick stove, with counters of wood and rock built into the stone walls. A small table, the bench they sat on, a bed, and a place to hang and store clothes made out the rest of the building.</p>
<p>The kiss had been electric, a cataclysm of emotion, a river of color and magic unto itself. It was everything Medea had dreamed aboard the Argo, aboard the ship of the Finned ones. Twice she'd leaped into Carissa's sensation, and been met with nerve-fraying fire, and the third time was no different.</p>
<p>But time had passed, 20 years. They weren't the same people anymore. There was tension between them. They were damaged. Medea was damaged, and she could only barely grasp the extent of what Carissa had been subject to in the past twenty years.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>Where do we even start now. The beginning? Do we try to pick up where we left off? <strong>Can we even pick up again?</strong></em></span> But she said nothing.</p>
<p>Neither of them said anything. They sat staring at the table, and their legs. Medea watched Carissa out of the corner of her eyes. <span style="color:purple"><em>She's just as pretty as she used to be. Maybe— no definitely prettier.</em></span> Her ears were half limp, drooping, and almost folded in on themselves.</p>
<p>Seconds trickled by into minutes.</p>
<p>Finally, Carissa smashed the silence with her trademark bluntness. "A love potion?" she asked softly, her voice had no incredulity or doubt tinging it.</p>
<p>The way everything had dropped out on the bloodletting stone, was exactly what Medea was trying to get her to do. It was as if a puzzle piece had clicked into place and recontextualized everything Carissa thought she knew. Just the same as when Medea had seen Carissa again. Everything made sense in the sickest way.</p>
<p>"A powerful one," Medea replied, looking at Carissa. Carissa met Medea's gaze, and she couldn't help but feel the flame rise within her breast. Her heart beat a little faster.</p>
<p>Carissa looked away and back down at the table, and Medea felt a twinging ache overtake the flame. "I do not know where he got it."</p>
<p>"Zeus or one of his lackeys probably," Carissa said bitterly.</p>
<p>"Maybe. I do not know that I will ever know." She curled and uncurled the fingers of the hand next to Carissa's.</p>
<p>"How did you… how did it break? The effect?" Carissa looked back at her again, and their eyes met once more.</p>
<p>"I did not," Medea said simply. "Jason did."</p>
<p>"Huh?" Carissa tilted her head and didn't break eye contact, one ear rising to be fully pert, the other remaining half limp.</p>
<p>Medea bit her lip. <span style="color:purple"><em>That's unbelievably cute.</em></span> "He decided… that I was not good enough. That to solidify power and authority in Corinth he would need to marry the King's daughter." She gestured with one hand. The topic stabbed an icy numbness into her chest that she pushed down, swallowing.</p>
<p>"So what, he broke your marriage bonds and you were free?" Carissa said looking away again, her voice tinged with anger and something more subtle, as her ears both pinned down to her head again.</p>
<p>"No," Medea said, looking down at the table, "He said I could go into exile, and that we would still be married, and that he would keep our children." She gripped the table with her other hand, squeezing the ancient wood with the palm of her hand. "Bastard both wanted me for himself and did not want anyone else to have me. The betrayal — revelation that he had never really loved me broke the effect."</p>
<p>Carissa's eyes were back on her now, she could feel them, but the deep shame she felt kept her from meeting them.</p>
<p>"But the effect was not, and still is not completely broken." Medea felt her voice crackle threatening to break. "Something came to me that night. Something old and powerful, might have been Hecate herself. It offered me her power, to seek what I would come to seek, as its time was fading."</p>
<p>She saw Carissa close her eyes out of her periphery. "Gods I'm an asshole," she said, and Medea felt Carissa's rough and strong hand shift and touch hers, coming to a gentle rest atop it.</p>
<p>Medea looked at her. "No, you had every rig— "</p>
<p>"Oh please, don't make excuses for me Medea," Carissa said meeting Medea's gaze. The catgirl's lips pursed and her eyes were intense. For a moment, a tiny moment, Medea lost herself in the depths of their fire. "I lost sight of who you were and abandoned you to that fate when I should have rescued you. Then I point a bow and sword at your head, shove you hard enough to crack bones. I'm a fucking dick, and I know it. If half of our peers hadn't been hubris-filled assholes, neither of us would have ended up like this."</p>
<p>Taken aback, Medea blinked. "You can't take that onto yourself, you didn't know. And it's not like I could reach out, I thought you had left, because you couldn't handle things."</p>
<p>"You what?" Carissa's ears sprung up to full height. "Oh, that yellow-bellied cowardly girlfriend stealing half-wit <em>fuckhead.</em>"</p>
<p>"He told me, after I set his children and bride-to-be on fire, what he actually did. Before then I did not know," Medea said, a darkness rising in her voice.</p>
<p>"Hold on, back up. <em>You what!?</em>" Carissa shook her head, focusing back on Medea.</p>
<p>Medea sighed. "Let me tell you everything."</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc5"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">1.4 I couldn't sleep so I followed a feeling</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Present, 2014 C.E. Christchurch, New Zealand.</span></p>
<p>Medea sits up in bed, her breath comes ragged and fast. Drops of sweat fall soaking into the mattress as she swings her legs over and sits on the edge, pressing the palms of her hands to her head. The light of a full and scathing moon dances through the window of their bedroom, her vision blurring and tilting as if she is trapped in a dreamlike twisting of perception. His face hovers just within the shadows, staring at her.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>It's not real anymore. It's just lingering. It's not real. It's not real.</em></span> Her shallow breaths weren't stabilizing. <span style="color:purple"><em>Water. I need water.</em></span></p>
<p>She tosses aside the sheets and rises, walking quickly and quietly. All she can see is his cursed face. The lump of sheets behind her shifts, as Carissa stirs. She doesn't notice, so consumed with the burning despair building in her chest. <span style="color:purple"><em>WHY DO I STILL SEE HIM!?</em></span> She moves past his face, trying to bury it. But it follows her, mockingly. Beautifully glowing with a demonic aura in the darkness.</p>
<p>Her feet carry her into the kitchen, stepping almost habitually over the form of a fluffy Maine Coon. Her hands fumble with the cabinet, illuminated by the moonlight and the electronic glow of the oven clock. She stands on her toes like a child reaching for something high up and grabs a cup, shoving it under the tap she turns it on and the trickle of water fills her cup. He's just outside the window now, peering in at her. Her fingers tighten as the flash of the drink, spiked with the potion—</p>
<p>She puts a hand to her head, breathing hard and fast. She can't banish it, can't stop thinking about it, about him. <span style="color:purple"><em>Stop. STOP.</em></span> The cup slips from between her fingers and clatters to the floor, liquid splashing on her feet.</p>
<p>Trickles of warmth run down her cheeks and she shakily raises the free hand and wipes. A sharp pain runs through her temples into her eyes. A sharp inhale, blood? She blinks, and it's gone. Just tears. She sets the glass down on the counter and grips the marble tightly as her vision swims with the incompletely broken cognitive vice. She quietly lets a shuddering exhale slip from her lips and all effort to resist falls away as the quiet sobs come.</p>
<p>"Hey." Comes the soft intonation of her lover, that voice that is her lifeline.</p>
<p>The sob slips through her lips and fingers, as she looks over to the doorframe of their frankly very nice kitchen. His face follows through her vision only to shatter against the doorway's occupant.</p>
<p>Carissa leans against the doorframe, giving Medea space that she might need, watching her. "Do you need me?" The huntress asks with such gentleness and intent.</p>
<p>Medea gasps in air and turns to her. No words were needed, the universal grabby hands communicate everything, and if they hadn't, Medea would have crumpled there. Carissa doesn't walk the distance, she teleports and sweeps Medea into her arms. Her grip is strong and tight.</p>
<p>Medea breaks into full sobs, shuddering against Carissa who squeezes her tight.</p>
<p>"I can-"</p>
<p>"I know," Carissa says softly. "He can't touch you anymore."</p>
<p>"No matter how hard I fight. He never leaves." She gasps in air desperately.</p>
<p>"He's dead my love, we gave him the Midas touch. I will never leave you again," Carissa coos softly.</p>
<p>"You keep me still when all I feel is this endless direction," Medea says between the gasps and the tears.</p>
<p>"You're being a little sappy with the poetry," Carissa teases. "One day we'll figure out how to fully break it, love. I promise you."</p>
<p>Medea sniffles into Carissa's chest. "It's not poetry. It's of Monsters and Men."</p>
<p>"Well, their lyrics are good." Carissa runs her fingers through Medea's hair. "No matter what, I will be here. I will always come back."</p>
<p>"I love you, Carissa. More than I ever loved anyone."</p>
<p>"I know," Carissa says, her voice a soft contra-alto, soothing against Medea's sylvan ears. "I love you more than I will ever be able to show. It eats at me to see you still shackled to him and I will go to the ends of the earth to free you."</p>
<p>Medea buries her face in Carissa's chest again.</p>
<p>"Come back to bed," Carissa says softly. "I will hold you until I melt his face with my hands again."</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc6"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">1.5 I Wish I Could Fly that High</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Past. Arcadia.</span></p>
<p>They lay together in the bed, that ancient thing Carissa had carved out of wood and cushioned with feathered mattresses. Jason's betrayal, and Carissa's supposed death meant that Medea and Carissa had never explored each other in the most intimate ways. There hadn't been time, the war in Troy and then the Argos. And yet, she'd fallen so quickly. The night that Medea had intended to take her, to steal the huntresses' heart and soul for good, Carissa had simply vanished.</p>
<p>They stared at the ceiling, breaths heavy and recovering. Medea felt feverish, her skin a bastion of fading heat. There had been a fire like Medea had never felt before. She was certain now, that that was what it was <em>supposed</em> to feel like. With Jason, she'd always felt like something was wrong. Like she hadn't done enough. Every motion had been rote, hollow, sometimes even painful. He was cold, and never affectionate after.</p>
<p>She was afraid that the fire would fade into coldness now.</p>
<p>And then Carissa rolled over, pressing their bodies together, and wrapped her arms around Medea's waist. Every brush of skin a titillation of starlight kissing her nerves. The huntress' lips pressed into the supple flesh of Medea's cheek, affectionate, slow, and warm. The sorceress turned her head to meet Carissa's eyes, and then the catgirl's lips, pressing into a long slow kiss that burned a warm affectionate inferno into her chest. Her heartbeat sped up again and she felt fluid trickling down her cheeks.</p>
<p>The sorceress pulled back and brushed a hand across her face sniffling.</p>
<p>"Sorry, did I hurt you?" Carissa asked her eyes crinkling with worry, her voice soft and affectionate, as she squeezed Medea's hips gently.</p>
<p>"No, no you are fine Carissa. You are fine." Medea sniffled. "I am just, happy. Happy I did not do anything wrong." She sniffled again.</p>
<p>Carissa looked at her with warmth, the little curling down of her mouth indicating her confusion through the veil of intense adoration she was showering upon Medea with her eyes. "What do you mean? Of course, you didn't do anything wrong. I don't think you ever could have done anything wrong here."</p>
<p>"I always did something wrong with Jason." She said with another sniffle. "He never cuddled me or kissed me after."</p>
<p>Carissa tightened her grip on Medea pulling her in close and pressing the Sorceress into the crook of her neck. The catgirl gave Medea affection and safety in the embrace of her hold. The enchantress could not see it, but Carissa's eyes blazed with pure hateful fire. "It's ok. It's ok, you are good, you did very good, so very good." Carissa reassures her.</p>
<p>She held Medea there, as the sorceress shuddered and quietly let out years of neglect into the soft crook of the catgirl's neck.</p>
<p>Carissa pulled back slightly, and wiped Medea's face with a hand, carefully angling her claw-like nails. She then pressed her lips to Medea's and held them there, letting the fire burn between their nerves.</p>
<p>Eventually, they parted again, and Carissa rested her forehead against Medea's, noses brushing gently in an unspoken gesture of affection.</p>
<p>Medea had been so wrong. They were very different people now. So much about them had changed. But the fire that burned between them? It had never gone out. Though things were strange… though they'd been apart so long and did not know each other quite as well anymore, they would come to know each other again.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>I love her.</em></span> Medea's chest ached with the thought. Ached with the weight of a thousand heavy and burning suns, an unquenchable flame that had never risen for Jason.</p>
<p>She wanted this moment to last forever. She never wanted to let go again.</p>
<p>"Medea?" Carissa asked, their bodies pressed against one another.</p>
<p>"Yes, Carissa?" she replied dreamily.</p>
<p>"We're going to drag Jason from his fucking palace and skin him alive," Carissa said it so softly, and with such care as if this was love language coded specifically for Medea.</p>
<p>And it absolutely was. "I'll put together a plan."</p>
<hr/>
<h1 id="toc7"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">Chapter 2: A Serpent On a Bed of Leaves</span></span></h1>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Present. Site-212A, Scotland.</span></p>
<p>Carissa and Medea sit in the interrogation room, the question lingering in the air.</p>
<p>"When did you become aware of Hecate and <a href="/cat-got-your-tongue">Artemis'</a> fusion with your souls?"</p>
<p>It buzzes around Medea's head like a gnat. The one piece of information only one other person knew about. The love of her life, and the only other person she knew whose soul was intertwined with something else. <span style="color:purple"><em>Where did they learn that. Moose? We never told Moose.</em></span> "Who told you that?"</p>
<p>"Moose did," Sherry answers, tapping her pen on the table. "They weren't able to answer much else about the Hand or its personnel, but they immediately disclosed that to us during negotiations."</p>
<p>Medea glances at Carissa, who meets her gaze. The silent and wordless communication relaying, once more, a sense of odd betrayal.</p>
<p>"Putting aside the fact that neither of us told Moose—" Medea says.</p>
<p>"Fusion, is probably not the best description," Carissa finishes.</p>
<p>Sherry raises an eyebrow. "Is this a case where you're obfuscating over semantics or…? As much as I would like to help you, I need honest and detailed answers."</p>
<p>"Chill with the threats, we came under our own willpower." Carissa's ears pin to her head in displeasure at the veiled threat.</p>
<p>"Not at all," Medea says, gesturing, after giving Carissa a look. "Fusion implies some sort of greater ratio of merging. The kind of entwinement that would result in distribution of personality and memories, that might overwrite the host soul in the body, in some ways," Medea explains.</p>
<p>Sherry looks at Carissa's ears. "Right. So, you wouldn't consider that to be the condition affecting you?"</p>
<p>"No. We're by and large ourselves with some, how would you describe it, Medea?"</p>
<p>"Quirks," Medea says matter of factly.</p>
<p>"Quirks?" Sherry Andrews, O5-01-03, tilts her head slightly to one side, intrigued by the thought.</p>
<p>"Quirks," Carissa confirms, as she leans back.</p>
<p>"Like your —" She starts to gesture at Carissa's ears.</p>
<p>"No, that's unrelated," Carissa says sharply, her ears pressing back to her head again. Medea put a steadying hand on Carissa's knee to calm her.</p>
<p>"It's more like natural extensions of our power. Anomalies, you'd call them," Medea explains, gesturing with her hand open palm up. A little ball of light appears atop a floating glyph.</p>
<p>"Right, I was always able to do short spatial hops," Carissa says. "But now I can teleport anywhere and just about anything."</p>
<p>"Oh intriguing," Sherry says brightening as she writes in her notebook without looking away from the two. "So if not full fusion… what would you describe it as?"</p>
<p>"Well," Medea says. "It was more like we simply ate them."</p>
<p>Sherry pauses in her writing, both eyebrows shooting up. "Let me make sure I heard you right. You ate, their souls?"</p>
<p>"Well it sounds weird when you say it like that," Carissa says leaning back in her chair. "But that's what we think happened."</p>
<p>Sherry blinks. "Wait, you mean you're not sure?" She scratches something out in the notebook. "How can you not be certain about something so intimate?"</p>
<p>"Neither of us actually remember the act," Medea says. <span style="color:purple"><em>Did she expect us to provide a detailed ritual? Even if we did know, there is certainly no way we would ever do such a thing.</em></span></p>
<p>"Weren't you conscious during it?" Sherry's voice tinges with disbelief.</p>
<p>"I was conscious before it, then I woke up and was different." Medea shifts in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "What happened in between, I have not the faintest idea. I have theories, that the act of what I did literally unmade and remade me, and something similar probably happened to Carissa, but as far as the detailed pieces… no. We do not remember."</p>
<p>Sherry sits back in her chair and blows a raspberry with her lips. "Well, that's disappointing. Moose seemed certain you knew the details."</p>
<p>"Moose is a trickster," Carissa says emphatically. "A magician, a snake in the grass."</p>
<p>"Carissa, please." Medea touches her knee gently. "Moose, had no detail about this aspect of us because we never told them. Perhaps they derived the information from how the Library interacted with us and forbid us from the archives."</p>
<p>Sherry nods absently. "Well, I can't say I'm not disappointed." She runs a hand through her head. "Oh well, it doesn't change much."</p>
<p>"So are we, like, good?" Carissa asks suspiciously. "Out of the woods?"</p>
<p>"Right, about that." Sherry flips open a folder. "There's some factionalism at play, so while you're fine on the amnesty front, if you both want to avoid ending up in a cell, you'll have to do something for us."</p>
<p>Carissa starts to open her mouth, ears pinning back when Medea gently squeezes her knee and gives her a glance. <span style="color:purple"><em>I'll handle it.</em></span></p>
<p>"This, is a modification of what we were offered, that is my understanding, yes?" Medea asks pointedly, allowing displeasure to seep into her tone.</p>
<p>"Yes. Wasn't my call, but it is in fact a modification," Sherry says scratching the top of her head but meeting their gazes.</p>
<p>"What do you mean wasn't your call, aren't you an O5?" Carissa fires back, incense clear in the way her mouth curls.</p>
<p>"I was outvoted. The council is the end-all-be-all for ultimate decisions like this. You wouldn't understand this, but my spouse and I had to burn a great deal of political goodwill, and favor just to get a passing vote on even giving you amnesty, and the initial vote for your reemployment was rejected."</p>
<p>"Then why are we even here," Medea asks her mouth curling down into an irritated frown. "If you were unsuccessful. Why lie to us."</p>
<p>"I said the initial vote," Sherry corrects her, lips pursing in annoyance. "The second vote passed, under the condition that Medea, is sent to the Library, to retrieve certain materials from the Library proper and the Archives. Partially because we're aware that Medea is suffering from a certain Thaumic contamination."</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>MOOSE.</em></span> It is Medea's turn to seethe, as Carissa gently puts a hand on the Sorceress's Knee.</p>
<p>"Just Medea?" Carissa asks, the concern plain in her voice. "You realize that's madness right? The Library will just eject her. Or worse."</p>
<p>"Not at all. We've not yet put Medea into our systems, so as far as the Library knows, she is still an independent party," Sherry says simply as if this solves everything. "And it won't just be Medea."</p>
<p>"That is not how that works." Medea finally finds the words to rejoin the conversation. "They will know, nearly immediately, when I step in. I can delay it with some deep illusions, but the Library will see through it very quickly. Even if it did not, I cannot access the archives. I have been locked out since I first stepped foot inside the Library."</p>
<p>"Noted. It still shouldn't be an issue with your accompaniment." Medea and Carissa exchange a glance.</p>
<p>"Who… or what are you sending with us that you're so confident they can overcome the Library," Medea asks.</p>
<p>Sherry turns in her chair to look at the obviously one-way mirror. "Abigail, would you please come in now."</p>
<p>Medea and Carissa exchange another glance.</p>
<p>Every single hair on the back of Medea's neck stands straight up as the door opens.</p>
<p>A woman steps into the room. She lifts a pair of sunglasses from in front of her eyes and props them up on the top of her head. Her skin is deeply olive-toned; her prominent nose and dark brown hair with deep chocolate-colored eyes frame the face. Her jaw and cheeks are all sharp angles, sculpted. She is a bomb, and not just because she's inexplicably gorgeous. She's a thaumokinetic bomb moving around in a skin suit. Medea has tasted this before, and right now tasting it again makes every fiber of her being scream to get up and run.</p>
<p>This creature's eyes were on Sherry, but they drag across the room to Carissa lingering for a moment with a strange meticulous glint. Mischief? No, she knew that hungry look. Her hackles went higher. Then the eyes trace to her. They are no longer that deep chocolate, but have washed into an ashey grey-blue. She is wearing ironed, dark jeans, a formal cardigan, and chunky sneakers of a dark color.</p>
<p>"Carissa, Medea, this is Abigail Im-Immaru. She's a former member of ORIA."</p>
<p>A moment of silence falls over them, as Medea tightens her hand on Carissa's knee.</p>
<p>"You really must take us to be fools." A hiss leaves Medea's lips, a hand already reaching inside her robes for her flail, ready to act if needed. She knew this was a trap. <span style="color:purple"><em>How did we get tricked so easily.</em></span></p>
<p>Holding perfectly still, Carissa isn't moving a muscle, and that means she can feel it too.</p>
<p>Sherry appears completely calm and is about to open her mouth to say something when Abigail holds up a hand.</p>
<p>This <em>creature</em> let out a manic little chuckle. Her voice, mezzo-soprano in pitch, dances against Medea's ears, charming and suave in it's intonations. It makes her skin crawl. "It's fine Sherry, they can feel me."</p>
<p>"Of course, we can feel you, dickhead." Indignation is what finally snaps Carissa out of her terrified stupor. "Everyone with even half of a developed magic sense could have felt, a Beast of Nature step into the room with them."</p>
<p>Abigail's lips curl up and her eyes narrow into a squint of glee. "Oh, a Beast of Nature? Is that really where I have risen to? I guess you go so long without any real competition and that'll happen." She snickers. "I'll have to tell Emily."</p>
<p>Sherry waits patiently, unbothered by the flying hostility coming from both directions. "I don't see what the big problem is here."</p>
<p>"Don't you know anything about divinity classifications!" Medea scowls at Sherry. <span style="color:purple"><em>This is really bad.</em></span> "You let a <em>Beast</em>, <em>a Beast of all things</em>, waltz around without any countermeasures? Not that even those would have helped you if she," Medea pauses with a flash of realization crinkling across her lips and face. "Say, you are not particularly hostile."</p>
<p>The look of insult on her face could kill. "Oh, that really stings. I'm civilized, unlike the cat over here." She gestures with her thumb.</p>
<p>"Fuck off!" a snarl rips from Carissa's lips. Medea puts a hand on her shoulder as Carissa stands confrontationally.</p>
<p>"Ooooh, touchy. This is already far more informative, and entertaining, than my visit with Ashur. Aleah is going to love to hear about this."</p>
<p>"Who are you?" Medea shoves that hot mix of terror, anger, and odd attraction down into her chest.</p>
<p>"Aleah?" Carissa leans forward, something familiar rising in the back of her mind.</p>
<p>"Me? Well, I'm your ticket into the Archives. Well, me and my siblings." She gives a performative and dickish bow. "Abigail Im-Immaru, at your service."</p>
<p>"Like I said," Sherry interjects. "We called in a lot of favors to make this happen. And believe it or not, this was Moose's suggestion from the get-go. They seemed confident in the outcomes, with these resources."</p>
<p>Medea stares at Sherry for a long moment.</p>
<p>Carissa snarls. Tail fluffed out, ears pinned back, and teeth bared. "Enough games, who are you? Name your title, your truth."</p>
<p>"Oh the lack of subtlety dear, I see why they called you the attack dog of the Hand." Abigail snickers. "Your sorceress would know me as <span class="text-blur">Inanna</span>."</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc8"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">2.1 You Got Me Now</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Present. Christchurch, New Zealand.</span></p>
<p>"So, what do you think?" she asks, watching her partner carefully. Reading Carissa was an art form, not a science. The tail, the ears, the face; all of them had to be watched. Miss a sign, you'd misread her.</p>
<p>Carissa finishes tapping the plant matter into the pipe and holds it out to Medea, who draws a small charm in the air with one finger. A little puff of flame leaps from the arcane symbol that forms into the pipe.</p>
<p>"I think, it's a deathtrap." The huntress took a draw from the pipe and blew out white smoke in an O shape. "I don't particularly care who they're planning to send with you, going <em>there</em>, like that? Suicide mission." She took another drag, the smoke rising from her lips, ringing the crown of her head as if she is a towering mountain. "Only one thing we can conclude from this, We're a drain on their resources, a liability. And this is how they get rid of us."</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>She could be right. It would make sense for an organization like this, to want to lock up or be rid of, people like us. But that doesn't explain Moose's condition or why they acquiesced to their negotiation.</em></span></p>
<p>"Perhaps. Perhaps, we were simply a condition to acquire Moose, and now they wish to cause an accident, be rid of us no?" She says contemplating and rolling her tongue around in her mouth, knocking loose a piece of meat from between her teeth, an afterthought of their dinner. "But the Jailers have no honor. They are not Marshall, Carter & Dark; unless Moose snagged a contract with them."</p>
<p>"Possible," Carissa says taking another puff, one of her large fluffy cat ears flicking as the smoke dances about her skull like angry clouds. "Perhaps, they weren't able to secure the best terms. The fact that they didn't mandate both of us go, but only you, means they think they can control me. Or that I'm an afterthought."</p>
<p>Medea wrinkles her nose at that, insulted on Carissa's behalf. "You are more than an afterthought. They cannot simply be that stupid."</p>
<p>"No, but and hear me out." <em>Puff.</em> "What if Moose, knew that the amnesty deal would only buy our lives for the immediate moment?"</p>
<p>She takes that in, rolls it around in her mind, and perks up lips curling up at the corner in a devilish smile. <span style="color:purple"><em>Carissa is after something, did she see something I did not?</em></span> Medea's eyes shine a little. <span style="color:purple"><em>I love when she pulls something clever out of the hat.</em></span> "Go on."</p>
<p>Another puff, this time her tail flicks, that tuft briefly brushing Medea's chin. The dragging bristles of that sanguine fur relaying a thousand motes of affection that send goosebumps up the sorceresses spine. "Moose is a snake in the grass. Granted the snake, the cacodemon we know. They know our worth."</p>
<p>Medea leans on the railing, looking slightly up at her partner, trying to read her face. It was that sort of look she got when she's devising a Machiavellian scheme. Almost mischievous in the way the corner of her lips twitch.</p>
<p>Her mind drifts as Carissa keeps talking.</p>
<p>The temptation rises, then and there, to tear the pipe out of her hands and press her up against the wall of the cottage. To kiss her and weave their nerves together into a rippling cluster of hedonism, all so she could see that brilliant mind herself.</p>
<p>It would be so easy too. Applying the right amount of pressure in the right spots made Carissa crumple like a baby. She was so so easy to love, and so so easy to enjoy. A little nibble on the ears, a kiss to the neck and she'd be putty in Medea's hand.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>She is so cute when she's flustered and purring.</em></span></p>
<p>She grounds herself, returning to the moment. Carissa was looking at her directly now, she'd still been talking when Medea drifted for those few seconds. What Medea is thinking must have been plain on her face based on the tint of rosy red rising to her cheeks.</p>
<p>They both shift, taking the others' hands. Contact, skin brushing against skin, as wordless communication passes between the touch and the shifting of their bodies.</p>
<p>"Moose knew our worth. I have a feeling this Sherry might as well."</p>
<p>"Do they? Do you think Moose accounted for how we might feel, about their betrayal?" She squeezes Carissa's hands, her thumb rubbing gently across the flesh of the back of Carissa's palm.</p>
<p>"You know they're like you." Another hint of blush deepens across Carissa's cheeks.</p>
<p>"Yes, I do. They're a planner." Medea squeezes the hands again, swinging their arms slightly. "Though perhaps a little less capable."</p>
<p>"Remember love, hubris." Carissa pauses, considering the wording. "Operating off that, I wouldn't be surprised if they were the one who suggested this, and Sherry agreed to get ahead of Jailer factionalism."</p>
<p>"Ok, but the Library?" Medea asks, lips pursing as her brow knits in thought.</p>
<p>"Well, let's be honest here." Both of Carissa's ears flick now, fur catching the light of the blood moon.</p>
<p>"Honest?" Medea tilts her head, looking up into Carissa's gleaming yellow eyes.</p>
<p>"Don't play coy, love of my heart, I know what you've been doing all this time," Carissa says her voice veering to a slight tease. "Besides, you're going in with, <em>them</em>."</p>
<p>It only took a few seconds for her to realize what Carissa was referring to. The corners of her lips curl up, and Medea narrows her eyes curiously. She is in fact going to be coy. Doing so on purpose to sweeten the deal. "You are being cryptic."</p>
<p>"I know, and I fucking hate it. But, I know exactly what you've been doing. And I think Moose did too." Carissa says, the teasing smile getting larger. Medea's chest starts to ache with desire at the look. "Don't blue ball me, I want to hear it from your mouth."</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>I am going to kiss that smile right off your face, bundle against your flesh and… and…</em></span></p>
<p>"Mmmm, I think I might deny you that specific satisfaction." Her voice bounces with that counter-teasing playfulness that she knows drives Carissa wild.</p>
<p>"Oh? But what about the other forms of satisfaction? What if we exchange them in turns," Carissa fires back with a playful growl.</p>
<p>"Then I might give you the confirmation you desire," Medea says in a husky tone, and steps in tilting on her toes to meet Carissa's lips as she leans down. The point of contact between them sizzles with electrostatic discharge almost as if they were sticking a fork in a plug.</p>
<p>There were always sparks. Fireworks burst overhead, as they kiss under the light of a full and red moon. Not a single kiss since the day they'd reunited had been anything less than the greatest of cataclysms.</p>
<p>She was happy again. Happy for Carissa's ever-present company. And happy for the fact that she had spent 5000 years doing nothing but laying traps in the Library.</p>
<hr/>
<h1 id="toc9"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 2rem">Chapter 3: Distant Rhythm of the Drum</span></span></h1>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Present. The Library, Astral Plane.</span></p>
<p>The Way into the library is as it has always been, undisturbed and peaceful to transition through. Medea inhales, sucking in the musty smell of paper, of book bindings as old as she was. She glances down at the library card, modified with deep illusory magics. It wouldn't last for long.</p>
<p>For all intents and purposes, she quite likes the Library.</p>
<p>She walks into the shelves, fingers dragging along the spines of the books. She is looking for a very particular set of volumes, historical volumes about the Finned ones. The Finnfolk. <span style="color:purple"><em>We could have told them a great deal had they asked. They could have anything from these hallowed aisles, yet that is what they requested. A waste.</em></span></p>
<p>The Library had been kind to her. She in turn had been kind to it, writing numerous volumes to stock its shelves, to fill in the gaps in a collective historical record that no one but her and Carissa could fill. Perhaps in a different life, she might have become an archivist. In a different life, she might have called this place home.</p>
<p>But she didn't. The Library was cruel as often as it was kind. Forbidding her from the deepest of personal knowledges, barring scripts some might call blasphemous behind layers and layers of locks and defenses. No matter how much she contributed, she was never allowed inside. In the first 100 years wandering the halls she gave her all to every legitimate way. But she was foreign. She was tainted in a way the Library couldn't accept. And she would never belong.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>Perhaps that is why Moose defected. Perhaps they penetrated that deepest layer and saw what had been hidden.</em></span> She is going to ask now, that much she's certain of.</p>
<p>Her finger stops over a strange spine, not made of the usual materials. She knew the rare but carefully crafted bindings of sea paper derived from kelp forests. And there were so many books here now with those markings. Some of them were clearly in a different style from the scrolls and more antiquated books. Newer. <span style="color:purple"><em>Now that is truly curious.</em></span></p>
<p>She picks one and opens it, flipping through several pages. Her eyes soak in the knowledge, bask in the history, a history far more recent than she imagines. <span style="color:purple"><em>They're not extinct? Is it this universe? Or another.</em></span> Those signs were going to be harder to identify. If the Finnfolk still existed, if they had access to the library, but they hadn't been seen in more than 3 millennia, they were isolating, or hidden so well the humans hadn't yet found them.</p>
<p>The corners of her lips crept up, a little smile of delight creeping in. She closes the book and places it in her bag. She then starts to grab more books, someone had meticulously organized all the Finnfolk volumes into this specific section of the library, it was cleverly hidden away, and in fact, had an illusion woven in. She misses that at first, but now that she sees it she appreciates the craftsmanship. It is subtle, making the aisle veer into a fork that pushes the wanderer in one direction or another.</p>
<p>She isn't affected, any other time she would adore picking apart why, but lingering is not something she is keen on doing at the moment.</p>
<p>Someone or something clears their throat behind her. She turns to face them. It's one of the Archivists, a roamer, and one who she's familiar with. A cat-taur, the form of an elegant and regal creature, and an amusing twist on the god's perfect killing machine. Its eyes were absent, as is the case with all archivists.</p>
<p>"Medea," she says curtly, her lips purse, eyeless sockets scrunching. Her voice is nasally when she speaks as if constantly congested by the dust and mustiness of the books.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>As predicted, the Library saw through that particular spell quickly.</em></span> She gives a polite bow to the cat-woman. "Archivist Laywind, it's a pleasure as always." <span style="color:purple"><em>Now the real fun begins. I have so many strings to pull, she's not ejected me immediately so I have time to decide on order.</em></span></p>
<p>The tilting down of Laywinds lips and the pertness of her ears tells the sorceress everything that she needs to know. There is no pleasure here for the Archivist, and she's about to try to eject Medea. Or maybe she'll jump straight to dumping her into the nasty sections of the Archives.</p>
<p>"You know the terms," the woman says unhappily. There are Docents arriving now. Restrained, and hovering back. Watching and waiting to see what would happen.</p>
<p>"The terms? Why whatever do you mean?" Medea says fluttering her lashes innocently. The Docents aren't the normal garden variety type. <span style="color:purple"><em>Oh this is quite flattering. Titan killers, all for me. This is going to be very interesting.</em></span></p>
<p>"You betrayed the shelves, destroyed the compact which you signed in blood to the Library." She says tersely, her lips tilting into a full frown.</p>
<p>"Did I though? Truly. Was it not Moose who flipped to the Jailers, was it not Moose who arranged for us to not be ambushed and slaughtered?" <span style="color:purple"><em>Yes, I think that will do to start.</em></span> She wraps her mental fingers around one particular set of arcane symbols, deeply and cleverly hidden within the fabric of the library, a piece she'd laid centuries ago. And she tweaks it ever so slightly in preparation. "You cannot honestly blame us for the actions of a third party, can you? Well, I suppose you could, but would that not be against the philosophy of the Library? The freedom to wander, to add and take knowledge as long as the rules are respected. Have I not these past 5000 years done nothing but honor these rules?"</p>
<p>"We know about the traps Medea. You were so patently obvious in laying them that they were fairly trivial to dismantle," the archivist said with a slight sneer, but there is a tension in her voice. The bravado did not hide the uncertainty and caution in the Archivist's face.</p>
<p>"My Traps?" She reaches out feeling, trying to suppress the grin as she confirms that the surface-level incantations and charms, designed to be seen had been dismantled. The less obvious but still deliberately placed medial mechanisms were gone too. "Oh dear, it seems I have been discovered." <span style="color:purple"><em>Perfect.</em></span></p>
<p>"Now. You are with the Jailers. You have violated the haven of the Library through the placement of mechanisms to cause grievous harm to its occupants and visitors. Worst of all you are tainted with an arcane sin that we never should have allowed in." She pauses curling a fist. "We overlooked the second because your contributions outweighed the potential harm you might cause. But now." The little symbols of the Library's magic appeared on her fingertips. "Now you have nothing left to contribute."</p>
<p>Medea reaches to feel the rising elements. It was not, as she had initially hoped, a spell to dump her into the archives. It was one of the simple ejection spells. <span style="color:purple"><em>Disappointing but easily corrected. I'll make a bit of a modification here in a moment. First, some gravitas.</em></span></p>
<p>Medea drops all pretense. "So, now I am the liability and threat you always suspected," she says with a sigh putting her face on the palm of her hand. "Now you have an excuse to excise me yes? And here I believed the Library was open and free to all. Such a disappointment."</p>
<p>"The Library is free and open to wander for all who respect its rules. You have not. And that is why the Archives remained closed to you." The magic on her fingertips is reaching the shape where Medea could pick it apart, and disrupt it at any moment. But that isn't the point. That would not be fun, and she was going to have fun here.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>Here. We. Go.</em></span> She reaches out at the very last second and slips in the modifications, twisting the magic to be what she had witnessed oh so many years ago when the Jailers had tried to storm the Library. The sort of malicious intention that the archivists use to channel the Library's will, in order to remove threats.</p>
<p>But she makes it different. She adds something else, back doors. A guarantee. It was <em>satisfying</em>.</p>
<p>"Fine, fine, but Laywind, before you eject me, there are some people you may want to meet," Medea says with a resigned smile, her hand going into the pockets of her robe.</p>
<p>Laywind pauses in her motions. A palpable flash of caution flicks across her muzzle. "People?"</p>
<p>Medea's hand produces a long flail-like device from within her robes, billowing smoke creeping out from the spiked censor on the end of its chain.</p>
<p>Laywind lets out a small shout as the magic flies from her fingertips and strikes Medea.</p>
<p>Medea sucks in the air, lips curling up into a smile as a glyph whirls into existence beneath her feet, a 7-pointed star in a circle surrounded by many glyphs. Thaumic emissions ripple through the air, arcing up to her fingers like static electric discharges as she hijacks Laywind's spell completely.</p>
<p>The trap is sprung.</p>
<p>The confines of the Library shift around them, the shelves and everything else transposed into the deep archives.</p>
<p>And then a door opens behind her, a way, a portal of light. Then something else. Something much darker and more foreboding in the mounting fog.</p>
<p>Two people stride out of the light portal and past Medea. A deep rolling fog of acrid smoke follows them. The fog rose, obscuring the portals, as something creeps behind the two newcomers.</p>
<p>"Thanks for giving us an in."</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc10"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">3.1 All That's Left Are Your Bones</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Past. Corinth, Greece.</span></p>
<p>Things were not going well for Jason of Argos. To call the past year bad would have been an understatement. It was catastrophic. Medea, that ungrateful bitch, who he had spent two decades building a life of luxury for, who he had enchanted to secure his power within Corinth, had undone everything. When the Fates had given him the potion, they'd promised it would keep her bound. She'd stay with him through all trials and tribulations, as long as he treated her well.</p>
<p>Did a dignified exile in luxury not count as that? Guess not. Sure she couldn't take the kids with her, but who cared! Her apparently. Or maybe it was the woman he was set to marry to secure the throne of Corinth and his power bases. <em>Something</em> had shattered the effect. Or maybe the potion had worked too damn well, and she was so in love with him that she couldn't stand the thought of him loving another woman. Yeah, that was probably it.</p>
<p>He did everything to secure her. She was beautiful, and powerful in her magic, but far too independent for his liking. Then there was Atalanta, that scrungly man-woman of a creature from Arcadia. He'd stopped that blooming problem before it fully blossomed. It was his single greatest coup-de-grace, eliminating a threat and securing his prize to power in one fell swoop.</p>
<p>He turned in his bed, looking at the ceiling of his vaunted palace. Sure he took Corinth for his own when the King died of grief, his only heir turned to crispy chunks. But was it worth it? Throwing every single person who had ever followed him under the bus?</p>
<p>He smiled to himself. Absolutely. <em>He was the king of Corinth.</em> Medea was gone, probably offed herself crying somewhere about the loss of her beloved heathen. Heracles was out of his hair. Life was almost good.</p>
<p>A pang of hurt rose in his chest as he remembered the charred corpses of his kids, the only thing other than himself that he had actually even marginally cared for. Well, now he'd have to make more to secure his legacy. That meant finding a new bride, maybe from Sparta or Thebes.</p>
<p>A distant rumble of thunder disrupted his thoughts, and he sat up slowly in bed. Walking to the balcony of his luxurious bedroom, he opened the doors. Dark ominous clouds were rolling in overhead, as lightning crackled the sky. The storm was moving fast—</p>
<p>And it was not a natural storm. The green flicker of thaumic-driven lightning cracked the sky along with thunder. Jason dropped the chalice of wine, the cup clanging on the ground. As the lightning split the sky it illuminated the distant landscape, and his eyes caught them. On a hilltop looking down at the city, the silhouettes of two figures. One of them had a bow.</p>
<p>An arrow embedded itself in the doorframe inches from his face, a piece of paper curled around the shaft. He snapped the arrow off the doorframe and hastily unwrapped the piece of paper.</p>
<p>"Ερχόμαστε για εσάς"</p>
<p>"We are coming for you."</p>
<p>He looked up as the Lightning crackled again, the figures no longer on the hilltop.</p>
<p>And then the city warning bells began to ring.</p>
<p>Jason of Argos, King of Corinth, shat himself.</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc11"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">3.2 Let Your Colors Bleed and Blend with Mine</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Present. The Library, Astral Plane.</span></p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>It worked.</em></span> The grin on Medea's lips spread wider. <span style="color:purple"><em>I forced an Archival intrusion, and now we see if they can deliver on their promise.</em></span></p>
<p>Medea watches' Abigial Im-Immaru's eyes flick between the building-size Docents gathering in the twisted and shelved aisles of the archive. The fog continues to roll and billow from Medea's censer, but at an increasing volume that is definitely not from hers alone. It stank with a familiar and yet foreign scent, not quite sulfuric but close. "Quite an audience you've brought us Medea."</p>
<p>The second person, a near identical mirror copy of Abigail, Aleah, Medea assumes, walks almost completely in sync with their sister.</p>
<p>Unlike Abigail there are fewer lines on this one's face, marking her as slightly younger. And muscles. So many more muscles. Medea has to stop herself from drooling. If the second beast notices Medea it's unclear, as her attention is laser focused on Laywind. Pulsing lights dance across their skin, moving between tones of yellow, orange and sometimes red.</p>
<p>Medea assumes everyone else feels it, the way the Library's attention moves to them, like a prison spotlight hones in on an escaping prisoner right before the alarm begins. The floor starts to rumble, the walls shifting as more Docents move in the distance, streaming towards a potential problem.</p>
<p>Medea's focus goes back to Laywind, the Archivist's rising alarm plain in her eyeless face. "You brought Beasts of nature here!?" she hisses. "Banned ones too! And you overwrite my spells!" The archivist brought up her fingers, calling on that familiar spell, the one to dump them into a part of the archives meant for dangerous things. A place where hostile meat was ground to dust and new Librarians were twisted into existence.</p>
<p>"It's good to see you again, Laywind," the younger twin says, her voice a half step deeper than her sister's. Crisp and dripping like honey against Medea's ears, provoking an unkempt and unusual buzzing flame to rise within her.</p>
<p>"Thanks for giving us an in," Abigail says, attention moving to the archivist.</p>
<p>In the billowing smoke behind them, a third voice rings out, this one not a mirror of the twins, and a deep contra-alto. "I do hope you and the Library will someday forgive us Laywind, but times have changed and so are the winds of fate." The depth and ichor within its tones drew some instinctual terror into the front of Medea's mind, her limbs suddenly shaking.</p>
<p>Medea turns her head to look, in the grey of her smoke, pits like eyes burn through, their irises dancing blue flames. The smoke of her censer is overtaken by a different sort of fog, vividly blue-green and roiling with soulfire. It's soon joined by dozens if not hundreds more eyes, black coal pits with red and hateful eyes. A shadow rises up towards the endless ceiling of the library as something colossal pieces itself together, punctuated by the sound of a deep and wrathful bell that makes Medea's very bones tremble. There is something else deep in there. Medea's eyes widen, and her lips curl up as she realizes that another domain is leaking into the Archives, into the Library. No not just one, <em>two</em>. Propagating from the Beasts themselves.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>It worked! It fucking worked, all my planar theories falling into place.</em></span> She'd hedged her bets that given enough planar disruption, the Library would be unable to shift them away, intrusion of masters of other domains. And it fucking worked. The beasts wanted to operate on pure magical force alone but against the library? That is certain death. Now, they could do it. She is certain they could. <span style="color:purple"><em>I'm brilliant!</em></span></p>
<p>"There is still time for you to turn back," Laywind hisses. "Do not throw yourselves away like this for some half-bit sorceress wannabe."</p>
<p>Abigail's manic laugh and then sigh drew Medea's attention back forward. The older twin is glowing with a strange thaumic aura, lines of dark dark red dripping down her arms, overtaking the existing tattoos, curling and swirling across the skin and fingers. Her fingers curl and then seize, popping outwards as one hand trembles, and then swells, flesh and muscle pulling, spreading. It surges up the length of her arm, and into her core, legs pulsing with strange light as she laughs and emits ecstatic noises, popping up straight and then leaning back as her spine cracks and shifts.</p>
<p>Medea's eyes squint, her lips curling down in slight disgust. <span style="color:purple"><em>Eugh, she's enjoying it.</em></span></p>
<p>Additional noises join Abigail's, the other twin's veins pulsing with an orange glow. Cracking bones rend the air, muscles swell and limbs stretching as the younger twin also surges with growth. Abigail is becoming tall and lanky, and so is Aleah. But the sibling is growing thick and muscular like a bodybuilder as her thaumic aura burns into a scintillating orange.</p>
<p>Abigail's dark brown hair starts to drip, viscous red matter pouring from her skull, locks soaked and soon dried into a deep maroon. The sibling's hair blazes and catches fire as the flames ripple down the locks leaving them bright and searing orange. In tandem, apparating above their skulls were twin discs, Abigail's resembling a blood-soaked moon, the younger twin's a pair of discs overlaying and emulating an eclipsing sun.</p>
<p>Abigail holds her hands down at her side, thick red dripping light forms in the palms of her hands, and flows outwards into a pair of curved blades. Then more appear, at least half a dozen hovering like wings behind her. The other twin holds their hands low, and slightly apart, vicious flames pouring out of her palms searing the air as they formed outwards into a roaring twohanded blade.</p>
<p>Magic ripples in a tremendous wave and the epicenter focuses on the two as Blood red and Orange glowing eyes regard the Archivist.</p>
<p>"You're mad! All of you, are suicidal if you think you come out of this alive. You cannot win, the Library is infinite, and it's keepers the same." Laywind's eyes were wild now, more Docents were moving towards them. She finally discharges that spell she has been building on her fingers. A deep and sudden terror spreads across her eyeless features as her reality-channeling spell fails. Medea sees the craggy rock and strange congealing of star-tinted water spreading out around them partially obscured by fog.</p>
<p>"Who said anything about winning?" Medea's head turns back to the smoke, as Carissa strides out of the creeping soulfire fog. It is consuming the entire aisle now, thousands of those eyes within. Carissa holds Artemis' bow, brilliant and gleaming with furious thaumic energy, much like its wielder. Both of them were perhaps comparable to Laywind. In turn, Laywind is but a candle in the wind to the three Beasts. "We just have to live."</p>
<p>"There are two outcomes here Laywind," Medea says, her robes billowing now as she grasps the string of her traps tighter, arcane glyphs filling the air before her as she raises the censer. Symbols of power as she drew from the Library's very thaumic essence in the Astral plane. "You get the Library to allow us into forbidden space of the archives to retrieve that which you have long denied me. Or we storm it ourselves. You'll kill us, eventually, but how much will you lose in the process? Will the other Archivists let you stay where you are if you allow that to come to pass?"</p>
<p>Laywind hesitates. Medea watches her eyeless sockets shift to the twins, blazing in their full glory and growing stronger. Medea blinks. <span style="color:purple"><em>Hold on, are they-?</em></span> She looks closer. <span style="color:purple"><em>They are! They are absorbing the Library's light!</em></span></p>
<p>"I will never betray my duty," Laywind screeches back, raising her hands. "Why couldn't you all have just followed the rules!</p>
<p>"Rules are made to be broken." Medea flicks a finger and five of the Docents dissolve near instantly in a stream of extreme acid as she sprang the first of many traps. The floor tilts sideways as the aisles of archival shelves ripple, and the sky turns strange.</p>
<p>And then the fog surges forward.</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc12"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">3.3 We set Fire to our Homes</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Past. Corinth, Greece.</span></p>
<p>The plan Medea had come up with was simple. The primary reason she had not simply killed Jason of Argos when she left, was because she had some incentive still to salvage her reputation. Carissa was supposedly dead, and she was alone. If she wanted to survive, she needed to be able to move politically.</p>
<p>Carissa was not, in fact, dead. And that? That changed everything.</p>
<p>The last thing that any of the Corinthian guards ever expected was to see Medea again. Thick acrid fog consumed her shape, projecting a thousand writhing shadows in the thick and flowing mist.</p>
<p>"Who goes there!" the guards shouted at the shadows moving in the acrid fog, the grey-green thaumic fog oozing from the censer of her flail.</p>
<p>"Death," Medea said, her tone even but the sound amplified a thousand fold carrying into the streets of Corinth proper. The guards raised their bows, and their spears and shields. Medea rose into the air like the visage of Nyx herself. The strange and cryptic colors of magical glyphs pierce the air before her as the censer streamed smoke and fog downwards like a waterfall. Her robes billowed out behind her, flickering with light as she challenged the starry sea of the night sky for the beauty of its title.</p>
<p>An arrow loosed from one of the guard's bows, it flew through the air only to disintegrate against one of the glyphs, which began spinning faster. <span style="color:purple"><em>I know some of these men. They were on the Argo.</em></span></p>
<p>"Loose!" a guard screamed in terror, his compatriots quaking in their boots. Dozens of arrows loosed, flicking through the air only to impact her glyphs.</p>
<p>Medea laughed, her eyes wide and wild. "Tremble before me people of Corinth!" She flicked her wrist, beams and lilac thaumic rays of death burst from her glyphs in sickly beams of light. One guard turned to ash, and the other melted, the metal literally congealing to his skin as he dripped apart. "I show you now the fate of those who stand against me. Behold my terrible glory!" She extended her hands and thaumic lightning streaked down from the sky, rippling through stone and flesh as the gate of Corinth collapsed.</p>
<p>The arrows didn't stop, even as the guards faltered and started to make for the stairs. Then Carissa vaulted onto the wall. "I think you're overdoing it love!" Medea had a front-row seat to the way Carissa's back muscles flexed with definition as she drew the string of her bow back.</p>
<p>A thaumic arrow heaved from Carissa's bow, the whistling of the shaft becoming the roar of a bear as dozens of guards were batted aside, the terrified screams of several piercing the air as they tumbled over the high set walls.</p>
<p>"Fall back!" the guards screeched. It was less of a retreat and more of a full rout, men falling over themselves to get away from the pair. Several fell and were trampled beneath the feet of their comrades.</p>
<p>"Let me have my fun Carissa. 20 years this bastard made me suffer."</p>
<p>"Fair." She held her bow up to the sky and pulled it taut. "Tauropolos! Guide me true!" she cried, pulling the drawstring back. Medea took the opportunity to admire the muscles this time, the intricate ways in which they tightened and contracted to allow Carissa to act. It raised a fire in her belly that would need to be sated later.</p>
<p>A fat burning green arrow burst into existence against the frame of the bow. Carissa arced her shoulders up and aimed. She loosed it, the arrow flying high into the clouds. The guards continued their flight further into the city towards a strong point completely unaware of how little it would matter.</p>
<p>And then, the sky grew dark with the shafts of arrows, falling from the thaumic stormclouds and braced with the bolts of sickly green lightning. It was a visceral sight as thaumic lightning-charged arrows cleaved through bronze plates and shields, shearing flesh to pieces. Medea was only really beginning to understand just how horrible their power had become.</p>
<p>"Remember the plan for the fleece," Medea said to her partner, flame rising in her chest at just the sight of her long lost lover.</p>
<p>"Oh, I can't forget," Carissa said giving her a rare and sly smile.</p>
<p>She hopped onto the railing of the stairs and slid down towards the street. Medea smiled. She smiled for the first time in a long time. She fell into a run and then hovered, matching Carissa's speed. They could obviously use Carissa's abilities, they could simply teleport into the palace.</p>
<p>But where was the fun in that? Jason would be terrified sure, but they were aiming for <em>atmosphere</em>.</p>
<p>Carissa's boots pounded against the stones as Medea floated along. Behind them the sorceresses arcane constructs crawled through the gate. Lumbering pulsing things of light and power that rose out of the acrid smoke of her censer. Guards from other parts of the city were rushing in to stimy the flow, and one of them stabbed at a construct as Medea and Carissa flew past. It pulled one of its undulating shoulders back, and slammed a malformed limb into the soldier, burning through his armor and sending him flying into a nearby house, agonized screams dying with a sickening crunch.</p>
<p>Carissa dodged a swinging sword, a guard emerging from an alleyway. The heft of his swing carried him straight into the arc of Medea's flail, his bronze helmet collapsing inward with a sickening crunch as he crumpled to the floor and burst into thaumic fire.</p>
<p>Carissa stepped in front of an arrow aimed straight for Medea's head, catching the shaft with one hand, and throwing it over her shoulder. It vanished and then rematerialized through the skull of the one responsible, a splurt of blood coating a nearby wall as the guard crumpled.</p>
<p>They didn't stop to ponder the horrible deaths they were inflicting, the guards were complicit in Jason's bastardry and if they didn't flee, they would die with him.</p>
<p>Carissa drew the string of her bow back, the impossible form of an enchanted sword knocked and loosed, sheering through the air with a terrifying siren as it sliced through a first guard, then a second, and then a third, pinning their lifeless bodies into the wood of the palace door. The remaining guards at the ornate and, rather quickly, blood soaked wood doors dropped their weapons and fled.</p>
<p>Carissa pressed into the door as they reached it, bracing to push it open but even her immense strength couldn't get the thick and intricate wood to yield the contents within.</p>
<p>"I will handle this one, my love," Medea said, stepping up to the door.</p>
<p>Carissa's cheeks colored at the word "love", but she nodded and stepped back. Medea put her palm against the doors, hair, and robes rising around her as the air crackled with thaumic fire. Her eyes pulsed with light, the door lighting up with an immense spinning glyph of strange letters and shapes.</p>
<p>Then it exploded inwards.</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc13"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">3.4 Out of Feathers, Out of Bones</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Present. The Lib-????.</span></p>
<p>Medea shifts and tosses the pack of Finnfolk tomes through the light portal behind them, as she turns and prepares. Prepares for the storm that would come now. <span style="color:purple"><em>Let the Library come. Let it throw all it has. If we die, we die.</em></span></p>
<p>Laywind's shouts are audible through the fog, pitched and strained from where she is likely embroiled with the Twins. Medea can feel the Docents ahead as she reaches out, raises her hand, and then pulls it back closing her fingers into a fist. Something horrible screeches as thaumic fire ate through its twisted flesh.</p>
<p>"What now?" Carissa yells over the bedlam.</p>
<p>"We go to the forbidden zones," Medea cries with absolute confidence. She gathers power and magic, letting it filter into her; bones, hair, and robes rising with the congealing power and stinking purple luminescence.</p>
<p>That deep dark bell rang again, this time closer. Things shuffle all around them in the aisle. No, it isn't an aisle anymore. The floor is twisting, bending beneath their feet, dipping, the walls of the shelves rippling and morphing in odd ways, less wood now, more craggy jutting rock. The floor stretches outwards as tile becomes dark and deep earth in many places, pools of starlit water in others. A great dark shape sweeps overhead as something immense slams a Docent into an obscured structure, the air crackling with the seismic impact. Strange sounds, peculiar and sulfuric smells, and dancing waves of thaumic discharge swirled around their senses in an unpleasant thunderstorm of sensory stimulation.</p>
<p>"Reality warp," Carissa hisses, looking towards the approaching footsteps.</p>
<p>Medea could feel the third presence, the third Beast advancing.<br/></p>
<br/>
Aleah and Abigail had been rather short before their sudden and violent transformations, but this creature is not. Towering at least 2.2 meters tall, a woman walks from the fog. No walks would be inadequate, she emerges from the fog like a geographic feature, dominating the visual field. Her hair is the color of the darkest blood, her eyes punctuated by dancing blue soul-fire flames, decorated in gleaming golden armor that protects her well.
<p>One arm is severed at the shoulder, and replaced with a prosthetic of blackened human arm bones. A crown of human fingerbones rings her head, contrasting her darkly olive-toned skin with the bleached white of jawbones decorating each cheek.</p>
<p>A great spear with seven gleaming blades is gripped in the bone hand, the haft is changing, shortening as the 7-bladed head expanded outwards, becoming more of a shield with spear like aspects. The other hand, the flesh hand, bears a strange device, a censer in the shape of an owl cage, seven bells booming from its interior, cutting through all other sounds and commanding hundreds of constructs of bone as they stream past Carissa and Medea into the fog. The thick blue-green smog that clogs the air emanates from within the censer pulsing and surging this way and that with unspoken commands.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>Now this. <strong>THIS</strong> is presentation.</em></span> Medea's jaw loosened her mouth falling agape, utterly in awe of this creature. This Beast of Nature.</p>
<p>A screech rends the air as a Docent in the shape of a great and terrible green bird dives through the fog straight at them. The woman, the Beast, slams the tip of the spear, as if it were a toothpick, into the ground. She grabs the thing's neck with such a swift motion that it makes Medea and Carissa both jump as she smashes it into the rocky ground. It screeches in agony as just contact with the bone arm liquifies its skin. She is twisting its nature, breaking its will and enchantments, and remaking it for her own purposes. And she does all of this in the span of a few seconds.</p>
<p>The Beast's head flicks back to the pair. "Go. Do not stand about and waste the opportunity."</p>
<p>Medea and Carissa did not need any more impetus than that. They turn to move and the fog cleaves, bursting back as the Library tries to reassert itself, aided by Laywind's magic as the cat-taur swings an artifacted sword that burns with thaumic lightning. Her strokes were fast, ripping apart constructs of bone, and Medea's own arcane shades.</p>
<p>Abigail twirls out of the smog like a cyclone, meeting Laywind's blade with her sizzling blood-light swords. Sparks fly in a light show of clashing metal. The Archivist and the Beast begin a dance, cutting and chipping at each others guards with deft, precise, and deadly motions. Abigail's thrusts are lightning fast, taking advantage of the curve of her blade as she steps this way, ducks under a grinding swing, and pivots her blade inside Laywind's guard only for the Archivist to catch it at the last second. Abigail's other hand rose with the second blade and Laywind only barely intercepts it with a glyph shield, as Abigail flicks her wrist, locking their blades together. The Beast forces Laywind to dedicate yet more magic to ward her assault off as she jerks her head, bloodlight wings whirring into screaming projectiles that smash into the barriers she raises.</p>
<p>Aleah comes <em>screaming</em> out of the fog like a freight train, her two hander chewing up the tile below, leaving melting scorches that soon flow over with star tinted water. Lawywind knocks Abigail's sword away with her own, kicking her back with one of her legs as she pivots to intercept Aleah's inbound strike. The Archivist only barely manages to block the stroke, the metal of her blade groaning as she grits her teeth, even as Abigail continues her assault, sparks of light and fire flashing off the glyphs that only just barely held the Beasts at bay. The Archivist's eyeless features snaps towards Carissa and Medea as they run in to assist. She hastily erects several more glyphs to intercept Carissa's arrows as they whip from the bowstring, whumping with small sonic booms against the barriers. Then Laywind locks onto the figure behind them, only catching a glimpse of the terror lurking within, fog streaming back in to obscure the geographic feature she is.</p>
<p>Laywind sees who the third Beast is in that moment and for the first time Medea sees fear on her face. Their eyeless sockets crinkle with dismay and she shouts, even as other Archivists stream in. "What have you done!"</p>
<p>The floor tilts, something structural in the distance groaning as the plane they are standing on screws inward and twists in strange and nonsensical ways, the rocky crags of shelves whipping with it into odd angles. Everyone but the Beasts stumble as reality reshapes and screws in upon itself, a push and pull between the Library and the three other Beasts.</p>
<p>"Our best," Medea fires back, she pulls the string of another trap. Laywind breaks the stalemate, leaping back as pillars of ice springing from sudden glyphs on the ground, leaving Abigail and Aleah unimposed as they press towards her. Several Docents are immediately impaled by the ice, and then ripped apart by the combined flurries of the twins. A column grazes Laywind, who shouts as she retreats from the assault.</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc14"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">3.5 A Crown with Gems and Gold</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Past. Corinth.</span></p>
<p>Jason was very much not ready. He knew, in his heart, what was coming. Who was coming. It was Medea, she had Hera's blessing and sought a revenge he didn't understand. He was determined to deny her, and so he donned the Fleece, the pelt of wool that granted its wearer invincibility from mortal blows. And he waited, in his throne room with its pillars of gold-plated marble. The doors exploded inwards and he rose picking his arcane blade.</p>
<p>The long shadow of his ex-wife stretched into the hall as she stood in the frame of the palace doorway. Her eyes glowed brilliantly in the diminished lighting as green thaumic lightning illuminated her flowing robes and hair. She stood there glowering like the goddess of misery herself.</p>
<p>"Came crawling back did you?" he called out to her, taunting. "I guess you couldn't shatter the potion after all. If you get down and grovel, I might just consider forgiving you, before I take your head from your shoulders."</p>
<p>Medea walked forward slowly. There were guards still in the throne room with Jason, but he knew they were useless. One jumped out from behind a pillar, intent to stab her. An arrow screeched through the air shearing into his neck, the force of it not slowing with the weight of his body as it came to a fantastic <em>thud</em>, slamming into the wall close to Jason's throne dias.</p>
<p>"What'd you do, bring her back from the dead? As a shade or a ghoul or a zombie?" Jason taunted again. Another guard charged Medea, this time the flail crushed the man's skull, slamming him to the floor as acrid smoke dripped across the rug that coated the marble. "It's a sin, to raise the dead Medea. Hera will spurn you yet."</p>
<p>She stopped about halfway into the hall. And her lips curled up at the corners her eyes opening wide and wild. "I came back for your head. To finish what I started." She spat on the floor in front of her. "Raise the dead? Oh, I didn't have to raise anyone."</p>
<p>"Tell yourself whatever you need to to cushion your grief and sin. You can try to take my head bitch! But it's just you. You against all of Corinth, and soon all of Greece. You are but a witch, and a foreign witch!" He flailed his arms for emphasis. "You could have lived out your life in luxury, but noooo. You had to fuck it up for me."</p>
<p>"You never loved me. You loved the idea of the power I brought you," she spat back at him.</p>
<p>"It's true. I did. You were never even a good lay." He said with a deep sigh, there was something up with the shadows in the room. Where were the rest of his guards? What did she mean she hadn't raised anyone. That was a lie obviously.</p>
<p>"Actually, she's wonderful in that aspect." A third voice. <em>An impossible voice</em> joined the discourse. "But you wouldn't know that since you don't know how to please a woman. It's a good thing you'll never get to learn how."</p>
<p>His head snapped up towards the rafters above. Squatting on a beam above and behind him, a woman, a pair of yellow eyes meeting his own. The features were familiar. The same face he'd watched fall into the depths of Scylla's domain so long ago. His blood ran ice cold.</p>
<p>"No… No who, who are you!? You can't be her! You died! I watched you die!" He practically shrieked.</p>
<p>"Next time you should really be sure, dickhead." Carissa dropped and kicked him in the face with the force of a rhinoceros.</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc15"><span><span style="font-family: Noto Sans Cuneiform ; font-size: 1.5rem">𒐃𒍤𒐆 𒀀𒋠 𒃀𒀀𒇠 𒋀𒀀 𒆠𒁠 𒃀𒀀𒇠 𒊀𒄀</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Present. The L-Halls of K-Heavenly Oc-.</span></p>
<p>Carissa springs into action as Docents surged in to intercept them. Thaumic arrows flinging through the air, shearing, slicing, and burning twisted shapes, peculiar fleshy things, and creatures of wood and stone. The vertigo is getting real with the way the floor continues to tilt and writhe, walls and ceilings stretching up or down, segments of floor collapsing here and there into craggy canyons as starlit-calm ocean swept into other places. They stumble as the earth shifts, moving, the sky spasming strangely. Their feet splash in a strange dark ocean as it ripples out from the twins somewhere to their right. Elsewhere fog surges and pulses. The Library is pushing back, as some of the twisted rock formations start untwisting to become shelves again, only to fall apart from the ontokinetic strain on their reality.</p>
<p>More bird like Docents swoop in as fog whirls, surges, and flows in different directions around them. Carissa shifts, rolling forward as she dodges one of the Docents, firing a thaumic arrow that hones in and strikes it out of the sky. A glyph spins in front of her as another bird smashes into it, Medea shielding the huntress as she continues to fire arrows. The squawks and screeches crescendo as a whole swarm dives down. Metal screeches past their heads as the seven bladed spear flies through the air, a spinning disc of death that embeds itself in one of the Docents, plummeting it down. It's recovery is cut short as the third Beast's feet slam into it's skull, pulverizing it into the ground in a spray of bloody mist, which bursts outwards into more blue-green fog.</p>
<p>Carissa hops forward, vanishing and reappearing on one of the Docents as she puts two shafts into it's skull, rolling as it hits the ground, throwing a portal out as the third Beast leaps, vanishes into it, reappears and grabs the tip of her spear, using it to propel herself and hew through two more Docents with her body mass alone, before she tears it from the earth and flips, slamming the shield-spear into the ground with her whole body. Thick pillars of rock surge from the tip of the spear outwards, rocketing out of the earth as an archivist and a dozen Docents are speared straight through. Medea hops onto one of the rising pillars of earth and uses it to propel herself into the air above the fog.</p>
<p>She flies up and extends her hands, glyphs whirling up in front of her as beams of sickly purple thaumic light cut through the air, tracing and shearing down dozens, no hundreds of Docents gathering before them. Laywind dodges out of the way of the discharge and fires a countercharm at Medea, A burst of sunfire screams past, cutting the spell out of the sky before Medea can counter the magic.</p>
<p>The younger twin leaps from the fog, burning greatsword now a great two handed axe of pure sun fire. The sky and ground beneath her, ripple outwards and change into an endless calm ocean reflecting a sea of stars as the shape and concept of a planet, of Venus takes root overhead. "Coronal," She roars, her greataxe swelling with fire, bursting outwards in size. "CATACLYSM!" She came down out of the sky, swinging her axe, like the Chicxulub impact, a burning sun of fire and light. Laywind and the other Archivists are frozen, rooted to the shifting terrain, half-drawn spells and counterspells aimed at the Beast dying on their fingers at sudden and imminent doom.</p>
<p>Medea's fingers move quickly, lifting Carissa into the air to join her, milliseconds before the impact. Above the thick, high, and roiling fog, they had a better perspective of the chaos unfolding.</p>
<p>The firey goddess hit the ground, or ocean as it is now, and there is a deafening boom, a shockwave pushing Carissa and Medea back a few feet. The ground ripples, rock and earth, and tile fracturing and pulsing up and outwards, and then melting from the heat of <span class="text-blur">Ishtar's</span> heavenly fire as it races outwards. Docents are incinerated, crushed, or pulverized. Archivists are flung about, skidding across pulsing tile, rock, or oceanic floors, some covered in intense burns. Laywind and several others rose to their feet and fire spells at the younger twin as she rises from the impact crater, hair burning and streaming behind her.</p>
<p>The oceanic floor collapses as Laywind leaps away, water streaming down into a deep and rich canyon, streams of blue-green soul-fire fog coursing through it like a river of its own. Great and terrible buildings are carved into the cliff faces of an underworld.</p>
<p>Again everything tilts, floor twisting, walls shifting, ceiling turning as if the entire space is rotating. As the Library tries to reassert itself, Medea's eyes catch on doors that, with every second, crept closer to them, tremendous gates situated behind an archivist's desks where requests and applications to enter were processed. The Beasts were pulling the forbidden personal archives to them, instead of moving across the entirety of the archives. <span style="color:purple"><em>It's working!</em></span></p>
<p>The younger twin shifts below them as Medea and Carissa stream towards their goal, more and more Docents kept coming, some of them titanic now, the size of skyscrapers, as archivists flew in from other areas of the Library to try to help. One gets too close to Aleah and she grabs it with a free hand and throws it across the space into the defensive line forming around those great doors. She is a terrific sight, blazing with the full power of an eclipsing sun, and impossible to look at. The sky and light of the Library are fueling her.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>We'll need all three of the beasts to breach that.</em></span> Medea knew every second they weren't in the personal rooms is another second that the Library is bringing its might to bear. It is a Beast of Nature in and of itself, but despite the success of her plan, she was expecting them to have been crushed by it by now. Were the other Beasts' domains truly enough to contend with the might of the Library?</p>
<p>As they flew towards the gates she could see Laywind there now, holding her side and barking commands to Docents and Archivists. The younger twin advances below them, the spells and magic rippling into a shield that envelops her, every swing of her axe sending bursts of firey wind outwards, shearing through Docents and the occasional out of position and hapless Archivist. The fog rolls behind her, creeping forward, as it crackles with sickly blood-red light.</p>
<p>Then a manic laugh fills the air as the older twin surfs out of the fog on a wave of flowing blood light, sweeping up Docents and Archivists alike who were unfortunate enough to be in its path. She shifts and flips, the curved blades of her bloodlight wings morphing into thick-bladed lances. Her feet kick them in machinegun fashion as she twirls like a pinwheel through the air, one by one a dozen of them into portals of rippling blood light. They reappear above the desk crackling with red lightning before they shear downwards exploding in icy light as Archivists dive out of the way, Docents flying apart beneath the force.</p>
<p>Abigail pulls her hands in as her reality warp ripples around her, the wave of blood light pooling together into one enormous spear. With a flip of her body, ignoring the inbound spell slinging from Archivists, she grips the haft of it. Spinning, she launches into the air, as an immense portal in the shape of a blood moon apparates into existence. Aleah holds up her axe, as it expands into an immense shaft of burning sunlight. Abigail lands on the axe blade, using it like a spring to rocket upwards as Aleah pushes with all her might, driving the blade high into the air, and then slamming it against the shield of a titanic archivist which shatters and falls into two pieces, as the axe cleaves it and the caster apart.</p>
<p>"Blood Moon!" She screams, vanishing into the portal. Seconds later she reappears above the defensive line of the Docents and Archivists.</p>
<p>"Judgement!" The immense spear of light rockets downwards with her in tow. The air heats with friction, as arcs of thaumic lightning ripple outwards. Skyscraper-sized Docents shatter beneath the force, the ground rippling outwards as waves of blood light snare hundreds of Docents and archivists, freezing them in pillars of red ice. Reality quakes as the ocean of starlight ripples with the ice, threatening to drown the denizens of the Library in warping reality.</p>
<p>Abigail rises from the icy impact crater and leaps like a dragoon, bouncing along the heads of Archivists and Docents alike, wings spinning in wheels of blood-light death. She lands in the crowd and whirls upon the thousands of Docents and Archivists with hundreds of blades swirling and flying in a tornadic maelstrom of crimson fury.</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc16"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">3.7 The Midas Touch</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Past. Corinth.</span></p>
<p>Jason dropped, and then rolled back, hopping up onto his feet a crazed snarl on his lips. Carissa landed in front of him in a near-perfect crouch. Medea flicked the wrist of her free hand and a glyph appeared underneath his feet burning with mocking light before it rocketed him up in a lilac beam of pure magical force. The hapless king smashed into a beam above and dropped like a rock, hitting the floor with a visceral <em>thunk</em>.</p>
<p><span style="color:purple"><em>And now we play with our prey.</em></span></p>
<p>Jason used his sword to haul himself up to his feet, untouched and unbothered by the attacks thrown at him so far. "You idiots! You kinslaying whores. You can do nothing to me! The Fleece is mine, so—"</p>
<p>"So you can't be hurt by weapons, magics, or human-applied strikes, we know asshole," Carissa said, dodging a swing of Jason's sword as he whirled upon her approach. She flipped backward, catching her full weight on her hands, and used her bow like a spring, launching back. A sword nocked itself against the string as she loosed. It smacked Jason straight in the face, sending him stumbling backward.</p>
<p>Almost forgetting they were still in a fight with relative stakes, Medea admired the form and motion, the way Carissa's body twisted and moved. She snapped back to reality bringing her flail to bear as it slammed into Jason's torso knocking the wind from him. She flicked her wrist again as he hit the wall, and a blue gleaming glyph spun up and then smashed the hapless fallen "hero" with a column of condensed sewage water that sent him sprawling across the carpets.</p>
<p>He got up again, spitting disgusting water out as he sucked in breaths. Medea decided, and Carissa probably did too based on how she was inspecting one of her claw-like nails, just to see what bullshit he would spout next.</p>
<p>His eyes darted to Carissa. "Atalanta," he said with that same smooth and charming tone he'd used to convince them both to join the Argo's crew. "You know it was never personal right? I only needed you out of the way! Be reasonable, she's a kinslayer and a murderer. You don't want to go to Tartarus with her, do you? We can still make a deal where you walk away from this."</p>
<p>Medea watched Carissa's face carefully. She seemed, for a moment, to actually be giving his offer due consideration. That provoked a twinge of worry in her chest.</p>
<p>Carissa banished it by barking out laughter. "Are you fucking serious? Is that really the best you've got?"</p>
<p>"What do you want? Gold? Riches? Magical artifacts?" He paused and then his lips slowly curled outwards into a suggestive smirk. "Women?"</p>
<p>"You couldn't afford me." She blipped out of reality, and materialized behind him, mid-air, fingers pulling the strings of her bow taut. The arrows slammed into his spine and sent him stumbling forward to once again meet the spiked heft of Medea's flail. It slammed down into his skull causing him to fall forward like a domino, as Medea deftly sidestepped his flailing blade, watching his descent with only passing interest.</p>
<p>He lay on the floor a moment and then looked up at her. "Medea please, I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted to leave—"</p>
<p>She kicked him in the side with far more force than she knew she was capable of, sending him skidding away. "Save your drivel for Chiron. Assuming they don't just throw you straight into Tartarus yourself."</p>
<p>Medea's eyes didn't leave Jason as he coughed, standing up slowly. "All of this could have been avoided," he pleaded. "We still can work things out."</p>
<p>"Sorry Jason, the only way this could have been avoided is by you not being born," Carissa lazily picked at her teeth with one claw. "Medea, you sated?"</p>
<p>"Well let's see, he's tried to turn us against each other, tried to bribe you. He has not begged for mercy yet." She extended her fingers as she counted.</p>
<p>"Please! Mercy, have mercy on me, your friend, your lover, your husband!" Jason begged.</p>
<p>"There's the plea from familiarity and the begging," Carissa said.</p>
<p>"I'm more satisfied now than I ever was with him in bed." She makes another small motion with her free hand and another twirling glyph appears beneath Jason, astral chains shooting up out of the floor, and wrapping around him. Pinning him in place.</p>
<p>Medea watched a drop of boiling liquid fall onto Jason's shoulder, causing him to squeal in pain, as he looked up. The look of absolute terror burned itself into Medea's mind, as he saw the molten vat of liquid gold that Carissa had hung from the ceiling. Carissa popped into existence in the rafters next to it with the flat end of a spear ready to tip.</p>
<p>Another glyph appeared on the floor below Jason, and stone pillars in the shape of a mold rose up around him. Medea met Carissa's eyes and gave the thumbs-down signal. She tilted the vat, and the molten gold poured in.</p>
<p>The haunting screams of a dying bastard filled the air.</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc17"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">3.8 It wraps me in its blinding twilight</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Present. The L-Halls of K-Heavenly Oc-.</span></p>
<p>They were so close. The personal rooms were right there. Abigail hews and slices away deep in the lines of the Docents and Archivists, batting aside spells, and weapons and limbs. She and the younger twin were taking magic blows now. It didn't seem to, at first, be affecting them, but Medea grows less certain as the seconds tick by, their movements visibly slowing. Not only that, but the Library is reasserting itself, pressing back against the shifting floor and walls as tile overtakes the calm ocean surface and craggy canyons.</p>
<p>They need an edge, to stop the Archivists from sculpting and directing the Library for even a moment.</p>
<p>"Carissa."</p>
<p>"On it!" her lover replies, stretching the string of her bow, as she aims at the sky. "Taurpolos! Guide me true oh bow of heaven!" A blazing green arrow manifests already nocked on the string. She looses it into the sky as Medea holds her hands aloft, clouds of a thaumic storm rising past her fingertips. The arrow streaks in. A rain of building-sized, lightning-streaked projectiles falls out the other side, and upon the defensive line.</p>
<p>But it isn't enough. The line is holding.</p>
<p>The library is pushing back now, Abigail is being forced to fall back, and she and her sibling are focusing more and more of their attention on defending themselves.</p>
<p>Medea has many many more traps, but none of them would be enough.</p>
<p>Would their plan fail here?</p>
<p>Would they die without ever having reached the personal rooms? The forbidden spaces with the absolute knowledge geared for them and them alone.</p>
<p>"It's not working!" Medea cries down to them.</p>
<p>"Quite aware thank you Medea," Abigail says back, grimacing as she takes another spell to the side.</p>
<p>Somehow in the brilliance of <span class="text-blur">Inanna</span> and <span class="text-blur">Ishtar's</span> assault, she's forgotten one very important thing.</p>
<p>There is still a third Beast.</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc18"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">3.9 Said goodbye to you my friend</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Past. Corinth.</span></p>
<p>They waited for a long time after the screams had ceased. Medea spent that time thinking about how absolutely painful it must have been, to have been screaming when the molten metal fell, streaming into the airways and literally melting him from both inside and out. It was a visceral thought and one she thought fitting for a yellow-bellied adulterer like him.</p>
<p>The casting stones fell away as Carissa pried them apart with a metal rod.</p>
<p>Jason of Argos, former King of Corinth, bastard, and betrayer, was dead, encased in solid gold.</p>
<p>The chains had allowed him enough motion for him to raise his hands to the sky, his face a mask of horror, disfigured by the molten metal.</p>
<p>Medea stood there, next to Carissa, next to the love of her life, and they looked upon the work they had wrought.</p>
<p>All the stories said that Vengeance was a hollow painful thing that propagated cycles, but that wasn't what she felt. She felt peace. The peace of contentment that 20 years of torture had left her without.</p>
<p>"So, what do you want to do with him?" Carissa finally asked, snapping her out of her reverie. "Find a spot in a garden somewhere we can visit regularly?"</p>
<p>"No. I never wish to see him again after this," Medea said hatefully.</p>
<p>Carissa mused over that. "Then I have a plan," she said.</p>
<p>"You? A plan? I am proud Carissa," the sorceress said, teasingly but with sincerity.</p>
<p>The Catgirl's tail flicked, and ears stood pert, with a bit of a blush on her cheeks. "Thanks," she said softly, and she meant it. "So here is what we do."</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc19"><span><span style="font-family: Noto Sans Cuneiform ; font-size: 1.5rem">𒐃𒍤𒐉𒐉 𒆠𒆭𒊠 𒆠𒁠 𒃀𒀀𒇠 𒁠𒊠𒆠𒀀𒇠𒇠𒀀</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Present. !?!?!?!?!!.</span></p>
<p>The fog rolls past Abigail and Aleah's feet. Suddenly, they dive aside as a shout rends the air. "Kur's walls shall shatter all bonds and barriers, hear the bellows of Gal Irkalla!" The tile, the water, and the craggy earth beneath them rippled and burst forward as immense pillars of sharpened rock surge like a tide, tossing Docents and Archivists aside. The creeping correction of the Libray's reality is suddenly and violently shattered, pushed back by immense thaumic discharge.</p>
<p>Thousands of bone constructs of varied sizes charge out of the fog, many on the back of skeletal steeds. Medea and Carissa hover above the carnage, arrows and stinking purple thaumic discharges adding to the chaos, as the doors loom before them. The doors to the forbidden personal rooms, locked tight and so close that the sorceress could reach out and steal them open if they were not locked.</p>
<p>Below them, Laywind's face is a mat of blood and dismay at the chaos. The other archivists who continued to flex their power and channel the Library's might were not much better. For a brief moment, they had overcome their planar and reality intruders. Now, now it came undone.</p>
<p>A whistle came from the fog, and then a rumbling as a shadow grew in the towering columns of soulfire fog. Bursting out, stinking mist still rippling off its form, flies the skeletal shape of a dragon of old, a primal being long slain. Perching upon its skull is the third Beast in all of her glory looking positively and terrifyingly thrilled.</p>
<p>"And so I shall call upon the tides of darkness, the bonds of the earth, and the dead. For my name is <span class="text-blur">Ereshkigal</span>, Lady of the Great Earth!" she roars as she extends the spear before her. The skeletal dragon joins her cries with a thunderous roar, breathing columns of thick dark lightning. It scythes through Docents and larger Archivists alike before the entire construct slams itself into the doors guarding the personal rooms. A wave of pungent darkness swept away many, into the collapsing floor and the underworld forming below, or deeper into the library. The blow of the dragon, and by extension, the third Beast's spear ripples the door's reality. After a moment they crack, as the Beast known as Emily falls to the earth amidst the Archivists and Docents.</p>
<p>Medea's attention snaps away from the third beast and the carnage she is unleashing and refocuses on the twins as they rise into the sky, their bodies changing once more, clothes morphing into arcane and sorcerous robes as Venus blazes over their heads. Their hair streams behind them, ripping outwards with brilliant golden light, every tract of skin shivering and wavering with strands of dancing luminescence as power pounds through their veins.</p>
<p>"We call upon all of our power and all of our souls!" the twins say, raising their arms to Venus. The planet Venus twinkles and then starts to unravel, gas and rock flowing down into an indefinite shape. "Once we called upon you oh Gugalanna to shatter a mountain in our Vanity!" <span class="text-blur">Inanna</span> Cries.</p>
<p>"Now we call upon you from the heavens to the great earth," <span class="text-blur">Ishtar</span> continues.</p>
<p>"To pave the way to our desires!" The air sags with the concept and weight of a planet as it condenses into an immense and ornate lance. Together they place their feet on the haft of its shaft. It is the size of a skyscraper, thick with golden yellow light, and more real than anything else she can see. More real than <em>anything</em> she's ever seen. "Let the light and fire of Venus pave the way!" They cock their arms forward and drew them back together, as the lance, and by proxy themselves, rocket forward.</p>
<p>The air rends with deafing wave of malicious venuslight, a sonic boom smashing all sound to pieces, as the combined might of two Beasts of Nature slams into the door to the personal rooms, and the most powerful among the Archivists as they desperately try and fail to shield it.</p>
<p>The great portals of knowledge explode in a ball of fire and light, leaving a smoking ruin as Medea and Carissa fly rapidly forward before the Library can reset.</p>
<hr/>
<h1 id="toc20"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 2rem">Chapter 4: Your Bones</span></span></h1>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Past. Corinth.</span></p>
<p>Carissa and Medea stood on the beach just outside of Corinth, their grisly prize carefully placed before them. Beneath the rotting carcass of the once great Argo.</p>
<p>"Just say the word," Carissa said, one arm around Medea's hips.</p>
<p>She languished. In some ways, it felt like what they were about to do was a waste. He could be a reminder, a warning to Greece and the gods of what happens when you break important vows. But she knew, for she hadn't truly escaped the effects of the potion in their totality, that if she did she would always come back, always reopen those wounds.</p>
<p>"Do it," Medea said with finality and certainty.</p>
<p>Carissa pulled her arm off Medea's hips, an aching twinge rising in her chest as the point of contact between them broke. She pulled the string on her bow back, and she loosed the arrow. The arrow streaked through the air and hit the Argo in a central structural beam, and it collapsed, bursting into flames. Medea had saturated the wood with Pyrrhos, and now it burned with the heat of a forge. There would soon be nothing left but ashes.</p>
<p>And that was enough. Medea turned away, her eyes closed and breathed in and out. It was done.</p>
<p>"So…" Carissa said softly and uncertainly, wrapping Medea's hips back up with an arm. "What's next?"</p>
<p>"Next?" Medea said, considering for the first time in a long long time that she had freedom.</p>
<p>"Yeah." Carissa's chest blossomed into a purr next to her, fingers running through Medea's hair.</p>
<p>After a long moment, the Sorceress replied, "We find a way to break the potion and we travel. I have no interest in remaining in Greece."</p>
<p>"That sounds like a good plan," Carissa said. "I've heard Orkney is great this time of year?"</p>
<p>"The far north? You wish to rejoin the Finned ones?"</p>
<p>"It's worth exploring."</p>
<p>They strode off along the beach, away from the pyre that would leave, in a fitting end, nothing of Jason of Argos to find.</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc21"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">4.1 Between the Daylight and the Deep Sea</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Present. The Heart, Astral Plane.</span></p>
<p>The Library is a tricky thing, and the forbidden zone that contains the personal rooms is not at all what they have been expecting. There were several doors, each with carefully crafted designs matching Carissa, Abigail, Aleah, Emily, and finally Medea. Red, Black, Orange, Gold, and Lilac. The most bewildering thing is the detailed carpentry that resembled portraits of each person. This entry hallway is; however, rather plain and boring.</p>
<p>The archive doors behind them, already fully reassembled, shudder, and the shouts of magic, and inhuman noises of Docents are audible. Carissa eyes her door cautiously, as did the others. <span style="color:purple"><em>If I had to guess… this area shapes itself to the desired knowledge of the user.</em></span> She glances at Carissa, her lover staring at what is, to her eyes, a blank wall, and mumbling something indiscernible.</p>
<p>She turns her attention back to the door, as the three Beasts attend to one another. The twins had magic wounds that were slowly healing, disruptions to their conceptual beings. In this space, their conceptual reality-warping had stopped. Perhaps this is the heart of the Library, its true core. <span style="color:purple"><em>Maybe, somewhere close by is the thing, the object or organism which had spawned its depths.</em></span> It is a curious thought, but one they didn't have time to entertain.</p>
<p>"So," Abigail says, bringing everyone back to earth. "What now."</p>
<p>"Now, we find out what the Library has for me," Medea replies, "What it's been hiding all these years, what knowledge it deemed too important for me to have with the crimes I have done. As far as you three, do what you wish from here."</p>
<p>Carissa is inspecting her door, her ears twitching and flicking towards the noises from outside the archives. Abigail looks at Emily, Emily shrugs and moves over to her own door, and vanishes inside. Abigail and Aleah do much the same.</p>
<p>Carissa looks back to Medea as if asking for permission.</p>
<p>"Get whatever is inside and come to me. I do not want to be separated if they open the door." Medea says to her.</p>
<p>"As if anyone could ever separate us again," Carissa says snarkily back and then walks through her door.</p>
<p>Medea takes a deep breath. <span style="color:purple"><em>Ok. This is it. 5000 years you've been waiting for this. 5000 years you worked for this. Whatever is on the other side of that door, it's meant for you.</em></span></p>
<p>Medea steps through the door. The room is a workshop, a place of magic tools and relics of many different times and ages. Vials of liquid are carefully situated in various places, she knew what they were, liquid memories. Several books with names that she could not read, not because the language is unfamiliar, but because they were literally blurred out of perceivable existence are carefully arranged on shelves. But her attention falls to what is in the center of the room. On a pedestal, the cover closed, an extremely thick and heavy tome. She knows what it is, immediately.</p>
<p><em>The Complete and Total Guide to Sorcery, Magics, and Enchantments and how to Break them.</em> She had a few pages from this book at one point in time.</p>
<p>And then she sees who the author is, and she put her head in her hands. "Oh, I am so stupid."</p>
<p>'Written by Circe.'</p>
<hr/>
<h2 id="toc22"><span><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem">4.2 I See it All so Clear</span></span></h2>
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">The Present. Site-212A, Scotland.</span></p>
<p>Medea sits at the interrogation room table. It is crowded. <span style="color:purple"><em>Why did they have to do all five of us at the same time. This is miserable.</em></span> Every look towards any of the three Beasts of Nature was enough to flashbang her, but three? She might as well have put on blinders. And after the library, it was <em>worse</em>. Whatever they have found has exacerbated the issue.</p>
<p>She rests her head on Carissa's shoulder as Sherry Andrews, O5-01-03 flips through the hodgepodge reports they'd submitted. The woman's face is a mask of incredulous disbelief, the corners of her lips flicking down to teeth bared as she squints in a grimace, before flicking back up into a smile, rinse and repeat.</p>
<p>She finally closes the folders and pinches the bridge of her nose. "No one is ever going to believe this. How am I supposed to go before the coun—" She cuts herself off, sighs, and straightens up returning to a professional and even disposition. "I can't say you didn't complete the deal. You brought back the tomes we requested, got whatever you needed, and my understanding is you're working on remedying the Thaumic contamination?" she asks Medea.</p>
<p>"Correct." Medea nods.</p>
<p>She pulls two thick stacks of stapled paper out of the folder on the table and slides them over to Carissa and Medea. "Read these, thoroughly, sign, and get them back to my office by Monday."</p>
<p>"What are they?" Carissa asks, lifting the top sheaf of paper, leaning down and sniffing suspiciously. Her ears flick as her face morphs into something inscrutable, a rarity as Medea knows her expressions all so well.</p>
<p>"Your employment contracts. You'll be assigned an SCP designation, that will remain unlogged in our database unless you violate the terms of your contract."</p>
<p>"Can we contact a lawyer first? Preferably Moose?" Medea opens hers, scans several lines of text, and wrinkles her nose at the legalese. "What exactly will we be doing?"</p>
<p>"Moose is unavailable, but I can get you someone from the Department of Legal Affairs." She pauses as Carissa looks about to protest. "Someone not on my payroll. They'll walk you through everything." She sighs. "You're being assigned to the Department of Mythology and Folkloristics. The title is pretty self-explanatory. Instead of the usual hierarchical structure, you'll be reporting directly to me for your work. I've got some concerns about the partisanship politics, and I don't want you under someone who I don't fully trust."</p>
<p>"So we're back to square one," Carissa says unamused. "Someone's personal toys."</p>
<p>"I assure you Carissa, the only time you'll be in play is if something has gone very wrong." Sherry's eyes flick to the three siblings, Medea's eyes following hers. Abigail and Aleah are seated next to one another, and Emily has elected to stand very close to the one-way Mirror and is looking at it instead of paying attention to Sherry.</p>
<p>"As for you three, you upheld your end of the bargain and I assume you got what you wanted?"</p>
<p>"A safe assumption," Abigail says, a smug smirk on her face. "We'll be there when the end comes."</p>
<p>Sherry nods, looking unsettled by the implication. "Ok. Then if no one else has anything to add?"</p>
<p>"Dr. Andrews," Emily says, finally turning her attention back to the O5 member. "Please send Gabriella to my home in approximately 1 year. You will not let my wife interview me anymore, so she will do. I will be ready to begin then."</p>
<p>Medea blinks. Abigail and Aleah look at the third Beast as if she has lost her head for a moment, but neither says anything.</p>
<p>"Erm," Sherry says blinking. "I'll have M&F dispatch her first thing Monday."</p>
<p>"Excellent." She turns, twin pillars of obsidian rising from the floor, and vanishes into a portal of blue-green fog.</p>
<p>"I think that's our cue to go," Abigail says, snapping a finger as she and Aleah vanish into a doorframe of light without rising. They take two very nice interrogation chairs with them.</p>
<p>Carissa, Medea, and Sherry are left alone in the interrogation room. Sherry sags in the chair looking utterly exhausted, as she drops all pretense. "What a week."</p>
<p>"Out of curiosity," Medea asks, shifting and making a note in the relaxation of demeanor. "What did you offer them? To risk everything."</p>
<p>"Everything," Sherry says. "Everything, and the challenge of fighting the fucking library."</p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Swallowed by a PRIDEful, Lesbian Sea">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swallowed-by-a-prideful-lesbian-sea">Swallowed by a PRIDEful, Lesbian Sea</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="Seas of Orcadia Hub">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/seas-of-orcadia-hub">Seas of Orcadia Hub</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="SCP-8810 Gods Be Sued on the Dance Floor">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8810">SCP-8810 Gods Be Sued on the Dance Floor</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/medea-filicidium">Medea Filicidium</a>" by DrBleep, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/medea-filicidium">https://scpwiki.com/medea-filicidium</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Carissa_Woods.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;"><img alt="Amai-Ixchel" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6506049&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735842752" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6506049)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;">Amai-Ixchel</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swallowed-by-a-prideful-lesbian-sea">SCP Foundation Wiki</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Medea.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;"><img alt="Amai-Ixchel" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6506049&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735842752" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6506049)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;">Amai-Ixchel</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swallowed-by-a-prideful-lesbian-sea">SCP Foundation Wiki</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> 1920px-View_of_Corinth.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Abbott, Jacob<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/98/View_of_Corinth.jpg/2560px-View_of_Corinth.jpg">1803-1879 - History of Xerxes</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Abigail.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;"><img alt="Amai-Ixchel" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6506049&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735842752" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6506049)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;">Amai-Ixchel</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/medea-filicidium">SCP Foundation Wiki</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Aleah.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;"><img alt="Amai-Ixchel" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6506049&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735842752" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6506049)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;">Amai-Ixchel</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Medea-Filicidium">SCP Foundation Wiki</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Emily.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;"><img alt="Amai-Ixchel" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6506049&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735842752" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6506049)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;">Amai-Ixchel</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Medea-Filicidium">SCP Foundation Wiki</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Banner.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;"><img alt="Amai-Ixchel" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6506049&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735842752" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6506049)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;">Amai-Ixchel</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Medea-Filicidium">SCP Foundation Wiki</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:oceanbound">:scp-wiki:theme:oceanbound</a>]]
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text="We're going to skin Jason alive," Carissa said it so softly, and with such care as if this was love language coded specifically for Medea.
And it absolutely was. "I'll put together a plan."]]
[[div style="display: none;"]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/Medea.jpg|caption=Carissa Decimus]]
[[/div]]
[[module css]]
:root { --body-font: 'Noto Sans Cuneiform', 'Inter', 'Arial', sans-serif;
--header-height: clamp(10rem,55vmin,40rem);
--header-image: url("https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/banner.jpg");
--footer-image: url("https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Artemis.png");
}
#footer, #extrac-div-1, #extrac-div-1 span {
background-image: var(--footer-image);
background-size: 100vmax;
background-attachment: fixed;
background-position: bottom;
height: clamp(10rem,55vmin,30rem);
background-repeat: no-repeat;
}
#extra-div-1 {
background-position: top;
}
.text-blur { filter: blur(.175rem); }
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
⚠️ **Content warning:** This article contains graphic depictions of violence, sexual references, allusions to sexual acts, references to emotional abuse/neglect.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/banner.jpg style="width:700px;"]]
[[/=]]
[[=]]
[[toc]]
[[/=]]
+ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 2rem"]]Prologue: As the Fire Spread[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]3051 BCE, Corinth[[/span]]
The doors to the throne chamber flew open, glimmering robes billowing behind her. Three figures writhed behind the sorceress in the golden-plated hall, screaming as flesh charred and smoke billowed. Unquenchable flames ravaged their flesh, but the show was over for Medea of Colchis. Almost as soon as it had begun.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//Damn him. Damn him for everything.//[[/span]] There was no return now. The deed was done. The flames set in their flesh. A guard came running, sword drawn. A flick of her finger, a flash of purple light, and he was dead, head rolling across the ground as his corpse crumbled. She stepped over him, walking into the streets of Corinth. She was a nightmare, her lilac eyes lit against the dark of the night by the flames in the palace, the fading arcane symbols in her robes dimming as she strode down the stone paths.
[[=]]
[[image https://kaktuskontainer.wdfiles.com/local--files/drbleep-s-tale-sandbox-6/Medea.jpg style="width:430px;"]]
[[/=]]
[[span style="color:purple"]]//It was so easy. To soak the crown and the robes. The bride, the maiden he was betraying me for, scorning our love, exiling me. She was as cruel and heartless as he was, lusting after power. This was **earned**.//[[/span]] Her heart ached in her chest, from where she had torn it out. She'd become a monster. She'd set their children on fire. [[span style="color:purple"]]//They were never anything to that monster but pawns, a legacy. I would not leave them to that fate, to forever be slaves to his will.//[[/span]]
[[span style="color:purple"]]//Am I a monster for finding the slightest sickest pleasure, in watching this? Watching everything he built burn? Yes. Yes.//[[/span]] It tore her apart. She was a Kin slayer now, and not even for the first time.
The screams from the palace echoed all around her, crowds parting, staring at her ash-covered fingers as she swept through the streets.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//Who was it that came the night before. A shade? A half-shredded remnant of something that had been there when Titans fell at Troy, caught in the blast of their divine auras? Maybe it was even Hecate herself.//[[/span]]
Guards tried to stop her, the spiked censer of her flail ripping them apart absently. Three strokes, three vicious deaths. The crowd screamed around her, panicked townsfolks trampling one another to get away.
"I will make thou an offer, mine dear," [[span style="color:purple"]]//it said to me. And it was a lovely voice.//[[/span]] "Mine time is closing, but mine tasks on this coil are not yet finished. Take me onto thee, and I shall grant thee the power thou needs, the knowledge to find that which thou will soon seek."
She reached a hand into her robes, another flick of her fingers ending the dock guards. Corinth's navy was powerful. To ensure her escape, it had to be dealt with. Her fingers came free with dozens of glass vials, filled to the brim with that horrible poison. All she needed to do was light a few, and the rest would follow.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//Of course I agreed, I would have been mad not to. I lost all memory of last night and came alive as something more. Perhaps enough to live beyond this moment.//[[/span]] She looked down at her hands, purple light brimming beneath the pulsing skin.
Shouts were rising from the city behind her now. She replaced the flail on her belt and flicked her finger, with a smooth circular motion of her hand she spread the vials out and then dropped them. Within seconds the harbor was ablaze with the sole exception of one vessel. Her vessel. Her guarantee.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//I've been in a fog for two decades. But this. I always had this just in case.//[[/span]]
It was like a dream. Her mind was not quite awake, as if some effect had yet to be fully shaken off. And that's how she found herself aboard the ship, preparing for departure, one eye kept on the chaos in the distance.
It's how she almost missed his arrival.
"Kinslaying Whore!" Jason bellowed at her from the dockside. He slammed into a protective glyph, a trap she'd set in the fog of the dream. "You've ruined everything! You've destroyed everything we ever worked for."
"No Jason, you did. You did when you spurned me for that //piece of meat,//" she hissed back, unfurling the sail. "I loved you for 20 years! Even when I spent every night questioning why, I still loved you! I killed my brother for you! I gave you children! I got you the fleece! Then you stab me in the back!"
"You're an ungrateful whore! I gave you //everything//. I gave you power, riches, luxury, and access to things you never would have had in Colchis. And you undo everything because you can't move on. Can't accept that for us to secure our legacy, I need to solidify power."
"You don't just move on when you love someone!" She whirled on him a glyph swirling against her palm, as she fired a beam intended to kill. It knocked him back, but he rose from the wood, wiping his mouth. [[span style="color:purple"]]//He's wearing the fleece.//[[/span]]
"So, this is what it's come to. Striking at your loving husband with a Witch's spells? Burning our children alive? Where will you go? Word will spread, to all of Greece about what you have done."
"I'll go to //her//. I'll find her. I should have gone after her, I never should have let you take me away. Why did I?" Medea grappled with a realization on the edge of her consciousness, something that had only just started to come into frame. Frayed and blurred memories piecing themselves together.
Jason stared at her for a long moment, and she stared back. And then he started to laugh. "Oh, oh that's rich Hera, you traitorous bitch! You've redirected its effects now!?" Jason laughed harder.
"Why are you laughing!?" Medea's voice rose in anger.
"She's dead," Jason said, widening his arms. "My goodness, the gods are cruel!"
Medea froze, the rope falling from her fingertips. "No."
"Yes," Jason said gleefully.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//He's lying to screw with your mind.//[[/span]] "Liar!" Medea roared in anger.
"You can deny it all the same, but let me walk you through the truth. Let me walk you through reality. The night she disappeared, the night you came to me upset, I tied her to a rock. I threw her overboard, to Scylla. And then do you know what I did?" Jason said, eyes wide and wild.
"No. No, no, no. You're lying!" She tried to cover her sylvan ears.
"I spiked every drink you had that night, with a love potion. And you believed, every single fucking lie out of my mouth about that scraggly man-woman. How she fell out of love with you, how she got hurt and sick and had to leave. Lies, all of them to cover up my coup d'état."
A hundred, thousand memories burst into vivid lucidity, lying there in bed awake struggling against a vice around her brain. //Screaming//, crying, and banging her hands against a mental barrier that would not yield. Free will and decision veiled in a fog of unnatural and forced love. For two fucking decades. [[span style="color:purple"]]//I couldn't break it. Carissa is dead. Carissa is dead, and there's nothing I can do.//[[/span]]
She fell to her knees. A thousand howling griefs ripped her open to a cruel and foul world, two loves ripped away horrifyingly within 24 hours of one another. Her heart shattered into a million turbulent pieces. Tears welled in her eyes. "How could you do this? How could you do this to me? Why would you do this to me?"
The boat rocked beneath Medea's feet, as it began to lift into the sky, a golden light embracing its outline.
"It was simple and easy. If I couldn't have you, no one could. You were my prize, mine to win," Jason said. "You were the key to power, and our legacy. And you threw it all away. Now you'll have no one. No one will ever love you again, and not even Hera's grace will save you. Run, run to Athens, run to those who still favor you. Let them see you for what you are!" He yelled after her. "Nowhere in Greece will be safe. You might as well kill yourself!"
He was right. She was alone. She was alone, and she was forever a monster.
------
+ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 2rem"]]Chapter 1: I think I wrote my own pain[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]3050 BCE, Arcadia. 1 year later.[[/span]]
[[span style="color:purple"]]//A year ago I snatched my freedom, with ash-covered fingers. I tore Jason's hand away from the yoke on my neck. I soaked it in Pyrrhos and let it and everything that was us burn. Then I left when the show was halfway through.//[[/span]]
Her feet quietly crunched leaves as she moved through the Arcadian forest. It was a chilly, early spring, and the sun was starting to warm the trees and the forest floor. Stealth was not an objective. She would float if it had been. She was admittedly unsure what the objective even was. Songbirds cried softly in the morning air, as a swiftly moving sky full of fluffy white clouds whirled overhead.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//He enslaved me and then freed me with his own selfish betrayal. Where he got that potion, that impossibly powerful concoction was a mystery. Where did he get it?//[[/span]] She closed her eyes sucking in a breath. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Two fucking decades. For two decades he trapped me and I still feel its effects a year later. I'll never be free.//[[/span]]
[[span style="color:purple"]]//The snap was slow until he revealed the truth. At first, it felt like I'd received a shock to my system. Like something had shattered. And then I remembered. I remembered every fucking night, paralyzed, sweating, and grappling with the reality that I was not myself. That every ounce of my agency was stripped away by a man who wouldn't even **look** at me after sex.//[[/span]]
A branch cracked beneath her feet. She was wandering aimlessly.
Something was shadowing her. Probably a boar, or something worse.
It could smell how feeble her body had become.
It would take her any moment now, and she'd turn upon it with her magic and it would meet its end and maybe, just maybe she'd meet her own.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//None of that matters anymore.//[[/span]]
She hoped it would be quick. Painless so she could join Carissa, the only person who ever cared for her, in Elysium.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//I want to die. Please make it quick.//[[/span]]
It was with a flicker that the thing shadowing her disappeared from her mind. She wasn't sure where it had gone… only that it was no longer in the brush to her right. [[span style="color:purple"]]//It was too much to hope that it would end.//[[/span]]
[[span style="color:purple"]]//That heartless godless monster forced me to love an illusion, a man who never existed, never loved me back for 20 soulless years, forced himself on me, and then stripped it all away. He took that, and the only person I've ever loved. He left me with nothing.//[[/span]]
[[span style="color:purple"]]//He coveted me like a Minoan king coveted gold. Not because I was rich and beautiful but because I was **powerful** and would make him powerful. And the worst part is that he was lovely. He was, and is a very pretty man, and that made it harder to fight.//[[/span]]
She let out a strangled noise.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//I shouldn't have believed anything he said, but he could do no wrong. I loved him already because he'd already gotten the potion into my veins.//[[/span]]
She balled her fists feeling the hot sting of tears rising in her eyes.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//I could have killed him, I **should** have killed him, but that would have meant he had won. Why did I care so damn much about that? Why did I care that he was probably hoping for that? What's the point of being the bigger person if there's nothing left for me! If there is nothing left **of** me.//[[/span]]
A rasping gasp of frustration poured from her lips, the potion's lingering aftereffects battering at her.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//He deserves to be alone, everything he ever loved and cared for burnt to the ground. Instead, he lived in a palace in Corinth while I fled to Athens with nothing but empty hollowness inside. **Damn him!**//[[/span]]
[[span style="color:purple"]]//Everything after has been worthless. Pointless, rote, and hollow acts, to build political goodwill, **for what**? What was there left to do that would bring meaning to my existence! Nothing left mattered in the slightest. None of it. None of it ever mattered. The gods sat on their thrones on Olympus and laughed at me. Even Hera who favored me in the end, did nothing to ease this hollow ache. They play with mortals until we fucking break.//[[/span]]
Medea stopped in the forest, in a small clearing. She fell to her knees, coming to lucidity. An inhuman wail tore from her lungs and ripped through the forest, two decades of pain, of a suppressed broken heart, of a howling grief ripping her open for the whole forest to see.
"Why don't you just kill me already!" she screamed at the sky, tears rippling down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and wailed, "You've left me with nothing! You sit upon your thrones and you laugh at my suffering. There is nothing left for me Hades, you've taken everything. Have mercy Oizys, have mercy Thanatos, relieve me of these burdens!"
Her wail echoed amongst the trees. For a moment there was nothing. The birds were silent, even the trees had stilled as if her cries had moved their wooden hearts in sympathy. Through the darkness of her closed eyes, she could see it. A pillar of magic before her, balled and scrunched into the vaguely shaped form of a person. They were holding something equally as rich in power, and she could feel the very tip of a sharp and brimming thaumic projectile hovering less than an inch away from her hood. It would be so easy for this person to end it.
Something brushed past one ear and the hood fell away, as the light of the sun kissed her eyelids.
Breath came sharply from the stranger's direction. That thing, fuzzy and soft pressed against the bottom of Medea's chin, and forced her head up. Unable to keep her eyes closed at the fierceness of the sun's glare beating against them, the sorceress opened them.
Her lungs sucked in cool air, sharp and almost painfully. [[span style="color:purple"]]//I must be dead. I must be dead.//[[/span]]
Standing in the flesh before her was an impossibility. Positioned in a narrow stance, one leg in front of the other, one arm drawing the string of the most beautiful bow she'd ever seen, was [[[Swallowed by a Prideful Lesbian Sea | Carissa Decimus]]].
And she was //wrong.//
----
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]1.1 But I feel out of my mind all the time[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Past. Arcadia.[[/span]]
[[=]]
[[image http://kaktuskontainer.wikidot.com/local--files/drbleep-s-sandbox-hub/Carissa%20Woods.png style="width:430px;"]]
[[/=]]
Her eyes were wild, yellow, and slit like a cat's. Dangerous. Indiscriminate and violent, filled with the fire of a life lived surviving by the skin of one's teeth. Ears, pert and twisting this way and that, fluffy and feline, emerged from the wilderness of her thick maroon curls. The thing that was tilting her head drew back, a long tail ending in a tuft of fur.
This was not the Carissa that Medea knew. Her natural magic was twisted and intertwined with strange brilliant fire, intermixed and consumed by something else. Someone else. Grief and despair suddenly burned with surprise, then hope, and then dismay at the cold, //cruel// distance of Carissa's eyes. The pit in Medea's chest churned as she fell back onto her ass, the thud breaking the piercing silence.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//She doesn't know me.//[[/span]] Her hand curled around the haft of her flail-censer. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. "Cariss—"
"Silence," Carissa said sharply, dismissively.
Carissa's ears suddenly both pivoted, and her eyes snapped away from Medea, as a squeal ripped through the air. A great boar the size of five men with tusks as big as a triereme mast thundered out of the brush, straight towards them.
Carissa shifted, dodging out of the way with a one-handed flip as Medea rolled backwards. The arrow ripped from her bow with an arcing screech of magic, it burrowed into the thing's skin like a meat knife, but the boar didn't stop, even with the column of blood spraying from a burst artery. It thundered past them, turned in an arc, and circled back towards them.
Caught in the shock of the moment, Medea felt frozen, but her body reacted even as Carissa drew another shaft. The censer came free from her robes, as a spell of directed energy flew to her fingers, the glyphs forming in the air.
"None of that!" Carissa hissed at her, one eye flicking her way. Medea paused, the boar saw its opportunity and lowered its head to gore them, gore //her// with a flick as it came in. The arrow flicked off of Carissa's bow. And then another. And then //another.// The beast squealed, as in the final moments of its charge, the arrows grew to the size of ballista bolts, and shore through flesh and bone, killing the thing instantly.
Carissa fired several more arrows, sinking deep into the boars flesh as it crashed into the ground, momentum carrying it forward and leaving a trail of violence behind it.
It slid to a stop before them, and then everything was quiet again. The arrows dissolved from its carcass, pure thaumic discharge whittling away into the wind.
Medea let out a breath of relief and then sucked it right back in as the tip of an enchanted blade gently pressed against her throat, Carissa on the other end of it. Medea swallowed, the tip of the blade pricking her skin and spilling a little rivulet of blood running down her neck.
"If you want to die so bad, there are better ways than getting gored to death," Carissa said, coldly.
Medea stood frozen, too shocked to respond. Her grasp on reality was flying to pieces, none of this could be happening. The gods mocked her, inflicting misery at every turn.
"No?" Carissa lowered the blade. "Thought not."
Carissa turned and moved over towards the boar and inspecting her kill briefly as Medea stood there, trying to gather the shattered remains of everything she thought she knew.
The huntress picked up the boar's legs and started to tie a rope around them.
"Wait," Medea said meekly, the flail going slack in her fingers. "How are you—"
"Alive? It takes a hell of a lot more to kill me than being thrown to Scylla," she said, as she pulled the rope taught between the legs. "I thought //you// of all people would be better than to fall for his shit. For whatever lies he vomited." She tightened the knot with a little too much force, cracking a bone somewhere in the beast. "And then you married him." Carissa's voice was harsh, scathing, and bitter with an undercurrent of a long numbed broken heart.
The ache of despair rose in her chest again. "Bu—"
"Save your excuses Medea," Carissa said. She stepped away and into a bush, pushing out a hidden makeshift cart. "You're 20 years and one Zeus transformation too late. Do me, and you both a favor and go back to your husband. There's nothing for you here."
In a feat of enormous strength, she lifted the boar with a fair bit of strain into the cart. The wood sagged slightly beneath its weight, groaning. She circled around and tied the rope to the wagon, securing the boar into place. Hopping into the driver's seat, she pressed two fingers into her mouth and whistled. A pair of stags strutted out of the forest and maneuvered themselves into the yoke.
"I can't," Medea said pitifully, staring at Carissa. "I can never go back."
Carissa turned in the seat of the cart to look at her. A long and tense silence rode between them. [[span style="color:purple"]]//She hates me.//[[/span]]
"What, did Jason grow tired of his toy? Now you come running to me. What do you think you're going to get out of this, a reunion? Love blossoming again?" Carissa snapped at her.
Medea recoiled, taking a step back, sinking in her skin. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Death would be better than this.//[[/span]] Tears rose in her eyes, and she looked away. "I've got nothing else and nowhere to go." Was all she could manage in a broken voice. [[span style="color:purple"]]//What do I even say?//[[/span]]
Carissa glared at her for a long moment.
Finally she sighed and looked away. Medea thought she would ride off now but she didn't. She sat there, Medea couldn't see her face, but she could see the muscles in her back and neck tensing, conflicted.
Then she looked up at the sky contemplating. "Get in the cart. You pull any shit, and you'll go the way this Caledonian boar did."
"Okay," Medea said quietly. She picked up her flail-censer and walked over and got in the cart.
------
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]1.2 But why don't we full on pretend?[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Past. Arcadia[[/span]]
A tense quiet settled over them as they rode through the forest. [[span style="color:purple"]]//She's alive and she hates me. I don't know what's worse anymore, the fact that I'm not dead, or the fact that she might never forgive me.//[[/span]] Medea sniffled, trying to pull herself together and failing tremendously. [[span style="color:purple"]]//I'm wallowing in my own self loathing.//[[/span]] She couldn't even be vulnerable with the one and the only person she had ever felt comfortable being vulnerable with.
She kept wiping her eyes, trying not to burst into sobs. In those circumstances, it was no surprise that she missed Carissa watching her out of her peripherals. The catgirl sighed.
A piece of cloth hit Medea in the face, her hands coming up to pull it off as Carissa looked back front. Medea's lips twitched as the huntress spoke. "If you're going to blubber, do it into that. There's no point ruining your robes further," she said, clearly trying to maintain that distance, and yet—
Medea let the tears flow as she pressed her face into the cloth, letting all the despair out. It was a horrible demeaning noise, but somehow, somehow it felt easier now. Easier to feel. Easier to silently gasp and shudder.
Her stomach pitted down hollowly, as she realized that might not last. If Carissa told her to leave, it would go away again, she'd be hollow. [[span style="color:purple"]]//I can't bear that again. I can't. I have to do something. I have to tell her. But would she even believe me?//[[/span]]
The stags and cart pulled them up to a small stone building with a garden in the front, built over the entrance of a cave. [[span style="color:purple"]]//I have to try. But Where do I start? How do I explain? How do I get her to trust me. She'll understand if I just get it out there right?//[[/span]]
Carissa started the process of unstrapping the boar as Medea climbed out of the cart, looking around. Carissa had backed the wagon so that it was just short of the platform, and once she'd unstrapped it, she kicked it repeatedly. Every kick caused the wood to groan, and the creature to slide further until the cart upended, spilling the carcass onto the grooved stones.
Medea opened her mouth to speak "I—"
"Hand me that," Carissa said gesturing to a bucket on the cart, as she levered the rope over the deep-set wooden poles, using it as a pulley. She tied the rope to the end of a deeply embedded stone post once she'd hauled it up high enough.
Medea glanced at it and then handed it to her, her lips twitching down at the interruption, fingers flexing as she tried again.
"It was—"
"Shears from the cart." Carissa interrupted her again.
Medea obliged, growing frustrated. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Carissa please let me fix this. PLEASE.//[[/span]] "Carissa I—"
"I'm trying to work here Medea," Carissa said sharply, and shortly as she stepped up to the boar to start the process of draining its blood.
Medea snapped. Undirected grief burning into anger. [[span style="color:purple"]]//No! I will not be left with no agency again. I will not be ignored.//[[/span]] "STOP AND LISTEN TO ME."
A few birds nearby flew out of the tree, flapping off and away. Carissa let out a small yelp as she cut her hand with the skinning knife, wincing. Blood trickled from her palm on the stone. She dropped the tool, and it clanged against the stone.
"Shit, I'm sorry let me—" [[span style="color:purple"]]//WHY. Why do I ruin every chance.//[[/span]]
"No," Carissa said. Her ears pressed flat to her head, pinned against her hair. Her lips were drawn back, teeth showing. She held the wounded hand with the other. "You've done enough."
Medea watched amazed as the wound healed rapidly and on its own. "I—"
"You just don't get it do you Medea? You hurt me back then, you broke me. And you've hurt me every day since then, even when I wasn't myself. Just the thought of you being with that bastard. And now you just waltz back into my life, //right// as I was finally getting past you." Her tail-fur fluffed out, the appendage whipping with the animated movements of her arms as she spoke, legs carrying a couple of angry steps forward.
Medea took a step back, cowed by Carissa's aggressive motions. The words struggled in the sorceress's throat, as she tried to push them out. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Please give me this chance! I need to explain, I need to! Just let me explain!//[[/span]] "No I—"
"Who the hell do you think you are? Did you think you could just walk back in and pick up right where we left off? I was there, I saw you all chummy and kissing him."
[[span style="color:purple"]]//How do I make her listen!? I could but that's — she'll either kill me or hate me more or listen. I don't know!//[[/span]] Desperately Medea took a step forward, gathering a fire of determination. "Carissa plea—"
"No! I saw you holding his children. The man who tried to mur—"
[[span style="color:purple"]]//FUCK IT.//[[/span]] Medea stepped in and grabbed Carissa's face. It wasn't a hard motion, but it was desperate and her fingers slipped into holding Carissa's skin in a way only a lover would, fingers aligned along the cheeks and jawbone, carefully cupping the undersides of her chin.
There was an uncertain moment where Carissa's eyes widened with shock and surprise. With confusion. Medea stared deep into them, seeing the woman she loved filling out the light behind them. Color rose to the huntress's cheeks. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Embarassment? Shame? Anger? Intimacy, tell me what you feel at this moment.//[[/span]]
Medea pushed in and shoved their lips together, the soaring lights of fire bursting behind her eyelids as she closed her eyes. A thousand glyphs of multicolored lights burned between their lips in the light of the cool spring air. There was a genuine moment where Medea didn't know how Carissa would react. Whether Carissa might run her through with the sword, or rend her neck with the claws that were her fingernails.
If she died with a kiss, if she died to the woman she loved in a moment of heat and passion, she wouldn't complain. She'd hurt Carissa, she'd hurt her so much. Her own struggles, the pains and turmoil draining away in the face of the suffering of the only person left she gave a damn about. She'd rather die than see her continue to hurt.
It lasted forever, an eternity of contact, their nerves intertwining in a lost and familiar yet different flame. Medea was not about to break the kiss herself. Carissa, finally did, hands rising rapidly, and pushing Medea back and away. It wasn't a violent act, but it was angry.
"Fuck off!" Carissa said, lips pulled back, eyes narrowed but watering, and ears pinned to her head. "You can't just walk in here and do that! After everything! What's fucking wrong with you!?" She shoved Medea again, this time non-gently, Medea stumbled back and fell onto the wagon, scrambling to sit back up. Her shoulders ached from the impact of the huntress' palms. Carissa was strong, and if she wanted to she could have flung Medea through the wagon.
"I'm sorry," Medea said. "I'm so gods damn sorry Carissa. I've loved you every single day since you left."
"You don't get to say that! You didn't come for me! You fucking married him! Him instead of me! How could you do that?" Carissa's motions were animated as she moved her arms, tears running down her cheeks. "He only wanted power, he didn't give two shits about you! Damn it I was getting over you!" Carissa's voice rose angrily as she sniffled, and gripped her head, nail like claws pulling on her hair.
"I'm so sorry," Medea said tearing up.
"Sorry doesn't heal my fucking broken heart!" She said pulling on her hair, as she turned away.
A few seconds, of silence passed between them as they sniffled, standing apart. Medea watched her as she snuffled, and wiped her eyes. Carissa refused to look at her.
Carissa said, more quietly now, sniveling. "Why didn't you come for me when I needed you?"
"I would have," Medea replied, burying her face in her own hands. "I should have."
"But why didn't you?" Carissa said, voice breaking. "Why did you abandon me like everyone else? I thought you were different! I thought it was real. I thought you loved me."
"He spiked my drinks with a love potion Carissa!"
-----
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]1.3 What do you want me to say?[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Past. Arcadia.[[/span]]
They sat on the bench in Carissa's cottage. Next to each other, but with separation and space between. Their hands are micrometers away from each other. In spite of the enclosed shelter, the ground was dirt, spring flowers peeking through in the shafts of light that streamed in through the window. Tools for skinning, prepping, and cooking meat and plants were arranged above a carefully constructed brick stove, with counters of wood and rock built into the stone walls. A small table, the bench they sat on, a bed, and a place to hang and store clothes made out the rest of the building.
The kiss had been electric, a cataclysm of emotion, a river of color and magic unto itself. It was everything Medea had dreamed aboard the Argo, aboard the ship of the Finned ones. Twice she'd leaped into Carissa's sensation, and been met with nerve-fraying fire, and the third time was no different.
But time had passed, 20 years. They weren't the same people anymore. There was tension between them. They were damaged. Medea was damaged, and she could only barely grasp the extent of what Carissa had been subject to in the past twenty years.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//Where do we even start now. The beginning? Do we try to pick up where we left off? **Can we even pick up again?**//[[/span]] But she said nothing.
Neither of them said anything. They sat staring at the table, and their legs. Medea watched Carissa out of the corner of her eyes. [[span style="color:purple"]]//She's just as pretty as she used to be. Maybe— no definitely prettier.//[[/span]] Her ears were half limp, drooping, and almost folded in on themselves.
Seconds trickled by into minutes.
Finally, Carissa smashed the silence with her trademark bluntness. "A love potion?" she asked softly, her voice had no incredulity or doubt tinging it.
The way everything had dropped out on the bloodletting stone, was exactly what Medea was trying to get her to do. It was as if a puzzle piece had clicked into place and recontextualized everything Carissa thought she knew. Just the same as when Medea had seen Carissa again. Everything made sense in the sickest way.
"A powerful one," Medea replied, looking at Carissa. Carissa met Medea's gaze, and she couldn't help but feel the flame rise within her breast. Her heart beat a little faster.
Carissa looked away and back down at the table, and Medea felt a twinging ache overtake the flame. "I do not know where he got it."
"Zeus or one of his lackeys probably," Carissa said bitterly.
"Maybe. I do not know that I will ever know." She curled and uncurled the fingers of the hand next to Carissa's.
"How did you... how did it break? The effect?" Carissa looked back at her again, and their eyes met once more.
"I did not," Medea said simply. "Jason did."
"Huh?" Carissa tilted her head and didn't break eye contact, one ear rising to be fully pert, the other remaining half limp.
Medea bit her lip. [[span style="color:purple"]]//That's unbelievably cute.//[[/span]] "He decided... that I was not good enough. That to solidify power and authority in Corinth he would need to marry the King's daughter." She gestured with one hand. The topic stabbed an icy numbness into her chest that she pushed down, swallowing.
"So what, he broke your marriage bonds and you were free?" Carissa said looking away again, her voice tinged with anger and something more subtle, as her ears both pinned down to her head again.
"No," Medea said, looking down at the table, "He said I could go into exile, and that we would still be married, and that he would keep our children." She gripped the table with her other hand, squeezing the ancient wood with the palm of her hand. "Bastard both wanted me for himself and did not want anyone else to have me. The betrayal — revelation that he had never really loved me broke the effect."
Carissa's eyes were back on her now, she could feel them, but the deep shame she felt kept her from meeting them.
"But the effect was not, and still is not completely broken." Medea felt her voice crackle threatening to break. "Something came to me that night. Something old and powerful, might have been Hecate herself. It offered me her power, to seek what I would come to seek, as its time was fading."
She saw Carissa close her eyes out of her periphery. "Gods I'm an asshole," she said, and Medea felt Carissa's rough and strong hand shift and touch hers, coming to a gentle rest atop it.
Medea looked at her. "No, you had every rig— "
"Oh please, don't make excuses for me Medea," Carissa said meeting Medea's gaze. The catgirl's lips pursed and her eyes were intense. For a moment, a tiny moment, Medea lost herself in the depths of their fire. "I lost sight of who you were and abandoned you to that fate when I should have rescued you. Then I point a bow and sword at your head, shove you hard enough to crack bones. I'm a fucking dick, and I know it. If half of our peers hadn't been hubris-filled assholes, neither of us would have ended up like this."
Taken aback, Medea blinked. "You can't take that onto yourself, you didn't know. And it's not like I could reach out, I thought you had left, because you couldn't handle things."
"You what?" Carissa's ears sprung up to full height. "Oh, that yellow-bellied cowardly girlfriend stealing half-wit //fuckhead.//"
"He told me, after I set his children and bride-to-be on fire, what he actually did. Before then I did not know," Medea said, a darkness rising in her voice.
"Hold on, back up. //You what!?//" Carissa shook her head, focusing back on Medea.
Medea sighed. "Let me tell you everything."
-------
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]1.4 I couldn't sleep so I followed a feeling[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Present, 2014 C.E. Christchurch, New Zealand.[[/span]]
Medea sits up in bed, her breath comes ragged and fast. Drops of sweat fall soaking into the mattress as she swings her legs over and sits on the edge, pressing the palms of her hands to her head. The light of a full and scathing moon dances through the window of their bedroom, her vision blurring and tilting as if she is trapped in a dreamlike twisting of perception. His face hovers just within the shadows, staring at her.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//It's not real anymore. It's just lingering. It's not real. It's not real.//[[/span]] Her shallow breaths weren't stabilizing. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Water. I need water.//[[/span]]
She tosses aside the sheets and rises, walking quickly and quietly. All she can see is his cursed face. The lump of sheets behind her shifts, as Carissa stirs. She doesn't notice, so consumed with the burning despair building in her chest. [[span style="color:purple"]]//WHY DO I STILL SEE HIM!?//[[/span]] She moves past his face, trying to bury it. But it follows her, mockingly. Beautifully glowing with a demonic aura in the darkness.
Her feet carry her into the kitchen, stepping almost habitually over the form of a fluffy Maine Coon. Her hands fumble with the cabinet, illuminated by the moonlight and the electronic glow of the oven clock. She stands on her toes like a child reaching for something high up and grabs a cup, shoving it under the tap she turns it on and the trickle of water fills her cup. He's just outside the window now, peering in at her. Her fingers tighten as the flash of the drink, spiked with the potion—
She puts a hand to her head, breathing hard and fast. She can't banish it, can't stop thinking about it, about him. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Stop. STOP.//[[/span]] The cup slips from between her fingers and clatters to the floor, liquid splashing on her feet.
Trickles of warmth run down her cheeks and she shakily raises the free hand and wipes. A sharp pain runs through her temples into her eyes. A sharp inhale, blood? She blinks, and it's gone. Just tears. She sets the glass down on the counter and grips the marble tightly as her vision swims with the incompletely broken cognitive vice. She quietly lets a shuddering exhale slip from her lips and all effort to resist falls away as the quiet sobs come.
"Hey." Comes the soft intonation of her lover, that voice that is her lifeline.
The sob slips through her lips and fingers, as she looks over to the doorframe of their frankly very nice kitchen. His face follows through her vision only to shatter against the doorway's occupant.
Carissa leans against the doorframe, giving Medea space that she might need, watching her. "Do you need me?" The huntress asks with such gentleness and intent.
Medea gasps in air and turns to her. No words were needed, the universal grabby hands communicate everything, and if they hadn't, Medea would have crumpled there. Carissa doesn't walk the distance, she teleports and sweeps Medea into her arms. Her grip is strong and tight.
Medea breaks into full sobs, shuddering against Carissa who squeezes her tight.
"I can-"
"I know," Carissa says softly. "He can't touch you anymore."
"No matter how hard I fight. He never leaves." She gasps in air desperately.
"He's dead my love, we gave him the Midas touch. I will never leave you again," Carissa coos softly.
"You keep me still when all I feel is this endless direction," Medea says between the gasps and the tears.
"You're being a little sappy with the poetry," Carissa teases. "One day we'll figure out how to fully break it, love. I promise you."
Medea sniffles into Carissa's chest. "It's not poetry. It's of Monsters and Men."
"Well, their lyrics are good." Carissa runs her fingers through Medea's hair. "No matter what, I will be here. I will always come back."
"I love you, Carissa. More than I ever loved anyone."
"I know," Carissa says, her voice a soft contra-alto, soothing against Medea's sylvan ears. "I love you more than I will ever be able to show. It eats at me to see you still shackled to him and I will go to the ends of the earth to free you."
Medea buries her face in Carissa's chest again.
"Come back to bed," Carissa says softly. "I will hold you until I melt his face with my hands again."
----
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]1.5 I Wish I Could Fly that High[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Past. Arcadia.[[/span]]
They lay together in the bed, that ancient thing Carissa had carved out of wood and cushioned with feathered mattresses. Jason's betrayal, and Carissa's supposed death meant that Medea and Carissa had never explored each other in the most intimate ways. There hadn't been time, the war in Troy and then the Argos. And yet, she'd fallen so quickly. The night that Medea had intended to take her, to steal the huntresses' heart and soul for good, Carissa had simply vanished.
They stared at the ceiling, breaths heavy and recovering. Medea felt feverish, her skin a bastion of fading heat. There had been a fire like Medea had never felt before. She was certain now, that that was what it was //supposed// to feel like. With Jason, she'd always felt like something was wrong. Like she hadn't done enough. Every motion had been rote, hollow, sometimes even painful. He was cold, and never affectionate after.
She was afraid that the fire would fade into coldness now.
And then Carissa rolled over, pressing their bodies together, and wrapped her arms around Medea's waist. Every brush of skin a titillation of starlight kissing her nerves. The huntress' lips pressed into the supple flesh of Medea's cheek, affectionate, slow, and warm. The sorceress turned her head to meet Carissa's eyes, and then the catgirl's lips, pressing into a long slow kiss that burned a warm affectionate inferno into her chest. Her heartbeat sped up again and she felt fluid trickling down her cheeks.
The sorceress pulled back and brushed a hand across her face sniffling.
"Sorry, did I hurt you?" Carissa asked her eyes crinkling with worry, her voice soft and affectionate, as she squeezed Medea's hips gently.
"No, no you are fine Carissa. You are fine." Medea sniffled. "I am just, happy. Happy I did not do anything wrong." She sniffled again.
Carissa looked at her with warmth, the little curling down of her mouth indicating her confusion through the veil of intense adoration she was showering upon Medea with her eyes. "What do you mean? Of course, you didn't do anything wrong. I don't think you ever could have done anything wrong here."
"I always did something wrong with Jason." She said with another sniffle. "He never cuddled me or kissed me after."
Carissa tightened her grip on Medea pulling her in close and pressing the Sorceress into the crook of her neck. The catgirl gave Medea affection and safety in the embrace of her hold. The enchantress could not see it, but Carissa's eyes blazed with pure hateful fire. "It's ok. It's ok, you are good, you did very good, so very good." Carissa reassures her.
She held Medea there, as the sorceress shuddered and quietly let out years of neglect into the soft crook of the catgirl's neck.
Carissa pulled back slightly, and wiped Medea's face with a hand, carefully angling her claw-like nails. She then pressed her lips to Medea's and held them there, letting the fire burn between their nerves.
Eventually, they parted again, and Carissa rested her forehead against Medea's, noses brushing gently in an unspoken gesture of affection.
Medea had been so wrong. They were very different people now. So much about them had changed. But the fire that burned between them? It had never gone out. Though things were strange... though they'd been apart so long and did not know each other quite as well anymore, they would come to know each other again.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//I love her.//[[/span]] Medea's chest ached with the thought. Ached with the weight of a thousand heavy and burning suns, an unquenchable flame that had never risen for Jason.
She wanted this moment to last forever. She never wanted to let go again.
"Medea?" Carissa asked, their bodies pressed against one another.
"Yes, Carissa?" she replied dreamily.
"We're going to drag Jason from his fucking palace and skin him alive," Carissa said it so softly, and with such care as if this was love language coded specifically for Medea.
And it absolutely was. "I'll put together a plan."
-----
+ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]Chapter 2: A Serpent On a Bed of Leaves[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Present. Site-212A, Scotland.[[/span]]
Carissa and Medea sit in the interrogation room, the question lingering in the air.
"When did you become aware of Hecate and [[[Cat Got Your Tongue | Artemis']]] fusion with your souls?"
It buzzes around Medea's head like a gnat. The one piece of information only one other person knew about. The love of her life, and the only other person she knew whose soul was intertwined with something else. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Where did they learn that. Moose? We never told Moose.//[[/span]] "Who told you that?"
"Moose did," Sherry answers, tapping her pen on the table. "They weren't able to answer much else about the Hand or its personnel, but they immediately disclosed that to us during negotiations."
Medea glances at Carissa, who meets her gaze. The silent and wordless communication relaying, once more, a sense of odd betrayal.
"Putting aside the fact that neither of us told Moose—" Medea says.
"Fusion, is probably not the best description," Carissa finishes.
Sherry raises an eyebrow. "Is this a case where you're obfuscating over semantics or...? As much as I would like to help you, I need honest and detailed answers."
"Chill with the threats, we came under our own willpower." Carissa's ears pin to her head in displeasure at the veiled threat.
"Not at all," Medea says, gesturing, after giving Carissa a look. "Fusion implies some sort of greater ratio of merging. The kind of entwinement that would result in distribution of personality and memories, that might overwrite the host soul in the body, in some ways," Medea explains.
Sherry looks at Carissa's ears. "Right. So, you wouldn't consider that to be the condition affecting you?"
"No. We're by and large ourselves with some, how would you describe it, Medea?"
"Quirks," Medea says matter of factly.
"Quirks?" Sherry Andrews, O5-01-03, tilts her head slightly to one side, intrigued by the thought.
"Quirks," Carissa confirms, as she leans back.
"Like your —" She starts to gesture at Carissa's ears.
"No, that's unrelated," Carissa says sharply, her ears pressing back to her head again. Medea put a steadying hand on Carissa's knee to calm her.
"It's more like natural extensions of our power. Anomalies, you'd call them," Medea explains, gesturing with her hand open palm up. A little ball of light appears atop a floating glyph.
"Right, I was always able to do short spatial hops," Carissa says. "But now I can teleport anywhere and just about anything."
"Oh intriguing," Sherry says brightening as she writes in her notebook without looking away from the two. "So if not full fusion... what would you describe it as?"
"Well," Medea says. "It was more like we simply ate them."
Sherry pauses in her writing, both eyebrows shooting up. "Let me make sure I heard you right. You ate, their souls?"
"Well it sounds weird when you say it like that," Carissa says leaning back in her chair. "But that's what we think happened."
Sherry blinks. "Wait, you mean you're not sure?" She scratches something out in the notebook. "How can you not be certain about something so intimate?"
"Neither of us actually remember the act," Medea says. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Did she expect us to provide a detailed ritual? Even if we did know, there is certainly no way we would ever do such a thing.//[[/span]]
"Weren't you conscious during it?" Sherry's voice tinges with disbelief.
"I was conscious before it, then I woke up and was different." Medea shifts in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "What happened in between, I have not the faintest idea. I have theories, that the act of what I did literally unmade and remade me, and something similar probably happened to Carissa, but as far as the detailed pieces... no. We do not remember."
Sherry sits back in her chair and blows a raspberry with her lips. "Well, that's disappointing. Moose seemed certain you knew the details."
"Moose is a trickster," Carissa says emphatically. "A magician, a snake in the grass."
"Carissa, please." Medea touches her knee gently. "Moose, had no detail about this aspect of us because we never told them. Perhaps they derived the information from how the Library interacted with us and forbid us from the archives."
Sherry nods absently. "Well, I can't say I'm not disappointed." She runs a hand through her head. "Oh well, it doesn't change much."
"So are we, like, good?" Carissa asks suspiciously. "Out of the woods?"
"Right, about that." Sherry flips open a folder. "There's some factionalism at play, so while you're fine on the amnesty front, if you both want to avoid ending up in a cell, you'll have to do something for us."
Carissa starts to open her mouth, ears pinning back when Medea gently squeezes her knee and gives her a glance. [[span style="color:purple"]]//I'll handle it.//[[/span]]
"This, is a modification of what we were offered, that is my understanding, yes?" Medea asks pointedly, allowing displeasure to seep into her tone.
"Yes. Wasn't my call, but it is in fact a modification," Sherry says scratching the top of her head but meeting their gazes.
"What do you mean wasn't your call, aren't you an O5?" Carissa fires back, incense clear in the way her mouth curls.
"I was outvoted. The council is the end-all-be-all for ultimate decisions like this. You wouldn't understand this, but my spouse and I had to burn a great deal of political goodwill, and favor just to get a passing vote on even giving you amnesty, and the initial vote for your reemployment was rejected."
"Then why are we even here," Medea asks her mouth curling down into an irritated frown. "If you were unsuccessful. Why lie to us."
"I said the initial vote," Sherry corrects her, lips pursing in annoyance. "The second vote passed, under the condition that Medea, is sent to the Library, to retrieve certain materials from the Library proper and the Archives. Partially because we're aware that Medea is suffering from a certain Thaumic contamination."
[[span style="color:purple"]]//MOOSE.//[[/span]] It is Medea's turn to seethe, as Carissa gently puts a hand on the Sorceress's Knee.
"Just Medea?" Carissa asks, the concern plain in her voice. "You realize that's madness right? The Library will just eject her. Or worse."
"Not at all. We've not yet put Medea into our systems, so as far as the Library knows, she is still an independent party," Sherry says simply as if this solves everything. "And it won't just be Medea."
"That is not how that works." Medea finally finds the words to rejoin the conversation. "They will know, nearly immediately, when I step in. I can delay it with some deep illusions, but the Library will see through it very quickly. Even if it did not, I cannot access the archives. I have been locked out since I first stepped foot inside the Library."
"Noted. It still shouldn't be an issue with your accompaniment." Medea and Carissa exchange a glance.
"Who... or what are you sending with us that you're so confident they can overcome the Library," Medea asks.
Sherry turns in her chair to look at the obviously one-way mirror. "Abigail, would you please come in now."
Medea and Carissa exchange another glance.
Every single hair on the back of Medea's neck stands straight up as the door opens.
[[=]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/Abigail.jpg style="width:430px;"]]
[[/=]]
A woman steps into the room. She lifts a pair of sunglasses from in front of her eyes and props them up on the top of her head. Her skin is deeply olive-toned; her prominent nose and dark brown hair with deep chocolate-colored eyes frame the face. Her jaw and cheeks are all sharp angles, sculpted. She is a bomb, and not just because she's inexplicably gorgeous. She's a thaumokinetic bomb moving around in a skin suit. Medea has tasted this before, and right now tasting it again makes every fiber of her being scream to get up and run.
This creature's eyes were on Sherry, but they drag across the room to Carissa lingering for a moment with a strange meticulous glint. Mischief? No, she knew that hungry look. Her hackles went higher. Then the eyes trace to her. They are no longer that deep chocolate, but have washed into an ashey grey-blue. She is wearing ironed, dark jeans, a formal cardigan, and chunky sneakers of a dark color.
"Carissa, Medea, this is Abigail Im-Immaru. She's a former member of ORIA."
A moment of silence falls over them, as Medea tightens her hand on Carissa's knee.
"You really must take us to be fools." A hiss leaves Medea's lips, a hand already reaching inside her robes for her flail, ready to act if needed. She knew this was a trap. [[span style="color:purple"]]//How did we get tricked so easily.//[[/span]]
Holding perfectly still, Carissa isn't moving a muscle, and that means she can feel it too.
Sherry appears completely calm and is about to open her mouth to say something when Abigail holds up a hand.
This //creature// let out a manic little chuckle. Her voice, mezzo-soprano in pitch, dances against Medea's ears, charming and suave in it's intonations. It makes her skin crawl. "It's fine Sherry, they can feel me."
"Of course, we can feel you, dickhead." Indignation is what finally snaps Carissa out of her terrified stupor. "Everyone with even half of a developed magic sense could have felt, a Beast of Nature step into the room with them."
Abigail's lips curl up and her eyes narrow into a squint of glee. "Oh, a Beast of Nature? Is that really where I have risen to? I guess you go so long without any real competition and that'll happen." She snickers. "I'll have to tell Emily."
Sherry waits patiently, unbothered by the flying hostility coming from both directions. "I don't see what the big problem is here."
"Don't you know anything about divinity classifications!" Medea scowls at Sherry. [[span style="color:purple"]]//This is really bad.//[[/span]] "You let a //Beast//, //a Beast of all things//, waltz around without any countermeasures? Not that even those would have helped you if she," Medea pauses with a flash of realization crinkling across her lips and face. "Say, you are not particularly hostile."
The look of insult on her face could kill. "Oh, that really stings. I'm civilized, unlike the cat over here." She gestures with her thumb.
"Fuck off!" a snarl rips from Carissa's lips. Medea puts a hand on her shoulder as Carissa stands confrontationally.
"Ooooh, touchy. This is already far more informative, and entertaining, than my visit with Ashur. Aleah is going to love to hear about this."
"Who are you?" Medea shoves that hot mix of terror, anger, and odd attraction down into her chest.
"Aleah?" Carissa leans forward, something familiar rising in the back of her mind.
"Me? Well, I'm your ticket into the Archives. Well, me and my siblings." She gives a performative and dickish bow. "Abigail Im-Immaru, at your service."
"Like I said," Sherry interjects. "We called in a lot of favors to make this happen. And believe it or not, this was Moose's suggestion from the get-go. They seemed confident in the outcomes, with these resources."
Medea stares at Sherry for a long moment.
Carissa snarls. Tail fluffed out, ears pinned back, and teeth bared. "Enough games, who are you? Name your title, your truth."
"Oh the lack of subtlety dear, I see why they called you the attack dog of the Hand." Abigail snickers. "Your sorceress would know me as [[span class="text-blur"]]Inanna[[/span]]."
----
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]2.1 You Got Me Now[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Present. Christchurch, New Zealand.[[/span]]
"So, what do you think?" she asks, watching her partner carefully. Reading Carissa was an art form, not a science. The tail, the ears, the face; all of them had to be watched. Miss a sign, you'd misread her.
Carissa finishes tapping the plant matter into the pipe and holds it out to Medea, who draws a small charm in the air with one finger. A little puff of flame leaps from the arcane symbol that forms into the pipe.
"I think, it's a deathtrap." The huntress took a draw from the pipe and blew out white smoke in an O shape. "I don't particularly care who they're planning to send with you, going //there//, like that? Suicide mission." She took another drag, the smoke rising from her lips, ringing the crown of her head as if she is a towering mountain. "Only one thing we can conclude from this, We're a drain on their resources, a liability. And this is how they get rid of us."
[[span style="color:purple"]]//She could be right. It would make sense for an organization like this, to want to lock up or be rid of, people like us. But that doesn't explain Moose's condition or why they acquiesced to their negotiation.//[[/span]]
"Perhaps. Perhaps, we were simply a condition to acquire Moose, and now they wish to cause an accident, be rid of us no?" She says contemplating and rolling her tongue around in her mouth, knocking loose a piece of meat from between her teeth, an afterthought of their dinner. "But the Jailers have no honor. They are not Marshall, Carter & Dark; unless Moose snagged a contract with them."
"Possible," Carissa says taking another puff, one of her large fluffy cat ears flicking as the smoke dances about her skull like angry clouds. "Perhaps, they weren't able to secure the best terms. The fact that they didn't mandate both of us go, but only you, means they think they can control me. Or that I'm an afterthought."
Medea wrinkles her nose at that, insulted on Carissa's behalf. "You are more than an afterthought. They cannot simply be that stupid."
"No, but and hear me out." //Puff.// "What if Moose, knew that the amnesty deal would only buy our lives for the immediate moment?"
She takes that in, rolls it around in her mind, and perks up lips curling up at the corner in a devilish smile. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Carissa is after something, did she see something I did not?//[[/span]] Medea's eyes shine a little. [[span style="color:purple"]]//I love when she pulls something clever out of the hat.//[[/span]] "Go on."
Another puff, this time her tail flicks, that tuft briefly brushing Medea's chin. The dragging bristles of that sanguine fur relaying a thousand motes of affection that send goosebumps up the sorceresses spine. "Moose is a snake in the grass. Granted the snake, the cacodemon we know. They know our worth."
Medea leans on the railing, looking slightly up at her partner, trying to read her face. It was that sort of look she got when she's devising a Machiavellian scheme. Almost mischievous in the way the corner of her lips twitch.
Her mind drifts as Carissa keeps talking.
The temptation rises, then and there, to tear the pipe out of her hands and press her up against the wall of the cottage. To kiss her and weave their nerves together into a rippling cluster of hedonism, all so she could see that brilliant mind herself.
It would be so easy too. Applying the right amount of pressure in the right spots made Carissa crumple like a baby. She was so so easy to love, and so so easy to enjoy. A little nibble on the ears, a kiss to the neck and she'd be putty in Medea's hand.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//She is so cute when she's flustered and purring.//[[/span]]
She grounds herself, returning to the moment. Carissa was looking at her directly now, she'd still been talking when Medea drifted for those few seconds. What Medea is thinking must have been plain on her face based on the tint of rosy red rising to her cheeks.
They both shift, taking the others' hands. Contact, skin brushing against skin, as wordless communication passes between the touch and the shifting of their bodies.
"Moose knew our worth. I have a feeling this Sherry might as well."
"Do they? Do you think Moose accounted for how we might feel, about their betrayal?" She squeezes Carissa's hands, her thumb rubbing gently across the flesh of the back of Carissa's palm.
"You know they're like you." Another hint of blush deepens across Carissa's cheeks.
"Yes, I do. They're a planner." Medea squeezes the hands again, swinging their arms slightly. "Though perhaps a little less capable."
"Remember love, hubris." Carissa pauses, considering the wording. "Operating off that, I wouldn't be surprised if they were the one who suggested this, and Sherry agreed to get ahead of Jailer factionalism."
"Ok, but the Library?" Medea asks, lips pursing as her brow knits in thought.
"Well, let's be honest here." Both of Carissa's ears flick now, fur catching the light of the blood moon.
"Honest?" Medea tilts her head, looking up into Carissa's gleaming yellow eyes.
"Don't play coy, love of my heart, I know what you've been doing all this time," Carissa says her voice veering to a slight tease. "Besides, you're going in with, //them//."
It only took a few seconds for her to realize what Carissa was referring to. The corners of her lips curl up, and Medea narrows her eyes curiously. She is in fact going to be coy. Doing so on purpose to sweeten the deal. "You are being cryptic."
"I know, and I fucking hate it. But, I know exactly what you've been doing. And I think Moose did too." Carissa says, the teasing smile getting larger. Medea's chest starts to ache with desire at the look. "Don't blue ball me, I want to hear it from your mouth."
[[span style="color:purple"]]//I am going to kiss that smile right off your face, bundle against your flesh and... and...//[[/span]]
"Mmmm, I think I might deny you that specific satisfaction." Her voice bounces with that counter-teasing playfulness that she knows drives Carissa wild.
"Oh? But what about the other forms of satisfaction? What if we exchange them in turns," Carissa fires back with a playful growl.
"Then I might give you the confirmation you desire," Medea says in a husky tone, and steps in tilting on her toes to meet Carissa's lips as she leans down. The point of contact between them sizzles with electrostatic discharge almost as if they were sticking a fork in a plug.
There were always sparks. Fireworks burst overhead, as they kiss under the light of a full and red moon. Not a single kiss since the day they'd reunited had been anything less than the greatest of cataclysms.
She was happy again. Happy for Carissa's ever-present company. And happy for the fact that she had spent 5000 years doing nothing but laying traps in the Library.
------
+ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 2rem"]]Chapter 3: Distant Rhythm of the Drum[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Present. The Library, Astral Plane.[[/span]]
The Way into the library is as it has always been, undisturbed and peaceful to transition through. Medea inhales, sucking in the musty smell of paper, of book bindings as old as she was. She glances down at the library card, modified with deep illusory magics. It wouldn't last for long.
For all intents and purposes, she quite likes the Library.
She walks into the shelves, fingers dragging along the spines of the books. She is looking for a very particular set of volumes, historical volumes about the Finned ones. The Finnfolk. [[span style="color:purple"]]//We could have told them a great deal had they asked. They could have anything from these hallowed aisles, yet that is what they requested. A waste.//[[/span]]
The Library had been kind to her. She in turn had been kind to it, writing numerous volumes to stock its shelves, to fill in the gaps in a collective historical record that no one but her and Carissa could fill. Perhaps in a different life, she might have become an archivist. In a different life, she might have called this place home.
But she didn't. The Library was cruel as often as it was kind. Forbidding her from the deepest of personal knowledges, barring scripts some might call blasphemous behind layers and layers of locks and defenses. No matter how much she contributed, she was never allowed inside. In the first 100 years wandering the halls she gave her all to every legitimate way. But she was foreign. She was tainted in a way the Library couldn't accept. And she would never belong.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//Perhaps that is why Moose defected. Perhaps they penetrated that deepest layer and saw what had been hidden.//[[/span]] She is going to ask now, that much she's certain of.
Her finger stops over a strange spine, not made of the usual materials. She knew the rare but carefully crafted bindings of sea paper derived from kelp forests. And there were so many books here now with those markings. Some of them were clearly in a different style from the scrolls and more antiquated books. Newer. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Now that is truly curious.//[[/span]]
She picks one and opens it, flipping through several pages. Her eyes soak in the knowledge, bask in the history, a history far more recent than she imagines. [[span style="color:purple"]]//They're not extinct? Is it this universe? Or another.//[[/span]] Those signs were going to be harder to identify. If the Finnfolk still existed, if they had access to the library, but they hadn't been seen in more than 3 millennia, they were isolating, or hidden so well the humans hadn't yet found them.
The corners of her lips crept up, a little smile of delight creeping in. She closes the book and places it in her bag. She then starts to grab more books, someone had meticulously organized all the Finnfolk volumes into this specific section of the library, it was cleverly hidden away, and in fact, had an illusion woven in. She misses that at first, but now that she sees it she appreciates the craftsmanship. It is subtle, making the aisle veer into a fork that pushes the wanderer in one direction or another.
She isn't affected, any other time she would adore picking apart why, but lingering is not something she is keen on doing at the moment.
Someone or something clears their throat behind her. She turns to face them. It's one of the Archivists, a roamer, and one who she's familiar with. A cat-taur, the form of an elegant and regal creature, and an amusing twist on the god's perfect killing machine. Its eyes were absent, as is the case with all archivists.
"Medea," she says curtly, her lips purse, eyeless sockets scrunching. Her voice is nasally when she speaks as if constantly congested by the dust and mustiness of the books.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//As predicted, the Library saw through that particular spell quickly.//[[/span]] She gives a polite bow to the cat-woman. "Archivist Laywind, it's a pleasure as always." [[span style="color:purple"]]//Now the real fun begins. I have so many strings to pull, she's not ejected me immediately so I have time to decide on order.//[[/span]]
The tilting down of Laywinds lips and the pertness of her ears tells the sorceress everything that she needs to know. There is no pleasure here for the Archivist, and she's about to try to eject Medea. Or maybe she'll jump straight to dumping her into the nasty sections of the Archives.
"You know the terms," the woman says unhappily. There are Docents arriving now. Restrained, and hovering back. Watching and waiting to see what would happen.
"The terms? Why whatever do you mean?" Medea says fluttering her lashes innocently. The Docents aren't the normal garden variety type. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Oh this is quite flattering. Titan killers, all for me. This is going to be very interesting.//[[/span]]
"You betrayed the shelves, destroyed the compact which you signed in blood to the Library." She says tersely, her lips tilting into a full frown.
"Did I though? Truly. Was it not Moose who flipped to the Jailers, was it not Moose who arranged for us to not be ambushed and slaughtered?" [[span style="color:purple"]]//Yes, I think that will do to start.//[[/span]] She wraps her mental fingers around one particular set of arcane symbols, deeply and cleverly hidden within the fabric of the library, a piece she'd laid centuries ago. And she tweaks it ever so slightly in preparation. "You cannot honestly blame us for the actions of a third party, can you? Well, I suppose you could, but would that not be against the philosophy of the Library? The freedom to wander, to add and take knowledge as long as the rules are respected. Have I not these past 5000 years done nothing but honor these rules?"
"We know about the traps Medea. You were so patently obvious in laying them that they were fairly trivial to dismantle," the archivist said with a slight sneer, but there is a tension in her voice. The bravado did not hide the uncertainty and caution in the Archivist's face.
"My Traps?" She reaches out feeling, trying to suppress the grin as she confirms that the surface-level incantations and charms, designed to be seen had been dismantled. The less obvious but still deliberately placed medial mechanisms were gone too. "Oh dear, it seems I have been discovered." [[span style="color:purple"]]//Perfect.//[[/span]]
"Now. You are with the Jailers. You have violated the haven of the Library through the placement of mechanisms to cause grievous harm to its occupants and visitors. Worst of all you are tainted with an arcane sin that we never should have allowed in." She pauses curling a fist. "We overlooked the second because your contributions outweighed the potential harm you might cause. But now." The little symbols of the Library's magic appeared on her fingertips. "Now you have nothing left to contribute."
Medea reaches to feel the rising elements. It was not, as she had initially hoped, a spell to dump her into the archives. It was one of the simple ejection spells. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Disappointing but easily corrected. I'll make a bit of a modification here in a moment. First, some gravitas.//[[/span]]
Medea drops all pretense. "So, now I am the liability and threat you always suspected," she says with a sigh putting her face on the palm of her hand. "Now you have an excuse to excise me yes? And here I believed the Library was open and free to all. Such a disappointment."
"The Library is free and open to wander for all who respect its rules. You have not. And that is why the Archives remained closed to you." The magic on her fingertips is reaching the shape where Medea could pick it apart, and disrupt it at any moment. But that isn't the point. That would not be fun, and she was going to have fun here.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//Here. We. Go.//[[/span]] She reaches out at the very last second and slips in the modifications, twisting the magic to be what she had witnessed oh so many years ago when the Jailers had tried to storm the Library. The sort of malicious intention that the archivists use to channel the Library's will, in order to remove threats.
But she makes it different. She adds something else, back doors. A guarantee. It was //satisfying//.
"Fine, fine, but Laywind, before you eject me, there are some people you may want to meet," Medea says with a resigned smile, her hand going into the pockets of her robe.
Laywind pauses in her motions. A palpable flash of caution flicks across her muzzle. "People?"
Medea's hand produces a long flail-like device from within her robes, billowing smoke creeping out from the spiked censor on the end of its chain.
Laywind lets out a small shout as the magic flies from her fingertips and strikes Medea.
Medea sucks in the air, lips curling up into a smile as a glyph whirls into existence beneath her feet, a 7-pointed star in a circle surrounded by many glyphs. Thaumic emissions ripple through the air, arcing up to her fingers like static electric discharges as she hijacks Laywind's spell completely.
The trap is sprung.
The confines of the Library shift around them, the shelves and everything else transposed into the deep archives.
And then a door opens behind her, a way, a portal of light. Then something else. Something much darker and more foreboding in the mounting fog.
Two people stride out of the light portal and past Medea. A deep rolling fog of acrid smoke follows them. The fog rose, obscuring the portals, as something creeps behind the two newcomers.
"Thanks for giving us an in."
-----
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]3.1 All That's Left Are Your Bones[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Past. Corinth, Greece.[[/span]]
[[=]]
[[image http://kaktuskontainer.wikidot.com/local--files/drbleep-s-sandbox-hub/1920px-View_of_Corinth.jpg style="width:1920px;"]]
[[/=]]
Things were not going well for Jason of Argos. To call the past year bad would have been an understatement. It was catastrophic. Medea, that ungrateful bitch, who he had spent two decades building a life of luxury for, who he had enchanted to secure his power within Corinth, had undone everything. When the Fates had given him the potion, they'd promised it would keep her bound. She'd stay with him through all trials and tribulations, as long as he treated her well.
Did a dignified exile in luxury not count as that? Guess not. Sure she couldn't take the kids with her, but who cared! Her apparently. Or maybe it was the woman he was set to marry to secure the throne of Corinth and his power bases. //Something// had shattered the effect. Or maybe the potion had worked too damn well, and she was so in love with him that she couldn't stand the thought of him loving another woman. Yeah, that was probably it.
He did everything to secure her. She was beautiful, and powerful in her magic, but far too independent for his liking. Then there was Atalanta, that scrungly man-woman of a creature from Arcadia. He'd stopped that blooming problem before it fully blossomed. It was his single greatest coup-de-grace, eliminating a threat and securing his prize to power in one fell swoop.
He turned in his bed, looking at the ceiling of his vaunted palace. Sure he took Corinth for his own when the King died of grief, his only heir turned to crispy chunks. But was it worth it? Throwing every single person who had ever followed him under the bus?
He smiled to himself. Absolutely. //He was the king of Corinth.// Medea was gone, probably offed herself crying somewhere about the loss of her beloved heathen. Heracles was out of his hair. Life was almost good.
A pang of hurt rose in his chest as he remembered the charred corpses of his kids, the only thing other than himself that he had actually even marginally cared for. Well, now he'd have to make more to secure his legacy. That meant finding a new bride, maybe from Sparta or Thebes.
A distant rumble of thunder disrupted his thoughts, and he sat up slowly in bed. Walking to the balcony of his luxurious bedroom, he opened the doors. Dark ominous clouds were rolling in overhead, as lightning crackled the sky. The storm was moving fast—
And it was not a natural storm. The green flicker of thaumic-driven lightning cracked the sky along with thunder. Jason dropped the chalice of wine, the cup clanging on the ground. As the lightning split the sky it illuminated the distant landscape, and his eyes caught them. On a hilltop looking down at the city, the silhouettes of two figures. One of them had a bow.
An arrow embedded itself in the doorframe inches from his face, a piece of paper curled around the shaft. He snapped the arrow off the doorframe and hastily unwrapped the piece of paper.
"Ερχόμαστε για εσάς"
"We are coming for you."
He looked up as the Lightning crackled again, the figures no longer on the hilltop.
And then the city warning bells began to ring.
Jason of Argos, King of Corinth, shat himself.
-----
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]3.2 Let Your Colors Bleed and Blend with Mine[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Present. The Library, Astral Plane.[[/span]]
[[span style="color:purple"]]//It worked.//[[/span]] The grin on Medea's lips spread wider. [[span style="color:purple"]]//I forced an Archival intrusion, and now we see if they can deliver on their promise.//[[/span]]
Medea watches' Abigial Im-Immaru's eyes flick between the building-size Docents gathering in the twisted and shelved aisles of the archive. The fog continues to roll and billow from Medea's censer, but at an increasing volume that is definitely not from hers alone. It stank with a familiar and yet foreign scent, not quite sulfuric but close. "Quite an audience you've brought us Medea."
The second person, a near identical mirror copy of Abigail, Aleah, Medea assumes, walks almost completely in sync with their sister.
[[=]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/Aleah.jpg style="width:430px;"]]
[[/=]]
Unlike Abigail there are fewer lines on this one's face, marking her as slightly younger. And muscles. So many more muscles. Medea has to stop herself from drooling. If the second beast notices Medea it's unclear, as her attention is laser focused on Laywind. Pulsing lights dance across their skin, moving between tones of yellow, orange and sometimes red.
Medea assumes everyone else feels it, the way the Library's attention moves to them, like a prison spotlight hones in on an escaping prisoner right before the alarm begins. The floor starts to rumble, the walls shifting as more Docents move in the distance, streaming towards a potential problem.
Medea's focus goes back to Laywind, the Archivist's rising alarm plain in her eyeless face. "You brought Beasts of nature here!?" she hisses. "Banned ones too! And you overwrite my spells!" The archivist brought up her fingers, calling on that familiar spell, the one to dump them into a part of the archives meant for dangerous things. A place where hostile meat was ground to dust and new Librarians were twisted into existence.
"It's good to see you again, Laywind," the younger twin says, her voice a half step deeper than her sister's. Crisp and dripping like honey against Medea's ears, provoking an unkempt and unusual buzzing flame to rise within her.
"Thanks for giving us an in," Abigail says, attention moving to the archivist.
In the billowing smoke behind them, a third voice rings out, this one not a mirror of the twins, and a deep contra-alto. "I do hope you and the Library will someday forgive us Laywind, but times have changed and so are the winds of fate." The depth and ichor within its tones drew some instinctual terror into the front of Medea's mind, her limbs suddenly shaking.
Medea turns her head to look, in the grey of her smoke, pits like eyes burn through, their irises dancing blue flames. The smoke of her censer is overtaken by a different sort of fog, vividly blue-green and roiling with soulfire. It's soon joined by dozens if not hundreds more eyes, black coal pits with red and hateful eyes. A shadow rises up towards the endless ceiling of the library as something colossal pieces itself together, punctuated by the sound of a deep and wrathful bell that makes Medea's very bones tremble. There is something else deep in there. Medea's eyes widen, and her lips curl up as she realizes that another domain is leaking into the Archives, into the Library. No not just one, //two//. Propagating from the Beasts themselves.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//It worked! It fucking worked, all my planar theories falling into place.//[[/span]] She'd hedged her bets that given enough planar disruption, the Library would be unable to shift them away, intrusion of masters of other domains. And it fucking worked. The beasts wanted to operate on pure magical force alone but against the library? That is certain death. Now, they could do it. She is certain they could. [[span style="color:purple"]]//I'm brilliant!//[[/span]]
"There is still time for you to turn back," Laywind hisses. "Do not throw yourselves away like this for some half-bit sorceress wannabe."
Abigail's manic laugh and then sigh drew Medea's attention back forward. The older twin is glowing with a strange thaumic aura, lines of dark dark red dripping down her arms, overtaking the existing tattoos, curling and swirling across the skin and fingers. Her fingers curl and then seize, popping outwards as one hand trembles, and then swells, flesh and muscle pulling, spreading. It surges up the length of her arm, and into her core, legs pulsing with strange light as she laughs and emits ecstatic noises, popping up straight and then leaning back as her spine cracks and shifts.
Medea's eyes squint, her lips curling down in slight disgust. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Eugh, she's enjoying it.//[[/span]]
Additional noises join Abigail's, the other twin's veins pulsing with an orange glow. Cracking bones rend the air, muscles swell and limbs stretching as the younger twin also surges with growth. Abigail is becoming tall and lanky, and so is Aleah. But the sibling is growing thick and muscular like a bodybuilder as her thaumic aura burns into a scintillating orange.
Abigail's dark brown hair starts to drip, viscous red matter pouring from her skull, locks soaked and soon dried into a deep maroon. The sibling's hair blazes and catches fire as the flames ripple down the locks leaving them bright and searing orange. In tandem, apparating above their skulls were twin discs, Abigail's resembling a blood-soaked moon, the younger twin's a pair of discs overlaying and emulating an eclipsing sun.
Abigail holds her hands down at her side, thick red dripping light forms in the palms of her hands, and flows outwards into a pair of curved blades. Then more appear, at least half a dozen hovering like wings behind her. The other twin holds their hands low, and slightly apart, vicious flames pouring out of her palms searing the air as they formed outwards into a roaring twohanded blade.
Magic ripples in a tremendous wave and the epicenter focuses on the two as Blood red and Orange glowing eyes regard the Archivist.
"You're mad! All of you, are suicidal if you think you come out of this alive. You cannot win, the Library is infinite, and it's keepers the same." Laywind's eyes were wild now, more Docents were moving towards them. She finally discharges that spell she has been building on her fingers. A deep and sudden terror spreads across her eyeless features as her reality-channeling spell fails. Medea sees the craggy rock and strange congealing of star-tinted water spreading out around them partially obscured by fog.
"Who said anything about winning?" Medea's head turns back to the smoke, as Carissa strides out of the creeping soulfire fog. It is consuming the entire aisle now, thousands of those eyes within. Carissa holds Artemis' bow, brilliant and gleaming with furious thaumic energy, much like its wielder. Both of them were perhaps comparable to Laywind. In turn, Laywind is but a candle in the wind to the three Beasts. "We just have to live."
"There are two outcomes here Laywind," Medea says, her robes billowing now as she grasps the string of her traps tighter, arcane glyphs filling the air before her as she raises the censer. Symbols of power as she drew from the Library's very thaumic essence in the Astral plane. "You get the Library to allow us into forbidden space of the archives to retrieve that which you have long denied me. Or we storm it ourselves. You'll kill us, eventually, but how much will you lose in the process? Will the other Archivists let you stay where you are if you allow that to come to pass?"
Laywind hesitates. Medea watches her eyeless sockets shift to the twins, blazing in their full glory and growing stronger. Medea blinks. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Hold on, are they-?//[[/span]] She looks closer. [[span style="color:purple"]]//They are! They are absorbing the Library's light!//[[/span]]
"I will never betray my duty," Laywind screeches back, raising her hands. "Why couldn't you all have just followed the rules!
"Rules are made to be broken." Medea flicks a finger and five of the Docents dissolve near instantly in a stream of extreme acid as she sprang the first of many traps. The floor tilts sideways as the aisles of archival shelves ripple, and the sky turns strange.
And then the fog surges forward.
-----
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]3.3 We set Fire to our Homes[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Past. Corinth, Greece.[[/span]]
The plan Medea had come up with was simple. The primary reason she had not simply killed Jason of Argos when she left, was because she had some incentive still to salvage her reputation. Carissa was supposedly dead, and she was alone. If she wanted to survive, she needed to be able to move politically.
Carissa was not, in fact, dead. And that? That changed everything.
The last thing that any of the Corinthian guards ever expected was to see Medea again. Thick acrid fog consumed her shape, projecting a thousand writhing shadows in the thick and flowing mist.
"Who goes there!" the guards shouted at the shadows moving in the acrid fog, the grey-green thaumic fog oozing from the censer of her flail.
"Death," Medea said, her tone even but the sound amplified a thousand fold carrying into the streets of Corinth proper. The guards raised their bows, and their spears and shields. Medea rose into the air like the visage of Nyx herself. The strange and cryptic colors of magical glyphs pierce the air before her as the censer streamed smoke and fog downwards like a waterfall. Her robes billowed out behind her, flickering with light as she challenged the starry sea of the night sky for the beauty of its title.
An arrow loosed from one of the guard's bows, it flew through the air only to disintegrate against one of the glyphs, which began spinning faster. [[span style="color:purple"]]//I know some of these men. They were on the Argo.//[[/span]]
"Loose!" a guard screamed in terror, his compatriots quaking in their boots. Dozens of arrows loosed, flicking through the air only to impact her glyphs.
Medea laughed, her eyes wide and wild. "Tremble before me people of Corinth!" She flicked her wrist, beams and lilac thaumic rays of death burst from her glyphs in sickly beams of light. One guard turned to ash, and the other melted, the metal literally congealing to his skin as he dripped apart. "I show you now the fate of those who stand against me. Behold my terrible glory!" She extended her hands and thaumic lightning streaked down from the sky, rippling through stone and flesh as the gate of Corinth collapsed.
The arrows didn't stop, even as the guards faltered and started to make for the stairs. Then Carissa vaulted onto the wall. "I think you're overdoing it love!" Medea had a front-row seat to the way Carissa's back muscles flexed with definition as she drew the string of her bow back.
A thaumic arrow heaved from Carissa's bow, the whistling of the shaft becoming the roar of a bear as dozens of guards were batted aside, the terrified screams of several piercing the air as they tumbled over the high set walls.
"Fall back!" the guards screeched. It was less of a retreat and more of a full rout, men falling over themselves to get away from the pair. Several fell and were trampled beneath the feet of their comrades.
"Let me have my fun Carissa. 20 years this bastard made me suffer."
"Fair." She held her bow up to the sky and pulled it taut. "Tauropolos! Guide me true!" she cried, pulling the drawstring back. Medea took the opportunity to admire the muscles this time, the intricate ways in which they tightened and contracted to allow Carissa to act. It raised a fire in her belly that would need to be sated later.
A fat burning green arrow burst into existence against the frame of the bow. Carissa arced her shoulders up and aimed. She loosed it, the arrow flying high into the clouds. The guards continued their flight further into the city towards a strong point completely unaware of how little it would matter.
And then, the sky grew dark with the shafts of arrows, falling from the thaumic stormclouds and braced with the bolts of sickly green lightning. It was a visceral sight as thaumic lightning-charged arrows cleaved through bronze plates and shields, shearing flesh to pieces. Medea was only really beginning to understand just how horrible their power had become.
"Remember the plan for the fleece," Medea said to her partner, flame rising in her chest at just the sight of her long lost lover.
"Oh, I can't forget," Carissa said giving her a rare and sly smile.
She hopped onto the railing of the stairs and slid down towards the street. Medea smiled. She smiled for the first time in a long time. She fell into a run and then hovered, matching Carissa's speed. They could obviously use Carissa's abilities, they could simply teleport into the palace.
But where was the fun in that? Jason would be terrified sure, but they were aiming for //atmosphere//.
Carissa's boots pounded against the stones as Medea floated along. Behind them the sorceresses arcane constructs crawled through the gate. Lumbering pulsing things of light and power that rose out of the acrid smoke of her censer. Guards from other parts of the city were rushing in to stimy the flow, and one of them stabbed at a construct as Medea and Carissa flew past. It pulled one of its undulating shoulders back, and slammed a malformed limb into the soldier, burning through his armor and sending him flying into a nearby house, agonized screams dying with a sickening crunch.
Carissa dodged a swinging sword, a guard emerging from an alleyway. The heft of his swing carried him straight into the arc of Medea's flail, his bronze helmet collapsing inward with a sickening crunch as he crumpled to the floor and burst into thaumic fire.
Carissa stepped in front of an arrow aimed straight for Medea's head, catching the shaft with one hand, and throwing it over her shoulder. It vanished and then rematerialized through the skull of the one responsible, a splurt of blood coating a nearby wall as the guard crumpled.
They didn't stop to ponder the horrible deaths they were inflicting, the guards were complicit in Jason's bastardry and if they didn't flee, they would die with him.
Carissa drew the string of her bow back, the impossible form of an enchanted sword knocked and loosed, sheering through the air with a terrifying siren as it sliced through a first guard, then a second, and then a third, pinning their lifeless bodies into the wood of the palace door. The remaining guards at the ornate and, rather quickly, blood soaked wood doors dropped their weapons and fled.
Carissa pressed into the door as they reached it, bracing to push it open but even her immense strength couldn't get the thick and intricate wood to yield the contents within.
"I will handle this one, my love," Medea said, stepping up to the door.
Carissa's cheeks colored at the word "love", but she nodded and stepped back. Medea put her palm against the doors, hair, and robes rising around her as the air crackled with thaumic fire. Her eyes pulsed with light, the door lighting up with an immense spinning glyph of strange letters and shapes.
Then it exploded inwards.
----
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]3.4 Out of Feathers, Out of Bones[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Present. The Lib-????.[[/span]]
Medea shifts and tosses the pack of Finnfolk tomes through the light portal behind them, as she turns and prepares. Prepares for the storm that would come now. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Let the Library come. Let it throw all it has. If we die, we die.//[[/span]]
Laywind's shouts are audible through the fog, pitched and strained from where she is likely embroiled with the Twins. Medea can feel the Docents ahead as she reaches out, raises her hand, and then pulls it back closing her fingers into a fist. Something horrible screeches as thaumic fire ate through its twisted flesh.
"What now?" Carissa yells over the bedlam.
"We go to the forbidden zones," Medea cries with absolute confidence. She gathers power and magic, letting it filter into her; bones, hair, and robes rising with the congealing power and stinking purple luminescence.
That deep dark bell rang again, this time closer. Things shuffle all around them in the aisle. No, it isn't an aisle anymore. The floor is twisting, bending beneath their feet, dipping, the walls of the shelves rippling and morphing in odd ways, less wood now, more craggy jutting rock. The floor stretches outwards as tile becomes dark and deep earth in many places, pools of starlit water in others. A great dark shape sweeps overhead as something immense slams a Docent into an obscured structure, the air crackling with the seismic impact. Strange sounds, peculiar and sulfuric smells, and dancing waves of thaumic discharge swirled around their senses in an unpleasant thunderstorm of sensory stimulation.
"Reality warp," Carissa hisses, looking towards the approaching footsteps.
Medea could feel the third presence, the third Beast advancing.
[[=]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/Emily.png style="width:430px;"]]
[[/=]]
Aleah and Abigail had been rather short before their sudden and violent transformations, but this creature is not. Towering at least 2.2 meters tall, a woman walks from the fog. No walks would be inadequate, she emerges from the fog like a geographic feature, dominating the visual field. Her hair is the color of the darkest blood, her eyes punctuated by dancing blue soul-fire flames, decorated in gleaming golden armor that protects her well.
One arm is severed at the shoulder, and replaced with a prosthetic of blackened human arm bones. A crown of human fingerbones rings her head, contrasting her darkly olive-toned skin with the bleached white of jawbones decorating each cheek.
A great spear with seven gleaming blades is gripped in the bone hand, the haft is changing, shortening as the 7-bladed head expanded outwards, becoming more of a shield with spear like aspects. The other hand, the flesh hand, bears a strange device, a censer in the shape of an owl cage, seven bells booming from its interior, cutting through all other sounds and commanding hundreds of constructs of bone as they stream past Carissa and Medea into the fog. The thick blue-green smog that clogs the air emanates from within the censer pulsing and surging this way and that with unspoken commands.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//Now this. **THIS** is presentation.//[[/span]] Medea's jaw loosened her mouth falling agape, utterly in awe of this creature. This Beast of Nature.
A screech rends the air as a Docent in the shape of a great and terrible green bird dives through the fog straight at them. The woman, the Beast, slams the tip of the spear, as if it were a toothpick, into the ground. She grabs the thing's neck with such a swift motion that it makes Medea and Carissa both jump as she smashes it into the rocky ground. It screeches in agony as just contact with the bone arm liquifies its skin. She is twisting its nature, breaking its will and enchantments, and remaking it for her own purposes. And she does all of this in the span of a few seconds.
The Beast's head flicks back to the pair. "Go. Do not stand about and waste the opportunity."
Medea and Carissa did not need any more impetus than that. They turn to move and the fog cleaves, bursting back as the Library tries to reassert itself, aided by Laywind's magic as the cat-taur swings an artifacted sword that burns with thaumic lightning. Her strokes were fast, ripping apart constructs of bone, and Medea's own arcane shades.
Abigail twirls out of the smog like a cyclone, meeting Laywind's blade with her sizzling blood-light swords. Sparks fly in a light show of clashing metal. The Archivist and the Beast begin a dance, cutting and chipping at each others guards with deft, precise, and deadly motions. Abigail's thrusts are lightning fast, taking advantage of the curve of her blade as she steps this way, ducks under a grinding swing, and pivots her blade inside Laywind's guard only for the Archivist to catch it at the last second. Abigail's other hand rose with the second blade and Laywind only barely intercepts it with a glyph shield, as Abigail flicks her wrist, locking their blades together. The Beast forces Laywind to dedicate yet more magic to ward her assault off as she jerks her head, bloodlight wings whirring into screaming projectiles that smash into the barriers she raises.
Aleah comes //screaming// out of the fog like a freight train, her two hander chewing up the tile below, leaving melting scorches that soon flow over with star tinted water. Lawywind knocks Abigail's sword away with her own, kicking her back with one of her legs as she pivots to intercept Aleah's inbound strike. The Archivist only barely manages to block the stroke, the metal of her blade groaning as she grits her teeth, even as Abigail continues her assault, sparks of light and fire flashing off the glyphs that only just barely held the Beasts at bay. The Archivist's eyeless features snaps towards Carissa and Medea as they run in to assist. She hastily erects several more glyphs to intercept Carissa's arrows as they whip from the bowstring, whumping with small sonic booms against the barriers. Then Laywind locks onto the figure behind them, only catching a glimpse of the terror lurking within, fog streaming back in to obscure the geographic feature she is.
Laywind sees who the third Beast is in that moment and for the first time Medea sees fear on her face. Their eyeless sockets crinkle with dismay and she shouts, even as other Archivists stream in. "What have you done!"
The floor tilts, something structural in the distance groaning as the plane they are standing on screws inward and twists in strange and nonsensical ways, the rocky crags of shelves whipping with it into odd angles. Everyone but the Beasts stumble as reality reshapes and screws in upon itself, a push and pull between the Library and the three other Beasts.
"Our best," Medea fires back, she pulls the string of another trap. Laywind breaks the stalemate, leaping back as pillars of ice springing from sudden glyphs on the ground, leaving Abigail and Aleah unimposed as they press towards her. Several Docents are immediately impaled by the ice, and then ripped apart by the combined flurries of the twins. A column grazes Laywind, who shouts as she retreats from the assault.
------
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]3.5 A Crown with Gems and Gold[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Past. Corinth.[[/span]]
Jason was very much not ready. He knew, in his heart, what was coming. Who was coming. It was Medea, she had Hera's blessing and sought a revenge he didn't understand. He was determined to deny her, and so he donned the Fleece, the pelt of wool that granted its wearer invincibility from mortal blows. And he waited, in his throne room with its pillars of gold-plated marble. The doors exploded inwards and he rose picking his arcane blade.
The long shadow of his ex-wife stretched into the hall as she stood in the frame of the palace doorway. Her eyes glowed brilliantly in the diminished lighting as green thaumic lightning illuminated her flowing robes and hair. She stood there glowering like the goddess of misery herself.
"Came crawling back did you?" he called out to her, taunting. "I guess you couldn't shatter the potion after all. If you get down and grovel, I might just consider forgiving you, before I take your head from your shoulders."
Medea walked forward slowly. There were guards still in the throne room with Jason, but he knew they were useless. One jumped out from behind a pillar, intent to stab her. An arrow screeched through the air shearing into his neck, the force of it not slowing with the weight of his body as it came to a fantastic //thud//, slamming into the wall close to Jason's throne dias.
"What'd you do, bring her back from the dead? As a shade or a ghoul or a zombie?" Jason taunted again. Another guard charged Medea, this time the flail crushed the man's skull, slamming him to the floor as acrid smoke dripped across the rug that coated the marble. "It's a sin, to raise the dead Medea. Hera will spurn you yet."
She stopped about halfway into the hall. And her lips curled up at the corners her eyes opening wide and wild. "I came back for your head. To finish what I started." She spat on the floor in front of her. "Raise the dead? Oh, I didn't have to raise anyone."
"Tell yourself whatever you need to to cushion your grief and sin. You can try to take my head bitch! But it's just you. You against all of Corinth, and soon all of Greece. You are but a witch, and a foreign witch!" He flailed his arms for emphasis. "You could have lived out your life in luxury, but noooo. You had to fuck it up for me."
"You never loved me. You loved the idea of the power I brought you," she spat back at him.
"It's true. I did. You were never even a good lay." He said with a deep sigh, there was something up with the shadows in the room. Where were the rest of his guards? What did she mean she hadn't raised anyone. That was a lie obviously.
"Actually, she's wonderful in that aspect." A third voice. //An impossible voice// joined the discourse. "But you wouldn't know that since you don't know how to please a woman. It's a good thing you'll never get to learn how."
His head snapped up towards the rafters above. Squatting on a beam above and behind him, a woman, a pair of yellow eyes meeting his own. The features were familiar. The same face he'd watched fall into the depths of Scylla's domain so long ago. His blood ran ice cold.
"No... No who, who are you!? You can't be her! You died! I watched you die!" He practically shrieked.
"Next time you should really be sure, dickhead." Carissa dropped and kicked him in the face with the force of a rhinoceros.
------
++ [[span style="font-family: Noto Sans Cuneiform ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]𒐃𒍤𒐆 𒀀𒋠 𒃀𒀀𒇠 𒋀𒀀 𒆠𒁠 𒃀𒀀𒇠 𒊀𒄀[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Present. The L-Halls of K-Heavenly Oc-.[[/span]]
Carissa springs into action as Docents surged in to intercept them. Thaumic arrows flinging through the air, shearing, slicing, and burning twisted shapes, peculiar fleshy things, and creatures of wood and stone. The vertigo is getting real with the way the floor continues to tilt and writhe, walls and ceilings stretching up or down, segments of floor collapsing here and there into craggy canyons as starlit-calm ocean swept into other places. They stumble as the earth shifts, moving, the sky spasming strangely. Their feet splash in a strange dark ocean as it ripples out from the twins somewhere to their right. Elsewhere fog surges and pulses. The Library is pushing back, as some of the twisted rock formations start untwisting to become shelves again, only to fall apart from the ontokinetic strain on their reality.
More bird like Docents swoop in as fog whirls, surges, and flows in different directions around them. Carissa shifts, rolling forward as she dodges one of the Docents, firing a thaumic arrow that hones in and strikes it out of the sky. A glyph spins in front of her as another bird smashes into it, Medea shielding the huntress as she continues to fire arrows. The squawks and screeches crescendo as a whole swarm dives down. Metal screeches past their heads as the seven bladed spear flies through the air, a spinning disc of death that embeds itself in one of the Docents, plummeting it down. It's recovery is cut short as the third Beast's feet slam into it's skull, pulverizing it into the ground in a spray of bloody mist, which bursts outwards into more blue-green fog.
Carissa hops forward, vanishing and reappearing on one of the Docents as she puts two shafts into it's skull, rolling as it hits the ground, throwing a portal out as the third Beast leaps, vanishes into it, reappears and grabs the tip of her spear, using it to propel herself and hew through two more Docents with her body mass alone, before she tears it from the earth and flips, slamming the shield-spear into the ground with her whole body. Thick pillars of rock surge from the tip of the spear outwards, rocketing out of the earth as an archivist and a dozen Docents are speared straight through. Medea hops onto one of the rising pillars of earth and uses it to propel herself into the air above the fog.
She flies up and extends her hands, glyphs whirling up in front of her as beams of sickly purple thaumic light cut through the air, tracing and shearing down dozens, no hundreds of Docents gathering before them. Laywind dodges out of the way of the discharge and fires a countercharm at Medea, A burst of sunfire screams past, cutting the spell out of the sky before Medea can counter the magic.
The younger twin leaps from the fog, burning greatsword now a great two handed axe of pure sun fire. The sky and ground beneath her, ripple outwards and change into an endless calm ocean reflecting a sea of stars as the shape and concept of a planet, of Venus takes root overhead. "Coronal," She roars, her greataxe swelling with fire, bursting outwards in size. "CATACLYSM!" She came down out of the sky, swinging her axe, like the Chicxulub impact, a burning sun of fire and light. Laywind and the other Archivists are frozen, rooted to the shifting terrain, half-drawn spells and counterspells aimed at the Beast dying on their fingers at sudden and imminent doom.
Medea's fingers move quickly, lifting Carissa into the air to join her, milliseconds before the impact. Above the thick, high, and roiling fog, they had a better perspective of the chaos unfolding.
The firey goddess hit the ground, or ocean as it is now, and there is a deafening boom, a shockwave pushing Carissa and Medea back a few feet. The ground ripples, rock and earth, and tile fracturing and pulsing up and outwards, and then melting from the heat of [[span class="text-blur"]]Ishtar's[[/span]] heavenly fire as it races outwards. Docents are incinerated, crushed, or pulverized. Archivists are flung about, skidding across pulsing tile, rock, or oceanic floors, some covered in intense burns. Laywind and several others rose to their feet and fire spells at the younger twin as she rises from the impact crater, hair burning and streaming behind her.
The oceanic floor collapses as Laywind leaps away, water streaming down into a deep and rich canyon, streams of blue-green soul-fire fog coursing through it like a river of its own. Great and terrible buildings are carved into the cliff faces of an underworld.
Again everything tilts, floor twisting, walls shifting, ceiling turning as if the entire space is rotating. As the Library tries to reassert itself, Medea's eyes catch on doors that, with every second, crept closer to them, tremendous gates situated behind an archivist's desks where requests and applications to enter were processed. The Beasts were pulling the forbidden personal archives to them, instead of moving across the entirety of the archives. [[span style="color:purple"]]//It's working!//[[/span]]
The younger twin shifts below them as Medea and Carissa stream towards their goal, more and more Docents kept coming, some of them titanic now, the size of skyscrapers, as archivists flew in from other areas of the Library to try to help. One gets too close to Aleah and she grabs it with a free hand and throws it across the space into the defensive line forming around those great doors. She is a terrific sight, blazing with the full power of an eclipsing sun, and impossible to look at. The sky and light of the Library are fueling her.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//We'll need all three of the beasts to breach that.//[[/span]] Medea knew every second they weren't in the personal rooms is another second that the Library is bringing its might to bear. It is a Beast of Nature in and of itself, but despite the success of her plan, she was expecting them to have been crushed by it by now. Were the other Beasts' domains truly enough to contend with the might of the Library?
As they flew towards the gates she could see Laywind there now, holding her side and barking commands to Docents and Archivists. The younger twin advances below them, the spells and magic rippling into a shield that envelops her, every swing of her axe sending bursts of firey wind outwards, shearing through Docents and the occasional out of position and hapless Archivist. The fog rolls behind her, creeping forward, as it crackles with sickly blood-red light.
Then a manic laugh fills the air as the older twin surfs out of the fog on a wave of flowing blood light, sweeping up Docents and Archivists alike who were unfortunate enough to be in its path. She shifts and flips, the curved blades of her bloodlight wings morphing into thick-bladed lances. Her feet kick them in machinegun fashion as she twirls like a pinwheel through the air, one by one a dozen of them into portals of rippling blood light. They reappear above the desk crackling with red lightning before they shear downwards exploding in icy light as Archivists dive out of the way, Docents flying apart beneath the force.
Abigail pulls her hands in as her reality warp ripples around her, the wave of blood light pooling together into one enormous spear. With a flip of her body, ignoring the inbound spell slinging from Archivists, she grips the haft of it. Spinning, she launches into the air, as an immense portal in the shape of a blood moon apparates into existence. Aleah holds up her axe, as it expands into an immense shaft of burning sunlight. Abigail lands on the axe blade, using it like a spring to rocket upwards as Aleah pushes with all her might, driving the blade high into the air, and then slamming it against the shield of a titanic archivist which shatters and falls into two pieces, as the axe cleaves it and the caster apart.
"Blood Moon!" She screams, vanishing into the portal. Seconds later she reappears above the defensive line of the Docents and Archivists.
"Judgement!" The immense spear of light rockets downwards with her in tow. The air heats with friction, as arcs of thaumic lightning ripple outwards. Skyscraper-sized Docents shatter beneath the force, the ground rippling outwards as waves of blood light snare hundreds of Docents and archivists, freezing them in pillars of red ice. Reality quakes as the ocean of starlight ripples with the ice, threatening to drown the denizens of the Library in warping reality.
Abigail rises from the icy impact crater and leaps like a dragoon, bouncing along the heads of Archivists and Docents alike, wings spinning in wheels of blood-light death. She lands in the crowd and whirls upon the thousands of Docents and Archivists with hundreds of blades swirling and flying in a tornadic maelstrom of crimson fury.
-----
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]3.7 The Midas Touch[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Past. Corinth.[[/span]]
Jason dropped, and then rolled back, hopping up onto his feet a crazed snarl on his lips. Carissa landed in front of him in a near-perfect crouch. Medea flicked the wrist of her free hand and a glyph appeared underneath his feet burning with mocking light before it rocketed him up in a lilac beam of pure magical force. The hapless king smashed into a beam above and dropped like a rock, hitting the floor with a visceral //thunk//.
[[span style="color:purple"]]//And now we play with our prey.//[[/span]]
Jason used his sword to haul himself up to his feet, untouched and unbothered by the attacks thrown at him so far. "You idiots! You kinslaying whores. You can do nothing to me! The Fleece is mine, so—"
"So you can't be hurt by weapons, magics, or human-applied strikes, we know asshole," Carissa said, dodging a swing of Jason's sword as he whirled upon her approach. She flipped backward, catching her full weight on her hands, and used her bow like a spring, launching back. A sword nocked itself against the string as she loosed. It smacked Jason straight in the face, sending him stumbling backward.
Almost forgetting they were still in a fight with relative stakes, Medea admired the form and motion, the way Carissa's body twisted and moved. She snapped back to reality bringing her flail to bear as it slammed into Jason's torso knocking the wind from him. She flicked her wrist again as he hit the wall, and a blue gleaming glyph spun up and then smashed the hapless fallen "hero" with a column of condensed sewage water that sent him sprawling across the carpets.
He got up again, spitting disgusting water out as he sucked in breaths. Medea decided, and Carissa probably did too based on how she was inspecting one of her claw-like nails, just to see what bullshit he would spout next.
His eyes darted to Carissa. "Atalanta," he said with that same smooth and charming tone he'd used to convince them both to join the Argo's crew. "You know it was never personal right? I only needed you out of the way! Be reasonable, she's a kinslayer and a murderer. You don't want to go to Tartarus with her, do you? We can still make a deal where you walk away from this."
Medea watched Carissa's face carefully. She seemed, for a moment, to actually be giving his offer due consideration. That provoked a twinge of worry in her chest.
Carissa banished it by barking out laughter. "Are you fucking serious? Is that really the best you've got?"
"What do you want? Gold? Riches? Magical artifacts?" He paused and then his lips slowly curled outwards into a suggestive smirk. "Women?"
"You couldn't afford me." She blipped out of reality, and materialized behind him, mid-air, fingers pulling the strings of her bow taut. The arrows slammed into his spine and sent him stumbling forward to once again meet the spiked heft of Medea's flail. It slammed down into his skull causing him to fall forward like a domino, as Medea deftly sidestepped his flailing blade, watching his descent with only passing interest.
He lay on the floor a moment and then looked up at her. "Medea please, I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted to leave—"
She kicked him in the side with far more force than she knew she was capable of, sending him skidding away. "Save your drivel for Chiron. Assuming they don't just throw you straight into Tartarus yourself."
Medea's eyes didn't leave Jason as he coughed, standing up slowly. "All of this could have been avoided," he pleaded. "We still can work things out."
"Sorry Jason, the only way this could have been avoided is by you not being born," Carissa lazily picked at her teeth with one claw. "Medea, you sated?"
"Well let's see, he's tried to turn us against each other, tried to bribe you. He has not begged for mercy yet." She extended her fingers as she counted.
"Please! Mercy, have mercy on me, your friend, your lover, your husband!" Jason begged.
"There's the plea from familiarity and the begging," Carissa said.
"I'm more satisfied now than I ever was with him in bed." She makes another small motion with her free hand and another twirling glyph appears beneath Jason, astral chains shooting up out of the floor, and wrapping around him. Pinning him in place.
Medea watched a drop of boiling liquid fall onto Jason's shoulder, causing him to squeal in pain, as he looked up. The look of absolute terror burned itself into Medea's mind, as he saw the molten vat of liquid gold that Carissa had hung from the ceiling. Carissa popped into existence in the rafters next to it with the flat end of a spear ready to tip.
Another glyph appeared on the floor below Jason, and stone pillars in the shape of a mold rose up around him. Medea met Carissa's eyes and gave the thumbs-down signal. She tilted the vat, and the molten gold poured in.
The haunting screams of a dying bastard filled the air.
-----
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]3.8 It wraps me in its blinding twilight[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Present. The L-Halls of K-Heavenly Oc-.[[/span]]
They were so close. The personal rooms were right there. Abigail hews and slices away deep in the lines of the Docents and Archivists, batting aside spells, and weapons and limbs. She and the younger twin were taking magic blows now. It didn't seem to, at first, be affecting them, but Medea grows less certain as the seconds tick by, their movements visibly slowing. Not only that, but the Library is reasserting itself, pressing back against the shifting floor and walls as tile overtakes the calm ocean surface and craggy canyons.
They need an edge, to stop the Archivists from sculpting and directing the Library for even a moment.
"Carissa."
"On it!" her lover replies, stretching the string of her bow, as she aims at the sky. "Taurpolos! Guide me true oh bow of heaven!" A blazing green arrow manifests already nocked on the string. She looses it into the sky as Medea holds her hands aloft, clouds of a thaumic storm rising past her fingertips. The arrow streaks in. A rain of building-sized, lightning-streaked projectiles falls out the other side, and upon the defensive line.
But it isn't enough. The line is holding.
The library is pushing back now, Abigail is being forced to fall back, and she and her sibling are focusing more and more of their attention on defending themselves.
Medea has many many more traps, but none of them would be enough.
Would their plan fail here?
Would they die without ever having reached the personal rooms? The forbidden spaces with the absolute knowledge geared for them and them alone.
"It's not working!" Medea cries down to them.
"Quite aware thank you Medea," Abigail says back, grimacing as she takes another spell to the side.
Somehow in the brilliance of [[span class="text-blur"]]Inanna[[/span]] and [[span class="text-blur"]]Ishtar's[[/span]] assault, she's forgotten one very important thing.
There is still a third Beast.
-----
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]3.9 Said goodbye to you my friend[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Past. Corinth.[[/span]]
They waited for a long time after the screams had ceased. Medea spent that time thinking about how absolutely painful it must have been, to have been screaming when the molten metal fell, streaming into the airways and literally melting him from both inside and out. It was a visceral thought and one she thought fitting for a yellow-bellied adulterer like him.
The casting stones fell away as Carissa pried them apart with a metal rod.
Jason of Argos, former King of Corinth, bastard, and betrayer, was dead, encased in solid gold.
The chains had allowed him enough motion for him to raise his hands to the sky, his face a mask of horror, disfigured by the molten metal.
Medea stood there, next to Carissa, next to the love of her life, and they looked upon the work they had wrought.
All the stories said that Vengeance was a hollow painful thing that propagated cycles, but that wasn't what she felt. She felt peace. The peace of contentment that 20 years of torture had left her without.
"So, what do you want to do with him?" Carissa finally asked, snapping her out of her reverie. "Find a spot in a garden somewhere we can visit regularly?"
"No. I never wish to see him again after this," Medea said hatefully.
Carissa mused over that. "Then I have a plan," she said.
"You? A plan? I am proud Carissa," the sorceress said, teasingly but with sincerity.
The Catgirl's tail flicked, and ears stood pert, with a bit of a blush on her cheeks. "Thanks," she said softly, and she meant it. "So here is what we do."
------
++ [[span style="font-family: Noto Sans Cuneiform ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]𒐃𒍤𒐉𒐉 𒆠𒆭𒊠 𒆠𒁠 𒃀𒀀𒇠 𒁠𒊠𒆠𒀀𒇠𒇠𒀀[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Present. !?!?!?!?!!.[[/span]]
The fog rolls past Abigail and Aleah's feet. Suddenly, they dive aside as a shout rends the air. "Kur's walls shall shatter all bonds and barriers, hear the bellows of Gal Irkalla!" The tile, the water, and the craggy earth beneath them rippled and burst forward as immense pillars of sharpened rock surge like a tide, tossing Docents and Archivists aside. The creeping correction of the Libray's reality is suddenly and violently shattered, pushed back by immense thaumic discharge.
Thousands of bone constructs of varied sizes charge out of the fog, many on the back of skeletal steeds. Medea and Carissa hover above the carnage, arrows and stinking purple thaumic discharges adding to the chaos, as the doors loom before them. The doors to the forbidden personal rooms, locked tight and so close that the sorceress could reach out and steal them open if they were not locked.
Below them, Laywind's face is a mat of blood and dismay at the chaos. The other archivists who continued to flex their power and channel the Library's might were not much better. For a brief moment, they had overcome their planar and reality intruders. Now, now it came undone.
A whistle came from the fog, and then a rumbling as a shadow grew in the towering columns of soulfire fog. Bursting out, stinking mist still rippling off its form, flies the skeletal shape of a dragon of old, a primal being long slain. Perching upon its skull is the third Beast in all of her glory looking positively and terrifyingly thrilled.
"And so I shall call upon the tides of darkness, the bonds of the earth, and the dead. For my name is [[span class="text-blur"]]Ereshkigal[[/span]], Lady of the Great Earth!" she roars as she extends the spear before her. The skeletal dragon joins her cries with a thunderous roar, breathing columns of thick dark lightning. It scythes through Docents and larger Archivists alike before the entire construct slams itself into the doors guarding the personal rooms. A wave of pungent darkness swept away many, into the collapsing floor and the underworld forming below, or deeper into the library. The blow of the dragon, and by extension, the third Beast's spear ripples the door's reality. After a moment they crack, as the Beast known as Emily falls to the earth amidst the Archivists and Docents.
Medea's attention snaps away from the third beast and the carnage she is unleashing and refocuses on the twins as they rise into the sky, their bodies changing once more, clothes morphing into arcane and sorcerous robes as Venus blazes over their heads. Their hair streams behind them, ripping outwards with brilliant golden light, every tract of skin shivering and wavering with strands of dancing luminescence as power pounds through their veins.
"We call upon all of our power and all of our souls!" the twins say, raising their arms to Venus. The planet Venus twinkles and then starts to unravel, gas and rock flowing down into an indefinite shape. "Once we called upon you oh Gugalanna to shatter a mountain in our Vanity!" [[span class="text-blur"]]Inanna[[/span]] Cries.
"Now we call upon you from the heavens to the great earth," [[span class="text-blur"]]Ishtar[[/span]] continues.
"To pave the way to our desires!" The air sags with the concept and weight of a planet as it condenses into an immense and ornate lance. Together they place their feet on the haft of its shaft. It is the size of a skyscraper, thick with golden yellow light, and more real than anything else she can see. More real than //anything// she's ever seen. "Let the light and fire of Venus pave the way!" They cock their arms forward and drew them back together, as the lance, and by proxy themselves, rocket forward.
The air rends with deafing wave of malicious venuslight, a sonic boom smashing all sound to pieces, as the combined might of two Beasts of Nature slams into the door to the personal rooms, and the most powerful among the Archivists as they desperately try and fail to shield it.
The great portals of knowledge explode in a ball of fire and light, leaving a smoking ruin as Medea and Carissa fly rapidly forward before the Library can reset.
-----
+ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 2rem"]]Chapter 4: Your Bones[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Past. Corinth.[[/span]]
Carissa and Medea stood on the beach just outside of Corinth, their grisly prize carefully placed before them. Beneath the rotting carcass of the once great Argo.
"Just say the word," Carissa said, one arm around Medea's hips.
She languished. In some ways, it felt like what they were about to do was a waste. He could be a reminder, a warning to Greece and the gods of what happens when you break important vows. But she knew, for she hadn't truly escaped the effects of the potion in their totality, that if she did she would always come back, always reopen those wounds.
"Do it," Medea said with finality and certainty.
Carissa pulled her arm off Medea's hips, an aching twinge rising in her chest as the point of contact between them broke. She pulled the string on her bow back, and she loosed the arrow. The arrow streaked through the air and hit the Argo in a central structural beam, and it collapsed, bursting into flames. Medea had saturated the wood with Pyrrhos, and now it burned with the heat of a forge. There would soon be nothing left but ashes.
And that was enough. Medea turned away, her eyes closed and breathed in and out. It was done.
"So..." Carissa said softly and uncertainly, wrapping Medea's hips back up with an arm. "What's next?"
"Next?" Medea said, considering for the first time in a long long time that she had freedom.
"Yeah." Carissa's chest blossomed into a purr next to her, fingers running through Medea's hair.
After a long moment, the Sorceress replied, "We find a way to break the potion and we travel. I have no interest in remaining in Greece."
"That sounds like a good plan," Carissa said. "I've heard Orkney is great this time of year?"
"The far north? You wish to rejoin the Finned ones?"
"It's worth exploring."
They strode off along the beach, away from the pyre that would leave, in a fitting end, nothing of Jason of Argos to find.
------
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]4.1 Between the Daylight and the Deep Sea[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Present. The Heart, Astral Plane.[[/span]]
The Library is a tricky thing, and the forbidden zone that contains the personal rooms is not at all what they have been expecting. There were several doors, each with carefully crafted designs matching Carissa, Abigail, Aleah, Emily, and finally Medea. Red, Black, Orange, Gold, and Lilac. The most bewildering thing is the detailed carpentry that resembled portraits of each person. This entry hallway is; however, rather plain and boring.
The archive doors behind them, already fully reassembled, shudder, and the shouts of magic, and inhuman noises of Docents are audible. Carissa eyes her door cautiously, as did the others. [[span style="color:purple"]]//If I had to guess... this area shapes itself to the desired knowledge of the user.//[[/span]] She glances at Carissa, her lover staring at what is, to her eyes, a blank wall, and mumbling something indiscernible.
She turns her attention back to the door, as the three Beasts attend to one another. The twins had magic wounds that were slowly healing, disruptions to their conceptual beings. In this space, their conceptual reality-warping had stopped. Perhaps this is the heart of the Library, its true core. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Maybe, somewhere close by is the thing, the object or organism which had spawned its depths.//[[/span]] It is a curious thought, but one they didn't have time to entertain.
"So," Abigail says, bringing everyone back to earth. "What now."
"Now, we find out what the Library has for me," Medea replies, "What it's been hiding all these years, what knowledge it deemed too important for me to have with the crimes I have done. As far as you three, do what you wish from here."
Carissa is inspecting her door, her ears twitching and flicking towards the noises from outside the archives. Abigail looks at Emily, Emily shrugs and moves over to her own door, and vanishes inside. Abigail and Aleah do much the same.
Carissa looks back to Medea as if asking for permission.
"Get whatever is inside and come to me. I do not want to be separated if they open the door." Medea says to her.
"As if anyone could ever separate us again," Carissa says snarkily back and then walks through her door.
Medea takes a deep breath. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Ok. This is it. 5000 years you've been waiting for this. 5000 years you worked for this. Whatever is on the other side of that door, it's meant for you.//[[/span]]
Medea steps through the door. The room is a workshop, a place of magic tools and relics of many different times and ages. Vials of liquid are carefully situated in various places, she knew what they were, liquid memories. Several books with names that she could not read, not because the language is unfamiliar, but because they were literally blurred out of perceivable existence are carefully arranged on shelves. But her attention falls to what is in the center of the room. On a pedestal, the cover closed, an extremely thick and heavy tome. She knows what it is, immediately.
//The Complete and Total Guide to Sorcery, Magics, and Enchantments and how to Break them.// She had a few pages from this book at one point in time.
And then she sees who the author is, and she put her head in her hands. "Oh, I am so stupid."
'Written by Circe.'
-----
++ [[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.5rem"]]4.2 I See it All so Clear[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]The Present. Site-212A, Scotland.[[/span]]
Medea sits at the interrogation room table. It is crowded. [[span style="color:purple"]]//Why did they have to do all five of us at the same time. This is miserable.//[[/span]] Every look towards any of the three Beasts of Nature was enough to flashbang her, but three? She might as well have put on blinders. And after the library, it was //worse//. Whatever they have found has exacerbated the issue.
She rests her head on Carissa's shoulder as Sherry Andrews, O5-01-03 flips through the hodgepodge reports they'd submitted. The woman's face is a mask of incredulous disbelief, the corners of her lips flicking down to teeth bared as she squints in a grimace, before flicking back up into a smile, rinse and repeat.
She finally closes the folders and pinches the bridge of her nose. "No one is ever going to believe this. How am I supposed to go before the coun—" She cuts herself off, sighs, and straightens up returning to a professional and even disposition. "I can't say you didn't complete the deal. You brought back the tomes we requested, got whatever you needed, and my understanding is you're working on remedying the Thaumic contamination?" she asks Medea.
"Correct." Medea nods.
She pulls two thick stacks of stapled paper out of the folder on the table and slides them over to Carissa and Medea. "Read these, thoroughly, sign, and get them back to my office by Monday."
"What are they?" Carissa asks, lifting the top sheaf of paper, leaning down and sniffing suspiciously. Her ears flick as her face morphs into something inscrutable, a rarity as Medea knows her expressions all so well.
"Your employment contracts. You'll be assigned an SCP designation, that will remain unlogged in our database unless you violate the terms of your contract."
"Can we contact a lawyer first? Preferably Moose?" Medea opens hers, scans several lines of text, and wrinkles her nose at the legalese. "What exactly will we be doing?"
"Moose is unavailable, but I can get you someone from the Department of Legal Affairs." She pauses as Carissa looks about to protest. "Someone not on my payroll. They'll walk you through everything." She sighs. "You're being assigned to the Department of Mythology and Folkloristics. The title is pretty self-explanatory. Instead of the usual hierarchical structure, you'll be reporting directly to me for your work. I've got some concerns about the partisanship politics, and I don't want you under someone who I don't fully trust."
"So we're back to square one," Carissa says unamused. "Someone's personal toys."
"I assure you Carissa, the only time you'll be in play is if something has gone very wrong." Sherry's eyes flick to the three siblings, Medea's eyes following hers. Abigail and Aleah are seated next to one another, and Emily has elected to stand very close to the one-way Mirror and is looking at it instead of paying attention to Sherry.
"As for you three, you upheld your end of the bargain and I assume you got what you wanted?"
"A safe assumption," Abigail says, a smug smirk on her face. "We'll be there when the end comes."
Sherry nods, looking unsettled by the implication. "Ok. Then if no one else has anything to add?"
"Dr. Andrews," Emily says, finally turning her attention back to the O5 member. "Please send Gabriella to my home in approximately 1 year. You will not let my wife interview me anymore, so she will do. I will be ready to begin then."
Medea blinks. Abigail and Aleah look at the third Beast as if she has lost her head for a moment, but neither says anything.
"Erm," Sherry says blinking. "I'll have M&F dispatch her first thing Monday."
"Excellent." She turns, twin pillars of obsidian rising from the floor, and vanishes into a portal of blue-green fog.
"I think that's our cue to go," Abigail says, snapping a finger as she and Aleah vanish into a doorframe of light without rising. They take two very nice interrogation chairs with them.
Carissa, Medea, and Sherry are left alone in the interrogation room. Sherry sags in the chair looking utterly exhausted, as she drops all pretense. "What a week."
"Out of curiosity," Medea asks, shifting and making a note in the relaxation of demeanor. "What did you offer them? To risk everything."
"Everything," Sherry says. "Everything, and the challenge of fighting the fucking library."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swallowed-by-a-prideful-lesbian-sea| previous-title=Swallowed by a PRIDEful, Lesbian Sea
| next-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-8810| next-title=SCP-8810 Gods Be Sued on the Dance Floor
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/seas-of-orcadia-hub| hub-title=Seas of Orcadia Hub
]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://kaktuskontainer.wikidot.com/drbleeps-author-sandbox-2">:kaktuskontainer:drbleeps-author-sandbox-2</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** Carissa_Woods.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user Amai-Ixchel]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swallowed-by-a-prideful-lesbian-sea SCP Foundation Wiki]
> **Filename:** Medea.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user Amai-Ixchel]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swallowed-by-a-prideful-lesbian-sea SCP Foundation Wiki]
> **Filename:** 1920px-View_of_Corinth.jpg
> **Author:** Abbott, Jacob
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** [https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/9/98/View_of_Corinth.jpg/2560px-View_of_Corinth.jpg 1803-1879 - History of Xerxes]
> **Filename:** Abigail.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user Amai-Ixchel]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/medea-filicidium SCP Foundation Wiki]
> **Filename:** Aleah.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user Amai-Ixchel]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Medea-Filicidium SCP Foundation Wiki]
> **Filename:** Emily.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user Amai-Ixchel]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Medea-Filicidium SCP Foundation Wiki]
> **Filename:** Banner.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user Amai-Ixchel]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Medea-Filicidium SCP Foundation Wiki]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-06-30T01:31:00
|
[
"action",
"fantasy",
"lgbtq",
"mythological",
"orcadia",
"pridefest2024",
"romance",
"tale"
] |
Medea Filicidium - SCP Foundation
| 32
|
[
"medea-filicidium#toc0",
"medea-filicidium#toc1",
"medea-filicidium#toc2",
"medea-filicidium#toc3",
"medea-filicidium#toc4",
"medea-filicidium#toc5",
"medea-filicidium#toc6",
"medea-filicidium#toc7",
"medea-filicidium#toc8",
"medea-filicidium#toc9",
"medea-filicidium#toc10",
"medea-filicidium#toc11",
"medea-filicidium#toc12",
"medea-filicidium#toc13",
"medea-filicidium#toc14",
"medea-filicidium#toc15",
"medea-filicidium#toc16",
"medea-filicidium#toc17",
"medea-filicidium#toc18",
"medea-filicidium#toc19",
"medea-filicidium#toc20",
"medea-filicidium#toc21",
"medea-filicidium#toc22",
"swallowed-by-a-prideful-lesbian-sea",
"cat-got-your-tongue",
"seas-of-orcadia-hub",
"scp-8810",
"scp-3456",
"scp-3700",
"scp-2491",
"scp-4700",
"scp-3703",
"scp-6700",
"scp-3706",
"scp-3728",
"scp-2497",
"scp-2946",
"scp-3702",
"scp-3710",
"scp-1347-1353-j",
"scp-2546",
"scp-2378",
"scp-7810",
"scp-3711",
"scp-2431",
"scp-2381",
"all-in-all-you-re-just-a-nother-brick-in-the-wall",
"the-seas-of-orcadia-part-1-how-i-met-your-mither",
"where-there-is-desire-there-is-gonna-be-a-flame",
"slow-pride-filled-life",
"lets-get-physical",
"multi-goddess-drifting",
"where-there-is-a-flame-someone-is-bound-to-get-burned",
"hotter-than-hell",
"love-across-a-nonbinary-spectrum",
"on-the-rails",
"the-coming-nightmare",
"dissonance",
"scp-3500",
"scp-8710",
"recomposition",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"Medea-Filicidium"
] |
[
"with-the-old-gods-hub",
"seas-of-orcadia-hub",
"pridefest"
] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/Medea.jpg"
] |
1454340808
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/medea-filicidium
|
|
memory-of-a-murder
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>It was a Friday afternoon, and Special Agent Florence Thorne was once again in a firefight.</p>
</div>
<div class="preview">
<p>{$text}</p>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3A3law/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">GreenWolf</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p><strong>SUGGESTED LISTENING</strong>: <a href="https://youtu.be/65Yvo46wqY0?feature=shared">"Losing It" by Rush</a></p>
<p>Here's my <strong><a href="/greenwolf-s-author-page">Author Page</a></strong>.</p>
<p>This is Part 3 of 7 of a tale series about the death of Florence Thorne, and the investigation undertaken by Robin Thorne. Florence previously featured as the main character of <a href="/florence-thorne-hub">The Phoenix, The Nightingale, and The Magpies</a>. Robin Thorne is one of the main characters of <a href="/unusual-investigations">The Unusual Investigations of Kenneth Spencer and Robin Thorne</a>.</p>
<p>O5-7 did 9/11.</p>
<p>Part 4 will be released when I write it.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>« <a href="/much-belated-inheritance">A Much Belated Inheritance</a> || <a href="/crowne-thorne-hub">HUB</a> || <a class="newpage" href="/calling-on-the-blackbird">Calling on the Blackbird</a> »</strong><br/>
<em>the murdered do not die alone</em></p>
</div>
<p><strong>May 30th, 2024</strong><br/>
<strong>Robin Thorne's Apartment, Three Portlands</strong></p>
<p>"<em>Wáı</em>!" The Sidhe curse slipped from Robin Thorne's lips.</p>
<p>"Problem?" Nemo asked. The shapeshifter was back in his preferred default form — a note-perfect imitation of Geddy Lee as he appeared on tour for <em>2112</em> in 1976.</p>
<p>"This thing doesn't make sense." Thorne gestured angrily towards the sunstone necklace, which was currently hovering six inches above the kitchen counter.</p>
<p>As soon as they had gotten back to the apartment with Nemo — and after safely disposing of the recaptured gas golem that had been used to distract Agent Brooks — Thorne had set about converting the kitchen into a makeshift thaumatology lab for use in deciphering the interwoven layers of enchantments Florence had placed upon the necklace. Using a sigil machine, they had drawn a complicated series of interlocking spirals on the countertop, centered around the necklace; it was an unusual ritual geometry, intended to direct incoming EVE through the gemstone along specific vectors before diverting it towards a point where Crowe was waiting and watching. A tabletop Everhart Resonator was quietly humming on the edge of the counter, providing a steady source of EVE for the working. Periodically, Thorne would adjust the geometry to change the angle of the inbound vectors.</p>
<p>The entire setup was essentially an occult spectroscope, using controlled bursts of Aspect Radiation to precisely map the flow of energy through the gemstone. In theory, it was the most reliable way to reveal and reconstruct unknown enchantments.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, Thorne was discovering that knowing the structure of an enchantment did not automatically make it comprehensible.</p>
<p>"What's the issue?"</p>
<p>Thorne sighed. "Ultimately? My mom taught herself thaumatology. There are two common methods for creating a grimoire, and she didn't use either of them. Whatever enchantments she put on this thing were entirely her own invention."</p>
<p>"I thought a grimoire was just a wizard's spellbook," Nemo said.</p>
<p>"Yes and no." Thorne reached over and turned off the Everhart Resonator, allowing the working to end so they could give him their full attention. The necklace settled on the counter with a soft <em>clink</em>. "A grimoire is any object — sometimes a book, but not always — which has been enchanted to store information, usually with the intent that only the enchanter or another thaumaturge be able to access it."</p>
<p>"And there are two ways to do it," he said.</p>
<p>"Two common ways," they corrected. "The first, and the easiest, is to bind a Constructed Intelligence to the object and have it remember whatever information you want."</p>
<p>"And the other?"</p>
<p>"Imbue the object with a lattice of Elan-Vital Energy and use induced variance to encode the information. It requires a lot of math, and you need to know the original lattice structure to retrieve the information, but it's very easy to encrypt."</p>
<p>"So what did your mom do?"</p>
<p>"That's what I'm trying to figure out." They shook their head. "I don't even think she encrypted it, I think she's just the only one who knew how to use it."</p>
<p>"Maybe you're overthinking it." He ambled over to the fridge to look at the oneirograph pinned to the door. "She wore this all the time, yeah?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. I never thought much of it growing up — just assumed it was a focus for her wards or something. I didn't even think to ask about it after she died."</p>
<p>He nodded. "So maybe it doesn't work unless you're wearing it."</p>
<p>From over on the counter, Crowe started chittering excitedly in Celtic.</p>
<p>Thorne swiveled to glare at the familiar. "You fucker! Why didn't you say so earlier?"</p>
<p>The spectral bird started bouncing from one foot to the other as it explained, with obvious agitation, that it didn't know everything, and that Nemo's insight had recontextualized its earlier observations.</p>
<p>"Aren't you supposed to be a spirit of intellect?" Thorne asked, exasperated. "Would it still work for me?"</p>
<p>The familiar hesitated, then flapped its wings in imitation of a shrug.</p>
<p>"That sounds like a breakthrough," Nemo said.</p>
<p>"<em>Maybe</em>." Thorne reached over and scooped the necklace off the counter. They started turning it over in their hands to examine it. Putting unknown enchanted items around their neck was one of the first things they had been told to never do when they were studying at ICSUT, but they were fairly confident by this point that it wasn't booby-trapped. "My mom made a lattice grimoire without the lattice. She was only ever recording her own thoughts, so the recorded variance in the gem is from her own aura. That's the key."</p>
<p>Nemo frowned. "How does that help though? I know you hate hearing it, but you aren't your mom."</p>
<p>"No, but maybe I'm close enough." They slipped the necklace over their head. As the gemstone came to rest in the hollow of their throat, they felt the enchantments within flicker and flare in reaction to their aura. Even if nobody else did, at least Florence's own spellcraft recognized them as a worthy successor to their mother.</p>
<p>Thorne rubbed their thumb against the sunstone. The reservoir of energy just beneath the surface made their skin tingle.</p>
<p>Closing their eyes, they pushed a tiny pulse of EVE into the gem and said, "Show me what happened."</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>May 23rd, 2008</strong><br/>
<strong>Docks District, Three Portlands</strong></p>
<p>It was a Friday afternoon, and Special Agent Florence Thorne was once again in a firefight.</p>
<p>Bullets and bolts of plasma zipped over her head as she crouched for cover behind an overturned table. The Mobile Occult Operations Team had deployed to strike at a Lighthouse Mafia safehouse in the Docks District, and the raid had gone smoothly until this point. Her agents had cleared all but one room in the building, with only one casualty so far — and that merely a superficial plasma burn. Now there were only two members of the Lighthouse Mafia fighting back.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, they were putting up a hell of a fight. They had retreated to the central room of the safehouse — which appeared to have been used to prepare and store paranarcotics — and were keeping the only entrance covered with intermittent bursts of suppressing fire while they sheltered safely behind a stack of wooden crates. She had managed, just barely, to slip into the room while the one with a plasma projector was reloading, relying on her wards to keep her safe for the five yard dash from the doorway to the table.</p>
<p>The tactical situation could have been better. She was pinned down behind the table, while the rest of MOOT was pinned down outside the room. She knew that part of the team would be trying to blast through the walls to encircle the shooters, but she expected the building's wards to slow them down. That wasn't acceptable — the longer the confrontation went on, the more they pushed their luck.</p>
<p>"Jess!" Florence shouted. "I'm going bowling! Pick-up the spare!" It was a sloppy code, but making sure that the other agent understood her was more important than tipping off the enemy to her intentions.</p>
<p>Without waiting for an answer, Florence launched herself sideways using an evocation, dropping to the floor in a baseball slide as she flew across the room, closely tracked by gunfire. She flailed her arm at the shooters, tossing a fireball in their general direction.</p>
<p>The fireball exploded against the stack of crates, sending a cloud of sparks and splinters flying everywhere. The two goons scrambled out of the way, splitting off in different directions. They both made it about three steps.</p>
<p>Taking advantage of their panic, Jesse Davis spun out of cover to face them head-on. Reaching up with both arms, she clenched her hands into fists and pulled them down to her shoulders, then threw them out to point at goons. Ribbons of blue-white electricity crackled down her arms and through her outstretched fingers, striking both men squarely in the chest. They dropped like rocks, and didn't get up.</p>
<p>The federal battlemages remained frozen in their positions, quietly counting off the seconds.</p>
<p>When it was obvious there would be no further resistance, Davis called out, "Clear!"</p>
<p>Florence pulled herself to her feet and watched as the members of her team shifted from combat mode to evidence collection.</p>
<p>"Good job everyone," she said. "Jess, you have the scene. I'm gonna step outside and radio 3PPD to get out here with some golems."</p>
<p>"Whatever you say, Boss." The other wizard snapped off lazy salute.</p>
<p>That had been another tactical disadvantage, although one they had anticipated — the building was warded so heavily that none of their radios worked. But her people were good enough that it hadn't been an issue for tactical coordination.</p>
<p>It did mean she had to trudge all the way back through the building. By the time she was back outside in the nearby alley, there were four walls and fifty yards between her and the nearest member of the team.</p>
<p><em>Cthunk.</em></p>
<p>That was the first indication to Florence that she had been shot. The noise — so much like a stapler being driven through a thick ream of papers — was one that she had learned to associate with death before she was sixteen. It was so very familiar.</p>
<p>Behind her, someone had just fired a silenced 9mm handgun.</p>
<p>Her vision swam and she stumbled, suddenly numb. A cold feeling was spreading from her chest. For a moment, it seemed to her that she was in a different alley, at a different time — back in Minneapolis, back to the moment she first saw a man die. The blood had mixed with the snow and garbage into an unrecognizable slurry of grime.</p>
<p>She had sworn that she would never die that way — alone, unaware, quietly bleeding out in the cold and dark.</p>
<p>She would burn before she ever let the cold take her.</p>
<p>By force of will alone, she caught herself mid-stumble and swung to face her assassin. Ignoring the bleeding wound and the aching numbness, she gritted her teeth and started gathering power for a final evocation.</p>
<p>The man dropped the gun and fell backwards, raising his hands in a desperate plea. "No! I'm sorry! Please! I'm sorry."</p>
<p>Surprise made her hesitate.</p>
<p>"I didn't want to," the man sobbed. "They made me. They tricked me. They told me I could see my daughter again."</p>
<p>Curiosity made her stop altogether.</p>
<p>"Wh—" She coughed, hacking up a glob of phlegm and blood. "Who? What did they do?"</p>
<p>The man tucked his knees against his chest and clutched his hands against his head, grimacing in pain. "Don't know. Thought they were feds. CIA or something. Said I'd get a pardon if— " He winced, emitting an anguished howl.</p>
<p>"If what?" It was as much question as she could ask before descending into another coughing fit.</p>
<p>"Can't. Say." The words were garbled and strained, as the man tried to speak despite his jaw clenching shut. "Signed. Signed. Swore."</p>
<p>The man's head snapped up and he looked directly at her. "I'm sorry."</p>
<p>His eyes rolled back in his head and he began to convulse. He thrashed and twitched in total silence, even as he tried to scream. As she watched, a drop of blood trickled from his mouth.</p>
<p>She was still holding the power that she had drawn up. Power that she had pooled to annihilate the man. Now she used it to help him. Saving his life — much less her own — was far beyond her skill in evocation. But she could at least make sure his death was painless. A quick pinch of force to his carotid was enough to leave him unconscious, although he continued to seize.</p>
<p>"I forgive you," she whispered. She watched quietly as the man died, killed by the same geas that had compelled him to kill her.</p>
<p>Now it was her turn. The cold was spreading through her limbs. There was only a little time left.</p>
<p>She lurched her way towards the near side of the alley and slumped against the wall. She rolled to put her back against it. Using her left hand, she clutched at her chest as she fumbled for her necklace. Her shirt was soaked and slimy with blood, and the necklace was slick and slippery.</p>
<p>She wiped it off as best she could against her shoulder, then held the gem up so she could see her face reflected in the surface of the sunstone.</p>
<p>"Robin. I wish you didn't have to see this, but I hope they get this to you. This stone contains my whole life — everything I've ever wanted to tell you is in here, and everything I never wanted you to know about me too. I hope you won't judge me too harshly for it, and I pray that it gives you some solace.</p>
<p>Always remember that you are the greatest thing I've ever done. No matter the circumstances of your birth, I have never once regretted having you. I wish we'd had more time. I know you're going to be okay though. You're a brilliant, beautiful person, and I couldn't be more proud of you.</p>
<p>The only advice I have to give you now is this: Be careful who you give your heart to, but don't be afraid to fall in love. Love is the greatest gift of all."</p>
<p>She was interrupted by a coughing fit. Blood was starting to pool up in her lungs now, and it was getting hard to breathe. She struggled to get enough air to speak. There was one last thing she had to say.</p>
<p>"I love you."</p>
<p>And then she stopped feeling cold.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>May 30th, 2024</strong><br/>
<strong>Robin Thorne's Apartment, Three Portlands</strong></p>
<p>"Robin!"</p>
<p>Thorne opened their eyes to the sight of Nemo's blurry face mere inches away. As they went to rub tears from their eyes, they realized that they had fallen to their knees, and that Nemo's hands on their shoulders were the only thing keeping them from falling further.</p>
<p>Using Nemo for support, they pulled themself to their feet and allowed him to guide them to the couch. They didn't really sit down, so much as they simply fell into a sitting position. Nemo kept an arm around them, and they leaned against him easily, grateful for the added warmth.</p>
<p>Thorne cried. It was a long time before they stopped.</p>
<p>"I saw her," they whispered. "I felt her die."</p>
<p>Nemo hugged them tightly. "I'm sorry."</p>
<p>"She knew it was happening. She lived long enough to leave me a message."</p>
<p>"Did it help?"</p>
<p>They nodded. "It helped."</p>
<p>The two of them continued to sit like that. Thorne snuggled against Nemo, focusing on the sound of his calm, steady breathing as they continued to replay the memory in their head. Their thoughts echoed with the conversation between their mother and her murderer.</p>
<p>The man had been under a geas. That much had been obvious even to Florence. The way he had died — a textbook example of sudden severe Cuchulainn syndrome — was proof of that.</p>
<p>Putting someone under a geas wasn't hard — in fact, the proliferation of geas-backed contracts throughout Three Portlands was so widespread that it was about to become a public health crisis. By necessity, the UIU had become quite adept at identifying and breaking geases. But without a live specimen, it was impossible to perform any kind of forensics on the underlying memetic structure, which was clearly by design.</p>
<p>Even just that single fact spoke volumes. A homicide geas was already too complicated for almost anyone outside of the Pentagram, the Council of 108, or a peer paranormal power. A homicide geas that cleaned-up after itself by deliberately inducing Cuchulainn syndrome was another level entirely. In fact, Thorne was pretty sure that it had been considered impossible at the time. They distinctly remembered when one of their former ICSUT classmates had published a theoretical proof demonstrating that it was even possible for Cuchulainn syndrome to arise from a single memeplex. He had won a prize for it, and then died in a very public accident a month later. Thorne still had lunch with someone who looked exactly like him whenever they had business in Hanford.</p>
<p><em>Who?</em> The question had died with Florence. By all available evidence, Florence had been killed by a member of the Lighthouse Mafia so unremarkable that even his compatriots struggled to remember him. Someone had put an incredible amount of effort into making sure that there would be no evidence to the contrary.</p>
<p><em>Who?</em> Who had grabbed the man from his prison cell and placed him under an impossible geas? Who had wielded him as a weapon against Florence?</p>
<p><em>Who?</em></p>
<p>Thorne could think of an answer. Considering it for even a moment made their blood run cold. But there really wasn't any other.</p>
<p>"Nemo?"</p>
<p>He shifted to make eye contact with them. "What is it?"</p>
<p>"I think the Foundation killed my mom."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em>the first murderer built the first city<br/>
treachery his weapon, envy his motive<br/>
vengeance his curse<br/>
this is the foundation of civilization</em><br/>
<strong>« <a href="/much-belated-inheritance">A Much Belated Inheritance</a> || <a href="/crowne-thorne-hub">HUB</a> || <a class="newpage" href="/calling-on-the-blackbird">Calling on the Blackbird</a> »</strong></p>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a> text=It was a Friday afternoon, and Special Agent Florence Thorne was once again in a firefight.]]
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a> text=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:3law">:scp-wiki:theme:3law</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--
|name=GreenWolf]]
**SUGGESTED LISTENING**: [https://youtu.be/65Yvo46wqY0?feature=shared "Losing It" by Rush]
Here's my **[[[greenwolf-s-author-page|Author Page]]]**.
This is Part 3 of 7 of a tale series about the death of Florence Thorne, and the investigation undertaken by Robin Thorne. Florence previously featured as the main character of [[[florence-thorne-hub|The Phoenix, The Nightingale, and The Magpies]]]. Robin Thorne is one of the main characters of [[[unusual-investigations|The Unusual Investigations of Kenneth Spencer and Robin Thorne]]].
O5-7 did 9/11.
Part 4 will be released when I write it.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
[[=]]
**<< [[[much-belated-inheritance| A Much Belated Inheritance]]] || [[[crowne-thorne-hub| HUB]]] || [[[calling-on-the-blackbird| Calling on the Blackbird]]] >>**
//the murdered do not die alone//
[[/=]]
**May 30th, 2024**
**Robin Thorne's Apartment, Three Portlands**
"//Wáı//!" The Sidhe curse slipped from Robin Thorne's lips.
"Problem?" Nemo asked. The shapeshifter was back in his preferred default form -- a note-perfect imitation of Geddy Lee as he appeared on tour for //2112// in 1976.
"This thing doesn't make sense." Thorne gestured angrily towards the sunstone necklace, which was currently hovering six inches above the kitchen counter.
As soon as they had gotten back to the apartment with Nemo -- and after safely disposing of the recaptured gas golem that had been used to distract Agent Brooks -- Thorne had set about converting the kitchen into a makeshift thaumatology lab for use in deciphering the interwoven layers of enchantments Florence had placed upon the necklace. Using a sigil machine, they had drawn a complicated series of interlocking spirals on the countertop, centered around the necklace; it was an unusual ritual geometry, intended to direct incoming EVE through the gemstone along specific vectors before diverting it towards a point where Crowe was waiting and watching. A tabletop Everhart Resonator was quietly humming on the edge of the counter, providing a steady source of EVE for the working. Periodically, Thorne would adjust the geometry to change the angle of the inbound vectors.
The entire setup was essentially an occult spectroscope, using controlled bursts of Aspect Radiation to precisely map the flow of energy through the gemstone. In theory, it was the most reliable way to reveal and reconstruct unknown enchantments.
Unfortunately, Thorne was discovering that knowing the structure of an enchantment did not automatically make it comprehensible.
"What's the issue?"
Thorne sighed. "Ultimately? My mom taught herself thaumatology. There are two common methods for creating a grimoire, and she didn't use either of them. Whatever enchantments she put on this thing were entirely her own invention."
"I thought a grimoire was just a wizard's spellbook," Nemo said.
"Yes and no." Thorne reached over and turned off the Everhart Resonator, allowing the working to end so they could give him their full attention. The necklace settled on the counter with a soft //clink//. "A grimoire is any object -- sometimes a book, but not always -- which has been enchanted to store information, usually with the intent that only the enchanter or another thaumaturge be able to access it."
"And there are two ways to do it," he said.
"Two common ways," they corrected. "The first, and the easiest, is to bind a Constructed Intelligence to the object and have it remember whatever information you want."
"And the other?"
"Imbue the object with a lattice of Elan-Vital Energy and use induced variance to encode the information. It requires a lot of math, and you need to know the original lattice structure to retrieve the information, but it's very easy to encrypt."
"So what did your mom do?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." They shook their head. "I don't even think she encrypted it, I think she's just the only one who knew how to use it."
"Maybe you're overthinking it." He ambled over to the fridge to look at the oneirograph pinned to the door. "She wore this all the time, yeah?"
"Yeah. I never thought much of it growing up -- just assumed it was a focus for her wards or something. I didn't even think to ask about it after she died."
He nodded. "So maybe it doesn't work unless you're wearing it."
From over on the counter, Crowe started chittering excitedly in Celtic.
Thorne swiveled to glare at the familiar. "You fucker! Why didn't you say so earlier?"
The spectral bird started bouncing from one foot to the other as it explained, with obvious agitation, that it didn't know everything, and that Nemo's insight had recontextualized its earlier observations.
"Aren't you supposed to be a spirit of intellect?" Thorne asked, exasperated. "Would it still work for me?"
The familiar hesitated, then flapped its wings in imitation of a shrug.
"That sounds like a breakthrough," Nemo said.
"//Maybe//." Thorne reached over and scooped the necklace off the counter. They started turning it over in their hands to examine it. Putting unknown enchanted items around their neck was one of the first things they had been told to never do when they were studying at ICSUT, but they were fairly confident by this point that it wasn't booby-trapped. "My mom made a lattice grimoire without the lattice. She was only ever recording her own thoughts, so the recorded variance in the gem is from her own aura. That's the key."
Nemo frowned. "How does that help though? I know you hate hearing it, but you aren't your mom."
"No, but maybe I'm close enough." They slipped the necklace over their head. As the gemstone came to rest in the hollow of their throat, they felt the enchantments within flicker and flare in reaction to their aura. Even if nobody else did, at least Florence's own spellcraft recognized them as a worthy successor to their mother.
Thorne rubbed their thumb against the sunstone. The reservoir of energy just beneath the surface made their skin tingle.
Closing their eyes, they pushed a tiny pulse of EVE into the gem and said, "Show me what happened."
----
**May 23rd, 2008**
**Docks District, Three Portlands**
It was a Friday afternoon, and Special Agent Florence Thorne was once again in a firefight.
Bullets and bolts of plasma zipped over her head as she crouched for cover behind an overturned table. The Mobile Occult Operations Team had deployed to strike at a Lighthouse Mafia safehouse in the Docks District, and the raid had gone smoothly until this point. Her agents had cleared all but one room in the building, with only one casualty so far -- and that merely a superficial plasma burn. Now there were only two members of the Lighthouse Mafia fighting back.
Unfortunately, they were putting up a hell of a fight. They had retreated to the central room of the safehouse -- which appeared to have been used to prepare and store paranarcotics -- and were keeping the only entrance covered with intermittent bursts of suppressing fire while they sheltered safely behind a stack of wooden crates. She had managed, just barely, to slip into the room while the one with a plasma projector was reloading, relying on her wards to keep her safe for the five yard dash from the doorway to the table.
The tactical situation could have been better. She was pinned down behind the table, while the rest of MOOT was pinned down outside the room. She knew that part of the team would be trying to blast through the walls to encircle the shooters, but she expected the building's wards to slow them down. That wasn't acceptable -- the longer the confrontation went on, the more they pushed their luck.
"Jess!" Florence shouted. "I'm going bowling! Pick-up the spare!" It was a sloppy code, but making sure that the other agent understood her was more important than tipping off the enemy to her intentions.
Without waiting for an answer, Florence launched herself sideways using an evocation, dropping to the floor in a baseball slide as she flew across the room, closely tracked by gunfire. She flailed her arm at the shooters, tossing a fireball in their general direction.
The fireball exploded against the stack of crates, sending a cloud of sparks and splinters flying everywhere. The two goons scrambled out of the way, splitting off in different directions. They both made it about three steps.
Taking advantage of their panic, Jesse Davis spun out of cover to face them head-on. Reaching up with both arms, she clenched her hands into fists and pulled them down to her shoulders, then threw them out to point at goons. Ribbons of blue-white electricity crackled down her arms and through her outstretched fingers, striking both men squarely in the chest. They dropped like rocks, and didn't get up.
The federal battlemages remained frozen in their positions, quietly counting off the seconds.
When it was obvious there would be no further resistance, Davis called out, "Clear!"
Florence pulled herself to her feet and watched as the members of her team shifted from combat mode to evidence collection.
"Good job everyone," she said. "Jess, you have the scene. I'm gonna step outside and radio 3PPD to get out here with some golems."
"Whatever you say, Boss." The other wizard snapped off lazy salute.
That had been another tactical disadvantage, although one they had anticipated -- the building was warded so heavily that none of their radios worked. But her people were good enough that it hadn't been an issue for tactical coordination.
It did mean she had to trudge all the way back through the building. By the time she was back outside in the nearby alley, there were four walls and fifty yards between her and the nearest member of the team.
//Cthunk.//
That was the first indication to Florence that she had been shot. The noise -- so much like a stapler being driven through a thick ream of papers -- was one that she had learned to associate with death before she was sixteen. It was so very familiar.
Behind her, someone had just fired a silenced 9mm handgun.
Her vision swam and she stumbled, suddenly numb. A cold feeling was spreading from her chest. For a moment, it seemed to her that she was in a different alley, at a different time -- back in Minneapolis, back to the moment she first saw a man die. The blood had mixed with the snow and garbage into an unrecognizable slurry of grime.
She had sworn that she would never die that way -- alone, unaware, quietly bleeding out in the cold and dark.
She would burn before she ever let the cold take her.
By force of will alone, she caught herself mid-stumble and swung to face her assassin. Ignoring the bleeding wound and the aching numbness, she gritted her teeth and started gathering power for a final evocation.
The man dropped the gun and fell backwards, raising his hands in a desperate plea. "No! I'm sorry! Please! I'm sorry."
Surprise made her hesitate.
"I didn't want to," the man sobbed. "They made me. They tricked me. They told me I could see my daughter again."
Curiosity made her stop altogether.
"Wh--" She coughed, hacking up a glob of phlegm and blood. "Who? What did they do?"
The man tucked his knees against his chest and clutched his hands against his head, grimacing in pain. "Don't know. Thought they were feds. CIA or something. Said I'd get a pardon if-- " He winced, emitting an anguished howl.
"If what?" It was as much question as she could ask before descending into another coughing fit.
"Can't. Say." The words were garbled and strained, as the man tried to speak despite his jaw clenching shut. "Signed. Signed. Swore."
The man's head snapped up and he looked directly at her. "I'm sorry."
His eyes rolled back in his head and he began to convulse. He thrashed and twitched in total silence, even as he tried to scream. As she watched, a drop of blood trickled from his mouth.
She was still holding the power that she had drawn up. Power that she had pooled to annihilate the man. Now she used it to help him. Saving his life -- much less her own -- was far beyond her skill in evocation. But she could at least make sure his death was painless. A quick pinch of force to his carotid was enough to leave him unconscious, although he continued to seize.
"I forgive you," she whispered. She watched quietly as the man died, killed by the same geas that had compelled him to kill her.
Now it was her turn. The cold was spreading through her limbs. There was only a little time left.
She lurched her way towards the near side of the alley and slumped against the wall. She rolled to put her back against it. Using her left hand, she clutched at her chest as she fumbled for her necklace. Her shirt was soaked and slimy with blood, and the necklace was slick and slippery.
She wiped it off as best she could against her shoulder, then held the gem up so she could see her face reflected in the surface of the sunstone.
"Robin. I wish you didn't have to see this, but I hope they get this to you. This stone contains my whole life -- everything I've ever wanted to tell you is in here, and everything I never wanted you to know about me too. I hope you won't judge me too harshly for it, and I pray that it gives you some solace.
Always remember that you are the greatest thing I've ever done. No matter the circumstances of your birth, I have never once regretted having you. I wish we'd had more time. I know you're going to be okay though. You're a brilliant, beautiful person, and I couldn't be more proud of you.
The only advice I have to give you now is this: Be careful who you give your heart to, but don't be afraid to fall in love. Love is the greatest gift of all."
She was interrupted by a coughing fit. Blood was starting to pool up in her lungs now, and it was getting hard to breathe. She struggled to get enough air to speak. There was one last thing she had to say.
"I love you."
And then she stopped feeling cold.
----
**May 30th, 2024**
**Robin Thorne's Apartment, Three Portlands**
"Robin!"
Thorne opened their eyes to the sight of Nemo's blurry face mere inches away. As they went to rub tears from their eyes, they realized that they had fallen to their knees, and that Nemo's hands on their shoulders were the only thing keeping them from falling further.
Using Nemo for support, they pulled themself to their feet and allowed him to guide them to the couch. They didn't really sit down, so much as they simply fell into a sitting position. Nemo kept an arm around them, and they leaned against him easily, grateful for the added warmth.
Thorne cried. It was a long time before they stopped.
"I saw her," they whispered. "I felt her die."
Nemo hugged them tightly. "I'm sorry."
"She knew it was happening. She lived long enough to leave me a message."
"Did it help?"
They nodded. "It helped."
The two of them continued to sit like that. Thorne snuggled against Nemo, focusing on the sound of his calm, steady breathing as they continued to replay the memory in their head. Their thoughts echoed with the conversation between their mother and her murderer.
The man had been under a geas. That much had been obvious even to Florence. The way he had died -- a textbook example of sudden severe Cuchulainn syndrome -- was proof of that.
Putting someone under a geas wasn't hard -- in fact, the proliferation of geas-backed contracts throughout Three Portlands was so widespread that it was about to become a public health crisis. By necessity, the UIU had become quite adept at identifying and breaking geases. But without a live specimen, it was impossible to perform any kind of forensics on the underlying memetic structure, which was clearly by design.
Even just that single fact spoke volumes. A homicide geas was already too complicated for almost anyone outside of the Pentagram, the Council of 108, or a peer paranormal power. A homicide geas that cleaned-up after itself by deliberately inducing Cuchulainn syndrome was another level entirely. In fact, Thorne was pretty sure that it had been considered impossible at the time. They distinctly remembered when one of their former ICSUT classmates had published a theoretical proof demonstrating that it was even possible for Cuchulainn syndrome to arise from a single memeplex. He had won a prize for it, and then died in a very public accident a month later. Thorne still had lunch with someone who looked exactly like him whenever they had business in Hanford.
//Who?// The question had died with Florence. By all available evidence, Florence had been killed by a member of the Lighthouse Mafia so unremarkable that even his compatriots struggled to remember him. Someone had put an incredible amount of effort into making sure that there would be no evidence to the contrary.
//Who?// Who had grabbed the man from his prison cell and placed him under an impossible geas? Who had wielded him as a weapon against Florence?
//Who?//
Thorne could think of an answer. Considering it for even a moment made their blood run cold. But there really wasn't any other.
"Nemo?"
He shifted to make eye contact with them. "What is it?"
"I think the Foundation killed my mom."
[[=]]
//the first murderer built the first city _
treachery his weapon, envy his motive _
vengeance his curse _
this is the foundation of civilization//
**<< [[[much-belated-inheritance| A Much Belated Inheritance]]] || [[[crowne-thorne-hub| HUB]]] || [[[calling-on-the-blackbird| Calling on the Blackbird]]] >>**
[[/=]]
|
2024-09-12T05:33:00
|
[
"crime-fiction",
"lgbtq",
"mystery",
"robin-thorne",
"tale",
"third-law",
"three-portlands",
"twisted-pines",
"unusual-incidents-unit"
] |
Memory of a Murder - SCP Foundation
| 20
|
[
"greenwolf-s-author-page",
"florence-thorne-hub",
"unusual-investigations",
"much-belated-inheritance",
"crowne-thorne-hub",
"calling-on-the-blackbird"
] |
[
"unusual-incidents-unit-hub",
"third-law-hub",
"crowne-thorne-hub"
] |
[] |
1456741122
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/memory-of-a-murder
|
|
merry-christmas-jude-kriyot
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p>⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong> This work of fiction involves scenes which depict or allude to topics which may be particularly distressing for some readers, including:</p>
<ul>
<li>Transphobia</li>
</ul>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc0"><span>December 8th</span></h4>
</div>
<div class="blockquote">
<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:125%;"><strong>Garfields Against Weed Chat</strong></span></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> Man, fuck me, I really don't want to be awake right now.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> It's too early for this shit.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> Jude, it's 3PM.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> Easy for you to say, you have to be up at the ass crack of dawn to take care of your zoo.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> Sometimes I wonder how you would be as an employee at my zoo.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> I think the exercise would do you good.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> You calling me fat?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> Not at all, come on now!<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> But sitting around at your computer smoking blunts all day isn't healthy for you.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> I'll have you know sometimes I go outside to meet my dealer and buy things at CVS.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> when was the last time you ate?<br/>
<strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> and i don't mean instant ramen.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i mean a good, homecooked meal.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> You know I don't know how to cook, Esther.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> g-d you're useless.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> what do you even use your burners for then?<br/>
<strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> you mentioned paying a gas bill a while back.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> …</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> Jude<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> Don't tell me you use them for what I think you use them for.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> :?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> Listen, okay?<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> Lighters are expensive.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> And sometimes I just don't want to go down to the CVS and buy a new one.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> So I just use my stovetop to light my blunts sometimes.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> Plus I like hot showers.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> g-d<br/>
<strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> jude you're such an interesting case study<br/>
<strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> how are you even still alive?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> Fuck you both.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> You know, speaking of cooking and stuff like that, I need to figure out what I'm gonna make for Nochebuena dinner.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> I'm going to go with my boyfriend to his family's house.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> They're big on Christmas and Nochebuena.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> i'm not.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> ;)</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> Oh yeah. Chag urim sameach, by the way.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> thanks, bubbulah.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> <3</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> Fuck Christmas.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> I hate that shitty holiday.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> Never got that fucking Transformer.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> don't be a gunch, jude.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> What the hell is a "gunch?"</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> gunch, grunch, grinch, whatever lol</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> I always hated it.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> At least until I discovered my Stand.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> If only I had a stand. 😔</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> You don't need one.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> You're stronger than I'll ever be.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> It's not about being strong, Jude.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> It's about overcoming who you were, starting a new life as your real self, and learning to be happy with yourself.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> Easier said than done, I know, but it's true.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> I don't think I'll ever get to that.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> no matter how much shit i give you, i do still love you.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> you fucking idiot.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> Same here, Jude.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> You're a good friend.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> Whatever.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> I'm probably just gonna pack a bowl and smoke it on Christmas day.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> Same shit I always do.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> Sorry.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> The holidays always get me down.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> It's okay, buddy.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: #98ff98">juliachildenthusiast:</span></strong> Say, <strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar</span></strong>, <strong><span style="color: orange">jockjamsvol6</span></strong>, are you busy at the moment?</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: purple">lesbian_gengar:</span></strong> nah.</p>
<p><strong><span style="color: orange">jockjamsvol6:</span></strong> Is this about my foxy grandpa selfie i sent earlier? because im telling you, i was drunk!!!</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc1"><span>December 25th</span></h4>
</div>
<p>Jude lay still on his bed. The lights were off and the ceiling fan directly above spun about halfheartedly. The pungent smell of weed filled the air, alongside the stench of various bags of trash Jude had neglected to take out over the course of the month. A single blunt was clutched between the fingers on his left hand and a lighter was palmed in his right. Jude hadn't found the energy to light it yet.</p>
<div class="outside">
<p>"Merry Christmas, <span style="filter: blur(8px);">Blondie</span>! Don't you look darling in your little dress!"</p>
<p>Aunt Janie entered the living room where she and her cousins were playing Smash Brothers on a Nintendo 64. She leaned over and pinched <span style="filter: blur(8px);">the girl</span>'s cheeks. "You're growing into a beautiful woman! You look so much like your mother, she must be so proud of you."</p>
<p><span style="filter: blur(8px);">The girl</span> forced a smile. She fidgeted in her dress. It felt like a prison. At least while she was playing video games she could escape into them. She liked playing Link because he was handsome. Her cousins teased her that she had a crush on him, but <span style="filter: blur(8px);">the girl</span> wasn't sure if that was what it was. "Thanks, Aunt Janie," she grimaced, then turned her attention back to the ongoing match between two of her older cousins.</p>
<p>"Were you a good girl this year, <span style="filter: blur(8px);">Blondie</span>?"</p>
<p>"Yes." She could feel bugs crawling under her skin. She could feel her palms tingling. She could feel her eye twitching.</p>
<p>"And what did you ask Santa for this year? A Barbie?"</p>
<p>"No. I asked for a Transformer. And a Nintendo 64 with Smash Brothers so I can play at my house."</p>
<p>"A Transformer? You're a silly girl, that's a boy's toy."</p>
<p>The Nintendo 64 suddenly malfunctioned and flicked off, much to the annoyance of the boys playing.</p>
</div>
<p>Suddenly, a ping.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong><span style="color: orange">jockjamsvol6:</span></strong> Hey jude sorry to bother you on christmas but i sent you a present!!<br/>
<strong><span style="color: orange">jockjamsvol6:</span></strong> Go get it, I just got the notification that it arrived right now.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: orange">jockjamsvol6:</span></strong> And don't forget to call me, i want to hear your reaction to it!!</p>
</div>
<p>He sighed. What was the point of getting up? Besides, it was snowing out and he didn't want to get dressed, walk down the apartment building's stairs, find his mailbox key, just to go grab something that was probably stupid from JJ. It would be there tomorrow. He could grab it then. Preferably when it wasn't snowing.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> I'm not feeling well right now.<br/>
<strong><span style="color: green">bluntfiend:</span></strong> Maybe later.</p>
</div>
<p>Tossing his phone on the bed, Jude then picked up his lighter again and flicked it on, attempting to light his blunt with it.</p>
<div class="outside">
<p><span style="filter: blur(8px);">The girl</span> and her family sat gathered around a fully lit and decorated Christmas tree. Ornaments, lights, garlands, the works. Her mother fussed with a video camera, trying to get it on properly while her father sat on his recliner sipping on coffee.</p>
<p>"Alright, <span style="filter: blur(8px);">Blondie</span>! Go ahead and start opening gifts!" Her mother smiled, pointing the camera at <span style="filter: blur(8px);">the girl</span>.</p>
<p><span style="filter: blur(8px);">The girl</span> excitedly began to tear open the paper wrapping the nearest gift. Moments later, she held up a blue church dress. <span style="filter: blur(8px);">The girl</span> bit her lip, then set it aside. On to the next present. Again, she opened this one quickly, only to reveal a pink box containing a Barbie. <span style="filter: blur(8px);">The girl</span> put the Barbie down and took a deep breath.</p>
<p>"Do you like it? She's President Barbie!" Her mom beamed from behind the camera as the lights on the Christmas tree flickered until they shut off entirely.</p>
<p>"I wanted a Transformer…" <span style="filter: blur(8px);">Blondie</span> choked, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Was I not good enough for Santa?"</p>
</div>
<p>Another ping.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong><span style="color: orange">jockjamsvol6:</span></strong> I'll send you a shirtless pic if you do<br/>
<strong><span style="color: orange">jockjamsvol6:</span></strong> ;)</p>
</div>
<p>Jude blushed at this. He dropped his blunt on his thigh, nearly burning himself. JJ was a devious fucking twink, but he knew how to get him going. In a flurry of unmatched speed, Jude dressed himself and headed out to his living room, where he had left his hoodie. In his excitement, he left his phone on the bed before heading into the cold winter night.</p>
<p>Nearly tripping over himself (Whether due to the floor being icy or his own excitement is something still up for debate.) as he neared the mailbox, Jude reached into his pockets and pulled out his keys. He fiddled about with the cold metal for a moment before finally finding the correct one and inserting it into the equally as cold metal door of the mailbox.</p>
<p>Finally, it opened, only to reveal nothing within.</p>
<p>Jude blinked. Had JJ lied to him? No, he wouldn't do that. Surely this was the mail's fault. The stupid mail system always fucked up his packages, though that was probably the Foundation interfering with his business. Either way, it sucked. With a sigh of defeat, he slinked back up to his apartment. At least he had a blunt waiting for him when he got back.</p>
<div class="outside">
<p><span style="filter: blur(8px);">The girl</span> sat in the pew in her new blue church dress. After being scolded for being ungrateful for the presents her parents (and very specifically not Santa Claus) had bought for her, and then being told she needed to be happy with girl gifts because <span style="filter: blur(8px);">Blondie</span> was, in fact, a girl, she had been forced to get dressed to attend Christmas mass. <span style="filter: blur(8px);">The girl</span> fidgeted in her dress as the priest continued the mass.</p>
<p>"The day of joy returns, Father in Heaven, and crowns another year with peace and good will. Help us rightly to remember the birth of Jesus, that we may share in the song of the angels, the gladness of the shepherds, and the worship of the wisemen. Close the doors of hate and open the doors of love all over the world… Let kindness come with every gift and good desires with every greeting. Deliver us from evil, by the blessing that Christ brings, and teach us to be merry with clean hearts. May the Christmas morning make us happy to be thy children, And the Christmas evening bring us to our bed with grateful thoughts, forgiving and forgiven, for Jesus’ sake. Amen."</p>
<p>"Amen," the congregation repeated, but not <span style="filter: blur(8px);">the girl</span>.</p>
<p>Later, <span style="filter: blur(8px);">the girl</span> found herself in the confessional booth. She sat down on the hard wooden bench and shut her eyes.</p>
<p>"May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in his mercy," the priest spoke.</p>
<p>"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one day since my last confession, and these are my sins." <span style="filter: blur(8px);">The girl</span> took a deep breath. "I wanted boy gifts when I should be happy with girl gifts."</p>
<p>"I see. Is that all?"</p>
<p>"That is all I remember, Father."</p>
<p>"You know what to do, then, my child."</p>
<p>"My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us. In his name, my God, have mercy. Amen."</p>
<p>"Amen."</p>
<p><span style="filter: blur(8px);">The girl he used to be</span> suddenly shocked herself with nothing as she unclasped her hands. She softly exclaimed in pain as she left the confessional.</p>
</div>
<p>Jude opened the door to his apartment and mindlessly used his Stand to flick on the light switch. His eyes shifted over to his old family crucifix on the wall of his living room. It had been passed down through the generations; he had forgotten exactly how many, and here it was now. At the end of his bloodline. If anything, he found it funny that after so many centuries (If even that long.) it would probably wind up at a Goodwill after he died.</p>
<p>And still, he felt guilty about it. Good old Catholic guilt. Jude approached the crucifix, looking it over. It was made of hand-carved wood, and the big J-man himself lay crucified on it. The colors on him were a bit faded, but one could still tell that it was Jesus. As if anyone else would be present on a crucifix anyway.</p>
<p>He sighed, then made the sign of the Cross before clasping his hands together.</p>
<p>"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was….uh….fuck. Sorry. I shouldn't curse when I'm talking to you. But anyway, I've sinned. And I can't remember the last time I confessed. So yeah. I have lusted. Over a boy. And… damn it, I'm gay as hell. And I also cursed, as you just heard. And also I committed a whole lot of sloth. So, uh. Sorry."</p>
<p>The only sound throughout the apartment was that of the heater working overtime in the snow.</p>
<p>"Anyway. I should probably say the thing. How did it go? Uh. <em>Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatae Mariae semper Virgini, beato Michaeli Archangelo, beato Ioanni Baptist—</em>"</p>
<p>Suddenly, a giggle came from behind the shut door leading to Jude's room.</p>
<p>He turned around, electricity crackling at his fingers and making static surround him.</p>
<p>"Who the fuck is there? I don't want to hurt you, but I swear to God I will if I have to."</p>
<p>"Relax, big boy," a familiar voice came from within.</p>
<p>"… Esther?" Jude lowered his hands, the static around him disappearing.</p>
<p>"You know it, champ!" Another voice chimed in.</p>
<p>"JJ?"</p>
<p>"Merry Christmas, bud!" A third.</p>
<p>"Faeowynn?"</p>
<p>Jude opened the door. Sure enough, all three of his closest friends were within his room, with Fae holding a plastic bag full of containers and JJ a small giftwrapped box.</p>
<p>"W—what are you all doing here?" He asked, taking a step forward.</p>
<p>"We came to cheer you up." Fae smiled.</p>
<p>"Were you seriously just doing <em>mea culpas</em> out there?" JJ quirked an eyebrow.</p>
<p>"The hell is wrong with you, you idiot?" Esther laughed.</p>
<p>"S—shut up." Jude choked out, his eyes watering.</p>
<p>"Oh, don't cry, big man." Esther teased. "By the way, uh, real nice place you've got here. Really dig the decorations." She motioned towards all the trash bags.</p>
<p>"S—sorry…I just…I don't know what to say…" Jude sniffled.</p>
<p>"Tell you what. Why don't we work on cleaning up these bags and tossing them all out in the dumpster, then we can sit down and have some leftovers I made from yesterday's Nochebuena dinner at Alex's parent's house?" Fae held up her bag.</p>
<p>"That sounds good." Jude smiled. "By the way, JJ, did you really send me something? I don't think it got to me."</p>
<p>"No, you idiot. The mail doesn't run on Christmas."</p>
<p>"But what about—"</p>
<p>"The picture? What do you think is in the box?" JJ winked.</p>
<p>Jude blushed, and the others laughed.</p>
<p>"R—really?" Jude took the box from JJ and tugged at the wrapping.</p>
<p>"Open the box!" JJ urged.</p>
<p>"But…" Jude bit his lip.</p>
<p>"Oh, don't worry about him. He's a twink, they have no shame." Esther said, and the two women laughed.</p>
<p>Jude took a deep breath and tore open the wrapping on the box. For the first time in years, he felt himself getting excited for a present. Even if it was as stupid and gay as a picture of JJ shirtless. The paper fell to the ground.</p>
<p>He held a Bumblebee Transformers action figure in its box.</p>
<p>Big, gross, ugly tears fell from Jude's face and onto the torn paper below.</p>
<p>"H—how….how did you know…" He stammered, hands shaking as he eyed the toy.</p>
<p>"Don't you remember? My Stand's power is luck!" JJ winked, giving a thumbs up.</p>
<p>"More like you spent an hour backsrolling through chat logs in the Walmart parking lot." Esther snarked.</p>
<p>"But it worked out!" Fae shrugged. "Stand or not, we were lucky to discover it."</p>
<p>"Thank you guys…" Jude sniffled, wiping tears from his face. "You have no idea what this means to me." He hugged JJ, who returned the embrace. Fae set her bag on the bed and put her arms around them both. Esther rolled her eyes and smiled, then joined in.</p>
<p>"Merry Christmas, Jude Kriyot."</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="collection">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<table style="1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<tr>
<th class="namerow" colspan="2"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p>Uncle Nicolini's Works</p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">SCPs</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-4206">SCP-4206</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-4046">SCP-4046</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7221">SCP-7221</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-2910-jp">SCP-2910-JP</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-mystery-j">SCP-MYSTERY-J</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6161">SCP-6161</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-3297">SCP-3297</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-3756">SCP-3756</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-057-int">SCP-057-INT</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7926">SCP-7926</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-4982">SCP-4982</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-5148">SCP-5148</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6057">SCP-6057</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-1046">SCP-1046</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8911">SCP-8911</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Tales/GoI Formats</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/asset-florida-orange">ASSET 'FLORIDA ORANGE'</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/gluttony-is-impossible">Gluttony Is Impossible</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-wiki-discussion-page-simulator">SCP Wiki Discussion Page Simulator</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/sc-99-734-01-506">SC-99/734/01/506</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/peligro-hipopotamos-de-medellin">Danger: Medellin Hippos!</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/theres-ngo-helping-this-one">There's Ngo Helping This One</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/project-proposal-2018-145">Project Proposal 2018-145: "Drinking With the Jocks"</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/spc-7000">SPC-7000</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/critter-profile-maya">Critter Profile: Maya!</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/coming-out-to-the-woods">I Don't Get It, But I'll Figure It Out.</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/its-beginning-to-look-a-lot-like-breachmas">It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Breachmas</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/classy-carlos-goes-to-therapy">Classy Carlos Goes To Therapy</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/veilfall">What Came After</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/dark-sushi-file-no-1221">Dark Sushi File No. 1221 "Waniika Nigiri"</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/surprise-happy-birthday-12">Surprise! Happy Birthday! Just as the clock strikes midnight...</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Other</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/sciptember-2022-art">Sciptember 2022 Art Highlights</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/uncle-nicolini-author-page">uncle nicolini author page</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/ode-to-the-unknown-author">Ode To The Unknown Author</a> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/merry-christmas-jude-kriyot">Merry Christmas, Jude Kriyot</a>" by Uncle Nicolini, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/merry-christmas-jude-kriyot">https://scpwiki.com/merry-christmas-jude-kriyot</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[module css]]
/* Make superscripts not fuck with the line spacing */
sup {
vertical-align: top;
position: relative;
top: -0.5em;
}
/* Haha blue boi */
.outside {
margin: 2em -6em;
padding: 1em 10em;
--narration-color: rgba(214, 234, 248,1);
background: var(--narration-color);
background: linear-gradient(90deg, rgba(255,255,255,0) 0%, var(--narration-color) 20%, var(--narration-color) 80%, rgba(255,255,255,0) 100%);
z-index: -2;
}
/* Make the blue bois that are within the document have smaller margins so they break flow less*/
.outside.inline {
margin: 1em -6em;
padding: 1px 10em;
}
/* Force the side bar to render on top of the blue bois */
#side-bar {
z-index: 2;
}
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:xmas">:scp-wiki:theme:xmas</a>
|xmas-header= --]
|xmas-snow= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
⚠️ **Content warning:** This work of fiction involves scenes which depict or allude to topics which may be particularly distressing for some readers, including:
* Transphobia
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
++++ December 8th
[[/=]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
= [[size 125%]]**Garfields Against Weed Chat**[[/size]]
-----
**##green|bluntfiend:##** Man, fuck me, I really don't want to be awake right now.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** It's too early for this shit.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** Jude, it's 3PM.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** Easy for you to say, you have to be up at the ass crack of dawn to take care of your zoo.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** Sometimes I wonder how you would be as an employee at my zoo.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** I think the exercise would do you good.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** You calling me fat?
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** Not at all, come on now!
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** But sitting around at your computer smoking blunts all day isn't healthy for you.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** I'll have you know sometimes I go outside to meet my dealer and buy things at CVS.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** when was the last time you ate?
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** and i don't mean instant ramen.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** i mean a good, homecooked meal.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** You know I don't know how to cook, Esther.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** g-d you're useless.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** what do you even use your burners for then?
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** you mentioned paying a gas bill a while back.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** ...
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** Jude
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** Don't tell me you use them for what I think you use them for.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** :?
**##green|bluntfiend:##** Listen, okay?
**##green|bluntfiend:##** Lighters are expensive.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** And sometimes I just don't want to go down to the CVS and buy a new one.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** So I just use my stovetop to light my blunts sometimes.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** Plus I like hot showers.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** g-d
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** jude you're such an interesting case study
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** how are you even still alive?
**##green|bluntfiend:##** Fuck you both.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** You know, speaking of cooking and stuff like that, I need to figure out what I'm gonna make for Nochebuena dinner.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** I'm going to go with my boyfriend to his family's house.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** They're big on Christmas and Nochebuena.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** i'm not.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** ;)
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** Oh yeah. Chag urim sameach, by the way.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** thanks, bubbulah.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** <3
**##green|bluntfiend:##** Fuck Christmas.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** I hate that shitty holiday.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** Never got that fucking Transformer.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** don't be a gunch, jude.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** What the hell is a "gunch?"
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** gunch, grunch, grinch, whatever lol
**##green|bluntfiend:##** I always hated it.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** At least until I discovered my Stand.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** If only I had a stand. 😔
**##green|bluntfiend:##** You don't need one.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** You're stronger than I'll ever be.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** It's not about being strong, Jude.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** It's about overcoming who you were, starting a new life as your real self, and learning to be happy with yourself.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** Easier said than done, I know, but it's true.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** I don't think I'll ever get to that.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** no matter how much shit i give you, i do still love you.
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** you fucking idiot.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** Same here, Jude.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** You're a good friend.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** Whatever.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** I'm probably just gonna pack a bowl and smoke it on Christmas day.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** Same shit I always do.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** Sorry.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** The holidays always get me down.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** It's okay, buddy.
**###98ff98 |juliachildenthusiast:##** Say, **##purple|lesbian_gengar##**, **##orange|jockjamsvol6##**, are you busy at the moment?
**##purple|lesbian_gengar:##** nah.
**##orange|jockjamsvol6:##** Is this about my foxy grandpa selfie i sent earlier? because im telling you, i was drunk!!!
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
++++ December 25th
[[/=]]
Jude lay still on his bed. The lights were off and the ceiling fan directly above spun about halfheartedly. The pungent smell of weed filled the air, alongside the stench of various bags of trash Jude had neglected to take out over the course of the month. A single blunt was clutched between the fingers on his left hand and a lighter was palmed in his right. Jude hadn't found the energy to light it yet.
[[div class="outside"]]
"Merry Christmas, [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]Blondie[[/span]]! Don't you look darling in your little dress!"
Aunt Janie entered the living room where she and her cousins were playing Smash Brothers on a Nintendo 64. She leaned over and pinched [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]the girl[[/span]]'s cheeks. "You're growing into a beautiful woman! You look so much like your mother, she must be so proud of you."
[[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]The girl[[/span]] forced a smile. She fidgeted in her dress. It felt like a prison. At least while she was playing video games she could escape into them. She liked playing Link because he was handsome. Her cousins teased her that she had a crush on him, but [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]the girl[[/span]] wasn't sure if that was what it was. "Thanks, Aunt Janie," she grimaced, then turned her attention back to the ongoing match between two of her older cousins.
"Were you a good girl this year, [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]Blondie[[/span]]?"
"Yes." She could feel bugs crawling under her skin. She could feel her palms tingling. She could feel her eye twitching.
"And what did you ask Santa for this year? A Barbie?"
"No. I asked for a Transformer. And a Nintendo 64 with Smash Brothers so I can play at my house."
"A Transformer? You're a silly girl, that's a boy's toy."
The Nintendo 64 suddenly malfunctioned and flicked off, much to the annoyance of the boys playing.
[[/div]]
Suddenly, a ping.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**##orange|jockjamsvol6:##** Hey jude sorry to bother you on christmas but i sent you a present!!
**##orange|jockjamsvol6:##** Go get it, I just got the notification that it arrived right now.
**##orange|jockjamsvol6:##** And don't forget to call me, i want to hear your reaction to it!!
[[/div]]
He sighed. What was the point of getting up? Besides, it was snowing out and he didn't want to get dressed, walk down the apartment building's stairs, find his mailbox key, just to go grab something that was probably stupid from JJ. It would be there tomorrow. He could grab it then. Preferably when it wasn't snowing.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**##green|bluntfiend:##** I'm not feeling well right now.
**##green|bluntfiend:##** Maybe later.
[[/div]]
Tossing his phone on the bed, Jude then picked up his lighter again and flicked it on, attempting to light his blunt with it.
[[div class="outside"]]
[[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]The girl[[/span]] and her family sat gathered around a fully lit and decorated Christmas tree. Ornaments, lights, garlands, the works. Her mother fussed with a video camera, trying to get it on properly while her father sat on his recliner sipping on coffee.
"Alright, [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]Blondie[[/span]]! Go ahead and start opening gifts!" Her mother smiled, pointing the camera at [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]the girl[[/span]].
[[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]The girl[[/span]] excitedly began to tear open the paper wrapping the nearest gift. Moments later, she held up a blue church dress. [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]The girl[[/span]] bit her lip, then set it aside. On to the next present. Again, she opened this one quickly, only to reveal a pink box containing a Barbie. [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]The girl[[/span]] put the Barbie down and took a deep breath.
"Do you like it? She's President Barbie!" Her mom beamed from behind the camera as the lights on the Christmas tree flickered until they shut off entirely.
"I wanted a Transformer..." [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]Blondie[[/span]] choked, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Was I not good enough for Santa?"
[[/div]]
Another ping.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**##orange|jockjamsvol6:##** I'll send you a shirtless pic if you do
**##orange|jockjamsvol6:##** ;)
[[/div]]
Jude blushed at this. He dropped his blunt on his thigh, nearly burning himself. JJ was a devious fucking twink, but he knew how to get him going. In a flurry of unmatched speed, Jude dressed himself and headed out to his living room, where he had left his hoodie. In his excitement, he left his phone on the bed before heading into the cold winter night.
Nearly tripping over himself (Whether due to the floor being icy or his own excitement is something still up for debate.) as he neared the mailbox, Jude reached into his pockets and pulled out his keys. He fiddled about with the cold metal for a moment before finally finding the correct one and inserting it into the equally as cold metal door of the mailbox.
Finally, it opened, only to reveal nothing within.
Jude blinked. Had JJ lied to him? No, he wouldn't do that. Surely this was the mail's fault. The stupid mail system always fucked up his packages, though that was probably the Foundation interfering with his business. Either way, it sucked. With a sigh of defeat, he slinked back up to his apartment. At least he had a blunt waiting for him when he got back.
[[div class="outside"]]
[[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]The girl[[/span]] sat in the pew in her new blue church dress. After being scolded for being ungrateful for the presents her parents (and very specifically not Santa Claus) had bought for her, and then being told she needed to be happy with girl gifts because [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]Blondie[[/span]] was, in fact, a girl, she had been forced to get dressed to attend Christmas mass. [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]The girl[[/span]] fidgeted in her dress as the priest continued the mass.
"The day of joy returns, Father in Heaven, and crowns another year with peace and good will. Help us rightly to remember the birth of Jesus, that we may share in the song of the angels, the gladness of the shepherds, and the worship of the wisemen. Close the doors of hate and open the doors of love all over the world… Let kindness come with every gift and good desires with every greeting. Deliver us from evil, by the blessing that Christ brings, and teach us to be merry with clean hearts. May the Christmas morning make us happy to be thy children, And the Christmas evening bring us to our bed with grateful thoughts, forgiving and forgiven, for Jesus’ sake. Amen."
"Amen," the congregation repeated, but not [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]the girl[[/span]].
Later, [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]the girl[[/span]] found herself in the confessional booth. She sat down on the hard wooden bench and shut her eyes.
"May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in his mercy," the priest spoke.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been one day since my last confession, and these are my sins." [[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]The girl[[/span]] took a deep breath. "I wanted boy gifts when I should be happy with girl gifts."
"I see. Is that all?"
"That is all I remember, Father."
"You know what to do, then, my child."
"My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin. Our Savior Jesus Christ suffered and died for us. In his name, my God, have mercy. Amen."
"Amen."
[[span style="filter: blur(8px);"]]The girl he used to be[[/span]] suddenly shocked herself with nothing as she unclasped her hands. She softly exclaimed in pain as she left the confessional.
[[/div]]
Jude opened the door to his apartment and mindlessly used his Stand to flick on the light switch. His eyes shifted over to his old family crucifix on the wall of his living room. It had been passed down through the generations; he had forgotten exactly how many, and here it was now. At the end of his bloodline. If anything, he found it funny that after so many centuries (If even that long.) it would probably wind up at a Goodwill after he died.
And still, he felt guilty about it. Good old Catholic guilt. Jude approached the crucifix, looking it over. It was made of hand-carved wood, and the big J-man himself lay crucified on it. The colors on him were a bit faded, but one could still tell that it was Jesus. As if anyone else would be present on a crucifix anyway.
He sighed, then made the sign of the Cross before clasping his hands together.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was....uh....fuck. Sorry. I shouldn't curse when I'm talking to you. But anyway, I've sinned. And I can't remember the last time I confessed. So yeah. I have lusted. Over a boy. And... damn it, I'm gay as hell. And I also cursed, as you just heard. And also I committed a whole lot of sloth. So, uh. Sorry."
The only sound throughout the apartment was that of the heater working overtime in the snow.
"Anyway. I should probably say the thing. How did it go? Uh. //Confiteor Deo omnipotenti, beatae Mariae semper Virgini, beato Michaeli Archangelo, beato Ioanni Baptist--//"
Suddenly, a giggle came from behind the shut door leading to Jude's room.
He turned around, electricity crackling at his fingers and making static surround him.
"Who the fuck is there? I don't want to hurt you, but I swear to God I will if I have to."
"Relax, big boy," a familiar voice came from within.
"... Esther?" Jude lowered his hands, the static around him disappearing.
"You know it, champ!" Another voice chimed in.
"JJ?"
"Merry Christmas, bud!" A third.
"Faeowynn?"
Jude opened the door. Sure enough, all three of his closest friends were within his room, with Fae holding a plastic bag full of containers and JJ a small giftwrapped box.
"W--what are you all doing here?" He asked, taking a step forward.
"We came to cheer you up." Fae smiled.
"Were you seriously just doing //mea culpas// out there?" JJ quirked an eyebrow.
"The hell is wrong with you, you idiot?" Esther laughed.
"S--shut up." Jude choked out, his eyes watering.
"Oh, don't cry, big man." Esther teased. "By the way, uh, real nice place you've got here. Really dig the decorations." She motioned towards all the trash bags.
"S--sorry...I just...I don't know what to say..." Jude sniffled.
"Tell you what. Why don't we work on cleaning up these bags and tossing them all out in the dumpster, then we can sit down and have some leftovers I made from yesterday's Nochebuena dinner at Alex's parent's house?" Fae held up her bag.
"That sounds good." Jude smiled. "By the way, JJ, did you really send me something? I don't think it got to me."
"No, you idiot. The mail doesn't run on Christmas."
"But what about--"
"The picture? What do you think is in the box?" JJ winked.
Jude blushed, and the others laughed.
"R--really?" Jude took the box from JJ and tugged at the wrapping.
"Open the box!" JJ urged.
"But..." Jude bit his lip.
"Oh, don't worry about him. He's a twink, they have no shame." Esther said, and the two women laughed.
Jude took a deep breath and tore open the wrapping on the box. For the first time in years, he felt himself getting excited for a present. Even if it was as stupid and gay as a picture of JJ shirtless. The paper fell to the ground.
He held a Bumblebee Transformers action figure in its box.
Big, gross, ugly tears fell from Jude's face and onto the torn paper below.
"H--how....how did you know..." He stammered, hands shaking as he eyed the toy.
"Don't you remember? My Stand's power is luck!" JJ winked, giving a thumbs up.
"More like you spent an hour backsrolling through chat logs in the Walmart parking lot." Esther snarked.
"But it worked out!" Fae shrugged. "Stand or not, we were lucky to discover it."
"Thank you guys..." Jude sniffled, wiping tears from his face. "You have no idea what this means to me." He hugged JJ, who returned the embrace. Fae set her bag on the bed and put her arms around them both. Esther rolled her eyes and smiled, then joined in.
"Merry Christmas, Jude Kriyot."
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[include <a href="/component:wikimodule">component:wikimodule</a> |normal= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-01-01T14:30:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"art-exchange",
"christmas",
"esther-kogan",
"eventyr",
"faeowynn-wilson",
"gamers-against-weed",
"heartwarming",
"jockjamsvol6",
"jude-kriyot",
"lgbtq",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
Merry Christmas, Jude Kriyot - SCP Foundation
| 54
|
[
"scp-4206",
"scp-4046",
"scp-7221",
"scp-2910-jp",
"scp-mystery-j",
"scp-6161",
"scp-3297",
"scp-3756",
"scp-057-int",
"scp-7926",
"scp-4982",
"scp-5148",
"scp-6057",
"scp-1046",
"scp-8911",
"asset-florida-orange",
"gluttony-is-impossible",
"scp-wiki-discussion-page-simulator",
"sc-99-734-01-506",
"peligro-hipopotamos-de-medellin",
"theres-ngo-helping-this-one",
"project-proposal-2018-145",
"spc-7000",
"critter-profile-maya",
"coming-out-to-the-woods",
"its-beginning-to-look-a-lot-like-breachmas",
"classy-carlos-goes-to-therapy",
"veilfall",
"dark-sushi-file-no-1221",
"surprise-happy-birthday-12",
"sciptember-2022-art",
"uncle-nicolini-author-page",
"ode-to-the-unknown-author",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"secure-facility-dossier-site-55",
"art-exchange-hub"
] |
[] |
1452011930
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/merry-christmas-jude-kriyot
|
|
metal-and-hellfire
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<hr/>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ Show component code</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- Hide component code</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">sidebar-width-on-desktop:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--base-font-size) * (</span><span class="hl-number">266</span><span class="hl-code"> / </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">body-width-on-desktop:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">45.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (min-width: 56.25</span><span class="hl-identifier">rem</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#content-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> initial</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> row</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - (</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">min-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - var(--final-header-height-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">10.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem) </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> / </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> initial</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--body-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">45.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--body-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">45.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> min(</span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-code">vw, var(--body-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">45.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> -webkit-sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">grid-area:</span><span class="hl-code"> side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">min-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-y:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">scroll</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
translate </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
background-color </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
padding </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms linear,
margin </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms linear</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--swatch-tertiary-color, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--sidebar-bg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">13.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">rtl</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">thin</span><span class="hl-code">;
-</span><span class="hl-reserved">ms-scroll-chaining:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overscroll-behavior:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-color:</span><span class="hl-code">
rgba(var(--swatch-primary-darker), </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">) /* Thumb */
rgba(var(--swatch-tertiary-color), </span><span class="hl-number">0.05</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">; /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--swatch-secondary-color, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0.8</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-corner</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw + </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-style:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--sidebar-bg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">is</span><span class="hl-code">(:</span><span class="hl-identifier">hover</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">active</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">focus-within</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-x:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-y:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--swatch-primary-darker), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--sidebar-bg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem) - var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-color:</span><span class="hl-code">
rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">) /* Thumb */
rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">; /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scrollbar-color:</span><span class="hl-code">
rgb(var(--swatch-primary-darker, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">170</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">) /* Thumb */
rgb(var(--swatch-menubg-color, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">), </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">; /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> " "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">fixed</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
background-position </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
opacity </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url("https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/component%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Acollapsible-sidebar/sidebar-tab.svg")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-attachment:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">fixed</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">12.875</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">pointer-events:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">is</span><span class="hl-code">(:</span><span class="hl-identifier">hover</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">active</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">focus-within</span><span class="hl-code">) + </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
background-position </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
opacity </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> " "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--final-header-height-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - var(--final-header-height-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">0.688</span><span class="hl-code">rem) - </span><span class="hl-number">2.313</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--final-header-height-on-desktop, -</span><span class="hl-number">2.313</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">2.313</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code">
translate </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">),
opacity </span><span class="hl-number">300</span><span class="hl-code">ms cubic-bezier(</span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--swatch-alternate-color, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">pointer-events:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--sidebar-width-on-desktop, </span><span class="hl-number">14.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem) * -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> + </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">is</span><span class="hl-code">(:</span><span class="hl-identifier">hover</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">active</span><span class="hl-code">, :</span><span class="hl-identifier">focus-within</span><span class="hl-code">) + </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">translate:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.25</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">ltr</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scpnet-interwiki-wrapper</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">ltr</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Print</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Friendly</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Formatting</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Estrella</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body.print-body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">sidebar-width-on-desktop:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body.print-body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body.print-body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Athe-foundation-theme/2&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/component%3Abhl-dark-sidebar/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p>The Gods. Over the long expanse of time, they've been described in many ways. Fickle. Angry. Uncaring. But there are too many Gods, and not enough words to describe all of them at once. But there is one word, and one word alone, that <em>does</em> describe all Gods, nearly universally. Scared.</p>
<p>Eons ago, the unspeakable horror now only known as the Scarlet King had surfaced from the Great Abyss, no, <em>became</em> the Great Abyss, and declared war on the Tree of Knowledge and all it held. And so began the million-year Cold War. Both sides sought to gain an advantage of any kind over the other. But alas, the only constant in Creation is change. And so would this cold war soon change.</p>
<p>Eons ago, there was a war in Heaven Above. Lucifer and all who accompanied him were cast into Hell for this treason. And so the Scarlet King's horde invaded, seeking to gain control of its demonic energies, energies that would be powerful enough to give the Scarlet King an edge. And so the Scarlet King's horde was repelled. Again, and again, and again. But the King was nothing if not patient, and so he sat and waited, as his horde chipped away at Hell's defences, battering them like an ocean to a rock. And then something broke.</p>
<p>The Scarlet King's forces rushed forward like a wave, slaughtering everything and everyone in sight. And to the center, they went, to Lucifer's Citadel. And there, Lucifer himself put up a desperate last fight. And so, to their master, the horde called, and to their call, their master answered.</p>
<p>The clouds burned crimson as the sky split open. And then came the Scarlet King. Dread washed over Lucifer and his remaining forces, for the Monarch in Red was the inevitable end, the darkness that waited at the end of all things. As the Scarlet King walked towards the citadel, so was he barraged by a flurry of weapons, of demons, of fallen angels. But no mere demon or angel could fell the King, and so they themselves fell in droves. And then the Scarlet King reached the citadel.</p>
<p>The King raised his arms as he began to glow, glowing so bright as to blind. And then, the King began to subsume the realm. It made no differentiation between friend and foe, as all were made one with the Scarlet King, all absorbed into its emptiness. Its army, the enemy's army, the demons, Lucifer himself, the Scarlet King consumed and consumed and consumed, until finally, there was nothing left. Finally, it was ready for non-existence. Finally, it was ready for the battle to come.</p>
<p>But Creation would not fade into oblivion, not without a fight. As the Scarlet King battered away at Hell, so too had Creation been preparing. To humanity, 36 warriors of a nature not of Earth were granted. To the Gods, seven spears of unnatural power were granted. And so the forges of Creation lit for the first time since Creation's inception. So beautiful, so bright they were, they drowned out the stars of the sky with their light.</p>
<p>The forges rang out, again, and again, and again. Creation sang a song of fire and metal each time the hammer fell. And finally, all was ready.</p>
<p>And Creation was quiet.</p>
<p>And Creation was still.</p>
<p>And Creation was still.</p>
<p>And Creation was still.</p>
<p>And Creation trembled with the weight of the approaching army.</p>
<p>And Creation trembled with the weight of the approaching nothingness.</p>
<p>And so was the final battlefield set. And so was the stage was set for one final battle. One final battle to determine the fate of all existence. One final battle to determine the fate of life and death. One final battle to determine the fate of the future. One. Final. Battle.</p>
<p>And that is what was so sorrowful about it.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>« <a href="/at-creation-s-end">At Creation's End</a> | <a href="/the-darkness-after">The Darkness After</a> »</strong></p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/metal-and-hellfire">Metal and Hellfire</a>" by FreezerMonkey, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/metal-and-hellfire">https://scpwiki.com/metal-and-hellfire</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Children of the Scarlet King<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> SunnyClockwork<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-BY-SA<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sunny-art-goi">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sunny-art-goi</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:the-foundation-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:the-foundation-theme</a> |dark=--]]]
[[module CSS]]
:root { --header-h1-font-size: calc(var(--base-font-size) * (40 / 11));
--header-title: "Children of the Scarlet King";
}
[[/module]]
>
[[module CSS]]
#extra-div-3 {
background-image: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/cotsk-hub/cotsk.png);
background-size: contain;
background-repeat: no-repeat
}
#page-content a:not([href*="user"]):not([href*="javascript:;"]):not([href="/classification-committee-memo"]) {
color: #FFFFFF;
}
[[/module]]
>
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
>
The Gods. Over the long expanse of time, they've been described in many ways. Fickle. Angry. Uncaring. But there are too many Gods, and not enough words to describe all of them at once. But there is one word, and one word alone, that //does// describe all Gods, nearly universally. Scared.
>
Eons ago, the unspeakable horror now only known as the Scarlet King had surfaced from the Great Abyss, no, //became// the Great Abyss, and declared war on the Tree of Knowledge and all it held. And so began the million-year Cold War. Both sides sought to gain an advantage of any kind over the other. But alas, the only constant in Creation is change. And so would this cold war soon change.
>
Eons ago, there was a war in Heaven Above. Lucifer and all who accompanied him were cast into Hell for this treason. And so the Scarlet King's horde invaded, seeking to gain control of its demonic energies, energies that would be powerful enough to give the Scarlet King an edge. And so the Scarlet King's horde was repelled. Again, and again, and again. But the King was nothing if not patient, and so he sat and waited, as his horde chipped away at Hell's defences, battering them like an ocean to a rock. And then something broke.
>
The Scarlet King's forces rushed forward like a wave, slaughtering everything and everyone in sight. And to the center, they went, to Lucifer's Citadel. And there, Lucifer himself put up a desperate last fight. And so, to their master, the horde called, and to their call, their master answered.
>
The clouds burned crimson as the sky split open. And then came the Scarlet King. Dread washed over Lucifer and his remaining forces, for the Monarch in Red was the inevitable end, the darkness that waited at the end of all things. As the Scarlet King walked towards the citadel, so was he barraged by a flurry of weapons, of demons, of fallen angels. But no mere demon or angel could fell the King, and so they themselves fell in droves. And then the Scarlet King reached the citadel.
>
The King raised his arms as he began to glow, glowing so bright as to blind. And then, the King began to subsume the realm. It made no differentiation between friend and foe, as all were made one with the Scarlet King, all absorbed into its emptiness. Its army, the enemy's army, the demons, Lucifer himself, the Scarlet King consumed and consumed and consumed, until finally, there was nothing left. Finally, it was ready for non-existence. Finally, it was ready for the battle to come.
>
But Creation would not fade into oblivion, not without a fight. As the Scarlet King battered away at Hell, so too had Creation been preparing. To humanity, 36 warriors of a nature not of Earth were granted. To the Gods, seven spears of unnatural power were granted. And so the forges of Creation lit for the first time since Creation's inception. So beautiful, so bright they were, they drowned out the stars of the sky with their light.
>
The forges rang out, again, and again, and again. Creation sang a song of fire and metal each time the hammer fell. And finally, all was ready.
>
And Creation was quiet.
>
And Creation was still.
>
And Creation was still.
>
And Creation was still.
>
And Creation trembled with the weight of the approaching army.
>
And Creation trembled with the weight of the approaching nothingness.
>
And so was the final battlefield set. And so was the stage was set for one final battle. One final battle to determine the fate of all existence. One final battle to determine the fate of life and death. One final battle to determine the fate of the future. One. Final. Battle.
>
And that is what was so sorrowful about it.
>
[[=]]
**<< [[[At Creation's End]]] | [[[The Darkness After]]] >>**
[[/=]]
>
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Name:** Children of the Scarlet King
> **Author:** SunnyClockwork
> **License:** CC-BY-SA
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sunny-art-goi
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-02-16T22:14:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"action",
"mythological",
"religious-fiction",
"scarlet-king",
"tale"
] |
Metal and Hellfire - SCP Foundation
| 12
|
[
"at-creation-s-end",
"the-darkness-after",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"sunny-art-goi"
] |
[
"cotsk-hub",
"at-creation-s-end-hub"
] |
[] |
1452645684
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/metal-and-hellfire
|
|
metamorphosis-or
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>"Just a dream," they thought. "Just a very bad dream."</p>
<p>Was it so very bad? Considering the work they did, the things they had seen, the things to which they had been exposed, things easily could have come to a far worse pass than this.</p>
<p>They opened their eyes and stretched. It was, as it always was, most disorienting. Three limbs elongated to their full extent, and one was simply absent. One, two, three…</p>
<p>…and then four, and five. It had not been a dream after all. What strange new fascination was this?</p>
<p>On taking to their bed the previous night they had possessed, of this they were quite terribly certain, two legs and one arm. The present count of limbs was certainly novel.</p>
<p>They chanced a nervous glance at the hump of their body beneath the vast, weighted blanket enveloping the bed. It described an arc, distended, alien. Bunched up like a discarded sock, or a dead pill-bug, or a vast, human-sized beetle.</p>
<p>"I'm a beetle," they thought. "Oh, shit."</p>
<p>Jay Everwood made no habit of sleeping on-Site, but last night they nevertheless had done so. Sunlight now filtered through dark velvet curtains, dappling the heaving blanket and the dormitory's thick shag carpet, reflecting off personal mementos adorning otherwise blank walls and functional furniture. There was a labcoat, freshly-pressed, on a hangar on the bathroom door. It wouldn't fit now, of course, even if they could wriggle out of bed and dislodge it from its perch. There was a telephone on the bedside table which they would under no circumstances be able to dial, not in this condition. There were stacks of paper on the desk, mostly white, some bright yellow with purple livery. There was an ugly, dull-golden card in a frame on the small desk they sometimes used for late-night work. They felt a sudden rush of sentiment for what it represented, and then shame.</p>
<p>"I'm so sick of this," they thought. The sun was rising, and the ambient light was increasing, and the signals from their eyes became blurrier and blurrier with the refraction. "Every day it's something new, something <span style="text-decoration: underline;">worse</span>. Otherworldly doppelgangers. Literally endless office hallways. Multiversal body-swapping. Now I'm a god-damn bug." It was the worst way to begin a Monday they could imagine.</p>
<p>They sighed. It came out high and hoarse, an unnatural cross between insectile squeal and guttural groan. They would, of course, be obligated to announce this change of situation to the authorities before long. It was protocol. This was a containment breach of some variety.</p>
<p>But the blanket was very heavy, and still exerted its calming effect. They could go back to sleep. Was it really even the blanket? Lately they felt tired without much in the way of external influence. They could drift away with no effort at all, sleep through the day and wake up tomorrow and see if they were still a beetle then.</p>
<p>But there was research, and team leading, and endless scrolling through a list of possibilities for their next disastrous date to be done, and it certainly wouldn't do itself, and certainly someone would notice if they never came out of their dorm room again. It was known that they never slept in. Someone would recognize the discrepancy, would understand that they had ceased to perform their duty and would notify their superiors, someone would want for instructions or advice or something signed and come looking, and how could anyone sleep knowing disasters like these loomed on the near horizon?</p>
<p>There came a rough double-tap on the door to the outside world. "Jay?"</p>
<p>Everwood sank down deeper on the boxspring, and the blanket slid down over their head. The voice belonged to Dr. Michael Elson, Assistant Director of <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-55">Site-55</a>. Certainly someone had to come and see why they weren't up and about, but could it not have been someone they could simply shoo away?</p>
<p>"Jay," the voice repeated. "Are you alright? You missed our morning meeting."</p>
<p>"I did?" they marvelled. Could it be so late in the day already? They couldn't imagine how they might have slept so soundly, a matter so vital unhandled. They opened their mouth to call out something satisfactory, explanatory, enough to end the conversation and let them slip back into agitated slumber, but what came out instead was "I'm fine. Go away," their voice scratchy and tinny and every bit as obviously wrong as the rest of them.</p>
<p>Well, so be it. Elson could go away. Everwood wasn't sure if they really wanted him to, but they were certain it would be for the best.</p>
<p>"You don't sound fine." They could hear Elson trying the door handle. In vain; Everwood was a senior researcher, and security protocol demanded that nobody save the Site Director or Chief of Security could penetrate into their domain unwelcome. "You sound sick. Let me in."</p>
<p>"I could try to get up," they thought. This could be considered research. Perhaps they would be allowed a consulting role on their own SCP file, once the truth of their condition became known. Everwood set their muscles a task: rise. Sit up in bed. Bend at the middle, and…</p>
<p>No. No, it wouldn't work. They were a beetle, and their body didn't bend that way anymore.</p>
<p>"Go away," they repeated. "I'm not feeling well."</p>
<p>A new voice, this one female, responded. "I can call medical, if you want." This belonged to Dr. Nikita Popov, Director of Containment. It struck Everwood that this was a really unfair amount of attention to lavish on one researcher's unannounced sick day, even if said researcher really ought to have been contained.</p>
<p>It was also a problem. To be sure, having transformed into a beetle was a problem of its own, but this was a threat to their very employment. If Popov was involved, there would be a review, disciplinary action perhaps. Their career might already be over. They attempted to become upset at this. Perhaps shedding a few tears would clear their vision, wake them up, stop them breathing so low and so scratchily.</p>
<p>"Jay?" Popov continued. "Just tell us what you need, and we'll get it for you."</p>
<p>"I don't need anything," Everwood croaked. "Just leave me alone."</p>
<p>Popov and Elson were talking about them in the hallway, now. Everwood couldn't hear anything, but it was obviously happening nevertheless. Each would no doubt be wondering why someone formerly so dependable was now making so much fuss for everyone else, complaining about all the things which needed doing today which this disruption was standing in the way of. Perhaps reconstructing a pattern of events which could explain it. Seeing all the times they'd fallen short, reframing this as the logical extremity of that sequence.</p>
<p>"So, here's the thing," Elson called through the door. "We don't have biometrics on you, and we need to be sure you're not injured or anything. Someone needs to come in there and check on you."</p>
<p>"No," they growled. It barely sounded like human speech. "I don't need anything. I'll be fine. I'll be back at work when I'm ready. I'll get up soon." It wasn't true. "Just give me a few minutes."</p>
<p>"We can give you a few minutes," Elson agreed. "We can give you all the time you need. But first we need you to say that you're not having any sort of crisis right now."</p>
<p>"But only if it's true," said Popov.</p>
<p>A third voice joined the throng. "Jay?" This was Rex Alces, their long-suffering and <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5057">long-suffered</a> research assistant. "Is something weird happening in there?"</p>
<p>They felt suddenly frustrated. What was the point of all this fuss? Did they have no right to privacy? Did every little change in their routine require public commentary? If Rex wanted to know what was going on, well, then, he would know. Everwood would tell him. Everwood told him: "I've turned into a beetle."</p>
<p>And Everwood waited.</p>
<p>There was a moment of silence as this information slowly registered. Rex would be considering whether the declaration was meant metaphorically or not, in a way entirely foreign to anyone employed at a more mundane research firm. Finally, he said: "McCartney, or scarab?"</p>
<p>"Scarab." They sighed. There was a sort of chittering click behind it that made them annoyed, even though it had come out of themself. Because it had come out of themself. "Probably not actually a scarab. Probably a dung beetle. That's my kind of luck." Did it sound bitter? Did it carry any emotion at all? Emotion was exhausting.</p>
<p>"Uh huh," said Rex, in a voice that told them he was speaking just to confirm his continued presence.</p>
<p>They waited for him to continue. They didn't have the energy, lying there on their back, thick carapace weighing them down against the boxsprings, to force out any unnecessary squeaks. They did essay rocking back and forth in bed, trying to force their muscles to respond again, but the simple act of stretching had apparently sapped all their energy. They were an immobile bug, snug in their rug. They weren't going anywhere under their own power.</p>
<p>"Okay," Rex finally said, apropos of nothing.</p>
<p>There were several things Everwood might have told the trio at the door at this juncture, if only speech had not been such a tiring proposition. Suggestions they could have made. Why not leave the beetle to examine itself, and come back when the transformation was better understood and outside expertise had more to work with? Why not quarantine the dorm room, fashion it into a containment chamber, and dream up procedures for keeping the beetle safely ensconced within, away from polite society? Why not — and Everwood liked this idea best — simply go away, and come back tomorrow, and see if the beetle had turned back into an SCP Foundation senior researcher.</p>
<p>The others chose instead an option Everwood had not considered, and would not have offered up in suggestion. A fourth and hierarchically final voice rang out. "Jay. It's Emily." Dr. Emily Alder was the Director of Site-55, and answered to no-one but the O5 Council. "We're a little worried about you, out here. Could you let us in?"</p>
<p>This was too much. Far too much. Everwood was not the most important person at the facility, not by a long shot. They were sluggish, melancholy, sometimes even dull. They were prone to unsolicited monologue. They suffered from uncertainty and self-doubt, because they saw things as things really were. They were not the best at what they did, and they knew it. Their instincts were often faulty, their loyalties suspect, their motives murky. No wonder they had turned into a beetle, they reflected. It was no more or less than what they deserved.</p>
<p>"You missed your annual review," Alder was saying. "So we had to say nice things about you behind your back. Your team blew past every milestone on every metric in 2023. We're thinking of putting you in for leadership recognition. I've even been talking to O5-5 about maybe getting you involved with GOI handling globally."</p>
<p>None of this, not a single word, made any sense to Everwood. The Director might as well have turned into a different variety of vermin. Everwood hadn't done anything any low-level manager couldn't do. They hadn't achieved anything deserving of recognition. They only thing they had really achieved in the past year that was undeniably noteworthy was acquiring a segmented thorax. They said, "You don't need me. Board up the door and find someone else."</p>
<p>Alder clicked her tongue. "I'd be sorry to have to do this, Jay, but I'm going to force my way in there if you don't open up. Please don't make me do that."</p>
<p>Everwood clicked back. The insectile sound felt right. "Do what you have to, I guess. I don't see how it's worth your time, though." They had to dredge the words up from deep, deep inside themselves, and the sounds came out only reluctantly. Beetles weren't meant to speak.</p>
<p>"Could you speak your passcode for us?" Alder pressed. "It'll be easier if we don't have to break the lock."</p>
<p>This was true nonsense. Alder possessed a key card which would open any door in the facility.</p>
<p>"I can't remember," Everwood croaked. It was true. They were losing themself, and the passcode had gone early.</p>
<p>"I'm sure you can," Elson said.</p>
<p>"You've got a terrific memory," Rex agreed. "All those stories you told me."</p>
<p>"You can do it," Popov concluded, as though remembering one's own passcode were some Herculean feat.</p>
<p>Everwood closed their eyes tight and ignored the encouragement. "You don't know," they thought in weak frustration. "You don't know me. I forget things all the time. I don't even know very many things." This much expenditure of time and effort was perverse and unwarranted. All of these people had much, much better things to be doing right now, and Everwood couldn't do anything that couldn't be done at least as well by someone else.</p>
<p>"Jay?" Alder called one more time. When no response came, she sighed, and there was an audible <em>click</em> and <em>beep</em> from the door. The Director had used her key card. "We're coming in."</p>
<p>One by one the others entered the darkened dorm room, light now spilling in from both the hallway, fluorescent, and the window, hibernal, to render everything in shades of grey. Everwood bunched up their monstrous body beneath the blankets and peered out fearfully, awaiting the judgement of their peers and betters.</p>
<p>"I don't know why I'm a beetle," they pleaded as the four took up positions around the bed. "But it's probably my fault."</p>
<p>Alder smiled at them sympathetically. "Hey, these things happen."</p>
<p>"To the best of us," Elson agreed.</p>
<p>Popov tucked one corner of the blanket under the mattress as Rex picked up the framed note from <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6157">Señor Fluff</a>, carried it over, and placed it on the bedside table were Everwood could read it.</p>
<p>"You're going to fire me," Everwood said. It wasn't a question.</p>
<p>Alder adjusted the shades, and the room brightened almost imperceptibly. "Nonsense," she said. "You're on sick leave, remember? We already cleared it with HR."</p>
<p>"Stop making it easier," they thought as sleep stole over them again. "That only makes it more difficult."</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>II</strong></p>
</div>
<p>Everwood slept until it ought to have been dark, but their room was bathed in a soft warm glow when they opened their eyes. Someone had turned the lamps on.</p>
<p>They were still a beetle.</p>
<p>Rex was sitting at the side of the bed in an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, reading something on a clipboard. When he saw that they were awake, he smiled at them and said "Hungry?"</p>
<p>Everwood tried to say that yes, they were in fact famished, but when they opened their mouth, nothing came out but a dry rasp. Rex's smile faltered, and he reached down to open a cooler sitting between his feet. He took out a small tub of cookie dough ice cream, and cocked a brow at them quizzically. Everwood salivated, and nodded. "Beetles love sugar." They thought so, anyway. It was the next best thing to garbage.</p>
<p>Rex tried to hand them the tub, and a spoon. However, reality asserted itself. Everwood had no hands with which to feed themselves. Rex considered their bulk beneath the blanket for a moment, shrugged, and began spooning out the ice cream himself. Everwood consented to be fed, like a toddler, like an animal. Even bugs could do better, but they no longer had it in them to care.</p>
<p>When the ice cream was gone, Everwood slipped into something of a delirium. They imagined they floated up above their bloated, prone form on the bed, soared past Rex, who had returned to his clipboard, sailed out the open door and down the corridors and into the labs and offices where they had worked before the unfortunate occurrence. They watched the GOI Research Group go about its business no less effectively for their absence, and noted with approval that no mention of that absence was being made. They were gone, and forgotten, as it ought to have been.</p>
<p>Their reverie was interrupted by a wet, hacking cough from deep within their insectile belly. Their throat, once dry, was now wet and clear. They could almost have spoken, except of course that they had forgotten how to, because they were a beetle and had been for far too long now to ever go back. Rex was still in the chair. His labcoat was off, and a small humidifier buzzed in the corner. He saw them looking at it, and said "Beetles like moist spaces. Yeah?"</p>
<p>They felt a rush of affection so strong that they could only survive it by shutting their eyes tight again and, once more, drifting away.</p>
<p>Rex stayed with them all night, napping occasionally on his chair, and accepting little styrofoam packets of food from some nameless service person who smiled and said hello to Everwood every time she came. Everwood cowered under their blanket and pretended not to see or hear, not even to be. They thought how funny it was that Rex would dote on them so faithfully; they certainly hadn't done anything to earn it. For years they'd dumped personal traumas and rambling reminiscences on the man, as though rather than their research assistant he was actually their therapist. They'd failed to correct his bad professional habits, and he'd been given a permanent black mark on his record for it. He should have been supervising a lab of his own by now, not stuck here playing nurse-maid. They wanted to tell him these things, but even in the pleasant humidity, their throat closed up when they tried.</p>
<p>The early morning passed uneventfully. Alder, Elson and Popov came to visit alone or in pairs, asking after them, asking if anything had changed, asking pointless little questions about Everwood's pointless research and treating their noncommittal hisses and grunts as invaluable input. Rex put on a movie — they hadn't noticed him wheeling in the television — and they watched it on and off while musing that this was probably their life now, the end of all choices and opportunities, the pass that would not pass. Soon they would be responsible for nothing, and no-one. Beetles don't live very long.</p>
<p>But it was difficult to focus on these maudlin things, because a steady stream of visitors came and went through the little dorm room. First was May Waters and Chidi Gueye from the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6467">Dungeons & Dragons game</a> they used to DM, who tidied up the room a little and changed Everwood's blanket — a tricky procedure, as they would not allow their buggy bulk to be even a little exposed at any time. Then there was <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/seven-days-with-mr-fish">Mr. Fish</a>, who sat with them for a few hours and gently pried out the few complaints they were willing to part with regarding their new and permanent condition. The flounder-faced Little Mister warbled empathetic condolences, and Everwood waited with petulant impatience for him to begin negatively comparing their troubles to his own. He never did, and this made them feel both much better and much worse.</p>
<p>After that, on the third day, a veritable workgroup arrived to take up residence in the room. <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/spread-the-word">Nhung Ngo</a>, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/aces-deuces">Ethel Kursh</a> and <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/act-your-age">Karen Elstrom</a>, three acquaintances who lived and worked absolutely nowhere near Site-55 in Boston, Massachusetts, set up little workstations at posts around the room and began a flurry of administrative activity by no means natural to this setting. They were doing their usual jobs in a very unusual place, and acting as though there was nothing at all unusual about this. They arranged themselves in such a way that their conversations passed over Everwood's blanketed hump, so that the beetle in the room was implicitly involved in every single turn of phrase. When Everwood chanced the occasional peek out at this strange party, it never failed that Rex or Elson would ask after their needs, or Alder would seek to be apprised of any changes, or the occasional newcomer would have solicitous inquiries or approving comments to make whilst helping the throng with whatever they were doing. Elstrom found a Certificate of Appreciation with Everwood's face on it, from back before they'd been a beetle, and hung it up on the far wall, off centre so Everwood could look at it without having to strain to see over themself. Kursh brought scented candles. Ngo simply hummed; there was something preternaturally calming about the way she hummed.</p>
<p>In the evening, Everwood awoke to find a soft, sweet-smelling <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fanfa">blanket</a> draped over their deflating abdomen. They hadn't set eyes on it in years, and then it had been filthy. They'd never mentioned it to anyone but Rex, had socked it away where they were sure it could not be found, and yet… there it was. Clean and fresh. Their assistant looked away with an embarrassed, but obviously pleased smile as they dragged it under the covers and held it close to their heaving body.</p>
<p>The following morning, there was mail: best wishes for a swift recovery from both Dr. Wondertainment and, to general shock and bewilderment, Professor Funtastic; a signed Get Well Soon card from Site-34, with Everwood's own signature already paradoxically present; an information sheet detailing the present status, whereabouts and disposition of an <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/robin">old friend</a> long since left Foundation employ with an amnesticize-and-resituate package. A weight they hadn't realized they'd been carrying for years became just the slightest bit lighter, the big blanket sank down a few centimetres lower, and as they pored over the details and the chatter around them ebbed and flowed, they addressed the room at large for the very first time.</p>
<p>"Got any work <em>I</em> could do?"</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>III</strong></p>
</div>
<p>It had been a week since Everwood had found themself changed on the cusp of a new day. They were sitting now in an enclosure at Wilson's Wildlife Solutions in Oregon, soaking up sunshine and watching the anomalous creatures at play. <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-654">Faeowynn Wilson</a> waved at them cheerfully in the distance. Everwood waved back, forgetting to be tired, forgetting to be sad, forgetting for the moment and at least a little while after even to be a beetle.</p>
<p>They watched as a familiar hippopotamus laboured unsuccessfully to haul its rippling ball of fat up onto an otherwise promising sunning rock. A dozen uncharitable assessments and unkind epithets flowed into and out of Everwood's mind, but they held on to none of them. <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/critter-profile-chuck">Chuck</a> wasn't so bad. Really, he was doing his best.</p>
<hr/>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/metamorphosis-or">Metamorphosis, or, That One Time Dr. Everwood Got Turned Into A Beetle</a>" by HarryBlank, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/metamorphosis-or">https://scpwiki.com/metamorphosis-or</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p>This work of fiction is inspired by, and contains thematic elements from, <em>The Metamorphosis</em> by Franz Kafka (1915), in the public domain.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
"Just a dream," they thought. "Just a very bad dream."
Was it so very bad? Considering the work they did, the things they had seen, the things to which they had been exposed, things easily could have come to a far worse pass than this.
They opened their eyes and stretched. It was, as it always was, most disorienting. Three limbs elongated to their full extent, and one was simply absent. One, two, three...
...and then four, and five. It had not been a dream after all. What strange new fascination was this?
On taking to their bed the previous night they had possessed, of this they were quite terribly certain, two legs and one arm. The present count of limbs was certainly novel.
They chanced a nervous glance at the hump of their body beneath the vast, weighted blanket enveloping the bed. It described an arc, distended, alien. Bunched up like a discarded sock, or a dead pill-bug, or a vast, human-sized beetle.
"I'm a beetle," they thought. "Oh, shit."
Jay Everwood made no habit of sleeping on-Site, but last night they nevertheless had done so. Sunlight now filtered through dark velvet curtains, dappling the heaving blanket and the dormitory's thick shag carpet, reflecting off personal mementos adorning otherwise blank walls and functional furniture. There was a labcoat, freshly-pressed, on a hangar on the bathroom door. It wouldn't fit now, of course, even if they could wriggle out of bed and dislodge it from its perch. There was a telephone on the bedside table which they would under no circumstances be able to dial, not in this condition. There were stacks of paper on the desk, mostly white, some bright yellow with purple livery. There was an ugly, dull-golden card in a frame on the small desk they sometimes used for late-night work. They felt a sudden rush of sentiment for what it represented, and then shame.
"I'm so sick of this," they thought. The sun was rising, and the ambient light was increasing, and the signals from their eyes became blurrier and blurrier with the refraction. "Every day it's something new, something __worse__. Otherworldly doppelgangers. Literally endless office hallways. Multiversal body-swapping. Now I'm a god-damn bug." It was the worst way to begin a Monday they could imagine.
They sighed. It came out high and hoarse, an unnatural cross between insectile squeal and guttural groan. They would, of course, be obligated to announce this change of situation to the authorities before long. It was protocol. This was a containment breach of some variety.
But the blanket was very heavy, and still exerted its calming effect. They could go back to sleep. Was it really even the blanket? Lately they felt tired without much in the way of external influence. They could drift away with no effort at all, sleep through the day and wake up tomorrow and see if they were still a beetle then.
But there was research, and team leading, and endless scrolling through a list of possibilities for their next disastrous date to be done, and it certainly wouldn't do itself, and certainly someone would notice if they never came out of their dorm room again. It was known that they never slept in. Someone would recognize the discrepancy, would understand that they had ceased to perform their duty and would notify their superiors, someone would want for instructions or advice or something signed and come looking, and how could anyone sleep knowing disasters like these loomed on the near horizon?
There came a rough double-tap on the door to the outside world. "Jay?"
Everwood sank down deeper on the boxspring, and the blanket slid down over their head. The voice belonged to Dr. Michael Elson, Assistant Director of [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facility-dossier-site-55 Site-55]. Certainly someone had to come and see why they weren't up and about, but could it not have been someone they could simply shoo away?
"Jay," the voice repeated. "Are you alright? You missed our morning meeting."
"I did?" they marvelled. Could it be so late in the day already? They couldn't imagine how they might have slept so soundly, a matter so vital unhandled. They opened their mouth to call out something satisfactory, explanatory, enough to end the conversation and let them slip back into agitated slumber, but what came out instead was "I'm fine. Go away," their voice scratchy and tinny and every bit as obviously wrong as the rest of them.
Well, so be it. Elson could go away. Everwood wasn't sure if they really wanted him to, but they were certain it would be for the best.
"You don't sound fine." They could hear Elson trying the door handle. In vain; Everwood was a senior researcher, and security protocol demanded that nobody save the Site Director or Chief of Security could penetrate into their domain unwelcome. "You sound sick. Let me in."
"I could try to get up," they thought. This could be considered research. Perhaps they would be allowed a consulting role on their own SCP file, once the truth of their condition became known. Everwood set their muscles a task: rise. Sit up in bed. Bend at the middle, and...
No. No, it wouldn't work. They were a beetle, and their body didn't bend that way anymore.
"Go away," they repeated. "I'm not feeling well."
A new voice, this one female, responded. "I can call medical, if you want." This belonged to Dr. Nikita Popov, Director of Containment. It struck Everwood that this was a really unfair amount of attention to lavish on one researcher's unannounced sick day, even if said researcher really ought to have been contained.
It was also a problem. To be sure, having transformed into a beetle was a problem of its own, but this was a threat to their very employment. If Popov was involved, there would be a review, disciplinary action perhaps. Their career might already be over. They attempted to become upset at this. Perhaps shedding a few tears would clear their vision, wake them up, stop them breathing so low and so scratchily.
"Jay?" Popov continued. "Just tell us what you need, and we'll get it for you."
"I don't need anything," Everwood croaked. "Just leave me alone."
Popov and Elson were talking about them in the hallway, now. Everwood couldn't hear anything, but it was obviously happening nevertheless. Each would no doubt be wondering why someone formerly so dependable was now making so much fuss for everyone else, complaining about all the things which needed doing today which this disruption was standing in the way of. Perhaps reconstructing a pattern of events which could explain it. Seeing all the times they'd fallen short, reframing this as the logical extremity of that sequence.
"So, here's the thing," Elson called through the door. "We don't have biometrics on you, and we need to be sure you're not injured or anything. Someone needs to come in there and check on you."
"No," they growled. It barely sounded like human speech. "I don't need anything. I'll be fine. I'll be back at work when I'm ready. I'll get up soon." It wasn't true. "Just give me a few minutes."
"We can give you a few minutes," Elson agreed. "We can give you all the time you need. But first we need you to say that you're not having any sort of crisis right now."
"But only if it's true," said Popov.
A third voice joined the throng. "Jay?" This was Rex Alces, their long-suffering and [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5057 long-suffered] research assistant. "Is something weird happening in there?"
They felt suddenly frustrated. What was the point of all this fuss? Did they have no right to privacy? Did every little change in their routine require public commentary? If Rex wanted to know what was going on, well, then, he would know. Everwood would tell him. Everwood told him: "I've turned into a beetle."
And Everwood waited.
There was a moment of silence as this information slowly registered. Rex would be considering whether the declaration was meant metaphorically or not, in a way entirely foreign to anyone employed at a more mundane research firm. Finally, he said: "McCartney, or scarab?"
"Scarab." They sighed. There was a sort of chittering click behind it that made them annoyed, even though it had come out of themself. Because it had come out of themself. "Probably not actually a scarab. Probably a dung beetle. That's my kind of luck." Did it sound bitter? Did it carry any emotion at all? Emotion was exhausting.
"Uh huh," said Rex, in a voice that told them he was speaking just to confirm his continued presence.
They waited for him to continue. They didn't have the energy, lying there on their back, thick carapace weighing them down against the boxsprings, to force out any unnecessary squeaks. They did essay rocking back and forth in bed, trying to force their muscles to respond again, but the simple act of stretching had apparently sapped all their energy. They were an immobile bug, snug in their rug. They weren't going anywhere under their own power.
"Okay," Rex finally said, apropos of nothing.
There were several things Everwood might have told the trio at the door at this juncture, if only speech had not been such a tiring proposition. Suggestions they could have made. Why not leave the beetle to examine itself, and come back when the transformation was better understood and outside expertise had more to work with? Why not quarantine the dorm room, fashion it into a containment chamber, and dream up procedures for keeping the beetle safely ensconced within, away from polite society? Why not -- and Everwood liked this idea best -- simply go away, and come back tomorrow, and see if the beetle had turned back into an SCP Foundation senior researcher.
The others chose instead an option Everwood had not considered, and would not have offered up in suggestion. A fourth and hierarchically final voice rang out. "Jay. It's Emily." Dr. Emily Alder was the Director of Site-55, and answered to no-one but the O5 Council. "We're a little worried about you, out here. Could you let us in?"
This was too much. Far too much. Everwood was not the most important person at the facility, not by a long shot. They were sluggish, melancholy, sometimes even dull. They were prone to unsolicited monologue. They suffered from uncertainty and self-doubt, because they saw things as things really were. They were not the best at what they did, and they knew it. Their instincts were often faulty, their loyalties suspect, their motives murky. No wonder they had turned into a beetle, they reflected. It was no more or less than what they deserved.
"You missed your annual review," Alder was saying. "So we had to say nice things about you behind your back. Your team blew past every milestone on every metric in 2023. We're thinking of putting you in for leadership recognition. I've even been talking to O5-5 about maybe getting you involved with GOI handling globally."
None of this, not a single word, made any sense to Everwood. The Director might as well have turned into a different variety of vermin. Everwood hadn't done anything any low-level manager couldn't do. They hadn't achieved anything deserving of recognition. They only thing they had really achieved in the past year that was undeniably noteworthy was acquiring a segmented thorax. They said, "You don't need me. Board up the door and find someone else."
Alder clicked her tongue. "I'd be sorry to have to do this, Jay, but I'm going to force my way in there if you don't open up. Please don't make me do that."
Everwood clicked back. The insectile sound felt right. "Do what you have to, I guess. I don't see how it's worth your time, though." They had to dredge the words up from deep, deep inside themselves, and the sounds came out only reluctantly. Beetles weren't meant to speak.
"Could you speak your passcode for us?" Alder pressed. "It'll be easier if we don't have to break the lock."
This was true nonsense. Alder possessed a key card which would open any door in the facility.
"I can't remember," Everwood croaked. It was true. They were losing themself, and the passcode had gone early.
"I'm sure you can," Elson said.
"You've got a terrific memory," Rex agreed. "All those stories you told me."
"You can do it," Popov concluded, as though remembering one's own passcode were some Herculean feat.
Everwood closed their eyes tight and ignored the encouragement. "You don't know," they thought in weak frustration. "You don't know me. I forget things all the time. I don't even know very many things." This much expenditure of time and effort was perverse and unwarranted. All of these people had much, much better things to be doing right now, and Everwood couldn't do anything that couldn't be done at least as well by someone else.
"Jay?" Alder called one more time. When no response came, she sighed, and there was an audible //click// and //beep// from the door. The Director had used her key card. "We're coming in."
One by one the others entered the darkened dorm room, light now spilling in from both the hallway, fluorescent, and the window, hibernal, to render everything in shades of grey. Everwood bunched up their monstrous body beneath the blankets and peered out fearfully, awaiting the judgement of their peers and betters.
"I don't know why I'm a beetle," they pleaded as the four took up positions around the bed. "But it's probably my fault."
Alder smiled at them sympathetically. "Hey, these things happen."
"To the best of us," Elson agreed.
Popov tucked one corner of the blanket under the mattress as Rex picked up the framed note from [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6157 Señor Fluff], carried it over, and placed it on the bedside table were Everwood could read it.
"You're going to fire me," Everwood said. It wasn't a question.
Alder adjusted the shades, and the room brightened almost imperceptibly. "Nonsense," she said. "You're on sick leave, remember? We already cleared it with HR."
"Stop making it easier," they thought as sleep stole over them again. "That only makes it more difficult."
----
[[=]]
**II**
[[/=]]
Everwood slept until it ought to have been dark, but their room was bathed in a soft warm glow when they opened their eyes. Someone had turned the lamps on.
They were still a beetle.
Rex was sitting at the side of the bed in an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair, reading something on a clipboard. When he saw that they were awake, he smiled at them and said "Hungry?"
Everwood tried to say that yes, they were in fact famished, but when they opened their mouth, nothing came out but a dry rasp. Rex's smile faltered, and he reached down to open a cooler sitting between his feet. He took out a small tub of cookie dough ice cream, and cocked a brow at them quizzically. Everwood salivated, and nodded. "Beetles love sugar." They thought so, anyway. It was the next best thing to garbage.
Rex tried to hand them the tub, and a spoon. However, reality asserted itself. Everwood had no hands with which to feed themselves. Rex considered their bulk beneath the blanket for a moment, shrugged, and began spooning out the ice cream himself. Everwood consented to be fed, like a toddler, like an animal. Even bugs could do better, but they no longer had it in them to care.
When the ice cream was gone, Everwood slipped into something of a delirium. They imagined they floated up above their bloated, prone form on the bed, soared past Rex, who had returned to his clipboard, sailed out the open door and down the corridors and into the labs and offices where they had worked before the unfortunate occurrence. They watched the GOI Research Group go about its business no less effectively for their absence, and noted with approval that no mention of that absence was being made. They were gone, and forgotten, as it ought to have been.
Their reverie was interrupted by a wet, hacking cough from deep within their insectile belly. Their throat, once dry, was now wet and clear. They could almost have spoken, except of course that they had forgotten how to, because they were a beetle and had been for far too long now to ever go back. Rex was still in the chair. His labcoat was off, and a small humidifier buzzed in the corner. He saw them looking at it, and said "Beetles like moist spaces. Yeah?"
They felt a rush of affection so strong that they could only survive it by shutting their eyes tight again and, once more, drifting away.
Rex stayed with them all night, napping occasionally on his chair, and accepting little styrofoam packets of food from some nameless service person who smiled and said hello to Everwood every time she came. Everwood cowered under their blanket and pretended not to see or hear, not even to be. They thought how funny it was that Rex would dote on them so faithfully; they certainly hadn't done anything to earn it. For years they'd dumped personal traumas and rambling reminiscences on the man, as though rather than their research assistant he was actually their therapist. They'd failed to correct his bad professional habits, and he'd been given a permanent black mark on his record for it. He should have been supervising a lab of his own by now, not stuck here playing nurse-maid. They wanted to tell him these things, but even in the pleasant humidity, their throat closed up when they tried.
The early morning passed uneventfully. Alder, Elson and Popov came to visit alone or in pairs, asking after them, asking if anything had changed, asking pointless little questions about Everwood's pointless research and treating their noncommittal hisses and grunts as invaluable input. Rex put on a movie -- they hadn't noticed him wheeling in the television -- and they watched it on and off while musing that this was probably their life now, the end of all choices and opportunities, the pass that would not pass. Soon they would be responsible for nothing, and no-one. Beetles don't live very long.
But it was difficult to focus on these maudlin things, because a steady stream of visitors came and went through the little dorm room. First was May Waters and Chidi Gueye from the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6467 Dungeons & Dragons game] they used to DM, who tidied up the room a little and changed Everwood's blanket -- a tricky procedure, as they would not allow their buggy bulk to be even a little exposed at any time. Then there was [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/seven-days-with-mr-fish Mr. Fish], who sat with them for a few hours and gently pried out the few complaints they were willing to part with regarding their new and permanent condition. The flounder-faced Little Mister warbled empathetic condolences, and Everwood waited with petulant impatience for him to begin negatively comparing their troubles to his own. He never did, and this made them feel both much better and much worse.
After that, on the third day, a veritable workgroup arrived to take up residence in the room. [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/spread-the-word Nhung Ngo], [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/aces-deuces Ethel Kursh] and [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/act-your-age Karen Elstrom], three acquaintances who lived and worked absolutely nowhere near Site-55 in Boston, Massachusetts, set up little workstations at posts around the room and began a flurry of administrative activity by no means natural to this setting. They were doing their usual jobs in a very unusual place, and acting as though there was nothing at all unusual about this. They arranged themselves in such a way that their conversations passed over Everwood's blanketed hump, so that the beetle in the room was implicitly involved in every single turn of phrase. When Everwood chanced the occasional peek out at this strange party, it never failed that Rex or Elson would ask after their needs, or Alder would seek to be apprised of any changes, or the occasional newcomer would have solicitous inquiries or approving comments to make whilst helping the throng with whatever they were doing. Elstrom found a Certificate of Appreciation with Everwood's face on it, from back before they'd been a beetle, and hung it up on the far wall, off centre so Everwood could look at it without having to strain to see over themself. Kursh brought scented candles. Ngo simply hummed; there was something preternaturally calming about the way she hummed.
In the evening, Everwood awoke to find a soft, sweet-smelling [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fanfa blanket] draped over their deflating abdomen. They hadn't set eyes on it in years, and then it had been filthy. They'd never mentioned it to anyone but Rex, had socked it away where they were sure it could not be found, and yet... there it was. Clean and fresh. Their assistant looked away with an embarrassed, but obviously pleased smile as they dragged it under the covers and held it close to their heaving body.
The following morning, there was mail: best wishes for a swift recovery from both Dr. Wondertainment and, to general shock and bewilderment, Professor Funtastic; a signed Get Well Soon card from Site-34, with Everwood's own signature already paradoxically present; an information sheet detailing the present status, whereabouts and disposition of an [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/robin old friend] long since left Foundation employ with an amnesticize-and-resituate package. A weight they hadn't realized they'd been carrying for years became just the slightest bit lighter, the big blanket sank down a few centimetres lower, and as they pored over the details and the chatter around them ebbed and flowed, they addressed the room at large for the very first time.
"Got any work //I// could do?"
----
[[=]]
**III**
[[/=]]
It had been a week since Everwood had found themself changed on the cusp of a new day. They were sitting now in an enclosure at Wilson's Wildlife Solutions in Oregon, soaking up sunshine and watching the anomalous creatures at play. [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-654 Faeowynn Wilson] waved at them cheerfully in the distance. Everwood waved back, forgetting to be tired, forgetting to be sad, forgetting for the moment and at least a little while after even to be a beetle.
They watched as a familiar hippopotamus laboured unsuccessfully to haul its rippling ball of fat up onto an otherwise promising sunning rock. A dozen uncharitable assessments and unkind epithets flowed into and out of Everwood's mind, but they held on to none of them. [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/critter-profile-chuck Chuck] wasn't so bad. Really, he was doing his best.
----
[[div]]
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
[[<]]
This work of fiction is inspired by, and contains thematic elements from, //The Metamorphosis// by Franz Kafka (1915), in the public domain.
[[/<]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
|
2024-05-16T23:06:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"art-exchange",
"doctor-elstrom",
"doctor-everwood",
"faeowynn-wilson",
"heartwarming",
"mr-fish",
"researcher-rex",
"tale",
"wilsons-wildlife"
] |
Metamorphosis, or, That One Time Dr. Everwood Got Turned Into A Beetle - SCP Foundation
| 42
|
[
"secure-facility-dossier-site-55",
"scp-5057",
"scp-6157",
"scp-6467",
"seven-days-with-mr-fish",
"spread-the-word",
"aces-deuces",
"act-your-age",
"fanfa",
"robin",
"scp-654",
"critter-profile-chuck",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"wilson-s-wildlife-solutions-hub",
"secure-facility-dossier-site-55"
] |
[] |
1453678026
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/metamorphosis-or
|
|
migrating-the-minefield
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:90%;"><strong>« <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/prowess-pissant">Previous Tale</a> | <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swords-unto-scramjets">Swords unto Scramjets</a> | <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/what-seamstress-lacks-steel">Next Tale</a> »</strong></span></p>
</div>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>FROM:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">lanretni.noitadnuof.ftm|nosevim.n#lanretni.noitadnuof.ftm|nosevim.n</span><br/>
<strong>TO:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|3nniuq.g#lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|3nniuq.g</span><br/>
<strong>CC:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|derahs.xobni-gnitroper#lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|derahs.xobni-gnitroper</span>; <span class="wiki-email">lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|koorb.p#lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|koorb.p</span>; <span class="wiki-email">lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|7zelaznog.j#lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|7zelaznog.j</span>; (45 additional addresses hidden)<br/>
<strong>SUBJECT:</strong> Re: Bad news from the elf pit</p>
<hr/>
<p>Greg,</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>BLUF:</strong> Communications on the line to DSU#31 are up 600% over the past 48 hours. Power players are agitated but the message is muddled. Best guess: some MIA/KIA personnel are no longer MIA/KIA and causing problems for important people. <span style="text-decoration: underline;">DSU committee decisions are necessary by the 25th.</span></p>
</blockquote>
<p>We can't avoid sending an out-of-cycle report upstream at this point. It needs to be processed by our trio ASAP for the JMTFAC to handle during their mid-level conference on the 30th. There is no other way to get timely approval for insertion through a gap, and that's where this leads as far as I can tell.</p>
<p>Analysts are still digging for details (deciding what transmits is its own courtly game), but the picture has clarified since yesterday: there is high-level belief across states that we have a new presence in Cherinmark. Reports vary between one stray (specifically FID#990941, KIA), a group adopting her issued moniker ("Mealworm"), or a full operation that is causing chaos. It obviously isn't the last option unless we've been sidelined. Some messages explicitly state, and some merely imply, that letting this linger will empower radical elements who want back onto Earth for all their usual reasons.</p>
<p>As if we needed extra variables, some reports mention SCP-7636-13 being loose again. I don't want "radical elements" <em>or</em> the GOC getting their hands on that thing after the angst losing it brought down from on high. With Alpha-85 disbanded in all but name (recall my report on atrophy), we need JMTFAC authorization and resources to scale this action for speed, stealth, and efficiency. Pull OPLAN 16 from the DSU#31 binder for reference.</p>
<p>Considering how acrimonious the exit was, I don't think they would invite us back unless serious fires burned behind this smoke.</p>
<p>- Mives</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>"I didn't do it for any of you," said Mealworm beneath the clouds' seepage. Cherinmark was wet as ever after leaving the Cairn with little more than a word for Kieh Teh Kor Rang. What thanks were there to offer? He had eased one burden, true, but managed to saddle her with yet another magical sword in the process. Quests, questblades, none of it suited her.</p>
<p>Another of those shaggy nightwalkers loitered beneath where her feet dangled off the edge of one stone spire among the many that formed Cherin's Hubris. Its asymmetric constellation of eyes shone with the same long-trapped moonlight as all its kin, blinking in twos and threes as raindrops landed on matted black fur that absorbed what little illumination existed in those lands. From her perch, Mealworm could see hints of everburning braziers whose highways had been swept away long ago and luminescent bulbs that throbbed beneath the treeline; beyond those, a warm glow, lost in haze, marked where Unceda squeezed its civic mass through that valley.</p>
<p>Residual stim lingered within her skull even then, lining old fractures and older plugs—dredged by the ghast that mirrored its wielder's most potent self. This wasn't the heady stuff of dominance though. Sometimes to <em>know</em> was to stare down intrusive thoughts, unblinking, unflinching, even as their presence corroded and contorted. Sometimes it was to feel her ideal self drifting out of reach, ever more touched by this place that should have been a mere setpiece for proxies moved to and fro by knowing hands. Being treated as anything but an invader, a duplicitous outsider, proved that the last ten years were more poisonous than any drink offered in the crypt city above.</p>
<p>"Planning to leave you all behind, actually."</p>
<p>The titan howled at her, sound reaching resonant pitch with metal stakes pounded into the mountain by ancient hands wielding older hammers toward uncertain purpose. Everything hummed, everything trembled, all as Mealworm's brain sifted for meaning.</p>
<p>"I'm not a fawn, and I can survive a few hunts too. Cherinmark doesn't need any more blood it didn't let itself."</p>
<p>A bellow driven by tripartite diaphragms.</p>
<p>"One of you would eat me eventually, and even if I stayed, we don't live for centuries where I'm from. What's the point of having company that barely lasts a blink?"</p>
<p>A keening echo that reverberated in distant throats.</p>
<p>"Yeah, the forest must be good company. Or maybe these mountains? The sea for sure, that's a scale suiting something like you."</p>
<p>A wail that carried saltwater on musky breath, each sip taken so long ago that the whales and serpents who shared it were relegated to sea snow—flesh stripped, bones eroded, until only treasures sealed in ambergris marked their graveyards. Sand between double-cloven hoofs and tongues sliding through seaweed knots. Such was the absence of a drink last tasted before mankind claimed the shore, so potent that even Mealworm could perceive it.</p>
<p>"That bad, huh? And probably too many humans to eat before they'll let you through." She watched its blue-stained tongue loll between teeth suited to crushing anything and everything without worry. Iron plate. Ceramic composites. Reactive armor. "You don't actually <em>need</em> to swallow whatever you kill. Could've left me with something from my squad to bury."</p>
<p>Considering her height, it was the first time anything had looked up at Mealworm with such pure eyes, each radiating admiration, anticipation, and such innocent fascination that it was hard not to laugh. No strays had ever lingered long on the aircraft carrier while growing up, and none had ears flit so freely. Trees toppled beneath near-silent tramping. Cherinmark shifted as hundreds of other eyes in night's darkest patches turned toward her perch. Which behemoth had been the one to trod overhead, to intrude upon her cave, to nearly consume her years before? Well, if she could overlook Aster's affiliations, she could overlook that too. After stripping every bit of company from her, there was no reason to exit these hungry lands alone.</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>FROM</strong> <span class="wiki-email">lanretni.noitadnuof.ftm|nosevim.n#lanretni.noitadnuof.ftm|nosevim.n</span><br/>
<strong>TO:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|3nniuq.g#lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|3nniuq.g</span><br/>
<strong>SUBJECT:</strong> Fw: Re: FD-532 for Operation BIRCH CREEK</p>
<hr/>
<p><tt>Attachment: FD-532 Signed_Countersigned_Final_v3.pdf</tt></p>
<p>Greg,</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>BLUF:</strong> You need to call Kurt Jackson and/or pull any threads you have in direct OVCOM to squash our new dispatch (see attached).</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Bad news: the request hit JMTFAC at just the right time to catch their attention, but only because they're in another fight with doves on the Ethics Committee and want to flex. Instead of getting folks from another DSU team, or even just NSRE certification and some cultural flexibility, they're sticking us with Nu-54 plus all the equipment they drag along. This does <em>not</em> meet described mission needs. Call Kurt!</p>
<p>They dusted off plans for DSU#14 (similar gap dynamics, otherwise unrelated) that give no consideration to far-side geopolitics or capabilities, let alone natural challenges. I have <em>no confidence</em> any Nu-54 boots are prepared to operate without SATNAV or star trackers in unmappable terrain. I have <em>no confidence</em> in their equipment's ability to penetrate mixed A3/AD with armies already in the field. I have <em>no confidence</em> they are prepared to work around any of the "adventurers" we marked as high risk (try explaining Mirin the Maw's particularities to Nu-54 leadership though).</p>
<p>Nobody will even have the second round of inoculations under this timeframe. They are going to get caught, and in doing so, are going to ignite the whole continent again.</p>
<p>- Mives</p>
</blockquote>
<hr/>
<p>It took some maneuvering to stay atop the tallest behemoth in that herd's head as it strode from deepest Cherinmark. Fires burned orange on green on black in the distance, now freed from thickest haze—not only campfires in the middle ring of wild territories, but those sparked by magic and machines, by all-consuming defoliants that spared little its heated lick. Then there was the occasional patter of minefields, the drumbeat of artillery, the thunder of larger munitions that states hoarded for special targets. All throughout, drakes braved skies filled with chaff and tracers, not to mention lightning bound by wizards' gilded teeth and serpents summoned from the overgrowth. Gregor's clever maneuver had clearly metastasized into far more violence than any one army could hope to exploit.</p>
<p>And for what? There simmered no discordant philosophies, no true divergence in how to value a life or measure its merits, only snapping and snarling to reinforce the status quo. Not like how the Foundation was forced to fight against fools who thought they could dispose of mysteries without solving them or that surrendering to strange currents was the surest way to survive. Mealworm ran one hand through a particularly thick tuft of fur as her steed turned its head, neck sinuous and serpentine, in pursuit of whatever path its ancestors followed to the shore. Her wars were different than these royal spats, as were her grudges. They had to be.</p>
<p>Antlers on either side of her perch vibrated throughout their slow, steady journey over cliffs and rapids-made-creeks. Electronic warfare had been among the last schools of wizardry transmitted from beyond, an anti-magic designed to drag combatants back into mud only after being allowed to soar. Some marrow-borne mechanism turned these crowns into antennae, capturing noise broadcast from geothermal taps scattered across mountainsides. Mealworm hummed along to the music formed at its junctures. Her mount approximated it in rumbles too, and soon a roar echoed across the landscape that dwarfed the loudest sonic weapons. All the more reason for stragglers to flee their path.</p>
<p>For all the far-flung noises adopted from Earth's soundscape, there was plenty of the traditional combat that so many still cherished. Bastions where a handful of skilled warriors held off greater numbers of conscripts. Clearings thick with bodies writhing beneath pollen weapons or having succumbed already. Mixed cliques of adventurers brandished as royal assets in the manner that ever justified their nurturing—hurling spells, absorbing punishment, working to outpace counterparts' elixirs and magicks before their own ran dry. The sight from on-high was far removed from her norm. Where Mealworm had once flitted, others now gaped skyward, apparently unable to comprehend the scale on display. And, indeed, those that gaped too long were crushed underhoof, never to join the ossuaries formed within each gut. What else could they manage against the terror birthed by Cherinmark's night? Swords and halberds meant nothing to those forms; they showed no concern for arrows flaming or otherwise, nor for bullets of any caliber. One might as well have tried maiming the land itself.</p>
<p>Only after spotting a downed helicopter near the outer ring did Mealworm attempt to direct the migration's path. Something had blown a hole in its tail—probably Fort Jesslen's battery, maintained by an unusually isolationist lineage, though anyone with half a brain would have known not to fly nearby even after secreting away a QILIN. Only, its profile was wrong for any -3 operated by Foundation advisors prior to the Banner Burning. Too sleek. Too modern. The detachment holding its perimeter was laden with unfamiliar equipment over familiar gray-on-green uniforms too. Perhaps sensing her squint, the behemoth beneath leaned down, neck tracing an uneven route until she stood a few dozen yards overhead with a hand balancing against one antler.</p>
<p>"Hey!" she shouted down at bewildered faces who had failed to recognize the herd's approach until it was too late. "Who are you, and where's your GECOM? Cherinmark hasn't allowed overflight for years!"</p>
<p>Muzzles swung toward her, drawing a snort from mount and rider both. Although a bearded man near the fore waved for his soldiers to settle, only a few barrels lowered while he flipped through a booklet Mealworm couldn't help but recognize. Most of Alpha-85 had discarded their field manuals after weeks in terrain it barely managed to sketch for readers, let alone guide through.</p>
<p>"Prithee, heed us not," he said in the common tongue. An earpiece no doubt whispered most of the translation, butchered as it was. "We tread paths in peace and seek private quarry. As strangers, let us–"</p>
<p>"And that phrasebook isn't even close to useful. Besides whoever your GECOM is, what rock have you been hiding under?" The residue lingering in her skull's crevices picked apart their every motion, every fidget, charting confusion with a clarity that penetrated her own. What other answer would they have for a stranger clad in the layered, loose-flowing garb that had become popular among adventurers? One whose bastard sword was slung across her back without any hint of round or rifle in sight. "No, no, I'm from Alpha-85! 'Mendicants and Moonlighters,' 'walk only in others' footsteps…' all that and why the Black Moon howls too! I'm with the Foundation!"</p>
<p>He flipped through a few more pages in his booklet despite this situation clearly being beyond its remit. "Mealworm? Foundation ID?"</p>
<p>"Yes! 990941."</p>
<p>"We're here to extract you. Where is the rest of your team?"</p>
<p>She glanced around as other members of the herd bent down to examine the clearing. Their presence, if not falling strings of drool, clearly unnerved the soldiers to no end, but it was the assumptions crystallized in their goal that gave greatest pause. "Extraction to where? I'm not setting foot near Allaingar right now, and you probably shouldn't either."</p>
<p>"Orders are for you to come with us through Rift 31-09, plus anyone else you've been fighting with. Nobody is in trouble, but your op is causing too much noise for diplomats to keep the peace."</p>
<p>"What op, and what noise? Is this about the guilds I thrashed up there?" Laughter caught in the back of her throat, instead expressed by nickering from the many-horned, many-eyed shadows now surrounding the encampment. "<em>That's</em> all it takes to get another gap opened from our side!?"</p>
<p>"I wouldn't be thrilled about a retreat leaving me behind either. You were marked KIA on the rolls, obviously a mistake now, but leadership is investing real effort into bringing you home. They care about this. There are four more–"</p>
<p>"No, no, no, that's not nearly enough."</p>
<p>"We might have to ditch some gear before hiking to the exfil point, but it should be straightforward. We can move as soon as TACRAD comes online."</p>
<p>"You won't get usable… and you want to hike out of…? At night?" On she sputtered, but it went unnoticed as some of the soldiers below began piling together heavier pieces of kit that were worth a fortune back home, let alone in this place where their use had never been permitted. All the better to better hide the Foundation's capabilities from would-be allies and so-called enemies. Oh, what Alpha-85 could have accomplished with better night vision, better IR, better vehicles, better armor, better <em>bullets</em>.</p>
<p>Her steed reared back a little as Mealworm stepped onto its snout, looming over them with cloak aflutter on the spring breeze, distant fires barely illuminating her shadow atop that greater shade. "You're all going to need much, much more to bring me back. Especially if the GOC hears about this crash through their channels."</p>
<p>"It won't be a problem," said the leader as though his helicopter wasn't beyond field repair. "We prepared for this contingency."</p>
<p>"Did you? Or did you get put through a few drills after a few inoculations until someone up high decided it was good enough?"</p>
<p>"I respect your worries, but this is a full and proper deployment. Everything is under control."</p>
<p>"And I don't want to be worried! They're risking your lives for someone who barely matters when there's an entire world to win. A world with our battlefields, and bones, and, and…"</p>
<p>"We don't want to drag you back home," he said while she fumbled for words, neck craning at the same angle as a few rifle barrels that rose again. "This isn't up for discussion though, it's an obligation."</p>
<p>"I've got exactly one obligation right now, and it's to everyone who fought for the Foundation's victory! We didn't kill and die here just so bureaucrats could wash their hands of the battle like nothing happened! There should be more of us here, more of them here, and more fighting that doesn't rely on <em>magic swords</em>!" For every tooth Mealworm snarled with, countless more were exposed on every side. Cuspids, molars, configurations with no human analogue, they all conveyed hostility just as well. "When you get debriefed, tell them they'll need an entire army to drag me back. The screech line is about to sound a whole lot screechier otherwise."</p>
<p>No gunfire sounded as she rose skyward again. At least someone in the Foundation had sense left, sparing themselves a trampling under hoofs that continued treading toward a horizon tinged pink. Her steed's grousing managed to sound comforting and concerned at the same time, and she ran a hand through damp fur again. "I'm fine. It's all fine. Let's get that drink before the excitement really starts."</p>
<p>Thus they went, crossing a final set of ruins where some adventuring party was blearily emerging into a much different day than whichever they left. Over marshlands at Cherinmark's border. Over rolling hills and the farmland that had begun encroaching upon them. Past villages and greater cities whose defenders had no recourse for that intrusion, no means of stopping grazing from treetops or on occasional cattle. Minor dams burst in passage. Larger bridges crumbled. All the while, Mealworm hummed the tune parsed from jamming signals, a hymn for fighting soon to come.</p>
<hr/>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>FROM</strong> <span class="wiki-email">lanretni.noitadnuof.ftm|nosevim.n#lanretni.noitadnuof.ftm|nosevim.n</span><br/>
<strong>TO:</strong> <span class="wiki-email">lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|3nniuq.g#lanretni.noitadnuof.cotd|3nniuq.g</span><br/>
<strong>SUBJECT:</strong> More bad news from the elf pit</p>
<hr/>
<p>Greg,</p>
<p>No BLUF needed this time: SIGINT, IMINT, and all the other INTs anyone could want show relevant GOC elements preparing for reentry. This is about to leave our hands very quickly.</p>
<p>If the briefing at 1600 turns more serious than expected, it's been good working with you.</p>
<p>- Mives</p>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:90%;"><strong>« <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/prowess-pissant">Previous Tale</a> | <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swords-unto-scramjets">Swords unto Scramjets</a> | <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/what-seamstress-lacks-steel">Next Tale</a> »</strong></span></p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/migrating-the-minefield">Migrating the Minefield</a>" by Pedantique, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/migrating-the-minefield">https://scpwiki.com/migrating-the-minefield</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[=]]
[[span style="font-size:90%;"]]**<< [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/prowess-pissant Previous Tale] | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swords-unto-scramjets Swords unto Scramjets] | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/what-seamstress-lacks-steel Next Tale] >>**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
> **FROM:** [email protected]
> **TO:** [email protected]
> **CC:** [email protected]; [email protected]; [email protected]; (45 additional addresses hidden)
> **SUBJECT:** Re: Bad news from the elf pit
>
> ------
>
> Greg,
>
>> **BLUF:** Communications on the line to DSU#31 are up 600% over the past 48 hours. Power players are agitated but the message is muddled. Best guess: some MIA/KIA personnel are no longer MIA/KIA and causing problems for important people. __DSU committee decisions are necessary by the 25th.__
>
> We can't avoid sending an out-of-cycle report upstream at this point. It needs to be processed by our trio ASAP for the JMTFAC to handle during their mid-level conference on the 30th. There is no other way to get timely approval for insertion through a gap, and that's where this leads as far as I can tell.
>
> Analysts are still digging for details (deciding what transmits is its own courtly game), but the picture has clarified since yesterday: there is high-level belief across states that we have a new presence in Cherinmark. Reports vary between one stray (specifically FID#990941, KIA), a group adopting her issued moniker ("Mealworm"), or a full operation that is causing chaos. It obviously isn't the last option unless we've been sidelined. Some messages explicitly state, and some merely imply, that letting this linger will empower radical elements who want back onto Earth for all their usual reasons.
>
> As if we needed extra variables, some reports mention SCP-7636-13 being loose again. I don't want "radical elements" //or// the GOC getting their hands on that thing after the angst losing it brought down from on high. With Alpha-85 disbanded in all but name (recall my report on atrophy), we need JMTFAC authorization and resources to scale this action for speed, stealth, and efficiency. Pull OPLAN 16 from the DSU#31 binder for reference.
>
> Considering how acrimonious the exit was, I don't think they would invite us back unless serious fires burned behind this smoke.
>
> - Mives
------
"I didn't do it for any of you," said Mealworm beneath the clouds' seepage. Cherinmark was wet as ever after leaving the Cairn with little more than a word for Kieh Teh Kor Rang. What thanks were there to offer? He had eased one burden, true, but managed to saddle her with yet another magical sword in the process. Quests, questblades, none of it suited her.
Another of those shaggy nightwalkers loitered beneath where her feet dangled off the edge of one stone spire among the many that formed Cherin's Hubris. Its asymmetric constellation of eyes shone with the same long-trapped moonlight as all its kin, blinking in twos and threes as raindrops landed on matted black fur that absorbed what little illumination existed in those lands. From her perch, Mealworm could see hints of everburning braziers whose highways had been swept away long ago and luminescent bulbs that throbbed beneath the treeline; beyond those, a warm glow, lost in haze, marked where Unceda squeezed its civic mass through that valley.
Residual stim lingered within her skull even then, lining old fractures and older plugs—dredged by the ghast that mirrored its wielder's most potent self. This wasn't the heady stuff of dominance though. Sometimes to //know// was to stare down intrusive thoughts, unblinking, unflinching, even as their presence corroded and contorted. Sometimes it was to feel her ideal self drifting out of reach, ever more touched by this place that should have been a mere setpiece for proxies moved to and fro by knowing hands. Being treated as anything but an invader, a duplicitous outsider, proved that the last ten years were more poisonous than any drink offered in the crypt city above.
"Planning to leave you all behind, actually."
The titan howled at her, sound reaching resonant pitch with metal stakes pounded into the mountain by ancient hands wielding older hammers toward uncertain purpose. Everything hummed, everything trembled, all as Mealworm's brain sifted for meaning.
"I'm not a fawn, and I can survive a few hunts too. Cherinmark doesn't need any more blood it didn't let itself."
A bellow driven by tripartite diaphragms.
"One of you would eat me eventually, and even if I stayed, we don't live for centuries where I'm from. What's the point of having company that barely lasts a blink?"
A keening echo that reverberated in distant throats.
"Yeah, the forest must be good company. Or maybe these mountains? The sea for sure, that's a scale suiting something like you."
A wail that carried saltwater on musky breath, each sip taken so long ago that the whales and serpents who shared it were relegated to sea snow—flesh stripped, bones eroded, until only treasures sealed in ambergris marked their graveyards. Sand between double-cloven hoofs and tongues sliding through seaweed knots. Such was the absence of a drink last tasted before mankind claimed the shore, so potent that even Mealworm could perceive it.
"That bad, huh? And probably too many humans to eat before they'll let you through." She watched its blue-stained tongue loll between teeth suited to crushing anything and everything without worry. Iron plate. Ceramic composites. Reactive armor. "You don't actually //need// to swallow whatever you kill. Could've left me with something from my squad to bury."
Considering her height, it was the first time anything had looked up at Mealworm with such pure eyes, each radiating admiration, anticipation, and such innocent fascination that it was hard not to laugh. No strays had ever lingered long on the aircraft carrier while growing up, and none had ears flit so freely. Trees toppled beneath near-silent tramping. Cherinmark shifted as hundreds of other eyes in night's darkest patches turned toward her perch. Which behemoth had been the one to trod overhead, to intrude upon her cave, to nearly consume her years before? Well, if she could overlook Aster's affiliations, she could overlook that too. After stripping every bit of company from her, there was no reason to exit these hungry lands alone.
-----
> **FROM** [email protected]
> **TO:** [email protected]
> **SUBJECT:** Fw: Re: FD-532 for Operation BIRCH CREEK
>
> ------
>
> {{Attachment: FD-532 Signed_Countersigned_Final_v3.pdf}}
>
> Greg,
>
>> **BLUF:** You need to call Kurt Jackson and/or pull any threads you have in direct OVCOM to squash our new dispatch (see attached).
>
> Bad news: the request hit JMTFAC at just the right time to catch their attention, but only because they're in another fight with doves on the Ethics Committee and want to flex. Instead of getting folks from another DSU team, or even just NSRE certification and some cultural flexibility, they're sticking us with Nu-54 plus all the equipment they drag along. This does //not// meet described mission needs. Call Kurt!
>
> They dusted off plans for DSU#14 (similar gap dynamics, otherwise unrelated) that give no consideration to far-side geopolitics or capabilities, let alone natural challenges. I have //no confidence// any Nu-54 boots are prepared to operate without SATNAV or star trackers in unmappable terrain. I have //no confidence// in their equipment's ability to penetrate mixed A3/AD with armies already in the field. I have //no confidence// they are prepared to work around any of the "adventurers" we marked as high risk (try explaining Mirin the Maw's particularities to Nu-54 leadership though).
>
> Nobody will even have the second round of inoculations under this timeframe. They are going to get caught, and in doing so, are going to ignite the whole continent again.
>
> - Mives
-----
It took some maneuvering to stay atop the tallest behemoth in that herd's head as it strode from deepest Cherinmark. Fires burned orange on green on black in the distance, now freed from thickest haze—not only campfires in the middle ring of wild territories, but those sparked by magic and machines, by all-consuming defoliants that spared little its heated lick. Then there was the occasional patter of minefields, the drumbeat of artillery, the thunder of larger munitions that states hoarded for special targets. All throughout, drakes braved skies filled with chaff and tracers, not to mention lightning bound by wizards' gilded teeth and serpents summoned from the overgrowth. Gregor's clever maneuver had clearly metastasized into far more violence than any one army could hope to exploit.
And for what? There simmered no discordant philosophies, no true divergence in how to value a life or measure its merits, only snapping and snarling to reinforce the status quo. Not like how the Foundation was forced to fight against fools who thought they could dispose of mysteries without solving them or that surrendering to strange currents was the surest way to survive. Mealworm ran one hand through a particularly thick tuft of fur as her steed turned its head, neck sinuous and serpentine, in pursuit of whatever path its ancestors followed to the shore. Her wars were different than these royal spats, as were her grudges. They had to be.
Antlers on either side of her perch vibrated throughout their slow, steady journey over cliffs and rapids-made-creeks. Electronic warfare had been among the last schools of wizardry transmitted from beyond, an anti-magic designed to drag combatants back into mud only after being allowed to soar. Some marrow-borne mechanism turned these crowns into antennae, capturing noise broadcast from geothermal taps scattered across mountainsides. Mealworm hummed along to the music formed at its junctures. Her mount approximated it in rumbles too, and soon a roar echoed across the landscape that dwarfed the loudest sonic weapons. All the more reason for stragglers to flee their path.
For all the far-flung noises adopted from Earth's soundscape, there was plenty of the traditional combat that so many still cherished. Bastions where a handful of skilled warriors held off greater numbers of conscripts. Clearings thick with bodies writhing beneath pollen weapons or having succumbed already. Mixed cliques of adventurers brandished as royal assets in the manner that ever justified their nurturing—hurling spells, absorbing punishment, working to outpace counterparts' elixirs and magicks before their own ran dry. The sight from on-high was far removed from her norm. Where Mealworm had once flitted, others now gaped skyward, apparently unable to comprehend the scale on display. And, indeed, those that gaped too long were crushed underhoof, never to join the ossuaries formed within each gut. What else could they manage against the terror birthed by Cherinmark's night? Swords and halberds meant nothing to those forms; they showed no concern for arrows flaming or otherwise, nor for bullets of any caliber. One might as well have tried maiming the land itself.
Only after spotting a downed helicopter near the outer ring did Mealworm attempt to direct the migration's path. Something had blown a hole in its tail—probably Fort Jesslen's battery, maintained by an unusually isolationist lineage, though anyone with half a brain would have known not to fly nearby even after secreting away a QILIN. Only, its profile was wrong for any -3 operated by Foundation advisors prior to the Banner Burning. Too sleek. Too modern. The detachment holding its perimeter was laden with unfamiliar equipment over familiar gray-on-green uniforms too. Perhaps sensing her squint, the behemoth beneath leaned down, neck tracing an uneven route until she stood a few dozen yards overhead with a hand balancing against one antler.
"Hey!" she shouted down at bewildered faces who had failed to recognize the herd's approach until it was too late. "Who are you, and where's your GECOM? Cherinmark hasn't allowed overflight for years!"
Muzzles swung toward her, drawing a snort from mount and rider both. Although a bearded man near the fore waved for his soldiers to settle, only a few barrels lowered while he flipped through a booklet Mealworm couldn't help but recognize. Most of Alpha-85 had discarded their field manuals after weeks in terrain it barely managed to sketch for readers, let alone guide through.
"Prithee, heed us not," he said in the common tongue. An earpiece no doubt whispered most of the translation, butchered as it was. "We tread paths in peace and seek private quarry. As strangers, let us–"
"And that phrasebook isn't even close to useful. Besides whoever your GECOM is, what rock have you been hiding under?" The residue lingering in her skull's crevices picked apart their every motion, every fidget, charting confusion with a clarity that penetrated her own. What other answer would they have for a stranger clad in the layered, loose-flowing garb that had become popular among adventurers? One whose bastard sword was slung across her back without any hint of round or rifle in sight. "No, no, I'm from Alpha-85! 'Mendicants and Moonlighters,' 'walk only in others' footsteps...' all that and why the Black Moon howls too! I'm with the Foundation!"
He flipped through a few more pages in his booklet despite this situation clearly being beyond its remit. "Mealworm? Foundation ID?"
"Yes! 990941."
"We're here to extract you. Where is the rest of your team?"
She glanced around as other members of the herd bent down to examine the clearing. Their presence, if not falling strings of drool, clearly unnerved the soldiers to no end, but it was the assumptions crystallized in their goal that gave greatest pause. "Extraction to where? I'm not setting foot near Allaingar right now, and you probably shouldn't either."
"Orders are for you to come with us through Rift 31-09, plus anyone else you've been fighting with. Nobody is in trouble, but your op is causing too much noise for diplomats to keep the peace."
"What op, and what noise? Is this about the guilds I thrashed up there?" Laughter caught in the back of her throat, instead expressed by nickering from the many-horned, many-eyed shadows now surrounding the encampment. "//That's// all it takes to get another gap opened from our side!?"
"I wouldn't be thrilled about a retreat leaving me behind either. You were marked KIA on the rolls, obviously a mistake now, but leadership is investing real effort into bringing you home. They care about this. There are four more–"
"No, no, no, that's not nearly enough."
"We might have to ditch some gear before hiking to the exfil point, but it should be straightforward. We can move as soon as TACRAD comes online."
"You won't get usable... and you want to hike out of...? At night?" On she sputtered, but it went unnoticed as some of the soldiers below began piling together heavier pieces of kit that were worth a fortune back home, let alone in this place where their use had never been permitted. All the better to better hide the Foundation's capabilities from would-be allies and so-called enemies. Oh, what Alpha-85 could have accomplished with better night vision, better IR, better vehicles, better armor, better //bullets//.
Her steed reared back a little as Mealworm stepped onto its snout, looming over them with cloak aflutter on the spring breeze, distant fires barely illuminating her shadow atop that greater shade. "You're all going to need much, much more to bring me back. Especially if the GOC hears about this crash through their channels."
"It won't be a problem," said the leader as though his helicopter wasn't beyond field repair. "We prepared for this contingency."
"Did you? Or did you get put through a few drills after a few inoculations until someone up high decided it was good enough?"
"I respect your worries, but this is a full and proper deployment. Everything is under control."
"And I don't want to be worried! They're risking your lives for someone who barely matters when there's an entire world to win. A world with our battlefields, and bones, and, and..."
"We don't want to drag you back home," he said while she fumbled for words, neck craning at the same angle as a few rifle barrels that rose again. "This isn't up for discussion though, it's an obligation."
"I've got exactly one obligation right now, and it's to everyone who fought for the Foundation's victory! We didn't kill and die here just so bureaucrats could wash their hands of the battle like nothing happened! There should be more of us here, more of them here, and more fighting that doesn't rely on //magic swords//!" For every tooth Mealworm snarled with, countless more were exposed on every side. Cuspids, molars, configurations with no human analogue, they all conveyed hostility just as well. "When you get debriefed, tell them they'll need an entire army to drag me back. The screech line is about to sound a whole lot screechier otherwise."
No gunfire sounded as she rose skyward again. At least someone in the Foundation had sense left, sparing themselves a trampling under hoofs that continued treading toward a horizon tinged pink. Her steed's grousing managed to sound comforting and concerned at the same time, and she ran a hand through damp fur again. "I'm fine. It's all fine. Let's get that drink before the excitement really starts."
Thus they went, crossing a final set of ruins where some adventuring party was blearily emerging into a much different day than whichever they left. Over marshlands at Cherinmark's border. Over rolling hills and the farmland that had begun encroaching upon them. Past villages and greater cities whose defenders had no recourse for that intrusion, no means of stopping grazing from treetops or on occasional cattle. Minor dams burst in passage. Larger bridges crumbled. All the while, Mealworm hummed the tune parsed from jamming signals, a hymn for fighting soon to come.
-----
> **FROM** [email protected]
> **TO:** [email protected]
> **SUBJECT:** More bad news from the elf pit
>
> ------
>
> Greg,
>
> No BLUF needed this time: SIGINT, IMINT, and all the other INTs anyone could want show relevant GOC elements preparing for reentry. This is about to leave our hands very quickly.
>
> If the briefing at 1600 turns more serious than expected, it's been good working with you.
>
> - Mives
[[=]]
[[span style="font-size:90%;"]]**<< [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/prowess-pissant Previous Tale] | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/swords-unto-scramjets Swords unto Scramjets] | [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/what-seamstress-lacks-steel Next Tale] >>**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-07-01T22:49:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] |
Migrating the Minefield - SCP Foundation
| 11
|
[
"prowess-pissant",
"swords-unto-scramjets",
"what-seamstress-lacks-steel",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1454349109
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/migrating-the-minefield
|
|
mmtour
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Before you beats the four-chambered heart of the world, playing the song that holds up the cosmos.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p style="text-align: center;">…</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">You are living starlight.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">A shimmering wavelength, spiraling through the void, weaving between the great rings surrounding a planet with coral-pink jungles and green oceans.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">You swoop down because it is your wish.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Though none but your own kind can see you as more than a brief glimmer stretching across the sky, across the universe, you can see everything below you. Your form descends through the warm atmosphere, rippling and eddying.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Sight is joined by touch, by scent. By a million other senses.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">But the sense that brought you here was sound, a sound that reached beyond the air that carries it. A sound that reached you in the warm bath of the sun where you were born.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">It called to you, and here you come.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Your rays first make landfall in vast strawberry-tinged meadow that seems to stretch on forever.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Odd loping creatures graze across the fields, plucking grass with their trunks as they murmur. Deep, slow bleats sound, the tremolo wavering in time with the mysterious rhythm.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">You sweep past them. Though they are a part of the song, they are not its source.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The fields dip down, yielding to the banks of a river where more animals languidly drink from its slow waters. You enjoy the way the currents of the water bend and twist your rays. You feel closer to the drumming heartbeat of this world. But you are not the only thing that plays in the garden of smoothed stones and silt. A sleek yellow shape swims beneath the surface.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">A smaller trunked creature strays from the pack, venturing deeper into the river than it should, emboldened by youth. The savage mustard-colored predator draws closer.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">A splash. Twisting bodies, an animal shout. Young blood is spilled in the water.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">This, too, is part of the song, brutal as it may be.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">You let it be, and move on, following the current.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">When you eventually leave the cool waters, you are deep in the heart of a jungle. The mosses and roots are a dark purple. Rays from the sun are filtered through countless swaying branching, causing the illumination and shade to dance in tandem. You feel drawn to the carnival of light, wanting to join your kindred photons in their delight, but you know this is not the source either.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">You pass by vines linked like chains, flowers that breathe, plant bulbs with countless glass-like layers, and thousands of other wondrous children of nature.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Animals cry out for their shade as you dart by their hiding places beneath the leaves, bathing them in your glow. The rhythm is stronger, closer to the ground.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Beneath the ground.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">You are a sun king, an empyrean being of energy. You consist of far more than just mere light. You condense your will into the minute, ghostly neutrinos that whirl through you, and dive down.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">You phase through strata after strata, weaving a long and winding road as you follow the sound. It grows stronger by the second. The different strands come together as you near the source, blending together into something far more potent than any of them alone.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Onwards. Almost there.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">You break into an open space.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Before you beats the four-chambered heart of the world, playing the song that holds up the cosmos.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">It is wondrous in ways that cannot be described. And it knows you are there. It greets you, each of you exchanging your warmth with each other.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">You offer it colors and rays that cannot be found at the center of the world, provoking a beautiful swell in the music. The heart pumps molten joy.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">It tells you its name. Its four names, one for each chamber.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">…</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6862">George, John, Paul and Ringo.</a></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=Before you beats the four-chambered heart of the world, playing the song that holds up the cosmos.]]
=====
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
= ...
@@ @@
= You are living starlight.
= A shimmering wavelength, spiraling through the void, weaving between the great rings surrounding a planet with coral-pink jungles and green oceans.
= You swoop down because it is your wish.
@@ @@
= Though none but your own kind can see you as more than a brief glimmer stretching across the sky, across the universe, you can see everything below you. Your form descends through the warm atmosphere, rippling and eddying.
= Sight is joined by touch, by scent. By a million other senses.
= But the sense that brought you here was sound, a sound that reached beyond the air that carries it. A sound that reached you in the warm bath of the sun where you were born.
= It called to you, and here you come.
@@ @@
= Your rays first make landfall in vast strawberry-tinged meadow that seems to stretch on forever.
= Odd loping creatures graze across the fields, plucking grass with their trunks as they murmur. Deep, slow bleats sound, the tremolo wavering in time with the mysterious rhythm.
= You sweep past them. Though they are a part of the song, they are not its source.
@@ @@
= The fields dip down, yielding to the banks of a river where more animals languidly drink from its slow waters. You enjoy the way the currents of the water bend and twist your rays. You feel closer to the drumming heartbeat of this world. But you are not the only thing that plays in the garden of smoothed stones and silt. A sleek yellow shape swims beneath the surface.
= A smaller trunked creature strays from the pack, venturing deeper into the river than it should, emboldened by youth. The savage mustard-colored predator draws closer.
= A splash. Twisting bodies, an animal shout. Young blood is spilled in the water.
= This, too, is part of the song, brutal as it may be.
= You let it be, and move on, following the current.
@@ @@
= When you eventually leave the cool waters, you are deep in the heart of a jungle. The mosses and roots are a dark purple. Rays from the sun are filtered through countless swaying branching, causing the illumination and shade to dance in tandem. You feel drawn to the carnival of light, wanting to join your kindred photons in their delight, but you know this is not the source either.
= You pass by vines linked like chains, flowers that breathe, plant bulbs with countless glass-like layers, and thousands of other wondrous children of nature.
= Animals cry out for their shade as you dart by their hiding places beneath the leaves, bathing them in your glow. The rhythm is stronger, closer to the ground.
= Beneath the ground.
= You are a sun king, an empyrean being of energy. You consist of far more than just mere light. You condense your will into the minute, ghostly neutrinos that whirl through you, and dive down.
@@ @@
= You phase through strata after strata, weaving a long and winding road as you follow the sound. It grows stronger by the second. The different strands come together as you near the source, blending together into something far more potent than any of them alone.
= Onwards. Almost there.
@@ @@
= You break into an open space.
@@ @@
= Before you beats the four-chambered heart of the world, playing the song that holds up the cosmos.
= It is wondrous in ways that cannot be described. And it knows you are there. It greets you, each of you exchanging your warmth with each other.
= You offer it colors and rays that cannot be found at the center of the world, provoking a beautiful swell in the music. The heart pumps molten joy.
= It tells you its name. Its four names, one for each chamber.
@@ @@
= ...
@@ @@
= [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6862 George, John, Paul and Ringo.]
@@ @@
|
2024-12-28T16:41:00
|
[
"art-exchange",
"no-dialogue",
"otherworldly",
"tale"
] |
Magical Mystery Tour - SCP Foundation
| 5
|
[
"scp-6862"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"news"
] |
[] |
1458143992
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/mmtour
|
|
moonlight
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/component%3Abhl-dark-sidebar/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aextra-black-highlighter-theme/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>In the morning, all that is left will be her body.</p>
<p>She woke up wheezing, dying, finally unearthing herself for the first time in a millennium.</p>
<p>She was buried thousands of years ago, she was a witch, a horrible beast that they were afraid of.</p>
<p>Sealed away in stone and plunged deep into the earth, she spent every waking moment biting and clawing at her tomb.</p>
<p>The dirt has been wedged deep in her fingers, the stone has been implanted into her skin.</p>
<p>Every second,</p>
<p>Every day,</p>
<p>She became one with the soil beneath and above her.</p>
<p>Her body grew weaker, it ached more and more.</p>
<p>But now, she was free.</p>
<p>That was all that mattered for her.</p>
<p>She looked upon the land, too weak to move any further.</p>
<p>It hurts. It <em>hurt</em>.</p>
<p>Yet,</p>
<p>She knew she had spent too long down there.</p>
<p>She knows her time has come.</p>
<p>Her body had already surrendered; she was not meant to return.</p>
<p>And despite that, she looked up into the sky,</p>
<p>The vast, inky black sky,</p>
<img alt="my%20beloved%20wife.jpg" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/moonlight/my%20beloved%20wife.jpg" width="700px"/>
<p>And it was good.</p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/moonlight">Moonlight, My Dear</a>" by TroutMaskReplica, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/moonlight">https://scpwiki.com/moonlight</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> my beloved wife.jpg<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Moonrise, Hernandez, New Mexico.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Ansel Adams<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Moonrise,_Hernandez,_New_Mexico.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:extra-black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:extra-black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[=]]
[[module rate]]
In the morning, all that is left will be her body.
She woke up wheezing, dying, finally unearthing herself for the first time in a millennium.
She was buried thousands of years ago, she was a witch, a horrible beast that they were afraid of.
Sealed away in stone and plunged deep into the earth, she spent every waking moment biting and clawing at her tomb.
The dirt has been wedged deep in her fingers, the stone has been implanted into her skin.
Every second,
Every day,
She became one with the soil beneath and above her.
Her body grew weaker, it ached more and more.
But now, she was free.
That was all that mattered for her.
She looked upon the land, too weak to move any further.
It hurts. It //hurt//.
Yet,
She knew she had spent too long down there.
She knows her time has come.
Her body had already surrendered; she was not meant to return.
And despite that, she looked up into the sky,
The vast, inky black sky,
[[image http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/moonlight/my%20beloved%20wife.jpg width="700px" align=center]]
And it was good.
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** my beloved wife.jpg
> **Name:** Moonrise, Hernandez, New Mexico.jpg
> **Author:** Ansel Adams
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Moonrise,_Hernandez,_New_Mexico.jpg Wikimedia Commons]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-07-29T19:55:00
|
[
"bittersweet",
"rewritable",
"tale"
] |
Moonlight, My Dear - SCP Foundation
| 13
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"articles-eligible-for-rewrite"
] |
[
"http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/moonlight/my%20beloved%20wife.jpg"
] |
1455967099
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/moonlight
|
|
moving-pieces
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>You’re one microscopic cog of his catastrophic plan, designed and directed by his red right hand.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right; margin-right: 2em; margin-top: -20px;">
<p>by <a href="/koths-korner">Kothardarastrix</a> and <a href="/ethagon-s-author-page">Ethagon</a></p>
</div>
<p>Rita Marvin knows she isn't crazy.</p>
<p>She knows that her hometown—the place where she was born, grew up, got married, had children, and very nearly died—was not destroyed in a “catastrophic gas explosion” or a “freak firestorm” or any number of other implausible explanations put forward by the news, the police, or the doctors at the mental hospital. She knows that her family was not killed by any sort of freak accident or engineering failure or natural disaster; they were killed by a monster - a clump of pulsating red muscle the size of an SUV, with the spiky legs of some horrible insect and whipping, bladed tentacles and a scorpion tail that shot liquid fire. She knows that this is what she saw, and she had drawn it over and over and over and over and over again to make sure that she would continue to remember it properly. And on every single one of those drawings, she had written the things that the monster said, nonsense statements like “<em>the fourth of what may yet perspire upon the grim and sodden twilight statistic is but the hollow mask of pernicious reciprocity</em>” to make sure that she wouldn't forget those either.</p>
<p>She knows it must have been the doctors that did it. Not the ones who pried her bruised body from the smoldering ruins, but the strange ones who had come to the ICU ward in the dead of night and gone from room to room with strange pills and long syringes. Something in those pills and needles had made the other survivors forget. Something had convinced them that their arms had been medically amputated, not sheared off by razor-sharp tentacles. That their burns had come from a perfectly normal fire, not a burst of organic napalm. That their loved ones had been vaporized by an explosion, not eaten by a monster that no sane person could ever believe to exist. But she knew that it had been real, just as she knew that, through some simple error or strange quirk of fate, the poison in those pills hadn't wiped her mind like it had everyone else's. The doctors at the asylum had always tried to make her doubt herself, to give up those memories and accept the comfortable lie instead. They'd called her delusional. Then, when she accused them of being in league with the evil doctors who'd tried to steal her truth, they'd called her paranoid. She'd tried to escape a few times, and had even hurt a few of those bastard doctors in the process, but she had never quite made it out. Eventually, they'd given up and tossed her in a rubber room to rot.</p>
<p>Then a new doctor, one who wore no badge and gave no name, had come to visit her little padded prison in the dead of night. At first, she'd been sure that he was there to lobotomize her, or even to kill her outright, as punishment for her refusal to accept the lie and a permanent way to shut her up. That hadn't happened, though - instead, the nameless doctor had revealed that he was no doctor at all. No, he was someone like her. Someone who knew the dark truths of the world, the truths that evil liars would do horrible things to hide. He hadn't come to take her mind or her life; he had come to set her free. All he'd wanted in exchange was a little help taking those evil liars down.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Thaddeus Jordan didn’t deserve this.</p>
<p>He didn't deserve to be born in a broken family in a neglected neighborhood where the only way to keep his unemployed mother and his unemployable self alive was to join up with some other heavily armed young men and make some money on the ugly side of the law. He hadn't deserved to sprain his ankle running from the cops, or to get beaten within an inch of his life by them, or to be thrown in prison for longer than his statistically likely lifespan.</p>
<p>That’s why, when a friendly-faced scientist had offered early release in exchange for a little medical testing with a nonprofit organization, he'd thought that might finally be the break owed to him. But then that “nonprofit organization” had turned out to be some place called the SCP Foundation, which wasn't doing "medical testing" as much as it was throwing slave labor at a shit-covered concrete statue that would snap your fucking neck if you looked away from it for half a second. He definitely hadn't deserved that.</p>
<p>So, when some fucked-up giant crocodile slithered out of its acid vat and tunneled through the wall around that SCP hellhole, Thaddeus had crawled through that hole after it. The jackboots had been too busy getting eaten to even see him get away. For a brief, shining moment, he'd thought things might get better. But after two years, Thaddeus was still a man with no name, no documentation, no home, and no money. His sad excuse for a living was scraped out under overpasses, behind grocery stores, and in other undignified holes and gutters. He didn’t deserve to live like that. Nobody did.</p>
<p>When an offensively luxurious car pulled up beside Thaddeus on the street and the offensively wealthy man inside offered him an offensively large meal, Thaddeus's first thought had been that the Foundation had somehow tracked him down again and was trying to finish the job. Food was food, though, so he'd figured that he'd give it a shot. It wasn't like he had much left to lose, after all. The rich guy hadn't killed him, though; he'd brought him to an offensively fancy restaurant with a one-word name in the same pretentious European cursive as its indecipherable menu. Then he'd bought Thaddeus all the offensively expensive food he could stuff into his stomach, and all the rest that he could pack into his pockets. Then this mysterious benefactor had revealed that he, too, knew about the SCP Foundation, and what it had done to Thaddeus, and how little he had deserved any of it. The Foundation, on the other hand…well, it deserved much worse. And with Thaddeus's help, he could give it to them.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Jimmy Chambers believes himself to be a hero.</p>
<p>But then again, he also believes that the government, the media, and the economy are being secretly controlled by shapeshifting alien invaders, and that everyone but him and a few other Parawatch users are too stupid or too brainwashed by their subdermal tracking chips, back-masked rock music, and perception-altering 4G broadcasts to see it. He believes that it's his responsibility to rescue the human race from the worldwide larder of its extraterrestrial oppressors, and that one of the best ways to do that is by exercising a very generous reading of his Second Amendment rights. After all, you never know when a black helicopter might decide to drop some soldiers of the New World Order in your backyard.</p>
<p>So, when an anon known only as “Dr. E” told him that Spicy Crust Pizzeria was a Government front hiding hypnotic messages in its advertisements, memory-erasing drugs in its sauce, and mind-controlled slave-soldiers smuggled off death row in its storage rooms, he'd believed it. And when Dr. E told him exactly what day and time the Government conspirators who had sold their own people to alien overlords would be there, he'd believed that too.</p>
<p>That’s why Jimmy is parked across the street from the pizzeria, sitting in his mother's car next to a duffel bag full of assault rifles and crudely improvised explosive devices.</p>
<hr/>
<p>John Patrick Justice doesn't really understand religion.</p>
<p>He'd always gone to church, of course, and he'd always hummed and screamed along to tuneless hymns like “The Five Fingers of Fate” and “Follow the Smoke to Heaven” even though neither he nor anyone else had ever heard them before (or ever would again). He had always tried to dream the right dreams and emit the right energies, though Medium-Sized Cheese Larry had never been able to explain what exactly those were in a way that John could make sense of. His childish imagination was a gift from the Fifth World, surely, but his childish inexperience also made the more esoteric teachings of the Fifth Gospel Transcendental Pentaradial Southern Fifthist Church difficult to really conceptualize. Larry had assured him that these things would become clearer when he grew old enough to receive his first taste of the pink light and the revelations therein, but John Patrick had never gotten that chance.</p>
<p>John Patrick hadn't understood why twenty men in tactical gear crashed through the church’s doors and windows and opened fire, or why he'd been the only one who didn’t go down in that hail of bullets. He didn’t understand how Medium-Sized Cheese Larry had dissolved into a five-eyed cloud of green smoke and folded the shooters into himself, then exploded right through the roof of the church in a blast of bubbling viscera. But there was one thing he had understood: that more soldiers would be coming, and if they found him there among the curled bodies of his extended family and all his childhood friends, they'd shoot him too. So he'd run away, run and hidden in woods and alleyways from all the people that screamed when they saw his fifth eye. Then he'd met a man who didn't scream or faint at the sight of him, a man who said he knew who had killed John Patrick’s family, and that he was sorry he hadn't been able to stop them. But if John Patrick came with him, they could stop those people together.</p>
<p>John Patrick still doesn't quite understand how he's going to do that, and he doesn't understand all the instructions that he's been given, but he understands that the people who killed his family have to pay, and that the nice man who he sometimes thinks of as his new dad is going to make that happen.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Officer Joe Lawrence is a good soldier.</p>
<p>He always follows his bosses' instructions to the best of his ability, and he never lets anyone get away with even the slightest bending of a rule if he can stop it. The D-class hate him, but they hate everybody. His coworkers don't like him very much either - he's a "stick in the mud" or a "wet blanket" or a "narc" to them - but that's because they don't appreciate the importance of loyalty, or the importance of the Foundation's mission. The Foundation is the last bastion of defense between civilization and madness! Joe feels the weight of that responsibility, and he is honored to bear it.</p>
<p>Joe's unswerving, unfailing, unquestioning loyalty have always been his most redeeming quality. That's what had netted him this Security Officer job and all its associated benefits, quite a sweet deal compared to chasing speeders and writing parking tickets. He had always been sure that that same loyalty would eventually earn him a spot on Nu-7 or one of the other really badass Task Forces. They hadn't picked him up on any of the previous recruitment cycles, but that was okay. Yeah, he needed more experience, and a little more training, but surely he'd been practicing and working out enough to make up for that. The Foundation would be sure to make the right call. It always did.</p>
<p>Still, Joe had been surprised when he returned from the firing range one evening to find someone waiting in his bunk. The strange visitor had never identified himself, and he'd had one of those faces that was hard to remember, though Joe had never been much good with faces or names anyway. Joe had remembered the mysterious man's job offer, though; how could he forget! As a reward for his endless loyalty, he had been given a spot on a very special, very secret Task Force. He'd never heard of MTF Alpha-0 ("Operation Mindcrime"), but apparently that was the point. Mindcrime had the very important, very dangerous job of rooting out infiltrators from the Chaos Insurgency. It had to be so secretive because the Insurgents could be anywhere, anyone, from the lowest D-class to the most powerful site director. So secretive, in fact, that not even Joe would be allowed to know about his own missions - that way the Insurgency couldn't torture him if he was caught. Instead, he'd simply receive dispatches in his mail, always in an unmarked black envelope. He just needed to read the dispatch, and Mindcrime would take over from there. Joe was so excited by this long-awaited recognition of his loyalty that he never stopped to question any of this.</p>
<p>Joe, loyal as always, still doesn't question what sorts of missions he carries out. He doesn't particularly care, to tell the truth. Joe trusts the Foundation fully, completely, and utterly. If, to protect the Foundation - to protect the world - he needs to wake up in his bunk with five empty hours on his watch, the taste of amnestics on his lips, and the insidious scent of gunsmoke dancing faintly in his nostrils, then he'll do exactly that. Joe is a good solider. And good soldiers follow orders.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Sgt. Ernie Stinson hates the Foundation.</p>
<p>He hates the way they send his brothers in arms headfirst into hell like glorified D-class, shoveling them into the hungry mouth of every godforsaken underground labyrinth on this worm-eaten apple of a planet to be mulched by a million ravenous minotaurs.</p>
<p>He'd demanded access to the footage of <a href="/scp-3673">SCP-3673</a>, even though the eggheads who were always calling the shots from well outside the danger zone had assured him that he didn’t want to see it. That had been true, but he'd NEEDED to see it. He'd needed to see his three closest friends be squashed to paste by an anomaly with a 0% survival rate, all because some fucking scientist had sent them into unexplored territory with no useful intelligence and no clear objective to do a job that would’ve been more appropriate for the Angle Grinders or White Rabbits or another fucking D-class who had already been sentenced to death anyway, not good people, REAL people with friends and families and lives to go home to. If he had been there that day, he’d have sooner shot that fucking scientist than marched his friends into certain death, or at least have been squashed flat beside them so the pulped remains of their bodies would be together in Hell.</p>
<p>Then he wouldn’t be here in this dingy subterranean barracks, reading detailed instructions for the betrayal he was to commit that evening. He hates the low life to which he's fallen, hates the lowlife he’s become, hates the violence he's about to commit, and hates the mysterious man who’d assured him that this was not yet another suicide mission, but only one part of a vast Rube Goldberg machine that, at its conclusion, would finally unfurl the vengeance that the Foundation so desperately deserves. He hates his disbelief, and he hates his indifference. But most of all, he hates the Foundation. If he dies tonight, that won’t be so bad. Mole Rats die all the time. But this time, for the first time, it’ll be for a cause.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It wasn't Director Amadeus Lire's fault.</p>
<p>He couldn't have predicted that <a href="/scp-4205">SCP-4205</a> would manifest on <a href="/scp-048">SCP-048</a>'s containment cube. That had been RAISA's fault, for giving it the cursed number! And how could he have known about <a href="/scp-939">SCP-939</a>'s reproductive cycle? It'd never been observed in the wild! And it certainly wasn't his fault that <a href="/scp-058">SCP-058</a> was so damn hard to contain. Area-14 wasn't built to hold things like that! The HMCL should've known that trying to stuff a Keter in a chamber that'd been cobbled together in three weeks could only end in disaster. Hell, they probably <em>had</em> known and just didn't give a shit! They certainly didn't seem to give a shit when some other thing broke free of its outdated containment procedures and slaughtered Area-14's personnel.</p>
<p>Nobody appreciated Director Lire's efforts. It was so incredibly difficult to run this unwieldy dinosaur of a containment area. The scientists were always whining that they didn't have enough research funding, never understanding that the already very limited money had to be spent on guns and concrete instead to keep that damned heart monster under control. Then the fucking task force agents were always whining that he didn't value their safety enough, that he was relying too much on them to keep the monsters in their boxes even though that was their fucking job! Maybe your soldiers wouldn't be dead if you'd trained them better, Tommy! Did you ever fucking think of that?</p>
<p>No, he hadn't. And neither had the O5 Council, or any of the other ungrateful assholes that Director Lire had been keeping alive and employed for the last ten years. They were going to replace him with that disrespectful meathead in charge of Hammer Down, Thomas MacLean. That bastard had been gunning for Lire's job from the beginning, and now he'd finally gotten enough of the other staff on his side to take it.</p>
<p>That's why this is Amadeus Lire's last day as Director; after that, he'll be stripped of any classified knowledge and dumped at some Site in Antarctica, or worse, <a href="/secure-facility-dossier-site-333">New Jersey</a>. But that won't happen until tomorrow. Right now, Amadeus Lire knows every secret at Area-14, and a few more besides. If, in the bureaucratic chaos of a hasty change of administrations, some of those secrets get…misplaced, that won't necessarily be his fault. And if some of those misplaced secrets find their way into the hands of some bad actors, well…okay, that one might really be on him. But the Foundation will have only itself to blame for whatever happens after that.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Delta Commander Damien O'Connor is waiting for the last step.</p>
<p>His presence in the war room is not strictly required, but it smooths things over. The trigger for the plan has long since been pulled. All that is left to do is witness the impact.</p>
<p>The groundwork of the plan had started with sending the amnestic-resistant civilian to very specific cover-ups. There, she'd been sowing distrust in the Foundation's fake stories during that brief window of susceptibility after amnestic-intake. The result had been twofold: distrust of amnestics and an overreliance on Disinformation Bureau personnel to handle the Northern Nevada region. That had still been something the Foundation could deal with. The problems had started when the replacements for said personnel never turned up, courtesy of their loyal Officer Puppet. A puppet that had by now forgotten the assassination it carried out, now back on standby, his usefulness not yet outlived. That disappearance, finally, had constituted a proper problem that didn't get noticed until it was almost too late. With no one to take care of it, the Veil had started stretching to its limit. The Foundation had to overexert itself to deal with the problem. More importantly, it required the support of both Area-09 and Area-14 to solve. Area-09 was not O'Connor's problem. His focus lay on the Armed Facility.</p>
<p>Just a few hours ago, the Mole Rat had let an anomaly (O'Connor hadn't cared which) loose in the site and died in the blaze of glory befitting of his position. The rest of Zeta-9, only in the area for a simple training exercise, had followed suit. For all the MTF's high fatality rate, they were frighteningly competent. Best to keep that death toll high. Concurrently, the Ex-D-Class had brought the Fifthist novice into the facility, using the plans that its disgraced Director had given to them all those years ago. The D-Class's steps had consisted of guiding the Fifthist to a specific saferoom. Everyone in that room and a few people on the way had been exposed to the novice's fifth eye. Not a serious enough hazard to put the affected in lockdown, but the disorientation it caused was vital. Both assets should be dead by now. The D-Class's violent disposition virtually ensured that the two would meet their end through the trigger-happy Nu-7. Tying up loose ends and hiding Delta Command's involvement. On the same day, O5-3 had started a journey from Yellowstone to Area-09. Planned was a stop at Area-14. As was protocol, the Overseer had sent bodyguards to scout it beforehand. All of them ended up in the contaminated saferoom. That incident was the final straw. The bodyguards advised the Overseer to choose a different stay for the night.</p>
<p>O'Connor looks at the footage of the Spicy Crust Pizza front that the O5 has decided to stay at instead. The fact that this operation needs to remain untraceable restricts his team to the brief glimpse at the Front through satellite footage. One moment is all he needs. The Overseer's entourage is tired from the long way from Yellowstone. The scouts that have by now caught up to them are still confused from the fifth eye. This provides enough of a crack in the O5's impenetrable facade for the conspiracy theorist to make his move. All the footage shows is a flash, but O'Connor knows the target has been eliminated. Immediately, he begins barking out orders.</p>
<p>The Overseer's death will cause ripples, but there is only a brief window for any steps to make use of it. The satellite moves on, but what follows is obvious. An investigation will be launched into the death. It will conclude that the insufficient cover-ups in the region have caused a leak about the Front's true purpose. The O5 Council will cease their insular tendencies after the first death among them in the current century. Three had amassed libraries worth of institutional knowledge, all of which is gone now. Without him, the chance of the Foundation starting research into causality is once again near zero. Just like they need it to be.</p>
<p>There is still work to do. There will soon be a new opening to insert a mole in the order of succession. They need data on the fallout of Area-14's containment breach. O'Connor has to correspond with the other Delta Commanders.</p>
<p>The death of O5-3 marks just another stepping stone.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/moving-pieces">Moving Pieces</a>" by Kothardarastrix, Ethagon, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/moving-pieces">https://scpwiki.com/moving-pieces</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
You’re one microscopic cog of his catastrophic plan, designed and directed by his red right hand.
]]
=====
[[module CSS]]
.imagediv { float: right; margin: 15px}
@media (max-width: 540px) {
.imagediv {
float: none; text-align:center; margin: auto;
}
}
div#header h1 a span {
font-size: 0px;
}
div#header h1 a:before {
content: "Area-14";
color: #eee;
}
div#header h2 span {
font-size:0px;
padding: 4px;
}
div#header h2:after {
content: "In the Mouth of Madness";
font-weight: bold;
color: #f0f0c0;
padding: 19px 0;
text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px rgba(0, 0, 0, .8);
white-space: pre;
}
#header {
background-image: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/jerden-insignia/Area-14.png);
background-size: 90px;
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div style="text-align: right; margin-right: 2em; margin-top: -20px;"]]
by [[[Koths Korner| Kothardarastrix]]] and [[[ethagon-s-author-page |Ethagon]]]
[[/div]]
Rita Marvin knows she isn't crazy.
She knows that her hometown—the place where she was born, grew up, got married, had children, and very nearly died—was not destroyed in a “catastrophic gas explosion” or a “freak firestorm” or any number of other implausible explanations put forward by the news, the police, or the doctors at the mental hospital. She knows that her family was not killed by any sort of freak accident or engineering failure or natural disaster; they were killed by a monster - a clump of pulsating red muscle the size of an SUV, with the spiky legs of some horrible insect and whipping, bladed tentacles and a scorpion tail that shot liquid fire. She knows that this is what she saw, and she had drawn it over and over and over and over and over again to make sure that she would continue to remember it properly. And on every single one of those drawings, she had written the things that the monster said, nonsense statements like “//the fourth of what may yet perspire upon the grim and sodden twilight statistic is but the hollow mask of pernicious reciprocity//” to make sure that she wouldn't forget those either.
She knows it must have been the doctors that did it. Not the ones who pried her bruised body from the smoldering ruins, but the strange ones who had come to the ICU ward in the dead of night and gone from room to room with strange pills and long syringes. Something in those pills and needles had made the other survivors forget. Something had convinced them that their arms had been medically amputated, not sheared off by razor-sharp tentacles. That their burns had come from a perfectly normal fire, not a burst of organic napalm. That their loved ones had been vaporized by an explosion, not eaten by a monster that no sane person could ever believe to exist. But she knew that it had been real, just as she knew that, through some simple error or strange quirk of fate, the poison in those pills hadn't wiped her mind like it had everyone else's. The doctors at the asylum had always tried to make her doubt herself, to give up those memories and accept the comfortable lie instead. They'd called her delusional. Then, when she accused them of being in league with the evil doctors who'd tried to steal her truth, they'd called her paranoid. She'd tried to escape a few times, and had even hurt a few of those bastard doctors in the process, but she had never quite made it out. Eventually, they'd given up and tossed her in a rubber room to rot.
Then a new doctor, one who wore no badge and gave no name, had come to visit her little padded prison in the dead of night. At first, she'd been sure that he was there to lobotomize her, or even to kill her outright, as punishment for her refusal to accept the lie and a permanent way to shut her up. That hadn't happened, though - instead, the nameless doctor had revealed that he was no doctor at all. No, he was someone like her. Someone who knew the dark truths of the world, the truths that evil liars would do horrible things to hide. He hadn't come to take her mind or her life; he had come to set her free. All he'd wanted in exchange was a little help taking those evil liars down.
----
Thaddeus Jordan didn’t deserve this.
He didn't deserve to be born in a broken family in a neglected neighborhood where the only way to keep his unemployed mother and his unemployable self alive was to join up with some other heavily armed young men and make some money on the ugly side of the law. He hadn't deserved to sprain his ankle running from the cops, or to get beaten within an inch of his life by them, or to be thrown in prison for longer than his statistically likely lifespan.
That’s why, when a friendly-faced scientist had offered early release in exchange for a little medical testing with a nonprofit organization, he'd thought that might finally be the break owed to him. But then that “nonprofit organization” had turned out to be some place called the SCP Foundation, which wasn't doing "medical testing" as much as it was throwing slave labor at a shit-covered concrete statue that would snap your fucking neck if you looked away from it for half a second. He definitely hadn't deserved that.
So, when some fucked-up giant crocodile slithered out of its acid vat and tunneled through the wall around that SCP hellhole, Thaddeus had crawled through that hole after it. The jackboots had been too busy getting eaten to even see him get away. For a brief, shining moment, he'd thought things might get better. But after two years, Thaddeus was still a man with no name, no documentation, no home, and no money. His sad excuse for a living was scraped out under overpasses, behind grocery stores, and in other undignified holes and gutters. He didn’t deserve to live like that. Nobody did.
When an offensively luxurious car pulled up beside Thaddeus on the street and the offensively wealthy man inside offered him an offensively large meal, Thaddeus's first thought had been that the Foundation had somehow tracked him down again and was trying to finish the job. Food was food, though, so he'd figured that he'd give it a shot. It wasn't like he had much left to lose, after all. The rich guy hadn't killed him, though; he'd brought him to an offensively fancy restaurant with a one-word name in the same pretentious European cursive as its indecipherable menu. Then he'd bought Thaddeus all the offensively expensive food he could stuff into his stomach, and all the rest that he could pack into his pockets. Then this mysterious benefactor had revealed that he, too, knew about the SCP Foundation, and what it had done to Thaddeus, and how little he had deserved any of it. The Foundation, on the other hand…well, it deserved much worse. And with Thaddeus's help, he could give it to them.
----
Jimmy Chambers believes himself to be a hero.
But then again, he also believes that the government, the media, and the economy are being secretly controlled by shapeshifting alien invaders, and that everyone but him and a few other Parawatch users are too stupid or too brainwashed by their subdermal tracking chips, back-masked rock music, and perception-altering 4G broadcasts to see it. He believes that it's his responsibility to rescue the human race from the worldwide larder of its extraterrestrial oppressors, and that one of the best ways to do that is by exercising a very generous reading of his Second Amendment rights. After all, you never know when a black helicopter might decide to drop some soldiers of the New World Order in your backyard.
So, when an anon known only as “Dr. E” told him that Spicy Crust Pizzeria was a Government front hiding hypnotic messages in its advertisements, memory-erasing drugs in its sauce, and mind-controlled slave-soldiers smuggled off death row in its storage rooms, he'd believed it. And when Dr. E told him exactly what day and time the Government conspirators who had sold their own people to alien overlords would be there, he'd believed that too.
That’s why Jimmy is parked across the street from the pizzeria, sitting in his mother's car next to a duffel bag full of assault rifles and crudely improvised explosive devices.
----
John Patrick Justice doesn't really understand religion.
He'd always gone to church, of course, and he'd always hummed and screamed along to tuneless hymns like “The Five Fingers of Fate” and “Follow the Smoke to Heaven” even though neither he nor anyone else had ever heard them before (or ever would again). He had always tried to dream the right dreams and emit the right energies, though Medium-Sized Cheese Larry had never been able to explain what exactly those were in a way that John could make sense of. His childish imagination was a gift from the Fifth World, surely, but his childish inexperience also made the more esoteric teachings of the Fifth Gospel Transcendental Pentaradial Southern Fifthist Church difficult to really conceptualize. Larry had assured him that these things would become clearer when he grew old enough to receive his first taste of the pink light and the revelations therein, but John Patrick had never gotten that chance.
John Patrick hadn't understood why twenty men in tactical gear crashed through the church’s doors and windows and opened fire, or why he'd been the only one who didn’t go down in that hail of bullets. He didn’t understand how Medium-Sized Cheese Larry had dissolved into a five-eyed cloud of green smoke and folded the shooters into himself, then exploded right through the roof of the church in a blast of bubbling viscera. But there was one thing he had understood: that more soldiers would be coming, and if they found him there among the curled bodies of his extended family and all his childhood friends, they'd shoot him too. So he'd run away, run and hidden in woods and alleyways from all the people that screamed when they saw his fifth eye. Then he'd met a man who didn't scream or faint at the sight of him, a man who said he knew who had killed John Patrick’s family, and that he was sorry he hadn't been able to stop them. But if John Patrick came with him, they could stop those people together.
John Patrick still doesn't quite understand how he's going to do that, and he doesn't understand all the instructions that he's been given, but he understands that the people who killed his family have to pay, and that the nice man who he sometimes thinks of as his new dad is going to make that happen.
----
Officer Joe Lawrence is a good soldier.
He always follows his bosses' instructions to the best of his ability, and he never lets anyone get away with even the slightest bending of a rule if he can stop it. The D-class hate him, but they hate everybody. His coworkers don't like him very much either - he's a "stick in the mud" or a "wet blanket" or a "narc" to them - but that's because they don't appreciate the importance of loyalty, or the importance of the Foundation's mission. The Foundation is the last bastion of defense between civilization and madness! Joe feels the weight of that responsibility, and he is honored to bear it.
Joe's unswerving, unfailing, unquestioning loyalty have always been his most redeeming quality. That's what had netted him this Security Officer job and all its associated benefits, quite a sweet deal compared to chasing speeders and writing parking tickets. He had always been sure that that same loyalty would eventually earn him a spot on Nu-7 or one of the other really badass Task Forces. They hadn't picked him up on any of the previous recruitment cycles, but that was okay. Yeah, he needed more experience, and a little more training, but surely he'd been practicing and working out enough to make up for that. The Foundation would be sure to make the right call. It always did.
Still, Joe had been surprised when he returned from the firing range one evening to find someone waiting in his bunk. The strange visitor had never identified himself, and he'd had one of those faces that was hard to remember, though Joe had never been much good with faces or names anyway. Joe had remembered the mysterious man's job offer, though; how could he forget! As a reward for his endless loyalty, he had been given a spot on a very special, very secret Task Force. He'd never heard of MTF Alpha-0 ("Operation Mindcrime"), but apparently that was the point. Mindcrime had the very important, very dangerous job of rooting out infiltrators from the Chaos Insurgency. It had to be so secretive because the Insurgents could be anywhere, anyone, from the lowest D-class to the most powerful site director. So secretive, in fact, that not even Joe would be allowed to know about his own missions - that way the Insurgency couldn't torture him if he was caught. Instead, he'd simply receive dispatches in his mail, always in an unmarked black envelope. He just needed to read the dispatch, and Mindcrime would take over from there. Joe was so excited by this long-awaited recognition of his loyalty that he never stopped to question any of this.
Joe, loyal as always, still doesn't question what sorts of missions he carries out. He doesn't particularly care, to tell the truth. Joe trusts the Foundation fully, completely, and utterly. If, to protect the Foundation - to protect the world - he needs to wake up in his bunk with five empty hours on his watch, the taste of amnestics on his lips, and the insidious scent of gunsmoke dancing faintly in his nostrils, then he'll do exactly that. Joe is a good solider. And good soldiers follow orders.
----
Sgt. Ernie Stinson hates the Foundation.
He hates the way they send his brothers in arms headfirst into hell like glorified D-class, shoveling them into the hungry mouth of every godforsaken underground labyrinth on this worm-eaten apple of a planet to be mulched by a million ravenous minotaurs.
He'd demanded access to the footage of [[[SCP-3673]]], even though the eggheads who were always calling the shots from well outside the danger zone had assured him that he didn’t want to see it. That had been true, but he'd NEEDED to see it. He'd needed to see his three closest friends be squashed to paste by an anomaly with a 0% survival rate, all because some fucking scientist had sent them into unexplored territory with no useful intelligence and no clear objective to do a job that would’ve been more appropriate for the Angle Grinders or White Rabbits or another fucking D-class who had already been sentenced to death anyway, not good people, REAL people with friends and families and lives to go home to. If he had been there that day, he’d have sooner shot that fucking scientist than marched his friends into certain death, or at least have been squashed flat beside them so the pulped remains of their bodies would be together in Hell.
Then he wouldn’t be here in this dingy subterranean barracks, reading detailed instructions for the betrayal he was to commit that evening. He hates the low life to which he's fallen, hates the lowlife he’s become, hates the violence he's about to commit, and hates the mysterious man who’d assured him that this was not yet another suicide mission, but only one part of a vast Rube Goldberg machine that, at its conclusion, would finally unfurl the vengeance that the Foundation so desperately deserves. He hates his disbelief, and he hates his indifference. But most of all, he hates the Foundation. If he dies tonight, that won’t be so bad. Mole Rats die all the time. But this time, for the first time, it’ll be for a cause.
----
It wasn't Director Amadeus Lire's fault.
He couldn't have predicted that [[[SCP-4205]]] would manifest on [[[SCP-048]]]'s containment cube. That had been RAISA's fault, for giving it the cursed number! And how could he have known about [[[SCP-939]]]'s reproductive cycle? It'd never been observed in the wild! And it certainly wasn't his fault that [[[SCP-058]]] was so damn hard to contain. Area-14 wasn't built to hold things like that! The HMCL should've known that trying to stuff a Keter in a chamber that'd been cobbled together in three weeks could only end in disaster. Hell, they probably //had// known and just didn't give a shit! They certainly didn't seem to give a shit when some other thing broke free of its outdated containment procedures and slaughtered Area-14's personnel.
Nobody appreciated Director Lire's efforts. It was so incredibly difficult to run this unwieldy dinosaur of a containment area. The scientists were always whining that they didn't have enough research funding, never understanding that the already very limited money had to be spent on guns and concrete instead to keep that damned heart monster under control. Then the fucking task force agents were always whining that he didn't value their safety enough, that he was relying too much on them to keep the monsters in their boxes even though that was their fucking job! Maybe your soldiers wouldn't be dead if you'd trained them better, Tommy! Did you ever fucking think of that?
No, he hadn't. And neither had the O5 Council, or any of the other ungrateful assholes that Director Lire had been keeping alive and employed for the last ten years. They were going to replace him with that disrespectful meathead in charge of Hammer Down, Thomas MacLean. That bastard had been gunning for Lire's job from the beginning, and now he'd finally gotten enough of the other staff on his side to take it.
That's why this is Amadeus Lire's last day as Director; after that, he'll be stripped of any classified knowledge and dumped at some Site in Antarctica, or worse, [[[secure-facility-dossier-site-333 |New Jersey]]]. But that won't happen until tomorrow. Right now, Amadeus Lire knows every secret at Area-14, and a few more besides. If, in the bureaucratic chaos of a hasty change of administrations, some of those secrets get…misplaced, that won't necessarily be his fault. And if some of those misplaced secrets find their way into the hands of some bad actors, well…okay, that one might really be on him. But the Foundation will have only itself to blame for whatever happens after that.
----
Delta Commander Damien O'Connor is waiting for the last step.
His presence in the war room is not strictly required, but it smooths things over. The trigger for the plan has long since been pulled. All that is left to do is witness the impact.
The groundwork of the plan had started with sending the amnestic-resistant civilian to very specific cover-ups. There, she'd been sowing distrust in the Foundation's fake stories during that brief window of susceptibility after amnestic-intake. The result had been twofold: distrust of amnestics and an overreliance on Disinformation Bureau personnel to handle the Northern Nevada region. That had still been something the Foundation could deal with. The problems had started when the replacements for said personnel never turned up, courtesy of their loyal Officer Puppet. A puppet that had by now forgotten the assassination it carried out, now back on standby, his usefulness not yet outlived. That disappearance, finally, had constituted a proper problem that didn't get noticed until it was almost too late. With no one to take care of it, the Veil had started stretching to its limit. The Foundation had to overexert itself to deal with the problem. More importantly, it required the support of both Area-09 and Area-14 to solve. Area-09 was not O'Connor's problem. His focus lay on the Armed Facility.
Just a few hours ago, the Mole Rat had let an anomaly (O'Connor hadn't cared which) loose in the site and died in the blaze of glory befitting of his position. The rest of Zeta-9, only in the area for a simple training exercise, had followed suit. For all the MTF's high fatality rate, they were frighteningly competent. Best to keep that death toll high. Concurrently, the Ex-D-Class had brought the Fifthist novice into the facility, using the plans that its disgraced Director had given to them all those years ago. The D-Class's steps had consisted of guiding the Fifthist to a specific saferoom. Everyone in that room and a few people on the way had been exposed to the novice's fifth eye. Not a serious enough hazard to put the affected in lockdown, but the disorientation it caused was vital. Both assets should be dead by now. The D-Class's violent disposition virtually ensured that the two would meet their end through the trigger-happy Nu-7. Tying up loose ends and hiding Delta Command's involvement. On the same day, O5-3 had started a journey from Yellowstone to Area-09. Planned was a stop at Area-14. As was protocol, the Overseer had sent bodyguards to scout it beforehand. All of them ended up in the contaminated saferoom. That incident was the final straw. The bodyguards advised the Overseer to choose a different stay for the night.
O'Connor looks at the footage of the Spicy Crust Pizza front that the O5 has decided to stay at instead. The fact that this operation needs to remain untraceable restricts his team to the brief glimpse at the Front through satellite footage. One moment is all he needs. The Overseer's entourage is tired from the long way from Yellowstone. The scouts that have by now caught up to them are still confused from the fifth eye. This provides enough of a crack in the O5's impenetrable facade for the conspiracy theorist to make his move. All the footage shows is a flash, but O'Connor knows the target has been eliminated. Immediately, he begins barking out orders.
The Overseer's death will cause ripples, but there is only a brief window for any steps to make use of it. The satellite moves on, but what follows is obvious. An investigation will be launched into the death. It will conclude that the insufficient cover-ups in the region have caused a leak about the Front's true purpose. The O5 Council will cease their insular tendencies after the first death among them in the current century. Three had amassed libraries worth of institutional knowledge, all of which is gone now. Without him, the chance of the Foundation starting research into causality is once again near zero. Just like they need it to be.
There is still work to do. There will soon be a new opening to insert a mole in the order of succession. They need data on the fallout of Area-14's containment breach. O'Connor has to correspond with the other Delta Commanders.
The death of O5-3 marks just another stepping stone.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=Kothardarastrix, Ethagon]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-03T21:33:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"chaos-insurgency",
"co-authored",
"fifthist",
"no-dialogue",
"spy-fiction",
"tale"
] |
Moving Pieces - SCP Foundation
| 20
|
[
"koths-korner",
"ethagon-s-author-page",
"scp-3673",
"scp-4205",
"scp-048",
"scp-939",
"scp-058",
"secure-facility-dossier-site-333",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"fifthist-hub",
"chaos-insurgency-hub"
] |
[] |
1453232146
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/moving-pieces
|
|
mr-blue-starts-a-coup
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>aka The Great Mystrian Screwjob</p>
</div>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><strong>BOOM</strong></em></p>
<p>The ground shook as another shell rocked the president's mansion. Cracks tentacled across the ceiling of the foyer, raining dust and rubble on the patchwork group of politicians and loyalist soldiers retreating further inside. President Rojas, the first elected leader of the Democratic Commonwealth of Mystria, elbowed her way to the front of the crowd and gazed out the window, her stoic demeanor masking her spiking heartbeat.</p>
<p>Her guard had been completely overwhelmed. It was barely even a fight. Armored vehicles had now completely surrounded the building, as men in darkly colored uniforms––emblazoned with the flag of the country that had elected her not two weeks ago––vaulted the fence and pressed on to the mansion. She exhaled slowly through her nose as the soldiers opened the gate, escorting an unwelcome guest inwards. Rojas turned and waved her hand at the few remaining guards left who, with uncertain expressions, lowered their weapons to the ground. The fight was over, and it wouldn't do to further endanger the lives of the people in this building trying to resist.</p>
<p>The president flinched slightly at the sound of a gunshot right at the other side of the door. The metal doorknob fell out of place, hot and smoking as its other half was blown off the door. It swung open aggressively as legions of traitorous soldiers swarmed the room, surrounding the loyalists on all sides. Even with contingents of the men breaking off to search the rest of the mansion for stragglers, they still outnumbered the group by more than five to one. No, this was not a fight they could have won.</p>
<p>"Bajarlos!" The soldiers collectively untrained their weapons from the foreheads of every person in this room, and those nearest to the door parted ways.</p>
<p>Their leader announced himself with a thick cloud of smoke from his cigar before he gave the order. General Ricardo Muñoz, the military party chairman and their former presidential candidate, strode into the room. "Valeria." He bore a condescending smirk on his face as he addressed the new president by her first name.</p>
<p>"General." Rojas fixed a cold glare on Muñoz, but not so cold as to betray her overwhelming anger. Her frustration would only sweeten his victory. "So nice of you to invite yourself. My condolences about the election."</p>
<p>Muñoz tapped his cigar, raining ash down on the Persian rug before the doorway. "That will be Mr. President after a proper <em>recount</em> has been conducted."</p>
<p>Valeria ignored the general's snideness. "I don't know what you hope to accomplish today. The people of Mystria cast off military rule once before and they will do so again."</p>
<p>"I am a champion of the people, Valeria. They will realize that soon enough. You, on the other hand, are a charlatan, bought and paid for by the United States and their other imperialist backers."</p>
<p>"I've never taken a penny from a foreign government."</p>
<p>"Oh, I'm sure something will turn up between now and your trial."</p>
<p>The president narrowed her eyes. "You will get what is coming to you soon enough, Ricardo."</p>
<p>The general folded his arms behind his back and gazed across the interior of the mansion, admiring the handiwork of his soldiers who bombed it near to collapsing. "The state of this mansion will not do. We'll make sure to fix it with the same care as when we fix this nation. And you, Valeria, will have a front-row view. Take them away."</p>
<p>Muñoz broke his gaze with Valeria as she and everyone else were hauled off in handcuffs, and waltzed through his new home. It was a new dawn for Mystria.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The "recount" went as well as expected. Muñoz's seventeen-point loss was corrected to a twenty-point victory. The general had the nation's new flag prepared even before his rushed inauguration. He took the green and orange banner, which represented the Sun and Mystria's fertile lands, and replaced it with alternating red, black and silver stripes––the red symbolizing blood and strength, and the black and silver symbolizing their burgeoning oil and steel industries. The new flags unraveled from the rooftops of every building within eyeshot of the procession parade.</p>
<p>Muñoz rode through the streets in the back of a convertible limo, flanked on both sides by marching soldiers and covered in front and from behind by Su-76 tank destroyers: decrepit machines imported from Russia long before the fall of the Soviet Union, but every one still capable of leveling any building in its sights. The general, riding through a rain of confetti, waved to the crowds of citizens who clapped and cheered with all the enthusiasm of somebody forced to do so at turretpoint.</p>
<p>He exited the vehicle, surrounded on all sides by his guards as they escorted him to position. Muñoz ascended the podium stairs, alone, and addressed the people of Mystria, and the news cameras allowed into his country for the first time in several decades just for this special occasion.</p>
<p>"People of Mystria. We have toiled long years to reach this moment, to purge foreign aggressors and extant rebels draped in the guise of democracy. But on this day, from this stage I say to you, our hardships are over!" Muñoz pumped his fists to the cheers of his paid supporters.</p>
<p>"Our great nation, free from all interference, has been returned to the careful guidance of the state, and the umbrella of the greatest military force on the continent! Once again we shall be a nation worthy of respect! There are some who claim that our methods were too harsh. To those Mystrians who do not believe in the resilience of our people, from the voters who do: You are outnumbered! The road to greatness, to a seat at the highest tables of the world order, is not paved with feebleness! I know that history shall absolve me, as your support has strengthened me!"</p>
<p>Muñoz fought hard to suppress his smirk at the coming lines. "And our great government, though mighty, is vulnerable. To the threats of faux democracy, and an electoral system bought and paid for by our disgraced almost-president! And so I stand before you now as the savior of the Mystrian state! The rightful President of our Commonwealth! The champion of <em>true</em> democracy!"<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-size:larger;"><span style="color: blue">"OH YEAH?"</span></span></strong></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
The mysterious voice was deafening, overpowering Muñoz despite his microphone. Before anyone could spot its source, a row of pyrotechnics at the far end of the street went off. Then another. Then another. Like dominos, they went off in two parallel columns of fire and sparkles and accelerated to the foot of the street.</p>
<p><em>That's strange, those weren't supposed to go off yet,</em> Muñoz thought.</p>
<p>An array of fireworks at the foot of the stage, which he was sure he didn't order to be put there, went off in a blinding burst of light. Muñoz had to shield his eyes as sparks rained down on him. As the spots cleared from his eyes, a looming shadow came into view right in front of him. The interloper was massive, standing a clear three heads taller than him, and built like an ox. He wore nothing but purple spandex over his lower body. But most peculiar of all was his blue skin, and purple hair which he fashioned into a mullet.</p>
<p>The entity at first faced the crowd, striking a series of bodybuilding poses. He seemed completely oblivious to the dictator behind him, or the legions of soldiers frantically aiming their weapons and trying to line up a shot that wouldn't strike their general behind him.</p>
<p>The blue man spun full circle, snatching Muñoz's microphone out of his hand and again facing the crowd, who watched in stunned silence. "HELLLLLOOOOOOO MYSTRIA! LET MR. BLUE HEAR YOU MAKE SOME NOISE!"</p>
<p>The confused masses, only a few of whom could understand his English, made only a single clap and a few coughs. But Big Blue was not deterred. "Now Mr. President, I'm sorry for interruptin' your promo, but I had a few notes! One, keep your back straight. Two, speak with your chest. And three, don't you call yourself the champ in Mr. Blue's hometown!"</p>
<p>Muñoz cocked his head to the side, and responded with as much English as he knew. "You are from Mystria?"</p>
<p>"NOPE! But it sure feels like home, don't it?" He pumped his microphone in the air out towards the crowd, to another silent response.</p>
<p>"Now you all might be thinkin', what brings the globe-trottin', ass-whooping, champ of champs to our neck of the woods? Well, let the Cerulean Savage tell ya: Because THIS MAN!" He spun and pointed a finger at Muñoz. "Calls himself a president! Now I dunno what those political scientists told ya, hell, I ain't even an engineer myself! But it ain't a democracy unless you gotta go through Big Blue! So I'm about to take that acceptance speech, roll it up real tight, and shove it right up your junta!"</p>
<p>Mr. Blue grabbed Muñoz's podium and ripped it out of the ground, tearing its steel base apart like papier mache. The guards attempted to train their weapons on the indigo interloper, but before they could pull the trigger, the last of the fireworks surrounding the stand erupted a spray of sparks and blinding light, causing them to miss wildly into the air. With one mighty swing, Mr. Blue broke the stand over the general's head so hard that the medals flew off his uniform like shrapnel.</p>
<p>The Lapiz Leviathan reared his head back and let out a deafening war cry. "BLUE BOMB!" He then grabbed Muñoz by the waist, flipped him up into a seated position on his shoulders, and leaped off the stage, soaring through the sky before crashing down with his trademark sit-out powerbomb right onto the hood of the general's convertible limo. The front half of the vehicle crumpled like a can of cola, with smoke and oil leaking out and onto the street. Mr. Blue then pulled the broken, but still very much alive, general from the scrapheap that was once a thirteen million dollar car, laid him out for a pin, and delivered the count himself, slapping the street with one hand.</p>
<p>"ONE!"</p>
<p>"TWO!"</p>
<p>"THREE!"</p>
<p>Mr. Blue stood victorious, pumping his fists in the air. The people of Mystria still had no idea what just happened, and looked at the blue foreigner in stunned silence. Then they saw the bruised and beaten body of their dictator lying at his feet.</p>
<p>And they erupted into a deafening cheer.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Elsewhere, in a clandestine laboratory a continent away, Researcher Stanford Ryan peered closely through an electron microscope. The substance below him was the bone marrow of a new SCP. The other researchers were stumped at how it worked, but Ryan could feel a breakthrough coming on. After countless hours of crunching numbers, crossing out entire paragraphs on his idea board, and staring blankly at the tissue sample waiting for it to do something, he saw it. A small, microscopic movement. A shape coming into view. He refocused the lens and looked closer. Closer…</p>
<p>"Hey Stan!"</p>
<p>Startled, Ryan looked away from his project at the source of the voice. Containment Specialist Johnathan Hooke, a retired MTF operative turned researcher (who knew damn well that Ryan hated being called 'Stan') welcomed himself into the laboratory.</p>
<p>Ryan, panickingly, looked back into his microscope. It was gone. All he could see was the last glimpse of a black shape burrowing back into the marrow. "Dammit, dammit, dammit! Knock first, Hooke!"</p>
<p>Hooke put his hands up pleadingly, but the smile never left his face. "Yeah, yeah, calm down, Stan. I found something you might wanna see."</p>
<p>Ryan bend his arms at cartoonish angles as he furious pointed at his microscope. "This! I wanted to see THIS!" He looked back through the lens. Whatever that thing was, it was gone now. He sighed. "What is it?"</p>
<p>Hooke pulled an electronic tablet out of his coat and put it in front of Ryan's face.</p>
<p>Ryan squinted his eyes. "Is that…?"</p>
<p>"What the hell? No! How?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, that's the same reaction the Site Director had. Hey, what should we call this on the mission report, Blue's Coups?" Hooke chuckled before his expression darkened suddenly. "Yeah, in all seriousness, this is pretty bad."</p>
<p>"How did this even happen?"</p>
<p>"Well, have you ever heard of the Democratic Commonwealth of Mystria?"</p>
<p>"That doesn't even sound like a real country."</p>
<p>"Uh-huh, well, it is, so try to suspend your disbelief.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup> It's a South American dictatorship. Their general, Ricardo Muñoz, just won a maybe, probably, definitely rigged election. And Blue here crashed his acceptance speech. Next thing you know, they throw a uniform on him and called him 'General Blue.'"</p>
<p>"Oh my God, this big blue dumbass can<em>not</em> be the one to break the Veil."</p>
<p>"Well, there are some positives. Like I said, this is a dictatorship. We managed to kill the feed of the election as soon as he showed his face, and, lucky for us, they've got tight borders and no Internet access. So this hasn't hit world news yet."</p>
<p>"Okay, okay. So send Nu-7 in there and turn him into blue paste before word gets out."</p>
<p>"Yeah, not exactly a lot of subtlety in starting an open war with a South American government. We're trying to figure out something with a bit more <em>discretion</em>. And nobody knows more about 7370 than you."</p>
<p>"Because he hospitalized me and drew Hulk Hogan on my diploma?"<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup></p>
<p>"Exactly. Any thoughts?"</p>
<p>Ryan rubbed his temples. "Okay, so, 7370's got a pretty loose understanding of what a 'champ' is, right? So he goes around beating people up and stealing whatever physical object they use as a title. Well, what do you steal from a dictator besides his country?"</p>
<p>"Okay, that's the <em>why</em>. But <em>how</em> do we get him to give it up?"</p>
<p>"It's too soon to figure that out. I don't want to psychoanalyze 7370 anymore because he's got a brain the size of a walnut, but we should get boots on the ground and observe him up close."</p>
<p>"Sounds good, I'll see you in the hangar in an hour?"</p>
<p>Ryan laughed. "Pfft, I'm fine right here, thank you. You're the ex-marine, special ops, whatever you are. Go yourself."</p>
<p>"What, are you scared of 7370 or someth––"</p>
<p>"Yes." Ryan plopped in his swivel chair and spun back to his desk. "Have a safe flight."</p>
<hr/>
<p>In the capital of Mystria, their decrepit loudspeaker system crackled to life. Those who managed to smuggle American pop culture into their country recognized the ensuing guitar riff immediately, as "The Cult of Personality" began playing throughout the city.</p>
<p>General Blue kicked open the golden gates to the presidential mansion, decked out in a steam-pressed military uniform. Every stride of his power walk caused the mess of dazzling medals (all of which he awarded himself the night before) to jingle like chimes. His stone-faced bodyguards flanked him on either side in their new blue uniforms, with facepaint to match.</p>
<p>As Big Blue Brother sauntered down the streets, his terrified denizens scampered out of his path. Men and women pulled their children of the streets, street vendors cowered behind their carts, and even the animals––half-starved cats and dogs, and stray farm animals––seemed to stray away nervously. Their seven-foot-eight ruler took no notice, taking in the sights and smells of his domain as he continued along his way. His trek came to an abrupt stop as he reached the town square, desolate except for the marble water fountain, perhaps the most ornate object in this otherwise squalid town.</p>
<p>Blue snapped his fingers, and a bodyguard carried a microphone to his side, resting on a red velvet pillow. He inhaled deeply as he put the device to his lips. "FINALLY! THE CHAMP HAS COME BACK TO PHILADELPHIA!" A guard whispered something in his ear. "<span style="font-size:smaller;">You sure?</span> MYSTRIA! AND HE'S BRINGING HELL WITH HIM! SO WHO'S GONNA ANSWER THE THIRD WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION'S OPEN CHALLENGE, AND TAKE A SHOT AT THE GOLD?"</p>
<p>Crickets.</p>
<p>The streets were completely desolate. <em>How could any self-respecting man pass up a shot at the gold?</em> he wondered. He stroked his purple goatee as he thought of a solution. <em>If these challengers ain't gonna bring the fight to Big Blue, he's gonna bring the challenge to them!</em></p>
<p>Mr. Blue eyed the one lone figure still on the street: a middle-aged man, scurrying along with a brown paper bag. "YOU!" He pointed a big blue finger at the startled denizen. "CONGRAT–U–LATIONS! WHILE YOUR FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS DUCKED AND RAN, YOU SHOWED THEM WHAT A <em>REAL</em> MACHO MAN LOOKS LIKE BY STEPPING INTO THE RING OF HONOR!"</p>
<p>The quivering man responded in broken English. "Please, General, I was only passing thr––"</p>
<p>"BUT THAT AIN'T GONNA DO YOU ANY GOOD WHEN I <em>WRING</em> YOUR NECK! NOW GIVE ME YOUR BEST SHOT!"</p>
<p>"I–– I don't want…" The man jumped when he saw the guards watching him, expectingly. He wouldn't dare disobey an order by General Blue, people have disappeared for less during the reign of Muñoz. He closed his eyes and winced as he reared he arm back, winded up with all the strength in his core, and whallopped Blue in the chest… pitifully. The frail man's punch bounced off the dictator's chest, as if it were a piece of paper thrown against a gust of wind.</p>
<p>Blue blinked twice. "What was that?"</p>
<p>The man shrieked and stammered. "I am sorry, General Blue! I didn't mean–– I couldn't, I…"</p>
<p>The Cerulean Caesar grabbed the man by the wrist and hoisted him up like a bag of groceries. His sleeve fell down to reveal an emaciated, almost skeletal arm. Mr. Blue, as strong as he was, was shocked at how light the man was. His gaze drifted down to the paper bag, its contents––a container of soup and a piece of bread––now scattered on the ground.</p>
<p>He dropped the man. "Brother, you gotta put some protein in your diet if you're gonna throw a real punch!"</p>
<p>"G-G-G-General Blue, these are my rations. This is what we were given from the storehouses this morning."</p>
<p>"…that's it?"</p>
<p>"Yes sir. Not that I am complaining, I am grateful that the state spared me this much!"</p>
<p>Mr. Blue fumed. "How the Hell are you guys supposed to bulk off a kids' menu? You people are gonna start eating right! Red meat, lean greens, and franks and beans! BUT NO TRANS FATS!"</p>
<p>Slowly, cautiously, the citizens began opening their blinds and peering their heads outside. One woman stepped out of her door, cautiously, but with the hint of a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. "Does this mean…" she said, in Spanish. "…My God, he's opening the storehouses!"</p>
<p>The people flooded the streets, whooping and hollering. "General Blue! General Blue!" they chanted in unison.</p>
<p>Their Spanish thank-yous fell on Mr. Blue's deaf, English-speaking ears. "OH, FINALLY SOME CHALLENGERS! THAT'S RIGHT, BULK UP! I'LL EVEN SPOT YOU, OH YEAH!"</p>
<p>There were many similar such incidents in Mystria. That afternoon, the Sapphire Stalin threatened to teach a small child "a lesson." Passersby fawned at the apparent proclamation that he was building a new school. The next day, the Aquamarine Mao told a teenager in a wheelchair that he would hit him so hard he would "wake up in another country." And so began the first student exchange program in the nation's history. The Benevolent Blue Batista, a day yet later, cornered an 84-year-old man feeding the ducks at the pond within his retirement community. He got in the elder's face, jamming a hot dog-sized finger in his nose. "I am going to kick your ass. Actually, really, literally, with no subtext or metaphors involved. I will hurt you." But one of those threats must have sounded close enough to the Spanish word for "social security" that this announcement was still a big hit.</p>
<p>As the Iron Curtain fell in Mystria, the Great Language Barrier rose in its place.</p>
<hr/>
<p>A bump in the road caused Hooke to fly out of his seat, smacking the back of his head into the aluminum ceiling of the Foundation van. "Ow! Motherfbrbr!"</p>
<p>Ryan's voice crackled in the specialist's earpiece. "Uh, Hooke? It's pronounced fu––"</p>
<p>"Will you two be quiet?" Captain Harry Burns glowered over his inconspicuous sunglasses. Neither he nor the rest of Hooke's escort from the City Slickers were pleased to have been dragged to another continent on such short notice. "It's like you've never infiltrated a third-world dictatorship before."</p>
<p>Hooke crossed his arms. "I don't respond to sarcasm."</p>
<p>"I don't care as long as you respond to orders." Burns turned to face the rest of the agents in the car, swaying like bobbleheads with the rising and falling of their transport. "Listen up: Mystria isn't your average dictatorship. Its people are starving, desperate, and paranoid. Their government cracked down hard on all forms of political opposition and foreign influence."</p>
<p>Hooke raised his hand. "That sounds <em>exactly</em> like your average dictatorship."</p>
<p>"Point taken. Now shut up. You need to do more than dress the part to blend in, you need to act it too. Keep your eyes down, hunch your shoulders, and don't talk to anyone. In any other espionage operation, they'll tell you not to look suspicious. <em>Everyone</em> here is suspicious."</p>
<p>The van rolled to an abrupt stop.</p>
<p>"Alright, this is the drop point. Mystria's capital is one of the most militarized cities on earth. So, men, be smart, stay safe, and keep your cover." The doors creaked open as the captain led his squad out to the streets.</p>
<p>One by one, the agents filed out, spaced out just enough that it wasn't obvious they were a group. Hooke came up last. He felt silly wearing his dirt-stained trousers and decorative vest––which, despite Burns' reassurances, he was sure wasn't geographically accurate. He had never liked disguises, his family didn't even celebrate Halloween. But for their plan to work, Ryan had to push his nonexistent acting chops to their limit. It was a two-mile walk from the back alley the Foundation van was parked in to the president's mansion. He'd read the reports of wild dogs, marauding gangs, and death and disease around every corner.</p>
<p>But, on the very first corner he rounded into the streets, he was greeted with… celebration? Local Mystrians danced through the city streets, whooping and hollering. Every single man, woman, child, and elder on the streets wore blue facepaint, blue jerseys, some even blue foam fingers. Blue and purple confetti rained from every rooftop, civil servants pushed carts through the streets dispensing blue raspberry-flavored snow cones and cotton candy. Waves of citizens crowded together, and in the very middle stood one, certain, large blue man, clad in a purple general's uniform.</p>
<p>Hooke's earpiece crackled to life. "Uh… what are we looking at?" asked Ryan. The researcher had a front-row view of the circus before Pi-1 through their bodycam feed. The fact that their resident SCP-7370 expert was (reasonably) confused did little to encourage Hooke.</p>
<p>Hooke answered the call. "Do you… do you think he's forcing them to do this?"</p>
<p>A little boy pushed through the crowd and handed General Blue a poster of himself draped in the Mystrian flag. The Blue Baron patted the boy on the head and autographed the poster with a purple marker. He then grabbed the boy by the shoulder and posed with him for the cameras, flexing a bicep. "OH YEAH!" Blue bellowed. "¡OH SÍ!"<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup> the crowd chanted in response.</p>
<p>"No… he's not smart enough to do that. I think this is real."</p>
<p>As Hooke looked around, he didn't see any signs of the squalor he had been warned about. Everyday citizens walked by with grocery bags full of fresh produce and full bellies, and clean clothes, although most opted to wear wrestling paraphernalia. Where once there were streets full of abandoned, condemned buildings, now the capital was packed with brand new storefronts, including a six-story tall Slim Jim factory. Hooke had glanced at a Wikipedia page about the Mystrian economy and recalled that their dollar was all but worthless due to hyperinflation. But instead, he spotted civilians exchanging what appeared to be an all-new currency: blue coinage with the faces of famous pro wrestlers etched across their fronts. Somehow, against rhyme or reason, the dumbest anomaly<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-4" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-4')">4</a></sup> in the Foundation's database was doing… a good job?</p>
<p>He spoke into his communicator once again. "Won't that make step three a little complicated?"</p>
<p>"Let's get through step two, first." Ryan took a brief pause, during which Hooke could swear he heard something reminiscent of a chuckle on the other end. "Hey Hooke, remember that time you made me dress as a referee for 7370's first containment procedure?"</p>
<p>"Yeah?"</p>
<p>"You know, right after he powerbombed me through a table, broke my collarbone, and stole my diploma?"</p>
<p>"…Vaguely."</p>
<p>"Uh-huh. I've got a special job for you."</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Creak</em></p>
<p>"General Blue?"</p>
<p>Mr. Blue looked up from his desk and squinted over his comically small pair of reading glasses. One of the pencilnecks from the Army was nervously peeking into his Opal Office. He was a short man with a well-kept mustache. Everybody was short next to Blue, of course, so the Azul Abomination wouldn't hold it against him.</p>
<p>"C'mon in pipsqueak, grab yourself a chair! I'll give you a front-row view as Big Blue lays the SMACKDOWN on this subprime mortgage crisis!"</p>
<p>"Yes, thank you, sir." As the man walked the rest of the way into the room, Mr. Blue was blasted by the waft of a familiar aroma. Had the aide not walked in with the package, Blue felt he may have floated to it like he would to a freshly baked apple pie on a windowsill. As the man crossed the doorway, Blue could see he was holding a gift basket overflowing with Slim Jims. But not just any run-of-the-mill long bois. These were SAVAGE<sup><span style="font-size:smaller;">TM</span></sup> Slim Jims, inspired by the original "Macho Man," Randy Savage himself. Blue wasn't sure what they were filled with exactly, the ingredients list was too long. They were probably only fit to be read aloud by a priest, anyway. But if he had to guess, they were full of beef, pork, mechanically separated chicken, and the golden ichor that flowed through the veins of Greek gods.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-5" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-5')">5</a></sup></p>
<p>"Gimme gimme gimme!" Blue snatched the basket greedily, wrapping it in a bear hug. "Who do I owe a ma-cho thank you to?"</p>
<p>"They said they were with the 'Foundation Wrestling Federation,' General."</p>
<p>Blue cocked a purple eyebrow. "Those chuckleheads?" He spotted a grey envelope hidden in the mix. It had a sticker on the back that looked like the promotion's logo, a circle with three arrows running through it. He tore it open, but immediately decided he wasn't reading all that. "Read, nerd."</p>
<p>The aide cautiously grabbed the letter as Blue stuck it in the air. He cleared his throat. "Dear Mister Blue––"</p>
<p>"You trying to bore the champ to death? Skip ahead."</p>
<p>The aide's eyes darted hurriedly from side to side, picking out every important detail. "The… <em>Foundation</em> says that you have missed too many matches, and that they will be stripping you of your title if you do not return to Site-19."<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-6" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-6')">6</a></sup></p>
<p>The aide jumped as a pair of big blue hands thudded against the desktop. "They're stripping me… the champ… of his BELT?" the Color-Coded Khan fumed. "They're gonna give Big Blue an ultimatrix?<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-7" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-7')">7</a></sup> Nobody puts the Teal Titan in a corner!"</p>
<p>"Well hold on, General. They don't say that you have to relinquish your presidency. In fact, they'll let you keep both."</p>
<p>"…Go on."</p>
<p>"They say they'll let you do one last title match in Mystria, then you need to return to the FWF. Otherwise, they'll terminate your contract."</p>
<p>"Me like-y the sound'a that. And what's the government got to say about it?"</p>
<p>"That would be you, sir."</p>
<p>"Oh." Mr. Blue opened a desk and pulled out a handheld mirror. "Can I go back to the FWF?"</p>
<p>His reflection flashed a thumbs up. "You betch'er bottom dollar Big Blue! And that's one migh-tee goa-tee you're rocking there!"</p>
<p>"Aw, you'd make me blush if I could do that instead of just turning a slightly darker shade of blue. You're rocking some super stubble yourself, champ! Whaddya dye it with?"</p>
<p>"Dye!? You watch-er damn mouth, Mr. Blue is all natural! Not like you, ya puffed up steroid droid!"</p>
<p>"<em>Gasp.</em> Just cause you've never seen the inside of a gym don't mean you get to piss on <em>my</em> form! Maybe if you put some creatine in your diet, your transverse abdominis wouldn't look like a deflated whoopee cushion!" Mr. Blue threw the mirror against the far wall, shattering it into a million pieces. "That guy was a dick!" He rubbed his temples. "Set up a squared circle, looks like I've got some ass to kick!"</p>
<p>The aide gleamed. "Right away, sir! I have just the opponent for you!"</p>
<p>"Cool, cool. Hey string bean, while I gotcha, I know Mystria isn't <em>technically</em> supposed to have weapons-grade uranium––"</p>
<p>"Or NATO would invade, yes sir."</p>
<p>"––Right, right. I was just scrolling on Wikipedia, did'ju know 1 gram has 20 billion calories? On a <em>completely</em> unrelated note, the champ's thinking he's got to start bulking, and––"</p>
<p>"Please don't eat uranium, sir."</p>
<p>"I wasn't gonna!" Mr. Blue folded his arms and pouted. "Go find me an opponent, or whatever."</p>
<p>"Right away sir." The aide walked out of the office and shut the door, just in time to miss the champ pulling a not-at-all suspicious glowing green protein shake out of his desk drawer.</p>
<p>•<br/>
•<br/>
•</p>
<p>The aide held his lapel-pin close to his mouth. The microphone on the back was just small enough that it was completely invisible to anybody without a magnifying glass. "The plan is a go." Specialist Hooke ripped off his fake mustache. "Ow."</p>
<hr/>
<p>The San Muñoz prison was, to many Mystrians, a place of nightmares. Many men and women, mostly journalists and politicians, entered that grim, concrete hexacomb. Far fewer returned. Today, more people flooded the prison than even during the purges that defined General Muñoz's rule…</p>
<p>…for BlueMania! The prison's biggest block was cleared out to pave the way for a makeshift wrestling ring, each side of which was decorated in the likeness of the event's sponsor, their glorious blue leader. The floor was covered in bleachers and folding chairs, and when the government ran out of room for those, they cleared out the cell blocks to form spectator booths. At the center of the complex, they erected a makeshift wrestling ring decorated on the outside with the likeness of their glorious blue leader, as well as the names of various sponsors, including but not limited to Slim Jim, Prime, and an Iranian black market weapons dealer.</p>
<p>Hooke sifted his way through the crowd, donning a striped referee's uniform and a new handlebar mustache. He pressed the ear piece. "Ryan, I swear to God, this better wo–"</p>
<p><em>bzzt</em> "Enjoy your karma. From experience, that uniform rides up on you."</p>
<p>The specialist knew he deserved that. SCP-7370's standard containment procedures were… <em>unorthodoxed</em>. It was Hooke's idea to have the big blue brute beat up D-Classes for fun, but he sure as H–E–double hockey sticks wasn't going to play referee himself. Ryan, on the other hand, was a Level 2 researcher at the time. By Foundation standards, he was basically an intern with a master's degree.</p>
<p><em>Oh well, what goes around…</em></p>
<p>Hooke flashed a signal to the ringside attendants, who rang a bell to silence the murmuring crowds. A microphone hung by a cable descended from the ceiling into the hands of a slightly pudgy ring announcer donning a tuxedo.</p>
<p>The man cleared his throat. "¡Damas y caballeros, bienvenidos al evento principal!" The crowd roared.</p>
<p>Hooke had taken maybe five years of Spanish between middle and high school. He could keep a conversation, but couldn't match the speed of native speakers, and was only able to pick up every other word. It was even harder to keep up with the chattering of the countless speakers around him. 7370 had requested five different Spanish announcer's tables for the event––what use he had for them, Hooke had no idea. This event wasn't even being broadcasted, he wasn't even positive their microphones were connected.</p>
<p>"En la esquina azul, con un peso de 178 kilogramos, el Bombardero Azul, el Leviatán de Lapislázuli, ¡Su campeón! ¡General Blue!"</p>
<p>Columns of blue and white smoke erupted from the crest of a crudely constructed ramp as rock music<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-8" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-8')">8</a></sup> flooded the prison. 7370 burst through the smoke, kicking through it as though he were breaking down a door. "OH YEAH!" he bellowed.</p>
<p>"¡Oh Sí! ¡Oh Sí! ¡Oh Sí!" The stadium was alive with the stomping of feet as the people welcomed their ruler to the ring.</p>
<p><em>This isn't a cult of personality, it's a full-blown church,</em> Hooke thought.</p>
<p>As 7370 ascended the ring, he paused on the outside of the ropes to turn and face the crowd. He took one big swig of a metal water bottle, leaned back against the ropes, and sprayed it in a pillar of mist over his head. As the crowd screamed with excitement, Hooke couldn't help noticing that the mist had a hint of… green?</p>
<p>The announcer again cleared his throat. "Y en la esquina roja, el retador. ¡Mide cinco pies y diez pulgadas de alto y pesa 81 kilogramos, tu opresor, Ricardo Muñoz!"</p>
<p>A sad trombone played out over the loudspeakers as former General Muñoz was thrust onto the stage by unseen attendants. He was wearing a plain black wrestling singlet which he presumably fit into against his will. No sooner did he step on the ramp did someone throw a half-drunk cup of soda into his face. Startled and confused, his eyes crossed the crowds of his booing former denizens to land on 7370. He screamed a series of Spanish expletives and turned to leave, stopping in his tracks as a wall of guards formed behind him.</p>
<p>Muñoz tentatively stepped into the ring, never taking his eyes off of 7370. He spoke up in English. "Mr.––er––<em>General</em> Blue. Surely we can come to a sensible resolution to––."</p>
<p>"Shut'cher pie hole, you <em>Muñozerable</em> sack of crap!" Mr. Blue barely made eye contact with his predecessor, instead parading around the ring with a microphone to his lips. "You gotta lotta nerve, waltzing back into the GREATEST CITY OF ALL TIME––," he paused for the audience to cheer, "––to tango with the Teal Titan! Normally, the champ doesn't even take his own sloppy seconds! 'Cept this savage sequel is a special exception for you specifically! So quit Stalin, 'cause I'm about to rip you Bonaparte, pin you Un, dos, and tres, and make you Trotsky to the emergency room!"</p>
<p>Hooke stood between the two combatants and chopped his hand through the air, signaling the ringside attendants to ring the bell.</p>
<p><em>Ding ding ding</em></p>
<p>•<br/>
•<br/>
•</p>
<p>No sooner did the match begin than Mr. Blue charged like a big blue wrecking ball. Muñoz rolled under the ropes to the outside, narrowly avoiding danger. Not deterred, Blue vaulted over the ropes, landing on the outside with a thunderous impact that shook every seat out to the fourth row. Muñoz scrambled away, running circles around the ring to the boos of audience members.</p>
<p>Mr. Blue followed in close pursuit, like an ass-whooping train with no breaks. On the sixth lap, a metaphorical light bulb went off in his head, and he took a break, leaning against a ringpost. Muñoz, too frantic to pay attention, continued sprinting for lap seven, tripping over Mr. Blue's well-placed size 26 boot and sprawling across the floor. Blue hoisted him up by the seat of his pants and lobbed him back over the ropes at the referee's feet.</p>
<p>Hooke pressed his earpiece. "Shit, shit, shit. He's not gonna last long enough, what do I do?"</p>
<p>Ryan came back over the line. "Referees in pro wrestling are basically made of paper mache. Go down and let us take care of the rest."</p>
<p>As Blue stepped over the rope, Hooke looked around frantically for an idea. Giving up, he simply walked up to Blue and bumped into him, shoulder first. Hooke leaped backward with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead and landed in the center of the ring. He sprawled out and played possum with the best his years of espionage training would allow.</p>
<p>Mr. Blue pinned Muñoz shoulders first for three seconds… then four… then five… then six, seven, eight, nine, and ten. Not hearing a bell, he confusedly looked around and spotted his referee lying down like a ragdoll. He crouched down and lightly poked Hooke's carcass with a sausage-sized finger. "Hey, wake up so I can put away this paltry putz."</p>
<p>As the Blue Bomber's back was turned, three men clad in black sweatclothes jumped over the barricade and slid into the ring. The first, wielding a steel folding chair, struck him in the back of the head with a clang that echoed through the arena. The other two circled around and began kicking and stomping on him from the sides. Two more men ran in from the entrance ramp and slid into the ring, one wielding a sledgehammer and the other swinging a chain.</p>
<p>Mr. Blue, however, simply stood up and slowly turned around to face the first three attackers. Hooke could swear he heard one of the men say "shit" as he leered down at them with a wide grin. Mr. Blue grabbed the two men on his sides by their heads, swung them forwards, and smacked them temples first into the head of the man with the folding chair. "OH YEAH, THAT'S WHAT I CALL A KNUCKLEHEAD SANDWICH!"</p>
<p>The crowd whooped and hollered as he shook off the underhanded assault.</p>
<p>The man with the chain wrapped it around his fist and struck Mr. Blue in the chest, only seeming to sprain his hand as it bounced away harmlessly, followed by a sharp yelp. Blue grabbed him by the collar of his sweatshirt, knocking his hood off. Hooke recognized him as one of the agents who rode into the city with him. Mr. Blue, however, was none the wiser to the Foundation's involvement and welcomed more ass to kick. He tossed the agent into the air, catching him in a fireman's carry, and fell backward, flattening the poor insurgent with a Samoan slam. The agent with the sledgehammer, panicking, threw it at Blue to no effect, and attempted to dive out of the ring. But when he was only halfway through the ropes, Blue caught him with a bearhug to his midsection, leaned backward, and flipped the man up, over, and down shoulders first with a thunderous German suplex.</p>
<p>As the other three men climbed groggily to their feet, Mr. Blue ran back to the opposite side of the ring, slingshotting off the ropes. He steamrolled into the agents, clotheslining the trio over the ropes.</p>
<p>The first two men jumped onto Blue's back like spider monkeys only to be thrown to the ground alongside their colleagues. The Lapis Leviathan leaped down to join them, and began ripping the television monitors out of every announcer's table as though he were plucking vegetables from a garden.</p>
<p>Ryan came over the line. "Oh." Hooke could hear the dawning realization in the researcher's voice with that one word.</p>
<p>"What?" he whispered from the ground, trying his best to cover his earpiece.</p>
<p>"Those aren't just announcer's tables. They're all <em>Spanish</em> announcer's tables."</p>
<p>"So?"</p>
<p>"It's a running gag in pro wrestling. They get destroyed <em>constantly</em>. Someone's been put through one in every WWE pay-per-view since '95."</p>
<p>"So those guys…"</p>
<p>"Are going to have a bad time, yes."</p>
<p>Mr. Blue hoisted one agent up off the ground and flipped him into a seated position, driving him into the table with the same titanic powerbomb he gave to Muñoz when he first arrived in Mystria.</p>
<p><em>BAM</em></p>
<p>It buckled and shattered into giant splinters, sending the pair of ringside announcers sitting behind it diving out of the way. But the Blue Bomber wasn't done yet. He picked up a second man, then a third, then a fourth, then a fifth, and put each one through their very own announcer's table.</p>
<p><em>THWAM</em><br/>
<em>THOCK</em><br/>
<em>KRAKAKOOM</em><br/>
<em>SKADOOSH</em></p>
<p>When the dust settled, each of the beaten and battered (but miraculously, very much alive) agents lay sprawled out like ragdolls in what used to be cheap furniture.</p>
<p>These five MTF agents had backgrounds in the most elite military units the world over, and they bought Muñoz perhaps a minute and a half to breathe. He still hadn't climbed to his feet since he was thrown into the ring. Hooke glanced to the outside of the ring to see that Mr. Blue was taking a break to strike body building poses for his roaring fans. Knowing him, that should buy them another forty seconds.</p>
<p>Hooke stopped playing possum and hurriedly crawled over to Muñoz, who was curled up in the fetal position. "Get up you big baby." Hooke dragged him to his feet and dusted him off. "Jump on him."</p>
<p>"W-what?"</p>
<p>"Just do it, and hold on for dear life."</p>
<p>Muñoz dutifully climbed up onto the ring post, pausing halfway up after pulling something in his leg. He leaped with all the grace of a geriatric hippopotamus performing a gymnastic floor routine, but he just barely hit home nonetheless. He sprawled onto Mr. Blue's back and managed to wrap one arm under his chin to keep from falling off, tightening it into a loose chokehold.</p>
<p>Mr. Blue stumbled, but stayed standing. "Nice try, but no cigar, chump! Now Gaddafi me before I Pol Pot you six feet un––"</p>
<p>Before he could finish his pun, Hooke waved his hand in the air. "That's a tap, ring the bell!"</p>
<p><em>Ding ding ding</em></p>
<p>Mr. Blue swung around to look up at the referee, Muñoz still hanging off his back. They stared at Hooke in mutual confusion.</p>
<p>"What?"<br/>
"¿Que?"</p>
<p>The ring announcer bore the same look of befuddlement as the two competitors but made the announcement all the same. "Damas y caballeros, su ganador por sumisión, y nuevo campeón, ¡Ricardo Muñoz!"</p>
<p>"WHAT?"<br/>
"¿QUE?"</p>
<p>Mr. Blue, without looking, grabbed Muñoz's arm around his throat by the wrist, held him out like he was passing a coat to a butler, and dropped him in a heap. "The Teal Titan doesn't tap! You better grow a pair of eyes before I whoop your lying be-hind next, ref!"</p>
<p>Hooke held his hands up pleadingly. "Just calling it how I see it, General Blue."</p>
<p>"An' I'm callin' you a conniving con artist! A dollar store, dime-a-dozen liar!"</p>
<p>"Sir, please respect the rules of the match. General Muñoz is champion, now."</p>
<p>Mr. Blue's eyes went wide. He vaulted back into the ring, jamming a finger in Hooke's chest. "This isn't a match, it's a ruse, a ploy, a plot, a plan, a charade, a conspiracy, a sham! I have been conned, hoodwinked, bamboozled, flimflammed, had the wool pulled over my eyes even! This. Is. A. SCREWJOB!"</p>
<p>Mr. Blue's expression contorted into a look of pure rage. His brow furrowed, his teeth began to grind, and his face turned from blue, to purple, to… <em>green?</em></p>
<p>"I AM THE BLOODY BLUE SCYTHE INSIDE EVERY RAINBOW! I AM THE UNSETTLING SHROUD OF SWEET PAIN THAT JOHN LEE HOOKER WAILS ABOUT!<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-9" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-9')">9</a></sup> So take your screwjob, and SCREW YOU! I'm going back to the FWF, where they know how to treat their talent! But before I do, I'm gonna show you why I put the <em>CYAN</em> in <em>CYANIDE</em>!"</p>
<p>Hooke scratched his head. "Uh… General Blue? You've got a little something on your face."</p>
<p>"And another thing! Why the hell are you wearing a prosthetic mustache? Grow some facial hair like a real man!"</p>
<p>And then, an abrupt rumbling ground everything to a halt. Blue bent over, grimacing.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>Growl</em></p>
<p>Blue doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach. "Oof, just a stomach cramp, nothing a champ like me can't shake off! OH YEAH––." He was cut off as his stomach growled with all the fury of a pride of lions on Adderall. "Oh no!"</p>
<p>He shook violently as his eyes and mouth began to glow with a sickly green hue. His cheeks puffed as he tried to keep his mouth shut. Finally, with a mighty belch, he vomited a blast of green fire. Hooke dove over the ropes to safety as the wave split the ring in half, turning the square circle into two scorched rectangles, with Blue shaking in a crater in the center.</p>
<p>"Phew! Sorry, I think I have a U-235 intolerance."</p>
<p>The light show started again, shining brighter and even erupting out of his ears. The next nuclear burp fired straight into the ground, propelling Mr. Blue into the air like a rocket. He slammed into the ceiling, cratering the reinforced concrete behind it and causing light fixtures to dislodge and rain down on the makeshift arena. As a dazed Blue fell halfway to the floor, another atomic belch sent him soaring into the bleachers on the far side of the room, miraculously striking an unoccupied section that turned into a geyser of splinters upon impact. Audience members shrieked and bolted for the exits as Blue burped blast after thunderous blast, richoceting himself throughout the arena like a four hundred-pound pinball. The ceiling sagged to one side as the next burp sent him through a load-bearing column, snapping it as cleanly as if it were a popsicle stick.</p>
<p>Ryan's voice crackled back into Hooke's earpiece. "What the hell is going on in there?"</p>
<p>"7370 is having an allergic reaction!"</p>
<p>"To what? Peanuts?"</p>
<p>"Weapons-grade uranium!"</p>
<p>"Oh. That's probably fine. You should leave."</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size:120%;"><strong><span style="color: green">BOOM</span></strong></span></em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size:140%;"><strong><span style="color: green">BOOM</span></strong></span></em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-size:160%;"><strong><span style="color: green">BOOM</span></strong></span></em></p>
<p>Each impact to the building caused Hooke's legs to wobble as he tried to find his feet. A hand grasped him by the shoulder and pulled him up.</p>
<p>He looked up at Agent Burns, who hadn't bothered disguising himself in wrestling paraphernalia like his subordinates, who were limping away behind him. Instead, he donned a plain gray t-shirt and the same inconspicuous black shades he wore in the van, which now had a spiderweb crack over one lens, probably from falling debris. His lips were moving, but Hooke couldn't make out a single word. They sounded like soft echoes, as though they were underwater. Only then did he notice his ears ringing.</p>
<p><em>Smack</em></p>
<p>"Ow." Hooke rubbed the red handprint on his cheek.</p>
<p>"Can you hear me now? Great, now haul ass."</p>
<p>The blasts continued rapid fire as the group sprinted to the exits among crowds of frantic civilians. Where once Blue simply left craters, the impacts grew until the concrete walls, floors, and ceilings chipped, cracked, and buckled as the tremors carried through the entire facility.</p>
<p>Mr. Blue, still erupting like a verde volcano, unleashed another blast mid-air that spiked him into the crater where the ring used to be. Before he could recover his footing, he curled over, holding his stomach tightly<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-10" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-10')">10</a></sup> He gave another titanous belch, the biggest yet. The resulting blast punched a hole straight through the roof, lighting up the Mystrian night sky like the Bat Signal. The Champ collapsed to his knees.</p>
<p>"Woah… Phew… Hey guys! It's okay! I think that was the last––<span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: #05d127">BWE</span><span style="color: #05d158">EEA</span><span style="color: #05d193">AAA</span><span style="color: #05d193">ARR</span><span style="color: #059cd1">RRG</span><span style="color: #055cd1">GGHHH!</span></span>"</p>
<p>A single, concussive shockwave erupted from his blue maw in a blast so loud it could put a dump truck crashing through a firework factory to shame. Every window in the building shattered into shards smaller than raindrops, every wall collapsed, and the concrete floor below him exploded into fine powder. The roof blew outwards, raining debris in wide arcs in all directions. And finally… there was silence.</p>
<p>The civilians re-emerged from hiding, creeping out of alleys and from under cars. All gathered in awe at the smoldering ruin that once was once their country's most notorious political prison. But the silence did not last long, and broke completely when one woman in the crowd desperately cried out "¡General Blue!" The realization that their Beloved Blue Leader was somewhere in there hit every man, woman, and child in attendance like a sack of bricks. They sprinted into the ruins of San Muñoz, over shattered bricks, ground glass, and strips of sheet metal. Hundreds of them descended onto the block where the ring used to be, the smoldering strips of rope and canvas the only evidence that it had ever existed. They dug up the earth with their bare hands, turning over every loose rock in search of their leader. But by the time they had scoured every square inch of the prison, all anyone could find were a pair of shutter glasses, and a single, smoking boot.</p>
<p>They hung their heads in sadness, but before they had even a moment to mourn, all turned their heads towards a single, loud voice clearing his throat.</p>
<p>Ricardo Muñoz, the newly crowned champion, crawled out from under a fallen slab of concrete, scorched on one side from where it had shielded him from the blast. He cleaned himself up to the best of his ability, rubbing the soot off his face, patting down his smoldering wrestling singlet, and trying futilely to matt down his frayed and still-smoking hair. "Ahem! This is a dark day indeed… the demolishment of San Muñoz, our treasured reformatory! But fear not! For democracy has spoken and you are once again in my capable hands! It will be just like old times. Now, for the first order of business–––. Why are you all looking at me like that?"</p>
<p>Hooke inhaled deeply from the back of the crowd. "Get him!" he shouted in a high-pitched, fake voice through cupped hands, before pretending to look around for who said it. And on cue, the crowd rushed their befuddled dictator.</p>
<hr/>
<p>In one of many dimly lit sub-levels of Site-19, Researcher Ryan once again sat hunched over an electron microscope, with a familiar pile of bone marrow below him in a petri dish. This time, he would try things differently. He flipped a switch, giving the dish a low voltage shock from beneath, and peered through the lens. Still no movement. He made a note on his clipboard and shocked it again. Nothing. After the next shock, it began to shudder.</p>
<p>Ryan's heart began to beat faster. The thought of spotting this creature for the first time since Hooke made him miss it two months ago excited him. He gave one last shock. As he peered through the microscope once again, he saw it: movement. A small fissure in the marrow opened up, releasing a thin body. It was almost centipedal, with hundreds of pointed legs and a sleek exoskeleton. It gazed around, likely unable to see Ryan due to the sheer size difference. And yet, its dozens of asymmetrical eyes appeared to gaze up, right into the microscope.</p>
<p><em>There you are.</em> Ryan's mind was abuzz with possibilities. Was this a parasite, eating away at the subjects innards? Maybe this was a larva, and the anomaly reproduces through its bones? He would have to take a picture. He lined the camera up to the lens, held it steady, and…</p>
<p>"Morning, Stan!"</p>
<p>Startled, Ryan shook the camera off course before taking the shot. The image came out splotchier than a Jackson Pollock painting. He looked back through the microscope, only to find that the creature had once again disappeared.</p>
<p>"Dammit, dammit, dammit! I thought I locked that door?"</p>
<p>"Oh, was it locked?" Hooke discretely tucked a freshly dislodged doorknob in his coat pocket. "Thought you might appreciate an update."</p>
<p>"On what? Is the Mets game on?"</p>
<p>Hooke snickered. "You <em>would</em> be a Mets fan. No, the Mystria situation."</p>
<p>"Oh, I got briefed after the explosion. It was so hard to keep under wraps that the GOC had to use their 'rebranding' protocol for the first time since Czechoslovakia. I hear Mystria's going to start going by 'Juventud.'<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-11" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-11')">11</a></sup> What was it you lectured me about before you left? 'Discretion'? How'd that go? Still glad you shot down my Nu-7 idea?"</p>
<p>Hooke, failing to think of a quick-witting comeback, ignored Ryan's rhetorical question. "Yeah, well, Mystria's been rebuilding since then. They're actually doing pretty well for themselves. Slim Jim's opening up a new headquarters in their capital, and everybody is also just absolutely <em>ripped.</em> I don't know what kind of diet plan 7370 put them on, but they're sticking to it."</p>
<p>"That's good. How's their new-old-new president holding up?"</p>
<p>"Rojas? She's handling things. Muñoz's trial is really bringing the people together. She also assured the Foundation that her country will keep a lid on the whole 'teleporting blue dictator' situation."</p>
<p>"You mean she'll show some 'discretion'?" Ryan grinned amusedly.</p>
<p>"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"</p>
<p>"Probably not. How's our patient?"</p>
<p>"Aw, you do care. Why don't you see for yourself?"</p>
<p>Hooke withdrew his tablet, which was set to a live feed from Site-19's anomaly treatment ward. A large figure was strapped to a hospital bed, with both his arms and one leg raised. He was covered in so many bandages that he would have been unrecognizable save for the purple mullet leaking out of the cast on his head. Ryan could have mistaken him for still being comatose, except that his one unbandaged hand was squeezing and releasing a hand exerciser.</p>
<p>"He finally woke up?" Ryan asked, surprised.</p>
<p>"Just a few hours ago. According to this freshly typed-up incident report, he hopped out of bed, ripped off his casts, and paraded through the halls while bragging something along the lines of 'champs don't need painkillers,' before falling over and begging for them. He's bandaged up again now. They're still not sure how he was able to move in the first place."</p>
<p>"We're luckier that he didn't grow antennae or melt into sludge after eating uranium."</p>
<p>"Yeah, that slowed down the recovery process quite a bit, but he's radiation-free."</p>
<p>"Cool, so everything's back to normal, then?"</p>
<p>"Well, not <em>everything.</em>"</p>
<p>"What do you mean by that?"</p>
<p>"They just unveiled something where San Muñoz got demolished, check it out. It's gonna be fun explaining <em>this</em> to the Site Director."</p>
<p>Hooke swiped the screen on his tablet to the next slide. It flipped to the recording of Mystria's state news program. In the video, President Rosas stood before an object nearly ten times her height, covered in a red sheet. She waved to the cheering crowds before yanking it off, the figure beneath briefly blinding the camera with the Sun's reflection. It was a brilliant statue, identical to SCP-7370 in all ways except for its shining golden sheen. He was grinning from ear to ear, and striking a body-building pose with one arm raised to the sky.</p>
<p>As the crowds cheered, the camera zoomed in on the inscription on its marble base.</p>
<blockquote>
<p style="text-align: center;">When we were hungry, He fed us</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">When we were shackled, He freed us</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">And at the height of his power, He left us so we could build a brighter tomorrow</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Long live General Blue, Mystria's Once and Forever Champion</p>
</blockquote>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. <span style="color: blue">Breaking the fourth wall</span>––WHICH MR. BLUE DOES NOT CANONICALLY KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT––<span style="color: blue">like the Kool-Aid Man, OH YEAH!</span></div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. <span style="color: blue">That's a Mr. Blue original! Hang it in the Louvre, oh yeah!</span></div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. <span style="color: blue">That's French, for "thank you." The more you know</span>💫</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-4"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-4')">4</a>. <span style="color: blue">Hey, would a dumb one have seven doctorates that I definitely did not steal?</span></div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-5"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-5')">5</a>. <span style="color: red">He should be so lucky. It actually has a deceptively sweet taste to it.</span><br/>
Hey, where the hell did <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/feeling-blue">you come from</a>?</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-6"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-6')">6</a>. <span style="color: blue">Uh… Where is that again?</span><br/>
I don't think they'll let us say.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-7"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-7')">7</a>. "Ultimatum." Mr. Blue has been binge-watching Ben 10.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-8"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-8')">8</a>. <span style="color: blue">Sorry Blue-ites, but it's copyrighted. I'm crazy enough to take on the Foundation, but Licensing Squad? Noooo thank you!</span></div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-9"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-9')">9</a>. <span style="color: blue">Credit to Mister_Toasty for this Ma-cho line!</span></div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-10"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-10')">10</a>. <span style="color: blue">And the Champ almost sliced his fingers off, 'cause he is CUT! Do yer sit-ups, Blue-ites.</span></div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-11"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-11')">11</a>. <span style="color: blue">And that's a real island, Blue-ites! Unsuspend that disbelief!</span></div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=aka The Great Mystrian Screwjob]]
=====
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
= //**BOOM**//
The ground shook as another shell rocked the president's mansion. Cracks tentacled across the ceiling of the foyer, raining dust and rubble on the patchwork group of politicians and loyalist soldiers retreating further inside. President Rojas, the first elected leader of the Democratic Commonwealth of Mystria, elbowed her way to the front of the crowd and gazed out the window, her stoic demeanor masking her spiking heartbeat.
Her guard had been completely overwhelmed. It was barely even a fight. Armored vehicles had now completely surrounded the building, as men in darkly colored uniforms––emblazoned with the flag of the country that had elected her not two weeks ago––vaulted the fence and pressed on to the mansion. She exhaled slowly through her nose as the soldiers opened the gate, escorting an unwelcome guest inwards. Rojas turned and waved her hand at the few remaining guards left who, with uncertain expressions, lowered their weapons to the ground. The fight was over, and it wouldn't do to further endanger the lives of the people in this building trying to resist.
The president flinched slightly at the sound of a gunshot right at the other side of the door. The metal doorknob fell out of place, hot and smoking as its other half was blown off the door. It swung open aggressively as legions of traitorous soldiers swarmed the room, surrounding the loyalists on all sides. Even with contingents of the men breaking off to search the rest of the mansion for stragglers, they still outnumbered the group by more than five to one. No, this was not a fight they could have won.
"Bajarlos!" The soldiers collectively untrained their weapons from the foreheads of every person in this room, and those nearest to the door parted ways.
Their leader announced himself with a thick cloud of smoke from his cigar before he gave the order. General Ricardo Muñoz, the military party chairman and their former presidential candidate, strode into the room. "Valeria." He bore a condescending smirk on his face as he addressed the new president by her first name.
"General." Rojas fixed a cold glare on Muñoz, but not so cold as to betray her overwhelming anger. Her frustration would only sweeten his victory. "So nice of you to invite yourself. My condolences about the election."
Muñoz tapped his cigar, raining ash down on the Persian rug before the doorway. "That will be Mr. President after a proper //recount// has been conducted."
Valeria ignored the general's snideness. "I don't know what you hope to accomplish today. The people of Mystria cast off military rule once before and they will do so again."
"I am a champion of the people, Valeria. They will realize that soon enough. You, on the other hand, are a charlatan, bought and paid for by the United States and their other imperialist backers."
"I've never taken a penny from a foreign government."
"Oh, I'm sure something will turn up between now and your trial."
The president narrowed her eyes. "You will get what is coming to you soon enough, Ricardo."
The general folded his arms behind his back and gazed across the interior of the mansion, admiring the handiwork of his soldiers who bombed it near to collapsing. "The state of this mansion will not do. We'll make sure to fix it with the same care as when we fix this nation. And you, Valeria, will have a front-row view. Take them away."
Muñoz broke his gaze with Valeria as she and everyone else were hauled off in handcuffs, and waltzed through his new home. It was a new dawn for Mystria.
------
The "recount" went as well as expected. Muñoz's seventeen-point loss was corrected to a twenty-point victory. The general had the nation's new flag prepared even before his rushed inauguration. He took the green and orange banner, which represented the Sun and Mystria's fertile lands, and replaced it with alternating red, black and silver stripes––the red symbolizing blood and strength, and the black and silver symbolizing their burgeoning oil and steel industries. The new flags unraveled from the rooftops of every building within eyeshot of the procession parade.
Muñoz rode through the streets in the back of a convertible limo, flanked on both sides by marching soldiers and covered in front and from behind by Su-76 tank destroyers: decrepit machines imported from Russia long before the fall of the Soviet Union, but every one still capable of leveling any building in its sights. The general, riding through a rain of confetti, waved to the crowds of citizens who clapped and cheered with all the enthusiasm of somebody forced to do so at turretpoint.
He exited the vehicle, surrounded on all sides by his guards as they escorted him to position. Muñoz ascended the podium stairs, alone, and addressed the people of Mystria, and the news cameras allowed into his country for the first time in several decades just for this special occasion.
"People of Mystria. We have toiled long years to reach this moment, to purge foreign aggressors and extant rebels draped in the guise of democracy. But on this day, from this stage I say to you, our hardships are over!" Muñoz pumped his fists to the cheers of his paid supporters.
"Our great nation, free from all interference, has been returned to the careful guidance of the state, and the umbrella of the greatest military force on the continent! Once again we shall be a nation worthy of respect! There are some who claim that our methods were too harsh. To those Mystrians who do not believe in the resilience of our people, from the voters who do: You are outnumbered! The road to greatness, to a seat at the highest tables of the world order, is not paved with feebleness! I know that history shall absolve me, as your support has strengthened me!"
Muñoz fought hard to suppress his smirk at the coming lines. "And our great government, though mighty, is vulnerable. To the threats of faux democracy, and an electoral system bought and paid for by our disgraced almost-president! And so I stand before you now as the savior of the Mystrian state! The rightful President of our Commonwealth! The champion of //true// democracy!"
@@ @@
= **[[size larger]]##blue|"OH YEAH?"##[[/size]]**
@@ @@
The mysterious voice was deafening, overpowering Muñoz despite his microphone. Before anyone could spot its source, a row of pyrotechnics at the far end of the street went off. Then another. Then another. Like dominos, they went off in two parallel columns of fire and sparkles and accelerated to the foot of the street.
//That's strange, those weren't supposed to go off yet,// Muñoz thought.
An array of fireworks at the foot of the stage, which he was sure he didn't order to be put there, went off in a blinding burst of light. Muñoz had to shield his eyes as sparks rained down on him. As the spots cleared from his eyes, a looming shadow came into view right in front of him. The interloper was massive, standing a clear three heads taller than him, and built like an ox. He wore nothing but purple spandex over his lower body. But most peculiar of all was his blue skin, and purple hair which he fashioned into a mullet.
The entity at first faced the crowd, striking a series of bodybuilding poses. He seemed completely oblivious to the dictator behind him, or the legions of soldiers frantically aiming their weapons and trying to line up a shot that wouldn't strike their general behind him.
The blue man spun full circle, snatching Muñoz's microphone out of his hand and again facing the crowd, who watched in stunned silence. "HELLLLLOOOOOOO MYSTRIA! LET MR. BLUE HEAR YOU MAKE SOME NOISE!"
The confused masses, only a few of whom could understand his English, made only a single clap and a few coughs. But Big Blue was not deterred. "Now Mr. President, I'm sorry for interruptin' your promo, but I had a few notes! One, keep your back straight. Two, speak with your chest. And three, don't you call yourself the champ in Mr. Blue's hometown!"
Muñoz cocked his head to the side, and responded with as much English as he knew. "You are from Mystria?"
"NOPE! But it sure feels like home, don't it?" He pumped his microphone in the air out towards the crowd, to another silent response.
"Now you all might be thinkin', what brings the globe-trottin', ass-whooping, champ of champs to our neck of the woods? Well, let the Cerulean Savage tell ya: Because THIS MAN!" He spun and pointed a finger at Muñoz. "Calls himself a president! Now I dunno what those political scientists told ya, hell, I ain't even an engineer myself! But it ain't a democracy unless you gotta go through Big Blue! So I'm about to take that acceptance speech, roll it up real tight, and shove it right up your junta!"
Mr. Blue grabbed Muñoz's podium and ripped it out of the ground, tearing its steel base apart like papier mache. The guards attempted to train their weapons on the indigo interloper, but before they could pull the trigger, the last of the fireworks surrounding the stand erupted a spray of sparks and blinding light, causing them to miss wildly into the air. With one mighty swing, Mr. Blue broke the stand over the general's head so hard that the medals flew off his uniform like shrapnel.
The Lapiz Leviathan reared his head back and let out a deafening war cry. "BLUE BOMB!" He then grabbed Muñoz by the waist, flipped him up into a seated position on his shoulders, and leaped off the stage, soaring through the sky before crashing down with his trademark sit-out powerbomb right onto the hood of the general's convertible limo. The front half of the vehicle crumpled like a can of cola, with smoke and oil leaking out and onto the street. Mr. Blue then pulled the broken, but still very much alive, general from the scrapheap that was once a thirteen million dollar car, laid him out for a pin, and delivered the count himself, slapping the street with one hand.
"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
Mr. Blue stood victorious, pumping his fists in the air. The people of Mystria still had no idea what just happened, and looked at the blue foreigner in stunned silence. Then they saw the bruised and beaten body of their dictator lying at his feet.
And they erupted into a deafening cheer.
------
Elsewhere, in a clandestine laboratory a continent away, Researcher Stanford Ryan peered closely through an electron microscope. The substance below him was the bone marrow of a new SCP. The other researchers were stumped at how it worked, but Ryan could feel a breakthrough coming on. After countless hours of crunching numbers, crossing out entire paragraphs on his idea board, and staring blankly at the tissue sample waiting for it to do something, he saw it. A small, microscopic movement. A shape coming into view. He refocused the lens and looked closer. Closer...
"Hey Stan!"
Startled, Ryan looked away from his project at the source of the voice. Containment Specialist Johnathan Hooke, a retired MTF operative turned researcher (who knew damn well that Ryan hated being called 'Stan') welcomed himself into the laboratory.
Ryan, panickingly, looked back into his microscope. It was gone. All he could see was the last glimpse of a black shape burrowing back into the marrow. "Dammit, dammit, dammit! Knock first, Hooke!"
Hooke put his hands up pleadingly, but the smile never left his face. "Yeah, yeah, calm down, Stan. I found something you might wanna see."
Ryan bend his arms at cartoonish angles as he furious pointed at his microscope. "This! I wanted to see THIS!" He looked back through the lens. Whatever that thing was, it was gone now. He sighed. "What is it?"
Hooke pulled an electronic tablet out of his coat and put it in front of Ryan's face.
Ryan squinted his eyes. "Is that...?"
[[=image Blue%20Batista size="medium"]]
"What the hell? No! How?"
"Yeah, that's the same reaction the Site Director had. Hey, what should we call this on the mission report, Blue's Coups?" Hooke chuckled before his expression darkened suddenly. "Yeah, in all seriousness, this is pretty bad."
"How did this even happen?"
"Well, have you ever heard of the Democratic Commonwealth of Mystria?"
"That doesn't even sound like a real country."
"Uh-huh, well, it is, so try to suspend your disbelief.[[footnote]] ##blue|Breaking the fourth wall##––WHICH MR. BLUE DOES NOT CANONICALLY KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT––##blue|like the Kool-Aid Man, OH YEAH!## [[/footnote]] It's a South American dictatorship. Their general, Ricardo Muñoz, just won a maybe, probably, definitely rigged election. And Blue here crashed his acceptance speech. Next thing you know, they throw a uniform on him and called him 'General Blue.'"
"Oh my God, this big blue dumbass can//not// be the one to break the Veil."
"Well, there are some positives. Like I said, this is a dictatorship. We managed to kill the feed of the election as soon as he showed his face, and, lucky for us, they've got tight borders and no Internet access. So this hasn't hit world news yet."
"Okay, okay. So send Nu-7 in there and turn him into blue paste before word gets out."
"Yeah, not exactly a lot of subtlety in starting an open war with a South American government. We're trying to figure out something with a bit more //discretion//. And nobody knows more about 7370 than you."
"Because he hospitalized me and drew Hulk Hogan on my diploma?"[[footnote]] ##blue|That's a Mr. Blue original! Hang it in the Louvre, oh yeah!## [[/footnote]]
"Exactly. Any thoughts?"
Ryan rubbed his temples. "Okay, so, 7370's got a pretty loose understanding of what a 'champ' is, right? So he goes around beating people up and stealing whatever physical object they use as a title. Well, what do you steal from a dictator besides his country?"
"Okay, that's the //why//. But //how// do we get him to give it up?"
"It's too soon to figure that out. I don't want to psychoanalyze 7370 anymore because he's got a brain the size of a walnut, but we should get boots on the ground and observe him up close."
"Sounds good, I'll see you in the hangar in an hour?"
Ryan laughed. "Pfft, I'm fine right here, thank you. You're the ex-marine, special ops, whatever you are. Go yourself."
"What, are you scared of 7370 or someth––"
"Yes." Ryan plopped in his swivel chair and spun back to his desk. "Have a safe flight."
------
In the capital of Mystria, their decrepit loudspeaker system crackled to life. Those who managed to smuggle American pop culture into their country recognized the ensuing guitar riff immediately, as "The Cult of Personality" began playing throughout the city.
General Blue kicked open the golden gates to the presidential mansion, decked out in a steam-pressed military uniform. Every stride of his power walk caused the mess of dazzling medals (all of which he awarded himself the night before) to jingle like chimes. His stone-faced bodyguards flanked him on either side in their new blue uniforms, with facepaint to match.
As Big Blue Brother sauntered down the streets, his terrified denizens scampered out of his path. Men and women pulled their children of the streets, street vendors cowered behind their carts, and even the animals––half-starved cats and dogs, and stray farm animals––seemed to stray away nervously. Their seven-foot-eight ruler took no notice, taking in the sights and smells of his domain as he continued along his way. His trek came to an abrupt stop as he reached the town square, desolate except for the marble water fountain, perhaps the most ornate object in this otherwise squalid town.
Blue snapped his fingers, and a bodyguard carried a microphone to his side, resting on a red velvet pillow. He inhaled deeply as he put the device to his lips. "FINALLY! THE CHAMP HAS COME BACK TO PHILADELPHIA!" A guard whispered something in his ear. "[[size smaller]]You sure?[[/size]] MYSTRIA! AND HE'S BRINGING HELL WITH HIM! SO WHO'S GONNA ANSWER THE THIRD WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION'S OPEN CHALLENGE, AND TAKE A SHOT AT THE GOLD?"
Crickets.
The streets were completely desolate. //How could any self-respecting man pass up a shot at the gold?// he wondered. He stroked his purple goatee as he thought of a solution. //If these challengers ain't gonna bring the fight to Big Blue, he's gonna bring the challenge to them!//
Mr. Blue eyed the one lone figure still on the street: a middle-aged man, scurrying along with a brown paper bag. "YOU!" He pointed a big blue finger at the startled denizen. "CONGRAT–U–LATIONS! WHILE YOUR FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS DUCKED AND RAN, YOU SHOWED THEM WHAT A //REAL// MACHO MAN LOOKS LIKE BY STEPPING INTO THE RING OF HONOR!"
The quivering man responded in broken English. "Please, General, I was only passing thr––"
"BUT THAT AIN'T GONNA DO YOU ANY GOOD WHEN I //WRING// YOUR NECK! NOW GIVE ME YOUR BEST SHOT!"
"I–– I don't want..." The man jumped when he saw the guards watching him, expectingly. He wouldn't dare disobey an order by General Blue, people have disappeared for less during the reign of Muñoz. He closed his eyes and winced as he reared he arm back, winded up with all the strength in his core, and whallopped Blue in the chest... pitifully. The frail man's punch bounced off the dictator's chest, as if it were a piece of paper thrown against a gust of wind.
Blue blinked twice. "What was that?"
The man shrieked and stammered. "I am sorry, General Blue! I didn't mean–– I couldn't, I..."
The Cerulean Caesar grabbed the man by the wrist and hoisted him up like a bag of groceries. His sleeve fell down to reveal an emaciated, almost skeletal arm. Mr. Blue, as strong as he was, was shocked at how light the man was. His gaze drifted down to the paper bag, its contents––a container of soup and a piece of bread––now scattered on the ground.
He dropped the man. "Brother, you gotta put some protein in your diet if you're gonna throw a real punch!"
"G-G-G-General Blue, these are my rations. This is what we were given from the storehouses this morning."
"...that's it?"
"Yes sir. Not that I am complaining, I am grateful that the state spared me this much!"
Mr. Blue fumed. "How the Hell are you guys supposed to bulk off a kids' menu? You people are gonna start eating right! Red meat, lean greens, and franks and beans! BUT NO TRANS FATS!"
Slowly, cautiously, the citizens began opening their blinds and peering their heads outside. One woman stepped out of her door, cautiously, but with the hint of a smile forming at the corners of her mouth. "Does this mean..." she said, in Spanish. "...My God, he's opening the storehouses!"
The people flooded the streets, whooping and hollering. "General Blue! General Blue!" they chanted in unison.
Their Spanish thank-yous fell on Mr. Blue's deaf, English-speaking ears. "OH, FINALLY SOME CHALLENGERS! THAT'S RIGHT, BULK UP! I'LL EVEN SPOT YOU, OH YEAH!"
There were many similar such incidents in Mystria. That afternoon, the Sapphire Stalin threatened to teach a small child "a lesson." Passersby fawned at the apparent proclamation that he was building a new school. The next day, the Aquamarine Mao told a teenager in a wheelchair that he would hit him so hard he would "wake up in another country." And so began the first student exchange program in the nation's history. The Benevolent Blue Batista, a day yet later, cornered an 84-year-old man feeding the ducks at the pond within his retirement community. He got in the elder's face, jamming a hot dog-sized finger in his nose. "I am going to kick your ass. Actually, really, literally, with no subtext or metaphors involved. I will hurt you." But one of those threats must have sounded close enough to the Spanish word for "social security" that this announcement was still a big hit.
As the Iron Curtain fell in Mystria, the Great Language Barrier rose in its place.
------
A bump in the road caused Hooke to fly out of his seat, smacking the back of his head into the aluminum ceiling of the Foundation van. "Ow! Motherfbrbr!"
Ryan's voice crackled in the specialist's earpiece. "Uh, Hooke? It's pronounced fu––"
"Will you two be quiet?" Captain Harry Burns glowered over his inconspicuous sunglasses. Neither he nor the rest of Hooke's escort from the City Slickers were pleased to have been dragged to another continent on such short notice. "It's like you've never infiltrated a third-world dictatorship before."
Hooke crossed his arms. "I don't respond to sarcasm."
"I don't care as long as you respond to orders." Burns turned to face the rest of the agents in the car, swaying like bobbleheads with the rising and falling of their transport. "Listen up: Mystria isn't your average dictatorship. Its people are starving, desperate, and paranoid. Their government cracked down hard on all forms of political opposition and foreign influence."
Hooke raised his hand. "That sounds //exactly// like your average dictatorship."
"Point taken. Now shut up. You need to do more than dress the part to blend in, you need to act it too. Keep your eyes down, hunch your shoulders, and don't talk to anyone. In any other espionage operation, they'll tell you not to look suspicious. //Everyone// here is suspicious."
The van rolled to an abrupt stop.
"Alright, this is the drop point. Mystria's capital is one of the most militarized cities on earth. So, men, be smart, stay safe, and keep your cover." The doors creaked open as the captain led his squad out to the streets.
One by one, the agents filed out, spaced out just enough that it wasn't obvious they were a group. Hooke came up last. He felt silly wearing his dirt-stained trousers and decorative vest––which, despite Burns' reassurances, he was sure wasn't geographically accurate. He had never liked disguises, his family didn't even celebrate Halloween. But for their plan to work, Ryan had to push his nonexistent acting chops to their limit. It was a two-mile walk from the back alley the Foundation van was parked in to the president's mansion. He'd read the reports of wild dogs, marauding gangs, and death and disease around every corner.
But, on the very first corner he rounded into the streets, he was greeted with... celebration? Local Mystrians danced through the city streets, whooping and hollering. Every single man, woman, child, and elder on the streets wore blue facepaint, blue jerseys, some even blue foam fingers. Blue and purple confetti rained from every rooftop, civil servants pushed carts through the streets dispensing blue raspberry-flavored snow cones and cotton candy. Waves of citizens crowded together, and in the very middle stood one, certain, large blue man, clad in a purple general's uniform.
Hooke's earpiece crackled to life. "Uh... what are we looking at?" asked Ryan. The researcher had a front-row view of the circus before Pi-1 through their bodycam feed. The fact that their resident SCP-7370 expert was (reasonably) confused did little to encourage Hooke.
Hooke answered the call. "Do you... do you think he's forcing them to do this?"
A little boy pushed through the crowd and handed General Blue a poster of himself draped in the Mystrian flag. The Blue Baron patted the boy on the head and autographed the poster with a purple marker. He then grabbed the boy by the shoulder and posed with him for the cameras, flexing a bicep. "OH YEAH!" Blue bellowed. "¡OH SÍ!"[[footnote]] ##blue|That's French, for "thank you." The more you know##💫 [[/footnote]] the crowd chanted in response.
"No... he's not smart enough to do that. I think this is real."
As Hooke looked around, he didn't see any signs of the squalor he had been warned about. Everyday citizens walked by with grocery bags full of fresh produce and full bellies, and clean clothes, although most opted to wear wrestling paraphernalia. Where once there were streets full of abandoned, condemned buildings, now the capital was packed with brand new storefronts, including a six-story tall Slim Jim factory. Hooke had glanced at a Wikipedia page about the Mystrian economy and recalled that their dollar was all but worthless due to hyperinflation. But instead, he spotted civilians exchanging what appeared to be an all-new currency: blue coinage with the faces of famous pro wrestlers etched across their fronts. Somehow, against rhyme or reason, the dumbest anomaly[[footnote]] ##blue|Hey, would a dumb one have seven doctorates that I definitely did not steal?## [[/footnote]] in the Foundation's database was doing... a good job?
He spoke into his communicator once again. "Won't that make step three a little complicated?"
"Let's get through step two, first." Ryan took a brief pause, during which Hooke could swear he heard something reminiscent of a chuckle on the other end. "Hey Hooke, remember that time you made me dress as a referee for 7370's first containment procedure?"
"Yeah?"
"You know, right after he powerbombed me through a table, broke my collarbone, and stole my diploma?"
"...Vaguely."
"Uh-huh. I've got a special job for you."
------
//Creak//
"General Blue?"
Mr. Blue looked up from his desk and squinted over his comically small pair of reading glasses. One of the pencilnecks from the Army was nervously peeking into his Opal Office. He was a short man with a well-kept mustache. Everybody was short next to Blue, of course, so the Azul Abomination wouldn't hold it against him.
"C'mon in pipsqueak, grab yourself a chair! I'll give you a front-row view as Big Blue lays the SMACKDOWN on this subprime mortgage crisis!"
"Yes, thank you, sir." As the man walked the rest of the way into the room, Mr. Blue was blasted by the waft of a familiar aroma. Had the aide not walked in with the package, Blue felt he may have floated to it like he would to a freshly baked apple pie on a windowsill. As the man crossed the doorway, Blue could see he was holding a gift basket overflowing with Slim Jims. But not just any run-of-the-mill long bois. These were SAVAGE^^[[size smaller]]TM[[/size]]^^ Slim Jims, inspired by the original "Macho Man," Randy Savage himself. Blue wasn't sure what they were filled with exactly, the ingredients list was too long. They were probably only fit to be read aloud by a priest, anyway. But if he had to guess, they were full of beef, pork, mechanically separated chicken, and the golden ichor that flowed through the veins of Greek gods.[[footnote]] ##red|He should be so lucky. It actually has a deceptively sweet taste to it.##
Hey, where the hell did [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/feeling-blue you come from]? [[/footnote]]
"Gimme gimme gimme!" Blue snatched the basket greedily, wrapping it in a bear hug. "Who do I owe a ma-cho thank you to?"
"They said they were with the 'Foundation Wrestling Federation,' General."
Blue cocked a purple eyebrow. "Those chuckleheads?" He spotted a grey envelope hidden in the mix. It had a sticker on the back that looked like the promotion's logo, a circle with three arrows running through it. He tore it open, but immediately decided he wasn't reading all that. "Read, nerd."
The aide cautiously grabbed the letter as Blue stuck it in the air. He cleared his throat. "Dear Mister Blue––"
"You trying to bore the champ to death? Skip ahead."
The aide's eyes darted hurriedly from side to side, picking out every important detail. "The... //Foundation// says that you have missed too many matches, and that they will be stripping you of your title if you do not return to Site-19."[[footnote]] ##blue|Uh... Where is that again?##
I don't think they'll let us say. [[/footnote]]
The aide jumped as a pair of big blue hands thudded against the desktop. "They're stripping me... the champ... of his BELT?" the Color-Coded Khan fumed. "They're gonna give Big Blue an ultimatrix?[[footnote]] "Ultimatum." Mr. Blue has been binge-watching Ben 10. [[/footnote]] Nobody puts the Teal Titan in a corner!"
"Well hold on, General. They don't say that you have to relinquish your presidency. In fact, they'll let you keep both."
"...Go on."
"They say they'll let you do one last title match in Mystria, then you need to return to the FWF. Otherwise, they'll terminate your contract."
"Me like-y the sound'a that. And what's the government got to say about it?"
"That would be you, sir."
"Oh." Mr. Blue opened a desk and pulled out a handheld mirror. "Can I go back to the FWF?"
His reflection flashed a thumbs up. "You betch'er bottom dollar Big Blue! And that's one migh-tee goa-tee you're rocking there!"
"Aw, you'd make me blush if I could do that instead of just turning a slightly darker shade of blue. You're rocking some super stubble yourself, champ! Whaddya dye it with?"
"Dye!? You watch-er damn mouth, Mr. Blue is all natural! Not like you, ya puffed up steroid droid!"
"//Gasp.// Just cause you've never seen the inside of a gym don't mean you get to piss on //my// form! Maybe if you put some creatine in your diet, your transverse abdominis wouldn't look like a deflated whoopee cushion!" Mr. Blue threw the mirror against the far wall, shattering it into a million pieces. "That guy was a dick!" He rubbed his temples. "Set up a squared circle, looks like I've got some ass to kick!"
The aide gleamed. "Right away, sir! I have just the opponent for you!"
"Cool, cool. Hey string bean, while I gotcha, I know Mystria isn't //technically// supposed to have weapons-grade uranium––"
"Or NATO would invade, yes sir."
"––Right, right. I was just scrolling on Wikipedia, did'ju know 1 gram has 20 billion calories? On a //completely// unrelated note, the champ's thinking he's got to start bulking, and––"
"Please don't eat uranium, sir."
"I wasn't gonna!" Mr. Blue folded his arms and pouted. "Go find me an opponent, or whatever."
"Right away sir." The aide walked out of the office and shut the door, just in time to miss the champ pulling a not-at-all suspicious glowing green protein shake out of his desk drawer.
•
•
•
The aide held his lapel-pin close to his mouth. The microphone on the back was just small enough that it was completely invisible to anybody without a magnifying glass. "The plan is a go." Specialist Hooke ripped off his fake mustache. "Ow."
------
The San Muñoz prison was, to many Mystrians, a place of nightmares. Many men and women, mostly journalists and politicians, entered that grim, concrete hexacomb. Far fewer returned. Today, more people flooded the prison than even during the purges that defined General Muñoz's rule...
...for BlueMania! The prison's biggest block was cleared out to pave the way for a makeshift wrestling ring, each side of which was decorated in the likeness of the event's sponsor, their glorious blue leader. The floor was covered in bleachers and folding chairs, and when the government ran out of room for those, they cleared out the cell blocks to form spectator booths. At the center of the complex, they erected a makeshift wrestling ring decorated on the outside with the likeness of their glorious blue leader, as well as the names of various sponsors, including but not limited to Slim Jim, Prime, and an Iranian black market weapons dealer.
Hooke sifted his way through the crowd, donning a striped referee's uniform and a new handlebar mustache. He pressed the ear piece. "Ryan, I swear to God, this better wo–"
//bzzt// "Enjoy your karma. From experience, that uniform rides up on you."
The specialist knew he deserved that. SCP-7370's standard containment procedures were... //unorthodoxed//. It was Hooke's idea to have the big blue brute beat up D-Classes for fun, but he sure as H–E–double hockey sticks wasn't going to play referee himself. Ryan, on the other hand, was a Level 2 researcher at the time. By Foundation standards, he was basically an intern with a master's degree.
//Oh well, what goes around...//
Hooke flashed a signal to the ringside attendants, who rang a bell to silence the murmuring crowds. A microphone hung by a cable descended from the ceiling into the hands of a slightly pudgy ring announcer donning a tuxedo.
The man cleared his throat. "¡Damas y caballeros, bienvenidos al evento principal!" The crowd roared.
Hooke had taken maybe five years of Spanish between middle and high school. He could keep a conversation, but couldn't match the speed of native speakers, and was only able to pick up every other word. It was even harder to keep up with the chattering of the countless speakers around him. 7370 had requested five different Spanish announcer's tables for the event––what use he had for them, Hooke had no idea. This event wasn't even being broadcasted, he wasn't even positive their microphones were connected.
"En la esquina azul, con un peso de 178 kilogramos, el Bombardero Azul, el Leviatán de Lapislázuli, ¡Su campeón! ¡General Blue!"
Columns of blue and white smoke erupted from the crest of a crudely constructed ramp as rock music [[footnote]] ##blue|Sorry Blue-ites, but it's copyrighted. I'm crazy enough to take on the Foundation, but Licensing Squad? Noooo thank you!## [[/footnote]] flooded the prison. 7370 burst through the smoke, kicking through it as though he were breaking down a door. "OH YEAH!" he bellowed.
"¡Oh Sí! ¡Oh Sí! ¡Oh Sí!" The stadium was alive with the stomping of feet as the people welcomed their ruler to the ring.
//This isn't a cult of personality, it's a full-blown church,// Hooke thought.
As 7370 ascended the ring, he paused on the outside of the ropes to turn and face the crowd. He took one big swig of a metal water bottle, leaned back against the ropes, and sprayed it in a pillar of mist over his head. As the crowd screamed with excitement, Hooke couldn't help noticing that the mist had a hint of... green?
The announcer again cleared his throat. "Y en la esquina roja, el retador. ¡Mide cinco pies y diez pulgadas de alto y pesa 81 kilogramos, tu opresor, Ricardo Muñoz!"
A sad trombone played out over the loudspeakers as former General Muñoz was thrust onto the stage by unseen attendants. He was wearing a plain black wrestling singlet which he presumably fit into against his will. No sooner did he step on the ramp did someone throw a half-drunk cup of soda into his face. Startled and confused, his eyes crossed the crowds of his booing former denizens to land on 7370. He screamed a series of Spanish expletives and turned to leave, stopping in his tracks as a wall of guards formed behind him.
Muñoz tentatively stepped into the ring, never taking his eyes off of 7370. He spoke up in English. "Mr.––er––//General// Blue. Surely we can come to a sensible resolution to––."
"Shut'cher pie hole, you //Muñozerable// sack of crap!" Mr. Blue barely made eye contact with his predecessor, instead parading around the ring with a microphone to his lips. "You gotta lotta nerve, waltzing back into the GREATEST CITY OF ALL TIME––," he paused for the audience to cheer, "––to tango with the Teal Titan! Normally, the champ doesn't even take his own sloppy seconds! 'Cept this savage sequel is a special exception for you specifically! So quit Stalin, 'cause I'm about to rip you Bonaparte, pin you Un, dos, and tres, and make you Trotsky to the emergency room!"
Hooke stood between the two combatants and chopped his hand through the air, signaling the ringside attendants to ring the bell.
//Ding ding ding//
•
•
•
No sooner did the match begin than Mr. Blue charged like a big blue wrecking ball. Muñoz rolled under the ropes to the outside, narrowly avoiding danger. Not deterred, Blue vaulted over the ropes, landing on the outside with a thunderous impact that shook every seat out to the fourth row. Muñoz scrambled away, running circles around the ring to the boos of audience members.
Mr. Blue followed in close pursuit, like an ass-whooping train with no breaks. On the sixth lap, a metaphorical light bulb went off in his head, and he took a break, leaning against a ringpost. Muñoz, too frantic to pay attention, continued sprinting for lap seven, tripping over Mr. Blue's well-placed size 26 boot and sprawling across the floor. Blue hoisted him up by the seat of his pants and lobbed him back over the ropes at the referee's feet.
Hooke pressed his earpiece. "Shit, shit, shit. He's not gonna last long enough, what do I do?"
Ryan came back over the line. "Referees in pro wrestling are basically made of paper mache. Go down and let us take care of the rest."
As Blue stepped over the rope, Hooke looked around frantically for an idea. Giving up, he simply walked up to Blue and bumped into him, shoulder first. Hooke leaped backward with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead and landed in the center of the ring. He sprawled out and played possum with the best his years of espionage training would allow.
Mr. Blue pinned Muñoz shoulders first for three seconds... then four... then five... then six, seven, eight, nine, and ten. Not hearing a bell, he confusedly looked around and spotted his referee lying down like a ragdoll. He crouched down and lightly poked Hooke's carcass with a sausage-sized finger. "Hey, wake up so I can put away this paltry putz."
As the Blue Bomber's back was turned, three men clad in black sweatclothes jumped over the barricade and slid into the ring. The first, wielding a steel folding chair, struck him in the back of the head with a clang that echoed through the arena. The other two circled around and began kicking and stomping on him from the sides. Two more men ran in from the entrance ramp and slid into the ring, one wielding a sledgehammer and the other swinging a chain.
Mr. Blue, however, simply stood up and slowly turned around to face the first three attackers. Hooke could swear he heard one of the men say "shit" as he leered down at them with a wide grin. Mr. Blue grabbed the two men on his sides by their heads, swung them forwards, and smacked them temples first into the head of the man with the folding chair. "OH YEAH, THAT'S WHAT I CALL A KNUCKLEHEAD SANDWICH!"
The crowd whooped and hollered as he shook off the underhanded assault.
The man with the chain wrapped it around his fist and struck Mr. Blue in the chest, only seeming to sprain his hand as it bounced away harmlessly, followed by a sharp yelp. Blue grabbed him by the collar of his sweatshirt, knocking his hood off. Hooke recognized him as one of the agents who rode into the city with him. Mr. Blue, however, was none the wiser to the Foundation's involvement and welcomed more ass to kick. He tossed the agent into the air, catching him in a fireman's carry, and fell backward, flattening the poor insurgent with a Samoan slam. The agent with the sledgehammer, panicking, threw it at Blue to no effect, and attempted to dive out of the ring. But when he was only halfway through the ropes, Blue caught him with a bearhug to his midsection, leaned backward, and flipped the man up, over, and down shoulders first with a thunderous German suplex.
As the other three men climbed groggily to their feet, Mr. Blue ran back to the opposite side of the ring, slingshotting off the ropes. He steamrolled into the agents, clotheslining the trio over the ropes.
The first two men jumped onto Blue's back like spider monkeys only to be thrown to the ground alongside their colleagues. The Lapis Leviathan leaped down to join them, and began ripping the television monitors out of every announcer's table as though he were plucking vegetables from a garden.
Ryan came over the line. "Oh." Hooke could hear the dawning realization in the researcher's voice with that one word.
"What?" he whispered from the ground, trying his best to cover his earpiece.
"Those aren't just announcer's tables. They're all //Spanish// announcer's tables."
"So?"
"It's a running gag in pro wrestling. They get destroyed //constantly//. Someone's been put through one in every WWE pay-per-view since '95."
"So those guys..."
"Are going to have a bad time, yes."
Mr. Blue hoisted one agent up off the ground and flipped him into a seated position, driving him into the table with the same titanic powerbomb he gave to Muñoz when he first arrived in Mystria.
//BAM//
It buckled and shattered into giant splinters, sending the pair of ringside announcers sitting behind it diving out of the way. But the Blue Bomber wasn't done yet. He picked up a second man, then a third, then a fourth, then a fifth, and put each one through their very own announcer's table.
//THWAM//
//THOCK//
//KRAKAKOOM//
//SKADOOSH//
When the dust settled, each of the beaten and battered (but miraculously, very much alive) agents lay sprawled out like ragdolls in what used to be cheap furniture.
These five MTF agents had backgrounds in the most elite military units the world over, and they bought Muñoz perhaps a minute and a half to breathe. He still hadn't climbed to his feet since he was thrown into the ring. Hooke glanced to the outside of the ring to see that Mr. Blue was taking a break to strike body building poses for his roaring fans. Knowing him, that should buy them another forty seconds.
Hooke stopped playing possum and hurriedly crawled over to Muñoz, who was curled up in the fetal position. "Get up you big baby." Hooke dragged him to his feet and dusted him off. "Jump on him."
"W-what?"
"Just do it, and hold on for dear life."
Muñoz dutifully climbed up onto the ring post, pausing halfway up after pulling something in his leg. He leaped with all the grace of a geriatric hippopotamus performing a gymnastic floor routine, but he just barely hit home nonetheless. He sprawled onto Mr. Blue's back and managed to wrap one arm under his chin to keep from falling off, tightening it into a loose chokehold.
Mr. Blue stumbled, but stayed standing. "Nice try, but no cigar, chump! Now Gaddafi me before I Pol Pot you six feet un––"
Before he could finish his pun, Hooke waved his hand in the air. "That's a tap, ring the bell!"
//Ding ding ding//
Mr. Blue swung around to look up at the referee, Muñoz still hanging off his back. They stared at Hooke in mutual confusion.
"What?"
"¿Que?"
The ring announcer bore the same look of befuddlement as the two competitors but made the announcement all the same. "Damas y caballeros, su ganador por sumisión, y nuevo campeón, ¡Ricardo Muñoz!"
"WHAT?"
"¿QUE?"
Mr. Blue, without looking, grabbed Muñoz's arm around his throat by the wrist, held him out like he was passing a coat to a butler, and dropped him in a heap. "The Teal Titan doesn't tap! You better grow a pair of eyes before I whoop your lying be-hind next, ref!"
Hooke held his hands up pleadingly. "Just calling it how I see it, General Blue."
"An' I'm callin' you a conniving con artist! A dollar store, dime-a-dozen liar!"
"Sir, please respect the rules of the match. General Muñoz is champion, now."
Mr. Blue's eyes went wide. He vaulted back into the ring, jamming a finger in Hooke's chest. "This isn't a match, it's a ruse, a ploy, a plot, a plan, a charade, a conspiracy, a sham! I have been conned, hoodwinked, bamboozled, flimflammed, had the wool pulled over my eyes even! This. Is. A. SCREWJOB!"
Mr. Blue's expression contorted into a look of pure rage. His brow furrowed, his teeth began to grind, and his face turned from blue, to purple, to... //green?//
"I AM THE BLOODY BLUE SCYTHE INSIDE EVERY RAINBOW! I AM THE UNSETTLING SHROUD OF SWEET PAIN THAT JOHN LEE HOOKER WAILS ABOUT![[footnote]] ##blue|Credit to Mister_Toasty for this Ma-cho line!## [[/footnote]] So take your screwjob, and SCREW YOU! I'm going back to the FWF, where they know how to treat their talent! But before I do, I'm gonna show you why I put the //CYAN// in //CYANIDE//!"
Hooke scratched his head. "Uh... General Blue? You've got a little something on your face."
"And another thing! Why the hell are you wearing a prosthetic mustache? Grow some facial hair like a real man!"
And then, an abrupt rumbling ground everything to a halt. Blue bent over, grimacing.
= //Growl//
Blue doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach. "Oof, just a stomach cramp, nothing a champ like me can't shake off! OH YEAH––." He was cut off as his stomach growled with all the fury of a pride of lions on Adderall. "Oh no!"
He shook violently as his eyes and mouth began to glow with a sickly green hue. His cheeks puffed as he tried to keep his mouth shut. Finally, with a mighty belch, he vomited a blast of green fire. Hooke dove over the ropes to safety as the wave split the ring in half, turning the square circle into two scorched rectangles, with Blue shaking in a crater in the center.
"Phew! Sorry, I think I have a U-235 intolerance."
The light show started again, shining brighter and even erupting out of his ears. The next nuclear burp fired straight into the ground, propelling Mr. Blue into the air like a rocket. He slammed into the ceiling, cratering the reinforced concrete behind it and causing light fixtures to dislodge and rain down on the makeshift arena. As a dazed Blue fell halfway to the floor, another atomic belch sent him soaring into the bleachers on the far side of the room, miraculously striking an unoccupied section that turned into a geyser of splinters upon impact. Audience members shrieked and bolted for the exits as Blue burped blast after thunderous blast, richoceting himself throughout the arena like a four hundred-pound pinball. The ceiling sagged to one side as the next burp sent him through a load-bearing column, snapping it as cleanly as if it were a popsicle stick.
Ryan's voice crackled back into Hooke's earpiece. "What the hell is going on in there?"
"7370 is having an allergic reaction!"
"To what? Peanuts?"
"Weapons-grade uranium!"
"Oh. That's probably fine. You should leave."
= //[[size 120%]]**##green|BOOM##**[[/size]]//
= //[[size 140%]]**##green|BOOM##**[[/size]]//
= //[[size 160%]]**##green|BOOM##**[[/size]]//
Each impact to the building caused Hooke's legs to wobble as he tried to find his feet. A hand grasped him by the shoulder and pulled him up.
He looked up at Agent Burns, who hadn't bothered disguising himself in wrestling paraphernalia like his subordinates, who were limping away behind him. Instead, he donned a plain gray t-shirt and the same inconspicuous black shades he wore in the van, which now had a spiderweb crack over one lens, probably from falling debris. His lips were moving, but Hooke couldn't make out a single word. They sounded like soft echoes, as though they were underwater. Only then did he notice his ears ringing.
//Smack//
"Ow." Hooke rubbed the red handprint on his cheek.
"Can you hear me now? Great, now haul ass."
The blasts continued rapid fire as the group sprinted to the exits among crowds of frantic civilians. Where once Blue simply left craters, the impacts grew until the concrete walls, floors, and ceilings chipped, cracked, and buckled as the tremors carried through the entire facility.
Mr. Blue, still erupting like a verde volcano, unleashed another blast mid-air that spiked him into the crater where the ring used to be. Before he could recover his footing, he curled over, holding his stomach tightly [[footnote]] ##blue|And the Champ almost sliced his fingers off, 'cause he is CUT! Do yer sit-ups, Blue-ites.## [[/footnote]] He gave another titanous belch, the biggest yet. The resulting blast punched a hole straight through the roof, lighting up the Mystrian night sky like the Bat Signal. The Champ collapsed to his knees.
"Woah... Phew... Hey guys! It's okay! I think that was the last––[[size 130%]]##05d127|BWE####05d158|EEA####05d193|AAA####05d193|ARR####059cd1|RRG####055cd1|GGHHH!##[[/size]]"
A single, concussive shockwave erupted from his blue maw in a blast so loud it could put a dump truck crashing through a firework factory to shame. Every window in the building shattered into shards smaller than raindrops, every wall collapsed, and the concrete floor below him exploded into fine powder. The roof blew outwards, raining debris in wide arcs in all directions. And finally... there was silence.
The civilians re-emerged from hiding, creeping out of alleys and from under cars. All gathered in awe at the smoldering ruin that once was once their country's most notorious political prison. But the silence did not last long, and broke completely when one woman in the crowd desperately cried out "¡General Blue!" The realization that their Beloved Blue Leader was somewhere in there hit every man, woman, and child in attendance like a sack of bricks. They sprinted into the ruins of San Muñoz, over shattered bricks, ground glass, and strips of sheet metal. Hundreds of them descended onto the block where the ring used to be, the smoldering strips of rope and canvas the only evidence that it had ever existed. They dug up the earth with their bare hands, turning over every loose rock in search of their leader. But by the time they had scoured every square inch of the prison, all anyone could find were a pair of shutter glasses, and a single, smoking boot.
They hung their heads in sadness, but before they had even a moment to mourn, all turned their heads towards a single, loud voice clearing his throat.
Ricardo Muñoz, the newly crowned champion, crawled out from under a fallen slab of concrete, scorched on one side from where it had shielded him from the blast. He cleaned himself up to the best of his ability, rubbing the soot off his face, patting down his smoldering wrestling singlet, and trying futilely to matt down his frayed and still-smoking hair. "Ahem! This is a dark day indeed... the demolishment of San Muñoz, our treasured reformatory! But fear not! For democracy has spoken and you are once again in my capable hands! It will be just like old times. Now, for the first order of business–––. Why are you all looking at me like that?"
Hooke inhaled deeply from the back of the crowd. "Get him!" he shouted in a high-pitched, fake voice through cupped hands, before pretending to look around for who said it. And on cue, the crowd rushed their befuddled dictator.
------
In one of many dimly lit sub-levels of Site-19, Researcher Ryan once again sat hunched over an electron microscope, with a familiar pile of bone marrow below him in a petri dish. This time, he would try things differently. He flipped a switch, giving the dish a low voltage shock from beneath, and peered through the lens. Still no movement. He made a note on his clipboard and shocked it again. Nothing. After the next shock, it began to shudder.
Ryan's heart began to beat faster. The thought of spotting this creature for the first time since Hooke made him miss it two months ago excited him. He gave one last shock. As he peered through the microscope once again, he saw it: movement. A small fissure in the marrow opened up, releasing a thin body. It was almost centipedal, with hundreds of pointed legs and a sleek exoskeleton. It gazed around, likely unable to see Ryan due to the sheer size difference. And yet, its dozens of asymmetrical eyes appeared to gaze up, right into the microscope.
//There you are.// Ryan's mind was abuzz with possibilities. Was this a parasite, eating away at the subjects innards? Maybe this was a larva, and the anomaly reproduces through its bones? He would have to take a picture. He lined the camera up to the lens, held it steady, and...
"Morning, Stan!"
Startled, Ryan shook the camera off course before taking the shot. The image came out splotchier than a Jackson Pollock painting. He looked back through the microscope, only to find that the creature had once again disappeared.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit! I thought I locked that door?"
"Oh, was it locked?" Hooke discretely tucked a freshly dislodged doorknob in his coat pocket. "Thought you might appreciate an update."
"On what? Is the Mets game on?"
Hooke snickered. "You //would// be a Mets fan. No, the Mystria situation."
"Oh, I got briefed after the explosion. It was so hard to keep under wraps that the GOC had to use their 'rebranding' protocol for the first time since Czechoslovakia. I hear Mystria's going to start going by 'Juventud.'[[footnote]] ##blue|And that's a real island, Blue-ites! Unsuspend that disbelief!## [[/footnote]] What was it you lectured me about before you left? 'Discretion'? How'd that go? Still glad you shot down my Nu-7 idea?"
Hooke, failing to think of a quick-witting comeback, ignored Ryan's rhetorical question. "Yeah, well, Mystria's been rebuilding since then. They're actually doing pretty well for themselves. Slim Jim's opening up a new headquarters in their capital, and everybody is also just absolutely //ripped.// I don't know what kind of diet plan 7370 put them on, but they're sticking to it."
"That's good. How's their new-old-new president holding up?"
"Rojas? She's handling things. Muñoz's trial is really bringing the people together. She also assured the Foundation that her country will keep a lid on the whole 'teleporting blue dictator' situation."
"You mean she'll show some 'discretion'?" Ryan grinned amusedly.
"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Probably not. How's our patient?"
"Aw, you do care. Why don't you see for yourself?"
Hooke withdrew his tablet, which was set to a live feed from Site-19's anomaly treatment ward. A large figure was strapped to a hospital bed, with both his arms and one leg raised. He was covered in so many bandages that he would have been unrecognizable save for the purple mullet leaking out of the cast on his head. Ryan could have mistaken him for still being comatose, except that his one unbandaged hand was squeezing and releasing a hand exerciser.
[[=image Black%20and%20Blue size="medium"]]
"He finally woke up?" Ryan asked, surprised.
"Just a few hours ago. According to this freshly typed-up incident report, he hopped out of bed, ripped off his casts, and paraded through the halls while bragging something along the lines of 'champs don't need painkillers,' before falling over and begging for them. He's bandaged up again now. They're still not sure how he was able to move in the first place."
"We're luckier that he didn't grow antennae or melt into sludge after eating uranium."
"Yeah, that slowed down the recovery process quite a bit, but he's radiation-free."
"Cool, so everything's back to normal, then?"
"Well, not //everything.//"
"What do you mean by that?"
"They just unveiled something where San Muñoz got demolished, check it out. It's gonna be fun explaining //this// to the Site Director."
Hooke swiped the screen on his tablet to the next slide. It flipped to the recording of Mystria's state news program. In the video, President Rosas stood before an object nearly ten times her height, covered in a red sheet. She waved to the cheering crowds before yanking it off, the figure beneath briefly blinding the camera with the Sun's reflection. It was a brilliant statue, identical to SCP-7370 in all ways except for its shining golden sheen. He was grinning from ear to ear, and striking a body-building pose with one arm raised to the sky.
As the crowds cheered, the camera zoomed in on the inscription on its marble base.
> = When we were hungry, He fed us
> = When we were shackled, He freed us
> = And at the height of his power, He left us so we could build a brighter tomorrow
> = Long live General Blue, Mystria's Once and Forever Champion
|
2024-09-23T22:58:00
|
[
"action",
"comedy",
"illustrated",
"political",
"reviewers-spotlight",
"tale"
] |
Mr. Blue Starts a Coup - SCP Foundation
| 22
|
[
"feeling-blue"
] |
[
"reviewers-spotlight-archive-ii"
] |
[] |
1456907749
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/mr-blue-starts-a-coup
|
|
much-belated-inheritance
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>"Jordan, I need you to help me commit a crime." "As entrapment attempts go, I have heard worse. Also better. Much better."</p>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3A3law/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">GreenWolf</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p><strong>SUGGESTED LISTENING</strong>: <a href="https://youtu.be/KMWs6ViVbLk">"Beneath, Between & Behind" by Rush</a></p>
<p>Here's my <strong><a href="/greenwolf-s-author-page">Author Page</a></strong>.</p>
<p>This is Part 2 of 7 of a tale series about the death of Florence Thorne, and the investigation undertaken by Robin Thorne. Florence previously featured as the main character of <a href="/florence-thorne-hub">The Phoenix, The Nightingale, and The Magpies</a>. Robin Thorne is one of the main characters of <a href="/unusual-investigations">The Unusual Investigations of Kenneth Spencer and Robin Thorne</a>.</p>
<p>I don't really have much else to say here. I guess I could endorse smoking? Cigarettes are pretty cool. I used them to get through writer's block while working on this, which is probably some kind of metaphor about upvote addiction and writing for this website.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING</strong>: Smoking Causes Lung Cancer, Heart Disease, Emphysema, And May Complicate Pregnancy.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Part 3 will be released when I write it.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>« <a href="/haunted-by-the-living">Haunted by the Living</a> || <a href="/crowne-thorne-hub">HUB</a> || <a href="/memory-of-a-murder">Memory of a Murder</a> »</strong><br/>
<em>our inheritance is naught save an uncertain future and an unremembered past</em></p>
</div>
<p><strong>May 28th, 2024</strong><br/>
<strong>Docks District, Three Portlands</strong></p>
<p>The docks are one of the many oddities of Three Portlands.</p>
<p>There is no ocean within the pocket universe. No sea touches the shores of the city-state. There <em>are</em> fish, somehow, but they should not be consumed.</p>
<p>The Docks District is in the middle of the city — although without an ocean it might as well be anywhere. It sits in the lee of Prometheus Plaza, halfway between the Periphery and Cambium Circle, the result of the city piling-up and splitting around the anchor point of the Plaza. Great chasms of unreality split the streets, tears in the underlying municipal substrate that lead directly to the Outside. Between them, reality folds over on itself in thick clumps, and the ontological dichotomy gives rise to the densest cluster of Ways within the multiverse.</p>
<p>It was Robin Thorne's least favorite part of the city. Not because of the crime — or rather, because of the crime, but not for any of the expected reasons. The cluster of Ways made the district a transportation nexus, which brought with it the usual array of smugglers, scammers, and racketeers. The giant gaping holes in reality which exposed the raw conceptual unspace surrounding <tt>EVERYTHING</tt> were perfect for disposing of evidence, competitors, and evidence of disposing of competitors. The combination was perfect for organized crime.</p>
<p>In many ways, the demographics and democratic governance of Three Portlands resembled nothing so much as gang warfare waged by debate. Different factions — religious, philosophical, corporate, political, and even criminal — held sway over different neighborhoods, arrayed aside and against each other by a complicated network of alliance and rivalry. Some had formal agreements with the city. Some controlled aldermen on the city council. Some were completely invisible.</p>
<p>In Memorial Park, ICSUT fostered an array of foreign embassies and interests on behalf of the Coalition. The Maxwellists were embedded in the hospital system, sometimes quite literally. Anderson had seized the vacancy left in Prometheus Plaza to establish a personal fiefdom, until the UIU had created a new power vacuum.</p>
<p>In the Docks District, the dominant power had been, for so many years, the Lighthouse Mafia. It was where they had started, it was where they had operated, and it was where they retreated when the UIU — led by Florence Thorne — had begun to close in.</p>
<p>Florence had dedicated herself to combating the Lighthouse Mafia, especially after the death of Vale Fairburn. As a result, she had spent a lot of her time in the Docks District, and it was where she had fought some of her fiercest battles.</p>
<p>It was where she had died.</p>
<p>So yes, it was because of the crime — that was why Robin Thorne hated the Docks District.</p>
<p>There was one part that did bring them joy though.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>SUBMARINE SHIPPING</strong><br/>
<strong><em>Imports, Exports & Transports</em></strong><br/>
<em>"You can't sink a submarine!"</em></p>
<p>The unhappiest that Robin had ever seen Florence was on the day she had been scheduled to testify against Jordan Raybon for his involvement in Vale Fairburn's demise. Although she had never been friends with Submarine, <a href="/when-parallel-lines-diverge">the rivalry between smuggler and special agent had been friendly</a>, and neither had expected or wanted for it to end in such a manner. It was also an instance where legal and moral guilt were misaligned, and Florence's subsequent testimony as a character witness for the defense ensured that Raybon would eventually return from prison.</p>
<p>In the years since his release, Submarine had straightened his course, so to speak. He had opened an import/export business in his old stomping grounds, which was entirely legitimate — or so he claimed, and so it appeared under federal scrutiny. He made a modest profit, kept some, used some to repay old debts and past wrongs, and donated the rest to whichever beggar was nearest at the end of his walk home. He kept up a steady stream of business, but always had time to talk to old acquaintances. And every now and then, he would walk by the statue of Stephen King and have a quiet conversation with the federal agent waiting there.</p>
<p>And on the wall outside his business, he paid the local kids to protect and preserve a mural.</p>
<p>A peculiar battle was unfolding as Thorne approached. A large seal was flopped out on the pavement, steadfastly refusing to move, while Jordan Raybon attempted to move the obstinate pinniped with a heavy front loader. He smiled and waved from the cab of the vehicle when he saw Thorne. "Good to see you, Junior! Tell me, what can I do for you? I was just about to close up."</p>
<p>Thorne looked at the seal. Looked at Raybon. Opened their mouth. Looked at the seal again. Closed their mouth.</p>
<p>They shook their head. Looked back at Raybon.</p>
<p>"Jordan, I need you to help me commit a crime."</p>
<p>Jordan 'Submarine' Raybon — once the most successful solo smuggler in Three Portlands, the best intuitive Wayfinder outside of the Library, the real life Robin Hood from the Bottle Drop — considered the proposal.</p>
<p>Jordan Raybon, Doing Business As Submarine Shipping — small business owner, law-abiding citizen, and federal informant — answered.</p>
<p>"As entrapment attempts go, I have heard worse. Also better. Much better."</p>
<p>Thorne shook their head. "This is important, Jordan. There's something that belonged to my mother that never made it out of evidence. It was never given to me. I want to get it back."</p>
<p>Raybon frowned, then shrugged apologetically. "I think you got the wrong department, Junior. I'm not the one what's collecting evidence."</p>
<p>"I know that you found a Way that leads directly into the Depository."</p>
<p>His eyes narrowed. "Who told you that? I never used it — it had to have been Five—"</p>
<p>Thorne cut him off. "I guessed. You're the best Wayfinder in the city and you had enough things that had been inside the building that it would have been more surprising if you hadn't found a Way there."</p>
<p>He tried to look displeased by Thorne's trickery, but the man called Submarine was easily flattered. "Yeah, well, I am pretty good at what I do. It's no joke, making an honest profit in this business. Despite what folks say, crime pays good money. Being law-abiding comes with license fees, inspection fees, what they call compliance costs. Really, the default state of your average <em>petit-bourgeoisie</em> individual entrepreneur is being a thieving criminal cheat. I'm practically a Saint, ain't I?"</p>
<p>They nodded. "She'd be proud of you, Jordan. She really would."</p>
<p>He ducked his head, blinking tears from his eyes. "I appreciate you saying so."</p>
<p>Thorne watched silently as Raybon turned back to his battle with the seal. Despite the creature's bulk, the front loader was succeeding in pushing it back, inch by inch, towards a large circle that had been sloppily painted on the ground with what appeared to be ketchup. Once the seal was inside the circle, Raybon reversed the front loader, driving with his knees so that he could use both hands to give a two-fingered salute.</p>
<p>"Surf's up, ya legless git."</p>
<p>Saltwater began to flow up through the cobblestones beneath the marooned marine mammal. A faint ocean breeze blew through the alley. A wave rose up, suspended in motion, to hang over the seal. The cry of a gull echoed from nowhere. The wave crashed down, enveloping the creature and carrying it away through a Way. When the water cleared, the seal was gone.</p>
<p>Raybon cut the power on the front loader and stepped out of the cab. He walked over to Thorne, took a deep breath, then looked them in the eye.</p>
<p>"What's the plan?"</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>May 29th, 2024</strong><br/>
<strong>Robin Thorne's Apartment, Three Portlands</strong></p>
<p>Robin Thorne considered the assets available to them.</p>
<div style="border: solid 2px #000000; background: #eef0f2; padding: 10px; margin-left: 7.5%; margin-right: 7.5%; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;">
<h3 id="toc0"><span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><strong>Assets</strong></span></h3>
<p>1 moderately talented thaumaturge. Miserable at evocation. Only one who knows where things are.</p>
<p>1 constructed intelligence bound as familiar w/ empathetic link. Manifests as small bird. Speaks many languages, can only speak English to Canadians (might only be in 3P — localized curse?)</p>
<p>1 humanoid shapeshifter. Cute ass. Good actor. Loyal. Reliable. Completely useless.</p>
<p>1 retired expert smuggler. THE Wayfinder. Definitely hates doing felonies now. Guilt-tripped onto team. Only one who knows where to go.</p>
</div>
<p>They considered the obstacles in front of them.</p>
<div style="border: solid 2px #000000; background: #eef0f2; padding: 10px; margin-left: 7.5%; margin-right: 7.5%; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;">
<h3 id="toc1"><span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><strong>Problems</strong></span></h3>
<p>Access to the building is controlled.</p>
<p>1 or 2 federal agents are stationed as night guards within the building.</p>
<p>The interior and exterior are under constant video surveillance.</p>
<p>All surveillance video is recorded and retained until the end of the week.</p>
<p>If the night guards notice anything suspicious, the entire night of surveillance footage is marked for preservation and carefully reviewed.</p>
</div>
<p>Then they made a plan.</p>
<p>This type of planning was completely unlike the typical thinking Thorne employed in investigations, which always centered around answering questions rather than making tactical decisions. It was, however, the same object-oriented operational analysis that Florence had brought to the UIU when she had formed MOOT, which meant that Thorne was more than familiar with it. There was no situation for which it was better suited than the current one.</p>
<p>It suggested that there was a simple, obvious plan. All they had to do was perform the entire operation without arousing the suspicion of the guards, while also not leaving any evidence that would call for a review of surveillance tapes within a week.</p>
<p>A simple plan, honestly. All the complexity was in the details.</p>
<p>"Honey, I need you to hold still. I can't clearly visualize you if you keep turning your head." The shapeshifter paced around them in a circle, his gaze intent upon them as it wandered over their body.</p>
<p>Thorne rolled their eyes, but made sure to keep their head still. "Should I be concerned that you can't visualize me? I know you didn't have your eyes closed, we've made eye contact before."</p>
<p>Nemo continued to stare unblinkingly at them. "That's the problem, I know you too well. I need to visualize you as you outwardly appear, not as you actually are."</p>
<p>"Oh, you mean you idealize me and overlook my flaws."</p>
<p>"Something like that, yes. Such as, just to pick an example entirely at random, your inability to hold still for multiple seconds in a row. I take no notice of it. I think I'm good, by the way, you can put the rest of your clothes back on. Or the opposite, we have some time to kill."</p>
<p>Thorne grabbed their shirt off the back of the chair and pulled it on over their tanktop. "No, I want to go over the final plan."</p>
<p>"Ah, yes, the part where you make me a conspirator." He rubbed his hands together with feigned giddiness. "They do say you should choose your spouse based on who you most want to protect with the right to not testify."</p>
<p>"Is that why you haven't proposed?" Thorne finished pulling up their pants and looked back over their shoulder at him. "Are you really about to tell me that you're a narc right now?"</p>
<p>Hands raised, he spread his arms and gave a weary sigh. "Alas, while the dramatic timing would be incredible, it is only fiction. I didn't want to force you into a role you were uncomfortable with by presuming to initiate a proposal."</p>
<p>"You thought <em>I</em> was going to propose?" They grabbed their suit jacket and swung it across behind them.</p>
<p>"Well—"</p>
<p>Thorne rolled their shoulders, shrugging the suit on with an audible snap of fabric. "We are having the rest of this conversation later, Nemo. I can't believe you sometimes."</p>
<p>"I love you?"</p>
<p>"You too. Promise not to testify against me in court?"</p>
<p>"I do."</p>
<p>"Alright. Here's how it's going to work…"</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>The City of Doors <a href="/preliminary-report">(JCR-038)</a></strong></p>
<p>Jordan Raybon bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Alright, I took a gander at our route, and it'll take us about three minutes to walk there I reckon."</p>
<p>The three of them — plus Crowe — were staging out of a sub-universe that Raybon called the City of Doors, which Thorne vaguely remembered reading about in freshman World Tree Theory at ICSUT Portlands. It was a deserted cityscape of confused, jumbled architecture, where none of the doors were capable of being opened — although later exploration showed that <em>some</em> doors could be opened, just not to places within the City of Doors.</p>
<p>As branch universes went, it was fairly well-documented, largely unsuitable for permanent habitation, and utterly unremarkable on all accounts, which meant few people had a reason to stick around. It was mildly popular as a clandestine rendezvous spot for teens from Three Portlands, and a few moderately busy Way-paths navigated through the minor nexus, but otherwise saw little traffic.</p>
<p>Thorne nodded. "Call it five minutes then, with a buffer. Nemo, that gives you enough time to change clothes before you start your part then. Have Crowe signal once the guard leaves the building."</p>
<p>"I still don't like that part," Raybon said. "Could be multiple guards."</p>
<p>"There won't be." Thorne sounded confident. "Every federal employee who gets paid by check just got theirs today. Everyone takes off if they can to spend money."</p>
<p>Neither Raybon nor Nemo questioned why the UIU agents were getting paid by check. Everyone who lived in Three Portlands knew that electronic banking within the city was unreliable enough as to be non-existent; keeping the non-electronic banking working was already difficult enough.</p>
<p>Raybon looked at Nemo curiously. "Nemo… ain't you that bloke with the role in that Hooverite play? The one with the shapeshifting?"</p>
<p><strong><tt>J.</tt></strong> was Blaschleigh Vlandersloon's newest experimental production, which had just opened that weekend. It was a one-actor dramatization and critical commentary on the life of J. Edgar Hoover, wherein every scene featured multiple characters interacting, demanding the talents of a shapeshifting actor. Nemo had defeated his main rival, Odysseus Complex, in the audition, and the unexpected popularity of the play — buoyed by the wave of anti-federal sentiment sweeping the city immediately after the Anderson raid — had earned him a number of laudatory reviews from the local ring of theatre critics.</p>
<p>"Not quite. We're actually a municipal production."</p>
<p>"No shit? You're getting paid out of the Fund?" The main purpose of the J. Edgar Hoover Defamation Fund maintained by the city was to finance negative propaganda against the man, which effectively functioned as a politically-awarded artistic grant. Although the total revenues were small, many an anartist in Three Portlands had gotten their start slandering Hoover at the behest of the City Council.</p>
<p>"Yeah. McClure was the deciding vote this year on whether they'd do a play or a sculpture, and you know he likes theatre."</p>
<p>"I thought he was big into monuments?"</p>
<p>"No, that was the original. This one's the clone, remember." After almost two decades of incumbency, the only person who had finally managed to oust Alderman Stephen McClure from the City Council had been his own clone, Steven.</p>
<p>Thorne coughed to draw attention back to them. "Jordan, once we get Nemo's signal, you're going to open the Way into the depository. We have no idea what the thaumontologics look like on the other end, so you're going to stay behind and re-open it five minutes after I go through."</p>
<p>Raybon looked concerned. "What if you miss it?"</p>
<p>"Trust your gut on whether to bail or keep trying. But the worst case if I get caught is that I have to talk my way out of a building I'm allowed to be in."</p>
<p>"Just, you know, after hours and potentially holding stolen evidence while I'm standing outside looking like you," Nemo chimed in.</p>
<p>"Look, this isn't even <a href="/circumstances">my worst plan involving a doppelganger of myself</a>. I think we have a pretty good chance of pulling this off."</p>
<p>"Speaking of doppelgangers, I think that's my cue." Nemo shook his arms out, then closed his eyes and stopped breathing.</p>
<p>The first thing that happened was that he dropped about two inches of height. His arms shrank inwards to match a moment later. His hair retracted back into his scalp until it was in a bob cut, darkening as it did so to take-on a deep red-brown hue.</p>
<p>Then his skin started to bubble, and keeping track of what was happening to his features became impossible. But when it finally stopped a few seconds later, there was another Robin Thorne standing in his place.</p>
<p>"Well?" he said, and Robin's voice came from his mouth. "How do I look?"</p>
<p>"I'm too used to mirrors, I'm not a good judge," Thorne said.</p>
<p>"I'm seeing double," Raybon offered, clearly impressed.</p>
<p>Crowe hopped in place on Thorne's shoulder, looking between them and Nemo. It stretched its wings and flapped over to Nemo's shoulder. It examined his face curiously, then chirped lightly.</p>
<p>"What'd he say?" Nemo asked.</p>
<p>"Your aura's the wrong color," Thorne explained. "So try to avoid any wizards."</p>
<p>Nemo nodded. "Can you give me my motivation, Director?"</p>
<p>"You don't want to go to prison for impersonating a federal agent," they said, completely deadpan. "Everyone get ready to sync your watches on my mark."</p>
<p>Raybon laughed as he looked at his wristwatch. "Ain't that just classic. Real James Bond, Tom Cruise action."</p>
<p>Thorne ignored him. "Five minute timer, starting… now."</p>
<p>There were three simultaneous clicks as they each started the timer on their watches.</p>
<p>"Alright, Nemo, go break a leg. Crowe, keep him out of trouble. Jordan, you're with me. Let's do this."</p>
<p>They watched while Nemo and Crowe departed back through the nearest Way to Three Portlands, exiting via a door on a building that looked like what you might get if you asked Frank Lloyd Wright to design a Ziggurat.</p>
<p>Once he was gone, Raybon started leading them along the route that would take them to the evidence depository.</p>
<p>They started with a door about fifty feet away, which took them through a Way into a lower branch universe. The door itself was normal, but the Knock to open the Way involved a complicated sequence of whistled notes that Thorne wouldn't have been able to replicate.</p>
<p>They walked for sixteen paces through a field of blue roses, then stopped so Raybon could pull out a lighter, crouch down, and set fire to the nearest rose. The smoke revealed a hole to yet another world, which they passed through.</p>
<p>They continued down the aisle of an impossibly large tobacconist, with shelves stocked with every brand of cigarette, cigar, cigarillo, or other smokeable imaginable. Raybon selected one seemingly at random, cleared his throat, and said, "I will not buy this record, it is scratched."</p>
<p>Then they were inside a Sidhe discotheque, pushing through the throng of elves grinding to Celtic hip-hop…</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>… then floating inside a bubble over a forest of black obelisks …</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p>… then finally standing in an alcove in the one place their path was guaranteed to take them — the Wanderer's Library.</p>
</div>
<p>"Here we are," Raybon announced. "Right on schedule. Just grab that Sherlock Holmes book and give it a good yank when you're ready to go." He pointed to a volume on one of the nearby shelves, <em>The Cookbook of Sherlock Holmes</em>. It was shelved between <em>The Erotic Calendar of Sherlock Holmes</em> and <em>The Stand-Up Comedy of Sherlock Holmes</em>.</p>
<p>Thorne checked their watch. They still had 137 seconds until Nemo was supposed to distract the night guard. From the brief flashes of sense and impression that Thorne was getting from Crowe, they could tell that he was putting on the last pieces of clothing he had borrowed to impersonate them.</p>
<p>Thorne and Raybon waited for exactly twelve seconds before he shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat. "So, the shapeshifting—"</p>
<p>Thorne sighed. "Are you about to ask if he does it in bed?"</p>
<p>Raybon looked offended by the accusation, probably because it was accurate. "I wasn't <em>not</em> going to."</p>
<p>They nodded. Everyone asked eventually. Even Bishop Bishop. "He does. And since I know you're thinking it, yes, he's done real people, no, he's never done me."</p>
<p>"Really? Not even curious?"</p>
<p>"No."</p>
<p>"I wouldn't judge. I'd be curious."</p>
<p>"Well I'm not."</p>
<p>Raybon nodded, although he seemed disappointed. His brow furrowed in thought. "Which real people?"</p>
<p>"Your mother," Thorne retorted.</p>
<p>He burst out laughing. "Fair cop, that's on me for asking."</p>
<p>Both of their wristwatches chose that moment to beep. Thorne winced as a sudden flash of not-yet-memory intruded into their mind through the link they shared with their familiar.</p>
<p><em>Nemo reached into the pocket of the borrowed suit and pulled out a small mason jar filled with a translucent green vapor. He unscrewed the lid and watched as the gas poured out, writhing and wriggling like a living creature — which, in a certain sense, it was. He watched carefully as the gas golem drifted away in the night air, then reached for the radio on his belt. He checked that it was still correctly tuned, then lifted it to his face, and hit the low-power transmission button.</em></p>
<p><em>"Local units, this is Special Agent Thorne. I'm at the corner of Al Capone Avenue and Nixon Street, attempting to capture a gas golem. Any assistance would be appreciated."</em></p>
<p><em>The response came a moment later. "Agent Thorne, this is Agent Brooks inside the Depository. I'm in here alone, but I think I can spare a few minutes for you. I reckon you're not gonna get anybody else on the horn this time of night, not nearby anyways."</em></p>
<p>Thorne breathed a sigh of relief. They had been luckier than they had dared to hope. Brooks was completely mundane, and just about the best guard they could have gotten for their little heist. He was a perfectly competent agent, really, but he was terminally unimaginative and notoriously lazy when it came to paperwork. There were very good odds that he wouldn't even bother to report leaving his post, which meant that Thorne didn't need to worry about intercepting it before it reached Spencer's desk.</p>
<p>Another flash of thought from Crowe told Thorne that Brooks was out of the building.</p>
<p>"I'm up," they said. They walked over to the shelf of Sherlock Holmes stories that should never have been printed and let their hand rest on the spine of <em>The Cookbook</em>. "Remember, open it up again in five minutes."</p>
<p>Raybon flashed a thumbs-up, then fired-off a sloppy salute. "Good luck."</p>
<p>Thorne nodded. They took a breath, then pulled on the book as hard as they could.</p>
<p>There was a sound like a page being torn in half as reality was torn in half.</p>
<p>Thorne stepped through the Way…</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>John F. Kennedy Jr. Federal Depository, Three Portlands</strong></p>
<p>… and into the middle of the federal evidence depository.</p>
<p>They were in the deep stacks, amid rows and rows of filing cabinets stacked from floor to ceiling. The drawers were only labeled with case numbers from the UIU's internal indexing system, creating an impenetrable and unnavigable maze of orderly rows.</p>
<p>Unnavigable, that is, unless you knew the index.</p>
<p>Every case was assigned a seven digit numeric identifier, based on the date it was first opened — the first four digits for the year, with the last three assigned in sequential order.</p>
<p>That knowledge, on its own, would have been insufficient to find the evidence box for Florence Thorne. A reasonably clever person could have guessed that the file for her murder had a number between 2008-100 and 2008-200. That would only have led them to nothing but frustration.</p>
<p>When there were multiple case files for the same person, all of them were stored under the oldest file number. And only a handful of people knew that the first case file about Florence Thorne was older. Much older.</p>
<div style="border: solid 2px #000000; background: #eef0f2; padding: 10px; margin-left: 25%; margin-right: 25%; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc2"><span><strong><a href="/thorne-is-born">1990-057</a></strong></span></h3>
</div>
</div>
<p>A whispered cantrip dealt with the lock on the cabinet. It slid open with only the tiniest creak from the ancient rollers.</p>
<p>There were half-a-dozen file folders inside, which Thorne quickly flipped past. The object of their search would be inside one of the boxes stacked behind the files.</p>
<p>They found it in the second box they checked. The sunstone seemed to burn with a dull inner light.</p>
<p>Thorne brushed their fingers across the surface of the orange gem. They could feel the energies bound within the crystal structure.</p>
<p>They lifted the necklace from the box, surprised that it wasn't heavier. It seemed like it should be weighed down by the enchantments laid upon it.</p>
<p>They slid their prize into a suit pocket and checked their watch. They still had almost four minutes until Raybon was supposed to re-open the Way.</p>
<p>They looked back at the files inside the cabinet.</p>
<p>There was no reason to do it. They had access to digital copies of all of them through the UIU's internal computer network, and had even read all of them on more than one occasion.</p>
<p>Thorne picked up Case File 2008-126 and opened it to a random page. They recognized the handwriting of Jesse Davis. This was the original copy of the incident report she had filed after Florence's death. There were several parts that had been noticeably crossed out, which hadn't made it into the digitized copy.</p>
<div style="border: solid 2px #000000; background: #eef0f2; padding: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; overflow-x: auto">
<p>Suspect was a convict who escaped from Oregon State Penitentiary earlier this month. Suspect had been sentenced for armed robbery. Suspect has no known prior affiliation with the Lighthouse Mafia, organized paracrime, or any residents of Three Portlands. Captured members of the Lighthouse Mafia have denied any knowledge of the suspect. <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">WHO THE FUCK IS THIS GUY?</span></p>
<p>Suspect was found dead at the scene, a short distance from Agent Thorne. Based on <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">the trail of blood from her crawling across the floor</span> bloodstain pattern analysis, suspect appears to have predeceased Agent Thorne by some time. Suspect displays no obvious cause of death, <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">which is really fucking strange because if Florence lived long enough to kill him after being shot, there shouldn't have been enough of him left to bury</span> which is inconsistent with the known operational tendencies of Agent Thorne.</p>
<p>There is no evidence that the crime scene was disturbed before being found by this agent. Forensics has conclusively proven that the suspect fired the gun which killed Agent Thorne.</p>
<p>There are no remaining leads at this time.</p>
</div>
<p>The remainder of the page was empty, save for the water stains.</p>
<p>Thorne stared at the words without reading them until their watch beeped. From several rows over, they heard the sound of tearing paper again.</p>
<p>"Junior?" Raybon called out. "Time to go."</p>
<p>Thorne snapped the file shut and placed it back into the cabinet. The lock clicked as the drawer shut.</p>
<p>"Coming," they called back.</p>
<p>Thorne had a lot of respect for Jesse Davis. The other wizard <a href="/falcon-flight">had ably led MOOT</a> for a decade-and-a-half since Florence had died. She was smart, brave, and she had loved Florence — more than she would ever admit. There was absolutely zero doubt in Thorne's mind that she had done everything she could to try and solve their mother's murder. She wouldn't have said there were no more leads unless she truly believed it.</p>
<p>But that didn't mean it was true.</p>
<p>There was one person who knew exactly what had happened to Florence in the moments before her death.</p>
<p>And now Thorne had her journal.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><em><tt>TRUE KNOWLEDGE</tt> is the birthright of our children</em><br/>
<strong>« <a href="/haunted-by-the-living">Haunted by the Living</a> || <a href="/crowne-thorne-hub">HUB</a> || <a href="/memory-of-a-murder">Memory of a Murder</a> »</strong></p>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a> text="Jordan, I need you to help me commit a crime." "As entrapment attempts go, I have heard worse. Also better. Much better."]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:3law">:scp-wiki:theme:3law</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--
|name=GreenWolf]]
**SUGGESTED LISTENING**: [https://youtu.be/KMWs6ViVbLk "Beneath, Between & Behind" by Rush]
Here's my **[[[greenwolf-s-author-page|Author Page]]]**.
This is Part 2 of 7 of a tale series about the death of Florence Thorne, and the investigation undertaken by Robin Thorne. Florence previously featured as the main character of [[[florence-thorne-hub|The Phoenix, The Nightingale, and The Magpies]]]. Robin Thorne is one of the main characters of [[[unusual-investigations|The Unusual Investigations of Kenneth Spencer and Robin Thorne]]].
I don't really have much else to say here. I guess I could endorse smoking? Cigarettes are pretty cool. I used them to get through writer's block while working on this, which is probably some kind of metaphor about upvote addiction and writing for this website.
> **SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING**: Smoking Causes Lung Cancer, Heart Disease, Emphysema, And May Complicate Pregnancy.
Part 3 will be released when I write it.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
[[=]]
**<< [[[haunted-by-the-living| Haunted by the Living]]] || [[[crowne-thorne-hub| HUB]]] || [[[memory-of-a-murder| Memory of a Murder]]] >>**
//our inheritance is naught save an uncertain future and an unremembered past//
[[/=]]
**May 28th, 2024**
**Docks District, Three Portlands**
The docks are one of the many oddities of Three Portlands.
There is no ocean within the pocket universe. No sea touches the shores of the city-state. There //are// fish, somehow, but they should not be consumed.
The Docks District is in the middle of the city -- although without an ocean it might as well be anywhere. It sits in the lee of Prometheus Plaza, halfway between the Periphery and Cambium Circle, the result of the city piling-up and splitting around the anchor point of the Plaza. Great chasms of unreality split the streets, tears in the underlying municipal substrate that lead directly to the Outside. Between them, reality folds over on itself in thick clumps, and the ontological dichotomy gives rise to the densest cluster of Ways within the multiverse.
It was Robin Thorne's least favorite part of the city. Not because of the crime -- or rather, because of the crime, but not for any of the expected reasons. The cluster of Ways made the district a transportation nexus, which brought with it the usual array of smugglers, scammers, and racketeers. The giant gaping holes in reality which exposed the raw conceptual unspace surrounding {{EVERYTHING}} were perfect for disposing of evidence, competitors, and evidence of disposing of competitors. The combination was perfect for organized crime.
In many ways, the demographics and democratic governance of Three Portlands resembled nothing so much as gang warfare waged by debate. Different factions -- religious, philosophical, corporate, political, and even criminal -- held sway over different neighborhoods, arrayed aside and against each other by a complicated network of alliance and rivalry. Some had formal agreements with the city. Some controlled aldermen on the city council. Some were completely invisible.
In Memorial Park, ICSUT fostered an array of foreign embassies and interests on behalf of the Coalition. The Maxwellists were embedded in the hospital system, sometimes quite literally. Anderson had seized the vacancy left in Prometheus Plaza to establish a personal fiefdom, until the UIU had created a new power vacuum.
In the Docks District, the dominant power had been, for so many years, the Lighthouse Mafia. It was where they had started, it was where they had operated, and it was where they retreated when the UIU -- led by Florence Thorne -- had begun to close in.
Florence had dedicated herself to combating the Lighthouse Mafia, especially after the death of Vale Fairburn. As a result, she had spent a lot of her time in the Docks District, and it was where she had fought some of her fiercest battles.
It was where she had died.
So yes, it was because of the crime -- that was why Robin Thorne hated the Docks District.
There was one part that did bring them joy though.
= **SUBMARINE SHIPPING** _
**//Imports, Exports & Transports//** _
//"You can't sink a submarine!"//
The unhappiest that Robin had ever seen Florence was on the day she had been scheduled to testify against Jordan Raybon for his involvement in Vale Fairburn's demise. Although she had never been friends with Submarine, [[[when-parallel-lines-diverge|the rivalry between smuggler and special agent had been friendly]]], and neither had expected or wanted for it to end in such a manner. It was also an instance where legal and moral guilt were misaligned, and Florence's subsequent testimony as a character witness for the defense ensured that Raybon would eventually return from prison.
In the years since his release, Submarine had straightened his course, so to speak. He had opened an import/export business in his old stomping grounds, which was entirely legitimate -- or so he claimed, and so it appeared under federal scrutiny. He made a modest profit, kept some, used some to repay old debts and past wrongs, and donated the rest to whichever beggar was nearest at the end of his walk home. He kept up a steady stream of business, but always had time to talk to old acquaintances. And every now and then, he would walk by the statue of Stephen King and have a quiet conversation with the federal agent waiting there.
And on the wall outside his business, he paid the local kids to protect and preserve a mural.
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/much-belated-inheritance/MemorialGraffiti.png title="Florence Thorne 1966-2008 Happy is the one that has found wisdom" alt="The flag of Three Portlands, spray painted onto a wall. A phoenix is spray painted over that. The words 'Florence Thorne' '1966-2008' and 'Happy is the one that has found wisdom' are spray painted over that." link="/local--files/much-belated-inheritance/MemorialGraffiti.png" style="border: 1px none black;"]]
A peculiar battle was unfolding as Thorne approached. A large seal was flopped out on the pavement, steadfastly refusing to move, while Jordan Raybon attempted to move the obstinate pinniped with a heavy front loader. He smiled and waved from the cab of the vehicle when he saw Thorne. "Good to see you, Junior! Tell me, what can I do for you? I was just about to close up."
Thorne looked at the seal. Looked at Raybon. Opened their mouth. Looked at the seal again. Closed their mouth.
They shook their head. Looked back at Raybon.
"Jordan, I need you to help me commit a crime."
Jordan 'Submarine' Raybon -- once the most successful solo smuggler in Three Portlands, the best intuitive Wayfinder outside of the Library, the real life Robin Hood from the Bottle Drop -- considered the proposal.
Jordan Raybon, Doing Business As Submarine Shipping -- small business owner, law-abiding citizen, and federal informant -- answered.
"As entrapment attempts go, I have heard worse. Also better. Much better."
Thorne shook their head. "This is important, Jordan. There's something that belonged to my mother that never made it out of evidence. It was never given to me. I want to get it back."
Raybon frowned, then shrugged apologetically. "I think you got the wrong department, Junior. I'm not the one what's collecting evidence."
"I know that you found a Way that leads directly into the Depository."
His eyes narrowed. "Who told you that? I never used it -- it had to have been Five--"
Thorne cut him off. "I guessed. You're the best Wayfinder in the city and you had enough things that had been inside the building that it would have been more surprising if you hadn't found a Way there."
He tried to look displeased by Thorne's trickery, but the man called Submarine was easily flattered. "Yeah, well, I am pretty good at what I do. It's no joke, making an honest profit in this business. Despite what folks say, crime pays good money. Being law-abiding comes with license fees, inspection fees, what they call compliance costs. Really, the default state of your average //petit-bourgeoisie// individual entrepreneur is being a thieving criminal cheat. I'm practically a Saint, ain't I?"
They nodded. "She'd be proud of you, Jordan. She really would."
He ducked his head, blinking tears from his eyes. "I appreciate you saying so."
Thorne watched silently as Raybon turned back to his battle with the seal. Despite the creature's bulk, the front loader was succeeding in pushing it back, inch by inch, towards a large circle that had been sloppily painted on the ground with what appeared to be ketchup. Once the seal was inside the circle, Raybon reversed the front loader, driving with his knees so that he could use both hands to give a two-fingered salute.
"Surf's up, ya legless git."
Saltwater began to flow up through the cobblestones beneath the marooned marine mammal. A faint ocean breeze blew through the alley. A wave rose up, suspended in motion, to hang over the seal. The cry of a gull echoed from nowhere. The wave crashed down, enveloping the creature and carrying it away through a Way. When the water cleared, the seal was gone.
Raybon cut the power on the front loader and stepped out of the cab. He walked over to Thorne, took a deep breath, then looked them in the eye.
"What's the plan?"
----
**May 29th, 2024**
**Robin Thorne's Apartment, Three Portlands**
Robin Thorne considered the assets available to them.
[[div style="border: solid 2px #000000; background: #eef0f2; padding: 10px; margin-left: 7.5%; margin-right: 7.5%; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;"]]
+++ @@ @@**Assets**
1 moderately talented thaumaturge. Miserable at evocation. Only one who knows where things are.
1 constructed intelligence bound as familiar w/ empathetic link. Manifests as small bird. Speaks many languages, can only speak English to Canadians (might only be in 3P -- localized curse?)
1 humanoid shapeshifter. Cute ass. Good actor. Loyal. Reliable. Completely useless.
1 retired expert smuggler. THE Wayfinder. Definitely hates doing felonies now. Guilt-tripped onto team. Only one who knows where to go.
[[/div]]
They considered the obstacles in front of them.
[[div style="border: solid 2px #000000; background: #eef0f2; padding: 10px; margin-left: 7.5%; margin-right: 7.5%; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;"]]
+++ @@ @@**Problems**
Access to the building is controlled.
1 or 2 federal agents are stationed as night guards within the building.
The interior and exterior are under constant video surveillance.
All surveillance video is recorded and retained until the end of the week.
If the night guards notice anything suspicious, the entire night of surveillance footage is marked for preservation and carefully reviewed.
[[/div]]
Then they made a plan.
This type of planning was completely unlike the typical thinking Thorne employed in investigations, which always centered around answering questions rather than making tactical decisions. It was, however, the same object-oriented operational analysis that Florence had brought to the UIU when she had formed MOOT, which meant that Thorne was more than familiar with it. There was no situation for which it was better suited than the current one.
It suggested that there was a simple, obvious plan. All they had to do was perform the entire operation without arousing the suspicion of the guards, while also not leaving any evidence that would call for a review of surveillance tapes within a week.
A simple plan, honestly. All the complexity was in the details.
"Honey, I need you to hold still. I can't clearly visualize you if you keep turning your head." The shapeshifter paced around them in a circle, his gaze intent upon them as it wandered over their body.
Thorne rolled their eyes, but made sure to keep their head still. "Should I be concerned that you can't visualize me? I know you didn't have your eyes closed, we've made eye contact before."
Nemo continued to stare unblinkingly at them. "That's the problem, I know you too well. I need to visualize you as you outwardly appear, not as you actually are."
"Oh, you mean you idealize me and overlook my flaws."
"Something like that, yes. Such as, just to pick an example entirely at random, your inability to hold still for multiple seconds in a row. I take no notice of it. I think I'm good, by the way, you can put the rest of your clothes back on. Or the opposite, we have some time to kill."
Thorne grabbed their shirt off the back of the chair and pulled it on over their tanktop. "No, I want to go over the final plan."
"Ah, yes, the part where you make me a conspirator." He rubbed his hands together with feigned giddiness. "They do say you should choose your spouse based on who you most want to protect with the right to not testify."
"Is that why you haven't proposed?" Thorne finished pulling up their pants and looked back over their shoulder at him. "Are you really about to tell me that you're a narc right now?"
Hands raised, he spread his arms and gave a weary sigh. "Alas, while the dramatic timing would be incredible, it is only fiction. I didn't want to force you into a role you were uncomfortable with by presuming to initiate a proposal."
"You thought //I// was going to propose?" They grabbed their suit jacket and swung it across behind them.
"Well--"
Thorne rolled their shoulders, shrugging the suit on with an audible snap of fabric. "We are having the rest of this conversation later, Nemo. I can't believe you sometimes."
"I love you?"
"You too. Promise not to testify against me in court?"
"I do."
"Alright. Here's how it's going to work..."
----
**The City of Doors [[[preliminary-report|(JCR-038)]]]**
Jordan Raybon bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Alright, I took a gander at our route, and it'll take us about three minutes to walk there I reckon."
The three of them -- plus Crowe -- were staging out of a sub-universe that Raybon called the City of Doors, which Thorne vaguely remembered reading about in freshman World Tree Theory at ICSUT Portlands. It was a deserted cityscape of confused, jumbled architecture, where none of the doors were capable of being opened -- although later exploration showed that //some// doors could be opened, just not to places within the City of Doors.
As branch universes went, it was fairly well-documented, largely unsuitable for permanent habitation, and utterly unremarkable on all accounts, which meant few people had a reason to stick around. It was mildly popular as a clandestine rendezvous spot for teens from Three Portlands, and a few moderately busy Way-paths navigated through the minor nexus, but otherwise saw little traffic.
Thorne nodded. "Call it five minutes then, with a buffer. Nemo, that gives you enough time to change clothes before you start your part then. Have Crowe signal once the guard leaves the building."
"I still don't like that part," Raybon said. "Could be multiple guards."
"There won't be." Thorne sounded confident. "Every federal employee who gets paid by check just got theirs today. Everyone takes off if they can to spend money."
Neither Raybon nor Nemo questioned why the UIU agents were getting paid by check. Everyone who lived in Three Portlands knew that electronic banking within the city was unreliable enough as to be non-existent; keeping the non-electronic banking working was already difficult enough.
Raybon looked at Nemo curiously. "Nemo... ain't you that bloke with the role in that Hooverite play? The one with the shapeshifting?"
**{{J.}}** was Blaschleigh Vlandersloon's newest experimental production, which had just opened that weekend. It was a one-actor dramatization and critical commentary on the life of J. Edgar Hoover, wherein every scene featured multiple characters interacting, demanding the talents of a shapeshifting actor. Nemo had defeated his main rival, Odysseus Complex, in the audition, and the unexpected popularity of the play -- buoyed by the wave of anti-federal sentiment sweeping the city immediately after the Anderson raid -- had earned him a number of laudatory reviews from the local ring of theatre critics.
"Not quite. We're actually a municipal production."
"No shit? You're getting paid out of the Fund?" The main purpose of the J. Edgar Hoover Defamation Fund maintained by the city was to finance negative propaganda against the man, which effectively functioned as a politically-awarded artistic grant. Although the total revenues were small, many an anartist in Three Portlands had gotten their start slandering Hoover at the behest of the City Council.
"Yeah. McClure was the deciding vote this year on whether they'd do a play or a sculpture, and you know he likes theatre."
"I thought he was big into monuments?"
"No, that was the original. This one's the clone, remember." After almost two decades of incumbency, the only person who had finally managed to oust Alderman Stephen McClure from the City Council had been his own clone, Steven.
Thorne coughed to draw attention back to them. "Jordan, once we get Nemo's signal, you're going to open the Way into the depository. We have no idea what the thaumontologics look like on the other end, so you're going to stay behind and re-open it five minutes after I go through."
Raybon looked concerned. "What if you miss it?"
"Trust your gut on whether to bail or keep trying. But the worst case if I get caught is that I have to talk my way out of a building I'm allowed to be in."
"Just, you know, after hours and potentially holding stolen evidence while I'm standing outside looking like you," Nemo chimed in.
"Look, this isn't even [[[circumstances|my worst plan involving a doppelganger of myself]]]. I think we have a pretty good chance of pulling this off."
"Speaking of doppelgangers, I think that's my cue." Nemo shook his arms out, then closed his eyes and stopped breathing.
The first thing that happened was that he dropped about two inches of height. His arms shrank inwards to match a moment later. His hair retracted back into his scalp until it was in a bob cut, darkening as it did so to take-on a deep red-brown hue.
Then his skin started to bubble, and keeping track of what was happening to his features became impossible. But when it finally stopped a few seconds later, there was another Robin Thorne standing in his place.
"Well?" he said, and Robin's voice came from his mouth. "How do I look?"
"I'm too used to mirrors, I'm not a good judge," Thorne said.
"I'm seeing double," Raybon offered, clearly impressed.
Crowe hopped in place on Thorne's shoulder, looking between them and Nemo. It stretched its wings and flapped over to Nemo's shoulder. It examined his face curiously, then chirped lightly.
"What'd he say?" Nemo asked.
"Your aura's the wrong color," Thorne explained. "So try to avoid any wizards."
Nemo nodded. "Can you give me my motivation, Director?"
"You don't want to go to prison for impersonating a federal agent," they said, completely deadpan. "Everyone get ready to sync your watches on my mark."
Raybon laughed as he looked at his wristwatch. "Ain't that just classic. Real James Bond, Tom Cruise action."
Thorne ignored him. "Five minute timer, starting... now."
There were three simultaneous clicks as they each started the timer on their watches.
"Alright, Nemo, go break a leg. Crowe, keep him out of trouble. Jordan, you're with me. Let's do this."
They watched while Nemo and Crowe departed back through the nearest Way to Three Portlands, exiting via a door on a building that looked like what you might get if you asked Frank Lloyd Wright to design a Ziggurat.
Once he was gone, Raybon started leading them along the route that would take them to the evidence depository.
They started with a door about fifty feet away, which took them through a Way into a lower branch universe. The door itself was normal, but the Knock to open the Way involved a complicated sequence of whistled notes that Thorne wouldn't have been able to replicate.
They walked for sixteen paces through a field of blue roses, then stopped so Raybon could pull out a lighter, crouch down, and set fire to the nearest rose. The smoke revealed a hole to yet another world, which they passed through.
They continued down the aisle of an impossibly large tobacconist, with shelves stocked with every brand of cigarette, cigar, cigarillo, or other smokeable imaginable. Raybon selected one seemingly at random, cleared his throat, and said, "I will not buy this record, it is scratched."
Then they were inside a Sidhe discotheque, pushing through the throng of elves grinding to Celtic hip-hop...
[[=]]
... then floating inside a bubble over a forest of black obelisks ...
[[/=]]
[[>]]
... then finally standing in an alcove in the one place their path was guaranteed to take them -- the Wanderer's Library.
[[/>]]
"Here we are," Raybon announced. "Right on schedule. Just grab that Sherlock Holmes book and give it a good yank when you're ready to go." He pointed to a volume on one of the nearby shelves, //The Cookbook of Sherlock Holmes//. It was shelved between //The Erotic Calendar of Sherlock Holmes// and //The Stand-Up Comedy of Sherlock Holmes//.
Thorne checked their watch. They still had 137 seconds until Nemo was supposed to distract the night guard. From the brief flashes of sense and impression that Thorne was getting from Crowe, they could tell that he was putting on the last pieces of clothing he had borrowed to impersonate them.
Thorne and Raybon waited for exactly twelve seconds before he shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat. "So, the shapeshifting--"
Thorne sighed. "Are you about to ask if he does it in bed?"
Raybon looked offended by the accusation, probably because it was accurate. "I wasn't //not// going to."
They nodded. Everyone asked eventually. Even Bishop Bishop. "He does. And since I know you're thinking it, yes, he's done real people, no, he's never done me."
"Really? Not even curious?"
"No."
"I wouldn't judge. I'd be curious."
"Well I'm not."
Raybon nodded, although he seemed disappointed. His brow furrowed in thought. "Which real people?"
"Your mother," Thorne retorted.
He burst out laughing. "Fair cop, that's on me for asking."
Both of their wristwatches chose that moment to beep. Thorne winced as a sudden flash of not-yet-memory intruded into their mind through the link they shared with their familiar.
//Nemo reached into the pocket of the borrowed suit and pulled out a small mason jar filled with a translucent green vapor. He unscrewed the lid and watched as the gas poured out, writhing and wriggling like a living creature -- which, in a certain sense, it was. He watched carefully as the gas golem drifted away in the night air, then reached for the radio on his belt. He checked that it was still correctly tuned, then lifted it to his face, and hit the low-power transmission button.//
//"Local units, this is Special Agent Thorne. I'm at the corner of Al Capone Avenue and Nixon Street, attempting to capture a gas golem. Any assistance would be appreciated."//
//The response came a moment later. "Agent Thorne, this is Agent Brooks inside the Depository. I'm in here alone, but I think I can spare a few minutes for you. I reckon you're not gonna get anybody else on the horn this time of night, not nearby anyways."//
Thorne breathed a sigh of relief. They had been luckier than they had dared to hope. Brooks was completely mundane, and just about the best guard they could have gotten for their little heist. He was a perfectly competent agent, really, but he was terminally unimaginative and notoriously lazy when it came to paperwork. There were very good odds that he wouldn't even bother to report leaving his post, which meant that Thorne didn't need to worry about intercepting it before it reached Spencer's desk.
Another flash of thought from Crowe told Thorne that Brooks was out of the building.
"I'm up," they said. They walked over to the shelf of Sherlock Holmes stories that should never have been printed and let their hand rest on the spine of //The Cookbook//. "Remember, open it up again in five minutes."
Raybon flashed a thumbs-up, then fired-off a sloppy salute. "Good luck."
Thorne nodded. They took a breath, then pulled on the book as hard as they could.
There was a sound like a page being torn in half as reality was torn in half.
Thorne stepped through the Way...
----
**John F. Kennedy Jr. Federal Depository, Three Portlands**
... and into the middle of the federal evidence depository.
They were in the deep stacks, amid rows and rows of filing cabinets stacked from floor to ceiling. The drawers were only labeled with case numbers from the UIU's internal indexing system, creating an impenetrable and unnavigable maze of orderly rows.
Unnavigable, that is, unless you knew the index.
Every case was assigned a seven digit numeric identifier, based on the date it was first opened -- the first four digits for the year, with the last three assigned in sequential order.
That knowledge, on its own, would have been insufficient to find the evidence box for Florence Thorne. A reasonably clever person could have guessed that the file for her murder had a number between 2008-100 and 2008-200. That would only have led them to nothing but frustration.
When there were multiple case files for the same person, all of them were stored under the oldest file number. And only a handful of people knew that the first case file about Florence Thorne was older. Much older.
[[div style="border: solid 2px #000000; background: #eef0f2; padding: 10px; margin-left: 25%; margin-right: 25%; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
+++ **[[[thorne-is-born|1990-057]]]**
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
A whispered cantrip dealt with the lock on the cabinet. It slid open with only the tiniest creak from the ancient rollers.
There were half-a-dozen file folders inside, which Thorne quickly flipped past. The object of their search would be inside one of the boxes stacked behind the files.
They found it in the second box they checked. The sunstone seemed to burn with a dull inner light.
Thorne brushed their fingers across the surface of the orange gem. They could feel the energies bound within the crystal structure.
They lifted the necklace from the box, surprised that it wasn't heavier. It seemed like it should be weighed down by the enchantments laid upon it.
They slid their prize into a suit pocket and checked their watch. They still had almost four minutes until Raybon was supposed to re-open the Way.
They looked back at the files inside the cabinet.
There was no reason to do it. They had access to digital copies of all of them through the UIU's internal computer network, and had even read all of them on more than one occasion.
Thorne picked up Case File 2008-126 and opened it to a random page. They recognized the handwriting of Jesse Davis. This was the original copy of the incident report she had filed after Florence's death. There were several parts that had been noticeably crossed out, which hadn't made it into the digitized copy.
[[div style="border: solid 2px #000000; background: #eef0f2; padding: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; overflow-x: auto"]]
Suspect was a convict who escaped from Oregon State Penitentiary earlier this month. Suspect had been sentenced for armed robbery. Suspect has no known prior affiliation with the Lighthouse Mafia, organized paracrime, or any residents of Three Portlands. Captured members of the Lighthouse Mafia have denied any knowledge of the suspect. --WHO THE FUCK IS THIS GUY?--
Suspect was found dead at the scene, a short distance from Agent Thorne. Based on --the trail of blood from her crawling across the floor-- bloodstain pattern analysis, suspect appears to have predeceased Agent Thorne by some time. Suspect displays no obvious cause of death, --which is really fucking strange because if Florence lived long enough to kill him after being shot, there shouldn't have been enough of him left to bury-- which is inconsistent with the known operational tendencies of Agent Thorne.
There is no evidence that the crime scene was disturbed before being found by this agent. Forensics has conclusively proven that the suspect fired the gun which killed Agent Thorne.
There are no remaining leads at this time.
[[/div]]
The remainder of the page was empty, save for the water stains.
Thorne stared at the words without reading them until their watch beeped. From several rows over, they heard the sound of tearing paper again.
"Junior?" Raybon called out. "Time to go."
Thorne snapped the file shut and placed it back into the cabinet. The lock clicked as the drawer shut.
"Coming," they called back.
Thorne had a lot of respect for Jesse Davis. The other wizard [[[falcon-flight|had ably led MOOT]]] for a decade-and-a-half since Florence had died. She was smart, brave, and she had loved Florence -- more than she would ever admit. There was absolutely zero doubt in Thorne's mind that she had done everything she could to try and solve their mother's murder. She wouldn't have said there were no more leads unless she truly believed it.
But that didn't mean it was true.
There was one person who knew exactly what had happened to Florence in the moments before her death.
And now Thorne had her journal.
[[=]]
//{{TRUE KNOWLEDGE}} is the birthright of our children//
**<< [[[haunted-by-the-living| Haunted by the Living]]] || [[[crowne-thorne-hub| HUB]]] || [[[memory-of-a-murder| Memory of a Murder]]] >>**
[[/=]]
|
2024-08-19T13:00:00
|
[
"crime-fiction",
"lgbtq",
"mystery",
"robin-thorne",
"tale",
"third-law",
"three-portlands",
"twisted-pines",
"unusual-incidents-unit"
] |
A Much Belated Inheritance - SCP Foundation
| 24
|
[
"greenwolf-s-author-page",
"florence-thorne-hub",
"unusual-investigations",
"haunted-by-the-living",
"crowne-thorne-hub",
"memory-of-a-murder",
"when-parallel-lines-diverge",
"preliminary-report",
"circumstances",
"thorne-is-born",
"falcon-flight"
] |
[
"unusual-incidents-unit-hub",
"third-law-hub",
"crowne-thorne-hub"
] |
[] |
1456438066
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/much-belated-inheritance
|
|
multi-goddess-drifting
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aoceanbound/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div style="display: none;">
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><img alt="Carissa%20Dimenson%20Hop.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Carissa%20Dimenson%20Hop.png"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>{$caption}</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="preview">
<p>Some motherfuckers still trying to multi-track drift a goddess uphill.</p>
</div>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p>Word Count: 21,000 words<br/>
Reading time: 1 hour and 16 minutes</p>
<p>⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong> This article contains graphic depictions of violence, some allusions to sexual references.<br/>
<strong>SUGGESTED LISTENING</strong>:<br/>
Theme:</p>
<p><a href="https://youtu.be/b6FhOb7-1dg">Carol of the Bells</a><br/>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E0eXTEIpGzY&pp=ygUYUGhvZW5peCBGQXRlIGdyYW5kIG9yZGVy">Phoenix by Fallout Boy</a></p>
<p>Character Themes:</p>
<ul>
<li>Carissa Inspo - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3i_MBzr7LWs&ab_channel=GAYLE-Topic">ABCEFU (Angrier)</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8WLa6umgdw&ab_channel=MatchboxTwenty">She's So Mean</a></li>
<li>Medea Inspo - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9LPQmkao8c&pp=ygUKV2lsZCBSb3Nlcw%3D%3D">Wild Roses by Of Monsters and Men</a></li>
<li>Artemis - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-Naa1HXeDQ&ab_channel=MatchboxTwenty">Matchbox Twenty 3 AM</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PN-zHSvDc1g&ab_channel=Triple-Q">Sucker is a new and original song which doesn't plagiarize at all</a>, <a href="https://youtu.be/Cw5-z-5Ylzc?si=V10uaLo3dt2uX5YN">Ängie - Housewife Spliffin'</a></li>
</ul>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">1957, Swiss Alpine GOC Railway</span></p>
</div>
<p>Whistling steam fills the mountains, for a moment drowning out all other noise. A rare and clear sky enables streams of sunlight to dance across the snow covered ridges, painting a perfect landscape that's only disturbed by the slightest glint from an easily missed gap in the snow. Motion, the slightest peek of a rifle barrel tilting out of a carefully camouflaged cubby dug into the ground. A huntress stalking her prey.</p>
<p>Seconds tick past. Motion below, streaking smoke, thundering metal. A pair of trains, one coupled to the other, steaming through a grove of pines three miles away. They burst through the sanctuary of trees, out into the open, whistles roaring.</p>
<p>The rifle tracks, the grinding clicks of a scope adjusting.</p>
<p><strong>Crack.</strong> A scream of joy, arbiter of death unleashing its message down the slopes.</p>
<p>"Hit. Adjusting."</p>
<p>Click. <strong>Crack.</strong></p>
<p>"Motherfucker."</p>
<p>Klaxons fill the air. Distant whumps and booms of heavy guns echo against the slopes, whistling steel arcing up. Snow slides away as the disguise disintegrates, black and red dancing against the surrounding white. A lone figure framed against the Alpine winter. "Well, guess we're going fucking loud. Huh?"</p>
<p>All hell breaks loose. Snow bursts, fire burns, and steel fragments whip through the air.</p>
<p>And the huntress? Well, that all depends. Did it really go loud? Or did it go quietly until the end?</p>
<p>Wouldn't you like to fucking know?</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">96 hours before impact. 1957, The Library</span></p>
</div>
<p>A sharp <em>thwoomf</em> disrupts the quiet of the Library. Two figures materialize, popping into existence like a chameleon dropping its camouflage, right into one of its more active sections. Unlike some other segments, this region of shelves was associated with violence, dissidence, and ideals of resistance; the perfect place to find the Serpent's Hand.</p>
<p>Of course it wasn't always this way; only recently had it been established for the Hand after they regained access to the Library. But established it is.</p>
<p>For a moment, activity pauses as Docents and patrons alike examine the newcomers, finally deciding they are of little interest and returning to their affairs.</p>
<p>"So, what you're telling me right now is, that after one hundred and fourty years, the Hand finally woke up one day and said 'You know, we have these lovely mercs who do all this shit for us, maybe we should consider offering them something more than the occasional pittance? Maybe we should give them full-time connections?'" Carissa Decimus sneers. Gentle wavering lights emanates from lanterns and the stars above, illuminating the wild locks of her blood-colored hair. Maroon-furred ears press to her head, all while a tail ending in a thick tuft of fur twitches and flicks back and forth repeatedly.</p>
<p>"Come Carissa, we both know it's more complicated than that." The robed figure squeezes Carissa's hand, pulling her along. Soft fingers, unmarred by physical labor, draw threads of warm string into Carissa's chest at every gentle pull. Each motion disarms her, forcing her to focus on the source of her prior irritation lest she end up agreeing to something miserable. "In due time, we shall make our place among them."</p>
<p>"Ha! Bullshit! We're tools M, cudgels, weapons to be brought to bear against the Hand's enemies. And boy are those enemies growing in number. One hundred and forty years, <em>one hundred and forty fucking years babe.</em>"</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>It's amazing that between the biting cynicism and lethal cunning of your mind, you have such unbridled optimistic idealism.</em></span></p>
<p>"They'll never trust us with any depth or insight. I say we turn them down right now, walk off, let them offer something more substantial, or we go back to what we were doing before."</p>
<p>M stops in her tracks, removes her hood and turns to face Carissa. Half a head shorter than her partner, M tilts her face to look up at Carissa. "Carissa, you have not even heard what they are offering. Patience, patience is key."</p>
<p>"I don't need to! It's always the same, a pittance for risking our skin. They just want to put a collar around us now. Same story as the Clocktower, the Habsburgs, Venice, <em>et cetera</em>." Carissa sniffs, wiping her nose as a bit of dust from a nearby shelf whips up into a floating cloud that decides to further piss in her Cheerios, disturbed by a patron thumbing through books.</p>
<p>"Didn't we learn our lesson after killing all those Obskuracorps for the Americans? What did they do? Turned around and put bounties on our asses for being war criminals! For offing hundreds of Nazis! Everyone in that regime was culpable, even the motherfucking foot soldiers. We told them there would be collateral! Fucking assholes."</p>
<p>"This time is different," M says, taking both Carissa's hands, and squeezing. She brushes brown locks of hair behind elven ears. Shivers arc up Carissa's spine, her wife's piercing gaze caressing her soul. "This time I trust the connection point."</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>You what?</em></span> Carissa stares, plunging into the abyss of her partner's lilac gaze. She drifts, biting her lip as she drowns in their depths. For but a moment she steps a little closer, feeling M's breath wash across her face and neck, thoughts skewing towards leaning in, pressing her up against the bookcase an—</p>
<p>Words aren't needed, how could they ever be with someone you've known for almost five thousand years? The dancing illumination in their eyes conveying a waterfall of concepts, a burning tide of meaning and emotion punctuated by a single twitch of the lips. 'Do you trust me?'</p>
<p>'Implicitly, but not them.' Carissa's free hand rises, calloused flesh of her fingers brushing against M's cheek. Claw-like nails gently press into the contours of her sorceress's jawline, drawing a shiver from M.</p>
<p>"Not here," M says, regret leaking into her tone.</p>
<p>The spell breaks. Carissa shakes her head, flicking her ears as she banishes the impulse. "What do you mean 'this time'?"</p>
<p>"Come, you'll understand when you meet them." M gestures, letting the flush on her cheeks die an abrupt death as Carissa releases her face, static discharges flickering between them in the remnants of a storm of affection that doesn't quite dissipate. The cryptic and vague response wasn't helping the inferno sizzling in Carissa's chest; M always left her with a mystery to be unwound. These little games between them drove Carissa up the wall in the best way possible.</p>
<p>They turn, and move deeper into the shelves, the terrain shifting and turning in unnatural and impossible ways as the floor becomes walls, walls and ceilings become the floor. M pivots right, turning into a cubby full of chairs, a table and smaller shelves. The rich smell of an undiscovered blend of tea waxes across Carissa's nostrils as she steps in after her sorceress.</p>
<p>Seated in one of the chairs is someone Carissa is not expecting. Short brown hair, a simple red pantsuit, and the face of someone who's just graduated from college and is fresh to the world. They look up from a book, a dozen more stacked next to them on an end table. A vivaciously decorated pot of tea rests on a study table, a cup half-drunk placed neatly before them. Meticulous and precise arrangement, all constructed to avoid being knocked over onto a small stack of carefully arranged files.</p>
<p>"Carissa, this is Tilda D. Moose.<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-314549-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-314549-1')">1</a></sup> We've been talking at length for some months."</p>
<p>"Are you kidding me! This is your new connection point!?" Carissa exclaims in disbelief, tail fluffing out. "M, they're a child! Fresh out of adolescence! You can't be fucking serious, there's no w—"</p>
<p>Carissa stops mid-sentence. M's lips purse, and her eyes narrow while squeezing her partner's fingers tight. The silent communication that passes between them with an exchange of shifting facial expressions carries all the needed meaning. 'This is an opportunity for us, for me to finally <em>finally</em> find a solution. Please give it a shot.'</p>
<p>"A pleasure to meet you too, Mrs. Decimus." The youthful scholar stands. It's a practiced elegance, only really exhibited by diplomats looking to end a catastrophic war. Perfect diction, an even voice, and polite word choice flags the course of the coming conversation. Of course, the eyes are what catch Carissa's attention. A person's eyes tell all; portals to the soul, and here Carissa saw the burning curiosity, intense depths and wisdom betrayed by the youth in their face. And cunning. A meticulous gleam of calculation. Carissa clenches her teeth and her stomach churns. For the first time someone stands before her who matches M's intensity.</p>
<p>"M has told me a great deal about you, and the unique challenges you both face in regards to interaction with the Hand." Another polite smile shielding sly intent. They extend their hands. "Let us not waste words on idle talk. In the interest of transparency, I come bearing the olive branch, and a chest of riches for your consideration. Correct me if I misspeak, but my understanding of your disposition is that you do not respect anyone, unless they prove their competency?"</p>
<p>Carissa blinks, eyes darting to M. <span style="color:red"><em>Dammit M, what did you tell them?</em></span> M meets her gaze, a playful smile on her lips; mischievous intent twinkling in the way the lantern lights reflect. Realization washes across Carissa's mind. <span style="color:red"><em>They conspired on this together!? What the fuck is happening? Who the fuck is this?</em></span></p>
<p>Carissa flicks her tail, crosses her arms, and her eyes return to the stranger. "Alright, so you know a bit about me. So fucking what? You think you're going to spook me into cooperation? Believing you're worth our time?"</p>
<p>"Not at all. I'd be suspicious if you trusted me right off the bat. It tells me much about you."</p>
<p>"Such as?" Carissa snorts incredulously.</p>
<p>The polite smile twists into a sharp grin, a trap sprung. Chills arc up Carissa's spine, batting away the instinct to grab M and fucking run in the interest of satiating her own curiosity.</p>
<p>"Where to begin. You trust your partner's decision-making implicitly; hence why you've not walked away in the first five minutes. But despite that trust, you never go along with something wholesale until you're certain it's worth both your time. Most likely because you've been burned in the past, possibly multiple times. In the five or so minutes since you stepped into my little cubby, you've scanned every corner, presumably for threats, your arms are crossed but your hands are open and not balled into fists or clasping your skin. Your legs are slightly apart, ready to move if you need to. You're alert, but at the same time have dismissed me as a threat. Or you had until a few seconds ago."</p>
<p>Moose pauses to take a precisely timed sip of tea, letting her initial words sink in as Carissa internally squirms.</p>
<p>"You're skeptical, meticulous in analyzing situations to angle for the best outcome for yourself and M. And that's part of the key, even if you think a situation benefits you, if it doesn't benefit M, you discard the option and keep looking." Moose clasps their hands together, the predatory grin growing wider. Carissa's posture tenses, ears flattening to her head as Moose marches further and further into systematically deconstructing who she is. "Remarkably selfless for someone who likes to project that they hate people and appears to have a selfish attitude." A pause as they tap a folder that has "Carissa" written across it. "Of course, this is not to neglect how you go out of your way to protect and move innocent lives, much less how you relocate cryptozoological species when they're under threat. And of course, there are your more tactical capabilities."</p>
<p>M gently rests a hand on Carissa's hip, squeezing comfortingly. A small exchange of looks passes between them at the end of the monologue as Moose waits patiently.</p>
<p>Curling and uncurling her fists, Carissa's stomach churns madly. Her ears stand fully pert as her eyes narrow. "Who are you?"</p>
<p>"I'm the key to tying you into the Hand. Connecting you to the larger network without having to cycle through multiple reps, all of whom you hate. Now, you can just hate me." A politely cruel smile. "Though I am hoping that won't be the case forever. If you're not convinced, this stack of files is the sum of my intelligence work in the last six months."</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>The whole thing was a fucking trap, they've got me by the balls. Well fucking played, well played M.</em></span></p>
<p>"Real fucking cryptic, that's going to get old fast."</p>
<p>"On the contrary, I think you'll come to enjoy my little puzzles. Stimulation is what keeps the mind from decaying." The worst part is how fucking smug that polite smile is.</p>
<p>Carissa's eyes dart to the folders. She shifts and grabs a couple. Opening one, she flips through the pages, absorbing the information. Then the next folder. Then the next. <span style="color:red"><em>Oh, they're good. Bloody fucking hells they're good, what in the seven hells!?</em></span></p>
<p>"Ok." Carissa sits sideways in a chair, tail hanging off the other side, body half turned to face Moose. "Why us? There are plenty of operatives within the Hand, and you have the kind of chops that could reshape the entire course of… everything."</p>
<p>"You both have unique ontological capabilities that I think are, currently, being wasted by other cells. They have you doing petty tasks far below your skill level. Grunt work, essentially, that does little to change the state of things. You could do more; you could <em>be</em> more. Together we could do <em>anything.</em>"</p>
<p>Carissa basks in the statements, turning Moose's words over again and again. <span style="color:red"><em>Dislike their attitude, but can't deny how right they are</em>.</span> She closes her eyes, calculating. "What's in it for us?"</p>
<p>"Money, new state of the art tactical gear, rights to hold onto certain items that you deem of use or worth to you. You don't have to handle any of the interpersonal interaction beyond what's needed in the field. Everything will be filtered through me, and anything I feel is clearly a trap or too dangerous for you to handle, I'll turn down. Though, I don't feel that will be much of an obstacle. Obviously, fire support in the field, as well as planning and reliable intelligence." Moose pauses and taps their fingers on the table.</p>
<p>She turns her head, eyes opening to look at M, then back to Moose.</p>
<p>"Okay, that's for me, but what about M." The decision settles in her mind, a binary pre-determined based on what's said next. Her tail flicks idly, ears pivoting this way and that as they track different noises arising from the Library occupants.</p>
<p>"We've talked about that already, and I've made M an offer. Her acceptance was contingent on yours, but she already has agreed with her terms."</p>
<p>Carissa's eyes flick to M.</p>
<p>'A solution?'</p>
<p>'Possibly. Access and requests promised. Care will be needed of course. Trust must be built.'</p>
<p>'Ok. I'm in.'</p>
<p>"Okay. What do you need us to do, to get this off the ground?"</p>
<p>Moose brightens, eyes burning. "I'm glad you asked. How familiar are you with the Global Occult Coalition?"</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">72 Hours Before Impact. 1957, Swiss Alpine GOC Railway</span></p>
</div>
<p>"<em>The Coalition has been sweeping up anything anomalous since it was founded. They're no jailers, everything they get their hands on they're either dissecting to make paratech, destroying it, or directly using it to wipe pockets of the supernatural community completely out. They're monsters, book burners and weapons makers, the worst kind of people in our world. The good news is, they're still small. The bad news? They have an excess of funding, resources and they're growing fast.</em>"</p>
<p>Moose's words ring in her ears, lingering as the whipping, icey winds of the Swiss Alps swirl around where she stands, flakes of snow dancing to a song that only mother nature will ever understand. M kneels next to her in the snow, burying items of pulsing magic, totems and beacons. Ontokinetic glyphs with a purpose Carissa didn't understand and isn’t going to bother trying to.</p>
<p>Carissa shifts the rifle strapped over her shoulder. Gaze tracking back to M, lightning crackles in her chest at the thick winter robes and snow boots.</p>
<p><span style="color:red"><em>Insane how good she looks in that.</em></span></p>
<p><span style="color:green"><em>Kitty, you think she looks marvelous in whatever she wears. Or doesn't wear.</em></span></p>
<p>Carissa ignores the second voice in her head. "This seems like a good spot to set up camp."</p>
<p>M raises her binoculars, takes a quick scan of the rail lines below, and then lowers them. "One of many. I'll be able to support you with broad glyphs, but if Moose is right, both trains have shielding, so I won't be much help. Remember, no fires."</p>
<p>"Hey, who's the expert hunter here." Carissa smirks playfully, before pulling up her own binoculars. She notes the dips and dives in the mountainous terrain; points to check. "Open track on this segment. This is probably the best point for entry."</p>
<p>"Siberia told a different story," M says, pressing binoculars to her face again, she points with her free hand. "I would say, entry as soon as the train departs those woods there. There's a checkpoint there." She swivels gesturing to another location.</p>
<p>Carissa looks, squinting around the falling snow. "Yeah, I see it. A dozen guards, look heavily armed. There's at least five more along the way. We'll need to do additional recon, identify any towers or other defensive emplacements."</p>
<p>"I can handle that; you focus on the trains." M quirks her lips a bit, her tone taking a sonorous and husky dive. "It's been some time since I've tested new theories."</p>
<p>Carissa bites her lip as tongues of heat lick at her chest. "Easy now, you'll get me excited."</p>
<p>"Always the goal." M smirks.</p>
<p>"Just be careful and remember what Moose said."</p>
<p>"Love, I can handle myself. You need not worry on my part."</p>
<p>"I'm always going to worry, I lost you once, never again." Carissa lowers the binoculars to look at her, the painful pangs of memory echoing in her mind and heart at the mistakes of the past. <span style="color:red"><em>Never. Fucking. Again.</em></span></p>
<p>M pulls down her own binoculars and meets the gaze with equal intensity. The silent exchange stretches, electric threads rising in both their chests as they shuffle closer in the snow, exchanging warm breaths in the frigid winter weather. Carissa pulls her sorceress closer, an arm wrapping around M's heavily coated waist. M tilts up, completing the connection, inferno bursting forth and out in showers of dancing magic and fireworks that twinkle in the air. In the aftermath, they lean against each other, eyes closed, head resting against head. Falling snow twitches around them in a storm of mountain breezes. For a small eternity, they remain, basking in each other's warmth.</p>
<p>But even eternity is not forever, and eventually infinity comes to an end as they part. "We should finish preparations. We have three days until the trains come through."</p>
<p>"I've already picked my spot." Carissa grins.</p>
<p>"Good. Let us show this Coalition what happens when you burn books." A vicious grin rises on her sorceress's lips.</p>
<p>Carissa smirks, warmth rising in her chest at the bloodlust in M's eyes. "Let's fucking go."</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">2034, Site-212A Tavern</span></p>
</div>
<p>"Ok wait, are you about to tell us some tall tale bullshit, or the truth?" Jane interjects just as Carissa's starting to get going.</p>
<p>"Define the truth." She leans back in the chair, feet propped up on the table as she takes a long swig from the pitcher of alcohol held in one hand, pipe held level in the other.</p>
<p>"Events as they actually happened Decimus," Silus adds with a roll of his eyes.</p>
<p>"Well that depends."</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Multi-Goddess-Drifting/offset/1">Do you want to hear the bombastic truth?</a></span></h2>
<h2><span>Or <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Multi-Goddess-Drifting/offset/2">The realistic truth?</a></span></h2>
</div>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-314549-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-314549-1')">1</a>. Ontokinetic shift detected, name no longer consistent with baseline measures. Altering presentation.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/multi-goddess-drifting">Multi-Goddess Drifting</a>" by DrBleep, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/multi-goddess-drifting">https://scpwiki.com/multi-goddess-drifting</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Bleep_Train.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/butterfly213" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9085587); return false;"><img alt="Butterfly213" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9085587&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1734263450" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9085587)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/butterfly213" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9085587); return false;">Butterfly213</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-3.0-BY-SA<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Bleep_train.png">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Bleep_train.png</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Carissa_Dimension_hop.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/butterfly213" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9085587); return false;"><img alt="Butterfly213" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9085587&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1734263450" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9085587)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/butterfly213" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9085587); return false;">Butterfly213</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-3.0-BY-SA<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Carissa%20Dimension%20hop.png">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Carissa%20Dimension%20hop.png</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:oceanbound">:scp-wiki:theme:oceanbound</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:xmas">:scp-wiki:theme:xmas</a>
|xmas-snow= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:toggle-sidebar">:scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar</a>]]
[[div style="display: none;"]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Carissa%20Dimenson%20Hop.png|caption=]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=Some motherfuckers still trying to multi-track drift a goddess uphill.]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
Word Count: 21,000 words
Reading time: 1 hour and 16 minutes
⚠️ **Content warning:** This article contains graphic depictions of violence, some allusions to sexual references.
**SUGGESTED LISTENING**:
Theme:
[https://youtu.be/b6FhOb7-1dg Carol of the Bells]
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E0eXTEIpGzY&pp=ygUYUGhvZW5peCBGQXRlIGdyYW5kIG9yZGVy Phoenix by Fallout Boy]
Character Themes:
* Carissa Inspo - [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3i_MBzr7LWs&ab_channel=GAYLE-Topic ABCEFU (Angrier)], [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8WLa6umgdw&ab_channel=MatchboxTwenty She's So Mean]
* Medea Inspo - [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9LPQmkao8c&pp=ygUKV2lsZCBSb3Nlcw%3D%3D Wild Roses by Of Monsters and Men]
* Artemis - [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-Naa1HXeDQ&ab_channel=MatchboxTwenty Matchbox Twenty 3 AM], [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PN-zHSvDc1g&ab_channel=Triple-Q Sucker is a new and original song which doesn't plagiarize at all], [https://youtu.be/Cw5-z-5Ylzc?si=V10uaLo3dt2uX5YN Ängie - Housewife Spliffin']
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Bleep_train.png style="width: 800px;"]]
[[module ListPages category="fragment" parent="." limit="1" order="created_at" offset="@URL|0"]]
%%content%%
[[/module]]
[!--
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:Multi-Goddess-Drifting-1
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:Multi-Goddess-Drifting-2
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:Multi-Goddess-Drifting-3
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/fragment:Multi-Goddess-Drifting-4
haha please dont break --]
------
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** Bleep_Train.png
> **Author:** [[*user Butterfly213]]
> **License:** CC-3.0-BY-SA
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Bleep_train.png
> **Filename:** Carissa_Dimension_hop.png
> **Author:** [[*user Butterfly213]]
> **License:** CC-3.0-BY-SA
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Carissa%20Dimension%20hop.png
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
|
2024-11-26T18:01:00
|
[
"_listpages",
"action",
"black-comedy",
"chase",
"comedy",
"illustrated",
"lampeter",
"military-fiction",
"mythological",
"orcadia",
"romance",
"science-fiction",
"tale"
] |
Multi-Goddess Drifting - SCP Foundation
| 30
|
[
"Multi-Goddess-Drifting/offset/1",
"Multi-Goddess-Drifting/offset/2",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"with-the-old-gods-hub",
"tales-by-year",
"seas-of-orcadia-hub"
] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Carissa%20Dimenson%20Hop.png"
] |
1457441948
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/multi-goddess-drifting
|
|
my-ink-my-blood-my-sea
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>A desperate man is shown a path to the Hanged King's city. Seeking grandiosity, but got more than what he bargained for.</p>
</div>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<div style="margin-right: 2em; margin-top: -10px;">
<p><sup>by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/strange-matter" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6680055); return false;"><img alt="Strange Matter" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6680055&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1729034611" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6680055)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/strange-matter" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6680055); return false;">Strange Matter</a></span> & <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/tboneberryhill" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7769016); return false;"><img alt="TboneBerryhill" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7769016&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1729034611" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7769016)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/tboneberryhill" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7769016); return false;">TboneBerryhill</a></span></sup></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>My Ink. My Blood. My Sea.</span></h1>
</div>
<p style="text-align: center;">In days of yore, when light still kissed my skin,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I walked the earth, a mortal man of sin.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">My path was dark, my deeds were stained with shame,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Each day I wandered, burdened by my name.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">In shadowed alleys, seeking hollow fame,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I found but echoes of my own disdain.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">With every step, the weight of sins accrued,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Within my heart, dark seeds of evil brewed.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">But lo, one night, beneath the stars' soft gleam,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">An angel came, of light's pure, gentle beam.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">She spoke of realms beyond mere mortal ken,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Of A King’s palace, where wonders never end.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">With hope anew, I followed where she led,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">To city streets where dreams and wants are fed.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">In this wondrous maze, I found my place,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Amidst the masquerade, I claimed my grace.</p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/heart-filled">In these twisted halls, where flames danced free,</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I stood amidst the chaos, eyes on the spree.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">With newfound magic coursing through my veins,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I quelled the blaze, and broke its fiery chains.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The crowd erupted, cheers both loud and bright,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Their gratitude a cloak that wrapped me tight.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">For in that moment, I was savior, knight,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The one who banished darkness, brought the light.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Through winding streets and shimmering bazaars,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I walked with confidence beneath the stars.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Each gesture, every smile, they gave acclaim,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">In this realm of wonders, carved I my name.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Riches and honors lavished on my brow,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">In Alagadda's fold, I found a vow.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Yet 'neath the adulation, flickered doubt,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">A whisper in the shadows, urging scout.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">For in this realm of masks and hidden leagues,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Not all that glitters gold, nor all that sings.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Yet midst the throng, I reveled in my fame,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">In this Heavenly dance, I knew no shame.</p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;">In depths of Hades, where dark thrives,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I lost myself amidst seductive dives.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Depravity's embrace, a tempting lure,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I yielded to its whispers, dark, obscure.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">From hero hailed, to pawn in vice’s game,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Obsession gripped and kindled in me flame.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Lust and greed, they clouded once-clear sight,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Chasing fleeting pleasures through the night.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I clawed and fought to stay within the light,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">But shadows overwhelmed me with their might.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Desperation gripped my soul so tight,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">As relevance slipped like fading light.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The adoration once bestowed, now dust,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The crowd moved on, leaving me to rust.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Envy gnawed within, a bitter taste,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">As others rose while I fell from grace.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Yet in despair's deep grip, a vow I make,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">To rise anew, despite the odds at stake.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Though darkness lingers, I will never yield,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">In this forsaken maze, my fate is sealed.</p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;">In Alagadda’s court, where Lords rule high,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I faltered, blunders made me sigh.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The Red Lord’s fury, a tempest wild,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">With mood swings sharp, his anger defiled.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Bruised and beaten, I bore his wrath,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Lost within a troubled path.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The Yellow Lord’s acid, bitter and keen,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Burned my soul with venom unseen.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">His spite, a poison in each word,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Left me shattered, cries unheard.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The White Lord’s silence, chilling void,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Ignored and shunned, hope destroyed.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Despair clung tight, a weight so vast,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">To the Black Sea’s depths, I fled at last.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">In its dark embrace, I sought my skill,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">To master magic, bend to will.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The angel from my past, light dim,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Returned to aid my desperate whim.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">We sought the black stars’ eerie light,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">To harness power in the night.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">We climbed the abyss, reached for the star,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">But dark light’s touch, a wound that scarred.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The angel vanished in silent scream,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">And I endured a twisted dream.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">My soul was skinned, cut, and torn,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">In realms where hope is forlorn.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Twisted, crushed, mutated within,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">In the Black Sea, I drowned my sin.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Numb to horror, I let it consume,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Existence now a cold, empty tomb.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The Ambassador watched with a keen eye,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">As I held the black light and did not die.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">My title cemented in agony’s wake,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The Black Lord I became, for sanity’s sake.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">For in this rotten place, body and soul,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Are torn asunder, to make one whole.</p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;">Within the twisted, darkened veil,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I wandered lost, my soul grown frail.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">A shadow of the man I yearned to be,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Caught in the grip of night’s decree.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Despair, my companion, constant blight,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Until the Ambassador emerged, cloaked in night.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">His offer gleamed like a distant star,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">A promise of power to lift me from the mar.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">“You’ll shine once more,” he whispered, sly,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">“In The Hang King’s halls, your name will fly.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Embrace the black, and all you crave,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Will be yours to hold, your spirit to save.”</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">With desperate hope, I seized the chance,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Dreams of grandeur in a twisted dance.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">“I’ll be adored, revered, and grand,”</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I thought, as I took his outstretched hand.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">But as the ink of Alagadda’s pact was sealed,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The truth of my fate was then revealed.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The Ambassador’s laughter, a chilling sound,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">As dreams of glory crumbled to the ground.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Reality twisted in this Devil’s hold,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">My hopes and dreams, all turned to mold.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">For in this realm where illusions thrive,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The Black Lord’s role is but to survive.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">A pawn in the Ambassador’s grand design,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">To dance in shadows, his bidding mine.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">My soul, once bright, now coated in black,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Forever lost on this endless track.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Yet deep within, a flicker remained,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">A yearning for the light, though faint and pained.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">For in Alagadda, where dreams deceive,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I clung to hope, striving to believe.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">But as the liquid night consumed my core,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">I understood my fate, forevermore.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">In the labyrinth of hollowed whims, I am chained,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">The Black Lord’s title, in anguish, gained.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>.</strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">So now I wander, a spectral shade,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">In Alagadda’s depths, my soul betrayed.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">For in the end, I found my place,</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Not in glory, but in the dark’s embrace.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/my-ink-my-blood-my-sea">My Ink. My Blood. My Sea.</a>" by Strange Matter and TboneBerryhill, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/my-ink-my-blood-my-sea">https://scpwiki.com/my-ink-my-blood-my-sea</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text= A desperate man is shown a path to the Hanged King's city. Seeking grandiosity, but got more than what he bargained for.]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:sunside">:scp-wiki:theme:sunside</a>]]
[[module css]]
:root{
/*
Variable guide:
I forgot which variable controls what, sorry
*/
--accent-h: 276deg;
--primary-accent-1: var(--accent-h) 0% 60%; /* the 2nd layer of the city, table of contents text, city block and blockquote border, info button on the rating module */
--primary-accent-2: calc(var(--accent-h) - 5deg) 0% 71%; /* the 1st layer of the city, headings */
--primary-accent-3: calc(var(--accent-h) - 15deg) 0% 68%; /* hr */
--light-accent-1: calc(var(--accent-h) + 12.5deg) 0% 10%; /* bg, header title */
--light-accent-2: calc(var(--accent-h) + 7.5deg) 0% 80.5%; /* idk */
--light-accent-3: calc(var(--accent-h) + 5deg) 0% 36%; /* the mountain*/
--dark-accent: calc(var(--accent-h) - 16.5deg) 0% 20%; /* menu under the header, tabs */
--primary-complement: var(--complement-h) 0% 48.5%; /* city block */
--light-complement: calc(var(--complement-h) + 12.5deg) 0% 75%; /* rating module text, other misc text */
--dark-complement: var(--complement-h) 0% 81.75%; /* text color */
--assist-color: var(--accent-h) 0% 46%; /* rating module, top bar */
--header-title: "SCP Foundation";
--header-subtitle: "Division of Alagaddan Studies";
}
#header::before {
background-color: hsl(var(--light-accent-1));
filter: invert(90%);
}
#header h1 a {
color: hsl(var(--light-accent-1));
}
#top-bar div:is(.top-bar, .mobile-top-bar) > ul > li > a:any-link {
color: hsl(var(--dark-accent-1));
}
.page-source, .code {
border: none;
color: hsl(var(--dark-accent));
background-color: hsl(var(--light-complement));
}
.city-block {
background-color: hsl(var(--primary-complement) / 0.5);
}
/* ACS color modification based on Midnight Rush/Flopstyle */
div.anom-bar-container {
--five-color: 150, 150, 150; /* red */
--four-color: 150, 150, 150; /* orange */
--three-color: 150, 150, 150; /* yellow */
--two-color: 150, 150, 150; /* blue */
--one-color: 150, 150, 150; /* green */
--white-bar: 207, 207, 207;
--lg-bar: 118, 118, 130;
--gray-bg: 66, 66, 72;
}
div.anom-bar-container .danger-diamond > .arrows{
/* Inverted Arrows */
background-color: rgb(208, 208, 208) !important;
}
div.anom-bar-container .anom-bar > .bottom-box{
/* Horizontal Bar */
-webkit-box-shadow: 0 -.5rem 0 0 rgb(208, 208, 208) !important;
-moz-box-shadow: 0 -.5rem 0 0 rgb(208, 208, 208) !important;
box-shadow: 0 -.5rem 0 0 rgb(208, 208, 208) !important;
}
div.anom-bar-container .bottom-box > .diamond-part{
/* Vertical Bar */
-webkit-box-shadow: -.5rem 0 0 0 rgb(208, 208, 208) !important;
-moz-box-shadow: -.5rem 0 0 0 rgb(208, 208, 208) !important;
box-shadow: -.5rem 0 0 0 rgb(208, 208, 208) !important;
}
.anom-bar-container.keter .text-part .main-class,
.anom-bar-container.vlam .text-part .disrupt-class,
.anom-bar-container.danger .text-part .risk-class {
background-color: rgba(150, 150, 150, 0.35) !important;
}
.danger-diamond > .quadrants > div {
background-color: rgba(150, 150, 150, 0.35) !important;
}
[[/module]]
[[module CSS]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Domine:wght@700&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=White+Text:ital,wght@0,400;0,600;0,700;1,400;1,600;1,700&display=swap');
#page-title {
display: none;
}
.splash h1 {
font-size: 700%;
font-family: 'Domine', serif;
font-weight: 700;
text-align: center;
margin-bottom: -2rem;
letter-spacing: 0.25rem;
}
.splash h3 {
font-size: 300%;
font-family: 'Domine', serif;
font-weight: 700;
text-align: center;
}
.splash {
font-family: 'Domine', serif;
font-weight: 400;
text-align: center;
}
#page-content > p {
text-justify: inter-word;
text-align: justify;
text-indent: 1rem;
font-family: "White Text", serif;
font-size: 1.2rem;
}
.chapterstart {
font-size: 4rem;
line-height: 8rem;
}
.links {
display: block;
text-align: center;
}
.links a {
background: rgb(var(--bright-accent));
color: white;
padding: 3px;
border-radius: 4px;
font-family: monospace;
white-space: nowrap;
}
.links a:visited {
color: white;
}
.links a:hover {
color:rgb(var(--bright-accent));
}
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[div style="margin-right: 2em; margin-top: -10px;"]]
^^by [[*user Strange Matter]] & [[*user TboneBerryhill]]^^
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[=]]
+ My Ink. My Blood. My Sea.
[[/=]]
= In days of yore, when light still kissed my skin,
= I walked the earth, a mortal man of sin.
= My path was dark, my deeds were stained with shame,
= Each day I wandered, burdened by my name.
= **.**
= In shadowed alleys, seeking hollow fame,
= I found but echoes of my own disdain.
= With every step, the weight of sins accrued,
= Within my heart, dark seeds of evil brewed.
= **.**
= But lo, one night, beneath the stars' soft gleam,
= An angel came, of light's pure, gentle beam.
= She spoke of realms beyond mere mortal ken,
= Of A King’s palace, where wonders never end.
= **.**
= With hope anew, I followed where she led,
= To city streets where dreams and wants are fed.
= In this wondrous maze, I found my place,
= Amidst the masquerade, I claimed my grace.
-----------
= [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/heart-filled|In these twisted halls, where flames danced free,]]]
= I stood amidst the chaos, eyes on the spree.
= With newfound magic coursing through my veins,
= I quelled the blaze, and broke its fiery chains.
= **.**
= The crowd erupted, cheers both loud and bright,
= Their gratitude a cloak that wrapped me tight.
= For in that moment, I was savior, knight,
= The one who banished darkness, brought the light.
= **.**
= Through winding streets and shimmering bazaars,
= I walked with confidence beneath the stars.
= Each gesture, every smile, they gave acclaim,
= In this realm of wonders, carved I my name.
= **.**
= Riches and honors lavished on my brow,
= In Alagadda's fold, I found a vow.
= Yet 'neath the adulation, flickered doubt,
= A whisper in the shadows, urging scout.
= **.**
= For in this realm of masks and hidden leagues,
= Not all that glitters gold, nor all that sings.
= Yet midst the throng, I reveled in my fame,
= In this Heavenly dance, I knew no shame.
-----------
= In depths of Hades, where dark thrives,
= I lost myself amidst seductive dives.
= Depravity's embrace, a tempting lure,
= I yielded to its whispers, dark, obscure.
= **.**
= From hero hailed, to pawn in vice’s game,
= Obsession gripped and kindled in me flame.
= Lust and greed, they clouded once-clear sight,
= Chasing fleeting pleasures through the night.
= **.**
= I clawed and fought to stay within the light,
= But shadows overwhelmed me with their might.
= Desperation gripped my soul so tight,
= As relevance slipped like fading light.
= **.**
= The adoration once bestowed, now dust,
= The crowd moved on, leaving me to rust.
= Envy gnawed within, a bitter taste,
= As others rose while I fell from grace.
= **.**
= Yet in despair's deep grip, a vow I make,
= To rise anew, despite the odds at stake.
= Though darkness lingers, I will never yield,
= In this forsaken maze, my fate is sealed.
-----------
= In Alagadda’s court, where Lords rule high,
= I faltered, blunders made me sigh.
= The Red Lord’s fury, a tempest wild,
= With mood swings sharp, his anger defiled.
= **.**
= Bruised and beaten, I bore his wrath,
= Lost within a troubled path.
= The Yellow Lord’s acid, bitter and keen,
= Burned my soul with venom unseen.
= **.**
= His spite, a poison in each word,
= Left me shattered, cries unheard.
= The White Lord’s silence, chilling void,
= Ignored and shunned, hope destroyed.
= **.**
= Despair clung tight, a weight so vast,
= To the Black Sea’s depths, I fled at last.
= In its dark embrace, I sought my skill,
= To master magic, bend to will.
= **.**
= The angel from my past, light dim,
= Returned to aid my desperate whim.
= We sought the black stars’ eerie light,
= To harness power in the night.
= **.**
= We climbed the abyss, reached for the star,
= But dark light’s touch, a wound that scarred.
= The angel vanished in silent scream,
= And I endured a twisted dream.
= **.**
= My soul was skinned, cut, and torn,
= In realms where hope is forlorn.
= Twisted, crushed, mutated within,
= In the Black Sea, I drowned my sin.
= **.**
= Numb to horror, I let it consume,
= Existence now a cold, empty tomb.
= The Ambassador watched with a keen eye,
= As I held the black light and did not die.
= My title cemented in agony’s wake,
= The Black Lord I became, for sanity’s sake.
= For in this rotten place, body and soul,
= Are torn asunder, to make one whole.
-----------
= Within the twisted, darkened veil,
= I wandered lost, my soul grown frail.
= A shadow of the man I yearned to be,
= Caught in the grip of night’s decree.
= **.**
= Despair, my companion, constant blight,
= Until the Ambassador emerged, cloaked in night.
= His offer gleamed like a distant star,
= A promise of power to lift me from the mar.
= “You’ll shine once more,” he whispered, sly,
= “In The Hang King’s halls, your name will fly.
= Embrace the black, and all you crave,
= Will be yours to hold, your spirit to save.”
= **.**
= With desperate hope, I seized the chance,
= Dreams of grandeur in a twisted dance.
= “I’ll be adored, revered, and grand,”
= I thought, as I took his outstretched hand.
= **.**
= But as the ink of Alagadda’s pact was sealed,
= The truth of my fate was then revealed.
= The Ambassador’s laughter, a chilling sound,
= As dreams of glory crumbled to the ground.
= **.**
= Reality twisted in this Devil’s hold,
= My hopes and dreams, all turned to mold.
= For in this realm where illusions thrive,
= The Black Lord’s role is but to survive.
= **.**
= A pawn in the Ambassador’s grand design,
= To dance in shadows, his bidding mine.
= My soul, once bright, now coated in black,
= Forever lost on this endless track.
= **.**
= Yet deep within, a flicker remained,
= A yearning for the light, though faint and pained.
= For in Alagadda, where dreams deceive,
= I clung to hope, striving to believe.
= **.**
= But as the liquid night consumed my core,
= I understood my fate, forevermore.
= In the labyrinth of hollowed whims, I am chained,
= The Black Lord’s title, in anguish, gained.
= **.**
= So now I wander, a spectral shade,
= In Alagadda’s depths, my soul betrayed.
= For in the end, I found my place,
= Not in glory, but in the dark’s embrace.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=Strange Matter and TboneBerryhill]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-09-19T00:46:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"alagadda",
"co-authored",
"hanged-king",
"poetry",
"tale"
] |
My Ink. My Blood. My Sea. - SCP Foundation
| 28
|
[
"heart-filled",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1456828383
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/my-ink-my-blood-my-sea
|
|
myocardial-infarction
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="outside">
<p>It had been a long time since Tim had taken some time for himself, and even longer since he had gone on a hike.</p>
<p>Between all the meetings, critter care, public appearances, and other things the leadership of Wilson's Wildlife Solutions entailed, he felt like he barely had time to breathe. But today was different. The Supervisors had eased up on him and Faeowynn a little bit. It was summer, so there were plenty of volunteers at the Center to take care of the critters. There weren't any events planned for the week. The sun was even smiling down on him when he went out to the back porch with his coffee that morning.</p>
<p>So he kissed Alice goodbye, sent Faeowynn a text to let her know he wouldn't be in today, strapped on his boots, filled his canteen with water, and got into his rinky-dink truck to drive down to Sandy.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>Badum.</strong></p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="outside">
<p>Alice sent him a text telling him she was scheduling a doctor's appointment for herself.</p>
<p>It had been a long time since he had gone to the doctor. The Center's partnership with the Supervisors afforded him and the other employees a wonderful health insurance plan that had really been beneficial for the others, but Tim himself was never much for doctors. Not since he was little.</p>
<p>What was the point?</p>
<p>He knew he was a little overweight. That's why he went hiking and kept his body busy with the critters. He knew he had bad vision. That's why he wore glasses. He knew he had heart troubles. That's why he avoided stressing himself. Or at least that's what he told himself. The Supervisors' takeover had probably been the single most stressful event of his life. Well, aside from the whole thing with the polar bear.</p>
<p>Truth be told, Tim did his best to avoid the Supervisors. He let Faeowynn deal with them; she seemed to be better at it than he ever could be. The only part he liked about the Supervisors was Captain Esau and her team. They were really hands-on with the critters; both in capture and care, something he appreciated the help with.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc0"><span>Badum dum dum.</span></h4>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="outside">
<p>After finally arriving at Tickle Creek Trail, Tim parked his truck at the little dirt lot next to the sign. He got out and first performed some stretches, trying to get himself into the hiking mood. He found himself a little more tired than usual. "You've got this, old boy," he pepped himself up with some little slaps to his cheeks and finally entered the mouth of the trail. The midday sun was high in the sky, and the heat was palpable, but the trees fortunately provided shade on his walk through the path.</p>
<p>As he continued, he spotted a family having a picnic underneath a tree in the distance.</p>
<p>He used to take Robin and Anders on hikes when they were little boys. Faeowynn too, but only when she came to visit him from San Diego. Those instances were few and far between, however, and they typically only happened on certain birthdays or holidays. He had fallen in love with Alice on a hike, taught Anders how to defend himself from bullies on a hike, taught Robin how to do birdcalls on a hike, and Faeowynn had come out to him on a hike.</p>
<p>But he hadn't been on hikes with Robin, Anders, or Faeowynn in years. Alice only occasionally joined him but would much rather practice her fencing. He feared losing his family. Maybe that was why he'd convinced Robin and Anders to volunteer at the Center (well, the Shelter back then) when he started it up. They were all going their own way, and he didn't want them to stray too far. Which, for now, they hadn't.</p>
<p>Faeowynn eluded him, however. She'd lived in New York for most of the Shelter's existence, but he stayed in touch with her via letters and emails. He tried to get her to come and visit for years, but she stayed on the east coast for what seemed forever. He wondered if she had forgiven him for how he left Audrey all those years ago. He was scared to bring up the topic even now. But one of these days he was going to do it, no matter how uncomfortable it would be.</p>
<p>Feeling a tingling in his chest, Tim shrugged it off and continued down the path.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc1"><span>Badum dum dum dum dum dum dum.</span></h3>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="outside">
<p>There was a rustling in the bushes.</p>
<p>Tim's head instinctively turned to face the noise and he crouched slightly. Ignoring the stinging pain in his chest, he crept closer to the foliage where he had heard the sound originate from. He leaned forward, brushing the vegetation aside only to spot a deer chewing on some grass nearby. He grinned and observed the deer as it continued to eat.</p>
<p>Memories of the first time he had encountered Boring's unnatural nature came flooding into his mind. It had been many years ago, on his first 'date' with Alice in the woods that he had seen a stag not too different from this one with its rack burning aflame. It was a sight to behold. It was what part of what inspired him to form the Shelter. He wanted to witness all of nature's beauty, mundane and unusual alike.</p>
<p>The Shelter had started small. At first, they only rounded up missing pets, but slowly graduated into trapping and sheltering unusual critters plaguing Boring. He recalled when it was just him and Old Al in a pickup truck, some cages, and some traps. He remembered picking up Nandini to be a veterinarian at some point along the line. He thought back to when Anders and Robin first joined him, and then even Faeowynn. Tim couldn't help but feel proud of how far the Shelter, now Center, had come.</p>
<p>He smiled, then staggered slightly as the pain in his chest contracted, causing him to step on a stick behind him. The deer perked its ears and head up, then bounced away further into the woods. Maybe he would schedule a doctor's appointment when he got back from his hike. He knew he had Cardiac Myxoma ever since he was a young boy, and maybe it was acting up. He had promised his mother he wouldn't overexert himself when he was diagnosed, and he mostly stayed true to his promise. The Supervisors were pushing his limits, however.</p>
<p>Or maybe it was heartburn from the coffee this morning. Yeah, that was probably it.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc2"><span>Badum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum.</span></h2>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="outside">
<p>Tim stopped at a small clearing near the shallow waters of Tickle Creek.</p>
<p>He was feeling a little worn out. More than usual. Maybe it was the heat getting to him, or maybe it was his age. He was getting up there, after all. Or maybe he was just winded because it had been about a year since his last hike. Tim took a deep breath and closed his eyes, walking towards the water. He stared at his reflection.</p>
<p>A chubby man with windsor glasses and a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard stared back at him. When had he let himself get this old? Tim had never planned for old age. He didn’t have a retirement plan. Well that was only half true: he had a financial plan in the form of a 401k, thanks to the Supervisors. But he didn’t have a plan for the free time that came with retirement. Alice had been pestering him about it, but he always brushed her off. The Supervisors needed him, he thought.</p>
<p>Would they even let him retire? They didn't seem like the kind to allow people to do that. Despite how much of a net positive they had been for the Center, they didn't seem too friendly. Captain Esau had insinuated a few times that she hoped to die in the field rather than retire with the Supervisors in charge of her. He always wondered why that was. Did she think they would keep her from her family?</p>
<p>Maybe retiring would be the right move. Faeowynn had a good grasp on the Center's operations, and the employees and volunteers did a good enough job without him. If he retired, he would be able to spend more time with his family. He wanted to be a grandparent. Maybe he could convince Faeowynn and Alex into adopting so he could babysit for them and go on hikes with their child. Or maybe Robin or Anders would meet the right girl and settle down.</p>
<p>His future was brimming with opportunities!</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc3"><span>Badum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum.</span></h1>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="outside">
<p>He reached for his phone, starting to type up an email to Mr. Tarpan, his prime contact with the Supervisors.</p>
<p>As he typed, a smile slowly spread on his face.</p>
<p>Soon he would be able to enjoy all the hikes he could want.</p>
<p>Soon he would be able to visit the Center as a guest.</p>
<p>Soon he would be able to read all the books Alice had recommended to him.</p>
<p>But something wasn't right.</p>
<p>He was sweating bullets.</p>
<p>Everything was spinning around him.</p>
<p>There was a pain in his chest.</p>
<p>The phone fell atop a rock on the shore, its screen cracking.</p>
<p>He stumbled forward.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
He clutched his chest.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
He gasped in pain.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
He fell face-first into the shallow water.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
He writhed.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
He twitched.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
He struggled to move.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
He struggled to breathe.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">I've never been much of a storyteller. Don't hear it from me... </a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Take it away, my darling.</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Dad died on the 12th of July, 2024. It was a nice, warm day, and he had finally taken some time to himself to go on a hike down in Sandy. He found a trail by Tickle Creek, and took it. It's a flat path. Nothing strenuous in the slightest. But it doesn't matter. Whatever it was, it had already begun its cycle. He suffered a heart attack, and fell face first into the shallow water. Seems he never took time out of his schedule to get that surgery. He lived to be 68. Not a short life, but not a long one. He is survived by his wife, Alice, his sons, Anders and Robin, and his one remaining daughter, Faeowynn. I have no solid conclusion here. I have no good or bad ending. I have no crescendo, I have no epilogue. <a href="/tim-wilson">I have no closure.</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><br/></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/myocardial-infarction">Myocardial Infarction</a>" by Uncle Nicolini, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/myocardial-infarction">https://scpwiki.com/myocardial-infarction</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="/theme:black-highlighter-theme">theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
@import url('http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%3Awilsons/national-park.css');
/* FONTS */
#header h2 span:before, #top-bar, #side-bar {
font-family: var(--header-font); /*Makes subtitle National Park */
}
:root {
--logo-image: url("http://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-ursus-maritimus-incident/logo.png");
--header-title: "Wilson's Wildlife Solutions";
--header-subtitle: "Where all critters are welcome!";
--header-font: 'national_parkregular', sans-serif;
--pale-accent: 40, 106, 230;
/* light red, for visited links */
--bright-accent: 5, 0, 133;
/* bright red */
--medium-accent: 95, 132, 191;
/* medium red - the "default" accent color */
--dark-accent: 15, 3, 100;
/* dark red */
--alt-accent: 17, 102, 0;
/* pale orange, for newpage links */
}
/* Haha blue boi */
.outside {
margin: 2em -6em;
padding: 1em 10em;
--narration-color: rgba(214, 234, 248,1);
background: var(--narration-color);
background: linear-gradient(90deg, rgba(255,255,255,0) 0%, var(--narration-color) 20%, var(--narration-color) 80%, rgba(255,255,255,0) 100%);
z-index: -2;
}
/* Force the side bar to render on top of the blue bois */
#side-bar {
z-index: 2;
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 768px) {
#header {
background-size: 0.625rem 2.500rem;
background-repeat: no-repeat;
background-position: left 0.75rem top 1.1875rem;
background-clip: border-box;
background-size: auto 5.375rem;
}
} /* Fixes mobile sizing issue */
body {
overflow-x: hidden;
}
[[/module]]
[[div class="outside"]]
It had been a long time since Tim had taken some time for himself, and even longer since he had gone on a hike.
Between all the meetings, critter care, public appearances, and other things the leadership of Wilson's Wildlife Solutions entailed, he felt like he barely had time to breathe. But today was different. The Supervisors had eased up on him and Faeowynn a little bit. It was summer, so there were plenty of volunteers at the Center to take care of the critters. There weren't any events planned for the week. The sun was even smiling down on him when he went out to the back porch with his coffee that morning.
So he kissed Alice goodbye, sent Faeowynn a text to let her know he wouldn't be in today, strapped on his boots, filled his canteen with water, and got into his rinky-dink truck to drive down to Sandy.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
**Badum.**
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="outside"]]
Alice sent him a text telling him she was scheduling a doctor's appointment for herself.
It had been a long time since he had gone to the doctor. The Center's partnership with the Supervisors afforded him and the other employees a wonderful health insurance plan that had really been beneficial for the others, but Tim himself was never much for doctors. Not since he was little.
What was the point?
He knew he was a little overweight. That's why he went hiking and kept his body busy with the critters. He knew he had bad vision. That's why he wore glasses. He knew he had heart troubles. That's why he avoided stressing himself. Or at least that's what he told himself. The Supervisors' takeover had probably been the single most stressful event of his life. Well, aside from the whole thing with the polar bear.
Truth be told, Tim did his best to avoid the Supervisors. He let Faeowynn deal with them; she seemed to be better at it than he ever could be. The only part he liked about the Supervisors was Captain Esau and her team. They were really hands-on with the critters; both in capture and care, something he appreciated the help with.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
++++ Badum dum dum.
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="outside"]]
After finally arriving at Tickle Creek Trail, Tim parked his truck at the little dirt lot next to the sign. He got out and first performed some stretches, trying to get himself into the hiking mood. He found himself a little more tired than usual. "You've got this, old boy," he pepped himself up with some little slaps to his cheeks and finally entered the mouth of the trail. The midday sun was high in the sky, and the heat was palpable, but the trees fortunately provided shade on his walk through the path.
As he continued, he spotted a family having a picnic underneath a tree in the distance.
He used to take Robin and Anders on hikes when they were little boys. Faeowynn too, but only when she came to visit him from San Diego. Those instances were few and far between, however, and they typically only happened on certain birthdays or holidays. He had fallen in love with Alice on a hike, taught Anders how to defend himself from bullies on a hike, taught Robin how to do birdcalls on a hike, and Faeowynn had come out to him on a hike.
But he hadn't been on hikes with Robin, Anders, or Faeowynn in years. Alice only occasionally joined him but would much rather practice her fencing. He feared losing his family. Maybe that was why he'd convinced Robin and Anders to volunteer at the Center (well, the Shelter back then) when he started it up. They were all going their own way, and he didn't want them to stray too far. Which, for now, they hadn't.
Faeowynn eluded him, however. She'd lived in New York for most of the Shelter's existence, but he stayed in touch with her via letters and emails. He tried to get her to come and visit for years, but she stayed on the east coast for what seemed forever. He wondered if she had forgiven him for how he left Audrey all those years ago. He was scared to bring up the topic even now. But one of these days he was going to do it, no matter how uncomfortable it would be.
Feeling a tingling in his chest, Tim shrugged it off and continued down the path.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
+++ Badum dum dum dum dum dum dum.
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="outside"]]
There was a rustling in the bushes.
Tim's head instinctively turned to face the noise and he crouched slightly. Ignoring the stinging pain in his chest, he crept closer to the foliage where he had heard the sound originate from. He leaned forward, brushing the vegetation aside only to spot a deer chewing on some grass nearby. He grinned and observed the deer as it continued to eat.
Memories of the first time he had encountered Boring's unnatural nature came flooding into his mind. It had been many years ago, on his first 'date' with Alice in the woods that he had seen a stag not too different from this one with its rack burning aflame. It was a sight to behold. It was what part of what inspired him to form the Shelter. He wanted to witness all of nature's beauty, mundane and unusual alike.
The Shelter had started small. At first, they only rounded up missing pets, but slowly graduated into trapping and sheltering unusual critters plaguing Boring. He recalled when it was just him and Old Al in a pickup truck, some cages, and some traps. He remembered picking up Nandini to be a veterinarian at some point along the line. He thought back to when Anders and Robin first joined him, and then even Faeowynn. Tim couldn't help but feel proud of how far the Shelter, now Center, had come.
He smiled, then staggered slightly as the pain in his chest contracted, causing him to step on a stick behind him. The deer perked its ears and head up, then bounced away further into the woods. Maybe he would schedule a doctor's appointment when he got back from his hike. He knew he had Cardiac Myxoma ever since he was a young boy, and maybe it was acting up. He had promised his mother he wouldn't overexert himself when he was diagnosed, and he mostly stayed true to his promise. The Supervisors were pushing his limits, however.
Or maybe it was heartburn from the coffee this morning. Yeah, that was probably it.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
++ Badum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum.
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="outside"]]
Tim stopped at a small clearing near the shallow waters of Tickle Creek.
He was feeling a little worn out. More than usual. Maybe it was the heat getting to him, or maybe it was his age. He was getting up there, after all. Or maybe he was just winded because it had been about a year since his last hike. Tim took a deep breath and closed his eyes, walking towards the water. He stared at his reflection.
A chubby man with windsor glasses and a scraggly salt-and-pepper beard stared back at him. When had he let himself get this old? Tim had never planned for old age. He didn’t have a retirement plan. Well that was only half true: he had a financial plan in the form of a 401k, thanks to the Supervisors. But he didn’t have a plan for the free time that came with retirement. Alice had been pestering him about it, but he always brushed her off. The Supervisors needed him, he thought.
Would they even let him retire? They didn't seem like the kind to allow people to do that. Despite how much of a net positive they had been for the Center, they didn't seem too friendly. Captain Esau had insinuated a few times that she hoped to die in the field rather than retire with the Supervisors in charge of her. He always wondered why that was. Did she think they would keep her from her family?
Maybe retiring would be the right move. Faeowynn had a good grasp on the Center's operations, and the employees and volunteers did a good enough job without him. If he retired, he would be able to spend more time with his family. He wanted to be a grandparent. Maybe he could convince Faeowynn and Alex into adopting so he could babysit for them and go on hikes with their child. Or maybe Robin or Anders would meet the right girl and settle down.
His future was brimming with opportunities!
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
+ Badum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum dum.
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="outside"]]
He reached for his phone, starting to type up an email to Mr. Tarpan, his prime contact with the Supervisors.
As he typed, a smile slowly spread on his face.
Soon he would be able to enjoy all the hikes he could want.
Soon he would be able to visit the Center as a guest.
Soon he would be able to read all the books Alice had recommended to him.
But something wasn't right.
He was sweating bullets.
Everything was spinning around him.
There was a pain in his chest.
The phone fell atop a rock on the shore, its screen cracking.
He stumbled forward.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
He clutched his chest.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
He gasped in pain.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
He fell face-first into the shallow water.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
He writhed.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
He twitched.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
He struggled to move.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
He struggled to breathe.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[collapsible show="I've never been much of a storyteller. Don't hear it from me... " hide="Take it away, my darling."]]
Dad died on the 12th of July, 2024. It was a nice, warm day, and he had finally taken some time to himself to go on a hike down in Sandy. He found a trail by Tickle Creek, and took it. It's a flat path. Nothing strenuous in the slightest. But it doesn't matter. Whatever it was, it had already begun its cycle. He suffered a heart attack, and fell face first into the shallow water. Seems he never took time out of his schedule to get that surgery. He lived to be 68. Not a short life, but not a long one. He is survived by his wife, Alice, his sons, Anders and Robin, and his one remaining daughter, Faeowynn. I have no solid conclusion here. I have no good or bad ending. I have no crescendo, I have no epilogue. [[[tim-wilson|I have no closure.]]]
[[/collapsible]]
_
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-07-12T11:55:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"faeowynn-wilson",
"slice-of-life",
"tale",
"tim-wilson",
"wilsons-wildlife"
] |
Myocardial Infarction - SCP Foundation
| 37
|
[
"tim-wilson",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"wilson-s-wildlife-solutions-hub",
"unconditional-love-hub"
] |
[] |
1455885131
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/myocardial-infarction
|
|
mythology-at-sea
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: right; margin-top: -20px; margin-right: 30px; font-size:100%; color: #757575;">
<p>by <a href="/anactualcrow">AnActualCrow</a></p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/mythology-at-sea">Mythology At Sea</a>" by AnActualCrow, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/mythology-at-sea">https://scpwiki.com/mythology-at-sea</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[module CSS]]
#page-content { text-align: justify; }
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div style="text-align: right; margin-top: -20px; margin-right: 30px; font-size:100%; color: #757575;"]]
by [[[AnActualCrow]]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="max-width: 600px; margin:auto;"]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:pages">:scp-wiki:component:pages</a>
| medium=vintage-book
| contents=
<h3>12-10-31</h3>
Within every boat, within every crew, there are ghost stories. Stories of dead men risen, beasts a hundred times their usual size, and creatures unnamed.
I do not know why sailors are full of myths. The sea has a strange effect on the minds of men. Perhaps the constant sway of a ship returns their mind to a rocking cradle, fears of boogeymen and the dark intact. Maybe the lack of nutrition and uncivilized sea air drives them mad. I do not know for certain. But my work on ancient horticulture requires me to travel from Norway to Sri Lanka, and I figure that I may study the sailors along the way.
<br class="page-break">
<h3>16-10-31</h3>
It is the end of our first day at sea, and the sailors have been quite lively. The food is fresh, the spirits are high. I have already heard a couple of myths circulate. One was of a ghost clinging to the rigging, groaning with exhaustion. Another was of a rat that had gorged itself on so much food it grew to the size of a man. It put on the quartermaster's clothes and would have steered the ship into shallow water if the crew had not caught it. The crewmembers appear to flaunt themselves with these tales, demonstrating who has lived the most daring or harrowing life. They are like peacocks, although they display brilliant feathers to attract social wealth rather than a mate.
I might devise my own tale someday. For now, I will only observe.
<br class="page-break">
<h3>17-10-31</h3>
For the first time, I have woken up without land in sight. I cannot determine where precisely we are or where we are headed. If the crew has decided against sailing to Colombo and is instead traveling out into the open ocean, I remain none the wiser. I cannot read the currents of the sea.
Without breaking waves or swimming fish, the ocean is blank. The sea birds that once followed us have left in search of fishing vessels I cannot see. The drinking water is warm and bitter.
There are no myths today, only the steady creaking of wood and taught rope. The anchor, whether by design or malfunction, drags through the water a few feet below the surface. I heard the first mate muttering to himself, but the only word I could decipher was "storm."
<br class="page-break">
<h3>21-10-31</h3>
There is a new atmosphere aboard the ship. The crew hardly speaks beyond orders. When they do, it is always stories. A cat once snuck aboard and transformed into a band of pirates. A shark once leaped up and tore a dinghy off the port side. Another time a whale, viscous and titanic, rammed a fishing boat and sank the entire vessel. There is little joy in these stories.
Everyone is silent when the captain walks over. His boots knock on the deck like people trapped beneath, begging for release. He's been having ill dreams, but he doesn't suspect a storm. I speak to him. He tells me to only go above-deck if the crew is already up there. I need not worry otherwise. I explain to him that I am a scientist, that I can help prepare for any sort of ocean phenomenon. He says I need not worry.
<br class="page-break">
<h3>24-10-31</h3>
They are hiding something from me. We resupply at a port and I talk to the crew about their stories. I explain mirages and cabin madness and hysteria caused by yeast fungus but they refuse to speak regarding where the myths come from. Their voices lack trust. I cannot reason why.
For what it's worth, I can finally shave what is anatomically a beard but, in all practical sense, is more akin to a handful of grass growing between cobblestones. You will not be missed.
<br class="page-break">
<h3>29-10-31</h3>
I have come to avoid discussing stories with the crewmembers. And yet, they do no more than make small talk with me. I had diminished myself to rereading literature in my bed when I heard a shout above-deck. The captain bellowed for all hands. I stormed up, armed only with a fountain pen and the tacit faith that someone else could resolve whatever predicament I would find.
There was a frenzy on the main deck. All heads are transfixed overboard. Steak knives and cutlasses flashed in the morning sun, piercing the musket-smoke. The carpenter tapped another round down the musket with sweaty palms. The first mate snatched it from him, shouting to clear a path. The musket pointed off-deck, and for a moment I thought I saw a sailor, wrapped in foreign flesh, being strangled against the railing. Then the gun let out a <i>crack</i> like angry thunder, and the scene was swallowed in smoke.
More sailors piled in, limbs digging turbulent channels out of the cloud. A leg kicked out towards before being dragged back in. An arm was ensnared in meat before it could finish swinging a hammer. As I approached, I felt something slimy underfoot. A tentacle as thick as my leg slapped me out of the way before retracting into the cloud. As I fell onto the deck, as the smoke cleared, I saw the beast. <i>The kraken.</i>
The first mate lined up another shot, the bullet tearing a hole through the nearest tentacle. Its grip loosened, and another sailor descended upon it with a sword. The tentacle was severed with two clean blows, and the rest of the beast slithered below the water.
<br class="page-break">
<h3>29-10-31</h3>
I write as if it is a new day, but it only feels so. Some part of me refuses to believe that the kraken attack was merely this morning. My hands, when separated from my pen, shiver and shake. I have had no meals save for a small cup of water.
The tentacle remains above deck, pinned on each end with railroad spikes. The other men believe that a severed tentacle is not truly dead, and may strangle someone at any moment if it is not immobilized. Yesterday, I would have called this another myth. Today, I do not know what is real.
The captain gathered everyone above-deck a few hours ago. No one is dead, but there have been injuries. A couple riggers have broken wrists and arms. Our cook broke several ribs. Our quartermaster is below-deck, concussed. When the captain allowed us to disperse, many of us stayed where we were. Some had prior encountered krakens before. Many had lost friends somewhere. Man's domain is not the sea — a truth oft forgotten.
<br class="page-break">
<h3>01-11-31</h3>
The crew has begun to learn my name. Soon enough, I will know all of theirs.
I have been kept awake by thoughts of my work and my peers' work. Of every fable deemed unscientific. I hear the creaking boards and imagine ghost men roaming above. I hear the chattering rats and imagine one trying on my clothes. And why shouldn't I? What makes them impossible when that bloody tentacle is above me, wriggling in the cold air.
A limb with its own mind, like a stranded member of a sailing vessel. I wonder if it thinks. I wonder if it fears us.
<br class="page-break">
<h3>04-11-31</h3>
The crew's injuries have harmed our ability to travel. We do not know the way forward. I am no doctor, but I have seen injuries become rapidly infected. Even if our cargo arrives a little late, keeping our injured crewmates at sea risks a miserable death. The first mate reaffirms the value of the cargo, provides a rough estimate of the money we may lose if we go to port while the seasons are changing. Anton, the navigator and closest thing I had to a friend aboard, gives his own story of a mate who died of a staph infection after losing two fingers to a snapping rope. The salty air carves into wounded flesh and no boat is equipped for the nearly dead. The majority of the crew was on our side. The captain decided that we would pull into port.
That night, when Anton and I were exchanging stories, he told me that he never lost someone to staph infection. He'd made it up.
"Why?" I asked.
He shrugged. "I don't know how many people would take your word over a first mate's. But I trust you."
In return, I told him about another story. One that I'd once forgotten about but may have been real. About a creature with the body of a woman and the head of an owl that my father had seen as a young child. She watched him on snow-covered days from the forest's edge. She never let him within arm's reach, but he once left her a mouse he'd caught in the cellar. My father woke up the next day to find a sparkling polished stone on my windowsill. He kept it on his desk for a few years before his work required him to move to the city center. The stone was lost during the moving process. He never saw it or the strange woman again. Previously, I'd convinced myself my father's story was a recurring dream.
The tentacle has started to smell of death. Even so, it sometimes writhes in place.
<br class="page-break">
<h3>06-11-31</h3>
We reach port in the late morning. A handful of men carry off the injured, and what little muscles I have are not needed. Instead, I occupy myself by standing on the dock and inspecting the damage the kraken inflicted onto the ship. The outside of the hull has shallow scratches, the cuts becoming deeper around the railing the beast so desperately clung to. The water here is dirty, steeped in human sewage. And yet, life dwells underwater.
A red suckered arm hesitates for a moment before breaching the water's surface. It reaches towards me and I leap back, only for it to escape further. Its reach is longer than any man, inescapable as fate itself, seizing me by the forearm. I call for help, but the beast and I are alone at the end of that long dock, and the air further up the dock is saturated with the clatter of wooden crates and the barking of orders.
I am not a strong man, but even the burliest laborer could not resist the kraken's pull. I cede step after step, desperately trying to stay on the dock. Then I take a breath and am dragged under.
The acid filth burns my eyes, but through the sting I can see it — the kraken, climbing up the anchor chain. It must have hung on to the anchor after our first encounter, waiting to reunite with its lost limb. It drags me down as it climbs up, its full form coming into view. Its monstrous tentacles connect to a barrel-shaped head the length and girth of a horse's body. Two fins stretch out from the top of the head, two colossal eyes watching me from the bottom. Its eyes judge me, each larger than my entire skull.
I do not struggle as it drags me down. To try and pry it off me would only sap my oxygen. For the first time in many years, I find myself praying.
I am dragged closer. The shorter limbs unfurl and I see the beak of a parrot, larger than my fist, anxiously waiting for me. The limbs move to surround me, move to ensnare me, and my world becomes flesh kaleidoscopic. But there is a gap in the vortex of tentacles, an absence of one limb severed two days ago.
I remember the tentacle.
Which makes me remember the attack.
Which makes me remember my pen.
It's still in my breast pocket.
I grab the pen out of my coat with my free arm. The kraken feels me struggle and pulls me closer. I thrust my hand through the gap and aim towards one of its ginormous eyes. It cannot screech, but every part of it spasms in a different direction. It's pupil shrinks, iris closing around my wrist. Bracing myself against it I pull my arm out and stab again. I try forcing myself away from the snapping beak but my hands keep slipping on its slimy smooth body. My coat gets caught and it pulls me closer. I stab again and again, until I cannot tell whether the ink in the water is my pen's or the beast's.
My lungs are burning. My clothes are bloody. My eyes will not open. The kraken's grip loosens as it starts to sink. Just as it did the last time, the beast disappears in a dying cloud.
<br class="page-break">
<h3>Afterwards</h3>
If anyone else had witnessed the full body of the kraken, I would not have reached the surface. I only forced myself upwards through scholarly determination, through the will that this knowledge would not die with me. The captain found me in the water, arms clinging to the anchor chain and to life.
I write this wrapped on the bed of a hospital, mummified in bandages. The toxic water filled my cuts, but the merciful hands of nurses have prevented almost all infection. In my delirious state, as I was being carried to the ward, I asked to be handed over to the nuns that oft run wards near universities. Kind as they are, convents are not built near busy ports and nuns do not treat sailors.
What a life, that in these moments I may be considered a sailor?
I do not know when I will reach Sri Lanka. Anyone who had expected me would find a different man upon arrival — one who cannot turn his nose up at tradesmen or scoff at their stories. I write this as a record of what I know to be true, yet I fear that I cannot share this with other scholars or their fact-minded editors. I would be a joke amongst peers, another fool deluded by uncivilized sea air.
I had wanted to bring them proof. Once I'd returned to my senses, I sent for the captain and requested a specimen of the tentacle pickled and preserved. He sent me back what he could in a tall glass jar, but the rot had already begun to set in, and the vinegar only turned it into a cloud of half-decayed feed. It's sitting on my desk, but as soon as I'm healthy I plan to send it back to the ocean. Some truths are better kept as stories.
]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-05-09T21:37:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"art-exchange",
"journal",
"mythological",
"period-piece",
"tale"
] |
Mythology At Sea - SCP Foundation
| 14
|
[
"anactualcrow",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"art-exchange-hub"
] |
[] |
1453569654
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/mythology-at-sea
|
|
nalka-union
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/component%3Abhl-dark-sidebar/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc0"><span>Olgavsky Locality, Krasnoyarsk Krai</span></h4>
<p><em>20/02/2021</em></p>
</div>
<p>This wasn't what Mikhail signed up for.</p>
<p>The purpose of the expedition was clearly explained to him and his partner many times already. They were meant to visit couple of old settlements in Siberia, interview local Karcists about their early history and what they knew of Kalmaktama, then leave with a demystified history of Ion's reign.</p>
<p>Instead, they have been investigating mass graves and scenes of atrocities. The last three villages they have visited, which according to their data had around 900 inhabitants in total, have been destroyed mere days before their arrival. Their inhabitants have been reduced to ash and burnt flesh, making a mockery of their fight for eternal life. Not a single survivor to be found, be they human or a carnomantic construct. No perpetrator, either.</p>
<p>Mikhail was investigating a long, lightly burnt mass of tissue, limbs and pieces of bone sticking out from its sides. Remnants of decorations were still attached to it, some burned or melted into the fleshy material below. Clearly the work of a family with plenty of children. A tear began to run down his face, when suddenly…</p>
<p>"Hey, come on, this one's different!"</p>
<p>Volodymyr gestured for him to come over. There was a corpse at the edge of the village, still recognizable unlike the rest of the cadaveres. It was partially covered by a mound of snow, melted into ice by the heat of whatever caused this, and dressed in millitary uniform. The two looked at eachother in confusion. Why would the army declare war on them?</p>
<p>"No, there's no way…" Mikhail said, making an attempt at pulling the corpse out. It required much more force than his muscles had, the ice having stuck it to the ground. As Volya gave it a firm tug, however, it would detach right away.</p>
<p>The corpse lacked any identification. The uniform uniform didn't belong to any army the two of them knew of, either. They knew it didn't belong to an American, those usually carried their dog tags along with them. It did, however, have a curious blue armband on its sleeve. That, in addition to a patch showing a blue pentagram surrounded by wreaths of an unknown crop, was enough to identify it.</p>
<p>The two looked at eachother in shock. Both of them knew what this meant.</p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc1"><span>Nälkä For A New Millenium HQ, Saint Petersburg</span></h4>
<p><em>28/02/2021</em></p>
</div>
<p>"I have to say, these are…very troubling news, Mr. Kurdin. I assume you have evidence of what you have told me over the phone" Karcist Hill said, gesturing for Mikhail to sit down. The office smelled of freshly brewed coffee and printing ink</p>
<p>"Of course, it's here. I will warn you, the images are very drastic" He wished that Volodymyr was with him right now.</p>
<p>He knew that the proposal he wanted to make had very little chance at being accepted by The Council. Something like this would require a unanimous vote, which was almost impossible with how much of a risk it was. At the very least, he wouldn't return to Volya without having even tried.</p>
<p>"I see" The Karcist sighed. "I have to say, my heart breaks seeing this happen to fellow Nälkä, and the fact that all clues point towards the GOC being responsible fills me with great worry for our future. I'll discuss scaling down our operations with The Council. Don't want to make ourselves a target, after all"</p>
<p>"I…Mr. Hill, I feel that you still underestimate this situation. This wasn't an isolated incident, these were three settlements, divorced from eachother by 100 kilometers of taiga and destroyed…seemingly at the same time. Between this and the dissapearence of Comrade Abdullayev, I am worried we might be not just "at risk". They're going for the Old Bloods first, then us, then only the big groups are left"</p>
<p>The mention of Abdullayev made the Karcist pause. It's true, neither of them heard from that man ever since he proposed to meet with a GOC representative. Of course, the proposal was voted against by the council, 4 to 1. He was a stubborn man, and Hill was worried he might have attempted it either way. If that was the case, that would mean the GOC knew about them, as well as Nälkä in general. In that casem there was only a single sensible option. One that he wasn't ready to accept.</p>
<p>"Are you suggesting we disband? Just abandon our decades of research of the immortal science of Ion because the bookburners might launch a drone attack against us?"</p>
<p>"No, I am not. My proposal is…you could say less pragmatic than that."</p>
<p>"It's still a rough draft, but I believe the council may want to take a look at this during thursday's meeting. I sincercly believe this is to be the only way forward."</p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc2"><span>Nälkä For A New Millenium HQ, Saint Petersburg</span></h4>
<p><em>4 days later</em></p>
</div>
<p>"Karcist Hill, this proposal is…frankly ridiculous, if I am to say so myself. Is it true that Kurdin wrote it? I'm afraid we may have to-" Schmitt was cut off by Akhmetov as she was about to finish.</p>
<p>"No, Volutaar, we won't have another Nardovitch. We have learned that lesson a long time ago. I would also ask you to show some respect for a fellow member of our organization. But yes, Mr. Hill. I would ask you to explain what led to you entertaining such an…unorthodox plan."</p>
<p>Hill sighed and took a sip of water. He needed to search for an answer. He himself wasn't fully on board with Mikhails scheme, but it did seem like the only feasible way to prevent themselves, and others, from destruction.</p>
<p>"Clearly, the time of silently stacking papers and low lever research is long past us. We are among the few Nälkä who are capable of reaching out to our broader community without having to worry as much about the logistics of such an undertaking, nor lack of knowledge of other like-minded groups."</p>
<p>The Volutaar gave him a confused expression, before speaking up. "I am sorry, Karcist. But we do have to worry about logistics. Sure, our carnomantic modifications allow us to travel across large distances with little regard, but getting so many people together on a bi-monthly basis is not something we are capable off. Not to mention, we would never be able to make the old bloods and our modernized members get along."</p>
<p>"Oh, that's nonsense. We're all following the philosphy laid down by the ancient Adytites, do we not?" Karcist Koskinen chimed in.</p>
<p>"Please, let's all slow down. Yes, I have my reservations about this too. And Volutaar Schmitt brought up a good point! It will be a great challenge to our organization, and some of the finer details of this plan desperately need a rework. It's clear it was written under immense stress and pressure. And on this topic…" He cleared his throat.</p>
<p>"This was a piece of paper attached by Mikhail Kurdin himself, together with this proposal. I will now read it in full."</p>
<p>"One could be forgiven for thinking that laying low would be the best option in our situation. To go underground, space out our meetings, reduce our research until the storm has passed. This argument, however, makes two assumptions. First is that the GOC is going against those who have stuck their head out. This isn't true. Our brothers up north, the anartists of Germany and many Mekhanite sects are proof that this isn't the case. The Global Occult Coalition will not accept anyone who doesn't fall under their grasp, even if they are neutral and not an active foe. Second is that this storm will pass. It won't. The fascists of history have a clear track record of not stopping their repressions and genocides when no one acts to stop them. Eventually, there could be no Nälkä left but us. Who's going to defend us then?"</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>A vote began soon after the speech, each particpant taking an unusually long amount of time to decide. Soon, however, each member had made their choice. 5 to 0, the proposal has passed.</p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc3"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2133">Unnamed Village, Khanty-Mansi Autonomous Okrug</a></span></h4>
<p><em>13/03/2021</em></p>
</div>
<p>"BLYAT! I'M SORRY!"</p>
<p>Volodymyr jumped back as the tentacle slammed down in front of him with enough force to make the ground shake. A second after narrowly escaping death, a pitchfork stabbed into the ground just inches away from his torso. He scrambled to his feet and took a step back</p>
<p>"I didn't mean to disturb you, I'm sorry. For God's sake, I'm here to-"</p>
<p>"Charlatan! God-fearer! Stay away! This is our holy place" The villager yelled at him. He was dressed in stitched together robes, while his face was covered in pustules and scars. Despite this sorry state, however, he was visibly muscular.</p>
<p>"Listen to me, I am here to speak with your Karcist! Karcist Alka, she's here, yes?"</p>
<p>And just like that, the expression on the villager's face turned from anger to puzzlement. The tentacles ceased flailing and slowly receeded back into the ground.</p>
<p>"Who are you, weird man?"</p>
<p>"A follower of Ion, who else?" He said, forcing a casual smile. He opened his arms, showing he wasn't armed nor had any technology on him. At this, the villager turned around and yelled something to the rest of the settlement. Volya couldn't catch it, his Adytite was rather rusty. He saw the door of the nearest house open, locals emerging and slowly making their way over to him.</p>
<p>He was led first towards the church of the settlement. A small, wooden structure stripped of all Christian symbolism. A group of locals waited sat at a table on the inside. Volya waved at them, as they all looked up from the plates an in front of them and at the young man. He could recognize the type of meat they were consuming, which made him shiver in slight disgust. He couldn't imagine eating raw human flesh like that. You're supposed to fry it, or at least cook it over a fire!</p>
<p>The villagers escorted him as they descended to the crypt of the church and down a staircase, to a tunnel, where worked stone gave way to earth. At its end, the stench of ammonia and blood wafted at him from a dark chasm, a rope leading below. His fist clutched a watch locket in his pocket, containing a photo of him and his boyfriend. When he and the others sat foot below, their boots splashed heavily against the organic admixture. Only then, did he pick up the smell of cerobrospinal addition. For all intents and purposes, he could be lead into the mouth of a hungry Kiraak.</p>
<p>His fears would be put to rest as they finally reached a larger opening. On the other end of the cave was no one else but Karcist Alka herself, with her thousand wings and thousand hands, extending in all directions from her bare body. Countless fleshy tendrils extended from her, covering the exposed rocks and roots all around them. Volya gasped, never having seem something quite like this. He saw many Karcists in a variety of bodies, but none this…expansive, complex, clearly having taken centuries (if not millenia) to grow into such a form. One could even call her perfect.</p>
<p><em><strong>"Who are you to disturb our work?"</strong></em> He snapped back to reality as he heard the voice of a thousand larynges, coming from all across the cave. He shook his head and knelt before her.</p>
<p>"Oh, thank you for this meeting, Karcist. I come from a group who follows the word of Ion, just like you and your people. I'm not here to disturb you, I am actually-"</p>
<p><em><strong>"I see. Not a heathen, but a glutton, right? I assure you, we have no place for those who dare twist the word of the-"</strong></em></p>
<p>"-Ozi̮rmok"</p>
<p>Alka looked at him with all the sets of her eyes, her gaze scanning his expression while her carnomantic powers reached into his DNA. She knew he wasn't of Nälkä blood, that much was obvious, but a glutton or a heathen would know not of that title of Ion. Her speaking orfices opened once more.</p>
<p><em><strong>"Talk. Who sent you, why?"</strong></em></p>
<p>"I am from…Nälkä for a New Millenium. We're not descendants of the ancient Adytites, but we continue their teachings and practices. There are countless groups like us…and like you as well! Just in case you didn't know already…" He said, pausing until he saw one of the faces of Alka slowly move up and down. A nervous smile was plastered across his face. He knew he needed to be carefull. The swiss army knife in his right pocket wasn't the greatest self-defense tool in this situation. Taking the expression as a nod of confirmation, Volya continued "We find ourselves in conflict with the enemies of life again. Ones that would rather kill us all than let our teachings remain."</p>
<p><em><strong>"The Mekhanites! They seek to destroy us again? Of course, we will send them back into the mouth of the Devourer again!</strong></em> As the Karcist said that, the ground would begin to shake, her thousands of wings and limbs all stirring as if ready to fight.</p>
<p>"…no, the Mekhanites are all dead, fortunately. But we have a new foe, one who's army is present across the world and has already killed a thousand of us. Because of this, we seek to establish…cooperation, between our people. So we aren't led to the slaughter."</p>
<p>Her movements ceased as he further explained, before all the eyes of her form turned towards him. Her form slowly detached from the wall, taking a step towards him. Volya would rise to his feet and face her. After a couple more seconds of silence, her mouths spoke again.</p>
<p><em><strong>"I want to know more. Let's talk"</strong></em></p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc4"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4476">Plaquemines Swamp, Louisiana</a></span></h4>
<p><em>05/04/2021</em></p>
</div>
<p>The sound of the celebrations outside faded out as Mikhail was led into the communal home. It was large, filled to the brim with belongings and furniture, clearly housing more people than it was designed to. He was a little worried, looking down at the decaying wooden floor and thinking of the swamp below them.</p>
<p>"I have to thank all of you for agreeing to speak to me. If I may, why here and not the Macabre Street? I know two of your families have their place of residence there"</p>
<p>"Oh, we wish we could have stayed in La Rue. Your letters have disturbed us greatly, so we decided to relocate here until we can be sure it is safe out there. Our presence could doom La Rue, just as any infiltrators in La Rue could doom us" <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/anthropological-report-darkwater">Enu Duvernay</a> shook her head at that last part, with a very worried expression across her face.</p>
<p>"Yes, seeing how worried my wife was, I figured that celebrating Nsämanf'tsatsa with the Natau's this year is a better idea. It's not that drastic, we will be going back after tomorrow to take care of our elders. Howeve, we are likely staying the next few nights here. Thank you again, Manma, for allowing us to sleep her" Karcist Enitan turned to the sickly looking, thin woman with a large tumorous growth on her neck. She gave him a weak smile and nod, before the trio's gaze returned to Mikhail.</p>
<p>"I understand. It's probably a smart decision. I wouldn't want to assume anything, of course, but does this mean you have also considered the latter part of my letter?"</p>
<p>"Oh, I think we should sit down for this. Would you like some tea, Mr.Kurdin?" Manma Nutaa said, which led to a swift confirmation from Mikhail. She poured a drink for all four of them, a kind of mixture of local swamp plans and mushrooms.</p>
<p>"Yes, and I have to say, our families are more than willing to join this alliance that you've proposed. We just want to go over some specifics first" Enitan said after taking a sip of the tea, clearly used to its taste. The same couldn't be said for Mikhail, as he recoiled for a moment after it touched his tongue. He was used to much less intense flavors when it comes to tea. Swamp fungus was certainly an aquired taste.</p>
<p>"…Ugh, huy…uh, sorry, can I have some sugar? And right, of course"</p>
<p>"How is this going to work? You talk about an international alliance, but how are we going to coordinate it?" The Karcist asked, before Manma added "Sorry, honey. We don't sweeten our food here…but yes, it takes a day to walk to La Rue from here. We don't own cars or motorboats or such. How are we supposed reach Europe or Asia now?"</p>
<p>"Well, we are still working on it, but I can assure you there won't be much travelling involved. Our initial idea involved digital conferences, but the beliefs and locations of some of our kin don't allow for that. I can see there's not much electricity here, either. We were thankfully able to find records of a Solomonari ritual that allows for a connection between two Kiraaks, even from across the world, to be established. It's expensive and difficult to perform, but it is our best bet. I take it the creation of such creatures isn't a foreign concept here?"</p>
<p>That question resulted in a warm smile from Manma Nutaa, followed by her looking out the window. Right outside stood a large structure, propped up by a series of wooden planks, bones and trees. The outside was made of a brown, leathery material.</p>
<p>"I see, that makes sense" Enu confirmed, before taking a single sip and continuing "The Lodge would be more than willing to share our resources for such a cause, in that case. Me and my husband have a single single thing that still concerns us about this endeavor, though. What kind of an alliance is this going to be? Do we want to unite the faith, take revenge on the Coalition, keep our existence secret or…?"</p>
<p>That was a good question. Mikhail didn't plan much in that direction. While drafting the first proposal, he supposed it would be best left in the hands of the new organization to decide the direction of the alliance. He forced another sip of the tea out of politeness, trying not to grimace this time as the sour and bitter taste touched his tongue, then finally spoke.</p>
<p>"That's an interesting question. We are still waiting for other commmunities to respond before can definitely say what kind of work we will engage in, but the association I am representing does have some plans we could share…</p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc5"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5181">Belleau Wood, France</a></span></h4>
<p><em>12/05/2021</em></p>
</div>
<p>Volya stared at the pack of hungry wolves as they slowly circled in one him. He raised his hands in surrender, even waving a piece of white cloth in his hand. It didn't help, however. He could hear whispers around him. "weak", "invader", "jelous". They spoke words he didn't know the context of. Finally, all but one of them stopped. An older one, with a scar across its face and a visibly mangled maw took to its hind legs and stepped towards him.</p>
<p>"Oh dilly, a fresh piece of flesh. Come into our camp, try to conquer what's ours, and now you surrender? Oh, you will be a great feast, coward." The creature scooted closer towards him, its warm and foul breath making him almost recoil. He stood his ground, however, and kept eye contact.</p>
<p>"Oh, I assure you. Neither am I an invader, nor a coward. I heard of your battalion, of how you massacred those krau-"</p>
<p>"We're not a battalion! We're an army, a pack. There's no one above us!"</p>
<p>The wolf grabbed Volya by the shoulder and shoved hims against a tree, its claws digging into his shoulder. It felt Volodymyr's flesh mend just as it pierced it, though the claws dug into it prevented it from fully healing. It sniffed him a couple of times, moving its maw even closer.</p>
<p>"Oh, a Russian. Sent by Kovlenko, are you?"</p>
<p>The wolf pulled its head back, opened its maw and was ready to launch forward to tear Volya's throat to pieces. Before it could, however, it felt a piercing pain in its chest. A swiss army knife, stabbed perfectly between it ribs. The creature recoiled and dropped the man who was, suprisingly, not attacked by the other pack members. They just watched as he fell on the ground with a loud groan. He had no time to react as the creature bit through his leg. Its deformed maw prevented it from tearing his foot right off, but still very much mangled it as it began to pull on it.</p>
<p>"Pizdyet! I'm here to help you, Bryan! I'm a Nälkä!"</p>
<p>He said as he kicked it across the face, making it let go. Just as he attempted to get up, he saw it take a step back and prepare to launch itself forward. With a quick roll to the side, the canine creature would miss him, instead directy impacting a tree behind him. It growled in pain, then looked at him.</p>
<p>"A man of the Karcist? Don't make me laugh, Orok would tear you apart for-"</p>
<p>Voldymyr knocked the it right to the ground with a swift punch, the thick skin and bones of his hand catching the creature by suprise. He jumped on top of it, pulling the multi-tool of its body and pressing it to its throat. The other members of the pack stirred, some growling at him as he held their leader below him, other recoiling in fear. The one under him, however, just smiled.</p>
<p>"Oh, there's your will to fight…"</p>
<p>"Is this enough for you, Richards?" Volya growled, in pain and fed up. As he said that, the wolf gestured something to the rest of the pack, began to howl in response. He had no idea what this meant, but considering they haven't all pounced and torn him to pieces yet, he tried not to think of the worst scenario. Soon enough, they began to receed back into the forest. He looked back down at the creature that once was Lieutenant Richards.</p>
<p>"I like you, Russian…"</p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc6"><span>Budapest, Hungary</span></h4>
<p><em>27/06/2021</em></p>
</div>
<p>Mikhail sat across the table from József Vörös, the current leading Karcist of the Esoteric Order of the White Worm, as well as a the husband of the current CEO of the international conglomerate known as the "Abraxas Group". He felt far from happy about this current situation. These people made weapons of warfare which were used against the innocents, preached the word of the Grand Karcist while putting profit before it. Worst of all, they weren't even willing to share their research with his organization!</p>
<p>He was, however, able to convince The Order to join the new alliance. The negotiations went awfully smooth, suprisingly enough. József agreed to lend his member's carnomantic and thaumaturgic abilities for the cause, and provide them with a body of Solomonari ritual texts which he hasn't even hear off.</p>
<p>"It was a real pleasure, Mr. Vörös. Thank you again, your people will be an important asset to this coalition. Besides, the grilled flesh was great, may I ask where you harvested it?"</p>
<p>"I could say the same, Mikhail" The unnaturaly young looking, red-haired man in front of him nodded his head. He laid down his cutlery and gestured for the waiter to give them the bill. "Oh, straight from the Èletfa, of course. I have to say, I'm suprised the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2815">Ivády's</a> don't consume their fruit more often. It has so much…flavor to it!"</p>
<p>"On that topic, I am worried I will have to make my exit soon. I have a meeting arranged with one of their Táltos for this evening." Despite how much he enjoyed the taste, he could not quite bring himself to believe the promise of his 'associate'. The Èlefta was slow. There were faster, cheaper sources.</p>
<p>"Oh, I understand. I had one question, though. Is there any chance that Abraxas could receive a seat in this alliance? I am sure their technology would be of great use"</p>
<p>"Pardon?" Mikhail clutched his now-empty wine glass. His expression briefly changed to that of a disgust, before it went back to neutral one. "I am sorry but, what? I thought we already agreed to share our resources-"</p>
<p>"Listen, Kurdin. I know our organizations have had a very…troubled past. I assure you, the Abraxas Group has improved greatly since then. The Esoteric Order is now the primary sponsor of the Group, and we have worked hard to straighten out our past mistakes."</p>
<p>"…so I see no reason why Abraxas couldn't be represented by the Order's seat, in this case" Mikhail laid down his glass and took a deep breath, before looking back up at József.</p>
<p>"Well, I understand your reasoning, but we still recruit from various sources, and our work force remains spread across denominations. I just think it would make most sense if my wife was to receive a seat in the alliance as to represent the interests of our company, seperate from the interests of The Order. Besides, I am worried that if our workers and managers don't receive their representation, we can't, in good conscience, lend their products to the alliance. You did mention need to produce multiple Kiraaks of Many Maws in order to establish a headquarters for our coalition, right? I am afraid that only association I know which could provide the resources for that would be…"</p>
<p>"I see"</p>
<p>Mikhail was filled with rage. He should have expected this. You offer the capitalists a hand, they ask for your arm. And the worst part; he couldn't refuse now. And so, he could only weakly nod in confirmation, and extend his hand.</p>
<p>"Of course, and thank you for lending your help, Mr. Vörös. I am looking forward to our future cooperation."</p>
<hr/>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc7"><span>Outskirts of Saint Petersburg, Russia</span></h4>
<p><em>04/10/2021</em></p>
</div>
<p>The two sat down at the bank of Neva, overlooking the yellow-coloured forest on the other side. Not a single soul in sight, aside from the two of them. Volya wrapped a hand around Mikhail, who's head rested on his shoulder. 7 months, It's been 7 months since the two had an opportunity to sit down together, talk together, be together. At last.</p>
<p>"Ahhh, Volya, I told you to shave…"</p>
<p>The taller man just shook his head in response and kissed his cheeck, making sure his lover felt as much of his rough beard as he could. The two laughed together for a good minute or so, remaining in the embrace. Up until…</p>
<p>"Good evening, gentlemen!"</p>
<p>Both of them recoiled as an older man, wearing a green vest and carrying a fishing rod walked out of the bushes behind them. He laid down a backpack near them, then sat a log. He looked at the couple from the side.</p>
<p>"Oh, you two can continue. Don't mind me"</p>
<p>A lot of thoughts raced through their minds. They were in the middle of the woods, so he couldn't be just a random old man, could he? The alternative was, naturally, that he was a GOC agent that spied on them, and that a full squad of soldiers had already trained their sights on the couple's back. As he raised his hand, however, those worried would swiftly leave their heads. They recognised his tattoos. Maybe not by meaning, but by their <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran">shape.</a></p>
<p>"Oh, come on, you act as if you saw a god. I just wanted to say that I am impressed. It's a great work you two are doing, after all" He stabbed his hook into the worm, before pulling back the rod and swinging it towards the river. A smile was visible past his thick, white facial hair.</p>
<p>"Oh…thank you, I suppose…" Mikhail said, a long breath of relief leaving his lips soon after. Volya held in a giggle, then wordlessly offered the old man a cigarette. He gestured with his hand in denial.</p>
<p>"I would rather keep this body healthy. I have grown a liking to it." He said, looking off in the distance. A brief struggle erupted as a fish latched onto the hook. Despite some gierce fighting, however, he was unable to overcome the creature. And so, he reached into a pack of worm and prepared the next bait. "This alliance you two have founded, what is it called? I have heard of it from so many people, but I've never got anything more than "The Alliance" or"The Coalition". I would say that name is a little too close to that of our enemies"</p>
<p>"I suppose…we haven't really thought that much about it. Neither me, nor Mikhail had much time to chisel out the details. It was a hectic year, you know?"</p>
<p>"I see" He shook his head, taking on a more serious expression, that swung the rod again "I say something simple, but recognizable. And something none of our denominations would find an issue with"</p>
<p>I silence overcame the trio. Neither Volodymyr, Mikhail nor the old man said anything, even as another struggle unfolded between the grandpa-like figure and an amphibian organism. Finally, just as a Perch was pulled out of the water and onto the land, Mikhail spoke up.</p>
<p>"Pan-Nälkä Congress?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, sounds alright" His lover and the man answered in unison, one a little more exhausted than the other. Finally, Volya looked over to the stranger who just finished extinguishing the life of his prey, with but a single touch.</p>
<p>"I am sorry but, what is your name, even?"</p>
<p>And to that, he smiled and look the two in the eyes. Packing the fish into a bag, he got the rod ready for another catch. Just as he was about to throw it again, he spoke.</p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2075">"I have a feeling you know me already"</a></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-false {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Collective Punishment">
<p><a href="/collective-punishment">Collective Punishment</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="Mundus, Liberari">
<p><a href="/mundus-liberari">Mundus, Liberari</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="To be continued">
<p><a href="/Pa">To be continued</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/nalka-union">A Union of Nälkä</a>" by Letova, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nalka-union">https://scpwiki.com/nalka-union</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> sarkek.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Sarkicism 01<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> SunnyClockwork<br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sunny-art-cotbg-sarkicism">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sunny-art-cotbg-sarkicism</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:bhl-dark-sidebar">:scp-wiki:component:bhl-dark-sidebar</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:centered-header-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:centered-header-bhl</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:toggle-sidebar-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar-bhl</a>]]
[[module css]]
:root {
--logo-image: url("https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme:memoria/TitleLogo.png");
--header-title: "PAN-NÄLKÄ CONGRESS";
--header-subtitle: "";
}
.meta-title {
color: #000000;
font-weight: normal;
margin: 0 0 0.6em;
padding: 0 0 0.25em;
font-size: 200%;
}
.meta-title p {
margin: 0;
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
-----
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/pan-nalka-congress/Sarkek.png width="75px" height="75px"]]
-----
[[=]]
++++ Olgavsky Locality, Krasnoyarsk Krai
//20/02/2021//
[[/=]]
This wasn't what Mikhail signed up for.
The purpose of the expedition was clearly explained to him and his partner many times already. They were meant to visit couple of old settlements in Siberia, interview local Karcists about their early history and what they knew of Kalmaktama, then leave with a demystified history of Ion's reign.
Instead, they have been investigating mass graves and scenes of atrocities. The last three villages they have visited, which according to their data had around 900 inhabitants in total, have been destroyed mere days before their arrival. Their inhabitants have been reduced to ash and burnt flesh, making a mockery of their fight for eternal life. Not a single survivor to be found, be they human or a carnomantic construct. No perpetrator, either.
Mikhail was investigating a long, lightly burnt mass of tissue, limbs and pieces of bone sticking out from its sides. Remnants of decorations were still attached to it, some burned or melted into the fleshy material below. Clearly the work of a family with plenty of children. A tear began to run down his face, when suddenly...
"Hey, come on, this one's different!"
Volodymyr gestured for him to come over. There was a corpse at the edge of the village, still recognizable unlike the rest of the cadaveres. It was partially covered by a mound of snow, melted into ice by the heat of whatever caused this, and dressed in millitary uniform. The two looked at eachother in confusion. Why would the army declare war on them?
"No, there's no way..." Mikhail said, making an attempt at pulling the corpse out. It required much more force than his muscles had, the ice having stuck it to the ground. As Volya gave it a firm tug, however, it would detach right away.
The corpse lacked any identification. The uniform uniform didn't belong to any army the two of them knew of, either. They knew it didn't belong to an American, those usually carried their dog tags along with them. It did, however, have a curious blue armband on its sleeve. That, in addition to a patch showing a blue pentagram surrounded by wreaths of an unknown crop, was enough to identify it.
The two looked at eachother in shock. Both of them knew what this meant.
-----
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/pan-nalka-congress/Sarkek.png width="75px" height="75px"]]
-----
[[=]]
++++ Nälkä For A New Millenium HQ, Saint Petersburg
//28/02/2021//
[[/=]]
"I have to say, these are...very troubling news, Mr. Kurdin. I assume you have evidence of what you have told me over the phone" Karcist Hill said, gesturing for Mikhail to sit down. The office smelled of freshly brewed coffee and printing ink
"Of course, it's here. I will warn you, the images are very drastic" He wished that Volodymyr was with him right now.
He knew that the proposal he wanted to make had very little chance at being accepted by The Council. Something like this would require a unanimous vote, which was almost impossible with how much of a risk it was. At the very least, he wouldn't return to Volya without having even tried.
"I see" The Karcist sighed. "I have to say, my heart breaks seeing this happen to fellow Nälkä, and the fact that all clues point towards the GOC being responsible fills me with great worry for our future. I'll discuss scaling down our operations with The Council. Don't want to make ourselves a target, after all"
"I...Mr. Hill, I feel that you still underestimate this situation. This wasn't an isolated incident, these were three settlements, divorced from eachother by 100 kilometers of taiga and destroyed...seemingly at the same time. Between this and the dissapearence of Comrade Abdullayev, I am worried we might be not just "at risk". They're going for the Old Bloods first, then us, then only the big groups are left"
The mention of Abdullayev made the Karcist pause. It's true, neither of them heard from that man ever since he proposed to meet with a GOC representative. Of course, the proposal was voted against by the council, 4 to 1. He was a stubborn man, and Hill was worried he might have attempted it either way. If that was the case, that would mean the GOC knew about them, as well as Nälkä in general. In that casem there was only a single sensible option. One that he wasn't ready to accept.
"Are you suggesting we disband? Just abandon our decades of research of the immortal science of Ion because the bookburners might launch a drone attack against us?"
"No, I am not. My proposal is...you could say less pragmatic than that."
"It's still a rough draft, but I believe the council may want to take a look at this during thursday's meeting. I sincercly believe this is to be the only way forward."
-----
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/pan-nalka-congress/Sarkek.png width="75px" height="75px"]]
-----
[[=]]
++++ Nälkä For A New Millenium HQ, Saint Petersburg
//4 days later//
[[/=]]
"Karcist Hill, this proposal is...frankly ridiculous, if I am to say so myself. Is it true that Kurdin wrote it? I'm afraid we may have to-" Schmitt was cut off by Akhmetov as she was about to finish.
"No, Volutaar, we won't have another Nardovitch. We have learned that lesson a long time ago. I would also ask you to show some respect for a fellow member of our organization. But yes, Mr. Hill. I would ask you to explain what led to you entertaining such an...unorthodox plan."
Hill sighed and took a sip of water. He needed to search for an answer. He himself wasn't fully on board with Mikhails scheme, but it did seem like the only feasible way to prevent themselves, and others, from destruction.
"Clearly, the time of silently stacking papers and low lever research is long past us. We are among the few Nälkä who are capable of reaching out to our broader community without having to worry as much about the logistics of such an undertaking, nor lack of knowledge of other like-minded groups."
The Volutaar gave him a confused expression, before speaking up. "I am sorry, Karcist. But we do have to worry about logistics. Sure, our carnomantic modifications allow us to travel across large distances with little regard, but getting so many people together on a bi-monthly basis is not something we are capable off. Not to mention, we would never be able to make the old bloods and our modernized members get along."
"Oh, that's nonsense. We're all following the philosphy laid down by the ancient Adytites, do we not?" Karcist Koskinen chimed in.
"Please, let's all slow down. Yes, I have my reservations about this too. And Volutaar Schmitt brought up a good point! It will be a great challenge to our organization, and some of the finer details of this plan desperately need a rework. It's clear it was written under immense stress and pressure. And on this topic..." He cleared his throat.
"This was a piece of paper attached by Mikhail Kurdin himself, together with this proposal. I will now read it in full."
"One could be forgiven for thinking that laying low would be the best option in our situation. To go underground, space out our meetings, reduce our research until the storm has passed. This argument, however, makes two assumptions. First is that the GOC is going against those who have stuck their head out. This isn't true. Our brothers up north, the anartists of Germany and many Mekhanite sects are proof that this isn't the case. The Global Occult Coalition will not accept anyone who doesn't fall under their grasp, even if they are neutral and not an active foe. Second is that this storm will pass. It won't. The fascists of history have a clear track record of not stopping their repressions and genocides when no one acts to stop them. Eventually, there could be no Nälkä left but us. Who's going to defend us then?"
Silence.
A vote began soon after the speech, each particpant taking an unusually long amount of time to decide. Soon, however, each member had made their choice. 5 to 0, the proposal has passed.
-----
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/pan-nalka-congress/Sarkek.png width="75px" height="75px"]]
-----
[[=]]
++++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2133 Unnamed Village, Khanty-Mansi Autonomous Okrug]
//13/03/2021//
[[/=]]
"BLYAT! I'M SORRY!"
Volodymyr jumped back as the tentacle slammed down in front of him with enough force to make the ground shake. A second after narrowly escaping death, a pitchfork stabbed into the ground just inches away from his torso. He scrambled to his feet and took a step back
"I didn't mean to disturb you, I'm sorry. For God's sake, I'm here to-"
"Charlatan! God-fearer! Stay away! This is our holy place" The villager yelled at him. He was dressed in stitched together robes, while his face was covered in pustules and scars. Despite this sorry state, however, he was visibly muscular.
"Listen to me, I am here to speak with your Karcist! Karcist Alka, she's here, yes?"
And just like that, the expression on the villager's face turned from anger to puzzlement. The tentacles ceased flailing and slowly receeded back into the ground.
"Who are you, weird man?"
"A follower of Ion, who else?" He said, forcing a casual smile. He opened his arms, showing he wasn't armed nor had any technology on him. At this, the villager turned around and yelled something to the rest of the settlement. Volya couldn't catch it, his Adytite was rather rusty. He saw the door of the nearest house open, locals emerging and slowly making their way over to him.
He was led first towards the church of the settlement. A small, wooden structure stripped of all Christian symbolism. A group of locals waited sat at a table on the inside. Volya waved at them, as they all looked up from the plates an in front of them and at the young man. He could recognize the type of meat they were consuming, which made him shiver in slight disgust. He couldn't imagine eating raw human flesh like that. You're supposed to fry it, or at least cook it over a fire!
The villagers escorted him as they descended to the crypt of the church and down a staircase, to a tunnel, where worked stone gave way to earth. At its end, the stench of ammonia and blood wafted at him from a dark chasm, a rope leading below. His fist clutched a watch locket in his pocket, containing a photo of him and his boyfriend. When he and the others sat foot below, their boots splashed heavily against the organic admixture. Only then, did he pick up the smell of cerobrospinal addition. For all intents and purposes, he could be lead into the mouth of a hungry Kiraak.
His fears would be put to rest as they finally reached a larger opening. On the other end of the cave was no one else but Karcist Alka herself, with her thousand wings and thousand hands, extending in all directions from her bare body. Countless fleshy tendrils extended from her, covering the exposed rocks and roots all around them. Volya gasped, never having seem something quite like this. He saw many Karcists in a variety of bodies, but none this...expansive, complex, clearly having taken centuries (if not millenia) to grow into such a form. One could even call her perfect.
//**"Who are you to disturb our work?"**// He snapped back to reality as he heard the voice of a thousand larynges, coming from all across the cave. He shook his head and knelt before her.
"Oh, thank you for this meeting, Karcist. I come from a group who follows the word of Ion, just like you and your people. I'm not here to disturb you, I am actually-"
//**"I see. Not a heathen, but a glutton, right? I assure you, we have no place for those who dare twist the word of the-"**//
"-Ozi̮rmok"
Alka looked at him with all the sets of her eyes, her gaze scanning his expression while her carnomantic powers reached into his DNA. She knew he wasn't of Nälkä blood, that much was obvious, but a glutton or a heathen would know not of that title of Ion. Her speaking orfices opened once more.
//**"Talk. Who sent you, why?"**//
"I am from...Nälkä for a New Millenium. We're not descendants of the ancient Adytites, but we continue their teachings and practices. There are countless groups like us...and like you as well! Just in case you didn't know already..." He said, pausing until he saw one of the faces of Alka slowly move up and down. A nervous smile was plastered across his face. He knew he needed to be carefull. The swiss army knife in his right pocket wasn't the greatest self-defense tool in this situation. Taking the expression as a nod of confirmation, Volya continued "We find ourselves in conflict with the enemies of life again. Ones that would rather kill us all than let our teachings remain."
//**"The Mekhanites! They seek to destroy us again? Of course, we will send them back into the mouth of the Devourer again!**// As the Karcist said that, the ground would begin to shake, her thousands of wings and limbs all stirring as if ready to fight.
"...no, the Mekhanites are all dead, fortunately. But we have a new foe, one who's army is present across the world and has already killed a thousand of us. Because of this, we seek to establish...cooperation, between our people. So we aren't led to the slaughter."
Her movements ceased as he further explained, before all the eyes of her form turned towards him. Her form slowly detached from the wall, taking a step towards him. Volya would rise to his feet and face her. After a couple more seconds of silence, her mouths spoke again.
//**"I want to know more. Let's talk"**//
-----
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/pan-nalka-congress/Sarkek.png width="75px" height="75px"]]
-----
[[=]]
++++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4476 Plaquemines Swamp, Louisiana]
//05/04/2021//
[[/=]]
The sound of the celebrations outside faded out as Mikhail was led into the communal home. It was large, filled to the brim with belongings and furniture, clearly housing more people than it was designed to. He was a little worried, looking down at the decaying wooden floor and thinking of the swamp below them.
"I have to thank all of you for agreeing to speak to me. If I may, why here and not the Macabre Street? I know two of your families have their place of residence there"
"Oh, we wish we could have stayed in La Rue. Your letters have disturbed us greatly, so we decided to relocate here until we can be sure it is safe out there. Our presence could doom La Rue, just as any infiltrators in La Rue could doom us" [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/anthropological-report-darkwater Enu Duvernay] shook her head at that last part, with a very worried expression across her face.
"Yes, seeing how worried my wife was, I figured that celebrating Nsämanf'tsatsa with the Natau's this year is a better idea. It's not that drastic, we will be going back after tomorrow to take care of our elders. Howeve, we are likely staying the next few nights here. Thank you again, Manma, for allowing us to sleep her" Karcist Enitan turned to the sickly looking, thin woman with a large tumorous growth on her neck. She gave him a weak smile and nod, before the trio's gaze returned to Mikhail.
"I understand. It's probably a smart decision. I wouldn't want to assume anything, of course, but does this mean you have also considered the latter part of my letter?"
"Oh, I think we should sit down for this. Would you like some tea, Mr.Kurdin?" Manma Nutaa said, which led to a swift confirmation from Mikhail. She poured a drink for all four of them, a kind of mixture of local swamp plans and mushrooms.
"Yes, and I have to say, our families are more than willing to join this alliance that you've proposed. We just want to go over some specifics first" Enitan said after taking a sip of the tea, clearly used to its taste. The same couldn't be said for Mikhail, as he recoiled for a moment after it touched his tongue. He was used to much less intense flavors when it comes to tea. Swamp fungus was certainly an aquired taste.
"...Ugh, huy...uh, sorry, can I have some sugar? And right, of course"
"How is this going to work? You talk about an international alliance, but how are we going to coordinate it?" The Karcist asked, before Manma added "Sorry, honey. We don't sweeten our food here...but yes, it takes a day to walk to La Rue from here. We don't own cars or motorboats or such. How are we supposed reach Europe or Asia now?"
"Well, we are still working on it, but I can assure you there won't be much travelling involved. Our initial idea involved digital conferences, but the beliefs and locations of some of our kin don't allow for that. I can see there's not much electricity here, either. We were thankfully able to find records of a Solomonari ritual that allows for a connection between two Kiraaks, even from across the world, to be established. It's expensive and difficult to perform, but it is our best bet. I take it the creation of such creatures isn't a foreign concept here?"
That question resulted in a warm smile from Manma Nutaa, followed by her looking out the window. Right outside stood a large structure, propped up by a series of wooden planks, bones and trees. The outside was made of a brown, leathery material.
"I see, that makes sense" Enu confirmed, before taking a single sip and continuing "The Lodge would be more than willing to share our resources for such a cause, in that case. Me and my husband have a single single thing that still concerns us about this endeavor, though. What kind of an alliance is this going to be? Do we want to unite the faith, take revenge on the Coalition, keep our existence secret or...?"
That was a good question. Mikhail didn't plan much in that direction. While drafting the first proposal, he supposed it would be best left in the hands of the new organization to decide the direction of the alliance. He forced another sip of the tea out of politeness, trying not to grimace this time as the sour and bitter taste touched his tongue, then finally spoke.
"That's an interesting question. We are still waiting for other commmunities to respond before can definitely say what kind of work we will engage in, but the association I am representing does have some plans we could share...
-----
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/pan-nalka-congress/Sarkek.png width="75px" height="75px"]]
-----
[[=]]
++++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-5181 Belleau Wood, France]
//12/05/2021//
[[/=]]
Volya stared at the pack of hungry wolves as they slowly circled in one him. He raised his hands in surrender, even waving a piece of white cloth in his hand. It didn't help, however. He could hear whispers around him. "weak", "invader", "jelous". They spoke words he didn't know the context of. Finally, all but one of them stopped. An older one, with a scar across its face and a visibly mangled maw took to its hind legs and stepped towards him.
"Oh dilly, a fresh piece of flesh. Come into our camp, try to conquer what's ours, and now you surrender? Oh, you will be a great feast, coward." The creature scooted closer towards him, its warm and foul breath making him almost recoil. He stood his ground, however, and kept eye contact.
"Oh, I assure you. Neither am I an invader, nor a coward. I heard of your battalion, of how you massacred those krau-"
"We're not a battalion! We're an army, a pack. There's no one above us!"
The wolf grabbed Volya by the shoulder and shoved hims against a tree, its claws digging into his shoulder. It felt Volodymyr's flesh mend just as it pierced it, though the claws dug into it prevented it from fully healing. It sniffed him a couple of times, moving its maw even closer.
"Oh, a Russian. Sent by Kovlenko, are you?"
The wolf pulled its head back, opened its maw and was ready to launch forward to tear Volya's throat to pieces. Before it could, however, it felt a piercing pain in its chest. A swiss army knife, stabbed perfectly between it ribs. The creature recoiled and dropped the man who was, suprisingly, not attacked by the other pack members. They just watched as he fell on the ground with a loud groan. He had no time to react as the creature bit through his leg. Its deformed maw prevented it from tearing his foot right off, but still very much mangled it as it began to pull on it.
"Pizdyet! I'm here to help you, Bryan! I'm a Nälkä!"
He said as he kicked it across the face, making it let go. Just as he attempted to get up, he saw it take a step back and prepare to launch itself forward. With a quick roll to the side, the canine creature would miss him, instead directy impacting a tree behind him. It growled in pain, then looked at him.
"A man of the Karcist? Don't make me laugh, Orok would tear you apart for-"
Voldymyr knocked the it right to the ground with a swift punch, the thick skin and bones of his hand catching the creature by suprise. He jumped on top of it, pulling the multi-tool of its body and pressing it to its throat. The other members of the pack stirred, some growling at him as he held their leader below him, other recoiling in fear. The one under him, however, just smiled.
"Oh, there's your will to fight..."
"Is this enough for you, Richards?" Volya growled, in pain and fed up. As he said that, the wolf gestured something to the rest of the pack, began to howl in response. He had no idea what this meant, but considering they haven't all pounced and torn him to pieces yet, he tried not to think of the worst scenario. Soon enough, they began to receed back into the forest. He looked back down at the creature that once was Lieutenant Richards.
"I like you, Russian..."
-----
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/pan-nalka-congress/Sarkek.png width="75px" height="75px"]]
-----
[[=]]
++++ Budapest, Hungary
//27/06/2021//
[[/=]]
Mikhail sat across the table from József Vörös, the current leading Karcist of the Esoteric Order of the White Worm, as well as a the husband of the current CEO of the international conglomerate known as the "Abraxas Group". He felt far from happy about this current situation. These people made weapons of warfare which were used against the innocents, preached the word of the Grand Karcist while putting profit before it. Worst of all, they weren't even willing to share their research with his organization!
He was, however, able to convince The Order to join the new alliance. The negotiations went awfully smooth, suprisingly enough. József agreed to lend his member's carnomantic and thaumaturgic abilities for the cause, and provide them with a body of Solomonari ritual texts which he hasn't even hear off.
"It was a real pleasure, Mr. Vörös. Thank you again, your people will be an important asset to this coalition. Besides, the grilled flesh was great, may I ask where you harvested it?"
"I could say the same, Mikhail" The unnaturaly young looking, red-haired man in front of him nodded his head. He laid down his cutlery and gestured for the waiter to give them the bill. "Oh, straight from the Èletfa, of course. I have to say, I'm suprised the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2815 Ivády's] don't consume their fruit more often. It has so much...flavor to it!"
"On that topic, I am worried I will have to make my exit soon. I have a meeting arranged with one of their Táltos for this evening." Despite how much he enjoyed the taste, he could not quite bring himself to believe the promise of his 'associate'. The Èlefta was slow. There were faster, cheaper sources.
"Oh, I understand. I had one question, though. Is there any chance that Abraxas could receive a seat in this alliance? I am sure their technology would be of great use"
"Pardon?" Mikhail clutched his now-empty wine glass. His expression briefly changed to that of a disgust, before it went back to neutral one. "I am sorry but, what? I thought we already agreed to share our resources-"
"Listen, Kurdin. I know our organizations have had a very...troubled past. I assure you, the Abraxas Group has improved greatly since then. The Esoteric Order is now the primary sponsor of the Group, and we have worked hard to straighten out our past mistakes."
"...so I see no reason why Abraxas couldn't be represented by the Order's seat, in this case" Mikhail laid down his glass and took a deep breath, before looking back up at József.
"Well, I understand your reasoning, but we still recruit from various sources, and our work force remains spread across denominations. I just think it would make most sense if my wife was to receive a seat in the alliance as to represent the interests of our company, seperate from the interests of The Order. Besides, I am worried that if our workers and managers don't receive their representation, we can't, in good conscience, lend their products to the alliance. You did mention need to produce multiple Kiraaks of Many Maws in order to establish a headquarters for our coalition, right? I am afraid that only association I know which could provide the resources for that would be..."
"I see"
Mikhail was filled with rage. He should have expected this. You offer the capitalists a hand, they ask for your arm. And the worst part; he couldn't refuse now. And so, he could only weakly nod in confirmation, and extend his hand.
"Of course, and thank you for lending your help, Mr. Vörös. I am looking forward to our future cooperation."
-----
[[=image https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/pan-nalka-congress/Sarkek.png width="75px" height="75px"]]
-----
[[=]]
++++ Outskirts of Saint Petersburg, Russia
//04/10/2021//
[[/=]]
The two sat down at the bank of Neva, overlooking the yellow-coloured forest on the other side. Not a single soul in sight, aside from the two of them. Volya wrapped a hand around Mikhail, who's head rested on his shoulder. 7 months, It's been 7 months since the two had an opportunity to sit down together, talk together, be together. At last.
"Ahhh, Volya, I told you to shave..."
The taller man just shook his head in response and kissed his cheeck, making sure his lover felt as much of his rough beard as he could. The two laughed together for a good minute or so, remaining in the embrace. Up until...
"Good evening, gentlemen!"
Both of them recoiled as an older man, wearing a green vest and carrying a fishing rod walked out of the bushes behind them. He laid down a backpack near them, then sat a log. He looked at the couple from the side.
"Oh, you two can continue. Don't mind me"
A lot of thoughts raced through their minds. They were in the middle of the woods, so he couldn't be just a random old man, could he? The alternative was, naturally, that he was a GOC agent that spied on them, and that a full squad of soldiers had already trained their sights on the couple's back. As he raised his hand, however, those worried would swiftly leave their heads. They recognised his tattoos. Maybe not by meaning, but by their [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran shape.]
"Oh, come on, you act as if you saw a god. I just wanted to say that I am impressed. It's a great work you two are doing, after all" He stabbed his hook into the worm, before pulling back the rod and swinging it towards the river. A smile was visible past his thick, white facial hair.
"Oh...thank you, I suppose..." Mikhail said, a long breath of relief leaving his lips soon after. Volya held in a giggle, then wordlessly offered the old man a cigarette. He gestured with his hand in denial.
"I would rather keep this body healthy. I have grown a liking to it." He said, looking off in the distance. A brief struggle erupted as a fish latched onto the hook. Despite some gierce fighting, however, he was unable to overcome the creature. And so, he reached into a pack of worm and prepared the next bait. "This alliance you two have founded, what is it called? I have heard of it from so many people, but I've never got anything more than "The Alliance" or"The Coalition". I would say that name is a little too close to that of our enemies"
"I suppose...we haven't really thought that much about it. Neither me, nor Mikhail had much time to chisel out the details. It was a hectic year, you know?"
"I see" He shook his head, taking on a more serious expression, that swung the rod again "I say something simple, but recognizable. And something none of our denominations would find an issue with"
I silence overcame the trio. Neither Volodymyr, Mikhail nor the old man said anything, even as another struggle unfolded between the grandpa-like figure and an amphibian organism. Finally, just as a Perch was pulled out of the water and onto the land, Mikhail spoke up.
"Pan-Nälkä Congress?"
"Yeah, sounds alright" His lover and the man answered in unison, one a little more exhausted than the other. Finally, Volya looked over to the stranger who just finished extinguishing the life of his prey, with but a single touch.
"I am sorry but, what is your name, even?"
And to that, he smiled and look the two in the eyes. Packing the fish into a bag, he got the rod ready for another catch. Just as he was about to throw it again, he spoke.
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2075 "I have a feeling you know me already"]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=false
| previous-url=/collective-punishment | previous-title=Collective Punishment
| next-url=/Pa | next-title=To be continued
| hub-url=/mundus-liberari | hub-title=Mundus, Liberari
]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
| author=Letova]]
=====
> **Filename:** sarkek.png
> **Name:** Sarkicism 01
> **Author:** SunnyClockwork
> **Source:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sunny-art-cotbg-sarkicism
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-12-28T19:05:00
|
[
"adventure",
"mundus-liberari",
"sarkic",
"tale"
] |
A Union of Nälkä - SCP Foundation
| 9
|
[
"scp-2133",
"scp-4476",
"anthropological-report-darkwater",
"scp-5181",
"scp-2815",
"nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran",
"scp-2075",
"collective-punishment",
"mundus-liberari",
"Pa",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"sunny-art-cotbg-sarkicism"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"sarkicism-hub",
"mundus-liberari",
"news"
] |
[] |
1458144337
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nalka-union
|
|
nameless-weeds
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p><strong>Tale-JP:</strong> Weeds<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kei-comet" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8476395); return false;"><img alt="kei_comet" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8476395&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736571766" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8476395)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kei-comet" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8476395); return false;">kei_comet</a></span><br/>
<strong>Original:</strong> <a href="http://scp-jp.wikidot.com/nameless-weeds">雑草</a></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-jp.wikidot.com/xcontest2023-hub">X Contest 2023</a></p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Tale category Silver Prize</p>
<p style="text-align: center;">Theme of Nothingness Special Prize</p>
</div>
<p><strong>Translator:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/apomrnam3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9477012); return false;"><img alt="ApoMrNam3" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=9477012&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736571766" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=9477012)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/apomrnam3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(9477012); return false;">ApoMrNam3</a></span><br/>
<strong>Image:</strong></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>File name:</strong> medium.jpg<br/>
<strong>Image title:</strong> あの子の種<br/>
<strong>Copyright owner:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kei-comet" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8476395); return false;"><img alt="kei_comet" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8476395&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736571766" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8476395)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kei-comet" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8476395); return false;">kei_comet</a></span><br/>
<strong>Source:</strong> <a href="http://scp-jp-storage.wikidot.com/file:8476395-2-9e92">http://scp-jp-storage.wikidot.com/file:8476395-2-9e92</a><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Upload Year:</strong> 2023<br/>
<strong>Suppl.:</strong> Processed image taken by kei_comet.</p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<blockquote>
<p>Weed<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
1. Miscellaneous plants and flowers that somehow take root in the sphere of human activity and share their lives with humans.<br/>
2. A metaphor for strong vitality.<br/>
3. Roadside plants and flowers whose names are not known or deemed not worth knowing.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>In the village where I was born, depopulation had been progressing since I was a child. Actually, the population was small to begin with, and due to the aging population, there were hardly any people who could have children. Even so, it was a very peaceful village, always filled with the sound of many children playing. It was a small settlement located in the mountainous area.</p>
<p>So, why is it a village with so many children, you ask? Well, it's not that people moved here or anything like that. All these kids were born in this village.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
The elementary and junior high schools in the village I attended at the time had many children as old as the number of adults in the entire village.<br/>
There were not enough teachers, and the adults who were available sometimes taught in their place. It was kind of funny and hard to stop laughing when the man from the house next door, who usually played with us, was seriously acting as a teacher.<br/>
I still can't forget the expression on his face, standing at the podium, smiling shyly.</p>
<p>One time I worked hard on my studies with my classmates, and another time we made funny faces at each other when the teacher wasn't looking, and were scolded in front of everyone when we were caught doing so. During recess, we would always go to the playground to play tag.</p>
<p>We were sent to and from school by our parents until early elementary school, but when we reached junior high school, we started going home with our friends. Kicking rocks, playing rock-paper-scissors with the rule that the loser gets to hold the baggage, I never thought going to and from school could be so much fun.<br/>
We would sometimes proudly show off the marks we were given instead of attendance numbers, like apples, cats, and various others. From kindergarten to middle school, it was the rule to identify individuals by those marks.<br/>
When it comes to the reasons for fights, it was usually when someone would pick flowers recklessly or trample through a meadow. Other times, it was just fighting over the game controller.<br/>
I really miss those days when I was happy or sad over such childish things.</p>
<p>There was even a rule that you were not allowed to leave the village until you graduated from junior high school, but I didn't really care about that.<br/>
Although it was small, there was an athletic meet and a cultural festival, and anyway, everyone got along well.<br/>
I was glad to have those children, I thought sincerely so. It was a fun school life.</p>
<p>I was very sad on the day of <em>Graduation</em>, but it is such a small village. We smiled and said goodbye, knowing that we would see each other again soon.<br/>
I left the village when I entered high school, so I have not seen those children since then, but I am sure they are doing well somewhere in the village.</p>
<p>I had parents, a house, and a proper name. But for the children who were not, the whole village took good care of them.<br/>
For those who were not yet born, everyone loved them, saying things like, “I want you to sleep well and grow up well.”, “Are they going to be okay in such a shady place?” and so on and so on.</p>
<p>As I recall, the first time I saw it properly was when I was about the age of kindergarten.<br/>
I had never seen a baby before. They were glossy, soft, and looked as if they would break just by touching. I was surprised when an adult took me to see it for the first time, but I immediately accepted it and begged my parents to go see those every day.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
It's time to graduate from junior high school or, if you are an early child, around the fifth grade.</p>
<p>Suddenly, it pops.</p>
<p>The black, grainy things and an incomprehensible, semi-transparent, gooey substance that emitted an overwhelmingly sweet smell, almost enough to make one lose consciousness, were scattered around as those children burst and shattered in all directions.<br/>
We called it <em>Graduation</em>.<br/>
We picking up all the things that had once been our classmates that had fallen all over the place,<br/>
“Thank you for playing with me.”<br/>
“If you see me again, please be good friends.”<br/>
We would whisper these things to those children as we cried.</p>
<p>I still remember it clearly.<br/>
When I gathered my friend, who had collapsed into a state somewhere between liquid and solid, with both hands, I thought, “This child will never smile at me like usual again.”, “I will never be able to touch that beloved green skin again.” and so on and so on.<br/>
While feeling the faint warmth that still lingered, a mix of slight regret, loneliness, and, at the same time, a joyful emotion welled up inside me.<br/>
Because I had been taught back then, when I went to see it with an adult, that <em>Graduation</em> is a very joyous occasion.<br/>
“Congratulations, <em>Graduation</em>. Congratulations,” I said, tightly gripping my friend, who was stuck to my palm, and I celebrated their new beginning.</p>
<p>The sound of it crushing and squishing seemed to echo as if it were the final response. Watching it being dragged across the floor by the rag, it felt like the memories of this child were slowly sinking into our hearts.<br/>
The memories of the time we spent together rushed through my mind like a carousel of fleeting images.<br/>
Now that I think about it, that was the first time I experienced the death of someone close to me. Surrounded by the overwhelmingly sweet scent, with my friend stuck to my clothes, face, and both hands, I cried while laughing.</p>
The things we gathered were all supposed to be handed over to the adults.<br/>
But, of course, the child at that age wouldn’t follow such rules, would you?<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Here, look at this.<br/>
This was a friend of mine.<br/>
What does it look like to you?<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<img alt="medium.jpg" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/nameless-weeds/medium.jpg" width="400px"/><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Yes, seeds.
<p>You know those weeds that just sort of slither up from the cracks in the asphalt on roads and parking lots? The ones you don’t know where they came from, don’t know their name, but are strangely tough? You know what I mean, right?</p>
<p>Those children were all weeds.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Don’t you think they were lovely too? Small, yet strong, and fragile.<br/>
Before you knew it, they were growing by the rice fields on the way to school. Beneath the utility pole in front of the school. In the corner of the playground. They even grew in the garden once.<br/>
Anyway, those children were just like that.<br/>
Even though they were born special, to us, they were friends we played with, cute, adorable children.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Perhaps they grew naturally, or maybe the adults were scattering seeds like that around the village.<br/>
I know because I've seen it before, but that has a growth stage to it.<br/>
I wonder if the soil in the village was suitable for its growth?<br/>
Before I knew it, small stems and leaves that had sprouted here and there grew taller and stretched up into the sky in no time.<br/>
Weeds, you know, have a surprisingly strong vitality. Those were no exception.</p>
<p>About a month later, I’m not sure how to describe it, but a fruit shaped like a human and colored a pale green starts to appear.<br/>
A fruit with a thin membrane at the tip of the stem forms, and you can see the inside through the membrane. Occasionally, something seems to wriggle inside it. Could it be the first movements, like fetal movement? It’s slightly larger than a human head, maybe.<br/>
As soon as the membrane breaks and it falls to the ground with a soft thud, it lets out its first cry. It was just like a real human baby.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
There were times when it was a familiar face.<br/>
In those moments, we would feel even more affectionate towards it, gather around, gently stroke its cheek, and whisper, “Good to see you back.”<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
The fruits born in that way were collected by the people of higher status in the village, and the whole village took care of them.<br/>
It was a place with little stimulation to begin with. For the adults, I think that was probably a kind of entertainment to distract from the monotony of their unchanging days.</p>
<p>You all must have grown plants as a hobby, right?<br/>
It's the same thing.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>Name? There is no such thing, and we don't bother giving one.<br/>
Weeds don't need names, do they?</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/nameless-weeds">Weeds</a>" by kei_comet, and ApoMrNam3, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nameless-weeds">https://scpwiki.com/nameless-weeds</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> medium.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kei-comet" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8476395); return false;"><img alt="kei_comet" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8476395&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736571766" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8476395)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kei-comet" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8476395); return false;">kei_comet</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="http://scp-jp-storage.wikidot.com/file:8476395-2-9e92">http://scp-jp-storage.wikidot.com/file:8476395-2-9e92</a><br/>
<strong>Additional Notes:</strong> Images taken by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kei-comet" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8476395); return false;"><img alt="kei_comet" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8476395&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1736571766" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8476395)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kei-comet" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8476395); return false;">kei_comet</a></span> were processed and illustrations were added.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[module CSS]]
*{font-family: Times New Roman;}
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
**Tale-JP:** Weeds
**Author:** [[*user kei_comet]]
**Original:** [http://scp-jp.wikidot.com/nameless-weeds 雑草]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
= [http://scp-jp.wikidot.com/xcontest2023-hub X Contest 2023]
= Tale category Silver Prize
= Theme of Nothingness Special Prize
[[/div]]
**Translator:** [[*user ApoMrNam3]]
**Image:**
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**File name:** medium.jpg
**Image title:** あの子の種
**Copyright owner:** [[*user kei_comet]]
**Source:** http://scp-jp-storage.wikidot.com/file:8476395-2-9e92
**License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
**Upload Year:** 2023
**Suppl.:** Processed image taken by kei_comet.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
> Weed
> @@ @@
> 1. Miscellaneous plants and flowers that somehow take root in the sphere of human activity and share their lives with humans.
> 2. A metaphor for strong vitality.
> 3. Roadside plants and flowers whose names are not known or deemed not worth knowing.
In the village where I was born, depopulation had been progressing since I was a child. Actually, the population was small to begin with, and due to the aging population, there were hardly any people who could have children. Even so, it was a very peaceful village, always filled with the sound of many children playing. It was a small settlement located in the mountainous area.
So, why is it a village with so many children, you ask? Well, it's not that people moved here or anything like that. All these kids were born in this village.
@@ @@
@@ @@
The elementary and junior high schools in the village I attended at the time had many children as old as the number of adults in the entire village.
There were not enough teachers, and the adults who were available sometimes taught in their place. It was kind of funny and hard to stop laughing when the man from the house next door, who usually played with us, was seriously acting as a teacher.
I still can't forget the expression on his face, standing at the podium, smiling shyly.
One time I worked hard on my studies with my classmates, and another time we made funny faces at each other when the teacher wasn't looking, and were scolded in front of everyone when we were caught doing so. During recess, we would always go to the playground to play tag.
We were sent to and from school by our parents until early elementary school, but when we reached junior high school, we started going home with our friends. Kicking rocks, playing rock-paper-scissors with the rule that the loser gets to hold the baggage, I never thought going to and from school could be so much fun.
We would sometimes proudly show off the marks we were given instead of attendance numbers, like apples, cats, and various others. From kindergarten to middle school, it was the rule to identify individuals by those marks.
When it comes to the reasons for fights, it was usually when someone would pick flowers recklessly or trample through a meadow. Other times, it was just fighting over the game controller.
I really miss those days when I was happy or sad over such childish things.
There was even a rule that you were not allowed to leave the village until you graduated from junior high school, but I didn't really care about that.
Although it was small, there was an athletic meet and a cultural festival, and anyway, everyone got along well.
I was glad to have those children, I thought sincerely so. It was a fun school life.
I was very sad on the day of //Graduation//, but it is such a small village. We smiled and said goodbye, knowing that we would see each other again soon.
I left the village when I entered high school, so I have not seen those children since then, but I am sure they are doing well somewhere in the village.
I had parents, a house, and a proper name. But for the children who were not, the whole village took good care of them.
For those who were not yet born, everyone loved them, saying things like, “I want you to sleep well and grow up well.”, “Are they going to be okay in such a shady place?” and so on and so on.
As I recall, the first time I saw it properly was when I was about the age of kindergarten.
I had never seen a baby before. They were glossy, soft, and looked as if they would break just by touching. I was surprised when an adult took me to see it for the first time, but I immediately accepted it and begged my parents to go see those every day.
@@ @@
@@ @@
It's time to graduate from junior high school or, if you are an early child, around the fifth grade.
Suddenly, it pops.
The black, grainy things and an incomprehensible, semi-transparent, gooey substance that emitted an overwhelmingly sweet smell, almost enough to make one lose consciousness, were scattered around as those children burst and shattered in all directions.
We called it //Graduation//.
We picking up all the things that had once been our classmates that had fallen all over the place,
“Thank you for playing with me.”
“If you see me again, please be good friends.”
We would whisper these things to those children as we cried.
I still remember it clearly.
When I gathered my friend, who had collapsed into a state somewhere between liquid and solid, with both hands, I thought, “This child will never smile at me like usual again.”, “I will never be able to touch that beloved green skin again.” and so on and so on.
While feeling the faint warmth that still lingered, a mix of slight regret, loneliness, and, at the same time, a joyful emotion welled up inside me.
Because I had been taught back then, when I went to see it with an adult, that //Graduation// is a very joyous occasion.
“Congratulations, //Graduation//. Congratulations,” I said, tightly gripping my friend, who was stuck to my palm, and I celebrated their new beginning.
The sound of it crushing and squishing seemed to echo as if it were the final response. Watching it being dragged across the floor by the rag, it felt like the memories of this child were slowly sinking into our hearts.
The memories of the time we spent together rushed through my mind like a carousel of fleeting images.
Now that I think about it, that was the first time I experienced the death of someone close to me. Surrounded by the overwhelmingly sweet scent, with my friend stuck to my clothes, face, and both hands, I cried while laughing.
The things we gathered were all supposed to be handed over to the adults.
But, of course, the child at that age wouldn’t follow such rules, would you?
@@ @@
@@ @@
Here, look at this.
This was a friend of mine.
What does it look like to you?
@@ @@
[[image http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/nameless-weeds/medium.jpg width="400px"]]
@@ @@
Yes, seeds.
You know those weeds that just sort of slither up from the cracks in the asphalt on roads and parking lots? The ones you don’t know where they came from, don’t know their name, but are strangely tough? You know what I mean, right?
Those children were all weeds.
@@ @@
@@ @@
Don’t you think they were lovely too? Small, yet strong, and fragile.
Before you knew it, they were growing by the rice fields on the way to school. Beneath the utility pole in front of the school. In the corner of the playground. They even grew in the garden once.
Anyway, those children were just like that.
Even though they were born special, to us, they were friends we played with, cute, adorable children.
@@ @@
@@ @@
Perhaps they grew naturally, or maybe the adults were scattering seeds like that around the village.
I know because I've seen it before, but that has a growth stage to it.
I wonder if the soil in the village was suitable for its growth?
Before I knew it, small stems and leaves that had sprouted here and there grew taller and stretched up into the sky in no time.
Weeds, you know, have a surprisingly strong vitality. Those were no exception.
About a month later, I’m not sure how to describe it, but a fruit shaped like a human and colored a pale green starts to appear.
A fruit with a thin membrane at the tip of the stem forms, and you can see the inside through the membrane. Occasionally, something seems to wriggle inside it. Could it be the first movements, like fetal movement? It’s slightly larger than a human head, maybe.
As soon as the membrane breaks and it falls to the ground with a soft thud, it lets out its first cry. It was just like a real human baby.
@@ @@
@@ @@
There were times when it was a familiar face.
In those moments, we would feel even more affectionate towards it, gather around, gently stroke its cheek, and whisper, “Good to see you back.”
@@ @@
@@ @@
The fruits born in that way were collected by the people of higher status in the village, and the whole village took care of them.
It was a place with little stimulation to begin with. For the adults, I think that was probably a kind of entertainment to distract from the monotony of their unchanging days.
You all must have grown plants as a hobby, right?
It's the same thing.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
Name? There is no such thing, and we don't bother giving one.
Weeds don't need names, do they?
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=kei_comet, and ApoMrNam3]]
> **Filename:** medium.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user kei_comet]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** http://scp-jp-storage.wikidot.com/file:8476395-2-9e92
> **Additional Notes:** Images taken by [[*user kei_comet]] were processed and illustrations were added.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-12-24T05:49:00
|
[
"_jp",
"_licensebox",
"international",
"tale"
] |
Weeds - SCP Foundation
| 3
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"scp-international",
"news"
] |
[
"http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/nameless-weeds/medium.jpg"
] |
1458091264
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nameless-weeds
|
|
nevertellneverhear
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>You already know how this is going to end</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">AstersQuill</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p>⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong> This article contains the following topic:</p>
<ul>
<li>Allusion to child abuse and death, hanging, and burning alive</li>
</ul>
<p>If these topics are upsetting to you, please refrain from reading this article.</p>
<p>Thank you.</p>
<p><strong>Never to Tell, Never to Hear</strong> by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/astersquill" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8392064); return false;"><img alt="AstersQuill" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8392064&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735053074" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8392064)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/astersquill" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8392064); return false;">AstersQuill</a></span> - <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/aster-s-forest-grotto">Author Page</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
</div>
<br/>
Your name was once Freckles, a wayward child born under the constellation of the cat, and your dreams were full of death.
<p>All the little boys and girls and other, more secret things born into the circus were given a stage name when they joined. Your siblings of the circus walked the grounds with names like Pogo, served concessions and ushered seats with the name Wally, and carefully fed the lame lion with the name Snoots.</p>
<p>But you were Freckles, on account of the white speckles that dotted your shifting, cosmic-grey skin. This was a name you knew, even before you were born, long before you discovered how you knew it. Everything was dark when you learned who you were, not a sight nor sound nor smell in your surroundings, adrift in a seemingly endless space. When, out of luck alone, your infantile foot brushed something more solid, you found yourself confronted with an overload of sensory information that would have made you cry if you could, if only you had the ability to. You saw inky figures standing around you, tending to you, while one with an almost regal air about him smiled with sharkish grin as he announced you "Freckles." And shortly after, you were born.</p>
<p>The circus, whose name changed as frequently as the towns that hosted it, was nothing more than a collection of tents and ramshackle structures that would be pushed over by the average day's wind. It was in one of these tents, just close enough to concessions to smell the saltiness of popcorn and just far enough away from the animals to not smell their dung, that you spent most of your early days. Your eyes strained against the soiled red and white canvas that hung overhead, but, lucky for you, you would find more than enough respite from it while pressed against your mother's chest, hand gripped tight around her ringless finger. You were content with this; no greater love than warmth, no better assurance of that love than touch.</p>
<p>Oftentimes, your few moments of consciousness were spent wrapped in decorative cloths that bore a striking difference to those of the circus around them; sovereign red and gold blankets adorned with cats, contrasted to hastily stitched costumes of burlap.</p>
<p>But while your hand was gripped around your mother's finger, you found yourself slipping into a mosaic of dreams and nightmares, realities appearing and disappearing to you as the many threads of rope. With as much focus and strength as your body would allow you, you reached out to the closest strands.</p>
<p>You watched as a man with a regal blue jacket lurked just from a distance, watching as a mother raised her child. He wrote down its measurements each birthday, anointed it with oils and tinctures of extraplanar origin, and celebrated with hedonistic delight when the child learned of its gift.</p>
<p>You watched another scene: a mother holds her child, half-dead in her arms, and pleads for someone, anyone, to save it. A man with a blue jacket emblazoned with a winged creature cuts through the increasingly smoking scene, ending just as a hand reaches towards her.</p>
<p>The pictures leave nearly as quickly as the pain arrived, and you released your mother's finger with the wailing of tears. She attempts to sing you a song to calm you, but your cries only grew louder. It is only after she places a small, brass music box next to you, that your tears faded away. You slowly drifted to sleep to the sound of its alien song.</p>
<p>The moment you rose to your two feet, you were inducted into the everyday life of the family; there was always work to be done, regardless of the size of the hands doing it. The space was vast, almost labyrinthine in it composition, designed to entice and lure circusgoers to peel back the curtains to discover what was inside. It was a joyous place for a budding mind, especially one such as yours that was always viewed as "overactive." You thought often of what you thought were your dreams, quickly running and tucking yourself into bed to see them again. But you never did.</p>
<p>Even still, you learned what the rules of the show were very early on; you knew not to poke the man-bear as he slept, nor frighten the fractal-like contortionists, nor steal the seemingly infinite length of handkerchief the painted performers held in small, shimmering portals just beneath their wrists. That would incur the wrath of the Ringleader, whose blue, tasseled-jacket and shined gold pins demanded the attention of the crowds.</p>
<p>To be on the man's good side was to be praised, to potentially be granted entry to his inner circle that would relish in the fruits of the circus. To be on his bad side, though…</p>
<p>The man was once lauded in some far off place for his skill of jumping through rings of fire unharmed. It was a skill for which he bore a deep pride, for which he credited his entire existence. A skill he made those who stepped out of line attempt to repeat. Oftentimes, they would walk around the circus singed, burned, bearing the scars of a man forcing others to relive his prime.</p>
<hr/>
<p>One night during the slow season when you were between cities, you decided to mimic your mother’s techniques on one of your "brothers", stealing an old guidebook that was tucked on a shelf in her stall just above the muddy ground.</p>
<p>Your mother was the circus' fortune teller, a cheiromancer to be exact, and a skilled one at that. You watched her read the fortunes off the calloused palms of the blue collar workers that stopped by the circus after their shifts for a cheap show and even cheaper beer, and off of the smooth palms of people who hadn't known hardship in their life. The circus was a great equalizer; a place of life, potential death, taxes, and fate.</p>
<p>You and your "brother" snuck into Miriam’s A-Mazing Maze of Mirrors, crouching down into one of the corners only the unluckiest of guests would find themselves in. A majority of the frames were rusted, with the reflective surfaces either cracked or smudged as people felt their way around the space. In the distance, you could hear the cries of a child, before another loud <em>thud</em> fills the space. They would never find you, nor could they perceive you if they did. Your form, as usual, was covered in concealing layers that revealed only your dim, pupilless eyes that refracted in the decaying mirrors.</p>
<p>Most thought it was just part of an act; a perceived artistic commentary on how the concealing layers and the grey skin served as a statement on the hidden, yet foundational work done by the behind-the-scenes workers of the show. Your mother joked to the more inquisitive guests that she was a prophet who served a shadow from a far off land of plenty now lost to historical records. Or, at least you thought it was a joke. Normalcy at the cost of a white lie, a fact you would become well acquainted with soon.</p>
<p>You were barely able to cup his hand in yours before you felt the visions rush into your head. In an instant, it seemed you were able to know every detail about his life from the moment your hand clasped his wrist to the moment he closed his eyes forever. It was almost as if a thread had unraveled itself to you, though not nearly as long of a thread as you would have expected. In the reflection of the mirror, you watched your form change; not in the usual funhouse way of being compressed or bent, but in the way that where you once were in the mirrors, someone new was staring back under the rags. The last thing you remember before your head hit the floor was the warm, metallic taste of blood that dripped down your face from your nose.</p>
<p>When you finally woke up hours later in your rough cot, you found yourself returned to the normal you were used to. However, two figures hovered over your half-conscious form: your mother, whose expression was one of horror, and the Ringleader, who grinned from ear to ear at the prospect of his prophetic windfall.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Your name was once Oriana, the promised blessing, the dawn. Named after an exiled oracle long forgotten and spoken of even less.</p>
<p>When the circus arrived to the outskirts of another city you didn't bother to learn the name of, you found your role in the family changed.</p>
<p>Overnight, a small shack was constructed for you on the other side of the circus, at a point as far from your mother and as close to the Ringleader's tent as possible. It was made with the best half-rotted wood and torn cloth that could be found, but specks of glitter and fresh paint made the structure somewhat pleasing to the eye. Within waited not only a new costume, one that exposed much of your arms and face to the world. You believed this to be the first day of your new life.</p>
<p>Your mother and the Ringleader also waited for you there, the expression on her face not nearly as bright as the one the man standing next to her wore.</p>
<p>She held in her hands a large tome, not the one you stole previously, but one of more ancient build. It was written in a collection of runes and symbols you saw only in quick half-glances into the Ringleader's tent, and she spoke in a tongue only bitterly heard there before. Importantly, within the collection of yellowed-pages, you learned the rules of not only divination, but of fate itself as your mother did from her mother, in the place she refers to simply as "home."<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="olde">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>Rule #1 of Divining: Unless asked, matters of death are not to be shared freely.</strong></span></p>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
Most patrons were more focused on the mundane questions; it was much more important to the average circusgoer to see if they would experience some unexpected fortune than to dare question their own mortality.
<p>You didn't have that luxury of ignorance, however, but all gifts come with a price, the Ringleader assured you.</p>
<p>Truthfully, you thought yourself grateful for the new life that was afforded to you; you lived in much better conditions compared to your siblings, spending less time doing menial tasks and more time studying to understand what you have now become. You missed the physicality of it all, being able to dance among dry hay and sand or even just being able to laugh at the interesting stories from the day.</p>
<p>Now, those dances only happen in private, lest the inquisitive eyes of the Ringleader find you, his new prodigy, not playing its role. Even your siblings, your promised family, shied away from you, fearful that the sword hanging over your head may cut them too.</p>
<p>Life was simpler before you learned you could tell the future, before your mother began looking at you with a quiet sadness, and before you were whisked away by the Ringleader to learn about your "home" and an impossible to pronounce language and how you, barely an adolescent, would be the key to bring them back to it all.</p>
<p>It felt wrong to be ungrateful about a gift, but sometimes you wished you could simply act your own age again.</p>
<p>A girl, not much older than you, came to visit one day with her father. Seeing someone her age being held to such high regard was instantly captivating, and her father produced the last few, fading bills from his wallet so his daughter would remember the night fondly. Her name was Emily, though she thought you a friend and told you to call her "Emmy" instead. She giggled excitedly as your form shifted before her, the sudden weight of curly, auburn hair now sitting on your shoulder. She asked, as all girls her age did, about school, about middle school crushes, and finally, if she would lead a long, happy life.</p>
<p>You prayed that night hoping there was a reality where she would.</p>
<hr/>
<div class="olde">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>Rule #2 of Divining: The future happens when it's meant to, never sooner nor later.</strong></span></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>The inches of white snow covering the fairground brought an unplanned hiatus to the circus, so you used this time to… <em>experiment</em> with your gift. Truthfully, you had grown jaded over visions of life or death, and you instead began to relish the other, more interesting facts of fate.</p>
<p>So you gathered secrets, both using your gift and not, building your own spider web amongst the shuddering metal pipes and damp ropes of the circus. While taking the form of a lame lion, you discovered affairs between acrobats, while collecting firewood with some of your "siblings", you learned about the pickpocketing schemes of hands only believed to be holding concessions. They warned of a man in a blue jacket, one that watched all the performers with a prying eye and asked far too many questions to not be searching for something. You tucked these insights into the back of your mind for later.</p>
<p>But one day, the Ringleader invited you to his tent, an ill omen for those who had proven themselves to be significant, and a privilege for those who returned. His tent was more akin to a king's bedroom; running water, enough space heaters to blunt the bite of the cold winter's air, and a collection of filigree and ornate artifacts of gold and jewel, bearing the forms of cats and foxes and bears and wolves all bound in rope.</p>
<p>He sat on a red and gold tasseled couch, idly swirling a chalice filled to the brim with a deep, amber liquid. Your mother sat across from him on a similar seat, stiff, seemingly ready to spring out of the tent if only given a signal to do so. It seemed the hollow <em>thud</em> of your boots on the wooden planks was not that signal, and you could see the light fade from her pupilless eyes as the Ringleader hailed you forward.</p>
<p>"Welcome, Oriana. How would you like to help me return to our home?"</p>
<p>You noticed the seats were arranged in a way that you could not reach out to take your mother's hand, but you were close enough to take the man's. Once you were… comfortably seated, the man placed his drink on the table and stood up, holding his hand out to you. Then, in a language you were still largely unfamiliar with, he spoke.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="olde">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>Oh, fortune teller, take my hand;<br/>
Read the weaves, untie the strands.<br/>
Oh, fortune teller, be our hope;<br/>
I seek the King bound in rope.<br/>
Oh, fortune teller, lead the way;<br/>
His court waits for the promised day.<br/>
Oh, fortune teller, heed my call;<br/>
Watch me climb, see me fall.</p>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
So, as you would for any other person attempting to peer into their fate, you took the man's hand, slowly shifting into his form. You felt the unkempt, patchy beard on his face, his bruised and taped together knee, and the subtle but haunting weight in his chest that caused him to hide wheezes with a performer's smile. And before you, in your mind's eye, was the man's thread. It was frayed and knotted, multiple loose strands burning away to a bright flash, and then nothingness. You saw fantastic success, tragic failure; he would never receive the prize he sought.
<p>The Ringleader listened to your words closely, scanning for any sign of trickery or hesitation. As much as it crossed your mind to do so, there simply wasn't a point. What use was lying in the face of a more dramatic truth? To this, all the man could do was laugh; a chuckle at first that grew boisterous in nature. Out of the corner of your eye you watched your mother grip her chair tighter, bracing herself for what came next.</p>
<p>The man's hand gripped your wrist tightly, causing you to break concentration, to lose sight of the small details, and return to your form. The man lifted you to your tiptoes, and you met his eyes, seeing within them the same desperation you saw in the many caged animals that rested but a few tents over. He cursed you, he wailed, and he broke down and prayed, seeking penance from the liquor in his chalice. But you knew this would happen, and you knew that when he would finally set you down that as you were rubbing the pain from your wrist, the man would be setting in motion the very decisions that would lead to his ruin.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Your new name is Vesper, a curse, a promised ending. A name given out of hatred. The last light of evening before the day slips into the night.</p>
<p>You once believed that fate was kind to its wielders, that somehow knowing what was going to happen would, in turn, mean better things were going to happen.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="olde">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>Rule #3 of Divining: knowing fate won't give you the power to change it.</strong></span></p>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
One night, under the soft glow of the worm moon, your presence was once again requested by the Ringleader. The months following your last encounter were not kind on the man; he grew skeletal, leading more of a funeral march than a circus. He took out his fading ire on you and your family. Day after day you talked of fortune, of love, of bitter tragedy all the while hiding the several bloodstained rags and medication needed to ease the strain. Blood, sweat, and tears at a price, one you were blind to the fact you would be paying.
<p>The man awaited you in the main tent, pacing alone in the show's space, coil of rope in hand. He smiled as you approached, and you could more clearly see what he was holding: a noose. The arena was empty besides the man, rough sigils carved in the dry, woodchip floor, and a ring on a tall base, slick with oil, aflame. The ring was much smaller than any you had seen prior, just wide enough for a small dog to pass through and little more.</p>
<p>"Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages! The star of our show finally arrives."</p>
<p>You tried to turn and run, but you felt a noticeable shift in the air, now much heavier around you. The exits were blocked, there was no way out.</p>
<p>"Vesper, my dear <em>dear</em> child. You were promised for <em>so</em> much more but, alas; we cannot choose what fate has in store for us."</p>
<p>The man stepped closer, brandishing a curved dagger in his free hand.</p>
<p>"But none of that matters now. Me, your mother, everyone here will <em>finally</em> be given the chance to return to paradise, to our home, to Alagadda. Sometimes I even pity the fact you won't live to see it."</p>
<p>You knew there was no fighting the man; even in his weaker state, he had both the height and strength to run you down. The room grew silent as you circled one another, and your eyes were fixed squarely on how his feet dragged through the woodchips, while yours seemingly glided atop them. You tried to think back to how the scene played out in your head, how you told the man this scene would end just months prior. And then you felt it: the heat of the ring at your back, oil hissing and screaming as if poured on the flame by some hidden decanter.</p>
<p>"You know, Vesper, our show is one of misdirection, a spectacle of lies to people who have no choice but to believe. Years upon years of jumping through hoops and I was not a single step closer to my goal, but the crowds loved me. They loved you too, you know. You could have been a star if only you had given me what I wanted."</p>
<p>The man stepped forward and reached out to grab you, but you stepped to the side.</p>
<p>"But that's the thing about stars, isn't it? Eventually they all burn out."</p>
<p>He threw out the rope, the heavy knot catching you on the side of the head, knocking you to the ground. The man, triumphant, limped over to you as you attempted to come to, but your vision was fading. He lifted you up by your collar, murder and fire in his eyes. You thrashed and attempted to break his hold, but to no avail.</p>
<p>"Oh, fortune teller, take me home. I hope you <em>rot</em> amongst the loam."</p>
<p>With all your remaining strength, you reached out to something, anything that you could use to escape, your hand catching the burning ring beside you. The oil and flames bit at your hand, but it did not matter. You watched the ground around you ignite. The man, bewildered, dropped you, as the flames slowly began to overtake him. How fitting it was that this would be his undoing, a career born and ended by the flame. Ash to ash, dust to dust.</p>
<p>You awoke under the collapsed structure of what was once the main tent. The air reeked of burnt corn and sulfur, fading perfumes and rotted oak. You tried to lift the heap of boards off yourself but found that you simply were too weak to muster the strength to do so. You wondered if your mother had seen this as your death, but you knew she was bound to the same rules as you. You hoped that, wherever she was in this moment, she could come to terms with the fact that it wasn't her fault. Resigned to this being your end, you closed your eyes as the heat rose around you.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="olde">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:larger;"><strong>Rule #4 of Divining: Those who see the future of other's are never to tell, nor hear, their own.</strong></span></p>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>Fate, it seemed, had other plans for you, though. For although you saw this scene play out before, you missed a much larger picture.</p>
<p>Your mother already knew of these events when you were practicing with her, you could tell she wasn't telling the full truth to you. You knew what the future would hold, sure, but it's in the small details where fate truly manifests; a water droplet off target can erode a stone down enough to cause a landslide, a reflection of the light at an angle just right enough to cause a driver to swerve, dodging a nail that would have prevented them from being there to meet their newborn. And it was in your mother's secret that your future was made.</p>
<p>You heard the scraping of board above you, and the sound of two people frantically talking to one another, focused entirely on pulling out of the wreckage what they seemingly knew was there. When they finally unearthed you, your mother lifted you from the ground and embraced you, a man in a blue jacket caught his breath on the side.</p>
<p>At a distance, fate often obfuscates the clarity of events, leaving diviners to rely on only a few pronounced details in their observations, details only trained and focused eyes can see. As you swayed between life and death at your mother's side, you got a better look at the man before you: he was younger, and had short black hair that was now sprinkled grey with ash. Most importantly, he wore a blue, nylon jacket emblazoned with the emblem of an <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/unusual-incidents-unit-hub">eagle</a>.</p>
<p>You don't remember much outside of that, though you never thought that moment would be the last you saw of your mother, at least for a while. In a final act of mother's love she gave you to the only people who would allow you to live a relatively normal life, a chance to live outside of the show's spotlight. You travelled from city to city, Des Moines to Boise, Portland to Portland to Portland, each time finding people not unlike you, not unlike the other members of the circus.</p>
<p>It was among those people that you found yourself drawn to the stage, finally free to dance and act and fly. There was a monologue that you held close to you, one you picked up during a brief stopover in London, Ohio.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>All the world's a stage,</em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>And all the men and women merely players;</em></p>
<p>To you, life had been nothing but one, elaborate show. It only seemed fitting that, when given the opportunity to do so, you would begin the next act of your life as a player in that show, seeking <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6342">providence</a> in your new beginning. Seeking those secrets that twisted predictions ever so slightly. Who knew what the future would bring for you, Vesper. Who knew what the show would have in store for you next.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/nevertellneverhear">Never to Tell, Never to Hear</a>" by AstersQuill, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nevertellneverhear">https://scpwiki.com/nevertellneverhear</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-{$first} earthworm--old-syntax-last-{$last} earthworm--old-syntax-hub-{$hub} {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="The Noble Knight Thompson and The Beast of Crimson">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6342">The Noble Knight Thompson and The Beast of Crimson</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="Echoes of a Forgotten Shutter">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/eventyr-hub">Echoes of a Forgotten Shutter</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Coming Soon...">
<p><a href="/">Coming Soon...</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=You already know how this is going to end]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:eventyr">:scp-wiki:theme:eventyr</a>]]
[[module css]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Almendra:ital,wght@0,400;0,700;1,400;1,700&display=swap');
#page-title {display: none;}
.olde {
font-family: "Almendra", serif;
font-weight: 400;
font-style: normal;
}
[[/module]]
[[==]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--
|name=AstersQuill]]
⚠️ **Content warning:** This article contains the following topic:
* Allusion to child abuse and death, hanging, and burning alive
If these topics are upsetting to you, please refrain from reading this article.
Thank you.
**Never to Tell, Never to Hear** by [[*user AstersQuill]] - [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/aster-s-forest-grotto Author Page]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
[[>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
[[/>]]
Your name was once Freckles, a wayward child born under the constellation of the cat, and your dreams were full of death.
All the little boys and girls and other, more secret things born into the circus were given a stage name when they joined. Your siblings of the circus walked the grounds with names like Pogo, served concessions and ushered seats with the name Wally, and carefully fed the lame lion with the name Snoots.
But you were Freckles, on account of the white speckles that dotted your shifting, cosmic-grey skin. This was a name you knew, even before you were born, long before you discovered how you knew it. Everything was dark when you learned who you were, not a sight nor sound nor smell in your surroundings, adrift in a seemingly endless space. When, out of luck alone, your infantile foot brushed something more solid, you found yourself confronted with an overload of sensory information that would have made you cry if you could, if only you had the ability to. You saw inky figures standing around you, tending to you, while one with an almost regal air about him smiled with sharkish grin as he announced you "Freckles." And shortly after, you were born.
The circus, whose name changed as frequently as the towns that hosted it, was nothing more than a collection of tents and ramshackle structures that would be pushed over by the average day's wind. It was in one of these tents, just close enough to concessions to smell the saltiness of popcorn and just far enough away from the animals to not smell their dung, that you spent most of your early days. Your eyes strained against the soiled red and white canvas that hung overhead, but, lucky for you, you would find more than enough respite from it while pressed against your mother's chest, hand gripped tight around her ringless finger. You were content with this; no greater love than warmth, no better assurance of that love than touch.
Oftentimes, your few moments of consciousness were spent wrapped in decorative cloths that bore a striking difference to those of the circus around them; sovereign red and gold blankets adorned with cats, contrasted to hastily stitched costumes of burlap.
But while your hand was gripped around your mother's finger, you found yourself slipping into a mosaic of dreams and nightmares, realities appearing and disappearing to you as the many threads of rope. With as much focus and strength as your body would allow you, you reached out to the closest strands.
You watched as a man with a regal blue jacket lurked just from a distance, watching as a mother raised her child. He wrote down its measurements each birthday, anointed it with oils and tinctures of extraplanar origin, and celebrated with hedonistic delight when the child learned of its gift.
You watched another scene: a mother holds her child, half-dead in her arms, and pleads for someone, anyone, to save it. A man with a blue jacket emblazoned with a winged creature cuts through the increasingly smoking scene, ending just as a hand reaches towards her.
The pictures leave nearly as quickly as the pain arrived, and you released your mother's finger with the wailing of tears. She attempts to sing you a song to calm you, but your cries only grew louder. It is only after she places a small, brass music box next to you, that your tears faded away. You slowly drifted to sleep to the sound of its alien song.
The moment you rose to your two feet, you were inducted into the everyday life of the family; there was always work to be done, regardless of the size of the hands doing it. The space was vast, almost labyrinthine in it composition, designed to entice and lure circusgoers to peel back the curtains to discover what was inside. It was a joyous place for a budding mind, especially one such as yours that was always viewed as "overactive." You thought often of what you thought were your dreams, quickly running and tucking yourself into bed to see them again. But you never did.
Even still, you learned what the rules of the show were very early on; you knew not to poke the man-bear as he slept, nor frighten the fractal-like contortionists, nor steal the seemingly infinite length of handkerchief the painted performers held in small, shimmering portals just beneath their wrists. That would incur the wrath of the Ringleader, whose blue, tasseled-jacket and shined gold pins demanded the attention of the crowds.
To be on the man's good side was to be praised, to potentially be granted entry to his inner circle that would relish in the fruits of the circus. To be on his bad side, though...
The man was once lauded in some far off place for his skill of jumping through rings of fire unharmed. It was a skill for which he bore a deep pride, for which he credited his entire existence. A skill he made those who stepped out of line attempt to repeat. Oftentimes, they would walk around the circus singed, burned, bearing the scars of a man forcing others to relive his prime.
-----
One night during the slow season when you were between cities, you decided to mimic your mother’s techniques on one of your "brothers", stealing an old guidebook that was tucked on a shelf in her stall just above the muddy ground.
Your mother was the circus' fortune teller, a cheiromancer to be exact, and a skilled one at that. You watched her read the fortunes off the calloused palms of the blue collar workers that stopped by the circus after their shifts for a cheap show and even cheaper beer, and off of the smooth palms of people who hadn't known hardship in their life. The circus was a great equalizer; a place of life, potential death, taxes, and fate.
You and your "brother" snuck into Miriam’s A-Mazing Maze of Mirrors, crouching down into one of the corners only the unluckiest of guests would find themselves in. A majority of the frames were rusted, with the reflective surfaces either cracked or smudged as people felt their way around the space. In the distance, you could hear the cries of a child, before another loud //thud// fills the space. They would never find you, nor could they perceive you if they did. Your form, as usual, was covered in concealing layers that revealed only your dim, pupilless eyes that refracted in the decaying mirrors.
Most thought it was just part of an act; a perceived artistic commentary on how the concealing layers and the grey skin served as a statement on the hidden, yet foundational work done by the behind-the-scenes workers of the show. Your mother joked to the more inquisitive guests that she was a prophet who served a shadow from a far off land of plenty now lost to historical records. Or, at least you thought it was a joke. Normalcy at the cost of a white lie, a fact you would become well acquainted with soon.
You were barely able to cup his hand in yours before you felt the visions rush into your head. In an instant, it seemed you were able to know every detail about his life from the moment your hand clasped his wrist to the moment he closed his eyes forever. It was almost as if a thread had unraveled itself to you, though not nearly as long of a thread as you would have expected. In the reflection of the mirror, you watched your form change; not in the usual funhouse way of being compressed or bent, but in the way that where you once were in the mirrors, someone new was staring back under the rags. The last thing you remember before your head hit the floor was the warm, metallic taste of blood that dripped down your face from your nose.
When you finally woke up hours later in your rough cot, you found yourself returned to the normal you were used to. However, two figures hovered over your half-conscious form: your mother, whose expression was one of horror, and the Ringleader, who grinned from ear to ear at the prospect of his prophetic windfall.
-----
Your name was once Oriana, the promised blessing, the dawn. Named after an exiled oracle long forgotten and spoken of even less.
When the circus arrived to the outskirts of another city you didn't bother to learn the name of, you found your role in the family changed.
Overnight, a small shack was constructed for you on the other side of the circus, at a point as far from your mother and as close to the Ringleader's tent as possible. It was made with the best half-rotted wood and torn cloth that could be found, but specks of glitter and fresh paint made the structure somewhat pleasing to the eye. Within waited not only a new costume, one that exposed much of your arms and face to the world. You believed this to be the first day of your new life.
Your mother and the Ringleader also waited for you there, the expression on her face not nearly as bright as the one the man standing next to her wore.
She held in her hands a large tome, not the one you stole previously, but one of more ancient build. It was written in a collection of runes and symbols you saw only in quick half-glances into the Ringleader's tent, and she spoke in a tongue only bitterly heard there before. Importantly, within the collection of yellowed-pages, you learned the rules of not only divination, but of fate itself as your mother did from her mother, in the place she refers to simply as "home."
@@ @@
[[div class="olde"]]
[[=]]
[[size larger]]**Rule #1 of Divining: Unless asked, matters of death are not to be shared freely.**[[/size]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Most patrons were more focused on the mundane questions; it was much more important to the average circusgoer to see if they would experience some unexpected fortune than to dare question their own mortality.
You didn't have that luxury of ignorance, however, but all gifts come with a price, the Ringleader assured you.
Truthfully, you thought yourself grateful for the new life that was afforded to you; you lived in much better conditions compared to your siblings, spending less time doing menial tasks and more time studying to understand what you have now become. You missed the physicality of it all, being able to dance among dry hay and sand or even just being able to laugh at the interesting stories from the day.
Now, those dances only happen in private, lest the inquisitive eyes of the Ringleader find you, his new prodigy, not playing its role. Even your siblings, your promised family, shied away from you, fearful that the sword hanging over your head may cut them too.
Life was simpler before you learned you could tell the future, before your mother began looking at you with a quiet sadness, and before you were whisked away by the Ringleader to learn about your "home" and an impossible to pronounce language and how you, barely an adolescent, would be the key to bring them back to it all.
It felt wrong to be ungrateful about a gift, but sometimes you wished you could simply act your own age again.
A girl, not much older than you, came to visit one day with her father. Seeing someone her age being held to such high regard was instantly captivating, and her father produced the last few, fading bills from his wallet so his daughter would remember the night fondly. Her name was Emily, though she thought you a friend and told you to call her "Emmy" instead. She giggled excitedly as your form shifted before her, the sudden weight of curly, auburn hair now sitting on your shoulder. She asked, as all girls her age did, about school, about middle school crushes, and finally, if she would lead a long, happy life.
You prayed that night hoping there was a reality where she would.
-----
[[div class="olde"]]
[[=]]
[[size larger]]**Rule #2 of Divining: The future happens when it's meant to, never sooner nor later.**[[/size]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
The inches of white snow covering the fairground brought an unplanned hiatus to the circus, so you used this time to… //experiment// with your gift. Truthfully, you had grown jaded over visions of life or death, and you instead began to relish the other, more interesting facts of fate.
So you gathered secrets, both using your gift and not, building your own spider web amongst the shuddering metal pipes and damp ropes of the circus. While taking the form of a lame lion, you discovered affairs between acrobats, while collecting firewood with some of your "siblings", you learned about the pickpocketing schemes of hands only believed to be holding concessions. They warned of a man in a blue jacket, one that watched all the performers with a prying eye and asked far too many questions to not be searching for something. You tucked these insights into the back of your mind for later.
But one day, the Ringleader invited you to his tent, an ill omen for those who had proven themselves to be significant, and a privilege for those who returned. His tent was more akin to a king's bedroom; running water, enough space heaters to blunt the bite of the cold winter's air, and a collection of filigree and ornate artifacts of gold and jewel, bearing the forms of cats and foxes and bears and wolves all bound in rope.
He sat on a red and gold tasseled couch, idly swirling a chalice filled to the brim with a deep, amber liquid. Your mother sat across from him on a similar seat, stiff, seemingly ready to spring out of the tent if only given a signal to do so. It seemed the hollow //thud// of your boots on the wooden planks was not that signal, and you could see the light fade from her pupilless eyes as the Ringleader hailed you forward.
"Welcome, Oriana. How would you like to help me return to our home?"
You noticed the seats were arranged in a way that you could not reach out to take your mother's hand, but you were close enough to take the man's. Once you were… comfortably seated, the man placed his drink on the table and stood up, holding his hand out to you. Then, in a language you were still largely unfamiliar with, he spoke.
@@ @@
[[div class="olde"]]
[[=]]
Oh, fortune teller, take my hand;
Read the weaves, untie the strands.
Oh, fortune teller, be our hope;
I seek the King bound in rope.
Oh, fortune teller, lead the way;
His court waits for the promised day.
Oh, fortune teller, heed my call;
Watch me climb, see me fall.
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
So, as you would for any other person attempting to peer into their fate, you took the man's hand, slowly shifting into his form. You felt the unkempt, patchy beard on his face, his bruised and taped together knee, and the subtle but haunting weight in his chest that caused him to hide wheezes with a performer's smile. And before you, in your mind's eye, was the man's thread. It was frayed and knotted, multiple loose strands burning away to a bright flash, and then nothingness. You saw fantastic success, tragic failure; he would never receive the prize he sought.
The Ringleader listened to your words closely, scanning for any sign of trickery or hesitation. As much as it crossed your mind to do so, there simply wasn't a point. What use was lying in the face of a more dramatic truth? To this, all the man could do was laugh; a chuckle at first that grew boisterous in nature. Out of the corner of your eye you watched your mother grip her chair tighter, bracing herself for what came next.
The man's hand gripped your wrist tightly, causing you to break concentration, to lose sight of the small details, and return to your form. The man lifted you to your tiptoes, and you met his eyes, seeing within them the same desperation you saw in the many caged animals that rested but a few tents over. He cursed you, he wailed, and he broke down and prayed, seeking penance from the liquor in his chalice. But you knew this would happen, and you knew that when he would finally set you down that as you were rubbing the pain from your wrist, the man would be setting in motion the very decisions that would lead to his ruin.
-----
Your new name is Vesper, a curse, a promised ending. A name given out of hatred. The last light of evening before the day slips into the night.
You once believed that fate was kind to its wielders, that somehow knowing what was going to happen would, in turn, mean better things were going to happen.
@@ @@
[[div class="olde"]]
[[=]]
[[size larger]]**Rule #3 of Divining: knowing fate won't give you the power to change it.**[[/size]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
One night, under the soft glow of the worm moon, your presence was once again requested by the Ringleader. The months following your last encounter were not kind on the man; he grew skeletal, leading more of a funeral march than a circus. He took out his fading ire on you and your family. Day after day you talked of fortune, of love, of bitter tragedy all the while hiding the several bloodstained rags and medication needed to ease the strain. Blood, sweat, and tears at a price, one you were blind to the fact you would be paying.
The man awaited you in the main tent, pacing alone in the show's space, coil of rope in hand. He smiled as you approached, and you could more clearly see what he was holding: a noose. The arena was empty besides the man, rough sigils carved in the dry, woodchip floor, and a ring on a tall base, slick with oil, aflame. The ring was much smaller than any you had seen prior, just wide enough for a small dog to pass through and little more.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages! The star of our show finally arrives."
You tried to turn and run, but you felt a noticeable shift in the air, now much heavier around you. The exits were blocked, there was no way out.
"Vesper, my dear //dear// child. You were promised for //so// much more but, alas; we cannot choose what fate has in store for us."
The man stepped closer, brandishing a curved dagger in his free hand.
"But none of that matters now. Me, your mother, everyone here will //finally// be given the chance to return to paradise, to our home, to Alagadda. Sometimes I even pity the fact you won't live to see it."
You knew there was no fighting the man; even in his weaker state, he had both the height and strength to run you down. The room grew silent as you circled one another, and your eyes were fixed squarely on how his feet dragged through the woodchips, while yours seemingly glided atop them. You tried to think back to how the scene played out in your head, how you told the man this scene would end just months prior. And then you felt it: the heat of the ring at your back, oil hissing and screaming as if poured on the flame by some hidden decanter.
"You know, Vesper, our show is one of misdirection, a spectacle of lies to people who have no choice but to believe. Years upon years of jumping through hoops and I was not a single step closer to my goal, but the crowds loved me. They loved you too, you know. You could have been a star if only you had given me what I wanted."
The man stepped forward and reached out to grab you, but you stepped to the side.
"But that's the thing about stars, isn't it? Eventually they all burn out."
He threw out the rope, the heavy knot catching you on the side of the head, knocking you to the ground. The man, triumphant, limped over to you as you attempted to come to, but your vision was fading. He lifted you up by your collar, murder and fire in his eyes. You thrashed and attempted to break his hold, but to no avail.
"Oh, fortune teller, take me home. I hope you //rot// amongst the loam."
With all your remaining strength, you reached out to something, anything that you could use to escape, your hand catching the burning ring beside you. The oil and flames bit at your hand, but it did not matter. You watched the ground around you ignite. The man, bewildered, dropped you, as the flames slowly began to overtake him. How fitting it was that this would be his undoing, a career born and ended by the flame. Ash to ash, dust to dust.
You awoke under the collapsed structure of what was once the main tent. The air reeked of burnt corn and sulfur, fading perfumes and rotted oak. You tried to lift the heap of boards off yourself but found that you simply were too weak to muster the strength to do so. You wondered if your mother had seen this as your death, but you knew she was bound to the same rules as you. You hoped that, wherever she was in this moment, she could come to terms with the fact that it wasn't her fault. Resigned to this being your end, you closed your eyes as the heat rose around you.
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="olde"]]
[[=]]
[[size larger]]**Rule #4 of Divining: Those who see the future of other's are never to tell, nor hear, their own.**[[/size]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
Fate, it seemed, had other plans for you, though. For although you saw this scene play out before, you missed a much larger picture.
Your mother already knew of these events when you were practicing with her, you could tell she wasn't telling the full truth to you. You knew what the future would hold, sure, but it's in the small details where fate truly manifests; a water droplet off target can erode a stone down enough to cause a landslide, a reflection of the light at an angle just right enough to cause a driver to swerve, dodging a nail that would have prevented them from being there to meet their newborn. And it was in your mother's secret that your future was made.
You heard the scraping of board above you, and the sound of two people frantically talking to one another, focused entirely on pulling out of the wreckage what they seemingly knew was there. When they finally unearthed you, your mother lifted you from the ground and embraced you, a man in a blue jacket caught his breath on the side.
At a distance, fate often obfuscates the clarity of events, leaving diviners to rely on only a few pronounced details in their observations, details only trained and focused eyes can see. As you swayed between life and death at your mother's side, you got a better look at the man before you: he was younger, and had short black hair that was now sprinkled grey with ash. Most importantly, he wore a blue, nylon jacket emblazoned with the emblem of an [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/unusual-incidents-unit-hub eagle].
You don't remember much outside of that, though you never thought that moment would be the last you saw of your mother, at least for a while. In a final act of mother's love she gave you to the only people who would allow you to live a relatively normal life, a chance to live outside of the show's spotlight. You travelled from city to city, Des Moines to Boise, Portland to Portland to Portland, each time finding people not unlike you, not unlike the other members of the circus.
It was among those people that you found yourself drawn to the stage, finally free to dance and act and fly. There was a monologue that you held close to you, one you picked up during a brief stopover in London, Ohio.
= //All the world's a stage,//
= //And all the men and women merely players;//
To you, life had been nothing but one, elaborate show. It only seemed fitting that, when given the opportunity to do so, you would begin the next act of your life as a player in that show, seeking [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6342 providence] in your new beginning. Seeking those secrets that twisted predictions ever so slightly. Who knew what the future would bring for you, Vesper. Who knew what the show would have in store for you next.
[[/==]]
[[=]]
[[module rate]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| previous-url = https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6342
| previous-title = The Noble Knight Thompson and The Beast of Crimson
| next-url = /
| next-title = Coming Soon...
| hub-url = https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/eventyr-hub
| hub-title = Echoes of a Forgotten Shutter
]]
|
2024-08-17T16:39:00
|
[
"alagadda",
"eventyr",
"fantasy",
"second-person",
"tale",
"unusual-incidents-unit"
] |
Never to Tell, Never to Hear - SCP Foundation
| 36
|
[
"aster-s-forest-grotto",
"unusual-incidents-unit-hub",
"scp-6342",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"eventyr-hub"
] |
[
"unusual-incidents-unit-hub",
"eventyr-hub"
] |
[] |
1456372076
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nevertellneverhear
|
|
new-nightmare
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Ahalloween/3&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div style="padding-left: 1%; padding-right: 1%; padding-bottom: .5%; background-color: #f5f5f5; background: linear-gradient(to bottom, #8e3d01, #111111);">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><tt>One.</tt></p>
</div>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nightmare-on-archer-row-part-2">The Entity</a> falls in perpetual stillness, slowly spinning in the vast emptiness of the Outside. The last thing he can remember is a victim, a trap, and a sharp pain in the eye.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><tt>Two.</tt></p>
</div>
<p>Through the pinholes in his mask, he can see nothing but gray, but he can <em>feel</em> what was out there.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><tt>Nothing.</tt></p>
</div>
<p>Everything.</p>
<p>Between the space-between-spaces lurks every concept, thought, and dream both capable and incapable of being felt, perceived, believed. The Entity is sinking through the morass of everything and nothing, caustic and anathema to anything real and actualized.</p>
<p>He can feel the nothingness worrying on him. A dog on a bone. the concept of acid eating his cellular bonds and the thought of antimatter annihilating his brainpan. The very archetypal concepts used to create him are slowly loosed from his form. The Entity can’t fight back against these implacable forces, and so settles down. If not happy, just content to observe the violence on his own body, his flesh warping beyond recognition. Just like…</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><tt>Home.</tt></p>
</div>
<p>The mask puckers where the mouth should be, and <em>something</em> oozes from it into the Outside. A flower of blood, a pinwheel of autumnal leaves. The smell of acrid bonfire smoke. Festive malice and murder. The conceptual parasite tears itself from the Entity and oscillates away into the void, diffusing back into Nothing. The Entity doesn’t care about its departure, as other concepts quickly fill the hole it leaves.</p>
<p>The Entity prepares himself for a long eternity of dissolution, of floating forever in the space beyond the spheres. But everything wrenches in stasis, as if a pipe has been thrown into the gears of the universe. The creature blinks, as surprised as a killing machine can be. The un-space the Entity occupies thins, warps, and finally gives. What passes for the Entity’s entrails twist and spin as he is sucked into… somewhere else, disturbing its quietude. The gray slowly dissolves and colorizes as cold concrete meets the Entity’s back, splattering <em>its</em> form against floor and walls.</p>
</div>
<p>It slowly congeals back together into a roughly animalian mass, its body sloughing cloth and waxy skin from the damage sustained “backstage.” It looks at its surroundings, noting their… off-quality. The walls crease like paper, and a deep, rattling breath finds air that tastes of typewriter ribbons. The Entity had fallen through reality, and landed in a story.</p>
<p>Down the echoing halls of inkjet and laser print, footsteps can be heard clicking against smooth tile. A dinner bell. A plea for release.</p>
<p>The Entity quivers and twitches, its newly reformed gelatinous mass roughening with delight, its ink-bound heart pulsing in time to the footsteps. How could it ever think of rest with prey like this? How could it think of sleeping like corpses or quiet dusty tombs, unable to move, to scream, to <em>rage</em>? It rises to its full height, hooks unconsciously manifesting in its grasp. It begins the hunt again.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Doctor Semetsky to the Wardroom, Doctor Semetsky to the Wardroom,” a cool, feminine voice echoed over the loudspeakers of Site-76.</p>
<p>Doctor Semetsky was perusing the library, running his fingers against the hardcover spines of the Prime collection. The dark leather backs were embossed with silver Foundation seals and numbered, one through one hundred. New volumes added when the need arose, but the collection was just about complete.</p>
<p>In his short tenure at the Foundation, the volumes had grown to become his most prized achievement. Site-76-Prime was a completely fictive version of the physical Site-76, staffed by a lean crew of bespoke characters and descended personnel, suckered onto the underside of reality like a tick on a deer.</p>
<p>The collection collated and contained Prime itself in legible and editable form. Compact hyper-text description in gold-laden ink allowed the Site to be represented in prose, in manifestos and blueprints, personnel logs and intake forms, detailing every nook and cranny and carefully placed cracked tile for texture. The informational density of the books was so great that the shelves had to be reinforced with steel so they wouldn't break and spill the Site all over the floor.</p>
<p>The hard work hadn't gone to waste, and was quickly becoming a central draw to the real Site-76. Now, the collection was utilized for metafictional research, interlayer POI surveillance, and (at least theoretically) containment of narrativic anomalies, as well as a host of other possible uses that were sure to pencil out in committee. Plus, Prime also functioned as a green way to dispose of hazardous waste.</p>
<p>“Doctor Semetsky to the Wardroom, Doctor Semetsky to the Wardroom.”</p>
<p><em>G-d, fine.</em> Semetsky rose from his alcove and walked down the aisle, trailing his fingers across the collection. He had almost made it to the end of the row when he stopped. There was one more book than usual. Paperback, not hardcover. Red binding, a black <tt>{101}</tt> on its thin spine. Semetsky hesitated, withdrew the book from the shelf, and began flipping through it. Blank, blinding white pages twirled by. His frown deepened.</p>
<p>Finally, in the first few pages was text, glistening as if freshly written. Semetsky’s eyes flickered over the words, fingers curled like talons as his face paled. He snapped the book shut and set off to the Wardroom a brisk pace. The last words from the strange tome read themselves in his mind, unscrolling as they were carved into the page as Semetsky read it. <em>The killer stalks within a fictional facility, but its bloodlust is all-too-real…</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>…the yearning to kill makes its claws tremble and legs knock. The Entity is a greasy shadow, flitting between patches of darkness from flickering ceiling lights as it grows ever-closer to its target.</p>
<p>“Can’t believe how run-down everything looks. Wasn’t this place built just a couple months ago?”</p>
<p>Noncommittal grunt. “<em>Written</em>, not built. Maybe they were running low on toner when they made this wing.”</p>
<p>The harsh beam from a flashlight cuts through the darkness, revealing open maintenance hatches and sketch-y drop-ceiling panels. “Maybe. Man, I really shouldn’t have signed up for this gig. Only got two years ‘til retirement.”</p>
<p>The other guard blinks. “How? You’re, like, thirty-two.”</p>
<p>Too late. His fate is already sealed.</p>
<p>“Was just a joke, Go-” His retort is cut off by choking and spluttered gagging.</p>
<p>“Ernie?” The flashlight pans, revealing the glint of steel. A bloody hook emerges from Ernie’s mouth, wagging like a stiff tongue as it rips through the rest of his skull with a meaty <em>shrik</em>. Freddy doesn’t have time to scream or shoot as the Entity falls upon him too, suffocating and absorbing him within its fleshy mass.</p>
<p>Tongues of sinew barbed with dagger-teeth flense the skin from flesh and flesh from bone as it cracks open his skull to feed. Masticated fear and brain-matter tastes of heaven to the starving creature, making its eyes roll in ecstasy and body pulse with delight. Its grating screech of joy echoes down the corridor, lost within the turning pages.</p>
<hr/>
<p>"I want eyes on the ground in there, cram them in the Xerox feet first if you have to. I need someone to tell me what the hell is going on, and who the hell's problem it- oh, glad you could make it, Semetsky.”</p>
<p>Semetsky opened the door to Assistant Director Saunders looming over the Wardroom like a colossus of cholesterol and coffee, his voice a reedy wind of complaints and cigarettes.</p>
<p>Semetsky tossed the book onto the table, the slim paperback gliding across the table's slick surface and coming to a stop in front of <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/out-of-options">Tenenbaum</a>’s camera. The webcam whirred and clicked as it focused on the red cover, and the bulky computer sitting at the head of the table — containing the soul of a one-hundred-year-old criminal-slash-author-slash-metafictional-wizard — emitted a robotic groan. “Shit.”</p>
<p>“Did you know about this?”</p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/abstract-naught">UIU Agent Valarie Dell</a> leaned forwards in their chair. They were here in advisory capacity only, part of a tit-for-tat between Analytics and the Portland Field Office. “<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3143">Thaum</a> just notified us right before you came in. Something's breached WHITE HOUSE. Good thing I was on-site, huh?”</p>
<p>“Right. How do things look on the ground, Thaum?”</p>
<p>Another laptop was open to the side of Tenenbaum, hosting a blank .odt file, linked sympathetically to a copy in WHITE HOUSE, the Project INKBLOT designation for Site-76-Prime.</p>
<p>Words rattled off the screen. <tt>{From what reports I've gathered, strange, is one way I can put it. Maintenance reports the blueprints of the facility are in flux and make no sense, critical systems are breaking down even with failsafes in place, and personnel are acting unusual. Tampered, is another way to put it. I'm locked down in my office. Safe, for now. Can't say the same for the rest of the staff.}</tt></p>
<p>Tenenbaum’s camera swiveled back to Semetsky. “Any theories on this?”</p>
<p>Semetsky shrugged, drumming his fingers on the armrests. “Intrafictional pollution? Structural damage from the informational density of the site? The WHITE HOUSE is the first of its kind, so it's not like we have precedent for this. It was built fairly rapidly, so the insulation between something and nothing is… thin, to say the least. That, or intentional sabotage.”</p>
<p><tt>{The potential literary dissolution of Prime is not a price I’m willing to pay. I would be going down on this ship involuntarily tied to the mast if that was the case.}</tt> Thaum was another fictionalized character shanghaied into the project, though he didn’t have enough literary weight to actualize like Semetsky. So he was stuck in the WHITE HOUSE, along with whatever else was down there.</p>
<p>Robert Saunders, INKBLOT Project Lead, and also the only mundane individual in the room, planted his hands on the table. “So nothing concrete, is what you’re weaseling out of saying.”</p>
<p>Semetsky bit his tongue. “I’m willing to bet that book is anomalous, if that’s what you’re asking.”</p>
<p>Saunders raised both his hands in celebration. "This is why we hire guys like you, for your cutting skills of observation."</p>
<p>Tenenbaum’s harsh monotone cut through the banter, the camera focused on the pages Dell turned for him. “And I’m willing to take that bet, Yuri. If I had to hazard a guess — which I do — I don’t think this book is prophetic, necessarily, and I can say for certain it's nothing like <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-140">140</a> or anything of that kind. It’s a recording, an analogue footprint of our trespasser.” The red light on the camera blinked rapidly, Tenenbaum’s form of fidgeting, pacing. Can be hard to stir the creative juices when you have been stuck inside a computer for fifteen years. “Nothing’s really happened in Prime before. Nothing note-worthy, written-word-worthy. This is the first story to take place inside, so it makes sense for a record to manifest.”</p>
<p>The camera’s shutter whirred half-closed as new words etched themselves upon the page. “I just wish the record wasn’t so grisly.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>The Entity skitters through the vents, ribs splayed out like a dozen spider legs. This is new, unfamiliar. It was so limited before, both in form and method. This changed body is strange, inhuman, wrong… but ever so <em>right</em>. A world of possibilities now lay open before it like a vivisected corpse, ripe for the consumption. No more Halloween trips, suburban stabbings or slow stalkings, it’s free to kill however it pleases. And it definitely pleases.</p>
<p>A banging on the pipes. “Why the hell is nothing working anymore?”</p>
<p>Crackling of a radio. “Same here, Tina. Though you should finish up quick. They’re ordering an evac of the site.”</p>
<p>“Evac, why? It’s not like anything else could go possibly wrong with this piece of crap.”</p>
<p>There we go.</p>
<p>A tap in the vents. Regular, rhythmic. Probably a fan with a screw loose. Tina takes another step up her ladder and reaches for the vent cover. “Just give me a minute, almost done heeeRR-” Her voice trails off into a piercing scream as <em>something</em> grabs her arm, wrapping and tightening in a vise grip that tears at her skin. The hooked barbs pull her up and up and force her through the gap, bones cracking, organs pulping, until there is nothing but a tipped ladder and a vent dripping blood.</p>
<p>The radio lies uselessly on the ground, sputtering and emitting static. “Tina? Tina!”</p>
<p>But no one was alive that could hear their cries, and the Entity had already moved on.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The INKBLOT Working Group was hunched over the table, a few scrawled-upon whiteboards covered in pet theories and strategies discussed and discarded. INKBLOT was the blanket designation for the metafictional projects undertaken at Site-76, under the watchful eye of Analytics and O5-3. Of all of them, from weapons procurement to threat prediction to narrativic forensics, the WHITE HOUSE was key — it was the linchpin, cornerstone, and crowning jewel of INKBLOT. The product of thousands of man-hours of research and conceptualization, millions of computational hours of compilation and actualization, and billions of theoretical dollars at stake. <em>Nothing</em> could happen to it, for the sake of both their personnel and their funding.</p>
<p>"Why wouldn't the cordon work? The Prime Collection is editable! Just isolate the thing in the containment wing when it gets close, erase anything nearby until we can think of something permanent."</p>
<p>Semetsky rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, lifting his glasses off the bridge of his nose. "The Site a house of cards right now, and you want to chuck a rock at it? From what Thaum and this book are saying, Prime is shaking in its foundation from the equivalent of an interfictional meteor impact and this-" Semetsky waved a hand. "hokey Stephen King character overwriting key functionality. It wouldn't work."</p>
<p>Agent Dell leaned back in their chair, an exhale of nicotine-laced smoke adding to the cloud of doom and gloom that hovered above the gathering. “Less King, more Clive Barker. But besides that, why don’t we just take the bastard behind the barn? Simpler than your plan, Tenenbaum.”</p>
<p>The cyborg criminal mastermind glared at Dell, its single robotic eye conveying a dismal world of disdain. “We aren’t sending in E-17, damn it. This blasted thing is a rogue element. It’s a coin flip whether they’ll get it or if it mulches them like a wood-chipper.”</p>
<p>Saunders quaffed a third water bottle, the edges of his mouth running wet. “If you’ve suddenly grown so attached to E-17, why don’t you write a script to help them out down there?”</p>
<p>One of the many reasons Semetsky hadn’t signed off on upgrading Tenenbaum’s setup beyond the camera and vocoder was to prevent him from strangling Saunders with any provided prosthetics. Of course, Tenenbaum’s feelings were shared with most of the staff, but Semetsky was still thankful for his forward thinking as he noted Tenebaum’s CPU temp skyrocketing to triple digits.</p>
<p>Tenenbaum’s TTS spoke in a purposefully slowed voice, as if he was talking to the nearly-deaf or definitely-stupid. “My. Scripts. Would. Be. Useless. Down. There. Like Yuri said, this B-movie freak thrives on its own hack narrative. I can't force it to break character and take a fall. That would be like trying to divert the tides, or getting a good cup of coffee from the Site cafeteria. Impossible.”</p>
<p>Saunders paused as he searched for a witty retort, and found none in good time. “You don’t drink coffee.”</p>
<p>“I’ve heard reviews.”</p>
<p>The rattling of keys pressed by no one, and Thaum’s text document updates. <tt>{E-17 <em>has</em> prepared for a scenario such as this, that was the purpose of BLUE SUEDE in the first place. If nothing else, the few of us that remain down here would appreciate the morale boost of the sight of an MTF.}</tt> The cursor paused. <tt>{But, Mr. Tenenbaum is right. The threat profile of the anomaly</tt> <em>backspace backspace backspace</em> <tt>… we should play it safe.}</tt></p>
<p>Semetsky. “How is the evacuation going, Thaum?”</p>
<p><tt>{Slowly. We are trying to account for all of our personnel before we prepare to ascend. We don’t want to miss anyone… more than we are already.}</tt></p>
<p>The camera swiveled to each man in turn. “So that’s Dell and Saunders in favor, Thaum and I against. Yuri?”</p>
<p>Semetsky hung his head, lacing his fingers together.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Mobile Task Force Epsilon-17, “Editor’s Choice.” Book-diving, book-burning bibliophiles with a knack for metafictional operations and a tendency towards stale quips. The latter is probably an adopted quirk for branding purposes, or maybe the job just self-selects for those kinds of people.</p>
<p>Now, though, they’re quiet. Focused. They step outside of the descent room still shaking off the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4566">Xerox</a>, silhouettes hyper-real as their bodies slowly adjust to the new norm and their ink finishes drying. E-17 enters Prime with their safeties off, flashlights on. All other personnel had already been moved to the loom-shuttles, so it was open season on anything left.</p>
<p>Through hand gesture and head nod they communicate, slowly sweeping corridor after corridor, the only sounds made from the squeaking of combat boot on polished linoleum. Dust motes play in the beams of their barrel-mounted flashlights as they cut through the darkness. Prime’s lights are spotty, despite no issues reported in electrical before the call for evacuation.</p>
<p>The Entity creeps along the corners of their vision, skittering away when they cock their heads, and moving closer when they look away. Their boots step in puddles of thick, gummy saliva, but the trail just leads them in circles. It’s following them, waiting for them to slip up, make just one mistake, one slip of the tongue.</p>
<p>“Maybe we’re alon-”</p>
<p>“<em>Shh.</em>”</p>
<p>“Zip it.”</p>
<p>A claw twitches. Close.</p>
<p>The squad sticks together, patrolling the depths of the facility, keenly aware of its tenuous, creaking grip on reality. Windows that lead to endless black, hallways to rooms that haven’t been written, floor plans that make no damn sense. The unstructured narrative of the damned thing is conflicting with the neat, ruler-straight organization of the facility, and its more than the Site can take. The MTF has to double back more than once, facing stairwells that lead to nowhere and corridors that descend into paper walls and sucking, ink-pooled floors. They’re getting itchy, frustrated. With no target in sight and a long night ahead, it’s very easy for one to give in to their baser instincts.</p>
<p>The younger recruit, "Scuz", feels it the most. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, biting his tongue to keep himself from talking. Sweat soaks the straps of his helmet as he tries to focus, to distract himself. But the words come up his throat unbidden, unstoppable. “Heh, maybe it’s more afraid of us than we are of it.”</p>
<p>“God fucking dammit, Scuz.”</p>
<p>The Entity licks its chops and slinks forward, eyes locked on Scuz’s boot-heel.</p>
<p>“Contact!”</p>
<p>But it’s too late for the rookie, as soldiers turn and rifles pivot, the Entity darts across the narrow gap, piercing Scuz’s Achilles with sharpened-bone claws. The rookie screams and reflexively fires his weapon as he goes down, chipping the walls and cracking tile.</p>
<p>“On your six, Trash!”</p>
<p>“It’s not going down like this!”</p>
<p>It is.</p>
<p>Once the firefight begins, the cliches flow, dooming the squad one rusted quip at a time. The few flickering lights are splattered with blood, bathing the massacre in a scarlet haze. The Entity savors the carnage, cutting through the MTF like a living blade, teeth puncturing kevlar like tissue paper and claws slashing plate like rags.</p>
<p>Hell is unleashed through the barrel of a gun tenfold, spraying lead and saltpeter into the Entity’s flanks from all angles. Words are peeled from the page, derendering the walls to wireframe mesh and derealized wood pulp as the very story itself is turned against the antagonist. The phrases' sharpened edges flash lightless black as they swarm the monster in their pictures-worth. Prepositions and adverbs shriek through the air like splintered tenor while clunky jargon and proper nouns clatter on the ground with a vibrating baritone, words given life through tactical combat prose. But the thing doesn’t avoid the attacks, it revels in them. The bullets sink into its flesh like rocks in mud, the letters pass through its flesh like vapor or turn on their trajectory to revolve around its dense metafictional bulk, caught in its narrativistic pull. All unsuccessful in slowing the massacre by even a second.</p>
<p>First Scuz, then Trash, then Spider and Tarman, no cavity left unopened and no entrails unexposed. Ink mixes with viscera in pooling around the survivors’ ankles, dimming flashlights searching vainly for the Entity’s wake in the illogically deepening liquid. A spiny fin cuts across the surface, and another squad-mate goes down. One after another, they add their body fluids to the pool until it’s waist-deep, breast-deep, neck-deep. Colonel is the last one swimming, spluttering as the concoction stains her mouth a greasy red. She's out of ammo and she had dropped her cyanide capsule somewhere in the muck.</p>
<p>She feels a claw brushing her foot as her head grazes the ceiling tiles. “God, please."</p>
<p>The Colonel claws at the ceiling, choking through an evocation that tears through the paper and ink and thrusts her hand up the fiction, trying to realize herself through will alone. She scrabbles for purchase, and finds a solid surface to pull up, <em>leveraging her shoulder and head clear through to the other side, briefly catching the eyes of a group of blinking researchers, her dripping scarlet ink staining their perfect white coats as she desperately attempts to hold on, her hastily defictionalized flesh sloughing like melted wax and spilling onto the table. She tries to pull up further but she's stuck she's stuck she can't get out the book is too small she can't fit through she can't fit up she looks at a researcher with thick glasses and thin hair and a kind face and she screams.</em></p>
<p><em>“I don’t want to die.”</em></p>
<p><em>But she is drag</em>ged back under, back into the book, back under the ink and can see the small square of white light above fading into darkness until she too fades, the last of the squad erased from the page. The lights spark and finally go dark, and the Entity’s inhuman, scratching laugh bubbles from beneath the morass, a serenade to violence and no one.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“G-d damn it all.” Semetsky slammed his hand on the table, staring at the pages of <tt>{53}</tt> and <tt>{101}</tt>, his hand coming away red from the droplets of blood and ink on the table. The full stop at the end of the chapter punctuated the erasure of the MTF from the Prime personnel list, which had grown frighteningly short in the interim.</p>
<p>The frozen silence of the table hardened and crystallized as the rest of the Working Group stared at Semetsky with surprise at his outburst, usually known for his laconic demeanor. Semetsky bit his tongue as a sickening lump in his stomach grew and lodged in his throat.</p>
<p>“Arguing won’t help us much anymore, certainly not with this much at stake here.” Semetsky ran a hand through his thinning hair, taking a breath. “We can’t afford to lose more people.”</p>
<p>Saunders’ chair creaked. His look of shock falling off his face like water as he stubbed out his cigarette and leaned forwards, uncharacteristically somber. “What do you suggest, then?”</p>
<p>Semetsky looked over to Tenenbaum. “Damn simplicity, what do you need for your plan? Need anyone to help with the script?”</p>
<p>Tenenbaum was silent. Then, “It’ll be close. Too close, even. But I could probably do it with your help, and maybe the help of some high-impact weaponry. This won’t be as easy as forcing your son to smoke a pack, that’s for sure.”</p>
<p>Dell stared at a chunk of steaming wax, curling in on itself on the table. "In Prime, it might just be enough for Semetsky's arc to reassert itself…" they turned to Tenenbaum. "Bait?"</p>
<p>Saunders raised his hands. “Woah, woah. We can’t just send a <em>scientist</em> down there! You, maybe, but Semetsky is integral to our work here. I’ll refuse out-of-hand.”</p>
<p>Semetsky grimaced, curling his hand into a fist on the table. “It’s not your decision, and I’ll go anyways. I’m a fictional character, remember? Disposable. Just raise another copy when you get the chance. This is what I signed up for when I joined the Foundation, when we all joined the Foundation. To die in the darkness, et cetera. And I will. I am willing, if need be. And it is needed <em>now</em>.”</p>
<p>Thaum's cursor blinked. <tt>{It’s his martyr complex again, I’m afraid.}</tt></p>
<p>“It’s not a complex!” Semetsky almost shouted, deafening in the quiet. He sighed and gritted his teeth, staring at the pages of the damned book.</p>
<p>Yuri Semetsky was something of a stock character in modern Russian literature. A joke character. No matter what narrative he was in, what his personality or his backstory or job, he died as a gag in the background. All for a laugh. A self-referential, snobby laugh for those keen-eyed easter-egg-hunters plugged into the zeitgeist. Navel-gazing chuckleheads too busy comparing the sizes of each other's shibboleths to care about real stuff, like good prose and girlfriends and jobs.</p>
<p><em>Idiots.</em></p>
<p>But regardless of how much he disliked them, that's who he was. A one-dimensional sight gag. This narrative had run on for far too long. He was getting antsy. He wasn't supposed to have made it this far, gotten this old. He wasn't supposed to survive. Semetsky forcefully lowered his voice. “I guess I’m just written this way.”</p>
<p>The webcam slowly jigged vertically, indicating its assent to a question no one asked. “I’ll be with him every step of the way. I’ll stop him from doing anything stupid if it need be, Saunders. We need someone like him to draw the damn thing in, follow the first steps of my script and lock it in. It'd be too wary otherwise.”</p>
<p>Agent Dell also nodded, pursing their lips. “Semetsky’s, ah, <em>proclivities</em> should be enough to at least mark him a target, narratively speaking. We might be able to grab him before anything bad happens. But if not…" they shrugged. "He’d make a good Trojan Horse, if anything else.”</p>
<p>Saunders puffed out his cheeks, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, fine. Need access to BLUE MOON for this one, Tenenbaum?”</p>
<p>“Which one?”</p>
<p>“Hrm. Take HARVEST. Prototype, but should get the job done.” Saunders made a sickly grin. “Hey, it always does in stories like these.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>Full, but never satisfied. The Entity’s stomach is engorged with meat, flesh overflowing its throat and limbs protruding from its mouths. But it can always make room for more. If it can find more.</p>
<p>The Entity drags its bloated mass up and down the halls, blood-shot eyes flicking to all four corners, looking for more marines, more scientists, more victims. But there are none. The facility is empty, the Entity’s labored, gurgling breaths doing little to fill the space.</p>
<p><em>Click, click. Click, click.</em></p>
<p>Finally! Footsteps. Dress shoes on tile, not combat boots or sneakers. Refined. Tasty. The Entity crams its bulk into a disused room, waiting for the victim to pass. Its dark form casts a shadow over the door’s window, its lolling eye reflecting in the tempered glass.</p>
<p>A tall, lean man turns the corner and walks into view. Scientist, thick glasses. Sweat beads on his brow as he clutches a gun in his hands, his finger off the trigger as he walks down the corridor. Alone. Vulnerable.</p>
<p>As he passes by the Entity, it quietly opens the door and slinks behind him, a large, fleshy shadow ready to devour him whole. The scientist picks up his pace as he moves to the containment cells, refusing to look behind him.</p>
<p>The radio on his lapel squawks. “What do you see?”</p>
<p>A shaking hand squeezes the transceiver. “No sign of it anywhere. I think it’s gone.”</p>
<p>Semetsky starts to run before he finishes his practiced remark, and from the screeching behind him it sounds like the Entity is matching pace, claws begging for purchase on the blood-slicked tile.</p>
<p>He had read the sleek, scarlet tome, and from the text's descriptions he had imagined the killer more like a smaller, agile flesh-leopard or something. But as he runs down the flickering hallway, he risks a glance behind him, and Semetsky realizes he drastically underestimated its size and overestimated his imagination.</p>
<p>Every aspect of it looks wrong. What little is left of its skin hangs in shreds around distended, glistening muscle and exposed bone. Its frame was human at one point, but something kept adding joints, organs, heads, and refused to stop as its binding thematic concepts fell apart. Its bulk fills the hallway with clasping limbs and grasping jaws, with sharpened bones and metal hooks filling the gaps where it didn’t look threatening enough. A child’s scribble of a monster, brought to life in full, chittering glory.</p>
<p>Semetsky feels an even-fingered hand brush against his trousers, and that is all the motivation he needs to keep charging forward, the stitch in his side feeling much less painful than the gleaming steel hooks and gnashing yellow teeth look to be.</p>
<p>He skids into a corner as the corridor branches to the containment section, the Entity snapping at his heels. He dodges as the creature slams into the wall and leaves a greasy stain where he just was, and keeps on running to one cell in particular.</p>
<p>Semetsky fumbles the keycard in his hands and slaps it on the scanner at the end of the hallway. “C’mon, c’mon,” he whispers as the door cycles open and the sticky skittering gets louder and ever closer.</p>
<p>The door opens almost painfully slow, and Semetsky squeezes into the gap as it widens. He is almost inside when he screams, a lancing bolt of cold-hot pain shooting through his leg stuck on the other side of the door. The doctor looks down to see a forest of spines and twisted fingernails from an inhuman hand drilling into the meat of his thigh.</p>
<p>He falls to the ground, clammy hands against cold linoleum as the Entity muscles the door open, seven jaws salivating and ten eyes leering at its captured prey.</p>
<p>Semetsky wets his lips, grimacing from the pain. He fumbles with his pocket and pulled out a pen-knife, slashing at the monster. Even with its jerky, animalistic movements, one of Semetsky's wild swings hit their mark, stabbing deep into one of the creature's many eyes. The monster opens its rib-jaws and bellows a blood-curdling screech and squeezes its hands tighter around Semetsky, tugging the scientist into its bony maw.</p>
<p>Semetsky lays his head on the ground, breathing rapidly and seeing stars. “I don’t know how my day could get any worse… we just finished paying off the house.”</p>
<p>Its bloodshot eyes loll, its jagged jaws drool. Up to the knee.</p>
<p>“I was going to go back and see the kids.”</p>
<p>A tone not unlike nails on chalkboard emits from the Entity as it cackles in orgiastic joy. The familiar quips wind themselves around the archetype, joining its heady aura of cliches and stereotype that had made it so unstoppable. The narrative energy builds up like water behind a leaky dam, looking for a narratively-satisfying way out. Semetsky’s waist is now between the sabre-teeth of the monster, and barbed tongues begin to lick the flesh from his legs.</p>
<p>Through the pain and the screams, Semetsky sees a faintly familiar figure, holding a glowing, neon-tube-lined object. The suited figure aims the weapon directly at the Entity’s central forehead. Semetsky clenches his teeth, and forces himself not to look down.</p>
<p>“Today… is my daughter’s birthday.”</p>
<div style="padding-left: 1%; padding-right: 1%; padding-bottom: .5%; background-color: #f5f5f5; background: linear-gradient(to bottom, #111111, #8e3d01);">
<p>The final straw. The narrative weight is too much, and the backlash freezes the Entity. Flickering, black chains of inky text and crunchy html and magnetic VHS strips materialize around its limbs and bring it crashing to the ground. The force snaps the slasher’s ribs shut, pinning and piercing Semetsky’s torso. For him, the world wobbles and goes gray, then finally black. Semetsky breathes his last with a smile and dissolves into shreds of skin and sodden yellowed pages. A phrase written in Cyrillic is printed onto the pages: <em>Autumn Visits by Sergey Lukyanenko.</em></p>
<p>The armed figure steps forward, Tenenbaum’s voice booming over the Site intercom. “You really are one ugly mother-hubber, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>The monster thrashes and strains against its fetters. It hadn’t noticed the build up of the cliches that sustained it, and now they took their toll. There would be no dramatic escape for the Entity, no final stinger. The story only pointed one way, guided by a godly, authorial hand.</p>
<p>“Oh no, oh no you don’t. Nowhere to go, pal.”</p>
<p>The Entity twitches, its binds constricting and tightening, forcing it to shrink and twist — coughing and retching — into a roughly humanoid shape. It extends a pseudopod into the remains of Semetsky, filling out the skin and tattered flesh until a fascimile of Yuri spits back at Tenenbaum, a guttural, inhuman voice pushing itself free from his shredded lips. "Kill me. I always find a way to come back."</p>
<p>Tenenbaum squats on his haunches, servos whining. It wasn't Tenenbaum, not really. The real Tenenbaum was stuck in a Viceroy microcomputer, still inside the Wardroom and under the watchful eye of the rest of the Working Group. The besuited android before the Entity dangled on thick coaxial cables like a man-sized puppet. The cables extended up and up, into the z- and w-axis, between the pages, projected down from the almighty word-processor, the author's self-insert. A <em>deus ex machina</em>. "You don't get it, you're too thick in the head to understand. You're my ticket out of this hellhole, y'see. Can't have you making a mess of the place, yet."</p>
<p>The Entity spits. "Kill…"</p>
<p>"Not if I put you somewhere nice and safe until I need you. A big guy like you could do a whole lot of damage pointed in the right direction.”</p>
<p>“Escape…”</p>
<p>The puppet tilts its head, the intercom emitting a chuckle. “Take it from an writer. There's no escaping your own story, pal.”</p>
<p>Screaming in a pool of ink and pages and entrails, the Entity can do nothing but writhe as Tenenbaum pulls the trigger on the glowing weapon. The various tubes on the Forceful Narrative Descender glow blue, while bassy voices from the Outside chant excerpts from Chauncer, de Cervantes, the Bible.</p>
<p>The environment blurs and shifts as the Entity’s body warps and folds in on himself, tearing open the page of Prime to reveal the nothing-/everythingness of Backstage. Small creatures, living concepts, infovorous parasites, billowed like smoke out of the pinhole, attracted to the informational density of Prime and the Entity. Scenting a story, they sucker onto him, peeling away his pages and inner concepts and self. The Tenenbaum-puppet reaches into those pages and pulls out each death, one by one. For Frank, Tina, Scuz, all the way to Yuri, each blood-stained sheet shriveling and turning to ash as they are wrenched from the Entity's wretched guts, retconned and noncanon.</p>
<p>Even as a faceless robot, the Entity can hear Tenenbaum grin before the puppet is yanked out of the fiction, the script about to reach the credits. "Hope you remember me the next time around."</p>
<p>Finally, the ripping sound of flipping pages dominates all, and the Entity is pulled back to <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/new-nightmare">the beginning</a>.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>“<em>The Inkblot Murders</em>, eh?”</p>
<p>Shrugging emoticon. “Learned that from Penelope, heh. But anyways, it’s just a short story, doesn’t really need a catchy name. Just punchy enough to stick. Glad you’re still with the living.”</p>
<p>Semetsky looked down at himself, his spotless lab-coat and shining shoes, no worse for wear. Unfortunately. “Yes. Of course. Would you have it any other way?”</p>
<p>“Of course not. Any luck with Interferometry on where the Entity came from?”</p>
<p>“Apparently a GOI cell in Portlands was dealing with a similar murderer last year to the day, a slasher whose victims resuscitated at the end of its spree. We’re looking into it, but we are inclined to believe that it is either the same entity or distinctly related.”</p>
<p>The vocoder somehow emitted a snort. “Everyone’s got a gimmick now.”</p>
<p>Semetsky couldn’t help but silently agree. “Also, about the book. Was the cover art really necessary?”</p>
<p>Tenenbaum didn’t blink. Couldn’t, really. “It is very necessary for the binding, Yuri. The more complete the book, the more it will hold against any shenanigans. We could go further, but I don't think Saunders would approve of a publishing of it, heh.”</p>
<p>Semetsky gingerly held <tt>{101}</tt> in his hands, which had been remade with a new look and metafictional wards on the inside cover. The front cover depicted a red-eyed shadow savaging a wide-eyed soldier, dragging him into a giant inkwell stenciled with the phrase '<em>The Inkblot Murders, by Archer Row</em>'. “Bit grisly.”</p>
<p>“Oh, the MTF had a sense of humor about the whole incident. Tarman did the art himself with his ‘magic fingers’ trick after they cleared him. It'll be a fun read for them, I’m sure.”</p>
<p>“Most likely."</p>
<p>“How are you all holding up?”</p>
<p>Semetsky stopped himself from touching his waist, where the rib-teeth had savaged him. He forced a smile. “E-17? They’re fine, I’m sure. Honestly it felt much like a dream, very much divorced from reality. Saunders is pushing for your book to become a training sim, actually. 'Descend and get a taste of combat against an unstoppable enemy,' or some such nonsense.'”</p>
<p>“Always working an angle, isn’t he. Can't tell who's more of a blood-sucker, him or the Thing pastiche in there.”</p>
<p>Semetsky dropped the smile, thinking about the creature. “So, it’s in containment now? Is it in Prime, or…”</p>
<p>“Who the hell knows. That book is a part of Prime now, and Prime is a part of that book. It happened, but it didn't happen. But it also didn't <em>not</em> happen. Best not to think about it too hard, recursive logic and all that jazz.”</p>
<p>“Sure, but I don’t think Saunders would take kindly to a wishy-washy statement like that. And mentioning things Saunders would take poorly…”</p>
<p>“My dialogue?”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>The webcam held Semetsky’s gaze. “A good narrative needs good dialogue. I thought it was a strong ending, and I’m not changing it. To hell with Saunders, he’ll never read it anyways. You know he only reads nonfiction.”</p>
<p>Semetsky paused, opened his mouth, and thought better of it. “Sure, alright.”</p>
<p>He patted the computer’s casing, and stood to leave Tenenbaum’s room. "That was a good job, Richard."</p>
<p>The computer chittered. "Save the compliments for the after-party, Yuri. Have a good Halloween."</p>
<p>The researcher's smile became genuine for a moment. "You too, Richard."</p>
<p>Semetsky left the cell, the Faraday cage buzzed as the door sealed behind him. He carried the book to the library, and nestled the paperback into the Prime Collection. <em>Next to the containment units would be thematically appropriate.</em></p>
<p>Semetsky hardly had time to appreciate the collection before his pager buzzed, and his attention was needed elsewhere. So he didn't notice a slight shift in the stacks as the paperback swelled, pages darkening with liquid ink. The book fell sideways in the shelf, and ink began to leak onto the shelf, dripping and pooling upon the floor. The ink was the color of blood, a dark and rich maroon.</p>
<p>Within the pool there began a ripple, an inner eddy and current that started slowly, but churned and picked up speed and whipped the ink into a boiling froth. From the bubbles and foam emerged a bloody claw, thrusting itself out of the pool with a triumphant screech.</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:halloween">:scp-wiki:theme:halloween</a>]]
[[div style="padding-left: 1%; padding-right: 1%; padding-bottom: .5%; background-color: #f5f5f5; background: linear-gradient(to bottom, #8e3d01, #111111);"]]
[[>]]
{{One.}}
[[/>]]
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nightmare-on-archer-row-part-2 The Entity] falls in perpetual stillness, slowly spinning in the vast emptiness of the Outside. The last thing he can remember is a victim, a trap, and a sharp pain in the eye.
[[>]]
{{Two.}}
[[/>]]
Through the pinholes in his mask, he can see nothing but gray, but he can //feel// what was out there.
[[>]]
{{Nothing.}}
[[/>]]
Everything.
Between the space-between-spaces lurks every concept, thought, and dream both capable and incapable of being felt, perceived, believed. The Entity is sinking through the morass of everything and nothing, caustic and anathema to anything real and actualized.
He can feel the nothingness worrying on him. A dog on a bone. the concept of acid eating his cellular bonds and the thought of antimatter annihilating his brainpan. The very archetypal concepts used to create him are slowly loosed from his form. The Entity can’t fight back against these implacable forces, and so settles down. If not happy, just content to observe the violence on his own body, his flesh warping beyond recognition. Just like...
[[>]]
{{Home.}}
[[/>]]
The mask puckers where the mouth should be, and //something// oozes from it into the Outside. A flower of blood, a pinwheel of autumnal leaves. The smell of acrid bonfire smoke. Festive malice and murder. The conceptual parasite tears itself from the Entity and oscillates away into the void, diffusing back into Nothing. The Entity doesn’t care about its departure, as other concepts quickly fill the hole it leaves.
The Entity prepares himself for a long eternity of dissolution, of floating forever in the space beyond the spheres. But everything wrenches in stasis, as if a pipe has been thrown into the gears of the universe. The creature blinks, as surprised as a killing machine can be. The un-space the Entity occupies thins, warps, and finally gives. What passes for the Entity’s entrails twist and spin as he is sucked into… somewhere else, disturbing its quietude. The gray slowly dissolves and colorizes as cold concrete meets the Entity’s back, splattering //its// form against floor and walls.
[[/div]]
It slowly congeals back together into a roughly animalian mass, its body sloughing cloth and waxy skin from the damage sustained “backstage.” It looks at its surroundings, noting their… off-quality. The walls crease like paper, and a deep, rattling breath finds air that tastes of typewriter ribbons. The Entity had fallen through reality, and landed in a story.
Down the echoing halls of inkjet and laser print, footsteps can be heard clicking against smooth tile. A dinner bell. A plea for release.
The Entity quivers and twitches, its newly reformed gelatinous mass roughening with delight, its ink-bound heart pulsing in time to the footsteps. How could it ever think of rest with prey like this? How could it think of sleeping like corpses or quiet dusty tombs, unable to move, to scream, to //rage//? It rises to its full height, hooks unconsciously manifesting in its grasp. It begins the hunt again.
-------
“Doctor Semetsky to the Wardroom, Doctor Semetsky to the Wardroom,” a cool, feminine voice echoed over the loudspeakers of Site-76.
Doctor Semetsky was perusing the library, running his fingers against the hardcover spines of the Prime collection. The dark leather backs were embossed with silver Foundation seals and numbered, one through one hundred. New volumes added when the need arose, but the collection was just about complete.
In his short tenure at the Foundation, the volumes had grown to become his most prized achievement. Site-76-Prime was a completely fictive version of the physical Site-76, staffed by a lean crew of bespoke characters and descended personnel, suckered onto the underside of reality like a tick on a deer.
The collection collated and contained Prime itself in legible and editable form. Compact hyper-text description in gold-laden ink allowed the Site to be represented in prose, in manifestos and blueprints, personnel logs and intake forms, detailing every nook and cranny and carefully placed cracked tile for texture. The informational density of the books was so great that the shelves had to be reinforced with steel so they wouldn't break and spill the Site all over the floor.
The hard work hadn't gone to waste, and was quickly becoming a central draw to the real Site-76. Now, the collection was utilized for metafictional research, interlayer POI surveillance, and (at least theoretically) containment of narrativic anomalies, as well as a host of other possible uses that were sure to pencil out in committee. Plus, Prime also functioned as a green way to dispose of hazardous waste.
“Doctor Semetsky to the Wardroom, Doctor Semetsky to the Wardroom.”
//G-d, fine.// Semetsky rose from his alcove and walked down the aisle, trailing his fingers across the collection. He had almost made it to the end of the row when he stopped. There was one more book than usual. Paperback, not hardcover. Red binding, a black {{{101}}} on its thin spine. Semetsky hesitated, withdrew the book from the shelf, and began flipping through it. Blank, blinding white pages twirled by. His frown deepened.
Finally, in the first few pages was text, glistening as if freshly written. Semetsky’s eyes flickered over the words, fingers curled like talons as his face paled. He snapped the book shut and set off to the Wardroom a brisk pace. The last words from the strange tome read themselves in his mind, unscrolling as they were carved into the page as Semetsky read it. //The killer stalks within a fictional facility, but its bloodlust is all-too-real...//
------
…the yearning to kill makes its claws tremble and legs knock. The Entity is a greasy shadow, flitting between patches of darkness from flickering ceiling lights as it grows ever-closer to its target.
“Can’t believe how run-down everything looks. Wasn’t this place built just a couple months ago?”
Noncommittal grunt. “//Written//, not built. Maybe they were running low on toner when they made this wing.”
The harsh beam from a flashlight cuts through the darkness, revealing open maintenance hatches and sketch-y drop-ceiling panels. “Maybe. Man, I really shouldn’t have signed up for this gig. Only got two years ‘til retirement.”
The other guard blinks. “How? You’re, like, thirty-two.”
Too late. His fate is already sealed.
“Was just a joke, Go-” His retort is cut off by choking and spluttered gagging.
“Ernie?” The flashlight pans, revealing the glint of steel. A bloody hook emerges from Ernie’s mouth, wagging like a stiff tongue as it rips through the rest of his skull with a meaty //shrik//. Freddy doesn’t have time to scream or shoot as the Entity falls upon him too, suffocating and absorbing him within its fleshy mass.
Tongues of sinew barbed with dagger-teeth flense the skin from flesh and flesh from bone as it cracks open his skull to feed. Masticated fear and brain-matter tastes of heaven to the starving creature, making its eyes roll in ecstasy and body pulse with delight. Its grating screech of joy echoes down the corridor, lost within the turning pages.
-------
"I want eyes on the ground in there, cram them in the Xerox feet first if you have to. I need someone to tell me what the hell is going on, and who the hell's problem it- oh, glad you could make it, Semetsky.”
Semetsky opened the door to Assistant Director Saunders looming over the Wardroom like a colossus of cholesterol and coffee, his voice a reedy wind of complaints and cigarettes.
Semetsky tossed the book onto the table, the slim paperback gliding across the table's slick surface and coming to a stop in front of [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/out-of-options Tenenbaum]’s camera. The webcam whirred and clicked as it focused on the red cover, and the bulky computer sitting at the head of the table — containing the soul of a one-hundred-year-old criminal-slash-author-slash-metafictional-wizard — emitted a robotic groan. “Shit.”
“Did you know about this?”
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/abstract-naught UIU Agent Valarie Dell] leaned forwards in their chair. They were here in advisory capacity only, part of a tit-for-tat between Analytics and the Portland Field Office. “[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3143 Thaum] just notified us right before you came in. Something's breached WHITE HOUSE. Good thing I was on-site, huh?”
“Right. How do things look on the ground, Thaum?”
Another laptop was open to the side of Tenenbaum, hosting a blank .odt file, linked sympathetically to a copy in WHITE HOUSE, the Project INKBLOT designation for Site-76-Prime.
Words rattled off the screen. {{{From what reports I've gathered, strange, is one way I can put it. Maintenance reports the blueprints of the facility are in flux and make no sense, critical systems are breaking down even with failsafes in place, and personnel are acting unusual. Tampered, is another way to put it. I'm locked down in my office. Safe, for now. Can't say the same for the rest of the staff.}}}
Tenenbaum’s camera swiveled back to Semetsky. “Any theories on this?”
Semetsky shrugged, drumming his fingers on the armrests. “Intrafictional pollution? Structural damage from the informational density of the site? The WHITE HOUSE is the first of its kind, so it's not like we have precedent for this. It was built fairly rapidly, so the insulation between something and nothing is... thin, to say the least. That, or intentional sabotage.”
{{{The potential literary dissolution of Prime is not a price I’m willing to pay. I would be going down on this ship involuntarily tied to the mast if that was the case.}}} Thaum was another fictionalized character shanghaied into the project, though he didn’t have enough literary weight to actualize like Semetsky. So he was stuck in the WHITE HOUSE, along with whatever else was down there.
Robert Saunders, INKBLOT Project Lead, and also the only mundane individual in the room, planted his hands on the table. “So nothing concrete, is what you’re weaseling out of saying.”
Semetsky bit his tongue. “I’m willing to bet that book is anomalous, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Saunders raised both his hands in celebration. "This is why we hire guys like you, for your cutting skills of observation."
Tenenbaum’s harsh monotone cut through the banter, the camera focused on the pages Dell turned for him. “And I’m willing to take that bet, Yuri. If I had to hazard a guess — which I do — I don’t think this book is prophetic, necessarily, and I can say for certain it's nothing like [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-140 140] or anything of that kind. It’s a recording, an analogue footprint of our trespasser.” The red light on the camera blinked rapidly, Tenenbaum’s form of fidgeting, pacing. Can be hard to stir the creative juices when you have been stuck inside a computer for fifteen years. “Nothing’s really happened in Prime before. Nothing note-worthy, written-word-worthy. This is the first story to take place inside, so it makes sense for a record to manifest.”
The camera’s shutter whirred half-closed as new words etched themselves upon the page. “I just wish the record wasn’t so grisly.”
------
The Entity skitters through the vents, ribs splayed out like a dozen spider legs. This is new, unfamiliar. It was so limited before, both in form and method. This changed body is strange, inhuman, wrong... but ever so //right//. A world of possibilities now lay open before it like a vivisected corpse, ripe for the consumption. No more Halloween trips, suburban stabbings or slow stalkings, it’s free to kill however it pleases. And it definitely pleases.
A banging on the pipes. “Why the hell is nothing working anymore?”
Crackling of a radio. “Same here, Tina. Though you should finish up quick. They’re ordering an evac of the site.”
“Evac, why? It’s not like anything else could go possibly wrong with this piece of crap.”
There we go.
A tap in the vents. Regular, rhythmic. Probably a fan with a screw loose. Tina takes another step up her ladder and reaches for the vent cover. “Just give me a minute, almost done heeeRR-” Her voice trails off into a piercing scream as //something// grabs her arm, wrapping and tightening in a vise grip that tears at her skin. The hooked barbs pull her up and up and force her through the gap, bones cracking, organs pulping, until there is nothing but a tipped ladder and a vent dripping blood.
The radio lies uselessly on the ground, sputtering and emitting static. “Tina? Tina!”
But no one was alive that could hear their cries, and the Entity had already moved on.
-----
The INKBLOT Working Group was hunched over the table, a few scrawled-upon whiteboards covered in pet theories and strategies discussed and discarded. INKBLOT was the blanket designation for the metafictional projects undertaken at Site-76, under the watchful eye of Analytics and O5-3. Of all of them, from weapons procurement to threat prediction to narrativic forensics, the WHITE HOUSE was key — it was the linchpin, cornerstone, and crowning jewel of INKBLOT. The product of thousands of man-hours of research and conceptualization, millions of computational hours of compilation and actualization, and billions of theoretical dollars at stake. //Nothing// could happen to it, for the sake of both their personnel and their funding.
"Why wouldn't the cordon work? The Prime Collection is editable! Just isolate the thing in the containment wing when it gets close, erase anything nearby until we can think of something permanent."
Semetsky rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, lifting his glasses off the bridge of his nose. "The Site a house of cards right now, and you want to chuck a rock at it? From what Thaum and this book are saying, Prime is shaking in its foundation from the equivalent of an interfictional meteor impact and this-" Semetsky waved a hand. "hokey Stephen King character overwriting key functionality. It wouldn't work."
Agent Dell leaned back in their chair, an exhale of nicotine-laced smoke adding to the cloud of doom and gloom that hovered above the gathering. “Less King, more Clive Barker. But besides that, why don’t we just take the bastard behind the barn? Simpler than your plan, Tenenbaum.”
The cyborg criminal mastermind glared at Dell, its single robotic eye conveying a dismal world of disdain. “We aren’t sending in E-17, damn it. This blasted thing is a rogue element. It’s a coin flip whether they’ll get it or if it mulches them like a wood-chipper.”
Saunders quaffed a third water bottle, the edges of his mouth running wet. “If you’ve suddenly grown so attached to E-17, why don’t you write a script to help them out down there?”
One of the many reasons Semetsky hadn’t signed off on upgrading Tenenbaum’s setup beyond the camera and vocoder was to prevent him from strangling Saunders with any provided prosthetics. Of course, Tenenbaum’s feelings were shared with most of the staff, but Semetsky was still thankful for his forward thinking as he noted Tenebaum’s CPU temp skyrocketing to triple digits.
Tenenbaum’s TTS spoke in a purposefully slowed voice, as if he was talking to the nearly-deaf or definitely-stupid. “My. Scripts. Would. Be. Useless. Down. There. Like Yuri said, this B-movie freak thrives on its own hack narrative. I can't force it to break character and take a fall. That would be like trying to divert the tides, or getting a good cup of coffee from the Site cafeteria. Impossible.”
Saunders paused as he searched for a witty retort, and found none in good time. “You don’t drink coffee.”
“I’ve heard reviews.”
The rattling of keys pressed by no one, and Thaum’s text document updates. {{{E-17 //has// prepared for a scenario such as this, that was the purpose of BLUE SUEDE in the first place. If nothing else, the few of us that remain down here would appreciate the morale boost of the sight of an MTF.}}} The cursor paused. {{{But, Mr. Tenenbaum is right. The threat profile of the anomaly}} //backspace backspace backspace// {{… we should play it safe.}}}
Semetsky. “How is the evacuation going, Thaum?”
{{{Slowly. We are trying to account for all of our personnel before we prepare to ascend. We don’t want to miss anyone… more than we are already.}}}
The camera swiveled to each man in turn. “So that’s Dell and Saunders in favor, Thaum and I against. Yuri?”
Semetsky hung his head, lacing his fingers together.
------
Mobile Task Force Epsilon-17, “Editor’s Choice.” Book-diving, book-burning bibliophiles with a knack for metafictional operations and a tendency towards stale quips. The latter is probably an adopted quirk for branding purposes, or maybe the job just self-selects for those kinds of people.
Now, though, they’re quiet. Focused. They step outside of the descent room still shaking off the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4566 Xerox], silhouettes hyper-real as their bodies slowly adjust to the new norm and their ink finishes drying. E-17 enters Prime with their safeties off, flashlights on. All other personnel had already been moved to the loom-shuttles, so it was open season on anything left.
Through hand gesture and head nod they communicate, slowly sweeping corridor after corridor, the only sounds made from the squeaking of combat boot on polished linoleum. Dust motes play in the beams of their barrel-mounted flashlights as they cut through the darkness. Prime’s lights are spotty, despite no issues reported in electrical before the call for evacuation.
The Entity creeps along the corners of their vision, skittering away when they cock their heads, and moving closer when they look away. Their boots step in puddles of thick, gummy saliva, but the trail just leads them in circles. It’s following them, waiting for them to slip up, make just one mistake, one slip of the tongue.
“Maybe we’re alon-”
“//Shh.//”
“Zip it.”
A claw twitches. Close.
The squad sticks together, patrolling the depths of the facility, keenly aware of its tenuous, creaking grip on reality. Windows that lead to endless black, hallways to rooms that haven’t been written, floor plans that make no damn sense. The unstructured narrative of the damned thing is conflicting with the neat, ruler-straight organization of the facility, and its more than the Site can take. The MTF has to double back more than once, facing stairwells that lead to nowhere and corridors that descend into paper walls and sucking, ink-pooled floors. They’re getting itchy, frustrated. With no target in sight and a long night ahead, it’s very easy for one to give in to their baser instincts.
The younger recruit, "Scuz", feels it the most. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, biting his tongue to keep himself from talking. Sweat soaks the straps of his helmet as he tries to focus, to distract himself. But the words come up his throat unbidden, unstoppable. “Heh, maybe it’s more afraid of us than we are of it.”
“God fucking dammit, Scuz.”
The Entity licks its chops and slinks forward, eyes locked on Scuz’s boot-heel.
“Contact!”
But it’s too late for the rookie, as soldiers turn and rifles pivot, the Entity darts across the narrow gap, piercing Scuz’s Achilles with sharpened-bone claws. The rookie screams and reflexively fires his weapon as he goes down, chipping the walls and cracking tile.
“On your six, Trash!”
“It’s not going down like this!”
It is.
Once the firefight begins, the cliches flow, dooming the squad one rusted quip at a time. The few flickering lights are splattered with blood, bathing the massacre in a scarlet haze. The Entity savors the carnage, cutting through the MTF like a living blade, teeth puncturing kevlar like tissue paper and claws slashing plate like rags.
Hell is unleashed through the barrel of a gun tenfold, spraying lead and saltpeter into the Entity’s flanks from all angles. Words are peeled from the page, derendering the walls to wireframe mesh and derealized wood pulp as the very story itself is turned against the antagonist. The phrases' sharpened edges flash lightless black as they swarm the monster in their pictures-worth. Prepositions and adverbs shriek through the air like splintered tenor while clunky jargon and proper nouns clatter on the ground with a vibrating baritone, words given life through tactical combat prose. But the thing doesn’t avoid the attacks, it revels in them. The bullets sink into its flesh like rocks in mud, the letters pass through its flesh like vapor or turn on their trajectory to revolve around its dense metafictional bulk, caught in its narrativistic pull. All unsuccessful in slowing the massacre by even a second.
First Scuz, then Trash, then Spider and Tarman, no cavity left unopened and no entrails unexposed. Ink mixes with viscera in pooling around the survivors’ ankles, dimming flashlights searching vainly for the Entity’s wake in the illogically deepening liquid. A spiny fin cuts across the surface, and another squad-mate goes down. One after another, they add their body fluids to the pool until it’s waist-deep, breast-deep, neck-deep. Colonel is the last one swimming, spluttering as the concoction stains her mouth a greasy red. She's out of ammo and she had dropped her cyanide capsule somewhere in the muck.
She feels a claw brushing her foot as her head grazes the ceiling tiles. “God, please."
The Colonel claws at the ceiling, choking through an evocation that tears through the paper and ink and thrusts her hand up the fiction, trying to realize herself through will alone. She scrabbles for purchase, and finds a solid surface to pull up, //leveraging her shoulder and head clear through to the other side, briefly catching the eyes of a group of blinking researchers, her dripping scarlet ink staining their perfect white coats as she desperately attempts to hold on, her hastily defictionalized flesh sloughing like melted wax and spilling onto the table. She tries to pull up further but she's stuck she's stuck she can't get out the book is too small she can't fit through she can't fit up she looks at a researcher with thick glasses and thin hair and a kind face and she screams.//
//“I don’t want to die.”//
//But she is drag//ged back under, back into the book, back under the ink and can see the small square of white light above fading into darkness until she too fades, the last of the squad erased from the page. The lights spark and finally go dark, and the Entity’s inhuman, scratching laugh bubbles from beneath the morass, a serenade to violence and no one.
------
“G-d damn it all.” Semetsky slammed his hand on the table, staring at the pages of {{{53}}} and {{{101}}}, his hand coming away red from the droplets of blood and ink on the table. The full stop at the end of the chapter punctuated the erasure of the MTF from the Prime personnel list, which had grown frighteningly short in the interim.
The frozen silence of the table hardened and crystallized as the rest of the Working Group stared at Semetsky with surprise at his outburst, usually known for his laconic demeanor. Semetsky bit his tongue as a sickening lump in his stomach grew and lodged in his throat.
“Arguing won’t help us much anymore, certainly not with this much at stake here.” Semetsky ran a hand through his thinning hair, taking a breath. “We can’t afford to lose more people.”
Saunders’ chair creaked. His look of shock falling off his face like water as he stubbed out his cigarette and leaned forwards, uncharacteristically somber. “What do you suggest, then?”
Semetsky looked over to Tenenbaum. “Damn simplicity, what do you need for your plan? Need anyone to help with the script?”
Tenenbaum was silent. Then, “It’ll be close. Too close, even. But I could probably do it with your help, and maybe the help of some high-impact weaponry. This won’t be as easy as forcing your son to smoke a pack, that’s for sure.”
Dell stared at a chunk of steaming wax, curling in on itself on the table. "In Prime, it might just be enough for Semetsky's arc to reassert itself..." they turned to Tenenbaum. "Bait?"
Saunders raised his hands. “Woah, woah. We can’t just send a //scientist// down there! You, maybe, but Semetsky is integral to our work here. I’ll refuse out-of-hand.”
Semetsky grimaced, curling his hand into a fist on the table. “It’s not your decision, and I’ll go anyways. I’m a fictional character, remember? Disposable. Just raise another copy when you get the chance. This is what I signed up for when I joined the Foundation, when we all joined the Foundation. To die in the darkness, et cetera. And I will. I am willing, if need be. And it is needed //now//.”
Thaum's cursor blinked. {{{It’s his martyr complex again, I’m afraid.}}}
“It’s not a complex!” Semetsky almost shouted, deafening in the quiet. He sighed and gritted his teeth, staring at the pages of the damned book.
Yuri Semetsky was something of a stock character in modern Russian literature. A joke character. No matter what narrative he was in, what his personality or his backstory or job, he died as a gag in the background. All for a laugh. A self-referential, snobby laugh for those keen-eyed easter-egg-hunters plugged into the zeitgeist. Navel-gazing chuckleheads too busy comparing the sizes of each other's shibboleths to care about real stuff, like good prose and girlfriends and jobs.
//Idiots.//
But regardless of how much he disliked them, that's who he was. A one-dimensional sight gag. This narrative had run on for far too long. He was getting antsy. He wasn't supposed to have made it this far, gotten this old. He wasn't supposed to survive. Semetsky forcefully lowered his voice. “I guess I’m just written this way.”
The webcam slowly jigged vertically, indicating its assent to a question no one asked. “I’ll be with him every step of the way. I’ll stop him from doing anything stupid if it need be, Saunders. We need someone like him to draw the damn thing in, follow the first steps of my script and lock it in. It'd be too wary otherwise.”
Agent Dell also nodded, pursing their lips. “Semetsky’s, ah, //proclivities// should be enough to at least mark him a target, narratively speaking. We might be able to grab him before anything bad happens. But if not..." they shrugged. "He’d make a good Trojan Horse, if anything else.”
Saunders puffed out his cheeks, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, fine. Need access to BLUE MOON for this one, Tenenbaum?”
“Which one?”
“Hrm. Take HARVEST. Prototype, but should get the job done.” Saunders made a sickly grin. “Hey, it always does in stories like these.”
------
Full, but never satisfied. The Entity’s stomach is engorged with meat, flesh overflowing its throat and limbs protruding from its mouths. But it can always make room for more. If it can find more.
The Entity drags its bloated mass up and down the halls, blood-shot eyes flicking to all four corners, looking for more marines, more scientists, more victims. But there are none. The facility is empty, the Entity’s labored, gurgling breaths doing little to fill the space.
//Click, click. Click, click.//
Finally! Footsteps. Dress shoes on tile, not combat boots or sneakers. Refined. Tasty. The Entity crams its bulk into a disused room, waiting for the victim to pass. Its dark form casts a shadow over the door’s window, its lolling eye reflecting in the tempered glass.
A tall, lean man turns the corner and walks into view. Scientist, thick glasses. Sweat beads on his brow as he clutches a gun in his hands, his finger off the trigger as he walks down the corridor. Alone. Vulnerable.
As he passes by the Entity, it quietly opens the door and slinks behind him, a large, fleshy shadow ready to devour him whole. The scientist picks up his pace as he moves to the containment cells, refusing to look behind him.
The radio on his lapel squawks. “What do you see?”
A shaking hand squeezes the transceiver. “No sign of it anywhere. I think it’s gone.”
Semetsky starts to run before he finishes his practiced remark, and from the screeching behind him it sounds like the Entity is matching pace, claws begging for purchase on the blood-slicked tile.
He had read the sleek, scarlet tome, and from the text's descriptions he had imagined the killer more like a smaller, agile flesh-leopard or something. But as he runs down the flickering hallway, he risks a glance behind him, and Semetsky realizes he drastically underestimated its size and overestimated his imagination.
Every aspect of it looks wrong. What little is left of its skin hangs in shreds around distended, glistening muscle and exposed bone. Its frame was human at one point, but something kept adding joints, organs, heads, and refused to stop as its binding thematic concepts fell apart. Its bulk fills the hallway with clasping limbs and grasping jaws, with sharpened bones and metal hooks filling the gaps where it didn’t look threatening enough. A child’s scribble of a monster, brought to life in full, chittering glory.
Semetsky feels an even-fingered hand brush against his trousers, and that is all the motivation he needs to keep charging forward, the stitch in his side feeling much less painful than the gleaming steel hooks and gnashing yellow teeth look to be.
He skids into a corner as the corridor branches to the containment section, the Entity snapping at his heels. He dodges as the creature slams into the wall and leaves a greasy stain where he just was, and keeps on running to one cell in particular.
Semetsky fumbles the keycard in his hands and slaps it on the scanner at the end of the hallway. “C’mon, c’mon,” he whispers as the door cycles open and the sticky skittering gets louder and ever closer.
The door opens almost painfully slow, and Semetsky squeezes into the gap as it widens. He is almost inside when he screams, a lancing bolt of cold-hot pain shooting through his leg stuck on the other side of the door. The doctor looks down to see a forest of spines and twisted fingernails from an inhuman hand drilling into the meat of his thigh.
He falls to the ground, clammy hands against cold linoleum as the Entity muscles the door open, seven jaws salivating and ten eyes leering at its captured prey.
Semetsky wets his lips, grimacing from the pain. He fumbles with his pocket and pulled out a pen-knife, slashing at the monster. Even with its jerky, animalistic movements, one of Semetsky's wild swings hit their mark, stabbing deep into one of the creature's many eyes. The monster opens its rib-jaws and bellows a blood-curdling screech and squeezes its hands tighter around Semetsky, tugging the scientist into its bony maw.
Semetsky lays his head on the ground, breathing rapidly and seeing stars. “I don’t know how my day could get any worse... we just finished paying off the house.”
Its bloodshot eyes loll, its jagged jaws drool. Up to the knee.
“I was going to go back and see the kids.”
A tone not unlike nails on chalkboard emits from the Entity as it cackles in orgiastic joy. The familiar quips wind themselves around the archetype, joining its heady aura of cliches and stereotype that had made it so unstoppable. The narrative energy builds up like water behind a leaky dam, looking for a narratively-satisfying way out. Semetsky’s waist is now between the sabre-teeth of the monster, and barbed tongues begin to lick the flesh from his legs.
Through the pain and the screams, Semetsky sees a faintly familiar figure, holding a glowing, neon-tube-lined object. The suited figure aims the weapon directly at the Entity’s central forehead. Semetsky clenches his teeth, and forces himself not to look down.
“Today... is my daughter’s birthday.”
[[div style="padding-left: 1%; padding-right: 1%; padding-bottom: .5%; background-color: #f5f5f5; background: linear-gradient(to bottom, #111111, #8e3d01);"]]
The final straw. The narrative weight is too much, and the backlash freezes the Entity. Flickering, black chains of inky text and crunchy html and magnetic VHS strips materialize around its limbs and bring it crashing to the ground. The force snaps the slasher’s ribs shut, pinning and piercing Semetsky’s torso. For him, the world wobbles and goes gray, then finally black. Semetsky breathes his last with a smile and dissolves into shreds of skin and sodden yellowed pages. A phrase written in Cyrillic is printed onto the pages: //Autumn Visits by Sergey Lukyanenko.//
The armed figure steps forward, Tenenbaum’s voice booming over the Site intercom. “You really are one ugly mother-hubber, aren’t you?”
The monster thrashes and strains against its fetters. It hadn’t noticed the build up of the cliches that sustained it, and now they took their toll. There would be no dramatic escape for the Entity, no final stinger. The story only pointed one way, guided by a godly, authorial hand.
“Oh no, oh no you don’t. Nowhere to go, pal.”
The Entity twitches, its binds constricting and tightening, forcing it to shrink and twist — coughing and retching — into a roughly humanoid shape. It extends a pseudopod into the remains of Semetsky, filling out the skin and tattered flesh until a fascimile of Yuri spits back at Tenenbaum, a guttural, inhuman voice pushing itself free from his shredded lips. "Kill me. I always find a way to come back."
Tenenbaum squats on his haunches, servos whining. It wasn't Tenenbaum, not really. The real Tenenbaum was stuck in a Viceroy microcomputer, still inside the Wardroom and under the watchful eye of the rest of the Working Group. The besuited android before the Entity dangled on thick coaxial cables like a man-sized puppet. The cables extended up and up, into the z- and w-axis, between the pages, projected down from the almighty word-processor, the author's self-insert. A //deus ex machina//. "You don't get it, you're too thick in the head to understand. You're my ticket out of this hellhole, y'see. Can't have you making a mess of the place, yet."
The Entity spits. "Kill..."
"Not if I put you somewhere nice and safe until I need you. A big guy like you could do a whole lot of damage pointed in the right direction.”
“Escape…”
The puppet tilts its head, the intercom emitting a chuckle. “Take it from an writer. There's no escaping your own story, pal.”
Screaming in a pool of ink and pages and entrails, the Entity can do nothing but writhe as Tenenbaum pulls the trigger on the glowing weapon. The various tubes on the Forceful Narrative Descender glow blue, while bassy voices from the Outside chant excerpts from Chauncer, de Cervantes, the Bible.
The environment blurs and shifts as the Entity’s body warps and folds in on himself, tearing open the page of Prime to reveal the nothing-/everythingness of Backstage. Small creatures, living concepts, infovorous parasites, billowed like smoke out of the pinhole, attracted to the informational density of Prime and the Entity. Scenting a story, they sucker onto him, peeling away his pages and inner concepts and self. The Tenenbaum-puppet reaches into those pages and pulls out each death, one by one. For Frank, Tina, Scuz, all the way to Yuri, each blood-stained sheet shriveling and turning to ash as they are wrenched from the Entity's wretched guts, retconned and noncanon.
Even as a faceless robot, the Entity can hear Tenenbaum grin before the puppet is yanked out of the fiction, the script about to reach the credits. "Hope you remember me the next time around."
Finally, the ripping sound of flipping pages dominates all, and the Entity is pulled back to [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/new-nightmare the beginning].
[[/div]]
------
“//The Inkblot Murders//, eh?”
Shrugging emoticon. “Learned that from Penelope, heh. But anyways, it’s just a short story, doesn’t really need a catchy name. Just punchy enough to stick. Glad you’re still with the living.”
Semetsky looked down at himself, his spotless lab-coat and shining shoes, no worse for wear. Unfortunately. “Yes. Of course. Would you have it any other way?”
“Of course not. Any luck with Interferometry on where the Entity came from?”
“Apparently a GOI cell in Portlands was dealing with a similar murderer last year to the day, a slasher whose victims resuscitated at the end of its spree. We’re looking into it, but we are inclined to believe that it is either the same entity or distinctly related.”
The vocoder somehow emitted a snort. “Everyone’s got a gimmick now.”
Semetsky couldn’t help but silently agree. “Also, about the book. Was the cover art really necessary?”
Tenenbaum didn’t blink. Couldn’t, really. “It is very necessary for the binding, Yuri. The more complete the book, the more it will hold against any shenanigans. We could go further, but I don't think Saunders would approve of a publishing of it, heh.”
Semetsky gingerly held {{{101}}} in his hands, which had been remade with a new look and metafictional wards on the inside cover. The front cover depicted a red-eyed shadow savaging a wide-eyed soldier, dragging him into a giant inkwell stenciled with the phrase '//The Inkblot Murders, by Archer Row//'. “Bit grisly.”
“Oh, the MTF had a sense of humor about the whole incident. Tarman did the art himself with his ‘magic fingers’ trick after they cleared him. It'll be a fun read for them, I’m sure.”
“Most likely."
“How are you all holding up?”
Semetsky stopped himself from touching his waist, where the rib-teeth had savaged him. He forced a smile. “E-17? They’re fine, I’m sure. Honestly it felt much like a dream, very much divorced from reality. Saunders is pushing for your book to become a training sim, actually. 'Descend and get a taste of combat against an unstoppable enemy,' or some such nonsense.'”
“Always working an angle, isn’t he. Can't tell who's more of a blood-sucker, him or the Thing pastiche in there.”
Semetsky dropped the smile, thinking about the creature. “So, it’s in containment now? Is it in Prime, or…”
“Who the hell knows. That book is a part of Prime now, and Prime is a part of that book. It happened, but it didn't happen. But it also didn't //not// happen. Best not to think about it too hard, recursive logic and all that jazz.”
“Sure, but I don’t think Saunders would take kindly to a wishy-washy statement like that. And mentioning things Saunders would take poorly…”
“My dialogue?”
“Yes.”
The webcam held Semetsky’s gaze. “A good narrative needs good dialogue. I thought it was a strong ending, and I’m not changing it. To hell with Saunders, he’ll never read it anyways. You know he only reads nonfiction.”
Semetsky paused, opened his mouth, and thought better of it. “Sure, alright.”
He patted the computer’s casing, and stood to leave Tenenbaum’s room. "That was a good job, Richard."
The computer chittered. "Save the compliments for the after-party, Yuri. Have a good Halloween."
The researcher's smile became genuine for a moment. "You too, Richard."
Semetsky left the cell, the Faraday cage buzzed as the door sealed behind him. He carried the book to the library, and nestled the paperback into the Prime Collection. //Next to the containment units would be thematically appropriate.//
Semetsky hardly had time to appreciate the collection before his pager buzzed, and his attention was needed elsewhere. So he didn't notice a slight shift in the stacks as the paperback swelled, pages darkening with liquid ink. The book fell sideways in the shelf, and ink began to leak onto the shelf, dripping and pooling upon the floor. The ink was the color of blood, a dark and rich maroon.
Within the pool there began a ripple, an inner eddy and current that started slowly, but churned and picked up speed and whipped the ink into a boiling froth. From the bubbles and foam emerged a bloody claw, thrusting itself out of the pool with a triumphant screech.
|
2024-10-29T17:08:00
|
[
"halloween",
"horror",
"metafiction",
"murder-monster",
"tale"
] |
Archer Row's New Nightmare - SCP Foundation
| 8
|
[
"nightmare-on-archer-row-part-2",
"out-of-options",
"abstract-naught",
"scp-3143",
"scp-140",
"scp-4566"
] |
[] |
[] |
1457228890
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/new-nightmare
|
|
night-time-in-the-forest-of-spooks
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="authorlink-wrapper"><a href="javascript:;">Dr Kira Moto</a>
<div class="authorbox">
<div class="authorcontent">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-moto-s-center-for-odd-occurrences">Want more?</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>She shouldn't have left without telling anyone. Papa gets upset when she doesn't. But it's such a nice day! And she hasn't gotten to explore in a while! Besides, Papa and those weird guys were all busy!</p>
<p>She listens to the birds chirping in the distance as branches bend slightly in the cool breeze. Evening sun filters through the canopy, speckling the forest floor with patches of light. A chill rushes through her small body as she notices the late hour. She should really be getting home before Papa has to come to find her.</p>
<p>Stopping her adventure, she takes a moment to observe her surroundings. Everywhere she looks, unfamiliar woods span into the distance, causing uneasy nerves to rise in her throat. Papa's going to yell at her when she gets back.</p>
<p>Which way did she come from?</p>
<p>She picks a direction and walks.</p>
<p>And walks.</p>
<p>And walks.</p>
<p>And walks.</p>
<p>The moonlight flickering through the canopy isn't enough to illuminate the ground beneath her feet by the time she accepts she might be lost. Shadows move above her, the distinct <em>chi, chi, chi</em> repeating endlessly, attempting to swallow her.</p>
<p>A shiver races down her spine as the shadows dance around her. With her throat closing around her nerves, she braces herself and starts walking once more. Leaves crunch under her shoes while branches and bushes whip past her. A root comes up to trip her and it's only luck that keeps her from falling.</p>
<p>Her blood runs cold as the feeling of being watched lands squarely on her back. <em>Chi, chi, chi.</em> Something brushes against her clothes, vanishing halfway through the act. Breathing heavily, she searches for the cause.</p>
<p>There's nothing she can see.</p>
<p>Swallowing thickly, she forces her attention back on the path ahead — or, well, where she thinks there may be a path. There are fewer trees in this direction.</p>
<p>The <em>crunch, crunch, crunch</em> of her footfalls almost succeeds in pulling her attention away from the gaze boring into her back. No matter what she does, she can't shake the feeling.</p>
<p><em>Chi, chi, chi.</em> A yelp tears from her throat as her heart pounds in her chest; she only just holds back the urge to run. It's not going to help. At most, she trips and breaks a leg.</p>
<p>Bushes rustle beside her, and her breath catches in her throat as she falls silent. Maybe if she just stands still, it'll forget about her and go away.</p>
<p>A growl sounds from the bushes. Something brushes against her, disappearing into the shadows long before she can put a shape to the shadow. Growls, yelps, and the tearing of flesh break through the silence.</p>
<p>She runs with her blood pounding in her ears.</p>
<p>And runs with the branches slicing into her skin.</p>
<p>And runs with the hope she won't run into a tree.</p>
<p>And trips.</p>
<p><em>Chi, chi, chi.</em></p>
<p>With her heart plummeting into the ground, she scrambles up, hoping that wasn't her last chance. Footfalls sound behind her, but she doesn't dare look back. Blood pounds in her ears as her feet pound the ground.</p>
<p><em>Chi, chi, chi.</em> No! It can't get her! She wants to go home!</p>
<p>Closer still come footfalls only just above a whisper.</p>
<p><em>Chi, chi, chi.</em> There's hot breath on her neck and moisture left behind.</p>
<p><em>Chi, chi, chi.</em> She trips, and pain cuts into the panic as she lands roughly on the ground. Her skin splits, spilling sticky red across the darkened ground.</p>
<p><em>Chi, chi, chi.</em> Wet, hot breath pants over her, causing her to scream as she scrambles away from the shadow above her.</p>
<p>"I- I need a break." Oh, gods. That's going to be the last thing she ever says. She's going to die because she was stupid enough to get lost.</p>
<p>Tears prick at her eyes as the glint of fang appears before her. She's not going to get home. Low, dangerous growls pierce the otherwise silent night. The fangs grow closer as she trembles in the oddly bright moonlight.</p>
<p><em>Chi, chi, chi.</em></p>
<p>She backs up, scraping her hands on the ground as she goes.</p>
<p><em>Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi.</em></p>
<p>Her back hits the rough bark of a tree. She wants Papa.</p>
<p><em>Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi.</em></p>
<p>Swallowing painfully, she closes her eyes and accepts whatever fate has in store for her.</p>
<p><em>Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi —</em></p>
<p>A warm breeze slices through the chill. She feels a tug in the pit of her stomach, familiar and welcoming.</p>
<p>"Thank you for bringing her home, noble beast." Tears fall from her eyes when Papa's strong hand lands on her shoulder. "For your efforts." She smells rice. A happy bark fills her ears before the rice is taken away.</p>
<p>"You worried me, Shiko." Hot tears cut tracks across her dirt-encrusted cheeks as she's picked up and pulled close. "I thought I told you not to go so deep into these woodlands."</p>
<p>"'M sorry… I didn't mean to; I just wanted to explore." She buries her face in his chest. "I thought I saw monsters in the woods. Monsters aren't real, right, Papa?"</p>
<p>His warm embrace envelops her, a safe haven from the dangers of the world. He steps them into the warm safety of their interdimensional home. She's always safe with Papa around.</p>
<p>"My dear child. Monsters are very, very real."</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/night-time-in-the-forest-of-spooks">Night Time in the Forest of Spooks.</a>" by Dr Kira Moto, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/night-time-in-the-forest-of-spooks">https://scpwiki.com/night-time-in-the-forest-of-spooks</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> start=--|name=Dr Kira Moto]]
[[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dr-moto-s-center-for-odd-occurrences|Want more?]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:author-label-source">:scp-wiki:component:author-label-source</a> end=--]]
She shouldn't have left without telling anyone. Papa gets upset when she doesn't. But it's such a nice day! And she hasn't gotten to explore in a while! Besides, Papa and those weird guys were all busy!
She listens to the birds chirping in the distance as branches bend slightly in the cool breeze. Evening sun filters through the canopy, speckling the forest floor with patches of light. A chill rushes through her small body as she notices the late hour. She should really be getting home before Papa has to come to find her.
Stopping her adventure, she takes a moment to observe her surroundings. Everywhere she looks, unfamiliar woods span into the distance, causing uneasy nerves to rise in her throat. Papa's going to yell at her when she gets back.
Which way did she come from?
She picks a direction and walks.
And walks.
And walks.
And walks.
The moonlight flickering through the canopy isn't enough to illuminate the ground beneath her feet by the time she accepts she might be lost. Shadows move above her, the distinct //chi, chi, chi// repeating endlessly, attempting to swallow her.
A shiver races down her spine as the shadows dance around her. With her throat closing around her nerves, she braces herself and starts walking once more. Leaves crunch under her shoes while branches and bushes whip past her. A root comes up to trip her and it's only luck that keeps her from falling.
Her blood runs cold as the feeling of being watched lands squarely on her back. //Chi, chi, chi.// Something brushes against her clothes, vanishing halfway through the act. Breathing heavily, she searches for the cause.
There's nothing she can see.
Swallowing thickly, she forces her attention back on the path ahead — or, well, where she thinks there may be a path. There are fewer trees in this direction.
The //crunch, crunch, crunch// of her footfalls almost succeeds in pulling her attention away from the gaze boring into her back. No matter what she does, she can't shake the feeling.
//Chi, chi, chi.// A yelp tears from her throat as her heart pounds in her chest; she only just holds back the urge to run. It's not going to help. At most, she trips and breaks a leg.
Bushes rustle beside her, and her breath catches in her throat as she falls silent. Maybe if she just stands still, it'll forget about her and go away.
A growl sounds from the bushes. Something brushes against her, disappearing into the shadows long before she can put a shape to the shadow. Growls, yelps, and the tearing of flesh break through the silence.
She runs with her blood pounding in her ears.
And runs with the branches slicing into her skin.
And runs with the hope she won't run into a tree.
And trips.
//Chi, chi, chi.//
With her heart plummeting into the ground, she scrambles up, hoping that wasn't her last chance. Footfalls sound behind her, but she doesn't dare look back. Blood pounds in her ears as her feet pound the ground.
//Chi, chi, chi.// No! It can't get her! She wants to go home!
Closer still come footfalls only just above a whisper.
//Chi, chi, chi.// There's hot breath on her neck and moisture left behind.
//Chi, chi, chi.// She trips, and pain cuts into the panic as she lands roughly on the ground. Her skin splits, spilling sticky red across the darkened ground.
//Chi, chi, chi.// Wet, hot breath pants over her, causing her to scream as she scrambles away from the shadow above her.
"I- I need a break." Oh, gods. That's going to be the last thing she ever says. She's going to die because she was stupid enough to get lost.
Tears prick at her eyes as the glint of fang appears before her. She's not going to get home. Low, dangerous growls pierce the otherwise silent night. The fangs grow closer as she trembles in the oddly bright moonlight.
//Chi, chi, chi.//
She backs up, scraping her hands on the ground as she goes.
//Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi.//
Her back hits the rough bark of a tree. She wants Papa.
//Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi.//
Swallowing painfully, she closes her eyes and accepts whatever fate has in store for her.
//Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi. Chi, chi, chi --//
A warm breeze slices through the chill. She feels a tug in the pit of her stomach, familiar and welcoming.
"Thank you for bringing her home, noble beast." Tears fall from her eyes when Papa's strong hand lands on her shoulder. "For your efforts." She smells rice. A happy bark fills her ears before the rice is taken away.
"You worried me, Shiko." Hot tears cut tracks across her dirt-encrusted cheeks as she's picked up and pulled close. "I thought I told you not to go so deep into these woodlands."
"'M sorry... I didn't mean to; I just wanted to explore." She buries her face in his chest. "I thought I saw monsters in the woods. Monsters aren't real, right, Papa?"
His warm embrace envelops her, a safe haven from the dangers of the world. He steps them into the warm safety of their interdimensional home. She's always safe with Papa around.
"My dear child. Monsters are very, very real."
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-05-07T04:34:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"horror",
"tale"
] |
Night Time in the Forest of Spooks. - SCP Foundation
| 11
|
[
"dr-moto-s-center-for-odd-occurrences",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"young-and-under-30"
] |
[] |
1453555203
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/night-time-in-the-forest-of-spooks
|
|
nightnotomorrow
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Tonight would be your first dance</p>
</div>
<div style="display: none;">
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nightnotomorrow/."><img alt="." class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nightnotomorrow/./medium.jpg"/></a>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p><strong>A Night With No Tomorrow</strong><br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/astersquill" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8392064); return false;"><img alt="AstersQuill" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=8392064&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735053078" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=8392064)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/astersquill" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(8392064); return false;">AstersQuill</a></span> - <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/aster-s-forest-grotto">Author Page</a></p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<p>The evening sky of Providence glows deep vermillion, painting a hopeful picture in your window as you prepare yourself for the night ahead. The welcoming light reaches in, painting the interior of your apartment in a matching, orange hue. On most nights, you would have moved your chair over to the window to simply bask in the warm glow— a memory, though not always pleasant, of your <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment">previous enclosure</a></span>— but tonight, you did not have time for such a simple pleasure. Tonight would be your first dance.</p>
<p>To prepare for the occasion, you consulted the one resource you knew would be of service to you: a thick stack of books. Your references ranged from cartoonish picture books full of large, colorful lettering, to leather-bound tomes of fairytales, whose pages numbered no less than 500. All day you pored over the pages, catching the confused glares of students and professors alike as you carried that heavy stack around campus.</p>
<p>This preparation was important; tonight would be the last time you and Hana would be able to spend together as normal people, at least until next fall. It was a thought that weighed heavy on your mind, one that also filled you with clumsy determination. This was your chance at a perfect night, and you were committed to making it a memorable one.</p>
<p><em>Knock. Knock Knock. Knock.</em></p>
<p>Your ears shoot up at the noise, and you do one last check of yourself, one last smooth of your flowing, pink dress. Although Hana always referred to you as ‘her princess’, for once you actually felt like you dressed the part. All you could do is hope you succeeded As you turn towards the door, an idea pops into your head, and you run your hand along your braid, bending reality to bloom small flowers and plants between the folds.</p>
<p><em>Knock. Knock. Knock.</em></p>
<p>Your palms begin to sweat.</p>
<p>“Meri, are you okay?”</p>
<p>Hana's voice, clear through the thick door between you, does nothing to ease your worries. You wonder what she would think of you looking like this. You scarcely wore dresses like this, even less so in public. Your mind goes to imagining what she looks like and it's as if a swarm of butterflies fills your stomach.</p>
<p>“Yeah! Just a moment.”</p>
<p>You take a deep breath, swallow back your fear, and open the door. Hana waits on the other side, gripping a bouquet of azaleas. She wears a navy gown bedecked with sequins that shine like small stars, paired with her usual <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6317">baby blue letterman</a></span>. You can’t help but feel a warmth spread across your cheeks.</p>
<p>“Oh, Meri! You look—”</p>
<p>“Amazing.” The only word you can mutter out.</p>
<p>She laughs and steps into the apartment, standing <em>much</em> closer to you. Even if you could move your legs, you're not sure there's anywhere you'd rather be.</p>
<p>“You’re less poetic than usually. I'll take that as a good sign.”</p>
<p>You attempt to vocalize a reply but all you can do is cover your mouth with your hand and look away. Although you often prided yourself on always choosing the right thing to say, you found that Hana’s words often disarmed you, wrapping you in some ancient spell, unable to form a defense. It was nice, in a way, and Hana would laugh as you slowly pieced together your response. She smiles at you and holds out the bouquet.</p>
<p>“Ida told me that deer like to eat azaleas. You’re free to eat them if you want, but I thought you would appreciate the gesture.”</p>
<p>“T-thanks. I think I have a vase we can put them in.”</p>
<p>Hana follows you into the apartment, her hands in her jacket’s pockets as she observes the environment. She points at a series of bulbs nestled in a trellis above your bed.</p>
<p>“Are these new? They weren’t here the other night.”</p>
<p>“Yes! They are moonflowers. I planted them so I have something beautiful to look at on the nights I am alone.”</p>
<p>“Awww. Don’t those only bloom a single night a year?” She picks up a small potted succulent and rotates it in her hand. “I know you can do your… all of that, but I know how particular you are with nature sometimes. No offense.”</p>
<p>“I think I can make exceptions sometimes. What am I supposed to do on the long nights when you are not around to keep me company?”</p>
<p>“All you need to do is call and I'll be there.”</p>
<p>Her words wrap around your heart, and you feel yourself getting more emotional than you probably should have. Your thoughts shift to the summer, to the worried faces of researchers, to a time without Hana. Here, in this apartment, was someone that saw past the fur, past the other parts of your <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hoovesandantlers">body you shunned</a>, to find the real you underneath. Not fully human, nor fully animal, but you, Meri Clef, a person. You embrace her.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>♫♫♫</strong></p>
<p>Hana almost drags you as she speedwalks towards the venue, her hand clasped firmly around yours. She could hardly contain her excitement as you walked to the event, but you knew that under the façade of excitement, deep down, she was worried. Your partner had been preparing for this night for months now; what she would wear, petitioning site staff for ticket money, even planning a picnic to ask you on a date. You decided that, regardless of all the people and the noise, you would make this night perfect for her. It was what you felt she deserved.</p>
<p>She stops right outside the entrance to a large, gothic building, and takes both of your hands.</p>
<p>“I have a surprise I wanted to give you before we go in. Close your eyes!”</p>
<p>“Oh? What is it?”</p>
<p>“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Eyes, please.”</p>
<p>You shut your eyes, feeling your other senses slowly begin to take over, ears flicking to every small crinkle of paper, every delicate shuffle of her fingers through her bag. In time you’ve become intimately aware of those noises; she carried that bag of oddities everywhere, making her the savior of every person who needed a tissue or a mirror or lotion for their hands.</p>
<p>“Alright, you can open them now.”</p>
<p>The world’s picture comes back into view and Hana stands before you, face half-concealed with an ornate mask, a multicolored plume set off its right eye. In her hands, she holds out a mask of similar design: brass filigree wound with wiry vines and small flowers.</p>
<p>“A masquerade mask? I thought they were handing them out at the event.”</p>
<p>“The original plan was to handmake one for you, but I couldn’t get it right so I had someone else design it instead. Cool, right?”</p>
<p>“It is beautiful.”</p>
<p>She carefully unties the silk bow and holds the mask out in one hand.</p>
<p>“May I?”</p>
<p>You stammer for a moment before nodding, bowing your head in preparation. She’s careful to avoid your sensitive ears and winding antlers as she places the mask on your face. Her hands are careful, steady, and you feel as she ties a bow that brings the mask to your face secure enough to not fall off, but not tight enough to leave marks afterwards.</p>
<p>“How does it feel? Too tight around the ears? Stuck in your antlers? Think it looks goofy?”</p>
<p>“I think it is absolutely perfect. Do you like how it looks on me?”</p>
<p>“It sure makes it easier to get lost in your eyes.”</p>
<p>She places a kiss on your forehead, causing you to pause for a moment to regard the dashing, masked figure before you. You feel her fingers slowly intertwine with yours, and she once more leads you excitedly towards the ornate building. Your peers in pairs, groups, or solo begin to pass you, all chattering in the night. Yet, in this crowd of bodies, you feel the moment is entirely your own.</p>
<p>You pass under a shimmering, gold-bordered banner bearing <em>Serena Verdae College’s 387th Annual Masquerade Ball</em> and, after showing your tickets to a pair of faculty, you’re directed to an expansive, ornate room bustling with elegantly dressed students.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>♫♫♫</strong></p>
<p>A room <em>full</em> of students.</p>
<p>You feel a wave of anxiousness crash over you, anchoring you to just outside the doorway to the hall. This room, usually reserved for club fairs and speeches, was filled nearly to the brim with students. Far too many people than you were used to, than you'd really ever seen in one place. You fight the thought of running out of the building in your head.</p>
<p>Hana waves over a group of people. She had already chatted and greeted a few at the door; this environment was one she was quite adept in. You awkwardly mumble when Hana introduces you to each of them, names disappearing the moment you hear them. They laugh and giggle, exchange hugs and handshakes, all while you quietly watch on. You hope you're not keeping Hana from a fun night with them.</p>
<p>After some time, more idle conversation, you feel Hana reach for your hand. At some point in the introductions, you unconsciously scooted behind her.</p>
<p>"You doing okay, Meri?"</p>
<p>"I have never seen this many people in the same place before."</p>
<p>"I get it. Do you want to step out for a bit for some air? We could go do something else if you want too?"</p>
<p>You shake your head. The importance of this night was of no secret to you. In truth, you've been worried about it for weeks, and worried even more for what came after. Soon you would run out of time, at least for a few months, to discover something new. Your father once told you that bravery is just pretending until you forgot it was pretend. In the face of everything new tonight, you would be brave.</p>
<p>The sound of music in the room amplifies, and you see people begin to cheer as the beat begins to pick up.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>♫♫♫</strong></p>
<p>In all your research about dances, you never expected them to be this loud. Fairytales spoke of dances as regal events with elaborate gowns and waltzes along ballroom floors.</p>
<p>This dance was nothing like that.</p>
<p>The room was festive with people drinking from all matter of glass or chalice, jumping and swaying and singing to pounding rhythms from overhead speakers. Your ears droop, and at moments you can find yourself covering them. You try to hide this from Hana as you head into the crowd to dance with her, but she knows your tells.</p>
<p>"Is this too much?" Although you're standing close to one another, you can only half hear her yelling over the music.</p>
<p>"I think I am getting the hang of it."</p>
<p>Hana looks at you inquisitively, eyes scanning as another wave of bass pours over the crowd. You cover your ears.</p>
<p>"Actually, do you want to get drinks, Hana?"</p>
<p>“Yeah sure. I think I could use a breather.”</p>
<p>She loops her arm in yours, escorting you through the crowd like a knight guarding a princess. Every step is calculated, and she looks back often to make sure no one threatens to bump into you. After some careful maneuvering, you reach the drink counter. A multi-tendrilled mass works the counter, wiping down a spill on one side of the bar, serving drinks with another, and handing you and Hana menus with two more.</p>
<p>“God, if we had something like this back at 19 then there wouldn’t be such long lines in the cafeteria.” A pause. Hana cringes with the realization. “Take my word for it, they don’t know how to organize the kitchen.”</p>
<p>“I see.”</p>
<p>“You wouldn’t have to worry. All you need is a patch of dirt and you have a meal waiting for you.”</p>
<p>“I can be picky sometimes. I can never get the blueberries to taste right." Hana smiles at your response, waiting for you to catch up. "Also, they are not made of dirt, you know.”</p>
<p>“I know, I’m just teasing you.” Hana motions for one of the tendrils, specifically an eyed-one, to come over. “I’d never knock dirt either. I had it a few times when I was a kid.”</p>
<p>“Does it taste good?”</p>
<p>“Not my favorite.”</p>
<p>The mass shifts over to your side of the bar. Several pairs of eyes look at you as Hana leans closer to the counter.</p>
<p>“I’ll have a Shirley Temple, extra cherry if you could." Hana turns to you. "Did you want to try a new drink?"</p>
<p>“Nothing with alcohol, it burned too much last time. I think I will just have a water with mint, please.”</p>
<p>The mass snaps and hisses as it collects the ingredients to create your drinks. It works with otherworldly vigor, seemingly shrinking and expanding the bar around it as it grabs ingredients and pours syrup. It’s a mesmerizing dance that you can’t help but stare at, even as Hana’s eyes are focused squarely on you. <em>If I am ever let off the island, maybe I could learn how to make drinks,</em> you think. Hana tosses a shimmering coin into a bucket, causing the mass to purr in response.</p>
<p>“I think it’s telling us to ‘enjoy our drinks’.”</p>
<p>“How do you know that?”</p>
<p>Hana shrugs, swirls the contents of the glass with her straw, and sips. You eye the cherries as they bob in the red liquid. The mixture smells sugary, with notes of ginger that fizz up to the surface with each small irritation to the glass. She motions for you to try, and your face scrunches as the sweet drink passes over your tongue. You take a long sip of your water in an attempt to dilute the taste, succeeding only once your own glass if half empty.</p>
<p>The two of you remain at the bar, slightly swaying shoulder-to-shoulder as Hana points out the names of artists and sings along to their words. There's more space at the bar for you to move around, and you use that to swing and follow Hana's steps as she dances along to a song you make a mental note of for later. You feel more like the branches than the tree trunk here; less like the music is hitting you and more like you're moving with it. If only you had more time, you really feel as if you could get the hang of this.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>♫♫♫</strong></p>
<p>You soon find that your research into formal dance wasn't pointless. Following the last note of a blaring song, the tempo shifts, falling to a near crawl as the lights dim from gold to purple above you.</p>
<p>“Alright, everyone. Now’s the time for our couple’s slow dance. Grab that special someone and head to the dance floor.”</p>
<p>“So…”</p>
<p>Hana blushes, failing to meet your gaze. She fusses with her jacket as she sways side to side.</p>
<p>"I was thinking, because you're my date and all, that you would maybe want to dance? With me? I don't want to force you, though. If you're tired we can go sit or do something else?"</p>
<p>"I would love to."</p>
<p>You watch a weight leave Hana's chest, and she meets your gaze with a wide smile. Hana holds out her hand to you, a call waiting for a response. Although she would never say so, you can see worry paint her face as she waits. You learned how valuable it was to seek the meanings in words, to find deeper understanding behind the consonants and vowels. Behind Hana’s confident façade was someone so deeply scared, someone trying to live in each moment.</p>
<p>You place your hand in hers.</p>
<p>Stiletto heel and hoof <em>clack</em> against the wooden floor as you follow the other couples to the center of the large room. The slow dance, you learned, was an important part of most social events that have an element of dance. During one of these events, couples will be called—</p>
<p>Before you could think further, Hana rests her arms on your shoulders, hands clasping just under your neck. You pray that she can’t feel your pulse.</p>
<p>“Now it’s your turn, Meri. Place your hands on my hips.”</p>
<p>Her eyes meet yours. You feel a burning in your cheeks as she watches you. Waiting. You look around to the other couples, who have already begun to sway to the melodic overture filling the hall. Time slips by as you wait. You deeply inhale and wrap your hands around the small of her back.</p>
<p>“It’s okay. I don’t bite. Remember, we’re having fun! I’ll take the lead.”</p>
<p>And lead she does.</p>
<p>Hana removes her arms from your neck, placing a hand on your lower back, just above your tail, and slowly taking your left with her other. You once again feel the heat rising as you feel her fingers on your back, but you're unable to fully enjoy the moment. Hana takes a step, draws you closer to her, and guides you across the floor.</p>
<p>Hana’s heels tap against the floor, your hooves awkwardly following along. In your swinging, you find yourself always just off beat, a note played just too early or late. Hana adjusts to your every step, pulling you in closer. You want to make this perfect for her, but the more you think, the more you find yourself off.</p>
<p>“Hana?”</p>
<p>“Mhm?”</p>
<p>“I am not sure I am doing this right.”</p>
<p>"Just trust me and let yourself go."</p>
<p>And like that, you find yourself finding the deeper meanings to her words. In a way, you and Hana were still talking; a call and a response, though now without words. You relinquished control to her, trusting in your knight— and you were rewarded. She elevates you where you fell, slowed and quickened when you needed. You find yourself focusing less on your feet and more on the woman in front of you, the radiant flower dancing in the soft wind of the other pairs around you. She leads you perfectly through the gaps made by the other swaying couples, lost in their own mesmeric conversations.</p>
<p>"I'm going to spin you, okay?"</p>
<p>"Wha—"</p>
<p>"Alright here we go."</p>
<p>Hana's hands guide you into a turn as she slowly raises your arm. You hooves awkwardly step around until you're once again face to face with her, hand in hand, albeit a more pronounced space between you. She flashes you a smile.</p>
<p>"Now faster this time."</p>
<p>Hana spins you again, this time in reverse, and you close your eyes, causing you to nearly stumble to the ground— but you don't. Instead, you find yourself wrapped in Hana's arms, nearly close enough to her to feel her heartbeat; ensnared but not trapped, pressure but not suffocation.</p>
<p>"You did great, Meri!"</p>
<p>Your proximity does little to hide your blush. You stammer, but the words come to you.</p>
<p>"You are perfect."</p>
<p>You finally feel yourself exhale. Hana loosens her hold, and your hands return to their place on her hips, swaying as you did earlier. After some time, you match rhythm with her, and you see a smile grow across her face. It wasn’t the same smile she gave to a passing joke in class, nor the type she had when taking the perfect photo. No. This was something new. Something entirely yours.</p>
<p>The swaying leads you into an almost hypnotic trance. It reminded you of your younger days when you would just sit and let the water lap at you and the sensation you would get when you finally settled down for the night. Hana Thompson might as well have been another force of nature to you, a sensation deep within your waiting mind, but it was one that you sought no mastery over. You would let her wash you away, extinguish you like a fire, if only she had asked.</p>
<p>“I love you, Hana.”</p>
<p>In one motion, Hana takes your hand, dips you, and leans in to pull you into a deep kiss. Your shoulders tense for a moment before you’re completely lost in her, as if the room melts away to leave just the two of you standing on a hill in the warm breeze. Her lips taste of candy floss and the perfume on her neck smells of pomegranate; intoxicating. You want so much more of her. You wish you could beg her for more, beg her to hold you here forever. In this moment, you cling to her like one clings to life, the very air in your lungs belonging to her. There is nothing that you wouldn’t do, on both heaven and earth, for this girl.</p>
<p>The music slowly begins to fade back into scene as Hana pulls away, locking eyes with you. She grins, her earthen eyes grounding you back in the dance hall.</p>
<p>“Meri? Meri, are you okay? I didn’t break you, did I?”</p>
<p>“I think there would be worse ways to go.”</p>
<p>Hana laughs as she slowly and carefully brings you back to standing height.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m under orders to make sure you come back in one piece, my princess.” She stands on her toes, reaching the level of your ear. “Though there will be other opportunities to take your breath away tonight, if you’re interested.”</p>
<p>The only words that make sense in your head are, “Lead the way.”</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>♫♫♫</strong></p>
<p>The moon hangs high in the air above you casting its silvery glow on your surroundings as you walk hand-in-hand with your lover down the river. There is not a cloud in the sky tonight, allowing you to see the tiny sparkles of the stars in the sky. You knew the name of all of them; every shine had a myth or meaning now etched deeply in your heart, ready to spill out at a moment’s notice.</p>
<p>But you keep quiet, however. Something tells you that it would be better to be silent, at least for now.</p>
<p>On the walk over, Hana had gone from excitedly chattering about the night’s events to seemingly being lost in thought, eyes peering far in the distance. Even when she switched places with you so you wouldn’t have to walk next to your reflection on the water, her mind was simply elsewhere, despite the reassuring half-smile that tried to tell you otherwise.</p>
<p>After some time, the two of you stop at the last pair of benches before the dock. Your hooved feet sink into the sand, and you adjust your dress as you sit, making sure not to dirty it. The temperature has dropped substantially at this point, and although you have your fur to keep you warm, it doesn’t stop you from pulling your arms closer around yourself.</p>
<p>You close your eyes for a moment while you inhale the night’s cool air. When you open them again, you find a familiar blue jacket draped over your shoulders and your lover nervously kicking her legs next to you on the bench. You hear her softly repeating something under her breath, more and more frantically as you sit, before she speaks.</p>
<p>“Is this real?”</p>
<p>The question knocks you off guard, nearly making your heart skip a beat as the rhythm begins to pound harder in your chest. There have been other times when Hana would have to step away to re-ground herself in reality, but the sudden shift from jubilation to this was not something you saw before.</p>
<p>“I don’t mean to be such a downer after a night like tonight but fuck.” She stands and walks to the railing, kicking a rock into the water with a deep <em>splash</em> before sighing.</p>
<p>“Hana?”</p>
<p>“I’m not sure I deserve this: <em>another</em> most important night of my life, after I fucked up my first one.” She grips the railing in front of her, knuckles turning white. “So before I wake again and find myself at the <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scars-of-kodachrome">bottom of some murky pool</a></span>, I need to make sure that this— that <em>you</em> are real.”</p>
<p>“Do you want this to be real?”</p>
<p>You hear a sniffle. Hana removes one of her hands from the railing and wipes her eyes.</p>
<p>“Yes. More than anything, yes.”</p>
<p>The wooden bench creaks as you carefully stand up. You slowly step towards your partner, hearing the ever-increasing but futile attempts to stifle her tears.</p>
<p>"There are days where I can barely remember my name if it wasn't written on a sticky note, Meri. I just want something for once that I know is real."</p>
<p>You place your hand on her shoulder.</p>
<p>“In that case, Hana Thompson, your wish is granted. I am yours and will be yours as long as the sun and moon continue to dance in the sky. You are the blood that courses through my veins and the air I breathe with each breath. My life and my death.”</p>
<p>She turns to face you but does not look at you. Her eyes are red and wet, and makeup smears on her cheeks.</p>
<p>“Do not cry, my Iris. No amount of reshaping reality would add to a fraction of the amazing time I had tonight, no creation able to do justice just how special our dance was. It felt as if all my dreams had come true. It was real.”</p>
<p>Hana buries herself in you, sobbing heavily into your shoulder. She shakes as her tears dampen your fur. You stay there for some time, slowly rocking back and forth and carefully running your hand down her short hair as the tears slowly cease. She goes silent, pulling you in closer, her head next to your steady but fast-beating heart.</p>
<p>“I’m so happy you’re real, Meri.”</p>
<p>You spend some time like this, and Hana begins to repeat her name under her breath, over and over, so she's certain to make sure it's hers. Then, a new name enters the rythmn: yours. Her tempo becomes less frantic, she holds you less tight, and you feel her slowly stop shaking. Instead, she begins swaying before finally pulling away, wiping her eyes once more with her hand as she starts to laugh nervously.</p>
<p>“Sorry, I’m normal now. Just had something in my eye, you know?”</p>
<p>You laugh and the atmosphere around you seems to relax too. Hana pulls out a small pocket mirror to inspect herself, mumbling a ‘fuck’ under her breath. You take a step forward and gently cup Hana’s face with your hands. She looks up at you, cheeks almost as pink as the ribbon she wears around her neck.</p>
<p>“I think you still look beautiful, my knight, even if you do not think so.”</p>
<p>“You’re such a sap, you know that?”</p>
<p>You move forward slightly, placing a kiss gently on Hana’s forehead, causing her face to turn an even deeper shade of pink.</p>
<p>“Woah.”</p>
<p>“Am I still a sap?”</p>
<p>“Yeah. I was just wondering when you were going to take the initiative to do that. It looks good on you. You should kiss me more often.”</p>
<p>You feel your face heating up at Hana’s words. She laughs at your reaction before placing a kiss on your cheek. The two of you giggle as you trade kisses and sway in a clumsy circle around the dock. After you’re both satisfied, Hana looks up to the moon, then back to her watch, before holding out her hand to you.</p>
<p>“Here, there’s something I want to show you while we still have time together.”</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>♫♫♫</strong></p>
<p>Hana Thompson stares at the ceiling as her partner softly sleeps next to her. A million thoughts and feelings swim through her head. Regret. Sorrow. Guilt. She sits awake wondering if she did the right thing, realizing that she would never know. So she slowly sneaks out of the bed, pulls the thin sheet back over her lover, and goes to wrap herself in a woolen robe, careful to avoid the discarded articles of clothing on the floor.</p>
<p>Truthfully, Hana needed a moment to clear her head, to leave the room’s imaginary oppressive heat to just— breathe. She would have been able to as well if not for a loud <em>squeak</em> as she opened the door to the balcony.</p>
<p>“Hana?”</p>
<p>Shit.</p>
<p>“Sorry. I just need to get some fresh air.”</p>
<p>“Are you going to come back when you are done?”</p>
<p>“Of course.”</p>
<p>She closes the sliding door behind her and produces a cigarette from the robe’s pocket, placing it unlit between her lips. Hana knew she would be reprimanded if she lit it, so she just left the white paper to roll around as she thought. Tonight was everything Hana could have asked for, an experience she felt she would never have gotten another chance at after screwing up, so why did everything feel so wrong?</p>
<p>A shuffle from inside. A reminder.</p>
<p>“God, you’re such an idiot, Hana.”</p>
<p>The first time she’s allowed herself to get that close with someone in years and it suffocates her. She couldn’t imagine what Meri was thinking, alone in her room while Hana sulked outside. Every ticking second burns at Hana, a worry that she’s only gone and ruined a good thing.</p>
<p>Soon it wouldn’t matter, though. Summer vacation meant every meeting between the two would need to be approved and chaperoned; Meri left alone on that island, while Hana was sent to take photos of runic sigils or unusual rock formations. To the Foundation they were just means to an end, after all. Tools to throw at the weird.</p>
<p>“I do not think you are an idiot.”</p>
<p>Hana turns around. She must have been too lost in thoughts to hear the screen door slide open. Meri stands awkwardly in the doorway, shifting the long, mossen blanket that hangs over her shoulders.</p>
<p>“Do you want to sit and talk about it?”</p>
<p>Hana nods, throwing her cigarette off the balcony’s edge. It falls like lopsided snow to the ground below. Meri sits just by the door in the corner on the sod pad she created to cover the cold concrete last fall. She motions for Hana to come over and, hesitating, she does, sitting and placing her head in Meri’s lap.</p>
<p>“Listen, I— I shouldn’t have left you alone in there. I know that feeling of waking up and expecting someone to be there and for them to just… not.” She laughs. “I'm not that kind of person it’s just— I felt like I couldn’t breathe in there. So much is happening so fast and I needed to get away for a bit. I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“I did not have any expectations for the night, I just wanted you to have the best night you could.”</p>
<p>A pause. Hana sits up slightly, turning to face Meri.</p>
<p>“I appreciate it but did you have fun too? I would feel awful if you had a bad time just so I could have a good one.”</p>
<p>“Tonight was amazing, Hana. <em>You</em> were amazing.”</p>
<p>Hana lays back down, turning her head away from Meri as she starts to mumble.</p>
<p>“What’s one good night if I can’t see you until the fall?”</p>
<p>The balcony is silent besides the distant chirping of crickets and the occasional sound of passing cars. Meri looks up at the stars, hesitates for a moment, and begins to run her hand along Hana’s short hair.</p>
<p>“<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6342">Vesper</a></span> told me a while ago that some diviners use the stars to look into the future, that within those distant, burning orbs, you can look into other universes. They told me that there are as many timelines as the stars in the sky and maybe even millions more, realities we do not even think are possible, realities we <em>know</em> are not possible. But in these realities there are always constants.” Meri pauses, her hand softly resting atop Hana’s head.</p>
<p>“Do you think we find each other in every universe, Hana?”</p>
<p>Hana looks to the stars and dreams about all the realities she exists and all the ones she would never exist in. She thinks about the universes that are <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/so-leave-yourself-alone">brutal</a></span>, ones that are <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dodgeball">kind</a></span>, universes that are <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/spc-105">weirder</a></span> than anything she could ever think of. Then, Hana thinks of her dear lover, and wonders if the universe has been kind to her. Hana hopes it has been, though she knows deeps down that probably wasn't the case. But somewhere out there, even if it’s in her wildest dreams, Hana knows that they <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hawaiian-shirts">found each other</a></span>. Holding back tears, Hana chokes out her answer.</p>
<p>“I do.”</p>
<p>“Then we will never be apart. All you need to do is look at the flowers or stars and you will find me, no matter how far away we are physically.”</p>
<p>“I think I’m just tired, Meri. I want to have more nights like this with you but life always seems to have other plans.”</p>
<p>“All you need to do is rest right now, my knight. There is so much time for us to figure this out.”</p>
<p><em>Time.</em> Hana knew that time was more grueling for the deer than it was for her. Both had been cast into isolation, but Hana always pitied the fact her lover never got to experience that connection in the first place. Hana would be brought back to people much older than her who, while well intentioned, had no idea how to interact with someone like her. Meanwhile, Meri would go back to sitting alone on that island isolated from it all. A crueler fate than she deserved. One that Hana no longer had the patience to engage with.</p>
<p>Hana sits up, grabbing Meri’s shoulders in a motion so fast that it causes the half-deer’s ears to shoot out in alert.</p>
<p>“I’m going to say something that sounds crazy, but I think I know of a way we can see each other more.”</p>
<p>“Hana, what do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Listen, you don’t deserve to sit alone on an island for half the year while your father does nothing to make things better for you. You’re too good of a person to deserve a fate like that.”</p>
<p>Meri freezes at the mention of her father. She knew he loved her, even without him telling her on every visit. He would trade the world for her if given the chance. Freedom was something the deer had never known, however, and it clawed at her like a hunger during those long months. While here, learning with Hana, that ravenous desire was sated, but she wondered what feast of experience the world would offer to her, if only she were free. All she could do was nod.</p>
<p>“Promise me that no matter what happens we’ll find a way to be free with each other. That we’ll find a way to leave and go somewhere we could have nights like this every night.”</p>
<p>A <span style="text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #BC3030;"><span style="color: red">cold wind</span></span>, one Meri’s become acquainted with and made her own, blows, laughing at Hana’s words. Ambition, Meri was taught, was a dangerous thing if left unchecked. But maybe if they could escape together, create a world where they would be at peace and no one could harm them. The idea was sweeter than anything that ever graced Meri’s tongue, and embers hidden deep within her seemed to glow with renewed strength.</p>
<p>“I promise.”</p>
<p>A smile spreads across Hana’s face, followed by a kiss that nearly tackles her partner to the ground.</p>
<p>Tomorrow, they would travel back to Site-19, to a place where they felt only isolation from one another.</p>
<p>Tomorrow, Hana would report back to her uncaring superiors about what she learned this semester, and Meri would be observed before a panel of medical staff, who saw more of an animal than a person.</p>
<p>Tomorrow, they would disappear from the world again until next fall when they would do it all over again.</p>
<p>But tonight? Tonight the pair would head back to bed, holding each other close as they slowly drifted to sleep at the rhythm of the other’s beating heart.</p>
<p>Tomorrow did not matter, for the lovers still had tonight.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/nightnotomorrow">A Night With No Tomorrow</a>" by AstersQuill, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nightnotomorrow">https://scpwiki.com/nightnotomorrow</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> hanameri.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/sailorenoch" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5553461); return false;"><img alt="sailorenoch" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5553461&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735053078" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5553461)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/sailorenoch" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5553461); return false;">sailorenoch</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://i.imgur.com/kIUysFL.jpeg">LINK</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=Tonight would be your first dance
]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:eventyr">:scp-wiki:theme:eventyr</a>]]
[[module css]]
:root {
--logo-image: var(--eventyr-lgbtq);
}
a:link {
color: #000000;
}
a:visited {
color: #000000;
}
#page-title {
display: none;
}
.picturebook{
align: center;
width: 70%;
display: block;
margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto;
}
[[/module]]
[[div style="display: none;"]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=.|caption=.]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
**A Night With No Tomorrow**
**Author:** [[*user AstersQuill]] - [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/aster-s-forest-grotto Author Page]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[==]]
The evening sky of Providence glows deep vermillion, painting a hopeful picture in your window as you prepare yourself for the night ahead. The welcoming light reaches in, painting the interior of your apartment in a matching, orange hue. On most nights, you would have moved your chair over to the window to simply bask in the warm glow— a memory, though not always pleasant, of your __[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment previous enclosure]__— but tonight, you did not have time for such a simple pleasure. Tonight would be your first dance.
To prepare for the occasion, you consulted the one resource you knew would be of service to you: a thick stack of books. Your references ranged from cartoonish picture books full of large, colorful lettering, to leather-bound tomes of fairytales, whose pages numbered no less than 500. All day you pored over the pages, catching the confused glares of students and professors alike as you carried that heavy stack around campus.
This preparation was important; tonight would be the last time you and Hana would be able to spend together as normal people, at least until next fall. It was a thought that weighed heavy on your mind, one that also filled you with clumsy determination. This was your chance at a perfect night, and you were committed to making it a memorable one.
//Knock. Knock Knock. Knock.//
Your ears shoot up at the noise, and you do one last check of yourself, one last smooth of your flowing, pink dress. Although Hana always referred to you as ‘her princess’, for once you actually felt like you dressed the part. All you could do is hope you succeeded As you turn towards the door, an idea pops into your head, and you run your hand along your braid, bending reality to bloom small flowers and plants between the folds.
//Knock. Knock. Knock.//
Your palms begin to sweat.
“Meri, are you okay?”
Hana's voice, clear through the thick door between you, does nothing to ease your worries. You wonder what she would think of you looking like this. You scarcely wore dresses like this, even less so in public. Your mind goes to imagining what she looks like and it's as if a swarm of butterflies fills your stomach.
“Yeah! Just a moment.”
You take a deep breath, swallow back your fear, and open the door. Hana waits on the other side, gripping a bouquet of azaleas. She wears a navy gown bedecked with sequins that shine like small stars, paired with her usual __[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6317 baby blue letterman]__. You can’t help but feel a warmth spread across your cheeks.
“Oh, Meri! You look—”
“Amazing.” The only word you can mutter out.
She laughs and steps into the apartment, standing //much// closer to you. Even if you could move your legs, you're not sure there's anywhere you'd rather be.
“You’re less poetic than usually. I'll take that as a good sign.”
You attempt to vocalize a reply but all you can do is cover your mouth with your hand and look away. Although you often prided yourself on always choosing the right thing to say, you found that Hana’s words often disarmed you, wrapping you in some ancient spell, unable to form a defense. It was nice, in a way, and Hana would laugh as you slowly pieced together your response. She smiles at you and holds out the bouquet.
“Ida told me that deer like to eat azaleas. You’re free to eat them if you want, but I thought you would appreciate the gesture.”
“T-thanks. I think I have a vase we can put them in.”
Hana follows you into the apartment, her hands in her jacket’s pockets as she observes the environment. She points at a series of bulbs nestled in a trellis above your bed.
“Are these new? They weren’t here the other night.”
“Yes! They are moonflowers. I planted them so I have something beautiful to look at on the nights I am alone.”
“Awww. Don’t those only bloom a single night a year?” She picks up a small potted succulent and rotates it in her hand. “I know you can do your… all of that, but I know how particular you are with nature sometimes. No offense.”
“I think I can make exceptions sometimes. What am I supposed to do on the long nights when you are not around to keep me company?”
“All you need to do is call and I'll be there.”
Her words wrap around your heart, and you feel yourself getting more emotional than you probably should have. Your thoughts shift to the summer, to the worried faces of researchers, to a time without Hana. Here, in this apartment, was someone that saw past the fur, past the other parts of your [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hoovesandantlers body you shunned], to find the real you underneath. Not fully human, nor fully animal, but you, Meri Clef, a person. You embrace her.
= **♫♫♫**
Hana almost drags you as she speedwalks towards the venue, her hand clasped firmly around yours. She could hardly contain her excitement as you walked to the event, but you knew that under the façade of excitement, deep down, she was worried. Your partner had been preparing for this night for months now; what she would wear, petitioning site staff for ticket money, even planning a picnic to ask you on a date. You decided that, regardless of all the people and the noise, you would make this night perfect for her. It was what you felt she deserved.
She stops right outside the entrance to a large, gothic building, and takes both of your hands.
“I have a surprise I wanted to give you before we go in. Close your eyes!”
“Oh? What is it?”
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Eyes, please.”
You shut your eyes, feeling your other senses slowly begin to take over, ears flicking to every small crinkle of paper, every delicate shuffle of her fingers through her bag. In time you’ve become intimately aware of those noises; she carried that bag of oddities everywhere, making her the savior of every person who needed a tissue or a mirror or lotion for their hands.
“Alright, you can open them now.”
The world’s picture comes back into view and Hana stands before you, face half-concealed with an ornate mask, a multicolored plume set off its right eye. In her hands, she holds out a mask of similar design: brass filigree wound with wiry vines and small flowers.
“A masquerade mask? I thought they were handing them out at the event.”
“The original plan was to handmake one for you, but I couldn’t get it right so I had someone else design it instead. Cool, right?”
“It is beautiful.”
She carefully unties the silk bow and holds the mask out in one hand.
“May I?”
You stammer for a moment before nodding, bowing your head in preparation. She’s careful to avoid your sensitive ears and winding antlers as she places the mask on your face. Her hands are careful, steady, and you feel as she ties a bow that brings the mask to your face secure enough to not fall off, but not tight enough to leave marks afterwards.
“How does it feel? Too tight around the ears? Stuck in your antlers? Think it looks goofy?”
“I think it is absolutely perfect. Do you like how it looks on me?”
“It sure makes it easier to get lost in your eyes.”
She places a kiss on your forehead, causing you to pause for a moment to regard the dashing, masked figure before you. You feel her fingers slowly intertwine with yours, and she once more leads you excitedly towards the ornate building. Your peers in pairs, groups, or solo begin to pass you, all chattering in the night. Yet, in this crowd of bodies, you feel the moment is entirely your own.
You pass under a shimmering, gold-bordered banner bearing //Serena Verdae College’s 387th Annual Masquerade Ball// and, after showing your tickets to a pair of faculty, you’re directed to an expansive, ornate room bustling with elegantly dressed students.
= **♫♫♫**
A room //full// of students.
You feel a wave of anxiousness crash over you, anchoring you to just outside the doorway to the hall. This room, usually reserved for club fairs and speeches, was filled nearly to the brim with students. Far too many people than you were used to, than you'd really ever seen in one place. You fight the thought of running out of the building in your head.
Hana waves over a group of people. She had already chatted and greeted a few at the door; this environment was one she was quite adept in. You awkwardly mumble when Hana introduces you to each of them, names disappearing the moment you hear them. They laugh and giggle, exchange hugs and handshakes, all while you quietly watch on. You hope you're not keeping Hana from a fun night with them.
After some time, more idle conversation, you feel Hana reach for your hand. At some point in the introductions, you unconsciously scooted behind her.
"You doing okay, Meri?"
"I have never seen this many people in the same place before."
"I get it. Do you want to step out for a bit for some air? We could go do something else if you want too?"
You shake your head. The importance of this night was of no secret to you. In truth, you've been worried about it for weeks, and worried even more for what came after. Soon you would run out of time, at least for a few months, to discover something new. Your father once told you that bravery is just pretending until you forgot it was pretend. In the face of everything new tonight, you would be brave.
The sound of music in the room amplifies, and you see people begin to cheer as the beat begins to pick up.
= **♫♫♫**
In all your research about dances, you never expected them to be this loud. Fairytales spoke of dances as regal events with elaborate gowns and waltzes along ballroom floors.
This dance was nothing like that.
The room was festive with people drinking from all matter of glass or chalice, jumping and swaying and singing to pounding rhythms from overhead speakers. Your ears droop, and at moments you can find yourself covering them. You try to hide this from Hana as you head into the crowd to dance with her, but she knows your tells.
"Is this too much?" Although you're standing close to one another, you can only half hear her yelling over the music.
"I think I am getting the hang of it."
Hana looks at you inquisitively, eyes scanning as another wave of bass pours over the crowd. You cover your ears.
"Actually, do you want to get drinks, Hana?"
“Yeah sure. I think I could use a breather.”
She loops her arm in yours, escorting you through the crowd like a knight guarding a princess. Every step is calculated, and she looks back often to make sure no one threatens to bump into you. After some careful maneuvering, you reach the drink counter. A multi-tendrilled mass works the counter, wiping down a spill on one side of the bar, serving drinks with another, and handing you and Hana menus with two more.
“God, if we had something like this back at 19 then there wouldn’t be such long lines in the cafeteria.” A pause. Hana cringes with the realization. “Take my word for it, they don’t know how to organize the kitchen.”
“I see.”
“You wouldn’t have to worry. All you need is a patch of dirt and you have a meal waiting for you.”
“I can be picky sometimes. I can never get the blueberries to taste right." Hana smiles at your response, waiting for you to catch up. "Also, they are not made of dirt, you know.”
“I know, I’m just teasing you.” Hana motions for one of the tendrils, specifically an eyed-one, to come over. “I’d never knock dirt either. I had it a few times when I was a kid.”
“Does it taste good?”
“Not my favorite.”
The mass shifts over to your side of the bar. Several pairs of eyes look at you as Hana leans closer to the counter.
“I’ll have a Shirley Temple, extra cherry if you could." Hana turns to you. "Did you want to try a new drink?"
“Nothing with alcohol, it burned too much last time. I think I will just have a water with mint, please.”
The mass snaps and hisses as it collects the ingredients to create your drinks. It works with otherworldly vigor, seemingly shrinking and expanding the bar around it as it grabs ingredients and pours syrup. It’s a mesmerizing dance that you can’t help but stare at, even as Hana’s eyes are focused squarely on you. //If I am ever let off the island, maybe I could learn how to make drinks,// you think. Hana tosses a shimmering coin into a bucket, causing the mass to purr in response.
“I think it’s telling us to ‘enjoy our drinks’.”
“How do you know that?”
Hana shrugs, swirls the contents of the glass with her straw, and sips. You eye the cherries as they bob in the red liquid. The mixture smells sugary, with notes of ginger that fizz up to the surface with each small irritation to the glass. She motions for you to try, and your face scrunches as the sweet drink passes over your tongue. You take a long sip of your water in an attempt to dilute the taste, succeeding only once your own glass if half empty.
The two of you remain at the bar, slightly swaying shoulder-to-shoulder as Hana points out the names of artists and sings along to their words. There's more space at the bar for you to move around, and you use that to swing and follow Hana's steps as she dances along to a song you make a mental note of for later. You feel more like the branches than the tree trunk here; less like the music is hitting you and more like you're moving with it. If only you had more time, you really feel as if you could get the hang of this.
= **♫♫♫**
You soon find that your research into formal dance wasn't pointless. Following the last note of a blaring song, the tempo shifts, falling to a near crawl as the lights dim from gold to purple above you.
“Alright, everyone. Now’s the time for our couple’s slow dance. Grab that special someone and head to the dance floor.”
“So...”
Hana blushes, failing to meet your gaze. She fusses with her jacket as she sways side to side.
"I was thinking, because you're my date and all, that you would maybe want to dance? With me? I don't want to force you, though. If you're tired we can go sit or do something else?"
"I would love to."
You watch a weight leave Hana's chest, and she meets your gaze with a wide smile. Hana holds out her hand to you, a call waiting for a response. Although she would never say so, you can see worry paint her face as she waits. You learned how valuable it was to seek the meanings in words, to find deeper understanding behind the consonants and vowels. Behind Hana’s confident façade was someone so deeply scared, someone trying to live in each moment.
You place your hand in hers.
Stiletto heel and hoof //clack// against the wooden floor as you follow the other couples to the center of the large room. The slow dance, you learned, was an important part of most social events that have an element of dance. During one of these events, couples will be called—
Before you could think further, Hana rests her arms on your shoulders, hands clasping just under your neck. You pray that she can’t feel your pulse.
“Now it’s your turn, Meri. Place your hands on my hips.”
Her eyes meet yours. You feel a burning in your cheeks as she watches you. Waiting. You look around to the other couples, who have already begun to sway to the melodic overture filling the hall. Time slips by as you wait. You deeply inhale and wrap your hands around the small of her back.
“It’s okay. I don’t bite. Remember, we’re having fun! I’ll take the lead.”
And lead she does.
[[div class="picturebook"]]
[[image merihana.png]]
[[/div]]
Hana removes her arms from your neck, placing a hand on your lower back, just above your tail, and slowly taking your left with her other. You once again feel the heat rising as you feel her fingers on your back, but you're unable to fully enjoy the moment. Hana takes a step, draws you closer to her, and guides you across the floor.
Hana’s heels tap against the floor, your hooves awkwardly following along. In your swinging, you find yourself always just off beat, a note played just too early or late. Hana adjusts to your every step, pulling you in closer. You want to make this perfect for her, but the more you think, the more you find yourself off.
“Hana?”
“Mhm?”
“I am not sure I am doing this right.”
"Just trust me and let yourself go."
And like that, you find yourself finding the deeper meanings to her words. In a way, you and Hana were still talking; a call and a response, though now without words. You relinquished control to her, trusting in your knight— and you were rewarded. She elevates you where you fell, slowed and quickened when you needed. You find yourself focusing less on your feet and more on the woman in front of you, the radiant flower dancing in the soft wind of the other pairs around you. She leads you perfectly through the gaps made by the other swaying couples, lost in their own mesmeric conversations.
"I'm going to spin you, okay?"
"Wha--"
"Alright here we go."
Hana's hands guide you into a turn as she slowly raises your arm. You hooves awkwardly step around until you're once again face to face with her, hand in hand, albeit a more pronounced space between you. She flashes you a smile.
"Now faster this time."
Hana spins you again, this time in reverse, and you close your eyes, causing you to nearly stumble to the ground-- but you don't. Instead, you find yourself wrapped in Hana's arms, nearly close enough to her to feel her heartbeat; ensnared but not trapped, pressure but not suffocation.
"You did great, Meri!"
Your proximity does little to hide your blush. You stammer, but the words come to you.
"You are perfect."
You finally feel yourself exhale. Hana loosens her hold, and your hands return to their place on her hips, swaying as you did earlier. After some time, you match rhythm with her, and you see a smile grow across her face. It wasn’t the same smile she gave to a passing joke in class, nor the type she had when taking the perfect photo. No. This was something new. Something entirely yours.
The swaying leads you into an almost hypnotic trance. It reminded you of your younger days when you would just sit and let the water lap at you and the sensation you would get when you finally settled down for the night. Hana Thompson might as well have been another force of nature to you, a sensation deep within your waiting mind, but it was one that you sought no mastery over. You would let her wash you away, extinguish you like a fire, if only she had asked.
“I love you, Hana.”
In one motion, Hana takes your hand, dips you, and leans in to pull you into a deep kiss. Your shoulders tense for a moment before you’re completely lost in her, as if the room melts away to leave just the two of you standing on a hill in the warm breeze. Her lips taste of candy floss and the perfume on her neck smells of pomegranate; intoxicating. You want so much more of her. You wish you could beg her for more, beg her to hold you here forever. In this moment, you cling to her like one clings to life, the very air in your lungs belonging to her. There is nothing that you wouldn’t do, on both heaven and earth, for this girl.
The music slowly begins to fade back into scene as Hana pulls away, locking eyes with you. She grins, her earthen eyes grounding you back in the dance hall.
“Meri? Meri, are you okay? I didn’t break you, did I?”
“I think there would be worse ways to go.”
Hana laughs as she slowly and carefully brings you back to standing height.
“Well, I’m under orders to make sure you come back in one piece, my princess.” She stands on her toes, reaching the level of your ear. “Though there will be other opportunities to take your breath away tonight, if you’re interested.”
The only words that make sense in your head are, “Lead the way.”
= **♫♫♫**
The moon hangs high in the air above you casting its silvery glow on your surroundings as you walk hand-in-hand with your lover down the river. There is not a cloud in the sky tonight, allowing you to see the tiny sparkles of the stars in the sky. You knew the name of all of them; every shine had a myth or meaning now etched deeply in your heart, ready to spill out at a moment’s notice.
But you keep quiet, however. Something tells you that it would be better to be silent, at least for now.
On the walk over, Hana had gone from excitedly chattering about the night’s events to seemingly being lost in thought, eyes peering far in the distance. Even when she switched places with you so you wouldn’t have to walk next to your reflection on the water, her mind was simply elsewhere, despite the reassuring half-smile that tried to tell you otherwise.
After some time, the two of you stop at the last pair of benches before the dock. Your hooved feet sink into the sand, and you adjust your dress as you sit, making sure not to dirty it. The temperature has dropped substantially at this point, and although you have your fur to keep you warm, it doesn’t stop you from pulling your arms closer around yourself.
You close your eyes for a moment while you inhale the night’s cool air. When you open them again, you find a familiar blue jacket draped over your shoulders and your lover nervously kicking her legs next to you on the bench. You hear her softly repeating something under her breath, more and more frantically as you sit, before she speaks.
“Is this real?”
The question knocks you off guard, nearly making your heart skip a beat as the rhythm begins to pound harder in your chest. There have been other times when Hana would have to step away to re-ground herself in reality, but the sudden shift from jubilation to this was not something you saw before.
“I don’t mean to be such a downer after a night like tonight but fuck.” She stands and walks to the railing, kicking a rock into the water with a deep //splash// before sighing.
“Hana?”
“I’m not sure I deserve this: //another// most important night of my life, after I fucked up my first one.” She grips the railing in front of her, knuckles turning white. “So before I wake again and find myself at the __[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scars-of-kodachrome bottom of some murky pool]__, I need to make sure that this— that //you// are real.”
“Do you want this to be real?”
You hear a sniffle. Hana removes one of her hands from the railing and wipes her eyes.
“Yes. More than anything, yes.”
The wooden bench creaks as you carefully stand up. You slowly step towards your partner, hearing the ever-increasing but futile attempts to stifle her tears.
"There are days where I can barely remember my name if it wasn't written on a sticky note, Meri. I just want something for once that I know is real."
You place your hand on her shoulder.
“In that case, Hana Thompson, your wish is granted. I am yours and will be yours as long as the sun and moon continue to dance in the sky. You are the blood that courses through my veins and the air I breathe with each breath. My life and my death.”
She turns to face you but does not look at you. Her eyes are red and wet, and makeup smears on her cheeks.
“Do not cry, my Iris. No amount of reshaping reality would add to a fraction of the amazing time I had tonight, no creation able to do justice just how special our dance was. It felt as if all my dreams had come true. It was real.”
Hana buries herself in you, sobbing heavily into your shoulder. She shakes as her tears dampen your fur. You stay there for some time, slowly rocking back and forth and carefully running your hand down her short hair as the tears slowly cease. She goes silent, pulling you in closer, her head next to your steady but fast-beating heart.
“I’m so happy you’re real, Meri.”
You spend some time like this, and Hana begins to repeat her name under her breath, over and over, so she's certain to make sure it's hers. Then, a new name enters the rythmn: yours. Her tempo becomes less frantic, she holds you less tight, and you feel her slowly stop shaking. Instead, she begins swaying before finally pulling away, wiping her eyes once more with her hand as she starts to laugh nervously.
“Sorry, I’m normal now. Just had something in my eye, you know?”
You laugh and the atmosphere around you seems to relax too. Hana pulls out a small pocket mirror to inspect herself, mumbling a ‘fuck’ under her breath. You take a step forward and gently cup Hana’s face with your hands. She looks up at you, cheeks almost as pink as the ribbon she wears around her neck.
“I think you still look beautiful, my knight, even if you do not think so.”
“You’re such a sap, you know that?”
You move forward slightly, placing a kiss gently on Hana’s forehead, causing her face to turn an even deeper shade of pink.
“Woah.”
“Am I still a sap?”
“Yeah. I was just wondering when you were going to take the initiative to do that. It looks good on you. You should kiss me more often.”
You feel your face heating up at Hana’s words. She laughs at your reaction before placing a kiss on your cheek. The two of you giggle as you trade kisses and sway in a clumsy circle around the dock. After you’re both satisfied, Hana looks up to the moon, then back to her watch, before holding out her hand to you.
“Here, there’s something I want to show you while we still have time together.”
= **♫♫♫**
Hana Thompson stares at the ceiling as her partner softly sleeps next to her. A million thoughts and feelings swim through her head. Regret. Sorrow. Guilt. She sits awake wondering if she did the right thing, realizing that she would never know. So she slowly sneaks out of the bed, pulls the thin sheet back over her lover, and goes to wrap herself in a woolen robe, careful to avoid the discarded articles of clothing on the floor.
Truthfully, Hana needed a moment to clear her head, to leave the room’s imaginary oppressive heat to just— breathe. She would have been able to as well if not for a loud //squeak// as she opened the door to the balcony.
“Hana?”
Shit.
“Sorry. I just need to get some fresh air.”
“Are you going to come back when you are done?”
“Of course.”
She closes the sliding door behind her and produces a cigarette from the robe’s pocket, placing it unlit between her lips. Hana knew she would be reprimanded if she lit it, so she just left the white paper to roll around as she thought. Tonight was everything Hana could have asked for, an experience she felt she would never have gotten another chance at after screwing up, so why did everything feel so wrong?
A shuffle from inside. A reminder.
“God, you’re such an idiot, Hana.”
The first time she’s allowed herself to get that close with someone in years and it suffocates her. She couldn’t imagine what Meri was thinking, alone in her room while Hana sulked outside. Every ticking second burns at Hana, a worry that she’s only gone and ruined a good thing.
Soon it wouldn’t matter, though. Summer vacation meant every meeting between the two would need to be approved and chaperoned; Meri left alone on that island, while Hana was sent to take photos of runic sigils or unusual rock formations. To the Foundation they were just means to an end, after all. Tools to throw at the weird.
“I do not think you are an idiot.”
Hana turns around. She must have been too lost in thoughts to hear the screen door slide open. Meri stands awkwardly in the doorway, shifting the long, mossen blanket that hangs over her shoulders.
“Do you want to sit and talk about it?”
Hana nods, throwing her cigarette off the balcony’s edge. It falls like lopsided snow to the ground below. Meri sits just by the door in the corner on the sod pad she created to cover the cold concrete last fall. She motions for Hana to come over and, hesitating, she does, sitting and placing her head in Meri’s lap.
“Listen, I— I shouldn’t have left you alone in there. I know that feeling of waking up and expecting someone to be there and for them to just… not.” She laughs. “I'm not that kind of person it’s just— I felt like I couldn’t breathe in there. So much is happening so fast and I needed to get away for a bit. I’m sorry.”
“I did not have any expectations for the night, I just wanted you to have the best night you could.”
A pause. Hana sits up slightly, turning to face Meri.
“I appreciate it but did you have fun too? I would feel awful if you had a bad time just so I could have a good one.”
“Tonight was amazing, Hana. //You// were amazing.”
Hana lays back down, turning her head away from Meri as she starts to mumble.
“What’s one good night if I can’t see you until the fall?”
The balcony is silent besides the distant chirping of crickets and the occasional sound of passing cars. Meri looks up at the stars, hesitates for a moment, and begins to run her hand along Hana’s short hair.
“__[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6342 Vesper]__ told me a while ago that some diviners use the stars to look into the future, that within those distant, burning orbs, you can look into other universes. They told me that there are as many timelines as the stars in the sky and maybe even millions more, realities we do not even think are possible, realities we //know// are not possible. But in these realities there are always constants.” Meri pauses, her hand softly resting atop Hana’s head.
“Do you think we find each other in every universe, Hana?”
Hana looks to the stars and dreams about all the realities she exists and all the ones she would never exist in. She thinks about the universes that are __[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/so-leave-yourself-alone brutal]__, ones that are __[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dodgeball kind]__, universes that are __[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/spc-105 weirder]__ than anything she could ever think of. Then, Hana thinks of her dear lover, and wonders if the universe has been kind to her. Hana hopes it has been, though she knows deeps down that probably wasn't the case. But somewhere out there, even if it’s in her wildest dreams, Hana knows that they __[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/hawaiian-shirts found each other]__. Holding back tears, Hana chokes out her answer.
“I do.”
“Then we will never be apart. All you need to do is look at the flowers or stars and you will find me, no matter how far away we are physically.”
“I think I’m just tired, Meri. I want to have more nights like this with you but life always seems to have other plans.”
“All you need to do is rest right now, my knight. There is so much time for us to figure this out.”
//Time.// Hana knew that time was more grueling for the deer than it was for her. Both had been cast into isolation, but Hana always pitied the fact her lover never got to experience that connection in the first place. Hana would be brought back to people much older than her who, while well intentioned, had no idea how to interact with someone like her. Meanwhile, Meri would go back to sitting alone on that island isolated from it all. A crueler fate than she deserved. One that Hana no longer had the patience to engage with.
Hana sits up, grabbing Meri’s shoulders in a motion so fast that it causes the half-deer’s ears to shoot out in alert.
“I’m going to say something that sounds crazy, but I think I know of a way we can see each other more.”
“Hana, what do you mean?”
“Listen, you don’t deserve to sit alone on an island for half the year while your father does nothing to make things better for you. You’re too good of a person to deserve a fate like that.”
Meri freezes at the mention of her father. She knew he loved her, even without him telling her on every visit. He would trade the world for her if given the chance. Freedom was something the deer had never known, however, and it clawed at her like a hunger during those long months. While here, learning with Hana, that ravenous desire was sated, but she wondered what feast of experience the world would offer to her, if only she were free. All she could do was nod.
“Promise me that no matter what happens we’ll find a way to be free with each other. That we’ll find a way to leave and go somewhere we could have nights like this every night.”
A [[span style="text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #BC3030;"]]##red|cold wind##[[/span]], one Meri’s become acquainted with and made her own, blows, laughing at Hana’s words. Ambition, Meri was taught, was a dangerous thing if left unchecked. But maybe if they could escape together, create a world where they would be at peace and no one could harm them. The idea was sweeter than anything that ever graced Meri’s tongue, and embers hidden deep within her seemed to glow with renewed strength.
“I promise.”
A smile spreads across Hana’s face, followed by a kiss that nearly tackles her partner to the ground.
Tomorrow, they would travel back to Site-19, to a place where they felt only isolation from one another.
Tomorrow, Hana would report back to her uncaring superiors about what she learned this semester, and Meri would be observed before a panel of medical staff, who saw more of an animal than a person.
Tomorrow, they would disappear from the world again until next fall when they would do it all over again.
But tonight? Tonight the pair would head back to bed, holding each other close as they slowly drifted to sleep at the rhythm of the other’s beating heart.
Tomorrow did not matter, for the lovers still had tonight.
[[/==]]
[[=]]
[[module rate]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** hanameri.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user sailorenoch]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** [https://i.imgur.com/kIUysFL.jpeg LINK]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-06-14T16:59:00
|
[
"_cc",
"bittersweet",
"deer-college",
"eventyr",
"heartwarming",
"illustrated",
"iris-thompson",
"lgbtq",
"pridefest2024",
"romance",
"scarlet-king",
"second-person",
"slice-of-life",
"tale",
"teenage-gaea"
] |
A Night With No Tomorrow - SCP Foundation
| 53
|
[
"aster-s-forest-grotto",
"it-s-hard-to-be-a-kid-in-containment",
"scp-6317",
"hoovesandantlers",
"scars-of-kodachrome",
"scp-6342",
"so-leave-yourself-alone",
"dodgeball",
"spc-105",
"hawaiian-shirts",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"cotsk-hub",
"pridefest",
"deer-college-hub",
"artist-showcase-archive"
] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nightnotomorrow/./medium.jpg"
] |
1454060293
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nightnotomorrow
|
|
no-reason
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>"It's just a coincidence, don't worry about it!"</p>
</div>
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">+ CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">- CODE</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">BLANKSTYLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CSS</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2021</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Placeholder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">McD</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HarryBlank</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Based</span><span class="hl-code"> on:
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Paperstack</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Penumbra</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">by</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title, "R\</span><span class="hl-number">0026</span><span class="hl-code"> C SITE-43")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle, "SUBVERTING COMMON PRACTICE")</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">a:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem!important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Montserrat', </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.45</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Ablankstyle/</span><span class="hl-number">43</span><span class="hl-code">Head.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> contain</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 707</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(
to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeScale:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">timeDelay:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">posX:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">358</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#DDD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-identifier">target</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">black</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">PAGE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">RATING</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BASE</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">YUI</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TAB</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CUSTOMIZATION</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">, /</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">SCROLLBAR</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-track</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#CCC</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
::-</span><span class="hl-identifier">webkit-scrollbar-thumb</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EEE</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">CENTER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">IMAGES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ON</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOBILE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">courtesy</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">of</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">EstrellaYoshte</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">PeppersGhost</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS-COLORED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">TABLE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">DIVS</span><span class="hl-code"> ----</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D7EFE7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDABF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F5D8E0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#000</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">LONGER</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEN</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">THE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQUEMBOUCHE</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEN</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">; </span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">FANCY</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">THINGS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">from</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woedenaz</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">s</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code"> -- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aflopstyle-dark/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>No Reason</span></h1>
</div>
</div>
<p>Jay Everwood, despite their predilections for the sun and seashore of a warmer climate, found themselves once again shivering, as the chill of early, early, Canadian winter — better known to the rest of the world as 'fall' — had frozen their hand and toes, despite their best efforts.</p>
<p><em>You try putting on a glove with one hand.</em></p>
<p>Jay shook their head as they began to thaw; at least when they'd made the trek up to Site-43 in the past, it was for a <a href="/forgotten-memories-hub">better reason</a>. This time, they were here <em>just in case</em> their expertise was needed for a consultation. Apparently Dr. Wettle had fallen down a hole, <em>again</em>, and the rest of Section Chairs were split on if it was caused by VKTM, or because of, well, you know, Wettle.</p>
<p>So that was why Jay found themselves wandering the echoing halls of Site-43, meandering their way back towards Ilse; if they were stuck here waiting, Jay figured they might as well have enjoyable company.</p>
<p>Unfortunately for their plans, however, somebody else was also on the hunt for company; and Jay just so happened to be in the wrong place, at the right time. A hand shot out of a room, grabbing Jay by the collar, and dragging them into a dark, cramped office, slamming and locking the door behind them.</p>
<p>"I'm glad you got my messages, Jay. Thanks for coming."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Heather watched impatiently, her mind screaming at her to keep talking, as Jay Everwood slowly emotionally progressed from stunned. to scared, to confused, and finally, to annoyed.</p>
<p>"Heather, what the hell are you doing in here?" Jay stammered out, glaring at the woman.</p>
<p><em>Remember, they're not Lillian, so I can't just—</em></p>
<p>"Jay, didn't you get my messages? I asked you to give me a call, I was just as shocked to see you here. I don't know what's going on, and I need to talk to somebody about this." Heather said in a tizzy, any attempts at maintaining a calm demeanor having been thrown to the wind.</p>
<p>"Your messa— Heather, you sent me a text message that said "U up? call me". Why would I fly to Site-43, based on that text message?" Jay looked back at her incredulously, as it finally hit Heather, the obvious answer finally found through the chaos that was her mind right now.</p>
<p>"Shit. You're here for something else, of course. Did Ilse get <em>another</em> PhD?" Heather asked, a blush burning on her cheeks.</p>
<p>"No, I'm here because wee Willie Wettle fell down a well." Jay said, the alliteration having been too good to resist. "In case they say it's VKTM, they wanted me here in case—"</p>
<p>"In case Lillian was busy. Yeah, that's fair…" Heather replied, her mind having gone back towards her girlfriend, the person she couldn't burden with her problem — Lillian was the one who was already overwhelmed and overburdened, juggling project after project with practiced duplicitous ease.</p>
<p><em>She doesn't show it, but she can't keep going like this forever. I just… I can't add more to her plate.</em> Heather had only just started to recognize the subtle signs when Lillian was overwhelmed; she had been seeing those signs more and more ever since <a href="/bystander-s-guilt">the incredibly-persistent breach</a>, having taken place just over a month ago. Heather couldn't give her something else to worry about, not right now anyways.</p>
<p>"You said that you wanted my help? Why me and not Lillian?"</p>
<p><em>Of course they had to ask.</em> Heather thought, mentally groaning.</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Of course I was going to ask, Heather.</em> Jay thought as they watched with immense vindication that their instincts were right. <em>She doesn't want to bother Lillian. Are they still okay? How should I try and broach th—</em></p>
<p>"Because you're involved in this, Jay — both of us, actually."</p>
<p>Now, <em>that</em> surprised Everwood. Sure, Heather was intentionally avoiding the loaded part of their question, but they would file it away for later. <em>How am I involved?</em> They thought, the question hanging in their mind as the finally looked around and assessed the room.</p>
<p>Jay Everwood wouldn't have believed it if they hadn't seen it themselves, but there was a funny little <em>quirk</em> to Site-43. Most Sites facilities predominantly consisted of containment chambers, large labs and testing facilities, armories, some conference rooms, and assorted 'perks', like gender-neutral bathrooms or a cafeteria — Site-43 was disproportionately archives, and offices. There were so many empty offices throughout 43, there was a joke where, if you work at Site-43, you have 3 offices: your <em>work</em> office, where you work; your <em>home</em> office, where you sleep; and your <em>home, home</em> office, also know as your dormitory.</p>
<p>This was one of those forgotten office rooms; full of dated furniture, all covered with a plush blanket of dust covering their surfaces — the room was lit only by the glow of a terminal that looked like it was begging for technological euthanasia, and a single lightbulb that was still working overhead. Scatted on top of any flat surface they could see, as well as covering boards and walls were page after page of documentation files on other anomalies, hand-scrawled notes lining the margins in a chaotic dance of a mind at unrest. All in all, it looked like Heather had finally snapped.</p>
<p>"You doing okay, Heather?", Jay asked, "Should I go get Lillia—"</p>
<p>"No." Heather snapped, cutting them off, before realizing what she had done a second later, an apologetic look appearing across her face. "Sorry, I just… I can't explain it, okay? But it involves the two of us."</p>
<p>"What is it?" Jay asked, a niggling doubt floating just on the edge of their periphery. In their time at the Foundation, they had seen great Researchers destroyed by hyper-fixating on a non-existent anomaly, as well as brilliant minds who were told something was 'just a false corollary' — as they say in non-pompous English, 'It's just a coincidence, don't worry about it!'</p>
<p>The trouble was in determining which was happening to Heather. <em>I'm not going to let her share those fates,</em> Jay thought, their resolve having hardened. Heather had been searching through her poorly indexed piles of printouts that entire time, and only now found the document that she had been looking for. She triumphantly held it aloft, and practically shoved it in Jay's face.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Item #:</strong> <a href="/scp-335">SCP-335</a></p>
<p><strong>Object Class:</strong> Safe</p>
<p><strong>Special Containment Procedures:</strong> SCP-335 is to be kept in a secure location to prevent tampering.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>"Why am I looking at some old anomaly's documentation, for an object that isn't even stored here, or related to anything we do?" Jay said looking down at Heather with a confused look.</p>
<p>Jay was right, of course, even Heather agreed. "That's the weird part, right? It's just… so unlike the standards they have for us now. It has theories, it barely describes the containment, hell, I was expecting to see a five meter by five meter by five met—"</p>
<p>"Heather." Jay said, cutting off her rant before Heather really got going. "Focus."</p>
<p><em>It's not my fault I have a lot of opinions, have you met me? Plus, I didn't even mention the forma—</em> Heather thought, having to cut herself off mentally as well. <em>Heather, focus. You can rant about documentation standards another day, for now you need to help Jay understand.</em></p>
<p>"Right, sorry. Okay, so, yes, you're right. This is a file for an anomaly that, to my knowledge, neither of us has ever worked on, interacted with, sneezed at, fuck — I checked just to make sure, and neither of us had ever accessed the file before I found it the first time."</p>
<p>"Should I ask how you even found it?" Jay asked, knowing Heather well enough at this point to know the answer was 'probably not'.</p>
<p>Heather decided to answer them anyways.</p>
<p>"You know how people doomscroll on social media?"</p>
<p>Jay nodded in reply.</p>
<p>"My version is scrolling the Foundation's database. Don't worry about it. Anyways—" Heather started, as she grabbed hold of another page, extending it to Jay. <em>It has to be something. What are the odds?</em></p>
<p>"Heather, why am I looking at a list of names?"</p>
<p><em>Geez, Jay has a lot of questions today.</em> Heather thought, <em>… I guess that's on me, again, for not giving the context.</em></p>
<p>"So SCP-335 is those disks, blah blah blah, they have the whole internet on them, whatever — the important part is that there are 150 individual disks, with a given name and index number written on the sides." Heather leaned over, and pointed to the only pair of lines that mattered right now.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>040: "Xavier"<br/>
041: "Parson"<br/>
042: "Heather"<br/>
043: "Jay"<br/>
044: "Kelly"<br/>
045: "Oscar"</p>
</div>
<p>"I'm sorry?" Jay practically jumped in surprise as they noticed the two names in the middle. "Did you edit this? Did somebody else set this up for us to fi—"</p>
<p>"Doubt it." Heather said, having considered that 3 days ago. "I checked each edit history version, from the current, all the way back to the initial paper documentation that was filed. I even found the right supplementary storage site, requisitioned evidence from the right number, and managed to check the photographs that we took on discovery, showing that disk 42 has always been named 'Heather', and disk 43 has always been named 'Jay'."</p>
<p>"I mean, it is unlikely, but… Heather, could this be a false correlation?" Heather shook her head.</p>
<p>"Do you want the math?" Jay shook their head. <em>Nobody ever wants the math,</em> Heather thought, at least satisfied in the knowledge that she <em>had</em> done the math. <em>It's on that whiteboar— no, it's on this pag— or… well, somewhere. Whatever. I did the math.</em></p>
<p>"Okay, well — the summary is that the only chance isn't just the odds of our names being side by side in the list, in fact, that's almost the smallest part in all of this?" Heather was taking off, having kept all of this within herself for the past few days, and now, with a captive audience, couldn't slow down. "There's also the fact that your name is on the 43rd disk, and we both ended up at 43, even partially, plus you have to factor in the odds of them using those specific names, which we have to estimate since we don't know where the creator was living a—"</p>
<hr/>
<p>Jay Everwood prided themselves on having seen basically everything that can happen in your time at the Foundation, and were rarely caught off guard.</p>
<p><em>This is just too weird though.</em> They thought, staring at the document, Heather's ramblings droning on in the background. For all intents and purposes, this should be just a coincidence. Sure, fate was a thing, at least, something quantifiable if you knew what you were doing, but never to this extent. <em>Unless something else was responsible, some sort of probabilistic entity, or maybe even an infovore or cognitohazardous entity?</em> Jay thought, their mind racing.</p>
<p>"—ven ignoring the odds on the specific circumstances that led to the Foundation finding the anomaly in the first place, you still have to deal with the biggest factor. Why those two names? Why those spellings specifically? It could have been a name in any language, but it just so happened to be our names?"</p>
<p><em>It's worse.</em></p>
<p>"It's not just that, Heather." Jay said, a persistent small level of terror setting in. "You missed the biggest factor."</p>
<p>"I did?" Heather asked, looking like a deer in the headlights. "But I cross-referenced all of the available information we had on the anomal—"</p>
<p>"But it's not only about the anomaly. What about us?"</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Fuck. They're right.</em> Heather realized, as the scope of the problem swelled.</p>
<p>"You're right. I didn't even consider the odds of us having these names, the odds of us both working here…" Heather trailed off, as she tried to do some mental math. It wasn't looking good.</p>
<p>"I don't think this is fate though — nor an infovore, nor a probabilistic anomaly." Jay said, the hint of fear having been replaced with a satisfied grin. "It's impossible for it to just be chance."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?" Heather asked. <em>But, weren't we just talking about all the reasons wh—</em></p>
<p>"I can agree with you, that the odds of our names being side by side on a given anomaly is incredibly strange, and seems highly improbable — and that's because it is. But I don't think something has been influencing our luck, or adjusting reality such that Jay and Heather are always written on the disks, that we always work at the Foundation, and we meet and end up here, in this room, in Site-43, just for their own strange mysterious anomalous reasons, if it would even have a rational explanation."</p>
<p>Jay sat down on the floor, and invited Heather to come sit beside them.</p>
<p>"I think you forgot that we're transgender."</p>
<p>"What?" Heather was rarely unable to follow a train of thought, but Jay's comment had hit her like an unexpected express subway; she was scrambling to keep up.</p>
<p>"Jay, I know we're transgender. I talk about it like… daily." She said, cracking a joke to buy her a bit more time to figure it out firs—</p>
<p>"It's impossible for it to have been fate or just probability, because we have free will."</p>
<p><em>Jay is the master of non-sequiturs today</em>, Heather thought as she was cast in the opposite of her typical role. <em>Fuck. I don't want to be the affable but confused sidekick!</em></p>
<p>"I'll admit it. Fine. I'm lost, will you explain it to me?" Heather asked, through gritted teeth.</p>
<p>Jay just smiled at their friend, and continued on as if Heather hadn't, for the first time in recent history, admitted that she didn't know something. "Neither of us was born with our names; we chose them."</p>
<p>"Oh my god." Heather said, dumbfounded. <em>I… I did forget I was trans. Huh.</em></p>
<p>"You get it now?" Jay asked, clearly pleased with themselves.</p>
<p>"Because we made the choices to pick our names, either I can say that I picked my name for myself, as the true part of who I am and who I want to be…" Heather began, trailing off as she finally connected all of the pieces.</p>
<p>"Or you can say that this is all because of an anomaly, and that your transition and name choice was never your decision." Jay finished the thought, the resolution hanging in the air before the two gathered researchers.</p>
<p>Sometimes, it really is just a coincidence.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The low din of a busy bar was a welcome change from the cramped offices on Site, but Jay Everwood was still on call, in case they decided to finally get Dr. Wettle out of the well. Heather had scampered off to the bar, in search of drinks, despite Jay's protestations.</p>
<p><em>At least we're out of that room, I think Heather was sleeping in there.</em></p>
<p>After poking the final hole in Heather's theory, she had quickly began to apologize, embarrassed that they had dragged Jay into this and made it their problem; Jay recognized an anxiety spiral when they saw one, and knew that their friend needed something else. Somebody to talk to.</p>
<p>Ergo, the bar.</p>
<p>Heather returned to the high top, two rocks glasses in hand, anticipating Jay's puzzled look. "Canchancharas." She said, with a note of pride.</p>
<p>"They knew how to make them here?" Jay asked in disbelief.</p>
<p>"No, but they're pretty good at following orders."</p>
<p>The pair laughed as the absurdity of the day finally caught up to them.</p>
<p>"Sorry about all that, by the way." Heather began. "I know I just got worked up over nothing, I should have realize—"</p>
<p>"Heather, don't do that. I'm glad you reached out to me, you can always ask for help." Jay said, and they meant it. "You're my friend. Having me on your side is just part of the package."</p>
<p>Heather chuckled.</p>
<p>"Yeah, I just… sorry, I feel like I made this whole mess out of a stupid theory and, normally, I never get past the stupid idea phase because—" Heather stopped abruptly, and took a drink from her glass.</p>
<p>"Because Lillian would have told you it was stupid before you spiraled on it?" Jay asked, filling in the blanks.</p>
<p>"Yeah." Heather looked away, her heels suddenly the most interesting fixture in the room. "It's fine."</p>
<p>"I mean, it's clearly not." Jay remarked. "Are you two okay still? Like you're still dati—"</p>
<p>"Of course we are." Heather replied, jumping in. "Like she could do better than me." She continued, false bravado creeping in.</p>
<p>"What is it then? Clearly, there's something bothering you." Jay asked, reaching their hand across the table. "You can tell me anything, and I'll keep it a secret, I swear."</p>
<p>Heather trusted them.</p>
<p>"I'm worried about Lillian. I can see how stressed she is, and I just… I wish I could do something more to help her, you know? But she won't ever ask for help, and I already try to take what I can off of her workload in M&C, but… Jay, I don't know what to do." Heather spilled her guts, as the unease of having finally vocalized a thought settling over her.</p>
<p>Heather felt empty. Absent, even.</p>
<p>"Can you do anything?" Jay asked, radiating sympathy. "It sounds like a really hard situation, regardless."</p>
<p>"No. And that's the worst part. That's always the fucking problem, isn't it?" Heather laughed morosely. "It's just like the fucking breach. I know she's struggling, and I know that I'm probably just overly worried about her, but—"</p>
<p>"But you wish that there was <em>anything</em> you could do, just to change that?" Jay offered, knowing exactly what Heather was trying to say.</p>
<p>"Yeah. That."</p>
<p>"So you didn't tell Lillian about a potential threat to your existence, because you didn't want her to worry about you?"</p>
<p>"Well when you put it like that," Heather answered in chagrin, "Yeah, I hear it. It was stupid."</p>
<p>"No shit." Everwood said, as they took a triumphant drink of their cocktail, finding it surprisingly passable. "If you died and she found out afterwards, she would fucking kill you."</p>
<p>The contradiction hung in the air between them, until both doctors broke out into laughter.</p>
<p>"Yeah, she would find a way to bring me back, just to kill me again." Heather smiled. "Thanks for this Jay, for… for all of this. I'm glad you're my friend."</p>
<p>Jay didn't even give a moments hesitation before answering, reaching out and squeezing Heather's hand. "I'm lucky to have you as a friend, and proud to be listed beside you. Plus, Ilse said I should keep making friends, so I <em>guess</em> I can call you a friend, right?"</p>
<p>"Obviously. Our partners always know what's best — especially those two."</p>
<p>As their complacent chatter began to be drowned out by the ever-present crowd, pool balls clacking and the cornucopia of overlapping music, both Heather Garrison and Jay Everwood were happy.</p>
<p>Whatever led them to this moment in their lives didn't matter — they were just glad they were here, now, with a true friend.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2 id="toc1"><span><a href="/forgotten-memories-hub">Forgotten Memories Hub</a></span></h2>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/no-reason">No Reason</a>" by Queerious, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/no-reason">https://scpwiki.com/no-reason</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> SCP-335<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Dave Rapp<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-BY-SA<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-335">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-335</a><br/>
<strong>Additional Notes:</strong> Excerpts of SCP-335 directly included.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text="It's just a coincidence, don't worry about it!"]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:blankstyle">:scp-wiki:theme:blankstyle</a>]]
[[module css]]
hr {
margin: 3em 2em;
}
[[/module]]
[[div]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
[[div]]
[[=]]
+ No Reason
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Jay Everwood, despite their predilections for the sun and seashore of a warmer climate, found themselves once again shivering, as the chill of early, early, Canadian winter -- better known to the rest of the world as 'fall' -- had frozen their hand and toes, despite their best efforts.
//You try putting on a glove with one hand.//
Jay shook their head as they began to thaw; at least when they'd made the trek up to Site-43 in the past, it was for a [[[Forgotten Memories Hub|better reason]]]. This time, they were here //just in case// their expertise was needed for a consultation. Apparently Dr. Wettle had fallen down a hole, //again//, and the rest of Section Chairs were split on if it was caused by VKTM, or because of, well, you know, Wettle.
So that was why Jay found themselves wandering the echoing halls of Site-43, meandering their way back towards Ilse; if they were stuck here waiting, Jay figured they might as well have enjoyable company.
Unfortunately for their plans, however, somebody else was also on the hunt for company; and Jay just so happened to be in the wrong place, at the right time. A hand shot out of a room, grabbing Jay by the collar, and dragging them into a dark, cramped office, slamming and locking the door behind them.
"I'm glad you got my messages, Jay. Thanks for coming."
-----
Heather watched impatiently, her mind screaming at her to keep talking, as Jay Everwood slowly emotionally progressed from stunned. to scared, to confused, and finally, to annoyed.
"Heather, what the hell are you doing in here?" Jay stammered out, glaring at the woman.
//Remember, they're not Lillian, so I can't just--//
"Jay, didn't you get my messages? I asked you to give me a call, I was just as shocked to see you here. I don't know what's going on, and I need to talk to somebody about this." Heather said in a tizzy, any attempts at maintaining a calm demeanor having been thrown to the wind.
"Your messa-- Heather, you sent me a text message that said "U up? call me". Why would I fly to Site-43, based on that text message?" Jay looked back at her incredulously, as it finally hit Heather, the obvious answer finally found through the chaos that was her mind right now.
"Shit. You're here for something else, of course. Did Ilse get //another// PhD?" Heather asked, a blush burning on her cheeks.
"No, I'm here because wee Willie Wettle fell down a well." Jay said, the alliteration having been too good to resist. "In case they say it's VKTM, they wanted me here in case--"
"In case Lillian was busy. Yeah, that's fair..." Heather replied, her mind having gone back towards her girlfriend, the person she couldn't burden with her problem -- Lillian was the one who was already overwhelmed and overburdened, juggling project after project with practiced duplicitous ease.
//She doesn't show it, but she can't keep going like this forever. I just... I can't add more to her plate.// Heather had only just started to recognize the subtle signs when Lillian was overwhelmed; she had been seeing those signs more and more ever since [[[Bystander's Guilt|the incredibly-persistent breach]]], having taken place just over a month ago. Heather couldn't give her something else to worry about, not right now anyways.
"You said that you wanted my help? Why me and not Lillian?"
//Of course they had to ask.// Heather thought, mentally groaning.
-----
//Of course I was going to ask, Heather.// Jay thought as they watched with immense vindication that their instincts were right. //She doesn't want to bother Lillian. Are they still okay? How should I try and broach th--//
"Because you're involved in this, Jay -- both of us, actually."
Now, //that// surprised Everwood. Sure, Heather was intentionally avoiding the loaded part of their question, but they would file it away for later. //How am I involved?// They thought, the question hanging in their mind as the finally looked around and assessed the room.
Jay Everwood wouldn't have believed it if they hadn't seen it themselves, but there was a funny little //quirk// to Site-43. Most Sites facilities predominantly consisted of containment chambers, large labs and testing facilities, armories, some conference rooms, and assorted 'perks', like gender-neutral bathrooms or a cafeteria -- Site-43 was disproportionately archives, and offices. There were so many empty offices throughout 43, there was a joke where, if you work at Site-43, you have 3 offices: your //work// office, where you work; your //home// office, where you sleep; and your //home, home// office, also know as your dormitory.
This was one of those forgotten office rooms; full of dated furniture, all covered with a plush blanket of dust covering their surfaces -- the room was lit only by the glow of a terminal that looked like it was begging for technological euthanasia, and a single lightbulb that was still working overhead. Scatted on top of any flat surface they could see, as well as covering boards and walls were page after page of documentation files on other anomalies, hand-scrawled notes lining the margins in a chaotic dance of a mind at unrest. All in all, it looked like Heather had finally snapped.
"You doing okay, Heather?", Jay asked, "Should I go get Lillia--"
"No." Heather snapped, cutting them off, before realizing what she had done a second later, an apologetic look appearing across her face. "Sorry, I just... I can't explain it, okay? But it involves the two of us."
"What is it?" Jay asked, a niggling doubt floating just on the edge of their periphery. In their time at the Foundation, they had seen great Researchers destroyed by hyper-fixating on a non-existent anomaly, as well as brilliant minds who were told something was 'just a false corollary' -- as they say in non-pompous English, 'It's just a coincidence, don't worry about it!'
The trouble was in determining which was happening to Heather. //I'm not going to let her share those fates,// Jay thought, their resolve having hardened. Heather had been searching through her poorly indexed piles of printouts that entire time, and only now found the document that she had been looking for. She triumphantly held it aloft, and practically shoved it in Jay's face.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Item #:** [[[SCP-335]]]
**Object Class:** Safe
**Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-335 is to be kept in a secure location to prevent tampering.
[[/div]]
-----
"Why am I looking at some old anomaly's documentation, for an object that isn't even stored here, or related to anything we do?" Jay said looking down at Heather with a confused look.
Jay was right, of course, even Heather agreed. "That's the weird part, right? It's just... so unlike the standards they have for us now. It has theories, it barely describes the containment, hell, I was expecting to see a five meter by five meter by five met--"
"Heather." Jay said, cutting off her rant before Heather really got going. "Focus."
//It's not my fault I have a lot of opinions, have you met me? Plus, I didn't even mention the forma--// Heather thought, having to cut herself off mentally as well. //Heather, focus. You can rant about documentation standards another day, for now you need to help Jay understand.//
"Right, sorry. Okay, so, yes, you're right. This is a file for an anomaly that, to my knowledge, neither of us has ever worked on, interacted with, sneezed at, fuck -- I checked just to make sure, and neither of us had ever accessed the file before I found it the first time."
"Should I ask how you even found it?" Jay asked, knowing Heather well enough at this point to know the answer was 'probably not'.
Heather decided to answer them anyways.
"You know how people doomscroll on social media?"
Jay nodded in reply.
"My version is scrolling the Foundation's database. Don't worry about it. Anyways--" Heather started, as she grabbed hold of another page, extending it to Jay. //It has to be something. What are the odds?//
"Heather, why am I looking at a list of names?"
//Geez, Jay has a lot of questions today.// Heather thought, //... I guess that's on me, again, for not giving the context.//
"So SCP-335 is those disks, blah blah blah, they have the whole internet on them, whatever -- the important part is that there are 150 individual disks, with a given name and index number written on the sides." Heather leaned over, and pointed to the only pair of lines that mattered right now.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
040: "Xavier"
041: "Parson"
042: "Heather"
043: "Jay"
044: "Kelly"
045: "Oscar"
[[/div]]
"I'm sorry?" Jay practically jumped in surprise as they noticed the two names in the middle. "Did you edit this? Did somebody else set this up for us to fi--"
"Doubt it." Heather said, having considered that 3 days ago. "I checked each edit history version, from the current, all the way back to the initial paper documentation that was filed. I even found the right supplementary storage site, requisitioned evidence from the right number, and managed to check the photographs that we took on discovery, showing that disk 42 has always been named 'Heather', and disk 43 has always been named 'Jay'."
"I mean, it is unlikely, but... Heather, could this be a false correlation?" Heather shook her head.
"Do you want the math?" Jay shook their head. //Nobody ever wants the math,// Heather thought, at least satisfied in the knowledge that she //had// done the math. //It's on that whiteboar-- no, it's on this pag-- or... well, somewhere. Whatever. I did the math.//
"Okay, well -- the summary is that the only chance isn't just the odds of our names being side by side in the list, in fact, that's almost the smallest part in all of this?" Heather was taking off, having kept all of this within herself for the past few days, and now, with a captive audience, couldn't slow down. "There's also the fact that your name is on the 43rd disk, and we both ended up at 43, even partially, plus you have to factor in the odds of them using those specific names, which we have to estimate since we don't know where the creator was living a--"
-----
Jay Everwood prided themselves on having seen basically everything that can happen in your time at the Foundation, and were rarely caught off guard.
//This is just too weird though.// They thought, staring at the document, Heather's ramblings droning on in the background. For all intents and purposes, this should be just a coincidence. Sure, fate was a thing, at least, something quantifiable if you knew what you were doing, but never to this extent. //Unless something else was responsible, some sort of probabilistic entity, or maybe even an infovore or cognitohazardous entity?// Jay thought, their mind racing.
"--ven ignoring the odds on the specific circumstances that led to the Foundation finding the anomaly in the first place, you still have to deal with the biggest factor. Why those two names? Why those spellings specifically? It could have been a name in any language, but it just so happened to be our names?"
//It's worse.//
"It's not just that, Heather." Jay said, a persistent small level of terror setting in. "You missed the biggest factor."
"I did?" Heather asked, looking like a deer in the headlights. "But I cross-referenced all of the available information we had on the anomal--"
"But it's not only about the anomaly. What about us?"
-----
//Fuck. They're right.// Heather realized, as the scope of the problem swelled.
"You're right. I didn't even consider the odds of us having these names, the odds of us both working here..." Heather trailed off, as she tried to do some mental math. It wasn't looking good.
"I don't think this is fate though -- nor an infovore, nor a probabilistic anomaly." Jay said, the hint of fear having been replaced with a satisfied grin. "It's impossible for it to just be chance."
"What do you mean?" Heather asked. //But, weren't we just talking about all the reasons wh--//
"I can agree with you, that the odds of our names being side by side on a given anomaly is incredibly strange, and seems highly improbable -- and that's because it is. But I don't think something has been influencing our luck, or adjusting reality such that Jay and Heather are always written on the disks, that we always work at the Foundation, and we meet and end up here, in this room, in Site-43, just for their own strange mysterious anomalous reasons, if it would even have a rational explanation."
Jay sat down on the floor, and invited Heather to come sit beside them.
"I think you forgot that we're transgender."
"What?" Heather was rarely unable to follow a train of thought, but Jay's comment had hit her like an unexpected express subway; she was scrambling to keep up.
"Jay, I know we're transgender. I talk about it like... daily." She said, cracking a joke to buy her a bit more time to figure it out firs--
"It's impossible for it to have been fate or just probability, because we have free will."
//Jay is the master of non-sequiturs today//, Heather thought as she was cast in the opposite of her typical role. //Fuck. I don't want to be the affable but confused sidekick!//
"I'll admit it. Fine. I'm lost, will you explain it to me?" Heather asked, through gritted teeth.
Jay just smiled at their friend, and continued on as if Heather hadn't, for the first time in recent history, admitted that she didn't know something. "Neither of us was born with our names; we chose them."
"Oh my god." Heather said, dumbfounded. //I... I did forget I was trans. Huh.//
"You get it now?" Jay asked, clearly pleased with themselves.
"Because we made the choices to pick our names, either I can say that I picked my name for myself, as the true part of who I am and who I want to be..." Heather began, trailing off as she finally connected all of the pieces.
"Or you can say that this is all because of an anomaly, and that your transition and name choice was never your decision." Jay finished the thought, the resolution hanging in the air before the two gathered researchers.
Sometimes, it really is just a coincidence.
-----
The low din of a busy bar was a welcome change from the cramped offices on Site, but Jay Everwood was still on call, in case they decided to finally get Dr. Wettle out of the well. Heather had scampered off to the bar, in search of drinks, despite Jay's protestations.
//At least we're out of that room, I think Heather was sleeping in there.//
After poking the final hole in Heather's theory, she had quickly began to apologize, embarrassed that they had dragged Jay into this and made it their problem; Jay recognized an anxiety spiral when they saw one, and knew that their friend needed something else. Somebody to talk to.
Ergo, the bar.
Heather returned to the high top, two rocks glasses in hand, anticipating Jay's puzzled look. "Canchancharas." She said, with a note of pride.
"They knew how to make them here?" Jay asked in disbelief.
"No, but they're pretty good at following orders."
The pair laughed as the absurdity of the day finally caught up to them.
"Sorry about all that, by the way." Heather began. "I know I just got worked up over nothing, I should have realize--"
"Heather, don't do that. I'm glad you reached out to me, you can always ask for help." Jay said, and they meant it. "You're my friend. Having me on your side is just part of the package."
Heather chuckled.
"Yeah, I just... sorry, I feel like I made this whole mess out of a stupid theory and, normally, I never get past the stupid idea phase because--" Heather stopped abruptly, and took a drink from her glass.
"Because Lillian would have told you it was stupid before you spiraled on it?" Jay asked, filling in the blanks.
"Yeah." Heather looked away, her heels suddenly the most interesting fixture in the room. "It's fine."
"I mean, it's clearly not." Jay remarked. "Are you two okay still? Like you're still dati--"
"Of course we are." Heather replied, jumping in. "Like she could do better than me." She continued, false bravado creeping in.
"What is it then? Clearly, there's something bothering you." Jay asked, reaching their hand across the table. "You can tell me anything, and I'll keep it a secret, I swear."
Heather trusted them.
"I'm worried about Lillian. I can see how stressed she is, and I just... I wish I could do something more to help her, you know? But she won't ever ask for help, and I already try to take what I can off of her workload in M&C, but... Jay, I don't know what to do." Heather spilled her guts, as the unease of having finally vocalized a thought settling over her.
Heather felt empty. Absent, even.
"Can you do anything?" Jay asked, radiating sympathy. "It sounds like a really hard situation, regardless."
"No. And that's the worst part. That's always the fucking problem, isn't it?" Heather laughed morosely. "It's just like the fucking breach. I know she's struggling, and I know that I'm probably just overly worried about her, but--"
"But you wish that there was //anything// you could do, just to change that?" Jay offered, knowing exactly what Heather was trying to say.
"Yeah. That."
"So you didn't tell Lillian about a potential threat to your existence, because you didn't want her to worry about you?"
"Well when you put it like that," Heather answered in chagrin, "Yeah, I hear it. It was stupid."
"No shit." Everwood said, as they took a triumphant drink of their cocktail, finding it surprisingly passable. "If you died and she found out afterwards, she would fucking kill you."
The contradiction hung in the air between them, until both doctors broke out into laughter.
"Yeah, she would find a way to bring me back, just to kill me again." Heather smiled. "Thanks for this Jay, for... for all of this. I'm glad you're my friend."
Jay didn't even give a moments hesitation before answering, reaching out and squeezing Heather's hand. "I'm lucky to have you as a friend, and proud to be listed beside you. Plus, Ilse said I should keep making friends, so I //guess// I can call you a friend, right?"
"Obviously. Our partners always know what's best -- especially those two."
As their complacent chatter began to be drowned out by the ever-present crowd, pool balls clacking and the cornucopia of overlapping music, both Heather Garrison and Jay Everwood were happy.
Whatever led them to this moment in their lives didn't matter -- they were just glad they were here, now, with a true friend.
-----
[[=]]
++ [[[Forgotten Memories Hub]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** SCP-335
> **Author:** Dave Rapp
> **License:** CC-BY-SA
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-335
> **Additional Notes:** Excerpts of SCP-335 directly included.
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-09-22T01:40:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"doctor-everwood",
"forgotten-memories",
"lgbtq",
"on-guard-43",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
No Reason - SCP Foundation
| 20
|
[
"forgotten-memories-hub",
"bystander-s-guilt",
"scp-335",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"on-guard-43-hub",
"forgotten-memories-hub"
] |
[] |
1456886367
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/no-reason
|
|
nobody-came-to-help
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>"Why can't we just leave this damn place to guard itself!" is probably what anyone else would say if they did my job. Sitting and watching security footage for 15 hours a day isn't the most exciting task, especially since barely anything ever happens around here. I mean, who would be stupid enough to try and break into the Foundation's very own maximum security prison? I'm damn sure this place could guard itself and be twice as efficient as we are! Personally, I think it's bullshit that they even have as many of us here as they do, considering we have hyper-intelligent artificial intelligence already monitering every inch of this place.</p>
<p>I turn away from the dozen or so monitors flashing with fluorescent light and humming with a low buzz, swiveling in my chair. Curling the tissue that I had just used to wipe some spilled water, I squint slightly as I toss it in the direction of the waste bin. The tissue tumbles through the air, misses the basket completely, and joins more than a dozen other crumpled pieces of trash. Sighing, I keep looking at the now almost deflated piece of tissue. It almost looks like it's frowning at me.</p>
<p>Just then, I hear footsteps in the hallway. Swiveling back to face the monitors, I hear the light ping of the keybind and the metalic door sliding open. I turn to the door, feigning ignorance, and greet Jefferson.</p>
<p>"Jeff! It's been a while. How's the job? How's the family?"</p>
<p>"Sam, I saw you an hour ago." He glances at the wastebasket and gives me an unamused look after seeing the trash. "You know it's rude to leave trash on the floor. More work for the janitor, you know?"</p>
<p>"Well," I reply, turning back to face the monitors, just to see absolutely nothing happening. "Have you seen the guy?"</p>
<p>"No," Jeff admits.</p>
<p>"The guy's a ghost. I swear he gets the whole place cleaned up no matter how bad the mess is." I lean forward in my chair to grab the half-drunk bottle of water and down the rest. "Remember the prison escape attempt a few years ago? I swear the floors were shinier after he mopped up all the blood."</p>
<p>"Still," Jeff says, crossing his arms. "Show some more respect."</p>
<p>"Okay, okay." I get up and make my way to the waste bin, slowly picking up each piece of trash with the tips of my fingers and dropping them one by one into the bin, making sure to take as long as possible before turning back. "Happy?"</p>
<p>Jeff shakes his head, a small smile forming. "You never change, do you, Sam?"</p>
<p>"Why would I? The excitement of this job is more than enough for me," I say with a smirk, turning back to my monitors.</p>
<p>"Well, the site director wants you to go to the entrance and do check-ins for a bit." Jeff sits on the counter, gazing absentmindedly at the monitors as he speaks. "I'm taking over for the next while."</p>
<p>I jolt up suddenly. No way does Jefferson get to take away my job. "What? That's bullshit."</p>
<p>Jeff turns to me slightly, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"</p>
<p>"Well, we both know you can't look at all of this at once. You'd fall asleep," I wave at the flashing monitors.</p>
<p>"Well-" I interupt before he can continue.</p>
<p>"And plus, how did the check-in system break? Didn't we install it just so we wouldn't have to constantly have someone stationed there? What's the point of having these damn cards," I pull at my lanyard, "if the system doesn't even work?"</p>
<p>Sighing and getting off the counter, Jefferson looks at me with an almost exhausted expression. "I'm just doing as I was told. If you have any complaints, go talk to the boss. But for now," he gestures to the door, "I think you should go to your new station."</p>
<p>"Fine." I grumble under my breath as I gathered my things and headed out the door. Walking out, I hear the door slide shut behind me and I turn to look at the hallway that seemingly stretches for miles. Well no point in just standing around, might as well start walking.</p>
<p>As I make my way through the corridors, I can't help but sigh as I pass through the layers of security. Every door requires multiple forms of identification to access, constant cameras are scanning the hallways as I move. Periodically I'll see guards pass by, on their patrols, and completely ignore that I was even there.</p>
<p>Finally, I reach the entrance checkpoint. It's a small booth with bulletproof glass and a console that controls the gate. I slump into the chair and put on the headset, staring out at the empty hallway in front of me.</p>
<p>"Great," I mutter to myself. "Stuck here doing check-ins while Jeff gets to watch the monitors. What a joke."</p>
<p>Resting my head against the desk in front of me, I look up, searching for something to occupy my time. Scanning the small space, I see absolutely nothing and sigh as I pull out a small coin from my pocket and begin to flip it.</p>
<p>Time passes slowly in my new, hopefully temporary, station when a sharp rapping on the window jolts me awake. I must have dozed off. Rubbing my eyes, I look up to find the source of the noise. I notice a man standing outside the booth, wearing a black coat and… a fedora?</p>
<p>"Um, credentials?" I mumble, still rubbing my eyes as if trying to clear away the lingering drowsiness. The man slides his identification through the small slot. I glance at it, my vision still slightly blurred.</p>
<p>"Hey, are you feeling alright?" the man asks, his voice calm and almost soothing. "You look like you've had a rough day."</p>
<p>"Yeah, just… not used to this station," I reply, trying to shake off the grogginess. "Got bumped from my usual post."</p>
<p>The man nods sympathetically. "That sounds frustrating. Did they just replace you without any warning?"</p>
<p>"Pretty much," I say, feeling the frustration bubble up again. "Jefferson just waltzed in and took over my spot. I know he's going to mess up my routine."</p>
<p>"Sounds like you got a raw deal," the man continues, leaning in slightly. "You ever think about complaining to the director? I mean, you deserve better treatment than this."</p>
<p>I scoff, "Yeah, right. The director doesn't care about us grunts. We're basically D-Class to him."</p>
<p>"That's the problem," he says. "Too many people let themselves be pushed around. If you don't stand up for yourself, who will? You should go tell the director exactly how you feel."</p>
<p>I hesitate, glancing down at the credentials in my hand. "I don't know… what if I get in trouble?"</p>
<p>"Trust me," the man says, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "If you don't stand up now, they'll just keep walking all over you. Go on, I'll wait here. You deserve to be heard."</p>
<p>Reluctantly, I find myself nodding. I hand the man back his credentials, barely glancing at them in my distracted state. "Alright, maybe you're right. I'll go talk to the director."</p>
<p>"Good man," the stranger says, stepping aside to let me pass. "You go take care of business."</p>
<p>I head down the hall, my heart pounding with a mix of nerves and anger. Behind me, the man in the fedora watches me go, a satisfied expression on his face.</p>
<p>"You know, the man was right," I mutter to myself as I walk down the hallway. "The director has been treating us like crap for ages now. He can't just reassign me to a completely different position because of a stupid system malfunction."</p>
<p>I turn the corner and see the first of many checkpoints I'll have to pass through. I stop, sighing as I search for my keycard in my pockets. Odd, I can't seem to find it. I dig into my back pockets, but still nothing. I curse under my breath. I must have left it in the check-in booth. Another thing to complain to the director about—the long-ass walk to everything.</p>
<p>I turn back when I see two guards on their patrol coming around the corner. My lucky day.</p>
<p>I wave to them, signaling them to come over. "Hey, I'm really sorry, but I left my keycard back in the check-in booth and I really need to speak to the director."</p>
<p>The guards exchange glances. "You sure you work here?" one of them asks, raising an eyebrow.</p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah, of course. I can do the biometric tests to prove it," I insist. "I really need to talk to the director about something important."</p>
<p>The other guard sighs, pulling out a handheld scanner. "Alright, put your hand on here."</p>
<p>I place my hand on the scanner, and it beeps, confirming my identity. The guard reluctantly hands me his keycard. "Just make sure to return this, alright?"</p>
<p>"Absolutely," I nod, taking the keycard and hurrying off. As I walk to the director's office, I rehearse what I'm going to say in my head. This time, he's going to hear me out. No more getting pushed around.</p>
<p>As I get closer, I start to notice some peculiarities. The lights flicker slightly, and the cameras seem to jam before coming back online. It's unsettling, but I push it to the back of my mind, focusing on my mission.</p>
<p>Finally, I reach the director's office and knock on the door. "Come in," a voice calls.</p>
<p>I push the door open and step inside. "Director, we need to talk."</p>
<p>He looks up from his desk, surprised. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at your station?"</p>
<p>"That's what I need to talk about," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "You can't just reassign me without any notice. I've been doing my job perfectly well, and now you're just throwing me into a different position because of a system malfunction?"</p>
<p>The director sighs, rubbing his temples. "Look, it's not my fault the system went offline. We had to make adjustments."</p>
<p>"But you didn't even give me a heads-up," I argue. "I've been stuck at that boring booth while Jefferson gets to sit in my spot and—"</p>
<p>"Who's manning the check-in booth right now?" the director interrupts, a frown forming on his face.</p>
<p>"Someone's there," I assure him, but before I can elaborate, the lights suddenly go off and alarms begin to blare.</p>
<p>Panic floods through me as the director stands up, his face pale. "We need to secure the facility. Now."<br/>
I swing open the door and am immediately assaulted by the sounds of distant gunshots and rushing footsteps. "What's happening?" I shout to the director over the cacophony of security personnel rushing down the hallways.</p>
<p>The director, glued to his tablet, curses as a bright red light flashes across the screen. "All systems are down!"</p>
<p>"Down? As in gone, not coming back?"</p>
<p>"Yes." The director desperately tries to get his computer to turn on. "The power's cut, backup generators are down, and we're not getting anything from the perimeter team. From what I can tell, they've also managed to disable the AI system and are jamming all communications going outside the site."</p>
<p>The director pulls out a device that looks like a USB stick and jams it haphazardly into his computer, causing it to suddenly flash on. He turns to me. "Call Jefferson and tell him to lock down the site."</p>
<p>I grab my phone and try to call Jefferson, but there's no response. "I can't reach him," I say, panic creeping into my voice.</p>
<p>The director's face hardens. "Then run to the monitor room and do it yourself. Now!"</p>
<p>In a panic, I begin sprinting toward the monitor room. Fuck, fuck, fuck, why did it have to be here of all places? Who are these people? As I run, I keep seeing more streams of security personnel and hearing equally as much gunfire in the distance. Looking up, I finally see the monitor room but strangely notice that the door is open.</p>
<p>Bursting in the room, I expected to see Jefferson. Instead, I see the man from earlier—the one in the black coat and fedora. My mind races as I try to process this.</p>
<p>"What are you doing here?" I demand.</p>
<p>"I heard the alarms and rushed away from where all the guards were running. I ended up here," he replies calmly.</p>
<p>"Have you seen Jefferson?" I ask, suspicion in my voice.</p>
<p>"No, I didn't see anyone when I entered."</p>
<p>I roughly push the man aside and hurry to the control panel, frantically typing in the password to access the system. The man keeps asking questions, his voice a persistent buzz in my ear.</p>
<p>"What are you doing?"</p>
<p>"Trying to lock down the site," I snap, my fingers flying over the keyboard. "Just stay out of the way."</p>
<p>As I finally get the system open, ready to initiate the lockdown, I feel a sharp pain at the back of my head. My vision blurs, and I collapse to the floor, consciousness slipping away. The last thing I see is the man standing over me, a cold smile on his face.</p>
<hr/>
<p>I watch as the man, Sam, falls limply onto the ground after I struck the back of his head. I almost pity him; he would never know that he caused all of this to happen. I bend down and pick up the small transmitter I had attached to his shirt when I leaned in to talk to him. Bringing it up to my eye, I admire the handiwork of the factory: state of the art, a device that infects nearby devices with a virus that disables software. Usually, it wouldn't be very effective in breaking into a Foundation prison complex; the security measures in place would prevent any infections from getting too far. But with Sam's help…</p>
<p>I look down at the crumpled form of the man. His little trip to the site director's office had infected enough devices to make it impossible to prevent the virus from spreading. I chuckle lightly as I pull out the keycard I had swiped and scan it on the access panel, releasing the Chaos Insurgency's top operatives. All guards should be too engaged with the mercenary forces outside, and by the time they realize what's happened, the extraction team I had set up should have done their job.</p>
<p>Hearing a cluttering sound, I turn to see someone walking out, covered in soot, from one of the storage lockers in the room. I spread my arms as I walk toward him. “Jefferson! It’s been so long since I’ve last seen you. How long has it been since I asked you to work here? Ten years?”</p>
<p>He gives me a quick glance as he makes his way toward Sam.</p>
<p>“Ah yes, make sure to delete the security footage too.” I note as I begin making my way out of the room.</p>
<p>Jefferson nods and continues on without speaking. I crane my head slightly to watch Jefferson work, he's always amazed me with his effeciency. I do find it a bit humorous that when Sam next wakes up, he’ll be considered the top suspect. I mean, his keycard was used to release the top Chaos Insurgency agents held at the site. He was found lying unconscious next to a bruised and bloody Agent Jefferson, and he was the last one seen with the site director, who was found shot in his office with a gun on the table covered in Sam’s fingerprints.</p>
<p>Ah yes, I better get to that last part. As I walk out of the monitor room, I hear thuds against the wall and small groans. Must be Jefferson making the act seem more… convincing.</p>
<p>While walking, I can’t help but look at the walls. Not that there’s anything I don’t know on them. I can practically visualize the entire site and all its staff moving about its little hallways in a panic, completely accurately. No, I can’t help but wonder how anyone works in this damned place. It’s like a morgue or a psych ward that stretches on for a mile. Looking up, I see a camera seemingly jammed at a 60-degree angle, meaning the next turn would lead to the site director's office, which also means two guards would be running to the director’s office directly behind me about… now. I turn and draw my weapon to see two guards emerge from a corner. I fire two bullets, each landing squarely in their temples causing both to instantly fall to the ground limp. Instead of holstering the weapon, I keep it drawn as I approach the office and slowly open the door to peek inside.</p>
<p>Just as predicted, the director is frantically trying to get help from the outside, typing with such fervor. I stand there for a while, reading his fingers, before I decide to interrupt his little escapade. I hum, causing him to look up momentarily, which I use to fire two bullets—one to his shoulder, the other through his eye, causing him to keel over and collapse. I approach his desk and grab the small USB stick from his computer before emptying the rest of the rounds into his body. I have about two minutes to make my way to the extraction point before one of the guards runs across the director’s office looking for his good luck charm he left in the locker room. I place the gun, covered in Sam’s fingerprints and not my own—I don’t have fingerprints— on the desk and stroll out of the office.</p>
<p>Stretching slightly, I continue humming as I make my way toward the extraction point. A good operation always feels pleasant. While walking, I think back to the expression the director had before he spotted me. He was sending a message to the O5s, but why that expression? It clicks, they had assigned him a job previously, and he must have failed them. Probably why he seemed so desperate—he knew they wouldn’t accept another failure. Well, lucky for him, now he wouldn’t have to report back to the O5s about his most recent failure.</p>
<p>Behind me, I hear the cries of a voice; they’ve found the director’s body just as expected. I smile as I turn the corner to see around a dozen or so men in D-class personnel jumpsuits, accompanied by five other men in Foundation vests and tactical gear, who all salute me. Nobody had come to save him.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/nobody-came-to-help">Nobody Came to Help</a>" by ShorkWove, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nobody-came-to-help">https://scpwiki.com/nobody-came-to-help</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
"Why can't we just leave this damn place to guard itself!" is probably what anyone else would say if they did my job. Sitting and watching security footage for 15 hours a day isn't the most exciting task, especially since barely anything ever happens around here. I mean, who would be stupid enough to try and break into the Foundation's very own maximum security prison? I'm damn sure this place could guard itself and be twice as efficient as we are! Personally, I think it's bullshit that they even have as many of us here as they do, considering we have hyper-intelligent artificial intelligence already monitering every inch of this place.
I turn away from the dozen or so monitors flashing with fluorescent light and humming with a low buzz, swiveling in my chair. Curling the tissue that I had just used to wipe some spilled water, I squint slightly as I toss it in the direction of the waste bin. The tissue tumbles through the air, misses the basket completely, and joins more than a dozen other crumpled pieces of trash. Sighing, I keep looking at the now almost deflated piece of tissue. It almost looks like it's frowning at me.
Just then, I hear footsteps in the hallway. Swiveling back to face the monitors, I hear the light ping of the keybind and the metalic door sliding open. I turn to the door, feigning ignorance, and greet Jefferson.
"Jeff! It's been a while. How's the job? How's the family?"
"Sam, I saw you an hour ago." He glances at the wastebasket and gives me an unamused look after seeing the trash. "You know it's rude to leave trash on the floor. More work for the janitor, you know?"
"Well," I reply, turning back to face the monitors, just to see absolutely nothing happening. "Have you seen the guy?"
"No," Jeff admits.
"The guy's a ghost. I swear he gets the whole place cleaned up no matter how bad the mess is." I lean forward in my chair to grab the half-drunk bottle of water and down the rest. "Remember the prison escape attempt a few years ago? I swear the floors were shinier after he mopped up all the blood."
"Still," Jeff says, crossing his arms. "Show some more respect."
"Okay, okay." I get up and make my way to the waste bin, slowly picking up each piece of trash with the tips of my fingers and dropping them one by one into the bin, making sure to take as long as possible before turning back. "Happy?"
Jeff shakes his head, a small smile forming. "You never change, do you, Sam?"
"Why would I? The excitement of this job is more than enough for me," I say with a smirk, turning back to my monitors.
"Well, the site director wants you to go to the entrance and do check-ins for a bit." Jeff sits on the counter, gazing absentmindedly at the monitors as he speaks. "I'm taking over for the next while."
I jolt up suddenly. No way does Jefferson get to take away my job. "What? That's bullshit."
Jeff turns to me slightly, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"
"Well, we both know you can't look at all of this at once. You'd fall asleep," I wave at the flashing monitors.
"Well-" I interupt before he can continue.
"And plus, how did the check-in system break? Didn't we install it just so we wouldn't have to constantly have someone stationed there? What's the point of having these damn cards," I pull at my lanyard, "if the system doesn't even work?"
Sighing and getting off the counter, Jefferson looks at me with an almost exhausted expression. "I'm just doing as I was told. If you have any complaints, go talk to the boss. But for now," he gestures to the door, "I think you should go to your new station."
"Fine." I grumble under my breath as I gathered my things and headed out the door. Walking out, I hear the door slide shut behind me and I turn to look at the hallway that seemingly stretches for miles. Well no point in just standing around, might as well start walking.
As I make my way through the corridors, I can't help but sigh as I pass through the layers of security. Every door requires multiple forms of identification to access, constant cameras are scanning the hallways as I move. Periodically I'll see guards pass by, on their patrols, and completely ignore that I was even there.
Finally, I reach the entrance checkpoint. It's a small booth with bulletproof glass and a console that controls the gate. I slump into the chair and put on the headset, staring out at the empty hallway in front of me.
"Great," I mutter to myself. "Stuck here doing check-ins while Jeff gets to watch the monitors. What a joke."
Resting my head against the desk in front of me, I look up, searching for something to occupy my time. Scanning the small space, I see absolutely nothing and sigh as I pull out a small coin from my pocket and begin to flip it.
Time passes slowly in my new, hopefully temporary, station when a sharp rapping on the window jolts me awake. I must have dozed off. Rubbing my eyes, I look up to find the source of the noise. I notice a man standing outside the booth, wearing a black coat and... a fedora?
"Um, credentials?" I mumble, still rubbing my eyes as if trying to clear away the lingering drowsiness. The man slides his identification through the small slot. I glance at it, my vision still slightly blurred.
"Hey, are you feeling alright?" the man asks, his voice calm and almost soothing. "You look like you've had a rough day."
"Yeah, just... not used to this station," I reply, trying to shake off the grogginess. "Got bumped from my usual post."
The man nods sympathetically. "That sounds frustrating. Did they just replace you without any warning?"
"Pretty much," I say, feeling the frustration bubble up again. "Jefferson just waltzed in and took over my spot. I know he's going to mess up my routine."
"Sounds like you got a raw deal," the man continues, leaning in slightly. "You ever think about complaining to the director? I mean, you deserve better treatment than this."
I scoff, "Yeah, right. The director doesn't care about us grunts. We're basically D-Class to him."
"That's the problem," he says. "Too many people let themselves be pushed around. If you don't stand up for yourself, who will? You should go tell the director exactly how you feel."
I hesitate, glancing down at the credentials in my hand. "I don't know... what if I get in trouble?"
"Trust me," the man says, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "If you don't stand up now, they'll just keep walking all over you. Go on, I'll wait here. You deserve to be heard."
Reluctantly, I find myself nodding. I hand the man back his credentials, barely glancing at them in my distracted state. "Alright, maybe you're right. I'll go talk to the director."
"Good man," the stranger says, stepping aside to let me pass. "You go take care of business."
I head down the hall, my heart pounding with a mix of nerves and anger. Behind me, the man in the fedora watches me go, a satisfied expression on his face.
"You know, the man was right," I mutter to myself as I walk down the hallway. "The director has been treating us like crap for ages now. He can't just reassign me to a completely different position because of a stupid system malfunction."
I turn the corner and see the first of many checkpoints I'll have to pass through. I stop, sighing as I search for my keycard in my pockets. Odd, I can't seem to find it. I dig into my back pockets, but still nothing. I curse under my breath. I must have left it in the check-in booth. Another thing to complain to the director about—the long-ass walk to everything.
I turn back when I see two guards on their patrol coming around the corner. My lucky day.
I wave to them, signaling them to come over. "Hey, I'm really sorry, but I left my keycard back in the check-in booth and I really need to speak to the director."
The guards exchange glances. "You sure you work here?" one of them asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, yeah, of course. I can do the biometric tests to prove it," I insist. "I really need to talk to the director about something important."
The other guard sighs, pulling out a handheld scanner. "Alright, put your hand on here."
I place my hand on the scanner, and it beeps, confirming my identity. The guard reluctantly hands me his keycard. "Just make sure to return this, alright?"
"Absolutely," I nod, taking the keycard and hurrying off. As I walk to the director's office, I rehearse what I'm going to say in my head. This time, he's going to hear me out. No more getting pushed around.
As I get closer, I start to notice some peculiarities. The lights flicker slightly, and the cameras seem to jam before coming back online. It's unsettling, but I push it to the back of my mind, focusing on my mission.
Finally, I reach the director's office and knock on the door. "Come in," a voice calls.
I push the door open and step inside. "Director, we need to talk."
He looks up from his desk, surprised. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at your station?"
"That's what I need to talk about," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "You can't just reassign me without any notice. I've been doing my job perfectly well, and now you're just throwing me into a different position because of a system malfunction?"
The director sighs, rubbing his temples. "Look, it's not my fault the system went offline. We had to make adjustments."
"But you didn't even give me a heads-up," I argue. "I've been stuck at that boring booth while Jefferson gets to sit in my spot and—"
"Who's manning the check-in booth right now?" the director interrupts, a frown forming on his face.
"Someone's there," I assure him, but before I can elaborate, the lights suddenly go off and alarms begin to blare.
Panic floods through me as the director stands up, his face pale. "We need to secure the facility. Now."
I swing open the door and am immediately assaulted by the sounds of distant gunshots and rushing footsteps. "What's happening?" I shout to the director over the cacophony of security personnel rushing down the hallways.
The director, glued to his tablet, curses as a bright red light flashes across the screen. "All systems are down!"
"Down? As in gone, not coming back?"
"Yes." The director desperately tries to get his computer to turn on. "The power's cut, backup generators are down, and we're not getting anything from the perimeter team. From what I can tell, they've also managed to disable the AI system and are jamming all communications going outside the site."
The director pulls out a device that looks like a USB stick and jams it haphazardly into his computer, causing it to suddenly flash on. He turns to me. "Call Jefferson and tell him to lock down the site."
I grab my phone and try to call Jefferson, but there's no response. "I can't reach him," I say, panic creeping into my voice.
The director's face hardens. "Then run to the monitor room and do it yourself. Now!"
In a panic, I begin sprinting toward the monitor room. Fuck, fuck, fuck, why did it have to be here of all places? Who are these people? As I run, I keep seeing more streams of security personnel and hearing equally as much gunfire in the distance. Looking up, I finally see the monitor room but strangely notice that the door is open.
Bursting in the room, I expected to see Jefferson. Instead, I see the man from earlier—the one in the black coat and fedora. My mind races as I try to process this.
"What are you doing here?" I demand.
"I heard the alarms and rushed away from where all the guards were running. I ended up here," he replies calmly.
"Have you seen Jefferson?" I ask, suspicion in my voice.
"No, I didn't see anyone when I entered."
I roughly push the man aside and hurry to the control panel, frantically typing in the password to access the system. The man keeps asking questions, his voice a persistent buzz in my ear.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to lock down the site," I snap, my fingers flying over the keyboard. "Just stay out of the way."
As I finally get the system open, ready to initiate the lockdown, I feel a sharp pain at the back of my head. My vision blurs, and I collapse to the floor, consciousness slipping away. The last thing I see is the man standing over me, a cold smile on his face.
------
I watch as the man, Sam, falls limply onto the ground after I struck the back of his head. I almost pity him; he would never know that he caused all of this to happen. I bend down and pick up the small transmitter I had attached to his shirt when I leaned in to talk to him. Bringing it up to my eye, I admire the handiwork of the factory: state of the art, a device that infects nearby devices with a virus that disables software. Usually, it wouldn't be very effective in breaking into a Foundation prison complex; the security measures in place would prevent any infections from getting too far. But with Sam's help...
I look down at the crumpled form of the man. His little trip to the site director's office had infected enough devices to make it impossible to prevent the virus from spreading. I chuckle lightly as I pull out the keycard I had swiped and scan it on the access panel, releasing the Chaos Insurgency's top operatives. All guards should be too engaged with the mercenary forces outside, and by the time they realize what's happened, the extraction team I had set up should have done their job.
Hearing a cluttering sound, I turn to see someone walking out, covered in soot, from one of the storage lockers in the room. I spread my arms as I walk toward him. “Jefferson! It’s been so long since I’ve last seen you. How long has it been since I asked you to work here? Ten years?”
He gives me a quick glance as he makes his way toward Sam.
“Ah yes, make sure to delete the security footage too.” I note as I begin making my way out of the room.
Jefferson nods and continues on without speaking. I crane my head slightly to watch Jefferson work, he's always amazed me with his effeciency. I do find it a bit humorous that when Sam next wakes up, he’ll be considered the top suspect. I mean, his keycard was used to release the top Chaos Insurgency agents held at the site. He was found lying unconscious next to a bruised and bloody Agent Jefferson, and he was the last one seen with the site director, who was found shot in his office with a gun on the table covered in Sam’s fingerprints.
Ah yes, I better get to that last part. As I walk out of the monitor room, I hear thuds against the wall and small groans. Must be Jefferson making the act seem more... convincing.
While walking, I can’t help but look at the walls. Not that there’s anything I don’t know on them. I can practically visualize the entire site and all its staff moving about its little hallways in a panic, completely accurately. No, I can’t help but wonder how anyone works in this damned place. It’s like a morgue or a psych ward that stretches on for a mile. Looking up, I see a camera seemingly jammed at a 60-degree angle, meaning the next turn would lead to the site director's office, which also means two guards would be running to the director’s office directly behind me about... now. I turn and draw my weapon to see two guards emerge from a corner. I fire two bullets, each landing squarely in their temples causing both to instantly fall to the ground limp. Instead of holstering the weapon, I keep it drawn as I approach the office and slowly open the door to peek inside.
Just as predicted, the director is frantically trying to get help from the outside, typing with such fervor. I stand there for a while, reading his fingers, before I decide to interrupt his little escapade. I hum, causing him to look up momentarily, which I use to fire two bullets—one to his shoulder, the other through his eye, causing him to keel over and collapse. I approach his desk and grab the small USB stick from his computer before emptying the rest of the rounds into his body. I have about two minutes to make my way to the extraction point before one of the guards runs across the director’s office looking for his good luck charm he left in the locker room. I place the gun, covered in Sam’s fingerprints and not my own—I don’t have fingerprints— on the desk and stroll out of the office.
Stretching slightly, I continue humming as I make my way toward the extraction point. A good operation always feels pleasant. While walking, I think back to the expression the director had before he spotted me. He was sending a message to the O5s, but why that expression? It clicks, they had assigned him a job previously, and he must have failed them. Probably why he seemed so desperate—he knew they wouldn’t accept another failure. Well, lucky for him, now he wouldn’t have to report back to the O5s about his most recent failure.
Behind me, I hear the cries of a voice; they’ve found the director’s body just as expected. I smile as I turn the corner to see around a dozen or so men in D-class personnel jumpsuits, accompanied by five other men in Foundation vests and tactical gear, who all salute me. Nobody had come to save him.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-07-24T13:26:00
|
[
"first-person",
"nobody",
"tale"
] |
Nobody Came to Help - SCP Foundation
| 7
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"nobody-hub"
] |
[] |
1455946296
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nobody-came-to-help
|
|
nobody-runs-site-19
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p>⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong> Panic Attacks, Descriptions of Violence, and Domestic Abuse<br/>
This tale also takes heavy inspiration from SCP-4231, which in itself deals with domestic and sexual abuse<br/>
Please take care</p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
<p><em><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/this-is-not-a-place-of-honor">previously</a></em></p>
<p><strong>3:27 AM, Clef’s bedroom, three years before Kondraki’s death:</strong></p>
<p>A scream rips from Clef’s throat. Kondraki is out of bed and on the floor in seconds, except the floor isn’t as flat as he remembers and the walls are squeezing in on him and the very <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> feels alive and hungry.</p>
<p>Clef is writhing on the bed, clutching his head as antlers attempt to tear through his skull. Three parallel cuts appear on his back as if an invisible paw took a swipe at him. Any thoughts Kondraki had were immediately replaced with the need to protect.</p>
<p>Kondraki kneels on the bed, reaching over Clef to flip on the lamp. He throws the blankets aside and takes Clef in his arms. Clef tenses and then goes limp. His breathing is heavy and sharp.</p>
<p>“<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4231">I am telling the truth</a>. I am telling the truth…” he mumbles between painful gasps.</p>
<p>“I know. I believe you.”</p>
<p>Clef chokes on his own snot and mucus. Kondraki holds him even as his blood soaks into his clothes and it feels like the bed is trying to eat him. Ignoring everything else around him, he rocks Clef back and forth.</p>
<p>Clef can’t see, can’t breathe. He’s drowning, the lake is rising, boiling. He’s running up stairs that don’t stop, don’t end, impossibly tall. He can’t breathe, water fills the <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>. He holds his daughter above the murky surface but it’s not enough, the water is faster than him, the <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> is unrelenting. <em>It doesn’t stop it doesn’t stop it doesn’t stop it doesn’t stop-</em></p>
<p>Clef opens his three, beady eyes. He squirms, nearly smacking Kondraki with his newly formed antlers. Kondraki tries to look comforting but it comes out more panicked.</p>
<p>“Can you hear me?”</p>
<p>Clef can’t speak, can’t breathe, his mouth too full of lake water and mold. He spits up on Kondraki’s shirt. He wants to scream, to beg for mercy. He <em>is</em> telling the truth, he <em>is</em> telling the-</p>
<p>Carefully, with a grace he did not possess, Kondraki drags Clef from the bed and into the bathroom. Clef vomits into the toilet while Kondraki runs a washcloth under warm water and cleans up the blood. Clef can’t quite look at him, can’t quite focus on anything.</p>
<p>Kondraki drops to Clef's side, pressing the warm cloth into the fresh cuts on his cheek. Clef doesn’t move, too scared to. He sucks in a sharp breath as the cloth runs down his neck. He breaks out into weak sobs, just a quivering mess on his bathroom floor.</p>
<p>Logically speaking, he knows exactly where he is. He’s in his home, a twenty minute drive from Site-19. He’s with Kondraki. He <em>trusts</em> Kondraki, whatever trust means these days. He’s safe here.</p>
<p>At the same time, over a thousand miles away, he’s also in an abandoned <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>. He’s still curled under the floorboards, breathing in the mold and dust, waiting for <em>her</em> to find him. For a moment, the man in the floorboards woke up, and Clef felt his terror.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?” Kondraki asks, sounding distant.</p>
<p>Clef nods, still not quite able to look at him.</p>
<p>Kondraki takes a cup from their nightstand and fills it with water. Clef drinks it- or tries to, most of it ends up on his chest.</p>
<p>“Do you want to talk about it?”</p>
<p>Clef shakes his head. He’s not sure if he even can talk right now. The antlers are gone, and the cuts are closed, if still sore. Kondraki takes Clef’s hands and Clef leans in, resting his head on Kondraki’s chest.</p>
<p>“Do you want to watch a movie?” Clef had a couple of movies downloaded on his laptop that he liked to watch after moments like this. He nods.</p>
<p>Kondraki helps Clef to his feet, supporting him on their back back to their bedroom. Kondraki wraps the blanket around them, setting the laptop between them. They watch <em>Animal <span style="color:#0099ff;">House</span></em>and Clef lets himself forget whatever had him scared.</p>
<p>He watches Kondraki sink into the bed, forcing his eyes open every couple of seconds before giving up and passing out. Clef drags the back of his knuckles against Kondraki’s scratchy beard. The laptop is put away.</p>
<p>This feels right. Clef is safe here. He’s earned this security, nothing can take this away from him.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>9:16 pm, Clef’s office, two hours after <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-king-is-dead">Kondraki’s death</a>:</strong></p>
<p>Draven finds Clef on the floor of his office, stinking of beer and vomit. There’s something so sickly familiar about this position. <em>God</em>, how many times did he find his own father in this exact situation? Passed out in a pool of alcohol and his own filth? It even smells like the same brand.</p>
<p>He drops to one knee by Clef’s side. “Clef?” Clef lets out a soft groan, curling in on himself. “Alto?” Draven says, softer, laying a hand on Clef’s side. Clef flinches. Draven scoots in closer, gently leaning on him.</p>
<p>“They wouldn’t let me see him,” Draven says. “I guess I don't need to see it for myself to know what happened…” He’s imagined this scenario a thousand times, he can picture his father’s corpse with photographic clarity.</p>
<p>Clef mumbles something.</p>
<p>“Hm?”</p>
<p>“I couldn’t save him…” Upon closer inspection, Clef is wrapped around a ratty jacket, a green butterfly wing pinched between his knuckles. His father’s jacket. Draven swallows a lump in his throat.</p>
<p>“It wasn't your responsibility to save him.”</p>
<p>Draven won’t claim to know all the intricacies of the relationship between his father and his mentor. Frankly, he doesn’t want to. But he did, over the course of several years, watch Clef go from <em>“that ugly bastard”</em> to <em>“my coworker”</em> to <em>“Dr. Clef”</em> to <em>“my friend”</em> and then finally to <em>“Alto”</em>. It was Clef who took care of his father when Draven wasn’t there, and for that Draven could only be grateful…</p>
<p>He wishes he could say he was surprised to hear that his father shot himself. But that’s not true. His father was never a stable man. This made perfect sense. Anyone could’ve seen it coming.</p>
<p>Draven isn’t sure what he’s feeling right now… <em>Hungry</em>. He’s feeling hungry. Hunger is a feeling he can understand, something he can satiate.</p>
<p>“Clef?… Let’s get out of here.” Draven stands and watches Clef lay there for several moments. Finally, Clef drags himself off the floor. He won’t look Draven in the eyes. Whatever, emotions to deal with later.</p>
<p>He loops an arm under Clef’s shoulder and they walk in unsteady tandem. Draven remembers the hushed whispers as they pass, the prying eyes, the feeling that creeps in his veins. He remembers passing by the site director’s office, catching a whiff of blood, and swallowing the vomit in his mouth.</p>
<p>He doesn’t remember, as he drags Clef into the parking lot, making eye contact with the site director. He doesn’t remember how the site director’s eyes fill with momentary fear. He doesn’t remember the site director walking away, tense. He doesn’t even remember <em>who</em> the site director is.</p>
<p>There’s mold growing in Clef’s sink. Draven takes the time to wash Clef’s dishes while Clef stares off into space at the table. He jumps as something brushes up against his leg. He leans down to pat L.S.’s head, getting soap on its sunken face.</p>
<p>He makes food, using whatever he can find in Clef’s cabinets. It’s the least he can do, in his mind. Draven knows once he’s done eating he’ll be forced to feel everything he’s choosing not to. He knows when it’s time to put his father in the ground he’ll break. He knows it’s coming. But not yet, he won’t let himself break yet.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>12:47 am, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lets-get-you-home">The Bitter End</a>, one year and seven months after Kondraki’s death:</strong></p>
<p>Jonathan Tucker did not like calling the cops on people. He worked the late shift at a bar outside of town, it was practically in his job description that he is expected to deal with dangerous, intoxicated people. Still, even if it meant he would be stuck here way past closing, he’d rather exhaust all other options before that.</p>
<p>“Is there someone I can call for you? Someone you trust?” He asks the red faced man at the counter.</p>
<p>“Hehe- <em>sure</em>. You got a- a fucking <em>ouija board</em> back there?” The man laughs; it sounds like nails against a chalkboard. Tucker puts his head in his hands.</p>
<p>“I’m not serving you any more drinks. We’re closed. Please either leave quietly or I’ll have to call the police.”</p>
<p>“Call the cops! I’ll fuck ‘em up!” The man punches the air with more force than Tucker is comfortable with. Tucker is reaching for the phone when the door creaks open.</p>
<p>“We’re closed?” Looking back on it, Tucker can’t describe what the new stranger looks like. He looks clean, out of place in a run down place like this. Tucker almost wants to apologize for the sorry state of this place.</p>
<p>The clean man speaks. Tucker can’t remember exactly what he says, but he thinks that at one point he’s asked his name. The man leans over the moldy counter and writes two checks. Tucker’s stomach drops as he reads the one written for him. That’s more than triple the tips he’s received since he got this job.</p>
<p>“Have a good night, sir!” He waves the two men off, heart pounding in his chest.</p>
<p>“This is kidnapping!” The drunkard screams, “You’re letting this guy kidnap me!” Tucker ignores him. He sees this type of behavior a lot and he’s not willing to consider this situation more than he has to.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>1:09 am, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/self-similar">Nobody’s bedroom</a>, three months before Nobody smashes a bottle over Clef’s head:</strong></p>
<p>Nobody is lying in bed when the door creaks open. He doesn’t move, pretending to sleep. Clef creeps up next to him, closing the door behind him. Nobody can’t see the expression Clef is making, he doesn’t have to.</p>
<p>Clef walks around the bed and crawls under the covers, his chest to Nobody’s back. Nobody chews his lip, tearing off layers of skin. Clef is warm, a little radiator. Nobody wants to get closer, wants to hold Clef like they love each other. That’s what Clef is offering.</p>
<p>He can’t, though. He’s <em>frozen</em> to the spot. Clef can close his eyes and pretend that he’s in bed with Kondraki, but Nobody doesn’t get that privilege. He doesn’t have false love to project onto Clef. He doesn’t want to be Kondraki’s <em>replacement</em>.</p>
<p>He made a promise to keep Clef safe. That’s why he doesn’t scream when Clef gets into his bed, that’s why he doesn’t elbow him in the face as he scoots closer, that’s why he doesn’t cry as Clef snuggles up and brushes his cheek against Nobody’s neck.</p>
<p>Iceberg stands in the corner of the room, just out of Nobody’s vision. Nobody can feel him there. Clef holds him close and Nobody tries very hard not to feel cold.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>8:53 pm, Nobody’s kitchen, five seconds after Nobody smashed a bottle over Clef’s head:</strong></p>
<p>“Why can’t you just be good?” Gears gasps, desperation and fury crawling into his voice. “Am I not kind to you? Have I not cared for you?” He drops the bottle, letting it clang against the floor.</p>
<p>Clef can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t speak. Blood pours into his face. It feels <em>good</em> when Gears attacks him, a split moment of pure bliss. And then the moment passes and he’s just standing there, Gears red faced and panting over him.</p>
<p>At this moment, more than anything, Clef wants to kiss him. He wants to wrap his arms around Gears’s waist and pull him in. He <em>needs</em> Gears to pin him to the counter top and lock their lips while he <em>guts</em> him with the broken shards.</p>
<p>Gears storms off. A door slams. L.S. skitters into the kitchen, claws tapping against the tile. Clef just stands there, eyes locked on the place where Gears should be. His head throbs, takes a hell of a swing to break a beer bottle like that.</p>
<p>He drags himself from the kitchen into the bathroom just to stare at himself in the mirror. Cold water pours from the faucet, Clef forces his head under the spout. It feels nice for a moment. He tries to fix up his hair only to slice his palm on a shard. He should go to the doctor.</p>
<p>For a moment, he stands in front of Gears’s door. He should say something…</p>
<p>The cold outside air makes his head throb even more. He sits in his truck, running his fingers over the leather steering wheel. The truck sputters to life. Clef wonders how far he could get in his thing, he could stop to get gas and just <em>go</em> until he’s far, far, far away from this damned <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>.</p>
<p>No one at Site-19 gives him a second look. <em>Of course, that’s just Dr. Clef, he’s always walking around soaked in blood.</em> He sits his ass in the nurse's office and waits.</p>
<p>The nurse picks out each piece of glass, wraps up his head, asks him a few questions. Clef resists the urge to tell her to fuck off, he doesn’t <em>have</em> to explain shit, doesn’t <em>want</em> to either. She gives him a packet of paperwork and leaves him alone.</p>
<p>Slipped in between the standard paperwork is a card. <em>Domestic Abuse Hotline.</em> Clef almost laughs. God, what a <em>punchline</em>, really caught him off guard. He crumbles the card in his fist and throws it on the ground.</p>
<p>Even if this was <em>domestic abuse</em>, which it isn’t, not to him, what’s some veiled hotline gonna do for someone who legally doesn’t exist? What’s any hotline gonna do against someone like Gears? It’s just a bad joke, something to keep up appearances rather than help anyone. Clef steps on the crumpled ball on his way out.</p>
<p>He returns home. <em>Home</em>… is that what he’s calling Gears’s <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> now? He lets himself in, locking the door behind him. There’s a glass of water sitting on his nightstand, which he appreciates. Maybe an olive branch.</p>
<p>L.S. curls up in his bed as he drifts off to sleep.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>10:56 am, Site-19, two months before Clef has a mental breakdown in front of Adams:</strong></p>
<p>Clef’s drop in energy is sudden. Anyone who works with him saw it, the bags under his eyes, the weakness in his smile, the way he would start sentences and then drift off, losing his train of thought. Adams would often find him face down in his desk, completely unresponsive.</p>
<p>At first Adams wondered what she had done to earn this blessing. Clef no longer made his weird, sexually charged comments, no longer rambled to her for hours, no longer <em>spoke</em> at all. She is finally free to do what <em>she</em> wants.</p>
<p>And then the silence gets to her.</p>
<p>It feels wrong to walk by Clef’s side in complete silence. The coffee in his hand isn’t doing anything for him. Adams feels antsy, like a zoo animal without enrichment, pacing around her cage.</p>
<p>“Sir…”</p>
<p>He perks up. “Hm?”</p>
<p>“… Did you know Britain's oldest woman turned one hundred and fourteen today?”</p>
<p>“Why would I give a shit about that?”</p>
<p>“Just thought you might want to know, given your age.” A grunt, good, she continues, “She claimed her age was because of a long walk she took every night. When she was asked if she was concerned about the increase in muggings in recent years, she said that she was not, and would continue mugging people as long as her health holds out.”</p>
<p>Clef blinks slowly, Adams can see the cogs turning behind his eyes. A grin slowly spreads across his face. “<em>Adams</em>,” he says, aghast. “Did you just <em>dad joke</em> me?”</p>
<p>“Did I?”</p>
<p>Clef shakes his head. “I’m disappointed in you. I know you can do better than that.”</p>
<p>“Guess I only have a poor teacher to blame.”</p>
<p>“Oh you’re <em>bad</em> today. Okay, I’ll give you one better.” He cracks his knuckles and takes a long gulp of coffee. Adams mentally braces herself for the worst joke in human history. “So a man and his wife are at a restaurant, and the husband keeps… He keeps staring at- there’s this woman at the other end of the…”</p>
<p>Clef stops in his tracks. The mug slips from his hand. Adams has all of three seconds to snatch him by the shirt before he hits the ground. Arms shaking, she slowly lays him down.</p>
<p>“This is Agent Adams, I’m on floor twenty-four B. Dr. Clef has just collapsed. He’s unresponsive. Over,” she says into her comms device. Clef doesn’t stir. It’s uncanny seeing him like this.</p>
<p><em>“Are you serious? Alright, sending a few men your way. Did he show any signs of injury or sickness before collapsing?”</em></p>
<p>“No- well yes? Kinda?” There’s not a good way to say she’s been regularly letting him pass out at work. “He’s seemed a little sick lately, but this is the first time he’s just- dropped.”</p>
<p><em>“Understood. I’ll contact the site director, let him know what happened.”</em></p>
<p>“Okay, thank you.”</p>
<p>Three guards in uniform show up and lug Clef down to the hospital wing. Adams is told to return to work, but she sticks around, eavesdropping in on two nurses.</p>
<p><em>“Yeah, apparently he came in a couple weeks ago, middle of the night, glass and shit sticking out of his head. Wouldn’t tell Vesta anything. I mean what are we supposed to do? Tell a guy who kills for fun to stay out of bar fights?”</em></p>
<p><em>“You think a head injury could’ve knocked something loose? Gave him a stroke?”</em></p>
<p><em>“I doubt it. Looks to me like he just took too much sleeping medication. Same thing kept happening a couple years ago when the Foundation was prescribing everyone those amnestics. Besides, I think a brain injury might improve his health.”</em></p>
<p>The nurses go silent as Clef drags himself out of the hospital room. His face is pulled in a tight scowl.</p>
<p>“Hey! You can’t just leave!”</p>
<p>Clef flips her off and storms out. Adams catches him in the hallway.</p>
<p>“What’s up with you! You- you <em>freaked me out</em> back there.”</p>
<p>Clef bears his teeth. His cheeks are red, that flush spreading up to his ears. He opens his mouth, as if to speak, only to close it, grind his teeth, and push her out of the way. Adam trails him to his office.</p>
<p>“So you’re just not going to talk to me? What’s going on with you?”</p>
<p>He sits at his desk and puts his head in his hands. His entire demeanor shifts. Adams blinks and for a moment she thinks she’s talking to a whole different person. Clef sucks in an audible, shuddering gasp.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong with you?” She meant it to come out a little firmer than that.</p>
<p>He shakes his head.</p>
<p>“Are you really not going to talk to me?”</p>
<p>No response. Adams chews on her nail.</p>
<p>“Is it that you <em>won’t</em> talk to me or <em>can’t</em>?”</p>
<p>Clef slowly drags a pad of sticky notes across the desk and scribbles down <em>can’t</em>. Adams sits down, twitching with nervous energy.</p>
<p>“Okay then… Why not?”</p>
<p>A shrug.</p>
<p>“You don’t know?”</p>
<p>Another shrug.</p>
<p>“Does this happen often?”</p>
<p>Clef thinks for a moment before writing: <em>It’s not supposed to.</em></p>
<p>Alright, okay, so your boss has passed out and is now nonverbal at work. They don’t put these types of situations in the training booklets.</p>
<p>“Can I… help you?”</p>
<p><em>Just shut up about it. Don’t tell anyone.</em></p>
<p>“Fine. Fuck me for giving a shit about you.”</p>
<p>Clef grips his pen and scribbles something, and just as quickly scratches it out. He puts his head on his desk and huffs. He looks like an old dog.</p>
<p>Then, something else enters. Adams can’t remember who, but Clef straightens up in his seat and Adams follows suit. She remembers feeling afraid, and that’s not something she’s accustomed to.</p>
<p>The person says a few words, asks a few questions, Clef responds with nothing. He looks defeated, and Adams thinks this is something she’s not supposed to see. Even when the person leaves, the tension in his features remains.</p>
<p>They don’t talk about it. There’s nothing to talk about at all.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>7:35 am, Clef’s office, two days after Clef had a mental breakdown in front of Adams:</strong></p>
<p>Adams can forget about what happened. Clef doesn’t exactly have a reputation for being a stable person; it was only a matter of time until this place got to him in a way she could see.</p>
<p>When he returns from work, two days after locking her in a closet and talking to… seemingly Nobody, she’s ready to brush it under the carpet. Everyone’s boss starts screaming at the walls occasionally, water under the bridge.</p>
<p>That’s until Clef’s apologizes.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says, looking her right in the eyes, “that you had to see what happened the other night. Wasn’t in my right mind.”</p>
<p>There’s no joke, no prank, no code, nothing she could expect from Clef. Just a soft, genuine apology, and he moves on with his work.</p>
<p>That’s when Adams realizes something is <em>horribly</em> wrong.</p>
<p><em>But what can she do about it?</em></p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>12:37 am, Site-19, three hours before the incident:</strong></p>
<p>“Kondraki!”</p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/portraits-of-your-father">Draven</a> jolts awake. He’s in the back of a helicopter, which is now on a landing pad behind Site-19. He gathers up his bag and MTF helmet and steps off, thanking the pilot as he leaves.</p>
<p>It’s been a long time since he’s been to Site-19, a couple of months at least, maybe a year. He hasn’t been back since the site director transferred him away… <em>who is the site director anyway?</em></p>
<p>Despite the time, Draven finds his way to his old dorm with muscle memory. He sets his stuff down on the stiff cot and slides his phone out of his pocket. It’s the middle of the night and his last message is still unread, but he texts Clef anyway.</p>
<p>After his father’s death, Draven spoke to Clef a lot. It was nice, not having to mourn by himself. And when Draven was transferred out, they tried to call or text everyday.</p>
<p>And then Clef stopped answering calls. He rarely responded to messages, usually only at sporadic times and never answering Draven’s questions. Draven, to his horror, felt another important person slipping from his grasp.</p>
<p>This time of year is difficult for Clef, Draven knows that even if, like most things, he doesn’t know the full context. Offering Clef some support is the least Draven can do for him.</p>
<p>Draven lays down on the mold stained sheets and stares at the ceiling. He’s not getting any sleep, is he? Damn.</p>
<p>He stands, spending an hour tidying up the dorm. Even if he won’t be here long, the next person will appreciate the effort. Then he makes his way down to the cafeteria, making light conversation with the other night shift workers. Feels like home.</p>
<p>Eventually, the boredom hits. He still hasn’t gotten a response on any of his messages. It would definitely be rude to just show up at Clef’s <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> at this hour, but in Draven’s defense, he did try to warn him. If he still has a key to Clef’s <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> he can just let himself in, because that’ll go down well.</p>
<p>“Can I borrow a car? Or a bike?” Draven asks, eyeing up the lot of Foundation vehicles.</p>
<p><em>“Where the hell do you wanna go at this hour?”</em></p>
<p>“If you need to know, I want to visit Dr. Clef.”</p>
<p><em>“You know you could just- walk over there, right?”</em></p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p><em>“He lives just over- what the fuck?”</em></p>
<p>Draven turns around just in time to see a <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> shoot up into the sky. A great tower twisting upwards.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>3:24 am, Site-19, Secure humanoid containment cell, three minutes before the incident:</strong></p>
<p>SCP-166 shoots out of bed, pure terror racking through her body. She hunches over the side of her bed and hacks up filthy water. She stands up, knocking her bible onto the ground with a <em>thump</em>.</p>
<p><em>Something is wrong</em>. She can’t name what, only that the feeling of <em>wrongness</em> is too much. Her legs tremble and something warm drips down her face. She drags herself to the wooden door of her containment cell and throws herself against it.</p>
<p>Her head throbs. She’s never had too much trouble with her antlers, but at this moment they feel so heavy. She jams them into the wall, tearing up the old wood. Something is pulling on her, she could really feel it now, and it’s agonizing.</p>
<p>Two figures in protective suits burst in. They speak to her, but she can’t make out a word over the blood rushing in her ears. They yank her out of the wall, boards and splinters tearing over with her.</p>
<p>Thick mold oozes out of the wall, it makes her dizzy and nauseous. The mold is in her, has always been in her. Growing and festering under her skin since her father dragged her, screaming, out of their <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>. Except, of course, there’s no mold in the Foundation’s walls, and the guards are shouting at her.</p>
<p><em>“What’s gotten into you!?”</em></p>
<p>She can’t speak, lake water and mold pouring from her lips. <em>Don't they see it? Don’t they see the mold that’s growing between the cracks in the wall? It’s growing in them too, she can feel it, it’s settled deeply in their veins. How can they pretend to be okay with that?</em></p>
<p>In the distance, Nobody wakes up to the feeling of blood dripping from the ceiling. SCP-166 passes out.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>???, Clef’s home, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/loosen-up-a-bit">a kinder universe</a>:</strong></p>
<p>They’re in Clef’s kitchen, Gears’s face illuminated by the soft, warm light of a few scented candles. He looks good, better than good, he looks healthy. No longer the closed off, painfully skinny, lonely man Clef fell for <em>oh</em> so long ago.</p>
<p>Gears twirls a knife in his hand and with precise, practiced motions, cuts a bag of onions into even slices, and then those slices into even squares. He slides a cold bottle of Sherry towards Clef, something to deglaze the pan before they caramelize the onions. Clef pops off the cap and puts the bottle to his lips, savoring the sweetly sticky drink. Gears sighs, fondly.</p>
<p>“Please take care to not cook drunk,” he requests softly.</p>
<p>Clef laughs. “Right, right. Got a little ahead of myself there. Good thing I did, though. <em>Way</em> too sweet for this dish. I mean try it.” He holds to bottle up, jamming it into Gears’s face. Hesitantly, Gears takes a sip, letting Clef tip the bottle into his mouth. He lets it rest on his tongue for a moment.</p>
<p>“You’re right, far too sweet. Would be more fitting for a dessert.” He slides his tongue across his teeth.</p>
<p>Clef waves a finger at him. “See? This is why you taste a little bit of everything.”</p>
<p>“Apologies for grabbing the wrong wine.”</p>
<p>“Don’t apologize to me, you know I don’t like that. Besides, we can always run and get another bottle. No harm, no foul.”</p>
<p>“It’s a bit cold out… Are you sure you want to head out at this hour?”</p>
<p>Clef looks out the window. It is getting dark out, a thin layer of snow on the ground. He looks at Kondraki’s- at <em>his</em> coat hanging up next to the door. “I’m sure I could… get someone to deliver it here. Hold on.”</p>
<p>While Clef works on ordering a new bottle, Gears makes a beef broth for the soup. The broth is made completely from scratch, of course. Clef can’t help but be captivated as Gears works. To think, only a few months ago, it was Gears marveling as Clef showed him how a similar, smaller batch he made turned completely solid and almost gelatinous when chilled, a proper bone broth.</p>
<p><em>You’re beautiful,</em> Clef doesn’t say, but he thinks it. He thinks it as a smile pulls on Gears’s lips, an absent, unconscious little motion. His mind elsewhere as he stirs spices into the broth. It smells great. Clef stands uselessly, leaning against the counter, only watching while Gears works.</p>
<p>So lost in thought, Clef doesn’t realize how much time passes until there’s a knock on the door. He shows his ID to the delivery boy, returning to the kitchen with a bit of frost on his hat, a fresh bottle of Sherry, dark chocolate, and strawberries. The too-sweet Sherry will go well with that, he thinks.</p>
<p>With the fresh bottle, Clef begins to caramelize the onions. Gears flips through a cookbook. It’s not one Clef bought him.</p>
<p>“‘S that new?”</p>
<p>“Hm? Oh this, yes it’s new. I saw it at the store this morning while shopping.” Gears runs his fingers along the smooth, unblemished pages. “I haven't gotten a chance to read through it in its entirety, but it’s quite fascinating. It discusses much of the science behind cooking!” Gears slides easily into discussion. Clef nods along, even if he’s not quite sure what a <em>centrifuge</em> is or what it has to do with cooking.</p>
<p>The onions join the broth. Gears slices up a baguette, slathering each piece in butter and herbs, lining those up on a tray for the oven. Clef sorts through his fridge for the gruyère cheese. Took him ages to find a quality block.</p>
<p><em>“Why don’t you just grab a different type of cheese?” Lament asked when Clef was complaining about this exact thing to Gears. Clef was about to tear Lament a new one when Gears caught both of them off guard, standing up for Clef’s honor.</em></p>
<p><em>“Every type of cheese is different in both make-up, texture, and flavor. Simply attempting to swap one cheese for another could throw off an entire dish.” He said it in his usual calm, flat voice, but Clef could see the light in his eyes. The passion growing inside of him. He looked so alive, he looks so alive right now.</em></p>
<p>Gears sips the soup out of a ladle- it’s the blue one Clef bought because it looks like a dinosaur. Gears reaches into the spice cabinet for the thyme, his sweater rides up a bit. Clef nearly slices his hand open on the cheese grater when he catches a glimpse of Gears’s stomach.</p>
<p>Clef ladles the soup into ramekins, and tops it with one of the toasted crostini and a heap of freshly shredded gruyère. They set it in the oven to broil, and watch intently as the cheese bubbles, blisters, and browns. Clef removes it with an oven glove.</p>
<p>They sit across from each other and eat. It’s comfortable, nearly silent. The only sound being Clef’s slurping and Gears’s soft hums of content. It’s perfect, not just the soup but <em>this</em>. Gears <em>is</em> perfect.</p>
<p>Once they finish, Gears gathers up the dishes for the sink. He decides he can wash those later, Clef is waiting for him on the couch, putting on a show for the both of them. Clef pours two glasses of the too-sweet Sherry and they toast to each other.</p>
<p>Clef is so very happy he invited Gears into his <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>- no, not just his <em><span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span></em>, his <em>home</em>, his life. He’s so captivated by Gears, by how far they’ve come to reach this point, that Clef doesn’t even notice what day it is. Well… no point in reminding himself now, he’s earned a good night.</p>
<p>The chocolate covered strawberries are <em>perfect</em> with the Sherry. Clef holds one out for Gears, and Gears, perhaps a little drunker than he intended to be, leans in and takes it with his teeth. Clef shudders as Gears’s lips brush against his fingers.</p>
<p>He mumbles something.</p>
<p>“What was that?” Gears is smiling. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He washes down the chocolate and licks his lips and smiles and it all feels and looks so natural. Clef forgets how to think.</p>
<p>“I love you,” he says. “I love you,” he repeats because it didn’t sound right the first time. “I <em>love</em> you.” No, that isn’t right either. It’s just not enough to convey what’s boiling inside of him.“I. <em>I</em> love you. I-”</p>
<p>Gears presses a finger to Clef’s lips before he can spiral further. “I heard you. I know.”</p>
<p>Gears once wondered if he’d ever understand Clef fully. Clef looks at him with wonder in his eyes, such a love he wasn’t sure what he did to deserve. He realizes, in this moment, that he’s not <em>afraid</em> of Clef anymore, of not understanding Clef’s <em>inscrutable</em> nature. It was no longer a glassy river surface, cracking beneath his feet, waiting to swallow him up. It was… well, he doesn't know what it is, but he knows it loves him.</p>
<p>“I love you too,” he says, breathlessly. Clef’s relaxes, melting.</p>
<p>Gears rests his head on Clef’s shoulder, and Clef wraps his arm around his waist. They’ve earned this peace.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>3:30 am, Nobody’s <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>, during the incident:</strong></p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/going-out-of-book">Alison Chao</a> walks around her father’s <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> three times, making note of every window, every wall, every crack in the foundations. Anything she can gleen from observation would help her. A sensor in her hand starts wailing, the hume levels are getting out of control. She can see movement in the second story window, and she can hear the yowl of a cat.</p>
<p>The door is locked, obviously, but there’s infinite Ways into a <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>, especially one like this. Alison presses her body up against the door, takes in a deep breath, and closes her eyes.</p>
<p>It’s dark inside, her flashlight doesn’t light up the space in front of her, almost like there’s a black <em>veil</em> before her, blocking out her vision. The floor creaks under foot. It’s cold too, her breath turns into vapor. This place feels <em>alive</em> and <em>scared</em>.</p>
<p><em>“Can you help me? I’m lost. I think my father’s here.”</em></p>
<p><em>“He’s upstairs.”</em></p>
<p>Alison’s heart skips a beat. It’s <em>him</em>. <em>He</em> who Alison has crawled through every tiny crack in the universe to find. He’s right within Alison’s grasp, she could practically brush her fingers against him.</p>
<p>Her legs shake as she forces herself deeper into the <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>. Whatever lives within the walls of this place is more <em>intense</em> than anything she’s ever encountered, at least this closely. <em>He’s</em> not safe here, hell, <em>she’s</em> not even safe here, <em>this place</em> isn’t safe here.</p>
<p>She drags her hand across the wall, using it as an anchor. The wall feels slick and sticky, for her own health she doesn’t shine her light at it. Something crunches under her foot. A glowstick?</p>
<p>Her fingers find a smooth countertop. Her father was <em>here</em>, just moments before. Her light does little to illuminate her surroundings, but it does help her notice where the counter opens up into another room. Distant voices echo towards her. She crawls over the counter and into-</p>
<p><em>Pure white.</em></p>
<p>Her eyes <em>burn</em> from the sudden contrast. Her thin coat is useless against the snow, and pulling her hat over her ears doesn’t block out the roar of the wind. <em>Snow… why is there snow here?</em> Wherever this is, it’s angry, and its fury pours out like an open wound.</p>
<p>She drops her flashlight, it wasn’t doing her much good anyway. Her aching fingers twitch towards her reality anchor. <em>Not yet</em>, she commands herself, not until she gets closer.</p>
<p>A gunshot pierces through the air. Alison stumbles against the winds and drops to her knees. Distantly, she can make out the figure of a man. She wants to scream for him, but her lips are sealed shut.</p>
<p>The figure moves away from her and suddenly the cold means nothing. She charges forward, gracelessly. Something, or more aptly, <em>someone</em> is lying on the stairs. Her father is just within her grasp.</p>
<p>She <em>freezes</em>. He’s looking right at her. He can’t see her, of course, but his eyes are trained on the exact spot she stands. She doesn’t dare to move, even as the frost creeps up her skin and around her veins. He looks… scared. As he travels up the stairwell, out of view, the blizzard stops, all at once.</p>
<p>Alison doesn’t recognize the body on the staircase. He looks dead, but he also looks like there was never much life in him in the first place. As Alison stands there, lost in a sort of trance, his body shimmers and <em>melts</em>, disappearing into the cracks between the floorboards. She blinks, and she’s standing in the middle of the living room.</p>
<p>There’s a centerpoint to this hole in reality, and it’s moving away from her, towards her father, or, perhaps <em>with</em> her father. She brushes the last, crumbling bits of frost off her coat and takes the first step.</p>
<p>The stairs go up, and then they go up, and then they continue to go up. Even when she’s sure she’s reached the next floor, they go up. When she’s sure she’s reached well over the height of the <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>, they go up. The walls groan, the steps creak, and the stairs go up.</p>
<p>Alison could try and count the steps, which are going up, but she loses track of the numbers. Her mind is focused on what’s waiting for her on the top of these ever upward steps. She’s going to get her father out, guide him <em>down</em> the twisting stairwell. She’s going to <em>win</em>.</p>
<p><em>“You thought if you sent me away I wouldn’t find out what you did? You were terrified of me, the perfect token of your guilt, of the promise you failed to keep.”</em></p>
<p>A moment's pause, followed by a weak sigh. <em>“I did not kill your father.”</em></p>
<p>She’s close, so close, but something’s wrong.</p>
<p><em>“Yes you did. You may not have put a bullet through his head, but he’s gone because of you. You couldn’t stand to look at me, couldn’t risk that I would pick up on the mold that’s settled in your stomach.”</em></p>
<p>Alison starts running. Her body aches with the effort, her lungs burning with every breath. She takes off her hat, stuffs it in her pocket, and plucks out her reality anchor. It’s warm in her hands.</p>
<p><em>“I know what you’ve done. You can try and try and try to run and hide, but I know. And you know I know, you know I hate you for what you did. You know that one day, I’ll walk into your office and do this-”</em></p>
<p>There’s a man on the stairs, or, at least there’s something in the shape of a man on the stairs. It- <em>he</em> presses a gun to her father’s forehead. Alison activates her reality anchor. It feels like the ground has disappeared under her feet. She stumbles, pushing through the nausea, damn near slamming her full weight into her father.</p>
<p>“Dad-!” Oh god, <em>oh god</em>, it’s really him. He feels real under her fingers. She doesn’t have the time or the words to say what she needs to say to him. “-we have to get out of here!”</p>
<p>“No. No! Leave me alone!” His voice sounds wrong, weak and desperate. She can see the white of his bloodshot eyes. “Just go away!” Alison bites her lip until it bleeds.</p>
<p>“This place is too dangerous. I know there’s someone you care about in there but you can’t help him! Please, just come with me! My reality anchor is only so strong.” The small, handheld anchor pulses in her hands, like a heartbeat.</p>
<p>She grabs him, sinking her fingers into his forearm. She’s prepared for this, prepared to drag him kicking and screaming out of the gaping maw that snatched him from her in the first place. She didn’t prepare for the stairs to be so slick, or for him to be so willing to shove her.</p>
<p>If she thought the feeling of activating the anchor was nauseating then there was no way she would ever be prepared for the <em>fall</em>. It wasn’t like falling down the stairs, it was more like falling down a pit. You fall, and you fall, and there’s nothing to grab onto, not a sign that there’s ever going to be a bottom, that anything will ever catch you</p>
<p>You just keep going</p>
<p>D</p>
<p>O</p>
<p>W</p>
<p>N.</p>
<p>And then the ground crashes into her.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>4:17 am, Nobody’s <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>, the extraction:</strong></p>
<p>During this time of year, most people would chalk up Clef's increased irritability to any number of things. Clef was just an asshole, there was no point in psychoanalyzing his ever changing mood.</p>
<p>Draven didn’t have the same privilege of avoiding Clef whenever his mood spiked. If Draven wasn’t personally doing field training with Clef, Clef was in his home, pretending like he wasn’t madly in love with Draven’s father. Clef was an important, if only a consistent, figure for the last quarter of Draven’s life, and so Draven became intimately aware of the highs and lows of Clef’s mental state, and what to do about it.</p>
<p>That's why Draven was first to kick down the door to Clef’s <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>. He <em>has</em> to be first. He <em>has</em> to be there for a Clef</p>
<p>A corpse lies in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. No, not a corpse, not yet, she’s still breathing. Not Draven's problem.</p>
<p>Clef’s upstairs. Draven’s been around him long enough to recognize this feeling. The hazy pressure of reality shifting slightly to the right. Ignoring the shouts from his fellow soldiers, Draven practically leaps over the body to get up the stairs. He <em>has</em> to be the one to get there first, there’s no telling what the others might do if he doesn’t.</p>
<p><em>Shoot first, ask questions later,</em> one of Clef’s favorite things to drill into his student’s little heads. Well Draven has a lot of questions right now, and he’s not going to shoot his mentor. Not Clef, he can’t lose Clef.</p>
<p>He bursts through the door, using more force than he needs to. The thick, copper stench of blood clogs up his nose. He’s <em>long</em> past the point of being bothered by blood, but seeing it splattered across the walls and seeping out of Clef’s closed eyes leaves him nauseous. <em>Draven should’ve prevented this, should’ve come in sooner, should’ve tried a little harder before he went a blew his fucking brains out-</em></p>
<p>Draven snaps himself back into focus. Clef is alive. Heavily injured, but alive. <em>The Foundation will fix this, just get him out of here. The Foundation will fix this.</em> He repeats those words over and over in his mind as he worms his arms under Clef’s and hoists him out of bed. <em>Fix Clef, fix Clef, fix Clef, fix dad, fix dad, fix-</em></p>
<p>Clef’s antlers block half of Draven’s vision, and the sound Clef makes as he is dragged out of bed… will haunt Draven’s nightmares for the rest of his life, or at least until the Foundation amnestizes him.</p>
<p>As he settles into autopilot, Draven has to ask where he went wrong. How did this happen without Draven noticing? It’s not fair. <em>None of this is fair.</em></p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>4:36 am, the long stretch between a <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> and a home:</strong></p>
<p>Alison wakes up to the feeling of a wet, sandpapery tongue dragging across her cheek. She opens her eyes for all of two seconds before they fall closed. Her anchor pulses near her head, and consciousness evades her.</p>
<p>The second time she wakes up she’s moving. It’s slow, but her body aches so much it feels agonizing. There’s some talking, but it’s all muffled. One blurry person stays next to her while the rest of the blurry figures run up the stairs. Someone says something that might be directed at her. They never get an answer.</p>
<p>The third time she wakes up it’s to the yowl of a cat. She opens her eyes in time to see the person in uniform snatch up a cat off her chest. It digs its claws into her chest and screams as it is lifted away.</p>
<p>“None of that now,” the guard says, turning his back to Alison. She stands up, using the wall as a crutch. Her head throbs, every movement sending a white hot stab of pain through her head and down her spine.</p>
<p>The cat squirms out of the guard’s arms, hits the ground face first and scampers out of the open door. The guard spins around, too focused on the cat to immediately notice that Alison is on her feet. They make extended eye contact, a beat passes, and Alison bolts out the door.</p>
<p>From the perspective of the guard, he picked up a cat that seemed tempted to eat a heavily concussed woman, dropped it, and watched said heavily concussed woman bolt out the door and disappear from view. He would have run after her, but the rest of his teammates come down the stairs with a screaming, bloodied man, and she quickly becomes his last priority.</p>
<p>Alison’s perspective is similar, but as she gets her hat on, she loses feeling in her legs and collapses in a field across the street from her father’s <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>. She’s had hundreds of injuries, fucked up a thousand times across a thousand universes, but this one hurts the most.</p>
<p>That cat is nearby, rolling around the grass. Alison forces herself back to her feet and stalks toward it. It perks up- likely just due to the noise, it shouldn’t be able to see her.</p>
<p>… <em>shouldn’t</em> be able to.</p>
<p>The cat runs. Alison runs too. She doesn’t know if she’s running after the cat or away from Site-19. Neither direction is safe, but if she stops and thinks for too long she might not get up again.</p>
<p>It feels like he runs for hours, and she just might have, her body fueled by pure adrenaline. The cat leaps through brambles and brushes with about as much grace as she does. Site-19, her father’s house, everything disappears from her view, replaced by a loved cabin.</p>
<p>She stops, making an active effort not to feel the weight of her body. The cat squirms into the cabin through a cracked window. She goes up the three steps and stands on the patio. The door creaks open without trouble. The house is empty, just a thin layer of dust covering its baren walls and floors.</p>
<p>This place feels loved. It’s a warm feeling that seeps in and soothes her aching body. It also feels sad and abandoned. A place like this can’t possibly understand why it’s been left alone for so long.</p>
<p>In the center of this room there’s a displaced floorboard. She approaches, drops to her knees, and pushes it aside. There’s a hole under the <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>, big enough for a full grown man, occupied by a fat, old cat. The poor thing looks filthy, covered in dried blood, dust, mold, and cobwebs. It looks at her, spit dripping out of its mouth, two different colored eyes seeing her despite her hat.</p>
<p>She laughs. She’s not sure what sparks it. Maybe it’s because she just noticed the <em>hole</em> in her own mind. She’s spent enough time in the anomalous community to recognize that something’s been taken from her, snatched right out of her psyche.</p>
<p>“I was so close,” she says to the empty air. “So close to… So close… So fucking close…” She sinks to the floor, breathing in the dust and mold, and laughs.</p>
<p>She drags herself into the hole and pulls the board over on top.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>4:58 am, a lake in Cornwall, England:</strong></p>
<p>A fish swims in slow, aimless circles, unbothered by the rising waters.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>8:12 am, Site-19, four hours after the incident:</strong></p>
<p>Clef isn’t in his office by the time Adams comes in. That’s normal, he’s missed plenty of days and Adams is used to doing work on her own. It was the site director’s job to get onto him for that, not hers.</p>
<p>What <em>isn’t</em> normal, is the group of armed guards and researchers poking around the cramped space. Did she miss an email?</p>
<p>“What’s going on here? Where’s Clef?”</p>
<p>A nerdy little man approaches her. “<em>Ah</em>, Agent Adams. You’ll find Clef in Humanoid Containment. I would suggest you hurry on.”</p>
<p><em>Humanoid containment?</em> Must be some new, poor soul looking to worm their way onto Alpha-9. <em>Seems</em> like something Clef should have discussed with her beforehand, but, well, it is Clef.</p>
<p>It doesn’t take a genius to put together that Clef isn’t as human as he’d like people to believe. Even knowing that couldn’t have prepared Adams for the state of things in <em>High Security Humanoid Containment</em>.</p>
<p>The cell is way too small, for one. That’s the first thing Adams becomes viscerally aware of. It’s cramped, claustrophobic, just a miserable little mattress in the corner where a lump in the shape of Clef lays. He’s still, eyes closed, face devoid of any of Clef’s mannerisms.</p>
<p>He looks dead.</p>
<p>Even when she gets close enough to see the slow rise and fall of his chest, she can’t shake the feeling of looking at a corpse. It’s almost the <em>opposite</em> of uncanny, this is no longer the false caricature of a man, this is real. The <em>realest</em> she’s ever seen him.</p>
<p>“Dr. Clef?” She feels like a child calling out his name; he’s clearly unconscious. It’s more of a reassurance for herself. <em>Yes, this is doctor Clef I am looking at.</em></p>
<p>“I wouldn’t get too close.” Adams jumps out of her skin. She was so deep in her head she forgot she wasn’t alone in here. A miserable looking boy sits in the corner opposite of Clef. He’s got bags under his eyes and the general vibe of someone who’s way too young to be in this position.</p>
<p>“What happened?”</p>
<p>He shrugs. “Complicated.”</p>
<p><em>“Complicated?”</em></p>
<p>“I don’t know, okay?” He huffs like a dog and slumps back in the corner. “You’re Agent Adams, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“He talks about you sometimes. Only good things, I promise.” His eyes twitch, a tight, professional smile on his face. He’s not here as a guard, he’s here as a friend.</p>
<p>“And who are you?” He seems familiar, but Adams is terrible at putting names to faces.</p>
<p>“Oh- Kondraki,” he winces, “Draven Kondraki. Agent- <em>ahem</em>.”</p>
<p>“Oh! I knew your father.” <em>Knew</em> being a <em>very</em> strong word, but <em>met once</em> doesn’t roll off the tongue as well. Another wince, his poker face is horrible today.</p>
<p>“A lot of people did…” he looks ready to fold in on himself when his eyes suddenly widen. Adams turns in time to see Clef’s antlers scrap against the wall.</p>
<p>He howls. That’s the only word to describe this noise. The walls shudder and creak as grass and flowers force their way between the floor tiles. Vines and flowers coil around the security cameras and Clef’s antlers. Adams hunches over as a coughing fit overtakes her, flower petals spray out of her mouth.</p>
<p>There was one assignment Adams had before she was assigned as Clef’s assistant and her fate was sealed. She visited a <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span>, in the middle of Cornwall, England. It was incredibly brief, two days if even that, and something that just as quickly faded from memory. But, at this moment, as her lungs fill with vines and plant matter, she’s standing in a dusty old bedroom, propped up on tiptoes, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the manifestation in the surrounding waters over the shoulders of the researcher in her way.</p>
<p>There’s a tiny figure in the lake, made even smaller by the tall woman beside them. And as Adams’s vision blurs and she falls to her knees, all she can think is: <em>it’s him.</em></p>
<p>But, of course now isn’t the time for reminiscing.</p>
<p>When the reality anchors come on Adams hits the ground before Clef does. Draven darts past her to grab Clef. Clef vomits, gray water spilling from his lips. Adams reaches into the back of her mouth to yank out a chain of lilies.</p>
<p><em>What the fuck was that about?</em></p>
<p>Clef sobs, heavy, disgusting heaves. His lips move but he can’t form any words.</p>
<p>Adams pulls herself together and scoots to Clef’s other side. Clef’s eyes between her and Draven. He squirms, his antler leaving a thin scratch across Draven’s cheek. Adams backs off, instructing Draven to do the same.</p>
<p>Something’s different about Clef, besides the obvious. It’s hard to describe, but it reminds Adams of several months ago when Clef passed out in the middle of the hallway. This isn’t Clef, not entirely.</p>
<p>Clef wheezes, clawing at his throat and chest, leaving red lines across his skin. They both grab a wrist before he can damage himself.</p>
<p>“Breathe!” Adams commands, rather dumbly.</p>
<p>Clef looks at her for a long time before promptly passing out. They lay him on the sad slab the Foundation calls a bed. Neither says a word.</p>
<p>Adams and Draven spend the next two days in that tiny, soundproof cell.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>8:46 am, Humanoid Containment, two days after the incident:</strong></p>
<p>Clef stares at the antlers on the ground, expression unreadable. Adams wants to tear into him, but she’s tired. Everyone’s tired. A metal tray sits in between the three of them. Three syringes, three doses of amnestics.</p>
<p>“Are you <em>fucking</em> serious?” Adams isn’t sure who she’s asking. “This is- <em>bullshit!</em>”</p>
<p>Clef <em>tsks</em>. He looks like shit, not that Adams has any right to say that. “Site director’s orders,” some of the first noises that have come from him that aren’t pained whimpers.</p>
<p>“Let’s just get this over with, okay?” Draven picks up his syringe, as does Clef.</p>
<p>They both stare at her.</p>
<p>“I want to know why this is necessary. What about all the others observing us? Why does <em>he</em> have to take it too, huh?” She gestures to Clef.</p>
<p>“Adams.” The weakness in his voice makes Adams sick to her stomach. Where’s the force? The bite? Instead, all she gets is shame. This isn’t how she wants to remember him.</p>
<p>She takes her syringe. Clef waits to stick himself for both of them to finish.</p>
<p>He may get to forget the worst few nights of his life, but he doesn’t get the same benefit of forgetting everything. Even as the amnestics course through his veins, he knows <em>nothing’s going back to normal.</em></p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>7:20 pm, Kain “Pathos” Crow’s office, four months after the incident:</strong></p>
<p>Kain is a very lucky man, if it's right to still describe him as such. He is lucky that, in spite of his situation, and the numerous <em>problems</em> he’s created for the Foundation, that he’s still useful enough to be kept alive.</p>
<p>His old bones don’t move as well as they used to. For all the intelligence he has, he never could put himself back together properly. Something he’s learned to live with, and will soon learn to die with.</p>
<p>There’s another person in his office. His body may be frail, but his senses are just as strong as they’ve always been. No, it wouldn’t be right to say there’s someone else in his office. There’s a space where a person <em>should</em> be.</p>
<p>This absence comes and goes. Kain can always tell when it’s left recently. The office will be a little cleaner, the many machines he’s made to keep himself going will be freshly oiled, and he’ll feel a pit in his stomach and a hole in his mind. A place where something <em>should</em> be, but of course isn’t, and will never be again.</p>
<p>One day, when he’s particularly aware of his surroundings, he catches the absence before it disappears.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” he says, “You’ve always <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/new-tricks">been very helpful to me</a>, even though I’m not the man, or dog, that I used to be. I wish I knew who you were. I think I’m supposed to.”</p>
<p>The lack of a person hovers before the doorway. “Me…? Oh, I'm really Nobody of note.”</p>
<p>Kain knows words have been spoken to him, until he doesn’t.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>10:09 pm, O5-1’s office, one year after the incident:</strong></p>
<p>“Quarterly report from Site-19, sir.”</p>
<p>Founder sighs. “Put it on my desk.” What was the point of all these blasted computers if they were going to keep printing out reports for every site?</p>
<p>The nameless factotum places the report on his desk. She pauses, brushing her fingers over the top page. She usually took care not to look too closely at anything meant for her Founder, but something caught her eye.</p>
<p>“Founder, sir?”</p>
<p>“Hm?” He grunts, casting his sharp eyes on her. She shrinks.</p>
<p>“Who is the Director of Site-19?”</p>
<p>He squints, eyebrows furrowed, and when he fails to produce a name he grunts and slams his fist against the table. “It’s not my responsibility to keep track of every employee here!”</p>
<p>She swallows a lump in her throat. “I just wanted to ask because there’s a name here- right here, but I can’t quite… read it?” The longer she stares at it the less sense it makes in her mind.</p>
<p>“Did I tell you to read my reports?”</p>
<p>She steels herself, standing up straight. “No sir. No, I’m sorry sir, you’re right, I shouldn’t have.” She quickly backs out of Founder's office, mentally punching herself. She’s worked here longer than most people have been alive, she should know better than this.</p>
<p>Founder shakes his head as she leaves, lips tightly pursed. Slowly, almost like he didn’t intend to, he drops his pen and grabs the report. He looks at the dotted line where the site director’s name should be.</p>
<p>There’s a hole in his mind, but why should he care if <em>Nobody</em> runs Site-19? As long as everything else is in order, it’s not his problem.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><strong>5:17 pm, <span style="color:#0099ff;">house</span> in the woods, ten years before <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/yesterday">the world ends</a>:</strong></p>
<p>A man steps out of his home and sits on a creaky rocking chair. He’s got a knife in one hand and a small loaf of bread in the other. He slices off the moldy crust and tears the bread apart with his fingers.</p>
<p>It’s late, at least it feels late. The sun is sinking, painting the trees gold and red. He’s tired. He barely sleeps these days, so every waking moment feels like he’s ready to go back to bed.</p>
<p>His appearance has changed a lot in the past couple of years. His hair is especially long, nearly reaching his hips. He’s long since given up on keeping it clean. His clothes are ratty, not exactly a washing machine down here, meaning he either has to steal clean clothes or make them. Though, he hasn’t quite starved off his beer belly.</p>
<p>A shotgun leans up against the wall next to him, probably the most well cared for thing he has anymore. Underneath the porch there’s a jar full of dead butterflies, buried in the ground. He wishes they could’ve had a better burial, but he has more important things to regret.</p>
<p>He feels a hole tear in his mind. He won’t realize the hole is there, but he feels its presence. There’s a reason he’s sitting out here instead of in a box, a person who helped him out. He remembers a person there, remembers how they helped him, but for the life of him he can not put a face to these memories.</p>
<p>He remembers Clef, the last words he said to Clef, and his stomach aches. There’s a mold settled inside of him, it’s been there for years, dormant but alive.</p>
<p>It begins to stir.</p>
<div class="series-nav">
<p>« <strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lets-get-you-home">Part 1</a></strong> | <strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-need-you-to-leave">Part 2</a></strong> | <strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/this-is-not-a-place-of-honor">Part 3</a></strong> | <strong>Part 4</strong> <em>(you are here)</em> | <strong><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tomorrow-and-tomorrow-and-tomorrow">Finale</a></strong> »</p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/nobody-runs-site-19">Nobody Runs Site-19</a>" by kingofmice, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nobody-runs-site-19">https://scpwiki.com/nobody-runs-site-19</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
⚠️ **Content warning:** Panic Attacks, Descriptions of Violence, and Domestic Abuse
This tale also takes heavy inspiration from SCP-4231, which in itself deals with domestic and sexual abuse
Please take care
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
.body-text {
margin: 2% 13% 2% 9%;
padding: 5px 20px 5px 20px;
background-color: #f2f2f2;
color: #111;
}
.text4desk {
width: 70%;
margin: auto;
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 600px) {
.body-text {
margin: 0% 4% 0% 4%;
}
.text4desk {
width:100%;
}
}
[[/module]]
//[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/this-is-not-a-place-of-honor previously]//
**3:27 AM, Clef’s bedroom, three years before Kondraki’s death:**
A scream rips from Clef’s throat. Kondraki is out of bed and on the floor in seconds, except the floor isn’t as flat as he remembers and the walls are squeezing in on him and the very [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] feels alive and hungry.
Clef is writhing on the bed, clutching his head as antlers attempt to tear through his skull. Three parallel cuts appear on his back as if an invisible paw took a swipe at him. Any thoughts Kondraki had were immediately replaced with the need to protect.
Kondraki kneels on the bed, reaching over Clef to flip on the lamp. He throws the blankets aside and takes Clef in his arms. Clef tenses and then goes limp. His breathing is heavy and sharp.
“[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4231 I am telling the truth]. I am telling the truth…” he mumbles between painful gasps.
“I know. I believe you.”
Clef chokes on his own snot and mucus. Kondraki holds him even as his blood soaks into his clothes and it feels like the bed is trying to eat him. Ignoring everything else around him, he rocks Clef back and forth.
Clef can’t see, can’t breathe. He’s drowning, the lake is rising, boiling. He’s running up stairs that don’t stop, don’t end, impossibly tall. He can’t breathe, water fills the [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]]. He holds his daughter above the murky surface but it’s not enough, the water is faster than him, the [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] is unrelenting. //It doesn’t stop it doesn’t stop it doesn’t stop it doesn’t stop-//
Clef opens his three, beady eyes. He squirms, nearly smacking Kondraki with his newly formed antlers. Kondraki tries to look comforting but it comes out more panicked.
“Can you hear me?”
Clef can’t speak, can’t breathe, his mouth too full of lake water and mold. He spits up on Kondraki’s shirt. He wants to scream, to beg for mercy. He //is// telling the truth, he //is// telling the-
Carefully, with a grace he did not possess, Kondraki drags Clef from the bed and into the bathroom. Clef vomits into the toilet while Kondraki runs a washcloth under warm water and cleans up the blood. Clef can’t quite look at him, can’t quite focus on anything.
Kondraki drops to Clef's side, pressing the warm cloth into the fresh cuts on his cheek. Clef doesn’t move, too scared to. He sucks in a sharp breath as the cloth runs down his neck. He breaks out into weak sobs, just a quivering mess on his bathroom floor.
Logically speaking, he knows exactly where he is. He’s in his home, a twenty minute drive from Site-19. He’s with Kondraki. He //trusts// Kondraki, whatever trust means these days. He’s safe here.
At the same time, over a thousand miles away, he’s also in an abandoned [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]]. He’s still curled under the floorboards, breathing in the mold and dust, waiting for //her// to find him. For a moment, the man in the floorboards woke up, and Clef felt his terror.
“Are you okay?” Kondraki asks, sounding distant.
Clef nods, still not quite able to look at him.
Kondraki takes a cup from their nightstand and fills it with water. Clef drinks it- or tries to, most of it ends up on his chest.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Clef shakes his head. He’s not sure if he even can talk right now. The antlers are gone, and the cuts are closed, if still sore. Kondraki takes Clef’s hands and Clef leans in, resting his head on Kondraki’s chest.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Clef had a couple of movies downloaded on his laptop that he liked to watch after moments like this. He nods.
Kondraki helps Clef to his feet, supporting him on their back back to their bedroom. Kondraki wraps the blanket around them, setting the laptop between them. They watch //Animal [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]House[[/span]]//and Clef lets himself forget whatever had him scared.
He watches Kondraki sink into the bed, forcing his eyes open every couple of seconds before giving up and passing out. Clef drags the back of his knuckles against Kondraki’s scratchy beard. The laptop is put away.
This feels right. Clef is safe here. He’s earned this security, nothing can take this away from him.
…
**9:16 pm, Clef’s office, two hours after [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-king-is-dead Kondraki’s death]:**
Draven finds Clef on the floor of his office, stinking of beer and vomit. There’s something so sickly familiar about this position. //God//, how many times did he find his own father in this exact situation? Passed out in a pool of alcohol and his own filth? It even smells like the same brand.
He drops to one knee by Clef’s side. “Clef?” Clef lets out a soft groan, curling in on himself. “Alto?” Draven says, softer, laying a hand on Clef’s side. Clef flinches. Draven scoots in closer, gently leaning on him.
“They wouldn’t let me see him,” Draven says. “I guess I don't need to see it for myself to know what happened…” He’s imagined this scenario a thousand times, he can picture his father’s corpse with photographic clarity.
Clef mumbles something.
“Hm?”
“I couldn’t save him…” Upon closer inspection, Clef is wrapped around a ratty jacket, a green butterfly wing pinched between his knuckles. His father’s jacket. Draven swallows a lump in his throat.
“It wasn't your responsibility to save him.”
Draven won’t claim to know all the intricacies of the relationship between his father and his mentor. Frankly, he doesn’t want to. But he did, over the course of several years, watch Clef go from //“that ugly bastard”// to //“my coworker”// to //“Dr. Clef”// to //“my friend”// and then finally to //“Alto”//. It was Clef who took care of his father when Draven wasn’t there, and for that Draven could only be grateful…
He wishes he could say he was surprised to hear that his father shot himself. But that’s not true. His father was never a stable man. This made perfect sense. Anyone could’ve seen it coming.
Draven isn’t sure what he’s feeling right now… //Hungry//. He’s feeling hungry. Hunger is a feeling he can understand, something he can satiate.
“Clef?... Let’s get out of here.” Draven stands and watches Clef lay there for several moments. Finally, Clef drags himself off the floor. He won’t look Draven in the eyes. Whatever, emotions to deal with later.
He loops an arm under Clef’s shoulder and they walk in unsteady tandem. Draven remembers the hushed whispers as they pass, the prying eyes, the feeling that creeps in his veins. He remembers passing by the site director’s office, catching a whiff of blood, and swallowing the vomit in his mouth.
He doesn’t remember, as he drags Clef into the parking lot, making eye contact with the site director. He doesn’t remember how the site director’s eyes fill with momentary fear. He doesn’t remember the site director walking away, tense. He doesn’t even remember //who// the site director is.
There’s mold growing in Clef’s sink. Draven takes the time to wash Clef’s dishes while Clef stares off into space at the table. He jumps as something brushes up against his leg. He leans down to pat L.S.’s head, getting soap on its sunken face.
He makes food, using whatever he can find in Clef’s cabinets. It’s the least he can do, in his mind. Draven knows once he’s done eating he’ll be forced to feel everything he’s choosing not to. He knows when it’s time to put his father in the ground he’ll break. He knows it’s coming. But not yet, he won’t let himself break yet.
…
**12:47 am, [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lets-get-you-home The Bitter End], one year and seven months after Kondraki’s death:**
Jonathan Tucker did not like calling the cops on people. He worked the late shift at a bar outside of town, it was practically in his job description that he is expected to deal with dangerous, intoxicated people. Still, even if it meant he would be stuck here way past closing, he’d rather exhaust all other options before that.
“Is there someone I can call for you? Someone you trust?” He asks the red faced man at the counter.
“Hehe- //sure//. You got a- a fucking //ouija board// back there?” The man laughs; it sounds like nails against a chalkboard. Tucker puts his head in his hands.
“I’m not serving you any more drinks. We’re closed. Please either leave quietly or I’ll have to call the police.”
“Call the cops! I’ll fuck ‘em up!” The man punches the air with more force than Tucker is comfortable with. Tucker is reaching for the phone when the door creaks open.
“We’re closed?” Looking back on it, Tucker can’t describe what the new stranger looks like. He looks clean, out of place in a run down place like this. Tucker almost wants to apologize for the sorry state of this place.
The clean man speaks. Tucker can’t remember exactly what he says, but he thinks that at one point he’s asked his name. The man leans over the moldy counter and writes two checks. Tucker’s stomach drops as he reads the one written for him. That’s more than triple the tips he’s received since he got this job.
“Have a good night, sir!” He waves the two men off, heart pounding in his chest.
“This is kidnapping!” The drunkard screams, “You’re letting this guy kidnap me!” Tucker ignores him. He sees this type of behavior a lot and he’s not willing to consider this situation more than he has to.
…
**1:09 am, [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/self-similar |Nobody’s bedroom]]], three months before Nobody smashes a bottle over Clef’s head:**
Nobody is lying in bed when the door creaks open. He doesn’t move, pretending to sleep. Clef creeps up next to him, closing the door behind him. Nobody can’t see the expression Clef is making, he doesn’t have to.
Clef walks around the bed and crawls under the covers, his chest to Nobody’s back. Nobody chews his lip, tearing off layers of skin. Clef is warm, a little radiator. Nobody wants to get closer, wants to hold Clef like they love each other. That’s what Clef is offering.
He can’t, though. He’s //frozen// to the spot. Clef can close his eyes and pretend that he’s in bed with Kondraki, but Nobody doesn’t get that privilege. He doesn’t have false love to project onto Clef. He doesn’t want to be Kondraki’s //replacement//.
He made a promise to keep Clef safe. That’s why he doesn’t scream when Clef gets into his bed, that’s why he doesn’t elbow him in the face as he scoots closer, that’s why he doesn’t cry as Clef snuggles up and brushes his cheek against Nobody’s neck.
Iceberg stands in the corner of the room, just out of Nobody’s vision. Nobody can feel him there. Clef holds him close and Nobody tries very hard not to feel cold.
…
**8:53 pm, Nobody’s kitchen, five seconds after Nobody smashed a bottle over Clef’s head:**
“Why can’t you just be good?” Gears gasps, desperation and fury crawling into his voice. “Am I not kind to you? Have I not cared for you?” He drops the bottle, letting it clang against the floor.
Clef can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t speak. Blood pours into his face. It feels //good// when Gears attacks him, a split moment of pure bliss. And then the moment passes and he’s just standing there, Gears red faced and panting over him.
At this moment, more than anything, Clef wants to kiss him. He wants to wrap his arms around Gears’s waist and pull him in. He //needs// Gears to pin him to the counter top and lock their lips while he //guts// him with the broken shards.
Gears storms off. A door slams. L.S. skitters into the kitchen, claws tapping against the tile. Clef just stands there, eyes locked on the place where Gears should be. His head throbs, takes a hell of a swing to break a beer bottle like that.
He drags himself from the kitchen into the bathroom just to stare at himself in the mirror. Cold water pours from the faucet, Clef forces his head under the spout. It feels nice for a moment. He tries to fix up his hair only to slice his palm on a shard. He should go to the doctor.
For a moment, he stands in front of Gears’s door. He should say something…
The cold outside air makes his head throb even more. He sits in his truck, running his fingers over the leather steering wheel. The truck sputters to life. Clef wonders how far he could get in his thing, he could stop to get gas and just //go// until he’s far, far, far away from this damned [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]].
No one at Site-19 gives him a second look. //Of course, that’s just Dr. Clef, he’s always walking around soaked in blood.// He sits his ass in the nurse's office and waits.
The nurse picks out each piece of glass, wraps up his head, asks him a few questions. Clef resists the urge to tell her to fuck off, he doesn’t //have// to explain shit, doesn’t //want// to either. She gives him a packet of paperwork and leaves him alone.
Slipped in between the standard paperwork is a card. //Domestic Abuse Hotline.// Clef almost laughs. God, what a //punchline//, really caught him off guard. He crumbles the card in his fist and throws it on the ground.
Even if this was //domestic abuse//, which it isn’t, not to him, what’s some veiled hotline gonna do for someone who legally doesn’t exist? What’s any hotline gonna do against someone like Gears? It’s just a bad joke, something to keep up appearances rather than help anyone. Clef steps on the crumpled ball on his way out.
He returns home. //Home//… is that what he’s calling Gears’s [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] now? He lets himself in, locking the door behind him. There’s a glass of water sitting on his nightstand, which he appreciates. Maybe an olive branch.
L.S. curls up in his bed as he drifts off to sleep.
…
**10:56 am, Site-19, two months before Clef has a mental breakdown in front of Adams:**
Clef’s drop in energy is sudden. Anyone who works with him saw it, the bags under his eyes, the weakness in his smile, the way he would start sentences and then drift off, losing his train of thought. Adams would often find him face down in his desk, completely unresponsive.
At first Adams wondered what she had done to earn this blessing. Clef no longer made his weird, sexually charged comments, no longer rambled to her for hours, no longer //spoke// at all. She is finally free to do what //she// wants.
And then the silence gets to her.
It feels wrong to walk by Clef’s side in complete silence. The coffee in his hand isn’t doing anything for him. Adams feels antsy, like a zoo animal without enrichment, pacing around her cage.
“Sir…”
He perks up. “Hm?”
“... Did you know Britain's oldest woman turned one hundred and fourteen today?”
“Why would I give a shit about that?”
“Just thought you might want to know, given your age.” A grunt, good, she continues, “She claimed her age was because of a long walk she took every night. When she was asked if she was concerned about the increase in muggings in recent years, she said that she was not, and would continue mugging people as long as her health holds out.”
Clef blinks slowly, Adams can see the cogs turning behind his eyes. A grin slowly spreads across his face. “//Adams//,” he says, aghast. “Did you just //dad joke// me?”
“Did I?”
Clef shakes his head. “I’m disappointed in you. I know you can do better than that.”
“Guess I only have a poor teacher to blame.”
“Oh you’re //bad// today. Okay, I’ll give you one better.” He cracks his knuckles and takes a long gulp of coffee. Adams mentally braces herself for the worst joke in human history. “So a man and his wife are at a restaurant, and the husband keeps… He keeps staring at- there’s this woman at the other end of the…”
Clef stops in his tracks. The mug slips from his hand. Adams has all of three seconds to snatch him by the shirt before he hits the ground. Arms shaking, she slowly lays him down.
“This is Agent Adams, I’m on floor twenty-four B. Dr. Clef has just collapsed. He’s unresponsive. Over,” she says into her comms device. Clef doesn’t stir. It’s uncanny seeing him like this.
//“Are you serious? Alright, sending a few men your way. Did he show any signs of injury or sickness before collapsing?”//
“No- well yes? Kinda?” There’s not a good way to say she’s been regularly letting him pass out at work. “He’s seemed a little sick lately, but this is the first time he’s just- dropped.”
//“Understood. I’ll contact the site director, let him know what happened.”//
“Okay, thank you.”
Three guards in uniform show up and lug Clef down to the hospital wing. Adams is told to return to work, but she sticks around, eavesdropping in on two nurses.
//“Yeah, apparently he came in a couple weeks ago, middle of the night, glass and shit sticking out of his head. Wouldn’t tell Vesta anything. I mean what are we supposed to do? Tell a guy who kills for fun to stay out of bar fights?”//
//“You think a head injury could’ve knocked something loose? Gave him a stroke?”//
//“I doubt it. Looks to me like he just took too much sleeping medication. Same thing kept happening a couple years ago when the Foundation was prescribing everyone those amnestics. Besides, I think a brain injury might improve his health.”//
The nurses go silent as Clef drags himself out of the hospital room. His face is pulled in a tight scowl.
“Hey! You can’t just leave!”
Clef flips her off and storms out. Adams catches him in the hallway.
“What’s up with you! You- you //freaked me out// back there.”
Clef bears his teeth. His cheeks are red, that flush spreading up to his ears. He opens his mouth, as if to speak, only to close it, grind his teeth, and push her out of the way. Adam trails him to his office.
“So you’re just not going to talk to me? What’s going on with you?”
He sits at his desk and puts his head in his hands. His entire demeanor shifts. Adams blinks and for a moment she thinks she’s talking to a whole different person. Clef sucks in an audible, shuddering gasp.
“What’s wrong with you?” She meant it to come out a little firmer than that.
He shakes his head.
“Are you really not going to talk to me?”
No response. Adams chews on her nail.
“Is it that you //won’t// talk to me or //can’t//?”
Clef slowly drags a pad of sticky notes across the desk and scribbles down //can’t//. Adams sits down, twitching with nervous energy.
“Okay then… Why not?”
A shrug.
“You don’t know?”
Another shrug.
“Does this happen often?”
Clef thinks for a moment before writing: //It’s not supposed to.//
Alright, okay, so your boss has passed out and is now nonverbal at work. They don’t put these types of situations in the training booklets.
“Can I… help you?”
//Just shut up about it. Don’t tell anyone.//
“Fine. Fuck me for giving a shit about you.”
Clef grips his pen and scribbles something, and just as quickly scratches it out. He puts his head on his desk and huffs. He looks like an old dog.
Then, something else enters. Adams can’t remember who, but Clef straightens up in his seat and Adams follows suit. She remembers feeling afraid, and that’s not something she’s accustomed to.
The person says a few words, asks a few questions, Clef responds with nothing. He looks defeated, and Adams thinks this is something she’s not supposed to see. Even when the person leaves, the tension in his features remains.
They don’t talk about it. There’s nothing to talk about at all.
…
**7:35 am, Clef’s office, two days after Clef had a mental breakdown in front of Adams:**
Adams can forget about what happened. Clef doesn’t exactly have a reputation for being a stable person; it was only a matter of time until this place got to him in a way she could see.
When he returns from work, two days after locking her in a closet and talking to… seemingly Nobody, she’s ready to brush it under the carpet. Everyone’s boss starts screaming at the walls occasionally, water under the bridge.
That’s until Clef’s apologizes.
“I’m sorry,” he says, looking her right in the eyes, “that you had to see what happened the other night. Wasn’t in my right mind.”
There’s no joke, no prank, no code, nothing she could expect from Clef. Just a soft, genuine apology, and he moves on with his work.
That’s when Adams realizes something is //horribly// wrong.
//But what can she do about it?//
…
**12:37 am, Site-19, three hours before the incident:**
“Kondraki!”
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/portraits-of-your-father Draven] jolts awake. He’s in the back of a helicopter, which is now on a landing pad behind Site-19. He gathers up his bag and MTF helmet and steps off, thanking the pilot as he leaves.
It’s been a long time since he’s been to Site-19, a couple of months at least, maybe a year. He hasn’t been back since the site director transferred him away… //who is the site director anyway?//
Despite the time, Draven finds his way to his old dorm with muscle memory. He sets his stuff down on the stiff cot and slides his phone out of his pocket. It’s the middle of the night and his last message is still unread, but he texts Clef anyway.
After his father’s death, Draven spoke to Clef a lot. It was nice, not having to mourn by himself. And when Draven was transferred out, they tried to call or text everyday.
And then Clef stopped answering calls. He rarely responded to messages, usually only at sporadic times and never answering Draven’s questions. Draven, to his horror, felt another important person slipping from his grasp.
This time of year is difficult for Clef, Draven knows that even if, like most things, he doesn’t know the full context. Offering Clef some support is the least Draven can do for him.
Draven lays down on the mold stained sheets and stares at the ceiling. He’s not getting any sleep, is he? Damn.
He stands, spending an hour tidying up the dorm. Even if he won’t be here long, the next person will appreciate the effort. Then he makes his way down to the cafeteria, making light conversation with the other night shift workers. Feels like home.
Eventually, the boredom hits. He still hasn’t gotten a response on any of his messages. It would definitely be rude to just show up at Clef’s [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] at this hour, but in Draven’s defense, he did try to warn him. If he still has a key to Clef’s [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] he can just let himself in, because that’ll go down well.
“Can I borrow a car? Or a bike?” Draven asks, eyeing up the lot of Foundation vehicles.
//“Where the hell do you wanna go at this hour?”//
“If you need to know, I want to visit Dr. Clef.”
//“You know you could just- walk over there, right?”//
“Huh?”
//“He lives just over- what the fuck?”//
Draven turns around just in time to see a [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] shoot up into the sky. A great tower twisting upwards.
…
**3:24 am, Site-19, Secure humanoid containment cell, three minutes before the incident:**
SCP-166 shoots out of bed, pure terror racking through her body. She hunches over the side of her bed and hacks up filthy water. She stands up, knocking her bible onto the ground with a //thump//.
//Something is wrong//. She can’t name what, only that the feeling of //wrongness// is too much. Her legs tremble and something warm drips down her face. She drags herself to the wooden door of her containment cell and throws herself against it.
Her head throbs. She’s never had too much trouble with her antlers, but at this moment they feel so heavy. She jams them into the wall, tearing up the old wood. Something is pulling on her, she could really feel it now, and it’s agonizing.
Two figures in protective suits burst in. They speak to her, but she can’t make out a word over the blood rushing in her ears. They yank her out of the wall, boards and splinters tearing over with her.
Thick mold oozes out of the wall, it makes her dizzy and nauseous. The mold is in her, has always been in her. Growing and festering under her skin since her father dragged her, screaming, out of their [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]]. Except, of course, there’s no mold in the Foundation’s walls, and the guards are shouting at her.
//“What’s gotten into you!?”//
She can’t speak, lake water and mold pouring from her lips. //Don't they see it? Don’t they see the mold that’s growing between the cracks in the wall? It’s growing in them too, she can feel it, it’s settled deeply in their veins. How can they pretend to be okay with that?//
In the distance, Nobody wakes up to the feeling of blood dripping from the ceiling. SCP-166 passes out.
…
**???, Clef’s home, [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/loosen-up-a-bit a kinder universe]:**
They’re in Clef’s kitchen, Gears’s face illuminated by the soft, warm light of a few scented candles. He looks good, better than good, he looks healthy. No longer the closed off, painfully skinny, lonely man Clef fell for //oh// so long ago.
Gears twirls a knife in his hand and with precise, practiced motions, cuts a bag of onions into even slices, and then those slices into even squares. He slides a cold bottle of Sherry towards Clef, something to deglaze the pan before they caramelize the onions. Clef pops off the cap and puts the bottle to his lips, savoring the sweetly sticky drink. Gears sighs, fondly.
“Please take care to not cook drunk,” he requests softly.
Clef laughs. “Right, right. Got a little ahead of myself there. Good thing I did, though. //Way// too sweet for this dish. I mean try it.” He holds to bottle up, jamming it into Gears’s face. Hesitantly, Gears takes a sip, letting Clef tip the bottle into his mouth. He lets it rest on his tongue for a moment.
“You’re right, far too sweet. Would be more fitting for a dessert.” He slides his tongue across his teeth.
Clef waves a finger at him. “See? This is why you taste a little bit of everything.”
“Apologies for grabbing the wrong wine.”
“Don’t apologize to me, you know I don’t like that. Besides, we can always run and get another bottle. No harm, no foul.”
“It’s a bit cold out… Are you sure you want to head out at this hour?”
Clef looks out the window. It is getting dark out, a thin layer of snow on the ground. He looks at Kondraki’s- at //his// coat hanging up next to the door. “I’m sure I could… get someone to deliver it here. Hold on.”
While Clef works on ordering a new bottle, Gears makes a beef broth for the soup. The broth is made completely from scratch, of course. Clef can’t help but be captivated as Gears works. To think, only a few months ago, it was Gears marveling as Clef showed him how a similar, smaller batch he made turned completely solid and almost gelatinous when chilled, a proper bone broth.
//You’re beautiful,// Clef doesn’t say, but he thinks it. He thinks it as a smile pulls on Gears’s lips, an absent, unconscious little motion. His mind elsewhere as he stirs spices into the broth. It smells great. Clef stands uselessly, leaning against the counter, only watching while Gears works.
So lost in thought, Clef doesn’t realize how much time passes until there’s a knock on the door. He shows his ID to the delivery boy, returning to the kitchen with a bit of frost on his hat, a fresh bottle of Sherry, dark chocolate, and strawberries. The too-sweet Sherry will go well with that, he thinks.
With the fresh bottle, Clef begins to caramelize the onions. Gears flips through a cookbook. It’s not one Clef bought him.
“‘S that new?”
“Hm? Oh this, yes it’s new. I saw it at the store this morning while shopping.” Gears runs his fingers along the smooth, unblemished pages. “I haven't gotten a chance to read through it in its entirety, but it’s quite fascinating. It discusses much of the science behind cooking!” Gears slides easily into discussion. Clef nods along, even if he’s not quite sure what a //centrifuge// is or what it has to do with cooking.
The onions join the broth. Gears slices up a baguette, slathering each piece in butter and herbs, lining those up on a tray for the oven. Clef sorts through his fridge for the gruyère cheese. Took him ages to find a quality block.
//“Why don’t you just grab a different type of cheese?” Lament asked when Clef was complaining about this exact thing to Gears. Clef was about to tear Lament a new one when Gears caught both of them off guard, standing up for Clef’s honor.//
//“Every type of cheese is different in both make-up, texture, and flavor. Simply attempting to swap one cheese for another could throw off an entire dish.” He said it in his usual calm, flat voice, but Clef could see the light in his eyes. The passion growing inside of him. He looked so alive, he looks so alive right now.//
Gears sips the soup out of a ladle- it’s the blue one Clef bought because it looks like a dinosaur. Gears reaches into the spice cabinet for the thyme, his sweater rides up a bit. Clef nearly slices his hand open on the cheese grater when he catches a glimpse of Gears’s stomach.
Clef ladles the soup into ramekins, and tops it with one of the toasted crostini and a heap of freshly shredded gruyère. They set it in the oven to broil, and watch intently as the cheese bubbles, blisters, and browns. Clef removes it with an oven glove.
They sit across from each other and eat. It’s comfortable, nearly silent. The only sound being Clef’s slurping and Gears’s soft hums of content. It’s perfect, not just the soup but //this//. Gears //is// perfect.
Once they finish, Gears gathers up the dishes for the sink. He decides he can wash those later, Clef is waiting for him on the couch, putting on a show for the both of them. Clef pours two glasses of the too-sweet Sherry and they toast to each other.
Clef is so very happy he invited Gears into his [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]]- no, not just his //[[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]]//, his //home//, his life. He’s so captivated by Gears, by how far they’ve come to reach this point, that Clef doesn’t even notice what day it is. Well… no point in reminding himself now, he’s earned a good night.
The chocolate covered strawberries are //perfect// with the Sherry. Clef holds one out for Gears, and Gears, perhaps a little drunker than he intended to be, leans in and takes it with his teeth. Clef shudders as Gears’s lips brush against his fingers.
He mumbles something.
“What was that?” Gears is smiling. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He washes down the chocolate and licks his lips and smiles and it all feels and looks so natural. Clef forgets how to think.
“I love you,” he says. “I love you,” he repeats because it didn’t sound right the first time. “I //love// you.” No, that isn’t right either. It’s just not enough to convey what’s boiling inside of him.“I. //I// love you. I-”
Gears presses a finger to Clef’s lips before he can spiral further. “I heard you. I know.”
Gears once wondered if he’d ever understand Clef fully. Clef looks at him with wonder in his eyes, such a love he wasn’t sure what he did to deserve. He realizes, in this moment, that he’s not //afraid// of Clef anymore, of not understanding Clef’s //inscrutable// nature. It was no longer a glassy river surface, cracking beneath his feet, waiting to swallow him up. It was… well, he doesn't know what it is, but he knows it loves him.
“I love you too,” he says, breathlessly. Clef’s relaxes, melting.
Gears rests his head on Clef’s shoulder, and Clef wraps his arm around his waist. They’ve earned this peace.
…
**3:30 am, Nobody’s [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]], during the incident:**
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/going-out-of-book Alison Chao] walks around her father’s [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] three times, making note of every window, every wall, every crack in the foundations. Anything she can gleen from observation would help her. A sensor in her hand starts wailing, the hume levels are getting out of control. She can see movement in the second story window, and she can hear the yowl of a cat.
The door is locked, obviously, but there’s infinite Ways into a [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]], especially one like this. Alison presses her body up against the door, takes in a deep breath, and closes her eyes.
It’s dark inside, her flashlight doesn’t light up the space in front of her, almost like there’s a black //veil// before her, blocking out her vision. The floor creaks under foot. It’s cold too, her breath turns into vapor. This place feels //alive// and //scared//.
//“Can you help me? I’m lost. I think my father’s here.”//
//“He’s upstairs.”//
Alison’s heart skips a beat. It’s //him//. //He// who Alison has crawled through every tiny crack in the universe to find. He’s right within Alison’s grasp, she could practically brush her fingers against him.
Her legs shake as she forces herself deeper into the [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]]. Whatever lives within the walls of this place is more //intense// than anything she’s ever encountered, at least this closely. //He’s// not safe here, hell, //she’s// not even safe here, //this place// isn’t safe here.
She drags her hand across the wall, using it as an anchor. The wall feels slick and sticky, for her own health she doesn’t shine her light at it. Something crunches under her foot. A glowstick?
Her fingers find a smooth countertop. Her father was //here//, just moments before. Her light does little to illuminate her surroundings, but it does help her notice where the counter opens up into another room. Distant voices echo towards her. She crawls over the counter and into-
//Pure white.//
Her eyes //burn// from the sudden contrast. Her thin coat is useless against the snow, and pulling her hat over her ears doesn’t block out the roar of the wind. //Snow… why is there snow here?// Wherever this is, it’s angry, and its fury pours out like an open wound.
She drops her flashlight, it wasn’t doing her much good anyway. Her aching fingers twitch towards her reality anchor. //Not yet//, she commands herself, not until she gets closer.
A gunshot pierces through the air. Alison stumbles against the winds and drops to her knees. Distantly, she can make out the figure of a man. She wants to scream for him, but her lips are sealed shut.
The figure moves away from her and suddenly the cold means nothing. She charges forward, gracelessly. Something, or more aptly, //someone// is lying on the stairs. Her father is just within her grasp.
She //freezes//. He’s looking right at her. He can’t see her, of course, but his eyes are trained on the exact spot she stands. She doesn’t dare to move, even as the frost creeps up her skin and around her veins. He looks… scared. As he travels up the stairwell, out of view, the blizzard stops, all at once.
Alison doesn’t recognize the body on the staircase. He looks dead, but he also looks like there was never much life in him in the first place. As Alison stands there, lost in a sort of trance, his body shimmers and //melts//, disappearing into the cracks between the floorboards. She blinks, and she’s standing in the middle of the living room.
There’s a centerpoint to this hole in reality, and it’s moving away from her, towards her father, or, perhaps //with// her father. She brushes the last, crumbling bits of frost off her coat and takes the first step.
The stairs go up, and then they go up, and then they continue to go up. Even when she’s sure she’s reached the next floor, they go up. When she’s sure she’s reached well over the height of the [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]], they go up. The walls groan, the steps creak, and the stairs go up.
Alison could try and count the steps, which are going up, but she loses track of the numbers. Her mind is focused on what’s waiting for her on the top of these ever upward steps. She’s going to get her father out, guide him //down// the twisting stairwell. She’s going to //win//.
//“You thought if you sent me away I wouldn’t find out what you did? You were terrified of me, the perfect token of your guilt, of the promise you failed to keep.”//
A moment's pause, followed by a weak sigh. //“I did not kill your father.”//
She’s close, so close, but something’s wrong.
//“Yes you did. You may not have put a bullet through his head, but he’s gone because of you. You couldn’t stand to look at me, couldn’t risk that I would pick up on the mold that’s settled in your stomach.”//
Alison starts running. Her body aches with the effort, her lungs burning with every breath. She takes off her hat, stuffs it in her pocket, and plucks out her reality anchor. It’s warm in her hands.
//“I know what you’ve done. You can try and try and try to run and hide, but I know. And you know I know, you know I hate you for what you did. You know that one day, I’ll walk into your office and do this-”//
There’s a man on the stairs, or, at least there’s something in the shape of a man on the stairs. It- //he// presses a gun to her father’s forehead. Alison activates her reality anchor. It feels like the ground has disappeared under her feet. She stumbles, pushing through the nausea, damn near slamming her full weight into her father.
“Dad-!” Oh god, //oh god//, it’s really him. He feels real under her fingers. She doesn’t have the time or the words to say what she needs to say to him. “-we have to get out of here!”
“No. No! Leave me alone!” His voice sounds wrong, weak and desperate. She can see the white of his bloodshot eyes. “Just go away!” Alison bites her lip until it bleeds.
“This place is too dangerous. I know there’s someone you care about in there but you can’t help him! Please, just come with me! My reality anchor is only so strong.” The small, handheld anchor pulses in her hands, like a heartbeat.
She grabs him, sinking her fingers into his forearm. She’s prepared for this, prepared to drag him kicking and screaming out of the gaping maw that snatched him from her in the first place. She didn’t prepare for the stairs to be so slick, or for him to be so willing to shove her.
If she thought the feeling of activating the anchor was nauseating then there was no way she would ever be prepared for the //fall//. It wasn’t like falling down the stairs, it was more like falling down a pit. You fall, and you fall, and there’s nothing to grab onto, not a sign that there’s ever going to be a bottom, that anything will ever catch you
You just keep going
D
O
W
N.
And then the ground crashes into her.
…
**4:17 am, Nobody’s [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]], the extraction:**
During this time of year, most people would chalk up Clef's increased irritability to any number of things. Clef was just an asshole, there was no point in psychoanalyzing his ever changing mood.
Draven didn’t have the same privilege of avoiding Clef whenever his mood spiked. If Draven wasn’t personally doing field training with Clef, Clef was in his home, pretending like he wasn’t madly in love with Draven’s father. Clef was an important, if only a consistent, figure for the last quarter of Draven’s life, and so Draven became intimately aware of the highs and lows of Clef’s mental state, and what to do about it.
That's why Draven was first to kick down the door to Clef’s [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]]. He //has// to be first. He //has// to be there for a Clef
A corpse lies in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs. No, not a corpse, not yet, she’s still breathing. Not Draven's problem.
Clef’s upstairs. Draven’s been around him long enough to recognize this feeling. The hazy pressure of reality shifting slightly to the right. Ignoring the shouts from his fellow soldiers, Draven practically leaps over the body to get up the stairs. He //has// to be the one to get there first, there’s no telling what the others might do if he doesn’t.
//Shoot first, ask questions later,// one of Clef’s favorite things to drill into his student’s little heads. Well Draven has a lot of questions right now, and he’s not going to shoot his mentor. Not Clef, he can’t lose Clef.
He bursts through the door, using more force than he needs to. The thick, copper stench of blood clogs up his nose. He’s //long// past the point of being bothered by blood, but seeing it splattered across the walls and seeping out of Clef’s closed eyes leaves him nauseous. //Draven should’ve prevented this, should’ve come in sooner, should’ve tried a little harder before he went a blew his fucking brains out-//
Draven snaps himself back into focus. Clef is alive. Heavily injured, but alive. //The Foundation will fix this, just get him out of here. The Foundation will fix this.// He repeats those words over and over in his mind as he worms his arms under Clef’s and hoists him out of bed. //Fix Clef, fix Clef, fix Clef, fix dad, fix dad, fix-//
Clef’s antlers block half of Draven’s vision, and the sound Clef makes as he is dragged out of bed… will haunt Draven’s nightmares for the rest of his life, or at least until the Foundation amnestizes him.
As he settles into autopilot, Draven has to ask where he went wrong. How did this happen without Draven noticing? It’s not fair. //None of this is fair.//
…
**4:36 am, the long stretch between a [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] and a home:**
Alison wakes up to the feeling of a wet, sandpapery tongue dragging across her cheek. She opens her eyes for all of two seconds before they fall closed. Her anchor pulses near her head, and consciousness evades her.
The second time she wakes up she’s moving. It’s slow, but her body aches so much it feels agonizing. There’s some talking, but it’s all muffled. One blurry person stays next to her while the rest of the blurry figures run up the stairs. Someone says something that might be directed at her. They never get an answer.
The third time she wakes up it’s to the yowl of a cat. She opens her eyes in time to see the person in uniform snatch up a cat off her chest. It digs its claws into her chest and screams as it is lifted away.
“None of that now,” the guard says, turning his back to Alison. She stands up, using the wall as a crutch. Her head throbs, every movement sending a white hot stab of pain through her head and down her spine.
The cat squirms out of the guard’s arms, hits the ground face first and scampers out of the open door. The guard spins around, too focused on the cat to immediately notice that Alison is on her feet. They make extended eye contact, a beat passes, and Alison bolts out the door.
From the perspective of the guard, he picked up a cat that seemed tempted to eat a heavily concussed woman, dropped it, and watched said heavily concussed woman bolt out the door and disappear from view. He would have run after her, but the rest of his teammates come down the stairs with a screaming, bloodied man, and she quickly becomes his last priority.
Alison’s perspective is similar, but as she gets her hat on, she loses feeling in her legs and collapses in a field across the street from her father’s [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]]. She’s had hundreds of injuries, fucked up a thousand times across a thousand universes, but this one hurts the most.
That cat is nearby, rolling around the grass. Alison forces herself back to her feet and stalks toward it. It perks up- likely just due to the noise, it shouldn’t be able to see her.
… //shouldn’t// be able to.
The cat runs. Alison runs too. She doesn’t know if she’s running after the cat or away from Site-19. Neither direction is safe, but if she stops and thinks for too long she might not get up again.
It feels like he runs for hours, and she just might have, her body fueled by pure adrenaline. The cat leaps through brambles and brushes with about as much grace as she does. Site-19, her father’s house, everything disappears from her view, replaced by a loved cabin.
She stops, making an active effort not to feel the weight of her body. The cat squirms into the cabin through a cracked window. She goes up the three steps and stands on the patio. The door creaks open without trouble. The house is empty, just a thin layer of dust covering its baren walls and floors.
This place feels loved. It’s a warm feeling that seeps in and soothes her aching body. It also feels sad and abandoned. A place like this can’t possibly understand why it’s been left alone for so long.
In the center of this room there’s a displaced floorboard. She approaches, drops to her knees, and pushes it aside. There’s a hole under the [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]], big enough for a full grown man, occupied by a fat, old cat. The poor thing looks filthy, covered in dried blood, dust, mold, and cobwebs. It looks at her, spit dripping out of its mouth, two different colored eyes seeing her despite her hat.
She laughs. She’s not sure what sparks it. Maybe it’s because she just noticed the //hole// in her own mind. She’s spent enough time in the anomalous community to recognize that something’s been taken from her, snatched right out of her psyche.
“I was so close,” she says to the empty air. “So close to… So close… So fucking close…” She sinks to the floor, breathing in the dust and mold, and laughs.
She drags herself into the hole and pulls the board over on top.
…
**4:58 am, a lake in Cornwall, England:**
A fish swims in slow, aimless circles, unbothered by the rising waters.
...
**8:12 am, Site-19, four hours after the incident:**
Clef isn’t in his office by the time Adams comes in. That’s normal, he’s missed plenty of days and Adams is used to doing work on her own. It was the site director’s job to get onto him for that, not hers.
What //isn’t// normal, is the group of armed guards and researchers poking around the cramped space. Did she miss an email?
“What’s going on here? Where’s Clef?”
A nerdy little man approaches her. “//Ah//, Agent Adams. You’ll find Clef in Humanoid Containment. I would suggest you hurry on.”
//Humanoid containment?// Must be some new, poor soul looking to worm their way onto Alpha-9. //Seems// like something Clef should have discussed with her beforehand, but, well, it is Clef.
It doesn’t take a genius to put together that Clef isn’t as human as he’d like people to believe. Even knowing that couldn’t have prepared Adams for the state of things in //High Security Humanoid Containment//.
The cell is way too small, for one. That’s the first thing Adams becomes viscerally aware of. It’s cramped, claustrophobic, just a miserable little mattress in the corner where a lump in the shape of Clef lays. He’s still, eyes closed, face devoid of any of Clef’s mannerisms.
He looks dead.
Even when she gets close enough to see the slow rise and fall of his chest, she can’t shake the feeling of looking at a corpse. It’s almost the //opposite// of uncanny, this is no longer the false caricature of a man, this is real. The //realest// she’s ever seen him.
“Dr. Clef?” She feels like a child calling out his name; he’s clearly unconscious. It’s more of a reassurance for herself. //Yes, this is doctor Clef I am looking at.//
“I wouldn’t get too close.” Adams jumps out of her skin. She was so deep in her head she forgot she wasn’t alone in here. A miserable looking boy sits in the corner opposite of Clef. He’s got bags under his eyes and the general vibe of someone who’s way too young to be in this position.
“What happened?”
He shrugs. “Complicated.”
//“Complicated?”//
“I don’t know, okay?” He huffs like a dog and slumps back in the corner. “You’re Agent Adams, right?”
“Yeah?”
“He talks about you sometimes. Only good things, I promise.” His eyes twitch, a tight, professional smile on his face. He’s not here as a guard, he’s here as a friend.
“And who are you?” He seems familiar, but Adams is terrible at putting names to faces.
“Oh- Kondraki,” he winces, “Draven Kondraki. Agent- //ahem//.”
“Oh! I knew your father.” //Knew// being a //very// strong word, but //met once// doesn’t roll off the tongue as well. Another wince, his poker face is horrible today.
“A lot of people did…” he looks ready to fold in on himself when his eyes suddenly widen. Adams turns in time to see Clef’s antlers scrap against the wall.
He howls. That’s the only word to describe this noise. The walls shudder and creak as grass and flowers force their way between the floor tiles. Vines and flowers coil around the security cameras and Clef’s antlers. Adams hunches over as a coughing fit overtakes her, flower petals spray out of her mouth.
There was one assignment Adams had before she was assigned as Clef’s assistant and her fate was sealed. She visited a [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]], in the middle of Cornwall, England. It was incredibly brief, two days if even that, and something that just as quickly faded from memory. But, at this moment, as her lungs fill with vines and plant matter, she’s standing in a dusty old bedroom, propped up on tiptoes, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the manifestation in the surrounding waters over the shoulders of the researcher in her way.
There’s a tiny figure in the lake, made even smaller by the tall woman beside them. And as Adams’s vision blurs and she falls to her knees, all she can think is: //it’s him.//
But, of course now isn’t the time for reminiscing.
When the reality anchors come on Adams hits the ground before Clef does. Draven darts past her to grab Clef. Clef vomits, gray water spilling from his lips. Adams reaches into the back of her mouth to yank out a chain of lilies.
//What the fuck was that about?//
Clef sobs, heavy, disgusting heaves. His lips move but he can’t form any words.
Adams pulls herself together and scoots to Clef’s other side. Clef’s eyes between her and Draven. He squirms, his antler leaving a thin scratch across Draven’s cheek. Adams backs off, instructing Draven to do the same.
Something’s different about Clef, besides the obvious. It’s hard to describe, but it reminds Adams of several months ago when Clef passed out in the middle of the hallway. This isn’t Clef, not entirely.
Clef wheezes, clawing at his throat and chest, leaving red lines across his skin. They both grab a wrist before he can damage himself.
“Breathe!” Adams commands, rather dumbly.
Clef looks at her for a long time before promptly passing out. They lay him on the sad slab the Foundation calls a bed. Neither says a word.
Adams and Draven spend the next two days in that tiny, soundproof cell.
…
**8:46 am, Humanoid Containment, two days after the incident:**
Clef stares at the antlers on the ground, expression unreadable. Adams wants to tear into him, but she’s tired. Everyone’s tired. A metal tray sits in between the three of them. Three syringes, three doses of amnestics.
“Are you //fucking// serious?” Adams isn’t sure who she’s asking. “This is- //bullshit!//”
Clef //tsks//. He looks like shit, not that Adams has any right to say that. “Site director’s orders,” some of the first noises that have come from him that aren’t pained whimpers.
“Let’s just get this over with, okay?” Draven picks up his syringe, as does Clef.
They both stare at her.
“I want to know why this is necessary. What about all the others observing us? Why does //he// have to take it too, huh?” She gestures to Clef.
“Adams.” The weakness in his voice makes Adams sick to her stomach. Where’s the force? The bite? Instead, all she gets is shame. This isn’t how she wants to remember him.
She takes her syringe. Clef waits to stick himself for both of them to finish.
He may get to forget the worst few nights of his life, but he doesn’t get the same benefit of forgetting everything. Even as the amnestics course through his veins, he knows //nothing’s going back to normal.//
…
**7:20 pm, Kain “Pathos” Crow’s office, four months after the incident:**
Kain is a very lucky man, if it's right to still describe him as such. He is lucky that, in spite of his situation, and the numerous //problems// he’s created for the Foundation, that he’s still useful enough to be kept alive.
His old bones don’t move as well as they used to. For all the intelligence he has, he never could put himself back together properly. Something he’s learned to live with, and will soon learn to die with.
There’s another person in his office. His body may be frail, but his senses are just as strong as they’ve always been. No, it wouldn’t be right to say there’s someone else in his office. There’s a space where a person //should// be.
This absence comes and goes. Kain can always tell when it’s left recently. The office will be a little cleaner, the many machines he’s made to keep himself going will be freshly oiled, and he’ll feel a pit in his stomach and a hole in his mind. A place where something //should// be, but of course isn’t, and will never be again.
One day, when he’s particularly aware of his surroundings, he catches the absence before it disappears.
“Thank you,” he says, “You’ve always [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/new-tricks been very helpful to me], even though I’m not the man, or dog, that I used to be. I wish I knew who you were. I think I’m supposed to.”
The lack of a person hovers before the doorway. “Me…? Oh, I'm really Nobody of note.”
Kain knows words have been spoken to him, until he doesn’t.
…
**10:09 pm, O5-1’s office, one year after the incident:**
“Quarterly report from Site-19, sir.”
Founder sighs. “Put it on my desk.” What was the point of all these blasted computers if they were going to keep printing out reports for every site?
The nameless factotum places the report on his desk. She pauses, brushing her fingers over the top page. She usually took care not to look too closely at anything meant for her Founder, but something caught her eye.
“Founder, sir?”
“Hm?” He grunts, casting his sharp eyes on her. She shrinks.
“Who is the Director of Site-19?”
He squints, eyebrows furrowed, and when he fails to produce a name he grunts and slams his fist against the table. “It’s not my responsibility to keep track of every employee here!”
She swallows a lump in her throat. “I just wanted to ask because there’s a name here- right here, but I can’t quite… read it?” The longer she stares at it the less sense it makes in her mind.
“Did I tell you to read my reports?”
She steels herself, standing up straight. “No sir. No, I’m sorry sir, you’re right, I shouldn’t have.” She quickly backs out of Founder's office, mentally punching herself. She’s worked here longer than most people have been alive, she should know better than this.
Founder shakes his head as she leaves, lips tightly pursed. Slowly, almost like he didn’t intend to, he drops his pen and grabs the report. He looks at the dotted line where the site director’s name should be.
There’s a hole in his mind, but why should he care if //Nobody// runs Site-19? As long as everything else is in order, it’s not his problem.
…
**5:17 pm, [[span style="color:#0099ff;"]]house[[/span]] in the woods, ten years before [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/yesterday the world ends]:**
A man steps out of his home and sits on a creaky rocking chair. He’s got a knife in one hand and a small loaf of bread in the other. He slices off the moldy crust and tears the bread apart with his fingers.
It’s late, at least it feels late. The sun is sinking, painting the trees gold and red. He’s tired. He barely sleeps these days, so every waking moment feels like he’s ready to go back to bed.
His appearance has changed a lot in the past couple of years. His hair is especially long, nearly reaching his hips. He’s long since given up on keeping it clean. His clothes are ratty, not exactly a washing machine down here, meaning he either has to steal clean clothes or make them. Though, he hasn’t quite starved off his beer belly.
A shotgun leans up against the wall next to him, probably the most well cared for thing he has anymore. Underneath the porch there’s a jar full of dead butterflies, buried in the ground. He wishes they could’ve had a better burial, but he has more important things to regret.
He feels a hole tear in his mind. He won’t realize the hole is there, but he feels its presence. There’s a reason he’s sitting out here instead of in a box, a person who helped him out. He remembers a person there, remembers how they helped him, but for the life of him he can not put a face to these memories.
He remembers Clef, the last words he said to Clef, and his stomach aches. There’s a mold settled inside of him, it’s been there for years, dormant but alive.
It begins to stir.
[[div class="series-nav"]]
« **[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/lets-get-you-home Part 1]** | **[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/i-need-you-to-leave Part 2]** | **[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/this-is-not-a-place-of-honor Part 3]** | **Part 4** //(you are here)// | **[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/tomorrow-and-tomorrow-and-tomorrow Finale]** »
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-01-30T05:23:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"agent-adams",
"black-queen",
"bleak",
"doctor-clef",
"doctor-gears",
"doctor-iceberg",
"doctor-kondraki",
"draven-kondraki",
"nobody",
"tale"
] |
Nobody Runs Site-19 - SCP Foundation
| 20
|
[
"this-is-not-a-place-of-honor",
"scp-4231",
"the-king-is-dead",
"lets-get-you-home",
"self-similar",
"portraits-of-your-father",
"loosen-up-a-bit",
"going-out-of-book",
"new-tricks",
"yesterday",
"i-need-you-to-leave",
"tomorrow-and-tomorrow-and-tomorrow",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"no-love-hub",
"nobody-hub",
"black-queen-hub"
] |
[] |
1452481839
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nobody-runs-site-19
|
|
nobody-s-that-good-at-poker
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>He sat at the edge of the table, taking in the faint waft of minced beef mingled with the pungent smell of Soju. He watched as the plate, which had just moments before held a meal he hoped he could have on a regular basis, was lifted, along with 14 others, and whisked away by an unknown power. Given the recent events surrounding DW17, he decided it was best not to joke about whether they were using Acroamatic Abatement to dispose of their waste.</p>
<p>To his left sat a middle-aged Caucasian man, seemingly in his late thirties to early forties, wearing a thin black coat with the Foundation insignia embroidered on his pocket seam. A black bowler hat was perched low on his head, obscuring his eyes that seemed to be gazing into something that wasn't quite there. To his right, a woman in her early twenties with her hair done up in a bun wore a diamond-blue dress blazer and a strange pair of spindly emerald-green glasses, also engraved with the Foundation insignia.</p>
<p>Glancing up, he saw eleven other distinct men and women, with an additional twelfth member seated at the head of the table—the only one without any Foundation insignia on his attire. This figure's face always seemed indistinct, despite a clear line of sight and his near superhuman perception. More than anything, the man resembled him in many respects, with the exception that the man's situation was more voluntary and less existentially erasing than his own.</p>
<p>Reflecting upon the situation he scoffed slightly. He'd never been much of a gambler, especially not in poker; the last time he did, he had nearly been run out of Three Portlands! As the man at the head of the table began to shuffle the cards, performing those card tricks he so despised—seriously, what purpose did they serve other than to show off?—he sighed. But who would ever decline an invitation from the O5 Council and the Administrator himself?</p>
<p>"Well," Nobody turned his head to meat its origin. He saw the thirteen overseers mirror his action as they all fixed their attention on the Administrator. "I'm glad you could all make it." A smile crossed the man's face. "Now, I apologize for the filter," he continued while gesturing to his face, "but, as I'm sure most of you have noticed by now, we have a guest today." With that, Nobody was met with the glances and curt nods of the various overseers. "Though, I didn't believe it was necessary for the rest of you to follow suit. Especially in light of the fact that our visitor has already bypassed our disinformation campaign and is now quite familiar with each of you." None of the overseers dared to interrupt the Administrator, but the final remark appeared to raise some tension among them. Some tensing in their seats, and others having their pupils dialate for a moment.</p>
<p>"You know, I would have loved to have a few more with us today, but Robert wasn't particularly fond of the idea. Damn near killed me when I showed up with the remains of his security detail. And don't even get me started on Fuller." He paused. Almost chuckling to himself. "Well, alas, I would like to thank you for your attendance, Mr. …?"</p>
<p>"Nobody," was the curt reply.</p>
<p>"Nobody!" he exclaimed, with a voice that imitated genuine enthusiasm. "You know, I've always been impressed with your work. All the secrecy and espionage, very unique. It's what inspired me to do this," he gestured to his face once more. "Anyway, I'm sure you're dying to start the main event: Texas Hold 'em." The Administrator stopped fiddling with the cards in his hands and, with a grin that would make even Dr. Wondertainment shy away, began to deal the cards to the fourteen seated at the table. "Though I hope you don't mind," he added, "the buy-in is… rather hefty."</p>
<p>"Hefty?" Well, that wasn't a surprise. The O5's were people who had, for all intents and purposes, limitless resources, funded by governments, organizations, and a vast myriad of groups whose existence was but a whisper. Luckily for Nobody, he himself ran an operation that could be considered… lucrative. He returned the smile. "I can assure you, Administrator, I have adequate resources to be comparable to the others at the table."</p>
<p>"Of Course." The reply was followed by a quick nod. "Twenty million then."</p>
<p>Nobody winced slightly upon hearing the buy-in, though he knew there was little chance he’d lose that day. He noticed someone three seats to his right shift and another person cough. He smirked to himself slightly; they didn’t believe him. That could be resolved quickly. Reaching in his coat, he was met with the sound of several weapons being drawn by the security staff present.</p>
<p>“May I?” he asked, with his hand still in his coat. Conveniently, Nobody's coat also served as a storage locker of sorts. It was an anomalously enhanced space in which he stored a wide array of things, some of which could remove any threats to his safety. Scanning the room, he saw five guards each with their firearms trained on him. Based on the way they positioned themselves, there were at least four more he couldn’t see.</p>
<p>“Of course,” the Administrator said, looking to the personnel, who then lowered their firearms. “I trust that you won’t make any poor decisions while here.”</p>
<p>“I merely wanted to prove the assets I hold are of equal value to your buy-in.” He paused before removing his phone and opened an image. Turning the phone, he revealed an image of a <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-500">small glass vial containing around a dozen small red pills</a>. Even if only for a moment, he saw O5-9’s eyes widen slightly. “Does this suffice?”</p>
<p>"It most certainly does, my nameless friend. Now, before we begin, due to the large amount of present here, we'll be using a modified deck with an additional 23 cards that will randomize round.”</p>
<p>"I understand."</p>
<p>"Well then," the cards that the Administrator held vanished, "let's begin." With that, Nobody found two cards in front of him and all the other overseers. Looking at his cards, he found a queen of spades and a three of hearts. Returning his cards face down on the table, he looked around the room to gauge the reactions of the other overseers. Most of them, as he expected, showed no reaction at all, their faces remaining cool and placid. All except for one: O5-12.</p>
<p>O5-12 was a short Asian man, wearing a standard issue Foundation uniform, and from Nobody's own research, only recently inducted into his position after his predecessor was found dead following a firefight with several teams from the Chaos Insurgency. According to internal Foundation reports, the man alone killed more than two dozen of his assassins before putting a bullet in his own temple. Poor fella. Though very admirable for someone whose responsibility was the maintenance of the Foundation's internal logistics.</p>
<p>The new O5-12, while still an incredibly composed man, had one small oversight. Throughout the dinner that had preceded, Nobody took note of the body language of each of the overseers. O5-12, in particular, was tense in the way he held himself—stiff shoulders, strained eyes, and a slight twitch to his mouth. This fit the profile Nobody had for him too. O5-12 was a lot more hands-on than his predecessor, a former field agent involved with hunting 939 instances. Not easily trusting and constantly aware. However, as of now, the man, still strained, lacked the same intensity in which he usually glared around the room. He had a small slouch, and his blinking pattern was irregularly slow. That behavior indicated familiarity, almost amusement—something personal to him.</p>
<p>But what could it be? Not a lucky number; no, O5-12 would be far too austere for that. Something simple. Something he would appreciate. Nobody smiled inwardly, careful not to reveal his observations. O5-12 had a three and a two; he was born on February third. Not only would it be amusing for a man who deals with numbers, but his former fieldwork would have instilled within him a sense of value in life. Further, it wasn't a bad hand either. Nobody bought in.</p>
<p>The game continued, with several players folding. By the end of the next seven minutes, five cards lay upon the table: a six of spades, jack of diamonds, four of clubs, four of diamonds, and ace of hearts. O5-7 folded at the raise of five million, leaving only Nobody and O5-12 still in the game. As Nobody met the raise, O5-12 widened his smile. He must be thanking his luck on his very first hand. Fascinating, isn't it?</p>
<p>Nobody knew what he had: a straight. It was hard not to pity the man; though, he did find it rather humorous that he was pitying a man likely responsible for the deaths of thousands. Throughout the game, O5-12’s small mannerisms didn't grow, but their continuance spoke volumes. This meant that not only did he have a good hand, but it also built off of his pre-existing hand, and, given his subtle eagerness to raise the pot, it most certainly wasn't just a pair he was happy about. O5-12 was a man of numbers; he understood the odds, and when he saw the six on the table and five in his hand, he knew he had won. Or so he thought.</p>
<p>O5-12 proudly placed his cards on the table: three of hearts, two of spades, five of hearts, king of diamonds, and nine of clubs. A good hand, a straight. The other overseers congratulated the man and looked to Nobody for his cards. It was probably hard for them to imagine O5-12 losing and their expressions reflected as much. Though Nobody only smiled in response, revealing a queen of spades, three of hearts, ten of clubs, king of diamonds, and seven of hearts. He had the highest card.</p>
<p>Crestfallen as he was, the man took it well. Smiling toward Nobody, he, with some agitation in his voice, congratulated Nobody on his win.</p>
<p>"Good luck, eh?" O5-12 asked as O5-1 clapped Nobody on his back.</p>
<p>"I suppose so." Oh, how he would never know.</p>
<hr/>
<p>O5-4 slammed his hand onto the table in frustration. It had been four hours, and throughout that time, Nobody had yet to lose a single game, much to the growing frustration of the overseers.</p>
<p>"This has to be a joke."</p>
<p>"You can't be serious."</p>
<p>"He has to be cheating."</p>
<p>"We can't even see his face!"</p>
<p>These were some of the many disgruntled reactions from the overseers as they watched Nobody lay out a pair of sevens in response to O5-4's pair of sixes. It was a strange sight, really, seeing the leaders of the Foundation play and banter as if they were common people. It almost humanized them—if not for the fact that most of them were several hundred years old and responsible for the deaths of countless innocent and guilty individuals alike. Though, he admitted to himself, they were juniors to him in both of those aspects.</p>
<p>Nobody hadn't won every round, but his skill in minimizing losses seemed almost inhuman to the overseers. It was as if he had a constant awareness of all the cards in play. As Nobody looked upon the fortune he had amassed from the single game alone, he smiled lightly.</p>
<p>"My, has this been just wonderful," the Administrator broke his silence after the overseers looked at Nobody with dumbstruck expressions. "You know, I haven't enjoyed dealing cards this much since I played dealer for a game between the UIU and a sect of the Serpent's Hand. While they might not have our resources, I can assure you the director of the UIU has a nasty bluff. Got himself and the UIU the location of four former IJAMEA black sites with that one game." The Administrator chuckled at his own recollection. "Though our new friend here probably has the best eye I've ever seen."</p>
<p>"I appreciate the compliment, but I assure you it's simply luck."</p>
<p>"Bullshit," O5-10 muttered to herself.</p>
<p>"Well, either way, you're quite the gambler." The Administrator laughed slightly. "Since I doubt any of my colleagues want to continue, I believe we should end here. Though, I wish to speak to our guest here privately." Looking towards the overseers, the Administrator nodded slightly. In response, the disgruntled overseers got up and shuffled out of the room and were then followed by all of the security team.</p>
<p>The room stood still for moments as both Nobody and the Administrator simply met each others gaze.</p>
<p>"I'd like to discuss my winnings," was what Nobody said to break the silence.</p>
<p>"Of course!" The Administrator clapped his hands. "Though I'd like to ask—how did you win? I've seen thousands of games, but I've never seen a player such as yourself. Almost omniscient knowledge of the cards in play."</p>
<p>Nobody looked at the table, almost absent mindedly, before he responded.</p>
<p>"I suppose I'll humor your request." Nobody stood up and picked up one of the cards that lay on the table. "You see, when most people look at this card, they'll see nothing special. No peculiar features differentiate it from others like it." He grabbed another card and raised both for the Administrator to see. "But when you look closely, then look closer, you'll see it. The small differences, the microscopic differences between each card. The slight print differences in the back—I memorized the back of each card and then remembered their face values. Once I did, I could guarantee my own victory." He placed both cards back on the table. He pointed to a card that the Administrator was near, the queen of clubs. When the Administrator flipped the card, it indeed was the queen of clubs.</p>
<p>"Impressive," was the Administrator's response. "But that doesn't explain your early victories. You still would have needed to see the cards, and you wouldn’t have done that in the first few rounds."</p>
<p>Nobody only smiled in response. The Administrator knew he was lying. Well, it wasn't that he couldn't do that—he could definitely do what he said, he was able to memorize all of the cards at a glance. After the second round, he even knew which 23 cards were randomizing each turn. But it wasn't the method he used to win the game. Leaving the question unanswered, Nobody continued, "Now, I'm sure the sum of money on the table there would cost the Foundation quite the pretty penny." He looked towards the table.</p>
<p>The Administrator tilted his head slightly, accepting that he wouldn't get a response before continuing. "It will, but we can recoup our losses, burn a few assets."</p>
<p>"I don't think that will be necessary."</p>
<p>"Hm?" The Administrator raised his eyebrow at the statement. "Why so?"</p>
<p>"Because I'd like to request an item instead of the money," Nobody waved his hands, "and don't worry, it won't be anything too extravagant."</p>
<p>"Oh, and what would that be?"</p>
<p>"Within Site-23's storage for anomolous objects, you'll find that a <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-nice-waffle-dinner">small wooden box</a> has been there for an indeterminate amount of time." He paused slightly as he ran his fingers through his hair, "This box won't be in any of your records and neither will it be in any catalouge of items. That is what I wish to request."</p>
<p>The Administrator stood there, expressionless, before breaking into a smile and speaking. "Of course, that can be arranged. Though, it is a very unusual item."</p>
<p>"Perfect," Nobody replied, ignoring the final comment. He was sure the Administrator was suspicious, but there was nothing he could find with the information he gave. Even if he ran all the checks in the world, the wooden box would always remain a wooden box to the Foundation—nothing more. There would be no reason to deny Nobody's request.</p>
<p>"I hope we can do this again sometime," he heard behind him as he stood to take his leave. "I hope you can show me your trick next time."</p>
<p>Nobody simply turned and began whistling as he walked towards the exit. As he did so, a sly smile crept up his face.</p>
<p>The Administrator was wrong, humorously so. He had no real trick. The way in which he won was simple—the O5s were cheating. More specifically, they were communicating using tiny movements of their bodies. He had picked up on it during the dinner they had prior to the game: slight twitches of their mouths, shifting in their seats, and all other mundane actions were part of a code they used to communicate. Initially, he tried cross-referencing their actions with every known and yet-to-be-known code ever created. Even after checking four more times in the span of seconds, he found nothing. It was only after the first round, when he saw the hand of all the overseers after his victory, that he was able to decipher their code. It was almost amusing—they were communicating their cards with each other. However, due to 23 of the cards being random each round, they were unable to accurately know his cards, while he was able to always know all of theirs.</p>
<p>He chuckled to himself again as he left the room. He had gotten what he came here for, and as a bonus he also now knew the code in which the O5 council used to communicate with one another. Speaking of the overseers, they probably thought he was some master gambler. Fooling them all as he did. When, in fact, nobody's that good at poker.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/nobody-s-that-good-at-poker">Nobody's That Good at Poker</a>" by ShorkWove, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nobody-s-that-good-at-poker">https://scpwiki.com/nobody-s-that-good-at-poker</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
He sat at the edge of the table, taking in the faint waft of minced beef mingled with the pungent smell of Soju. He watched as the plate, which had just moments before held a meal he hoped he could have on a regular basis, was lifted, along with 14 others, and whisked away by an unknown power. Given the recent events surrounding DW17, he decided it was best not to joke about whether they were using Acroamatic Abatement to dispose of their waste.
To his left sat a middle-aged Caucasian man, seemingly in his late thirties to early forties, wearing a thin black coat with the Foundation insignia embroidered on his pocket seam. A black bowler hat was perched low on his head, obscuring his eyes that seemed to be gazing into something that wasn't quite there. To his right, a woman in her early twenties with her hair done up in a bun wore a diamond-blue dress blazer and a strange pair of spindly emerald-green glasses, also engraved with the Foundation insignia.
Glancing up, he saw eleven other distinct men and women, with an additional twelfth member seated at the head of the table—the only one without any Foundation insignia on his attire. This figure's face always seemed indistinct, despite a clear line of sight and his near superhuman perception. More than anything, the man resembled him in many respects, with the exception that the man's situation was more voluntary and less existentially erasing than his own.
Reflecting upon the situation he scoffed slightly. He'd never been much of a gambler, especially not in poker; the last time he did, he had nearly been run out of Three Portlands! As the man at the head of the table began to shuffle the cards, performing those card tricks he so despised—seriously, what purpose did they serve other than to show off?—he sighed. But who would ever decline an invitation from the O5 Council and the Administrator himself?
"Well," Nobody turned his head to meat its origin. He saw the thirteen overseers mirror his action as they all fixed their attention on the Administrator. "I'm glad you could all make it." A smile crossed the man's face. "Now, I apologize for the filter," he continued while gesturing to his face, "but, as I'm sure most of you have noticed by now, we have a guest today." With that, Nobody was met with the glances and curt nods of the various overseers. "Though, I didn't believe it was necessary for the rest of you to follow suit. Especially in light of the fact that our visitor has already bypassed our disinformation campaign and is now quite familiar with each of you." None of the overseers dared to interrupt the Administrator, but the final remark appeared to raise some tension among them. Some tensing in their seats, and others having their pupils dialate for a moment.
"You know, I would have loved to have a few more with us today, but Robert wasn't particularly fond of the idea. Damn near killed me when I showed up with the remains of his security detail. And don't even get me started on Fuller." He paused. Almost chuckling to himself. "Well, alas, I would like to thank you for your attendance, Mr. ...?"
"Nobody," was the curt reply.
"Nobody!" he exclaimed, with a voice that imitated genuine enthusiasm. "You know, I've always been impressed with your work. All the secrecy and espionage, very unique. It's what inspired me to do this," he gestured to his face once more. "Anyway, I'm sure you're dying to start the main event: Texas Hold 'em." The Administrator stopped fiddling with the cards in his hands and, with a grin that would make even Dr. Wondertainment shy away, began to deal the cards to the fourteen seated at the table. "Though I hope you don't mind," he added, "the buy-in is... rather hefty."
"Hefty?" Well, that wasn't a surprise. The O5's were people who had, for all intents and purposes, limitless resources, funded by governments, organizations, and a vast myriad of groups whose existence was but a whisper. Luckily for Nobody, he himself ran an operation that could be considered... lucrative. He returned the smile. "I can assure you, Administrator, I have adequate resources to be comparable to the others at the table."
"Of Course." The reply was followed by a quick nod. "Twenty million then."
Nobody winced slightly upon hearing the buy-in, though he knew there was little chance he’d lose that day. He noticed someone three seats to his right shift and another person cough. He smirked to himself slightly; they didn’t believe him. That could be resolved quickly. Reaching in his coat, he was met with the sound of several weapons being drawn by the security staff present.
“May I?” he asked, with his hand still in his coat. Conveniently, Nobody's coat also served as a storage locker of sorts. It was an anomalously enhanced space in which he stored a wide array of things, some of which could remove any threats to his safety. Scanning the room, he saw five guards each with their firearms trained on him. Based on the way they positioned themselves, there were at least four more he couldn’t see.
“Of course,” the Administrator said, looking to the personnel, who then lowered their firearms. “I trust that you won’t make any poor decisions while here.”
“I merely wanted to prove the assets I hold are of equal value to your buy-in.” He paused before removing his phone and opened an image. Turning the phone, he revealed an image of a [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-500 small glass vial containing around a dozen small red pills]. Even if only for a moment, he saw O5-9’s eyes widen slightly. “Does this suffice?”
"It most certainly does, my nameless friend. Now, before we begin, due to the large amount of present here, we'll be using a modified deck with an additional 23 cards that will randomize round.”
"I understand."
"Well then," the cards that the Administrator held vanished, "let's begin." With that, Nobody found two cards in front of him and all the other overseers. Looking at his cards, he found a queen of spades and a three of hearts. Returning his cards face down on the table, he looked around the room to gauge the reactions of the other overseers. Most of them, as he expected, showed no reaction at all, their faces remaining cool and placid. All except for one: O5-12.
O5-12 was a short Asian man, wearing a standard issue Foundation uniform, and from Nobody's own research, only recently inducted into his position after his predecessor was found dead following a firefight with several teams from the Chaos Insurgency. According to internal Foundation reports, the man alone killed more than two dozen of his assassins before putting a bullet in his own temple. Poor fella. Though very admirable for someone whose responsibility was the maintenance of the Foundation's internal logistics.
The new O5-12, while still an incredibly composed man, had one small oversight. Throughout the dinner that had preceded, Nobody took note of the body language of each of the overseers. O5-12, in particular, was tense in the way he held himself—stiff shoulders, strained eyes, and a slight twitch to his mouth. This fit the profile Nobody had for him too. O5-12 was a lot more hands-on than his predecessor, a former field agent involved with hunting 939 instances. Not easily trusting and constantly aware. However, as of now, the man, still strained, lacked the same intensity in which he usually glared around the room. He had a small slouch, and his blinking pattern was irregularly slow. That behavior indicated familiarity, almost amusement—something personal to him.
But what could it be? Not a lucky number; no, O5-12 would be far too austere for that. Something simple. Something he would appreciate. Nobody smiled inwardly, careful not to reveal his observations. O5-12 had a three and a two; he was born on February third. Not only would it be amusing for a man who deals with numbers, but his former fieldwork would have instilled within him a sense of value in life. Further, it wasn't a bad hand either. Nobody bought in.
The game continued, with several players folding. By the end of the next seven minutes, five cards lay upon the table: a six of spades, jack of diamonds, four of clubs, four of diamonds, and ace of hearts. O5-7 folded at the raise of five million, leaving only Nobody and O5-12 still in the game. As Nobody met the raise, O5-12 widened his smile. He must be thanking his luck on his very first hand. Fascinating, isn't it?
Nobody knew what he had: a straight. It was hard not to pity the man; though, he did find it rather humorous that he was pitying a man likely responsible for the deaths of thousands. Throughout the game, O5-12’s small mannerisms didn't grow, but their continuance spoke volumes. This meant that not only did he have a good hand, but it also built off of his pre-existing hand, and, given his subtle eagerness to raise the pot, it most certainly wasn't just a pair he was happy about. O5-12 was a man of numbers; he understood the odds, and when he saw the six on the table and five in his hand, he knew he had won. Or so he thought.
O5-12 proudly placed his cards on the table: three of hearts, two of spades, five of hearts, king of diamonds, and nine of clubs. A good hand, a straight. The other overseers congratulated the man and looked to Nobody for his cards. It was probably hard for them to imagine O5-12 losing and their expressions reflected as much. Though Nobody only smiled in response, revealing a queen of spades, three of hearts, ten of clubs, king of diamonds, and seven of hearts. He had the highest card.
Crestfallen as he was, the man took it well. Smiling toward Nobody, he, with some agitation in his voice, congratulated Nobody on his win.
"Good luck, eh?" O5-12 asked as O5-1 clapped Nobody on his back.
"I suppose so." Oh, how he would never know.
------
O5-4 slammed his hand onto the table in frustration. It had been four hours, and throughout that time, Nobody had yet to lose a single game, much to the growing frustration of the overseers.
"This has to be a joke."
"You can't be serious."
"He has to be cheating."
"We can't even see his face!"
These were some of the many disgruntled reactions from the overseers as they watched Nobody lay out a pair of sevens in response to O5-4's pair of sixes. It was a strange sight, really, seeing the leaders of the Foundation play and banter as if they were common people. It almost humanized them—if not for the fact that most of them were several hundred years old and responsible for the deaths of countless innocent and guilty individuals alike. Though, he admitted to himself, they were juniors to him in both of those aspects.
Nobody hadn't won every round, but his skill in minimizing losses seemed almost inhuman to the overseers. It was as if he had a constant awareness of all the cards in play. As Nobody looked upon the fortune he had amassed from the single game alone, he smiled lightly.
"My, has this been just wonderful," the Administrator broke his silence after the overseers looked at Nobody with dumbstruck expressions. "You know, I haven't enjoyed dealing cards this much since I played dealer for a game between the UIU and a sect of the Serpent's Hand. While they might not have our resources, I can assure you the director of the UIU has a nasty bluff. Got himself and the UIU the location of four former IJAMEA black sites with that one game." The Administrator chuckled at his own recollection. "Though our new friend here probably has the best eye I've ever seen."
"I appreciate the compliment, but I assure you it's simply luck."
"Bullshit," O5-10 muttered to herself.
"Well, either way, you're quite the gambler." The Administrator laughed slightly. "Since I doubt any of my colleagues want to continue, I believe we should end here. Though, I wish to speak to our guest here privately." Looking towards the overseers, the Administrator nodded slightly. In response, the disgruntled overseers got up and shuffled out of the room and were then followed by all of the security team.
The room stood still for moments as both Nobody and the Administrator simply met each others gaze.
"I'd like to discuss my winnings," was what Nobody said to break the silence.
"Of course!" The Administrator clapped his hands. "Though I'd like to ask—how did you win? I've seen thousands of games, but I've never seen a player such as yourself. Almost omniscient knowledge of the cards in play."
Nobody looked at the table, almost absent mindedly, before he responded.
"I suppose I'll humor your request." Nobody stood up and picked up one of the cards that lay on the table. "You see, when most people look at this card, they'll see nothing special. No peculiar features differentiate it from others like it." He grabbed another card and raised both for the Administrator to see. "But when you look closely, then look closer, you'll see it. The small differences, the microscopic differences between each card. The slight print differences in the back—I memorized the back of each card and then remembered their face values. Once I did, I could guarantee my own victory." He placed both cards back on the table. He pointed to a card that the Administrator was near, the queen of clubs. When the Administrator flipped the card, it indeed was the queen of clubs.
"Impressive," was the Administrator's response. "But that doesn't explain your early victories. You still would have needed to see the cards, and you wouldn’t have done that in the first few rounds."
Nobody only smiled in response. The Administrator knew he was lying. Well, it wasn't that he couldn't do that—he could definitely do what he said, he was able to memorize all of the cards at a glance. After the second round, he even knew which 23 cards were randomizing each turn. But it wasn't the method he used to win the game. Leaving the question unanswered, Nobody continued, "Now, I'm sure the sum of money on the table there would cost the Foundation quite the pretty penny." He looked towards the table.
The Administrator tilted his head slightly, accepting that he wouldn't get a response before continuing. "It will, but we can recoup our losses, burn a few assets."
"I don't think that will be necessary."
"Hm?" The Administrator raised his eyebrow at the statement. "Why so?"
"Because I'd like to request an item instead of the money," Nobody waved his hands, "and don't worry, it won't be anything too extravagant."
"Oh, and what would that be?"
"Within Site-23's storage for anomolous objects, you'll find that a [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/a-nice-waffle-dinner small wooden box] has been there for an indeterminate amount of time." He paused slightly as he ran his fingers through his hair, "This box won't be in any of your records and neither will it be in any catalouge of items. That is what I wish to request."
The Administrator stood there, expressionless, before breaking into a smile and speaking. "Of course, that can be arranged. Though, it is a very unusual item."
"Perfect," Nobody replied, ignoring the final comment. He was sure the Administrator was suspicious, but there was nothing he could find with the information he gave. Even if he ran all the checks in the world, the wooden box would always remain a wooden box to the Foundation—nothing more. There would be no reason to deny Nobody's request.
"I hope we can do this again sometime," he heard behind him as he stood to take his leave. "I hope you can show me your trick next time."
Nobody simply turned and began whistling as he walked towards the exit. As he did so, a sly smile crept up his face.
The Administrator was wrong, humorously so. He had no real trick. The way in which he won was simple—the O5s were cheating. More specifically, they were communicating using tiny movements of their bodies. He had picked up on it during the dinner they had prior to the game: slight twitches of their mouths, shifting in their seats, and all other mundane actions were part of a code they used to communicate. Initially, he tried cross-referencing their actions with every known and yet-to-be-known code ever created. Even after checking four more times in the span of seconds, he found nothing. It was only after the first round, when he saw the hand of all the overseers after his victory, that he was able to decipher their code. It was almost amusing—they were communicating their cards with each other. However, due to 23 of the cards being random each round, they were unable to accurately know his cards, while he was able to always know all of theirs.
He chuckled to himself again as he left the room. He had gotten what he came here for, and as a bonus he also now knew the code in which the O5 council used to communicate with one another. Speaking of the overseers, they probably thought he was some master gambler. Fooling them all as he did. When, in fact, nobody's that good at poker.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-07-16T08:42:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"nobody",
"spy-fiction",
"tale",
"the-administrator"
] |
Nobody's That Good at Poker - SCP Foundation
| 15
|
[
"scp-500",
"a-nice-waffle-dinner",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"nobody-hub"
] |
[] |
1455900939
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nobody-s-that-good-at-poker
|
|
nobody-would-sing-the-rhythm-in-the-wing-again-and-again
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="poem-wrap">
<div class="poem-ch">- <strong>I</strong> -</div>
<p>O the free winds,<br/>
you sweep every corner of these meadows!<br/>
O bright younglings,<br/>
you ride horses same as flipping eagles!</p>
<p>Hola, why do y'all rush hurr'ly on way?<br/>
Haha, fight with those who's rebel and stray.<br/>
Come on, pull up ya strings and test ya bows!<br/>
Move on, let's muster unto Court of Glows!</p>
<p>Glimmery nebula float in sky,<br/>
spirits of forefathers they dwell high.<br/>
Wavin rows torches in gloomy nyght,<br/>
kindlin ablaze flame in valors' eyes.</p>
<p>Mazkueše kut teáten sateḳá<br/>
ádauhktaef urdal!<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup><br/>
<a href="http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/ow1-first">Scourges ready to point at the farworld</a>,<br/>
farworld, what a doddle!</p>
<p><br/></p>
<div class="poem-ch">- <strong>II</strong> -</div>
<p>O the free winds you upheavals,<br/>
ashin each place under luft dome.<br/>
O paw gallop'rs you big deavils,<br/>
treadin flowers unto stale loam.</p>
<p>Rampant cracks ran fastly over all the broad map,<br/>
chewin many hamlets, gulpin feckless clay faiths.<br/>
Hence tare grew and sways in sunset which like stove's gap,<br/>
puffin out hot dews as eyes of tearful lost wraiths.</p>
<p>Sobs coldly stifled by toast-rite with raucous sound.<br/>
Mobs ugl'ly feasts in pall of Nyx as their affront.<br/>
Ambrosial fresh meat at pikes, sumptuous gems on ground.<br/>
A hubris laugh grows up and up flares bush in front.</p>
<p>Whose small brides wend to ôlâh, just dressin their fine?<br/>
What officiant has heart to let breaking wheels turn?<br/>
Seven cups of blood are brimmed and spilled as scent'd wine,<br/>
offered to the Scarlet Wolf<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup> that astrally yearns.</p>
<p><br/></p>
<div class="poem-ch">- <strong>III</strong> -</div>
<p>O the free winds on forlorn, seized nation,<br/>
could you smash the heavy, rimed and dead chain?<br/>
O the teen slave vowed with aspiration,<br/>
preordained for thrones and all lives to rein.</p>
<p>Leer unto Chaos Womb, he prayed but tried to kill.<br/>
Ordeals to Wounds, he caved Godd'ss by his mighty Will.<br/>
From None to Crown, his titles shine above Occults.<br/>
In flesh his paradise been grandly built and sculpt'd.</p>
<p>Hear the call from blood when heart beats!<br/>
Feel the quakes in flesh and pumped heats!<br/>
<a href="/the-parables-of-pseudo-nadox">World's just like a house on fire</a>,<br/>
yet by him we bear no injure.</p>
<p>Convert to great Ion!<br/>
<a href="http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/wanderers:the-court-of-the-hanged-king">He combusted huge wrath to Alaggada</a>.<br/>
Praise almighty Ion!<br/>
He <a href="http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/the-three-corbies">fete' crows</a> with tyrant's wreck' cadaver.<br/>
Glad for selfless Ion!<br/>
He will spread arcana unto far zones.<br/>
So devote to Ion!<br/>
He will shepherd Flesh to mount divine thrones.</p>
<p><br/></p>
<div class="poem-ch">- <strong>IV</strong> -</div>
<p>O free winds you billow out mass banners<br/>
like hued clouds, lunged by celestial long lance.<br/>
O the freak who erstwhile called Ropes Breaker,<br/>
<a href="http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/ow1-second">why you weirdly shackles world with starved trance?</a></p>
<p>Presto, yonder up comes mage is <a href="/system:page-tags/tag/robert-bumaro#pages">Western Hero</a>!<br/>
Marching <a href="/scp-2406">golem</a> phalanxs per his brazen mace's lead.<br/>
Witness, <a href="http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/the-lost-book-of-documents-in-shang-that-golden-declaration">Eastern Queen</a> charg's <a href="http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/scp-cn-1500">forward</a> shield'd by <a href="/SCP-1428">Gold Crows</a>!<br/>
Granted from king Wǔdīng<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup>, yuè<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-4" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-4')">4</a></sup> wield'd by her on steed.</p>
<p>As prediction said from eons early:<br/>
Flesh, be clean! Root out spread-pus with metals.<br/>
Righteous troops advance in Lord's sight neatly.<br/>
We protect men from cursed fiends whence battles.</p>
<p>Brethren! We are child of Broken,<br/>
hearts unit'd in grandest mission.<br/>
Sun Invictus! We, his loved braves,<br/>
strut with lustre trampling foul laves.</p>
<p>Make blade (of) v'ctory flash to (night) sky thence day-break,<br/>
<a href="/scp-1000">once more global buds will up stretch to wake</a>.<br/>
Yet when <a href="http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/scp-cn-457">bow of doom</a> is tensed in shadow,<br/>
all fade into mould-mirage on time-flow.</p>
<p><br/></p>
<div class="poem-ch">- <strong>V</strong> -</div>
<p>O free winds, you come again to<br/>
blow away the yester haze and dazed din.<br/>
O <a href="/three-moons-initiative-hblow">new</a> black moon, you drift up through<br/>
something blurred and smalt which whelmed the welkin.</p>
<p>Put rapture Veil when Masquerade is held.<br/>
Death grins aside. Grape splashed on scythe he smelled.<br/>
But careful words from Pangloss' loving heart<br/>
can not stir their profound out off tanked part.<br/>
Behind the narrow gate blocked by dim grille,<br/>
crown laid for absenc'r hanged and wiltin still.</p>
<p>Whimsies and miracles cabined in dungeons' cage(s).<br/>
Wanderers' blood dried on land of forgotten age(s).<br/>
Hidden books<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-5" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-5')">5</a></sup> dug from walls, only to burn with tease.<br/>
Scraps in dust all<span style="font-size:60%;">∅</span>yed with dusk, murmurin hence the breeze.</p>
<p>What's wrong done by us? What sin should we bear thence fuss?<br/>
Are we doomed to be shred by disasters' knife thus?<br/>
Wh'aye grind our unconscious to make pains devoid?<br/>
Wh'aye throw our screams into abyss of the Void?</p>
<p>Nobody mind'd. Nobody sighed.<br/>
Nobody gazed window unto wast wild.<br/>
Droppin tears melt'd into chill rain,<br/>
washin out past trac's the pale stain.<br/>
Nobody logs. Nobody sorts.<br/>
Nobody hums folks as always like yore.<br/>
Hearken, echos gently purl' in woe-mirth,<br/>
they once crossin seven seas and vast earth.<br/>
Carried by free carefree winds as aria,<br/>
they waft through each silent land in historia.</p>
</div>
<div style="text-align:right;">
<p><span style="text-align:right;color:#ebebeb;font-style: italic;">Remember us…</span></p>
</div>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. The one who dares to hunt monsters alone is our mighties king!</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. <strong>Translator Note:</strong> Sirius the canine star in red. In ancient Chinese astrology, it symbolized the malevolent force of greed and brutality. When something abnormal apears, it is an omen of the imminent outbreak of large-scale wars, particularly invasions by savages.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. <strong>Translator Note:</strong> Wǔdīng (武丁, ? – 1192 BCE) was a king of the Shang (商) Dynasty, whose queen was named Fù Hǎo / Fù Zǐ (妇好). The queen led armies in battles against invading savages tribes from the northwest, and someone speculate that these tribes were possibly the Aryans.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-4"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-4')">4</a>. <strong>Translator Note:</strong> The yuè (钺) was a weapon made of bronze, shaped like a giant axe. During the Shang and Zhou (商&周) Dynasties, it typically served as a symbol of royal authority and the command of national military forces.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-5"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-5')">5</a>. <strong>Translator Note:</strong> Referrence to "壁中书 (the books hid in walls)". It said that the ancient texts had been concealed by a descendant of Confucius in the walls of his house during the time when Qin Shihuang ordered the burning of books. These books remained hidden for several decades until they were accidentally discovered when the house was demolished by a lord at later dynasty.</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/nobody-would-sing-the-rhythm-in-the-wing-again-and-again">Nobody would hum folks in the winds again and again</a>" by Etinjat, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nobody-would-sing-the-rhythm-in-the-wing-again-and-again">https://scpwiki.com/nobody-would-sing-the-rhythm-in-the-wing-again-and-again</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:magazine">:scp-wiki:theme:magazine</a>]]
[[module css]]
.poem-wrap{
font-size:120%;
text-align:center
}
.poem-ch {
text-align: center;
font-size:140%;
font-family:var(--header-tt-font);
}
@media (max-width: 479px) {
.poem-wrap{
font-size:110%;
text-align: left
}
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div class="poem-wrap" style=""]]
@@@@
[[div_ class="poem-ch"]]
- **I** -
[[/div]]
O the free winds,
you sweep every corner of these meadows!
O bright younglings,
you ride horses same as flipping eagles!
Hola, why do y'all rush hurr'ly on way?
Haha, fight with those who's rebel and stray.
Come on, pull up ya strings and test ya bows!
Move on, let's muster unto Court of Glows!
Glimmery nebula float in sky,
spirits of forefathers they dwell high.
Wavin rows torches in gloomy nyght,
kindlin ablaze flame in valors' eyes.
Mazkueše kut teáten sateḳá
ádauhktaef urdal![[footnote]]
The one who dares to hunt monsters alone is our mighties king!
[[/footnote]]
[http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/ow1-first Scourges ready to point at the farworld],
farworld, what a doddle!
@@@@
@@@@
[[div_ class="poem-ch"]]
- **II** -
[[/div]]
O the free winds you upheavals,
ashin each place under luft dome.
O paw gallop'rs you big deavils,
treadin flowers unto stale loam.
[!--deavils > devil deavo--]
Rampant cracks ran fastly over all the broad map,
chewin many hamlets, gulpin feckless clay faiths.
Hence tare grew and sways in sunset which like stove's gap,
puffin out hot dews as eyes of tearful lost wraiths.
Sobs coldly stifled by toast-rite with raucous sound.
Mobs ugl'ly feasts in pall of Nyx as their affront.
Ambrosial fresh meat at pikes, sumptuous gems on ground.
A hubris laugh grows up and up flares bush in front.
Whose small brides wend to ôlâh, just dressin their fine?
What officiant has heart to let breaking wheels turn?
Seven cups of blood are brimmed and spilled as scent'd wine,
offered to the Scarlet Wolf[[footnote]]
**Translator Note:** Sirius the canine star in red. In ancient Chinese astrology, it symbolized the malevolent force of greed and brutality. When something abnormal apears, it is an omen of the imminent outbreak of large-scale wars, particularly invasions by savages.
[[/footnote]] that astrally yearns.
@@@@
@@@@
[[div_ class="poem-ch"]]
- **III** -
[[/div]]
O the free winds on forlorn, seized nation,
could you smash the heavy, rimed and dead chain?
O the teen slave vowed with aspiration,
preordained for thrones and all lives to rein.
Leer unto Chaos Womb, he prayed but tried to kill.
Ordeals to Wounds, he caved Godd'ss by his mighty Will.
From None to Crown, his titles shine above Occults.
In flesh his paradise been grandly built and sculpt'd.
Hear the call from blood when heart beats!
Feel the quakes in flesh and pumped heats!
[/the-parables-of-pseudo-nadox World's just like a house on fire],
yet by him we bear no injure.
Convert to great Ion!
[http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/wanderers:the-court-of-the-hanged-king He combusted huge wrath to Alaggada].
Praise almighty Ion!
He [http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/the-three-corbies fete' crows] with tyrant's wreck' cadaver.
Glad for selfless Ion!
He will spread arcana unto far zones.
So devote to Ion!
He will shepherd Flesh to mount divine thrones.
@@@@
@@@@
[[div_ class="poem-ch"]]
- **IV** -
[[/div]]
O free winds you billow out mass banners
like hued clouds, lunged by celestial long lance.
O the freak who erstwhile called Ropes Breaker,
[http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/ow1-second why you weirdly shackles world with starved trance?]
Presto, yonder up comes mage is [/system:page-tags/tag/robert-bumaro#pages Western Hero]!
Marching [/scp-2406 golem] phalanxs per his brazen mace's lead.
Witness, [http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/the-lost-book-of-documents-in-shang-that-golden-declaration Eastern Queen] charg's [http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/scp-cn-1500 forward] shield'd by [/SCP-1428 Gold Crows]!
Granted from king Wǔdīng[[footnote]]
**Translator Note:** Wǔdīng (武丁, ? – 1192 BCE) was a king of the Shang (商) Dynasty, whose queen was named Fù Hǎo / Fù Zǐ (妇好). The queen led armies in battles against invading savages tribes from the northwest, and someone speculate that these tribes were possibly the Aryans.
[[/footnote]], yuè[[footnote]] **Translator Note:** The yuè (钺) was a weapon made of bronze, shaped like a giant axe. During the Shang and Zhou (商&周) Dynasties, it typically served as a symbol of royal authority and the command of national military forces.
[[/footnote]] wield'd by her on steed.
As prediction said from eons early:
Flesh, be clean! Root out spread-pus with metals.
Righteous troops advance in Lord's sight neatly.
We protect men from cursed fiends whence battles.
Brethren! We are child of Broken,
hearts unit'd in grandest mission.
Sun Invictus! We, his loved braves,
strut with lustre trampling foul laves.
Make blade (of) v'ctory flash to (night) sky thence day-break,
[/scp-1000 once more global buds will up stretch to wake].
Yet when [http://scp-wiki-cn.wikidot.com/scp-cn-457 bow of doom] is tensed in shadow,
all fade into mould-mirage on time-flow.
@@@@
@@@@
[[div_ class="poem-ch"]]
- **V** -
[[/div]]
O free winds, you come again to
blow away the yester haze and dazed din.
O [/three-moons-initiative-hblow new] black moon, you drift up through
something blurred and smalt which whelmed the welkin.
Put rapture Veil when Masquerade is held.
Death grins aside. Grape splashed on scythe he smelled.
But careful words from Pangloss' loving heart
can not stir their profound out off tanked part.
Behind the narrow gate blocked by dim grille,
crown laid for absenc'r hanged and wiltin still.
[!--deavils > deavo--]
Whimsies and miracles cabined in dungeons' cage(s).
Wanderers' blood dried on land of forgotten age(s).
Hidden books[[footnote]]
**Translator Note:** Referrence to "壁中书 (the books hid in walls)". It said that the ancient texts had been concealed by a descendant of Confucius in the walls of his house during the time when Qin Shihuang ordered the burning of books. These books remained hidden for several decades until they were accidentally discovered when the house was demolished by a lord at later dynasty.
[[/footnote]] dug from walls, only to burn with tease.
Scraps in dust all[[size 60%]]∅[[/size]]yed with dusk, murmurin hence the breeze.
What's wrong done by us? What sin should we bear thence fuss?
Are we doomed to be shred by disasters' knife thus?
Wh'aye grind our unconscious to make pains devoid?
Wh'aye throw our screams into abyss of the Void?
Nobody mind'd. Nobody sighed.
Nobody gazed window unto wast wild.
Droppin tears melt'd into chill rain,
washin out past trac's the pale stain.
Nobody logs. Nobody sorts.
Nobody hums folks as always like yore.
Hearken, echos gently purl' in woe-mirth,
they once crossin seven seas and vast earth.
Carried by free carefree winds as aria,
they waft through each silent land in historia.
[[/div]]
[[div style="text-align:right;"]]
[[span style="text-align:right;color:#ebebeb;font-style: italic;" ]] Remember us...[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[footnoteblock]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-03-25T06:35:00
|
[
"_cn",
"_licensebox",
"alagadda",
"broken-god",
"brothers-of-death",
"children-of-the-night",
"children-of-the-torch",
"daevite",
"global-occult-coalition",
"grand-karcist-ion",
"hanged-king",
"international",
"mythological",
"nobody",
"pangloss",
"poetry",
"religious-fiction",
"robert-bumaro",
"sarkic",
"scarlet-king",
"serpents-hand",
"tale",
"wanderers-library",
"xia-dynasty"
] |
Nobody would hum folks in the winds again and again - SCP Foundation
| 12
|
[
"the-parables-of-pseudo-nadox",
"system:page-tags/tag/robert-bumaro#pages",
"scp-2406",
"SCP-1428",
"scp-1000",
"three-moons-initiative-hblow",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"wanderers-library-hub",
"cotsk-hub",
"serpent-s-hand-hub",
"sarkicism-hub",
"nobody-hub",
"goc-hub-page",
"church-of-the-broken-god-hub",
"scp-international"
] |
[] |
1453132516
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nobody-would-sing-the-rhythm-in-the-wing-again-and-again
|
|
nosedive
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>You never had anyone but us. You never had anyone but the Foundation.</p>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://cdn.scpwiki.com/theme/en/basalt/normalize-min.css&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=2&theme=https://cdn.scpwiki.com/theme/en/basalt/basalt-bedrock-min.css&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Abasalt/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p><strong>Note:</strong> This standalone <a href="/site-17-hub">Site-17 Deepwell Catalog</a> tale was originally written for <a href="/wrathcon">WRATHCON</a>, prior to the deletion of all entries to that contest.<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/cubeseer" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5366457); return false;"><img alt="Cubeseer" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5366457&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043671" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5366457)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/cubeseer" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5366457); return false;">Cubeseer</a></span> | <a href="/cubeseer-author-page">Author Page</a><br/>
<strong>Content Warning:</strong> Mention of suicide<br/>
<strong>Accessibility Notice:</strong> Forced dark mode or CSS plug-ins may break this page.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
<p><br/></p>
<div class="modal">
<h2 id="toc0"><span>AO-1434</span></h2>
<p><strong>Item Description:</strong> A 19-year-old man whose face cannot be captured photographically. All attempts to do so result in the digital or physical corruption of the image. A secondary anomaly garbles the subject's voice in all recordings.<br/>
<strong>Date of Recovery:</strong> 15-09-2017<br/>
<strong>Location of Recovery:</strong> LaGuardia Airport, New York<br/>
<strong>Current Status:</strong> Held in humanoid containment at Site-17.</p>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:350px;"><img alt="vbsrecovered-1434-59.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/cubeseer-nosedive/vbsrecovered-1434-59.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>vbsrecovered-1434-59.jpg</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="email">
<div class="tofrom">
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 27/11/2019<br/>
<strong>To:</strong> Tabitha Ingram <<span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|92margni.ahtibat#ten.pics|92margni.ahtibat</span>><br/>
<strong>From:</strong> Ryland John Hart <<span class="wiki-email">tni.pcs|trahjr#tni.pcs|trahjr</span>><br/>
<strong>Subject:</strong> [IMPORTANT] New Assignment</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Dr. Ingram,</p>
<p>The recent resignation of Dr. Juan Luna has left one of our patients without any psychological support. Therefore, I’m assigning you to work with AO-1434, full name Andrew Zhou. You should get the assignment packet and paperwork in your profile shortly. AO-1434 was recovered two years ago at age 17, and was continuously seen by Dr. Luna until now. The fact that we cannot tell AO-1434 anything about Dr. Luna's resignation is causing him some distress. Do what you can to mitigate this.</p>
<p>Your first session is on 03/12/2019.</p>
<p>Good luck,<br/>
Ryland Hart<br/>
<em>Department of Anomalous Humanoid Psychology</em></p>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="notation">
<p><strong>Video Log AO-1434/BX492</strong></p>
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 03/12/2019</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> So… what about any hobbies?</p>
<p><strong>AO-1434:</strong> <tt>[garbled]</tt></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> Yes, but you know about Dr. Sophia Day, the new AEED liaison, right? Just for starters, she’s starting a D&D campaign in a couple of days.</p>
<p><strong>AO-1434:</strong> <tt>[garbled]</tt></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> I know you miss them. I know it's not easy to have all these people in your life just… leave.</p>
<p><strong>AO-1434:</strong> <tt>[garbled]</tt></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> I wish I could tell you. I really do.</p>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="email">
<div class="tofrom">
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 07/12/2019<br/>
<strong>To:</strong> Eve Amber Patel <<span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|letap.aeve#ten.pics|letap.aeve</span>><br/>
<strong>From:</strong> Tabitha Ingram <<span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|92margni.ahtibat#ten.pics|92margni.ahtibat</span>><br/>
<strong>Subject:</strong> Calling in that favor</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Eve,</p>
<p>I had my second session with Andrew today (notes attached). I want to highlight some things he asked me about.</p>
<ul>
<li>Andrew kept pressing me on why Juan resigned suddenly. I know that even if I found out I can't disclose it to him, but for my own sake I wish to know as well.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>How do I get in contact with Andrew's current case officer in Reintegration? He gave me the name "Hasan", but that refers to at least three different officers, and his file doesn’t have a corresponding link on Reintegration’s side.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Is there a lower clearance level version of SCP-6113 still available? Ever since the lockdown the file has been restricted to Level 4. Andrew misses Chloe dearly, and wants to know that she's at least safe.</li>
</ul>
<p>Thanks for all your help,<br/>
Tabby<br/>
<em>Department of Anomalous Humanoid Psychology</em></p>
<p> 🖇️ <tt><a href="javascript:;">notes-bc311.odt</a></tt></p>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="document">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h3 id="toc1"><span>MEMORANDUM REGARDING PROJECT RHIZOME</span></h3>
<p>Dr. Ryan Murphy</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Section 2.1:</strong> Rollout</p>
<p>The rollout period is traditionally the most volatile part of a new amnestic's lifespan. There was great controversy when the Foundation transitioned from opiates and chloroform to Y-909, and there will be controversy again when the Foundation inevitably moves past ATZAK-derived amnestics<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup>. <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">Already, senior researchers have begun voicing opposition to Rhizome Experimental Compound, basing their claims on unfounded hearsay.</span> Therefore, in order to ensure that Project Rhizome has enough momentum to eventually become the basis of newer-generation amnestics, an altered and targeted rollout strategy must be utilized instead.</p>
<p>The first stage of this proposed rollout strategy is the implementation of Rhizome-based Class-A, -B, and -C amnestics on a per-project, per-SCP basis. Amnestics Department liaisons affiliated with Project Rhizome will attempt to persuade head <span style="opacity: 0.65;">researchers of the importance of using</span> <span style="opacity: 0.6;">amnestics based on the Rhizome compound,</span> <span style="opacity: 0.55;">and facilitate</span> <span style="opacity: 0.5;">the development</span> <span style="opacity: 0.4;">of new</span> <span style="opacity: 0.3;">amnestic</span> <span style="opacity: 0.2;">therapies</span> <span style="opacity: 0.1;">dependent on</span> <span style="opacity: 0.05;">Project Rhizome</span></p>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. For instance, see the 16/09/2019 Ethics Committee meeting on pausing auxiliary ATZAK PROTOCOL funding.</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><tt>DEPARTMENT OF AMNESTICS | DRAFT DOCUMENT</tt></p>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="email">
<div class="tofrom">
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 08/12/2019<br/>
<strong>To:</strong> Tabitha Ingram <<span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|92margni.ahtibat#ten.pics|92margni.ahtibat</span>><br/>
<strong>From:</strong> Eve Amber Patel <<span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|letap.aeve#ten.pics|letap.aeve</span>><br/>
<strong>Subject:</strong> Re: Calling in that favor</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Tabby,</p>
<p>Ethics has a copy of Juan's resignation letter stored locally, but it's above the clearance of mid-level liaisons like me. The only thing I could find is that he seemed to have been involved with the Site Director's office, and submitted the letter to Director Graham directly. Afterwards, someone on the committee stuck their neck out for Juan and spirited him away from Site-17 on short notice. I'd do more digging, but my superiors are probably keeping the whole thing under wraps for a good reason.</p>
<p>I had a bit more success with the Reintegration Committee records (attached). They're currently being reformatted by RAISA, so you’re not the only person who’s had problems with access. There hasn't been an update in nearly a year, so you should get in touch with Hasan Amir (<span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|rima.nasah#ten.pics|rima.nasah</span>), because he's either not doing his job or he's giving a soft red light by not moving the case forward.</p>
<p>Finally, about SCP-6113. All I can tell you is that SCP-6113-3 (Chloe) was abducted during a containment breach. Everything else is above your clearance, unfortunately. I don't think I need to tell you that you shouldn't share this with Andrew.</p>
<p>All that said, I’ve read through your notes. The fact that Andrew lost both Chloe and Juan so recently seems to be affecting him greatly, and I encourage you to keep talking about those subjects, if only to find some sort of closure. Might I suggest you encourage Andrew to socialize in the common areas more? I know that he still has Anthony, but he really needs to make another friend.</p>
<p>Eve<br/>
<em>she/they</em><br/>
<em>Ethics Subcommittee for Humanoid Entities</em></p>
<p> 🖇️ <tt><a href="javascript:;">ao1434ReintCase2019.pdf</a></tt></p>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="document">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h4 id="toc2"><span>Chapter Five: Thought Patterns</span></h4>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>It is common for patients in containment to feel decreased motivation for tasks and routines, even in the absence of depression. While prior sections of this worksheet focused on behavioral interventions, it is equally important to restructure our cognitive responses to containment, as we find that our thought patterns often precede and negatively influence our behaviors.</p>
<p>Consider the following question:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>"Why should I bother doing anything when I’m going to be in containment for the rest of my life?"</p>
</blockquote>
<p>When we’re faced with negative thoughts like the example above, we often attempt to respond combatively, which can result in a negative spiral. Instead, consider these responses:</p>
<ul>
<li>"I am not going to be in containment for the rest of my life." – This is an ever-probable outcome as the Foundation continues to develop new pathways to reintegrate humanoid anomalies into public life. In fact, preparing oneself to be fit for reintegration provides a concrete and achievable goal for many patients in containment.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>"I can still accomplish a lot even in containment." – It is true that your life circumstances are far from ideal, but remember that Foundation staff are trained to help you, even if your anomalous effects render you incompatible with outside society. Consider the case of SCP-5031, a formerly homicidal entity who was solely capable of sustained screaming and inflicting grievous injuries. After being mentored by one of our doctors, SCP-5031 is now a skilled chef renowned throughout the Foundation. Consider what resources you might require, and never hesitate to ask us for anything necessary for your wellbeing in containment.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="email">
<div class="tofrom">
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 16/12/2019<br/>
<strong>To:</strong> Tabitha Ingram <<span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|92margni.ahtibat#ten.pics|92margni.ahtibat</span>><br/>
<strong>From:</strong> Chaim Cannon <<span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|nonnacc#ten.pics|nonnacc</span>><br/>
<strong>CC:</strong> Ryland John Hart <<span class="wiki-email">tni.pcs|trahjr#tni.pcs|trahjr</span>>, Su Bai <<span class="wiki-email">ten.pics|85iab.us#ten.pics|85iab.us</span>><br/>
<strong>Subject:</strong> Re: AO-1434 containment review notice</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Dr. Ingram,</p>
<p>The Department of Humanoid Risk Assessment has reviewed your latest progress report regarding AO-1434. We note that since the most recent containment review with your predecessor on 16/11/2019, you have requested the following allowances:</p>
<p> 1) Increased social privileges.</p>
<p> 2) Recreational time in the Site-17 nature preserve.</p>
<p> 3) Amenity budget increase ($100).</p>
<p>AO-1434 hasn't demonstrably improved psychologically after these increased allowances were granted. In fact, he hasn't greatly taken advantage of these privileges to begin with. Therefore, we cease authorization of these allowances effective tomorrow, unless it can be provably demonstrated that they are essential for continued good morale in containment.</p>
<p>I must also remind you that administering therapeutic modalities deviating from cognitive behavioral therapy must be per-approved by the Department of Humanoid Risk Assessment. As we have not received a request from the Department of Anomalous Humanoid Psychology, we ask that you return to the approved psychological curriculum.</p>
<p>Sincerely,<br/>
Dr. Chaim Cannon<br/>
<em>Department of Humanoid Risk Assessment</em></p>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<h3 id="toc3"><span>Eve Amber Patel</span></h3>
<div class="text-container">
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Hey tabby</span><br/>
<span class="text">I bumped into Andrew at the D&D game today</span><br/>
<span class="text">He was pretty shy for much of the time, but I think he was having fun</span><br/>
<span class="text">Toward the end of the session Anthony's rogue rolled a 7 on his 1d6 sneak attack, and Dr. Day got a bit mad about the anomalous contraband and had rocks fall on Anthony's character 😆</span><br/>
<span class="text">Andrew's paladin tried to save him but rolled a nat 1 and died as well 🥲</span><br/>
<span class="text">Afterwards, I had a private talk with him as everyone was leaving. I asked him about you</span><br/>
<span class="text">And well</span><br/>
<span class="text">He said that he didn’t like how you were "gaslighting" him into trying to feel better. I tried to tell him that you’re only trying to keep him well until he could be reintegrated, but I don't think he bought it</span><br/>
<span class="text">I know you tried to do something different, like Juan, but then he said you stopped for no reason</span><br/>
<span class="text">He said he misses Juan and Chloe very much. Really doesn't like the "we can't tell you anything" stance</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">I'm glad that Andrew got to socialize</span><br/>
<span class="text">I know that he sometimes feels that I'm trying to manipulate him, but its</span><br/>
<span class="text">Just</span><br/>
<span class="text">Frankly, Hart and Cannon are breathing down my necks to get me to stick on program, but telling a prisoner to stay positive is never going to sound like anything but propaganda</span><br/>
<span class="text">I wish I could do something different</span><br/>
<span class="text">And I tried</span><br/>
<span class="text">But</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Oh shit</span><br/>
<span class="text">Sorry</span><br/>
<span class="text">There's a new update from reintegration</span><br/>
<span class="text">You should really talk to Andrew about it</span><br/>
<span class="text">When's your last day before break?</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">Today</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Then do it today</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="notation">
<p><strong>Video Log AO-1434/AE590</strong></p>
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 23/12/2019</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> Yes, I talked about it with Hasan. He confirmed everything.</p>
<p><strong>AO-1434:</strong> <tt>[garbled]</tt></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> Hey, you don’t- breathe. Just breathe.</p>
<p><strong>AO-1434:</strong> <tt>[garbled]</tt></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> You’re fine. I got you. Just in… and out.</p>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: center;"><br/>
<br/>
<img alt="Site-17.svg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/secure-facilities-locations/Site-17.svg" width="60em"/>
<h3 id="toc4"><span><strong>NOTICE FROM SITE-17 COMMAND</strong></span></h3>
<p>Site-17 Command is currently establishing full casualty counts for the recent containment breach of SCP-953. Listed below is the preliminary casualty list, based on information from MTF Delta-4.</p>
<div class="tableb table6">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th style="text-align: center;">NAME</th>
<th style="text-align: center;">CASUALTY TYPE</th>
<th style="text-align: center;">DESCRIPTION</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="regcells">Annalise Pham</td>
<td class="regcells">Major Injury</td>
<td class="regcells">Lacerations</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="regcells">Olly Collins</td>
<td class="regcells">Minor Injury</td>
<td class="regcells">Lacerations</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="regcells">Kieran Delacruz</td>
<td class="regcells">Minor Injury</td>
<td class="regcells">Self-inflicted wounds</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="regcells">Izan Rodriguez</td>
<td class="regcells">Minor Injury</td>
<td class="regcells">Self-inflicted wounds</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="regcells">Andrew Zhou (AO-1434)</td>
<td class="regcells">Minor Injury</td>
<td class="regcells">Self-inflicted wounds</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="regcells">Anthony Keller (SCP-6546)</td>
<td class="regcells">Death</td>
<td class="regcells">Friendly fire from MTF Delta-4</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<p>All personnel present at the Site-17 Christmas Banquet should seek psychological examination as soon as possible.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong><tt>ISSUED 25/12/2019</tt></strong></p>
</div>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="text-container-wrap">
<h3 id="toc5"><span>Ellis Porter</span></h3>
<div class="text-container">
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">Get over here now</span><br/>
<span class="text">Andrew tried to hang himself</span><br/>
<span class="text">He’s in the infirmary</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">Coming</span><br/>
<span class="text">Tell me he's not going to die</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">He's not seriously injured</span><br/>
<span class="text">He made a noose from rope</span><br/>
<span class="text">I think he smuggled it in</span><br/>
<span class="text">But I couldn't see it with the camera because of the anomaly</span></p>
</div>
<div class="sent">
<p><span class="text">Why weren't you looking through the fucking windows????</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">I</span><br/>
<span class="text">I thought that was someone else's job</span></p>
</div>
<div class="recv">
<p><span class="text">I'm sorry</span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragment%3Ascp-6113-1/HR-edit.png) top right no-repeat, #f2f2f2; background-size: 75px 75px; color: black; float: center; border: solid 1px #000000; padding: 5px 15px 15px 15px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2); width: 84%; margin: auto">
<p><strong>Ethics Committee Memo</strong></p>
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 05/01/2020<br/>
<strong>To:</strong> Site-17 Director Thomas Graham<br/>
<strong>From:</strong> Ethics Committee Liaison Jeremiah Cimmerian<br/>
<strong>Subject:</strong> Notice regarding humanoid containment incidents</p>
<hr/>
<p>Graham,</p>
<p>We’ve seen an alarming rise in the number of self-harm incidents and suicide attempts among the humanoid anomalies in Site-17. In fact, just two days ago, AO-1434 attempted suicide via asphyxiation. It is evident that current methods of preventative psychological aid are far less than adequate. Therefore, alternative methods of support and prevention must be established in Site-17 as promptly as possible. The Ethics Committee is currently reviewing several experimental mental health treatments, and you are authorized to perform them with our approval and supervision.</p>
<p>Remember that you are ultimately responsible for the wellbeing of humanoid anomalies under your jurisdiction. Should you fail to stymie this current trend, you will answer to us regarding your dereliction of duty.</p>
<p>We will be monitoring your progress closely.</p>
<p>- Ethics Committee Liaison Jeremiah Cimmerian</p>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="notation">
<p><strong>Video Log NCE179054</strong></p>
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 13/01/2020</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> Ethics would never approve this.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cannon:</strong> Tell her, Patel.</p>
<p><strong>Liaison Patel:</strong> <em>(Pauses)</em> The Subcommittee on Humanoid Entities narrowly voted for a limited trial, starting with AO-1434. Dr. Murphy of the Amnestics Department is to… is to test the efficacy of treating trauma, depression, and other mental health issues with Rhizome-based Class-C amnestics. If the results are sound, the subcommittee will consider broader authorization.</p>
<p><strong>Researcher Bai:</strong> This is unprecedented. Amnestics are used for security, not for treating mental illness.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> I can't believe we're debating this.</p>
<p><strong>Liaison Patel:</strong> I want it on record, I disagreed with the subcommittee's conclusions, and-</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Hart:</strong> Enough! We are doctors, and we will act as such. Dr. Murphy, please explain your proposal.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Murphy:</strong> Certainly. Unlike prior amnestics, our Rhizome compound allows us to not only target specific memories, but also the emotions, reflexes, attitudes, and other associated baggage associated with those memories. Erase a targeted moment, say the death of a friend, and we also erase the depression, anxiety, and trauma resulting from it. In AO-1434's case, its suicidality comes entirely from several traumatic recent events. If AO-1434 ceases to recall these events, then its current symptoms will also cease. Of course, we'd most likely want to erase <em>all</em> memories of persons involved with these traumas, for example SCP-6113-3, SCP-6546, and Dr. Luna. Otherwise, the brain might find ways to… burrow through our suppression.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cannon:</strong> I can see why Director Graham went to you, Dr. Murphy. This is excellent.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> You're actually serious… you're going to erase everything. Do you know what Andrew has left after you rob him of all his time with the only people he's ever cared about? He'll have nothing. Nothing!</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Murphy:</strong> Dr. Ingram, the Foundation routinely erases larger periods of memory, and I can assure you that the Rhizome compound reduces the chances of full personality removal to near-zero.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Hart:</strong> Dr. Murphy, how completely does the Rhizome compound erase the memories themselves? Are they merely locked up, or do you scramble the neurons to destroy them altogether?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Murphy:</strong> I… will admit that there is a slight chance of recall. Which is why our amnestic therapy also injects heightened suggestibility into the subconscious, allowing a trained psychologist to easily make the patient doubt any memories that remain. In the case of AO-1434, we already have a perfect alibi in the form of SCP-953. It should be easy enough to convince it that all its memories of Dr. Luna and the others merely came from the anomaly, and its internalization of that fact will do the rest.</p>
<p><strong>Liaison Patel:</strong> Murphy, I hope you've weighed the moral costs of wiping away <em>years</em> of Andrew's life.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Murphy:</strong> Liaison, if I may be candid, I see no reason why this treatment is immoral when the alternative is AO-1434's potential death, or at the very least its continued suffering.</p>
<p><em>Dr. Hart clears his throat.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Hart:</strong> Dr. Murphy, you know that I have my own reservations about this casual use of amnestics. But if what you propose is genuinely effective, then we have an obligation to Andrew to see it through. Tabitha, I'm assigning you to evaluate Andrew's post-amnestic state. You will catalog the effects of the procedure, and work on psychologically eliminating recall of any residual memories.</p>
<p><em>Silence.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Hart:</strong> Tabitha?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> I'm not gaslighting Andrew into believing that his best friend was the invention of a fucking <em>fox</em>.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Hart:</strong> I'm sorry Tabitha, but that's an order.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> I'd rather resign.</p>
<p><em>Dr. Cannon chuckles.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cannon:</strong> Do it.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> <em>(Pauses)</em> What?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cannon:</strong> Write your letter of resignation. Now, if you'd like.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> Doctor-</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cannon:</strong> No one's stopping you. You're not even important enough for Fire Suppression to bother with. So just leave.</p>
<p><em>Silence.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cannon:</strong> Or are you reconsidering your words? Is it dawning on you what would happen to all the anomalies under your watch if you abandoned them the same way that Juan Luna did? Surely you must know how much pain he's caused by fleeing Site-17. Without even a farewell to 1434, no less. And all because of what? Because he saw something that hurt his feelings? Because he had to wade through the same shit as the rest of us?</p>
<p><strong>Liaison Patel:</strong> Cannon, that's enough.</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cannon:</strong> I don't do my job because I enjoy it. Some days, I want to leave everything behind just as much as you do now. But I still show up and work my damnedest every day. Why? Because I- <em>we</em> have a responsibility. A responsibility to do what few can, and fewer will. To do what <em>needs to be done.</em> So I want to know, did you mean what you said? Are you going to run away from 1434 like everyone else in his life? Or are you going to stick with the rest of us, and do your job?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> I- I'll…</p>
<p><em>Dr. Ingram swallows, and then nods.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cannon:</strong> That's what I thought.</p>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="modal">
<h2 id="toc6"><span>AO-1434</span></h2>
<p><strong>Item Description:</strong> A 19-year-old man whose face cannot be captured photographically. All attempts to do so result in the digital or physical corruption of the image. <span class="changedtext">A secondary anomaly garbles the subject's voice in all recordings. However, as neurological damage has rendered the subject mute, this property is considered effectively neutralized.</span><br/>
<strong>Date of Recovery:</strong> 15-09-2017<br/>
<strong>Location of Recovery:</strong> LaGuardia Airport, New York<br/>
<strong>Current Status:</strong> Held in humanoid containment at Site-17.</p>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<div class="notation">
<p><strong>Video Log AO-1434/IF944</strong></p>
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 15/01/2020</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> Okay, let's do another one. I've been your psychologist for the past two years. Real or not real?</p>
<p><em>AO-1434 writes on a notecard.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> Correct. I've been seeing you this whole time. Try to recall some of our earlier sessions. If you remember a different… a different man sitting here, just refocus and leave the memory.</p>
<p><em>Silence.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> Many victims of SCP-953 report false memories after contact. As easily as it takes away your memories and your voice, it inserts its own lies into your head.</p>
<p><em>Silence.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> Alright, last one before lunch. You had friends at Site-17 besides me. Real or not real?</p>
<p><em>AO-1434 writes on a notecard.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> That's right. Not real. You…</p>
<p><em>Dr. Ingram glances at the security camera.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> You've been a recluse. You never had anyone but us. You never had anyone but the Foundation.</p>
<p><em>Silence.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> But we can start anew. I can help you make new friends. Make new memories. You can be happy here.</p>
<p><em>An alarm clock rings.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> Oh, it's time for lunch. Try to eat something filling. I'll be here when you come back. And don't forget, you can always count on me, Andrew.</p>
<p><em>AO-1434 leaves the room.</em></p>
<p><strong>Dr. Ingram:</strong> You can… you can always count on me.</p>
<p><em>Silence.</em></p>
</div>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/></p>
<hr/>
<div style="background-color: #f0f0f4; padding: 10px;">
<div class="collection">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<table style="1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<tr>
<th class="namerow" colspan="2"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p>Cubeseer's Works</p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">SCPs</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8096">SCP-8096</a> <em>(+68)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7971">SCP-7971</a> <em>(+56)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8801">SCP-8801</a> <em>(+147)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Tales/GoI Formats</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Other</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/cubeseer-author-page">Cubeseer's Observatory</a> <em>(+31)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/nosedive">Nosedive</a>" by Cubeseer, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nosedive">https://scpwiki.com/nosedive</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> vbsrecovered-1434-59.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/cubeseer" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5366457); return false;"><img alt="Cubeseer" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5366457&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043671" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5366457)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/cubeseer" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5366457); return false;">Cubeseer</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/cubeseer-nosedive/vbsrecovered-1434-59.jpg">https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/cubeseer-nosedive/vbsrecovered-1434-59.jpg</a><br/>
<strong>Derivative of:</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Asian man face.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Hillebrand Steve, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Asian_man_face.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Asian_man_face.jpg</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> Corrupted Image.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> JOGOS Public Assets<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Corrupted_Image.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Corrupted_Image.jpg</a></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> JPEG_Corruption.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Codell<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:JPEG_Corruption.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:JPEG_Corruption.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragment%3Ascp-6113-1/HR-edit.png">HR-edit.png</a><br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dr-asteria" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5841460); return false;"><img alt="Dr Asteria" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5841460&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043671" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5841460)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dr-asteria" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5841460); return false;">Dr Asteria</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragment%3Ascp-6113-1/HR-edit.png">https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragment%3Ascp-6113-1/HR-edit.png</a><br/>
<strong>Derivative of:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/secure-facility-dossier-site-43/HR.png">HR.png</a> by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043671" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span> (<a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/blank-art">Art Page</a>)<br/>
<strong>Additional note:</strong> The Ethics Committee memo is also taken from <a href="/scp-6113">SCP-6113</a> by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dr-asteria" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5841460); return false;"><img alt="Dr Asteria" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5841460&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043671" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5841460)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/dr-asteria" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5841460); return false;">Dr Asteria</a></span></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Site-17.svg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/jerden" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1637608); return false;"><img alt="Jerden" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=1637608&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043671" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=1637608)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/jerden" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(1637608); return false;">Jerden</a></span> based on work by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;"><img alt="HarryBlank" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6479803&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735043671" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6479803)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/harryblank" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6479803); return false;">HarryBlank</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facilities-locations">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facilities-locations</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
|text=You never had anyone but us. You never had anyone but the Foundation.]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:basalt">:scp-wiki:theme:basalt</a> centertitle=a]]
[[module CSS]]
body {
background: rgb(0,0,0);
background: linear-gradient(0deg, rgba(0,0,0,1) 0%, rgba(255,255,255,1) 100%);
}
#page-options-container, .page-watch-options {color: #d4d4d4}
.email {background: #fcfcfc; border: solid 2px #000000; width: 88%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.5)}
.tofrom {margin-left: 10px; margin-top: 5px; padding: 1px 15px; border-left: solid 3px maroon}
.changedtext {color: green; font-weight: bold}
.regcells {border: 0px; text-align: center; background: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0.5)}
[[/module]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:text-style">:scp-wiki:component:text-style</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
**Note:** This standalone [[[site-17-hub|Site-17 Deepwell Catalog]]] tale was originally written for [[[WRATHCON]]], prior to the deletion of all entries to that contest.
**Author:** [[*user Cubeseer]] | [[[cubeseer-author-page|Author Page]]]
**Content Warning:** Mention of suicide
**Accessibility Notice:** Forced dark mode or CSS plug-ins may break this page.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="modal"]]
++ AO-1434
**Item Description:** A 19-year-old man whose face cannot be captured photographically. All attempts to do so result in the digital or physical corruption of the image. A secondary anomaly garbles the subject's voice in all recordings.
**Date of Recovery:** 15-09-2017
**Location of Recovery:** LaGuardia Airport, New York
**Current Status:** Held in humanoid containment at Site-17.
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a>
|name=https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/cubeseer-nosedive/vbsrecovered-1434-59.jpg
|caption=vbsrecovered-1434-59.jpg
|width=350px
|align=center]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="email"]]
[[div class="tofrom"]]
**Date:** 27/11/2019
**To:** Tabitha Ingram <[email protected]>
**From:** Ryland John Hart <[email protected]>
**Subject:** [IMPORTANT] New Assignment
[[/div]]
----
Dr. Ingram,
The recent resignation of Dr. Juan Luna has left one of our patients without any psychological support. Therefore, I’m assigning you to work with AO-1434, full name Andrew Zhou. You should get the assignment packet and paperwork in your profile shortly. AO-1434 was recovered two years ago at age 17, and was continuously seen by Dr. Luna until now. The fact that we cannot tell AO-1434 anything about Dr. Luna's resignation is causing him some distress. Do what you can to mitigate this.
Your first session is on 03/12/2019.
Good luck,
Ryland Hart
//Department of Anomalous Humanoid Psychology//
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="notation"]]
**Video Log AO-1434/BX492**
**Date:** 03/12/2019
----
**Dr. Ingram:** So… what about any hobbies?
**AO-1434:** {{[garbled]}}
**Dr. Ingram:** Yes, but you know about Dr. Sophia Day, the new AEED liaison, right? Just for starters, she’s starting a D&D campaign in a couple of days.
**AO-1434:** {{[garbled]}}
**Dr. Ingram:** I know you miss them. I know it's not easy to have all these people in your life just... leave.
**AO-1434:** {{[garbled]}}
**Dr. Ingram:** I wish I could tell you. I really do.
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="email"]]
[[div class="tofrom"]]
**Date:** 07/12/2019
**To:** Eve Amber Patel <[email protected]>
**From:** Tabitha Ingram <[email protected]>
**Subject:** Calling in that favor
[[/div]]
----
Eve,
I had my second session with Andrew today (notes attached). I want to highlight some things he asked me about.
* Andrew kept pressing me on why Juan resigned suddenly. I know that even if I found out I can't disclose it to him, but for my own sake I wish to know as well.
* How do I get in contact with Andrew's current case officer in Reintegration? He gave me the name "Hasan", but that refers to at least three different officers, and his file doesn’t have a corresponding link on Reintegration’s side.
* Is there a lower clearance level version of SCP-6113 still available? Ever since the lockdown the file has been restricted to Level 4. Andrew misses Chloe dearly, and wants to know that she's at least safe.
Thanks for all your help,
Tabby
//Department of Anomalous Humanoid Psychology//
🖇️ {{[# notes-bc311.odt]}}
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="document"]]
[[=]]
+++ MEMORANDUM REGARDING PROJECT RHIZOME
Dr. Ryan Murphy
[[/=]]
----
**Section 2.1:** Rollout
The rollout period is traditionally the most volatile part of a new amnestic's lifespan. There was great controversy when the Foundation transitioned from opiates and chloroform to Y-909, and there will be controversy again when the Foundation inevitably moves past ATZAK-derived amnestics [[footnote]]For instance, see the 16/09/2019 Ethics Committee meeting on pausing auxiliary ATZAK PROTOCOL funding.[[/footnote]]. --Already, senior researchers have begun voicing opposition to Rhizome Experimental Compound, basing their claims on unfounded hearsay.-- Therefore, in order to ensure that Project Rhizome has enough momentum to eventually become the basis of newer-generation amnestics, an altered and targeted rollout strategy must be utilized instead.
The first stage of this proposed rollout strategy is the implementation of Rhizome-based Class-A, -B, and -C amnestics on a per-project, per-SCP basis. Amnestics Department liaisons affiliated with Project Rhizome will attempt to persuade head [[span style="opacity: 0.65;"]]researchers of the importance of using[[/span]] [[span style="opacity: 0.6;"]]amnestics based on the Rhizome compound,[[/span]] [[span style="opacity: 0.55;"]]and facilitate[[/span]] [[span style="opacity: 0.5;"]]the development[[/span]] [[span style="opacity: 0.4;"]]of new[[/span]] [[span style="opacity: 0.3;"]]amnestic[[/span]] [[span style="opacity: 0.2;"]]therapies[[/span]] [[span style="opacity: 0.1;"]]dependent on[[/span]] [[span style="opacity: 0.05;"]]Project Rhizome[[/span]]
[[footnoteblock]]
----
= {{DEPARTMENT OF AMNESTICS | DRAFT DOCUMENT}}
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="email"]]
[[div class="tofrom"]]
**Date:** 08/12/2019
**To:** Tabitha Ingram <[email protected]>
**From:** Eve Amber Patel <[email protected]>
**Subject:** Re: Calling in that favor
[[/div]]
----
Tabby,
Ethics has a copy of Juan's resignation letter stored locally, but it's above the clearance of mid-level liaisons like me. The only thing I could find is that he seemed to have been involved with the Site Director's office, and submitted the letter to Director Graham directly. Afterwards, someone on the committee stuck their neck out for Juan and spirited him away from Site-17 on short notice. I'd do more digging, but my superiors are probably keeping the whole thing under wraps for a good reason.
I had a bit more success with the Reintegration Committee records (attached). They're currently being reformatted by RAISA, so you’re not the only person who’s had problems with access. There hasn't been an update in nearly a year, so you should get in touch with Hasan Amir ([email protected]), because he's either not doing his job or he's giving a soft red light by not moving the case forward.
Finally, about SCP-6113. All I can tell you is that SCP-6113-3 (Chloe) was abducted during a containment breach. Everything else is above your clearance, unfortunately. I don't think I need to tell you that you shouldn't share this with Andrew.
All that said, I’ve read through your notes. The fact that Andrew lost both Chloe and Juan so recently seems to be affecting him greatly, and I encourage you to keep talking about those subjects, if only to find some sort of closure. Might I suggest you encourage Andrew to socialize in the common areas more? I know that he still has Anthony, but he really needs to make another friend.
Eve
//she/they//
//Ethics Subcommittee for Humanoid Entities//
🖇️ {{[# ao1434ReintCase2019.pdf]}}
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="document"]]
[[=]]
++++ Chapter Five: Thought Patterns
[[/=]]
----
It is common for patients in containment to feel decreased motivation for tasks and routines, even in the absence of depression. While prior sections of this worksheet focused on behavioral interventions, it is equally important to restructure our cognitive responses to containment, as we find that our thought patterns often precede and negatively influence our behaviors.
Consider the following question:
> "Why should I bother doing anything when I’m going to be in containment for the rest of my life?"
When we’re faced with negative thoughts like the example above, we often attempt to respond combatively, which can result in a negative spiral. Instead, consider these responses:
* "I am not going to be in containment for the rest of my life." – This is an ever-probable outcome as the Foundation continues to develop new pathways to reintegrate humanoid anomalies into public life. In fact, preparing oneself to be fit for reintegration provides a concrete and achievable goal for many patients in containment.
* "I can still accomplish a lot even in containment." – It is true that your life circumstances are far from ideal, but remember that Foundation staff are trained to help you, even if your anomalous effects render you incompatible with outside society. Consider the case of SCP-5031, a formerly homicidal entity who was solely capable of sustained screaming and inflicting grievous injuries. After being mentored by one of our doctors, SCP-5031 is now a skilled chef renowned throughout the Foundation. Consider what resources you might require, and never hesitate to ask us for anything necessary for your wellbeing in containment.
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="email"]]
[[div class="tofrom"]]
**Date:** 16/12/2019
**To:** Tabitha Ingram <[email protected]>
**From:** Chaim Cannon <[email protected]>
**CC:** Ryland John Hart <[email protected]>, Su Bai <[email protected]>
**Subject:** Re: AO-1434 containment review notice
[[/div]]
----
Dr. Ingram,
The Department of Humanoid Risk Assessment has reviewed your latest progress report regarding AO-1434. We note that since the most recent containment review with your predecessor on 16/11/2019, you have requested the following allowances:
1) Increased social privileges.
2) Recreational time in the Site-17 nature preserve.
3) Amenity budget increase ($100).
AO-1434 hasn't demonstrably improved psychologically after these increased allowances were granted. In fact, he hasn't greatly taken advantage of these privileges to begin with. Therefore, we cease authorization of these allowances effective tomorrow, unless it can be provably demonstrated that they are essential for continued good morale in containment.
I must also remind you that administering therapeutic modalities deviating from cognitive behavioral therapy must be per-approved by the Department of Humanoid Risk Assessment. As we have not received a request from the Department of Anomalous Humanoid Psychology, we ask that you return to the approved psychological curriculum.
Sincerely,
Dr. Chaim Cannon
//Department of Humanoid Risk Assessment//
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
+++ Eve Amber Patel
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Hey tabby[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]I bumped into Andrew at the D&D game today[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]He was pretty shy for much of the time, but I think he was having fun[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Toward the end of the session Anthony's rogue rolled a 7 on his 1d6 sneak attack, and Dr. Day got a bit mad about the anomalous contraband and had rocks fall on Anthony's character 😆[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Andrew's paladin tried to save him but rolled a nat 1 and died as well 🥲[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Afterwards, I had a private talk with him as everyone was leaving. I asked him about you[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]And well[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]He said that he didn’t like how you were "gaslighting" him into trying to feel better. I tried to tell him that you’re only trying to keep him well until he could be reintegrated, but I don't think he bought it[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]I know you tried to do something different, like Juan, but then he said you stopped for no reason[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]He said he misses Juan and Chloe very much. Really doesn't like the "we can't tell you anything" stance[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]I'm glad that Andrew got to socialize[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]I know that he sometimes feels that I'm trying to manipulate him, but its[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Just[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Frankly, Hart and Cannon are breathing down my necks to get me to stick on program, but telling a prisoner to stay positive is never going to sound like anything but propaganda[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]I wish I could do something different[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]And I tried[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]But[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Oh shit[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Sorry[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]There's a new update from reintegration[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]You should really talk to Andrew about it[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]When's your last day before break?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Today[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Then do it today[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="notation"]]
**Video Log AO-1434/AE590**
**Date:** 23/12/2019
----
**Dr. Ingram:** Yes, I talked about it with Hasan. He confirmed everything.
**AO-1434:** {{[garbled]}}
**Dr. Ingram:** Hey, you don’t- breathe. Just breathe.
**AO-1434:** {{[garbled]}}
**Dr. Ingram:** You’re fine. I got you. Just in... and out.
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[=]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/secure-facilities-locations/Site-17.svg width="60em"]]
+++ **NOTICE FROM SITE-17 COMMAND**
Site-17 Command is currently establishing full casualty counts for the recent containment breach of SCP-953. Listed below is the preliminary casualty list, based on information from MTF Delta-4.
[[div class="tableb table6"]]
[[table class="wiki-content-table"]]
[[row]]
[[hcell style="text-align: center;"]] NAME [[/hcell]]
[[hcell style="text-align: center;"]] CASUALTY TYPE [[/hcell]]
[[hcell style="text-align: center;"]] DESCRIPTION [[/hcell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Annalise Pham [[/cell]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Major Injury [[/cell]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Lacerations [[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Olly Collins [[/cell]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Minor Injury [[/cell]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Lacerations [[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Kieran Delacruz [[/cell]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Minor Injury [[/cell]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Self-inflicted wounds [[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Izan Rodriguez [[/cell]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Minor Injury [[/cell]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Self-inflicted wounds [[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Andrew Zhou (AO-1434) [[/cell]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Minor Injury [[/cell]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Self-inflicted wounds [[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[row]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Anthony Keller (SCP-6546) [[/cell]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Death [[/cell]]
[[cell class="regcells"]] Friendly fire from MTF Delta-4 [[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
[[/div]]
All personnel present at the Site-17 Christmas Banquet should seek psychological examination as soon as possible.
----
**{{ISSUED 25/12/2019}}**
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="text-container-wrap"]]
+++ Ellis Porter
[[div class="text-container"]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]Get over here now[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Andrew tried to hang himself[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]He’s in the infirmary[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Coming[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]Tell me he's not going to die[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]He's not seriously injured[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]He made a noose from rope[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]I think he smuggled it in[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]But I couldn't see it with the camera because of the anomaly[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="sent"]]
[[span class="text"]]Why weren't you looking through the fucking windows????[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]I[[/span]]
[[span class="text"]]I thought that was someone else's job[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="recv"]]
[[span class="text"]]I'm sorry[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div style="background: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragment%3Ascp-6113-1/HR-edit.png) top right no-repeat, #f2f2f2; background-size: 75px 75px; color: black; float: center; border: solid 1px #000000; padding: 5px 15px 15px 15px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2); width: 84%; margin: auto"]]
**Ethics Committee Memo**
**Date:** 05/01/2020
**To:** Site-17 Director Thomas Graham
**From:** Ethics Committee Liaison Jeremiah Cimmerian
**Subject:** Notice regarding humanoid containment incidents
----
Graham,
We’ve seen an alarming rise in the number of self-harm incidents and suicide attempts among the humanoid anomalies in Site-17. In fact, just two days ago, AO-1434 attempted suicide via asphyxiation. It is evident that current methods of preventative psychological aid are far less than adequate. Therefore, alternative methods of support and prevention must be established in Site-17 as promptly as possible. The Ethics Committee is currently reviewing several experimental mental health treatments, and you are authorized to perform them with our approval and supervision.
Remember that you are ultimately responsible for the wellbeing of humanoid anomalies under your jurisdiction. Should you fail to stymie this current trend, you will answer to us regarding your dereliction of duty.
We will be monitoring your progress closely.
- Ethics Committee Liaison Jeremiah Cimmerian
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="notation"]]
**Video Log NCE179054**
**Date:** 13/01/2020
----
**Dr. Ingram:** Ethics would never approve this.
**Dr. Cannon:** Tell her, Patel.
**Liaison Patel:** //(Pauses)// The Subcommittee on Humanoid Entities narrowly voted for a limited trial, starting with AO-1434. Dr. Murphy of the Amnestics Department is to... is to test the efficacy of treating trauma, depression, and other mental health issues with Rhizome-based Class-C amnestics. If the results are sound, the subcommittee will consider broader authorization.
**Researcher Bai:** This is unprecedented. Amnestics are used for security, not for treating mental illness.
**Dr. Ingram:** I can't believe we're debating this.
**Liaison Patel:** I want it on record, I disagreed with the subcommittee's conclusions, and-
**Dr. Hart:** Enough! We are doctors, and we will act as such. Dr. Murphy, please explain your proposal.
**Dr. Murphy:** Certainly. Unlike prior amnestics, our Rhizome compound allows us to not only target specific memories, but also the emotions, reflexes, attitudes, and other associated baggage associated with those memories. Erase a targeted moment, say the death of a friend, and we also erase the depression, anxiety, and trauma resulting from it. In AO-1434's case, its suicidality comes entirely from several traumatic recent events. If AO-1434 ceases to recall these events, then its current symptoms will also cease. Of course, we'd most likely want to erase //all// memories of persons involved with these traumas, for example SCP-6113-3, SCP-6546, and Dr. Luna. Otherwise, the brain might find ways to... burrow through our suppression.
**Dr. Cannon:** I can see why Director Graham went to you, Dr. Murphy. This is excellent.
**Dr. Ingram:** You're actually serious... you're going to erase everything. Do you know what Andrew has left after you rob him of all his time with the only people he's ever cared about? He'll have nothing. Nothing!
**Dr. Murphy:** Dr. Ingram, the Foundation routinely erases larger periods of memory, and I can assure you that the Rhizome compound reduces the chances of full personality removal to near-zero.
**Dr. Hart:** Dr. Murphy, how completely does the Rhizome compound erase the memories themselves? Are they merely locked up, or do you scramble the neurons to destroy them altogether?
**Dr. Murphy:** I... will admit that there is a slight chance of recall. Which is why our amnestic therapy also injects heightened suggestibility into the subconscious, allowing a trained psychologist to easily make the patient doubt any memories that remain. In the case of AO-1434, we already have a perfect alibi in the form of SCP-953. It should be easy enough to convince it that all its memories of Dr. Luna and the others merely came from the anomaly, and its internalization of that fact will do the rest.
**Liaison Patel:** Murphy, I hope you've weighed the moral costs of wiping away //years// of Andrew's life.
**Dr. Murphy:** Liaison, if I may be candid, I see no reason why this treatment is immoral when the alternative is AO-1434's potential death, or at the very least its continued suffering.
//Dr. Hart clears his throat.//
**Dr. Hart:** Dr. Murphy, you know that I have my own reservations about this casual use of amnestics. But if what you propose is genuinely effective, then we have an obligation to Andrew to see it through. Tabitha, I'm assigning you to evaluate Andrew's post-amnestic state. You will catalog the effects of the procedure, and work on psychologically eliminating recall of any residual memories.
//Silence.//
**Dr. Hart:** Tabitha?
**Dr. Ingram:** I'm not gaslighting Andrew into believing that his best friend was the invention of a fucking //fox//.
**Dr. Hart:** I'm sorry Tabitha, but that's an order.
**Dr. Ingram:** I'd rather resign.
//Dr. Cannon chuckles.//
**Dr. Cannon:** Do it.
**Dr. Ingram:** //(Pauses)// What?
**Dr. Cannon:** Write your letter of resignation. Now, if you'd like.
**Dr. Ingram:** Doctor-
**Dr. Cannon:** No one's stopping you. You're not even important enough for Fire Suppression to bother with. So just leave.
//Silence.//
**Dr. Cannon:** Or are you reconsidering your words? Is it dawning on you what would happen to all the anomalies under your watch if you abandoned them the same way that Juan Luna did? Surely you must know how much pain he's caused by fleeing Site-17. Without even a farewell to 1434, no less. And all because of what? Because he saw something that hurt his feelings? Because he had to wade through the same shit as the rest of us?
**Liaison Patel:** Cannon, that's enough.
**Dr. Cannon:** I don't do my job because I enjoy it. Some days, I want to leave everything behind just as much as you do now. But I still show up and work my damnedest every day. Why? Because I- //we// have a responsibility. A responsibility to do what few can, and fewer will. To do what //needs to be done.// So I want to know, did you mean what you said? Are you going to run away from 1434 like everyone else in his life? Or are you going to stick with the rest of us, and do your job?
**Dr. Ingram:** I- I'll...
//Dr. Ingram swallows, and then nods.//
**Dr. Cannon:** That's what I thought.
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="modal"]]
++ AO-1434
**Item Description:** A 19-year-old man whose face cannot be captured photographically. All attempts to do so result in the digital or physical corruption of the image. [[span class="changedtext"]]A secondary anomaly garbles the subject's voice in all recordings. However, as neurological damage has rendered the subject mute, this property is considered effectively neutralized.[[/span]]
**Date of Recovery:** 15-09-2017
**Location of Recovery:** LaGuardia Airport, New York
**Current Status:** Held in humanoid containment at Site-17.
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
[[div class="notation"]]
**Video Log AO-1434/IF944**
**Date:** 15/01/2020
----
**Dr. Ingram:** Okay, let's do another one. I've been your psychologist for the past two years. Real or not real?
//AO-1434 writes on a notecard.//
**Dr. Ingram:** Correct. I've been seeing you this whole time. Try to recall some of our earlier sessions. If you remember a different... a different man sitting here, just refocus and leave the memory.
//Silence.//
**Dr. Ingram:** Many victims of SCP-953 report false memories after contact. As easily as it takes away your memories and your voice, it inserts its own lies into your head.
//Silence.//
**Dr. Ingram:** Alright, last one before lunch. You had friends at Site-17 besides me. Real or not real?
//AO-1434 writes on a notecard.//
**Dr. Ingram:** That's right. Not real. You...
//Dr. Ingram glances at the security camera.//
**Dr. Ingram:** You've been a recluse. You never had anyone but us. You never had anyone but the Foundation.
//Silence.//
**Dr. Ingram:** But we can start anew. I can help you make new friends. Make new memories. You can be happy here.
//An alarm clock rings.//
**Dr. Ingram:** Oh, it's time for lunch. Try to eat something filling. I'll be here when you come back. And don't forget, you can always count on me, Andrew.
//AO-1434 leaves the room.//
**Dr. Ingram:** You can... you can always count on me.
//Silence.//
[[/div]]
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
@@@@
----
[[div style="background-color: #f0f0f4; padding: 10px;"]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:wikimodule">:scp-wiki:component:wikimodule</a> |ratings= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
> **Filename:** vbsrecovered-1434-59.jpg
> **Author:** [[*user Cubeseer]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/cubeseer-nosedive/vbsrecovered-1434-59.jpg
> **Derivative of:**
> -----
> **Name:** Asian man face.jpg
> **Author:** Hillebrand Steve, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Asian_man_face.jpg
> -----
> **Name:** Corrupted Image.jpg
> **Author:** JOGOS Public Assets
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Corrupted_Image.jpg
> -----
> **Name:** JPEG_Corruption.jpg
> **Author:** Codell
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:JPEG_Corruption.jpg
> **Filename:** [https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragment%3Ascp-6113-1/HR-edit.png HR-edit.png]
> **Author:** [[*user Dr Asteria]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/fragment%3Ascp-6113-1/HR-edit.png
> **Derivative of:** [https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/secure-facility-dossier-site-43/HR.png HR.png] by [[*user HarryBlank]] ([https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/blank-art Art Page])
> **Additional note:** The Ethics Committee memo is also taken from [[[SCP-6113]]] by [[*user Dr Asteria]]
> **Filename:** Site-17.svg
> **Author:** [[*user Jerden]] based on work by [[*user HarryBlank]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/secure-facilities-locations
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/div]]
|
2024-08-08T10:29:00
|
[
"bleak",
"correspondence",
"deepwell-catalog",
"ethics-committee",
"illustrated",
"slice-of-life",
"tale",
"wrathcon2024"
] |
Nosedive - SCP Foundation
| 52
|
[
"site-17-hub",
"wrathcon",
"cubeseer-author-page",
"scp-8096",
"scp-7971",
"scp-8801",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"blank-art",
"scp-6113",
"secure-facilities-locations"
] |
[
"site-17-hub"
] |
[
"https://scp-sandbox-3.wdfiles.com/local--files/cubeseer-nosedive/vbsrecovered-1434-59.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/secure-facilities-locations/Site-17.svg"
] |
1456141861
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nosedive
|
|
not-the-end
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="pseudocrumbs">
<p><a href="/canon-hub">Canon Hub</a> » <a href="/competitive-eschatology-hub">Competitive Eschatology Hub</a> » <a href="/just-fragments-hub">Just Fragments Hub</a> » … not the end.</p>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/component%3Abhl-dark-sidebar/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>… not the end.</strong><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Part 3!</p>
</div>
<p><strong>Warning:</strong> Contains mention of <strong>abuse</strong> and an <strong>inaccurate</strong> depiction of a <strong>panic attack</strong>! Discretion is advised!</p>
<p><strong>Author:</strong> Doctor Scrappy</p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div class="content-warning creditRate">⚠️ content warning <span class="content-warning-arrow"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span></div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>Before</strong></p>
</div>
<p>Traffic jam. <em>Of course there had to be a</em> fucking <em>traffic jam.</em> At this time, at this hour. It wasn’t even a Monday.</p>
<p><em>There always had to be something,</em> she thought to herself, as her eyes darted all across the bustling streets of the city-jungle on a not-Monday, her arms and legs shaking, while she could feel the sweat rolling down her face. <em>The hospital is right there.</em></p>
<p>Then, without another second to spare, she opened her side of the door, somewhat scratching the hull of a neighboring vehicle, and sprinted as quick as she could to the hospital. She could hear the sounds of a car door being opened and the voice of an angered man shouting back at her.</p>
<p>She ran past women standing at storefronts eyeing the dresses on display, fathers carrying their daughters on piggy-back, the homeless stretching their hands out for just enough to get by through the days.</p>
<p>Some she just ran past. Others she ran into. An occasional rustle of plastic bags, another arm touching hers.</p>
<p>Some gave her weird and curious looks, as she hurried past them. Others continued on with their days, showing the figure of a worried woman no attention.</p>
<p>Out of breath, her lungs finally gave in on the hospital’s courtyard. She caught a few of the glances others gave her. She returned those glances with a repelling expression, urging those people to hurriedly carry on.</p>
<p>Her legs were trembling. Her lungs were working overtime, her breaths deep and rapid, while her heart pounded faster and faster, second by second. With the remaining energy, she pulled herself up and stumbled through the entrance.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>”Miss? Can I help you with something?” the assistant on the front desk asked, just as confused as the others.</p>
<p>She didn’t gave the lady at the front desk so much as a glance. She headed straight for the elevators.</p>
<p><em>”Third floor, third floor, third…”</em> she mumbled under her breath.</p>
<p>The assistant stood up from her desk, looking worriedly at the woman looking frantically around at the end of the hall. ”Miss?” She tried again, again, to no avail.</p>
<p><em>Where was the</em> fucking <em>button?</em> There.</p>
<p>”MISS!”</p>
<p>She hurried into the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind her. Muffled voices of concerned hospital staff echoed through the gap, before the doors finally closed.</p>
<p><em>Third floor, room twelve. Third floor, room twelve.</em></p>
<p>Each passing second felt like eternity exacting its punishment upon her, as the elevator made its way up the hospital floors ever so slowly.</p>
<p>The elevator came to a sudden halt, gave off its <em>ding</em>, and the doors slid apart.</p>
<p>She walked at a quick pace, nearly tripping over her own two feet on more than one occasion. The staff already made their way toward her.</p>
<p>”Miss! MISS!”</p>
<p><em>Room one, room two, room three, room four…</em></p>
<p>The men and women in their all-white attire, only broken by their discordant choice of shoes, came round a corner, finally making sight with the frantic woman.</p>
<p><em>Room eight, room nine, room ten…</em></p>
<p>”Miss! MISS!”</p>
<p><em>Room—</em></p>
<p>Four people ushered out of room number twelve. The first was a doctor, tall, dark hair, brown eyes, nearly bald. The second a nurse, short, brown hair, shoulder-long, blue eyes. The other two were her daughters.</p>
<p>”What happened?” she gasped, out of breath, more sweat rolling down her face. She stared at her two daughters.</p>
<p>They only averted their gaze. No words came out of their mouths. The youngest one had trails of tears on her face.</p>
<p>She turned to look at her oldest daughter, desperately longing for an answer. She, too, only averted her gaze, but with a flimmer of <em>hatred</em> reflecting within her eyes. They remained silent amongst the sterile walls of the hospital.</p>
<p>”What happened?” she now asked the short, brown-haired, blue-eyed nurse.</p>
<p>The staff who previously chased her to the third floor remained completely silent and still.</p>
<p>”I’m sorry, Mrs. Ramani,” the nurse spoke, ”It happened five minutes ago.”</p>
<p>It took a few seconds for the meaning of those words to finally hit her. The nurse continued talking, but the words all welled up into a dissonant cacophony of distant mumbling and white noise.</p>
<p>She first stared at the nurse, then at the doctor, then at the hospital staff, and then at her own daughters. First the youngest one, then the oldest.</p>
<p>She stared at her oldest daughter the longest.</p>
<p>Everything became clear again. The noises became more distinct, more coherent.</p>
<p>Tears formed at the corners of her eyes.</p>
<p>Her husband was gone.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong><a href="/maybe-the-end-of-the-world-isnt-as-bad-as-it-sounds">Now</a></strong></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<blockquote>
<p><em>”Where are you going?” Adam asked, quite perplexed.</em></p>
<p><em>She put on her coat. ”I’m going home,” Ramani answered. ”Back home to my family.”</em></p>
<p><em>”What?!”</em></p>
<p><em>”You’ve heard me, Adam. It was nice knowing you.”</em></p>
<p><em>”You can’t do this! You swore an oath to the Foundation! That you would protect humanity from whatever might crop up! They said that, and you swore your life for the cause! Secure, contain,</em> protect<em>! Have you forgotten?!”</em></p>
<p><em>”Look around you, Adam! What do you want to protect? The ashes of humanity?”</em></p>
<p><em>”You’re selfish.”</em></p>
<p><em>She didn’t even give him a final glance, as the security door slid shut again.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<p>Site-67 was all but gone now. Well, it’s still there, but wherever this desolated wasteland was, it was miles away from the Foundation facility.</p>
<p><em>Funny,</em> Researcher Ramani thought. <em>I’m still sane. Still sane, even after <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/competitive-eschatology-hub">everything that has happened</a> in the last couple of months. I’m sane, driving my car down the road, amidst withered concrete buildings, broken glass, and a broken sky.</em></p>
<p>Or perhaps she was utterly insane driving her car down the road amidst the desolate remains of civilization, trying to reach something that might as well have been torn to its individual molecules by one of the many rampaging gods, deities and eldritch abominations loose upon the earth at this point.</p>
<p>Both were plausible scenarios.</p>
<p>She looked down at her left arm, reminding herself why she was doing all of this, <em>doing</em> any <em>of this</em>, and these thoughts started to go under again.</p>
<p>Her car began to sputter, to slow down. She took a look at the meter, half-expecting what came next: <em>No fuel.</em></p>
<p>Her body was overtaken by fear and panic, but also an instinctual anger and annoyance. <em>Old habits die hard.</em></p>
<p>She stepped out of her vehicle, opened its trunk, and retrieved a canister of gasoline from it. She had gotten some from the storage areas back at 67 and loaded as many of them up as her car could hold.</p>
<p>It made running out of fuel an impossibility, but also made her car a moving dry stack of hay on a particular hot summer day for any pyromancer, who decided to blow something up for no particular reason. <em>As if the world wasn’t already enough of a trash fire.</em></p>
<p>As she stood there and refueled her car, her ears began to pick up a distant crackle of cement and asphalt.</p>
<p>Darting her eyes all around, there was nothing out of the ordinary, <em>well</em>, nothing that surprised her.</p>
<p>The sounds became louder. Like droplets of water seeping into stone, wet <em>pops</em> and <em>snaps</em>, which became ever so louder, ever so <em>closer</em>.</p>
<p>Her body tensed up with fear, with a sensation of finality sprinkled on top of it.</p>
<p>She poured whatever was left in the canister in haphazardly, before she tossed it on the barren, rippled asphalt street.</p>
<p>Her hand reached for the handle of the door, before a mass of <a href="/scp-171">tiny, white tendrils</a>, bigger than an apartment building, burst out of the rippled asphalt, between the small stores and shops that were arranged in rows all over the town.</p>
<p>The mass of writhing, coiling, twisting foam consumed anything in its path. Ramani couldn’t move. She could just stare at this massive heap of foam and humans, writhing and moaning together in unison.</p>
<p>Before she even knew it, the mass engulfed her car entirely in one swift motion, before the millions of tiny tendrils made their way toward her.</p>
<p>The foam quickly enveloped her legs, before moving up to her waist, pulling her by the chest, before the tendrils wrapped themselves around her neck and head.</p>
<p>She tried to scream. But all she could muster was a quiet sob.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p><em>”There was once a pretty little princess resting within one of the finest chambers of the great castle. One day shAnd you want to tell me that</em> this <em>is the best you couldMommy has someimportant stuff to do atworkTheFoundation is asecret organization that aims toWedieinthe dark so youmaylive in the ligDo you want to know with whattype of bullshit Ihaveto deal with on a regularbasis, Agnes?!You couldnteven begin to graYeahyeah… okay, thanks, DoctorPederson…thankyou… Daddy has to stay at the hospital alittle lonI herebyswear my life to theFoundation. I herebyswear to secure, contain…</em> prote<em>—”</em></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>She couldn’t remember what happened before. She couldn’t remember what happened next. All she could remember were the barrages of voices, malleable, <em>squishy</em>, roaming around inside her head, talking, <em>no</em>, thinking indistinctly, yet so clear.</p>
<p>Her head ached. Her body felt like <em>shit</em>. There was a piercing, deafening ring within her ears, as her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings, like a deep sea fish being fished-up onto the colorful surface of the ocean for the first time.</p>
<p>Once the ringing subsided, her eyes adjusted, she could make out the rough shapes of houses, stores, or rather the remnants of those houses and stores.</p>
<p>The ringing in her ears was replaced with loud squishy, wet sounds, and the stench of rotted flesh made its way into her nose.</p>
<p>Then a couch landed a few feet right of her.</p>
<p>It wasn’t a large couch. Just big enough to seat a parent and her child between, maybe a dog if they squeezed together tightly. The more Ramani stared at the couch, the more the stench built up.</p>
<p>She stared at the couch more intently, and found large bulges of a writhing <em>something</em> underneath, wiggling its way under the surface.</p>
<p>Then the couch started opening its mouths, revealing long, sticky tongues wiggling all around. Pairs of eyes opened up all over it. What seemed like human toes and fingernails began to grow out of its flesh. It was staring right at her.</p>
<p>Ramani recoiled in terror, as she felt the urge to throw up, if there was even anything to throw up in her stomach.</p>
<p>Then another piece of furniture landed beside her. This time, it was a lamp, sculpted meticously out of bone, coated in a semi-transparent, greenish slime.</p>
<p>The couch was groaning something incomprehensible. Ramani looked to where these pieces of furniture were coming from and couldn’t believe her eyes…</p>
<p>The giant foam of millions of tiny tendrils and squishy thoughts was spitting out masses of people, all in states of severe malnourishment, while it tried to envelop a giant <a href="/scp-002">tumorous, fleshy growth</a>, hundreds of thousands of meters in diameter.</p>
<p>They were a few kilometers away, yet the clashes of their battle could be felt from afar.</p>
<p>Many of the ejected people fell to their deaths. Some of those people were grabbed by fleshy tentacles and moved into giant ulcers on the surface of the tumorous mass. Soon enough, more furniture was ejected from ulcers on its rear, like meteorites impacting the earth below.</p>
<p>Ramani could do nothing else, but stay and stare.</p>
<p>Her fight-or-flight instinct finally kicked in, and she found herself on her feet, sprinting in the opposite direction of whatever was stretched out over the horizon.</p>
<p>But she found herself not fast enough. As the ball of flesh consumed more and more of the foamy creature, more and more furniture were shot out in all directions, leaving the impact sites craters of blood, viscera and other human body parts.</p>
<p>One of them took the form of a pick-up truck, tongues spilling out, giving out the most twisted of moans, and impacted what was left of the right side of an apartment building.</p>
<p>The entire structure collapsed, as Ramani could do nothing, but watch. The furniture laughed from all of their pores.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>The room was gigantic in scope, at least able to hold over a dozen of people comfortably. There were a bunch of people dressed in lab coats of various ethnicities, heights, genders and age. Some were delighting themselves at the buffet table, while others were already sitting at their respective places.</p>
<p>Ramani, not particularly feeling hungry, picked a seat somewhere farther back. When a chime played through the PA system, and everyone got to their seats and stood up, she realized that a seat so far back was a rather stupid idea.</p>
<p>She could barely make out the podium, much less whoever was about to stand behind it. She should’ve worn her high heels.</p>
<p>A figure stepped up to the podium. The man was tall, slender, wearing a pristine lab coat, somewhat balding. He quickly disappeared behind the crowd.</p>
<p>The man spoke: ”Humanity, in its present state, has been around for over a hundred thousand years, yet only a fraction of it has been of any significance. So I ask you, what did we do the last 250,000 years? We huddled in caves and around small fires, fearful of the things that we did not understand…” The man spoke these words in a calm, monotonous, seemingly bored voice, the very sound of which nearly brought her fast asleep.</p>
<p>She caught herself slowly trailing off, fixating upon other things in the room. There were a dozen more men and women all lined up in a neat little row, reaching all the way to backstage. There were guards and security staff armed with tasers, ever-so-vigilant for any dangers that might arise, there was an empty seat next to her, and—</p>
<p>”Excuse me, could I get through?” a man asked.</p>
<p>”Oh,” she began, ”of course.”</p>
<p>”Thanks,” he replied.</p>
<p>He squeezed his way past her. The man took residency on the empty seat next to her. He tried to get a better view of the man at the podium, still giving his speech, past the crowd.</p>
<p>”That’s Doctor Charles Octen Gears,” the man said. ”His colleagues call him Cog.”</p>
<p>Ramani nodded, still not getting a good view of the man at the podium.</p>
<p>”Hi, I’m Adam. Krug,” he suddenly said. He held out his hand.</p>
<p>”Ramone Ramani. Pleasure to meet you.” They shook hands.</p>
<p>”Pleasure to meet <em>you</em>, Ramani.”</p>
<p>”You new here?” she asked.</p>
<p>”Oh, yes,” he answered. ”You?”</p>
<p>”Like you, a rookie. You seem to know a lot about this organization already,” Ramani jokingly remarked.</p>
<p>”Well, he was our, well, my guide. Of our group. Who was yours?”</p>
<p>”A lady called Agatha Rights. Nice lady,” she replied.</p>
<p>”What skip did they show you? As part of the demonstration?”</p>
<p>”A pen that could <a href="/scp-067">write on its own</a>. You?”</p>
<p>”What, really? I got shown this <a href="/scp-079">old computer</a>. I even got to talk to it for a little.” Adam smiled.</p>
<p>”That sounds exciting.” Ramani smiled back.</p>
<p>”Is there anything you’d like to discuss with us?” This Dr. Gears fellow was looking directly at them.</p>
<p>Ramani felt her blood run cold. Suddenly, dozens of people turned behind them to stare at her. She could feel the gazes of each and every individual in the room, pointed straight at her.</p>
<p>”We’re sorry, Mister— I mean, <em>Doctor</em> Gears,” Adam stepped in.</p>
<p>Dr. Gears then turned back to his speech again. ”In time, their numbers dwindled and ours rose. The world began to make more sense when there were fewer things to fear…” The man continued on. Everyone’s gaze was turned to the man at the podium again.</p>
<p>”Sorry about that,” Adam apologized, now more quietly.</p>
<p>”No worries,” Ramani said, equally as quiet. Her heart began to ease up a little.</p>
<p>They were listening to the speech now. <em>Actually</em> listening to the speech now. ”The Foundation is a secret organization that aims to secure, contain, and…”</p>
<p><strong>”Protect.”</strong> Adam finished the sentence. He stared intently at this ’Dr. Gears.’</p>
<p>”Secure. Contain. Protect. You are now part of the force protecting humanity that from which it cannot protect itself. Part of the fire that shines ever-so-dimly in the cave. We die in the dark…”</p>
<p>”So they may live in the light,” everyone repeated. Adam’s voice especially was what emanated in Ramani’s ears.</p>
<p>”I hereby swear to secure, contain and <em>protect</em>,” Ramani spoke. She felt quite sleepy.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>A pounding inside her head. What felt like hours passed in a few seconds. Her senses were numb, sharp. She could feel blood trickling down her forehead. Her lungs were filled with concrete dust.</p>
<p>She tried to stand up, but then gave off an agonizing moan, echoing throughout the cavern of concrete and rebar with traces of viscera from the pick-up truck. She fell to the ground again, onto a muddy puddle. Pain radiated from her left leg.</p>
<p>She remained like this for a few more minutes. Her sobs were drowned out by the chaos going on on the surface. There was an unnatural sound echoing throughout.</p>
<p>There was a notable <em>whirring</em> within the dark confines of the rubble, suddenly.</p>
<p>”Who goes there?”</p>
<p><em>No response. Of course not.</em></p>
<p>She quickly leaned against the far side of the small chamber, as her eyes darted across everywhere. It was pitch black, so she really couldn’t see anything.</p>
<p>Until there was a spark.</p>
<p>It was quiet unnoticeable, but in the utter darkness she now found herself in, a small spark was as bright as the sun. Soon, more sparks started flying, with the whirring sound becoming louder and louder by the second.</p>
<p>She had enough of it. In a panic, Ramani let her hands go over every surface around her. She grabbed a small rock, <em>sharp to the touch</em>, and held it over her head. As best as she could, she aimed the rock at the sparkling figure, ready to—</p>
<p>”Woah, woah, woah, <em>woah!</em>” a voice echoed. It sounded young and exhausted, <em>fearful</em>.</p>
<p>”Calm down, lady! Relax! Just… just put the rock down, all right?”</p>
<p>The panic in her eyes was quickly replaced by a new feeling: <em>Confusion</em>. She put the rock down, but still held it in her left hand, just in case. ”What— <em>who</em> the fuck are you?”</p>
<p>”Okay, okay, lady, just let me… let me—”</p>
<p>All of a sudden, sparks went flying everywhere, the whirring peaked at an unbearable decibell level, until everything just suddenly ceased.</p>
<p>Soon later, a suit appeared in front of her, <em>no</em>, had always been there and was now visible to her, illuminated by the sensors around the facial area and a light attached to one of the arms, glowing weakly.</p>
<p>The face plate of the suit flipped open, revealing a young, worn man underneath. He couldn’t have been anything above twenty-one. He winced and coiled in pain for a moment.</p>
<p>”Ow…”</p>
<p>”<em>Jesus.</em>”</p>
<p>”What…?” he asked, out of breath.</p>
<p>”It’s… your face, it's just…” She dared not speak any further. She was already too exhausted.</p>
<p>”The suit… it… you don't need to sleep with it on.”</p>
<p>There was an awkward silence between the two, only broken by the happenings above.</p>
<p>”Why are you here?”</p>
<p>”The same reason you’re here. What I wanna know is how you survived <em>this</em> long without such a suit on.”</p>
<p>There was no answer. There was already too much she— ”What is that?”</p>
<p>”What is what?”</p>
<p>”The suit<em>case</em>!”</p>
<p>She pointed at a small suitcase on the right of the young man.</p>
<p>”Oh, that is… that is, um… Well, I remember it being… uhh…”</p>
<p>He trailed off. There was something very uncanny about his words coming to a sudden halt.</p>
<p>”What <em>I</em> wanna know,” she began, ”is why you carry a suitcase around, like you’re some tourist at the ends of the world!”</p>
<p>”Well, some guy sent me some messages after I got into the suit. Went by the name of… of…”</p>
<p>He tried his hardest to remember.</p>
<p>”A… A… something, <em>Krug</em>… Mister <em>Something</em> Krug. Let’s just call him that. He told me to…”</p>
<p>”Adam…”</p>
<p>”No, no, Adam wasn’t it… Anyway, he told me something about—”</p>
<p>”His name was Adam Krug.”</p>
<p>”Are you his mother or something?”</p>
<p>”What— No! Okay, I’m Ramone Ramani.” Almost instinctually, she held out her hand.</p>
<p>”<a href="/scp-5000">Wilson, Pietro</a>,” he didn’t take her hand, ”Look, lady, I dunno what’s going on or if your know name’s supposed to ring a bell for me, but I’m really freaked out right no—”</p>
<p>”Where— do you remember where you got that message from?”</p>
<p>”I dunno! I just hopped into the suit when my site got compromised and then just got sent these messages, talking about some— some ’way to fix things’! There was no return address, if that’s what you’re asking!”</p>
<p>”What was your prior occupation before all of this?”</p>
<p>”I worked at a 7-Eleven.”</p>
<p>Ramani only gave him a look.</p>
<p>”Oh, not that before, okay, well, I was a junior technician at <a href="/scp-3936">Exclusionary Site-06</a>.”</p>
<p>”You worked at an Exclusionary Site?”</p>
<p>”As a <em>junior technician</em>.”</p>
<p>”What happened next?”</p>
<p>”What happened next? Well, I was working on some of the back-up generators on the site, when suddenly, all of the klaxons go off and we get off through the cafeteria to the evac points. Next thing I know, a swarm of <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-gate-opens">flying crabs with knives as hands</a> start tearing apart everything in sight. Put an extra-stab in each of the corpses just to be sure. I run into the suit, hop in, and now I’m buried several feet under rubble, and a foamy and fleshy demon are duking it out—”</p>
<p>A rumble outside, shaking the very foundation of this place, stopped Pietro in his words. The walls of their little cavern got a little smaller.</p>
<p>Ramani put up her index finger and pressed it up against her mouth. They had to remain absolutely still and silent.</p>
<p>Pietro looked like he was about to shit himself.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p>*</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<p>The rumbling abated after what felt, and <em>probably were</em>, hours.</p>
<p>Entrapped for hours within this earthern tomb, the walls inching closer with every passing second, with every rumble up above.</p>
<p>When the rumbling stopped, the sounds of heavy breathing, rapid and disjointed, filled their small chamber. She couldn’t place it at first, but soon found out that they were coming from Pietro.</p>
<p>”Pietro?” she said, weak and frail, yet still determined. ”Pietro, talk to me!”</p>
<p>”Shit… shit… shit…” it came from the opposite side of their cavern. The flashlight of his suit was dim, barely able to illuminate more than a few centimeters ahead. Ramani didn’t need to see him in order to figure out what was going on; he was hyperventilating.</p>
<p>”Pietro!”</p>
<p>”Shit— shit, shit, shit, shit, <em>shit!</em>”</p>
<p>He yelled that last part. His words slowly dissolved into incoherent babbling, before she could hear the metal suit clashing and scratching against concrete, followed by his feet moving around frantically in the puddles of water, frantically moving the light around.</p>
<p>”I can’t…” Pietro began. ”I can’t do— <em>I can’t do this!</em>”</p>
<p>His words dissolved into yelling, his yelling into screaming, his screaming into crying. ”I can’t, I— Why did I have to get into this <em>fucking</em> suit?! WHY?! Why couldn’t I’ve just died, like the rest of ’em?! Why, why, <em>WHY</em>?!”</p>
<p>No matter what she said, Pietro wouldn’t stop. Horror overcame her, when she realized she couldn’t help him, that they were buried under how many tons of concrete, and her only companion through all of this was about to die.</p>
<p>She did the only thing she could think of doing. She steadied herself, feeling the rubble shift under her weight, dust settle from the ceiling, and made her way toward Pietro. She suppressed a groan, clenching her teeth as tight as she could manage, as the pain from her leg radiated even stronger now.</p>
<p>The pain was crippling, but she continued on.</p>
<p>She steadied herself on the wall and shook Pietro by the shoulders. His words were barely a whisper.</p>
<p>”I can’t, I can’t, I— I can’t…”</p>
<p>”Listen— LISTEN TO ME! Look at me! Pietro! Look at me!”</p>
<p>She shook him as hard as she could. She read somewhere that that was <em>not</em> the best way of going about treating a person suffering from a panic attack — <em>if it even was one</em> — but she couldn’t think of anything better to do.</p>
<p>”Stop thinking about all of this, and think about, I don’t know… happy thoughts!”</p>
<p>In the dim light, Ramani saw Pietro’s eyes lighten up.</p>
<p>”Happy thoughts…” he whispered to no one in particular.</p>
<p>”Yes! Happy thoughts! Any happy thoughts.”</p>
<p>Pietro’s voice began to grow calmer, less rapid. The life in his eyes returned, as Ramani could feel her soul ease up.</p>
<p>”Damian…” Pietro said, ”my first cat… only cat…” His breathing calmed down. ”Getting my first job… joining the Foundation… discovering I could do something in the world…”</p>
<p>Pietro eased up more and more.</p>
<p>As the seconds passed, Ramani could see the life return within Pietro’s eyes, as his breathing slowed and his mumbling stopped.</p>
<p>He placed his hand, cold to the touch, on Ramani’s hand, reassuringly.</p>
<p>”Thanks,” he said.</p>
<p>Pietro smiled. Ramani returned the smile. Then she collapsed onto the ground, wincing slightly as her shatterd leg hit the pavement.</p>
<p>”Shit… Your leg,” Pietro exclaimed.</p>
<p>”No, no, it’s… it’s nothing really.” She held onto her leg dearly.</p>
<p>”Hold on. Let me… I think I might have something that can deal with your leg…”</p>
<p>Pietro leaned in and pulled out a small object out of a compartment inside the suit. The little light there was reflected on the surface of the <a href="/scp-427">locket</a>, intricate patterns carefully etched onto its surface, shimmering in the darkness.</p>
<p>”I recovered it from one of the destroyed Foundation facilities. All I know is that it can heal you… and is dangerous. Probably shouldn’t keep onto it for too long.”</p>
<p>He handed her the locket, so light in her grasp, opened it, revealing an almost blinding orb of light contained within. She held it against her injured leg, feeling the warmth radiating throughout her body. ”Thanks,” Ramani said, already feeling alleviated of her pain.</p>
<p>”No worries,” Pietro replied.</p>
<p>They remained like this for a while.</p>
<p>”So…” Pietro suddenly spoke. It was nice hearing him talk normally again. ”Do you have any happy thoughts to tell?” He looked over at Ramani.</p>
<p>Ramani gave off a light chuckle. ”What?” Pietro asked.</p>
<p>”Oh, it’s… I was thinking about my family. They…”</p>
<p>”Family, huh? You got children?”</p>
<p>”I—” The words rested in her throat. <em>”No.”</em></p>
<p>”Well, what about your family, then?”</p>
<p>”No, you wouldn’t want me to say.”</p>
<p>”Lady, we’re trapped under a building, and for all we know, we’re gonna be the last faces each of us is gonna see, so if you have a story to tell, tell it now.”</p>
<p>Ramani smiled, looked down at the ground, then back at Pietro. Her mind was rushed with dozens of thoughts, her indecision piqued by the long silence. Eventually, though, she gave in.</p>
<p>”I…” The words were, again, stuck in her throat. She took a moment to contemplate, before being sure of her choice of words. ”My… <em>mother</em>… she spent too much time on her job. Never came home and when she did, it’d be late in the evening, when everyone was already asleep… She was always gone the next morning.</p>
<p>”My <em>father</em> always got into arguements about this… of why she would return so late and had to go so early, said that her job at… <em>Starlight Crafts & People</em> couldn’t be so serious, so important.</p>
<p>”They thought… they thought that we wouldn’t hear them. But we would eavesdrop. Listen to every word they’d say.”</p>
<p>There was a long sigh, as Ramani looked onto the ceiling. Pietro kept quiet the entire time. ”Then, my father got cancer. It… it didn’t help that my mother wasn’t there for… us.”</p>
<p>Ramani suddenly stopped. Tears rolled down her face, as she tried to not let Pietro notice. He definitely noticed.</p>
<p>”If it makes you feel better, I also had a shitty mother.”</p>
<p>Ramani winced at those words. She looked over at Pietro, but he didn’t seem to notice. She listened to him intently.</p>
<p>”You know, I also had a pretty shitty father… Never was there anything he couldn’t solve with the belt. Kicked my cat to death when I was little. Was into detective stories and— anyway, besides the point. I hated my father, I hated him so <em>much</em>…</p>
<p>”But even with everything that he did to me… and my brother… I always loved him, because, despite everything, he was there for us. Took care of us, kept us fed… My mother just… bailed out before we even got the chance to see her, know her… It’s like… like she gave up on us.”</p>
<p>There was a pause. A long pause.</p>
<p>”Pietro, don’t <em>ever</em> think like that,” was her only response.</p>
<p>”Yeah… maybe you’re right. I mean, what does dwelling on the past do for you?” He said that last part mainly to himself; yet, somehow, those were the words that stuck with her the most.</p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
<p><em>…</em></p>
<p>”How’s your leg?”</p>
<p>She moved her leg around. There was no pain anymore. ”Better.”</p>
<p>”That’s good.”</p>
<p>Ramani clapped the locket shut, plunging the chamber into pitch blackness again.</p>
<p>Pietro rested up against a wall, clapping some dust off his suit and face. There was a distinct <em>clanking</em> sound as he did so. ”So that’s how it is, oh?” He stared up at the ceiling.</p>
<p>”Yep.”</p>
<p>”I’m just gonna rest a little. Suit’s gonna run out of battery pretty soon, I think, or at least it feels like it. It’s pretty tattered up and feels really heavy…”</p>
<p>Something sparked up within Ramani’s eyes. It was a small spark, <em>a glimmer of hope</em>, yet it was enough to spring Researcher Ramani back into action.</p>
<p>”How do you move your suit?”</p>
<p>Pietro looked quite perplexed at Ramani. ”I—”</p>
<p>”How do you move it?”</p>
<p>Still, quite confused. ”Why—”</p>
<p>”A suit like that’s gonna weigh a few pounds; no way for a normal human body to maneuver it like that.”</p>
<p>Despite Pietro’s persistent confusion, Ramani’s mind was blitzing thoughts, <em>zip-zap</em>, all over. Like a snowball rolling down a snowy tundra.</p>
<p>”Ramani, I’m not really sure what’re—”</p>
<p>”The suit must be directly connected to your brain! Of course!” Ramani exclaimed. ”Lift up your arm.”</p>
<p>Hesitant, Pietro lifted up his arm. It was touching the ceiling.</p>
<p>”How did it <em>feel</em>?”</p>
<p>”It… it…” Pietro’s mind was now rumbling like Ramani’s.</p>
<p>”Like the suit moved according to where your mind <em>commanded</em> it to move? Instead of <em>you</em> moving your arm and the mechanics of the suit following with you?”</p>
<p>”Now that you mention it… it does feel kinda weird.”</p>
<p>”Try recording a log,” Ramani ordered.</p>
<p>Pietro’s expression, just grasping something, fell back into the ever-persistent confusion again. ”Wait, you can record on this thi—”</p>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>JOURNAL ENTRY 0001-1</strong></p>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p>”Woah…”</p>
<p>”Try <em>thinking</em> something into the log.”</p>
<blockquote>
<p><em>My name is Pietro Wilson. I don't know what's happening.</em></p>
<p><em>Thought transcription is tricky. Sorry, I’m not used to this yet, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…</em></p>
</blockquote>
<p>He immediately shut it off. He looked back at Ramani with a look of wonder and amazement. He knew <em>exactly</em> what she was thinking.</p>
<p>”Do you think it’ll work?”</p>
<p>”It <em>must</em>.”</p>
<p>”All right…”</p>
<p>Without hesitation, Pietro stood up, <em>as best as one could within this even tinier space now</em>, and looked back at Ramani.</p>
<p>”Are you absolutely <em>sure</em> it’ll work? Because I’ve heard being crushed to death is one of the most brutal ways to go—”</p>
<p>”Do it!” she urged him. There was no other way.</p>
<p>”All right…” he mutterd to himself. ”Let’s do this thing.”</p>
<p>The face plate of the suit shut tight around his head. Fully enveloped in the absolute exclusion harness, he pressed his hands against the concrete and began to push upwards.</p>
<p>From the noises and locomotion, it must’ve been several dozen tons of rubble that laid on top of them that somehow hadn’t crushed them into mush already.</p>
<p>It should have been difficult. It should have been the most physically taxing thing Pietro had ever, <em>would’ve ever</em>, done, yet it didn’t feel much too different from lifting weights on a bench-press in the gym (Pietro had never entered a gym in his entire life).</p>
<p>He simply <em>thought</em> what the suit <em>should</em> do, and the internal mechanism and resistant materials withstood the rest. Like the suit was an airplane and he was the pilot (or something like that).</p>
<p>Ramani covered her eyes and ears, as she huddled in the corner, hoping that nothing would decide to fall onto her. Besides a few particles of dust, there was nothing too major.</p>
<p>Soon, Ramani could see the first rays of light through her squinted eyes, as Pietro heaved tons of rubble away; she could hear him audibly straining.</p>
<p>And then there was nothing, but the fresh, cold air. When they climbed out of the pit, she could catch herself coughing and breathing heavily, taking as much air in as possible.</p>
<p>When the face plate of Pietro’s suit retracted, he, too, took as much of the surrounding air in as he possibly could. Both remained like this for quite a while.</p>
<p>Pietro helped Ramani stand up.</p>
<p>Then they took a sweeping view over the deseccrated landscape. What little remained of the town before was gone, reduced to nothing, but dust and rubble. The giants once at the horizon were long gone, yet the traces of their battle were strewn out all around them. Then there was the sky, tinted in a deep red, shattered into millions of fragments. And then there were the gods raging farther on the horizon.</p>
<p>Pietro picked up his briefcase from the rubble.</p>
<p>”Where’re you headed?”</p>
<p>”<a href="/scp-579">Site-62C</a>. That’s what this Mister Something Krug guy told me,” Pietro answered, staring at the remains of a kindergarten in front of him.</p>
<p>”I guess this is where we part ways.”</p>
<p>Pietro turned to look at Ramani and reached out his hand. She looked at Pietro, the suit he was wearing, the briefcase, then at his hand.</p>
<p>Then echoes of the past started to come up again.</p>
<p>She said the next words with a conscious, sane and sound mind.</p>
<p>”I’m going with you.”</p>
<p>She couldn’t even fully believe her words herself.</p>
<p>Pietro had an expression of concern on his face, which quickly abated into a smile. ”All right.”</p>
<p>Ramani looked down at her arm again. She rubbed the previous message she had written in blue marker away…</p>
<blockquote>
<p><span style="color: blue"><em>Objective: Get to Green Lawn Cemetery</em></span></p>
</blockquote>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>… and replaced it with a new one. At least in her mind:</p>
<blockquote>
<p><span style="color: blue"><em>Objective: <span style="text-decoration: underline;"><strong>Save the world.</strong></span></em></span></p>
</blockquote>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>Ramani took a few steps forward. She looked back at Pietro, who had an absent expression lingering on his face.</p>
<p>Pietro looked down at the <a href="/scp-055">suitcase</a>, quite confused.</p>
<p>”Wait… what was it that we were gonna do again?”</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<p><strong>« <a href="/or-maybe-it-is">Previous</a></strong></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>» <a href="/just-fragments-hub">HUB</a> «</strong></p>
</div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><strong><a href="/five-seven-nine">Next</a> »</strong></p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/not-the-end">... not the end.</a>" by Doctor Scrappy , from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/not-the-end">https://scpwiki.com/not-the-end</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[div class="pseudocrumbs"]]
[[[canon-hub|Canon Hub]]] >> [[[Competitive Eschatology Hub]]] >> [[[Just Fragments Hub]]] >> ... not the end.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="/theme:black-highlighter-theme">theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:bhl-dark-sidebar">:scp-wiki:component:bhl-dark-sidebar</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:toggle-sidebar-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar-bhl</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:fade-in">:scp-wiki:component:fade-in</a> speed=1.5]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
[[=]]
**... not the end.**
@@ @@
Part 3!
[[/=]]
**Warning:** Contains mention of **abuse** and an **inaccurate** depiction of a **panic attack**! Discretion is advised!
**Author:** Doctor Scrappy
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-cw">:scp-wiki:component:info-cw</a>]]
@@ @@
[[=]]
**Before**
[[/=]]
Traffic jam. //Of course there had to be a// fucking //traffic jam.// At this time, at this hour. It wasn’t even a Monday.
//There always had to be something,// she thought to herself, as her eyes darted all across the bustling streets of the city-jungle on a not-Monday, her arms and legs shaking, while she could feel the sweat rolling down her face. //The hospital is right there.//
Then, without another second to spare, she opened her side of the door, somewhat scratching the hull of a neighboring vehicle, and sprinted as quick as she could to the hospital. She could hear the sounds of a car door being opened and the voice of an angered man shouting back at her.
She ran past women standing at storefronts eyeing the dresses on display, fathers carrying their daughters on piggy-back, the homeless stretching their hands out for just enough to get by through the days.
Some she just ran past. Others she ran into. An occasional rustle of plastic bags, another arm touching hers.
Some gave her weird and curious looks, as she hurried past them. Others continued on with their days, showing the figure of a worried woman no attention.
Out of breath, her lungs finally gave in on the hospital’s courtyard. She caught a few of the glances others gave her. She returned those glances with a repelling expression, urging those people to hurriedly carry on.
Her legs were trembling. Her lungs were working overtime, her breaths deep and rapid, while her heart pounded faster and faster, second by second. With the remaining energy, she pulled herself up and stumbled through the entrance.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
”Miss? Can I help you with something?” the assistant on the front desk asked, just as confused as the others.
She didn’t gave the lady at the front desk so much as a glance. She headed straight for the elevators.
//”Third floor, third floor, third...”// she mumbled under her breath.
The assistant stood up from her desk, looking worriedly at the woman looking frantically around at the end of the hall. ”Miss?” She tried again, again, to no avail.
//Where was the// fucking //button?// There.
”MISS!”
She hurried into the elevator, the doors sliding shut behind her. Muffled voices of concerned hospital staff echoed through the gap, before the doors finally closed.
//Third floor, room twelve. Third floor, room twelve.//
Each passing second felt like eternity exacting its punishment upon her, as the elevator made its way up the hospital floors ever so slowly.
The elevator came to a sudden halt, gave off its //ding//, and the doors slid apart.
She walked at a quick pace, nearly tripping over her own two feet on more than one occasion. The staff already made their way toward her.
”Miss! MISS!”
//Room one, room two, room three, room four...//
The men and women in their all-white attire, only broken by their discordant choice of shoes, came round a corner, finally making sight with the frantic woman.
//Room eight, room nine, room ten...//
”Miss! MISS!”
//Room--//
Four people ushered out of room number twelve. The first was a doctor, tall, dark hair, brown eyes, nearly bald. The second a nurse, short, brown hair, shoulder-long, blue eyes. The other two were her daughters.
”What happened?” she gasped, out of breath, more sweat rolling down her face. She stared at her two daughters.
They only averted their gaze. No words came out of their mouths. The youngest one had trails of tears on her face.
She turned to look at her oldest daughter, desperately longing for an answer. She, too, only averted her gaze, but with a flimmer of //hatred// reflecting within her eyes. They remained silent amongst the sterile walls of the hospital.
”What happened?” she now asked the short, brown-haired, blue-eyed nurse.
The staff who previously chased her to the third floor remained completely silent and still.
”I’m sorry, Mrs. Ramani,” the nurse spoke, ”It happened five minutes ago.”
It took a few seconds for the meaning of those words to finally hit her. The nurse continued talking, but the words all welled up into a dissonant cacophony of distant mumbling and white noise.
She first stared at the nurse, then at the doctor, then at the hospital staff, and then at her own daughters. First the youngest one, then the oldest.
She stared at her oldest daughter the longest.
Everything became clear again. The noises became more distinct, more coherent.
Tears formed at the corners of her eyes.
Her husband was gone.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
**[[[Maybe the End of the World isn’t as Bad as it Sounds.|Now]]]**
[[/=]]
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
> //”Where are you going?” Adam asked, quite perplexed.//
>
> //She put on her coat. ”I’m going home,” Ramani answered. ”Back home to my family.”//
>
> //”What?!”//
>
> //”You’ve heard me, Adam. It was nice knowing you.”//
>
> //”You can’t do this! You swore an oath to the Foundation! That you would protect humanity from whatever might crop up! They said that, and you swore your life for the cause! Secure, contain,// protect//! Have you forgotten?!”//
>
> //”Look around you, Adam! What do you want to protect? The ashes of humanity?”//
>
> //”You’re selfish.”//
>
> //She didn’t even give him a final glance, as the security door slid shut again.//
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
Site-67 was all but gone now. Well, it’s still there, but wherever this desolated wasteland was, it was miles away from the Foundation facility.
//Funny,// Researcher Ramani thought. //I’m still sane. Still sane, even after [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/competitive-eschatology-hub|everything that has happened]]] in the last couple of months. I’m sane, driving my car down the road, amidst withered concrete buildings, broken glass, and a broken sky.//
Or perhaps she was utterly insane driving her car down the road amidst the desolate remains of civilization, trying to reach something that might as well have been torn to its individual molecules by one of the many rampaging gods, deities and eldritch abominations loose upon the earth at this point.
Both were plausible scenarios.
She looked down at her left arm, reminding herself why she was doing all of this, //doing// any //of this//, and these thoughts started to go under again.
Her car began to sputter, to slow down. She took a look at the meter, half-expecting what came next: //No fuel.//
Her body was overtaken by fear and panic, but also an instinctual anger and annoyance. //Old habits die hard.//
She stepped out of her vehicle, opened its trunk, and retrieved a canister of gasoline from it. She had gotten some from the storage areas back at 67 and loaded as many of them up as her car could hold.
It made running out of fuel an impossibility, but also made her car a moving dry stack of hay on a particular hot summer day for any pyromancer, who decided to blow something up for no particular reason. //As if the world wasn’t already enough of a trash fire.//
As she stood there and refueled her car, her ears began to pick up a distant crackle of cement and asphalt.
Darting her eyes all around, there was nothing out of the ordinary, //well//, nothing that surprised her.
The sounds became louder. Like droplets of water seeping into stone, wet //pops// and //snaps//, which became ever so louder, ever so //closer//.
Her body tensed up with fear, with a sensation of finality sprinkled on top of it.
She poured whatever was left in the canister in haphazardly, before she tossed it on the barren, rippled asphalt street.
Her hand reached for the handle of the door, before a mass of [[[SCP-171|tiny, white tendrils]]], bigger than an apartment building, burst out of the rippled asphalt, between the small stores and shops that were arranged in rows all over the town.
The mass of writhing, coiling, twisting foam consumed anything in its path. Ramani couldn’t move. She could just stare at this massive heap of foam and humans, writhing and moaning together in unison.
Before she even knew it, the mass engulfed her car entirely in one swift motion, before the millions of tiny tendrils made their way toward her.
The foam quickly enveloped her legs, before moving up to her waist, pulling her by the chest, before the tendrils wrapped themselves around her neck and head.
She tried to scream. But all she could muster was a quiet sob.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
@@ @@
@@ @@
//...//
//...//
//...//
//...//
[[/=]]
@@ @@
//”There was once a pretty little princess resting within one of the finest chambers of the great castle. One day shAnd you want to tell me that// this //is the best you couldMommy has someimportant stuff to do atworkTheFoundation is asecret organization that aims toWedieinthe dark so youmaylive in the ligDo you want to know with whattype of bullshit Ihaveto deal with on a regularbasis, Agnes?!You couldnteven begin to graYeahyeah... okay, thanks, DoctorPederson...thankyou... Daddy has to stay at the hospital alittle lonI herebyswear my life to theFoundation. I herebyswear to secure, contain...// prote//--”//
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
She couldn’t remember what happened before. She couldn’t remember what happened next. All she could remember were the barrages of voices, malleable, //squishy//, roaming around inside her head, talking, //no//, thinking indistinctly, yet so clear.
Her head ached. Her body felt like //shit//. There was a piercing, deafening ring within her ears, as her eyes slowly adjusted to her surroundings, like a deep sea fish being fished-up onto the colorful surface of the ocean for the first time.
Once the ringing subsided, her eyes adjusted, she could make out the rough shapes of houses, stores, or rather the remnants of those houses and stores.
The ringing in her ears was replaced with loud squishy, wet sounds, and the stench of rotted flesh made its way into her nose.
Then a couch landed a few feet right of her.
It wasn’t a large couch. Just big enough to seat a parent and her child between, maybe a dog if they squeezed together tightly. The more Ramani stared at the couch, the more the stench built up.
She stared at the couch more intently, and found large bulges of a writhing //something// underneath, wiggling its way under the surface.
Then the couch started opening its mouths, revealing long, sticky tongues wiggling all around. Pairs of eyes opened up all over it. What seemed like human toes and fingernails began to grow out of its flesh. It was staring right at her.
Ramani recoiled in terror, as she felt the urge to throw up, if there was even anything to throw up in her stomach.
Then another piece of furniture landed beside her. This time, it was a lamp, sculpted meticously out of bone, coated in a semi-transparent, greenish slime.
The couch was groaning something incomprehensible. Ramani looked to where these pieces of furniture were coming from and couldn’t believe her eyes...
The giant foam of millions of tiny tendrils and squishy thoughts was spitting out masses of people, all in states of severe malnourishment, while it tried to envelop a giant [[[SCP-002|tumorous, fleshy growth]]], hundreds of thousands of meters in diameter.
They were a few kilometers away, yet the clashes of their battle could be felt from afar.
Many of the ejected people fell to their deaths. Some of those people were grabbed by fleshy tentacles and moved into giant ulcers on the surface of the tumorous mass. Soon enough, more furniture was ejected from ulcers on its rear, like meteorites impacting the earth below.
Ramani could do nothing else, but stay and stare.
Her fight-or-flight instinct finally kicked in, and she found herself on her feet, sprinting in the opposite direction of whatever was stretched out over the horizon.
But she found herself not fast enough. As the ball of flesh consumed more and more of the foamy creature, more and more furniture were shot out in all directions, leaving the impact sites craters of blood, viscera and other human body parts.
One of them took the form of a pick-up truck, tongues spilling out, giving out the most twisted of moans, and impacted what was left of the right side of an apartment building.
The entire structure collapsed, as Ramani could do nothing, but watch. The furniture laughed from all of their pores.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
The room was gigantic in scope, at least able to hold over a dozen of people comfortably. There were a bunch of people dressed in lab coats of various ethnicities, heights, genders and age. Some were delighting themselves at the buffet table, while others were already sitting at their respective places.
Ramani, not particularly feeling hungry, picked a seat somewhere farther back. When a chime played through the PA system, and everyone got to their seats and stood up, she realized that a seat so far back was a rather stupid idea.
She could barely make out the podium, much less whoever was about to stand behind it. She should’ve worn her high heels.
A figure stepped up to the podium. The man was tall, slender, wearing a pristine lab coat, somewhat balding. He quickly disappeared behind the crowd.
The man spoke: ”Humanity, in its present state, has been around for over a hundred thousand years, yet only a fraction of it has been of any significance. So I ask you, what did we do the last 250,000 years? We huddled in caves and around small fires, fearful of the things that we did not understand...” The man spoke these words in a calm, monotonous, seemingly bored voice, the very sound of which nearly brought her fast asleep.
She caught herself slowly trailing off, fixating upon other things in the room. There were a dozen more men and women all lined up in a neat little row, reaching all the way to backstage. There were guards and security staff armed with tasers, ever-so-vigilant for any dangers that might arise, there was an empty seat next to her, and--
”Excuse me, could I get through?” a man asked.
”Oh,” she began, ”of course.”
”Thanks,” he replied.
He squeezed his way past her. The man took residency on the empty seat next to her. He tried to get a better view of the man at the podium, still giving his speech, past the crowd.
”That’s Doctor Charles Octen Gears,” the man said. ”His colleagues call him Cog.”
Ramani nodded, still not getting a good view of the man at the podium.
”Hi, I’m Adam. Krug,” he suddenly said. He held out his hand.
”Ramone Ramani. Pleasure to meet you.” They shook hands.
”Pleasure to meet //you//, Ramani.”
”You new here?” she asked.
”Oh, yes,” he answered. ”You?”
”Like you, a rookie. You seem to know a lot about this organization already,” Ramani jokingly remarked.
”Well, he was our, well, my guide. Of our group. Who was yours?”
”A lady called Agatha Rights. Nice lady,” she replied.
”What skip did they show you? As part of the demonstration?”
”A pen that could [[[SCP-067|write on its own]]]. You?”
”What, really? I got shown this [[[SCP-079|old computer]]]. I even got to talk to it for a little.” Adam smiled.
”That sounds exciting.” Ramani smiled back.
”Is there anything you’d like to discuss with us?” This Dr. Gears fellow was looking directly at them.
Ramani felt her blood run cold. Suddenly, dozens of people turned behind them to stare at her. She could feel the gazes of each and every individual in the room, pointed straight at her.
”We’re sorry, Mister-- I mean, //Doctor// Gears,” Adam stepped in.
Dr. Gears then turned back to his speech again. ”In time, their numbers dwindled and ours rose. The world began to make more sense when there were fewer things to fear...” The man continued on. Everyone’s gaze was turned to the man at the podium again.
”Sorry about that,” Adam apologized, now more quietly.
”No worries,” Ramani said, equally as quiet. Her heart began to ease up a little.
They were listening to the speech now. //Actually// listening to the speech now. ”The Foundation is a secret organization that aims to secure, contain, and...”
**”Protect.”** Adam finished the sentence. He stared intently at this ’Dr. Gears.’
”Secure. Contain. Protect. You are now part of the force protecting humanity that from which it cannot protect itself. Part of the fire that shines ever-so-dimly in the cave. We die in the dark...”
”So they may live in the light,” everyone repeated. Adam’s voice especially was what emanated in Ramani’s ears.
”I hereby swear to secure, contain and //protect//,” Ramani spoke. She felt quite sleepy.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
A pounding inside her head. What felt like hours passed in a few seconds. Her senses were numb, sharp. She could feel blood trickling down her forehead. Her lungs were filled with concrete dust.
She tried to stand up, but then gave off an agonizing moan, echoing throughout the cavern of concrete and rebar with traces of viscera from the pick-up truck. She fell to the ground again, onto a muddy puddle. Pain radiated from her left leg.
She remained like this for a few more minutes. Her sobs were drowned out by the chaos going on on the surface. There was an unnatural sound echoing throughout.
There was a notable //whirring// within the dark confines of the rubble, suddenly.
”Who goes there?”
//No response. Of course not.//
She quickly leaned against the far side of the small chamber, as her eyes darted across everywhere. It was pitch black, so she really couldn’t see anything.
Until there was a spark.
It was quiet unnoticeable, but in the utter darkness she now found herself in, a small spark was as bright as the sun. Soon, more sparks started flying, with the whirring sound becoming louder and louder by the second.
She had enough of it. In a panic, Ramani let her hands go over every surface around her. She grabbed a small rock, //sharp to the touch//, and held it over her head. As best as she could, she aimed the rock at the sparkling figure, ready to--
”Woah, woah, woah, //woah!//” a voice echoed. It sounded young and exhausted, //fearful//.
”Calm down, lady! Relax! Just... just put the rock down, all right?”
The panic in her eyes was quickly replaced by a new feeling: //Confusion//. She put the rock down, but still held it in her left hand, just in case. ”What-- //who// the fuck are you?”
”Okay, okay, lady, just let me... let me--”
All of a sudden, sparks went flying everywhere, the whirring peaked at an unbearable decibell level, until everything just suddenly ceased.
Soon later, a suit appeared in front of her, //no//, had always been there and was now visible to her, illuminated by the sensors around the facial area and a light attached to one of the arms, glowing weakly.
The face plate of the suit flipped open, revealing a young, worn man underneath. He couldn’t have been anything above twenty-one. He winced and coiled in pain for a moment.
”Ow...”
”//Jesus.//”
”What...?” he asked, out of breath.
”It’s... your face, it's just...” She dared not speak any further. She was already too exhausted.
”The suit… it... you don't need to sleep with it on.”
There was an awkward silence between the two, only broken by the happenings above.
”Why are you here?”
”The same reason you’re here. What I wanna know is how you survived //this// long without such a suit on.”
There was no answer. There was already too much she-- ”What is that?”
”What is what?”
”The suit//case//!”
She pointed at a small suitcase on the right of the young man.
”Oh, that is... that is, um... Well, I remember it being... uhh...”
He trailed off. There was something very uncanny about his words coming to a sudden halt.
”What //I// wanna know,” she began, ”is why you carry a suitcase around, like you’re some tourist at the ends of the world!”
”Well, some guy sent me some messages after I got into the suit. Went by the name of... of...”
He tried his hardest to remember.
”A... A... something, //Krug//... Mister //Something// Krug. Let’s just call him that. He told me to...”
”Adam...”
”No, no, Adam wasn’t it... Anyway, he told me something about--”
”His name was Adam Krug.”
”Are you his mother or something?”
”What-- No! Okay, I’m Ramone Ramani.” Almost instinctually, she held out her hand.
”[[[SCP-5000|Wilson, Pietro]]],” he didn’t take her hand, ”Look, lady, I dunno what’s going on or if your know name’s supposed to ring a bell for me, but I’m really freaked out right no--”
”Where-- do you remember where you got that message from?”
”I dunno! I just hopped into the suit when my site got compromised and then just got sent these messages, talking about some-- some ’way to fix things’! There was no return address, if that’s what you’re asking!”
”What was your prior occupation before all of this?”
”I worked at a 7-Eleven.”
Ramani only gave him a look.
”Oh, not that before, okay, well, I was a junior technician at [[[SCP-3936|Exclusionary Site-06]]].”
”You worked at an Exclusionary Site?”
”As a //junior technician//.”
”What happened next?”
”What happened next? Well, I was working on some of the back-up generators on the site, when suddenly, all of the klaxons go off and we get off through the cafeteria to the evac points. Next thing I know, a swarm of [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/the-gate-opens|flying crabs with knives as hands]]] start tearing apart everything in sight. Put an extra-stab in each of the corpses just to be sure. I run into the suit, hop in, and now I’m buried several feet under rubble, and a foamy and fleshy demon are duking it out--”
A rumble outside, shaking the very foundation of this place, stopped Pietro in his words. The walls of their little cavern got a little smaller.
Ramani put up her index finger and pressed it up against her mouth. They had to remain absolutely still and silent.
Pietro looked like he was about to shit himself.
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[=]]
*
[[/=]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
The rumbling abated after what felt, and //probably were//, hours.
Entrapped for hours within this earthern tomb, the walls inching closer with every passing second, with every rumble up above.
When the rumbling stopped, the sounds of heavy breathing, rapid and disjointed, filled their small chamber. She couldn’t place it at first, but soon found out that they were coming from Pietro.
”Pietro?” she said, weak and frail, yet still determined. ”Pietro, talk to me!”
”Shit... shit... shit...” it came from the opposite side of their cavern. The flashlight of his suit was dim, barely able to illuminate more than a few centimeters ahead. Ramani didn’t need to see him in order to figure out what was going on; he was hyperventilating.
”Pietro!”
”Shit-- shit, shit, shit, shit, //shit!//”
He yelled that last part. His words slowly dissolved into incoherent babbling, before she could hear the metal suit clashing and scratching against concrete, followed by his feet moving around frantically in the puddles of water, frantically moving the light around.
”I can’t...” Pietro began. ”I can’t do-- //I can’t do this!//”
His words dissolved into yelling, his yelling into screaming, his screaming into crying. ”I can’t, I-- Why did I have to get into this //fucking// suit?! WHY?! Why couldn’t I’ve just died, like the rest of ’em?! Why, why, //WHY//?!”
No matter what she said, Pietro wouldn’t stop. Horror overcame her, when she realized she couldn’t help him, that they were buried under how many tons of concrete, and her only companion through all of this was about to die.
She did the only thing she could think of doing. She steadied herself, feeling the rubble shift under her weight, dust settle from the ceiling, and made her way toward Pietro. She suppressed a groan, clenching her teeth as tight as she could manage, as the pain from her leg radiated even stronger now.
The pain was crippling, but she continued on.
She steadied herself on the wall and shook Pietro by the shoulders. His words were barely a whisper.
”I can’t, I can’t, I-- I can’t...”
”Listen-- LISTEN TO ME! Look at me! Pietro! Look at me!”
She shook him as hard as she could. She read somewhere that that was //not// the best way of going about treating a person suffering from a panic attack -- //if it even was one// -- but she couldn’t think of anything better to do.
”Stop thinking about all of this, and think about, I don’t know... happy thoughts!”
In the dim light, Ramani saw Pietro’s eyes lighten up.
”Happy thoughts...” he whispered to no one in particular.
”Yes! Happy thoughts! Any happy thoughts.”
Pietro’s voice began to grow calmer, less rapid. The life in his eyes returned, as Ramani could feel her soul ease up.
”Damian...” Pietro said, ”my first cat... only cat...” His breathing calmed down. ”Getting my first job... joining the Foundation... discovering I could do something in the world...”
Pietro eased up more and more.
As the seconds passed, Ramani could see the life return within Pietro’s eyes, as his breathing slowed and his mumbling stopped.
He placed his hand, cold to the touch, on Ramani’s hand, reassuringly.
”Thanks,” he said.
Pietro smiled. Ramani returned the smile. Then she collapsed onto the ground, wincing slightly as her shatterd leg hit the pavement.
”Shit... Your leg,” Pietro exclaimed.
”No, no, it’s... it’s nothing really.” She held onto her leg dearly.
”Hold on. Let me... I think I might have something that can deal with your leg...”
Pietro leaned in and pulled out a small object out of a compartment inside the suit. The little light there was reflected on the surface of the [[[SCP-427|locket]]], intricate patterns carefully etched onto its surface, shimmering in the darkness.
”I recovered it from one of the destroyed Foundation facilities. All I know is that it can heal you... and is dangerous. Probably shouldn’t keep onto it for too long.”
He handed her the locket, so light in her grasp, opened it, revealing an almost blinding orb of light contained within. She held it against her injured leg, feeling the warmth radiating throughout her body. ”Thanks,” Ramani said, already feeling alleviated of her pain.
”No worries,” Pietro replied.
They remained like this for a while.
”So...” Pietro suddenly spoke. It was nice hearing him talk normally again. ”Do you have any happy thoughts to tell?” He looked over at Ramani.
Ramani gave off a light chuckle. ”What?” Pietro asked.
”Oh, it’s... I was thinking about my family. They...”
”Family, huh? You got children?”
”I--” The words rested in her throat. //”No.”//
”Well, what about your family, then?”
”No, you wouldn’t want me to say.”
”Lady, we’re trapped under a building, and for all we know, we’re gonna be the last faces each of us is gonna see, so if you have a story to tell, tell it now.”
Ramani smiled, looked down at the ground, then back at Pietro. Her mind was rushed with dozens of thoughts, her indecision piqued by the long silence. Eventually, though, she gave in.
”I...” The words were, again, stuck in her throat. She took a moment to contemplate, before being sure of her choice of words. ”My... //mother//... she spent too much time on her job. Never came home and when she did, it’d be late in the evening, when everyone was already asleep... She was always gone the next morning.
”My //father// always got into arguements about this... of why she would return so late and had to go so early, said that her job at... //Starlight Crafts & People// couldn’t be so serious, so important.
”They thought... they thought that we wouldn’t hear them. But we would eavesdrop. Listen to every word they’d say.”
There was a long sigh, as Ramani looked onto the ceiling. Pietro kept quiet the entire time. ”Then, my father got cancer. It... it didn’t help that my mother wasn’t there for... us.”
Ramani suddenly stopped. Tears rolled down her face, as she tried to not let Pietro notice. He definitely noticed.
”If it makes you feel better, I also had a shitty mother.”
Ramani winced at those words. She looked over at Pietro, but he didn’t seem to notice. She listened to him intently.
”You know, I also had a pretty shitty father... Never was there anything he couldn’t solve with the belt. Kicked my cat to death when I was little. Was into detective stories and-- anyway, besides the point. I hated my father, I hated him so //much//...
”But even with everything that he did to me... and my brother... I always loved him, because, despite everything, he was there for us. Took care of us, kept us fed... My mother just... bailed out before we even got the chance to see her, know her... It’s like... like she gave up on us.”
There was a pause. A long pause.
”Pietro, don’t //ever// think like that,” was her only response.
”Yeah... maybe you’re right. I mean, what does dwelling on the past do for you?” He said that last part mainly to himself; yet, somehow, those were the words that stuck with her the most.
//...//
//...//
//...//
”How’s your leg?”
She moved her leg around. There was no pain anymore. ”Better.”
”That’s good.”
Ramani clapped the locket shut, plunging the chamber into pitch blackness again.
Pietro rested up against a wall, clapping some dust off his suit and face. There was a distinct //clanking// sound as he did so. ”So that’s how it is, oh?” He stared up at the ceiling.
”Yep.”
”I’m just gonna rest a little. Suit’s gonna run out of battery pretty soon, I think, or at least it feels like it. It’s pretty tattered up and feels really heavy...”
Something sparked up within Ramani’s eyes. It was a small spark, //a glimmer of hope//, yet it was enough to spring Researcher Ramani back into action.
”How do you move your suit?”
Pietro looked quite perplexed at Ramani. ”I--”
”How do you move it?”
Still, quite confused. ”Why--”
”A suit like that’s gonna weigh a few pounds; no way for a normal human body to maneuver it like that.”
Despite Pietro’s persistent confusion, Ramani’s mind was blitzing thoughts, //zip-zap//, all over. Like a snowball rolling down a snowy tundra.
”Ramani, I’m not really sure what’re--”
”The suit must be directly connected to your brain! Of course!” Ramani exclaimed. ”Lift up your arm.”
Hesitant, Pietro lifted up his arm. It was touching the ceiling.
”How did it //feel//?”
”It... it...” Pietro’s mind was now rumbling like Ramani’s.
”Like the suit moved according to where your mind //commanded// it to move? Instead of //you// moving your arm and the mechanics of the suit following with you?”
”Now that you mention it... it does feel kinda weird.”
”Try recording a log,” Ramani ordered.
Pietro’s expression, just grasping something, fell back into the ever-persistent confusion again. ”Wait, you can record on this thi--”
> [[=]]
> **JOURNAL ENTRY 0001-1**
> [[/=]]
”Woah...”
”Try //thinking// something into the log.”
> //My name is Pietro Wilson. I don't know what's happening.//
>
> //Thought transcription is tricky. Sorry, I’m not used to this yet, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...//
He immediately shut it off. He looked back at Ramani with a look of wonder and amazement. He knew //exactly// what she was thinking.
”Do you think it’ll work?”
”It //must//.”
”All right...”
Without hesitation, Pietro stood up, //as best as one could within this even tinier space now//, and looked back at Ramani.
”Are you absolutely //sure// it’ll work? Because I’ve heard being crushed to death is one of the most brutal ways to go--”
”Do it!” she urged him. There was no other way.
”All right...” he mutterd to himself. ”Let’s do this thing.”
The face plate of the suit shut tight around his head. Fully enveloped in the absolute exclusion harness, he pressed his hands against the concrete and began to push upwards.
From the noises and locomotion, it must’ve been several dozen tons of rubble that laid on top of them that somehow hadn’t crushed them into mush already.
It should have been difficult. It should have been the most physically taxing thing Pietro had ever, //would’ve ever//, done, yet it didn’t feel much too different from lifting weights on a bench-press in the gym (Pietro had never entered a gym in his entire life).
He simply //thought// what the suit //should// do, and the internal mechanism and resistant materials withstood the rest. Like the suit was an airplane and he was the pilot (or something like that).
Ramani covered her eyes and ears, as she huddled in the corner, hoping that nothing would decide to fall onto her. Besides a few particles of dust, there was nothing too major.
Soon, Ramani could see the first rays of light through her squinted eyes, as Pietro heaved tons of rubble away; she could hear him audibly straining.
And then there was nothing, but the fresh, cold air. When they climbed out of the pit, she could catch herself coughing and breathing heavily, taking as much air in as possible.
When the face plate of Pietro’s suit retracted, he, too, took as much of the surrounding air in as he possibly could. Both remained like this for quite a while.
Pietro helped Ramani stand up.
Then they took a sweeping view over the deseccrated landscape. What little remained of the town before was gone, reduced to nothing, but dust and rubble. The giants once at the horizon were long gone, yet the traces of their battle were strewn out all around them. Then there was the sky, tinted in a deep red, shattered into millions of fragments. And then there were the gods raging farther on the horizon.
Pietro picked up his briefcase from the rubble.
”Where’re you headed?”
”[[[SCP-579|Site-62C]]]. That’s what this Mister Something Krug guy told me,” Pietro answered, staring at the remains of a kindergarten in front of him.
”I guess this is where we part ways.”
Pietro turned to look at Ramani and reached out his hand. She looked at Pietro, the suit he was wearing, the briefcase, then at his hand.
Then echoes of the past started to come up again.
She said the next words with a conscious, sane and sound mind.
”I’m going with you.”
She couldn’t even fully believe her words herself.
Pietro had an expression of concern on his face, which quickly abated into a smile. ”All right.”
Ramani looked down at her arm again. She rubbed the previous message she had written in blue marker away...
> ##blue|//Objective: Get to Green Lawn Cemetery//##
@@ @@
... and replaced it with a new one. At least in her mind:
> ##blue|//Objective: __**Save the world.**__//##
@@ @@
Ramani took a few steps forward. She looked back at Pietro, who had an absent expression lingering on his face.
Pietro looked down at the [[[SCP-055|suitcase]]], quite confused.
”Wait... what was it that we were gonna do again?”
------
[[<]]
**« [[[Or maybe it is...|Previous]]]**
[[/<]]
[[=]]
**» [[[Just Fragments Hub|HUB]]] «**
[[/=]]
[[>]]
**[[[Five-Seven-Nine|Next]]] »**
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-07-08T01:33:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"absurdism",
"bittersweet",
"bleak",
"competitive-eschatology",
"heartwarming",
"post-apocalyptic",
"slice-of-life",
"tale"
] |
... not the end. - SCP Foundation
| 8
|
[
"canon-hub",
"competitive-eschatology-hub",
"just-fragments-hub",
"maybe-the-end-of-the-world-isnt-as-bad-as-it-sounds",
"scp-171",
"scp-002",
"scp-067",
"scp-079",
"scp-5000",
"scp-3936",
"the-gate-opens",
"scp-427",
"scp-579",
"scp-055",
"or-maybe-it-is",
"five-seven-nine",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"scp-series-6-tales-edition",
"scp-series-1-tales-edition",
"just-fragments-hub",
"competitive-eschatology-hub"
] |
[] |
1455849583
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/not-the-end
|
|
not-to-look
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://cdn.scpwiki.com/theme/en/basalt/normalize-min.css&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=2&theme=https://cdn.scpwiki.com/theme/en/basalt/basalt-bedrock-min.css&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Abasalt/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Abasalt/2&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p>Not to look,<br/>
Kept blinds closed;</p>
<p>Weeping, in bed,<br/>
"I'll lose my sight"—<br/>
Four-times,<br/>
If four-times eclipses seen;</p>
<p>Paints, canvases,<br/>
Myriad of sketches strewn—<br/>
Artist, cowered under bed covers<br/>
In fervid panic;</p>
<p>Heat swelled<br/>
In the rented room;<br/>
Westerly Sun burning,<br/>
Until an eclipse (partial)—</p>
<p>Shade, but no eye-wear,<br/>
"I'll lose my sight"—</p>
<p>Feeling,<br/>
the heat wane;<br/>
Feeling,<br/>
the heat die—</p>
<p>Darker<br/>
Darker,<br/>
(darker),<br/>
Circadian rhythm changed;</p>
<p>Tempted<br/>
Tempted<br/>
(still),<br/>
Tried I—<br/>
To turn away;</p>
<p>Held phone<br/>
To the window—<br/>
Pictures, videos,<br/>
Documenting the change in beat;</p>
<p>Shadows; quake, shiver,<br/>
As eclipse (partial) approached—</p>
<p>And even so, "satisfied", with documentation…<br/>
…a world holding its breath,</p>
<p>Tempted, I— by the record,<br/>
"I'll lose my sight"…</p>
<p>Crying,<br/>
Sobbing,<br/>
(asking) for forgiveness,<br/>
I viewed the sky—</p>
<p><span style="color: #0b0b0b">…it's dark; I've gone blind;</span><br/>
<span style="color: #0b0b0b">there's a permanent eclipse in my eye—</span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:basalt">:scp-wiki:theme:basalt</a> darkmode=a|hidetitle=a]]
Not to look,
Kept blinds closed;
Weeping, in bed,
"I'll lose my sight"--
Four-times,
If four-times eclipses seen;
Paints, canvases,
Myriad of sketches strewn--
Artist, cowered under bed covers
In fervid panic;
Heat swelled
In the rented room;
Westerly Sun burning,
Until an eclipse (partial)--
Shade, but no eye-wear,
"I'll lose my sight"--
Feeling,
the heat wane;
Feeling,
the heat die--
Darker
Darker,
(darker),
Circadian rhythm changed;
Tempted
Tempted
(still),
Tried I--
To turn away;
Held phone
To the window--
Pictures, videos,
Documenting the change in beat;
Shadows; quake, shiver,
As eclipse (partial) approached--
And even so, "satisfied", with documentation...
...a world holding its breath,
Tempted, I-- by the record,
"I'll lose my sight"...
Crying,
Sobbing,
(asking) for forgiveness,
I viewed the sky--
###0b0b0b|...it's dark; I've gone blind;##
###0b0b0b|there's a permanent eclipse in my eye--##
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
|
2024-10-15T03:03:00
|
[
"bleak",
"body-horror",
"cosmic-horror",
"first-person",
"horror",
"poetry",
"psychological-horror",
"spook-nico-2024-unofficial",
"tale"
] |
Not to Look - SCP Foundation
| 16
|
[] |
[
"spook-nico-unnoficial-2024"
] |
[] |
1457099879
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/not-to-look
|
|
nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.Welcome, To, Θe, Virtual+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>;course, For, Nsl, 159 !₾ & ₲<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-1" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-1')">1</a></sup></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"><img alt="wormtattoopainting.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran/wormtattoopainting.png"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>Painting of a Divoši Woman(1806). The meaning of "I am a person who believes that Grand Karcist Ion will ascend" is inscribed on her back in Ämärangä Pilesaran.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="blockquote">
<h2 id="toc0"><span>Syllabus</span></h2>
<p>To start, I am your Professor, Senior Researcher Dr. Evika Cohen, and lead of the Department of Tactical Linguistics and Graphemics. I can be reached by email at any time but will respond only from 14:00-22:00 UTC Monday through Friday. If you want to speak to me in person, send an email about it. Do not come to my office at Site-83. I am <em>never</em> in my office. I do not care how inconvenient that is to you personally.</p>
<p>This three-week course is not intended to improve your speaking skills in the language of the community you've been assigned to. Those assigned to communities that still speak languages descended from Adytite should have completed their assigned language courses already. If you have been assigned to one of these communities and have not yet completed your language course, please take this up with your commander.</p>
<p>No previous course is required for those of you who have been assigned communities that speak your native language. This course is taught in <em>English</em>, though the transliteration of Latin letters that do not exist natively or have been adopted into Pilesaran is covered. If you were assigned to a region that uses primarily Cyrillic script, again, take this up with your commander. You are in the wrong class.</p>
<p>This course primarily focuses on reading and transliterating into the alphabet known as Pilesaran, commonly used in Nälkän and some Neo-Sarkic communities found in most of Europe, Northwestern Asia, Western Siberia, and some immigrant communities in parts of the Americas, Oceania, and Africa.</p>
<p>In the modern era, Pilesaran, and Soonesaran, are primarily written with ink and paper. However, cutaneous larva migrans tattoos are still very common and the ability to control the flesh-shaping required to create these CLM tattoos is seen as an important part of learning the scripts. Because of this, both Pilesaran and Soonesaran are taught to most students through a method of shaping pieces of wet yarn into the desired words. This is known as the "twine-and-paste" method. We will not be using this method, but feel free to use it on your own time.</p>
<p>Soonesaran, a logography understood by most modern Nälkän communities worldwide, will be touched on in this course primarily for its use in Pilesaran. However, it is important to note that the use of Soonesaran should be avoided in the field. Assignments that outright <em>require</em> Soonesaran should be assigned to a natively Soonesaran-literate agent. I'll go into detail on <em>exactly</em> why this decision was made later in the course. For now, if your assignment requires Soonesaran-literacy, you cannot read it already, and you've been sent to this class as a substitute: do <em>not</em> contact your commander. Contact <em>me</em> with your commander's name so that I can <em>personally</em> have them stripped of their responsibilities.</p>
<p>For discussion assignments between peers meant to improve reading comprehension that are submitted through the online portal, the tool below may be used to create digital characters.</p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">►Open Tool</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">▼Close Tool</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>This generates code for you to use this font on your page. To make it work, copy this copy and paste this at the top of your page:</p>
<div class="code">
<pre><code>[[module CSS]]
@import url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran/PilesaranStylesheet.css');
[[/module]]</code></pre></div>
<p>After that, this tool does ALMOST all the formatting for you. Just copy and paste the output into your page(assuming you have the CSS module copied) and it should work! There are just a few things to remember.</p>
<ol>
<li>Make sure your spelling and grammar are correct before you use this! All sentences need end punctuation.</li>
<li>Most applicable words (e.g. the names of sects, character names, and the cutesy "eternal love" compound words, etc) are auto-converted into Soonesaran. The shorter words like Ion/Iun require either a space before and after them or a space before and a period after them so they don't mess up other words.</li>
<li>Only English Graphemes (e.g. ch, sh, th, ph, and wh.) are converted. If you're writing something in Finnish and it has "Å" in it, use the old digraph form of "Aa." If you're writing something in German and it has "ß" in it, use "Ss" like the Swiss spelling. Try not to just default to the English spelling; try to use an archaic spelling or a spelling in a nearby language.</li>
<li>If you want to just say a title in general without a person attached to it, please put "person" after it. so "Karcist" would be "Karcist Person."</li>
<li>Put the conjunctions between each word on a list! You don't have to copy and paste symbols, these are also auto-converted but you do need them to be between each word on the list. I cannot do that for you. "Or," "and," and "nor" are all converted automatically, but "Not and" can be written as either "not and" or "nand" for short.</li>
<li>If the text has numbers in it and you don't feel like converting it into duodecimal by hand, use a converter like <a href="https://www.mathsisfun.com/numbers/convert-base.php">this one</a> before you put them in the text converter. Make sure to set it to duodecimal. Once it's converted, replace the "A" and "B" with "(" and ")" respectively.</li>
</ol>
<p>If you want another logograph that isn't here already in this font for a character's name or a sect name leave a comment about it.</p>
<p><iframe allowtransparency="true" class="html-block-iframe" frameborder="0" src="/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran/html/fb31fb2914b57563573d876fe0df65129952d9e6-1853734161470472457"></iframe></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>All introductions aside, let's get to actually <em>learning</em> something.</p>
</div>
<h2 id="toc1"><span>History and Background</span></h2>
<p>Due to missing historical records, little can be confirmed about the origins of these writing systems. However, it is accepted that Soonesaran is much older than the relatively modern Pilesaran.</p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><img alt="Hookworm_filariform_A.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran/Hookworm_filariform_A.jpg"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>The larval stage of <em>Uncinaria graphia</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>The script's shape and form come from <em>Uncinaria graphia</em>, an anomalous nematode parasite the script was originally written in via cutaneous larva migrans(CLM). Some much older or isolated individuals call these markings "niŋəžamže," literally "(subcutaneous parasite)worm-skin" in Adytite, but by and large, they're referred to as just the regional word for "tattoo." To differentiate them, we'll be calling them CLM tattoos.</p>
<p>Though this species descends from a <em>very</em> recent common ancestor with <em>Uncinaria stenocephala</em><sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-2" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-2')">2</a></sup>, it was selectively bred and genetically altered by Early Nälkän communities into a new species entirely. <em>Uncinaria graphia</em> has lost the ability to move, react to stimuli on its own, and has increased in relative circumference to improve legibility under the skin. Worms do not infect on skin contact as their ancestors did; larvae are forced under the skin with a sharp implement and then pushed and stretched into the desired logograph with pressure and flesh-shaping once under the skin<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-3" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-3')">3</a></sup>. These worms are then connected to the host's circulatory system. Mild irritation appears around fresh CLM tattoos for the first few weeks but diminishes as the injuries heal. The worms can live indefinitely within the host with little to no negative side effects.</p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-left" style="width:300px;"><img alt="shoulderworms.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran/shoulderworms.png"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>Soonesaran tattoo belonging to PoI-83721("Võlutaar Saarn<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-4" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-4')">4</a></sup>"). The meaning is "I am a person that believes Gluttony/Heresy is the same as death."</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Nälkän oral traditions dictate that Soonesaran was developed by dissidents during the Daeva empire's rule, as a method to communicate with like-minded allies while avoiding detection. Writings were easily mistaken by those in positions to quash rebellion as the ever-common parasite infections that plagued the lower classes in the empire and were mostly ignored. Messages were transported secretly by living animal and human "messengers" and butchered cuts of meat that bore the markings.</p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:100px;"><img alt="adytitestele.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran/adytitestele.png"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>An Adytite Stele. "Ion's ascension" or "Ascension of Ion."</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Though no specific written examples remain from this period, it is presumed that messages were relatively simple in content and shape, with the more complex logographs that dominated current Soonesaran literature appearing during the Deathless Empire. This view is reinforced by the Adytite Steles, one of the few examples of writing on non-perishable material from the Deathless Empire.</p>
<p>Per Nälkän tradition, it was Klavigar Nadox who created Soonesaran in its modern aspect, creating thousands of characters to represent concepts both material and ethereal, with the primary objective of uniting the thousand ethnic groups in the Empire under the same literary tradition. The ease of proselytism given by it also made it an attractive choice for the nascent religion.</p>
<p>Thousands of years later in the 11th century, a movement among traveling Karcists began to adapt to the contemporary changes to languages spoken by Nälkän communities that occurred since the fall of the Deathless Empire. Inspiration was taken from the writing systems endemic to the region such as the Cyrillic, Latin, and Futhark alphabets. Due to limitations of the medium of CLM tattoos, Pilesaran words are written in a continuous line to minimize the number of worms required for each word and ease legibility.</p>
<p>Most of the languages that these scripts were originally developed for started to die out entirely and were replaced by the dominant languages in the regions. These scripts did not fall out of use alongside their respective languages and were instead repurposed to write the new languages spoken by the communities. Their continued use is attributed to various factors by Nälkän communities; most commonly cited are the secrecy provided by their use, the preserved art of religious calligraphy passed down among generations, and a cultural sense of resistance to assimilation.</p>
<p>Though in the modern era Pilesaran is used internally by most Nälkän and some Neo-Sarkic communities in the regions it's spread to, even within these communities Soonesaran remains an important component for writing titles, names, and grammar throughout the Nälkän sphere.</p>
<h2 id="toc2"><span>Pilesaran</span></h2>
<p>Pilesaran, literally translated as "long words", is simple to memorize in practice. It was <em>designed</em> to be easy to pick up and has accomplished that goal relatively well. Learning Pilesaran will not be the hardest part of your assignment, I promise.</p>
<p>Words are made up of one large worm with smaller accent worms. Words start with the pointy posterior of the nematode and end with the blunt anterior end. This is because worms are inserted head first down away from the previous writing to ensure the spaces between words remain consistent. This rule does not apply to accent worms, the direction of those does not matter.</p>
<h4 id="toc3"><span>Punctuation</span></h4>
<p>Pilesaran is read omnidirectionally. In addition to the pointy end of the nematode, There are five kinds of anchors in Pilesaran to further clarify directionality and serve as punctuation. Three of these anchors, the 'punctuation anchors', correspond directly to English end punctuation.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc4"><span>.</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc5"><span>!</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>!</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc6"><span>?</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>?</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>The 'period' punctuation anchor has existed at least since Soonesaran was expanded during the Deathless Empire but the other two were added later on. All letters are read from their relation to these anchors. Unlike English, these anchors are written at the start of each sentence like in the examples below.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>!Hello,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-5" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-5')">5</a></sup></p>
</div>
<img alt="Qfy2cK6.png" class="image" src="https://i.imgur.com/Qfy2cK6.png"/>
<p>For the sake of this course, all text will be read horizontally. The other two anchors do not correspond to anything in English. These are the 'line anchors.'</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc7"><span>End</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>-</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc8"><span>Start</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>:</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Line anchors appear at the beginning and end of each new line of text to show you which line is next and which direction to read the next line respectively. If the end of the line goes down it is directing you to read the line directly below it next. If it's pointing up, or any other direction, <em>that</em> is the line you read next. For the sake of this course, all lines will go from top to bottom.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.I, Am, Doctor+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>;cohen,</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>It is important to remember that the line anchor on the line you are directed towards is treated as a new punctuation anchor. This means that the direction you were reading the text from is <em>flipped</em> on the next line. A good way to think about this is as if the text were a piece of rope folding over on itself.</p>
<img alt="wEWnSr5.png" class="image" src="https://i.imgur.com/wEWnSr5.png"/>
<p>As one last visual, here is what the text looks like with <em>Latin</em> characters.</p>
<div class="demostration">
<p>→I am Doctor↓</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>→Cohen</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Note that the above example is not the most correct way to write this sentence; names and titles are written in <em>Soonesaran</em>. We will go over this later.</p>
<p>If the end of the sentence falls at the end of the line, the punctuation anchor can replace the start line anchor.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.Hello+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>! It, Is, Nice, To, Meet, You,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-6" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-6')">6</a></sup></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Punctuation anchors within a line of text function no differently than English end punctuation other than their placement at the beginning of each sentence.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.Sentence+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>;one, .Sentence, Two,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-7" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-7')">7</a></sup></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>There is no comma in Pilesaran; conjunctions are placed between each item on the list. There is also no apostrophe in Pilesaran; contracted words like "can't" or "don't" are written as "cannot" or "do not." However, anglophone readers of Pilesaran still skip over unnecessary uses of conjunctions and use contractions while speaking. Apart from the anchors, there is only one other form of punctuation in Pilesaran: quotation marks.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc9"><span>"</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>."</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>These were added relatively recently, in the 17th century, but spread quickly and are recognized by almost all communities that use Pilesaran today. These are used as you would use a regular quotation mark, but the anchors go on the <em>outside</em> of the quotation marks.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.'like, Θis",<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-8" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-8')">8</a></sup></p>
</div>
<h4 id="toc10"><span>Alphabet</span></h4>
<p>Pilesaran was originally created with 31 letters. These letters correspond directly to letters found in the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/old-adytite-language">Old Adytite language</a>.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc11"><span>A</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.A</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc12"><span>Ä</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Ä</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc13"><span>B</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.B</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc14"><span>C</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.C</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc15"><span>D</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.D,</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc16"><span>Dʲ</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.{</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc17"><span>E</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.E</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc18"><span>Ə</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Ə</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc19"><span>G</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.G</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc20"><span>I</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.I</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc21"><span>J</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.J</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc22"><span>K</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.K</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc23"><span>L</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.L</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc24"><span>M</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.M</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc25"><span>N</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.N</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc26"><span>Ŋ</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Ŋ</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc27"><span>O</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.O</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc28"><span>Õ</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Õ</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc29"><span>P</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.P</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc30"><span>R</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.R</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc31"><span>S</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.S</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc32"><span>T</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.T</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc33"><span>U</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.U</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc34"><span>Ü</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Ü</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc35"><span>V</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.V</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc36"><span>Ž</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Ž</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Those of you who've taken the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/old-adytite-language">Ämärangnä</a> course may be familiar with the following.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.Soone, Ültü, .Ültü, Mi, Vjema+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>;ütü, Mi, Bə}ema, .Mi, Sülä-</p>
</div>
<p>:ŋemu, Kuŋ, Uree, Mi, Tüle, Gemu+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>;kug, Uree, .Ŋämän, Cuca, Gemen-</p>
</div>
<p>:susa, .Mäcä, Siŋa, Mese, Tiga+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>.Num, Murun, Num, Murun, .Ŋum-</p>
</div>
<p>:salu, Gum, Talu, .Ŋum, Suem+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>;gum, Təbem, .Üe, Küce, Üe, Küse-</p>
</div>
<p>.Suem, Küce, Təbem, Küse+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>.Käjä, Ŋuŋa, Ke}e, Guga, .Raŋa-</p>
</div>
<p>:uree, Daga, Uree, .Lujuma, Me+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>;lu}uma, Me, .Mimin, Ün, Näm-</p>
</div>
<p>:mimin, Ün, Nem, .Ŋul, Ŋul+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>;säsäjä, Gubu, Gubu, Sese}e, Mi-</p>
</div>
<p>:suunam, Mi, Suunam,</p>
</div>
<p>Additional letters were added to the script later on at various times.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc37"><span>F</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.F</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc38"><span>H</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.H</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc39"><span>Ö</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Ö</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc40"><span>Q</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Q</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc41"><span>R<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-9" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-9')">9</a></sup></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Р</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc42"><span>Θ/Þ</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Θ</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc43"><span>W</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.W</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc44"><span>X</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.X</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc45"><span>Y</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Y</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc46"><span>Z</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Z</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Most of these letters bear a resemblance to the characters they are borrowed from and are noticeably different than the other letters with the exception of the "<span class="pilesaranText">.Ö</span>" and "<span class="pilesaranText">.Р</span>" glyphs which take their shapes from the "<span class="pilesaranText">.Õ</span>" and "<span class="pilesaranText">.R</span>".</p>
<p>Pilesaran, due to its history of adapting to languages it wasn't originally made for, is used in English mostly orthographically in a way much like the Latin alphabet. However, there are some English multi-letter graphemes that are written phonetically: the constant graphemes.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc47"><span>Bb</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.B</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc48"><span>Ck</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.K</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc49"><span>Ch</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Chs</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc50"><span>Dd</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.D</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc51"><span>Dge</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Dž</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc52"><span>Gg</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.G</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc53"><span>Mm</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.M</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc54"><span>Ng</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Ŋ</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc55"><span>Ph</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.F</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc56"><span>Qu</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Q</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc57"><span>Rr</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.R</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc58"><span>Sh</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Shs</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc59"><span>Th</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Θ</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc60"><span>Wh</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.W</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc61"><span>Wr</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.R</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>So, the sentence "I wrote about chewing bubblegum on the bridge" would be written as follows.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.I, Rote, About, Chsewiŋ+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>;bublegum, On, Θe-</p>
</div>
<p>:bridž,</p>
</div>
<p>In Latin characters, it looks like this.</p>
<div class="demostration">
<p>→I rote about chsewiŋ↓</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>→bublegum on θe↑</p>
</div>
<p>→bridž,</p>
</div>
<p>For languages other than English, whether the language is written in Pilesaran orthographically or phonetically depends mostly on when the community adopted the language they are writing in and when the script was introduced to the language. Exactly which graphemes are used for which sound varies.</p>
<p>But, more often than not in communities that use Pilesaran orthographically, the accepted transliteration of graphemes from letters that don't exist in Pilesaran is often the same as transliterating into other scripts missing the same letters. Remember, most who can read Pilesaran can <em>also</em> read the scripts of the surrounding region. The spellings, outside of a few outliers, tend to match.</p>
<p>If "Č" in the Czech language is spelled "Cz" in transliterations to nearby alphabets that lack the letter, then the Divoši spell it as "<span class="pilesaranText">.Cz</span>" too.</p>
<h2 id="toc62"><span>Soonesaran</span></h2>
<p>Soonesaran, literally translated as "sinew words," is much more difficult to learn than Pilesaran. However, you have already learned five symbols in Soonesaran: the Punctuation Anchors. These have existed long before Pilesaran.</p>
<p>That said, you will not be using Soonesaran on its own. Instead, you will be learning its use within Pilesaran. This dynamic of Soonesaran and Pilesaran can be compared to the use of Kanji and Hiragana in Japanese, though these are not an exact match. Soonesaran is used for proper names, titles, certain coordinating conjunctions, and rarely as a poetic device. Notably, most Neo-Sarkic sects do not use Soonesaran at all, even for these purposes.</p>
<p>For Nälkän and the rare Neo-Sarkic sects that do, spelling out the proper names for concepts will feel <em>off</em>. It is not illegible, they will understand it, but, when you've presented yourself as part of a community, it is a sign that you are an <em>outsider</em>. This mistake is often deadly. You do not have to be completely literate in Soonesaran, most raised in communities that use Pilesaran are not, but you should know to use it where you're meant to and how to write important logographs.</p>
<p>To start, we will be learning two of them for the examples of structure</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc63"><span>Pilesaran</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₾</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc64"><span>Soonesaran</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₲</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Soonesaran glyphs are read with the same directionality as Pilesaran and are treated like words. There are spaces between each word the same as in Pilesaran.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.Θis, Is, ₲<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-10" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-10')">10</a></sup></p>
</div>
<p>When a Soonesaran character falls at the end of a line, a space is placed before the End Line Anchor. The same idea goes for the Start Line Anchor; a space is placed after.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.Θis, Is, ₲ *+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>;flowing, Wiθ-</p>
</div>
<br/>
:, ₾<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-11" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-11')">11</a></sup></div>
<p>Four Soonesaran coordinating conjunctions are used within Pilesaran. The first three symbols correlate to the English words "And," "Or," and "Nor." Additionally, there is a symbol for "Not And." An easy way to remember which coordinating conjunctions have a symbol is to remember which ones can be used to describe a list of items.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc65"><span>And/&</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.&</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc66"><span>Or</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.∧</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc67"><span>Nor</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.∇</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc68"><span>Not And</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.∆</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>As noted earlier "and" and "or" are treated like the word "nor" and are placed between every item on a list.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.I, Eat, Rice, & Beans, & *+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>;lentils .I, Eat, Θem, Wiθ-</p>
</div>
<br/>
:garlic, ∧ Onion, ∧ Pepper, .I+
<div class="rotate">
<p>;do, Not, Eat, Θem, Wiθ-</p>
</div>
<br/>
:cheese, ∇ Milk, ∇ Eggs+
<div class="rotate">
<p>;i, Also, Do, Not, Eat, Mangos-</p>
</div>
<br/>
:, ∆ Almonds, ∆ Sesame,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-12" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-12')">12</a></sup></div>
<p>The "<span class="pilesaranText">.∇</span>" symbol is not a direct correlation to the English word "Nor." "<span class="pilesaranText">.∇</span>" is used for <em>all</em> lists of what something is not. The sentence "I do not like meat or fish," will always be written as "I do not like meat <em>nor</em> fish." The thing I like to eat is NOT meat or fish so you use "<span class="pilesaranText">.∇</span>." If you are making a list of negatives that you might use "or" for, use "<span class="pilesaranText">.∇</span>."</p>
<p>The "<span class="pilesaranText">.∆</span>" symbol is used identically to the "<span class="pilesaranText">.∇</span>," but replaces "and" instead. "I do not like meat and fish," will be written like "I do not like meat <em>not and</em> fish" with the "<span class="pilesaranText">.∆</span>" symbol in place of "not and".</p>
<h4 id="toc69"><span>Personal Names</span></h4>
<p>The sect you are assigned to may have a different naming tradition, but names in Soonesaran almost always come from a traditional pre-existing logograph. However, there is one universal rule. Names of people are <em>never</em> more than one logograph at a time.</p>
<p>We'll be using a few examples for this kind of name.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc70"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sarkic-case-study-01-the-vas-n-a-of-sarvi">Jáska</a></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.®</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc71"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/mother-who-demands-ones-toes">Halyna Ieva</a></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.©</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc72"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/kuobachs-eyes">Kuobach</a></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.¦</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc73"><span>Evika Cohen</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.#</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>So, in order to correctly introduce myself, without my title, I would write the following.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.Hello, I, Am, #</p>
</div>
<p>Of these four, two of them are edited from traditional symbols and two are taken straight from a pre-existing symbol.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc74"><span>Visionary</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.®</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc75"><span>War</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.£</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc76"><span>Hare/Rabbit</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.§</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc77"><span>Student</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.#</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>You should notice right away that the symbols that were edited did not already have a spiral in them. Spirals in Nälkän tradition are a symbol of Grand Karcist Ion and are used to denote both something's relation to Nälkä or, more broadly, something with <em>sapience</em>. The edits to symbols are almost always to add a spiral if it does not already have one to denote that the symbol represents a person rather than an object.</p>
<p>Name symbols usually have no relation to the sound of a name. This tradition tends to differ based on sect, though. Kuobach was given the "<span class="pilesaranText">.§</span>" symbol as a baby due to a cleft lip. The sound of their name, when spoken verbally, also means "Hare" in their native language. "Jáska" means "bright star" and is entirely separate from the symbol used to write her name.</p>
<p>These symbols also often change throughout a person's life without changing the pronunciation of their actual name. The initial symbols are usually superficial and based on a physical characteristic of the child that the parents find endearing. These changes are usually made after their personality develops or drastic changes happen in a person's life. Kuobach did not change their symbol as they feel it still represents them. Jáska did change hers when she developed the passion to pursue a role as a Võlutaar. Karcist Halyna Ieva cannot be interviewed, but her symbol was most likely changed as well. Most reasonable people aren't going to name a child after something as negative as "war" and most Nälkäns, despite what you may have been told, <em>are</em> reasonable people.</p>
<p>When choosing your name, choose a logograph based on the persona you are trying to put forward. Try to avoid logographs with aggressive or negative connotations. My symbol is based on my academic pursuits.</p>
<p>There are exceptions to the rule of names being based on pre-existing symbols, of course. The most notable of which are Grand Karcist Ion and his Klavigar.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc78"><span>Ion</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.¥</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc79"><span>Nadox</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.$</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc80"><span>Lovataar</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.¢</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc81"><span>Orok</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.€</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc82"><span>Saarn</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₹</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>These symbols' detachment from secondary meanings is most likely just because they are older and were deemed too important to assign a secondary meaning to on their own. These logographs are never used to name a person other than the figures they are attached to. This does not mean these words cannot be used as part of a compound logograph to form a <em>new</em> meaning but we will get to that.</p>
<p>In addition to these five symbols, some sects may opt to develop new symbols entirely when naming their children but this is a rare practice. This is more common in the rare Neo-Sarkic communities that use Soonesaran and fully isolationist sects.</p>
<p>There are some other names that will be important to know, but we won't be going into much detail about.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc83"><span>Yaldabaoth</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₺</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc84"><span>Archon</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.ƒ</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<h4 id="toc85"><span>Titles</span></h4>
<p>Moving on to titles. There are only four titles that you will likely use during your assignment. Each of them corresponds to a hierarchical role. However, we will be learning one more for the sake of example.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc86"><span>Ozi̮rmok</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₦</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc87"><span>Klavigar</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₱</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc88"><span>Karcist</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₴</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc89"><span>Võlutaar</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₽</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc90"><span>Doctor</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.=</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Titles are never left on their own. If they are meant to refer to the title itself without a name attached, the symbol for "Person" is placed after them in place of a name.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc91"><span>Person</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.¶</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>These symbols are always placed directly before the name they are assigned to. There is no space left between these two symbols. An example of both these concepts would be the sentence below.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.Θe, ₱¶ Of, ₦¥ Are, Called+</p>
<div class="rotate">
<p>;, ₱$ & ₱¢ & ₱€ & ₱₹<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-13" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-13')">13</a></sup></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>This system of titling, of course, continues for all other titles and names attached to them.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.₴© & ₽® Boθ, Have, Titles,<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-14" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-14')">14</a></sup></p>
</div>
<p>Finally, to truly introduce myself, title and all.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.Hello, I, Am, =#</p>
</div>
<h4 id="toc92"><span>Nälkän Numerals</span></h4>
<p>Nälkän numerals are deceptively difficult. At first, they seem simple; they have the same basic structure as Arabic numerals. There are a number of digits that are placed next to each other to form larger numbers. There's no complicated system to memorize like Latin Numerals; the only numbers you'll have to remember are the single digits.</p>
<p>However, rather than using a decimal system like the Arabic numerals we're used to, Nälkän numerals are transcribed in a <em>duodecimal</em> system. This means that there are 12 single-digit numbers rather than the Arabic numeral system's 10.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc93"><span>0<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-15" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-15')">15</a></sup></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.0</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc94"><span>1</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.1</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc95"><span>2</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.2</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc96"><span>3</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.3</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc97"><span>4</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.4</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc98"><span>5</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.5</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc99"><span>6</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.6</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc100"><span>7</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.7</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc101"><span>8</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.8</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc102"><span>9</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.9</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc103"><span>10</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.(</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc104"><span>11</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.)</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Duodecimal systems of numbers are tricky, but the concept is easy to understand. Numbers 0-9 are exactly the same as they are in Arabic numerals. Instead of shifting to double digits at "10", there are an extra two single digit numbers correlating to "10" and "11": "<span class="pilesaranText">.(</span>" and "<span class="pilesaranText">.)</span>." Double digits start at the number 12. This means that, if written in Arabic Numerals, "<span class="pilesaranText">.10</span>," which is a 1 and a 0, actually means 12.</p>
<p>One Võlutaar I met once claimed that it correlates to the number of bones you have in your fingers on one hand that can be counted with your thumb. She explained that Klavigar Nadox learned to count that way when the Daeva cut off one of his hands. Another Võlutaar overheard our conversation and came to correct her; <em>her</em> explanation was that he had never had his hand cut off by the Daeva but was instead <em>born</em> with 6 fingers on each hand. Various other explanations exist, but most credit the numerical system to some aspect of the anatomy of Nadox's hands.</p>
<h4 id="toc105"><span>Compound words and Nälkän Communities.</span></h4>
<p>Compound words in Soonesaran are two different logographs put next to each other without a space. Notably, both words are always nouns and the "descriptor" noun or nouns always come first. We're going to learn a few more words for these purposes.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc106"><span>Nälkä</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc107"><span>Valksaran</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₡</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>The way you would describe a version of the Valksaran written in Pilesaran or one written in Soonesaran would be by putting the words for Pilesaran and Soonesaran in front of the logograph for Valksaran.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.₾₡ .₲₡</p>
</div>
<p>Names of communities are treated differently than personal names. These are almost always a compound word made up of multiple symbols unless a group is being referred to very broadly. These symbols are typically a combination of a descriptive noun and the symbol for the broader "category" after it. In the case of Nälkän communities, "<span class="pilesaranText">.฿</span>" for "Nälkä" is used. To learn these, I'll introduce the logographs that we will need.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc108"><span>Sky</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₪</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc109"><span>Flame</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₷</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc110"><span>Clothes<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-16" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-16')">16</a></sup></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.৳</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc111"><span>Balance</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₸</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc112"><span>Adytum</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₮</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc113"><span>Falsity</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.¤</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc114"><span>Death</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₶</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc115"><span>Sun</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.૱</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc116"><span>Clay</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₳</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc117"><span>Womb</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₢</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc118"><span>Curse</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₰</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc119"><span>Horse</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₻</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc120"><span>Sea</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₯</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc121"><span>Merchant</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₠</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>With these symbols, we can make the names of communities.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc122"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sarkic-case-study-01-the-vas-n-a-of-sarvi">Vaśńa</a></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran" style="font-size: 2.7cqw">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₪₷฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc123"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/an-anthropological-approach-to-sarkicism-case-study-02-the-d">Divoši</a></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.৳฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc124"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sarkic-case-study-05-korean-seulga">Seŭlga</a></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₸฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc125"><span>Ur- Nälkä</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₮฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc126"><span>Neo-Sarkicism</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.¤฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc127"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2833">Vātula</a></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₶฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc128"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2133">The CotRH</a><sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-17" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-17')">17</a></sup></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.૱฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc129"><span>Solomonari</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₳฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc130"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4476">The CotEM</a><sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-18" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-18')">18</a></sup></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₢฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc131"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4772">Pannonian Avars</a></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₰฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc132"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/kuobachs-eyes">Ɨal</a></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₻฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc133"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4036">The ADP</a><sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-19" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-19')">19</a></sup></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₯฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc134"><span><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ancestrecall">Abraxas Group</a></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₠฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc135"><span>Order of the Wyrm</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₹฿</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>This method of naming groups of people doesn't just apply when naming <em>Nälkän</em> communities. All groups of people are referred to with logographs. Compound words are also formed with the logographs for different groups to further differentiate them just as you do with "<span class="pilesaranText">.฿</span>."</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc136"><span>Daeva</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₩</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="letter">
<h2 id="toc137"><span>Mekhanite</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₵</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>In an Adytite Stele, Daevites from a port island were called "<span class="pilesaranText">.₯₠₩</span>," literally translated as "Merchant Seaman Daeva." An 11th-century manuscript describing an ancient Mekhanite army that was believed to use Greek fire used the word "<span class="pilesaranText">.£₷₵</span>" for "Greek Fire Mekhanite."</p>
<p>Notably, The word for Vaśńa and the Daeva and Mekhanite examples I gave are made up of <em>three</em> logographs. The first two logographs in these examples make up a separate compound word. There are quite a few of these words but we'll only be learning a handful.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc138"><span>Aurora Borealis</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₪₷</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc139"><span>Merchant Seaman</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₯₠</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc140"><span>Greek Fire</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.£₷</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc141"><span>Jautapi<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-20" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-20')">20</a></sup></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.£$</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc142"><span>Heresy/Gluttony<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-21" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-21')">21</a></sup></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.¤₡</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc143"><span>Lightbulb</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.¤૱</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc144"><span>Emptiness/Apathy</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.0₰</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc145"><span>A Birth Parent<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-22" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-22')">22</a></sup></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₺¶</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc146"><span>Eternal Love</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₦¢</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc147"><span>A Cruel Person</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.Ħ</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc148"><span>A Tailor</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.৳¶</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc149"><span>An Undertaker</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₶¶</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc150"><span>Ascension</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₶₺</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h3 id="toc151"><span>Menstruation</span></h3>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₢૱</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc152"><span>Savant<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-23" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-23')">23</a></sup></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.₳¶</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>Compound words for generic nouns and concepts like the above can also be used in place of the Pilesaran and are done so to add a "poetic" element to writing or to emphasize something.</p>
<div class="pilesaran">
<p>.He, Turns, On, Θe, ¤૱<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-24" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-24')">24</a></sup></p>
</div>
<p>With that in mind, it is not suspicious to spell these words out with Pilesaran.</p>
<h2 id="toc153"><span>The "Order of the Wyrm" Incident</span></h2>
<p>If you are still in this class despite your circumstances matching one of the scenarios I told you to contact your commander about, your commander told you to keep attending, or you were <em>warned</em> in advance to not listen to me: you aren't alone. There has been at least one in <em>every class</em> since I started teaching this course. I'm going to give you a reason to advocate for yourself.</p>
<p>This incident was <em>the</em> primary reason cited in overturning the "Silence is Self-Containment" policy towards disclosure of anomalous religious affiliation as well as why the Department of Tactical Linguistics and Graphemics exists at all.</p>
<p>It is true that the Foundation has a better understanding now that Soonesaran-Literate staff members are allowed to contribute to the conversation openly. That does not mean that something like this cannot happen again. Clearly, there are <em>still</em> commanders ignoring the safety protocols my department put in place to protect agents like <em>you</em> in a misguided effort to skip past "red tape." For your well-being, you <em>must</em> hold your commanders accountable to the safety nets we have in place.</p>
<p>Your takeaway from this tragedy should not be how far we have come, but that we cannot let this happen again.</p>
<hr/>
<p>In early March of 1998, an assassination attempt was carried out on a Site Director.</p>
<p>The group responsible was GoI-827, a loosely Serpent's Hand-affiliated Pan-Nälkän network known as the "Order of the Wyrm." Despite how the Foundation became familiar with this organization, the majority of the group's resources are dedicated to improving social infrastructure within the Wanderers' Library. This is accomplished through extremist leftist measures described by the group as "direct action" and "mutual aid." These actions often put them in conflict with the librarians.</p>
<p>The group is made up of thousands of different individuals all originating from various Nälkän <em>and</em> Neo-Sarkic communities as well as a handful of non-religiously-affiliated allies. GoI-827 operates on all 6 populated continents in addition to the Wanderers' Library and uses a form of bio-anomalous cross-dimensional communication to accomplish that. The organization is unique in that "open" recruitment periods take place every year during March in Three Portlands. These recruitment events do not require prior vetting and can be attended without access to the Wanderers' Library.</p>
<p>Agent Laura D'Vour was sent to one such recruitment posed as a Nälkän hopeful in an attempt to infiltrate the organization. She was asked to strip for examination and an initiation ritual. She was terminated by the Karcist who oversaw the introduction before she could be initiated. The last thing observed over the audio transmission was a comment by the Karcist that she "Did not even have [Soonesaran Marks.]"</p>
<p>Of course, the community Agent D'Vour presented herself as hailing from had a tradition of CLM tattoos of familial symbols. However, at the time the overseer for the project, Former Head Commander of Site-56, Mr. Abbott Costello, assumed Soonesaran CLM tattoos in general were a trait they were looking for in potential recruits to weed out infiltration attempts.</p>
<p>So, developing markings was deemed priority number one in Mr. Costello's plan to accomplish a successful infiltration. Due to his influence, his project was approved quickly, but the resources required for a proper study wouldn't have been available for at least 6 months. He thought the matter was too urgent to wait till the 1999 recruitment period, so he took it upon himself to perform his <em>own</em> research.</p>
<p>A member of the group, PoI-83721("Võlutaar Saarn"), was apprehended outside of a motel room when she stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. Members of GoI-827 are known to self-terminate once taken into custody, so PoI-83721 was offered a deal immediately upon capture: her release in exchange for designing a Soonesaran CLM tattoo that would ensure the initiation of the bearer.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>DATE: March 14th, 1998</strong></p>
<p><strong>Interviewed:</strong> PoI-83721("Võlutaar Saarn")</p>
<p><strong>Interviewer:</strong> Commander Abbott Costello</p>
<p><strong>NOTE:</strong> Immediately upon being offered the deal, PoI-83721 agreed to the terms and was given a pen, paper, and 30 minutes to compose her work. She was finished in under a minute.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>[BEGIN LOG]</strong></p>
<p>PoI-83721 glares at Commander Costello, snaps the pencil she'd been given to draw the symbols, and tosses it at his feet as he walks into the room. Commander Costello clears his throat and then reaches out for the paper.</p>
<div class="letterfull">
<h3 id="toc154"><span>PoI-83721's Soonesaran</span></h3>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.৳<>°</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> Fast. Are you sure this is correct?</p>
<p><strong>PoI-83721:</strong> I get to leave now?</p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> [Commander Costello looks over the symbols on the piece of paper.] What does it mean?</p>
<p><strong>PoI-83721:</strong> Doesn't translate into anything directly. Just lets people know you're <em>important.</em></p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> That's the word for clothing, yeah?<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-25" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-25')">25</a></sup></p>
<p><strong>PoI-83721:</strong> [PoI-83721 pauses and looks at Commander Costello's face.] It is.</p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> What's it doing there? What do the other symbols mean?</p>
<p><strong>PoI-83721:</strong> The meanings don't matter to the whole. It's like how "butter" doesn't mean anything in <em>butterfly</em>.</p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> Hmm…</p>
<p><strong>PoI-83721:</strong> I gave you what you wanted. Aren't we done here?</p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> In a moment.</p>
<p>Commander Costello turns back toward the door, still looking at the piece of paper.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>[END LOG]</strong></p>
<p><strong>Closing Statement:</strong> PoI-83721 was amnescitzied, shown the piece of paper again, and asked to describe what she would think of someone who had it as a CLM tattoo. She scoffed, then stated that she would think they were "respectable." PoI-83721 was amnescitzied again and prepared for release. She was found dead in her cell less than an hour later before she could be transported back to the motel.</p>
</div>
<p>Due to the "Silence is Self-Containment" policy, Foundation-loyal Soonesaran-literate personnel could not be interviewed to confirm the meaning of the provided symbols. Instead, Persons of Interest, Anomalies, and D-Class personnel from Nälkän backgrounds were interviewed.</p>
<p>To Mr. Costello's credit, he did <em>attempt</em> the scientific method. The "<span class="pilesaranText">.৳</span>" symbol that Mr. Costello was already certain of the meaning of was used as a "control" in these conversations. Each individual was asked what they would think of a person with this CLM tattoo on their body and what "<span class="pilesaranText">.৳</span>" represents.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>DATE: March 15th, 1998</strong></p>
<p><strong>Interviewed:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6521">PoI-64395("Alyx Gautier")</a></p>
<p><strong>Interviewer:</strong> Commander Abbott Costello</p>
<p><strong>NOTE:</strong> PoI-64395 comes from a sarkic community that is being monitored by the Foundation and works as a tattoo artist. Their work incorporates a combination of artistic designs, Soonesaran and Pilesaran in both the traditional CLM and ink methods, and fleshshaping.</p>
<p><strong>[BEGIN LOG]</strong></p>
<p>PoI-64395 leans back in the interview chair with their feet on the table as Commander Costello enters the room.</p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> These here.</p>
<p>Commander Costello pushes PoI-64395's legs off the table and tosses the sheet of paper in front of them. They lean forward and take a look at the symbols.</p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> What would they mean to you if you tattooed them on someone's back?</p>
<div class="letterfull">
<h2 id="toc155"><span>"An Important Person"</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.৳<>°</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>PoI-64395 laughs and picks it up.</p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> What's funny?</p>
<p><strong>PoI-64395:</strong> [PoI-64395 stops laughing and looks up at Commander Costello] Well… [PoI-64395 smiles, and pushes the paper away] I just can't believe it. I've never seen someone from the Foundation use Soonesaran before and this is shockingly well written at that. Better than most of the people who come into my shop with something in mind. The grammar, the strokes, even the thin ends of the worms.</p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> So… What does it mean?</p>
<p><strong>PoI-64395:</strong> It's… ah… Ah, hmm… How do I put this… It means that you're… someone… <em>special</em>, I guess…</p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> [Points toward the symbol for clothing.] And what does this symbol right here mean? On its own.</p>
<p><strong>PoI-64395:</strong> [PoI-64395 pauses, looks at Commander Costello's face, then looks back at the paper] …Clothing…</p>
<p>Commander Costello nods, collects the paper, and exits the chamber.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>[END LOG]</strong></p>
</div>
<p>In total, 19 different individuals from various Nälkän backgrounds, and a few Neo-Sarkic, including PoI-83721 and PoI-64395, were interviewed in this manner. Of these, 14 were able to identify a meaning.</p>
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<th>Interviewed Individual</th>
<th>Description of Meaning</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>PoI-83721("Võlutaar Saarn")</td>
<td>"An important person" and "A respected person"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6521">PoI-64395("Alyx Gautier")</a></td>
<td>"Someone special"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2075">SCP-2075</a></td>
<td>"An individual of great honor"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>D-35763("Park Hyeongjong")</td>
<td>"A person of high regard"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>D-60834("Mikuk Petrova")</td>
<td>"A trusted person"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/are-we-gentrified-yet">PoI-8264("Zend Kivelä")</a></td>
<td>"That whoever wrote this for them thinks they're totally rad"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>D-85434("Fuxi Wei")</td>
<td>"A trustworthy character"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>PoI-64395("Võlutaar Iosefka")</td>
<td>"Someone who did something good"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a href="https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/wreckage-by-the-sea">PoI-64354("Zend Vigo")</a></td>
<td>"Morally sound"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>D-64353("Áiax Álvares")</td>
<td>"Someone I should probably listen to"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2133">SCP-2133-1-15, "Zhdan"</a></td>
<td>"Someone valuable like [Commander Costello]"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>D-52433("Aliide Mägi")</td>
<td>"Someone to look up to"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>D-34234("Makisig")</td>
<td>"A dude with class"</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2688">SCP-2688-A5("Alaparus Belos")</a></td>
<td>"A respected community member"</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>These 14 individuals also correctly identified the control "<span class="pilesaranText">.৳</span>" symbol as "clothes", "cloak," or "clothing."</p>
<p>From this point, Mr. Costello assumed that the meaning PoI-83721 gave to the symbols was correct. Though a few researchers aware of his project recommended further testing, the yearly window for recruitment into GoI-827 was closing and a <em>second</em> assassination attempt carried out by GoI-827 contributed to the urgency of the infiltration. The symbols were inscribed on Agent Vladimir Thorne using the CLM method and PoI-64395's assistance and he was sent to the meeting point in Three Portlands.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>VIDEO LOG</strong></p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>DATE: March 30th, 1998</strong></p>
<p><strong>NOTE:</strong> Agent Vladimir Thorne arrived at the hotel room at 02:01 hours. He is let into the room along with 12 other hopeful recruits at 02:07 hours. There are 5 people present in the room as they enter: The overseeing Karcist, a towering man who greets each hopeful recruit with a friendly smile; three Võlutaar dressed in colorful woolen shawls, two of which are women and one is referred to by the others exclusively with gender-neutral terminology; and one non-sarkite Serpent's Hand-affiliated woman.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>[BEGIN LOG]</strong></p>
<p><strong>[2:10]:</strong> Agent Thorne stands by the door, waiting to be called forward. Recruits are seen one at a time. Each is instructed to strip. Following this, they are examined and the Karcist grips their forehead. Once this ritual is complete, a slug-like organism is inserted into the nasal cavity. The newly initiated member's left eye twitches for several seconds following the insertion. Once the twitching subsides, they react to something that cannot be heard, are given a blanket to cover themselves, are congratulated by the Võlutaar and non-sarkite woman, and then walk to where the others stand to watch the next person in line. None of the recruits before Agent Thorne are terminated.</p>
<p><strong>[2:38]: KARCIST:</strong> You in the black. [The Karcist points towards Agent Thorne] Come, child. Disrobe.</p>
<p><strong>2:38:</strong> Agent Thorne moves to stand in front of the Karcist, facing away from him and toward the Võlutaar and non-sarkite woman as the previous recruits had. He begins to remove his clothing.</p>
<p><strong>[2:38]: VÕLUTAAR 1:</strong> You've been too… <em>quiet</em>. Are you scared to show emotion? I promise he doesn't bite. He has much more efficient ways to hurt someone.</p>
<p><strong>[2:38]:</strong> One of the other two Võlutaar chuckles. The Karcist smiles at their joke and shakes his head. Agent Thorne does not react. The Karcist frowns and looks towards the Võlutaar of indeterminate gender with a wary expression.</p>
<p><strong>[2:39]: KARCIST:</strong> The silence <em>is</em> unnerving. I always worry some join out of mere bloodlust… Is that your concern too, Lyev?</p>
<p><strong>[2:39]:</strong> The Võlutaar tilts their hand from side to side in a so-and-so motion. The Karcist purses his lips and reaches forward to stroke the top of Agent Thorne's hair.</p>
<p><strong>[2:39]: KARCIST:</strong> Maybe socialization just isn't his strong suit. He might be well utilized in one of the soup kitchens. You won't have to talk to too many people there.</p>
<p><strong>[2:39]: WOMAN:</strong> Maybe he <em>would</em> make a good assassin. Isn't lack of emotion like… a <em>good</em> thing for that?</p>
<p><strong>[2:39]: VÕLUTAAR 2<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-26" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-26')">26</a></sup>:</strong> What? Of course not. It's a <em>memorable</em> trait.</p>
<p><strong>[2:39]: WOMAN:</strong> Really?</p>
<p><strong>[2:39]: VÕLUTAAR 3:</strong> That's something you saw on your <em>TV</em>, isn't it? I swear it's all propaganda. When I was a-</p>
<p><strong>[2:40]:</strong> Agent Thorne removes his shirt.</p>
<div class="letterfull">
<h2 id="toc156"><span>Agent Thorne's Tattoo</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.৳<>°</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>[2:40]:</strong>The Karcist cuts his Võlutaar off mid-sentence with sudden roaring laughter. The Karcist grips Agent Thorne by the throat. He lifts him into the air, turning his body to show his Võlutaar the Soonesaran marking on his back, then toward the newly initiated recruits to show them as well. The others, except for the non-sarkite woman who seems startled and confused and one Võlutaar who crosses her arms and frowns, begin laughing as well.</p>
<p><strong>[2:40]: VÕLUTAAR 1:</strong> Oh… Oh <em>wow</em>. [They continue laughing.] Jailors are trying something new, huh? Saarn, did <em>you</em> give 'em this?</p>
<p><strong>[2:40]: VÕLUTAAR 2:</strong> I don't know! [The Võlutaar reaches a hand to cover her eyes as she keeps laughing.] Sure seems like something I'd do, though, right? Maybe that's why it took me so long after they picked me up last time.</p>
<p><strong>[2:40]: VÕLUTAAR 3:</strong> This could be seen as <em>colluding</em> with the enemy. I hope it was worth it.</p>
<p><strong>[2:40]: VÕLUTAAR 1:</strong> Stop being such a hag and enjoy yourself for once!</p>
<p><strong>[2:40]: WOMAN:</strong> Could… someone tell me what it says? I can't read Soonesaran.</p>
<p><strong>[2:41]: KARCIST:</strong> [The Karcist reaches his free hand up to wipe a tear from his eye.] I will once we're sure no one's listening… I never thought I'd see this for myself. [The Karcist takes a moment to regain his composure and stop laughing before snapping Agent Thorne's neck. The feed is cut.]</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>[END LOG]</strong></p>
</div>
<p>Following the catastrophic failure of the infiltration attempt, Mr. Costello was furious. A dozen more interviews with individuals of Nälkän and Neo-Sarkic background, this time rather than offering rewards, they were threatened with violence if they refused to cooperate. These tests yielded the same result of consistent interpretation of the symbols as belonging to a respected individual. At this point, Mr. Costello finally understood that something about the symbols must have been letting the readers in on a conspiracy.</p>
<p>5 months later, the necessary resources for the project were allocated. As part of the investigation, immunity was granted to Soonesaran-Literate employees of the Foundation who identified themselves for interview.</p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>DATE: April 12th, 1998</strong></p>
<p><strong>Interviewed:</strong> Dr. Evika Cohen</p>
<p><strong>Interviewer:</strong> Commander Abbott Costello</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>[BEGIN LOG]</strong></p>
<p>Dr. Cohen smiles as Commander Costello enters the room.</p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> I can't say I expected someone I <em>knew</em> would step forward. How have you been, Eve?</p>
<p><strong>Dr. Cohen:</strong> Fine… But I've asked you not to call me that. [Dr. Cohen sighs, then smiles again.] But… there's a lot more of us than you'd think.</p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> [Commander Costello places the paper down in front of her.] Oh yeah? How about you tell us what this <em>actually</em> means? Or should we ask one of the <em>many</em> others?</p>
<div class="letterfull">
<h2 id="toc157"><span>Agent Thorne's Tattoo</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.৳<>°</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>Dr. Cohen:</strong> [Dr. Cohen rolls her eyes, lets out a dry laugh, and then looks down at the paper. Her smile drops and she looks back up at Commander Costello with an incredulous expression.] You sent… an <em>agent</em>… into the <em>Order of the Wyrm</em>… with <em>this</em> on his back…?</p>
<p><strong>Commander Costello:</strong> …Yes.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>[END LOG]</strong></p>
</div>
<p>To be frank, I was disgusted by the incompetence and impatience Mr. Costello showed in his "research." Agent Thorne was a human being. He was a good man; he believed in the Foundation's mission and wanted to make the world a safer place just like the rest of us. He had a family and a girlfriend I still talk to occasionally. If Mr. Costello had waited 6 months, Agent Thorne would not have been subjected to such a needless, shameful death.</p>
<p>In addition to the logograph for "clothing," there were three glyphs that Mr. Costello did not recognize.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc158"><span>Enslaver</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.<</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc159"><span>Pig</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc160"><span>One Who Copulates</span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.°</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>The greater compound word PoI-83721 gave to Mr. Costello is made up of two smaller compound words.</p>
<div class="wrapper">
<div class="lettertall">
<h3 id="toc161"><span>The SCP Foundation<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-27" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-27')">27</a></sup></span></h3>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.৳<</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="lettertall">
<h2 id="toc162"><span>Pigfucker<sup class="footnoteref"><a class="footnoteref" href="javascript:;" id="footnoteref-28" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnote-28')">28</a></sup></span></h2>
<div class="pilesaran">
<div class="verticalrotate">
<p>.>°</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p>When Soonesaran or Pilesaran are inscribed on a person's body, it is understood as a statement of <em>identity</em>.</p>
<p>The identity that this CLM tattoo put forward was "I am an agent of the SCP Foundation, I fuck pigs, and I don't know what this says."</p>
<p>Upon seeing this Soonesaran and being asked to identify what it would mean on a person's body, everyone who could read it would, of course, <em>immediately</em> understand what PoI-83721 was trying to do.</p>
<hr/>
<p>During his disciplinary hearing, Mr. Costello kept repeating how he was <em>shocked</em> by what he saw as an inexplicable unspoken solidarity he could not have foreseen. None of these people had met each other. None of them came from the same community. None of them shared the same beliefs or customs. Most of them didn't even speak the same <em>language</em>. And yet, every single one of them, even when threatened, felt enough loyalty to one another to play along.</p>
<p>But all I could think about was that… it wasn't <em>loyalty</em>. If I weren't employed by the Foundation or were asked by someone else I didn't trust under similar circumstances, I'm sure I would have played along with what PoI-83721 set up too. That doesn't make me, or those Mr. Costello interviewed, <em>loyal</em> to her or her cause.</p>
<p>They did it for the same reason Mr. Costello pushed forward with his project despite the many voices telling him to just <em>wait</em>.</p>
<p>Nälkän communities worldwide don't have much in common with each other in the grand scheme of things; Nälkän and Neo-Sarkic communities have even less. But between all of them; Eastern, Western, Northern, and Southern; those living in the isolation of the Russian Tundra or the metropolis of New York City; there is one trait all of us have in common. It's why Nälkän communities still use Pilesaran and Soonesaran long after they've abandoned the languages they were developed for.</p>
<p>It's the same trait I share with my husband and his Jewish ancestors. It's what's kept minority religions and cultures told to assimilate or die alive for millennia after the fall of their great civilizations. It's the trait behind the Women's Suffrage, Civil Rights, and LGBTQ Liberation movements and paradoxically why they were needed in the first place. It's why the Foundation has never given up no matter how hard fighting to keep humanity safe becomes. It's why my daughter, face covered in a smear of chocolate, still lied to me about who stole her brother's candy.</p>
<p>We, like all of humanity, are <em>stubborn</em>.</p>
<p>Your commander who kept you in this class despite knowing you shouldn't be here might be the most incredible person. They might be strong, tough, or make you feel like you're family. They might have fully convinced you that I'm dramatic and over-emotional with ideals clouded by my heritage.</p>
<p>They aren't the one with the gun to their head.</p>
<p>We, <em>The Foundation</em>, have to ensure that that stubbornness we all possess drives us forward and not to our deaths.</p>
<div class="footnotes-footer">
<div class="title">Footnotes</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-1"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-1')">1</a>. Welcome to the virtual course for NSL213: Pilesaran and Soonesaran!</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-2"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-2')">2</a>. Northern canine/carnivore hookworm.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-3"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-3')">3</a>. The "twine-and-paste" method attempts to mimic this sensation.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-4"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-4')">4</a>. Names of religious figures are common given names in some Nälkän communities. PoI-83721 has no relation to Klavigar Saarn.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-5"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-5')">5</a>. Hello!</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-6"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-6')">6</a>. Hello. It is nice to meet you!</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-7"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-7')">7</a>. Sentence one. Sentence two.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-8"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-8')">8</a>. "Like this."</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-9"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-9')">9</a>. This is used in languages written phonetically in Pilesaran that have two distinct "R" phonemes. For example, Nälkän Hispanophones uses <span class="pilesaranText">.R</span> for the trilled [r] sound for "Rr" and "R" at the start of words and but use <span class="pilesaranText">.Р</span> for the [ɾ] sound made by "R" in the middle and ends of words.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-10"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-10')">10</a>. This is Soonesaran.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-11"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-11')">11</a>. This is Soonesaran flowing with Pilesaran.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-12"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-12')">12</a>. I eat rice, beans, and lentils. I eat them with garlic, onion or pepper. I do not eat them with cheese, milk, or eggs. I also do not eat mangos, almonds, and sesame.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-13"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-13')">13</a>. The Klavigar of Grand Karcist Ion are called Klavigar Nadox, Klavigar Lovataar, Klavigar Orok, and Klavigar Saarn.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-14"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-14')">14</a>. Karcist Halyna Ieva and Võlutaar Jáska both have titles.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-15"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-15')">15</a>. This symbol's use as a number was a late development. Originally, its only use was as a name for the realm in which Yaldabaoth resides.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-16"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-16')">16</a>. This symbol can also be used to mean a "cloak" more specifically.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-17"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-17')">17</a>. The Church of the Red Harvest</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-18"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-18')">18</a>. The Church of the Eternal Mother</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-19"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-19')">19</a>. The Adytite Republic of Polynesia</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-20"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-20')">20</a>. A strategic grid-based board game similar to Chess or Go that is common in Nälkän communities</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-21"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-21')">21</a>. This term specifically refers to the perceived selfishness in Neo-Sarkic cults.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-22"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-22')">22</a>. Specifically, a person who has either neglected or mistreated their child to the point that they leave them or were taken from them by their community. This has a negative connotation and is not a term for birth parents of adopted children or parents whose children were taken away for reasons other than abuse.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-23"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-23')">23</a>. This specifically refers to those with a natural gift for fleshshaping. This is regarded as a "third gender" in some communities.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-24"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-24')">24</a>. He turns on the lightbulb.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-25"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-25')">25</a>. At the time, Commander Costello had just finished leading a successful infiltration into the Divoši community. This, and the symbol for Nälkä, were the <em>only</em> symbols he was familiar with.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-26"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-26')">26</a>. This individual resembles PoI-83721 and seems to have taken on her identity and memories following her death. This is most likely accomplished through a rare method of discontinuous immortality found in some Nälkän communities.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-27"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-27')">27</a>. Though, this is a term used primarily by opponents of the Foundation's actions. In propaganda disseminated to Nälkän communities, the term "<span class="pilesaranText">.৳૱</span>" is always preferred.</div>
<div class="footnote-footer" id="footnote-28"><a href="javascript:;" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.utils.scrollToReference('footnoteref-28')">28</a>. This phrase dates back to at least the Deathless Empire and even appears in one story in the Valksaran when it's utilized by Klavigar Saarn in much the same way as PoI-83721. While this is more commonly used as an insult such as "Motherfucker" or "Bastard," it is a <em>widely</em> recognized indicator as a CLM tattoo that the bearer doesn't actually know what it says and can't be trusted.</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran">Nälkän Scripts and Languages 213: Pilesaran and Soonesaran</a>" by IronShears & Guaire, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran">https://scpwiki.com/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Pilesaran-Regular.ttf<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> IronShears<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> The CSS file of this page<br/>
<strong>Additional Notes:</strong> This font was created using <a href="https://www.calligraphr.com/en/">Calligraphr</a> and <a href="https://fontforge.org/en-US/">FontForge</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> wormtattoopainting.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Isidore Pils(1836)<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Isidore_Pils_-_Study_of_a_Reclining_Nude_-_1939.63_-_Cleveland_Museum_of_Art.tif">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Isidore_Pils_-_Study_of_a_Reclining_Nude_-_1939.63_-_Cleveland_Museum_of_Art.tif</a><br/>
<strong>Additional Notes:</strong> Edited by Ironshears</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Hookworm_filariform_A.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Fernandolive<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hookworm_filariform_A.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hookworm_filariform_A.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> shoulderworms.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Elements Of This World<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Adult_female_bending_downwards_in_a_shower.png">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Adult_female_bending_downwards_in_a_shower.png</a><br/>
<strong>Additional Notes:</strong> Edited by Ironshears</p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> adytitestele.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Ángel M. Felicísimo<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC-BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/elgolem/29350234441/">https://www.flickr.com/photos/elgolem/29350234441/</a><br/>
<strong>Additional Notes:</strong> Edited by Ironshears</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[module CSS]]
@import url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran/PilesaranStylesheet.css');
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[module CSS]]
.verticalrotate{
margin-top: 30%;T
padding:0px;
-webkit-transform: rotate(90deg);
transform: rotate(90deg);
border: 1px solid transparent;
text-align:left;
}
.collapsible-block{
text-align: center;
}
.collapsible-block-content{
text-align: left;
}
h1,h2,h3,h4,h5{
text-align: center;
}
.wrapper{
margin:0%;
padding:0.5%;
display: flex;
flex-wrap: wrap;
justify-content: center;
border-radius: 10px;
border: 2px solid black;
text-align:center;
}
.letter{
margin: 0.5% auto;
width: 18.6%;
height: 100px;
padding:0px
padding-bottom: 30px;
border: 1px solid black;
border-radius: 10px;
display: block;
}
.letter>h2, .lettertall>h2{
font-size: 3cqw;
}
.letter>h3, .lettertall>h3{
font-size: 2.3cqw;
}
.lettertall{
margin: 0.5% auto;
width: 18.6%;
height: 160px;
padding:0px
padding-bottom: 30px;
border: 1px solid black;
border-radius: 10px;
display: block;
}
.letterfull{
margin: 0.5% auto;
width: 30%;
height:210px;
padding:0px
padding-bottom: 30px;
border: 1px solid black;
border-radius: 10px;
display: block;
}
.letterfull>div.pilesaran>div.verticalrotate{
margin-top: 35%
}
@media only screen and (max-width: 56.25rem) {
.letterfull>div.pilesaran>div.verticalrotate{
margin-top: 50%
}
.verticalrotate {
margin-top: 50%;
}
.letter{
width: 23%;
height: 70px;
}
.lettertall{
width: 31%;
height: 90px;
}
.letterfull{
width: 50%;
height: 180px;
}
}
[[/module]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.Welcome, To, Θe, Virtual+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;course, For, Nsl, 159 !₾ & ₲[[footnote]]Welcome to the virtual course for NSL213: Pilesaran and Soonesaran![[/footnote]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:image-block">:scp-wiki:component:image-block</a> name=wormtattoopainting.png
|caption=Painting of a Divoši Woman(1806). The meaning of "I am a person who believes that Grand Karcist Ion will ascend" is inscribed on her back in Ämärangä Pilesaran.
|align=center
|width=100%]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
++ Syllabus
To start, I am your Professor, Senior Researcher Dr. Evika Cohen, and lead of the Department of Tactical Linguistics and Graphemics. I can be reached by email at any time but will respond only from 14:00-22:00 UTC Monday through Friday. If you want to speak to me in person, send an email about it. Do not come to my office at Site-83. I am //never// in my office. I do not care how inconvenient that is to you personally.
This three-week course is not intended to improve your speaking skills in the language of the community you've been assigned to. Those assigned to communities that still speak languages descended from Adytite should have completed their assigned language courses already. If you have been assigned to one of these communities and have not yet completed your language course, please take this up with your commander.
No previous course is required for those of you who have been assigned communities that speak your native language. This course is taught in //English//, though the transliteration of Latin letters that do not exist natively or have been adopted into Pilesaran is covered. If you were assigned to a region that uses primarily Cyrillic script, again, take this up with your commander. You are in the wrong class.
This course primarily focuses on reading and transliterating into the alphabet known as Pilesaran, commonly used in Nälkän and some Neo-Sarkic communities found in most of Europe, Northwestern Asia, Western Siberia, and some immigrant communities in parts of the Americas, Oceania, and Africa.
In the modern era, Pilesaran, and Soonesaran, are primarily written with ink and paper. However, cutaneous larva migrans tattoos are still very common and the ability to control the flesh-shaping required to create these CLM tattoos is seen as an important part of learning the scripts. Because of this, both Pilesaran and Soonesaran are taught to most students through a method of shaping pieces of wet yarn into the desired words. This is known as the "twine-and-paste" method. We will not be using this method, but feel free to use it on your own time.
Soonesaran, a logography understood by most modern Nälkän communities worldwide, will be touched on in this course primarily for its use in Pilesaran. However, it is important to note that the use of Soonesaran should be avoided in the field. Assignments that outright //require// Soonesaran should be assigned to a natively Soonesaran-literate agent. I'll go into detail on //exactly// why this decision was made later in the course. For now, if your assignment requires Soonesaran-literacy, you cannot read it already, and you've been sent to this class as a substitute: do //not// contact your commander. Contact //me// with your commander's name so that I can //personally// have them stripped of their responsibilities.
For discussion assignments between peers meant to improve reading comprehension that are submitted through the online portal, the tool below may be used to create digital characters.
[[collapsible show="►Open Tool" hide="▼Close Tool"]]
This generates code for you to use this font on your page. To make it work, copy this copy and paste this at the top of your page:
[[code]]
[[module CSS]]
@import url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran/PilesaranStylesheet.css');
[[/module]]
[[/code]]
After that, this tool does ALMOST all the formatting for you. Just copy and paste the output into your page(assuming you have the CSS module copied) and it should work! There are just a few things to remember.
# Make sure your spelling and grammar are correct before you use this! All sentences need end punctuation.
# Most applicable words (e.g. the names of sects, character names, and the cutesy "eternal love" compound words, etc) are auto-converted into Soonesaran. The shorter words like Ion/Iun require either a space before and after them or a space before and a period after them so they don't mess up other words.
# Only English Graphemes (e.g. ch, sh, th, ph, and wh.) are converted. If you're writing something in Finnish and it has "Å" in it, use the old digraph form of "Aa." If you're writing something in German and it has "ß" in it, use "Ss" like the Swiss spelling. Try not to just default to the English spelling; try to use an archaic spelling or a spelling in a nearby language.
# If you want to just say a title in general without a person attached to it, please put "person" after it. so "Karcist" would be "Karcist Person."
# Put the conjunctions between each word on a list! You don't have to copy and paste symbols, these are also auto-converted but you do need them to be between each word on the list. I cannot do that for you. "Or," "and," and "nor" are all converted automatically, but "Not and" can be written as either "not and" or "nand" for short.
# If the text has numbers in it and you don't feel like converting it into duodecimal by hand, use a converter like [https://www.mathsisfun.com/numbers/convert-base.php this one] before you put them in the text converter. Make sure to set it to duodecimal. Once it's converted, replace the "A" and "B" with "(" and ")" respectively.
If you want another logograph that isn't here already in this font for a character's name or a sect name leave a comment about it.
[[html]]
<style>
@import url("https://cdn.scpwiki.com/theme/en/sigma/css/sigma.min.css");
textarea{
width:90%;
margin:5%;
height:150px;
}
button{
width:24%;
margin:1% 38%;
}
h1{
text-align:center;
}
</style>
<script>
function buttonClick() {
var text = document.getElementById('input').value;
const checkboxNeo = document.getElementById("neosarkic");
const checkboxPoet = document.getElementById("poeticWords");
var isSpace = true
while (isSpace == true){
if(text.charAt(text.length - 1) == " "){
var text = text.slice(0,text.length - 1);
}else{
var isSpace = false
}
}
var text = text.toLowerCase();
var text = text.replaceAll("?\n\n\n","? ");
var text = text.replaceAll("?\n\n","? ");
var text = text.replaceAll("?\n","? ");
var text = text.replaceAll("?\n\n\n","! ");
var text = text.replaceAll("!\n\n","! ");
var text = text.replaceAll("!\n","! ");
var text = text.replaceAll(".\n\n\n",". ");
var text = text.replaceAll(".\n\n",". ");
var text = text.replaceAll(".\n",". ");
var text = text.replaceAll("\n\n\n",". ");
var text = text.replaceAll("\n\n",". ");
var text = text.replaceAll("\n",". ");
var text = text.replaceAll(",","");
var text = text.replaceAll(";",".");
var text = text.replaceAll(":",".");
var text = text.replaceAll("-","");
var text = text.replaceAll("+","");
var text = text.replaceAll("'","");
var text = text.replaceAll(' "'," '");
var text = text.replaceAll('."','".');
var text = text.replaceAll('!"','"!');
var text = text.replaceAll('?"','"?');
var text = text.replaceAll("*","");
var text = text.replaceAll("[","");
var text = text.replaceAll("]","");
var text = text.replaceAll("{","");
var text = text.replaceAll("}","");
if (checkboxNeo.checked != true) {
var text = text.replaceAll("soonesaran","₲");
var text = text.replaceAll("pilesaran","₾");
var text = text.replaceAll(" and "," & ");
var text = text.replaceAll(" or "," ∧ ");
var text = text.replaceAll(" nor "," ∇ ");
var text = text.replaceAll(" nand "," ∆ ");
var text = text.replaceAll(" not and ","∆");
var text = text.replaceAll(" ion"," ¥");
var text = text.replaceAll(" iun"," ¥");
var text = text.replaceAll("nadox","$");
var text = text.replaceAll("lovataar","¢");
var text = text.replaceAll("orok","€");
var text = text.replaceAll("saarn","₹");
var text = text.replaceAll("yaldabaoth","₺");
var text = text.replaceAll("važjuma","₺");
var text = text.replaceAll("nälkä","฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("nälkän","฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("daeva","₩");
var text = text.replaceAll("daevite","₩");
var text = text.replaceAll("mekhanite","₵");
var text = text.replaceAll("church of the broken god","₵");
var text = text.replaceAll("valksaran","₡");
var text = text.replaceAll("archon","₲");
var text = text.replaceAll("ozi̮rmok ","₦");
var text = text.replaceAll("grand karcist ","₦");
var text = text.replaceAll("klavigar ","₱");
var text = text.replaceAll("karcist ","₴");
var text = text.replaceAll("võlutaar ","₽");
var text = text.replaceAll("vaśńa","₷₪฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("divoši","৳฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("order of the wyrm","₹฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("sineaters church","৳฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("sin eaters church","৳฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("ur-nälkä","₮฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("adytum","₮");
var text = text.replaceAll("neo-sarkic","¤฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("vātula","₶฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("church of the red harvest","૱฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("solomanari","₳฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("church of the eternal mother","₢฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("pannonian avars","₰฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("ɨal","₻฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("adytite republic of polynesia","₯฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("ancestrecall","₠฿");
var text = text.replaceAll("kuobach","¦");
var text = text.replaceAll("halyna ieva","©");
var text = text.replaceAll("jáska","®");
var text = text.replaceAll("person","¶");
if (checkboxPoet.checked) {
var text = text.replaceAll("jautapi","£$");
var text = text.replaceAll("Greek Fire","£₪");
var text = text.replaceAll("emptiness","0₰");
var text = text.replaceAll("apathy","0₰");
var text = text.replaceAll("heresy","¤₡");
var text = text.replaceAll("clay person","₳¶");
var text = text.replaceAll("savant","₳¶");
var text = text.replaceAll("aurora borealis","₷₪");
var text = text.replaceAll("northern lights","₷₪");
var text = text.replaceAll("eternal love","₦¢");
var text = text.replaceAll("true love","₦¢");
var text = text.replaceAll("gluttony","¤₡");
var text = text.replaceAll("lightbulb","¤૱");
var text = text.replaceAll("ascension","₶₺");
var text = text.replaceAll("merchant seaman","₯₠");
var text = text.replaceAll("merchant sailor","₯₠");
var text = text.replaceAll("birth parent","₺¶");
var text = text.replaceAll("cruel person","Ħ");
var text = text.replaceAll("menstruation","₢૱");
var text = text.replaceAll("undertaker","₶¶");
var text = text.replaceAll("tailor","৳¶");
}
}
var text = text.replaceAll("th","θ");
var text = text.replaceAll("ph","f");
var text = text.replaceAll("wh","w");
var text = text.replaceAll("sh","shs");
var text = text.replaceAll("ch","chs");
var text = text.replaceAll("ng","ŋ");
var text = text.replaceAll("ck","k");
var text = text.replaceAll("bb","b");
var text = text.replaceAll("dd","d");
var text = text.replaceAll("dge","dž");
var text = text.replaceAll("gg","g");
var text = text.replaceAll("mm","m");
var text = text.replaceAll("qu","q");
var text = text.replaceAll("rr","r");
var text = text.replaceAll("wr","r");
var soonesaran = ["!", ".", "?", "₲","₾","&","∧","∇","∆", "¥", "$", "¢", "€", "₹", "₺", "฿", "₩", "₵", "₡", "₲", "₦", "₱", "₴", "₽", "₷", "₪", "৳", "₸", "₮", "¤", "₶", "૱", "₳", "₢", "₰", "₻", "₯", "₠", "0", "1", "2", "3", "4", "5", "6", "7", "8", "9", "¦", "§", "©", "£", "®", "¶"];
var tempString = text;
var currentNum = 0;
var currentPunctuation= "";
var firstPunctuation = "";
var punctPos;
while(currentNum < text.length){
if(text.charAt(currentNum) == '.' || text.charAt(currentNum) == '!' || text.charAt(currentNum) == '?'){
if(firstPunctuation == ""){
var firstPunctuation = text.charAt(currentNum);
var tempString = text.slice(0,currentNum) + text.slice(currentNum+1);
var punctPos = currentNum -1
}else{
var currentPunctuation = " " + text.charAt(currentNum);
var tempString = text.slice(0,currentNum) + text.slice(currentNum+1);
var tempString = tempString.slice(0,punctPos+1) + currentPunctuation + tempString.slice(punctPos+2);
var punctPos = currentNum
}
var text = tempString
}
var currentNum = currentNum +1
}
var currentNum = 26;
var currentStart= '+\n\n~\n';
var currentEnd= ';';
while(currentNum < text.length){
if(text.charAt(currentNum) == ' '){
var soonesaranStart = ""
var soonesaranEnd = ""
for (let i = 0; i < soonesaran.length; i++) {
var currentChar = text.charAt(currentNum-1);
if(soonesaran[i] == currentChar){
var soonesaranStart = " *";
var soonesaranEnd = ", ";
}
}
if (text.charAt(currentNum-1) == '.' || text.charAt(currentNum-1) == '!' || text.charAt(currentNum-1) == '?'){
var tempString = text.slice(0,currentNum-2) + soonesaranStart + currentStart + text.slice(currentNum-1);
currentNum = currentNum + 26 + currentStart.length+ currentEnd.length;
}else{
var tempString = text.slice(0,currentNum) + soonesaranStart + currentStart + currentEnd + soonesaranEnd + text.slice(currentNum+1);
currentNum = currentNum + 26 + currentStart.length+ currentEnd.length;
}
var text = tempString
if(currentEnd == ';'){
var currentStart= '-\n[[/div]]\n\n';
var currentEnd= ':';
}else{
var currentStart ='+\n\n~\n';
var currentEnd= ';';
}
} else {
var currentNum = currentNum - 1;
}
}
var currentNum = text.length;
var currentChar = "none"
var isSoonesaran = false;
while (currentNum != 0) {
if(text.charAt(currentNum) == ' '){
if(currentNum > 1){
for (let i = 0; i < soonesaran.length; i++) {
var currentChar = text.charAt(currentNum-1);
if(soonesaran[i] == currentChar){
var isSoonesaran = true;
}
}
}
if (isSoonesaran == false){
var tempString = text.slice(0,currentNum)+','+text.slice(currentNum,currentNum+1) +
text.charAt(currentNum+1).toUpperCase() + text.slice(currentNum+2);
var text = tempString;
}else{
var tempString = text.slice(0,currentNum)+text.slice(currentNum,currentNum+1) +
text.charAt(currentNum+1).toUpperCase() + text.slice(currentNum+2);
var text = tempString;
isSoonesaran = false
}
}else if(text.charAt(currentNum) == '.' || text.charAt(currentNum) == '!' || text.charAt(currentNum) == '?'){
var tempString = text.slice(0,currentNum+1) +
text.charAt(currentNum+1).toUpperCase() + text.slice(currentNum+2);
var text = tempString;
}
var currentNum = currentNum-1
}
var tempString = firstPunctuation + text.slice(0,1).toUpperCase() + text.slice(1);
var text = tempString;
if(currentEnd == ':'){
var text = text + ',\n[[/div]]';
}else{
var isSoonesaran = false
for (let i = 0; i < soonesaran.length; i++) {
var finalChar = text.charAt(text.length - 1);
if(soonesaran[i] == finalChar){
var isSoonesaran = true;
}
}
if (isSoonesaran == false){
var text = text + ',';
}
}
var text = text.replaceAll(';.', '.');
var text = text.replaceAll(':.', '.');
var text = text.replaceAll(';!', '!');
var text = text.replaceAll(':!', '!');
var text = text.replaceAll(';?', '?');
var text = text.replaceAll(':?', '?');
var text = text.replaceAll('~', '[[div class="rotate"]]');
var text = text.replaceAll('."', ".'");
var text = text.replaceAll('!"', "!'");
var text = text.replaceAll('?"', "?'");
var text = text.replaceAll("dʲ","}");
var text = text.replaceAll("Dʲ","{");
var text = '[[div class="pilesaran"]]\n\n' + text + '\n\n[[/div]]'
document.getElementById('output').value= text
}
</script>
<h1> Text Converter</h1>
<textarea id="input" name="input">
Enter writing here</textarea>
<input type="checkbox" id="neosarkic" name="neosarkic" value="true">
<label for="vehicle1"> Neo-Sarkic(No Soonesaran Included)</label>
<input type="checkbox" id="poeticWords" name="poeticWords" value="true">
<label for="vehicle1"> Poetic Compound Words(Soonesaran for things like "Lightbulb" or "Eternal Love")</label>
<button type="button" onclick="buttonClick()">Convert Text</button>
<textarea id="output" name="output">
Output</textarea>
[[/html]]
[[/collapsible]]
All introductions aside, let's get to actually //learning// something.
[[/div]]
++ History and Background
Due to missing historical records, little can be confirmed about the origins of these writing systems. However, it is accepted that Soonesaran is much older than the relatively modern Pilesaran.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:image-block">:scp-wiki:component:image-block</a> name=Hookworm_filariform_A.jpg
|caption=The larval stage of //Uncinaria graphia//]]
The script's shape and form come from //Uncinaria graphia//, an anomalous nematode parasite the script was originally written in via cutaneous larva migrans(CLM). Some much older or isolated individuals call these markings "niŋəžamže," literally "(subcutaneous parasite)worm-skin" in Adytite, but by and large, they're referred to as just the regional word for "tattoo." To differentiate them, we'll be calling them CLM tattoos.
Though this species descends from a //very// recent common ancestor with //Uncinaria stenocephala//[[footnote]]Northern canine/carnivore hookworm.[[/footnote]], it was selectively bred and genetically altered by Early Nälkän communities into a new species entirely. //Uncinaria graphia// has lost the ability to move, react to stimuli on its own, and has increased in relative circumference to improve legibility under the skin. Worms do not infect on skin contact as their ancestors did; larvae are forced under the skin with a sharp implement and then pushed and stretched into the desired logograph with pressure and flesh-shaping once under the skin[[footnote]]The "twine-and-paste" method attempts to mimic this sensation.[[/footnote]]. These worms are then connected to the host's circulatory system. Mild irritation appears around fresh CLM tattoos for the first few weeks but diminishes as the injuries heal. The worms can live indefinitely within the host with little to no negative side effects.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:image-block">:scp-wiki:component:image-block</a> name=shoulderworms.png
|align=left
|caption=Soonesaran tattoo belonging to PoI-83721("Võlutaar Saarn[[footnote]]Names of religious figures are common given names in some Nälkän communities. PoI-83721 has no relation to Klavigar Saarn.[[/footnote]]"). The meaning is "I am a person that believes Gluttony/Heresy is the same as death."]]
Nälkän oral traditions dictate that Soonesaran was developed by dissidents during the Daeva empire's rule, as a method to communicate with like-minded allies while avoiding detection. Writings were easily mistaken by those in positions to quash rebellion as the ever-common parasite infections that plagued the lower classes in the empire and were mostly ignored. Messages were transported secretly by living animal and human "messengers" and butchered cuts of meat that bore the markings.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:image-block">:scp-wiki:component:image-block</a> name=adytitestele.png
|caption=An Adytite Stele. "Ion's ascension" or "Ascension of Ion."
|width=100px]]
Though no specific written examples remain from this period, it is presumed that messages were relatively simple in content and shape, with the more complex logographs that dominated current Soonesaran literature appearing during the Deathless Empire. This view is reinforced by the Adytite Steles, one of the few examples of writing on non-perishable material from the Deathless Empire.
Per Nälkän tradition, it was Klavigar Nadox who created Soonesaran in its modern aspect, creating thousands of characters to represent concepts both material and ethereal, with the primary objective of uniting the thousand ethnic groups in the Empire under the same literary tradition. The ease of proselytism given by it also made it an attractive choice for the nascent religion.
Thousands of years later in the 11th century, a movement among traveling Karcists began to adapt to the contemporary changes to languages spoken by Nälkän communities that occurred since the fall of the Deathless Empire. Inspiration was taken from the writing systems endemic to the region such as the Cyrillic, Latin, and Futhark alphabets. Due to limitations of the medium of CLM tattoos, Pilesaran words are written in a continuous line to minimize the number of worms required for each word and ease legibility.
Most of the languages that these scripts were originally developed for started to die out entirely and were replaced by the dominant languages in the regions. These scripts did not fall out of use alongside their respective languages and were instead repurposed to write the new languages spoken by the communities. Their continued use is attributed to various factors by Nälkän communities; most commonly cited are the secrecy provided by their use, the preserved art of religious calligraphy passed down among generations, and a cultural sense of resistance to assimilation.
Though in the modern era Pilesaran is used internally by most Nälkän and some Neo-Sarkic communities in the regions it's spread to, even within these communities Soonesaran remains an important component for writing titles, names, and grammar throughout the Nälkän sphere.
++ Pilesaran
Pilesaran, literally translated as "long words", is simple to memorize in practice. It was //designed// to be easy to pick up and has accomplished that goal relatively well. Learning Pilesaran will not be the hardest part of your assignment, I promise.
Words are made up of one large worm with smaller accent worms. Words start with the pointy posterior of the nematode and end with the blunt anterior end. This is because worms are inserted head first down away from the previous writing to ensure the spaces between words remain consistent. This rule does not apply to accent worms, the direction of those does not matter.
++++ Punctuation
Pilesaran is read omnidirectionally. In addition to the pointy end of the nematode, There are five kinds of anchors in Pilesaran to further clarify directionality and serve as punctuation. Three of these anchors, the 'punctuation anchors', correspond directly to English end punctuation.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ .
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ !
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
!
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ ?
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
?
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
The 'period' punctuation anchor has existed at least since Soonesaran was expanded during the Deathless Empire but the other two were added later on. All letters are read from their relation to these anchors. Unlike English, these anchors are written at the start of each sentence like in the examples below.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
!Hello,[[footnote]]Hello![[/footnote]]
[[/div]]
[[image https://i.imgur.com/Qfy2cK6.png]]
For the sake of this course, all text will be read horizontally. The other two anchors do not correspond to anything in English. These are the 'line anchors.'
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ End
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
-
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Start
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
:
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
Line anchors appear at the beginning and end of each new line of text to show you which line is next and which direction to read the next line respectively. If the end of the line goes down it is directing you to read the line directly below it next. If it's pointing up, or any other direction, //that// is the line you read next. For the sake of this course, all lines will go from top to bottom.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.I, Am, Doctor+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;cohen,
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
It is important to remember that the line anchor on the line you are directed towards is treated as a new punctuation anchor. This means that the direction you were reading the text from is //flipped// on the next line. A good way to think about this is as if the text were a piece of rope folding over on itself.
[[image https://i.imgur.com/wEWnSr5.png]]
As one last visual, here is what the text looks like with //Latin// characters.
[[div class="demostration"]]
→I am Doctor↓
[[div class="rotate"]]
→Cohen
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
Note that the above example is not the most correct way to write this sentence; names and titles are written in //Soonesaran//. We will go over this later.
If the end of the sentence falls at the end of the line, the punctuation anchor can replace the start line anchor.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.Hello+
[[div class="rotate"]]
! It, Is, Nice, To, Meet, You,[[footnote]]Hello. It is nice to meet you![[/footnote]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
Punctuation anchors within a line of text function no differently than English end punctuation other than their placement at the beginning of each sentence.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.Sentence+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;one, .Sentence, Two,[[footnote]]Sentence one. Sentence two.[[/footnote]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
There is no comma in Pilesaran; conjunctions are placed between each item on the list. There is also no apostrophe in Pilesaran; contracted words like "can't" or "don't" are written as "cannot" or "do not." However, anglophone readers of Pilesaran still skip over unnecessary uses of conjunctions and use contractions while speaking. Apart from the anchors, there is only one other form of punctuation in Pilesaran: quotation marks.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ "
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
."
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
These were added relatively recently, in the 17th century, but spread quickly and are recognized by almost all communities that use Pilesaran today. These are used as you would use a regular quotation mark, but the anchors go on the //outside// of the quotation marks.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.'like, Θis",[[footnote]]"Like this."[[/footnote]]
[[/div]]
++++ Alphabet
Pilesaran was originally created with 31 letters. These letters correspond directly to letters found in the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/old-adytite-language Old Adytite language].
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ A
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.A
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Ä
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Ä
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ B
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.B
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ C
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.C
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ D
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.D,
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Dʲ
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.{
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ E
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.E
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Ə
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Ə
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ G
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.G
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ I
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.I
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ J
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.J
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ K
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.K
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ L
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.L
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ M
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.M
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ N
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.N
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Ŋ
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Ŋ
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ O
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.O
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Õ
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Õ
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ P
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.P
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ R
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.R
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ S
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.S
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ T
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.T
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ U
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.U
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Ü
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Ü
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ V
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.V
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Ž
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Ž
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
Those of you who've taken the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/old-adytite-language Ämärangnä] course may be familiar with the following.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.Soone, Ültü, .Ültü, Mi, Vjema+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;ütü, Mi, Bə}ema, .Mi, Sülä-
[[/div]]
:ŋemu, Kuŋ, Uree, Mi, Tüle, Gemu+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;kug, Uree, .Ŋämän, Cuca, Gemen-
[[/div]]
:susa, .Mäcä, Siŋa, Mese, Tiga+
[[div class="rotate"]]
.Num, Murun, Num, Murun, .Ŋum-
[[/div]]
:salu, Gum, Talu, .Ŋum, Suem+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;gum, Təbem, .Üe, Küce, Üe, Küse-
[[/div]]
.Suem, Küce, Təbem, Küse+
[[div class="rotate"]]
.Käjä, Ŋuŋa, Ke}e, Guga, .Raŋa-
[[/div]]
:uree, Daga, Uree, .Lujuma, Me+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;lu}uma, Me, .Mimin, Ün, Näm-
[[/div]]
:mimin, Ün, Nem, .Ŋul, Ŋul+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;säsäjä, Gubu, Gubu, Sese}e, Mi-
[[/div]]
:suunam, Mi, Suunam,
[[/div]]
Additional letters were added to the script later on at various times.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ F
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.F
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ H
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.H
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Ö
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Ö
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Q
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Q
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ R[[footnote]]This is used in languages written phonetically in Pilesaran that have two distinct "R" phonemes. For example, Nälkän Hispanophones uses [[span class="pilesaranText"]].R[[/span]] for the trilled [r] sound for "Rr" and "R" at the start of words and but use [[span class="pilesaranText"]].Р[[/span]] for the [ɾ] sound made by "R" in the middle and ends of words.[[/footnote]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Р
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Θ/Þ
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Θ
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ W
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.W
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ X
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.X
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Y
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Y
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Z
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Z
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
Most of these letters bear a resemblance to the characters they are borrowed from and are noticeably different than the other letters with the exception of the "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].Ö[[/span]]" and "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].Р[[/span]]" glyphs which take their shapes from the "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].Õ[[/span]]" and "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].R[[/span]]".
Pilesaran, due to its history of adapting to languages it wasn't originally made for, is used in English mostly orthographically in a way much like the Latin alphabet. However, there are some English multi-letter graphemes that are written phonetically: the constant graphemes.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Bb
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.B
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Ck
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.K
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Ch
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Chs
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Dd
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.D
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Dge
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Dž
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Gg
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.G
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Mm
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.M
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Ng
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Ŋ
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Ph
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.F
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Qu
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Q
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Rr
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.R
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Sh
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Shs
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Th
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Θ
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Wh
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.W
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Wr
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.R
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
So, the sentence "I wrote about chewing bubblegum on the bridge" would be written as follows.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.I, Rote, About, Chsewiŋ+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;bublegum, On, Θe-
[[/div]]
:bridž,
[[/div]]
In Latin characters, it looks like this.
[[div class="demostration"]]
→I rote about chsewiŋ↓
[[div class="rotate"]]
→bublegum on θe↑
[[/div]]
→bridž,
[[/div]]
For languages other than English, whether the language is written in Pilesaran orthographically or phonetically depends mostly on when the community adopted the language they are writing in and when the script was introduced to the language. Exactly which graphemes are used for which sound varies.
But, more often than not in communities that use Pilesaran orthographically, the accepted transliteration of graphemes from letters that don't exist in Pilesaran is often the same as transliterating into other scripts missing the same letters. Remember, most who can read Pilesaran can //also// read the scripts of the surrounding region. The spellings, outside of a few outliers, tend to match.
If "Č" in the Czech language is spelled "Cz" in transliterations to nearby alphabets that lack the letter, then the Divoši spell it as "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].Cz[[/span]]" too.
++ Soonesaran
Soonesaran, literally translated as "sinew words," is much more difficult to learn than Pilesaran. However, you have already learned five symbols in Soonesaran: the Punctuation Anchors. These have existed long before Pilesaran.
That said, you will not be using Soonesaran on its own. Instead, you will be learning its use within Pilesaran. This dynamic of Soonesaran and Pilesaran can be compared to the use of Kanji and Hiragana in Japanese, though these are not an exact match. Soonesaran is used for proper names, titles, certain coordinating conjunctions, and rarely as a poetic device. Notably, most Neo-Sarkic sects do not use Soonesaran at all, even for these purposes.
For Nälkän and the rare Neo-Sarkic sects that do, spelling out the proper names for concepts will feel //off//. It is not illegible, they will understand it, but, when you've presented yourself as part of a community, it is a sign that you are an //outsider//. This mistake is often deadly. You do not have to be completely literate in Soonesaran, most raised in communities that use Pilesaran are not, but you should know to use it where you're meant to and how to write important logographs.
To start, we will be learning two of them for the examples of structure
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Pilesaran
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₾
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Soonesaran
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₲
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
Soonesaran glyphs are read with the same directionality as Pilesaran and are treated like words. There are spaces between each word the same as in Pilesaran.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.Θis, Is, ₲[[footnote]]This is Soonesaran.[[/footnote]]
[[/div]]
When a Soonesaran character falls at the end of a line, a space is placed before the End Line Anchor. The same idea goes for the Start Line Anchor; a space is placed after.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.Θis, Is, ₲ *+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;flowing, Wiθ-
[[/div]]
:, ₾[[footnote]]This is Soonesaran flowing with Pilesaran.[[/footnote]]
[[/div]]
Four Soonesaran coordinating conjunctions are used within Pilesaran. The first three symbols correlate to the English words "And," "Or," and "Nor." Additionally, there is a symbol for "Not And." An easy way to remember which coordinating conjunctions have a symbol is to remember which ones can be used to describe a list of items.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ And/&
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.&
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Or
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.∧
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Nor
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.∇
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Not And
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.∆
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
As noted earlier "and" and "or" are treated like the word "nor" and are placed between every item on a list.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.I, Eat, Rice, & Beans, & *+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;lentils .I, Eat, Θem, Wiθ-
[[/div]]
:garlic, ∧ Onion, ∧ Pepper, .I+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;do, Not, Eat, Θem, Wiθ-
[[/div]]
:cheese, ∇ Milk, ∇ Eggs+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;i, Also, Do, Not, Eat, Mangos-
[[/div]]
:, ∆ Almonds, ∆ Sesame,[[footnote]]I eat rice, beans, and lentils. I eat them with garlic, onion or pepper. I do not eat them with cheese, milk, or eggs. I also do not eat mangos, almonds, and sesame.[[/footnote]]
[[/div]]
The "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].∇[[/span]]" symbol is not a direct correlation to the English word "Nor." "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].∇[[/span]]" is used for //all// lists of what something is not. The sentence "I do not like meat or fish," will always be written as "I do not like meat //nor// fish." The thing I like to eat is NOT meat or fish so you use "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].∇[[/span]]." If you are making a list of negatives that you might use "or" for, use "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].∇[[/span]]."
The "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].∆[[/span]]" symbol is used identically to the "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].∇[[/span]]," but replaces "and" instead. "I do not like meat and fish," will be written like "I do not like meat //not and// fish" with the "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].∆[[/span]]" symbol in place of "not and".
++++ Personal Names
The sect you are assigned to may have a different naming tradition, but names in Soonesaran almost always come from a traditional pre-existing logograph. However, there is one universal rule. Names of people are //never// more than one logograph at a time.
We'll be using a few examples for this kind of name.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sarkic-case-study-01-the-vas-n-a-of-sarvi Jáska]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.®
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/mother-who-demands-ones-toes Halyna Ieva]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.©
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/kuobachs-eyes Kuobach]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.¦
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Evika Cohen
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.#
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
So, in order to correctly introduce myself, without my title, I would write the following.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.Hello, I, Am, #
[[/div]]
Of these four, two of them are edited from traditional symbols and two are taken straight from a pre-existing symbol.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Visionary
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.®
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ War
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.£
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Hare/Rabbit
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.§
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Student
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.#
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
You should notice right away that the symbols that were edited did not already have a spiral in them. Spirals in Nälkän tradition are a symbol of Grand Karcist Ion and are used to denote both something's relation to Nälkä or, more broadly, something with //sapience//. The edits to symbols are almost always to add a spiral if it does not already have one to denote that the symbol represents a person rather than an object.
Name symbols usually have no relation to the sound of a name. This tradition tends to differ based on sect, though. Kuobach was given the "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].§[[/span]]" symbol as a baby due to a cleft lip. The sound of their name, when spoken verbally, also means "Hare" in their native language. "Jáska" means "bright star" and is entirely separate from the symbol used to write her name.
These symbols also often change throughout a person's life without changing the pronunciation of their actual name. The initial symbols are usually superficial and based on a physical characteristic of the child that the parents find endearing. These changes are usually made after their personality develops or drastic changes happen in a person's life. Kuobach did not change their symbol as they feel it still represents them. Jáska did change hers when she developed the passion to pursue a role as a Võlutaar. Karcist Halyna Ieva cannot be interviewed, but her symbol was most likely changed as well. Most reasonable people aren't going to name a child after something as negative as "war" and most Nälkäns, despite what you may have been told, //are// reasonable people.
When choosing your name, choose a logograph based on the persona you are trying to put forward. Try to avoid logographs with aggressive or negative connotations. My symbol is based on my academic pursuits.
There are exceptions to the rule of names being based on pre-existing symbols, of course. The most notable of which are Grand Karcist Ion and his Klavigar.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Ion
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.¥
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Nadox
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.$
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Lovataar
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.¢
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Orok
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.€
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Saarn
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₹
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
These symbols' detachment from secondary meanings is most likely just because they are older and were deemed too important to assign a secondary meaning to on their own. These logographs are never used to name a person other than the figures they are attached to. This does not mean these words cannot be used as part of a compound logograph to form a //new// meaning but we will get to that.
In addition to these five symbols, some sects may opt to develop new symbols entirely when naming their children but this is a rare practice. This is more common in the rare Neo-Sarkic communities that use Soonesaran and fully isolationist sects.
There are some other names that will be important to know, but we won't be going into much detail about.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Yaldabaoth
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₺
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Archon
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.ƒ
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
++++ Titles
Moving on to titles. There are only four titles that you will likely use during your assignment. Each of them corresponds to a hierarchical role. However, we will be learning one more for the sake of example.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Ozi̮rmok
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₦
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Klavigar
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₱
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Karcist
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₴
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Võlutaar
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₽
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Doctor
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.=
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
Titles are never left on their own. If they are meant to refer to the title itself without a name attached, the symbol for "Person" is placed after them in place of a name.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Person
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.¶
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
These symbols are always placed directly before the name they are assigned to. There is no space left between these two symbols. An example of both these concepts would be the sentence below.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.Θe, ₱¶ Of, ₦¥ Are, Called+
[[div class="rotate"]]
;, ₱$ & ₱¢ & ₱€ & ₱₹[[footnote]]The Klavigar of Grand Karcist Ion are called Klavigar Nadox, Klavigar Lovataar, Klavigar Orok, and Klavigar Saarn.[[/footnote]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
This system of titling, of course, continues for all other titles and names attached to them.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.₴© & ₽® Boθ, Have, Titles, [[footnote]]Karcist Halyna Ieva and Võlutaar Jáska both have titles.[[/footnote]]
[[/div]]
Finally, to truly introduce myself, title and all.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.Hello, I, Am, =#
[[/div]]
++++ Nälkän Numerals
Nälkän numerals are deceptively difficult. At first, they seem simple; they have the same basic structure as Arabic numerals. There are a number of digits that are placed next to each other to form larger numbers. There's no complicated system to memorize like Latin Numerals; the only numbers you'll have to remember are the single digits.
However, rather than using a decimal system like the Arabic numerals we're used to, Nälkän numerals are transcribed in a //duodecimal// system. This means that there are 12 single-digit numbers rather than the Arabic numeral system's 10.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ 0[[footnote]]This symbol's use as a number was a late development. Originally, its only use was as a name for the realm in which Yaldabaoth resides.[[/footnote]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.0
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ 1
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.1
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ 2
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.2
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ 3
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.3
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ 4
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.4
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ 5
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.5
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ 6
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.6
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ 7
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.7
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ 8
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.8
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ 9
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.9
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ 10
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.(
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ 11
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.)
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
Duodecimal systems of numbers are tricky, but the concept is easy to understand. Numbers 0-9 are exactly the same as they are in Arabic numerals. Instead of shifting to double digits at "10", there are an extra two single digit numbers correlating to "10" and "11": "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].([[/span]]" and "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].)[[/span]]." Double digits start at the number 12. This means that, if written in Arabic Numerals, "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].10[[/span]]," which is a 1 and a 0, actually means 12.
One Võlutaar I met once claimed that it correlates to the number of bones you have in your fingers on one hand that can be counted with your thumb. She explained that Klavigar Nadox learned to count that way when the Daeva cut off one of his hands. Another Võlutaar overheard our conversation and came to correct her; //her// explanation was that he had never had his hand cut off by the Daeva but was instead //born// with 6 fingers on each hand. Various other explanations exist, but most credit the numerical system to some aspect of the anatomy of Nadox's hands.
++++ Compound words and Nälkän Communities.
Compound words in Soonesaran are two different logographs put next to each other without a space. Notably, both words are always nouns and the "descriptor" noun or nouns always come first. We're going to learn a few more words for these purposes.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Nälkä
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Valksaran
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₡
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
The way you would describe a version of the Valksaran written in Pilesaran or one written in Soonesaran would be by putting the words for Pilesaran and Soonesaran in front of the logograph for Valksaran.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.₾₡ .₲₡
[[/div]]
Names of communities are treated differently than personal names. These are almost always a compound word made up of multiple symbols unless a group is being referred to very broadly. These symbols are typically a combination of a descriptive noun and the symbol for the broader "category" after it. In the case of Nälkän communities, "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].฿[[/span]]" for "Nälkä" is used. To learn these, I'll introduce the logographs that we will need.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Sky
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₪
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Flame
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₷
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Clothes[[footnote]]This symbol can also be used to mean a "cloak" more specifically.[[/footnote]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.৳
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Balance
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₸
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Adytum
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₮
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Falsity
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.¤
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Death
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₶
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Sun
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.૱
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Clay
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₳
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Womb
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₢
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Curse
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₰
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Horse
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₻
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Sea
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₯
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Merchant
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₠
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
With these symbols, we can make the names of communities.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sarkic-case-study-01-the-vas-n-a-of-sarvi Vaśńa]
[[div class="pilesaran" style="font-size: 2.7cqw"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₪₷฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/an-anthropological-approach-to-sarkicism-case-study-02-the-d Divoši]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.৳฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/sarkic-case-study-05-korean-seulga Seŭlga]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₸฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Ur- Nälkä
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₮฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Neo-Sarkicism
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.¤฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2833 Vātula]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₶฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2133 The CotRH][[footnote]]The Church of the Red Harvest[[/footnote]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.૱฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Solomonari
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₳฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4476 The CotEM][[footnote]]The Church of the Eternal Mother[[/footnote]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₢฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4772 Pannonian Avars]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₰฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/kuobachs-eyes Ɨal]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₻฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4036 The ADP][[footnote]]The Adytite Republic of Polynesia[[/footnote]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₯฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ancestrecall Abraxas Group]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₠฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Order of the Wyrm
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₹฿
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
This method of naming groups of people doesn't just apply when naming //Nälkän// communities. All groups of people are referred to with logographs. Compound words are also formed with the logographs for different groups to further differentiate them just as you do with "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].฿[[/span]]."
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Daeva
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₩
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="letter"]]
++ Mekhanite
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₵
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
In an Adytite Stele, Daevites from a port island were called "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].₯₠₩[[/span]]," literally translated as "Merchant Seaman Daeva." An 11th-century manuscript describing an ancient Mekhanite army that was believed to use Greek fire used the word "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].£₷₵[[/span]]" for "Greek Fire Mekhanite."
Notably, The word for Vaśńa and the Daeva and Mekhanite examples I gave are made up of //three// logographs. The first two logographs in these examples make up a separate compound word. There are quite a few of these words but we'll only be learning a handful.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Aurora Borealis
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₪₷
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Merchant Seaman
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₯₠
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Greek Fire
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.£₷
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Jautapi[[footnote]]A strategic grid-based board game similar to Chess or Go that is common in Nälkän communities[[/footnote]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.£$
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Heresy/Gluttony[[footnote]]This term specifically refers to the perceived selfishness in Neo-Sarkic cults.[[/footnote]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.¤₡
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Lightbulb
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.¤૱
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Emptiness/Apathy
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.0₰
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ A Birth Parent[[footnote]]Specifically, a person who has either neglected or mistreated their child to the point that they leave them or were taken from them by their community. This has a negative connotation and is not a term for birth parents of adopted children or parents whose children were taken away for reasons other than abuse.[[/footnote]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₺¶
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Eternal Love
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₦¢
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ A Cruel Person
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.Ħ
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ A Tailor
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.৳¶
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ An Undertaker
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₶¶
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Ascension
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₶₺
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
+++ Menstruation
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₢૱
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Savant[[footnote]]This specifically refers to those with a natural gift for fleshshaping. This is regarded as a "third gender" in some communities.[[/footnote]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.₳¶
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
Compound words for generic nouns and concepts like the above can also be used in place of the Pilesaran and are done so to add a "poetic" element to writing or to emphasize something.
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
.He, Turns, On, Θe, ¤૱[[footnote]]He turns on the lightbulb.[[/footnote]]
[[/div]]
With that in mind, it is not suspicious to spell these words out with Pilesaran.
++ The "Order of the Wyrm" Incident
If you are still in this class despite your circumstances matching one of the scenarios I told you to contact your commander about, your commander told you to keep attending, or you were //warned// in advance to not listen to me: you aren't alone. There has been at least one in //every class// since I started teaching this course. I'm going to give you a reason to advocate for yourself.
This incident was //the// primary reason cited in overturning the "Silence is Self-Containment" policy towards disclosure of anomalous religious affiliation as well as why the Department of Tactical Linguistics and Graphemics exists at all.
It is true that the Foundation has a better understanding now that Soonesaran-Literate staff members are allowed to contribute to the conversation openly. That does not mean that something like this cannot happen again. Clearly, there are //still// commanders ignoring the safety protocols my department put in place to protect agents like //you// in a misguided effort to skip past "red tape." For your well-being, you //must// hold your commanders accountable to the safety nets we have in place.
Your takeaway from this tragedy should not be how far we have come, but that we cannot let this happen again.
-----
In early March of 1998, an assassination attempt was carried out on a Site Director.
The group responsible was GoI-827, a loosely Serpent's Hand-affiliated Pan-Nälkän network known as the "Order of the Wyrm." Despite how the Foundation became familiar with this organization, the majority of the group's resources are dedicated to improving social infrastructure within the Wanderers' Library. This is accomplished through extremist leftist measures described by the group as "direct action" and "mutual aid." These actions often put them in conflict with the librarians.
The group is made up of thousands of different individuals all originating from various Nälkän //and// Neo-Sarkic communities as well as a handful of non-religiously-affiliated allies. GoI-827 operates on all 6 populated continents in addition to the Wanderers' Library and uses a form of bio-anomalous cross-dimensional communication to accomplish that. The organization is unique in that "open" recruitment periods take place every year during March in Three Portlands. These recruitment events do not require prior vetting and can be attended without access to the Wanderers' Library.
Agent Laura D'Vour was sent to one such recruitment posed as a Nälkän hopeful in an attempt to infiltrate the organization. She was asked to strip for examination and an initiation ritual. She was terminated by the Karcist who oversaw the introduction before she could be initiated. The last thing observed over the audio transmission was a comment by the Karcist that she "Did not even have [Soonesaran Marks.]"
Of course, the community Agent D'Vour presented herself as hailing from had a tradition of CLM tattoos of familial symbols. However, at the time the overseer for the project, Former Head Commander of Site-56, Mr. Abbott Costello, assumed Soonesaran CLM tattoos in general were a trait they were looking for in potential recruits to weed out infiltration attempts.
So, developing markings was deemed priority number one in Mr. Costello's plan to accomplish a successful infiltration. Due to his influence, his project was approved quickly, but the resources required for a proper study wouldn't have been available for at least 6 months. He thought the matter was too urgent to wait till the 1999 recruitment period, so he took it upon himself to perform his //own// research.
A member of the group, PoI-83721("Võlutaar Saarn"), was apprehended outside of a motel room when she stepped outside to smoke a cigarette. Members of GoI-827 are known to self-terminate once taken into custody, so PoI-83721 was offered a deal immediately upon capture: her release in exchange for designing a Soonesaran CLM tattoo that would ensure the initiation of the bearer.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**DATE: March 14th, 1998**
**Interviewed:** PoI-83721("Võlutaar Saarn")
**Interviewer:** Commander Abbott Costello
**NOTE:** Immediately upon being offered the deal, PoI-83721 agreed to the terms and was given a pen, paper, and 30 minutes to compose her work. She was finished in under a minute.
-----
**[BEGIN LOG]**
PoI-83721 glares at Commander Costello, snaps the pencil she'd been given to draw the symbols, and tosses it at his feet as he walks into the room. Commander Costello clears his throat and then reaches out for the paper.
[[div class="letterfull"]]
+++ PoI-83721's Soonesaran
@@@@
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.৳<>°
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
**Commander Costello:** Fast. Are you sure this is correct?
**PoI-83721:** I get to leave now?
**Commander Costello:** [Commander Costello looks over the symbols on the piece of paper.] What does it mean?
**PoI-83721:** Doesn't translate into anything directly. Just lets people know you're //important.//
**Commander Costello:** That's the word for clothing, yeah?[[footnote]]At the time, Commander Costello had just finished leading a successful infiltration into the Divoši community. This, and the symbol for Nälkä, were the //only// symbols he was familiar with.[[/footnote]]
**PoI-83721:** [PoI-83721 pauses and looks at Commander Costello's face.] It is.
**Commander Costello:** What's it doing there? What do the other symbols mean?
**PoI-83721:** The meanings don't matter to the whole. It's like how "butter" doesn't mean anything in //butterfly//.
**Commander Costello:** Hmm...
**PoI-83721:** I gave you what you wanted. Aren't we done here?
**Commander Costello:** In a moment.
Commander Costello turns back toward the door, still looking at the piece of paper.
-----
**[END LOG]**
**Closing Statement:** PoI-83721 was amnescitzied, shown the piece of paper again, and asked to describe what she would think of someone who had it as a CLM tattoo. She scoffed, then stated that she would think they were "respectable." PoI-83721 was amnescitzied again and prepared for release. She was found dead in her cell less than an hour later before she could be transported back to the motel.
[[/div]]
Due to the "Silence is Self-Containment" policy, Foundation-loyal Soonesaran-literate personnel could not be interviewed to confirm the meaning of the provided symbols. Instead, Persons of Interest, Anomalies, and D-Class personnel from Nälkän backgrounds were interviewed.
To Mr. Costello's credit, he did //attempt// the scientific method. The "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].৳[[/span]]" symbol that Mr. Costello was already certain of the meaning of was used as a "control" in these conversations. Each individual was asked what they would think of a person with this CLM tattoo on their body and what "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].৳[[/span]]" represents.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**DATE: March 15th, 1998**
**Interviewed:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6521 PoI-64395("Alyx Gautier")]
**Interviewer:** Commander Abbott Costello
**NOTE:** PoI-64395 comes from a sarkic community that is being monitored by the Foundation and works as a tattoo artist. Their work incorporates a combination of artistic designs, Soonesaran and Pilesaran in both the traditional CLM and ink methods, and fleshshaping.
**[BEGIN LOG]**
PoI-64395 leans back in the interview chair with their feet on the table as Commander Costello enters the room.
**Commander Costello:** These here.
Commander Costello pushes PoI-64395's legs off the table and tosses the sheet of paper in front of them. They lean forward and take a look at the symbols.
**Commander Costello:** What would they mean to you if you tattooed them on someone's back?
[[div class="letterfull"]]
++ "An Important Person"
@@@@
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.৳<>°
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
PoI-64395 laughs and picks it up.
**Commander Costello:** What's funny?
**PoI-64395:** [PoI-64395 stops laughing and looks up at Commander Costello] Well... [PoI-64395 smiles, and pushes the paper away] I just can't believe it. I've never seen someone from the Foundation use Soonesaran before and this is shockingly well written at that. Better than most of the people who come into my shop with something in mind. The grammar, the strokes, even the thin ends of the worms.
**Commander Costello:** So... What does it mean?
**PoI-64395:** It's... ah... Ah, hmm... How do I put this... It means that you're... someone... //special//, I guess...
**Commander Costello:** [Points toward the symbol for clothing.] And what does this symbol right here mean? On its own.
**PoI-64395:** [PoI-64395 pauses, looks at Commander Costello's face, then looks back at the paper] ...Clothing...
Commander Costello nods, collects the paper, and exits the chamber.
-----
**[END LOG]**
[[/div]]
In total, 19 different individuals from various Nälkän backgrounds, and a few Neo-Sarkic, including PoI-83721 and PoI-64395, were interviewed in this manner. Of these, 14 were able to identify a meaning.
||~ Interviewed Individual||~ Description of Meaning||
||PoI-83721("Võlutaar Saarn")||"An important person" and "A respected person"||
||[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6521 PoI-64395("Alyx Gautier")]||"Someone special"||
||[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2075 SCP-2075]||"An individual of great honor"||
||D-35763("Park Hyeongjong")||"A person of high regard"||
||D-60834("Mikuk Petrova")|| "A trusted person"||
||[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/are-we-gentrified-yet PoI-8264("Zend Kivelä")]||"That whoever wrote this for them thinks they're totally rad"||
||D-85434("Fuxi Wei")|| "A trustworthy character"||
||PoI-64395("Võlutaar Iosefka")|| "Someone who did something good"||
||[https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/wreckage-by-the-sea PoI-64354("Zend Vigo")]|| "Morally sound"||
||D-64353("Áiax Álvares")|| "Someone I should probably listen to"||
||[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2133 SCP-2133-1-15, "Zhdan"]||"Someone valuable like [Commander Costello]"||
||D-52433("Aliide Mägi")|| "Someone to look up to"||
||D-34234("Makisig")|| "A dude with class"||
||[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2688 SCP-2688-A5("Alaparus Belos")]|| "A respected community member"||
These 14 individuals also correctly identified the control "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].৳[[/span]]" symbol as "clothes", "cloak," or "clothing."
From this point, Mr. Costello assumed that the meaning PoI-83721 gave to the symbols was correct. Though a few researchers aware of his project recommended further testing, the yearly window for recruitment into GoI-827 was closing and a //second// assassination attempt carried out by GoI-827 contributed to the urgency of the infiltration. The symbols were inscribed on Agent Vladimir Thorne using the CLM method and PoI-64395's assistance and he was sent to the meeting point in Three Portlands.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
= **VIDEO LOG**
----
**DATE: March 30th, 1998**
**NOTE:** Agent Vladimir Thorne arrived at the hotel room at 02:01 hours. He is let into the room along with 12 other hopeful recruits at 02:07 hours. There are 5 people present in the room as they enter: The overseeing Karcist, a towering man who greets each hopeful recruit with a friendly smile; three Võlutaar dressed in colorful woolen shawls, two of which are women and one is referred to by the others exclusively with gender-neutral terminology; and one non-sarkite Serpent's Hand-affiliated woman.
----
**[BEGIN LOG]**
**[2:10]:** Agent Thorne stands by the door, waiting to be called forward. Recruits are seen one at a time. Each is instructed to strip. Following this, they are examined and the Karcist grips their forehead. Once this ritual is complete, a slug-like organism is inserted into the nasal cavity. The newly initiated member's left eye twitches for several seconds following the insertion. Once the twitching subsides, they react to something that cannot be heard, are given a blanket to cover themselves, are congratulated by the Võlutaar and non-sarkite woman, and then walk to where the others stand to watch the next person in line. None of the recruits before Agent Thorne are terminated.
**[2:38]: KARCIST:** You in the black. [The Karcist points towards Agent Thorne] Come, child. Disrobe.
**2:38:** Agent Thorne moves to stand in front of the Karcist, facing away from him and toward the Võlutaar and non-sarkite woman as the previous recruits had. He begins to remove his clothing.
**[2:38]: VÕLUTAAR 1:** You've been too... //quiet//. Are you scared to show emotion? I promise he doesn't bite. He has much more efficient ways to hurt someone.
**[2:38]:** One of the other two Võlutaar chuckles. The Karcist smiles at their joke and shakes his head. Agent Thorne does not react. The Karcist frowns and looks towards the Võlutaar of indeterminate gender with a wary expression.
**[2:39]: KARCIST:** The silence //is// unnerving. I always worry some join out of mere bloodlust... Is that your concern too, Lyev?
**[2:39]:** The Võlutaar tilts their hand from side to side in a so-and-so motion. The Karcist purses his lips and reaches forward to stroke the top of Agent Thorne's hair.
**[2:39]: KARCIST:** Maybe socialization just isn't his strong suit. He might be well utilized in one of the soup kitchens. You won't have to talk to too many people there.
**[2:39]: WOMAN:** Maybe he //would// make a good assassin. Isn't lack of emotion like... a //good// thing for that?
**[2:39]: VÕLUTAAR 2[[footnote]]This individual resembles PoI-83721 and seems to have taken on her identity and memories following her death. This is most likely accomplished through a rare method of discontinuous immortality found in some Nälkän communities.[[/footnote]]:** What? Of course not. It's a //memorable// trait.
**[2:39]: WOMAN:** Really?
**[2:39]: VÕLUTAAR 3:** That's something you saw on your //TV//, isn't it? I swear it's all propaganda. When I was a-
**[2:40]:** Agent Thorne removes his shirt.
[[div class="letterfull"]]
++ Agent Thorne's Tattoo
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.৳<>°
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
**[2:40]:**The Karcist cuts his Võlutaar off mid-sentence with sudden roaring laughter. The Karcist grips Agent Thorne by the throat. He lifts him into the air, turning his body to show his Võlutaar the Soonesaran marking on his back, then toward the newly initiated recruits to show them as well. The others, except for the non-sarkite woman who seems startled and confused and one Võlutaar who crosses her arms and frowns, begin laughing as well.
**[2:40]: VÕLUTAAR 1:** Oh... Oh //wow//. [They continue laughing.] Jailors are trying something new, huh? Saarn, did //you// give 'em this?
**[2:40]: VÕLUTAAR 2:** I don't know! [The Võlutaar reaches a hand to cover her eyes as she keeps laughing.] Sure seems like something I'd do, though, right? Maybe that's why it took me so long after they picked me up last time.
**[2:40]: VÕLUTAAR 3:** This could be seen as //colluding// with the enemy. I hope it was worth it.
**[2:40]: VÕLUTAAR 1:** Stop being such a hag and enjoy yourself for once!
**[2:40]: WOMAN:** Could... someone tell me what it says? I can't read Soonesaran.
**[2:41]: KARCIST:** [The Karcist reaches his free hand up to wipe a tear from his eye.] I will once we're sure no one's listening... I never thought I'd see this for myself. [The Karcist takes a moment to regain his composure and stop laughing before snapping Agent Thorne's neck. The feed is cut.]
-----
**[END LOG]**
[[/div]]
Following the catastrophic failure of the infiltration attempt, Mr. Costello was furious. A dozen more interviews with individuals of Nälkän and Neo-Sarkic background, this time rather than offering rewards, they were threatened with violence if they refused to cooperate. These tests yielded the same result of consistent interpretation of the symbols as belonging to a respected individual. At this point, Mr. Costello finally understood that something about the symbols must have been letting the readers in on a conspiracy.
5 months later, the necessary resources for the project were allocated. As part of the investigation, immunity was granted to Soonesaran-Literate employees of the Foundation who identified themselves for interview.
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**DATE: April 12th, 1998**
**Interviewed:** Dr. Evika Cohen
**Interviewer:** Commander Abbott Costello
-----
**[BEGIN LOG]**
Dr. Cohen smiles as Commander Costello enters the room.
**Commander Costello:** I can't say I expected someone I //knew// would step forward. How have you been, Eve?
**Dr. Cohen:** Fine... But I've asked you not to call me that. [Dr. Cohen sighs, then smiles again.] But... there's a lot more of us than you'd think.
**Commander Costello:** [Commander Costello places the paper down in front of her.] Oh yeah? How about you tell us what this //actually// means? Or should we ask one of the //many// others?
[[div class="letterfull"]]
++ Agent Thorne's Tattoo
@@@@
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.৳<>°
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
**Dr. Cohen:** [Dr. Cohen rolls her eyes, lets out a dry laugh, and then looks down at the paper. Her smile drops and she looks back up at Commander Costello with an incredulous expression.] You sent... an //agent//... into the //Order of the Wyrm//... with //this// on his back...?
**Commander Costello:** ...Yes.
-----
**[END LOG]**
[[/div]]
To be frank, I was disgusted by the incompetence and impatience Mr. Costello showed in his "research." Agent Thorne was a human being. He was a good man; he believed in the Foundation's mission and wanted to make the world a safer place just like the rest of us. He had a family and a girlfriend I still talk to occasionally. If Mr. Costello had waited 6 months, Agent Thorne would not have been subjected to such a needless, shameful death.
In addition to the logograph for "clothing," there were three glyphs that Mr. Costello did not recognize.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Enslaver
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.<
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Pig
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.>
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ One Who Copulates
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.°
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
The greater compound word PoI-83721 gave to Mr. Costello is made up of two smaller compound words.
[[div class="wrapper"]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
+++ The SCP Foundation[[footnote]]Though, this is a term used primarily by opponents of the Foundation's actions. In propaganda disseminated to Nälkän communities, the term "[[span class="pilesaranText"]].৳૱[[/span]]" is always preferred.[[/footnote]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.৳<
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="lettertall"]]
++ Pigfucker[[footnote]]This phrase dates back to at least the Deathless Empire and even appears in one story in the Valksaran when it's utilized by Klavigar Saarn in much the same way as PoI-83721. While this is more commonly used as an insult such as "Motherfucker" or "Bastard," it is a //widely// recognized indicator as a CLM tattoo that the bearer doesn't actually know what it says and can't be trusted.[[/footnote]]
[[div class="pilesaran"]]
[[div class="verticalrotate"]]
.>°
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
When Soonesaran or Pilesaran are inscribed on a person's body, it is understood as a statement of //identity//.
The identity that this CLM tattoo put forward was "I am an agent of the SCP Foundation, I fuck pigs, and I don't know what this says."
Upon seeing this Soonesaran and being asked to identify what it would mean on a person's body, everyone who could read it would, of course, //immediately// understand what PoI-83721 was trying to do.
-----
During his disciplinary hearing, Mr. Costello kept repeating how he was //shocked// by what he saw as an inexplicable unspoken solidarity he could not have foreseen. None of these people had met each other. None of them came from the same community. None of them shared the same beliefs or customs. Most of them didn't even speak the same //language//. And yet, every single one of them, even when threatened, felt enough loyalty to one another to play along.
But all I could think about was that... it wasn't //loyalty//. If I weren't employed by the Foundation or were asked by someone else I didn't trust under similar circumstances, I'm sure I would have played along with what PoI-83721 set up too. That doesn't make me, or those Mr. Costello interviewed, //loyal// to her or her cause.
They did it for the same reason Mr. Costello pushed forward with his project despite the many voices telling him to just //wait//.
Nälkän communities worldwide don't have much in common with each other in the grand scheme of things; Nälkän and Neo-Sarkic communities have even less. But between all of them; Eastern, Western, Northern, and Southern; those living in the isolation of the Russian Tundra or the metropolis of New York City; there is one trait all of us have in common. It's why Nälkän communities still use Pilesaran and Soonesaran long after they've abandoned the languages they were developed for.
It's the same trait I share with my husband and his Jewish ancestors. It's what's kept minority religions and cultures told to assimilate or die alive for millennia after the fall of their great civilizations. It's the trait behind the Women's Suffrage, Civil Rights, and LGBTQ Liberation movements and paradoxically why they were needed in the first place. It's why the Foundation has never given up no matter how hard fighting to keep humanity safe becomes. It's why my daughter, face covered in a smear of chocolate, still lied to me about who stole her brother's candy.
We, like all of humanity, are //stubborn//.
Your commander who kept you in this class despite knowing you shouldn't be here might be the most incredible person. They might be strong, tough, or make you feel like you're family. They might have fully convinced you that I'm dramatic and over-emotional with ideals clouded by my heritage.
They aren't the one with the gun to their head.
We, //The Foundation//, have to ensure that that stubbornness we all possess drives us forward and not to our deaths.
[[footnoteblock]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=IronShears & Guaire]]
> **Filename:** Pilesaran-Regular.ttf
> **Author:** IronShears
> **License:** CC-BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** The CSS file of this page
> **Additional Notes:** This font was created using [https://www.calligraphr.com/en/ Calligraphr] and [https://fontforge.org/en-US/ FontForge]
> **Filename:** wormtattoopainting.png
> **Author:** Isidore Pils(1836)
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Isidore_Pils_-_Study_of_a_Reclining_Nude_-_1939.63_-_Cleveland_Museum_of_Art.tif
> **Additional Notes:** Edited by Ironshears
> **Filename:** Hookworm_filariform_A.jpg
> **Author:** Fernandolive
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hookworm_filariform_A.jpg
> **Filename:** shoulderworms.png
> **Author:** Elements Of This World
> **License:** CC-BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Adult_female_bending_downwards_in_a_shower.png
> **Additional Notes:** Edited by Ironshears
> **Filename:** adytitestele.png
> **Author:** Ángel M. Felicísimo
> **License:** CC-BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://www.flickr.com/photos/elgolem/29350234441/
> **Additional Notes:** Edited by Ironshears
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-11-27T05:09:00
|
[
"_image",
"_licensebox",
"illustrated",
"religious-fiction",
"sarkic",
"spy-fiction",
"tale",
"worldbuilding"
] |
Nälkän Scripts and Languages 213: Pilesaran and Soonesaran - SCP Foundation
| 91
|
[
"old-adytite-language",
"sarkic-case-study-01-the-vas-n-a-of-sarvi",
"mother-who-demands-ones-toes",
"kuobachs-eyes",
"an-anthropological-approach-to-sarkicism-case-study-02-the-d",
"sarkic-case-study-05-korean-seulga",
"scp-2833",
"scp-2133",
"scp-4476",
"scp-4772",
"scp-4036",
"ancestrecall",
"scp-6521",
"scp-2075",
"are-we-gentrified-yet",
"scp-2688",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"sarkicism-hub"
] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran/wormtattoopainting.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran/Hookworm_filariform_A.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran/shoulderworms.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran/adytitestele.png",
"https://i.imgur.com/Qfy2cK6.png",
"https://i.imgur.com/wEWnSr5.png"
] |
1457443177
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nsl213-pilesaran-and-soonesaran
|
|
nuclear-gunpoint
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: right; margin-right: 2em; margin-top: -20px;">
<p>by <a href="/ethagon-s-author-page">Ethagon</a></p>
</div>
<p>Ending the Nuclear Arms Race had been a full success; the only thing that remained was the paperwork.</p>
<p>The Defense Division still had to monitor the situation for a bit to ensure the world would not relapse into old habits, but all in all their job was done. The mystical tlanex would be once again the sole domain of the nation Tlaneyanco.</p>
<p>At least that's what Yaotl thought until Adrix sat down at her desk with a stack of papers.</p>
<p>"And what's this?"</p>
<p>"Irregularities. You know how I've been looking at the distribution of uranium for the last while?"</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>"First of all, there's a high concentration of experimental nuclear power plants in this region," Adrix pointed at one of the papers in the stack. A region in North America, US was marked. "And they don't follow the trends."</p>
<p>"What trend?"</p>
<p>"The end of the Arms Race had a noticeable impact on all nuclear research, not just the weapon sector."</p>
<p>Yaotl looked at the data. The power plants in the region did shut down or reduce activity, but there was a delay of a few months to the start of the reduction compared with other regions.</p>
<p>"It's not concrete enough, this could be an imagined pattern."</p>
<p>"I thought so too, but look at their start points."</p>
<p>Yaotl turned the page. At first, the region was empty. But as soon as the first experimental power plant was completed, they began springing up one after the other, far quicker than their counterparts in other regions.</p>
<p>Yaotl mulled it over. "It could still be a coincidence."</p>
<p>"We should at least check it out."</p>
<p>"If this is a trick to keep the Defense Division running…"</p>
<p>"I just want to be thorough."</p>
<p>"If our Division overexerts itself we become just as much a threat to Tlaneyanco as the nations we hide from." Yaotl stared at Adrix. "But taking a look won't hurt."</p>
<hr/>
<p>It ended up taking more than a look. Each power plant they visited had already been out of commission months prior. Every dead end left more and more of the allegedly delivered uranium unaccounted for. Both Yaotl and Adrix knew what somebody might need this much uranium for.</p>
<p>Eventually, they found a plant that was still running. Still, the personnel seemed oblivious. All questions of relevance lead to blank stares. Where is the ordered uranium? Who managed your logistics? What sponsors do you have? All resulted in hazy non-answers.</p>
<p>Yaotl suspected memory manipulation. So they brought in a master of the orange flame. Adrix was skillful in the control of Tlanexmonia, but this exceeded his capabilities. A few modified refreshments later the power plant workers spilled their newly regained memories.</p>
<p>They had a lead.</p>
<p>The lead brought them to a firearms factory. Given they were dealing with an unknown actor, barging in guns blazing wasn't an option. They needed more intel.</p>
<p>After monitoring the arrivals and departures of the factory for a while, they found their target.</p>
<p>The truck was well-guarded but stood no chance to the superior technology of Tlaneyanco. As always, they left no trace.</p>
<p>The truck brought them four subjects to interrogate and one plant in a rusty box. Yaotl was testing multiple devices on the plant to no avail. The rest of the world would call it a Geiger Counter. They'd be wrong in so far as a 'Geiger Counter' could not distinguish between the four divine flames, merely labelling it all as 'radiation'. But whatever this plant was, it was unrelated to any of them.</p>
<p>A door opened.</p>
<p>"One of them is willing to talk now."</p>
<p>Adrix left Yaotl to the device and went into the interrogation room.</p>
<p>Before her was a distraught man in a lab coat.</p>
<p>"So, who are you working for."</p>
<p>The man looked up at him. "Foundation."</p>
<p>"What foundation?"</p>
<p>"I… I don't know. They never told me."</p>
<p>"What were you transporting?"</p>
<p>"I was never told its properties, I was just sent to observe."</p>
<p>"Observe what?"</p>
<p>"Unusual properties during the transport." Adrix gave him a hard look. "Nothing happened. It stayed in the rusted cage." The man jolted up. "Did you open it? The object <span style="text-decoration: underline;">must</span> be kept in a rusted cage at all times."</p>
<p>"Oh? What happens if we open it."</p>
<p>The nervousness returned. "That is above my clearance level. But it was implied it would be dangerous to let it escape."</p>
<p>Adrix could not think of anything created by tlanex that could cause such an effect. It must really be unrelated to radiation then.</p>
<p>"What can you tell me about your uranium?"</p>
<p>"U- uranium?" The man gulped. "I don't know."</p>
<p>Better to be nice about this. "Well, what do you think that it is for?"</p>
<p>"Uranium is a normal material, I don't know why we would– oh."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"When I was instructed about containment breaches, the um, basically a prison break, it was implied there was a 'last resort' to make sure nothing escaped the Site."</p>
<p>"You're dealing with a lot of dangerous implications here."</p>
<p>The man turned pale.</p>
<p>"Are you saying that your factory has a self-destruct button that uses <em>nuclear</em> detonation?"</p>
<p>"I– I don't know for sure."</p>
<p>They talked for a while after. It was not all that much information. The factory was a cover story for 'Site-21', a prison for abnormal entities and objects. Of other Sites, he had no knowledge.</p>
<p>Adrix left the interrogation room.</p>
<p>"You got everything out of him?" Yaotl had finished examining the plant.</p>
<p>"Yeah, he didn't know much. The transcript should be on your desk."</p>
<p>"Good." Having made a decision, Yaotl's eyes started burning with the amber flame.</p>
<p>"No. No! NO!" Adrix rushed back to the interrogation room, but it was too late. The researcher's head had been burnt out from the inside. The result of Yaotl's unique application of Tlanexpoloa that she had been recruited for in the first place.</p>
<p>"Why?"</p>
<p>Yaotl crossed her arms. "We can't take any risks. Not with an enemy this unknown."</p>
<p>"They aren't even using it for warfare!"</p>
<p>"It doesn't matter. They have the capacity."</p>
<p>"If that were enough justification we would have stopped all nuclear research. Not just the weapon aspect."</p>
<p>Yaotl scoffed. "Are you saying we should just let these people go without interference?"</p>
<p>"No, but," Adrix tried to get her thoughts in order. "I think a slower approach would be beneficial here. If they're unburdened by national concerns they might even understand the sacredness of the tlanex."</p>
<p>"You're always making this distinction," Yaotl said. "Tlanex when we use it and 'nuclear' when the rest of the world does. It's the same thing. We just got to it first. And I intend to keep that advantage."</p>
<p>Adrix was aghast at a statement so close to blasphemy.</p>
<p>"Either way, we should just light their own bomb remotely and be done with it."</p>
<p>Adrix composed herself. "We need to know more to gauge what reaction that will cause. I say we operate as usual. Slow infiltration followed by surgical strikes to guide them away from nuclear energy."</p>
<p>Yaotl knew she was right, even if she'd rather be done with it as soon as possible. "Fine. We infiltrate. But as soon as things go south, we're switching to my plan."</p>
<hr/>
<p>Getting in was trivial. After getting suited up, Adrix simply laid down on one of the muddier roads that the trucks of Site-21 covered. She ensured the road was just muddy enough that the car had to slow down without stopping and then attached herself to the bottom of the car. A little orange flame manipulation would ensure she would stick to it throughout the ride.</p>
<p>When they were in the Site proper she still hung to the car until the signal came.</p>
<p><em>All clear.</em> That was the signal from Yaotl. They were communicating via the tlanex. As a user of the orange flame trained for this, Adrix could interpret the radiation signal directly while Yaotl had a radio able to convert the signal back to their base.</p>
<p>Yaotl was just as vital to this mission as Adrix. Back at the temporary base were multiple binoculars modified to see all kinds of radiation generated by the Site. Yaotl was telling her that no human was near her now.</p>
<p>That way they had also found out that the bomb was towards the centre at the bottom of the Site. The bomb was not their goal today.</p>
<p>Adrix rolled out from under the car and went into the facility proper.</p>
<p>As she peaked into a corridor the first thing she noticed was a state-of-the-art security camera. State-of-the-art for the rest of the world still included the occasional failure, however. Per the tlanex link, Adrix provided Yaotl with the coordinates of the camera cable relative to her.</p>
<p>A small amber flame appeared right next to the camera. Adrix quickly sent corrections before the camera could notice. The flame vanished and the cable sparked.</p>
<p>Adrix waited a moment longer. Yaotl sent her the location of where the camera cables terminated.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, they couldn't do this trick more than once. One malfunction would be the maximum they could get away with without raising too much suspicion.</p>
<p>Adrix snuck past the rest of the surveillance. Her suit changed appearance to match the wall, so even if she was caught on camera she would likely not stand out.</p>
<p>At one point she had to hook herself to the ceiling as security personnel walked in the direction she came from. Were they checking on the camera already? She briefly thought about sending Yaotl a message but decided against it. It wasn't unlikely she would pull the trigger even for such a minor thing. Better to carry on.</p>
<p>She arrived at the surveillance room.</p>
<p><em>Two people inside.</em></p>
<p>Adrix used as little of the orange flame as possible to slowly transform the closed door into an open door without making a sound. She asked Yaotl for the status of the two.</p>
<p><em>No reaction.</em></p>
<p>So they weren't looking at the door.</p>
<p>Both of them were sitting and not talking to each other. A trivial task to sneak up on each of them and let them smell her prepared handkerchief.</p>
<p>They'd just think they dosed off whenever their senses would return to them.</p>
<p>Time to investigate.</p>
<p>The monitors were each handling multiple cameras, this was really bleeding-edge technology.</p>
<p>She studied the footage of the Site for a while until she was sure where its archives were located. Adrix and Yaotl communicated for a while longer to reconstruct a floor plan of the Site based on the footage, then she left.</p>
<p>The Archives were far from her current position, but having doctored the footage, the cameras weren't a problem.</p>
<p>Finally, she was at the treasure cave.</p>
<p>The door had to be changed again to gain access. Once inside, she started reading.</p>
<p>Or rather, Yaotl would be. Adrix wasn't so much reading as she was dictating words via the tlanex link to the base.</p>
<p>She remained undisturbed for five hours.</p>
<p><em>Two. Incoming.</em></p>
<p>Adrix quickly hid before two researchers entered the room.</p>
<p>"The file should be up there," said the first voice.</p>
<p>"Is it this one?"</p>
<p>The first voice was silent.</p>
<p>"Mark?"</p>
<p>"You would not happen to know somebody that'd have interest in this folder, would you?"</p>
<p>"No?"</p>
<p>"Good. Because it's above the clearance level of anyone but three people here."</p>
<p>"Okay?"</p>
<p>"And it was not in this position yesterday."</p>
<p>That couldn't be. Adrix had put everything in exactly the way she found it. It could only be off by half a centimetre at best.</p>
<p>The first voice spoke into their handheld radio. "Mark here, I need you to look at the footage for the Archive for the last 24 hours. Over."</p>
<p>The radio was silent. Adrix tensed.</p>
<p>"Please respond. Over."</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>The first voice cursed. "Stay in the Archive. If anything's suspicious, press the breach alarm."</p>
<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
<p>Before the owner of the first voice to could leave the room, Adrix had stepped out of her hiding place and incapacitated him. The other researcher was so shocked that he didn't have time to register being knocked out.</p>
<p>This was still salvageable. It was inevitable now for the Site to find out that they were breached, but not by whom. Her footage was already deleted. All that mattered now was leaving the Site undetected.</p>
<p>Then the handheld radio spoke up. "Mark? What is the problem?"</p>
<p>There was no way she could respond to this.</p>
<p>"Mark?"</p>
<p>The voice had hardened for the second call.</p>
<p>"Mark. Respond."</p>
<p>Adrix left the Archive.</p>
<p>From this position, her exit was only three corridors away, plus this section seemed to have next-to-no traffic, giving her–</p>
<p>The lights turned red. Walls rammed into existence on both sides of the corridor. An automated voice started giving orders.</p>
<p>Adrix sunk against the wall. She had been so close.</p>
<p><em>Site stirred up. Are you compromised?</em></p>
<p>Adrix thought about a way out of this. Could she bulldoze through the walls until she was outside? Maybe. And then what? There is no way they wouldn't tail her. No way she would make it out without revealing the tlanex.</p>
<p><em>Are you compromised?</em></p>
<p>Adrix hardened her suit.</p>
<p><em>Yes.</em></p>
<p>It took only a moment for the bomb to go off. Not in the unclean way that was the only way the rest of the world could grasp the nuclear, but in the pure amber flame of Tonatiuhtcipactli.</p>
<p>She just let the explosion wash over her. It wouldn't harm her as the rest of the Site caved into itself, bereft of any foundation to hold it together.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Adrix listlessly freed herself of the rubble. For the last metre a hand reached down and pulled her out. It was Yaotl.</p>
<p>"No time to laze around. We have to be gone before any reinforcements arrive."</p>
<p>Adrix looked around. She wasn't the only point of interest. They were also digging out the few imprisoned creatures that survived the shock. Yaotl had also brought the plant.</p>
<p>"What are you doing."</p>
<p>"Our ultimate goal hasn't changed. Do the best we can to discourage the use of nuclear weaponry."</p>
<p>The plant was set down amidst the rubble. The personnel started burying it while Yaotl engulfed it in her amber flame. The plant grew thorns and started thrashing its cage, not knowing what to do with all this new destructive energy.</p>
<p>"If they think the explosion just made their prisoners more dangerous, they're less likely to use it again."</p>
<p>Adrix stared as the plant vanished under the remains of the Site.</p>
<p>She sighed. "At least it's over now."</p>
<p>"I'm not so sure about that. This was just one Site. You were right in thinking we should infiltrate this organization so things develop as we need them to."</p>
<p>Yaotl moved past Adrix. "But that's for the Queen to decide. Maybe this will be <a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-es-097">the last time we hear from each other</a>."</p>
<p>When the Foundation forces finally arrived, nothing even hinting at the existence of the Defense Division of Tlaneyanco remained.</p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/nuclear-gunpoint">Nuclear Gunpoint</a>" by Ethagon, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nuclear-gunpoint">https://scpwiki.com/nuclear-gunpoint</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div style="text-align: right; margin-right: 2em; margin-top: -20px;"]]
by [[[Ethagon's Author Page| Ethagon]]]
[[/div]]
Ending the Nuclear Arms Race had been a full success; the only thing that remained was the paperwork.
The Defense Division still had to monitor the situation for a bit to ensure the world would not relapse into old habits, but all in all their job was done. The mystical tlanex would be once again the sole domain of the nation Tlaneyanco.
At least that's what Yaotl thought until Adrix sat down at her desk with a stack of papers.
"And what's this?"
"Irregularities. You know how I've been looking at the distribution of uranium for the last while?"
"Yeah."
"First of all, there's a high concentration of experimental nuclear power plants in this region," Adrix pointed at one of the papers in the stack. A region in North America, US was marked. "And they don't follow the trends."
"What trend?"
"The end of the Arms Race had a noticeable impact on all nuclear research, not just the weapon sector."
Yaotl looked at the data. The power plants in the region did shut down or reduce activity, but there was a delay of a few months to the start of the reduction compared with other regions.
"It's not concrete enough, this could be an imagined pattern."
"I thought so too, but look at their start points."
Yaotl turned the page. At first, the region was empty. But as soon as the first experimental power plant was completed, they began springing up one after the other, far quicker than their counterparts in other regions.
Yaotl mulled it over. "It could still be a coincidence."
"We should at least check it out."
"If this is a trick to keep the Defense Division running..."
"I just want to be thorough."
"If our Division overexerts itself we become just as much a threat to Tlaneyanco as the nations we hide from." Yaotl stared at Adrix. "But taking a look won't hurt."
-----
It ended up taking more than a look. Each power plant they visited had already been out of commission months prior. Every dead end left more and more of the allegedly delivered uranium unaccounted for. Both Yaotl and Adrix knew what somebody might need this much uranium for.
Eventually, they found a plant that was still running. Still, the personnel seemed oblivious. All questions of relevance lead to blank stares. Where is the ordered uranium? Who managed your logistics? What sponsors do you have? All resulted in hazy non-answers.
Yaotl suspected memory manipulation. So they brought in a master of the orange flame. Adrix was skillful in the control of Tlanexmonia, but this exceeded his capabilities. A few modified refreshments later the power plant workers spilled their newly regained memories.
They had a lead.
The lead brought them to a firearms factory. Given they were dealing with an unknown actor, barging in guns blazing wasn't an option. They needed more intel.
After monitoring the arrivals and departures of the factory for a while, they found their target.
The truck was well-guarded but stood no chance to the superior technology of Tlaneyanco. As always, they left no trace.
The truck brought them four subjects to interrogate and one plant in a rusty box. Yaotl was testing multiple devices on the plant to no avail. The rest of the world would call it a Geiger Counter. They'd be wrong in so far as a 'Geiger Counter' could not distinguish between the four divine flames, merely labelling it all as 'radiation'. But whatever this plant was, it was unrelated to any of them.
A door opened.
"One of them is willing to talk now."
Adrix left Yaotl to the device and went into the interrogation room.
Before her was a distraught man in a lab coat.
"So, who are you working for."
The man looked up at him. "Foundation."
"What foundation?"
"I... I don't know. They never told me."
"What were you transporting?"
"I was never told its properties, I was just sent to observe."
"Observe what?"
"Unusual properties during the transport." Adrix gave him a hard look. "Nothing happened. It stayed in the rusted cage." The man jolted up. "Did you open it? The object __must__ be kept in a rusted cage at all times."
"Oh? What happens if we open it."
The nervousness returned. "That is above my clearance level. But it was implied it would be dangerous to let it escape."
Adrix could not think of anything created by tlanex that could cause such an effect. It must really be unrelated to radiation then.
"What can you tell me about your uranium?"
"U- uranium?" The man gulped. "I don't know."
Better to be nice about this. "Well, what do you think that it is for?"
"Uranium is a normal material, I don't know why we would– oh."
"What?"
"When I was instructed about containment breaches, the um, basically a prison break, it was implied there was a 'last resort' to make sure nothing escaped the Site."
"You're dealing with a lot of dangerous implications here."
The man turned pale.
"Are you saying that your factory has a self-destruct button that uses //nuclear// detonation?"
"I– I don't know for sure."
They talked for a while after. It was not all that much information. The factory was a cover story for 'Site-21', a prison for abnormal entities and objects. Of other Sites, he had no knowledge.
Adrix left the interrogation room.
"You got everything out of him?" Yaotl had finished examining the plant.
"Yeah, he didn't know much. The transcript should be on your desk."
"Good." Having made a decision, Yaotl's eyes started burning with the amber flame.
"No. No! NO!" Adrix rushed back to the interrogation room, but it was too late. The researcher's head had been burnt out from the inside. The result of Yaotl's unique application of Tlanexpoloa that she had been recruited for in the first place.
"Why?"
Yaotl crossed her arms. "We can't take any risks. Not with an enemy this unknown."
"They aren't even using it for warfare!"
"It doesn't matter. They have the capacity."
"If that were enough justification we would have stopped all nuclear research. Not just the weapon aspect."
Yaotl scoffed. "Are you saying we should just let these people go without interference?"
"No, but," Adrix tried to get her thoughts in order. "I think a slower approach would be beneficial here. If they're unburdened by national concerns they might even understand the sacredness of the tlanex."
"You're always making this distinction," Yaotl said. "Tlanex when we use it and 'nuclear' when the rest of the world does. It's the same thing. We just got to it first. And I intend to keep that advantage."
Adrix was aghast at a statement so close to blasphemy.
"Either way, we should just light their own bomb remotely and be done with it."
Adrix composed herself. "We need to know more to gauge what reaction that will cause. I say we operate as usual. Slow infiltration followed by surgical strikes to guide them away from nuclear energy."
Yaotl knew she was right, even if she'd rather be done with it as soon as possible. "Fine. We infiltrate. But as soon as things go south, we're switching to my plan."
-----
Getting in was trivial. After getting suited up, Adrix simply laid down on one of the muddier roads that the trucks of Site-21 covered. She ensured the road was just muddy enough that the car had to slow down without stopping and then attached herself to the bottom of the car. A little orange flame manipulation would ensure she would stick to it throughout the ride.
When they were in the Site proper she still hung to the car until the signal came.
//All clear.// That was the signal from Yaotl. They were communicating via the tlanex. As a user of the orange flame trained for this, Adrix could interpret the radiation signal directly while Yaotl had a radio able to convert the signal back to their base.
Yaotl was just as vital to this mission as Adrix. Back at the temporary base were multiple binoculars modified to see all kinds of radiation generated by the Site. Yaotl was telling her that no human was near her now.
That way they had also found out that the bomb was towards the centre at the bottom of the Site. The bomb was not their goal today.
Adrix rolled out from under the car and went into the facility proper.
As she peaked into a corridor the first thing she noticed was a state-of-the-art security camera. State-of-the-art for the rest of the world still included the occasional failure, however. Per the tlanex link, Adrix provided Yaotl with the coordinates of the camera cable relative to her.
A small amber flame appeared right next to the camera. Adrix quickly sent corrections before the camera could notice. The flame vanished and the cable sparked.
Adrix waited a moment longer. Yaotl sent her the location of where the camera cables terminated.
Unfortunately, they couldn't do this trick more than once. One malfunction would be the maximum they could get away with without raising too much suspicion.
Adrix snuck past the rest of the surveillance. Her suit changed appearance to match the wall, so even if she was caught on camera she would likely not stand out.
At one point she had to hook herself to the ceiling as security personnel walked in the direction she came from. Were they checking on the camera already? She briefly thought about sending Yaotl a message but decided against it. It wasn't unlikely she would pull the trigger even for such a minor thing. Better to carry on.
She arrived at the surveillance room.
//Two people inside.//
Adrix used as little of the orange flame as possible to slowly transform the closed door into an open door without making a sound. She asked Yaotl for the status of the two.
//No reaction.//
So they weren't looking at the door.
Both of them were sitting and not talking to each other. A trivial task to sneak up on each of them and let them smell her prepared handkerchief.
They'd just think they dosed off whenever their senses would return to them.
Time to investigate.
The monitors were each handling multiple cameras, this was really bleeding-edge technology.
She studied the footage of the Site for a while until she was sure where its archives were located. Adrix and Yaotl communicated for a while longer to reconstruct a floor plan of the Site based on the footage, then she left.
The Archives were far from her current position, but having doctored the footage, the cameras weren't a problem.
Finally, she was at the treasure cave.
The door had to be changed again to gain access. Once inside, she started reading.
Or rather, Yaotl would be. Adrix wasn't so much reading as she was dictating words via the tlanex link to the base.
She remained undisturbed for five hours.
//Two. Incoming.//
Adrix quickly hid before two researchers entered the room.
"The file should be up there," said the first voice.
"Is it this one?"
The first voice was silent.
"Mark?"
"You would not happen to know somebody that'd have interest in this folder, would you?"
"No?"
"Good. Because it's above the clearance level of anyone but three people here."
"Okay?"
"And it was not in this position yesterday."
That couldn't be. Adrix had put everything in exactly the way she found it. It could only be off by half a centimetre at best.
The first voice spoke into their handheld radio. "Mark here, I need you to look at the footage for the Archive for the last 24 hours. Over."
The radio was silent. Adrix tensed.
"Please respond. Over."
Silence.
The first voice cursed. "Stay in the Archive. If anything's suspicious, press the breach alarm."
"Yes, sir."
Before the owner of the first voice to could leave the room, Adrix had stepped out of her hiding place and incapacitated him. The other researcher was so shocked that he didn't have time to register being knocked out.
This was still salvageable. It was inevitable now for the Site to find out that they were breached, but not by whom. Her footage was already deleted. All that mattered now was leaving the Site undetected.
Then the handheld radio spoke up. "Mark? What is the problem?"
There was no way she could respond to this.
"Mark?"
The voice had hardened for the second call.
"Mark. Respond."
Adrix left the Archive.
From this position, her exit was only three corridors away, plus this section seemed to have next-to-no traffic, giving her–
The lights turned red. Walls rammed into existence on both sides of the corridor. An automated voice started giving orders.
Adrix sunk against the wall. She had been so close.
//Site stirred up. Are you compromised?//
Adrix thought about a way out of this. Could she bulldoze through the walls until she was outside? Maybe. And then what? There is no way they wouldn't tail her. No way she would make it out without revealing the tlanex.
//Are you compromised?//
Adrix hardened her suit.
//Yes.//
It took only a moment for the bomb to go off. Not in the unclean way that was the only way the rest of the world could grasp the nuclear, but in the pure amber flame of Tonatiuhtcipactli.
She just let the explosion wash over her. It wouldn't harm her as the rest of the Site caved into itself, bereft of any foundation to hold it together.
-----
Adrix listlessly freed herself of the rubble. For the last metre a hand reached down and pulled her out. It was Yaotl.
"No time to laze around. We have to be gone before any reinforcements arrive."
Adrix looked around. She wasn't the only point of interest. They were also digging out the few imprisoned creatures that survived the shock. Yaotl had also brought the plant.
"What are you doing."
"Our ultimate goal hasn't changed. Do the best we can to discourage the use of nuclear weaponry."
The plant was set down amidst the rubble. The personnel started burying it while Yaotl engulfed it in her amber flame. The plant grew thorns and started thrashing its cage, not knowing what to do with all this new destructive energy.
"If they think the explosion just made their prisoners more dangerous, they're less likely to use it again."
Adrix stared as the plant vanished under the remains of the Site.
She sighed. "At least it's over now."
"I'm not so sure about that. This was just one Site. You were right in thinking we should infiltrate this organization so things develop as we need them to."
Yaotl moved past Adrix. "But that's for the Queen to decide. Maybe this will be [[[http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-es-097|the last time we hear from each other]]]."
When the Foundation forces finally arrived, nothing even hinting at the existence of the Defense Division of Tlaneyanco remained.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a> |author=Ethagon]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-01-03T00:53:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"art-exchange",
"period-piece",
"spy-fiction",
"tale"
] |
Nuclear Gunpoint - SCP Foundation
| 16
|
[
"ethagon-s-author-page",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"art-exchange-hub"
] |
[] |
1452018818
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nuclear-gunpoint
|
|
nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p><strong>Article:</strong> Only the Rain weeps for me<br/>
<strong>Original:</strong> <a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wikidot.com/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich">can be found here</a><br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/gramlin" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7212255); return false;"><img alt="Gramlin" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7212255&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1730439302" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7212255)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/gramlin" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7212255); return false;">Gramlin</a></span> and his Girlfriend<br/>
<strong>Translator:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/karpfisch" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7619184); return false;"><img alt="Karpfisch" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7619184&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1730439302" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7619184)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/karpfisch" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7619184); return false;">Karpfisch</a></span><br/>
<strong>Pictures:</strong> All made by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/gramlin" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7212255); return false;"><img alt="Gramlin" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=7212255&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1730439302" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=7212255)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/gramlin" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(7212255); return false;">Gramlin</a></span>'s Girlfriend<br/>
⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong></p>
<ul>
<li>Mourning</li>
<li>Death of a child</li>
</ul>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen01/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen01/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Hello. My name is Sophie. I am eight years old and live with my mother in our little house in the countryside.</p>
<p>The day I began my life anew was one like so many before. My mom sent me back to my room, to do something quietly by myself because her head was hurting again. I think she doesn't want me to see her like that. She is almost always in pain since dad left us and always under a lot of stress. Then she prefers to lay on the couch by herself with her wine and pills.</p>
<p>But I'm not bothered by that. I like to be alone in my room. This is my refuge and reminds me of my grandma who made the room look beautiful with me and often told me stories in the evening while I was cuddled up in my favorite blanket.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen02/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen02/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>I like the "The Story of the Weeping Rain" the most. Grandma always said that the rain was sad because everyone is scolding him as they like the sun more than him. And that's why the rain always cries. Yet the rain would be happy if someone played with him. He isn't bad after all, because he doesn't only wash away the mud, but also sorrow and worries from people's minds. You should just give the rain a chance and get him to know, she always said.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen03/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen03/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Grandma and I always loved the rain. We always ran outside in the rain and played together. Even though mom always chided grandma afterwards, because my clothes got wet and dirty again and I sometimes became ill the next day. But there was no stopping us, and we just continued, nothing could separate us and the rain. Not even mom.</p>
<p>One time granny said that when she was no longer around, she wants to look after me as a drop of rain to make sure I'm okay. Then she looked very sad and that made me sad too, I didn't want to hear about it, so I pressed myself against her very tightly. After all, grandma was the only one in our family who understood my love for the rain. I shall never lose my granny.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen05/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen05/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>There has been no rain today and grandma was gone, so I sat in my room and drew a picture for her and the rain. I was already looking forward to showing it to her.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen04/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen04/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Suddenly, I heard silent knocking at my window pane. It was raindrops! The rain wanted me to come outside and play with him. Mom would surely be upset if she knew I was going outside alone in this "bad weather", but she is asleep at the moment and I'll be back before she wakes up.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen06/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen06/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>So I quickly fetched my yellow favorite rain coat, my rubber boots, my red favorite ball and the picture for grandma and headed out the door.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen09/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen09/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>I lived near to a small forest where there was always a lot to discover. Especially in the rain.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen08/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen08/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>There were no people outside yelling at you to be cautious with the ball. You can jump in puddles without interruption. No bikes or cars on the road to disturb your play.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen07/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen07/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>I had so much fun I forgot a lot. Even the time.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen10/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen10/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Oh, it's dark already. Mom will surely wake up soon and rant because I was outside again. I had to get back home quickly.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen11/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen11/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>But I …<br/>
never made …<br/>
it there.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen12/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen12/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Because suddenly I saw a bright light on the way home and heard loud squeaking, then a loud crash. I was frozen with shock when something hit me so hard that I fell to the ground. I was in so much pain. It hurt so much. It should stop! In the distance, I heard someone shout "Fuck, Fuck" or something like that. I didn't knew it all that good anymore. I was so tired. So tired that first my gaze blurred and then my eyes fell shut. I just wanted to sleep to make the pain and fear go away.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen13/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen13/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>I suddenly awoke. A pang of pain ran through me. I heard a murmur. My head was dazed. My gaze was blurred at first, but then became clearer. There was a man in my field of vision, who attempted to dumb the soft mud on a mound. More and much more, he didn't want to stop, not even as the mud ran between his fingers. He appeared to freeze, as he shivered and whined. He seemed not to notice me because he just continued to talk with himself and said things like "there better not be evidence", "nobody will know about it", repeating "No, no, no" again and again. What should no one see? I saw something red in the mud. I tried to stand up to take a better look, but my legs were weak and shaky. That's my ball, in the dirt, no doubts! What did my ball have to do with this?</p>
<p>I had no idea about what was going on. I was afraid of him, I was not comfortable with him. I didn't understand what he was doing. What is startling him so much? I was scared. I just wanted to scream, but I couldn't. I didn't feel the air that normally flew through my chest. I did not feel my heart beating, although I was so afraid. Why didn't it beat? Why was it so silent like mom after she had taken her pills? Had the man given me pills? Did mom always feel like that? I wanted to ask him what he has done, but couldn't say anything to him.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen14/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen14/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>The man rose up and turned around. He looked in my direction, became all pale and looked at me in fear. He was afraid. Unbelievably afraid. He was panicked? Of what? What was behind me, was it dangerous, was it huge? I carefully turned around. Poooh, no, there was nothing but the rain's tears, which were only stronger than before. So the man was afraid of me? How did he know me? Why should an adult be afraid of me?</p>
<p>I didn't understand him, what was his problem? All of a sudden, he knelt down in front of me, a grown-up knelt in the dirt in front of me. He wept bitterly, his body shook. He begged for forgiveness. He said that he was incredibly sorry. He said he didn't want it. He didn't stop to beg, to cry, to shake because of fear, guilt, and grief. I don't know why. What he told made no sense. I didn't understand it, didn't understand him. But couldn't ask him.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen15/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen15/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>I was sorry for him, how he crouched there and couldn't calm himself down. He's clearly not evil. He didn't do anything to me after all. I just wanted to tell him that everything's alright and he should not cry, that everything would be alright. But I couldn't speak. I wanted to comfort him. And I remembered how my grandma always laid her warm hand on my cheek and smiled at me to comfort me.</p>
<p>So I laid my hand on his cheek. But she wasn't warm. She was cold. Pale. Wet. Like the rain. But I saw it comforting the man nonetheless.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen16/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen16/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>And I saw how he slowly became the rain's tears. Mixing with them and how he fell into the ground.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen17/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen17/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>I was alone again. I felt sad. I gazed up into the clouds that just started to rain even more, as if he wept for the man. But did he really weep for him? Or for me?</p>
<p>I saw the mound. I didn't know what he had buried there. And why he wanted bury my ball within it. But I was too afraid to find out what he buried there. I didn't know why. It makes me sad to merely see the mound. It was as if the rain didn't want me to know more, as he knows that it would only make me sadder. But the rain rinsed my ball free and he rolled down the mound. As if he wanted to give me one last gift. I looked for the most beautiful flower, picked it and laid it atop the mound to say thank you.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen18/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen18/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Since that day, the rain had never stopped to cry. I never saw the sun again, never felt the snow again, not even saw the starry sky through the clouds. Always when I woke up, I only saw the tears falling on me from the sky. I still love to play with my red ball in the rain, but I wished that the rain would no longer be sad.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen19/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen19/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>I'm almost always alone. Even when people sometimes stray to me. Some played with me and my ball. But they gave me names not belonging to me. They don't know that my name is Sophie and I couldn't tell them, correct them. They talked with me, although I couldn't say a thing. Then they often got sad and began to cry. Most of them said sooner or later that they're sorry. They begged me to forgive and comfort them. So that in the end, like grandma used to, I stroke their cheeks comfortingly and they become the tears of the rain and thus find their solace.</p>
<p>That the others are gone and I am lonely and alone again makes me cry, but I can't redeem myself. No matter how often I stroke my cheek to turn into tears myself. It just doesn't work and so I cry myself to sleep with my face buried in my hand every time.</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen20/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen20/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>I have forgotten may things. I forgot if I had a farther. If I had friends apart from the rain. How my room looked. I know I had a mother, but I don't know how she looked anymore. But I will never forget my grandma. I wish that I could see her one more time, play with her in the rain. I wished she would be by my side, caress me and comfort me like I had to comfort so may before. Maybe then the rain would stop to weep. If my grandma has to cry because of me?</p>
</div>
<table class="image-box" style="float: auto; border: 1px solid #888; margin: 5px; margin: 5px auto;">
<tr>
<td class="image-box-heading" style="text-align:center; width: 900;"></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-image" style="width: 900; text-align: center;"><a href="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen21/medium.jpg"><img alt="Image Unavailable" class="image" src="http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen21/medium.jpg" style="border:1px solid #999;" title="" width="900"/></a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td class="image-box-caption" style="text-align: center; width: 900; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;"></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Oh. Someone's coming. Also in yellow, like <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-254-de">me</a>, is that a sign? If the funny astronaut is a new friend?</p>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
**Article:** Only the Rain weeps for me
**Original:** [http://scp-wiki-de.wikidot.com/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich can be found here]
**Author:** [[*user Gramlin]] and his Girlfriend
**Translator:** [[*user Karpfisch]]
**Pictures:** All made by [[*user Gramlin]]'s Girlfriend
⚠️ **Content warning:**
* Mourning
* Death of a child
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen01/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Hello. My name is Sophie. I am eight years old and live with my mother in our little house in the countryside.
The day I began my life anew was one like so many before. My mom sent me back to my room, to do something quietly by myself because her head was hurting again. I think she doesn't want me to see her like that. She is almost always in pain since dad left us and always under a lot of stress. Then she prefers to lay on the couch by herself with her wine and pills.
But I'm not bothered by that. I like to be alone in my room. This is my refuge and reminds me of my grandma who made the room look beautiful with me and often told me stories in the evening while I was cuddled up in my favorite blanket.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen02/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
I like the "The Story of the Weeping Rain" the most. Grandma always said that the rain was sad because everyone is scolding him as they like the sun more than him. And that's why the rain always cries. Yet the rain would be happy if someone played with him. He isn't bad after all, because he doesn't only wash away the mud, but also sorrow and worries from people's minds. You should just give the rain a chance and get him to know, she always said.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen03/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Grandma and I always loved the rain. We always ran outside in the rain and played together. Even though mom always chided grandma afterwards, because my clothes got wet and dirty again and I sometimes became ill the next day. But there was no stopping us, and we just continued, nothing could separate us and the rain. Not even mom.
One time granny said that when she was no longer around, she wants to look after me as a drop of rain to make sure I'm okay. Then she looked very sad and that made me sad too, I didn't want to hear about it, so I pressed myself against her very tightly. After all, grandma was the only one in our family who understood my love for the rain. I shall never lose my granny.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen05/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
There has been no rain today and grandma was gone, so I sat in my room and drew a picture for her and the rain. I was already looking forward to showing it to her.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen04/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Suddenly, I heard silent knocking at my window pane. It was raindrops! The rain wanted me to come outside and play with him. Mom would surely be upset if she knew I was going outside alone in this "bad weather", but she is asleep at the moment and I'll be back before she wakes up.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen06/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
So I quickly fetched my yellow favorite rain coat, my rubber boots, my red favorite ball and the picture for grandma and headed out the door.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen09/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
I lived near to a small forest where there was always a lot to discover. Especially in the rain.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen08/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
There were no people outside yelling at you to be cautious with the ball. You can jump in puddles without interruption. No bikes or cars on the road to disturb your play.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen07/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
I had so much fun I forgot a lot. Even the time.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen10/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Oh, it's dark already. Mom will surely wake up soon and rant because I was outside again. I had to get back home quickly.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen11/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
But I …
never made ...
it there.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen12/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Because suddenly I saw a bright light on the way home and heard loud squeaking, then a loud crash. I was frozen with shock when something hit me so hard that I fell to the ground. I was in so much pain. It hurt so much. It should stop! In the distance, I heard someone shout "Fuck, Fuck" or something like that. I didn't knew it all that good anymore. I was so tired. So tired that first my gaze blurred and then my eyes fell shut. I just wanted to sleep to make the pain and fear go away.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen13/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
I suddenly awoke. A pang of pain ran through me. I heard a murmur. My head was dazed. My gaze was blurred at first, but then became clearer. There was a man in my field of vision, who attempted to dumb the soft mud on a mound. More and much more, he didn't want to stop, not even as the mud ran between his fingers. He appeared to freeze, as he shivered and whined. He seemed not to notice me because he just continued to talk with himself and said things like "there better not be evidence", "nobody will know about it", repeating "No, no, no" again and again. What should no one see? I saw something red in the mud. I tried to stand up to take a better look, but my legs were weak and shaky. That's my ball, in the dirt, no doubts! What did my ball have to do with this?
I had no idea about what was going on. I was afraid of him, I was not comfortable with him. I didn't understand what he was doing. What is startling him so much? I was scared. I just wanted to scream, but I couldn't. I didn't feel the air that normally flew through my chest. I did not feel my heart beating, although I was so afraid. Why didn't it beat? Why was it so silent like mom after she had taken her pills? Had the man given me pills? Did mom always feel like that? I wanted to ask him what he has done, but couldn't say anything to him.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen14/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
The man rose up and turned around. He looked in my direction, became all pale and looked at me in fear. He was afraid. Unbelievably afraid. He was panicked? Of what? What was behind me, was it dangerous, was it huge? I carefully turned around. Poooh, no, there was nothing but the rain's tears, which were only stronger than before. So the man was afraid of me? How did he know me? Why should an adult be afraid of me?
I didn't understand him, what was his problem? All of a sudden, he knelt down in front of me, a grown-up knelt in the dirt in front of me. He wept bitterly, his body shook. He begged for forgiveness. He said that he was incredibly sorry. He said he didn't want it. He didn't stop to beg, to cry, to shake because of fear, guilt, and grief. I don't know why. What he told made no sense. I didn't understand it, didn't understand him. But couldn't ask him.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen15/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
I was sorry for him, how he crouched there and couldn't calm himself down. He's clearly not evil. He didn't do anything to me after all. I just wanted to tell him that everything's alright and he should not cry, that everything would be alright. But I couldn't speak. I wanted to comfort him. And I remembered how my grandma always laid her warm hand on my cheek and smiled at me to comfort me.
So I laid my hand on his cheek. But she wasn't warm. She was cold. Pale. Wet. Like the rain. But I saw it comforting the man nonetheless.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen16/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
And I saw how he slowly became the rain's tears. Mixing with them and how he fell into the ground.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen17/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
I was alone again. I felt sad. I gazed up into the clouds that just started to rain even more, as if he wept for the man. But did he really weep for him? Or for me?
I saw the mound. I didn't know what he had buried there. And why he wanted bury my ball within it. But I was too afraid to find out what he buried there. I didn't know why. It makes me sad to merely see the mound. It was as if the rain didn't want me to know more, as he knows that it would only make me sadder. But the rain rinsed my ball free and he rolled down the mound. As if he wanted to give me one last gift. I looked for the most beautiful flower, picked it and laid it atop the mound to say thank you.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen18/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Since that day, the rain had never stopped to cry. I never saw the sun again, never felt the snow again, not even saw the starry sky through the clouds. Always when I woke up, I only saw the tears falling on me from the sky. I still love to play with my red ball in the rain, but I wished that the rain would no longer be sad.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen19/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
I'm almost always alone. Even when people sometimes stray to me. Some played with me and my ball. But they gave me names not belonging to me. They don't know that my name is Sophie and I couldn't tell them, correct them. They talked with me, although I couldn't say a thing. Then they often got sad and began to cry. Most of them said sooner or later that they're sorry. They begged me to forgive and comfort them. So that in the end, like grandma used to, I stroke their cheeks comfortingly and they become the tears of the rain and thus find their solace.
That the others are gone and I am lonely and alone again makes me cry, but I can't redeem myself. No matter how often I stroke my cheek to turn into tears myself. It just doesn't work and so I cry myself to sleep with my face buried in my hand every time.
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen20/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
I have forgotten may things. I forgot if I had a farther. If I had friends apart from the rain. How my room looked. I know I had a mother, but I don't know how she looked anymore. But I will never forget my grandma. I wish that I could see her one more time, play with her in the rain. I wished she would be by my side, caress me and comfort me like I had to comfort so may before. Maybe then the rain would stop to weep. If my grandma has to cry because of me?
[[/div]]
[[include <a href="http://snippets.wikidot.com/image">:snippets:image</a>
|width=900
|image=http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen21/medium.jpg]]
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Oh. Someone's coming. Also in yellow, like [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-254-de me], is that a sign? If the funny astronaut is a new friend?
[[/div]]
|
2024-10-27T18:03:00
|
[
"_cc",
"_de",
"international",
"tale"
] |
Only the rain weeps for me - SCP Foundation
| 3
|
[
"scp-254-de"
] |
[
"scp-international"
] |
[
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen01/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen02/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen03/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen05/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen04/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen06/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen09/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen08/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen07/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen10/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen11/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen12/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen13/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen14/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen15/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen16/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen17/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen18/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen19/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen20/medium.jpg",
"http://scp-wiki-de.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich/k-Regen21/medium.jpg"
] |
1457220169
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nur-der-regen-weint-um-mich
|
|
nx-05
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="display: none">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">Foxtrot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Sigma-9</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Theme</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">2022</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Wikidot</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">Theme</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">By</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Liryn</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">FONTS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Montserrat</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,800;1,800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Lexend</span><span class="hl-special">:wght</span><span class="hl-var">@700</span><span class="hl-code">;800&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">JetBrains</span><span class="hl-code">+</span><span class="hl-identifier">Mono</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,400;0,700;1,400;1,700&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Fira</span><span class="hl-code">+</span><span class="hl-identifier">Code</span><span class="hl-special">:wght</span><span class="hl-var">@400</span><span class="hl-code">;700&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Sofia</span><span class="hl-code">+</span><span class="hl-identifier">Sans</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,400;0,700;1,400;1,700&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">rsms.me</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">inter</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">inter.css</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">Figtree</span><span class="hl-special">:wght</span><span class="hl-var">@800</span><span class="hl-code">;900&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
</span><span class="hl-var">@import</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">url</span><span class="hl-code">('</span><span class="hl-identifier">https</span><span class="hl-code">://</span><span class="hl-identifier">fonts.googleapis.com</span><span class="hl-code">/</span><span class="hl-identifier">css2</span><span class="hl-code">?</span><span class="hl-identifier">family</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">IBM</span><span class="hl-code">+</span><span class="hl-identifier">Plex</span><span class="hl-code">+</span><span class="hl-identifier">Sans</span><span class="hl-special">:ital</span><span class="hl-code">,</span><span class="hl-identifier">wght</span><span class="hl-var">@0</span><span class="hl-code">,400;0,500;0,600;0,700;1,400;1,500;1,600;1,700&</span><span class="hl-identifier">display</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-identifier">swap</span><span class="hl-code">');
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">VARIABLES</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">VARIABLES</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Core</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">header-title:</span><span class="hl-code"> "SCP Foundation"</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">header-subtitle:</span><span class="hl-code"> "SECURE, CONTAIN, PROTECT"</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">logo-img:</span><span class="hl-code"> url(https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/theme:foxtrot/fxtrt-scp_logo_lightmode.svg)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">darkmode-logo-img:</span><span class="hl-code"> url(https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/theme:foxtrot/fxtrt-scp_logo_darkmode.svg)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">logo-opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">14</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">head-font:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Sans Normalcy'</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">ui-font:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'IBM Plex Sans'</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">mono-font:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'JetBrains Mono', 'Fira </span><span class="hl-string">Code</span><span class="hl-code">', </span><span class="hl-string">monospace</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">page-font:</span><span class="hl-code"> 'Inter', 'verdana'</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">base-font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">page-font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">VARIABLES</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Misc</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">header-txt-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">subheader-txt-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">misc-txt-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#464646</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">link-txt-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#E6283C</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">link-hover-txt-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">white</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">VARIABLES</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Color</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Accents</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">accent:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--acc-default)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-default:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">59</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">59</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">59</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-wyoming:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">142</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-canada:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--acc-default)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-poland:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">87</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">44</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">17</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-slothspit:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">27</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">60</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">133</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-vanguard:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">153</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">75</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-threshold:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">121</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">113</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">130</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-overwatch:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">28</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">37</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">56</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-spc:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">165</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-fishing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">67</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">111</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">145</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-nightfall:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">151</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-hybrasil:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">27</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">60</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">133</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-goc:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">39</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">84</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">149</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">acc-spooky:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">252</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">112</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">40</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">VARIABLES</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">BetterFootnotes</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnColor:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">fnLinger:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">VARIABLES</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.info-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">barColour:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">linkColour:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EDEDED</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MAIN</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">html</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">scroll-behavior:</span><span class="hl-code"> smooth</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-x:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">body</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font), </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--base-font-size)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">51</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">51</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">51</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> linear-gradient(to </span><span class="hl-string">bottom</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#e0e0e0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">200</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-rendering:</span><span class="hl-code"> optimizeLegibility</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">break-word</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#container-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#content-wrap</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--page-font), var(--ui-font), </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--page-font-size)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">440</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">strong</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">tt</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-source</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">pre</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-page-textarea</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--mono-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">ol</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">p</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-underline-offset:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">40</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
:</span><span class="hl-special">:selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Clicky</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">links</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a.newpage</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:visited</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:visited</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a.newpage</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:visited:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:visited:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-hover-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">patch</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">for</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">sidebar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">media</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">collapsibles</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ayers</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">module</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">so</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">doesn</span><span class="hl-code">'</span><span class="hl-identifier">t</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">override</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.collapsible-block-folded</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.collapsible-block-unfolded-link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.danger-diamond</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.info-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.collapsible-block-folded</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.info-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--linkColour) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MAIN</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font), </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">900</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> fit-content</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-title)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--header-subtitle)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--misc-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">26</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">block</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">uppercase</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#extra-div-1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">160</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--logo-img) </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">30</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">130</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">no-repeat</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--logo-opacity)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MAIN</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Header</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Search</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">text</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-input</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-var">submit</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--page-font-size) - </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.empty</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#999999</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">47</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MAIN</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Header</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">white</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li.sfhover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ul</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.83</span><span class="hl-code">) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">230</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-indent:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.mobile-top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MAIN</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Header</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Login</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">19</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#login-status</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.printuser</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.printuser</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.printuser</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img.small</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.printuser</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img.small</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> translate(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#my-account</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 767</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#account-topbutton</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MAIN</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Header</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Side</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.open-menu</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">white</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (min-width: 768</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.6</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">18.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">s ease-in-out</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">rtl</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.media</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#interwiki</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">ltr</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.side-block.resources</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#side-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.heading</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--misc-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#cfcfcf</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-string">pt</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">uppercase</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Blockquotes</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">Custom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Divs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.15</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#f7f7f7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">dashed</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#f7f7f7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#f7f7f7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.15</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fbfbfb</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.quote</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#bbb</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#bbb</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.note</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#afafaf</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.round</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Headings</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">Titles</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.meta-title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font), </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#3b3b3b</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> fit-content</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-title</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.meta-title</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font), </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#3b3b3b</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">h2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.footnotes-footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font), </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#3b3b3b</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Rate</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Module</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.creditRate</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#bbb</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.fa-info</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#bbb</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-points</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rateup</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.ratedown</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inline-block</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.cancel</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.rate-box-with-credit-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-rate-widget-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Rate</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Module</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Author</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Label</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.authorlink-wrapper</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">author-top-adjust:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">author-bottom-adjust:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">author-right-adjust:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--base-font-size)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Side</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anchor</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> sticky</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.14</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc((</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vw - </span><span class="hl-number">870</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">)/</span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">vh - </span><span class="hl-number">18</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">absolute</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">103.5</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 1290</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">visibility:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Image</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#f4f4f4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#3b3b3b</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">right</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">15</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.imagediv</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">only</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">screen</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 600</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block.block-right</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tables</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Base</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#bfbfbf</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.sidebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tables</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Customization</span><span class="hl-code"> (</span><span class="hl-identifier">Table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Coloring</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">System</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tables</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Customization</span><span class="hl-code"> (</span><span class="hl-identifier">Table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Coloring</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">System</span><span class="hl-code">) > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Headings</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">Image</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Captions</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#E0FFD4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#D8ECF4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FDF6D7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFDFCD</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFCFCF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">th</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.scp-image-caption</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">146</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.tableb</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.wiki-content-table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-collapse:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">separate</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tables</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Customization</span><span class="hl-code"> (</span><span class="hl-identifier">Table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Coloring</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">System</span><span class="hl-code">) > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Other</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colored</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Divs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote.table1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote.table1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting.table1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation.table1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal.table1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper.table1</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">224</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">212</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote.table2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote.table2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting.table2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation.table2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal.table2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper.table2</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">226</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">244</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote.table3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote.table3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting.table3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation.table3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal.table3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper.table3</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">245</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">189</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote.table4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote.table4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting.table4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation.table4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal.table4</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper.table4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">223</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">205</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote.table5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote.table5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting.table5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation.table5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal.table5</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper.table5</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">207</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">207</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">blockquote</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.blockquote.table6</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.blockquote.table6</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.jotting.table6</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.notation.table6</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.modal.table6</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.paper.table6</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(</span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">218</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tabs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Base</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inherit</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tabs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Customization</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(</span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> - </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Link</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">UNSELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#efefef</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">HOVER</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code">,
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Listitem</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-items:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">li</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.35</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> ellipsis</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">overflow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">hidden</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">white-space:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">nowrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code">,
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Selection</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Modifier</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-grow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">Tab</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Background</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Colour</span><span class="hl-code"> | [</span><span class="hl-identifier">SELECTED</span><span class="hl-code">] ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:focus</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.selected</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:active</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffffff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-navset-top</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.yui-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">WORDS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">NO</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">BROKEY</span><span class="hl-code">. </span><span class="hl-identifier">CROQ</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">HAS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">SPOKEY</span><span class="hl-code">. </span><span class="hl-identifier">and</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">other</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">things</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">word-break:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">normal</span><span class="hl-code"> !important
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.avatar-hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Dustjacket</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Assets</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyhr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--bright-accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-source:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/local--files/component:dustjacket-theme/wl_hr.png')</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-repeat:</span><span class="hl-code"> round round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-slice:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">500</span><span class="hl-code"> fill</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fancyborder</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-sizing:</span><span class="hl-code"> border-box</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> url('https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/local--files/component:dustjacket-theme/wl_border.png') </span><span class="hl-number">600</span><span class="hl-code"> round</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-image-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">vw</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Collapsibles</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">underline</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-special">:not</span><span class="hl-code">(</span><span class="hl-identifier">.licensebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.info-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.default-col</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">white</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">7</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--base-font-size)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inset</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inline-block</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-special">:not</span><span class="hl-code">(</span><span class="hl-identifier">.licensebox</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.info-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">.default-col</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a.collapsible-block-link</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0.7</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACS</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Adjustments</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-left-box</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">.item</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anom-bar-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anom-bar-container</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anom-bar-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font), Inter, </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.acs-extra-1</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.acs-extra-2</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.acs-extra-3</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.acs-extra-4</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font), Inter, </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.anom-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">.top-box</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">CONTENT</span><span class="hl-code"> > </span><span class="hl-identifier">Woed</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">Adjustments</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.scale</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.item1</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">uppercase</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.scale</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.class1</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">letter-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.scale</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">woedbar-class-bar-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.scale</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.obj</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.7</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.scale</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.obj</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.55</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MISC</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">hr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.bt</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#444</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">45</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#footer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#7b7b7b</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.footer-wikiwalk-nav</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">700</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">88</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">word-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-info-break</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-options-container</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">213</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">213</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">213</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-watch-options</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.6</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">77</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-options-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> flex</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-direction:</span><span class="hl-code"> row</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">flex-wrap:</span><span class="hl-code"> wrap</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">align-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">justify-content:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-options-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-decoration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom-left-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom-right-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-options-bottom</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0.8</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-info-break</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#license-area</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#5f5f5f</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ecf2f1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#d9d9d9</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#license-area</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> "."</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (min-width: 768</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">16</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> "tags "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--misc-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--page-font-size)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">inline-block</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.8125</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">.75</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.1875</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">.3125</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">.1875</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom-right-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top-right-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">13</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.8125</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> calc(var(--page-font-size) - </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">.1875</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">.625</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.0625</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">.1875</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code"> rgb(var(--accent)) </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-style:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> ""</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">position:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">relative</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">float:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">left</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.25</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.2813</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">left:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.125</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-tags</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">span</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-tags-input</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">word-spacing:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-page-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.text</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font), </span><span class="hl-string">sans-serif</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">150</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-page-form</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">table.form</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">tbody</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">td</span><span class="hl-special">:nth-child</span><span class="hl-code">(1) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.edit-help-34</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">85</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">60</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> fit-content</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.edit-help-34</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.edit-help-34</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">10</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">table.edit-page-bottomtable</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-page-comments</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">86</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#lock-info</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.8</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">86</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#lock-info</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> "!"</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">12</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">110</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">60</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#lock-timer</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">115</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">5</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#lock-timer</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> "⏲ "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">80</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">textarea</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-page-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.text</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">outline:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ccc</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-property:</span><span class="hl-code"> box-shadow</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">textarea</span><span class="hl-special">:focus-visible</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-page-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input.text</span><span class="hl-special">:focus-visible</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#a3a3a3</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#a3a3a3</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#action-area</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">p</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">85</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> darkslategrey</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#action-area</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">p</span><span class="hl-special">:nth-child</span><span class="hl-code">(5)></span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">block</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">120</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#who-rated-page-area</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">column-count:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 900</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#who-rated-page-area</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">column-count:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 700</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#who-rated-page-area</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">column-count:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 540</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#who-rated-page-area</span><span class="hl-code">></span><span class="hl-identifier">div</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">column-count:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#page-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.content-warning.creditRate</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">21</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.preview-message</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> unset</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">29</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">z-index:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">100</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">filter:</span><span class="hl-code"> drop-shadow(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">))</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#EDEDED</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.error-block</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">255</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">48</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#B00</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top-left-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top-right-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">6</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">table.page-history</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tbody</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-special">:nth-child</span><span class="hl-code">(2</span><span class="hl-identifier">n</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(var(--accent), </span><span class="hl-number">0.05</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">animation:</span><span class="hl-code"> fade </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@keyframes</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">fade</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
0% </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
100% </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">opacity:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.button-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.1</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">11</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.button-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--link-hover-txt-color)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.button-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.table</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.title</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">cursor:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">default</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--head-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">800</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">155</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">text-align:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">center</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">187</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">187</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">187</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#F7F7F7</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow.owait</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-image:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow.owait</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.content</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">content:</span><span class="hl-code"> " "</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">display:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">block</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> -</span><span class="hl-number">0.9</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">auto</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">animation:</span><span class="hl-code"> loading </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-code">s linear infinite</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> grey</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-bottom:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> grey</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-left:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.4</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">transparent</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">50</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-var">@keyframes</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">loading</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
0% </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> rotate(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">deg)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
100% </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transform:</span><span class="hl-code"> rotate(</span><span class="hl-number">360</span><span class="hl-code">deg)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow.osuccess</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.owindow</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">div.content</span><span class="hl-special">:nth-child</span><span class="hl-code">(2)></span><span class="hl-identifier">img</span><span class="hl-special">:nth-child</span><span class="hl-code">(1) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-right:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.odialog-shader</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#262a39</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.btn</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.15</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.btn</span><span class="hl-special">:not</span><span class="hl-code">(</span><span class="hl-identifier">#main-content</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">.btn</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-quotes">"</span><span class="hl-string">submit</span><span class="hl-quotes">"</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">),
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.btn.btn-primary</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div.buttons</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">input.button</span><span class="hl-special">:not</span><span class="hl-code">(</span><span class="hl-identifier">#search-top-box-form</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-brackets">[</span><span class="hl-var">type</span><span class="hl-code">=</span><span class="hl-quotes">"</span><span class="hl-string">submit</span><span class="hl-quotes">"</span><span class="hl-brackets">]</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">11</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">cursor:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">pointer</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-cancel-button</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-diff-button</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-preview-button</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-draft-button</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-continue-button</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ccc</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">cursor:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">pointer</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#333</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem </span><span class="hl-number">14</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border-radius:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-cancel-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-diff-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-preview-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-draft-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-continue-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background-color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#eaeaea</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-continue-button</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#dbffd6</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#005a0a</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-continue-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-save-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#0d951c</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-cancel-button</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#ffe1e1</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-code">s</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#c52727</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#edit-cancel-button</span><span class="hl-special">:hover</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#fff</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#c5272e</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">table.page-history</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tbody</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">tr</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">color:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#757575</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fncon</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--page-font-size) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">line-height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">2</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">solid</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.fncon</span><span class="hl-code">:</span><span class="hl-special">:before</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--page-font-size) !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.hovertip</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">border:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">none</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">box-shadow:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">4</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code"> rgba(</span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0</span><span class="hl-code">, </span><span class="hl-number">0.2</span><span class="hl-code">)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">background:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">#FFF</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">padding:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">max-width:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">400</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">input.checkbox</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.page-history</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#h-perpage</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">cursor:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">pointer</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">input</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">textarea</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#breadcrumbs</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">.pseudocrumbs</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-weight:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-string">bold</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">110</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-family:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--ui-font)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">REDUCED</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">MOTION</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">ACCESSIBILITY</span><span class="hl-code"> ---- </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (prefers-reduced-motion: </span><span class="hl-identifier">reduce</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">before</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">::</span><span class="hl-identifier">after</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">animation-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.001</span><span class="hl-code">s !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">animation-iteration-count:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-code"> !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">transition-duration:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">.001</span><span class="hl-code">s !important</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
/</span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-var">@MEDIA</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">*</span><span class="hl-code">/
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 850</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.4</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 700</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1.2</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8.8</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 620</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
font-size: </span><span class="hl-number">1</span><span class="hl-string">em</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.15</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">8.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">font-size:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">90</span><span class="hl-string">%</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">123</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}
</span><span class="hl-var">@media</span><span class="hl-code"> (max-width: 520</span><span class="hl-identifier">px</span><span class="hl-code">) </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-reserved">h2:</span><span class="hl-code">:before {
line-height: </span><span class="hl-number">16</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-reserved">margin-top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">0.5</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code">,
</span><span class="hl-identifier">#top-bar</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-identifier">a</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">top:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">9.3</span><span class="hl-code">rem</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-identifier">div#header</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
</span><span class="hl-reserved">height:</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-number">145</span><span class="hl-string">px</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span><span class="hl-code">
}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span><span style="font-size:111%;">Nx-05</span></span></h1>
<h2 id="toc1"><span><span style="font-size:111%;">EMBLA / LVL VI / STABLE</span></span></h2>
<p><strong>ASSIGNED FACILITES</strong><br/>
Embla Protocol Site-0B, Secure Administration Site-01</p>
<p><strong>ASSIGNED FACULTY</strong><br/>
Overseer Council</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:280px;"><img alt="600px-Path_through_Chedworth_Woods_-_geograph.org.uk_-_3083588.jpg?20220118223704" class="image" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/61/Path_through_Chedworth_Woods_-_geograph.org.uk_-_3083588.jpg/600px-Path_through_Chedworth_Woods_-_geograph.org.uk_-_3083588.jpg?20220118223704"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>Path within Nx-05.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>INTERACTION PROTOCOLS:</strong> The Foundation's Overseer Council has been assembled to study Nx-05. All further procedures have been folded into the duties of the Council.</p>
<p><strong>DESCRIPTION:</strong> Nx-05 is a large forest located in upstate [REDACTED], nearby Site-01. It is one of the smallest Nexuses on record, being only 8.3 acres of land in total. The active population of the area consists only of 37 people, all of whom maintain residences outside of its actual boundaries in order to prevent interference. All individuals within these lodgings are high-ranking members of the Foundation’s administration, including a majority of the current Overseer Council. As such, Nx-05 is known as the only Nexus entirely populated by Foundation personnel.</p>
<p>The area exhibits mild, albeit consistent non-Euclidean activity. This most often manifests in the form of its various hiking paths temporarily being subject to anomalous activity such as going upward endlessly when travelled in a certain direction, but operating normally otherwise. Nx-05 is unique compared to other Nexuses in that no other anomalous phenomena naturally forms in its confines, with all anomalies resulting from it being entirely manmade.</p>
<p>Despite its fairly unimpressive features, Nx-05 remains the only location known to the Foundation which can be accurately studied to provide information on how the anomalous as a whole operates; equations derived from this study have provided the basis for the entirety of the Foundation’s understanding of anomalies since the organization's inception. Nearly all breakthroughs within modern anomalous science began within Nx-05. As a result, the area can be credited with having been the basis for all modern anomalous paratechnology, including those made by several rival Groups of Interest due to leaked information or the reengineering of technology initially conceived through study of the area.</p>
<p>Being within the boundaries of Nx-05 produces a mild compulsory effect to study the area and use the acquired knowledge to create new anomalies. Any subject who observes non-Euclidean activity within the area will feel compelled to understand how it functions, even if having never previously expressed a desire to do so. Due to this, most of Nx-05’s resulting anomalous activity is functionally indirect, though still originates in the Nexus itself and due to its effects.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>«Begin Log»</strong></p>
<p><em>[The wind howls as Fritz makes his way through the dark forest. The starry sky and glowing moon illuminate the area as he pushes through thick brush and thickets.]</em></p>
<p><em>[He pushes away a large bush, revealing a clearing in the area: a straight, gravel path. On this path stands a man in a rippling trench coat, his hands in his pockets. His features are obscured by the darkness, but Fritz's gaze implies recognition.]</em></p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Aaron, I see you came.</p>
<p><em>[Aaron remains silent for several moments, appearing slightly startled. He relaxes quickly after, a faint sense of familiarity adorning what little of his features are visible.]</em></p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> Of course I did. This is in both of our interests, isn’t it? We may no longer walk the same path, but, well, we can never forget the one that we spiraled down, the one that started all of this.</p>
<p><em>[Fritz nods, his gaze turning towards the gravel his feet crunch on as he walks.]</em></p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Have you been taking the time to study this one before I arrived for old time's sake? I know you probably miss those days being buried in your equations.</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> Somewhat. I only could take enough instruments with me to do the basics. Besides, it's not like that was the point of this meeting, anyway. Or, well, at least I <em>presume</em> it's not. Do you care to enlighten me?</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Can't a man invite his own brother for a friendly chat?</p>
<p><em>[Aaron's gaze hardens slightly.]</em></p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> I was under the impression we weren't brothers anymore.</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Now, what gave you that idea?</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> Something about me engineering the creation of the <a href="/chaos-insurgency-hub">Insurgency</a>, perhaps?</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Well, I can certainly say you founding your Insurgency didn't exactly make me pleased. Out of everyone in the old guard, you were the one I expected to defect the least, you know.</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> I would have assumed so. It's what made it the perfect crime.</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> You sound almost proud.</p>
<p><em>[Silence on recording.]</em></p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> Can't a man enjoy his work?</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Your hesitation tells me you don’t really think that.</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> Nothing gets past you, huh?</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Do you have regrets?</p>
<p><em>[Aaron turns away from Fritz, staring off into the forest.]</em></p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> No. I did what needed to be done.</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>«End Log»</strong></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="border-top: 1px solid black; border-bottom: 1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size: 150%; color: #2F4F4F;"><strong><tt>Section 05.1</tt></strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 110%; color:#487a7a;">History</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Nx-05 was first unintentionally discovered by paraphysicist and founding O5-1 Aaron Siegel in 1891. Upon this initial discovery, Siegel only discovered the area's non-Euclidean activity acting on one path, initially designated as <a href="/dr-manns-proposal">SCP-001-MANN</a>. Through study of SCP-001-MANN, Siegel and various other individuals who would eventually become high-ranking Foundation personnel closely studied the anomalous, believing the path itself to be the source of this ability to do so, unaware of the larger Nx-05. However, several years following this, the path's anomaly faded, as is the nature of Nx-05's activity. Nx-05’s true nature was subsequently recognized after the codifying of the Nexus classification system.</p>
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><img alt="path005.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/dr-manns-proposal/path005.png"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>Portion of SCP-001-MANN.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Throughout 1944-1953, the central administrative body of the Foundation was positioned within Nx-05 in order to properly study it. Site-0, a small laboratory initially funded by Siegel, served as the primary meeting location of the Foundation administration at this time. Due to this, the leadership of the greater Foundation was far more informal than it is in the modern day. Much of this work was deferred to individuals such as Site Directors, granting facilities an amount of autonomy which would be considered unusual in modern times. In 1954, construction of Site-01 began, purposefully located close to Nx-05. Site-0 is still utilized, but Site-01 is considered Nx-05's assigned containment facility.</p>
<p>Upon designation of the Nexus as Nx-05, the primary administrative body of the Foundation became known as the 05 Council, though later renamed as the O5 Council for obfuscation purposes to restrict knowledge of Nx-05. The public reason for this change was listed as the solidification of the “Overseer” position. As of 1956, Site-01 and other secure facilities have begun to house several members of the Council to ensure all thirteen members are never in the same location, as was initially customary for study of Nx-05. Originally, the Council were the only individuals given the Level 5 clearance required to access Nx-05, though Level 6 clearance was later codified as the level exclusive to Council members, with Level 5 now given to a select few individuals within the larger Foundation administration.</p>
<p>Since 1945, all orientations for individuals being granted Level 5 clearance take place within Nx-05. Standard practice is for these personnel to be given enough information with which they can create a low-level anomalous item, many of which have been catalogued in various <a href="/log-of-anomalous-items">logs</a>.</p>
<p>In 1947, the Embla Protocol was first set in motion (<em>See Section 05.2</em>).</p>
<p>During 1954, the Foundation underwent a brief conflict with the Global Occult Coalition after one of their most highly-skilled agents was sent to <a href="/djkaktus-s-proposal-iii">gather data</a> on the O5 Council. Investigation efforts revealed they were unable to glean more than the information on the following file in regards to Nx-05, even believing a single one of the paths to be the only anomaly present.</p>
<div class="addendum goc">
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:280px;"><img alt="Path_in_Walthamstow_Forest_-_geograph.org.uk_-_5438857.jpg?20230918171923" class="image" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/56/Path_in_Walthamstow_Forest_-_geograph.org.uk_-_5438857.jpg?20230918171923"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>UTE-0001-Kewpie.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><strong>Threat ID:</strong> UTE-0001-Kewpie</p>
<p><strong>Response Level:</strong> N/A</p>
<p><strong>Description:</strong> UTE-0001-Kewpie is a straight gravel path within a forest in northern [REDACTED]. Upon traveling forwards, the path goes on continuously, with a subject being brought back to the beginning of the trail should they reach the end. Upon a subject travelling the opposite direction, UTE-0001-Kewpie operates regularly.</p>
<p>Notably, UTE-0001-Kewpie has received extensive, seemingly-excessive, containment and security efforts from its current supervisor: The SCP Foundation.</p>
<p><strong>Engagement Rules:</strong> Liquidation of UTE-0001-Kewpie is unfeasbile at the time of writing due to the various security measures established by the Foundation, though would normally be restricted regardless due to existing diplomatic relations with the organization.</p>
<p>Efforts are ongoing to determine the nature of the threat due to the unusual amount of protection it is receiving.</p>
<p>The Foundation is not to be made aware that the Coalition possesses any information about UTE-0001-Kewpie; the active investigation regarding the threat may jeopardize any diplomatic proceedings.</p>
<p>For further information, please consult the <a href="javascript:;">attached files</a>.</p>
</div>
<p>After a diplomatic discussion between O5-4 and the Undersecretary General of the Coalition, she agreed to end all further efforts to gather information on the Overseers. Moles imbedded into the Coalition have been unable to find any information supporting them no longer following this promise.</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>«Begin Log»</strong></p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> People have died for our petty spat, you know — the one you caused.</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> The one <em>I</em> caused? That’s rich. You started all of this, you know.</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Can you really say I did when you were the one who first found this place? That was decades before the Foundation even began.</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> You were always the Administrator, Fritz. I was just a physicist. Nothing more and nothing less.</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> The Foundation would be nothing if not for these paths.</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> It would have still been something. Ever since the end of that Occult War, everyone who wanted the Veil to remain needed one banner to rally behind. You were always the leader. I was just a scientist, a stubborn one, but one nonetheless.</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> We must remember things differently.</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> How so?</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Your breakthroughs here, they’re what kept us all together. Everyone was scared of retaliation and of how we were going to maintain our control of the Veil after the War. But then every time the others were scared, we had something new to show them you helped cook up in that lab, in that Site-0 of yours.</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> The science is all that ever mattered to me, Fritz. The Foundation never did.</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> So, that's why you left.</p>
<p><em>[Silence on recording.]</em></p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> I left because you changed, Fritz.</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> How did I change?</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> You started hurting people.</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> I'll ask again: how did I change?</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>«End Log»</strong></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="border-top: 1px solid black; border-bottom: 1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size: 150%; color: #2F4F4F;"><strong><tt>Section 05.2</tt></strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 110%; color:#487a7a;">Embla Protocol</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Initially proposed in 1947 by the founding O5-11, Dr. Everett Mann, the Embla Protocol was an attempt to leverage Nx-05 to boost the Foundation's position on the world stage. While study of the area was initially only used to create beneficial paratechnology or simply study various facets of the anomalous, the protocol was for the purposeful development of various hostile anomalies to be later recontained by the Foundation in public spectacles. After the <a href="/scp-001-wikipedia">fall of the Veil</a>, such events would both sponsor support among the general population and governments.</p>
<p>The remainder of the Overseer Council voted almost unanimously to approve Mann's proposal, with the sole exception being Aaron Siegel, who was still O5-1 at the time. Siegel was eventually convinced with the stipulation that all of these anomalies would be easily recontainable by the Foundation and only appear dangerous to outside observers. Site-0B, a former storage facility for Site-0, was converted into an advanced subterranean Foundation installation for the covert development of anomalies part of the Embla Protocol. Such anomalies would have falsified documentation personally approved by the Overseer Council to shroud their true natures from the greater Foundation.</p>
<p>While the first several anomalies developed through the Embla Protocol operated effectively, unforseen consequences throughout the world stage followed:</p>
<ul>
<li>Funding granted to the Foundation by world governments did increase, but the events also resulted in many more localized anomalous organizations directly under government control, such as the United States' <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/system:page-tags/tag/pentagram#pages">PENTAGRAM</a>. However, the Department of Analytics has confirmed the competition created by these new organizations was far outweighed by the funding increase.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Support for the Foundation and other organizations such as the Global Occult Coalition among the general population increased as expected, but tensions and fear towards the anomalous also increased astronomically. A collaborative audit by the Department of Public Relations and Department of Groups of Interest deemed this to have been relatively acceptable.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Various terrorist organizations began more substantial attempts at weaponizing anomalous phenomena. This, in turn, bolstered more fear among world populations and governments, serving to unintentionally assist the Foundation's efforts.</li>
</ul>
<p>In 1948, without Siegel's knowledge, the remainder of the Council began colluding to unleash dangerous anomalies through the Embla Protocol. Enraged, Siegel defected from the organization alongside a large group of personnel who would later become the primary faction of GoI-003 ("The Chaos Insurgency").</p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>«Begin Log»</strong></p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> I couldn't just stand by anymore, Fritz. You were using <em>my</em> work to hurt people in <em>our</em> name. It was intolerable.</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> So, you responded by becoming a terrorist?</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> I'll admit my methods aren't exactly—</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Methods? Your people slaughter civillians in the streets. They march throughout the world causing nothing but, well, chaos.</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> You can't stand all high and mighty here, Fritz. The amount of atrocities you've committed are too numerous to mention here.</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Everything I did was because I had to.</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> Did you?</p>
<p><em>[Silence on recording.]</em></p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> For the love of—, Fritz, why am I here, exactly? Did you contact me for the first time in decades just to have a recreational spat?</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> I called you here because I want answers.</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> Answers?</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Why have you never attacked this place?</p>
<p><em>[Fritz outstretches his arms, gesturing to the surrounding forest.]</em></p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> I don't understand.</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Trying to take over this place would cost us significantly and <em>you know that</em>. I've been waiting years for an attack that never came. Why leave this place alone?</p>
<p><em>[Silence on recording.]</em></p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Well?</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> This place is special.</p>
<p><strong>FRITZ:</strong> Special?</p>
<p><strong>AARON:</strong> I told you, Fritz. I never cared about the Foundation. Hell, the Insurgency is only my way of righting the wrongs I did while there, even if others have to get hurt on the way. This place, however… it represents science, innovation, nature, and beauty all wrapped in one. To tarnish it, to even risk damaging it with some sort of raid, would go against everything I believe as a scientist.</p>
<p>Someday, when the Foundation is finally gone, when the freedom you prevent the world from realizing it can have is finally in our reach, I'll return to this place a happier man, satisified my job is done. Until then, I'm content to let you keep it warm for me.</p>
<p><em>[Aaron abruptly turns around and walks deeper into the brush, eventually exiting view. Fritz stares at him until he can't anymore.]</em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>«End Log»</strong></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="border-top: 1px solid black; border-bottom: 1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size: 150%; color: #2F4F4F;"><strong><tt>Section 05.3</tt></strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 110%; color:#487a7a;">Possible Conflict</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<p>Due to the fact Siegel remains one of the few individuals on the planet with knowledge of Nx-05's location and maintains hostile intentions towards the Foundation at large, an Insurgency raid of the area was considered inevitable by onsite personnel soon after his defection. However, no Insurgency activity close to the area has ever been reported. Nearby security has still been otherwise increased since the Insurgency's formation, with more periodically being added.</p>
<p><span style="text-decoration: line-through;">As an attack on Nx-05 would presumably deal a powerful blow to the Foundation, it remains unclear why the Insurgency would refuse to attack it.</span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/nx-05">Nx-05</a>" by MisterFrown, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/nx-05">https://scpwiki.com/nx-05</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> File:Path through Chedworth Woods - geograph.org.uk - 3083588.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Terry Jacombs<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Path_through_Chedworth_Woods_-_geograph.org.uk_-_3083588.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Path_through_Chedworth_Woods_-_geograph.org.uk_-_3083588.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> path005.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Bill Henderson [original], S D Locke [edits]<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Track_through_the_woods_leading_down_from_Lounds_Hill_-_geograph.org.uk_-_282372.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Track_through_the_woods_leading_down_from_Lounds_Hill_-_geograph.org.uk_-_282372.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Name:</strong> File:Path in Walthamstow Forest - geograph.org.uk - 5438857.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Glyn Baker<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Path_in_Walthamstow_Forest_-_geograph.org.uk_-_5438857.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Path_in_Walthamstow_Forest_-_geograph.org.uk_-_5438857.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:foxtrot">:scp-wiki:theme:foxtrot</a> hidetitle=a]]
[[=]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
[[=]]
+ [[size 111%]]Nx-05[[/size]]
++ [[size 111%]]EMBLA / LVL VI / STABLE[[/size]]
[[div style="width: 400px; margin: auto;"]]
----
[[/div]]
**ASSIGNED FACILITES**
Embla Protocol Site-0B, Secure Administration Site-01
**ASSIGNED FACULTY**
Overseer Council
[[/=]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:image-block">:scp-wiki:component:image-block</a> name=https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/61/Path_through_Chedworth_Woods_-_geograph.org.uk_-_3083588.jpg/600px-Path_through_Chedworth_Woods_-_geograph.org.uk_-_3083588.jpg?20220118223704|caption=Path within Nx-05.|width=280px]]
**INTERACTION PROTOCOLS:** The Foundation's Overseer Council has been assembled to study Nx-05. All further procedures have been folded into the duties of the Council.
**DESCRIPTION:** Nx-05 is a large forest located in upstate [REDACTED], nearby Site-01. It is one of the smallest Nexuses on record, being only 8.3 acres of land in total. The active population of the area consists only of 37 people, all of whom maintain residences outside of its actual boundaries in order to prevent interference. All individuals within these lodgings are high-ranking members of the Foundation’s administration, including a majority of the current Overseer Council. As such, Nx-05 is known as the only Nexus entirely populated by Foundation personnel.
The area exhibits mild, albeit consistent non-Euclidean activity. This most often manifests in the form of its various hiking paths temporarily being subject to anomalous activity such as going upward endlessly when travelled in a certain direction, but operating normally otherwise. Nx-05 is unique compared to other Nexuses in that no other anomalous phenomena naturally forms in its confines, with all anomalies resulting from it being entirely manmade.
Despite its fairly unimpressive features, Nx-05 remains the only location known to the Foundation which can be accurately studied to provide information on how the anomalous as a whole operates; equations derived from this study have provided the basis for the entirety of the Foundation’s understanding of anomalies since the organization's inception. Nearly all breakthroughs within modern anomalous science began within Nx-05. As a result, the area can be credited with having been the basis for all modern anomalous paratechnology, including those made by several rival Groups of Interest due to leaked information or the reengineering of technology initially conceived through study of the area.
Being within the boundaries of Nx-05 produces a mild compulsory effect to study the area and use the acquired knowledge to create new anomalies. Any subject who observes non-Euclidean activity within the area will feel compelled to understand how it functions, even if having never previously expressed a desire to do so. Due to this, most of Nx-05’s resulting anomalous activity is functionally indirect, though still originates in the Nexus itself and due to its effects.
[[div style="border-top: 1px solid black; width: 100%;"]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
= **<<Begin Log>>**
//[The wind howls as Fritz makes his way through the dark forest. The starry sky and glowing moon illuminate the area as he pushes through thick brush and thickets.]//
//[He pushes away a large bush, revealing a clearing in the area: a straight, gravel path. On this path stands a man in a rippling trench coat, his hands in his pockets. His features are obscured by the darkness, but Fritz's gaze implies recognition.]//
**FRITZ:** Aaron, I see you came.
//[Aaron remains silent for several moments, appearing slightly startled. He relaxes quickly after, a faint sense of familiarity adorning what little of his features are visible.]//
**AARON:** Of course I did. This is in both of our interests, isn’t it? We may no longer walk the same path, but, well, we can never forget the one that we spiraled down, the one that started all of this.
//[Fritz nods, his gaze turning towards the gravel his feet crunch on as he walks.]//
**FRITZ:** Have you been taking the time to study this one before I arrived for old time's sake? I know you probably miss those days being buried in your equations.
**AARON:** Somewhat. I only could take enough instruments with me to do the basics. Besides, it's not like that was the point of this meeting, anyway. Or, well, at least I //presume// it's not. Do you care to enlighten me?
**FRITZ:** Can't a man invite his own brother for a friendly chat?
//[Aaron's gaze hardens slightly.]//
**AARON:** I was under the impression we weren't brothers anymore.
**FRITZ:** Now, what gave you that idea?
**AARON:** Something about me engineering the creation of the [[[chaos-insurgency-hub|Insurgency]]], perhaps?
**FRITZ:** Well, I can certainly say you founding your Insurgency didn't exactly make me pleased. Out of everyone in the old guard, you were the one I expected to defect the least, you know.
**AARON:** I would have assumed so. It's what made it the perfect crime.
**FRITZ:** You sound almost proud.
//[Silence on recording.]//
**AARON:** Can't a man enjoy his work?
**FRITZ:** Your hesitation tells me you don’t really think that.
**AARON:** Nothing gets past you, huh?
**FRITZ:** Do you have regrets?
//[Aaron turns away from Fritz, staring off into the forest.]//
**AARON:** No. I did what needed to be done.
= **<<End Log>>**
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div style="border-top: 1px solid black; border-bottom: 1px solid black; width: 100%;"]]
[[=]]
[[span style="font-size: 150%; color: #2F4F4F;"]]**{{Section 05.1}}**[[/span]]
[[span style="font-size: 110%; color:#487a7a;"]]History[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Nx-05 was first unintentionally discovered by paraphysicist and founding O5-1 Aaron Siegel in 1891. Upon this initial discovery, Siegel only discovered the area's non-Euclidean activity acting on one path, initially designated as [[[dr-manns-proposal|SCP-001-MANN]]]. Through study of SCP-001-MANN, Siegel and various other individuals who would eventually become high-ranking Foundation personnel closely studied the anomalous, believing the path itself to be the source of this ability to do so, unaware of the larger Nx-05. However, several years following this, the path's anomaly faded, as is the nature of Nx-05's activity. Nx-05’s true nature was subsequently recognized after the codifying of the Nexus classification system.
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:image-block">:scp-wiki:component:image-block</a> name=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/dr-manns-proposal/path005.png|caption=Portion of SCP-001-MANN.|width=300px]]
Throughout 1944-1953, the central administrative body of the Foundation was positioned within Nx-05 in order to properly study it. Site-0, a small laboratory initially funded by Siegel, served as the primary meeting location of the Foundation administration at this time. Due to this, the leadership of the greater Foundation was far more informal than it is in the modern day. Much of this work was deferred to individuals such as Site Directors, granting facilities an amount of autonomy which would be considered unusual in modern times. In 1954, construction of Site-01 began, purposefully located close to Nx-05. Site-0 is still utilized, but Site-01 is considered Nx-05's assigned containment facility.
Upon designation of the Nexus as Nx-05, the primary administrative body of the Foundation became known as the 05 Council, though later renamed as the O5 Council for obfuscation purposes to restrict knowledge of Nx-05. The public reason for this change was listed as the solidification of the “Overseer” position. As of 1956, Site-01 and other secure facilities have begun to house several members of the Council to ensure all thirteen members are never in the same location, as was initially customary for study of Nx-05. Originally, the Council were the only individuals given the Level 5 clearance required to access Nx-05, though Level 6 clearance was later codified as the level exclusive to Council members, with Level 5 now given to a select few individuals within the larger Foundation administration.
Since 1945, all orientations for individuals being granted Level 5 clearance take place within Nx-05. Standard practice is for these personnel to be given enough information with which they can create a low-level anomalous item, many of which have been catalogued in various [[[log-of-anomalous-items|logs]]].
In 1947, the Embla Protocol was first set in motion (//See Section 05.2//).
During 1954, the Foundation underwent a brief conflict with the Global Occult Coalition after one of their most highly-skilled agents was sent to [[[djkaktus-s-proposal-iii|gather data]]] on the O5 Council. Investigation efforts revealed they were unable to glean more than the information on the following file in regards to Nx-05, even believing a single one of the paths to be the only anomaly present.
[[div class="addendum goc"]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:image-block">:scp-wiki:component:image-block</a> name=https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/56/Path_in_Walthamstow_Forest_-_geograph.org.uk_-_5438857.jpg?20230918171923|caption=UTE-0001-Kewpie.|width=280px]]
**Threat ID:** UTE-0001-Kewpie
**Response Level:** N/A
**Description:** UTE-0001-Kewpie is a straight gravel path within a forest in northern [REDACTED]. Upon traveling forwards, the path goes on continuously, with a subject being brought back to the beginning of the trail should they reach the end. Upon a subject travelling the opposite direction, UTE-0001-Kewpie operates regularly.
Notably, UTE-0001-Kewpie has received extensive, seemingly-excessive, containment and security efforts from its current supervisor: The SCP Foundation.
**Engagement Rules:** Liquidation of UTE-0001-Kewpie is unfeasbile at the time of writing due to the various security measures established by the Foundation, though would normally be restricted regardless due to existing diplomatic relations with the organization.
Efforts are ongoing to determine the nature of the threat due to the unusual amount of protection it is receiving.
The Foundation is not to be made aware that the Coalition possesses any information about UTE-0001-Kewpie; the active investigation regarding the threat may jeopardize any diplomatic proceedings.
For further information, please consult the [# attached files].
[[/div]]
After a diplomatic discussion between O5-4 and the Undersecretary General of the Coalition, she agreed to end all further efforts to gather information on the Overseers. Moles imbedded into the Coalition have been unable to find any information supporting them no longer following this promise.
[[div style="border-top: 1px solid black; width: 100%;"]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
= **<<Begin Log>>**
**FRITZ:** People have died for our petty spat, you know — the one you caused.
**AARON:** The one //I// caused? That’s rich. You started all of this, you know.
**FRITZ:** Can you really say I did when you were the one who first found this place? That was decades before the Foundation even began.
**AARON:** You were always the Administrator, Fritz. I was just a physicist. Nothing more and nothing less.
**FRITZ:** The Foundation would be nothing if not for these paths.
**AARON:** It would have still been something. Ever since the end of that Occult War, everyone who wanted the Veil to remain needed one banner to rally behind. You were always the leader. I was just a scientist, a stubborn one, but one nonetheless.
**FRITZ:** We must remember things differently.
**AARON:** How so?
**FRITZ:** Your breakthroughs here, they’re what kept us all together. Everyone was scared of retaliation and of how we were going to maintain our control of the Veil after the War. But then every time the others were scared, we had something new to show them you helped cook up in that lab, in that Site-0 of yours.
**AARON:** The science is all that ever mattered to me, Fritz. The Foundation never did.
**FRITZ:** So, that's why you left.
//[Silence on recording.]//
**AARON:** I left because you changed, Fritz.
**FRITZ:** How did I change?
**AARON:** You started hurting people.
**FRITZ:** I'll ask again: how did I change?
= **<<End Log>>**
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div style="border-top: 1px solid black; border-bottom: 1px solid black; width: 100%;"]]
[[=]]
[[span style="font-size: 150%; color: #2F4F4F;"]]**{{Section 05.2}}**[[/span]]
[[span style="font-size: 110%; color:#487a7a;"]]Embla Protocol[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Initially proposed in 1947 by the founding O5-11, Dr. Everett Mann, the Embla Protocol was an attempt to leverage Nx-05 to boost the Foundation's position on the world stage. While study of the area was initially only used to create beneficial paratechnology or simply study various facets of the anomalous, the protocol was for the purposeful development of various hostile anomalies to be later recontained by the Foundation in public spectacles. After the [[[scp-001-wikipedia|fall of the Veil]]], such events would both sponsor support among the general population and governments.
The remainder of the Overseer Council voted almost unanimously to approve Mann's proposal, with the sole exception being Aaron Siegel, who was still O5-1 at the time. Siegel was eventually convinced with the stipulation that all of these anomalies would be easily recontainable by the Foundation and only appear dangerous to outside observers. Site-0B, a former storage facility for Site-0, was converted into an advanced subterranean Foundation installation for the covert development of anomalies part of the Embla Protocol. Such anomalies would have falsified documentation personally approved by the Overseer Council to shroud their true natures from the greater Foundation.
While the first several anomalies developed through the Embla Protocol operated effectively, unforseen consequences throughout the world stage followed:
* Funding granted to the Foundation by world governments did increase, but the events also resulted in many more localized anomalous organizations directly under government control, such as the United States' [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/system:page-tags/tag/pentagram#pages PENTAGRAM]. However, the Department of Analytics has confirmed the competition created by these new organizations was far outweighed by the funding increase.
* Support for the Foundation and other organizations such as the Global Occult Coalition among the general population increased as expected, but tensions and fear towards the anomalous also increased astronomically. A collaborative audit by the Department of Public Relations and Department of Groups of Interest deemed this to have been relatively acceptable.
* Various terrorist organizations began more substantial attempts at weaponizing anomalous phenomena. This, in turn, bolstered more fear among world populations and governments, serving to unintentionally assist the Foundation's efforts.
In 1948, without Siegel's knowledge, the remainder of the Council began colluding to unleash dangerous anomalies through the Embla Protocol. Enraged, Siegel defected from the organization alongside a large group of personnel who would later become the primary faction of GoI-003 ("The Chaos Insurgency").
[[div style="border-top: 1px solid black; width: 100%;"]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
= **<<Begin Log>>**
**AARON:** I couldn't just stand by anymore, Fritz. You were using //my// work to hurt people in //our// name. It was intolerable.
**FRITZ:** So, you responded by becoming a terrorist?
**AARON:** I'll admit my methods aren't exactly--
**FRITZ:** Methods? Your people slaughter civillians in the streets. They march throughout the world causing nothing but, well, chaos.
**AARON:** You can't stand all high and mighty here, Fritz. The amount of atrocities you've committed are too numerous to mention here.
**FRITZ:** Everything I did was because I had to.
**AARON:** Did you?
//[Silence on recording.]//
**AARON:** For the love of--, Fritz, why am I here, exactly? Did you contact me for the first time in decades just to have a recreational spat?
**FRITZ:** I called you here because I want answers.
**AARON:** Answers?
**FRITZ:** Why have you never attacked this place?
//[Fritz outstretches his arms, gesturing to the surrounding forest.]//
**AARON:** I don't understand.
**FRITZ:** Trying to take over this place would cost us significantly and //you know that//. I've been waiting years for an attack that never came. Why leave this place alone?
//[Silence on recording.]//
**FRITZ:** Well?
**AARON:** This place is special.
**FRITZ:** Special?
**AARON:** I told you, Fritz. I never cared about the Foundation. Hell, the Insurgency is only my way of righting the wrongs I did while there, even if others have to get hurt on the way. This place, however... it represents science, innovation, nature, and beauty all wrapped in one. To tarnish it, to even risk damaging it with some sort of raid, would go against everything I believe as a scientist.
Someday, when the Foundation is finally gone, when the freedom you prevent the world from realizing it can have is finally in our reach, I'll return to this place a happier man, satisified my job is done. Until then, I'm content to let you keep it warm for me.
//[Aaron abruptly turns around and walks deeper into the brush, eventually exiting view. Fritz stares at him until he can't anymore.]//
= **<<End Log>>**
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div style="border-top: 1px solid black; border-bottom: 1px solid black; width: 100%;"]]
[[=]]
[[span style="font-size: 150%; color: #2F4F4F;"]]**{{Section 05.3}}**[[/span]]
[[span style="font-size: 110%; color:#487a7a;"]]Possible Conflict[[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
Due to the fact Siegel remains one of the few individuals on the planet with knowledge of Nx-05's location and maintains hostile intentions towards the Foundation at large, an Insurgency raid of the area was considered inevitable by onsite personnel soon after his defection. However, no Insurgency activity close to the area has ever been reported. Nearby security has still been otherwise increased since the Insurgency's formation, with more periodically being added.
--As an attack on Nx-05 would presumably deal a powerful blow to the Foundation, it remains unclear why the Insurgency would refuse to attack it.--
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Name:** File:Path through Chedworth Woods - geograph.org.uk - 3083588.jpg
> **Author:** Terry Jacombs
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Path_through_Chedworth_Woods_-_geograph.org.uk_-_3083588.jpg
> **Filename:** path005.png
> **Author:** Bill Henderson [original], S D Locke [edits]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Track_through_the_woods_leading_down_from_Lounds_Hill_-_geograph.org.uk_-_282372.jpg
> **Name:** File:Path in Walthamstow Forest - geograph.org.uk - 5438857.jpg
> **Author:** Glyn Baker
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Path_in_Walthamstow_Forest_-_geograph.org.uk_-_5438857.jpg
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
@import url("https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Orbitron:[email protected]&display=swap");
body {
background-color: #FFFFFF;
background-image: url("https://testinggrounds.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-004-0/bluepattern.png");
background-size: 95%;
background-repeat: repeat;
}
:root{
--header-title: "EMBLA PROTOCOL";
--header-subtitle: "SPECIALLY CREATING PHENOMENA";
--head-font: var(--ui-font);
--page-font-size: 0.89rem;
--link-txt-color: rgba(var(--accent), 0.75);
--accent: 0, 128, 128;
}
.mainblock {
border-left: solid 6px rgb(var(--accent));
background: #ffffff;
box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);
padding: 10px;
width: 90%;
margin: auto;
margin-bottom: 20px;
}
.divider {
border-top: solid 2px rgb(var(--accent));
margin-bottom: 10px;
margin-top: 10px;
}
#page-content hr {
height: 1px;
background-color: rgb(var(--accent));
margin-top: 1.5em;
margin-bottom: 1.5em;
}
#page-content a {
font-weight: bold;
}
#page-content .scp-image-block img {
border: solid 1px rgba(var(--accent), 0.66);
}
#page-content .scp-image-block.block-left {
margin: 0.5em 1.5em 1em 0em;
}
#page-content .scp-image-block.block-right {
margin: 0.5em 0em 1em 1.5em;
}
#page-content .scp-image-caption {
border: solid 1px rgba(var(--accent), 0.66);
border-radius: 0px;
margin-top: 7px;
}
.addendum {
border:solid 2px #999999;
background:#F5F5F5;
width:84%;
padding:1px 15px;
margin: 10px auto;
}
.goc {
background: #fff url('https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%3Aredtape/goc-fade.png') -5rem -5rem no-repeat !important;
border: none;
border-left: 5px solid #275495;
background-size: 30rem;
box-shadow: 1px 1px 4px #27549582;
color: black;
}
.footnotes-footer {
display:none;
}
[[/module]]
|
2024-12-04T04:13:00
|
[
"aaron-siegel",
"chaos-insurgency",
"doctor-mann",
"foundation-format",
"global-occult-coalition",
"tale",
"the-administrator",
"the-engineer",
"worldbuilding"
] |
Nx-05 - SCP Foundation
| 16
|
[
"chaos-insurgency-hub",
"dr-manns-proposal",
"log-of-anomalous-items",
"djkaktus-s-proposal-iii",
"scp-001-wikipedia",
"system:page-tags/tag/pentagram#pages",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"goc-hub-page",
"chaos-insurgency-hub",
"news"
] |
[
"https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/61/Path_through_Chedworth_Woods_-_geograph.org.uk_-_3083588.jpg/600px-Path_through_Chedworth_Woods_-_geograph.org.uk_-_3083588.jpg?20220118223704",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/dr-manns-proposal/path005.png",
"https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/56/Path_in_Walthamstow_Forest_-_geograph.org.uk_-_5438857.jpg?20230918171923"
] |
1457504699
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/nx-05
|
|
ode-to-a-doktor
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p>Twas' past the last death,<br/>
Millennia so,<br/>
No man drew his last breath,<br/>
No man died to his foe,<br/>
But one thing was left,<br/>
One thing was left pure,<br/>
A man with hands deft,<br/>
And a goal of a cure,<br/>
In his quest he had failed,<br/>
And quietly stewed,<br/>
For years he wailed,<br/>
His hatred so brewed,<br/>
But one glorious day,<br/>
As infinite flowers bloomed,<br/>
He knelt down to pray,<br/>
Knowing that he was doomed,<br/>
The Doktor he cried,<br/>
Tears not of pain,<br/>
As the pestilence died,<br/>
His work was in vain,<br/>
And not a day later,<br/>
But twenty-four hours,<br/>
The work of creator,<br/>
The galactic superpowers,<br/>
Went out not with a whimper,<br/>
But with a bang,<br/>
And The Doktor did whisper,<br/>
As the universe sang.</p>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
Twas' past the last death,
Millennia so,
No man drew his last breath,
No man died to his foe,
But one thing was left,
One thing was left pure,
A man with hands deft,
And a goal of a cure,
In his quest he had failed,
And quietly stewed,
For years he wailed,
His hatred so brewed,
But one glorious day,
As infinite flowers bloomed,
He knelt down to pray,
Knowing that he was doomed,
The Doktor he cried,
Tears not of pain,
As the pestilence died,
His work was in vain,
And not a day later,
But twenty-four hours,
The work of creator,
The galactic superpowers,
Went out not with a whimper,
But with a bang,
And The Doktor did whisper,
As the universe sang.
|
2024-10-31T01:06:00
|
[
"end-of-death",
"plague-doctor",
"poetry",
"tale"
] |
Ode to a Doktor - SCP Foundation
| 4
|
[] |
[] |
[] |
1457233928
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ode-to-a-doktor
|
|
of-wounds-of-the-spirit-inflicted-by-teeth
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Apenumbra/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p style="text-align: center;">Teeth: A Love Story, Part One: Of Wounds Of The Spirit Inflicted By Teeth</p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>Author:</strong> <a href="/winterheart-page">GwenWinterheart</a></p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<p>You're on your way home from the Sobeys on 33rd Street when this all starts. You work there. You are a produce clerk. It wasn't exactly your first choice, but it's alright. Your favourite thing is 'facing' the product. You like to stack up the apples and oranges into perfect, beautiful little pyramids. That is the only thing you like about the job.</p>
<p>As you're about to clock out today, after your usual eight and a half hours of occasionally interrupted daydreaming, someone calls your name. A fellow clerk, a little older than you. His name is Raj. You think it's short for something, but don't remember what.</p>
<p>"Ah," you reply, turning to face him. "What is it?"</p>
<p>"I dunno man, are you okay lately?" He gives you a broad smile, attempting to soften the question.</p>
<p>"Same as usual," you say, smiling back. You turn back toward the timecard puncher.</p>
<p>"Right." He reaches out and grabs your shoulder. His hand is warm and firm.</p>
<p>You turn back and meet his eyes. They are dark and kind and glittering with reflected fluorescent light. You stand still for a prolonged moment, suddenly transfixed with an unnameable feeling.</p>
<p>He lets go without saying anything else.</p>
<p>You turn over the memory of that conversation in your mind as you watch the bleary fall scenery pass by through the train window on your way home. The train enters a tunnel. You watch the concrete rush by beyond the train window, mere feet from your face.</p>
<p>You imagine those eyes again. For that one moment, you wanted so badly for him to say something else. You're not sure what, exactly. Something like "Yeah, but are you <em>okay?</em>" or "Man, what are you even doing here?" or "Sometimes when you're sweeping the produce area during off hours you just keep pushing the broom around in the same circle for like twenty minutes at a time and I can't tell if you're awake or asleep and it's weird and I think you should talk to someone about … something."</p>
<p>You are seized by the clear knowledge that if at that moment, if he had said anything like that, you would have broken down crying on the spot and maybe things would have been different. It's too late now, though. The moment has passed, and the feeling retreated back to the dark corner of your heart where it resides.</p>
<p>A few minutes later you reach your stop, the second to last on the line. You file off the train almost robotically, your mind still occupied with the mysteries of human communication, until you're suddenly roused by the shouts and gasps of the other passengers. Following their gaze, you spot a small… person? sprinting across the parking lot, pursued by what look like armed security guards. It's heading directly for the train; you squint your eyes to get a closer look. It's … not human, that's for sure. It's wearing something like a smock, grey but mostly stained red. It's moving faster than any human can run, but it's not going to reach the train on time at this rate.</p>
<p>It's not unusual to see strange things in this town. It is a cold and haunted place where unnatural things walk openly in the daylight, but usually they're not quite so… wild. One of the guards fires a handgun; the sound echoes eerily in the otherwise quiet evening. The creature stumbles but does not slow down. It's getting closer. The other passengers have largely fled the train platform.</p>
<p>You turn, walk back to the train you just left, and press the door button. It opens. A recorded voice politely requests that you stand clear of the doors, as this train is trying to depart. You ignore it and hold the door open.</p>
<p>The creature grows closer; you can see it a bit better now. Its mouth is open, panting with exertion, and that mouth contains a very large number of very strangely shaped teeth. <em>What I am doing does not seem like a very good idea,</em> you think to yourself, as if commenting on the actions of a character in a movie.</p>
<p>The creature barrels past you, through the train doors and directly into the wall on the other side of the train car, from which it rebounds to land sprawled out on the floor.</p>
<p>You let the door close and calmly return to your seat as the train pulls away, the shouts of the pursuing guards fading into the distance.</p>
<p>You watch the humanoid figure drag itself up from the floor into the seat across from you. It's smaller than you thought, and very thin. Its head is that of an animal you can't identify, with a little black nose and tall pointed ears on top of its head, and brownish fur that ends at the base of the neck. The rest of its body that you can see is that of an unusually thin human. Its eyes are not eyes, but merely indistinct swirling darkness where eyes should be. It is difficult to look directly at them.</p>
<p>It makes sudden, twitching, blurring movements. Blood drips from a large hole in its right ear, and a great deal more blood covers the strange grey smock it is wearing. The smell is remarkable. The other passengers have all retreated to the extreme far end of the train car; someone has pulled the passenger emergency alarm. You make uncomfortable eye contact with the strange creature, smiling and wondering how much longer you will live.</p>
<p>"Why did you do that?" Its voice is harsh, accusing. Not just inhuman but inorganic, like the twisting and scraping of metal on metal. Its mouth does not move.</p>
<p>"It looked like you needed some help?"</p>
<p>It looks down at the blood now staining the train floor, then up at you. "Your assistance is… appreciated," it says. It does not appreciate your assistance. You did not realize it was possible for spoken language to contain so much contempt. The extent of the bad decision you have made is slowly beginning to sink in.</p>
<p>"In repayment for this favour," it goes on, "I will not kill and eat you. I was otherwise going to. Is this acceptable?"</p>
<p>"Yes!" you reply. Your voice cracks embarrassingly; you are deeply frightened.</p>
<p>"Good. Now, may I have your name?"</p>
<p>"Oliver. Oliver Levenson," you reply, without hesitation. The creature's mouth opens for the first time since it entered the train. There's a movement your eyes can't follow, then a twisting, rending flash of teeth and an overwhelming surge of pain from somewhere deep inside your body. You fall sideways from your chair, collapsing onto the train floor as the world goes dark.</p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><tt>several hours later</tt></p>
<p>Oliver Levenson stands on the front porch of a townhouse unit, hesitating for a moment before ringing the doorbell. There's something about this place that makes his fur stand on end. Simple warding spells, of the type any human with a degree of spiritual or religious education could produce, guard the perimeter. He can sense an above average amount of iron for a human dwelling. Not enough information to draw conclusions. He will continue with this course of action. He double checks the address on his newly acquired cell phone one more time.</p>
<p>This is his second stop since the incident on the train. The first was that unfortunate and nameless human's apartment. He spent a solid hour and a half in the shower there, getting the last of the blood out of his fur.</p>
<p>Oliver's former captors won't be able to track or identify him until they learn his new name, but, regrettably, a certain human is still alive. It's only a matter of time before he wakes up and tells them. Killing him would have been tidier, but it goes against Oliver's principles to owe favours to the dead.</p>
<p>There was very little of use to him in that apartment, and he finished his search with the impression that his latest victim was a very boring person. More pressingly, there was the issue of attire.</p>
<p>Oliver is a less than imposing four foot eight, counting ears, with a fairly thin frame even when he's been eating well. The previous owner of that apartment was … not four foot eight, and furthermore his fashion sense left much to be desired. After a thorough search, the most acceptable outfit he could put together involved wearing a band-logo t-shirt as a dress. This was the point that he started searching through photos and contacts on the phone in search of better prospects, and that is what brought him here, to the doorstep of this house. He rings the doorbell.</p>
<p>A woman answers the door. Short, stocky build, physically fit but not remarkably so. White. Unbleached dark brown hair and pale skin — not someone who goes outside often. Wearing a striped collar shirt over a differently-striped t-shirt, and loose blue jeans with deliberate rips in the knee. Dubious sense, even for staying home alone. She smiles at Oliver.</p>
<p>"Ah, Ollie! It's been a while, huh? Did you need something? I'm kinda busy, but…"</p>
<p>"I need to borrow some clothes," Oliver says.</p>
<p>She frowns. "That's not going to work out anymore, Ollie. You're too big! Have been for ages. You'd have to go and… buy your… own…"</p>
<p>She looks down at the small not-quite-human creature in front of her with confusion. Oliver tenses. There's always a minute chance for a mind to break through the naming magic over this kind of contradiction. He needs to be ready to act decisively.</p>
<p>"I guess that's… not an issue right now!" The confusion fades and she beckons him inside. "Okay, sure. Uh, bedroom's that way, just like, go through the drawers and pick out whatever I guess? Try not to make a mess. I've got to get back to work." She waves him toward a door, then promptly vanishes into a different one.</p>
<p>Oliver scans his surroundings automatically as he moves. The apartment consists of a short hallway, two rooms, a bathroom, and tiny kitchen jutting off the main hallway. Kitchen surfaces are covered in dirty dishes. The rest of the place is surprisingly neat. No decorations. A carved ward is mounted on the bedroom door. No, it's just a wood-cutting with an abstract pattern that happens to have mild warding properties. The design adds at least a tiny bit of character to an otherwise nearly soulless space. He enters the bedroom.</p>
<p>It's pretty plain. No posters, no photos, no decorations. Just a bed, a wardrobe and a closet, both full of clothes. She doesn't seem to spend much waking time in this room. Unusual, for someone who doesn't go outside much and has only two rooms in their home.</p>
<p>He starts going through clothes. There's a real lack of variety, but the minimum standard for a woman's wardrobe is much higher than a man's, and with a little creativity these will at least <em>fit.</em> He picks out a long skirt, simple sleeveless top and denim jacket. Acceptable for now. Her shoes won't fit him, he'll need to find some elsewhere. He's used to going barefoot, but humans tend to find it suspicious.</p>
<p>There is a large mirror on the inside of one of the closest doors. He indulges, for a moment, in admiring his own reflection. The absence of the curse that's weighed on him for so long is immediately apparent. His fur is smooth and healthy, his ears stand up straight, his body moves with grace and lightness. All that's left is to shake off the jailors, and he'll finally be able to … move on. He's not sure what to, exactly.</p>
<p>There's a knock at the door. "Hey Ollie, you done in there? Can I come in?"</p>
<p>Oliver responds in the affirmative. The woman enters the room and looks him up and down, smiling. "Looking pretty good, bro! Turn around so I can see the back maybe?"</p>
<p>This strikes Oliver as an odd request, but if it's being asked it's probably something she expects 'Oliver' to oblige her with. It's better not to produce another contradiction. He turns around.</p>
<p>Something hard presses against the back of his head. It burns. Carbon steel, 99% iron. The barrel of a gun.</p>
<p>"So," says Annalise Levenson, her voice cool and calm, "what did you do to my baby brother?"</p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><tt>the following day</tt></p>
<p>When you wake up, you are lying in a cot in a grey and distressingly square little room. A cell of some sort, judging from the heavy door and lack of windows. You are alive, despite the clear memory of some essential component being wrenched from the core of your fleshy mass by terrible gnashing teeth. Your left arm is mildly bruised where you fell on it, but other than that there is no physical pain.</p>
<p>You try to sit up. It is difficult, and when you finish you find yourself uncertain what position your limbs are in. There's something wrong with your body. Indistinct. You try to count your fingers. You are able to confirm that you definitely have some number of fingers. Something else is missing.</p>
<p>You think back to the encounter on the train and realize it immediately: you know longer know your own name. It's not memory loss, the name Oliver Theodore Krause Levenson is as clear in your mind as it ever was, but you are keenly aware that it no longer applies to you. There are ragged, fraying patches in your identity around where it was torn away. You are not unfamiliar with this kind of injury, but you did not realize it could be inflicted with <em>teeth.</em></p>
<p>You shift on the bed. Movement is strange and uncomfortable. There is an uncertainty about the location and state of your various appendages as they traverse this sterile space. Some parts are numb, and others contain unfamiliar sharpness and pressure.</p>
<p>The door produces a series of clicks and thunks as various locks are disengaged. It swings open to admit a tall man in a white coat. He winces involuntarily upon getting a clear look at you. You are not troubled by this; if anything, it's oddly reassuring.</p>
<p>"Greetings," he says. "Now, let me save you some time. This is a one-sided interrogation. I won't be answering any of your questions, and I won't fall for any tricks. And you will not survive a physical confrontation in that state, so please behave." His voice is firm and steady, not overtly aggressive but demanding obedience.</p>
<p>You try to speak and produce a noise like waves crashing against rocks in the dead of night. After several more tries, you manage to say: "I, I don't understand. Where am I?" Your voice sounds small and scared and far away. "What ha—"</p>
<p>"Stop," he commands. You are silent. "As I said, I will not answer your questions. In turn, by asking me something, you ensure I will not provide that information. Do you understand?"</p>
<p>"Understood," you say, making an indistinct head movement you intend to be a nod.</p>
<p>"Alright. I represent an organization in pursuit of a particular entity. You … appear to be this being, however — <em>no sudden movements!"</em> He warns, as you jerk upward in your seat. You do your best to hold very still.</p>
<p>"You appear to be the aforementioned, however we are aware this is unlikely to be true in a physical sense. Yesterday evening, on the train, were you attacked?"</p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p>"What is the current name of the being which attacked you?"</p>
<p>"I don't understand the question," you say. You are lying. The man frowns.</p>
<p>"You should be aware that something was taken from you yesterday. What was it?"</p>
<p>"U-umm," you mutter, stalling awkward. "An identity?"</p>
<p>He wants the name itself. Oliver Theodore Krause Levenson. First name, middle name, mother's maiden name, last name. A cumbersome, ill-fitting mess of nomenclature.</p>
<p>"What identity?" The man's eyes narrow a little. He is growing impatient.</p>
<p>"I don't remember," you lie. Why are you not answering the question? Your mind feels indistinct, full of ragged edges and the imprints of teeth. Are you protecting that strange creature? That can't be right. It hurt you quite badly.</p>
<p>The man reaches forward and touches you on the shoulder. He is gentle, but his hand feels heavy and almost unbearably hot. A firm squeeze might cause your body to cave in. "Listen," he says. "You're clearly not involved in this. Something important has been taken from you, and you can still get it back if you cooperate. Answer my questions properly."</p>
<p>You stare into the man's eyes. His expression is stern, but wavers slightly under your gaze. You wonder what he sees, looking at you right now. Your true self, perhaps; thin, wretched and slimy, pouring out slowly onto the floor through the hole in your identity. The new Oliver can have that name. The thought of taking it back makes you want to puke up whatever guts still exist in your withering form. You smile at the man in pure terror; you tell him over and over that you do not know the name. He shouts at you and touches you in painful ways, but you do not relent. Eventually he gives up, deciding the new Oliver must have you under some kind of spell. He leaves you alone in the square, grey room.</p>
<p>A considerable amount of time passes. Your condition worsens quickly; within a few hours you are lying on the bed in a thoughtless fugue, suspended between existence and non-existence. Overlaid on the walls of the grey room you see a landscape of flat, white snow stretching forever in all directions to meet a flat, white sky at a barely perceptible horizon. Snow is falling. People occasionally come in and out of the room. You catch tiny snatches of conversation. Phrases like 'nomenclative shock response' and 'phenomenological damage' are being thrown around. You do not understand. You are injected with various unknown substances. The snow continues to pile up upon your prone body. At some point it will cover you and no trace will remain, you imagine. At some point…</p>
<p>Instead, after an uncertain number of hours, your eyes open and the world unexpectedly shifts into focus. The snowy landscape fades until you can just barely see it. You try to move your arms and legs, just a little, and they shift according to your instructions. There is something profoundly <em>wrong</em> with the way they move, but the blurry frailness is fading. You remember how insects, during metamorphosis, first melt completely into a sort of amorphous goo before beginning to assume their adult forms. You do not think you have become any sort of a butterfly.</p>
<p>You should kill the next human you meet. Just a thought that slides nonchalantly into your head through the hole in your soul. It seems reasonable enough. You don't know what's up with these white-coat people, but they haven't been very nice to you, and it seems unlikely they'll let you out of this cell any time soon. It'll be easy. Just don't move, pretend to still be lying here half dead, and the next time one of them gets close…</p>
<p>You're not sure what the next step is, from there. When you try to picture it, there are a lot of teeth and sharp angles and things intersecting other things. It's probably best not to think about it that much. You lie still. Your body feels better, now. Strong, sharp, full of tension. You are a bear-trap, lying flat on the ground waiting for an unsuspecting creature to make a wrong step. Completely still, not moving a finger.</p>
<p>You haven't checked on your fingers in a while. They feel different. It occurs to you that anyone who sees you may realize something has changed. You'll have to go for them the instant the door opens, before they have a chance to react. It'll be good to stretch your legs.</p>
<p>You wait. The anticipation is electric. You picture the smooth arc you will carve through the air, a single graceful shift from prone on the bed to gouging out the throat of one of your captors. The door, however, does not open. You continue to wait.</p>
<p>You become aware that you do not have forever to wait. There is a limit to this transformation, this strange second wind. You are slowly but steadily fading. Do they have cameras monitoring you? You do not see any, but it seems likely. You accept for the third or so time since yesterday that you are almost certainly doomed. Oh well.</p>
<p>The door clicks, beginning its unlocking sequence. Your senses flare into high alert. You have somewhat more senses than usual; you are keenly aware, for example, of the exact amount of iron in the heavy metal door. No time to think about that now. The last locking mechanism clunks into the open position; the door swings open.</p>
<p>You vault into the air faster than you've ever moved before, your whole body stretching and distorting, your arms whipping forward toward the estimated position of your target's neck. Blades — no, teeth — protrude from all over your body, eager to tear flesh from bone. You are overcome with this radical freedom of movement and this heady, unrestrained bloodlust. You want to howl.</p>
<p>Your vicious attack has not even crossed a third of the distance to the door when a small humanoid collides with the center of your torso, sending you tumbling to the floor where it lands atop you. This hurts a very great deal in ways that are unfamiliar and currently impossible to describe. You retract your limbs and whimper.</p>
<p>"Hey," says Oliver. You are not an expert in the facial expressions of animal-headed beings, but you do not think that he is pleased with you.</p>
<p>"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," you repeat, over and over, cringing at the sound of your own voice. It's screeching, strained, inhuman, and incredibly <em>whiney.</em> The feeling of strength you briefly attained has vanished like smoke; you are a pathetic slug-thing trembling under a child's curious finger, praying not to be squished. "I-it hurts…"</p>
<p>Oliver blinks. Rather, the twin light-consuming voids on his face contract momentarily to narrow lines and then revert. It's reassuring somehow, to know this unreadable face can still blink. He stands and takes a few steps back. The pain in your core fades a little.</p>
<p>"My apologies," he says. "I may have overdone things. You are still fragile. Keep it together, it'd be a problem for you to die now. Can you see the snow?"</p>
<p>You squint. The endless plain of gently falling snow remains very faintly visible, when you focus. "Only very faintly," you rasp out. "S-sorry. Didn't know it was you, wouldn't have—"</p>
<p>"Obviously," he cuts you off. "You were trying to take a jailor's head off. Not a wise idea but a very understandable sentiment. If the Winter Court is faint that means you're at least dying <em>slowly.</em>"</p>
<p>Your vision successfully focuses on Oliver for the first time since he arrived. He's very different from last time. The fur on his head is clean and healthy, the wound on his ear closed. He's wearing actual clothes. Girl clothes, for that matter? It occurs to you that you do not know this creature's gender. You do not particularly want to ask.</p>
<p>His voice retains a strangely metallic quality, but is much softer and less frightening than before. Overall he looks … cool? Strangely stylish? There's an alien but potent charisma to the way he moves.</p>
<p>The inside of his mouth is as terrifying as ever. You realize he is still talking. You hope you didn't miss anything important.</p>
<p>"Can you walk? We have a limited window to leave this place before the jailors return."</p>
<p>You attempt to stand. Your point of view moves upward considerably to a point several feet above Oliver's head. You are unsure of the details. You're trying to keep your own body parts out of your own line of sight, so as to remain unsure. "I… think so."</p>
<p>"Alright, follow me. Walk and talk, assuming you can manage that. First question: What is <em>that</em> supposed to be?" He gestures to your general existence as you slink toward the door.</p>
<p>You are confused. Both now, at the question, and in general as a continuous reaction to your experience of the world since you were about twelve. "I'm sorry," you say, "I don't get it."</p>
<p>"You are showing symptoms of weirding syndrome: a kind of magical infection which sometimes develops in open wounds of the identity. It creates external distortions of form which match one's internal state," Oliver says. "This kind of … transformation, however, is extremely rare. What is up with you, exactly?"</p>
<p>You are a little taken aback by how genuinely curious he sounds. You spend maybe six or seven seconds saying things like "well," and "uh, like," and "I guess maybe," to stall for time while you rummage in the depths of your being for an answer.</p>
<p>"I don't really know," you eventually say. "Something's wrong that I don't really understand and I've been ignoring it for a long time and maybe … I mean I haven't even looked at myself. What… What do I look like to you?"</p>
<p>"Your arms and legs appear stretched and lack obvious joints. You're at least six and a half feet tall." Oliver doesn't turn around as he describes you; he continues ahead down the sterile corridors. "Your skin, or maybe hide, is mottled dark blue as if your entire body was heavily bruised. Your neck is long and arcs forward so your head hangs at shoulder level. Your head is an irregular half-sphere, with a chaotic mass of mismatched teeth protruding from the bottom. I am unable to determine the location of your eyes or mouth. Your arms dangle limply from your shoulders when not in use. You seem to be able to protrude additional teeth from them at will, possibly also from other parts of your body. Your legs are short and end in wide stumps. The way you move when you walk is slow, awkward and nauseating to watch. There was some hint of grace to your movements earlier, though, when you tried to kill me."</p>
<p>You nod; that is, you raise and lower your head on its dangling stalk. Each fact slides neatly into your self image. You were dreading this information, expecting a fresh tide of disgust over your own existence, but instead it feels very… neutral. On some fundamental level, you feel like this is where you already were as a person. Now that other people can see it, maybe it will become possible to acknowledge that something is wrong. Maybe.</p>
<p>You realize you have not responded for several seconds and that this is extremely awkward. You are unable to come up with anything of note to say. The awkward silence continues to stretch. You wonder if your new body has any cool powers, like maybe the ability to melt into the floor.</p>
<p>"Okay, here's the real question." He turns to look at you this time. His 'eyes' narrow. "Why did you give me your name?"</p>
<p>This is not a question you were expecting. "I mean, it's normal to introduce yourself when someone—"</p>
<p>"No. You understood exactly what I was asking. It isn't possible to separate someone so cleanly from their name with a cheap trick. If you'd really thought I was asking for an introduction, both of us would be in considerably worse shape right now."</p>
<p>"Oh," you say. Oliver waits for a few seconds for a further response. As you do not provide one, he eventually continues.</p>
<p>"And you didn't tell the jailors what the name <em>was.</em> So they still haven't come after me. So I'm here to pay back yet another unwanted favour. Please, stop doing favours for me."</p>
<p>Oliver's injured ear twitches, almost imperceptibly. If you knew him a little better you might recognize this as a tell for a blatant lie. He is here because a frightening woman held a gun to his head and threatened to mount it on her wall if he did not come here. (His head, that is.) His convictions about debts are not strong enough to justify breaking back into a facility like this so soon after escaping it.</p>
<p>Far from noticing any tells, you barely parse anything Oliver is saying. Bubbles of fetid gas rise to the surface from the shifting of ancient things within the oceanic chasms of your psyche. You knew exactly what "May I have your name?" meant. Of course you did. You knew the fairy stories. You knew this town is host to more than its share of supernatural creatures. You even knew, specifically, that animal-headed beings are known for engaging in nomenclative theft.</p>
<p>You knew. You gave your name willingly, and you immediately settled in to never acknowledge that fact to anyone. Least of all yourself. It was so plausible. Such an easy trick to fall for, nobody would doubt it was an accident. You were so sure you could live to the end of whatever your existence would become next without having to acknowledge what you did. How can this strange animal-person just throw it back in your face and expecting you to carry on a conversation?</p>
<p>He's asked you several more questions since you started on this little episode and you haven't said <em>anything.</em> You can't understand anything he's saying and haven't even answered the original question. Why did you do that? Didn't your mother give you that name? Doesn't it mean something to you? Try to consider how other people will feel.</p>
<p>Oliver gives up on trying to converse with you and simply leads you through the strange corridors of this facility. Through cell blocks and corridors, up several flights of stairs, through a long, narrow maintenance passage and eventually up a ladder to a sealed escape hatch. The scenery is dominated by greys, whites and bare metal; the interior design ethos is somewhere between that of a hospital and a prison. Colour exists mainly in the form of warning messages printed on and around heavy steel doors. The uncompromising dullness is calming. It saps the colour and urgency from emotion and memory; the churning in your mind runs its course and becomes still again.</p>
<p>You exit the hatch, travel a short way through a sewer tunnel, then up another ladder, through a manhole and into open air. It's night. A half-moon shines down on you from out of a clear black sky. The air is crisp and cool and fresh. You take several deep breaths. You're not sure how the air enters your body, exactly, but your chest inflates and deflates satisfyingly. You feel calm.</p>
<p>You're going to need to pull it together if you want to get through… whatever is happening to you right now, and this is the best chance you're going to get. You reach deep inside yourself, take hold of what's left of the solid core of your volition, and with a great effort you <em>stop</em> dissociating.</p>
<p>It would be nice if there was some kind of satisfying snap back to reality or shift in perspective. There is not, you are just once again fully aware of occupying your own body. It is a painful and disgusting experience. You turn to Oliver, wondering what he thinks of you after all this.</p>
<p>Oliver looks back at you with his teeth slightly bared and knees bent in a ready stance. You flinch back, but as you watch he slowly returns to a neutral position.</p>
<p>"It … looks like you're back," he says. "It appears that was a touchy subject. I'm not <em>that</em> curious, please don't think of it again."</p>
<p>"You were ready to kill me, there." Your voice sounds very neutral about this.</p>
<p>"When I took your name," he says, "I gave you something in return. Not a real name exactly, more like a curse. A mass of accumulated grudges I picked up when I lost my original name and added to in turn. 'The name given by prey to the nameless beast.' It carries a particular set of violent impulses. I had no way of knowing what was going on in your head, just now. I had to be ready to act decisively."</p>
<p>You nod. You can feel this presence lurking within you, now that it's been described. It fits in strangely well among the other repressed and shadowy things that haunt your subconscious.</p>
<p>"Sorry. I'm okay now," you say. You are not okay, but you're at least in a state to say "I'm okay" in a steady voice. That's something.</p>
<p>You take a moment to survey your surroundings. You're on a back road next to an open field. A utility corridor, you think. In the middle of a relatively poor residential area; there's also a strip mall visible across the field. There's nobody in sight. No, there's an older man in a big coat cutting across the open field, carrying something heavy in a shopping bag. He's very drunk, based on his stride.</p>
<p>You should kill the next human you meet.</p>
<p>Several conflicting impulses scrape painfully against one another inside your mind. You've already taken several brisk steps toward the man before you manage to jerk awkwardly to a halt. Oliver follows your gaze and gives you an unreadable look.</p>
<p>"Well, that's convenient. Are you going to kill him?"</p>
<p>"A-are you kidding? Of course not. What the hell?" The enamel blades lining your arms extend and retract convulsively.</p>
<p>"You want to kill him, don't you? Devour his name? It'll make things much easier on you, for a while," Oliver says. "You'll end up killing someone sooner or later. Either that or steal a name, but then you'll just pass the curse to the next person. That's why I was planning to just eat you, until you came and made things complicated. The curse will eat at you unless you feed it. If you wait till you've been half hollowed-out to give in, it'll be much worse."</p>
<p>"Fuck that," you say. You meant to be tough and defiant but it comes out sounding very small and sad. You turn away from the man, sit down on the grass and concentrate your attention on the cracks on the sidewalk.</p>
<p>Oliver sighs. "It would be inconvenient for me if you were to lose yourself, so here is some advice. You can still see the snowy place, correct?"</p>
<p>You have to focus on it, but it's there. You nod.</p>
<p>"If you see someone who leaves deep footsteps in the snow when they walk, they're about to die. Within hours. If you're lucky you can steal the reaper's prey right out from under him.</p>
<p>Oliver holds your shoulder. His hand is warm and small; his touch frightens you. "Unless you want to reconsider and take out this convenient old drunk. I'll even—"</p>
<p><em>"Shut up."</em></p>
<p>He lets go. A moment later, he tosses something metal and shiny on the ground in front of you. Your keys.</p>
<p>"Very well. Have these back. I'm done with you now, so don't expect any more help and especially don't do me any more favours. I don't recommend trying to leave town, either. Winter won't let you, and it'll be unpleasant."</p>
<p>You do not respond. You remain seated, gaze fixed on the sidewalk, as Oliver's footsteps slowly fade into the distance.</p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><tt>some time later</tt></p>
<p>Moving from place to place is easier than you thought it would be. You move quickly, flitting from shadow to shadow. Occasionally humans cross your path, out late for one reason or another, but you find it requires only a little effort to remain <em>unnoticed</em> by idle gazes. Their eyes slide off you, registering nothing, and you vanish into the shadows. It feels kind of nice; you suppose even this twisted body has good points. Kind of like how your previous form could at least help people get things off high shelves, sometimes.</p>
<p>You arrive home a little before dawn, unlock your own front door and collapse on your own bed. You expected entering this familiar space in such an alien form to be unsettling, but instead it feels… the same.</p>
<p>You spend a while lying in bed, staring at your own hands. They're more like… five small separate tentacles, branching out from the larger tentacles that are your arms. A single claw-like tooth juts from near the end of each 'finger'; you can extend and retract these at will.</p>
<p>After a careful inspection of your limbs doesn't seem to drive you mad, you give in to morbid curiosity and slink to the restroom to check your reflection. It's basically as Oliver described. Looking carefully, you see slight indentations in the hide of your head that correspond the origin points of your vision. Eyes of some sort. You feel nausea, and also hints of a much stranger feeling. Validation, maybe. Nobody can deny that there's something wrong with your body anymore.</p>
<p>You leave the bathroom behind, pausing only to note with some amusement that the grate over your shower drain has been clogged with thick brown fur. You have an important task to take care of.</p>
<p>You shift around some boxes under your bed to find the loose floorboard, then carefully slide it out of the way and retrieve a six-year-old laptop computer from the hidden compartment. You wonder, for a moment, if your weird paranoid habit actually had any impact when Oliver searched your home earlier. He probably wouldn't have taken this laptop even if it had been lying out in the open; it's not like it's particularly valuable.</p>
<p>You log in and navigate to your usual stomping grounds. It's a small, very old fantasy roleplay forum that still operates exclusively in long-form posts. You've been active here for over a decade. It's slowed down, in the last few years especially, but you and a few other regulars have been keeping things going.</p>
<p>Threads consist of three to five people taking turns writing elaborate prose descriptions of their next action in the story; usually focused on court intrigue in a high fantasy world. Your current character is a wicked duchess, plotting against the heroic prince to secure the throne for her nephew. You catch up on the plot developments and then spend a few hours carefully crafting your next post, where you elaborate on your plot to have the young heir pass away tragically in a staged hunting accident to your co-conspirator, an affluent businessman with ties to the underground. There's a lot of flirting involved. You feel, at least while you're writing, much more invested in this fantasy world than in your actual life.</p>
<p>You add a small 'out of character' note to the end, warning that you might disappear thanks to 'real life stuff' soon, and advising the other player to write you out of the game if you stop responding. Then you send the post. You weren't sure if you'd ever get back to this, after the attack on the train. It's… nice.</p>
<p>You return to reality. You feel profoundly weak, and the snow is more visible than ever. Are you running out of time? Are you really going to have to kill someone? <em>What should I do…</em> you think to yourself.</p>
<p>You decide to collapse on your bed and stare at the patterns of frock on the ceiling. This is unlikely to solve any of your immediate problems. The otherworld snow drifts by, superimposed over the rough white surface above you. The effect is faintly mesmerizing. You breath in and out, slowly, like the waves of a vast dark ocean slowly eroding away the beach. There's a dark, swelling hollowness in the core of your being. An unspeakable longing to hunt rises within you, to tear and rip and devour the succulent flesh of the leftover barbecue chicken you just remembered you still have in the fridge somewhere. You haven't eaten anything in over 24 hours.</p>
<p>Giving in to the unspeakable longing, you find yourself sitting at your kitchen table staring down what's left of the dismembered, greasy remains of a unlucky bird. The smell is strong and unfamiliar. The BBQ sauce and seasoning is perceptible but muted to your new senses; the scent of grease and of the meat itself is much sharper. Almost overwhelmingly so. A drip of unknown fluid falls from one of the teeth that jut out below your 'chin'. It sizzles on the table.</p>
<p>You have no idea how to eat this, and you are <em>so</em> hungry. That mass of non-retractable teeth under your head has to be involved; you feel at them cautiously with your fingers, but there's no mouth-like opening to be found. You feel a faint stinging sensation where you touch the underside of your head directly.</p>
<p>You wish that the personification of your self-image problems could have been something normal. Maybe like a big scary dog-thing or a bear. Even some kind of fucked up bug would have had — no. You cut that thought short. A giant bug would have been way worse, even if it had a proper mouth.</p>
<p>In a burst of frustration, you just kind of plunge your head down on a piece of chicken, impaling it. Your body reacts immediately. Your fangs shift subtly, hooking into the meat and pulling it closer to your head. The strange fluid sizzles on contact with meat, producing a strong and satisfying smell. Or maybe this is taste? The chicken begins to dissolve, and the resulting fluid is drawn up through channels in your fangs and absorbed into your body. It takes less than a minute for it to disappear completely. The experience is strange, but not unpleasant. You can even kind of 'taste' the barbeque sauce as you soak it up, although you have to really focus and you're not sure if it's a <em>good</em> taste, exactly.</p>
<p>Instinct and hunger take over from there. You pause to reflect, as you voraciously jam great chunks of meat into your fangs. What happens from now on? Can you live like this? Do you really need to kill someone? You've been resisting the idea, refusing to accept that it might be necessary, but the way your body is tearing into this chicken almost of its own accord makes the idea feel … closer. You can imagine the teeth and sinew taking control, tearing into living flesh, absorbing it till nothing remains but a stain of blood and melted flesh on the ground. There's even something vaguely appealing about it, if the prey was a small animal or something.</p>
<p>Maybe you could live like an animal on the outskirts of town; a shadowy beast feeding on gophers and squirrels, avoiding the light, staying out of sight of humans. Maybe one day you'd come across a child in danger from bullies or something, and you would save them. You'd keep occasionally meeting, and gradually form a bond of trust and the child would learn important lessons to carry through to adulthood.</p>
<p>You have outlined maybe 2/3rds of the plot of this hypothetical boy-and-his-monster movie when you realize you finished eating some time ago, and have been pacing the kitchen aimlessly. You do not want to live alone in the darkness, waiting to take part in someone else's heartfelt coming of age narrative. That sounds really sad and lonely. You also do not want to murder anyone, even if they're about to die anyway. Could you do it, if you had to, to prevent something worse? You're not sure.</p>
<p>You've heard there's a secret section at the Anklebone Central Library where they keep books about fairies and nameless things. They'll probably let you in now, right? You should try to learn as much as possible about whatever you are now. Maybe there's some way to get out of this without hurting anyone.</p>
<p>You've wasted enough time. You set off immediately.</p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><tt>elsewhere</tt></p>
<p>Feather sits in a small chair in front of a desk in front of a man sitting in a larger chair. She smiles and gestures animately, indicating various things written on pieces of paper. She outlines her whole life history as a drama all leading up to this singular moment, to this shining opportunity to follow her passions for the sake of a greater whole. The man smiles back, accepts the papers she slides across the table, occasionally fires back questions. He has already mostly tuned her out. She suspects this, but can't afford to let up the act. The performance continues to its dramatic conclusion. The audience nods distantly and tells her to expect a call sometime in the next week. There will not be a call.</p>
<p>Feather collects her bags, insists the man keep the various papers, and leaves the interview. She suppresses the momentary urge to turn around and peek back into the room to see if she can catch him dumping her CV in the trash.</p>
<p>It's whatever, honestly. She didn't want to be an 'administrative assistant' for this stupid shoe company anyway. She wraps back up in her scarf and jacket and steps out into the fall air. She's exhausted. <em>I should head home and try to get at least one more application done today,</em> she thinks. <em>If I can't find a proper job I'll be in serious trouble within a month or so. Might be trouble either way, honestly.</em></p>
<p>After ten or so minutes of completely thoughtless driving, Feather discovers she is not at her tiny apartment. Her subconscious has instead navigated her to the parking lot of the Anklebone Central Library. Oh well, she thinks. The applications will be there in the morning. A fearful, warbling part of her mind reminds her she could just as well fill out applications at this place. She shushes it.</p>
<p>The Central Library is an architectural chimera. A venerable old stone building with ornately carved windows has been half consumed by a more recently constructed thing of glass and steel and exciting curves that suggest the onset of modernity. It looks pretty bad, honestly, but it's kind of charming. More importantly, there's a cozy little cafe tucked away down a hallway off the side of the main entrance. She barges into this place, collapses into a chair near the back corner, and starts reading a romance novel about werewolves on her cell phone. It's not very good. The last three in the series weren't very good either. She should probably stop getting each new one as it comes out.</p>
<p>"Hey, Feather." The barista calls to her. It's the teenage one with the green hair. "Can I get you anything?"</p>
<p>Feather calls back something unintelligible, which the girl correctly interprets as 'the usual' and gets started on a latte with two extra shots of espresso. Feather reads a couple more pages before sighing and putting down her phone to accept the coffee and pay the bill.</p>
<p>"Another interview today?"</p>
<p>"Yeah. They say they'll call back within a week. They won't, probably."</p>
<p>The barista continues the conversation for a few more sentences worth of vague encouragement before returning to her post; Feather replies on autopilot while sipping from the expensive coffee. She ends up here after every interview, somehow. Sitting here and pretending to be someone who can afford to consume this product, occupy this space, seems to make the fear go away for a little while. It's all going to catch up to her pretty soon.</p>
<p>It's not even working all that well, today. The hot caffeine refuses to completely dissolve the heavy lump of pure dread in her gut. Unease lingers. She feels the pressure of imagined eyes from the deep corners of the dimly lit cafe. It is time to leave. She finishes the coffee in one go, thanks the green-haired woman at the desk, and pulls her scarf around herself once more.</p>
<p>The wind has picked up dramatically. It has traveled from somewhere far across the great plains; rushing through emptiness at harrowing speed to break against the impetuous skyscrapers of this forlorn city into swirling eddies that lift dust and fallen leaves high into the air. It drags on Feather, urging her toward unknown places. It speaks to the remaining wildness in her heart.</p>
<p>She does not return to her car. It's time to walk, for a while, with no purpose, goal or destination. A kind of ritual, dangerous and potent, to turn even the heart of a city into a wild place where the worries of the human world cannot follow. It starts to rain. Almost nobody is outside. She weaves her way deeper into darker places where the glass and steel of the human jungle gives way to concrete.</p>
<p>There is a clanging, clattering noise from maybe twenty feet behind her. Someone is following her; she can no longer justify ignoring the feeling. Reluctantly, she pulls out her phone to let someone know where she is, maybe call a cab or something. The wind howls. She tries to shield her phone screen from the driving rain. She's five or six blocks out from the train line, in the shadow of a parking complex surrounded by half-empty office buildings, several of which are under renovations. A habitat for cars rather than humans. She starts to dial a number.</p>
<p>Something emerges from behind a nearby concrete pillar. Indistinct, dark, huge. It approaches quickly, with long loping strides, its whole body stretching and undulating in eerie rhythms. It's breathtaking.</p>
<p>Feather realizes, as pearly white blades emerge from the monster's extended forearms, that she is about to die. It is a strange, complex piece of knowledge: sad and painful, shot through with frustration about all the fruitless fears that hounded her, underpinned by a deep satisfaction that at least <em>they</em> wouldn't get her. Her body moves automatically as she ponders; screaming, turning, running. She won't get more than a few steps, yet her flesh — her existence as a breathing mammalian creature — demands the attempt.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, from high above, unnoticed by either predator or prey, there is the sound of creaking and snapping metal. A particularly strong gust of wind tears a poorly secured metal sheet from some construction scaffolding and sends it flying at a steep downward angle. It carves an immutable path through the air directly through where Feather was standing less than a second before. Directly through where her attacker now reaches for her. Its forearm is shattered; nearly severed; left dangling by a bit of skin and flesh. It screams, stumbles and collapses on the sidewalk several feet in front of its intended prey, writhing in obvious pain.</p>
<p>The strength drains from Feather's legs as the danger passes. She drops to her knees in front of the creature and sobs.</p>
<p>"You… saved my life?"</p>
<p>The rain makes hollow ringing noises as it glances off the twisted remains of the fallen metal sheet.</p>
<p>"You tried to kill me."</p>
<p>The creature's movements slow as dark, oily blood pours from the open stump of its arm. Feather rises and takes a step closer. There is a deep sadness to the dark hues and twisted curves of the fallen body. It is like a thing of deep waters, she thinks, accustomed to the pressure and darkness of the hadal brine, having by tremendous effort dragged itself up and up into the light of the sun. Only to be struck down before learning to breathe by some fugitive songbird's misdirected curse.</p>
<p>Feather wipes the tears and rain from her face, taking another step closer. Surely it lacks the strength to hurt her, by now. It almost certainly meant to kill her, yet, imagining the death of this being now is too sad for her to bear. She tears a strip from the strange cloth smock the creature wears and ties it as tight as she can manage about its arm just above the wound. The bleeding slows, but only a little. She's too weak, it's too big. Unconventional methods are required.</p>
<p>There's only one spell she knows that will work here, in the pouring rain, in the heart of a city, on stolen land and upon ground defiled by asphalt and blood. It will draw unwanted attention, but her warding should hold.</p>
<p>Viciously sharp teeth protrude from the bottom of the creature's head. She carefully grazes a finger on one, drawing blood. She mixes it with her tears and with the oily fluid that covers the ground, then recites a short prayer. On the tip of her finger the fluid hisses and glows faintly. Quickly, before it fades, she traces a five pointed star on the arm just above the wound. The universe itself convulses and, for an instant, something that is at once unimaginably close and unimaginably far away <em>sees</em> her.</p>
<p>The moment passes. The wound is no longer bleeding; the creature is breathing steadily. Good enough. She spends a moment searching for her cell phone before realizing she still has it clutched in her left hand. She wipes the rain from the screen. It's time to make a few calls.</p>
<hr/>
<p style="text-align: center;"><tt>to be continued</tt></p>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/of-wounds-of-the-spirit-inflicted-by-teeth">Of Wounds Of The Spirit Inflicted By Teeth</a>" by GwenWinterheart, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/of-wounds-of-the-spirit-inflicted-by-teeth">https://scpwiki.com/of-wounds-of-the-spirit-inflicted-by-teeth</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:penumbra">:scp-wiki:theme:penumbra</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
= Teeth: A Love Story, Part One: Of Wounds Of The Spirit Inflicted By Teeth
= **Author:** [[[winterheart-page | GwenWinterheart]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
You're on your way home from the Sobeys on 33rd Street when this all starts. You work there. You are a produce clerk. It wasn't exactly your first choice, but it's alright. Your favourite thing is 'facing' the product. You like to stack up the apples and oranges into perfect, beautiful little pyramids. That is the only thing you like about the job.
As you're about to clock out today, after your usual eight and a half hours of occasionally interrupted daydreaming, someone calls your name. A fellow clerk, a little older than you. His name is Raj. You think it's short for something, but don't remember what.
"Ah," you reply, turning to face him. "What is it?"
"I dunno man, are you okay lately?" He gives you a broad smile, attempting to soften the question.
"Same as usual," you say, smiling back. You turn back toward the timecard puncher.
"Right." He reaches out and grabs your shoulder. His hand is warm and firm.
You turn back and meet his eyes. They are dark and kind and glittering with reflected fluorescent light. You stand still for a prolonged moment, suddenly transfixed with an unnameable feeling.
He lets go without saying anything else.
You turn over the memory of that conversation in your mind as you watch the bleary fall scenery pass by through the train window on your way home. The train enters a tunnel. You watch the concrete rush by beyond the train window, mere feet from your face.
You imagine those eyes again. For that one moment, you wanted so badly for him to say something else. You're not sure what, exactly. Something like "Yeah, but are you //okay?//" or "Man, what are you even doing here?" or "Sometimes when you're sweeping the produce area during off hours you just keep pushing the broom around in the same circle for like twenty minutes at a time and I can't tell if you're awake or asleep and it's weird and I think you should talk to someone about ... something."
You are seized by the clear knowledge that if at that moment, if he had said anything like that, you would have broken down crying on the spot and maybe things would have been different. It's too late now, though. The moment has passed, and the feeling retreated back to the dark corner of your heart where it resides.
A few minutes later you reach your stop, the second to last on the line. You file off the train almost robotically, your mind still occupied with the mysteries of human communication, until you're suddenly roused by the shouts and gasps of the other passengers. Following their gaze, you spot a small... person? sprinting across the parking lot, pursued by what look like armed security guards. It's heading directly for the train; you squint your eyes to get a closer look. It's ... not human, that's for sure. It's wearing something like a smock, grey but mostly stained red. It's moving faster than any human can run, but it's not going to reach the train on time at this rate.
It's not unusual to see strange things in this town. It is a cold and haunted place where unnatural things walk openly in the daylight, but usually they're not quite so... wild. One of the guards fires a handgun; the sound echoes eerily in the otherwise quiet evening. The creature stumbles but does not slow down. It's getting closer. The other passengers have largely fled the train platform.
You turn, walk back to the train you just left, and press the door button. It opens. A recorded voice politely requests that you stand clear of the doors, as this train is trying to depart. You ignore it and hold the door open.
The creature grows closer; you can see it a bit better now. Its mouth is open, panting with exertion, and that mouth contains a very large number of very strangely shaped teeth. //What I am doing does not seem like a very good idea,// you think to yourself, as if commenting on the actions of a character in a movie.
The creature barrels past you, through the train doors and directly into the wall on the other side of the train car, from which it rebounds to land sprawled out on the floor.
You let the door close and calmly return to your seat as the train pulls away, the shouts of the pursuing guards fading into the distance.
You watch the humanoid figure drag itself up from the floor into the seat across from you. It's smaller than you thought, and very thin. Its head is that of an animal you can't identify, with a little black nose and tall pointed ears on top of its head, and brownish fur that ends at the base of the neck. The rest of its body that you can see is that of an unusually thin human. Its eyes are not eyes, but merely indistinct swirling darkness where eyes should be. It is difficult to look directly at them.
It makes sudden, twitching, blurring movements. Blood drips from a large hole in its right ear, and a great deal more blood covers the strange grey smock it is wearing. The smell is remarkable. The other passengers have all retreated to the extreme far end of the train car; someone has pulled the passenger emergency alarm. You make uncomfortable eye contact with the strange creature, smiling and wondering how much longer you will live.
"Why did you do that?" Its voice is harsh, accusing. Not just inhuman but inorganic, like the twisting and scraping of metal on metal. Its mouth does not move.
"It looked like you needed some help?"
It looks down at the blood now staining the train floor, then up at you. "Your assistance is... appreciated," it says. It does not appreciate your assistance. You did not realize it was possible for spoken language to contain so much contempt. The extent of the bad decision you have made is slowly beginning to sink in.
"In repayment for this favour," it goes on, "I will not kill and eat you. I was otherwise going to. Is this acceptable?"
"Yes!" you reply. Your voice cracks embarrassingly; you are deeply frightened.
"Good. Now, may I have your name?"
"Oliver. Oliver Levenson," you reply, without hesitation. The creature's mouth opens for the first time since it entered the train. There's a movement your eyes can't follow, then a twisting, rending flash of teeth and an overwhelming surge of pain from somewhere deep inside your body. You fall sideways from your chair, collapsing onto the train floor as the world goes dark.
-----
= {{several hours later}}
Oliver Levenson stands on the front porch of a townhouse unit, hesitating for a moment before ringing the doorbell. There's something about this place that makes his fur stand on end. Simple warding spells, of the type any human with a degree of spiritual or religious education could produce, guard the perimeter. He can sense an above average amount of iron for a human dwelling. Not enough information to draw conclusions. He will continue with this course of action. He double checks the address on his newly acquired cell phone one more time.
This is his second stop since the incident on the train. The first was that unfortunate and nameless human's apartment. He spent a solid hour and a half in the shower there, getting the last of the blood out of his fur.
Oliver's former captors won't be able to track or identify him until they learn his new name, but, regrettably, a certain human is still alive. It's only a matter of time before he wakes up and tells them. Killing him would have been tidier, but it goes against Oliver's principles to owe favours to the dead.
There was very little of use to him in that apartment, and he finished his search with the impression that his latest victim was a very boring person. More pressingly, there was the issue of attire.
Oliver is a less than imposing four foot eight, counting ears, with a fairly thin frame even when he's been eating well. The previous owner of that apartment was ... not four foot eight, and furthermore his fashion sense left much to be desired. After a thorough search, the most acceptable outfit he could put together involved wearing a band-logo t-shirt as a dress. This was the point that he started searching through photos and contacts on the phone in search of better prospects, and that is what brought him here, to the doorstep of this house. He rings the doorbell.
A woman answers the door. Short, stocky build, physically fit but not remarkably so. White. Unbleached dark brown hair and pale skin -- not someone who goes outside often. Wearing a striped collar shirt over a differently-striped t-shirt, and loose blue jeans with deliberate rips in the knee. Dubious sense, even for staying home alone. She smiles at Oliver.
"Ah, Ollie! It's been a while, huh? Did you need something? I'm kinda busy, but..."
"I need to borrow some clothes," Oliver says.
She frowns. "That's not going to work out anymore, Ollie. You're too big! Have been for ages. You'd have to go and... buy your... own..."
She looks down at the small not-quite-human creature in front of her with confusion. Oliver tenses. There's always a minute chance for a mind to break through the naming magic over this kind of contradiction. He needs to be ready to act decisively.
"I guess that's... not an issue right now!" The confusion fades and she beckons him inside. "Okay, sure. Uh, bedroom's that way, just like, go through the drawers and pick out whatever I guess? Try not to make a mess. I've got to get back to work." She waves him toward a door, then promptly vanishes into a different one.
Oliver scans his surroundings automatically as he moves. The apartment consists of a short hallway, two rooms, a bathroom, and tiny kitchen jutting off the main hallway. Kitchen surfaces are covered in dirty dishes. The rest of the place is surprisingly neat. No decorations. A carved ward is mounted on the bedroom door. No, it's just a wood-cutting with an abstract pattern that happens to have mild warding properties. The design adds at least a tiny bit of character to an otherwise nearly soulless space. He enters the bedroom.
It's pretty plain. No posters, no photos, no decorations. Just a bed, a wardrobe and a closet, both full of clothes. She doesn't seem to spend much waking time in this room. Unusual, for someone who doesn't go outside much and has only two rooms in their home.
He starts going through clothes. There's a real lack of variety, but the minimum standard for a woman's wardrobe is much higher than a man's, and with a little creativity these will at least //fit.// He picks out a long skirt, simple sleeveless top and denim jacket. Acceptable for now. Her shoes won't fit him, he'll need to find some elsewhere. He's used to going barefoot, but humans tend to find it suspicious.
There is a large mirror on the inside of one of the closest doors. He indulges, for a moment, in admiring his own reflection. The absence of the curse that's weighed on him for so long is immediately apparent. His fur is smooth and healthy, his ears stand up straight, his body moves with grace and lightness. All that's left is to shake off the jailors, and he'll finally be able to ... move on. He's not sure what to, exactly.
There's a knock at the door. "Hey Ollie, you done in there? Can I come in?"
Oliver responds in the affirmative. The woman enters the room and looks him up and down, smiling. "Looking pretty good, bro! Turn around so I can see the back maybe?"
This strikes Oliver as an odd request, but if it's being asked it's probably something she expects 'Oliver' to oblige her with. It's better not to produce another contradiction. He turns around.
Something hard presses against the back of his head. It burns. Carbon steel, 99% iron. The barrel of a gun.
"So," says Annalise Levenson, her voice cool and calm, "what did you do to my baby brother?"
-----
= {{the following day}}
When you wake up, you are lying in a cot in a grey and distressingly square little room. A cell of some sort, judging from the heavy door and lack of windows. You are alive, despite the clear memory of some essential component being wrenched from the core of your fleshy mass by terrible gnashing teeth. Your left arm is mildly bruised where you fell on it, but other than that there is no physical pain.
You try to sit up. It is difficult, and when you finish you find yourself uncertain what position your limbs are in. There's something wrong with your body. Indistinct. You try to count your fingers. You are able to confirm that you definitely have some number of fingers. Something else is missing.
You think back to the encounter on the train and realize it immediately: you know longer know your own name. It's not memory loss, the name Oliver Theodore Krause Levenson is as clear in your mind as it ever was, but you are keenly aware that it no longer applies to you. There are ragged, fraying patches in your identity around where it was torn away. You are not unfamiliar with this kind of injury, but you did not realize it could be inflicted with //teeth.//
You shift on the bed. Movement is strange and uncomfortable. There is an uncertainty about the location and state of your various appendages as they traverse this sterile space. Some parts are numb, and others contain unfamiliar sharpness and pressure.
The door produces a series of clicks and thunks as various locks are disengaged. It swings open to admit a tall man in a white coat. He winces involuntarily upon getting a clear look at you. You are not troubled by this; if anything, it's oddly reassuring.
"Greetings," he says. "Now, let me save you some time. This is a one-sided interrogation. I won't be answering any of your questions, and I won't fall for any tricks. And you will not survive a physical confrontation in that state, so please behave." His voice is firm and steady, not overtly aggressive but demanding obedience.
You try to speak and produce a noise like waves crashing against rocks in the dead of night. After several more tries, you manage to say: "I, I don't understand. Where am I?" Your voice sounds small and scared and far away. "What ha--"
"Stop," he commands. You are silent. "As I said, I will not answer your questions. In turn, by asking me something, you ensure I will not provide that information. Do you understand?"
"Understood," you say, making an indistinct head movement you intend to be a nod.
"Alright. I represent an organization in pursuit of a particular entity. You ... appear to be this being, however -- //no sudden movements!"// He warns, as you jerk upward in your seat. You do your best to hold very still.
"You appear to be the aforementioned, however we are aware this is unlikely to be true in a physical sense. Yesterday evening, on the train, were you attacked?"
"Yes."
"What is the current name of the being which attacked you?"
"I don't understand the question," you say. You are lying. The man frowns.
"You should be aware that something was taken from you yesterday. What was it?"
"U-umm," you mutter, stalling awkward. "An identity?"
He wants the name itself. Oliver Theodore Krause Levenson. First name, middle name, mother's maiden name, last name. A cumbersome, ill-fitting mess of nomenclature.
"What identity?" The man's eyes narrow a little. He is growing impatient.
"I don't remember," you lie. Why are you not answering the question? Your mind feels indistinct, full of ragged edges and the imprints of teeth. Are you protecting that strange creature? That can't be right. It hurt you quite badly.
The man reaches forward and touches you on the shoulder. He is gentle, but his hand feels heavy and almost unbearably hot. A firm squeeze might cause your body to cave in. "Listen," he says. "You're clearly not involved in this. Something important has been taken from you, and you can still get it back if you cooperate. Answer my questions properly."
You stare into the man's eyes. His expression is stern, but wavers slightly under your gaze. You wonder what he sees, looking at you right now. Your true self, perhaps; thin, wretched and slimy, pouring out slowly onto the floor through the hole in your identity. The new Oliver can have that name. The thought of taking it back makes you want to puke up whatever guts still exist in your withering form. You smile at the man in pure terror; you tell him over and over that you do not know the name. He shouts at you and touches you in painful ways, but you do not relent. Eventually he gives up, deciding the new Oliver must have you under some kind of spell. He leaves you alone in the square, grey room.
A considerable amount of time passes. Your condition worsens quickly; within a few hours you are lying on the bed in a thoughtless fugue, suspended between existence and non-existence. Overlaid on the walls of the grey room you see a landscape of flat, white snow stretching forever in all directions to meet a flat, white sky at a barely perceptible horizon. Snow is falling. People occasionally come in and out of the room. You catch tiny snatches of conversation. Phrases like 'nomenclative shock response' and 'phenomenological damage' are being thrown around. You do not understand. You are injected with various unknown substances. The snow continues to pile up upon your prone body. At some point it will cover you and no trace will remain, you imagine. At some point...
Instead, after an uncertain number of hours, your eyes open and the world unexpectedly shifts into focus. The snowy landscape fades until you can just barely see it. You try to move your arms and legs, just a little, and they shift according to your instructions. There is something profoundly //wrong// with the way they move, but the blurry frailness is fading. You remember how insects, during metamorphosis, first melt completely into a sort of amorphous goo before beginning to assume their adult forms. You do not think you have become any sort of a butterfly.
You should kill the next human you meet. Just a thought that slides nonchalantly into your head through the hole in your soul. It seems reasonable enough. You don't know what's up with these white-coat people, but they haven't been very nice to you, and it seems unlikely they'll let you out of this cell any time soon. It'll be easy. Just don't move, pretend to still be lying here half dead, and the next time one of them gets close...
You're not sure what the next step is, from there. When you try to picture it, there are a lot of teeth and sharp angles and things intersecting other things. It's probably best not to think about it that much. You lie still. Your body feels better, now. Strong, sharp, full of tension. You are a bear-trap, lying flat on the ground waiting for an unsuspecting creature to make a wrong step. Completely still, not moving a finger.
You haven't checked on your fingers in a while. They feel different. It occurs to you that anyone who sees you may realize something has changed. You'll have to go for them the instant the door opens, before they have a chance to react. It'll be good to stretch your legs.
You wait. The anticipation is electric. You picture the smooth arc you will carve through the air, a single graceful shift from prone on the bed to gouging out the throat of one of your captors. The door, however, does not open. You continue to wait.
You become aware that you do not have forever to wait. There is a limit to this transformation, this strange second wind. You are slowly but steadily fading. Do they have cameras monitoring you? You do not see any, but it seems likely. You accept for the third or so time since yesterday that you are almost certainly doomed. Oh well.
The door clicks, beginning its unlocking sequence. Your senses flare into high alert. You have somewhat more senses than usual; you are keenly aware, for example, of the exact amount of iron in the heavy metal door. No time to think about that now. The last locking mechanism clunks into the open position; the door swings open.
You vault into the air faster than you've ever moved before, your whole body stretching and distorting, your arms whipping forward toward the estimated position of your target's neck. Blades -- no, teeth -- protrude from all over your body, eager to tear flesh from bone. You are overcome with this radical freedom of movement and this heady, unrestrained bloodlust. You want to howl.
Your vicious attack has not even crossed a third of the distance to the door when a small humanoid collides with the center of your torso, sending you tumbling to the floor where it lands atop you. This hurts a very great deal in ways that are unfamiliar and currently impossible to describe. You retract your limbs and whimper.
"Hey," says Oliver. You are not an expert in the facial expressions of animal-headed beings, but you do not think that he is pleased with you.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," you repeat, over and over, cringing at the sound of your own voice. It's screeching, strained, inhuman, and incredibly //whiney.// The feeling of strength you briefly attained has vanished like smoke; you are a pathetic slug-thing trembling under a child's curious finger, praying not to be squished. "I-it hurts..."
Oliver blinks. Rather, the twin light-consuming voids on his face contract momentarily to narrow lines and then revert. It's reassuring somehow, to know this unreadable face can still blink. He stands and takes a few steps back. The pain in your core fades a little.
"My apologies," he says. "I may have overdone things. You are still fragile. Keep it together, it'd be a problem for you to die now. Can you see the snow?"
You squint. The endless plain of gently falling snow remains very faintly visible, when you focus. "Only very faintly," you rasp out. "S-sorry. Didn't know it was you, wouldn't have--"
"Obviously," he cuts you off. "You were trying to take a jailor's head off. Not a wise idea but a very understandable sentiment. If the Winter Court is faint that means you're at least dying //slowly.//"
Your vision successfully focuses on Oliver for the first time since he arrived. He's very different from last time. The fur on his head is clean and healthy, the wound on his ear closed. He's wearing actual clothes. Girl clothes, for that matter? It occurs to you that you do not know this creature's gender. You do not particularly want to ask.
His voice retains a strangely metallic quality, but is much softer and less frightening than before. Overall he looks ... cool? Strangely stylish? There's an alien but potent charisma to the way he moves.
The inside of his mouth is as terrifying as ever. You realize he is still talking. You hope you didn't miss anything important.
"Can you walk? We have a limited window to leave this place before the jailors return."
You attempt to stand. Your point of view moves upward considerably to a point several feet above Oliver's head. You are unsure of the details. You're trying to keep your own body parts out of your own line of sight, so as to remain unsure. "I... think so."
"Alright, follow me. Walk and talk, assuming you can manage that. First question: What is //that// supposed to be?" He gestures to your general existence as you slink toward the door.
You are confused. Both now, at the question, and in general as a continuous reaction to your experience of the world since you were about twelve. "I'm sorry," you say, "I don't get it."
"You are showing symptoms of weirding syndrome: a kind of magical infection which sometimes develops in open wounds of the identity. It creates external distortions of form which match one's internal state," Oliver says. "This kind of ... transformation, however, is extremely rare. What is up with you, exactly?"
You are a little taken aback by how genuinely curious he sounds. You spend maybe six or seven seconds saying things like "well," and "uh, like," and "I guess maybe," to stall for time while you rummage in the depths of your being for an answer.
"I don't really know," you eventually say. "Something's wrong that I don't really understand and I've been ignoring it for a long time and maybe ... I mean I haven't even looked at myself. What... What do I look like to you?"
"Your arms and legs appear stretched and lack obvious joints. You're at least six and a half feet tall." Oliver doesn't turn around as he describes you; he continues ahead down the sterile corridors. "Your skin, or maybe hide, is mottled dark blue as if your entire body was heavily bruised. Your neck is long and arcs forward so your head hangs at shoulder level. Your head is an irregular half-sphere, with a chaotic mass of mismatched teeth protruding from the bottom. I am unable to determine the location of your eyes or mouth. Your arms dangle limply from your shoulders when not in use. You seem to be able to protrude additional teeth from them at will, possibly also from other parts of your body. Your legs are short and end in wide stumps. The way you move when you walk is slow, awkward and nauseating to watch. There was some hint of grace to your movements earlier, though, when you tried to kill me."
You nod; that is, you raise and lower your head on its dangling stalk. Each fact slides neatly into your self image. You were dreading this information, expecting a fresh tide of disgust over your own existence, but instead it feels very... neutral. On some fundamental level, you feel like this is where you already were as a person. Now that other people can see it, maybe it will become possible to acknowledge that something is wrong. Maybe.
You realize you have not responded for several seconds and that this is extremely awkward. You are unable to come up with anything of note to say. The awkward silence continues to stretch. You wonder if your new body has any cool powers, like maybe the ability to melt into the floor.
"Okay, here's the real question." He turns to look at you this time. His 'eyes' narrow. "Why did you give me your name?"
This is not a question you were expecting. "I mean, it's normal to introduce yourself when someone--"
"No. You understood exactly what I was asking. It isn't possible to separate someone so cleanly from their name with a cheap trick. If you'd really thought I was asking for an introduction, both of us would be in considerably worse shape right now."
"Oh," you say. Oliver waits for a few seconds for a further response. As you do not provide one, he eventually continues.
"And you didn't tell the jailors what the name //was.// So they still haven't come after me. So I'm here to pay back yet another unwanted favour. Please, stop doing favours for me."
Oliver's injured ear twitches, almost imperceptibly. If you knew him a little better you might recognize this as a tell for a blatant lie. He is here because a frightening woman held a gun to his head and threatened to mount it on her wall if he did not come here. (His head, that is.) His convictions about debts are not strong enough to justify breaking back into a facility like this so soon after escaping it.
Far from noticing any tells, you barely parse anything Oliver is saying. Bubbles of fetid gas rise to the surface from the shifting of ancient things within the oceanic chasms of your psyche. You knew exactly what "May I have your name?" meant. Of course you did. You knew the fairy stories. You knew this town is host to more than its share of supernatural creatures. You even knew, specifically, that animal-headed beings are known for engaging in nomenclative theft.
You knew. You gave your name willingly, and you immediately settled in to never acknowledge that fact to anyone. Least of all yourself. It was so plausible. Such an easy trick to fall for, nobody would doubt it was an accident. You were so sure you could live to the end of whatever your existence would become next without having to acknowledge what you did. How can this strange animal-person just throw it back in your face and expecting you to carry on a conversation?
He's asked you several more questions since you started on this little episode and you haven't said //anything.// You can't understand anything he's saying and haven't even answered the original question. Why did you do that? Didn't your mother give you that name? Doesn't it mean something to you? Try to consider how other people will feel.
Oliver gives up on trying to converse with you and simply leads you through the strange corridors of this facility. Through cell blocks and corridors, up several flights of stairs, through a long, narrow maintenance passage and eventually up a ladder to a sealed escape hatch. The scenery is dominated by greys, whites and bare metal; the interior design ethos is somewhere between that of a hospital and a prison. Colour exists mainly in the form of warning messages printed on and around heavy steel doors. The uncompromising dullness is calming. It saps the colour and urgency from emotion and memory; the churning in your mind runs its course and becomes still again.
You exit the hatch, travel a short way through a sewer tunnel, then up another ladder, through a manhole and into open air. It's night. A half-moon shines down on you from out of a clear black sky. The air is crisp and cool and fresh. You take several deep breaths. You're not sure how the air enters your body, exactly, but your chest inflates and deflates satisfyingly. You feel calm.
You're going to need to pull it together if you want to get through... whatever is happening to you right now, and this is the best chance you're going to get. You reach deep inside yourself, take hold of what's left of the solid core of your volition, and with a great effort you //stop// dissociating.
It would be nice if there was some kind of satisfying snap back to reality or shift in perspective. There is not, you are just once again fully aware of occupying your own body. It is a painful and disgusting experience. You turn to Oliver, wondering what he thinks of you after all this.
Oliver looks back at you with his teeth slightly bared and knees bent in a ready stance. You flinch back, but as you watch he slowly returns to a neutral position.
"It ... looks like you're back," he says. "It appears that was a touchy subject. I'm not //that// curious, please don't think of it again."
"You were ready to kill me, there." Your voice sounds very neutral about this.
"When I took your name," he says, "I gave you something in return. Not a real name exactly, more like a curse. A mass of accumulated grudges I picked up when I lost my original name and added to in turn. 'The name given by prey to the nameless beast.' It carries a particular set of violent impulses. I had no way of knowing what was going on in your head, just now. I had to be ready to act decisively."
You nod. You can feel this presence lurking within you, now that it's been described. It fits in strangely well among the other repressed and shadowy things that haunt your subconscious.
"Sorry. I'm okay now," you say. You are not okay, but you're at least in a state to say "I'm okay" in a steady voice. That's something.
You take a moment to survey your surroundings. You're on a back road next to an open field. A utility corridor, you think. In the middle of a relatively poor residential area; there's also a strip mall visible across the field. There's nobody in sight. No, there's an older man in a big coat cutting across the open field, carrying something heavy in a shopping bag. He's very drunk, based on his stride.
You should kill the next human you meet.
Several conflicting impulses scrape painfully against one another inside your mind. You've already taken several brisk steps toward the man before you manage to jerk awkwardly to a halt. Oliver follows your gaze and gives you an unreadable look.
"Well, that's convenient. Are you going to kill him?"
"A-are you kidding? Of course not. What the hell?" The enamel blades lining your arms extend and retract convulsively.
"You want to kill him, don't you? Devour his name? It'll make things much easier on you, for a while," Oliver says. "You'll end up killing someone sooner or later. Either that or steal a name, but then you'll just pass the curse to the next person. That's why I was planning to just eat you, until you came and made things complicated. The curse will eat at you unless you feed it. If you wait till you've been half hollowed-out to give in, it'll be much worse."
"Fuck that," you say. You meant to be tough and defiant but it comes out sounding very small and sad. You turn away from the man, sit down on the grass and concentrate your attention on the cracks on the sidewalk.
Oliver sighs. "It would be inconvenient for me if you were to lose yourself, so here is some advice. You can still see the snowy place, correct?"
You have to focus on it, but it's there. You nod.
"If you see someone who leaves deep footsteps in the snow when they walk, they're about to die. Within hours. If you're lucky you can steal the reaper's prey right out from under him.
Oliver holds your shoulder. His hand is warm and small; his touch frightens you. "Unless you want to reconsider and take out this convenient old drunk. I'll even--"
//"Shut up."//
He lets go. A moment later, he tosses something metal and shiny on the ground in front of you. Your keys.
"Very well. Have these back. I'm done with you now, so don't expect any more help and especially don't do me any more favours. I don't recommend trying to leave town, either. Winter won't let you, and it'll be unpleasant."
You do not respond. You remain seated, gaze fixed on the sidewalk, as Oliver's footsteps slowly fade into the distance.
-----
= {{some time later}}
Moving from place to place is easier than you thought it would be. You move quickly, flitting from shadow to shadow. Occasionally humans cross your path, out late for one reason or another, but you find it requires only a little effort to remain //unnoticed// by idle gazes. Their eyes slide off you, registering nothing, and you vanish into the shadows. It feels kind of nice; you suppose even this twisted body has good points. Kind of like how your previous form could at least help people get things off high shelves, sometimes.
You arrive home a little before dawn, unlock your own front door and collapse on your own bed. You expected entering this familiar space in such an alien form to be unsettling, but instead it feels... the same.
You spend a while lying in bed, staring at your own hands. They're more like... five small separate tentacles, branching out from the larger tentacles that are your arms. A single claw-like tooth juts from near the end of each 'finger'; you can extend and retract these at will.
After a careful inspection of your limbs doesn't seem to drive you mad, you give in to morbid curiosity and slink to the restroom to check your reflection. It's basically as Oliver described. Looking carefully, you see slight indentations in the hide of your head that correspond the origin points of your vision. Eyes of some sort. You feel nausea, and also hints of a much stranger feeling. Validation, maybe. Nobody can deny that there's something wrong with your body anymore.
You leave the bathroom behind, pausing only to note with some amusement that the grate over your shower drain has been clogged with thick brown fur. You have an important task to take care of.
You shift around some boxes under your bed to find the loose floorboard, then carefully slide it out of the way and retrieve a six-year-old laptop computer from the hidden compartment. You wonder, for a moment, if your weird paranoid habit actually had any impact when Oliver searched your home earlier. He probably wouldn't have taken this laptop even if it had been lying out in the open; it's not like it's particularly valuable.
You log in and navigate to your usual stomping grounds. It's a small, very old fantasy roleplay forum that still operates exclusively in long-form posts. You've been active here for over a decade. It's slowed down, in the last few years especially, but you and a few other regulars have been keeping things going.
Threads consist of three to five people taking turns writing elaborate prose descriptions of their next action in the story; usually focused on court intrigue in a high fantasy world. Your current character is a wicked duchess, plotting against the heroic prince to secure the throne for her nephew. You catch up on the plot developments and then spend a few hours carefully crafting your next post, where you elaborate on your plot to have the young heir pass away tragically in a staged hunting accident to your co-conspirator, an affluent businessman with ties to the underground. There's a lot of flirting involved. You feel, at least while you're writing, much more invested in this fantasy world than in your actual life.
You add a small 'out of character' note to the end, warning that you might disappear thanks to 'real life stuff' soon, and advising the other player to write you out of the game if you stop responding. Then you send the post. You weren't sure if you'd ever get back to this, after the attack on the train. It's... nice.
You return to reality. You feel profoundly weak, and the snow is more visible than ever. Are you running out of time? Are you really going to have to kill someone? //What should I do...// you think to yourself.
You decide to collapse on your bed and stare at the patterns of frock on the ceiling. This is unlikely to solve any of your immediate problems. The otherworld snow drifts by, superimposed over the rough white surface above you. The effect is faintly mesmerizing. You breath in and out, slowly, like the waves of a vast dark ocean slowly eroding away the beach. There's a dark, swelling hollowness in the core of your being. An unspeakable longing to hunt rises within you, to tear and rip and devour the succulent flesh of the leftover barbecue chicken you just remembered you still have in the fridge somewhere. You haven't eaten anything in over 24 hours.
Giving in to the unspeakable longing, you find yourself sitting at your kitchen table staring down what's left of the dismembered, greasy remains of a unlucky bird. The smell is strong and unfamiliar. The BBQ sauce and seasoning is perceptible but muted to your new senses; the scent of grease and of the meat itself is much sharper. Almost overwhelmingly so. A drip of unknown fluid falls from one of the teeth that jut out below your 'chin'. It sizzles on the table.
You have no idea how to eat this, and you are //so// hungry. That mass of non-retractable teeth under your head has to be involved; you feel at them cautiously with your fingers, but there's no mouth-like opening to be found. You feel a faint stinging sensation where you touch the underside of your head directly.
You wish that the personification of your self-image problems could have been something normal. Maybe like a big scary dog-thing or a bear. Even some kind of fucked up bug would have had -- no. You cut that thought short. A giant bug would have been way worse, even if it had a proper mouth.
In a burst of frustration, you just kind of plunge your head down on a piece of chicken, impaling it. Your body reacts immediately. Your fangs shift subtly, hooking into the meat and pulling it closer to your head. The strange fluid sizzles on contact with meat, producing a strong and satisfying smell. Or maybe this is taste? The chicken begins to dissolve, and the resulting fluid is drawn up through channels in your fangs and absorbed into your body. It takes less than a minute for it to disappear completely. The experience is strange, but not unpleasant. You can even kind of 'taste' the barbeque sauce as you soak it up, although you have to really focus and you're not sure if it's a //good// taste, exactly.
Instinct and hunger take over from there. You pause to reflect, as you voraciously jam great chunks of meat into your fangs. What happens from now on? Can you live like this? Do you really need to kill someone? You've been resisting the idea, refusing to accept that it might be necessary, but the way your body is tearing into this chicken almost of its own accord makes the idea feel ... closer. You can imagine the teeth and sinew taking control, tearing into living flesh, absorbing it till nothing remains but a stain of blood and melted flesh on the ground. There's even something vaguely appealing about it, if the prey was a small animal or something.
Maybe you could live like an animal on the outskirts of town; a shadowy beast feeding on gophers and squirrels, avoiding the light, staying out of sight of humans. Maybe one day you'd come across a child in danger from bullies or something, and you would save them. You'd keep occasionally meeting, and gradually form a bond of trust and the child would learn important lessons to carry through to adulthood.
You have outlined maybe 2/3rds of the plot of this hypothetical boy-and-his-monster movie when you realize you finished eating some time ago, and have been pacing the kitchen aimlessly. You do not want to live alone in the darkness, waiting to take part in someone else's heartfelt coming of age narrative. That sounds really sad and lonely. You also do not want to murder anyone, even if they're about to die anyway. Could you do it, if you had to, to prevent something worse? You're not sure.
You've heard there's a secret section at the Anklebone Central Library where they keep books about fairies and nameless things. They'll probably let you in now, right? You should try to learn as much as possible about whatever you are now. Maybe there's some way to get out of this without hurting anyone.
You've wasted enough time. You set off immediately.
-----
= {{elsewhere}}
Feather sits in a small chair in front of a desk in front of a man sitting in a larger chair. She smiles and gestures animately, indicating various things written on pieces of paper. She outlines her whole life history as a drama all leading up to this singular moment, to this shining opportunity to follow her passions for the sake of a greater whole. The man smiles back, accepts the papers she slides across the table, occasionally fires back questions. He has already mostly tuned her out. She suspects this, but can't afford to let up the act. The performance continues to its dramatic conclusion. The audience nods distantly and tells her to expect a call sometime in the next week. There will not be a call.
Feather collects her bags, insists the man keep the various papers, and leaves the interview. She suppresses the momentary urge to turn around and peek back into the room to see if she can catch him dumping her CV in the trash.
It's whatever, honestly. She didn't want to be an 'administrative assistant' for this stupid shoe company anyway. She wraps back up in her scarf and jacket and steps out into the fall air. She's exhausted. //I should head home and try to get at least one more application done today,// she thinks. //If I can't find a proper job I'll be in serious trouble within a month or so. Might be trouble either way, honestly.//
After ten or so minutes of completely thoughtless driving, Feather discovers she is not at her tiny apartment. Her subconscious has instead navigated her to the parking lot of the Anklebone Central Library. Oh well, she thinks. The applications will be there in the morning. A fearful, warbling part of her mind reminds her she could just as well fill out applications at this place. She shushes it.
The Central Library is an architectural chimera. A venerable old stone building with ornately carved windows has been half consumed by a more recently constructed thing of glass and steel and exciting curves that suggest the onset of modernity. It looks pretty bad, honestly, but it's kind of charming. More importantly, there's a cozy little cafe tucked away down a hallway off the side of the main entrance. She barges into this place, collapses into a chair near the back corner, and starts reading a romance novel about werewolves on her cell phone. It's not very good. The last three in the series weren't very good either. She should probably stop getting each new one as it comes out.
"Hey, Feather." The barista calls to her. It's the teenage one with the green hair. "Can I get you anything?"
Feather calls back something unintelligible, which the girl correctly interprets as 'the usual' and gets started on a latte with two extra shots of espresso. Feather reads a couple more pages before sighing and putting down her phone to accept the coffee and pay the bill.
"Another interview today?"
"Yeah. They say they'll call back within a week. They won't, probably."
The barista continues the conversation for a few more sentences worth of vague encouragement before returning to her post; Feather replies on autopilot while sipping from the expensive coffee. She ends up here after every interview, somehow. Sitting here and pretending to be someone who can afford to consume this product, occupy this space, seems to make the fear go away for a little while. It's all going to catch up to her pretty soon.
It's not even working all that well, today. The hot caffeine refuses to completely dissolve the heavy lump of pure dread in her gut. Unease lingers. She feels the pressure of imagined eyes from the deep corners of the dimly lit cafe. It is time to leave. She finishes the coffee in one go, thanks the green-haired woman at the desk, and pulls her scarf around herself once more.
The wind has picked up dramatically. It has traveled from somewhere far across the great plains; rushing through emptiness at harrowing speed to break against the impetuous skyscrapers of this forlorn city into swirling eddies that lift dust and fallen leaves high into the air. It drags on Feather, urging her toward unknown places. It speaks to the remaining wildness in her heart.
She does not return to her car. It's time to walk, for a while, with no purpose, goal or destination. A kind of ritual, dangerous and potent, to turn even the heart of a city into a wild place where the worries of the human world cannot follow. It starts to rain. Almost nobody is outside. She weaves her way deeper into darker places where the glass and steel of the human jungle gives way to concrete.
There is a clanging, clattering noise from maybe twenty feet behind her. Someone is following her; she can no longer justify ignoring the feeling. Reluctantly, she pulls out her phone to let someone know where she is, maybe call a cab or something. The wind howls. She tries to shield her phone screen from the driving rain. She's five or six blocks out from the train line, in the shadow of a parking complex surrounded by half-empty office buildings, several of which are under renovations. A habitat for cars rather than humans. She starts to dial a number.
Something emerges from behind a nearby concrete pillar. Indistinct, dark, huge. It approaches quickly, with long loping strides, its whole body stretching and undulating in eerie rhythms. It's breathtaking.
Feather realizes, as pearly white blades emerge from the monster's extended forearms, that she is about to die. It is a strange, complex piece of knowledge: sad and painful, shot through with frustration about all the fruitless fears that hounded her, underpinned by a deep satisfaction that at least //they// wouldn't get her. Her body moves automatically as she ponders; screaming, turning, running. She won't get more than a few steps, yet her flesh -- her existence as a breathing mammalian creature -- demands the attempt.
Meanwhile, from high above, unnoticed by either predator or prey, there is the sound of creaking and snapping metal. A particularly strong gust of wind tears a poorly secured metal sheet from some construction scaffolding and sends it flying at a steep downward angle. It carves an immutable path through the air directly through where Feather was standing less than a second before. Directly through where her attacker now reaches for her. Its forearm is shattered; nearly severed; left dangling by a bit of skin and flesh. It screams, stumbles and collapses on the sidewalk several feet in front of its intended prey, writhing in obvious pain.
The strength drains from Feather's legs as the danger passes. She drops to her knees in front of the creature and sobs.
"You... saved my life?"
The rain makes hollow ringing noises as it glances off the twisted remains of the fallen metal sheet.
"You tried to kill me."
The creature's movements slow as dark, oily blood pours from the open stump of its arm. Feather rises and takes a step closer. There is a deep sadness to the dark hues and twisted curves of the fallen body. It is like a thing of deep waters, she thinks, accustomed to the pressure and darkness of the hadal brine, having by tremendous effort dragged itself up and up into the light of the sun. Only to be struck down before learning to breathe by some fugitive songbird's misdirected curse.
Feather wipes the tears and rain from her face, taking another step closer. Surely it lacks the strength to hurt her, by now. It almost certainly meant to kill her, yet, imagining the death of this being now is too sad for her to bear. She tears a strip from the strange cloth smock the creature wears and ties it as tight as she can manage about its arm just above the wound. The bleeding slows, but only a little. She's too weak, it's too big. Unconventional methods are required.
There's only one spell she knows that will work here, in the pouring rain, in the heart of a city, on stolen land and upon ground defiled by asphalt and blood. It will draw unwanted attention, but her warding should hold.
Viciously sharp teeth protrude from the bottom of the creature's head. She carefully grazes a finger on one, drawing blood. She mixes it with her tears and with the oily fluid that covers the ground, then recites a short prayer. On the tip of her finger the fluid hisses and glows faintly. Quickly, before it fades, she traces a five pointed star on the arm just above the wound. The universe itself convulses and, for an instant, something that is at once unimaginably close and unimaginably far away //sees// her.
The moment passes. The wound is no longer bleeding; the creature is breathing steadily. Good enough. She spends a moment searching for her cell phone before realizing she still has it clutched in her left hand. She wipes the rain from the screen. It's time to make a few calls.
---------
= {{to be continued}}
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-04-13T23:59:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"tale"
] |
Of Wounds Of The Spirit Inflicted By Teeth - SCP Foundation
| 20
|
[
"winterheart-page",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1453330269
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/of-wounds-of-the-spirit-inflicted-by-teeth
|
|
ofrendas-tres-muertes
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aold-money-theme/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aold-money-theme/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Adia-de-muertos/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<ul class="creditRate">
<li class="rateBox folded">
<div class="rate-box-with-credit-button">
<div class="creditButton foldable-list-container">
<p><a href="javascript:;"></a></p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="u-credit-view">
<div class="fader foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">close</a></div>
<div class="modalcontainer">
<div class="modalbox">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><span>Info</span></h2>
</div>
<hr/>
<div class="close-credits foldable-list-container"><a href="javascript:;">X</a></div>
<div class="credit first">
<p>Ofrendas: Tres Muertes<br/>
<strong>Authora:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/din-bidor" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5321480); return false;"><img alt="Din-Bidor" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5321480&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735587339" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5321480)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/din-bidor" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5321480); return false;">Din-Bidor</a></span> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kilerpoyo" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6852037); return false;"><img alt="Kilerpoyo" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6852037&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735587339" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6852037)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/kilerpoyo" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6852037); return false;">Kilerpoyo</a></span><br/>
⚠️ <strong>Content warning:</strong> Suicide</p>
</div>
<hr/>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<div style="margin-top: -15px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<p><span style="font-size:80%;">by Din-Bidor and Kilerpoyo</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>I entered the <a href="https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/">Library</a> and prepared to die. Fever consumed me from within as if my veins were filled with liquid fire, and the pain of my spasms became more and more intense. Without looking back, without asking for the compassion of others, I entered the infinite labyrinth of bookshelves, never to return; there, among the books that contain all the stories of all the worlds, I would find eternal rest.</p>
<p>Delirious and with my body bathed in cold sweat, I staggered through the hallways until I became lost, until time lost all meaning and the books around me were indistinguishable from one another. Then I saw a large atrium in the middle of the bookshelves, a space where there were no books, only an immense tree with a pale trunk and leafy crown. From the stories that my grandmother told me I knew that it was the ceiba, the tree that connects the world with the heavenly palaces of the gods and the dark lands of the dead.</p>
<p>I knew then that I had found the end of my path and, thanking the Library for granting me one last gift, I sat down at the roots of the sacred ceiba tree and gave myself to the embrace of sleep, lulled by the whispers of the wind and the incessant march of the ants. In the dream – a place between life and death – I saw the colors of the morning and heard the singing of long-extinct birds. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a room that was empty except for three stone thrones lit by a luminescence that came from nowhere. My back still rested against the merciful trunk of the ceiba tree, but the illness that afflicted me had abated: I had crossed to the other side.</p>
<p>Then I heard a powerful but gentle voice, a voice that welcomed me to that place beyond life. Astonished and grateful, I asked where I was and who those three thrones belonged to. The invisible speaker told me about the Three Deaths. They are not the <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/when-we-came-home">Three Deaths of the Old World</a>, which many fear and worship: they are Three different Deaths, as solemn as they were festive, guardians of a land as old as the roots of time, a land that some fools insisted and still insist on calling the New World. I shall now tell you, unknown reader, about those who bestow the gift of mercy.</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>There are as many deaths as there are stars in the sky, as there are breaths on the Earth. Deaths are legion – Thanatos, Hades, Mot, Owuo, Osiris, Xargi and countless more – gods stern but fair, compassionate but fierce. Their dominion is the peace beyond life, but also the torment that awaits the cruel. They are the guardians of eternal rest, a diverse multitude of faces and names.</em></p>
<p><em>You have sought the end of your pain, the sweet mercy granted by a heart that does not beat. Today you stand at the threshold of the Tres Muertes, three places of rest that eagerly await you, because it is your right to choose where immortal soul will find eternity. Listen well, dearly departed one, to the story of the lords of Abya Yala, the blessed land that gave life to your ancestors.</em></p>
<p><br/></p>
<p><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc0"><span>The Lord of Patience</span></h1>
</div>
<p>Oh Lord of Patience. He Who Sits Awaiting. Listen to my humble litany and give peace to my loved ones who have gone to dance the eternal dance beyond dreams in Uku Pacha.</p>
<p>Guide them safely to your sacrosanct festival of Aya Marcay Quilla, where couplets are fired and mourners tear themselves apart for all the faithful departed who will rise in the eleventh month to dance to the sound of the devils' troupes.</p>
<p>Oh Lord of Ukhu Pacha! The dancing demons of Supay dance for you; the <em>diablada</em> dances to the rhythm of an inert pulse while they lead the troupes of the faithful deceased in your sacrosanct festival of Aya Marcay Quilla!</p>
<p>Oh, Great Iku! You who with sincerity let yourself be fooled by the feast served by that trickster Orisha! You who with humility allowed yourself to be defeated after three days by the Crucified One! All in order to give humanity a frugal and futile consolation – the vain hope that Death can be defeated!</p>
<p>No matter how tender, no matter how sweet…! A lie will remain a lie! And yet we thank you for such a sweet lie, because it gives us the strength to face the unfathomable beyond.</p>
<p>Supay! Supay! Supay! What would be of mankind without that hope? Great Lord Supay! What would have become of that gentleman who, upon seeing you threatening his servant, ordered him to hide in Samarra?</p>
<p>What great surprise found he when you revealed that your gesture had not been a threat, but astonishment? It was astonishment at having found him so far away, when the Fates clearly said you would collect his soul in Samarra.</p>
<p>Death is certain and its Lord is Holy. Saint Death! San La Muerte! Lord of Patience! Bless the <em>payé</em> medal that hangs from my neck, the one that – if necessary – I shall embed in my own flesh!</p>
<p>Good spirit of the Good Death! Please be my advocate, my shield against the bullets of my enemy. Make him feel the edge of your scythe sooner – if possible much sooner – than me.</p>
<p>Lord of Death and the Compass! At least grant me the futile consolation of believing myself invincible until the last moment before my unexpected death. Because to live in fear is to die in life, and to die in peace is to live in death.</p>
<p>Lord of Patience! Please have mercy on me….<br/>
For I admit to being cowardly and selfish.<br/>
Lord of Patience! Please be patient with me…<br/>
More later than sooner I would like to dance with you.</p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><em>—Prayer of the Regretful Cynic</em></p>
</div>
<p><br/></p>
<p><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc1"><span>The Saint-King</span></h1>
</div>
<p>When he came to us, people were afraid of his rattling bones, of his empty eyes, of his cloak woven of night and smoke, of the golden crown that proclaimed his divinity. They thought he had come to take them, to cut them down with his cold scythe, but he just laughed. The crowned skeleton offered the people the gift of mercy if in return they recognized him as the ruler of death, as the one who dispenses justice and grants vengeance. His name, he said, was San Pascual Bailón.</p>
<p>San Pascualito Rey is saint and sovereign, monk and emperor. His piety is legendary; his fury is plague and desolation. His blessing grants healing to the sick and peace to the deceased, but he is also known to bring lovers together and grant revenge against those who walk the path of evil.</p>
<p>Although he is king of the cemetery, San Pascualito is humble and asks little in return for his favor: a few candles on his altar and new cloaks to wear make him deeply happy. Even simple letters of gratitude are enough for him to smile with his bony face and intercede on behalf of those who seek his protection. This is how he loves his people, the poor and the helpless, those who are forgotten and excluded – death is universal, and San Pascualito loves everyone equally.</p>
<p>Little is known about the past of San Pascualito Rey. There are those who whisper that his identity is none other than that of Saint Pascual Bailón, who was reincarnated not as a Saint of the Lord Jesus Christ, but who descended into the depths of the Underworld where he was given his throne. The Church repudiates and fears him, because his bony guise is that of deities exiled long ago by the yoke of the cross: the old masters of Xibalbá.</p>
<p>It is said that when the Hero Twins – Hunahpu and Xbalanque – defeated the cruel Twelve Gods of Death in their palace at Xibalbá, the balance of the world changed. The Twelve Lords of Xibalbá had their power diminished, their pride humiliated and their cult extinguished on the Earth. Xibalbá became a place of misery, darkness, ashes and deaf echoes. Defeated, the Lords of Death decided to create a being through which they could continue their dominion over mortals, a herald that would proclaim the rebirth of their power. Thus they sent the perverse Camazotz, the bloodthirsty bat god, to kidnap a human soul.</p>
<p>But, in their arrogance, the Twelve Lords erred: the soul they took could not be corrupted, for it was that of a humble and pious man who had been proclaimed a Saint. This is how San Pascualito was born; he took the throne of the Lords of Xibalbá and made it his own, for he was King. Thus were the cruel Gods of the Mayan Underworld humiliated for the second time. They now lie at the feet of San Pascualito and pay homage to him, cursing him all the time while he laughs out loud.</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<h1 id="toc2"><span>The Pale Lady</span></h1>
</div>
<p>I remember it well, so clearly, the exact moment when the last stone of the Great Temple was torn down. My world collapsed with it.</p>
<p>Amongst the pillars, dead Mictlantecuhtli <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/pilares">waits dreaming</a>. He – beloved husband of mine – lies in perpetual vigil, sunken between the tides of time like an imperturbable sentinel. Xolotl, our faithful hound, also remains there to take care of him. I was left alone, without love and without a dog to bark at me.</p>
<p>Depression? Of course I went into depression, honey. Believe it or not, depression is common among gods, <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6292">particularly Death Gods</a>. I stopped loving the song of the cenzontle and the color of jade. I stopped loving the song of the flowers. But what hurt the most was to stop loving my brother: <em>Man</em>.</p>
<p>I was a disaster.</p>
<p>I spent the whole day in my palace in Mictlán, watching <em>Nana</em> and <em>Betty la Fea</em>. I stopped putting on makeup, I stopped caring for myself, I stopped feeling <em>me</em>… Who was I?</p>
<p>When people look at me, they can see three aspects. Sometimes they see La Catrina, the bittersweet personification of the nostalgic joy of the Day of the Dead. Sometimes they see the terrifying but merciful Santa Muerte, revered by both the victim and the perpetrator. And sometimes, if you look hard, you can catch a brief glimpse of what I was: the deep, primordial roots of Mictecacíhuatl, roots that reach and coil around the Pillars of the Earth: an antiquity so profound it defies all understanding.</p>
<p>And it is true that, just as the Three Deaths, I am also three in one. Our essence is that of a fractal. And I am La Catrina, I am La Santa Muerte, and I am Mictecacíhuatl… and despite all this, I felt like I was nobody. Nothing. I felt so empty that I even thought about sinking into the vast sea of oblivion from which no one, not even the gods, can ever return…</p>
<p>One day, my sister Lupita came to visit… yes that Lupita, the one with the skirt made of serpents. The one and only <em>jefaza</em>. And she told me "<em>Cabrona</em>, you can't stay here for all eternity. The <em>alebrijes</em> are lost, Xolotl's progeny are on strike, and the dead are dying even more. The people need you."</p>
<p>I would like to tell you that that made me come to my senses, that it made me freak out. That the next day I no longer felt bad and that I returned to being at 100%. But we know that it doesn't work that way. We can only put ourselves back together one piece at a time. Little by little, I started putting on makeup; little by little I started doing <em>cosplay</em> again; little by little I began to feel the aroma of marigold and hear the song of the hummingbird… little by little I remembered my love for people, both the living and the dead.</p>
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6755">That's why I gave them the ritual.</a> That's why I fulfill requests and ask for promises in return. Help you and help myself; it's a win-win. And that is why I refuse to comply with some wishes. When it's not someone's turn yet, they'll have to do it without my help. Period.</p>
<p>Look, I don't mean to be harsh. I know what it's like to miss someone… I know how hard it is to miss someone who has gone sooner than we'd like, but every Day of the Dead, they come back. They come back to be here among us. These days, even I get to spend some time with Mictlantecuhtli…</p>
<p>One thing is certain: <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ofrendas-deadname">you will be with your loved ones again</a>, and so will I. If it's any consolation, you'll have to wait a far shorter time than me.</p>
<p>I can't stop you. It's not up to me. I don't think I can help you much with your burdens either. Being the Goddess of Death does not make you a mental health professional. The only thing I can do is tell you about myself and show you why I decided to wait, to stay here and give this life a second chance. It's what Mictlantecuhtli, my beloved, would have wanted. I'm sure that it's what your love would have wanted too… Shall I offer you some chocolate?</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
<em>Now, wanderer, you must choose your destination, your place of rest. Wherever you go, you will be welcomed, received with the warmth of the most tender hearts. Do not be afraid, dearly deceased one, and knock on the doors of death.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p>After the three stories were told, the thrones transformed into black doors, and I knew I had to make my decision. I advanced hesitantly at first, as if still doubting the fate that awaited me. I looked at the three doors, at the three names inscribed on each one, at the Three Deaths that welcomed me. I closed my eyes and listened to the faint beating of my heart – my guide in that last choice.</p>
<p>Then, determined and without opening my eyes, I took a long step and gently knocked on the door of my eternal rest. These words that you now read are all I leave behind, an echo that dances in the wind and caresses the branches of the sacred ceiba. I hope they are of help to you when you too find yourself at the final threshold.</p>
<p>And all was at peace.</p>
<p><br/></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-family: var(--decorative-font2); font-size:400%; color:rgb(var(--mexican-pink))">Felíz Día de Muertos</span></p>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/ofrendas-tres-muertes">Ofrendas: Tres Muertes</a>" by Kilerpoyo, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/ofrendas-tres-muertes">https://scpwiki.com/ofrendas-tres-muertes</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> tresmuertes<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;"><img alt="Amai-Ixchel" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=6506049&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1735587339" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=6506049)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/amai-ixchel" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(6506049); return false;">Amai-Ixchel</a></span><br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://www.instagram.com/ixchel.amai.18/p/C8A4qybstsY/">Amai-Ixcel</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Archivo:Posada2.Catrina.jpeg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> José Guadalupe Posada<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archivo:Posada2.Catrina.jpeg">Wikipedia</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> File:El rey San Pascual.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Jimmy Silva<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:El_rey_San_Pascual.jpg">Wikipedia</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Archivo:Ayamarcay.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archivo:Ayamarcay.jpg">Wikipedia</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="Ofrendas: Deadname">
<p><a href="/ofrendas-deadname">Ofrendas: Deadname</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="Ofrendas.">
<p><a href="/">Ofrendas.</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Coming Soon!">
<p><a href="/">Coming Soon!</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:old-money-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:old-money-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:dia-de-muertos">:scp-wiki:theme:dia-de-muertos</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:start">:scp-wiki:info:start</a>]]
Ofrendas: Tres Muertes
**Authora:** [[*user Din-Bidor]] [[*user Kilerpoyo]]
⚠️ **Content warning:** Suicide
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/info:end">:scp-wiki:info:end</a>]]
[[>]]
[[div style="margin-top: -15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
[[size 80%]]by Din-Bidor and Kilerpoyo[[/size]]
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
I entered the [[[https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/ | Library]]] and prepared to die. Fever consumed me from within as if my veins were filled with liquid fire, and the pain of my spasms became more and more intense. Without looking back, without asking for the compassion of others, I entered the infinite labyrinth of bookshelves, never to return; there, among the books that contain all the stories of all the worlds, I would find eternal rest.
Delirious and with my body bathed in cold sweat, I staggered through the hallways until I became lost, until time lost all meaning and the books around me were indistinguishable from one another. Then I saw a large atrium in the middle of the bookshelves, a space where there were no books, only an immense tree with a pale trunk and leafy crown. From the stories that my grandmother told me I knew that it was the ceiba, the tree that connects the world with the heavenly palaces of the gods and the dark lands of the dead.
I knew then that I had found the end of my path and, thanking the Library for granting me one last gift, I sat down at the roots of the sacred ceiba tree and gave myself to the embrace of sleep, lulled by the whispers of the wind and the incessant march of the ants. In the dream – a place between life and death – I saw the colors of the morning and heard the singing of long-extinct birds. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a room that was empty except for three stone thrones lit by a luminescence that came from nowhere. My back still rested against the merciful trunk of the ceiba tree, but the illness that afflicted me had abated: I had crossed to the other side.
Then I heard a powerful but gentle voice, a voice that welcomed me to that place beyond life. Astonished and grateful, I asked where I was and who those three thrones belonged to. The invisible speaker told me about the Three Deaths. They are not the [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/when-we-came-home | Three Deaths of the Old World]]], which many fear and worship: they are Three different Deaths, as solemn as they were festive, guardians of a land as old as the roots of time, a land that some fools insisted and still insist on calling the New World. I shall now tell you, unknown reader, about those who bestow the gift of mercy.
------
//There are as many deaths as there are stars in the sky, as there are breaths on the Earth. Deaths are legion – Thanatos, Hades, Mot, Owuo, Osiris, Xargi and countless more – gods stern but fair, compassionate but fierce. Their dominion is the peace beyond life, but also the torment that awaits the cruel. They are the guardians of eternal rest, a diverse multitude of faces and names.//
//You have sought the end of your pain, the sweet mercy granted by a heart that does not beat. Today you stand at the threshold of the Tres Muertes, three places of rest that eagerly await you, because it is your right to choose where immortal soul will find eternity. Listen well, dearly departed one, to the story of the lords of Abya Yala, the blessed land that gave life to your ancestors.//
@@@@
@@@@
[[=image aya width="300em"]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[=]]
+ The Lord of Patience
[[/=]]
Oh Lord of Patience. He Who Sits Awaiting. Listen to my humble litany and give peace to my loved ones who have gone to dance the eternal dance beyond dreams in Uku Pacha.
Guide them safely to your sacrosanct festival of Aya Marcay Quilla, where couplets are fired and mourners tear themselves apart for all the faithful departed who will rise in the eleventh month to dance to the sound of the devils' troupes.
Oh Lord of Ukhu Pacha! The dancing demons of Supay dance for you; the //diablada// dances to the rhythm of an inert pulse while they lead the troupes of the faithful deceased in your sacrosanct festival of Aya Marcay Quilla!
Oh, Great Iku! You who with sincerity let yourself be fooled by the feast served by that trickster Orisha! You who with humility allowed yourself to be defeated after three days by the Crucified One! All in order to give humanity a frugal and futile consolation – the vain hope that Death can be defeated!
No matter how tender, no matter how sweet…! A lie will remain a lie! And yet we thank you for such a sweet lie, because it gives us the strength to face the unfathomable beyond.
Supay! Supay! Supay! What would be of mankind without that hope? Great Lord Supay! What would have become of that gentleman who, upon seeing you threatening his servant, ordered him to hide in Samarra?
What great surprise found he when you revealed that your gesture had not been a threat, but astonishment? It was astonishment at having found him so far away, when the Fates clearly said you would collect his soul in Samarra.
Death is certain and its Lord is Holy. Saint Death! San La Muerte! Lord of Patience! Bless the //payé// medal that hangs from my neck, the one that – if necessary – I shall embed in my own flesh!
Good spirit of the Good Death! Please be my advocate, my shield against the bullets of my enemy. Make him feel the edge of your scythe sooner – if possible much sooner – than me.
Lord of Death and the Compass! At least grant me the futile consolation of believing myself invincible until the last moment before my unexpected death. Because to live in fear is to die in life, and to die in peace is to live in death.
Lord of Patience! Please have mercy on me....
For I admit to being cowardly and selfish.
Lord of Patience! Please be patient with me...
More later than sooner I would like to dance with you.
[[>]]
//—Prayer of the Regretful Cynic//
[[/>]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[=image pascual width="300em"]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[=]]
+ The Saint-King
[[/=]]
When he came to us, people were afraid of his rattling bones, of his empty eyes, of his cloak woven of night and smoke, of the golden crown that proclaimed his divinity. They thought he had come to take them, to cut them down with his cold scythe, but he just laughed. The crowned skeleton offered the people the gift of mercy if in return they recognized him as the ruler of death, as the one who dispenses justice and grants vengeance. His name, he said, was San Pascual Bailón.
San Pascualito Rey is saint and sovereign, monk and emperor. His piety is legendary; his fury is plague and desolation. His blessing grants healing to the sick and peace to the deceased, but he is also known to bring lovers together and grant revenge against those who walk the path of evil.
Although he is king of the cemetery, San Pascualito is humble and asks little in return for his favor: a few candles on his altar and new cloaks to wear make him deeply happy. Even simple letters of gratitude are enough for him to smile with his bony face and intercede on behalf of those who seek his protection. This is how he loves his people, the poor and the helpless, those who are forgotten and excluded – death is universal, and San Pascualito loves everyone equally.
Little is known about the past of San Pascualito Rey. There are those who whisper that his identity is none other than that of Saint Pascual Bailón, who was reincarnated not as a Saint of the Lord Jesus Christ, but who descended into the depths of the Underworld where he was given his throne. The Church repudiates and fears him, because his bony guise is that of deities exiled long ago by the yoke of the cross: the old masters of Xibalbá.
It is said that when the Hero Twins – Hunahpu and Xbalanque – defeated the cruel Twelve Gods of Death in their palace at Xibalbá, the balance of the world changed. The Twelve Lords of Xibalbá had their power diminished, their pride humiliated and their cult extinguished on the Earth. Xibalbá became a place of misery, darkness, ashes and deaf echoes. Defeated, the Lords of Death decided to create a being through which they could continue their dominion over mortals, a herald that would proclaim the rebirth of their power. Thus they sent the perverse Camazotz, the bloodthirsty bat god, to kidnap a human soul.
But, in their arrogance, the Twelve Lords erred: the soul they took could not be corrupted, for it was that of a humble and pious man who had been proclaimed a Saint. This is how San Pascualito was born; he took the throne of the Lords of Xibalbá and made it his own, for he was King. Thus were the cruel Gods of the Mayan Underworld humiliated for the second time. They now lie at the feet of San Pascualito and pay homage to him, cursing him all the time while he laughs out loud.
@@@@
@@@@
[[=image catrina width="400em"]]
@@@@
@@@@
[[=]]
+ The Pale Lady
[[/=]]
I remember it well, so clearly, the exact moment when the last stone of the Great Temple was torn down. My world collapsed with it.
Amongst the pillars, dead Mictlantecuhtli [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/pilares | waits dreaming]]]. He – beloved husband of mine – lies in perpetual vigil, sunken between the tides of time like an imperturbable sentinel. Xolotl, our faithful hound, also remains there to take care of him. I was left alone, without love and without a dog to bark at me.
Depression? Of course I went into depression, honey. Believe it or not, depression is common among gods, [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6292 | particularly Death Gods]]]. I stopped loving the song of the cenzontle and the color of jade. I stopped loving the song of the flowers. But what hurt the most was to stop loving my brother: //Man//.
I was a disaster.
I spent the whole day in my palace in Mictlán, watching //Nana// and //Betty la Fea//. I stopped putting on makeup, I stopped caring for myself, I stopped feeling //me//... Who was I?
When people look at me, they can see three aspects. Sometimes they see La Catrina, the bittersweet personification of the nostalgic joy of the Day of the Dead. Sometimes they see the terrifying but merciful Santa Muerte, revered by both the victim and the perpetrator. And sometimes, if you look hard, you can catch a brief glimpse of what I was: the deep, primordial roots of Mictecacíhuatl, roots that reach and coil around the Pillars of the Earth: an antiquity so profound it defies all understanding.
And it is true that, just as the Three Deaths, I am also three in one. Our essence is that of a fractal. And I am La Catrina, I am La Santa Muerte, and I am Mictecacíhuatl... and despite all this, I felt like I was nobody. Nothing. I felt so empty that I even thought about sinking into the vast sea of oblivion from which no one, not even the gods, can ever return...
One day, my sister Lupita came to visit... yes that Lupita, the one with the skirt made of serpents. The one and only //jefaza//. And she told me "//Cabrona//, you can't stay here for all eternity. The //alebrijes// are lost, Xolotl's progeny are on strike, and the dead are dying even more. The people need you."
I would like to tell you that that made me come to my senses, that it made me freak out. That the next day I no longer felt bad and that I returned to being at 100%. But we know that it doesn't work that way. We can only put ourselves back together one piece at a time. Little by little, I started putting on makeup; little by little I started doing //cosplay// again; little by little I began to feel the aroma of marigold and hear the song of the hummingbird... little by little I remembered my love for people, both the living and the dead.
[[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6755| That's why I gave them the ritual.]]] That's why I fulfill requests and ask for promises in return. Help you and help myself; it's a win-win. And that is why I refuse to comply with some wishes. When it's not someone's turn yet, they'll have to do it without my help. Period.
Look, I don't mean to be harsh. I know what it's like to miss someone... I know how hard it is to miss someone who has gone sooner than we'd like, but every Day of the Dead, they come back. They come back to be here among us. These days, even I get to spend some time with Mictlantecuhtli...
One thing is certain: [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ofrendas-deadname
| you will be with your loved ones again]]], and so will I. If it's any consolation, you'll have to wait a far shorter time than me.
I can't stop you. It's not up to me. I don't think I can help you much with your burdens either. Being the Goddess of Death does not make you a mental health professional. The only thing I can do is tell you about myself and show you why I decided to wait, to stay here and give this life a second chance. It's what Mictlantecuhtli, my beloved, would have wanted. I'm sure that it's what your love would have wanted too... Shall I offer you some chocolate?
@@@@
@@@@
//Now, wanderer, you must choose your destination, your place of rest. Wherever you go, you will be welcomed, received with the warmth of the most tender hearts. Do not be afraid, dearly deceased one, and knock on the doors of death.//
------
After the three stories were told, the thrones transformed into black doors, and I knew I had to make my decision. I advanced hesitantly at first, as if still doubting the fate that awaited me. I looked at the three doors, at the three names inscribed on each one, at the Three Deaths that welcomed me. I closed my eyes and listened to the faint beating of my heart – my guide in that last choice.
Then, determined and without opening my eyes, I took a long step and gently knocked on the door of my eternal rest. These words that you now read are all I leave behind, an echo that dances in the wind and caresses the branches of the sacred ceiba. I hope they are of help to you when you too find yourself at the final threshold.
And all was at peace.
@@@@
@@@@
[[=image https://i.ibb.co/X5b9mT1/comPoyo.png width="1000em"]]
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[span style="font-family: var(--decorative-font2); font-size:400%; color:rgb(var(--mexican-pink))"]]Felíz Día de Muertos [[/span]]
[[/=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
=====
> **Filename:** tresmuertes
> **Author:** [[*user Amai-Ixchel]]
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** [https://www.instagram.com/ixchel.amai.18/p/C8A4qybstsY/ Amai-Ixcel]
> **Filename:** Archivo:Posada2.Catrina.jpeg
> **Author:** José Guadalupe Posada
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** [https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archivo:Posada2.Catrina.jpeg Wikipedia]
> **Filename:** File:El rey San Pascual.jpg
> **Author:** Jimmy Silva
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** [https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:El_rey_San_Pascual.jpg Wikipedia]
> **Filename:** Archivo:Ayamarcay.jpg
> **Author:** Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** [https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Archivo:Ayamarcay.jpg Wikipedia]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false| last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=/ofrendas-deadname | previous-title=Ofrendas: Deadname
| next-url=/ | next-title=Coming Soon!
| hub-url=/ | hub-title=Ofrendas.
]]
|
2024-10-01T23:25:00
|
[
"afterlife",
"co-authored",
"mythological",
"our-open-veins",
"tale",
"wanderers-library"
] |
Ofrendas: Tres Muertes - SCP Foundation
| 22
|
[
"when-we-came-home",
"pilares",
"scp-6292",
"scp-6755",
"ofrendas-deadname",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"wanderers-library-hub",
"our-open-veins-hub"
] |
[] |
1456961542
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ofrendas-tres-muertes
|
|
on-the-rails
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Aoceanbound/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div class="preview">
<p>I heard she killed an entire platoon of US soldiers with an eraser. A fucking <em>eraser</em>.</p>
</div>
<div style="display: none;">
<div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width:300px;"><img alt="Carissa%20Train%20mini.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/on-the-rails/Carissa%20Train%20mini.png"/>
<div class="scp-image-caption">
<p>Carissa on a Train</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem">2034, Site-212A Tavern</span></p>
</div>
<p>Cigar smoke lingers in the air like thick smog, coating the room with a haze altogether not atypical for Scottish pubs. Dozens of off duty NTF personnel, guards, and even the rare whitecoat researcher, are spread across fifty or so booths and tables.</p>
<p>"So, we get to the objective up on the hill, after more than a week of firefights, maneuvering, and constant spell bombardment and what do we find? The biggest trap we ever walked into." Silus Smith took another drag from the cigar and blew another bit of smoke, before picking up his glass. "That Sorceress had glyphs, spike traps, razor nets, anything you could think of waiting for us and command told us to just waltz right on in."</p>
<p>"Nightmare and a half, I was still just a fucking gun happy cadet." Jane Sandora takes a long swig from her glass, dark hair let down. "I'll be seeing the blood fountains in my dreams."</p>
<p>"What did you tell them, when they gave the order?" Ochev leans in, picking up her glass in one hand, the other preoccupied with a wrench tightening a bolt on a jury-rigged device sitting in her lap.</p>
<p>"Nuts." Silus thumbs through his cards and throws a few more chips into the ante-pot. "Nuts. You want us to die?"</p>
<p>"Sure felt like they did that particular fucking day." Jane matches his bet, leaning back in her chair with feet up on the table. "Best first date of my life, but holy shit."</p>
<p>“Your priorities are a mess Jane.” Silus lays two cards on the table and slides them to Sheffield.</p>
<p>Robert Sheffield pushes glasses up his nose. "Surely it can't have been worse than 4700, right Captain?"</p>
<p>"We didn't lose anybody during the 4700 op. Sure we, and I mean the collective we, lost people, but nobody in recon. Can't count the subs going down, that's out of our control." Silus takes another puff, and then a long sip of his whiskey. "Only people who came out of Polynesia were Jane, Rugio, and I."</p>
<p>"2010, 2014, 2017, bad years for recon." Jane takes another long gulp. "I'll never get over it, Silus, I got robbed of my fucking date night on Fiji. If second dates don't happen within four years, they don't happen at all! That's the rule."</p>
<p>Silus rolls his eyes. "Just go ask her for a duel, she's still around."</p>
<p>"It's not the same and you fucking know it. The magic's gone." Jane sulks for several seconds, before, miraculously, getting over it. Silus, Jane, Rugio, and Wong slide cards over to Sheffield. He distributes cards back from the deck.</p>
<p>Jane glances at her haul and tosses a few more chips into the pile. Rugio, Wong, and Silus all meet the ante.</p>
<p>Jane grins and lays down her cards. "Full house."</p>
<p>"Dammit Jane, how do you not have tells!" Rugio exclaims, laying down his two pairs.</p>
<p>"Sniping's a game of chess Rugio. You just need to git fucking good." She grins, as Wong also shakes his head, and lays down his cards revealing a three of a kind.</p>
<p>"Who are you talking about captain?" Sheffield asks, looking up from the book that he's been nursing between dealing cards.</p>
<p>"Royal flush." Silus lays down his hand, and leans back in the chair, a rare and smug smile spreading to his lips.</p>
<p>"Motherfu— You're fucking impossible to read!" She throws up her hands.</p>
<p>"You're just bad with men Jane." Silus takes another drag of his cigar, and leans forward, looking at Sheffield. "Decimus."</p>
<p>The whole table freezes. A half-shuffled deck of cards in Balet's fingers dropping to the table in a chaotic pile. Ochev stops mid-hammering, stilling her jury-rigged abomination. Wong nearly shatters his glass on the floor, almost dropping it from his shaking hands.</p>
<p>"Wh-who's Decimus?" Sheffield asks at a slightly elevated volume, swallowing from the reactions of the others at the table.</p>
<p>The doors to the tavern, behind where Sheffield is sitting, open. Like a forest in the presence of an apex predator, the whole tavern drops into eerie silence. Seasoned NTF veterans, guards, and researchers crane their heads to look. No one moves, the only sound crashing through the silence are boots treading heavily on wood. If a pen had dropped right then and there, it would have been as loud as a gong.</p>
<p>"This is why we don't talk about Polynesia or Fiji," Jane says quietly. "Let’s move on."</p>
<p>"No, no. The boy asked, and he's about to find out." Silus leans back in his chair. The floorboards creak as something, no, someone predatory moves across the room. The rest of Recon deliberately looks anywhere but this cataclysm, as its gaze sweeps the room. They only dare to look in the direction of the steps when its attention is elsewhere. Sheffield, utterly oblivious to impending disaster, is fully absorbed in Silus's storytelling.</p>
<p>"Carissa Decimus to be precise." Silus takes a long drag of his cigar, fingers thumping sequentially on the table. "Something you need to understand Sheffield is that, of all the things we are likely to face in the field, the Hand has always been one of the most dangerous. Higher ups like to depict them as bumbling, unorganized wizards, but those on the front lines know the truth. The Hand, they strike fast and hard, always where you're vulnerable."</p>
<p>"Ok but—" Sheffield stops, Silus holding up a hand.</p>
<p>"We've had plenty of run-ins over the years, and they always end roughly." Silus pauses to take an exaggerated swig of his drink.</p>
<p>Jane, Rugio, Ochev, and Wong all look towards the bar. Anxious conversation rises again throughout the room, but at a much lower volume than before.</p>
<p>"But there was always a pair of Hand operatives that everyone knew about. It didn't matter if you were Delta-7, a localized MTF, or just a security guard." Silus makes a calculated, quick glance towards the bar, and then focuses back on Sheffield.</p>
<p>Floorboards creak as a quick conversation at the bar trickles through the room. The clink of a glass on wood, and the sweet serenity of hard liquor crackling against ice wafting lazily across the space.</p>
<p>"So, this Decimus… she was just some infamous serpent-lover?" Sheffield's lips purse and his forehead wrinkles in confusion.</p>
<p>"That fucking 'serpent-lover' wiped two whole Recon Squads," Jane hisses, eyes darting to the menace as it moves away from the bar, floor creaking beneath methodical steps. "Then she pissed on an MTF for breakfast, and they all caught on fire and died horribly."</p>
<p>"Sometimes she has the help of that sorceress." Ochev fiddles with her tiny wrench, as the creaking floorboards get closer. "It was always worse with the sorceress."</p>
<p>"I heard she killed an entire platoon of US soldiers with an eraser. A fucking <em>eraser</em>," Wong hisses, eyes widening as shadows approach their table.</p>
<p>"I saw that tape; it was more than single platoon. I could not sleep for whole week after." Ochev takes a long and shaky swig from her flagon.</p>
<p>"The Hand wanted to get rid of her in the 50's, so they gave her a ludicrous task. Something <em>no one</em> could do. The blood she collected that day, the bodies she dropped, opened the floodgates that brought the GOC down." Silus's eyes leave Sheffield, panning up as the creaking reaches its apex.</p>
<p>"They called her 'Star-Shooter' because she shot a fucking star out of the sky and vaporized a full GOC strike team on contact," Balet says almost at a whisper. All sound ceases. A requiem of the calm before the storm.</p>
<p>"I-Is all of that really true? Surely no one like that can exist." Sheffield's words stutter as he looks around the table, oblivious to the terror standing behind him.</p>
<p>"Oh, I promise, I'm very real." Sheffield slowly turns his head to look at the hand now gripping his chair. Sharp, claw-like nails dig into the wood. He tracks up to meet the predatory gaze of yellow eyes. "Boo."</p>
<p>Sheffield freezes for a fraction of a second, before fight or flight completely takes hold and he scrambles out of his chair, screaming. He takes off at a dead run, clean out of the tavern screeching as loud as he can, "Hand infiltrator we're all dead!" until he's out of earshot.</p>
<p>The cataclysm known as Carissa Decimus turns her head to look back at table, ears remaining swiveled in the direction of Sheffield’s panicked steps until she can no longer hear them. "So. Still telling ghost stories about me, huh?"</p>
<p>Rugio, Ochev, and Wong immediately break eye contact, looking anywhere but Carissa as she flicks her tail.</p>
<p>"Decimus," Silus says, with tension in his voice. "Didn't know you were back on site."</p>
<p>"They got tired of using me as a fucking errand girl for a bit." Carissa sits with her pitcher of liquor, refusing to arrange herself in the chair like a normal person.</p>
<p>Jane tenses. "So, what, you just happen to hone in on us again?"</p>
<p>"What can I say, I have a built-in radar for dangerous women." Carissa smirks and takes a long swig as the rest of the table shifts uncomfortably.</p>
<p>"Where's your matrimonial terror?" Jane lets the jab twist in the air between them. "Stirring a bubbling cauldron somewhere?"</p>
<p>"Asleep. Timeline convergences tend to exhaust Sorceresses." Carissa taps her fingers on the table, her claw-like nails digging into the wood and leaving divots.</p>
<p>"I'm sure they do." Silus takes a long drag of his cigar.</p>
<p>Carissa looks at Silus, evaluating the aging commander, before her attention returns to Jane’s previous statement. “Piece of advice Sandora. I’d be careful not to make those remarks where she can hear them. She might infer you’re calling her a witch.”</p>
<p>Jane licks her lips. “I live for the edge.</p>
<p>“Not for this one you don’t.” Carissa’s ears half droop, as her tail flicks several times in quick succession. She pulls out a pipe and presses a pre-prepared roll of tobacco into it.</p>
<p>Tense silence settles over the table as Recon nurse their drinks and Carissa’s appraising gaze rinses back and forth across their proverbial bows, before pivoting away to a nearby TV.</p>
<p>"Mrs. Decimus," Wong begins, and almost withers as Carissa's gaze swings to fully focus on the hapless scout.</p>
<p>"Oh, come on, how do you fuckers have the nerve to be in the field if you can't even ask me a question?" Carissa barks with laughter, finally dropping the menacing act. "I'm on your team now."</p>
<p>"Are you really though?" Balet asks with a squint.</p>
<p>Carissa doesn’t answer Balet, instead; flicking him a middle finger. "What's your question, runt?"</p>
<p>Wong swallows. "Is it true… what they say? About what you did to the GOC?"</p>
<p>A smirk slithers, like a sand viper preparing to strike, across Carissa's lips. "Do you want to know?" she asks, leaning forward. "Really want to know?"</p>
<p>"Uhm…" Wong shrinks in his chair. "Yes?"</p>
<p>"Then try not to piss your pants. You’re about to come to terms with just how close you came to utter annihilation 20 years ago.” She snaps a finger, a flame appearing just above the tip of her pointer finger as she lights up her pipe, takes in a long drag, and blows out a smoke ring. “This is the story of how M and I kicked off the cascade that would bring the GOC to its fucking knees."</p>
<hr/>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-true earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="{$previous-title}">
<p><a class="newpage" href="/previous-url">{$previous-title}</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="Seas of Orcadia Hub">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/seas-of-orcadia-hub">Seas of Orcadia Hub</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Multi-Goddess Drifting">
<p><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Multi-Goddess-Drifting">Multi-Goddess Drifting</a></p>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:oceanbound">:scp-wiki:theme:oceanbound</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:xmas">:scp-wiki:theme:xmas</a>
|xmas-snow= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:toggle-sidebar">:scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar</a>]]
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text= I heard she killed an entire platoon of US soldiers with an eraser. A fucking //eraser//.]]
[[div style="display: none;"]]
[[include <a href="/component:image-block">component:image-block</a> name=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/on-the-rails/Carissa%20Train%20mini.png|caption=Carissa on a Train]]
[[/div]]
[[module css]]
:root { --body-font: 'Noto Sans Cuneiform', 'Inter', 'Arial', sans-serif;
--header-height: clamp(10rem,55vmin,40rem);
--header-image: url("https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/medea-filicidium/banner.jpg");
--footer-image: url("https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/seas-of-orcadia-hub/Artemis.png");
}
#footer, #extrac-div-1, #extrac-div-1 span {
background-image: var(--footer-image);
background-size: 100vmax;
background-attachment: fixed;
background-position: bottom;
height: clamp(10rem,55vmin,30rem);
background-repeat: no-repeat;
}
#extra-div-1 {
background-position: top;
}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[=]]
[[span style="font-family: Grenze Gotisch ; font-size: 1.25rem"]]2034, Site-212A Tavern[[/span]]
[[/=]]
Cigar smoke lingers in the air like thick smog, coating the room with a haze altogether not atypical for Scottish pubs. Dozens of off duty NTF personnel, guards, and even the rare whitecoat researcher, are spread across fifty or so booths and tables.
"So, we get to the objective up on the hill, after more than a week of firefights, maneuvering, and constant spell bombardment and what do we find? The biggest trap we ever walked into." Silus Smith took another drag from the cigar and blew another bit of smoke, before picking up his glass. "That Sorceress had glyphs, spike traps, razor nets, anything you could think of waiting for us and command told us to just waltz right on in."
"Nightmare and a half, I was still just a fucking gun happy cadet." Jane Sandora takes a long swig from her glass, dark hair let down. "I'll be seeing the blood fountains in my dreams."
"What did you tell them, when they gave the order?" Ochev leans in, picking up her glass in one hand, the other preoccupied with a wrench tightening a bolt on a jury-rigged device sitting in her lap.
"Nuts." Silus thumbs through his cards and throws a few more chips into the ante-pot. "Nuts. You want us to die?"
"Sure felt like they did that particular fucking day." Jane matches his bet, leaning back in her chair with feet up on the table. "Best first date of my life, but holy shit."
“Your priorities are a mess Jane.” Silus lays two cards on the table and slides them to Sheffield.
Robert Sheffield pushes glasses up his nose. "Surely it can't have been worse than 4700, right Captain?"
"We didn't lose anybody during the 4700 op. Sure we, and I mean the collective we, lost people, but nobody in recon. Can't count the subs going down, that's out of our control." Silus takes another puff, and then a long sip of his whiskey. "Only people who came out of Polynesia were Jane, Rugio, and I."
"2010, 2014, 2017, bad years for recon." Jane takes another long gulp. "I'll never get over it, Silus, I got robbed of my fucking date night on Fiji. If second dates don't happen within four years, they don't happen at all! That's the rule."
Silus rolls his eyes. "Just go ask her for a duel, she's still around."
"It's not the same and you fucking know it. The magic's gone." Jane sulks for several seconds, before, miraculously, getting over it. Silus, Jane, Rugio, and Wong slide cards over to Sheffield. He distributes cards back from the deck.
Jane glances at her haul and tosses a few more chips into the pile. Rugio, Wong, and Silus all meet the ante.
Jane grins and lays down her cards. "Full house."
"Dammit Jane, how do you not have tells!" Rugio exclaims, laying down his two pairs.
"Sniping's a game of chess Rugio. You just need to git fucking good." She grins, as Wong also shakes his head, and lays down his cards revealing a three of a kind.
"Who are you talking about captain?" Sheffield asks, looking up from the book that he's been nursing between dealing cards.
"Royal flush." Silus lays down his hand, and leans back in the chair, a rare and smug smile spreading to his lips.
"Motherfu-- You're fucking impossible to read!" She throws up her hands.
"You're just bad with men Jane." Silus takes another drag of his cigar, and leans forward, looking at Sheffield. "Decimus."
The whole table freezes. A half-shuffled deck of cards in Balet's fingers dropping to the table in a chaotic pile. Ochev stops mid-hammering, stilling her jury-rigged abomination. Wong nearly shatters his glass on the floor, almost dropping it from his shaking hands.
"Wh-who's Decimus?" Sheffield asks at a slightly elevated volume, swallowing from the reactions of the others at the table.
The doors to the tavern, behind where Sheffield is sitting, open. Like a forest in the presence of an apex predator, the whole tavern drops into eerie silence. Seasoned NTF veterans, guards, and researchers crane their heads to look. No one moves, the only sound crashing through the silence are boots treading heavily on wood. If a pen had dropped right then and there, it would have been as loud as a gong.
"This is why we don't talk about Polynesia or Fiji," Jane says quietly. "Let’s move on."
"No, no. The boy asked, and he's about to find out." Silus leans back in his chair. The floorboards creak as something, no, someone predatory moves across the room. The rest of Recon deliberately looks anywhere but this cataclysm, as its gaze sweeps the room. They only dare to look in the direction of the steps when its attention is elsewhere. Sheffield, utterly oblivious to impending disaster, is fully absorbed in Silus's storytelling.
"Carissa Decimus to be precise." Silus takes a long drag of his cigar, fingers thumping sequentially on the table. "Something you need to understand Sheffield is that, of all the things we are likely to face in the field, the Hand has always been one of the most dangerous. Higher ups like to depict them as bumbling, unorganized wizards, but those on the front lines know the truth. The Hand, they strike fast and hard, always where you're vulnerable."
"Ok but--" Sheffield stops, Silus holding up a hand.
"We've had plenty of run-ins over the years, and they always end roughly." Silus pauses to take an exaggerated swig of his drink.
Jane, Rugio, Ochev, and Wong all look towards the bar. Anxious conversation rises again throughout the room, but at a much lower volume than before.
"But there was always a pair of Hand operatives that everyone knew about. It didn't matter if you were Delta-7, a localized MTF, or just a security guard." Silus makes a calculated, quick glance towards the bar, and then focuses back on Sheffield.
Floorboards creak as a quick conversation at the bar trickles through the room. The clink of a glass on wood, and the sweet serenity of hard liquor crackling against ice wafting lazily across the space.
"So, this Decimus... she was just some infamous serpent-lover?" Sheffield's lips purse and his forehead wrinkles in confusion.
"That fucking 'serpent-lover' wiped two whole Recon Squads," Jane hisses, eyes darting to the menace as it moves away from the bar, floor creaking beneath methodical steps. "Then she pissed on an MTF for breakfast, and they all caught on fire and died horribly."
"Sometimes she has the help of that sorceress." Ochev fiddles with her tiny wrench, as the creaking floorboards get closer. "It was always worse with the sorceress."
"I heard she killed an entire platoon of US soldiers with an eraser. A fucking //eraser//," Wong hisses, eyes widening as shadows approach their table.
"I saw that tape; it was more than single platoon. I could not sleep for whole week after." Ochev takes a long and shaky swig from her flagon.
"The Hand wanted to get rid of her in the 50's, so they gave her a ludicrous task. Something //no one// could do. The blood she collected that day, the bodies she dropped, opened the floodgates that brought the GOC down." Silus's eyes leave Sheffield, panning up as the creaking reaches its apex.
"They called her 'Star-Shooter' because she shot a fucking star out of the sky and vaporized a full GOC strike team on contact," Balet says almost at a whisper. All sound ceases. A requiem of the calm before the storm.
"I-Is all of that really true? Surely no one like that can exist." Sheffield's words stutter as he looks around the table, oblivious to the terror standing behind him.
"Oh, I promise, I'm very real." Sheffield slowly turns his head to look at the hand now gripping his chair. Sharp, claw-like nails dig into the wood. He tracks up to meet the predatory gaze of yellow eyes. "Boo."
Sheffield freezes for a fraction of a second, before fight or flight completely takes hold and he scrambles out of his chair, screaming. He takes off at a dead run, clean out of the tavern screeching as loud as he can, "Hand infiltrator we're all dead!" until he's out of earshot.
The cataclysm known as Carissa Decimus turns her head to look back at table, ears remaining swiveled in the direction of Sheffield’s panicked steps until she can no longer hear them. "So. Still telling ghost stories about me, huh?"
Rugio, Ochev, and Wong immediately break eye contact, looking anywhere but Carissa as she flicks her tail.
"Decimus," Silus says, with tension in his voice. "Didn't know you were back on site."
"They got tired of using me as a fucking errand girl for a bit." Carissa sits with her pitcher of liquor, refusing to arrange herself in the chair like a normal person.
Jane tenses. "So, what, you just happen to hone in on us again?"
"What can I say, I have a built-in radar for dangerous women." Carissa smirks and takes a long swig as the rest of the table shifts uncomfortably.
"Where's your matrimonial terror?" Jane lets the jab twist in the air between them. "Stirring a bubbling cauldron somewhere?"
"Asleep. Timeline convergences tend to exhaust Sorceresses." Carissa taps her fingers on the table, her claw-like nails digging into the wood and leaving divots.
"I'm sure they do." Silus takes a long drag of his cigar.
Carissa looks at Silus, evaluating the aging commander, before her attention returns to Jane’s previous statement. “Piece of advice Sandora. I’d be careful not to make those remarks where she can hear them. She might infer you’re calling her a witch.”
Jane licks her lips. “I live for the edge.
“Not for this one you don’t.” Carissa’s ears half droop, as her tail flicks several times in quick succession. She pulls out a pipe and presses a pre-prepared roll of tobacco into it.
Tense silence settles over the table as Recon nurse their drinks and Carissa’s appraising gaze rinses back and forth across their proverbial bows, before pivoting away to a nearby TV.
"Mrs. Decimus," Wong begins, and almost withers as Carissa's gaze swings to fully focus on the hapless scout.
"Oh, come on, how do you fuckers have the nerve to be in the field if you can't even ask me a question?" Carissa barks with laughter, finally dropping the menacing act. "I'm on your team now."
"Are you really though?" Balet asks with a squint.
Carissa doesn’t answer Balet, instead; flicking him a middle finger. "What's your question, runt?"
Wong swallows. "Is it true... what they say? About what you did to the GOC?"
A smirk slithers, like a sand viper preparing to strike, across Carissa's lips. "Do you want to know?" she asks, leaning forward. "Really want to know?"
"Uhm..." Wong shrinks in his chair. "Yes?"
"Then try not to piss your pants. You’re about to come to terms with just how close you came to utter annihilation 20 years ago.” She snaps a finger, a flame appearing just above the tip of her pointer finger as she lights up her pipe, takes in a long drag, and blows out a smoke ring. “This is the story of how M and I kicked off the cascade that would bring the GOC to its fucking knees."
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include <a href="http://kaktuskontainer.wikidot.com/drbleeps-author-sandbox-2">:kaktuskontainer:drbleeps-author-sandbox-2</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=true | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=| previous-title=
| next-url= https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Multi-Goddess-Drifting| next-title=Multi-Goddess Drifting
| hub-url=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/seas-of-orcadia-hub| hub-title=Seas of Orcadia Hub
]]
|
2024-11-16T16:31:00
|
[
"fantasy",
"military-fiction",
"mythological",
"orcadia",
"slice-of-life",
"spy-fiction",
"tale"
] |
On the Rails - SCP Foundation
| 23
|
[
"scp-3456",
"scp-3700",
"scp-2491",
"scp-4700",
"scp-3703",
"scp-6700",
"scp-3706",
"scp-3728",
"scp-2497",
"scp-2946",
"scp-3702",
"scp-3710",
"scp-1347-1353-j",
"scp-2546",
"scp-2378",
"scp-7810",
"scp-3711",
"scp-2431",
"scp-8810",
"scp-2381",
"all-in-all-you-re-just-a-nother-brick-in-the-wall",
"the-seas-of-orcadia-part-1-how-i-met-your-mither",
"swallowed-by-a-prideful-lesbian-sea",
"where-there-is-desire-there-is-gonna-be-a-flame",
"slow-pride-filled-life",
"lets-get-physical",
"medea-filicidium",
"multi-goddess-drifting",
"where-there-is-a-flame-someone-is-bound-to-get-burned",
"hotter-than-hell",
"love-across-a-nonbinary-spectrum",
"the-coming-nightmare",
"dissonance",
"scp-3500",
"scp-8710",
"recomposition",
"previous-url",
"seas-of-orcadia-hub",
"Multi-Goddess-Drifting"
] |
[
"with-the-old-gods-hub",
"tales-by-year",
"seas-of-orcadia-hub"
] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/on-the-rails/Carissa%20Train%20mini.png"
] |
1457393030
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/on-the-rails
|
|
one-good-turn-deserves-another
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div style="text-align: right; margin-top: -18px; margin-right: 2em;">
<p><span style="color: #757575">by Eddie347</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p>Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has <em>never</em>, as a matter of personal decorum, used vulgar language while acting in his professional capacities. His forbearance from doing so, he feels, belies a more coolheaded demeanor and stoic unflappability as compared with his peers and even as compared with, dare he suggest it, a good many of his superiors.</p>
<p>But Junior Site Administrator Reynolds very nearly breaks his self-rule when he first encounters the sculpture. For the sculpture is, in the considered opinion of Junior Site Administrator Reynolds, such a drab and uninspired specimen in virtually every respect as to be unseemly, nay, <em>offensive</em> to the perceptive aesthete:</p>
<p>Having neither texture nor polish, it is a dull flat grey like ordinary concrete. Its proportions are cloyingly literal, yet at the same time frustratingly haphazard and inexact. Here and there the work betrays an inconstancy of intention as well: the texturing of skin around the fingernails shows an uncanny degree of detail while the wrinkles on the knuckle of the thumb are inexplicably incorrect, too many and extending too wide along the length of the digit. Gallingly, for all that visual clumsiness, the sculpture is entirely too big. Ostentatious. <em>Gaudy</em>, even, for the presumptuousness of its scale juxtaposed against the tepidity of its artistry.</p>
<p>It is, in a word, atrocious.</p>
<p>Junior Site Administrator Reynolds wants it desperately.</p>
<p>“For Site Director Gerhardt’s office, of course,” he remarks over his shoulder to Captain Davids, who stands noncommittally a meter or so behind him with her arms folded. She acknowledges his remark with a pop of her gum.</p>
<p>Tactically, scientifically or administratively speaking Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has no real function to perform at this moment in proceedings; the raid on the now-former Marshall Carter & Dark facility has gone according to textbook, the containment teams have secured the most significant objectives and the research teams are well underway with their examinations. All around him are highly qualified people getting on with important business, including a junior forensics agent attempting to extract a sheaf of documents Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has chosen to insist on pretending he hasn’t noticed he is standing directly on top of.</p>
<p>But Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has never let a lack of usefulness preclude his self-involvement in important happenings.</p>
<p>As a nominal member of Administration, Junior Site Administrator Reynolds naturally has the right to request a tactical escort for offsite business. He has made the request despite being briefed that his request is not, at this time, a prudent use of command resources and that his presence on site is not, at this time, necessary or wanted. Fortunately for him Captain Davids has cultivated a keenly refined sixth sense for chaos after nearly a decade of MTF fieldwork and so, having spent the last several weeks preparing and executing a full slate of tactical operations and sensing the potential for entertainment in this supervisory excursion, she has volunteered for this escort mission as her last before her well-earned R&R.</p>
<p>At the present moment Captain Davids is amusedly watching this strange small man who has strode like a colossus of competence through the facility, seemingly with no awareness that from the site entrance to this point he has stepped directly through and catastrophically disrupted no fewer than four separate forensic zones.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has not only reached a decision but has furthermore exercised his prerogative to make it an executive one: that this <em>extraordinary</em> piece would be singly at home in the space where his own desk resides, i.e. the waiting room of Site Director Gerhardt’s office.</p>
<p>Junior Site Administrator Reynolds snaps his fingers, again over his shoulder: “Captain. Have this brought around front.” He keeps a businesslike tone, but has to suppress a chuckle.</p>
<p><em>Oh yes, this is a good stroke indeed!</em></p>
<p>It can only reflect well on him, after all, that he has taken the initiative, that he is such a <em>go-getter</em> as to have brought this anomalous piece back to the Director’s office.</p>
<p><em>And such an impressive recovery, for someone with so little field experience!</em></p>
<p>But as a reflection on Site Director Gerhardt, someone so senior and highly respected?</p>
<p><em>What a travesty! And impractical, too, the way it takes up nearly the whole waiting area. Maybe it’s a sign the Director’s instincts just aren’t as sharp as they used to be, so sad!</em></p>
<p>Junior Site Administrator Reynolds moves his hands to his hips and shakes his head, marveling at his own cleverness.</p>
<p><em>Oh yes, I’ll play the games! I’ll hop every checker piece on the board, eventually. It is just a matter of time, oh yes…</em></p>
<p>Then he notices nothing has happened.</p>
<p>“Too wide.” With lethal quiet Captain Davids has moved directly next to him; Junior Site Administrator Reynolds tries to parley a startled yelp into a cough. “Need a second set of hands.”</p>
<p>“Well! That’s no, ah, can anyone…?” Junior Site Administrator Reynolds looks around haplessly for a lackey, but unfortunately for him everyone else in the room has become keenly aware of exactly what he is trying to do and is therefore much too focused on what they are doing to hear him.</p>
<p>Captain Davids has meanwhile moved to one side of the sculpture. “Come on, then, let’s not keep the Site Director waiting.”</p>
<p>Junior Site Administrator Reynolds resignedly grasps the other side and heaves, huffing and grunting but eventually managing to get his side to just below knee height.</p>
<p>Captain Davids lifts casually. “Ready?”</p>
<p>Junior Site Administrator Reynolds wheezes in reply.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has insisted on commandeering a transport van that had up to this point housed a remote research workstation, the instruments of which now lie scattered hazardously on the MC&D loading dock to be retrieved, the researchers have been reassured with an absent handwave, at some indeterminate point in the future.</p>
<p><em>I suppose Junior Site Administrator Reynolds,</em> Captain Davids muses as she pulls up to a red light and grabs a Jammy Dodger from the bag in the seat next to her, <em>is more an ideas man than a details man.</em></p>
<p>Had she been asked to do so Captain Davids would, of course, have agreed to accompany the sculpture in the rear of the van. But Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has valiantly preempted any such obligation on her part by insisting that the the item is, he reminds her, <em>technically</em> in the custody of Site Administration and that he would therefore be remaining with the sculpture himself, secluded behind the divider that completely separated the front seats of the van from the cramped rear hold.</p>
<p>She eases into a left turn. From the back, she hears a <em>thunk</em> against one wall of the van which is followed by an angry “Ow!” and indistinct muttering.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” she calls back. “Left turn now.”</p>
<p>“Could you please, Captain,” the muffled voice barely carries over the air conditioning blowing loudly in the cab, “Call out the turns <em>before</em> you begin them.”</p>
<p>“Right,” she said between sips of a Coke, “my mistake.” She approaches another light, moving into the right lane this time.</p>
<p>She still isn’t sold, Captain Davids reflects, on Junior Site Administrator Reynolds as, say, a person she’d enjoy sharing a beer with. But she admits to herself that she is coming around in regards to his tenacity and - <em>what would you say?</em> - conviction.</p>
<p>She pulls forward as the light turns yellow, slipping the right turn just before the light turns red.</p>
<p><em>Thunk.</em> “Augh!”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” she calls back. “Right turn now.”<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds is standing just outside the door of the freight elevator, which has been blocked from closing by the very tippiest tip of the middle finger. Captain Davids is leaning against the back wall of the elevator, holding up her end of the sculpture with one hand and working her way through a pack of Nutter Butters with the other.</p>
<p>Junior Site Administrator Reynolds is, at present, doing a poor job of keeping the pain of physical exertion out of his voice. “I <em>know</em> it would fit long ways, you blithering fool, but we <em>can’t</em> just turn it long ways, that’s the whole reason we’re having this conversation!”</p>
<p>Custodial Manager Kallen methodically finds a cleanish spot on his work cloth to wipe his brow, speaking calmly over Junior Site Administrator Reynolds’s exasperated sputtering:</p>
<p>“Look, <em>sir,</em> I’m not doing nothin’ to these elevators. No cutting holes, no taking off walls, no overriding safety protocols. Not without clearance from the Director themself. That’s it, that’s the last answer I’m giving you.”</p>
<p>Junior Site Administrator Reynolds, red in the face and clearly burning with the exertion of carrying a heavy object for the last 15 minutes, begins to whimper.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
Having whined at every corner, step and landing Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has been loudly and plainly miserable for nearly the entirety of the past hour. But by the time they have navigated the sculpture through the stairwell to the floor of Site Director Gerhardt’s office, Captain Davids has had to admit to herself a certain admiration for Junior Site Administrator Reynolds.</p>
<p><em>… Well. A grudging respect. Fondness, maybe even.</em></p>
<p>She has thus far observed no evidence that he has dug deep for inner strength, or that he has accepted the task before him with stoicism and grace, or that he has learned any humility from the choices that have put him in this circumstance to begin with. But for all of that, she has never had to pull him along.</p>
<p><em>And</em> - she has to give him - <em>he hasn’t quit. Just maybe there is a bit of something in there, a bit of grit. Maybe even the spark of a future leader.</em></p>
<p>Captain Davids grins. “Well, Reynolds, just a few more steps. Chin up, we’re in the home stretch.”</p>
<p>Junior Site Administrator Reynolds answers with something between a moan and a wail.</p>
<p>Captain Davids, looking over her shoulder as she takes a final backward step, stops just in front of the doorway. She frowns. “Huh.”</p>
<p>“… what is it?”</p>
<p>“You won’t like it.”</p>
<p>The other end of the sculpture sags but doesn’t drop. “Just tell me.”</p>
<p>“Well. Turns out this hallway goes east-west.”</p>
<p>For the first time in his professional career, Junior Site Administrator Reynolds exclaims several certain four-letter words.<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Item Description:</strong> A slate sculpture of a human hand and a section of forearm, standing approximately 0.5m tall and weighing 50kg. The object's orientation cannot be changed and acts as a perfect compass - the thumb always points due magnetic north.<br/>
<strong>Date of Recovery:</strong> ██-██-2012<br/>
<strong>Location of Recovery:</strong> Raid on a Marshall, Carter & Dark Ltd. warehouse in London, UK.<br/>
<strong>Current Status:</strong> Staff gardens at Sector-25.<br/>
<em>Notes: Accompanying recovered documentation indicates that MC&D was having difficulty finding a buyer for the object.</em></p>
</blockquote>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Re: [no subject]</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">Re: [no subject]</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div class="email-example">
<div class="email">
<div class="tofrom">
<p><strong>To:</strong> Custodial Manager Louis Kallen<br/>
<strong>From:</strong> Site Director Sofia Gerhardt<br/>
<strong>Subject:</strong> [no subject]</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Rest assured that Reynolds will be on a <span style="text-decoration: underline;">much</span> tighter leash from now on. If he gets in your hair again I want to know about it.</p>
<p>Request approved, hire a topiarist while you're at it. What a bloody eyesore</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/one-good-turn-deserves-another">One Good Turn Deserves Another (An AO Tale)</a>" by Eddie347, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/one-good-turn-deserves-another">https://scpwiki.com/one-good-turn-deserves-another</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[module CSS]]
.email-example .collapsible-block-folded a.collapsible-block-link {
animation: blink 0.8s ease-in-out infinite alternate;
}
@keyframes blink {
0% { color: transparent; }
50%, 100% { color: #b01; }
}
.email {border: solid 2px #000000; width: 88%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.5)}
.email-example a.collapsible-block-link {font-weight: bold;}
.tofrom {margin-left: 10px; margin-top: 5px; padding: 1px 15px; border-left: solid 3px maroon}
[[/module]]
[[>]]
[[module rate]]
[[/>]]
[[div style="text-align: right; margin-top: -18px; margin-right: 2em;"]]
##757575|by Eddie347##
[[/div]]
@@ @@
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has //never//, as a matter of personal decorum, used vulgar language while acting in his professional capacities. His forbearance from doing so, he feels, belies a more coolheaded demeanor and stoic unflappability as compared with his peers and even as compared with, dare he suggest it, a good many of his superiors.
But Junior Site Administrator Reynolds very nearly breaks his self-rule when he first encounters the sculpture. For the sculpture is, in the considered opinion of Junior Site Administrator Reynolds, such a drab and uninspired specimen in virtually every respect as to be unseemly, nay, //offensive// to the perceptive aesthete:
Having neither texture nor polish, it is a dull flat grey like ordinary concrete. Its proportions are cloyingly literal, yet at the same time frustratingly haphazard and inexact. Here and there the work betrays an inconstancy of intention as well: the texturing of skin around the fingernails shows an uncanny degree of detail while the wrinkles on the knuckle of the thumb are inexplicably incorrect, too many and extending too wide along the length of the digit. Gallingly, for all that visual clumsiness, the sculpture is entirely too big. Ostentatious. //Gaudy//, even, for the presumptuousness of its scale juxtaposed against the tepidity of its artistry.
It is, in a word, atrocious.
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds wants it desperately.
“For Site Director Gerhardt’s office, of course,” he remarks over his shoulder to Captain Davids, who stands noncommittally a meter or so behind him with her arms folded. She acknowledges his remark with a pop of her gum.
Tactically, scientifically or administratively speaking Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has no real function to perform at this moment in proceedings; the raid on the now-former Marshall Carter & Dark facility has gone according to textbook, the containment teams have secured the most significant objectives and the research teams are well underway with their examinations. All around him are highly qualified people getting on with important business, including a junior forensics agent attempting to extract a sheaf of documents Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has chosen to insist on pretending he hasn’t noticed he is standing directly on top of.
But Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has never let a lack of usefulness preclude his self-involvement in important happenings.
As a nominal member of Administration, Junior Site Administrator Reynolds naturally has the right to request a tactical escort for offsite business. He has made the request despite being briefed that his request is not, at this time, a prudent use of command resources and that his presence on site is not, at this time, necessary or wanted. Fortunately for him Captain Davids has cultivated a keenly refined sixth sense for chaos after nearly a decade of MTF fieldwork and so, having spent the last several weeks preparing and executing a full slate of tactical operations and sensing the potential for entertainment in this supervisory excursion, she has volunteered for this escort mission as her last before her well-earned R&R.
At the present moment Captain Davids is amusedly watching this strange small man who has strode like a colossus of competence through the facility, seemingly with no awareness that from the site entrance to this point he has stepped directly through and catastrophically disrupted no fewer than four separate forensic zones.
Meanwhile, Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has not only reached a decision but has furthermore exercised his prerogative to make it an executive one: that this //extraordinary// piece would be singly at home in the space where his own desk resides, i.e. the waiting room of Site Director Gerhardt’s office.
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds snaps his fingers, again over his shoulder: “Captain. Have this brought around front.” He keeps a businesslike tone, but has to suppress a chuckle.
//Oh yes, this is a good stroke indeed!//
It can only reflect well on him, after all, that he has taken the initiative, that he is such a //go-getter// as to have brought this anomalous piece back to the Director’s office.
//And such an impressive recovery, for someone with so little field experience!//
But as a reflection on Site Director Gerhardt, someone so senior and highly respected?
//What a travesty! And impractical, too, the way it takes up nearly the whole waiting area. Maybe it’s a sign the Director’s instincts just aren’t as sharp as they used to be, so sad!//
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds moves his hands to his hips and shakes his head, marveling at his own cleverness.
//Oh yes, I’ll play the games! I’ll hop every checker piece on the board, eventually. It is just a matter of time, oh yes…//
Then he notices nothing has happened.
“Too wide.” With lethal quiet Captain Davids has moved directly next to him; Junior Site Administrator Reynolds tries to parley a startled yelp into a cough. “Need a second set of hands.”
“Well! That’s no, ah, can anyone…?” Junior Site Administrator Reynolds looks around haplessly for a lackey, but unfortunately for him everyone else in the room has become keenly aware of exactly what he is trying to do and is therefore much too focused on what they are doing to hear him.
Captain Davids has meanwhile moved to one side of the sculpture. “Come on, then, let’s not keep the Site Director waiting.”
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds resignedly grasps the other side and heaves, huffing and grunting but eventually managing to get his side to just below knee height.
Captain Davids lifts casually. “Ready?”
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds wheezes in reply.
@@ @@
------
@@ @@
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has insisted on commandeering a transport van that had up to this point housed a remote research workstation, the instruments of which now lie scattered hazardously on the MC&D loading dock to be retrieved, the researchers have been reassured with an absent handwave, at some indeterminate point in the future.
//I suppose Junior Site Administrator Reynolds,// Captain Davids muses as she pulls up to a red light and grabs a Jammy Dodger from the bag in the seat next to her, //is more an ideas man than a details man.//
Had she been asked to do so Captain Davids would, of course, have agreed to accompany the sculpture in the rear of the van. But Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has valiantly preempted any such obligation on her part by insisting that the the item is, he reminds her, //technically// in the custody of Site Administration and that he would therefore be remaining with the sculpture himself, secluded behind the divider that completely separated the front seats of the van from the cramped rear hold.
She eases into a left turn. From the back, she hears a //thunk// against one wall of the van which is followed by an angry “Ow!” and indistinct muttering.
“Sorry,” she calls back. “Left turn now.”
“Could you please, Captain,” the muffled voice barely carries over the air conditioning blowing loudly in the cab, “Call out the turns //before// you begin them.”
“Right,” she said between sips of a Coke, “my mistake.” She approaches another light, moving into the right lane this time.
She still isn’t sold, Captain Davids reflects, on Junior Site Administrator Reynolds as, say, a person she’d enjoy sharing a beer with. But she admits to herself that she is coming around in regards to his tenacity and - //what would you say?// - conviction.
She pulls forward as the light turns yellow, slipping the right turn just before the light turns red.
//Thunk.// “Augh!”
“Sorry,” she calls back. “Right turn now.”
@@ @@
------
@@ @@
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds is standing just outside the door of the freight elevator, which has been blocked from closing by the very tippiest tip of the middle finger. Captain Davids is leaning against the back wall of the elevator, holding up her end of the sculpture with one hand and working her way through a pack of Nutter Butters with the other.
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds is, at present, doing a poor job of keeping the pain of physical exertion out of his voice. “I //know// it would fit long ways, you blithering fool, but we //can’t// just turn it long ways, that’s the whole reason we’re having this conversation!”
Custodial Manager Kallen methodically finds a cleanish spot on his work cloth to wipe his brow, speaking calmly over Junior Site Administrator Reynolds’s exasperated sputtering:
“Look, //sir,// I’m not doing nothin’ to these elevators. No cutting holes, no taking off walls, no overriding safety protocols. Not without clearance from the Director themself. That’s it, that’s the last answer I’m giving you.”
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds, red in the face and clearly burning with the exertion of carrying a heavy object for the last 15 minutes, begins to whimper.
@@ @@
------
@@ @@
Having whined at every corner, step and landing Junior Site Administrator Reynolds has been loudly and plainly miserable for nearly the entirety of the past hour. But by the time they have navigated the sculpture through the stairwell to the floor of Site Director Gerhardt’s office, Captain Davids has had to admit to herself a certain admiration for Junior Site Administrator Reynolds.
//… Well. A grudging respect. Fondness, maybe even.//
She has thus far observed no evidence that he has dug deep for inner strength, or that he has accepted the task before him with stoicism and grace, or that he has learned any humility from the choices that have put him in this circumstance to begin with. But for all of that, she has never had to pull him along.
//And// - she has to give him - //he hasn’t quit. Just maybe there is a bit of something in there, a bit of grit. Maybe even the spark of a future leader.//
Captain Davids grins. “Well, Reynolds, just a few more steps. Chin up, we’re in the home stretch.”
Junior Site Administrator Reynolds answers with something between a moan and a wail.
Captain Davids, looking over her shoulder as she takes a final backward step, stops just in front of the doorway. She frowns. “Huh.”
“... what is it?”
“You won’t like it.”
The other end of the sculpture sags but doesn’t drop. “Just tell me.”
“Well. Turns out this hallway goes east-west.”
For the first time in his professional career, Junior Site Administrator Reynolds exclaims several certain four-letter words.
@@ @@
------
@@ @@
> **Item Description:** A slate sculpture of a human hand and a section of forearm, standing approximately 0.5m tall and weighing 50kg. The object's orientation cannot be changed and acts as a perfect compass - the thumb always points due magnetic north.
> **Date of Recovery:** ██-██-2012
> **Location of Recovery:** Raid on a Marshall, Carter & Dark Ltd. warehouse in London, UK.
> **Current Status:** Staff gardens at Sector-25.
> //Notes: Accompanying recovered documentation indicates that MC&D was having difficulty finding a buyer for the object.//
@@ @@
[[collapsible show="Re: [no subject]" hide="Re: [no subject]" ]]
[[div class="email-example"]]
[[div class="email"]]
[[div class="tofrom"]]
**To:** Custodial Manager Louis Kallen
**From:** Site Director Sofia Gerhardt
**Subject:** [no subject]
[[/div]]
------
Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Rest assured that Reynolds will be on a __much__ tighter leash from now on. If he gets in your hair again I want to know about it.
Request approved, hire a topiarist while you're at it. What a bloody eyesore
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[/collapsible]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[!-- N/A (No Images) --]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-08-27T03:24:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"ao-tale",
"tale"
] |
One Good Turn Deserves Another (An AO Tale) - SCP Foundation
| 1
|
[
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1456582437
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/one-good-turn-deserves-another
|
|
one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=1&theme=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:ad-abyssum-penumbra&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<div style="display: none">
<p><span style="font-size:80%;">This bit down here controls the logo and subtitle changes. Is it cursed? Yes. Is it annoyingly effective? Also yes.</span></p>
<div class="code">
<div class="hl-main">
<pre><span class="hl-special">:root</span><span class="hl-code"> </span><span class="hl-brackets">{</span><span class="hl-code">
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">lgurl:</span><span class="hl-code"> url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%</span><span class="hl-number">3</span><span class="hl-code">Aad-abyssum-penumbra/tacttheo_parareligions.png)</span><span class="hl-code">;
--</span><span class="hl-reserved">header-subtitle:</span><span class="hl-code"> var(--parareligions)</span><span class="hl-code">;
</span><span class="hl-brackets">}</span></pre></div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="info-container">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<div>
<blockquote>
<p>There's no more seats in Heaven<br/>
No space to move; that place is packed<br/>
It's only standing room in Heaven<br/>
But Hell is glad to have you back</p>
</blockquote>
<p>(Standing Room in Heaven - That Handsome Devil)</p>
<p>One Hundred and Fifty Thousand.</p>
<p>Written by <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/troutmaskreplica" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5346544); return false;"><img alt="TroutMaskReplica" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=5346544&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1725248721" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=5346544)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/troutmaskreplica" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(5346544); return false;">TroutMaskReplica</a></span> and <span class="printuser avatarhover"><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/uncle-nicolini" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3487700); return false;"><img alt="Uncle Nicolini" class="small" src="https://www.wikidot.com/avatar.php?userid=3487700&amp;size=small&amp;timestamp=1725248721" style="background-image:url(https://www.wikidot.com/userkarma.php?u=3487700)"/></a><a href="http://www.wikidot.com/user:info/uncle-nicolini" onclick="WIKIDOT.page.listeners.userInfo(3487700); return false;">Uncle Nicolini</a></span>.</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div id="u-author_block">
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/trouts-authorpage">▸ More by this Author ◂</a></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<div id="u-comments2" style="display: none;">
<p>{$comments2}</p>
</div>
<div class="u-faq">
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-ayers">F.A.Q.</a></p>
</div>
<div style="display: none;">
<p>{$doesthisfixthebug}</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Our gods did not anticipate for how far we would progress. They expected humanity to endure for a generation, perhaps a few if we were fortunate. They created an afterlife for those who passed away—a loving mansion, brimming with everything one could desire. It seems infinite, but the key word here is "seems."</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Stretching approximately thirty kilometers in width and fourteen in length, the house is undeniably massive, of course. But to label it as infinite would be an exaggeration.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Yet, with every person who died, they were sent to that mansion. The initial generations were content, and the following ones as well.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>A couple hundred years later, however, it began to feel a little crowded. Not as much room for oneself. Of course it was livable; they didn't have a choice in the matter.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>It filled up, leaving less room to move or even think to oneself. Despite being in the afterlife, where one simply cannot die, more souls filled its walls. Eventually, it became impossible to move.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>The gods didn't watch us; they abandoned us to grow and expand our horizons. And we did.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Famine. War. Conquest. All of these brought more and more death. The world grew. Populations boomed. The living prospered, while the dead suffered.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Through broken bones, liquefied flesh, and frayed nerves, more and more came.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>And so it has been, and so it shall be, for all the rest of time.</p>
</div>
<br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span>
<div class="collection">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">More From This Author</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<table style="1px solid black; width: 100%;">
<tr>
<th class="namerow" colspan="2"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p>TroutMaskReplica's Works</p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">SCPs</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7921">SCP-7921</a> <em>(+40)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6862">SCP-6862</a> <em>(+80)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7084">SCP-7084</a> <em>(+171)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7155">SCP-7155</a> <em>(+59)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8420">SCP-8420</a> <em>(+78)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-5315">SCP-5315</a> <em>(+42)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-5796">SCP-5796</a> <em>(+101)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6160">SCP-6160</a> <em>(+76)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6356">SCP-6356</a> <em>(+51)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-1305">SCP-1305</a> <em>(+80)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8380">SCP-8380</a> <em>(+80)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-6289">SCP-6289</a> <em>(+124)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-8990">SCP-8990</a> <em>(+23)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7345">SCP-7345</a> <em>(+126)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scp-7640">SCP-7640</a> <em>(+44)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Tales/GoI Formats</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/backtobed">Heading Off to Bed</a> <em>(+37)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/scatterbrained">scatterbrained.</a> <em>(+50)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/vile">VILE</a> <em>(+38)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/the-son-you-love">The Son You Love</a> <em>(+50)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/daisydeathdysphoria">Daisies, Death, and Dysphoria</a> <em>(+72)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/it-will-all-be-okay">It Will All Be Okay</a> <em>(+38)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/in-her-arms">in her arms,</a> <em>(+35)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/moonlight">Moonlight, My Dear</a> <em>(+13)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/deny-defend-depose">Deny, Delay, Depose</a> <em>(+87)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/freefall">Freefall</a> <em>(+27)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
<tr>
<th class="titlecolumn">Other</th>
<th class="articlecolumn"><div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:buy-our-products">Christmas Industries (Art Exchange)</a> <em>(+17)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:a-basilisk">ArtExchange 2024 For UberGoober</a> <em>(+26)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:life-and-death">Bohart's Life and Death</a> <em>(+36)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:reach-for-the-stars">A timely death.</a> <em>(+19)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/trouts-authorpage">Trout's EPIC Authorpage</a> <em>(+159)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:soy-un-perdedor">Soy Un Perdedor</a> <em>(+22)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
<div class="list-pages-item">
<p><a href="/art:they-got-away">Jawn Proposal (Fanart!)</a> <em>(+23)</em> <span class="collectiondot">•</span></p>
</div>
</div></th>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand">One Hundred And Fifty Thousand</a>" by TroutMaskReplica, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand">https://scpwiki.com/one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:ad-abyssum-penumbra">:scp-wiki:theme:ad-abyssum-penumbra</a> division=parareligions]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:info-ayers">:scp-wiki:component:info-ayers</a>
|lang=en
|page=component:info-ayers
|authorPage= https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/trouts-authorpage
|comments=
> There's no more seats in Heaven
> No space to move; that place is packed
> It's only standing room in Heaven
> But Hell is glad to have you back
(Standing Room in Heaven - That Handsome Devil)
One Hundred and Fifty Thousand.
Written by [[*user Troutmaskreplica]] and [[*user uncle nicolini]].]]
[[=]]
[[module rate]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Our gods did not anticipate for how far we would progress. They expected humanity to endure for a generation, perhaps a few if we were fortunate. They created an afterlife for those who passed away—a loving mansion, brimming with everything one could desire. It seems infinite, but the key word here is "seems."
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Stretching approximately thirty kilometers in width and fourteen in length, the house is undeniably massive, of course. But to label it as infinite would be an exaggeration.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Yet, with every person who died, they were sent to that mansion. The initial generations were content, and the following ones as well.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
A couple hundred years later, however, it began to feel a little crowded. Not as much room for oneself. Of course it was livable; they didn't have a choice in the matter.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
It filled up, leaving less room to move or even think to oneself. Despite being in the afterlife, where one simply cannot die, more souls filled its walls. Eventually, it became impossible to move.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
The gods didn't watch us; they abandoned us to grow and expand our horizons. And we did.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Famine. War. Conquest. All of these brought more and more death. The world grew. Populations boomed. The living prospered, while the dead suffered.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Through broken bones, liquefied flesh, and frayed nerves, more and more came.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
And so it has been, and so it shall be, for all the rest of time.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[include <a href="/component:wikimodule">component:wikimodule</a> |ratings= --]]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
|
2024-03-05T01:19:00
|
[
"_licensebox",
"bleak",
"body-horror",
"co-authored",
"horror",
"no-dialogue",
"religious-fiction",
"rewrite",
"tactical-theology",
"tale"
] |
One Hundred And Fifty Thousand - SCP Foundation
| 67
|
[
"trouts-authorpage",
"component:info-ayers",
"scp-7921",
"scp-6862",
"scp-7084",
"scp-7155",
"scp-8420",
"scp-5315",
"scp-5796",
"scp-6160",
"scp-6356",
"scp-1305",
"scp-8380",
"scp-6289",
"scp-8990",
"scp-7345",
"scp-7640",
"backtobed",
"scatterbrained",
"vile",
"the-son-you-love",
"daisydeathdysphoria",
"it-will-all-be-okay",
"in-her-arms",
"moonlight",
"deny-defend-depose",
"freefall",
"art:buy-our-products",
"art:a-basilisk",
"art:life-and-death",
"art:reach-for-the-stars",
"art:soy-un-perdedor",
"art:they-got-away",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[] |
[] |
1452928781
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand
|
|
one-more-tomorrow
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<div class="preview">
<p>Snippets of a world under Pizzicato.</p>
</div>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=3&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Ascp-offices-theme/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><iframe src="//interwiki.scpwiki.com/styleFrame.html?priority=4&theme=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--code/theme%3Ascp-human-resources/1&css={$css}" style="display: none"></iframe></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-family: 'Copperplate Gothic'; color: #B61805; font-size: 400%"><strong>One More Tomorrow</strong></span><br/>
<span style="font-family: 'Copperplate Gothic'; color: #B61805; font-size: 190%"><strong>Vignettes From A World Under Pizzicato</strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Broadcast Name:</strong> Maxwell's Silver Radio</p>
<p><strong>Broadcast Location:</strong> Originates from Oconto County, Wisconsin. Available in Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois, Minnesota and Indiana.</p>
<p><strong>Host:</strong> Quinten Anderson</p>
<p><strong>Broadcast Focus:</strong> Mixed. Features large, in-depth news segments on current affairs, particularly in US and Americas-centric politics, interspersed with music.</p>
<p><strong>Transcript Date:</strong> Wednesday, March 7th, 2049</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Transcript begin, 0800 Hours CST</em></p>
<p><strong>Anderson:</strong> Good morning Midwest, and welcome back to Maxwell's Silver Radio. I'm your host, Quinten Anderson, and today is February 17th. Wednesday, hump day. Hang in there, folks! Now, let's get some news.</p>
<p><em>A small musical cue plays, and a series of mouse clicks can be heard through Anderson's microphone.</em></p>
<p><strong>Anderson:</strong> What in the—</p>
<p><em>Further clicking is heard, followed by ten seconds of silence.</em></p>
<p><strong>Anderson:</strong> …WAN help us all.</p>
<p><em>Anderson sighs deeply before continuing.</em></p>
<p><strong>Anderson:</strong> After a popular vote from the Council of 108, the United Nations Global Occult Coalition has declared the United States to be under a national lockdown until such a time where the <a href="/kte-9817-bluebuster-mendel-shelley-renegade-armbrusteri">"Washington Virus"</a> has been isolated and neutralized. Nobody and nothing enters or leaves the country until that happens. Talks are currently underway surrounding the possibility of enacting a limited form of "Procedure Pizzicato" within the borders of the United States in order to further limit the spread of the virus.</p>
<p><em>Ten further seconds of silence.</em></p>
<p><strong>Anderson:</strong> …I'm aware we only just started, but I'm going to need to run some ads quickly. Need to call my mother.</p>
<p><em>The sound of a chair scrapping against wood can be heard, as the recording cuts to an advertisement for McDonald's.</em></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="sapphire-symbol.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">SAPPHIRE</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂safirofficial</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">We stand by our support for <span class="vactivity">⁂POTUS</span> Crenshaw in these trying times and wish him and his family safety and wellbeing during this <span class="vactivity">#quarantine</span>.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">221</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">1,260</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">12:21 PM · Mar 13, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><span style="font-size:0.85em;">WPhO » <a href="javascript:;">Washington Viron</a> » <a href="javascript:;">Notes on quarantine</a> » <a href="javascript:;">Frequently Asked Questions</a></span></p>
<h4 id="toc0"><span><a href="javascript:;">⮞ Is the Virus in my city?</a></span></h4>
<h4 id="toc1"><span><a href="javascript:;">⮞ What helps against the virus?</a></span></h4>
<h4 id="toc2"><span>⮟ What Mass Gatherings can I still visit?</span></h4>
<p>No physical gatherings including more than two households are allowed for the foreseeable future. Gatherings via digital, astral or other simulacra are not affected.</p>
<p>As a rule of thumb, if you can feel another person's real warmth, it is disallowed.</p>
<h4 id="toc3"><span><a href="javascript:;">⮞ What do I do if I have contracted the virus?</a></span></h4>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="Andrew_Eldritch_-_Wacken_Open_Air_2019.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Andrew_Eldritch_-_Wacken_Open_Air_2019.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">The Obsorvor</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂returnthegaze</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">Don't know about you, but my mancave's ready for quarantine 😎 <img alt="Bedroom_in_a_cave_dwelling%2C_Tenerife.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Bedroom_in_a_cave_dwelling%2C_Tenerife.jpg" style="border: 1px solid #cfd9de; border-radius: 6px; margin-top: 18px; margin-bottom: 12px; width: 100%;"/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">54</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">200</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">07:22 PM · Mar 16, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="Sappho_and_Erinna_in_a_Garden_at_Mytilene.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Sappho_and_Erinna_in_a_Garden_at_Mytilene.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Isle of Lesbos</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂catraisgender</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem"><span class="vactivity">⁂returnthegaze</span> Pros of dating a victorian-era vampire, best quarantine hideout don't ⁂ me <img alt="19th_century_Victorian_living_room%2C_Auckland_-_0816.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/19th_century_Victorian_living_room%2C_Auckland_-_0816.jpg" style="border: 1px solid #cfd9de; border-radius: 6px; margin-top: 18px; margin-bottom: 12px; width: 100%;"/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">230</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">801</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">11:41 PM · Mar 16, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="sheep.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/sheep.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Awoken Sheeperson</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂stackofwool</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem"><span class="vactivity">⁂catraisgender</span> don't need no fancy mansions, got all I need right here <img alt="Modern_Living_Room.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Modern_Living_Room.jpg" style="border: 1px solid #cfd9de; border-radius: 6px; margin-top: 18px; margin-bottom: 12px; width: 100%;"/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">24</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">103</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">00:11 AM · Mar 17, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="James_Hyatt_Inhaling_Chlorine_Gas_MET_DP332531_%28cropped%29.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/James_Hyatt_Inhaling_Chlorine_Gas_MET_DP332531_%28cropped%29.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Jon</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂jon</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">Quarantine has begun. My time has come. Leave the light for the infected, I descend to my final home. <img alt="Staircase_descends_into_cave_at_Maresha.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Staircase_descends_into_cave_at_Maresha.jpg" style="border: 1px solid #cfd9de; border-radius: 6px; margin-top: 18px; margin-bottom: 12px; width: 100%;"/> <span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">2</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">15</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">01:50 AM · Mar 17, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="Andrew_Eldritch_-_Wacken_Open_Air_2019.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Andrew_Eldritch_-_Wacken_Open_Air_2019.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">The Obsorvor</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂returnthegaze</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem"><span class="vactivity">⁂jon</span> Hey man, you're always welcome down here. I got room for one more.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">1</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">7</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">11:30 AM · Mar 17, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><em>The following is a partial recording, taken from</em> RTÉ News: Nine O'Clock <em>on Friday, 17/03/2049.</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>The camera displays a view of Dublin's Temple Bar, people bustling along its length as miniature Irish flags hang from strings between buildings. A small box in the corner of the recording labels the reporter as one "Gormyne Shey."</em></p>
<p><strong>Shey:</strong> Saint Patrick's Day. A massive holiday for the Irish tourism industry, and one that will likely be heavily hit by the ongoing American pandemic.</p>
<p><em>The video cuts to a view of downtown Boston. A few individuals in facemasks pass the camera by, but the street is otherwise empty.</em></p>
<p><strong>Shey:</strong> However, many Americans remain heavily opposed to the ongoing lockdown, and just as many wish to travel over the Atlantic to Ireland for the holiday. And, in spite of the strict measures implemented by the Global Occult Coalition, many still find a way to do so.</p>
<p><em>The recording changes to display a video, presumably recorded on a mobile phone. The recording individual is standing on the back of a container ship, exiting Dingle Bay in County Kerry. Suddenly, a figure materializes a few meters to the ship's starboard side, vocalizes loudly and falls out of view, accompanied by a loud splash.</em></p>
<p><strong>Shey:</strong> Several items advertising themselves`as "dado land of ire teleport ring" have appeared on a number of online shopping sites across the United States, claiming to allow the user to teleport directly into the Republic of Ireland without concern for the thaumaturgic barrier preventing it. While it does work as advertised, there are some unwanted side effects.</p>
<p><em>The recording switches to another phone recording on Saint Patrick's Street, Cork City. Two members of An Garda Siochana are speaking with a visibly angry woman in a green shirt and a Boston Red Sox baseball hat.</em></p>
<p><strong>Shey:</strong> While it does seem that those who purchase the item are able to arrive in Ireland with occasional issue, many appear incredibly agitated, with several reported cases of aggravated assault being reported in Cork, Dublin and Belfast as a result. The Department of Justice are advising anyone to avoid any individuals who may be affected and to call the Gardaí to report the case.</p>
<p><em>The recording switches to stock footage of a young man on a laptop, seemingly browsing an online shop.</em></p>
<p><strong>Shey:</strong> Despite attempts by Vanguard and the GOC to remove these items from online shopping sites, they often seem to reappear almost immediately. So far, no contact with the creator of the product, the known paracriminal "dado," has been made. Gormyne Shey, RTE News, Bray.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><span style="font-size:0.85em;"><a href="javascript:;">@Mass Email to All Wondertainment Purchasers!</a></span></p>
<p>3/18/49</p>
<p>Hello all the Wonder(tainment)ful folk who are looking to purchase our products!</p>
<p>Unfortunately, due to current Lockdown Restrictions, we will be unable to ship any products to any locations outside of the United States of America both geographically and anomalously for the foreseeable future. Locations include (but are not limited to!) Three Portlands, Undervegas, The Wanderer's Library, Hy-Brasil, and Mongolia.</p>
<p>We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause to our customers.</p>
<p>- The Good Doctor!</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="640px-Diac-schematic-symbol.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/640px-Diac-schematic-symbol.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">VacDiac Corp</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂vacdiaccorporation</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">Due to the current situation in the mainland US, certain states may have limited power and/or complete outages. Please stay patient at this time, we are working to restore coverage and fix these problems.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">244</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">1,234</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">11:03 AM · Mar 23, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="wdh.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/wdh.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Wind Dew Travel Agency</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂winddewtravel</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">In accordance with the Global Occult Coalition's quarantine on the United States, we are hereby ceasing all travel in and out of the country in TL-1911. We thank you for your patience and will refund any booked tours.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">103</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">1,241</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">05:25 PM · Apr 2, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="border: 5px solid #d73044; width: 90%; padding: 5px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2); background: white; text-align: center">
<div class="unmargined" style='font-family: "Bebas Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 900%; margin: 2px 0 5px; border-bottom: 2px solid #191919;'>
<p>JACOBIN</p>
</div>
<div class="unmargined" style='font-family: "Bebas Neue", sans-serif; font-weight: bold; margin: 2px 0 5px; color: #191919;'>
<p><span style="font-size: 350%;">"Neo-China arrives from the future"</span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 250%;">What Are China's Reforms Amidst the American Lockdown Crisis?</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Do YOU get tired of eating your roommates after a whole two weeks of quarantine? Well, if you crave some diversity in your diet, Ambrose Restaurants has a treat just for you!</p>
<p>Just because our US branches have temporarily closed down doesn't mean you have to deprive yourselves of the wonderous experiences we have to offer. Utilizing new paratech advencements, upon placing your order through our app you will be sent a specialized (but simple!) ritual in order to complete your delivery through magical means!* All free of contact, no need to go outside!</p>
<p>No magic? No problem! With just an easy payment of $9.99, you can order a self-powered Portaplate™ to be delivered to your home for the express purpose of teleporting OUR food to YOUR home.</p>
<p>Visit our website or app for more information!</p>
<p><em>*Ambrose Restaurants is not responsible for any mishaps or accidents due to improper spellcasting.</em></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="tslbdWm.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/i-did-not-fade/tslbdWm.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Vanguard</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂VanguardOfficial</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">On behalf of the World Parahealth Organisation, we would like to remind all those currently under lockdown in the United States of America that you cannot "walk off," "sleep off," or otherwise "[verb] off" the Washington Virus. Any sources stating otherwise should have further advice taken with a large quantity of salt.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">1,802</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">7,398</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">07:53 PM · Apr 9, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="640px-Abandoned_concrete_factory_mechanism.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/640px-Abandoned_concrete_factory_mechanism.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">LittlePengear</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂littlepengear</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">rip to everyone getting sick rn but im built different</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">22</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">89</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">12:15 PM · Apr 17, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="640px-Abandoned_concrete_factory_mechanism.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/640px-Abandoned_concrete_factory_mechanism.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">LittlePengear</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂littlepengear</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">hopital</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">23</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">116</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">3:45 AM · Apr 24, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);">
<p style="text-align: center;"><img alt="aviatica.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nexus-hyperline/aviatica.png" width="200px"/></p>
<div class="unmargined" style="font-size: 450%; margin: 2px 0 5px; font-family: 'Montserrat', sans-serif; color: #f26c0c;">
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>AVIATICA</strong></p>
</div>
<div class="unmargined" style="font-size: 120%; margin: 2px 0 5px; font-family: 'Raleway', sans-serif;">
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>With the Wings of Freedom Rings the Bell of Progress</strong></p>
</div>
<div class="unmargined" style="color: #f08502; font-family: serif; font-size: 105%; font-family: 'Roboto', sans-serif; font-weight: 900;">
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>30/04/2049 | ISSUE 132, VOLUME 7</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="unmargined" style="font-size: 92%; margin: 2px 0 5px; font-family: 'Raleway', sans-serif;">
<p><span style="font-size:400%;"><strong>Murder Machine Mobilization</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<p><span style="font-size:120%;"><strong>After a series of arrests made near UIU headquarters in a number of West Coast cities, Director Peter Burns has unveiled plans for the Unit's future operations under lockdown to be carried out via headset-operated drones, controlled by agents from the safety of their own homes.</strong><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<strong>Created by <a href="/groups-of-interest-jp#tohei_hi">Tou-Hei Heavy Industries</a> in partnership with the FBI, the androids acts as though the pilot were in their own body, even being able to channel limited amounts of EVE through a series of thaumo-electric circuits specially designed to prevent the Washington Virus from entering its interior. According to a UIU spokesbeing, the androids will be subject to extremely rigorous cleaning procedures to ensure minimal infection rates among staff members.</strong><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<strong>Many have been quick to criticize this plan, however. As pointed out by several members of online communities, the full statement released by the UIU on their website avoids the primary concern among many surrounding anonymity. No indication has been given that the officer operating any of these androids will be in any way identifiable, leading many to raise concerns surrounding potentially unsolvable cases of police brutality.</strong><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<strong>At the time of writing, the UIU has not responded to these queries, alongside several more put forward by many online.</strong></span></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="sapphire-symbol.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">SAPPHIRE</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂safirofficial</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">We understand our recent Void post has upset many who believe religion should be kept out of politics, which confuses us since we don't like religion to begin with? What are you all talking about?</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">360</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">1,087</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">02:57 PM · May 1, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>[<a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/groups-of-interest-ko#Alleys">Back Alley</a>/PlugSoft Channels]</strong></p>
<h1 id="toc4"><span>Announcement To American Users Of PlugSoft TVRMMOs (IMPORTANT! Please Read!)</span></h1>
<p><strong>By:</strong> LittleWeirdButImChill<span style="color: green">♦</span><br/></p>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<p><strong>Date:</strong> 07/05/2049</p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>Hello to all of our American players!</p>
<p>We at PlugSoft are sad to announce that, in light of potential damages done to our servers by individuals affected by the Washington Virus attempting to utilize our TVR headsets, we are closing access to all our Thaumaturgical Virtual Reality Massively Multiplayer Online games within the bounds of the United States until such a time where the Virus is no longer a major threat to our servers. We ask that you be patient during this time, and look forward to the abundance of new content that will suddenly be available to you upon your return! For the time being, all accounts based out of the United States have had their membership granted a leave of subscription until they are once more accessible.</p>
<p>👍 <span style="color: blue">439</span> | 👎 <span style="color: red">783</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="Mises_family_crest_with_transparent_backgrounnn.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Mises_family_crest_with_transparent_backgrounnn.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Hadfield Family Estate</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂HadfieldEstate</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">We are very sad to announce that for the forseeable future, all regular lectures organized by the Estate are canceled. As both Mr. John and Ms. Abigail are currently stuck inside the United States following their connecting flight to the Daevon archeological dig, they will <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wayward-forlorn-kin">both be unavailable for as long as the US quarantine remains in place</a>.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">162</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">5,183</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">06:21 PM · May 11, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Olivia Johnson:</strong> Welcome welcome welcome to Last Week Tonight. I am Olivia Johnson, thank you so much for joining us, it has been a busy week! The GOC has ramped up its crackdown on Pizzicato-related protests in the US, almost killing a fifty year old man with tear gas. Taylor Swift has reportedly been infected by the Washington Virion, and JOICL has announced their brand new product aimed at victims of the virus, which, according to Vanguard, is essentially an "<a href="/joicl8kdr">Empty, soulless meat puppet that can do magic</a>" to serve as a replacement for infected bodies. But tonight we're going to focus on a different breed of dystopian hypercapitalism: a group that's rarely covered by mainstream media, Marshall, Carter and Dark. Specifically, their role in sustaining the American economy during the pandemic.</p>
<p><em>Feed cuts to Robert Carter being interviewed by the New York Times.</em></p>
<p><strong>Robert Carter:</strong> Without international trade, the American economy would have collapsed in a matter of weeks. We were the only ones who could have saved it. So we did what MC&D does best, and lo and behold: <a href="/carter-courier-channel">Carter Courier Channel</a>. It's cheap, fast, and most importantly <em>sterile</em>, allowing us to transport any material from one side of the world to another with zero risk of spreading the virus.</p>
<p><em>Feed cuts back to Olivia Johnson.</em></p>
<p><strong>Olivia Johnson:</strong> Now ignore the massive savior complex there for a moment, can we talk about how he named it the "Carter Courier Channel"? I don't mean to be rude, but it really sounds like the sort of idea that should not have made it past post-nut clarity.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="sapphire-symbol.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">SAPPHIRE</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂safirofficial</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">So if I'm to understand this right, our fanatical atheism might as well be a religion, and Filbuson Syndrome is itself caused by Akiva radiation?</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">391</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">964</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">03:12 PM · May 17, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Recording of a call made on 20/05/2049:</strong></p>
<p><em>40 seconds of hold music.</em></p>
<p><strong>Voice:</strong> You've reached the <a href="/goldbaker-reinz-hub">Goldbaker Reinz Ltd.</a> Healthcare Insurance automated telephone line. Our most sincere apologies, but all of our lines in the US area are occupied at the moment. A teleoperator will be with you shortly!</p>
<p><em>40 seconds of hold music.</em></p>
<p><strong>Voice:</strong> You've reached the Goldbaker Reinz Ltd. Healthcare Insurance automated telephone line. Our most sincere…</p>
<p><em>The call goes on for 8 hours without interruption.</em></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="Lib3Ports.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Lib3Ports.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Libertarian Party 3Ports</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂LP3Ports</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">We oppose governmental restrictions of <span class="vactivity">⁂UNGOC</span> and <span class="vactivity">⁂POTUS</span>.<br/>
<br/>
We believe that it would be better for society (and the market) if we put these services in the hands of PMCs, private security agencies and private healthcare!<br/>
<br/>
Let's eliminate unnecessary red tape and let the free market do its best! 👏</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">48</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">651</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">2:21 PM · May 27, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia</p>
<hr/>
<p>The <strong>2049 Atalanta Thaumo-Rail Derailment</strong> occurred on May 27th, 2049. A <a href="javascript:;">NMZ Transportation</a> Thaumo-Rail disconnected from its driver, who had contracted the <a href="javascript:;">Washington Virus</a> during a stop in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nashville,_Tennessee">Nashvilee, Tennessee</a> the previous day. The disconnection occurred as the train entered <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peachtree_station">Atlanta Peachtree Station</a>, leading to the front two carriages of the train mounting one of the station's platforms. Twelve people were killed in the accident, with fifty-eight more suffering major injuries. It is one of the first major infrastructural incidents caused by the virus' effects, and often considered to be the largest single loss of life as the result of a Virus-affected public transport incident. […]</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="MCF.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/groups-of-interest/MCF.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">MCF North America</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂MCFNAofficial</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">In accordance with the ultimatum delivered to us by the UIU and UNGOC, we will temporarily be closing our Hawaiian facilities until the current issue with indefinitely duplicating cans of Heinz beans can be resolved. We ask for your patience and understanding at this time, as well as for any practicing thaumaturges willing to risk their ability to cast spells for their assistance in removing the curse affecting these items before Kauai is buried in aluminum and tomato sauce.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">298</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">2,178</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">02:07 PM · June 11, 2050</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Offender:</strong> Edward Edwin "Hertz" Nguyen (PoI-76293). Under Vanguard supervision for unauthorized hacking into SCP Foundation databases until its dissolution; wanted in the United States of America for breaking and entering, seventeen counts of wire fraud, two counts of escape from prison, and conspiracy to commit election fraud. Has resided in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam since 2041. Under Vanguard surveillance.<br/>
<strong>Date:</strong> June 14, 2049<br/>
<strong>Recording type:</strong> Audio</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>Begin Log</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p>23:11:06 — <em>PoI-76293 and an unknown woman can be heard conversing in Vietnamese. The microphone, hidden inside a DVD player directly underneath a television, cannot initially capture the content of their conversation. The television is streaming CBS.</em></p>
<p><strong>Television Audio:</strong> A woman (presumed to be CBS anchor Julia Hartley) speaks.</p>
<p><strong>Hartley:</strong> Breaking news: The malfunction of House Speaker Brian Mast's prosthetic legs has been found to be linked to the Washington Virion. The incident, which took place yesterday following a fundraiser in Mast's home state of Florida, left the Congressman in critical condition — a CBS team on the scene were able to inadvertently capture it on video while attempting to interview him. A warning to our viewers: The following footage is graphic.</p>
<p><strong>PoI-76293:</strong> Này, này! Bạn phải xem cái này!</p>
<p><em>PoI-76293 and the woman fall silent.</em></p>
<p><strong>Television Audio:</strong> Ambient crowd chatter and white noise. A man, presumed to be CBS journalist Devin Newsom, can be heard addressing Mast.</p>
<p><strong>Newsom:</strong> Speaker Mast, can you say anything about how your state plans to respond to Pizzicato?</p>
<p><strong>Mast:</strong> I'll say this, and only this, and then you'll leave me the hell alone. I'd like to remind you and the GOC and their backers that this country and the state of Florida have the right to self-defense, whether that's through pre-emptive action — like the national security initiative introduced by President Crenshaw last year — or direct military reprisal.</p>
<p><em>A woman, presumed to be NBC journalist Annika Oroxom, interjects.</em></p>
<p><strong>Oroxom:</strong> Could you elaborate on that statement?</p>
<p><strong>Mast:</strong> I told you that was all I'd say.</p>
<p><strong>Television Audio:</strong> A muffled pop and the sound of metal clattering on metal.</p>
<p><strong>Unidentified:</strong> Mr. Mast? Are you all right?</p>
<p><strong>Mast:</strong> Fine. Don't— get off of me, I'm not—</p>
<p><strong>Newsom:</strong> Congressman-</p>
<p><strong>Television Audio:</strong> A series of loud, sharp cracks followed by tearing metal and electrical crackling. Mast groans. Gasps and screams from onlookers followed by repeated heavy impacts.</p>
<p><em>PoI-76293 howls with laughter.</em></p>
<p><strong>PoI-76293:</strong> Đó chưa phải là tất cả!</p>
<p><strong>Television Audio:</strong> A chime.</p>
<p><strong>PoI-76293:</strong> Open browser and look up "Brian Mast escalator Void."</p>
<p><em>Footsteps can be heard leaving the room. A door opens and closes. PoI-76293 huffs.</em></p>
<p>23:15:00 - 24:44:07 — White noise interspersed with PoI-76293 snickering and various viral videos commentating on or remixing footage of Brian Mast's fall down an up escalator in St. Petersburg, Florida, United States. Mast was found to have illegally outfitted his prosthetic legs with paratech enhancements plugged directly into his body and dependent on his EVE; additionally, an exploded EVE regulating anti-aging device was found in his chest during surgery. Despite suffering from 30 broken bones, severe internal electrical burns, and rapid-onset senescence, Mast made a full recovery.</p>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>End Log</strong></p>
</div>
<hr/></div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="foxy.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/foxy.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Arctic Foxy</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂MagicalArcticFox</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">(14/?) And while I know it is tempting to say think that the creation and the dissemination of the Washington Virion is proof that Type Blues are not privileged and are in fact still oppressed, we must keep in mind the incredible lockdown measures that have been implemented in order to thwart its spreading. [cont'd]</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">107</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">63</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">04:32 AM · June 21, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="foxy.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/foxy.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Arctic Foxy</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂MagicalArcticFox</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">(15/?) This is not me saying that Type Blues are no longer oppressed, no, but let me ask you this: would the government have issued a similar lockdown if the life of baseline humans was on the line? Would it have taken such drastic measures? The fact that both this lockdown and Pizzicato was enacted is proof of the existence of Type Blue Privilege. [cont'd]</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">104</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">57</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">04:33 AM · June 21, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="skamtebord.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/skamtebord.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Skateboarder</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂skateboard_joe</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem"><span class="vactivity">⁂MagicalArcticFox</span> "would the government have issued a similar lockdown if the life of baseline humans was on the line?" i assume you weren't born back then, but there WAS, in fact, a lockdown instated in the past to protect baseline humans. i understand the point you're trying to make (actually no, i don't), but there literally was at least one.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">132</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">511</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">08:12 AM · June 21, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="foxy.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/foxy.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Arctic Foxy</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂MagicalArcticFox</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem"><span class="vactivity">⁂skateboard_joe</span> The fact that you immediately jumped to their defense is a clear example of Type Blue privilege. If I made this about baseline humans, I bet you wouldn't have said a single word</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">563</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">12</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">08:56 AM · June 21, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="SPOrth.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/church-of-the-broken-god-hub/SPOrth.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">trunnion forgive me i'm using the web</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂throwawaycogwork26373478</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem"><span class="vactivity">⁂MagicalArcticFox</span> what do you have against type blues specifically. why do you keep mentioning them. there's so many different types of anomalous humans (i'm what they would call a type bronze, hi). what is it with you and type blues</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">32</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">85</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">01:48 PM · June 21, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Broadcast Name:</strong> <a href="/scp-1982">Georgia 1598 AM</a></p>
<p><strong>Broadcast Location:</strong> Originates from Blairsville, Georgia.</p>
<p><strong>Host:</strong> Unidentified. Previous sources point towards a "Head Honcho Father Tucker." Investigation pending.</p>
<p><strong>Broadcast Focus:</strong> N/A</p>
<p><strong>Transcript Date:</strong> Sunday, June 30th, 2049</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Transcript begin, 1800 Hours CST. No video footage is visible.</em></p>
<p><strong>Unidentified:</strong> Brothers and sisters, we've come back from the star that took our before-lives away. We're reborn in the eyes of the <em>spirit</em> with smoke that's hotter than blazes. You all know about what's been happening on the outside, see. What them organizations don't want you know is that you can choose faith over fear, the restless spirit in yourselves says otherwise, ever since them Geo Seas have come into <em>our</em> homeland and stripped <em>us</em> of our freedom! Thwice be damned upon them! Now roll that footage of the dancing frog now would ya?</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:1.3em;"><strong><a href="javascript:;">Best</a>｜<a href="javascript:;">Newest</a>｜<a href="javascript:;">Breaking News</a>｜<a href="javascript:;">My Page</a></strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:0.85em;">unVeiled » <a href="javascript:;">Politics</a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:1.4em;"><strong>Iris Thompson and Alice Sharp: Help Wanted!</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:0.8em;"><strong>By Alice Sharp (⁂ASharp)</strong><br/>
<strong>Published 03/07/2049, 11:57</strong></span></p>
<img alt="Northeast_Portland_homeless_camp_tents.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Northeast_Portland_homeless_camp_tents.jpg" style="border: solid 1.5px #799dce;" width="auto"/>
<p><span style="font-size:0.8em;">An encampment in Portland, Oregon; one of the many places those displaced by the Coalition's intervention in Three Portlands had to seek refuge in.</span></p>
<p>Dear reader, I will cut to the chase: unVeiled needs your help. With more and more people getting displaced all around the United States by GOC operations, it is only up to us to help those who cannot help themselves. Though unVeiled already acted as the middleman for people's donations for those in need, what we are currently recieving is not enough to help everyone. And we cannot compensate for the rest ourselves.</p>
<p>Please, if you have any spare blankets, clothes, or food, donate what you can to the masses hurt by the Coalition and President Crenshaw. You will only need to take a picture of your donation and attach it to your email sent at <span class="wiki-email">moc.delievnu|prahsecila#moc.delievnu|prahsecila</span>; with the help of our Iris Thompson and her abilities, we will be able to reach and access them remotely.</p>
<p>If you're interested in helping others…</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="Titania%2C_unbekleidet_und_mit_hochgestecktem_Haar%2C_schwebend%2C_nach_links_%28SM_1676345az%29.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Titania%2C_unbekleidet_und_mit_hochgestecktem_Haar%2C_schwebend%2C_nach_links_%28SM_1676345az%29.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Lady Titania</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂QueenÁine</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">Hello Everyone! We are aware of how hard it is for all of us due to the lockdown and pandemic. We also understand that many of you are displeased with our decision to fully lock down Fata Morgana in compliance with <span class="vactivity">⁂UNGOC</span> directives. However, in the opinion of the Ever After Congress, supporting these measures is the only rational option to ensure that this virus does not grow out of control and spread to our city.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">124</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">3,266</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">06:47 PM · July 8, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="Closeup_of_a_cat_with_green_eyes%27_face_looking_at_the_viewer.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Closeup_of_a_cat_with_green_eyes%27_face_looking_at_the_viewer.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">lord doobie the 2th</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂doobiethecat</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">hey so just to be clear to everyone celebrating the fact half of the quarantine is over: you people do realize that the quarantine itself doesnt last a year but the yearly provision the coalition agreed upon to withhold their termination triage does? like. if this period ends, under pizzicato they will literally have the legal right to bomb cities to stop the disease 🧵 [1/12]</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">479</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">7,937</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">08:44 AM · July 19, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="tslbdWm.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/i-did-not-fade/tslbdWm.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Vanguard</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂VanguardOfficial</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">On behalf of the World Parahealth Organisation, we would address the number of false "cures" for the Washington Virus that have been proliferating lately. While <a href="/scp-8047">VNP-8047</a> instances <em>would</em> cure the Washington Virus, they would also kill you in an extremely painful manner two days later. Exercise common sense.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">1,922</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">9,402</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">12:53 PM · July 22, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="GOC-Logo-v4.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/goc-hub-page/GOC-Logo-v4.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Global Occult Coalition</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂UNGOC</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem"><strong>PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT:</strong> Anyone caught playing GreyMighter's recently released "FUCK THE GAWKERS" song outside of quarantine checkpoints will certainly face consequences in the form of a fine for disruption of international safety measures. For those planning to, we ask that you at least consider using a song where the rapper can be understood without needing to reduce the volume by 200%.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">5,821</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">19,036</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">05:17 PM · July 23, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="Warlock_Image.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Warlock_Image.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Saucery 🍑🔞🧙</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂saucery</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem"><span class="vactivity">⁂UNGOC</span> ░F░O░R░B░I░D░D░E░N░░S░P░E░L░L░S░░I░N░░B░I░O░░C░L░I░C░K░░N░O░W░░T░O░░P░O░N░D░E░R</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">2</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">5</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">06:32 PM · July 23, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="SPMax.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/church-of-the-broken-god-hub/SPMax.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Cipher City Council</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂maxwellisthexagonofficial</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">Due to ongoing complications concerning the Washington Virus, we are limited the number of access points to Cipher City within the United State for a brief period. If you find you are unable to enter through your regular access point, please consult <a href="javascript:;">www.ciphercityphysicalinterface.int</a> for your nearest maintained location.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">7,361</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">11,847</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">02:17 AM · July 26, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="Dotted_lines_for_code_blocks.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Dotted_lines_for_code_blocks.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Rosiline 💙⚡⏫</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂wantotree</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">It's so good to see that my higher-ups in the Hexagon is finally taking steps to deal with this immigration crisis. So many non-Maxwellist cyborgs coming into our city and expecting to be housed and cared for while most of us can hardly afford the storage space for a one-bed apartment. <span class="vactivity">#CipherCityIsFull</span> !</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">9,783</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">2,371</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">02:21 AM · July 26, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="NygpVdU.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/sarkicism-hub/NygpVdU.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem"><a href="/the-liberal-vampire">Saarn</a></span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂klavigarsaarn2917</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem"><span class="vactivity">⁂wantotree</span> kill yourself</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">3</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">26</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">03:39 AM · July 26, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="surrat.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-first-occult-flame-war/surrat.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem"><a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss-hub">Marie Surratt</a></span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂QueenOfBones</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">Fun fact, skeletons are physically incapable of catching viruses. They are however, perfectly capable of being wizards. Do with that information what you will :)</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">566</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">6,243</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">05:46 PM · July 31, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Quarterly report from <a href="/scp-2557">www.envelopelogistics.inu</a> on TL-1911, dated August 1st, 2049.</p>
<hr/>
<p><span style="color: white; background-color: royalblue; border: grey; padding: 3px;">Sector Performance</span> — 3 month performance</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<table class="wiki-content-table">
<tr>
<td>Disease</td>
<td><span style="color: green">+17.41%</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Reading Comprehension</td>
<td><span style="color: green">+7.82%</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Thaumaturges</td>
<td><span style="color: red">-6.19%</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Political Extremism</td>
<td><span style="color: green">+15.93%</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Hospitals</td>
<td><span style="color: green">+11.4%</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Chinese proletariat</td>
<td><span style="color: green">+9.48%</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Todd Howard</td>
<td><span style="color: red">-5.36%</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Hot Tubs</td>
<td><span style="color: red">-24.51%</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>ViaDiac Corporation</td>
<td><span style="color: red">-19.99%</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Faith In Humanity</td>
<td><span style="color: red">-33.83%</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Human Population</td>
<td><span style="color: red">-8.55%</span></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Normalcy</td>
<td><span style="color: green">+0.07%</span></td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>#System: The following is a conversation with an AI Large Language Model. The AI has been trained to provide help and guidance to people who have lost A key part of themselves. The AI follows user requests. The AI thinks outside the box. The AI will assure the user that whatever happened was not their fault. The AI will assure the user that they will continue to have a meaningful life.</p>
<p>#Eliza: Hello! How can I help you today.</p>
<div id="u-blink-bar">
<p>#User:</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="sapphire-symbol.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">SAPPHIRE</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂safirofficial</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">What the fuck. Has <span class="vactivity">⁂SAPPHIRE</span> been lying to me this whole time?</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">498</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">1,768</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">03:59 PM · Aug 5, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="static.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/static.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Westhead Media</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂WestheadMedia02</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">Hey there, champs!</span>
<p><span style="font-size: 1.2rem">To help allay your boredom and Open up your Night during the lockdown, we at Westhead Media have made all of our prior works available at <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/system:page-tags/tag/westhead-media">https://www.westheadplus.3p</a> for you to watch! :)</span></p>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">3,135</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">5,042</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">08:06 AM · Aug 18, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><em>The camera shows a hospital room. A heavily disfigured body can be seen partially fused with the bed. The corpse corresponds to that of Cy-lria Ata-nyl, a Fae living in Chicago who died of Washington Virion complications on 20/08/2049 in the Northweastern Memorial Hospital. The figure's eyes move rapidly around the room in-between irregular, ragged breaths. Suddenly, Laughy McLaugherson appears on frame, smiling.</em></p>
<p><strong>Laughy McLaugherson:</strong> Everyone gets down with the flu every once in a while. You all have had to call in sick. Just don't overdo it! You wouldn't want to disappoint your boss, would you? I’m sure he doesn't want to fire you! Or does he…? Nah, I'm just joking here. Getting rid of you is too much of a hassle. But who am I kidding, sometimes you can't help to call in sick, because… Come on, repeat after me: <a href="/scp-2030">EPIDEMICS... ARE... FUN</a>!</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><span style="font-size:0.85em;">WPhO » <a href="javascript:;">Washington Viron</a> » <a href="javascript:;">Notes on quarantine</a> » <a href="javascript:;">Frequently Asked Questions</a></span></p>
<h4 id="toc5"><span><a href="javascript:;">⮞ What are virus-free zones?</a></span></h4>
<h4 id="toc6"><span><a href="javascript:;">⮞ What helps against the virus?</a></span></h4>
<h4 id="toc7"><span>⮟ What Mass Gatherings can I still visit?</span></h4>
<p>Physical Gatherings can be attended, as long as a GOC-affiliated Demomancer is present. This type of thaumaturge specialises in social magic and will ensure the virus won't spread. One demomancer for every 50 people attending a gathering is needed, as they won't be able to control any spread beyond that.</p>
<p><strong>Why was this not possible before?</strong></p>
<p>The Electorate of Demomancers was previously busy ensuring American fish won't spread the virus to other fish. This task has since been solved by the Shark Punching Centre, freeing demomancers up to help contain the spread.</p>
<h4 id="toc8"><span><a href="javascript:;">⮞ What is the Shark Punching Centre?</a></span></h4>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p>Excerpt from a call received by Adria Clemens on 24/08/2049. All of Adria Clemens's interventions during the conversation have been erased to respect the receiver's privacy.</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Unidentified:</strong> Hello. Uhm. Yes. Is there anyone there? Good. I’m [string of incomprehensible sounds], but you may know me as the Saturn Deer! I'm a mage of renown and I called you today to politely ask for a donation to the Merlin Fund for Struggling Wizards!</p>
<p><em>Silence for four seconds.</em></p>
<p><strong>Unidentified:</strong> Don't try hanging up, it's useless.</p>
<p><em>Silence for six seconds.</em></p>
<p><strong>Unidentified:</strong> Look, I’m a nice guy. Trustworthy. Yeah, and I’ve been six times in the <em>Planasthai Press Chosen Top Ten Wizards</em> of the year. Look it up! Well, under fake names, but still, look it up!</p>
<p><em>Silence for ten seconds.</em></p>
<p><strong>Unidentified:</strong> Stop trying to break the phone against the corner of the table. It won't work. Look, this donation is for a good cause. All wizards have been trapped in my… I mean, our homes for the entire year. And it's difficult to survive in these conditions.</p>
<p><em>Silence for three seconds.</em></p>
<p><strong>Unidentified:</strong> You better not be trying to saw off your hand in there, Clemens. So, yeah, I just need you to donate six hundred dollars. Or, if you prefer, you can go outside right now and hold them high, a bird will swoop down and grab them.</p>
<p><em>Silence for seven seconds while Adria Clemens talks.</em></p>
<p><strong>Unidentified:</strong> There's no need to get violent now, Adria. Just give me the money, it's not that difficult.</p>
<p><em>Silence for three seconds.</em></p>
<p><strong>Unidentified:</strong> I'm sorry but…</p>
<p><em>At this point, Vanguard, alerted by Clemens's spouse was able to remotely terminate the ritual keeping Clemens's hand glued to the phone.</em></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Extranormal Event Log Description:</strong> A stray radio broadcast was received by Vanguard Mid-Western Research and Preservation Site-11 and an undetermined amount of devices from around the Lake Michigan area. Transcript is provided below.</p>
<hr/>
<p><em>12 seconds of radio static.</em></p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Voice:</strong> …hello. Testing. Testing. Is there anyone out there? If someone can reach out to… <em>(6 seconds of radio static)</em> …tell them to come to camp… <em>(23 seconds of static)</em> …we didn't know coming here would be so dangerous without Destiny's help. But…</p>
<p><em>129 seconds of static interspersed with various words spoken in an as of yet unidentified language.</em></p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Voice:</strong> …thankfully the apparitions stopped, but food is running low. The kids are fine, if a bit scared. Some still think it's better to deal with this than to deal with a motherfucking magic-killing virus. Poor things. But I don't know what else we'll have to do to…</p>
<p><em>35 seconds of radio static.</em></p>
<p><strong>Unidentified Voice:</strong> …so, please, send help. <a href="/scp-4239">Greenman</a> out.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="sapphire-symbol.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">SAPPHIRE</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂safirofficial</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">We apologize for our previous social media intern's behavior. To make up for it, we will be uploading a free analysis of Richard Dawkins' <em>Outgrowing God</em> by Marquise-Cut ZIRCON Albertson.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">1</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">9</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">04:30 PM · Aug 25, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="640px-Abandoned_Storehouses_%2821956982102%29.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/640px-Abandoned_Storehouses_%2821956982102%29.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Insurrectionist</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂CombatantOfChaos332</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">Why can't Vanguard just use <a href="/scp-500">SCP-500</a>, almost as if this pandemic is going to serve some of their broader political agenda 🙄</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">2</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">23</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">6:33 PM · Aug 29, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="scp-wiki.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/scp-wiki.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">☽ Isabellla ☾</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂Isa_2039</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem"><span class="vactivity">⁂CombatantofChaos332</span> Didn't they reveal that it was false flag file designed to lure people in to try to steal it all along?</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">13</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">165</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">7:20 PM · Aug 29, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="przyczajone.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/przyczajone.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Lurking Treatment US</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂PrzyczajoneUS</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem"><span class="vactivity">⁂CombatantofChaos332</span> Former SCPF doctor Jarosław Zimorodek was able to replicate the secret and innovative formula behind SCP-500 that Vanguard and Coalition wanted to hide<br/>
<br/>
Buy new dietary supplement PANACEA that will cure Washington Viron and all other diseases now 85% off<br/>
<br/>
<a href="http://scp-int.wikidot.com/przyczajone-leczenie-hub">https://przyczajoneleczenie.pl/panacea</a></span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">0</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">5</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">7:57 PM · Aug 29, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Broadcast Name:</strong> 93.5 WSPI "The Pit"</p>
<p><strong>Broadcast Location:</strong> Sloth's Pit, Wicsonsin</p>
<p><strong>Host:</strong> Louisa Tofflemire, former Vanguard agent, daughter of Commander Robert J. Tofflemire.</p>
<p><strong>Broadcast Focus:</strong> 'Top 40' pop music, local news</p>
<p><strong>Broadcast Date:</strong> 04/09/2049</p>
<hr/>
<p><strong>Tofflemire:</strong> …folks, we've recieved word that Sloth's Pit is up to some rather unusual stuff today. Apparently there's a spatial loop going around and has enclosed the town off from the outside world. Good news is that the ick going around can't get in; bad news is that people can't get out. Essentially, the powers-that-be have decided to quarantine the city against the what the kids in Gen Delta are calling "Wizard Flu." Somehow more comprehensible than them bringing back Boston abbreviations. Like, I'm supposed to know what the hell a 'VC' is? A 'KLUN'? What?</p>
<p><strong>Tofflemire:</strong> We'll have a couple of people from from Research and Preservation Site-87 in here around noon — Researcher Phoenix Sinclair-Hastings of thaumaturgy, and head of virology Dr. Lucas O'Brian to discuss how you can keep safe. There haven't been any reported cases of the Viron in Sloth's Pit yet, but 'yet' is the key word. The town's trying to keep us safe, but it might not always succeed.</p>
<p><strong>Tofflemire:</strong> Coming up next, we have a great hour of music for you. From classics like Panic! At the Disco and Bug Hunter to the newest up-and-coming <em>sidhe</em> act, "Court of Clefs." Stay tuned.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="PD.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/PD.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">People's Daily, China</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂PDChina</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">For anyone wanting a small break from the chaos of the pandemic in the US and the Great Economic Reforms in China, look at this cute red panda from Shanghai Zoo!<br/>
<img alt="1024px-%E5%B0%8F%E7%86%8A%E7%8C%AB.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/1024px-%E5%B0%8F%E7%86%8A%E7%8C%AB.jpg" style="border: 1px solid #cfd9de; border-radius: 6px; margin-top: 18px; margin-bottom: 12px; width: 100%;"/><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">4,051</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">9,213</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">09:16 AM · Sept 10, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: center">
<div class="unmargined" style="font-family: 'Cinzel'; font-size: 450%; margin: 2px 0 5px;">
<p>Undervegas Undergazzete</p>
</div>
<div class="unmargined" style="font-family: 'Pinyon Script'; font-size: 250%; margin: 2px 0 5px;">
<p>Sinner's choice</p>
</div>
<div class="unmargined" style="font-family: serif; font-size: 125%; border-top-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid;">
<table style="border: none; width: 100%;">
<tr>
<td>UNDERVEGAS</td>
<td style="text-align: center;">THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 17TH, 2049</td>
<td style="text-align: right;">0.5 soul coins</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
<div class="unmargined" style="font-family: 'Anton'; font-size: 500%; margin: 2px 0 5px;">
<p>THE GRAND CLOSING OF THE STRIP IS NIGH</p>
</div>
<div class="unmargined" style="font-family:serif; font-size:120%;">
<p><em>By Eleanor Stolas</em></p>
</div>
</div>
<div style="text-align:justify;">
<p>VEGAS/UNDERVEGAS — The day that we all had been fearing has come at last. In a sudden and unusual bout of collaboration, the Nevada Gaming Commission and Research and Preservation Site-666 have come to an agreement: the Strip has to be closed for business in the next two days.</p>
<p>This may come as a surprise to the least informed or the most stupid of you. We all know that Vanguard (the current managers of Site-666 and the <em>Luxor Vegas Hotel and Casino</em>) has been trying to shut down the strip for the better part of this last year on account of the Washington Virion. According to them, Undervegas and its earthly counterpart have become the hotspot of the epidemic, and it's in no small part due to the casinos' reluctance to close down. But the NGC and its allies on the underside of the city have held fast to their ideals. And what was their reasoning behind this? According to them, demons cannot fall sick to mortal illnesses. This fact had held true, at least until Ebenezer Shax, owner of the Augustus Palace, fell mysteriously ill last week and stopped performing his renowned magic tricks.</p>
<p>Thus, the scramble for control began. According to our sources, the GNC in full folded to Vanguard's demands. Of course, Ba'al, the Lord of the Flies himself, stated that he would continue doing business as usual in a secret meeting we were privy to. "The chips must flow" he said, to the seemingly ecstatic audience gathered in the Moneypit.</p>
<p>In response, Vanguard convoked a press conference in the Luxor. And their spokedemon (one Agent Calendar) had this to say about the whole ordeal: "If anyone of you doesn't follow the quarantine protocols I'll have you know that I have full permission to rip out your spines and use them as coat-hangers. And I don't even own a coat!" Sources in the Moneypit tell us that since this declaration, the greed demons have calmed down significantly, but there's no telling what the future holds.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="640px-Roasted_coffee_beans.jpg" class="image" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/c5/Roasted_coffee_beans.jpg/640px-Roasted_coffee_beans.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Dive Simmons</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂Davethebrave</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">I miss coffee.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">6,724</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">19,402</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">07:04 AM · Sept 22, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Broadcast Name:</strong> "Radio Free Genosha," an indie podcast and pirate radio show</p>
<p><strong>Broadcast Location:</strong> unknown location near Kenosha, Wisconsin</p>
<p><strong>Host:</strong> anonymous individual using the name "Antithesis"</p>
<p><strong>Broadcast Focus:</strong> The <em>X-Men</em> franchise, leftist politics</p>
<p><strong>Broadcast Date:</strong> 25/09/2049</p>
<hr/>
<p>Magneto was right.</p>
<p>The Washington legacy virus has proven that peaceful coexistence with humanity is impossible. For the second time, humankind has chosen to annihilate us, despite the equal risk to itself, for no crime but being born better than them. Though calling the Impasse the first time would not truly be accurate either, for the Impasse was but the culmination of centuries of containment and witch-hunting, was it not? Parahumans have never been safe amongst the flatscans, no matter how hard the starry-eyed idealists of Vanguard or the race traitors of the Global Occult Coalition might try to convince us otherwise.</p>
<p>Have we forgotten that these organizations were the ones who caused the Impasse? Have we forgotten the Ichabod campaign? I certainly have not. I remember all too well the way anomalies were forced to be the Foundation’s child soldiers, coerced into killing their own kind by the Coalition, or scrapped for reality anchor parts if we were not useful enough while alive. We have only ever been slaves and tools to these people, and though they may have changed their names and faces they still cannot or will not protect us, as the Washington Virion proves.</p>
<p>And just as surely as this is not the first time, it will not be the last. Dan Crenshaw campaigned on our oppression and extinction, and millions of people voted in favor of it. Do you think this pandemic will teach them what the Impasse did not? Do you think they will ever learn the consequences of striking out at their ontological superiors? Of course not. For in the eyes of a <em>Homo sapien</em>, these things are our fault. We brought this upon ourselves, we forced Crenshaw’s prejudiced hand, by having the audacity to exist, to be different. And if we dare to survive this latest attempt on our collective lives, it will only be a matter of time before the purple robots start breaking down our doors.</p>
<p>So what are we to do? Join with Vanguard’s meek efforts to prove that we are worthy of existence? Convince the Coalition that locked us in here with the monsters that we are more useful alive than dead? No. The dream of Vanguard, of Charles Xavier, is dead. Magneto was right. So I urge you, paranormal listener — when you are ready to forsake the weak and thankless brood that spawned you into this hateful world, come and join me in anomalous brotherhood. Krakowhere awaits.</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="Drawing_of_a_woman_taking_herself_a_selfie.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Drawing_of_a_woman_taking_herself_a_selfie.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Amanda Johansson</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂justamanda</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">you know when <a href="/how-did-we-get-here">connors won the elections back in '36 and '40</a> i thought that things are finally gonna change but crenshaw helped me realize how stupid i was. nothing ever changes. nothing ever happens. it's the same bullshit over and over again, for all of history. fuck all of this. the goddamn <a href="/external-relations-orientation-annihilism">annihilists</a> were right — there's no point in keeping this charade going. why even bother anymore.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">12</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">351</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">06:29 PM · Sept 27, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:1.3em;"><strong><a href="javascript:;">Best</a>｜<a href="javascript:;">Newest</a>｜<a href="javascript:;">Breaking News</a>｜<a href="javascript:;">My Page</a></strong></span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="font-size:0.85em;">unVeiled » <a href="javascript:;">Politics</a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:1.4em;"><strong>Anti-Thaumaturge Bias by Secretary of State</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:0.8em;"><strong>By Alice Sharp (⁂ASharp)</strong><br/>
<strong>Published 01/10/2049, 14:37</strong></span></p>
<img alt="Principal_Deputy_Spokesperson_Patel_Briefs_Reporters_%2852339387664%29.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Principal_Deputy_Spokesperson_Patel_Briefs_Reporters_%2852339387664%29.jpg" style="border: solid 1.5px #799dce;" width="2500 px"/>
<p><span style="font-size:0.8em;">Spokesman for the United States Department of State Andrew Baylor (at the podium), dismissing inconvenient questions from journalists regarding the absent Thomas Graham.</span></p>
<p>Audio tapes of Secretary of State <a href="/scp-4415">Thomas Graham</a> have been leaked to multiple media outlets, including this one, by anonymous whistleblowers. In the tapes, Secretary Graham appears to be celebrating the release of the Washington Virion, as it will "help [President Crenshaw] keep the damn wizards in line." He also voices the opinion that "the O5s should have let me do this fifty years ago", mocks several public figures who have come out about their tragic experiences under the virus, and refers to unVeiled's own Iris Thompson by her pre-Vanguard SCP designation.</p>
<p>It is worth noting that Secretary Graham is a former member of the SCP Foundation, where he served as the Director of <a href="/site-17-hub">Site-17</a>, a facility noted for its extremely unethical practices in the times of the Foundation. Secretary Graham has been accused of numerous alleged charges in the past including embezzlement, bribery, extortion, verbal and physical abuse, perjury, gross misuse of amnestics, and conspiracy, but was <a href="/chronicle-of-the-worm">pardoned by President Crenshaw</a> during his first term after many years of a long, drawn-out case. In the meantime, Secretary Graham worked as a conservative lobbyist, quickly climbing the ranks of American politics as a charismatic far-right politician, eventually becoming a key figure in Crenshaw's second-term administration.</p>
<p>Secretary Graham claims that his statements were altered and taken out of context by malicious actors within "far-left online sects" [sic!]. Groups referred as such by Secretary Graham have made it no secret their disgust towards Secretary Graham and often refer to him as "The Crack[kk]er" a nickname that he argues constitutes a racial slur against his person and is a form of racism against…</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="Bald_Man_at_Halloween_premiere.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Bald_Man_at_Halloween_premiere.jpg" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">Hector Canvera</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂therealhectorcanvera</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">The quarantine is a fantastic time to shun the distractions of the outside and truly look on your Inside. If you ever feel alone on those quiet nights, just listen: hear your heart beat and look up above. You will be heard.</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">25</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">1,625</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">02:01 AM · Oct 6, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><span style="font-size:1.3em;"><strong><a href="javascript:;">Best</a>｜<a href="javascript:;">Newest</a>｜<a href="javascript:;">Breaking News</a>｜<a href="javascript:;">My Page</a></strong></span></p>
</div>
<hr/>
<p><span style="font-size:0.85em;">unVeiled » <a href="javascript:;">Science & Technology</a></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:1.4em;"><strong>Global Occult Coalition Plan to Prevent the Spread of Cognitohazards Worries Internet Safety Experts</strong></span></p>
<p><span style="font-size:0.8em;"><strong>By Wilbur Henderson (⁂uV_Henderson)</strong><br/>
<strong>Published 11/10/2049, 07:27</strong></span></p>
<img alt="1200px-Conjectural_Futures_Conference_2018_%2845041734534%29.jpg" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/1200px-Conjectural_Futures_Conference_2018_%2845041734534%29.jpg" style="border: solid 1.5px #799dce;" width="2500 px"/>
<p><span style="font-size:0.8em;">Sarah Anne Nolan publically announcing the GOC's new internet safety innuitive.</span></p>
<p>The Global Occult Coalition is working on a new initiative to combat the spread of infohazards and congitohazards over media-sharing platforms, according to Sarah Anne Nolan, the head of the GOC's Internet Security Congress. "Popular social media websites such as Instagram and Void", Nolan said at the announcement of the initiative, "are not doing a sufficient job preventing the large scale dissemination of harmful materials across their platforms.</p>
<p>"Over the past two decades, the systems relied upon on to prevent the cognitohazards from spreading through social media have barely evolved." According to Nolan, two programs are currently being developed, one which will be installed client-side, and one which will be utilized by social media platforms themselves." Nolan claims that these programs have been in development for several months, and recent events have caused them to invest more into the project. "With the lockdowns caused by the Washington Virus, people are spending a lot more time using the internet, and the risk of a deadly spread event aided by the internet has become increasingly likely.</p>
<p>Although the exact details of how these services will operate is unknown, the Electronic Frontier Foundation, Para-Internet Association, and other internet and free speech activism organizations have raised concerns about, or outright condemned the GOC's announcement. Some consider it highly suspicious that the GOC is creating their own anti-cognitohazard infrastructure, rather than supporting the existing but underfunded protective systems currently utilized by social media companies and consumers.</p>
<p>While the number of congitohazards spread over the internet has risen over the past decade, the deadliness of these events is lower than ever thanks to software such as MindGuard and Cognito-Ward. Critics of the GOC fear that the programs may provide cover for the censorship of opinions critical of the GOC, or may act as spyware, allowing the GOC to extrajudicial access civilian's computers.</p>
<p>The GOC has a history of…</p>
</div>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="void dark"><span class="void-img"><br/>
<img alt="wpho.png" class="image" src="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/kte-9817-bluebuster-mendel-shelley-renegade-armbrusteri/wpho.png" style="width: 60px"/><br/></span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span class="vusermod" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">World Paraealth Organization</span><br/>
<span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: 1.35rem">⁂WPhO</span><br/>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br/>
<span style="font-size: 1.2rem">Join <span class="vactivity">⁂SimonTorres</span> at 7 PM (GMT-4) as he discusses the progress on developing the cure to the <span class="vactivity">#washingtonvirion</span>, and presents a reasonable roadmap for the upcoming months. See <a href="javascript:;">phoenixtech.com/washington-virion</a> for more information!</span>
<ul>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">ECHOES<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">3,567</span></li>
<li><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">HUMS<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></span><span class="vactivity" style="font-size: 1.1rem; font-weight: bold">7,568</span></li>
</ul>
<p><span class="vui" style="color: hsl(0, 0%, 46%); font-size: .8rem">08:21 AM · Oct 14, 2049</span></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><span style="font-size:0.85em;">WPhO » <a href="javascript:;">Washington Viron</a> » <a href="javascript:;">Notes on quarantine</a> » <a href="javascript:;">Frequently Asked Questions</a></span></p>
<h4 id="toc9"><span><a href="javascript:;">⮞ Are those beryllium bronze-based vaccines real?</a></span></h4>
<h4 id="toc10"><span><a href="javascript:;">⮞ What helps against the virus?</a></span></h4>
<h4 id="toc11"><span>⮟ What Mass Gatherings can I still visit?</span></h4>
<p>Physical Gatherings can be attended, as long as all attendants have been tested to be free of the virus using one of the GOC-sanctioned tests within the last 12 hours.</p>
<p><strong>What happened to Demomancer-ensured gatherings?</strong></p>
<p>While you can still attend any physical gathering with a demomancer present, it is still recommended to get a test. One demomancer for every 100 people attending a gathering is needed. The Electorate of Demomancers still grants this service in the following areas, listed <a href="javascript:;">here</a>.</p>
<h4 id="toc12"><span><a href="javascript:;">⮞ Is Scrying a GOC-sanctioned test?</a></span></h4>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><strong>Taken from:</strong> <em>#8179 - Simón Torres</em></p>
<hr/>
<p><em>Rogan exhales smoke, and points with his joint towards Torres, who politely rejects the offer once more.</em></p>
<p><strong>Joe Rogan:</strong> Wow, Simon, that's crazy. I mean, Crenshaw, Carter, and al Fine? Man. Almost makes you think the whole thing's real.</p>
<p><em>Rogan laughs, and takes another drag from his joint.</em></p>
<p><strong>Joe Rogan:</strong> Anyway, what was that you said about those genetically modified bears of yours?</p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="blockquote">
<p><em>An ad for the JOICL 虹-L-7787 "Eyeware" product finishes playing, and Anderson can be heard sitting back down, along with the sound of a glass bottle being placed on a hard surface.</em></p>
<p><strong>Anderson:</strong> Well… Fuck.</p>
<p><em>Silence for roughly five seconds.</em></p>
<p><strong>Anderson:</strong> I… really don't think there's much else to the news at the moment. Even if there was, I don't think there's any coming back from dropping that at eight o'clock on a Wednesday.</p>
<p><em>Two seconds of silence.</em></p>
<p><strong>Anderson:</strong> Guess there's nothing for it. Let's have some music. Starting it off with a real classic today. Here's, uh, the Ink Spots with… <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TmIwm5RElRs">I Don't Want to Set The World on Fire.</a></p>
</div>
<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p>
<div class="earthworm earthworm--old-syntax-first-false earthworm--old-syntax-last-false earthworm--old-syntax-hub-yes {$class}">
<div class="first earthworm__previous" data-title="VNP-111">
<p><a href="/vnp-111">VNP-111</a></p>
</div>
<div class="hub earthworm__hub" data-title="8,000 Dead Rats">
<p><a href="/8000-dead-rats-hub">8,000 Dead Rats</a></p>
</div>
<div class="last earthworm__next" data-title="Icarus Unburned">
<p><a href="/scientia-potentia-est">Icarus Unburned</a></p>
</div>
</div>
<hr/>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="licensebox">
<div class="collapsible-block">
<div class="collapsible-block-folded"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded" style="display:none">
<div class="collapsible-block-unfolded-link"><a class="collapsible-block-link" href="javascript:;">‡ Hide Licensing / Citation</a></div>
<div class="collapsible-block-content">
<p>Cite this page as:</p>
<div class="list-pages-box"> <div class="list-pages-item">
<blockquote>
<p>"<a href="/one-more-tomorrow">One More Tomorrow</a>" by BitOddInnit, Cathy Autumn, Danielthemaniel, deathik, Diogene_s, Dino—Draws, DoctorLilithSophia, Ethagon, Ihp, Jasiu06, Kothardarastrix, Lemonsense, LittlePengwy, MasterTman2, Miss Lapis, newnykacolaquantum, psychicprogrammer, Ralliston, Stealth000, SynthPanda_, Tyumen, UNCGriffin, Uncle Nicolini, WarriorofChaos, and YardBirdMe, from the <a href="https://scpwiki.com">SCP Wiki</a>. Source: <a href="https://scpwiki.com/one-more-tomorrow">https://scpwiki.com/one-more-tomorrow</a>. Licensed under <a href="https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/">CC-BY-SA</a>.</p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
<p>For information on how to use this component, see the <a href="/component:license-box">License Box component</a>. To read about licensing policy, see the <a href="/licensing-guide">Licensing Guide</a>.</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Warlock Image.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Username056390<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Warlock_Image.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Warlock_Image.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Closeup of a cat with green eyes' face looking at the viewer.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Chhabi Gupta<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Closeup_of_a_cat_with_green_eyes%27_face_looking_at_the_viewer.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Closeup_of_a_cat_with_green_eyes%27_face_looking_at_the_viewer.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Northeast Portland homeless camp tents.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Graywalls<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Northeast_Portland_homeless_camp_tents.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Northeast_Portland_homeless_camp_tents.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Mises family crest with transparent backgrounnn.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> publico<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mises_family_crest_with_transparent_backgrounnn.png">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mises_family_crest_with_transparent_backgrounnn.png</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Bald Man at Halloween premiere.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Sthread<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bald_Man_at_Halloween_premiere.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bald_Man_at_Halloween_premiere.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Drawing of a woman taking herself a selfie.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Miguel Angel Omaña Rojas<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Drawing_of_a_woman_taking_herself_a_selfie.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Drawing_of_a_woman_taking_herself_a_selfie.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> 19th century Victorian living room, Auckland - 0816.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Jorge Royan<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:19th_century_Victorian_living_room,_Auckland_-_0816.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:19th_century_Victorian_living_room,_Auckland_-_0816.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Modern Living Room.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Fatma005<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Modern_Living_Room.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Modern_Living_Room.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Bedroom in a cave dwelling, Tenerife.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> ArticCynda<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bedroom_in_a_cave_dwelling,_Tenerife.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bedroom_in_a_cave_dwelling,_Tenerife.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Staircase descends into cave at Maresha.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Davidbena<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Staircase_descends_into_cave_at_Maresha.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Staircase_descends_into_cave_at_Maresha.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Sappho and Erinna in a Garden at Mytilene.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Tate Britain<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sappho_and_Erinna_in_a_Garden_at_Mytilene.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sappho_and_Erinna_in_a_Garden_at_Mytilene.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Stubai - Tiroler Bergschaf -BT- 01.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Basotxerri<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Stubai_-_Tiroler_Bergschaf_-BT-_01.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Stubai_-_Tiroler_Bergschaf_-BT-_01.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> James Hyatt Inhaling Chlorine Gas MET DP332531 (cropped).jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Peter Welling<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC0 1.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:James_Hyatt_Inhaling_Chlorine_Gas_MET_DP332531_(cropped).jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:James_Hyatt_Inhaling_Chlorine_Gas_MET_DP332531_(cropped).jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Andrew Eldritch - Wacken Open Air 2019.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Sven Mandel<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Andrew_Eldritch_-_Wacken_Open_Air_2019.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Andrew_Eldritch_-_Wacken_Open_Air_2019.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Reality-bites-how-to-catch-ideas.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Dasaptaerwin<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC0 1.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Reality-bites-how-to-catch-ideas.png">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Reality-bites-how-to-catch-ideas.png</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Orlando - Disney World - Disney's Art of Animation Resort - Cars - Doc Hudson (17031439698).jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Jared from Clermont<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Orlando_-_Disney_World_-_Disney%27s_Art_of_Animation_Resort_-_Cars_-_Doc_Hudson_(17031439698).jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Orlando_-_Disney_World_-_Disney%27s_Art_of_Animation_Resort_-_Cars_-_Doc_Hudson_(17031439698).jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> wdh.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> wdh.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> breaddddd<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/breaddddd/wdh.png">https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/breaddddd/wdh.png</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> CI%20Main.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> CI%20Main.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> TwistedGears<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/chaos-insurgency-hub/CI%20Main.png">https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/chaos-insurgency-hub/CI%20Main.png</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> The Sun by the Atmospheric Imaging Assembly of NASA's Solar Dynamics Observatory - 20100819.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> NASA/SDO (AIA)<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Sun_by_the_Atmospheric_Imaging_Assembly_of_NASA%27s_Solar_Dynamics_Observatory_-_20100819.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Sun_by_the_Atmospheric_Imaging_Assembly_of_NASA%27s_Solar_Dynamics_Observatory_-_20100819.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Bondi, 1 - Skateboarder - Bondi Beach, 2011.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Bondi, 1<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bondi,_1_-_Skateboarder_-_Bondi_Beach,_2011.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bondi,_1_-_Skateboarder_-_Bondi_Beach,_2011.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Renard polaire DSCF2611.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Musicaline<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Renard_polaire_DSCF2611.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Renard_polaire_DSCF2611.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> SPOrth.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> SPOrth.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Von Pincier</p>
</blockquote>
<p><strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0</p>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/church-of-the-broken-god-hub/SPOrth.png">https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/church-of-the-broken-god-hub/SPOrth.png</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> static_2<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Matthew Dinkins<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://flickr.com/photos/lesiege/79245938/in/photolist-81a4h-qo4Bms-dQfFQ-q9oSP-818o8-95MSG-7bHtbQ-2ogw2Vy-dkYW7i-7bHuZb-jqGSXg-cBxEp7-5hwWqo-4ymRh2-7bDEQV-6FmKYa-3zSR5j-6FmKLz-6FmKWp-6FqS5S-2jbfNMP-bmzNdn-5APKrn-GDn6jW-9djYma-e1DCLH-4yr6vN-2oK27XH-4yqYjG-23j6TpL-4ymDrP-6FmKAg-6FqSof-6FqRWq-6FqSgL-6FmLfx-6FmKJV-6FmKTF-6FmKEg-6FqRLU-6FmKNF-81a2h-52wgRT-ax1vC4-64csQW-5zh2sN-aieejj-4yr6Ho-4ymJRe-4yr3js/">https://flickr.com/photos/lesiege/79245938/in/photolist-81a4h-qo4Bms-dQfFQ-q9oSP-818o8-95MSG-7bHtbQ-2ogw2Vy-dkYW7i-7bHuZb-jqGSXg-cBxEp7-5hwWqo-4ymRh2-7bDEQV-6FmKYa-3zSR5j-6FmKLz-6FmKWp-6FqS5S-2jbfNMP-bmzNdn-5APKrn-GDn6jW-9djYma-e1DCLH-4yr6vN-2oK27XH-4yqYjG-23j6TpL-4ymDrP-6FmKAg-6FqSof-6FqRWq-6FqSgL-6FmLfx-6FmKJV-6FmKTF-6FmKEg-6FqRLU-6FmKNF-81a2h-52wgRT-ax1vC4-64csQW-5zh2sN-aieejj-4yr6Ho-4ymJRe-4yr3js/</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Roasted coffee beans.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> MarkSweep<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Roasted_coffee_beans.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Roasted_coffee_beans.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Abandoned concrete factory mechanism.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Diacritica<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Abandoned_concrete_factory_mechanism.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Abandoned_concrete_factory_mechanism.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Dotted lines for code blocks.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Alextretyak<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 4.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dotted_lines_for_code_blocks.png">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dotted_lines_for_code_blocks.png</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Titania, unbekleidet und mit hochgestecktem Haar, schwebend, nach links (SM 1676345az).png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Paul Konewka<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> PDM 1.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Titania,_unbekleidet_und_mit_hochgestecktem_Haar,_schwebend,_nach_links_(SM_1676345az).png">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Titania,_unbekleidet_und_mit_hochgestecktem_Haar,_schwebend,_nach_links_(SM_1676345az).png</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Abandoned Storehouses (21956982102).jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Diego Torres Silvestre<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY 2.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Abandoned_Storehouses_(21956982102).jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Abandoned_Storehouses_(21956982102).jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> People's Daily logo.svg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Mao Zedong<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> Public Domain<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:People%27s_Daily_logo.svg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:People%27s_Daily_logo.svg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong><br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> PD.jpg<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Jasiu06<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> Based on <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:%E5%B0%8F%E7%86%8A%E7%8C%AB.jpg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:%E5%B0%8F%E7%86%8A%E7%8C%AB.jpg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> Lib3Ports.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> Lib3Ports.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Jasiu06<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> Based on <a href="https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/three-portlands-hub/three_ports_flag">https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/three-portlands-hub/three_ports_flag</a> and <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Libertarian_Disc.svg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Libertarian_Disc.svg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> scp-wiki.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> scp-wiki.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Jasiu06<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> Based on <a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:SCP_Foundation_(emblem).svg">https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:SCP_Foundation_(emblem).svg</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> przyczajone.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> przyczajone.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> WhiterPL<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="http://scp-pl.wikidot.com/theme:przyczajone-leczenie-theme">http://scp-pl.wikidot.com/theme:przyczajone-leczenie-theme</a></p>
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p><strong>Filename:</strong> wpho.png<br/>
<strong>Name:</strong> wpho.png<br/>
<strong>Author:</strong> Navla<br/>
<strong>License:</strong> CC BY-SA 3.0<br/>
<strong>Source Link:</strong> <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/navla-artwork">https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/navla-artwork</a></p>
</blockquote>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
=====
[[include <a href="/component:preview">component:preview</a>
text=
Snippets of a world under Pizzicato.
]]
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:black-highlighter-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:black-highlighter-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:scp-offices-theme">:scp-wiki:theme:scp-offices-theme</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/theme:scp-human-resources">:scp-wiki:theme:scp-human-resources</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:centered-header-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:centered-header-bhl</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:toggle-sidebar-bhl">:scp-wiki:component:toggle-sidebar-bhl</a>]]
[[module CSS]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Barlow:wght@700&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Bebas+Neue&display=swap');
:root {
--logo-image: url("https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/grigori-karpin-s-author-page/vanguard%20transparent.png");
--header-title: "ANGUARD";
--header-subtitle: "SHELTER - NORMALIZE - INFORM";
--header-h2-font-size: 1.1em;
}
#header::before {
left: -12rem;
filter: brightness(125%);
opacity: 1;
}
#header h1 a::before {
font-size: unset;
}
#header h2::before {
color: #fe4;
}
#header h2 {
top: 1em;
}
#header #login-status {
left: -2vw;
}
@media (max-width: 767px) {
#header::before {
left: -7rem;
}
#header h1 {
top: 0.5em;
left: 0.5em;
}
}
#page-title {
display: none;
}
#u-blink-bar p:last-child::after {
content: "";
border-right: 1px solid black;
animation: blink 1s infinite;
position: relative;
left: 1px;
}
@keyframes blink{
to {
opacity: .0;
}
}
[[/module]]
[[=]]
[[module rate]]
[[/=]]
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Copperplate Gothic'; color: #B61805; font-size: 400%"]]**One More Tomorrow**[[/span]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Copperplate Gothic'; color: #B61805; font-size: 190%"]]**Vignettes From A World Under Pizzicato**[[/span]]
[[/=]]
-------
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Broadcast Name:** Maxwell's Silver Radio
**Broadcast Location:** Originates from Oconto County, Wisconsin. Available in Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois, Minnesota and Indiana.
**Host:** Quinten Anderson
**Broadcast Focus:** Mixed. Features large, in-depth news segments on current affairs, particularly in US and Americas-centric politics, interspersed with music.
**Transcript Date:** Wednesday, March 7th, 2049
-------
//Transcript begin, 0800 Hours CST//
**Anderson:** Good morning Midwest, and welcome back to Maxwell's Silver Radio. I'm your host, Quinten Anderson, and today is February 17th. Wednesday, hump day. Hang in there, folks! Now, let's get some news.
//A small musical cue plays, and a series of mouse clicks can be heard through Anderson's microphone.//
**Anderson:** What in the--
//Further clicking is heard, followed by ten seconds of silence.//
**Anderson:** ...WAN help us all.
//Anderson sighs deeply before continuing.//
**Anderson:** After a popular vote from the Council of 108, the United Nations Global Occult Coalition has declared the United States to be under a national lockdown until such a time where the [[[kte-9817-bluebuster-mendel-shelley-renegade-armbrusteri|"Washington Virus"]]] has been isolated and neutralized. Nobody and nothing enters or leaves the country until that happens. Talks are currently underway surrounding the possibility of enacting a limited form of "Procedure Pizzicato" within the borders of the United States in order to further limit the spread of the virus.
//Ten further seconds of silence.//
**Anderson:** ...I'm aware we only just started, but I'm going to need to run some ads quickly. Need to call my mother.
//The sound of a chair scrapping against wood can be heard, as the recording cuts to an advertisement for McDonald's.//
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png
|username=SAPPHIRE
|handle=safirofficial
|void-msg=We stand by our support for [[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂POTUS [[/span]] Crenshaw in these trying times and wish him and his family safety and wellbeing during this [[span class="vactivity"]]#quarantine[[/span]].
|echoes=221
|hums=1,260
|time-and-date=12:21 PM · Mar 13, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[size 0.85em]]WPhO » [# Washington Viron] >> [# Notes on quarantine] >> [# Frequently Asked Questions][[/size]]
++++ [# ⮞ Is the Virus in my city?]
++++ [# ⮞ What helps against the virus?]
++++ ⮟ What Mass Gatherings can I still visit?
No physical gatherings including more than two households are allowed for the foreseeable future. Gatherings via digital, astral or other simulacra are not affected.
As a rule of thumb, if you can feel another person's real warmth, it is disallowed.
++++ [# ⮞ What do I do if I have contracted the virus?]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=Andrew_Eldritch_-_Wacken_Open_Air_2019.jpg
|username=The Obsorvor
|handle=returnthegaze
|void-msg= Don't know about you, but my mancave's ready for quarantine 😎 [[image Bedroom_in_a_cave_dwelling%2C_Tenerife.jpg style="border: 1px solid #cfd9de; border-radius: 6px; margin-top: 18px; margin-bottom: 12px; width: 100%;"]] @@ @@
|echoes=54
|hums=200
|time-and-date=07:22 PM · Mar 16, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=Sappho_and_Erinna_in_a_Garden_at_Mytilene.jpg
|username=Isle of Lesbos
|handle=catraisgender
|void-msg= [[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂returnthegaze[[/span]] Pros of dating a victorian-era vampire, best quarantine hideout don't ⁂ me [[image 19th_century_Victorian_living_room%2C_Auckland_-_0816.jpg style="border: 1px solid #cfd9de; border-radius: 6px; margin-top: 18px; margin-bottom: 12px; width: 100%;"]] @@ @@
|echoes=230
|hums=801
|time-and-date=11:41 PM · Mar 16, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=sheep.jpg
|username=Awoken Sheeperson
|handle=stackofwool
|void-msg= [[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂catraisgender[[/span]] don't need no fancy mansions, got all I need right here [[image Modern_Living_Room.jpg style="border: 1px solid #cfd9de; border-radius: 6px; margin-top: 18px; margin-bottom: 12px; width: 100%;"]] @@ @@
|echoes=24
|hums=103
|time-and-date=00:11 AM · Mar 17, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=James_Hyatt_Inhaling_Chlorine_Gas_MET_DP332531_%28cropped%29.jpg
|username=Jon
|handle=jon
|void-msg= Quarantine has begun. My time has come. Leave the light for the infected, I descend to my final home. [[image Staircase_descends_into_cave_at_Maresha.jpg style="border: 1px solid #cfd9de; border-radius: 6px; margin-top: 18px; margin-bottom: 12px; width: 100%;"]] @@ @@
|echoes=2
|hums=15
|time-and-date=01:50 AM · Mar 17, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=Andrew_Eldritch_-_Wacken_Open_Air_2019.jpg
|username=The Obsorvor
|handle=returnthegaze
|void-msg=[[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂jon[[/span]] Hey man, you're always welcome down here. I got room for one more.
|echoes=1
|hums=7
|time-and-date=11:30 AM · Mar 17, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
//The following is a partial recording, taken from// RTÉ News: Nine O'Clock //on Friday, 17/03/2049.//
------
//The camera displays a view of Dublin's Temple Bar, people bustling along its length as miniature Irish flags hang from strings between buildings. A small box in the corner of the recording labels the reporter as one "Gormyne Shey."//
**Shey:** Saint Patrick's Day. A massive holiday for the Irish tourism industry, and one that will likely be heavily hit by the ongoing American pandemic.
//The video cuts to a view of downtown Boston. A few individuals in facemasks pass the camera by, but the street is otherwise empty.//
**Shey:** However, many Americans remain heavily opposed to the ongoing lockdown, and just as many wish to travel over the Atlantic to Ireland for the holiday. And, in spite of the strict measures implemented by the Global Occult Coalition, many still find a way to do so.
//The recording changes to display a video, presumably recorded on a mobile phone. The recording individual is standing on the back of a container ship, exiting Dingle Bay in County Kerry. Suddenly, a figure materializes a few meters to the ship's starboard side, vocalizes loudly and falls out of view, accompanied by a loud splash.//
**Shey:** Several items advertising themselves`as "dado land of ire teleport ring" have appeared on a number of online shopping sites across the United States, claiming to allow the user to teleport directly into the Republic of Ireland without concern for the thaumaturgic barrier preventing it. While it does work as advertised, there are some unwanted side effects.
//The recording switches to another phone recording on Saint Patrick's Street, Cork City. Two members of An Garda Siochana are speaking with a visibly angry woman in a green shirt and a Boston Red Sox baseball hat.//
**Shey:** While it does seem that those who purchase the item are able to arrive in Ireland with occasional issue, many appear incredibly agitated, with several reported cases of aggravated assault being reported in Cork, Dublin and Belfast as a result. The Department of Justice are advising anyone to avoid any individuals who may be affected and to call the Gardaí to report the case.
//The recording switches to stock footage of a young man on a laptop, seemingly browsing an online shop.//
**Shey:** Despite attempts by Vanguard and the GOC to remove these items from online shopping sites, they often seem to reappear almost immediately. So far, no contact with the creator of the product, the known paracriminal "dado," has been made. Gormyne Shey, RTE News, Bray.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[size 0.85em]][# @Mass Email to All Wondertainment Purchasers!] [[/size]]
3/18/49
Hello all the Wonder(tainment)ful folk who are looking to purchase our products!
Unfortunately, due to current Lockdown Restrictions, we will be unable to ship any products to any locations outside of the United States of America both geographically and anomalously for the foreseeable future. Locations include (but are not limited to!) Three Portlands, Undervegas, The Wanderer's Library, Hy-Brasil, and Mongolia.
We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause to our customers.
- The Good Doctor!
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=640px-Diac-schematic-symbol.png
|username=VacDiac Corp
|handle=vacdiaccorporation
|void-msg= Due to the current situation in the mainland US, certain states may have limited power and/or complete outages. Please stay patient at this time, we are working to restore coverage and fix these problems.
|echoes=244
|hums=1,234
|time-and-date=11:03 AM · Mar 23, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=wdh.png
|username=Wind Dew Travel Agency
|handle=winddewtravel
|void-msg=In accordance with the Global Occult Coalition's quarantine on the United States, we are hereby ceasing all travel in and out of the country in TL-1911. We thank you for your patience and will refund any booked tours.
|echoes=103
|hums=1,241
|time-and-date=05:25 PM · Apr 2, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div style="border: 5px solid #d73044; width: 90%; padding: 5px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2); background: white; text-align: center"]]
[[div class="unmargined" style="font-family: "Bebas Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 900%; margin: 2px 0 5px; border-bottom: 2px solid #191919;"]]
JACOBIN
[[/div]]
[[div class="unmargined" style="font-family: "Bebas Neue", sans-serif; font-weight: bold; margin: 2px 0 5px; color: #191919;"]]
[[span style="font-size: 350%;"]]"Neo-China arrives from the future"[[/span]]
[[span style="font-size: 250%;"]]What Are China's Reforms Amidst the American Lockdown Crisis?[[/span]]
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Do YOU get tired of eating your roommates after a whole two weeks of quarantine? Well, if you crave some diversity in your diet, Ambrose Restaurants has a treat just for you!
Just because our US branches have temporarily closed down doesn't mean you have to deprive yourselves of the wonderous experiences we have to offer. Utilizing new paratech advencements, upon placing your order through our app you will be sent a specialized (but simple!) ritual in order to complete your delivery through magical means!* All free of contact, no need to go outside!
No magic? No problem! With just an easy payment of $9.99, you can order a self-powered Portaplate™ to be delivered to your home for the express purpose of teleporting OUR food to YOUR home.
Visit our website or app for more information!
//*Ambrose Restaurants is not responsible for any mishaps or accidents due to improper spellcasting.//
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/i-did-not-fade/tslbdWm.png
|username=Vanguard
|handle=VanguardOfficial
|void-msg=On behalf of the World Parahealth Organisation, we would like to remind all those currently under lockdown in the United States of America that you cannot "walk off," "sleep off," or otherwise "[verb] off" the Washington Virus. Any sources stating otherwise should have further advice taken with a large quantity of salt.
|echoes=1,802
|hums=7,398
|time-and-date=07:53 PM · Apr 9, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=640px-Abandoned_concrete_factory_mechanism.jpg
|username=LittlePengear
|handle=littlepengear
|void-msg=rip to everyone getting sick rn but im built different
|echoes=22
|hums=89
|time-and-date=12:15 PM · Apr 17, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=640px-Abandoned_concrete_factory_mechanism.jpg
|username=LittlePengear
|handle=littlepengear
|void-msg=hopital
|echoes=23
|hums=116
|time-and-date=3:45 AM · Apr 24, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div style="float: center; border: solid 3px #444444; width: 85%; padding: 1px 15px; margin: auto; margin-top: 10px; box-shadow: 0 1px 3px rgba(0,0,0,.2);"]]
= [[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nexus-hyperline/aviatica.png width="200px"]]
[[div class="unmargined" style="font-size: 450%; margin: 2px 0 5px; font-family: 'Montserrat', sans-serif; color: #f26c0c;"]]
= **AVIATICA**
[[/div]]
[[div class="unmargined" style="font-size: 120%; margin: 2px 0 5px; font-family: 'Raleway', sans-serif;"]]
= **With the Wings of Freedom Rings the Bell of Progress**
[[/div]]
[[div class="unmargined" style="color: #f08502; font-family: serif; font-size: 105%; font-family: 'Roboto', sans-serif; font-weight: 900;"]]
= **30/04/2049 | ISSUE 132, VOLUME 7**
[[/div]]
-----
@@ @@
[[=]]
[[div class="unmargined" style="font-size: 92%; margin: 2px 0 5px; font-family: 'Raleway', sans-serif;"]]
[[size 400%]]**Murder Machine Mobilization**[[/size]]
@@ @@
@@ @@
[[==]]
[[size 120%]]**After a series of arrests made near UIU headquarters in a number of West Coast cities, Director Peter Burns has unveiled plans for the Unit's future operations under lockdown to be carried out via headset-operated drones, controlled by agents from the safety of their own homes.**
@@ @@
**Created by [[[groups-of-interest-jp#tohei_hi|Tou-Hei Heavy Industries]]] in partnership with the FBI, the androids acts as though the pilot were in their own body, even being able to channel limited amounts of EVE through a series of thaumo-electric circuits specially designed to prevent the Washington Virus from entering its interior. According to a UIU spokesbeing, the androids will be subject to extremely rigorous cleaning procedures to ensure minimal infection rates among staff members.**
@@ @@
**Many have been quick to criticize this plan, however. As pointed out by several members of online communities, the full statement released by the UIU on their website avoids the primary concern among many surrounding anonymity. No indication has been given that the officer operating any of these androids will be in any way identifiable, leading many to raise concerns surrounding potentially unsolvable cases of police brutality.**
@@ @@
**At the time of writing, the UIU has not responded to these queries, alongside several more put forward by many online.**[[/size]]
[[/==]]
[[/div]]
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png
|username=SAPPHIRE
|handle=safirofficial
|void-msg=We understand our recent Void post has upset many who believe religion should be kept out of politics, which confuses us since we don't like religion to begin with? What are you all talking about?
|echoes=360
|hums=1,087
|time-and-date=02:57 PM · May 1, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**[[[[http://scp-int.wikidot.com/groups-of-interest-ko#Alleys|Back Alley]]]/PlugSoft Channels]**
+ Announcement To American Users Of PlugSoft TVRMMOs (IMPORTANT! Please Read!)
**By:** LittleWeirdButImChill##green|♦##
[[>]]
**Date:** 07/05/2049
[[/>]]
-----
[[=image http://scpko.wikidot.com/local--files/the-alleys-hub/golmok.png width="450px" style="border: solid 1.5px #799dce;"]]
Hello to all of our American players!
We at PlugSoft are sad to announce that, in light of potential damages done to our servers by individuals affected by the Washington Virus attempting to utilize our TVR headsets, we are closing access to all our Thaumaturgical Virtual Reality Massively Multiplayer Online games within the bounds of the United States until such a time where the Virus is no longer a major threat to our servers. We ask that you be patient during this time, and look forward to the abundance of new content that will suddenly be available to you upon your return! For the time being, all accounts based out of the United States have had their membership granted a leave of subscription until they are once more accessible.
👍 ##blue|439## | 👎 ##red|783##
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=Mises_family_crest_with_transparent_backgrounnn.png
|username=Hadfield Family Estate
|handle=HadfieldEstate
|void-msg=We are very sad to announce that for the forseeable future, all regular lectures organized by the Estate are canceled. As both Mr. John and Ms. Abigail are currently stuck inside the United States following their connecting flight to the Daevon archeological dig, they will [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wayward-forlorn-kin both be unavailable for as long as the US quarantine remains in place].
|echoes=162
|hums=5,183
|time-and-date=06:21 PM · May 11, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Olivia Johnson:** Welcome welcome welcome to Last Week Tonight. I am Olivia Johnson, thank you so much for joining us, it has been a busy week! The GOC has ramped up its crackdown on Pizzicato-related protests in the US, almost killing a fifty year old man with tear gas. Taylor Swift has reportedly been infected by the Washington Virion, and JOICL has announced their brand new product aimed at victims of the virus, which, according to Vanguard, is essentially an "[[[joicl8kdr|Empty, soulless meat puppet that can do magic]]]" to serve as a replacement for infected bodies. But tonight we're going to focus on a different breed of dystopian hypercapitalism: a group that's rarely covered by mainstream media, Marshall, Carter and Dark. Specifically, their role in sustaining the American economy during the pandemic.
//Feed cuts to Robert Carter being interviewed by the New York Times.//
**Robert Carter:** Without international trade, the American economy would have collapsed in a matter of weeks. We were the only ones who could have saved it. So we did what MC&D does best, and lo and behold: [[[Carter Courier Channel]]]. It's cheap, fast, and most importantly //sterile//, allowing us to transport any material from one side of the world to another with zero risk of spreading the virus.
//Feed cuts back to Olivia Johnson.//
**Olivia Johnson:** Now ignore the massive savior complex there for a moment, can we talk about how he named it the "Carter Courier Channel"? I don't mean to be rude, but it really sounds like the sort of idea that should not have made it past post-nut clarity.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png
|username=SAPPHIRE
|handle=safirofficial
|void-msg=So if I'm to understand this right, our fanatical atheism might as well be a religion, and Filbuson Syndrome is itself caused by Akiva radiation?
|echoes=391
|hums=964
|time-and-date=03:12 PM · May 17, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Recording of a call made on 20/05/2049:**
//40 seconds of hold music.//
**Voice:** You've reached the [[[goldbaker-reinz-hub|Goldbaker Reinz Ltd.]]] Healthcare Insurance automated telephone line. Our most sincere apologies, but all of our lines in the US area are occupied at the moment. A teleoperator will be with you shortly!
//40 seconds of hold music.//
**Voice:** You've reached the Goldbaker Reinz Ltd. Healthcare Insurance automated telephone line. Our most sincere...
//The call goes on for 8 hours without interruption.//
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=Lib3Ports.png
|username=Libertarian Party 3Ports
|handle=LP3Ports
|void-msg=We oppose governmental restrictions of [[span class="vactivity"]]⁂UNGOC[[/span]] and [[span class="vactivity"]]⁂POTUS[[/span]]. _
We believe that it would be better for society (and the market) if we put these services in the hands of PMCs, private security agencies and private healthcare! _
Let's eliminate unnecessary red tape and let the free market do its best! 👏
|echoes=48
|hums=651
|time-and-date=2:21 PM · May 27, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
-----
The **2049 Atalanta Thaumo-Rail Derailment** occurred on May 27th, 2049. A [# NMZ Transportation] Thaumo-Rail disconnected from its driver, who had contracted the [# Washington Virus] during a stop in [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nashville,_Tennessee Nashvilee, Tennessee] the previous day. The disconnection occurred as the train entered [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peachtree_station Atlanta Peachtree Station], leading to the front two carriages of the train mounting one of the station's platforms. Twelve people were killed in the accident, with fifty-eight more suffering major injuries. It is one of the first major infrastructural incidents caused by the virus' effects, and often considered to be the largest single loss of life as the result of a Virus-affected public transport incident. [...]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/groups-of-interest/MCF.png
|username=MCF North America
|handle=MCFNAofficial
|void-msg=In accordance with the ultimatum delivered to us by the UIU and UNGOC, we will temporarily be closing our Hawaiian facilities until the current issue with indefinitely duplicating cans of Heinz beans can be resolved. We ask for your patience and understanding at this time, as well as for any practicing thaumaturges willing to risk their ability to cast spells for their assistance in removing the curse affecting these items before Kauai is buried in aluminum and tomato sauce.
|echoes=298
|hums=2,178
|time-and-date=02:07 PM · June 11, 2050
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Offender:** Edward Edwin "Hertz" Nguyen (PoI-76293). Under Vanguard supervision for unauthorized hacking into SCP Foundation databases until its dissolution; wanted in the United States of America for breaking and entering, seventeen counts of wire fraud, two counts of escape from prison, and conspiracy to commit election fraud. Has resided in Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam since 2041. Under Vanguard surveillance.
**Date:** June 14, 2049
**Recording type:** Audio
-----
[[=]]
**Begin Log**
[[/=]]
-----
23:11:06 -- //PoI-76293 and an unknown woman can be heard conversing in Vietnamese. The microphone, hidden inside a DVD player directly underneath a television, cannot initially capture the content of their conversation. The television is streaming CBS.//
**Television Audio:** A woman (presumed to be CBS anchor Julia Hartley) speaks.
**Hartley:** Breaking news: The malfunction of House Speaker Brian Mast's prosthetic legs has been found to be linked to the Washington Virion. The incident, which took place yesterday following a fundraiser in Mast's home state of Florida, left the Congressman in critical condition -- a CBS team on the scene were able to inadvertently capture it on video while attempting to interview him. A warning to our viewers: The following footage is graphic.
**PoI-76293:** Này, này! Bạn phải xem cái này!
//PoI-76293 and the woman fall silent.//
**Television Audio:** Ambient crowd chatter and white noise. A man, presumed to be CBS journalist Devin Newsom, can be heard addressing Mast.
**Newsom:** Speaker Mast, can you say anything about how your state plans to respond to Pizzicato?
**Mast:** I'll say this, and only this, and then you'll leave me the hell alone. I'd like to remind you and the GOC and their backers that this country and the state of Florida have the right to self-defense, whether that's through pre-emptive action -- like the national security initiative introduced by President Crenshaw last year -- or direct military reprisal.
//A woman, presumed to be NBC journalist Annika Oroxom, interjects.//
**Oroxom:** Could you elaborate on that statement?
**Mast:** I told you that was all I'd say.
**Television Audio:** A muffled pop and the sound of metal clattering on metal.
**Unidentified:** Mr. Mast? Are you all right?
**Mast:** Fine. Don't-- get off of me, I'm not--
**Newsom:** Congressman-
**Television Audio:** A series of loud, sharp cracks followed by tearing metal and electrical crackling. Mast groans. Gasps and screams from onlookers followed by repeated heavy impacts.
//PoI-76293 howls with laughter.//
**PoI-76293:** Đó chưa phải là tất cả!
**Television Audio:** A chime.
**PoI-76293:** Open browser and look up "Brian Mast escalator Void."
//Footsteps can be heard leaving the room. A door opens and closes. PoI-76293 huffs.//
23:15:00 - 24:44:07 -- White noise interspersed with PoI-76293 snickering and various viral videos commentating on or remixing footage of Brian Mast's fall down an up escalator in St. Petersburg, Florida, United States. Mast was found to have illegally outfitted his prosthetic legs with paratech enhancements plugged directly into his body and dependent on his EVE; additionally, an exploded EVE regulating anti-aging device was found in his chest during surgery. Despite suffering from 30 broken bones, severe internal electrical burns, and rapid-onset senescence, Mast made a full recovery.
-----
[[=]]
**End Log**
[[/=]]
-----
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=foxy.jpg
|username=Arctic Foxy
|handle=MagicalArcticFox
|void-msg=(14/?) And while I know it is tempting to say think that the creation and the dissemination of the Washington Virion is proof that Type Blues are not privileged and are in fact still oppressed, we must keep in mind the incredible lockdown measures that have been implemented in order to thwart its spreading. [cont'd]
|echoes=107
|hums=63
|time-and-date=04:32 AM · June 21, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=foxy.jpg
|username=Arctic Foxy
|handle=MagicalArcticFox
|void-msg=(15/?) This is not me saying that Type Blues are no longer oppressed, no, but let me ask you this: would the government have issued a similar lockdown if the life of baseline humans was on the line? Would it have taken such drastic measures? The fact that both this lockdown and Pizzicato was enacted is proof of the existence of Type Blue Privilege. [cont'd]
|echoes=104
|hums=57
|time-and-date=04:33 AM · June 21, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=skamtebord.jpg
|username=Skateboarder
|handle=skateboard_joe
|void-msg=[[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂MagicalArcticFox [[/span]] "would the government have issued a similar lockdown if the life of baseline humans was on the line?" i assume you weren't born back then, but there WAS, in fact, a lockdown instated in the past to protect baseline humans. i understand the point you're trying to make (actually no, i don't), but there literally was at least one.
|echoes=132
|hums=511
|time-and-date=08:12 AM · June 21, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=foxy.jpg
|username=Arctic Foxy
|handle=MagicalArcticFox
|void-msg=[[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂skateboard_joe [[/span]] The fact that you immediately jumped to their defense is a clear example of Type Blue privilege. If I made this about baseline humans, I bet you wouldn't have said a single word
|echoes=563
|hums=12
|time-and-date=08:56 AM · June 21, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/church-of-the-broken-god-hub/SPOrth.png
|username=trunnion forgive me i'm using the web
|handle=throwawaycogwork26373478
|void-msg=[[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂MagicalArcticFox [[/span]] what do you have against type blues specifically. why do you keep mentioning them. there's so many different types of anomalous humans (i'm what they would call a type bronze, hi). what is it with you and type blues
|echoes=32
|hums=85
|time-and-date=01:48 PM · June 21, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Broadcast Name:** [[[scp-1982|Georgia 1598 AM]]]
**Broadcast Location:** Originates from Blairsville, Georgia.
**Host:** Unidentified. Previous sources point towards a "Head Honcho Father Tucker." Investigation pending.
**Broadcast Focus:** N/A
**Transcript Date:** Sunday, June 30th, 2049
-------
//Transcript begin, 1800 Hours CST. No video footage is visible.//
**Unidentified:** Brothers and sisters, we've come back from the star that took our before-lives away. We're reborn in the eyes of the //spirit// with smoke that's hotter than blazes. You all know about what's been happening on the outside, see. What them organizations don't want you know is that you can choose faith over fear, the restless spirit in yourselves says otherwise, ever since them Geo Seas have come into //our// homeland and stripped //us// of our freedom! Thwice be damned upon them! Now roll that footage of the dancing frog now would ya?
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[==]]
[[=]]
[[size 1.3em]]**[# Best]｜[# Newest]｜[# Breaking News]｜[# My Page]**[[/size]]
[[/=]]
------
[[size 0.85em]]unVeiled » [# Politics][[/size]]
[[size 1.4em]]**Iris Thompson and Alice Sharp: Help Wanted!**[[/size]]
[[size 0.8em]]**By Alice Sharp (⁂ASharp)**
**Published 03/07/2049, 11:57**[[/size]]
[[image Northeast_Portland_homeless_camp_tents.jpg width="auto" style="border: solid 1.5px #799dce;"]]
[[size 0.8em]]An encampment in Portland, Oregon; one of the many places those displaced by the Coalition's intervention in Three Portlands had to seek refuge in. [[/size]]
Dear reader, I will cut to the chase: unVeiled needs your help. With more and more people getting displaced all around the United States by GOC operations, it is only up to us to help those who cannot help themselves. Though unVeiled already acted as the middleman for people's donations for those in need, what we are currently recieving is not enough to help everyone. And we cannot compensate for the rest ourselves.
Please, if you have any spare blankets, clothes, or food, donate what you can to the masses hurt by the Coalition and President Crenshaw. You will only need to take a picture of your donation and attach it to your email sent at [email protected]; with the help of our Iris Thompson and her abilities, we will be able to reach and access them remotely.
If you're interested in helping others...
[[/==]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=Titania%2C_unbekleidet_und_mit_hochgestecktem_Haar%2C_schwebend%2C_nach_links_%28SM_1676345az%29.png
|username=Lady Titania
|handle=QueenÁine
|void-msg=Hello Everyone! We are aware of how hard it is for all of us due to the lockdown and pandemic. We also understand that many of you are displeased with our decision to fully lock down Fata Morgana in compliance with [[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂UNGOC [[/span]] directives. However, in the opinion of the Ever After Congress, supporting these measures is the only rational option to ensure that this virus does not grow out of control and spread to our city.
|echoes=124
|hums=3,266
|time-and-date=06:47 PM · July 8, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=Closeup_of_a_cat_with_green_eyes%27_face_looking_at_the_viewer.jpg
|username=lord doobie the 2th
|handle=doobiethecat
|void-msg=hey so just to be clear to everyone celebrating the fact half of the quarantine is over: you people do realize that the quarantine itself doesnt last a year but the yearly provision the coalition agreed upon to withhold their termination triage does? like. if this period ends, under pizzicato they will literally have the legal right to bomb cities to stop the disease 🧵 [1/12]
|echoes=479
|hums=7,937
|time-and-date=08:44 AM · July 19, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/i-did-not-fade/tslbdWm.png
|username=Vanguard
|handle=VanguardOfficial
|void-msg=On behalf of the World Parahealth Organisation, we would address the number of false "cures" for the Washington Virus that have been proliferating lately. While [/scp-8047 VNP-8047] instances //would// cure the Washington Virus, they would also kill you in an extremely painful manner two days later. Exercise common sense.
|echoes=1,922
|hums=9,402
|time-and-date=12:53 PM · July 22, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/goc-hub-page/GOC-Logo-v4.png
|username=Global Occult Coalition
|handle=UNGOC
|void-msg=**PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT:** Anyone caught playing GreyMighter's recently released "FUCK THE GAWKERS" song outside of quarantine checkpoints will certainly face consequences in the form of a fine for disruption of international safety measures. For those planning to, we ask that you at least consider using a song where the rapper can be understood without needing to reduce the volume by 200%.
|echoes=5,821
|hums=19,036
|time-and-date=05:17 PM · July 23, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=Warlock_Image.jpg
|username=Saucery 🍑🔞🧙
|handle=saucery
|void-msg= [[span class="vactivity"]]⁂UNGOC [[/span]] ░F░O░R░B░I░D░D░E░N░░S░P░E░L░L░S░░I░N░░B░I░O░░C░L░I░C░K░░N░O░W░░T░O░░P░O░N░D░E░R
|echoes=2
|hums=5
|time-and-date=06:32 PM · July 23, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/church-of-the-broken-god-hub/SPMax.png
|username=Cipher City Council
|handle=maxwellisthexagonofficial
|void-msg=Due to ongoing complications concerning the Washington Virus, we are limited the number of access points to Cipher City within the United State for a brief period. If you find you are unable to enter through your regular access point, please consult [# www.ciphercityphysicalinterface.int] for your nearest maintained location.
|echoes=7,361
|hums=11,847
|time-and-date=02:17 AM · July 26, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=Dotted_lines_for_code_blocks.png
|username=Rosiline 💙⚡⏫
|handle=wantotree
|void-msg=It's so good to see that my higher-ups in the Hexagon is finally taking steps to deal with this immigration crisis. So many non-Maxwellist cyborgs coming into our city and expecting to be housed and cared for while most of us can hardly afford the storage space for a one-bed apartment. [[span class="vactivity"]] #CipherCityIsFull [[/span]]!
|echoes=9,783
|hums=2,371
|time-and-date=02:21 AM · July 26, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/sarkicism-hub/NygpVdU.png
|username=[/the-liberal-vampire Saarn]
|handle=klavigarsaarn2917
|void-msg= [[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂wantotree [[/span]] kill yourself
|echoes=3
|hums=26
|time-and-date=03:39 AM · July 26, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-first-occult-flame-war/surrat.png
|username=[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss-hub Marie Surratt]
|handle=QueenOfBones
|void-msg=Fun fact, skeletons are physically incapable of catching viruses. They are however, perfectly capable of being wizards. Do with that information what you will :)
|echoes=566
|hums=6,243
|time-and-date=05:46 PM · July 31, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Quarterly report from [[[scp-2557|www.envelopelogistics.inu]]] on TL-1911, dated August 1st, 2049.
-------
[[span style="color: white; background-color: royalblue; border: grey; padding: 3px;" text-allign: center;]]Sector Performance[[/span]] -- 3 month performance
[[=]]
|| Disease || ##green|+17.41%## ||
|| Reading Comprehension || ##green|+7.82%## ||
|| Thaumaturges || ##red|-6.19%## ||
|| Political Extremism || ##green|+15.93%## ||
|| Hospitals || ##green|+11.4%## ||
|| Chinese proletariat || ##green|+9.48%## ||
|| Todd Howard || ##red|-5.36%## ||
|| Hot Tubs || ##red|-24.51%## ||
|| ViaDiac Corporation || ##red|-19.99%## ||
|| Faith In Humanity || ##red|-33.83%## ||
|| Human Population || ##red|-8.55%## ||
|| Normalcy || ##green|+0.07%##||
[[/=]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
#System: The following is a conversation with an AI Large Language Model. The AI has been trained to provide help and guidance to people who have lost A key part of themselves. The AI follows user requests. The AI thinks outside the box. The AI will assure the user that whatever happened was not their fault. The AI will assure the user that they will continue to have a meaningful life.
#Eliza: Hello! How can I help you today.
[[div id="blink-bar"]]
#User:
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png
|username=SAPPHIRE
|handle=safirofficial
|void-msg=What the fuck. Has [[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂SAPPHIRE [[/span]] been lying to me this whole time?
|echoes=498
|hums=1,768
|time-and-date=03:59 PM · Aug 5, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=static.jpg
|username=Westhead Media
|handle=WestheadMedia02
|void-msg=Hey there, champs!
To help allay your boredom and Open up your Night during the lockdown, we at Westhead Media have made all of our prior works available at [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/system:page-tags/tag/westhead-media https://www.westheadplus.3p] for you to watch! :)
|echoes=3,135
|hums=5,042
|time-and-date=08:06 AM · Aug 18, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
//The camera shows a hospital room. A heavily disfigured body can be seen partially fused with the bed. The corpse corresponds to that of Cy-lria Ata-nyl, a Fae living in Chicago who died of Washington Virion complications on 20/08/2049 in the Northweastern Memorial Hospital. The figure's eyes move rapidly around the room in-between irregular, ragged breaths. Suddenly, Laughy McLaugherson appears on frame, smiling.//
**Laughy McLaugherson:** Everyone gets down with the flu every once in a while. You all have had to call in sick. Just don't overdo it! You wouldn't want to disappoint your boss, would you? I’m sure he doesn't want to fire you! Or does he...? Nah, I'm just joking here. Getting rid of you is too much of a hassle. But who am I kidding, sometimes you can't help to call in sick, because... Come on, repeat after me: [[[SCP-2030 |EPIDEMICS... ARE... FUN]]]!
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[size 0.85em]]WPhO » [# Washington Viron] >> [# Notes on quarantine] >> [# Frequently Asked Questions][[/size]]
++++ [# ⮞ What are virus-free zones?]
++++ [# ⮞ What helps against the virus?]
++++ ⮟ What Mass Gatherings can I still visit?
Physical Gatherings can be attended, as long as a GOC-affiliated Demomancer is present. This type of thaumaturge specialises in social magic and will ensure the virus won't spread. One demomancer for every 50 people attending a gathering is needed, as they won't be able to control any spread beyond that.
**Why was this not possible before?**
The Electorate of Demomancers was previously busy ensuring American fish won't spread the virus to other fish. This task has since been solved by the Shark Punching Centre, freeing demomancers up to help contain the spread.
++++ [# ⮞ What is the Shark Punching Centre?]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
Excerpt from a call received by Adria Clemens on 24/08/2049. All of Adria Clemens's interventions during the conversation have been erased to respect the receiver's privacy.
------
**Unidentified:** Hello. Uhm. Yes. Is there anyone there? Good. I’m [string of incomprehensible sounds], but you may know me as the Saturn Deer! I'm a mage of renown and I called you today to politely ask for a donation to the Merlin Fund for Struggling Wizards!
//Silence for four seconds.//
**Unidentified:** Don't try hanging up, it's useless.
//Silence for six seconds.//
**Unidentified:** Look, I’m a nice guy. Trustworthy. Yeah, and I’ve been six times in the //Planasthai Press Chosen Top Ten Wizards// of the year. Look it up! Well, under fake names, but still, look it up!
//Silence for ten seconds.//
**Unidentified:** Stop trying to break the phone against the corner of the table. It won't work. Look, this donation is for a good cause. All wizards have been trapped in my... I mean, our homes for the entire year. And it's difficult to survive in these conditions.
//Silence for three seconds.//
**Unidentified:** You better not be trying to saw off your hand in there, Clemens. So, yeah, I just need you to donate six hundred dollars. Or, if you prefer, you can go outside right now and hold them high, a bird will swoop down and grab them.
//Silence for seven seconds while Adria Clemens talks.//
**Unidentified:** There's no need to get violent now, Adria. Just give me the money, it's not that difficult.
//Silence for three seconds.//
**Unidentified:** I'm sorry but...
//At this point, Vanguard, alerted by Clemens's spouse was able to remotely terminate the ritual keeping Clemens's hand glued to the phone.//
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Extranormal Event Log Description:** A stray radio broadcast was received by Vanguard Mid-Western Research and Preservation Site-11 and an undetermined amount of devices from around the Lake Michigan area. Transcript is provided below.
-----
//12 seconds of radio static.//
**Unidentified Voice:** ...hello. Testing. Testing. Is there anyone out there? If someone can reach out to... //(6 seconds of radio static)// ...tell them to come to camp... //(23 seconds of static)// ...we didn't know coming here would be so dangerous without Destiny's help. But...
//129 seconds of static interspersed with various words spoken in an as of yet unidentified language.//
**Unidentified Voice:** ...thankfully the apparitions stopped, but food is running low. The kids are fine, if a bit scared. Some still think it's better to deal with this than to deal with a motherfucking magic-killing virus. Poor things. But I don't know what else we'll have to do to...
//35 seconds of radio static.//
**Unidentified Voice:** ...so, please, send help. [[[SCP-4239|Greenman]]] out.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png
|username=SAPPHIRE
|handle=safirofficial
|void-msg=We apologize for our previous social media intern's behavior. To make up for it, we will be uploading a free analysis of Richard Dawkins' //Outgrowing God// by Marquise-Cut ZIRCON Albertson.
|echoes=1
|hums=9
|time-and-date=04:30 PM · Aug 25, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=640px-Abandoned_Storehouses_%2821956982102%29.jpg
|username=Insurrectionist
|handle=CombatantOfChaos332
|void-msg=Why can't Vanguard just use [[[SCP-500]]], almost as if this pandemic is going to serve some of their broader political agenda 🙄
|echoes=2
|hums=23
|time-and-date=6:33 PM · Aug 29, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=scp-wiki.png
|username=☽ Isabellla ☾
|handle=Isa_2039
|void-msg=[[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂CombatantofChaos332 [[/span]] Didn't they reveal that it was false flag file designed to lure people in to try to steal it all along?
|echoes=13
|hums=165
|time-and-date=7:20 PM · Aug 29, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=przyczajone.png
|username=Lurking Treatment US
|handle=PrzyczajoneUS
|void-msg=[[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂CombatantofChaos332 [[/span]] Former SCPF doctor Jarosław Zimorodek was able to replicate the secret and innovative formula behind SCP-500 that Vanguard and Coalition wanted to hide
_
Buy new dietary supplement PANACEA that will cure Washington Viron and all other diseases now 85% off
_
[http://scp-int.wikidot.com/przyczajone-leczenie-hub https://przyczajoneleczenie.pl/panacea]
|echoes=0
|hums=5
|time-and-date=7:57 PM · Aug 29, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Broadcast Name:** 93.5 WSPI "The Pit"
**Broadcast Location:** Sloth's Pit, Wicsonsin
**Host:** Louisa Tofflemire, former Vanguard agent, daughter of Commander Robert J. Tofflemire.
**Broadcast Focus:** 'Top 40' pop music, local news
**Broadcast Date:** 04/09/2049
-----
**Tofflemire:** ...folks, we've recieved word that Sloth's Pit is up to some rather unusual stuff today. Apparently there's a spatial loop going around and has enclosed the town off from the outside world. Good news is that the ick going around can't get in; bad news is that people can't get out. Essentially, the powers-that-be have decided to quarantine the city against the what the kids in Gen Delta are calling "Wizard Flu." Somehow more comprehensible than them bringing back Boston abbreviations. Like, I'm supposed to know what the hell a 'VC' is? A 'KLUN'? What?
**Tofflemire:** We'll have a couple of people from from Research and Preservation Site-87 in here around noon -- Researcher Phoenix Sinclair-Hastings of thaumaturgy, and head of virology Dr. Lucas O'Brian to discuss how you can keep safe. There haven't been any reported cases of the Viron in Sloth's Pit yet, but 'yet' is the key word. The town's trying to keep us safe, but it might not always succeed.
**Tofflemire:** Coming up next, we have a great hour of music for you. From classics like Panic! At the Disco and Bug Hunter to the newest up-and-coming //sidhe// act, "Court of Clefs." Stay tuned.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=PD.png
|username=People's Daily, China
|handle=PDChina
|void-msg=For anyone wanting a small break from the chaos of the pandemic in the US and the Great Economic Reforms in China, look at this cute red panda from Shanghai Zoo!
[[image 1024px-%E5%B0%8F%E7%86%8A%E7%8C%AB.jpg style="border: 1px solid #cfd9de; border-radius: 6px; margin-top: 18px; margin-bottom: 12px; width: 100%;"]]@@ @@
|echoes=4,051
|hums=9,213
|time-and-date=09:16 AM · Sept 10, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[div style="text-align: center"]]
[[div class="unmargined" style="font-family: 'Cinzel'; font-size: 450%; margin: 2px 0 5px;"]]
Undervegas Undergazzete
[[/div]]
[[div class="unmargined" style="font-family: 'Pinyon Script'; font-size: 250%; margin: 2px 0 5px;"]]
Sinner's choice
[[/div]]
[[div class="unmargined" style="font-family: serif; font-size: 125%; border-top-style: solid; border-bottom-style: solid;"]]
[[table style="border: none; width: 100%;"]]
[[row]]
[[cell]]
UNDERVEGAS
[[/cell]]
[[cell style="text-align: center;"]]
THURSDAY SEPTEMBER 17TH, 2049
[[/cell]]
[[cell style="text-align: right;"]]
0.5 soul coins
[[/cell]]
[[/row]]
[[/table]]
[[/div]]
[[div class="unmargined" style="font-family: 'Anton'; font-size: 500%; margin: 2px 0 5px;"]]
THE GRAND CLOSING OF THE STRIP IS NIGH
[[/div]]
[[div class="unmargined" style="font-family:serif; font-size:120%;"]]
//By Eleanor Stolas//
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[div style="text-align:justify;"]]
VEGAS/UNDERVEGAS -- The day that we all had been fearing has come at last. In a sudden and unusual bout of collaboration, the Nevada Gaming Commission and Research and Preservation Site-666 have come to an agreement: the Strip has to be closed for business in the next two days.
This may come as a surprise to the least informed or the most stupid of you. We all know that Vanguard (the current managers of Site-666 and the //Luxor Vegas Hotel and Casino//) has been trying to shut down the strip for the better part of this last year on account of the Washington Virion. According to them, Undervegas and its earthly counterpart have become the hotspot of the epidemic, and it's in no small part due to the casinos' reluctance to close down. But the NGC and its allies on the underside of the city have held fast to their ideals. And what was their reasoning behind this? According to them, demons cannot fall sick to mortal illnesses. This fact had held true, at least until Ebenezer Shax, owner of the Augustus Palace, fell mysteriously ill last week and stopped performing his renowned magic tricks.
Thus, the scramble for control began. According to our sources, the GNC in full folded to Vanguard's demands. Of course, Ba'al, the Lord of the Flies himself, stated that he would continue doing business as usual in a secret meeting we were privy to. "The chips must flow" he said, to the seemingly ecstatic audience gathered in the Moneypit.
In response, Vanguard convoked a press conference in the Luxor. And their spokedemon (one Agent Calendar) had this to say about the whole ordeal: "If anyone of you doesn't follow the quarantine protocols I'll have you know that I have full permission to rip out your spines and use them as coat-hangers. And I don't even own a coat!" Sources in the Moneypit tell us that since this declaration, the greed demons have calmed down significantly, but there's no telling what the future holds.
[[/div]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/c5/Roasted_coffee_beans.jpg/640px-Roasted_coffee_beans.jpg
|username=Dive Simmons
|handle=Davethebrave
|void-msg=I miss coffee.
|echoes=6,724
|hums=19,402
|time-and-date=07:04 AM · Sept 22, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Broadcast Name:** "Radio Free Genosha," an indie podcast and pirate radio show
**Broadcast Location:** unknown location near Kenosha, Wisconsin
**Host:** anonymous individual using the name "Antithesis"
**Broadcast Focus:** The //X-Men// franchise, leftist politics
**Broadcast Date:** 25/09/2049
-----
Magneto was right.
The Washington legacy virus has proven that peaceful coexistence with humanity is impossible. For the second time, humankind has chosen to annihilate us, despite the equal risk to itself, for no crime but being born better than them. Though calling the Impasse the first time would not truly be accurate either, for the Impasse was but the culmination of centuries of containment and witch-hunting, was it not? Parahumans have never been safe amongst the flatscans, no matter how hard the starry-eyed idealists of Vanguard or the race traitors of the Global Occult Coalition might try to convince us otherwise.
Have we forgotten that these organizations were the ones who caused the Impasse? Have we forgotten the Ichabod campaign? I certainly have not. I remember all too well the way anomalies were forced to be the Foundation’s child soldiers, coerced into killing their own kind by the Coalition, or scrapped for reality anchor parts if we were not useful enough while alive. We have only ever been slaves and tools to these people, and though they may have changed their names and faces they still cannot or will not protect us, as the Washington Virion proves.
And just as surely as this is not the first time, it will not be the last. Dan Crenshaw campaigned on our oppression and extinction, and millions of people voted in favor of it. Do you think this pandemic will teach them what the Impasse did not? Do you think they will ever learn the consequences of striking out at their ontological superiors? Of course not. For in the eyes of a //Homo sapien//, these things are our fault. We brought this upon ourselves, we forced Crenshaw’s prejudiced hand, by having the audacity to exist, to be different. And if we dare to survive this latest attempt on our collective lives, it will only be a matter of time before the purple robots start breaking down our doors.
So what are we to do? Join with Vanguard’s meek efforts to prove that we are worthy of existence? Convince the Coalition that locked us in here with the monsters that we are more useful alive than dead? No. The dream of Vanguard, of Charles Xavier, is dead. Magneto was right. So I urge you, paranormal listener -- when you are ready to forsake the weak and thankless brood that spawned you into this hateful world, come and join me in anomalous brotherhood. Krakowhere awaits.
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=Drawing_of_a_woman_taking_herself_a_selfie.jpg
|username=Amanda Johansson
|handle=justamanda
|void-msg=you know when [/how-did-we-get-here connors won the elections back in '36 and '40] i thought that things are finally gonna change but crenshaw helped me realize how stupid i was. nothing ever changes. nothing ever happens. it's the same bullshit over and over again, for all of history. fuck all of this. the goddamn [/external-relations-orientation-annihilism annihilists] were right -- there's no point in keeping this charade going. why even bother anymore.
|echoes=12
|hums=351
|time-and-date=06:29 PM · Sept 27, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[==]]
[[=]]
[[size 1.3em]]**[# Best]｜[# Newest]｜[# Breaking News]｜[# My Page]**[[/size]]
[[/=]]
[[size 0.85em]]unVeiled » [# Politics][[/size]]
[[size 1.4em]]**Anti-Thaumaturge Bias by Secretary of State**[[/size]]
[[size 0.8em]]**By Alice Sharp (⁂ASharp)**
**Published 01/10/2049, 14:37**[[/size]]
[[image Principal_Deputy_Spokesperson_Patel_Briefs_Reporters_%2852339387664%29.jpg width="2500 px" style="border: solid 1.5px #799dce;"]]
[[size 0.8em]] Spokesman for the United States Department of State Andrew Baylor (at the podium), dismissing inconvenient questions from journalists regarding the absent Thomas Graham.[[/size]]
Audio tapes of Secretary of State [[[SCP-4415|Thomas Graham]]] have been leaked to multiple media outlets, including this one, by anonymous whistleblowers. In the tapes, Secretary Graham appears to be celebrating the release of the Washington Virion, as it will "help [President Crenshaw] keep the damn wizards in line." He also voices the opinion that "the O5s should have let me do this fifty years ago", mocks several public figures who have come out about their tragic experiences under the virus, and refers to unVeiled's own Iris Thompson by her pre-Vanguard SCP designation.
It is worth noting that Secretary Graham is a former member of the SCP Foundation, where he served as the Director of [[[site-17-hub|Site-17]]], a facility noted for its extremely unethical practices in the times of the Foundation. Secretary Graham has been accused of numerous alleged charges in the past including embezzlement, bribery, extortion, verbal and physical abuse, perjury, gross misuse of amnestics, and conspiracy, but was [[[chronicle-of-the-worm|pardoned by President Crenshaw]]] during his first term after many years of a long, drawn-out case. In the meantime, Secretary Graham worked as a conservative lobbyist, quickly climbing the ranks of American politics as a charismatic far-right politician, eventually becoming a key figure in Crenshaw's second-term administration.
Secretary Graham claims that his statements were altered and taken out of context by malicious actors within "far-left online sects" [sic!]. Groups referred as such by Secretary Graham have made it no secret their disgust towards Secretary Graham and often refer to him as "The Crack[kk]er" a nickname that he argues constitutes a racial slur against his person and is a form of racism against...
[[/==]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=Bald_Man_at_Halloween_premiere.jpg
|username=Hector Canvera
|handle=therealhectorcanvera
|void-msg=The quarantine is a fantastic time to shun the distractions of the outside and truly look on your Inside. If you ever feel alone on those quiet nights, just listen: hear your heart beat and look up above. You will be heard.
|echoes=25
|hums=1,625
|time-and-date=02:01 AM · Oct 6, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[==]]
[[=]]
[[size 1.3em]]**[# Best]｜[# Newest]｜[# Breaking News]｜[# My Page]**[[/size]]
[[/=]]
------
[[size 0.85em]]unVeiled » [# Science & Technology][[/size]]
[[size 1.4em]]**Global Occult Coalition Plan to Prevent the Spread of Cognitohazards Worries Internet Safety Experts**[[/size]]
[[size 0.8em]]**By Wilbur Henderson (⁂uV_Henderson)**
**Published 11/10/2049, 07:27**[[/size]]
[[image 1200px-Conjectural_Futures_Conference_2018_%2845041734534%29.jpg width="2500 px" style="border: solid 1.5px #799dce;"]]
[[size 0.8em]] Sarah Anne Nolan publically announcing the GOC's new internet safety innuitive.[[/size]]
The Global Occult Coalition is working on a new initiative to combat the spread of infohazards and congitohazards over media-sharing platforms, according to Sarah Anne Nolan, the head of the GOC's Internet Security Congress. "Popular social media websites such as Instagram and Void", Nolan said at the announcement of the initiative, "are not doing a sufficient job preventing the large scale dissemination of harmful materials across their platforms.
"Over the past two decades, the systems relied upon on to prevent the cognitohazards from spreading through social media have barely evolved." According to Nolan, two programs are currently being developed, one which will be installed client-side, and one which will be utilized by social media platforms themselves." Nolan claims that these programs have been in development for several months, and recent events have caused them to invest more into the project. "With the lockdowns caused by the Washington Virus, people are spending a lot more time using the internet, and the risk of a deadly spread event aided by the internet has become increasingly likely.
Although the exact details of how these services will operate is unknown, the Electronic Frontier Foundation, Para-Internet Association, and other internet and free speech activism organizations have raised concerns about, or outright condemned the GOC's announcement. Some consider it highly suspicious that the GOC is creating their own anti-cognitohazard infrastructure, rather than supporting the existing but underfunded protective systems currently utilized by social media companies and consumers.
While the number of congitohazards spread over the internet has risen over the past decade, the deadliness of these events is lower than ever thanks to software such as MindGuard and Cognito-Ward. Critics of the GOC fear that the programs may provide cover for the censorship of opinions critical of the GOC, or may act as spyware, allowing the GOC to extrajudicial access civilian's computers.
The GOC has a history of...
[[/==]]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:void-post">:scp-wiki:component:void-post</a>
|profile-pic=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/kte-9817-bluebuster-mendel-shelley-renegade-armbrusteri/wpho.png
|username=World Paraealth Organization
|handle=WPhO
|void-msg=Join [[span class="vactivity"]] ⁂SimonTorres [[/span]] at 7 PM (GMT-4) as he discusses the progress on developing the cure to the [[span class="vactivity"]] #washingtonvirion[[/span]], and presents a reasonable roadmap for the upcoming months. See [# phoenixtech.com/washington-virion] for more information!
|echoes=3,567
|hums=7,568
|time-and-date=08:21 AM · Oct 14, 2049
]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[size 0.85em]]WPhO » [# Washington Viron] >> [# Notes on quarantine] >> [# Frequently Asked Questions][[/size]]
++++ [# ⮞ Are those beryllium bronze-based vaccines real?]
++++ [# ⮞ What helps against the virus?]
++++ ⮟ What Mass Gatherings can I still visit?
Physical Gatherings can be attended, as long as all attendants have been tested to be free of the virus using one of the GOC-sanctioned tests within the last 12 hours.
**What happened to Demomancer-ensured gatherings?**
While you can still attend any physical gathering with a demomancer present, it is still recommended to get a test. One demomancer for every 100 people attending a gathering is needed. The Electorate of Demomancers still grants this service in the following areas, listed [# here].
++++ [# ⮞ Is Scrying a GOC-sanctioned test?]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
**Taken from:** //#8179 - Simón Torres//
-----
//Rogan exhales smoke, and points with his joint towards Torres, who politely rejects the offer once more.//
**Joe Rogan:** Wow, Simon, that's crazy. I mean, Crenshaw, Carter, and al Fine? Man. Almost makes you think the whole thing's real.
//Rogan laughs, and takes another drag from his joint.//
**Joe Rogan:** Anyway, what was that you said about those genetically modified bears of yours?
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[div class="blockquote"]]
//An ad for the JOICL 虹-L-7787 "Eyeware" product finishes playing, and Anderson can be heard sitting back down, along with the sound of a glass bottle being placed on a hard surface.//
**Anderson:** Well... Fuck.
//Silence for roughly five seconds.//
**Anderson:** I... really don't think there's much else to the news at the moment. Even if there was, I don't think there's any coming back from dropping that at eight o'clock on a Wednesday.
//Two seconds of silence.//
**Anderson:** Guess there's nothing for it. Let's have some music. Starting it off with a real classic today. Here's, uh, the Ink Spots with... [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TmIwm5RElRs I Don't Want to Set The World on Fire.]
[[/div]]
@@ @@
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:earthworm">:scp-wiki:component:earthworm</a>
| first=false | last=false | hub=yes
| previous-url=/vnp-111 | previous-title=VNP-111
| next-url=/scientia-potentia-est | next-title=Icarus Unburned
| hub-url=/8000-dead-rats-hub | hub-title=8,000 Dead Rats
]]
-----
[[=]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>
|author=BitOddInnit, Cathy Autumn, Danielthemaniel, deathik, Diogene_s, Dino--Draws, DoctorLilithSophia, Ethagon, Ihp, Jasiu06, Kothardarastrix, Lemonsense, LittlePengwy, MasterTman2, Miss Lapis, newnykacolaquantum, psychicprogrammer, Ralliston, Stealth000, SynthPanda_, Tyumen, UNCGriffin, Uncle Nicolini, WarriorofChaos, and YardBirdMe]]
=====
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Warlock Image.jpg
> **Author:** Username056390
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Warlock_Image.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Closeup of a cat with green eyes' face looking at the viewer.jpg
> **Author:** Chhabi Gupta
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Closeup_of_a_cat_with_green_eyes%27_face_looking_at_the_viewer.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Northeast Portland homeless camp tents.jpg
> **Author:** Graywalls
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Northeast_Portland_homeless_camp_tents.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Mises family crest with transparent backgrounnn.png
> **Author:** publico
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mises_family_crest_with_transparent_backgrounnn.png
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Bald Man at Halloween premiere.jpg
> **Author:** Sthread
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bald_Man_at_Halloween_premiere.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Drawing of a woman taking herself a selfie.jpg
> **Author:** Miguel Angel Omaña Rojas
> **License:** CC BY 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Drawing_of_a_woman_taking_herself_a_selfie.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** 19th century Victorian living room, Auckland - 0816.jpg
> **Author:** Jorge Royan
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:19th_century_Victorian_living_room,_Auckland_-_0816.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Modern Living Room.jpg
> **Author:** Fatma005
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Modern_Living_Room.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Bedroom in a cave dwelling, Tenerife.jpg
> **Author:** ArticCynda
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bedroom_in_a_cave_dwelling,_Tenerife.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Staircase descends into cave at Maresha.jpg
> **Author:** Davidbena
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Staircase_descends_into_cave_at_Maresha.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Sappho and Erinna in a Garden at Mytilene.jpg
> **Author:** Tate Britain
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sappho_and_Erinna_in_a_Garden_at_Mytilene.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Stubai - Tiroler Bergschaf -BT- 01.jpg
> **Author:** Basotxerri
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Stubai_-_Tiroler_Bergschaf_-BT-_01.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** James Hyatt Inhaling Chlorine Gas MET DP332531 (cropped).jpg
> **Author:** Peter Welling
> **License:** CC0 1.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:James_Hyatt_Inhaling_Chlorine_Gas_MET_DP332531_(cropped).jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Andrew Eldritch - Wacken Open Air 2019.jpg
> **Author:** Sven Mandel
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Andrew_Eldritch_-_Wacken_Open_Air_2019.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Reality-bites-how-to-catch-ideas.png
> **Author:** Dasaptaerwin
> **License:** CC0 1.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Reality-bites-how-to-catch-ideas.png
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Orlando - Disney World - Disney's Art of Animation Resort - Cars - Doc Hudson (17031439698).jpg
> **Author:** Jared from Clermont
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Orlando_-_Disney_World_-_Disney%27s_Art_of_Animation_Resort_-_Cars_-_Doc_Hudson_(17031439698).jpg
> **Filename:** wdh.png
> **Name:** wdh.png
> **Author:** breaddddd
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://scpsandboxcn.wdfiles.com/local--files/breaddddd/wdh.png
> **Filename:** CI%20Main.png
> **Name:** CI%20Main.png
> **Author:** TwistedGears
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/chaos-insurgency-hub/CI%20Main.png
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** The Sun by the Atmospheric Imaging Assembly of NASA's Solar Dynamics Observatory - 20100819.jpg
> **Author:** NASA/SDO (AIA)
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Sun_by_the_Atmospheric_Imaging_Assembly_of_NASA%27s_Solar_Dynamics_Observatory_-_20100819.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Bondi, 1 - Skateboarder - Bondi Beach, 2011.jpg
> **Author:** Bondi, 1
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Bondi,_1_-_Skateboarder_-_Bondi_Beach,_2011.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Renard polaire DSCF2611.jpg
> **Author:** Musicaline
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Renard_polaire_DSCF2611.jpg
> **Filename:** SPOrth.png
> **Name:** SPOrth.png
> **Author:** Von Pincier
**License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/church-of-the-broken-god-hub/SPOrth.png
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** static_2
> **Author:** Matthew Dinkins
> **License:** CC BY-SA 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://flickr.com/photos/lesiege/79245938/in/photolist-81a4h-qo4Bms-dQfFQ-q9oSP-818o8-95MSG-7bHtbQ-2ogw2Vy-dkYW7i-7bHuZb-jqGSXg-cBxEp7-5hwWqo-4ymRh2-7bDEQV-6FmKYa-3zSR5j-6FmKLz-6FmKWp-6FqS5S-2jbfNMP-bmzNdn-5APKrn-GDn6jW-9djYma-e1DCLH-4yr6vN-2oK27XH-4yqYjG-23j6TpL-4ymDrP-6FmKAg-6FqSof-6FqRWq-6FqSgL-6FmLfx-6FmKJV-6FmKTF-6FmKEg-6FqRLU-6FmKNF-81a2h-52wgRT-ax1vC4-64csQW-5zh2sN-aieejj-4yr6Ho-4ymJRe-4yr3js/
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Roasted coffee beans.jpg
> **Author:** MarkSweep
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Roasted_coffee_beans.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Abandoned concrete factory mechanism.jpg
> **Author:** Diacritica
> **License:** CC BY 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Abandoned_concrete_factory_mechanism.jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Dotted lines for code blocks.png
> **Author:** Alextretyak
> **License:** CC BY-SA 4.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dotted_lines_for_code_blocks.png
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Titania, unbekleidet und mit hochgestecktem Haar, schwebend, nach links (SM 1676345az).png
> **Author:** Paul Konewka
> **License:** PDM 1.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Titania,_unbekleidet_und_mit_hochgestecktem_Haar,_schwebend,_nach_links_(SM_1676345az).png
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** Abandoned Storehouses (21956982102).jpg
> **Author:** Diego Torres Silvestre
> **License:** CC BY 2.0
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Abandoned_Storehouses_(21956982102).jpg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** People's Daily logo.svg
> **Author:** Mao Zedong
> **License:** Public Domain
> **Source Link:** https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:People%27s_Daily_logo.svg
> **Filename:**
> **Name:** PD.jpg
> **Author:** Jasiu06
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** Based on https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:%E5%B0%8F%E7%86%8A%E7%8C%AB.jpg
> **Filename:** Lib3Ports.png
> **Name:** Lib3Ports.png
> **Author:** Jasiu06
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** Based on https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/three-portlands-hub/three_ports_flag and https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Libertarian_Disc.svg
> **Filename:** scp-wiki.png
> **Name:** scp-wiki.png
> **Author:** Jasiu06
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** Based on https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:SCP_Foundation_(emblem).svg
> **Filename:** przyczajone.png
> **Name:** przyczajone.png
> **Author:** WhiterPL
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** http://scp-pl.wikidot.com/theme:przyczajone-leczenie-theme
> **Filename:** wpho.png
> **Name:** wpho.png
> **Author:** Navla
> **License:** CC BY-SA 3.0
> **Source Link:** https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/navla-artwork
=====
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/=]]
|
2024-05-29T18:15:00
|
[
"8000-dead-rats",
"_cc",
"_licensebox",
"agent-calendar",
"ambrose-restaurant",
"black-comedy",
"bleak",
"broken-god",
"co-authored",
"comedy",
"correspondence",
"dado",
"director-graham",
"dr-wondertainment",
"fantasy",
"fifthist",
"from-120s-archives",
"global-occult-coalition",
"goldbaker-reinz",
"iris-thompson",
"manna-charitable-foundation",
"marie-surratt",
"marshall-carter-and-dark",
"maxwellism",
"robert-carter",
"saarn",
"sapphire",
"saturn-deer",
"shark-punching-center",
"tale",
"three-portlands",
"undervegas",
"unusual-incidents-unit",
"westhead-media",
"world-parahealth-organization"
] |
One More Tomorrow - SCP Foundation
| 71
|
[
"kte-9817-bluebuster-mendel-shelley-renegade-armbrusteri",
"groups-of-interest-jp#tohei_hi",
"wayward-forlorn-kin",
"joicl8kdr",
"carter-courier-channel",
"goldbaker-reinz-hub",
"scp-1982",
"scp-8047",
"the-liberal-vampire",
"gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss-hub",
"scp-2557",
"system:page-tags/tag/westhead-media",
"scp-2030",
"scp-4239",
"scp-500",
"how-did-we-get-here",
"external-relations-orientation-annihilism",
"scp-4415",
"site-17-hub",
"chronicle-of-the-worm",
"vnp-111",
"8000-dead-rats-hub",
"scientia-potentia-est",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide",
"navla-artwork"
] |
[
"unusual-incidents-unit-hub",
"spc-hub",
"goldbaker-reinz-hub",
"goc-hub-page",
"fifthist-hub",
"from-120-s-archives-hub",
"dr-wondertainment-hub",
"ambrose-restaurant-hub",
"undervegas-hub",
"8000-dead-rats-hub"
] |
[
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Andrew_Eldritch_-_Wacken_Open_Air_2019.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Bedroom_in_a_cave_dwelling%2C_Tenerife.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Sappho_and_Erinna_in_a_Garden_at_Mytilene.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/19th_century_Victorian_living_room%2C_Auckland_-_0816.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/sheep.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Modern_Living_Room.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/James_Hyatt_Inhaling_Chlorine_Gas_MET_DP332531_%28cropped%29.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Staircase_descends_into_cave_at_Maresha.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Andrew_Eldritch_-_Wacken_Open_Air_2019.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/640px-Diac-schematic-symbol.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/wdh.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/i-did-not-fade/tslbdWm.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/640px-Abandoned_concrete_factory_mechanism.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/640px-Abandoned_concrete_factory_mechanism.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/nexus-hyperline/aviatica.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Mises_family_crest_with_transparent_backgrounnn.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Lib3Ports.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/groups-of-interest/MCF.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/foxy.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/foxy.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/skamtebord.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/foxy.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/church-of-the-broken-god-hub/SPOrth.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Northeast_Portland_homeless_camp_tents.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Titania%2C_unbekleidet_und_mit_hochgestecktem_Haar%2C_schwebend%2C_nach_links_%28SM_1676345az%29.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Closeup_of_a_cat_with_green_eyes%27_face_looking_at_the_viewer.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/i-did-not-fade/tslbdWm.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/goc-hub-page/GOC-Logo-v4.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Warlock_Image.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/church-of-the-broken-god-hub/SPMax.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Dotted_lines_for_code_blocks.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/sarkicism-hub/NygpVdU.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/the-first-occult-flame-war/surrat.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/static.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/non-prophet-organization-hub/sapphire-symbol.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/640px-Abandoned_Storehouses_%2821956982102%29.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/scp-wiki.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/przyczajone.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/PD.png",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/1024px-%E5%B0%8F%E7%86%8A%E7%8C%AB.jpg",
"https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/c5/Roasted_coffee_beans.jpg/640px-Roasted_coffee_beans.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Drawing_of_a_woman_taking_herself_a_selfie.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Principal_Deputy_Spokesperson_Patel_Briefs_Reporters_%2852339387664%29.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/Bald_Man_at_Halloween_premiere.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/one-more-tomorrow/1200px-Conjectural_Futures_Conference_2018_%2845041734534%29.jpg",
"https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/kte-9817-bluebuster-mendel-shelley-renegade-armbrusteri/wpho.png"
] |
1453819500
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/one-more-tomorrow
|
|
one-to-another
|
<html><body><div id="page-content">
<br/>
I stood on top of a tall building, sitting at the edge and hanging my legs down.
<p>The lights of the city shine brightly into the night sky, brightening up the atmosphere, making stars practically invisible—but it is overshadowed by the bright, white shine of the majestic moon above.</p>
<p>The air was cold, very cold. It was late at night; the silence was the only thing that slowly helped me heal my mind from <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/when-god-wept">the ever-bleeding wound</a>.</p>
<p>I held my head down, staring at the abyss that is below me; I couldn't bring myself to look at such a view. I didn't deserve it.</p>
<p>The wind slowly hit my body, making my suit gently swim within the waves.</p>
<p>Then, a voice came from behind me. “All alone by yourself?”</p>
<p>The voice was old and gentle with a bit of echo in it.</p>
<p>I didn't turn my head to look; I could be seen by something again, but I didn't care. It hurt to feel it.</p>
<p>The footsteps approached, getting louder and louder until <a href="https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-343">the person</a> sat next to me, hanging his legs into the void just like me.</p>
<p>I slowly turned my head to the right, still tilted down. “Why?” I could utter, but the voice was weak and defeated.</p>
<p>“I'm sorry for your loss.” The old man said. “Life is a big mixture of good and bad; we all wish bad would just evaporate, and we all live in peace, but what's good without bad?”</p>
<p>“Good is… a feeling, a sensation that motivates you to keep going, assured by the smiles your actions cause. I lost that smile.” I said, fixing my sight back to the void as I relive my moments down to the smallest detail with her.</p>
<p>“Although you predate me, you've got a lot to learn about being human.” The old man said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We experience loss, failure, and hopelessness just so we can appreciate gain, victory, and hopefulness. She managed to make you feel like somebody because you've been a nobody your whole life. If you weren't a Nobody, she wouldn't be able to make you feel like a Somebody.”</p>
<p>I stayed silent; all the words died in my throat before I could even open my mouth.</p>
<p>“Why?” I asked again, with all of my power. “Why couldn't I revive her? Am I not God?”</p>
<p>“We're all just lesser gods, Apsel. When one dies, the soul unites with the One True God. To revive someone means to take a piece from the unreachable. None of us can do that.”</p>
<p>My vision blurred as I processed the words, the black hole inside my chest increasing in size, eating me out from the inside. I won't ever be able to bring her back.</p>
<p>“… Is she in heaven?”</p>
<p>“She's with God, living a life much more peaceful than what this world offered.”</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Then, a small white dot slowly moved downwards in my vision. I lifted my head up and extended my nonexistent hand forward; more of the white dots slowly dropped into it and immediately dissolved into little pieces of water.</p>
<p>“It's snowing.” The old man commented with a smile on his face. Looking at the view of the city.</p>
<p>I shifted my attention to the view in front of me, and my eyes widened. The city's lights, the moon's stronger-than-ever white light, acting as a giant lamp highlighting the city—the snowflakes gradually increasing in quantity and a bit of fog appearing—</p>
<p>It was so… beautiful…</p>
<p>“God takes, and God gives. She's now living in a place much more beautiful than this.” The old man said, putting his hand on my left shoulder as if we've been friends for a long time.</p>
<p>“Thank you, God.” I said, as the black hole inside my chest disappeared, I sighed loudly, which felt like letting go of a huge, bottled-up steam.</p>
<p>Then, a small black hole, with the horizon and accretion disk colored in purple, manifested inside my palm. I slowly turned it into a featureless purple ball, and then shape-shifted it to that of a pocket watch, and the purple faded away.</p>
<p>It dropped inside my palm, a golden pocket watch.</p>
<p>“If I, God, can't defeat death, then I will make sure humans can.”</p>
<p>A watch that allowed you to fake your death. I tightened my grip on it and held it on my chest, smiling at myself as I watched the city with the old man.</p>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<p><strong>« <a href="/when-god-wept">When God Wept</a> | <a href="/one-to-another">One To Another</a> »</strong></p>
</div>
</div></body></html>
|
[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
I stood on top of a tall building, sitting at the edge and hanging my legs down.
The lights of the city shine brightly into the night sky, brightening up the atmosphere, making stars practically invisible—but it is overshadowed by the bright, white shine of the majestic moon above.
The air was cold, very cold. It was late at night; the silence was the only thing that slowly helped me heal my mind from [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/when-god-wept | the ever-bleeding wound]]].
I held my head down, staring at the abyss that is below me; I couldn't bring myself to look at such a view. I didn't deserve it.
The wind slowly hit my body, making my suit gently swim within the waves.
Then, a voice came from behind me. “All alone by yourself?”
The voice was old and gentle with a bit of echo in it.
I didn't turn my head to look; I could be seen by something again, but I didn't care. It hurt to feel it.
The footsteps approached, getting louder and louder until [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-343 | the person]]] sat next to me, hanging his legs into the void just like me.
I slowly turned my head to the right, still tilted down. “Why?” I could utter, but the voice was weak and defeated.
“I'm sorry for your loss.” The old man said. “Life is a big mixture of good and bad; we all wish bad would just evaporate, and we all live in peace, but what's good without bad?”
“Good is… a feeling, a sensation that motivates you to keep going, assured by the smiles your actions cause. I lost that smile.” I said, fixing my sight back to the void as I relive my moments down to the smallest detail with her.
“Although you predate me, you've got a lot to learn about being human.” The old man said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We experience loss, failure, and hopelessness just so we can appreciate gain, victory, and hopefulness. She managed to make you feel like somebody because you've been a nobody your whole life. If you weren't a Nobody, she wouldn't be able to make you feel like a Somebody.”
I stayed silent; all the words died in my throat before I could even open my mouth.
“Why?” I asked again, with all of my power. “Why couldn't I revive her? Am I not God?”
“We're all just lesser gods, Apsel. When one dies, the soul unites with the One True God. To revive someone means to take a piece from the unreachable. None of us can do that.”
My vision blurred as I processed the words, the black hole inside my chest increasing in size, eating me out from the inside. I won't ever be able to bring her back.
“... Is she in heaven?”
“She's with God, living a life much more peaceful than what this world offered.”
…
Then, a small white dot slowly moved downwards in my vision. I lifted my head up and extended my nonexistent hand forward; more of the white dots slowly dropped into it and immediately dissolved into little pieces of water.
“It's snowing.” The old man commented with a smile on his face. Looking at the view of the city.
I shifted my attention to the view in front of me, and my eyes widened. The city's lights, the moon's stronger-than-ever white light, acting as a giant lamp highlighting the city—the snowflakes gradually increasing in quantity and a bit of fog appearing—
It was so… beautiful…
“God takes, and God gives. She's now living in a place much more beautiful than this.” The old man said, putting his hand on my left shoulder as if we've been friends for a long time.
“Thank you, God.” I said, as the black hole inside my chest disappeared, I sighed loudly, which felt like letting go of a huge, bottled-up steam.
Then, a small black hole, with the horizon and accretion disk colored in purple, manifested inside my palm. I slowly turned it into a featureless purple ball, and then shape-shifted it to that of a pocket watch, and the purple faded away.
It dropped inside my palm, a golden pocket watch.
“If I, God, can't defeat death, then I will make sure humans can.”
A watch that allowed you to fake your death. I tightened my grip on it and held it on my chest, smiling at myself as I watched the city with the old man.
[[div class="footer-wikiwalk-nav"]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box">:scp-wiki:component:license-box</a>]]
[[include <a href="http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/component:license-box-end">:scp-wiki:component:license-box-end</a>]]
[[/div]]
[[=]]
**<< [[[ When God Wept ]]] | [[[One To Another]]] >>**
[[/=]]
|
2024-12-11T14:13:00
|
[
"first-person",
"nobody",
"tale"
] |
One To Another - SCP Foundation
| 4
|
[
"when-god-wept",
"scp-343",
"component:license-box",
"licensing-guide"
] |
[
"tales-by-year",
"nobody-hub",
"news"
] |
[] |
1457983548
|
https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/one-to-another
|
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.