Link to article: 9. The Hanged Man.
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[[include :scp-wiki:theme:dark]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] > [[=]] > ++ The Manna Charitable Foundation presents: The 12th Annual Baccarat For Tomorrow! > > +++ Come eat, drink, and play cards with us! Rub shoulders with the big wigs of esoteric philanthropy! All proceeds go to victims of the December 2034 "Das Boingboing" incident. > > ++++ St. Stanislaus Ballroom, Black Zebra Casino, Monte Carlo > ++++ February 1st, 2035 > > ++++ Keynote speakers: > +++++ Erasmus "Era" Walters, President of the United States > +++++ Bridget Vella, author of the best-selling memoir //The Global Occult Coalition Made Me Eat Cement for Some Reason// > +++++ The Administrator of the SCP Foundation > +++++ RSVP: [__link__] > [[/=]] ------ > //[A massive, golden-walled ballroom with a lofty ceiling. Hundreds of attendees sit at 1/8th as many round tables, talking in soft voices and reacting with the softest, most golf-friendly of chuckles.]// > > //[An ice sculpture of a woman pouring water out of a bowl dominates the northern end. Underneath, a raised podium stands awaiting the third keynote speaker. Just east of the podium, a string quartet plays a chamber arrangement of Puccini's// Un Bel Dì, Vedremo //from// Madama Butterfly//.]// > > //[And just south of the quartet, Dabrowski dines with Dr. Ashton at the VIP table. Dabrowski hides SCP-9005 with the standard black and white ascot cravat for formal occasions.]// > > //[Dame Maria Halcote from the MCF board of directors sits down next to him.]// > > **Halcote:** Mr. Administrator! > > **Dabrowski:** Ah, there you are! Good to finally meet you in person. Everyone? I'm sure she needs no introduction at this point, but this is Dame Maria Halcote. > > //[They shake hands. The others at the table raise their glasses.]// > > **Halcote:** Sorry I'm late. Just my luck to schedule this on the //one day// Monte Carlo gets a traffic jam, but -- > > //[She takes a second look at his face.]// > > **Dabrowski:** Dame Halcote? > > **Halcote:** Are you... feeling all right? > > //[He chuckles.]// > > **Dabrowski:** Do you mean the lines under my face? > > **Halcote:** Well, I don't mean to be rude, or anything, I've just never ... > > **Dabrowski:** Totally fine. In fact, you're the first person I've met today who could see them. > > **Halcote:** How could I not? > > //[The quartet finishes their song.]// > > **Dabrowski:** I'm afraid the reason why is classified. But what I can tell you is that this is something I've dealt with for years. > > //[He turns to President Walters.]// > > Now, you were saying...? > > //[The quartet begins a chamber rendition of the first movement of Mozart's 40th symphony.]// > > **Walters:** Yes, well, I was just about to wrap this topic up, but I'll go over the Cliffs Notes for Dame Halcote. > > //[Dabrowski freezes.]// > > Basically, in order to move forward with the best interests of national security in the face of growing public awareness of the anomalous, I believe it's necessary to reorganize my administration's priorities, even if it doesn't fit with the exact points laid out in my election-day promises to my constituents. > > //[Dabrowski's pupils shrink. His palms quiver on the table.]// > > Not that I wish to stray too far from the party line, of course. But in the end, the only way to keep national and international sanity would be for me to embrace something I call the "Third Path Method." Not centrism, mind you, nothing stuck in limbo between liberal and conservative -- but a new, unconventional way of bringing about -- > > //[Suddenly, Dabrowski grabs the tablecloth in both fists. He goes into cold sweats.]// > > ... > > **Ashton:** Administrator? [[size 80%]]...My Liege?[[/size]] > > **Dabrowski:** [[size 80%]]This song. This //fucking// song. ... I need to get out of here //right now.//[[/size]] > > **Ashton:** [[size 80%]]I obey, My Liege.[[/size]] //[Clears throat.]// Um, sorry, everyone, but it seems the deviled eggs are having a hard conversation with him. Shall we be off? > > //[Dabrowski doesn't get up, only trembling in place.]// > > **Walters:** Um... is it the kind of "hard conversation" that needs a defibrillator? > > **Ashton:** Oh, no, of course not, it's just -- > > //[The main leitmotif from the song reprises.]// > > //[Dabrowski suddenly stands up and has a sing-along panic attack.]// > > **Dabrowski:** //...EXPEDITIONS, ESCAPES, AND EXPLORERS!// > //F-150S, SO PLEASE DON'T IGNORE US!// > //YOU'LL GET ZERO DOWN AT SIGNING!// > //BUY A CAR OR I'LL KEEP WHINING!// > //ANY CREDIT'S GOOD, SO WHAT THE **FUCK** ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!// > //**DAAAA-BROW! SKIIII-FORD!**// > //**AAAAAT LEXINGTON AND LOOORD!**// > > //[Total silence.]// > > [[size 80%]]No. ...nonononono. This isn't... I'm...[[/size]] > > //[He thrusts the signet ring in the air on his index finger.]// > > **GETMEOUTGETMEOUTGETMEOUTGETME**-- > > //[A flash of light.]// > > //[The Administrator goes missing for two weeks.]// ------ > **From:** djacobs@foundation.scp > **To:** sextus@███████████████████████████████████.scp > **Subject:** LET ALL MOUTHS CLOSE BUT MINE. > > [[=]] > + {{**BROTHERS AND SISTERS OF SEXTUS. CHAPTERMASTER JACOBS SPEAKS.**}} > [[/=]] > + {{**A GRAVE EMERGENCY IS UPON US.**}} > > ++++ {{**DURING THE LATEST MCF EVENT IN MONTE CARLO, OUR INFALLIBLE LORD HIGH ADMINISTRATOR WENT THROUGH SOME KIND OF PSYCHOTIC BREAK AND HAS GONE MISSING.**}} > > ++++ {{**GIVEN HIS TABLE'S PROXIMITY TO THE STRING QUARTET AND DAME HALCOTE'S ABILITY TO SEE SCP-9005, THERE IS A NONZERO CHANCE THAT THE MANNA CHARITABLE FOUNDATION HAS TRIGGERED THIS BREAKDOWN INTENTIONALLY AS SOME BIZARRE POLITICAL MANEUVER. CLEARLY, THEY INTEND TO FORCE THEIR ULTRA-ETHICAL STANDPOINT UPON US THROUGH SUBTERFUGE.**}} > > ++++ {{**TO ELIMINATE THE POSSIBILITY OF FURTHER NONSENSE, I HAVE APPREHENDED DAME HALCOTE AND SUBJECTED HER TO SEXTUS MANEUVER-148.[[footnote]]UNFORTUNATELY, WE WERE OUT OF TRADITIONALLY-MADE CHARCOAL FOR THE BRAZEN MOOSE OF THE HERETIC, BUT NOVICE KNIGHT FOWLER THOUGHTFULLY WENT OUT TO GRAB SOME KINGSFORD BRIQUETTES. SURELY, THE SWEET MUSIC MADE BY HALCOTE IN THE GREAT BEAST'S BELLY WAS WORTH THE BREACH IN PROTOCOL. ALSO, IT'S SELF-LIGHTING![[/footnote]]**}} > > ++++ {{**LET IT BE KNOWN THAT FOR EVERY DAY THAT HIS ETERNAL GRACE THE LORD HIGH ADMINISTRATOR REMAINS MISSING, I SHALL CUT OUT THE TONGUE OF ONE NOVICE KNIGHT.**}} > > ++++ {{**FURTHERMORE, I WILL //NOT// HAVE HIM PERISH IN OBSCURITY AS HER MAJESTY LADY HIGH ADMINISTRATOR ETHEL HAD.**}} > > ++++ {{**##red|SHOULD THIS TAKE PLACE...## I'M VERY BUSY, BUT YOU ALL WILL BE NOTIFIED ONCE A SUITABLY AWFUL THREAT HAS BEEN DETERMINED.**}} > > ++++ {{**TO ENSURE OUR SUCCESS IN THIS TRYING TIME, THE BISHOP OF REDERRING HAS AGREED TO GIVE HIS FIRST-EVER TYPED INVOCATION TO THE SPIRITS OF ADMINISTRATORS PAST:**}} > >> agle;ka; wot the ffuc is a copmut er o looki te lettrs apear as i hit te keeys hahaa bollox >> >> uhh >> >> amenn > > ++++ {{**AMEN INDEED, YOUR GRACE. NOW, GO FORTH, ONE AND ALL!**}} > > ++ {{**//SERVIAMUS IN AETERNAM!//**}} ------ [[div style="border:solid 5px #000000;background #ffffff; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top:10px;"]] [[=]] +++ Incident 9005-A-RD18-Black +++ Surveillance Video Log, Camera A5 [[/=]] ++++ **Date/Time:** 2/14/2035, 1:47 AM ++++ **Location:** Space outside Cell 667, Former ███████ State Penitentiary, Pennsylvania <Begin Log> //[The door to Cell 667 remains ajar. A single armed guard stands on the opposite side of the hallway. She'd rather not come too close out for fear of her intrusive thoughts.]// //[Plasma flickers in the air before the cell door.]// **Guard:** The fuck? //[Dabrowski materializes. The guard raises her rifle.]// //Intruder! Freeze! State your --// //[Dabrowski points at the guard with his signet-ring finger. The ring glows.]// **Dabrowski:** **{{GO HOME AND PET YOUR DOG.}}** //[She drops her gun and runs away.]// **Guard:** I'm on my way, Dusty! //[Dabrowski stares after her for approx. 7 seconds.]// //[He turns to directly face the ceiling camera, then commands the camera with his ring.]// **Dabrowski:** {{**TO ME.**}} //[1.25 seconds of visual errors.]// //[The camera is now floating in midair at Dabrowski's eye level, with the cell behind him.]// //[His neck is buried under multiple layers of industrial-strength duct tape, covering SCP-9005.]// //[He stares at the camera with an indiscernible expression -- somewhere between dominance, despair, and abject terror.]// Item Number: [[[SCP-2701]]]. Object class: Safe. //[He points to the cell behind him.]// When a human subject is locked in Cell 667, after adding their name and a release date on the sheet next to the door, they're placed in a state of complete sensory deprivation. They hear nothing, see nothing, feel no physical pain... Some inmates have been unfortunate enough to spend hundreds of years in this state, only to find out they were gone for only two weeks in the outside world. The ultimate form of solitary confinement. //[A single sigh that takes 20 seconds to finish.]// //[He turns around.]// //[He writes on the list. Post-recording enhancement has revealed that he wrote the words "ROBIN S. DABROWSKI, ADMINISTRATOR" in one column and drew an infinity symbol in the other.]// //[He addresses the camera again.]// Among other things, I made the discovery that the opposite of "good" isn't "bad," but "great." It was a "great" ten years, but not "good" in any sense of the word. I made decisions no one should ever have to make, and every time, I felt nothing. I could count on one amputated hand the amount of times I felt genuine happiness. And before you ask, yes, the Viper still hurts like hell. ... Dr. Summers, wherever the hell you are. (With any luck, I just answered that question.) You said my jingles were useless. Granted, that might've not been your real words, but another act you were putting on in the name of replacing me. But if that was legitimately your opinion -- I regret to inform you that a stupid car dealer commercial song has dealt the killing blow to the entire command structure of the SCP Foundation. //[He grins sadly.]// It was the perfect reminder that there was always a choice. Listen -- what I'm about to do... this isn't what I want. Not in the usual "it hurts me more than it hurts you to give you a spanking" sense. That sort of nuance was wrung out of me. In fact, this goes completely against every conviction I have, from my loyalty to the Foundation to my own self-interest. And you know what? I've never been so scared in my life. But there are five things keeping me from chickening out, and only five. First, Dutch courage. //Na zdrowie.// //[He downs an entire pocket flask, then throws it to the side.]// ...Polish-Dutch relations never tasted so good. Second, ever since I got into atheism in high school, I was under the impression that what happens in that cell is what happens when anyone dies. And hey, it's better than joining the "pilgrimage." Third, this is what the old me would have wanted. Childish, perpetually-single, smiled-too-much, dumb-as-bricks, showin'-off-his-Kiwifarms-thread-to-employers //me//. I never thought I'd miss him this much. But when I heard my song again, I remembered -- that moron understood what really matters better than I ever will. And fourth... //[He draws the Blade of Murgatroyd. It's been broken in half.]// ...I've already tried everything else to get rid of this fucking snake. //[He drops the broken sword. It cuts effortlessly through the floor, kicking up a trail of ashes as it continues descending through the lower floors, then the basement, then the building's foundation...]// If the plan were to kill myself, I'd have just taken one of those Basingstoke pills. But what good would running away do? Then the Viper would find a new host, I'd join the postmortem crab bucket with Ethel and Sir Rupert, and the Foundation would carry on as it always has -- as a system that deserved to be broken ages ago, built on hurt, and run by an ancient parasite. Why else were people like Dr. Summers able to make it past the first job interview? No. No more Administrators, no more Vipers, no more SEXTUS, no more magic swords, and no more Shop-Vac funerals. The Foundation needs to do bett-- //[Bitter laugh.]// [[size 80%]]ALMOST got me there, ya greasy bowtie //fuck//.[[/size]] So this is my last command to you as Administrator: fix this mess. Grow a soul. Rebuild a new Foundation with "actually, no, the ends don't fucking justify anything" in the mission statement. //Give a shit.// Because if you can't survive without this enforcement of bleakness and apathy, then you were on borrowed time to begin with. And finally, the fifth reason... //[He turns around with tightly clenched fists.]// ...Something tells me I'm about to get my first good night's sleep in ten years. Club Tiddyoria. Captain Flannery. Uncle Bogdan. Aunt Justyna. ... Mom. This is for you. ... Okie-dokie... //Czas wziąć się w garść.//[[footnote]](//"Time to get a grip."//)[[/footnote]] //[He proceeds toward Cell 667.]// //[Once he pulls the door open wider --]// **SCP-9005:** //[The sort of sound you'd hear when you try to give a feral cat a bath, plus chorus and distortion pedals.]// //[Thin, stringy distortions on the camera burst out from Dabrowski's neck, breaking the tape.]// **Dabrowski:** //No, you fuckING DON'T --// //[The inner tentacles try to scramble his organs. The outer tentacles latch onto the door, trying to push him back out.]// **Dabrowski:** //[Screaming through clenched teeth.]// //[He body-slams through the cell door. His body weight causes the tentacles on the door to pull it closed.]// //[The lock latches shut.]// **SCP-9005:** //[Panicked shriek-hissing.]// //[SCP-9005 tries to dislodge itself from Dabrowski's neck. Dabrowski clamps both of his hands over the Viper's head.]// //[The cell fills with visual distortions present during an activation phase of SCP-2701, obstructing everything inside.]// **Dabrowski:** //EIGHT HUNDRED, FIVE EIGHT EIGHT... TWO THREE HUNDRED...[[size 120%]] **EM-PIIIII--**[[/size]]// //[The cell is empty. Broken tips of the tentacles fall onto the floor.]// <End Log> [[/div]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[size 0%]].[[/size]] [[div style="border:solid 5px #ffffff;background #ffffff; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top:10px;"]] [[=]] [[collapsible show="[ Final iteration ]" hide="I AM LOST. BUT I AM FREE."]] [[/=]] [[<]] **Item #:** SNP-9005 **Object Class:** Tannhäuser[[footnote]](Anomaly is the result of an error and/or wrongdoing on part of the Foundation and is in the process of being reversed and/or ameliorated.)[[/footnote]] **Containment Protocols:** By order of the High Assembly, all details of SNP-9005 and the Last Administrator have been declassified to all Foundation staff as of April 5th, 2062. The misdeeds of the Old Foundation must be known and remembered, lest they be forgotten and repeated. Information on current extraction/rehabilitation efforts is restricted to personnel directly involved with Project Anchorite at Site-9005, located in Former ███████ State Penitentiary, Pennsylvania. **Description:** SNP-9005 refers to the Last Administrator, Robin T.J. Dabowski. As of February 14th, 2035, SNP-9005 has disappeared within SNP-2701. The time-dilating effects of SNP-2701 have made an exact timeframe of SNP-9005's isolation unknown, with a potential range between 27 and █████ years. However, unlike previous subjects from the Old Foundation period, SNP-9005's "release date" has been listed as an infinity symbol. SNP-9005's isolation was self-imposed in order to neutralize a dangerous anomaly that facilitated in the creation and subsequent corruption of the Old Foundation. As such, his disappearance triggered the Dabrowski Reforms that led to the creation of the Foundation in its current state. Ever since the Reforms, Project Anchorite has been underway to retrieve and rehabilitate SNP-9005, or least ease the heavy psychological damage of which SNP-2701 is capable. > Robin. > > It's been a while. This is Dr. Mina Ashton. > > If you can hear this, and you can recognize my voice... I'm sure you're not thrilled to hear it again, especially if it's the first voice you've heard since. Which is understandable. > > I would apologize, but even if you could forgive me, it wouldn't be important. In lieu of such a pointless gesture, I'll give you update on what you've started. > > The first five weeks after we found your Dear John letter in the security footage were pure chaos. I suppose that's to be expected. Three O5s had to fill in as one Administrator, but couldn't. Negotiations with the Church of the Broken God went south. There were too many containment breaches to count. Site-19 exploded, Site-17 melted, and Site-59 somehow became its own country with UN recognition. > > But once we stopped panicking, we took your parting words to heart, finagling them into policy. > > SCP became SNP. > > We secured. We protected. > > And for the first time, we //nurtured.// > > I won't pretend that we purged the Foundation of all necessary evils, just most of them. And in the end, warmth and compassion were two necessary evils we'd neglected for far too long. > > What you did was what //should// have been done long ago. It's just... I wish that such a sweet person wasn't the one who had to be sacrificed. Sometimes I wonder how different this would have been if we had just shunted the Viper onto some D-class serial killer and thrown him in 2701. > > But that kind of idea was why you //had// to do it, wasn't it? > > ... > > Though I'm sure you'd like to know, none of that is the main reason why I'm contacting you. I wanted to let you know that we found your notebook that Dr. Summers confiscated. > > Page 19. "The Foundation Polka." G Major. > > We can't have a jingle, as that would imply mass marketing for a top-secret organization. But it's only fitting that the Foundation's anthem was written and composed by the Last Administrator. > > (Or should I say, the First Jinglanator.) > > I've gotta go. > > Until we meet again... hang in there. > [[/<]] [[/collapsible]] [[/div]]