Fragments Regarding Legate Trunnion Apostate 4

Link to article: Fragments Regarding Legate Trunnion Apostate 4.

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[[div class="notice"]]
+++ NOTICE FROM THE FOUNDATION RECORDS AND INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION

Due to the highly confidential information pertaining to the historical and present activities of Foundation Overseers, as per the O5 Council Identity Protection Protocol the archived files attached below are **Clearance Level 5/ICARUS** classified. They are accessible only to Overseer-class personnel, select high-ranking members of Site-01 administration staff, and Project ICARUS technicians.

**-- Maria Jones, Director, RAISA**
[[/div]]

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[[div class="date"]]
[[==]]
**__RAISA FILE: ARCHIVED FILE [OUTDATED]__**
**FILE CREATED:** April 1895
**FILE LAST REVISED:** October 1899
**NOTICE:** The following file has been written during the interim period between the formation of the General Assembly of Thaumaturgists and Theologists Against Queen Mab and their proper reformation into the contemporary Foundation. It does not represent current archival and procedural standards; it has been archived for historical context only.

**[TEXT REPRODUCED BELOW]**[[footnote]] **[RAISA NOTICE]** Edits have been made for spelling, grammar, and general formatting.[[/footnote]]
[[/==]]
[[/div]]

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------

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[[div class="doc"]]
[[>]]
**Report Date:** 12/04/1895
[[/>]]

**Designation:** OE-M3LT2/0205 (Codename -- "The Workshop")

**Containment Protocols:** Due to the item's location, no procedures restricting civilian access are necessary. Nevertheless, personnel operating for the Foundation out of local Ottoman infrastructure are to monitor the item's aboveground site for any suspicious activities, particularly ensuring no members of the Broken faith make contact with the complex. To this end, use of lethal force has been authorized by  both the O5 Council and local governance.

**Description:** Item is an underground ancient proto-paratechnological complex located in northern parts of the Ottoman Regency of Tripoli. Constructed primarily of beryllium bronze, limestone, and marble, it is buried 30 meters below the ground and spans an approximated 50 meters deeper still; its size, though difficult to ascertain, has been similarly approximated to roughly correspond to 50,000 m^^2^^.

The item's primary anomalous property is its current state, which -- despite the building being aged as a pre-First Occult War construction -- remains pristine, with the complex suffering practically no natural damages or aging that would normally be expected of a structure of its age and location. Additional paranormal features have been noted on its outside in the form of thaumic glyphs consistent with those utilized by late bronze age occult societies; similar symbols are expected inside, though -- as its doors are yet to be breached -- that hypothesis cannot be confirmed.

The item's location, age, and implicit purpose point to the conclusion that it is the product of the late Mekhanite Empire, in particular of its Orthodox sects.[[footnote]] See -- attached briefing. [[/footnote]] The construction methods and materials used imply that the complex was both of religious and industrious significance, a relatively common architectural phenomenon inside the Empire. However, current hypotheses claim that the item was not, in fact, merely a standard standalone workshop or temple. The presence of several markings reserved exclusively for the Empire's aristocratic prophets, the sheer size of the structure, as well as its location vaguely lining up with the approximated placement of its capital city of Amoni all seem to point to the conclusion that the item was most likely the personal dwelling, workshop, and recluse of Smith Legate, one of the Empire's three most significant religious figures alongside Emperor Bumaro and Vanguard[[footnote]] Approximated parallel of the original word, which means vanguard in the military sense but also refers to a position/duty within the Empire's army, focused adequately modifying a given strategy to minimize damages suffered by the Empire's soldiers.[[/footnote]] Hedwig.

**Discovery:** Although the item was initially discovered by Ottoman military forces when Sultan Mahmud II seized back control of the region in 1835, it was disregarded as an insignificant Roman ruin. Only when the Sultan's grandson -- Muhammad al-Mahdi as-Senussi -- ascended to power and ordered the construction of a mosque in the region have workers properly broken ground and made contact with upper portions of the structure. Local authorities informed appropriate Foundation liaisons, and personnel were dispatched to the location, though were unable to breach inside the structure due to the glyphs thaumically sealing it from outside interference.

Personally recommending further research as soon as possible.

[[>]]
Signed,
//-- Prof. Judith Low, Assistant of O5-4//
[[/>]]

[[/div]]

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[[div class="doc plabs"]]

[[=]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/esterberg-city-wikipedia/prom.png width="80px"]]

**PROMETHEUS LABS, INC.**[[footnote]] **[RAISA NOTICE]** In its early days, Prometheus Laboratories was a Foundation subsidiary that served as a semi-autonomous scientific think tank. Its primary activities -- prior to gaining operational and monetary independence and forming into a proper for-profit organization -- included receving outsourced research projects that the Foundation could not handle itself due to its then-lack of a proper current academic infrastructure.[[/footnote]]
[[/=]]

------

[[image sofia.png class="two"]]

__**Date:**__ 02/11/1893

__**Involved Confidant:**__ Mark Wall, MD

__**Patient:**__ Sofia Maria de Jesus Luz;[[footnote]] **[RAISA NOTICE]** Referring to the original O5-2. [[/footnote]] Female; age 43; 158 cm; 38,6 kg

__**Observed Symptoms:**__ Acute empathic absorbtivity; malformed Odic forces[[footnote]] **[RAISA NOTICE]** "Odic forces" is an outdated term, later replaced by the far more accurate Elan-Vital Energy (EVE), as included in the contemporary understanding of Unified Thaumatology. [[/footnote]] aura; malformed Akiva absorption aura; proneness to ambient lethargy; improper spirit coagulation; several [[[scp-7532|self-contradictory stigmata]]]; accelerated, unnatural aging

__**Diagnosis:**__ Pietrelcina Syndrome, including an acute failure of Odic individuality; pathological empathism and spirit ambience

__**Recommended Approach:**__ It is imperative that the patient avoids areas and individuals that carry with them the theological / symbolical / thaumaturgic imprints and / or latent spiritual weight relating to generally ontologically understood concepts of "tragedy" and "misfortune." She should carry out the duties pertaining to her occupation in isolation from the remainder of her colleagues, and in particular from their shared workplace. Any and all entry into active religious temples is to be avoided; similarly, activities of theological significance (praying, ritual sacrifice, baptisms, etc.) are discouraged.

__**Additional Notes:**__ It is tremendously unfortunate that Miss Luz has come to us with her condition so late in her life. Though we cannot offer her a full and permanent treatment the prevention methods outlined above should prove enough for her to lead a relatively painless life.

I must once again emphasize how important her staying away from the general workplace of your organization is -- if she does not wish to again become the inadvertent martyr of the general ambience brought about by its activities, she needs to remain secluded from them. Something akin to a personal dwelling -- preferably by the seaside, given her other, more mundane health issues -- would be best. A few months spent away from the facilities pertaining to her work should alleviate most if not all pain brought on by her condition.

All of that being said, I am sorry to say that even such a getaway would not do anything against the stigmata. Her prolonged exposure to the religious sphere throughout her life -- such as the appearance of the aforementioned stigmata and her ascension to "//sancta virgo//" by the Knights of the Military Order of Borja y Aragón in early childhood and service as the mother superior -- left permanent marks upon her body. This damage cannot be mitigated. It can only be endured.

[[>]]
//-- Dr. Mark Wall, Prometheus Laboratories Chemistry & Medicine Department//
[[/>]]

[[/div]]

@@ @@

[[div class="doc"]]

[[=]]
**OVERSEERS' CORRESPONDENCE COMMITTEE**[[footnote]] **[RAISA NOTICE]** A defunct administrative body intended to unify the bureaucratic structures of precursor organizations during their integration into the Foundation. Abolished with the reform of the Foundation's structure in 1911 and largely absorbed into the newly formed Overwatch Command. [[/footnote]]
[[size 85%]]**THE OFFICE OF THE ADMINISTRATOR**[[/size]]
[[/=]]

------

[[>]]
08/05/1895
[[/>]]

Aaron,[[footnote]] **[RAISA NOTICE]** Referring to Aaron Siegel, original and present O5-1 and present Administrator. [[/footnote]]

My sincerest apologies for the late word, but I am sure you know how busy my ships are these days, with how many crates of //agapanthus// from the former Commission[[footnote]] **[RAISA NOTICE]** Referring to the Joint Commission on the African Employ of the Occult, a pre-normalcy organization folded and then integrated into the Foundation during its founding. [[/footnote]] we still are running. If I could spare even a week to give you all the prior notice you deserve, believe you me I would. Alas, however, it is either now or the next quarter, if we wish for our quota to add up -- and you know I could not possibly sit waiting that long, given how close we are to a potential breakthrough (and //I// also know that //you// could not possibly allow our chain to be broken, so here we are -- at an impasse of mutual compromise).

If you are reading this, then I have most likely already departed towards Tripoli aboard the //Oberon//. Rest assured, I have left Maria profuse instructions regarding the line of temporary succession in regards to my duties during my absence. I am more than certain that my assistant, Judith, can take excellent care of everything that still needs my attention. I similarly assure you that in the meantime, during my departure proper, I will continue my own duties -- more specifically, those of an historian. The discoveries that this find is guaranteed to yield will be of great help, going forward -- particularly given our minor hiccups on Greek and Ottoman ground in the years prior. I will write you back as soon as we break ground.

One more thing: [[span class="blur"]]Friedrick[[/span]][[footnote]] **⚠️ [RAISA DATABASE ERROR]** {{@[[[[ralliston-s-proposal|DATA LOST]]]]}}[[/footnote]] and Sofia have said they are coming with. Before you say anything: they too have ensured their absence will not be felt dearly. I tried persuading [[span class="blur"]]Friedrick[[/span]] that maybe he ought to stay, but you know he could never leave his Sofia -- if he's remained by her side as a comfort since the War, so who am I to separate them? Besides, she could really use some more companionship, after so many months alone in her solitude, and I am sure the creative energy inevitably latent inside the Workshop and the excitement that'll permeate through our camp will do her well.

See you soon, old friend.

[[>]]
//-- John[[footnote]] **[RAISA NOTICE]** Referring to John Hadfield, original and present O5-4. [[/footnote]]//
[[/>]]

[[/div]]

@@ @@

[[div class="doc religion"]]

[[=]]
**SCHISM IN HEAVEN: THE FALL OF THE MEKHANITE EMPIRE**
[[size 85%]]**BY PROF. JUDITH LOW, 1894**[[/size]]
[[/=]]

------

[...] But as with all things, this illusion of stability did not last long. Although the end of the First Occult War and the triumphant siege of Adytum did bring about a decisive military victory for the Mekhanites, by that time in the conflict, their Empire was already starting to creak at its seams. Decades of warfare have left a heavy mark on its people, its economy and -- most importantly -- its faith, the only thing that truly bound its populace together.

It remains unclear what exactly has caused this state of affairs, but the matter remains that in the years following the return of the victorious Mekhanite army to its now-decadent capital, Saint Hedwig -- or, as some versions claim, Saint Trunnion -- ignited a spark that resulted in a full on religious civil war, based on different interpretations of its dogmas. The conflict, more often called a violent schism than an outright war, would end with the city-states that made up the empire declaring open secession against the Broken Throne, each of them trying -- and failing -- to take the place of its now absent Prophets.

The schism's factions by and large followed the geographic and societal spheres of influence that the three Prophets held. The various disciples of Hedwig preached the need for reformation in the Apennine Peninsula and northern Greece, whilst self-proclaimed followers of Trunnion convinced the lumpen masses left behind by the war in Anatolia and poor parts of the Sahara that radical asceticism was the proper path forward. On the oriental outskirts even [[[of-the-crimeless-traitors|small indosyncratic movements]]] begun to emerge. Eventually, however, internal divisions split both of the Prophets' movements once they had become deprived of their respective prophets.

Although Saint Bumaro did in fact remain inside Amoni with his faithful clique, initially holding areas around the city and southern Greece, without the aid of the missing Trunnion and Hedwig, the imitation of Mekhanite unity was shattered even among his men -- who, seeing no true future in his ways, opportunistically abandoned him, just as they had first clung to him.

In the end, it seems not even the divine providence of their Goddess could keep together that which was meant to stay apart.

In the coming decades, the Mekhanite tradition would die a quick and relatively mundane death. Without most city-states -- which had either been destroyed amidst the conflict or gotten sacked after its conclusion -- to uphold its legacy, the religion would quiet down, losing more and more followers, until the few that did remain would eventually get overshadowed by a new movement rising near the ruins of the Mekhanite Empire. By that point, the Bronze Age has collapsed, and time has come for a new spin of the wheel -- and with it, the beginning of the Iron Age and emergent Judaism.

In spite of this, however, the Mekhanite faith did not die out //fully//. Indeed, in dark back alleys and amidst hidden havens it remained -- though small in numbers and oft-forgotten. Over the many many centuries through antiquity and into medieval times, it survived and sometimes even thrived as a marginal but nevertheless extant practice. The main faction of the decadent schism period would now come to form many distinct and separate sects in their more contemporary forms, the largest of which remained the technologically conservative and isolationist Orthodoxists, philosophically progressive and heterodox Hedwigites, and the warmongering and religiously stagnant Bumarists.

To this day, the various branches of the Mekhanite faith find refuge in industrious regions of the world, particularly near Austrian-Hungarian, Serbian, Romanian, Montenegrin, Greek, and Ottoman soil. Nevertheless, the Foundation's //modus operandi// in regards to these groups remains mostly passive. In the permanent absence of their Prophets, the scattered and broken Mekhanite people can do very little more than bicker amongst themselves, forever without agreement on what must be done to put their country, their faith, and their Goddess back together. [...]

[[/div]]

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|caption=**Fig 1.1.** An Arabian camel escort, engaged by the Foundation Expeditionary Force, 1894.
]]

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[[=]]
**SCATTERED THREADS OF UN-DREAMT MEMORY**
[[size 85%]]**UNWOVEN FROM JOHN HADFIELD BY READER ENYAH**[[/size]]
[[/=]]

------

//-- -- -- And you are standing there, all three of you, free from the desks and chains of bureaucracy you locked yourself in for the last decades of your being. The sand beneath your feet is warm, and the air remains calm. In the distance, your men are already setting up camp, some few hired Arab men accompanied by a couple of young Victorian soldiers dressed in red -- Expeditionary Force.//

//It almost feels like home.//

//Somewhere beyond the horizon, the sun is already setting, shining right at Sofia's aged face. Its warm rays make her smile a shadow of joy. There is a lightness to her figure, now, the bourdain lifted off of her shoulders -- she still stands frail, barely more than a husk, but there is a spark inside her, something almost like life again. Between the desert wind and the Mediterranean air, her eyes begin to show color once more.//

//For the first time in years, each movement doesn't make her wince with pain.//

//Even [[span class="blur"]]Fritz[[/span]], the old bastard, feels lighter on his feet. Maybe it's the beige suit, the first real sign of anything but the dull grey he so enjoys amidst his paperwork. Maybe it's the cigar between his lips, a small but nevertheless extant relief in a place Ran[[footnote]] Referring to Ranyue Lin, original and present O5-5. [[/footnote]] won't shout at him for defiling. Or maybe, more simply, it's seeing his Sofia breathe the first breath of relief in untold months.//

//It's a mix of all three, probably.//

//You smile, almost letting yourself laugh, and you walk up to them, ready to destroy their moment. Come tomorrow, there is work to be done, and -- -- --//

//-- -- -- And the structure before you is great and ancient, its vast weight almost palpable against your tired shoulders. You wipe the sweat away from your eyes, unable to wait to get inside, away from the sun's oppressive heat, away from the desert and right into the heart of your journey.//

//The anticipation is killing you.//

//The doors leading right into the answers promised to you stand heavy; heavier than you have certainly expected, even for the smiths of Mekhanite craft and cunning. The symbols that lay upon them -- seals, your men have told you -- remain similarly firm, unwilling to let go and let you inside. They have been at them for a couple days now, your occult experts, and though you are as magical as a brick, you think there's a chance your knowledge might help them. You// do //know simplified Mekhanite, after all.//

//Besides, you like seeing them work. You like being there. It makes you feel alive again.//

//Even Sofia and [[span class="blur"]]Fritz[[/span]] have joined you today. They are weary too, you can see, but similar curiosity plagues their minds. Sofia feels more alive than she has in decades. You almost smile, happy the energy latent in the workshop is doing her well -- just as you thought. Though, now that you look at her, there// is //something in her eyes, almost like a spark, almost like--//

//She suddenly touches the doors with her palm, and as if they were paper, they come apart.//

//Your men exchange glances, befuddled and worried, but [[span class="blur"]]Fritz[[/span]] just laughs.//

//"It's a seal of true faith. I've told you." He grins a stupid smile and gives Sofia a proud glance. "Now," he says, looking at you, "let's get in there, old man. I am certain the dust cannot wait for your arrival." And -- -- --//

//-- -- -- And the walls are cold and barren, and the corridors leading right through the structure weave into a labyrinthine path.//

//It is nothing like you expected. But it isn't the layout that surprises you, or indeed the quiet -- it is the rust, eating away at the walls like a cancer; like a disease confined to the inside and kept from the outside; like a plague spreading right from the heart of the workshop. It worries you, but it is nothing too out of the ordinary -- if anything, the late Mekhanites have known little but decadence, in their final days.//

//Sofia doesn't mind it, either. Her eyes are lit up, now, a new passion evident in each of her movements. She's... almost healthy, from a certain angle. Almost burning with the kind of life she hasn't felt since she first Borne Witness. [[span class="blur"]]Fritz[[/span]] isn't all that convinced, but for as long as she's doing well, you can see that's fine by him.//

//More than good enough for you.//

//You've split into smaller teams, you and your men; with a structure this large -- and this abandoned -- huddling together would be of no use, especially with runic anchors leading you right to the exit, should the need arise. Besides: you're a shabby bastard. You might not be the quickest -- or even the strongest -- but with the [[[scp-8120|tricks your father has left you]]], you know how to stand your ground if things get hot.//

//The only issue is navigating those damned corridors, but with years of sailing and map-reading experience behind you, you--//

//"Sofia?" [[span class="blur"]]Fritz[[/span]] suddenly asks, a hint of uncertainty present in his voice. He looks at his love, who is now leading the way before you both, and his eyes are full of worry. "How do you know which way's right?//

//She turns back, and smiles.// She smiles. //"I can feel it," she mouths in an excited voice. "The, ah..."—she waves her hand—"...energy, right in the heart of the workshop." She looks him in the eyes, then turns to you. "I can feel the forge, John. I can// feel it."

//And her posture is strong and her skin is smooth and -- for the first time in many, many years -- she almost looks like the woman you still remember from your visit to Lisbon when you were a child, and -- -- --//

//-- -- -- And deeper and deeper still the labyrinth lies more silent, more cold, more still; it is no longer a promise of great revelation, but instead an old, rusted warning. Sofia too is no longer as certain as she was hours ago, but she nevertheless keeps walking, keeps breathing, keeps// pushing //. The spark in her eyes is still there -- as is the life the structure has given to her soul -- but her irises searching.//

//The path she has taken you across is safe, but it is longer than you -- and she, from the look on her face -- have expected.//

//Worse yet, this deep into the structure, it is more tomb than workshop, more grave than labyrinth. The bodies that lay against its walls are not human and never have been, but they nevertheless remain eerie. They look almost like men -- most of them -- with their legs and arms and heads, but they are off. Off in a way you can't quite place, from this angle, in a way that--//

//"Love," [[span class="blur"]]Fritz[[/span]] says quietly, "we ought to go back."//

//The look she gives him feels lethal. "No. We are so close, [[span class="blur"]]Fritz[[/span]]. I can feel it. Just... Just a bit more. Just..." she says, but the breath is already leaving her lungs. She didn't expect this.//

//"Please," he insists, putting his hand on her shoulder. "We can come back again tomorrow. The road you've already helped us map will--"//

//"Damn you, [[span class="blur"]]Fritz[[/span]]!" she shouts, her anger surprising even her. "I don't need you to treat me like the age I look. I// know //it's there. I// know it//." She lets out a sigh, and grabs her head. "Just let me have this. I need it.// We //need it."//

//She gives her a look that says more than a thousand words ever could, and [[span class="blur"]]Fritz[[/span]] -- a coward and lover by heart -- lets go, and -- -- --//

//-- -- -- And she is laying in his arms, her body once again frail, like a burnt out candle at the altar of her Lord. His eyes are glassy, and though she is still breathing, you know it isn't long until she'll cease. Until the light still flickering somewhere inside her will fade, fade away.//

//Your eyes are moving rapidly, trying to trace your way back to the entry, but the anchor isn't working like it should be -- there is rust amidst its runes, and Sofia is barely coherent. She cannot lead you back. Even with [[span class="blur"]]Fritz[[/span]] holding her up with all his strength you wander and wander, until you find naught but a clearing, somewhere between even more doors.//

//Then, only then, do you stop, and try not to break down.//

//[[span class="blur"]]Fritz[[/span]] looks at you, terror and an unsaid plead for help present in his eyes.//

//"!محمد, بدنا مسعتك! انت سمعني؟سفيا بده مساعتك" you shout[[footnote]] //Muhammad, can you hear us?! We need your help! Sofia needs your help!// [[/footnote]] out in the best imitation of the local tongue, fully aware that you won't be heard, this deep into the structure. You repeat it over and over, until the echoes come back louder than your thoughts -- all to no avail.//

//In desperation, your eyes fall on the doors again.//

//They look just like the ones that led you here, same heavy steel and bronze, but no runes mark them, no symbols bind them together. You suddenly realize they are open. You suddenly realize that they are beckoning you further.//

//You know it's a trap, of course. You're not a fool. But there is no other choice -- between the endless corridors and the weeping [[span class="blur"]]Fritz[[/span]], something must be done.//

//You have to take the gamble.//

//As you cross the threshold right into the heart of the Forge, the Workshop comes to life, and -- -- --// 

[[/div]]

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[[div class="doc religion"]]

[[=]]
**SCHISM IN HEAVEN: THE FALL OF THE MEKHANITE EMPIRE**
[[size 85%]]**BY PROF. JUDITH LOW, 1894**[[/size]]
[[/=]]

------

[...] None of these cases, however, are more interesting than that of [[[excerpts-regarding-st-sophia|Saint Sophia]]].

The contradiction arises already in the name itself: with the exception of its canonized and revered Prophets, the Mekhanite faith does not, indeed, have any saints. It does not even recognize the ability of someone to become one -- it is a state reserved only for those who first Heard and Seen; for the first and last Witnesses of the holy greatness.

Nevertheless, all three main branches of the Broken faith refer to her figure by that very name. It is difficult to ascertain why that is, exactly -- especially seeing how Sophia is a vastly different character depending on which interpretation one chooses.

The Hedwigites see her as a flawed but fundamentally good-willing figure, a teacher of Mekhanite faith active during the early days of Rome. In this version of the story, she is a follower of Mekhane that wishes to follow her teachings but nevertheless fails to live up to their truth on account of being unable to let go of her physical body to join the Goddess in conscious unity, out of fear of death. She is used as an example, but one not to mock or berate, but rather one meant to illustrate the common and relatively understandable though ultimately fatal doubts that may plague a follower of Mekhane's holy thought -- representative of those Mekhanites who remain chained by an outdated and dogmatic understanding of the faith.

The Bumarists have a less positive outlook on Saint Sophia, instead judging her a traitor to her own people. In their scripture, she is a snake, a betrayer -- a jealous member of the Faith who remains envious of her brethren's own skills and capabilities. The Bumarist Sophia suffers from bodily deformities that leave her inferior to her contemporaries. Instead of accepting her position as a test, a trail of faith sent forward by her Goddess, Sophia sees it as a sign of abandonment. Over the many painful years of her life she grows hateful -- and, inevitably, deceitful. In the end, she sells her brethren out to the Roman soldiers in promise of medical treatment -- in promise of release from her suffering. Of course, the only release she does get is the release eventually given to her by the swords and spears of the few surviving members of her former people.

The Orthodoxians paint us the vaguest and most lackluster image of Saint Sophia. As their written, recovered scripture remains few and far between, the only thing that //is// known in their interpretation is that Sophia was a follower -- and most likely a student -- of Legate Trunnion. According to some accounts, the most faithful one. It is unclear what it is that she has done with these supposed skills, but she is rumored to have ventured the desert in search of her mistresses' recluse -- a place she is said to have found and, eventually, died in.

All of this, of course, does nothing to actually explain the strength which with the moniker reserved only for Prophets has stuck to the name of Sophia. A widely accepted interpretation however claims that this is not the result of simple historical syncretism of the Mekhanite figure of Sophia with the Christian Saint of the same name -- a relatively common and inadvertent practice among the work of pre-Normalcy paranormal historians, only aggravated by the existence of later, apocryphal texts. Texts emergent from the mixing of early Christian sects with the underground Mekhanite sects that existed during the Roman Empire.

Nevertheless: as with most cases in our field, here too is truth a luxury we will most likely remain denied. [...]

[[/div]]

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[[include component:image-block 
name=tomb.png
|width=100%
|align=center
|caption=**Fig 1.2.** The unearthed entrance to the Workshop, 1895.
]]

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[[div class="doc"]]

[[=]]
**RECOLLECTIONS OF LEGATE TRUNNION**
[[size 85%]]**SURRENDERED UPON AN [[[scp-8472|ORICHALCOS RECORD]]]**[[/size]]
[[/=]]

------

A cold as sharp as a dagger stabs my heart, and I wake up, gasping for breath, as if drowning.

One lifetime after another it all floods back, and the world turns first black, then grey, then monochrome, and then -- at last -- it explodes with technicolor.

A trembling sigh escapes my lips, and I am returned.

It takes a long, //long// moment to realize where I am -- and indeed who I am -- but when the memories come falling down, the gears in my head and soul start turning once more -- and with them, my body comes back to life. //My workshop comes back to life//. The pipes shudder and the metal creaks with rust, and the Labyrinth once more has a heartbeat, one turn of the wheel after another.

There is fire, then light, and then movement. I grab my dull chrome head in all six of my palms. The weight of centuries upon centuries comes falling down, all upon my shoulders and soul, but I stand strong. I remain. I //remain//, and then I open my eyes again -- and I know I can make it. I know I can make it even when my internal compass runs the numbers and realizes how long I have been gone. How long I have been asleep -- and indeed how long my country, my truth, has been gone.

I would whisper a prayer, but I know She would not listen. Down here, only I persist

As I slowly sit up, my back still fused with the altar upon which my hammer had once struck, I realize I am not alone.

A figure is standing before the heavy doors I suddenly remember making, but that far away, I cannot make out their figure. Still: a heavy worry escapes my lips. "Hedwig?" I ask, fearful she has not listened. Fearful she has not run away when she still could, fearful she has returned here in some futile attempt to bring me back.

The figure comes closer, slowly, and his beard and suit betray him: he isn't of my kin. The two companions that follow shortly behind him only reinforce that image.

Two of them are men, and one is a woman -- but unlike them, her breath is ragged not from worry, but from disease. I can feel her beating, hurting soul, the fading light right in its little birdcage. The two men exchange glances, and as the other brings her forward towards me, for a split second, she walks into one of the holy veins that make the floor of my workshop -- and just like a magnet, that light burns ever so brighter.

In that moment, when our souls cross and eyes meet, I realize we are the same.

Yet another memory floods my mechanical cortex, and I know everything. I know who her companions are, and why they are here -- I know their work and their duties, and I know what they think must be done. Most of all, however, I see the same light she has once seen. The same light //I// have once seen.

And then I understand it all, too.

Sofia. Her name is Sofia.

I look upon John. "It can be done." The weight of my voice surprises even me. The words first come out forced -- artificial almost -- but soon enough, my voice returns too, and with it the clarity of my mind. 

The spark of shock in their eyes, that I know of their desperation, dies down almost as quickly as it appears. I repeat: "It can be done, but she will pay a price.

"The heaviest she can."

Once more their eyes meet, and Sofia's love closes his. His tears evaporate upon meeting the scorching floor.

"No, John," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I... I cannot... She would //not//--"

John's chest falls deep. "I know. I know."

Still: he gently takes up her body from the hands of his now-openly weeping companion. He places her near me, on the cold steps right before my own rest, my own scar -- and he looks right at me.

"What can be done?"

I gently touch her, my fingers going through her grey hair. She is so weak that her skin feels like paper. I put my palm to her forehead, and I can feel the fire burning inside her -- the fire of my own workshop, of my own heresy -- nested right inside the spot where her own spark should be.

It will not be long before it grows dim.

For a split second, I do not say anything -- then, I turn towards the ensemble of my older work, towards the grave of the thousand lifeless things I have put together in a desperate attempt at finding closure. John eyes them, too, and gets my meaning.

I can see he wishes he didn't, but he nods regardless.

"Will she remain herself?" he asks, already aware of the answer.

I weigh my words. "She will remain alive."

For a split second, our eyes converge again.

He knows that if he does this, he will become a traitor -- both to a woman he has once known as family and to the organization he has sacrificed his life for. It will be against everything he has believed, to bring her back like this -- and to give //me// the power to come back as well. Me, the terrible traitor to the Grand Builder's plan; me, the demented dogmatist of a broken, tired ideology; me, the paragon of asceticism, of martyrdom for my Goddess.

Me, the Sofia that never was.

There will be war if he shakes my hands. There will be war if he takes the deal and extends her line, thus giving me life enough to break away from my rust, both in my body and my mind. To give me freedom enough to leave my prison and search for a way out amidst a new world and new scripture -- to correct what I should have done so long ago.

There will be war if he breathes life again into my religion, the truth that was meant to die with our throne. There will be war if he allows us to come back again, wherever the remaining two are, and permit our truth to spread once more. If he allows that which was meant to be buried to come crawling back, against all odds and reason.

And -- most important of all -- there will be war inside his own heart if he brings Sofia home, in a chassis that will be more prison than salvation. In a chassis that will be her end.

He closes his eyes, breathes in, and realizes the weight of his actions and their price against Sofia's life.

He shakes my hand regardless.

And as a terrible movement shakes the heavens whole, the Goddess wakes once more -- and with her, her newest Prophet, cursed to bring poison forth into a world no longer hers.
[[/div]]

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[[=]]
++++ [END OF FILE]
[[/=]]

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[[div class="apotheosis"]]

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//She closes her eyes, and for the split second that she still remains herself, she is robbed of Heaven.//

//She knows this as they lower her body into a cold metal chassis that will hold her forever. That will chain her, even when the Day comes and He inevitably returns; that will bury her bones and rot her flesh, until all that remains is her Immortality, until all that isn't her mind and work and routine and experience becomes unraveled and strung together anew, woven into a tapestry of what once was her soul and dignity and humanity.//

//She knows this as she feels the chassis echo when it touches her and binds her and pierces her and blinds her and then -- at last -- accepts her. It echoes with the dull facsimile of a life, a laughable but extant imitation of intelligence, of dignity -- it echoes and then rebounds, again and again, until her own mind hears nothing but that terrible symphony of lost purpose. Until it rings in her ears and dulls out her own voice; until the two become one, and she no longer hears her own thoughts.//

//She knows this as she feels another wake, somewhere deep inside that chassis; a whisper, of someone long gone -- of a forlorn, foreign imitation of her own soul. It is a silent facsimile of faith, a mere trace of a woman just as mighty as she once might have been. Those who sentence her to this fate, they do not know of her, just as they do not know of the echo that once dwelled inside the chassis. She feels the whisper's eyes upon her own, and as she looks at it too, she knows that, in that moment, they are the same.//

//With the heart of a sheep upon the altar of her Lord, she feels her soul stabbed with the cold needle of unity, and she realizes there is no salvation.//

//She knows this as she opens her eyes again, and wakes up a mockery of --His--// Her //design.//

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[[/div]]

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[[=]]
+ 1977
[[/=]]

@@ @@

[[div class="blockquote"]]
[[=]]
**PROJECT ICARUS**
[[size 85%]]**IT DEPARTMENT, SITE-01**[[/size]]
[[/=]]

------

[[==]]

[...] **PROJECT ICARUS** refers to the continuous Foundation effort aimed at maintaining the operational capability and efficiency of its primary archival and analytical asset, O5-2.

[[include component:image-block-peppo
name=computer.png
|align=right
|caption=O5-2 in 1948, during the first phase of its hardware modernization.
|width=320px
]]

Initially founded and led by the original Administrator, O5-1, and O5-4 in 1895 with the passing of original spectral asset SILVER THIRTY, the Project has ensured the continuation of her operational intent and scientific legacy. Although due to the Project's initial technological limitations, its primary iteration was a purely physical construct -- a paretechnological automaton capable of performing its predecessor's duties in a very limited manner -- the form which O5-2 has since taken has been improved and streamlined to ensure maximum operational capabilities.

With the emergence of modern computer science after World War II and the reorganization of the Project into its current form, several edits have been made -- and have occurred of their own volition, due to the nature of the asset's initial creation and the technology which brought it about -- to both the chassis commonly understood as the asset's host and the entity referred to as O5-2, including but not limited to:
* the gradual dampening of its emotional and identity drives into its eventual -- and voluntary -- metamorphosis into a purely analytical entity;
* the introduction of stabilization inhibitors, capable of streamlining the often dissociative gestalt at the base of the asset's limited consciousness;
* the gradual replacement of the biological elements latent within the asset's initial form so as to ensure its longevity and limit its dependence on biological processes;
* the gradual digitalization of its essence from a physical host to one based on Site-01-native paratechnological computer systems, under the THESEUS Initiative alongside [[[aiad-homescreen|latest IT advances]]].

The primary difficulty faced by project staff -- in particular its technicians -- in regards to the continued operation to O5-2 is the issue of maintaining the stability of its gestalt consciousness. As an essential merge between three beings -- the initial O5-2 and two other beings necessary for her proper "anchoring" within the provided host -- O5-2 often faces "hiccups" in its operations. These errors never last long enough to be of any operational significance, and are a result of the fundamental and irreparable -- though trivial -- flaws inherent to the asset's creation. One of the long-term goals of Project Icarus is to accomplish the ectomy of these faults to the extent that such an action is possible.

Despite its makeup, it is the current official belief of the O5 Council -- and Project Icarus staff at large -- that the entity currently known as O5-2 bears no real resemblance to either of its progenitors and should not be approached with the same consideration as a human being. [...]

[[/==]]

[[/div]]

[[=image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/dr-mackenzie-s-sketchbook/SCP-Logo-2400.png style="width: 50px; margin: 68.25px;"]]

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