fragment:scp-8899-2

Link to article: fragment:scp-8899-2.

/*---- IMPORTS ----*/
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Vesper+Libre&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Spectral:wght@300&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Special+Elite&display=swap');

/*---- THEME ----*/
:root {
  --logo: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh/HMFSCP2.png);
  --title: "Her Majesty's Foundation";
  --subtitle: "Dieu Et Sa Loi";
  --title-size: 1.75rem;
  --subtitle-size: 1.25rem;
}
:root {
    --basalt-overtone: 23, 33, 20;
    --basalt-undertone: var(--basalt-bright-element-color);
    --basalt-UI-dark-palette: 23, 33, 20;
    --basalt-bright-element-color: 23, 33, 20;
    --basalt-dark-element-color: 23, 33, 20;
    --basalt-main-text-color: 255, 253, 208;

    --image-caption-background-color: 255, 253, 231;

    --header-background-color: 48,69,41;
    --header-title-color: 255, 253, 208;
    --header-subtitle-color: 255, 253, 208;

    --top-bar-link-color: 255, 253, 208;
    --search-icon-color: 255, 253, 208;
    --side-bar-background-color: 63,90,54;
    --side-bar-heading-text-color: 255, 253, 208;
    --side-bar-link-color: 255, 253, 208;
    --scrollbar-thumb-color: var(--basalt-dark-element-color);

    --link-color: 137, 81, 37 !important;
    --link-visited-color: 137, 81, 37 !important;

    --document-background-color: 243,223,193;
}
:root {
    --header-font-primary: 'Spectral';
    --UI-font-primary: 'Vesper Libre';
    --body-font-primary: 'Vesper Libre';
    --mono-font-primary: 'Spectral';
    font-size: 110%;
}
.page {
    display: block;
    overflow: hidden;
    font-family: "Monotype Corsiva", "Bradley Hand ITC", sans-serif;
    font-style: normal;
    background-attachment: scroll;
    background-clip: border-box;
    background-color: transparent;
    background-image: linear-gradient(to top ,rgb(202, 219, 228) 0%, rgb(231, 233, 220) 8%);
    background-origin: padding-box;
    background-position: 0px 8px;
    background-repeat: repeat;
    background-size: 100% 20px;
    border: 1px solid #CCC;
    border-radius: 10px;
    padding: 10px 10px;
    margin-bottom: 10px;
    box-shadow: 0px 1px 3px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2)
}
.page p,
.page ul {
    line-height: 20px;
    margin: 0;
}

background-color: #f3cea1; text-color:black;

font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 16pt

font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 12pt

font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000

```
width:20%;
```

background-color: #f3cea1; text-color:black;

font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt

font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt

background-color: #f3cea1; text-color:black;

font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000

```
width:20%;
```

font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt

:scp-wiki:theme:basalt [info]

```
jotting
```
```
document
```
```
page
```
```
jotting
```
```
page
```
```
page
```
```
page
```
```
jotting
```

[[include :scp-wiki:theme:basalt  darkmode=a|hidetitle=a]]

[[module css]]
/*---- IMPORTS ----*/
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Vesper+Libre&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Spectral:wght@300&display=swap');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css2?family=Special+Elite&display=swap');

/*---- THEME ----*/
:root {
  --logo: url(https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh/HMFSCP2.png);
  --title: "Her Majesty's Foundation";
  --subtitle: "Dieu Et Sa Loi";
  --title-size: 1.75rem;
  --subtitle-size: 1.25rem;
}
:root {
    --basalt-overtone: 23, 33, 20;
    --basalt-undertone: var(--basalt-bright-element-color);
    --basalt-UI-dark-palette: 23, 33, 20;
    --basalt-bright-element-color: 23, 33, 20;
    --basalt-dark-element-color: 23, 33, 20;
    --basalt-main-text-color: 255, 253, 208;

    --image-caption-background-color: 255, 253, 231;

    --header-background-color: 48,69,41;
    --header-title-color: 255, 253, 208;
    --header-subtitle-color: 255, 253, 208;

    --top-bar-link-color: 255, 253, 208;
    --search-icon-color: 255, 253, 208;
    --side-bar-background-color: 63,90,54;
    --side-bar-heading-text-color: 255, 253, 208;
    --side-bar-link-color: 255, 253, 208;
    --scrollbar-thumb-color: var(--basalt-dark-element-color);

    --link-color: 137, 81, 37 !important;
    --link-visited-color: 137, 81, 37 !important;

    --document-background-color: 243,223,193;
}
:root {
    --header-font-primary: 'Spectral';
    --UI-font-primary: 'Vesper Libre';
    --body-font-primary: 'Vesper Libre';
    --mono-font-primary: 'Spectral';
    font-size: 110%;
}
.page {
    display: block;
    overflow: hidden;
    font-family: "Monotype Corsiva", "Bradley Hand ITC", sans-serif;
    font-style: normal;
    background-attachment: scroll;
    background-clip: border-box;
    background-color: transparent;
    background-image: linear-gradient(to top ,rgb(202, 219, 228) 0%, rgb(231, 233, 220) 8%);
    background-origin: padding-box;
    background-position: 0px 8px;
    background-repeat: repeat;
    background-size: 100% 20px;
    border: 1px solid #CCC;
    border-radius: 10px;
    padding: 10px 10px;
    margin-bottom: 10px;
    box-shadow: 0px 1px 3px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2)
}
.page p,
.page ul {
    line-height: 20px;
    margin: 0;
}
[[/module]]
@@ @@
[[=]]
+ //**Part 1: The Fertile Crescent**//
[[/=]]
------

+++ //Silence//

Malcolm reached into his waistcoat and fished out his watch. 7 o'clock. One hour. He would have to be quick. Trying to keep as much composure as possible, he entered Records. "One for the Mesopotamia lot," he said, placing the box on the archivist's table. The old man sniffed sleepily and opened the lid, taking out the stone statue. After a quick inspection, he nodded and returned the stone to the box. Malcolm gave a quick nod of thanks and made his way to the Middle East aisle.

"Thank God he didn't notice the imperfections," he thought as he pushed apart the shelves. Opening Box 23-M, Malcolm placed the box with the substitute into the straw, trying to make it look as unsuspicious as possible. He then pocketed the real thing into the lining of his coat and locked it up. He made sure to wave good night as he left. "OK, hard parts over," he said with a sigh.

Reaching his office, he took all his forged research out from under the loose floorboard and placed them in the out pile. He then incinerated the true research with a flame he conjured in his palm and wrote a quick note on scrap paper. "//Sorry, Charlotte. Got to head off to a meeting with Bobbin. I'll meet you back at my place. Key's under the flower pot.//" Once written, he placed it on his desk, propped up against the lamp. He then locked up his office and left, comforted by the cold lump pressed against his chest.

It had started to snow a few hours earlier; now, the museum courtyard was covered with a good layer of white. Barely anyone was out which suited Malcolm. He didn't fancy having to use an enchantment on a policeman again. As he walked towards the park, he repeated Kitten's instructions in his head.

"//Take the statue at the end of the day. You're less likely to get stopped at that point. Once you've made the switch, leave and take the Way in the bandstand. That's usually empty at this time. Don't take any of your notes. I'll send someone to pick them up later.//"

So proud of his triumph, he didn't notice the man before it was too late.

"Oh, I do apologise, sir," said Malcolm, picking up his papers hastily.

"Please. No problem," assured the man, brushing his coat smoothly. His English was fragmented and his hoarse speech was thick with a deep Russian accent. "I was also not looking."

"These new gas laps. Can't trust the things half the time."

The Russian man smiled in agreement and pointed at Malcolm's papers and brushes. "You are from museum?"

"What, oh, yes. Yes. A researcher."

The man was very tall, with his cape emphasising his wide shoulders and sturdy build. A neat beard hid most of his heavy face.

"Your country is most interesting place. I enjoy much of your learning and schools."

"Yes, very studious aren't we," answered Malcolm hastily. He wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. The others would be waiting and the closest Way closed in the next 30 minutes. "I'm sorry, but I must get going. Enjoy the museum."

But as he walked past, the Russian called out again. "Good man, you forgot this?"

Annoyed, Malcolm turned to face the man again, who was smiling gently. In his hand, he held up the statue.

"I thought - I didn't- how did you get that?"

"You know you shouldn't be stealing, Malcolm ," smirked the Russian, waving the little statue playfully, "Or do all Serpent scholars do such sin?"

Malcolm felt his hot annoyance drain away from him, now replaced with a cold fear.

"How did you - know?" he whispered.

"We've been looking for you long time," grinned the Russian, walking slowly toward Malcolm.

The Russian then clapped his hands and Malcolm felt three individuals jump at him from the dark. Within seconds, Malcolm had his arms and hands bound behind his back and a piece of cloth pulled firmly over his mouth. As he squirmed, one of them reached into his coat and withdrew his research, passing it to the Russian.

"No magic trick," taunted the Russian as he snapped his fingers. A carriage came round the corner, driven by two large black horses. As Malcolm made several hopeless efforts to shake his captors off, the Russian shouted something in German at them. It was said quickly, but Malcolm understood the word 'Solomon'. He was then picked up and thrown into the carriage, settled tightly between two large men.

"Let us move. His friends will come looking," said the Russian, reading Malcolm's papers as settled in the seat opposite Malcolm and tapped the roof of the carriage hard. The horses whinnied loudly and pulled away.

"Have no fear, my good man," said the Russian, pulling out the statue and displaying it, "We won't keep you long. We just need to know about your work in Near East."

------

+++ //Mark of the Snake//

The morgue wasn't the place Fredrick Williams liked to go to and as his job involved mostly paperwork, diplomatic meetings and calculations, it was a place he shouldn't really be visiting anyway.

"What's his name," he asked as the mortician placed the hand back on the steel table. The tattoo of a snake was only just visible through the blood stains.

"Malcolm Lockwood, sir. He was a curator at the British Museum. Specialised in Middle Eastern and North African artefacts," said the inspector, flicking through the files.

"He was tortured?"

Fredrick looked at the corpse's face. Much of it was covered in cuts and bruises. One of the eyes showed signs of chemical burns.

"It would appear so, sir."

"Pass me that file, Nathanial."

Nathanial gestured at the officer, who handed Fredrick the file.

"Nathanial, what do we know about the man," asked Fredrick, who began flicking through the pages, searching for something.

"Born in England in 1842. Studied at Eton before getting a job at the museum in 1864. Decent wages. Good job. Managers claimed he was clumsy and would misplace things sometimes. Started off in African studies but then moved to Mesopotamian last year."

"Steal them, more like," murmured Fredrick.

"He's been seen with an archiving receptionist, Charlotte Jury. We interviewed her but she couldn't give us anything. If he was a part of Nehushtan's Scholars, he kept that life very quiet. But not quite enough by the looks of it."

"Why do you think it's related to //the Godless// case," Fredrick asked, not taking his eyes off the documents.

"The injuries, sir. Whilst most of his injuries aren't anything special, the burns to his eyes and mouth are just like the ones those four dockmen had. You know, the ones delivering those packages for Trower's Cargo. Plus, the museum is supposedly meant to have one of the [[[SCP-2347|Keys]]] in its collection."

"Hmmmm - that does strengthen your idea. I just wonder if - There!"

Fredrick pointed at an image of a stone statue. The inspector, officer and mortician exchanged confused looks.

"That's just a statue, sir. It was one of the artefacts Lockwood was studying."

"Nearly 10,000 years old," whispered Fredrick, his face lighting up slightly, "we're getting somewhere."

Fredrick suddenly snapped the files shut, causing everyone around to jump. He then thrust them back at the officer as he made his way to the door, gesturing for the inspector to follow.

"Clean him up, Miranda. I think having a psychometrist look over them would help collate some evidence. Officer, can you chase up the museum? I want a list of every artefact Lockwood handled after he was transferred to the Mesopotamia items. Note which ones he was clumsy with too."

He then left, followed swiftly by Nathanial.

For the first time in a while, Fredrick was feeling excited. True, if his theories were correct, then the threat of the 'Rite' would soon be masked by something even more detrimental. But it felt good to have the answers. It felt good to be right. Fredrick was often right. Actually, he was //always// right.

"Sir, I don't understand. Do you believe Lockwood was trying to find the Keys for //the Godless//?"

"I think he was trying to deter something, actually. Also, this has nothing to do with the Rite. This is something far more dangerous."

Nathanial, finally catching up, gave Fredrick a panicked, confused look.

"How do you know?"

"That artefact. The one he'd been working on. What was it?"

"A - a statue. A stone statue of a boar."

"Where was it from?"

"Wasn't  from some burial sight in near the Euphrates?"

Fredrick stopped and took Nathanial aside.

"The artefacts and Keys necessary to conduct the Rite have to have some importance. Religiously, theurgical or politically. On a significant scale. Typically, their history is rich in bloodshed, trade or ceremony. Why would //the Godless// be so interested in something so mundane?"

"You think Lockwood's artefacts were pointing somewhere? To something else? Another Key?"

Fredrick shook his head impatiently.

"Forget about the Rite, Nathanial. This is something bigger. I know it."

"Then what are they after, sir?"

"The fact Lockwood was a Nehushtan and the Near East connection is too much of a coincidence."

"Sir, I still don't understand."

"The Nehushtan's Scholars. They've been around for centuries. Since the dawn of civilisation. Their order's activity is littered throughout history. However, evidence suggests they started out somewhere in the Middle East."

"All right. Why is this important?"

"For an area that is supposed to be the root of their order, the Middle East, is almost devoid of any history of them. Furthermore, that area has little record of paranormal or occult activity. I mean there is the odd ritual here and there, but nothing substantial. Why would an area so intrinsic be so quiet?"

Nathanial frowned for a moment before it clicked.

"Something's there. Something's hidden away."

"And the Scholars are maintaining this secret. But it would seem someone else has learnt it."

------

+++ //Icicles//

Artyom sighed happily as he exited the ballroom, taking deep breaths of cold air. The ballroom had been so warm, and all the dancing and chatting had made the whole place sweltering. Now he was outside, he could strum to the music without breaking a sweat.

"Please, be serious," said the Lancer.

"Oh, my good man. It has been so long since I've been home. Let me enjoy myself."

"Artyom!"

Artyom stopped his jig and turned to face his leader. Bending down, he clenched his fists into a gesture before kissing his leader's ringed finger. The Lancer nodded, approvingly.

"What is it, sir."

The Lancer pulled out a small stone, shaped like a boar and placed it on the edge of the balcony ledge.

"Would you care to explain why this is the result of your journey to Britain?"

Artyom gave a sheepish smile. He wondered which of the little mice had been the one to tattle.

"I am waiting?"

"Sir, it was only a small detour. No harm in obtaining information. And he was only a young one. Who's going to care if he's gone?"

"You insist on continuing this nonsense," he said, giving Artyom a look of great disappointment and anger. Artyom's face remained cheerful. "Do you know how much attention you have brought to our order!"

Artyom shrugged. Clearly, he didn't care.

"Do not test me. You have risked too much going on these little tangents. Because of you, we have lost twelve substantial occultists and the whereabouts of the Dragon Brooch. Because of you, this infernal war continues."

"Sir, you have to understand, what I am doing is for the benefit of our cause. If my theories are correct, I -"

"I do not care about your theories! This - //Sapling//, is of no use to us. Our goal is to establish control. Not chase fairy tales."

"Fairies do not lie, sir. And if we could dissect the weapon. Understand how to control it. We wouldn't need to lose all this power and resort to sacrifice and theft. We wouldn't need to manufacture a false god. We could pick and choose who knew. We could control it -"

But before he could argue any further, the Lancer slapped Artyom hard.

"You dare criticise my work! After all I have given you!"

Artyom sniggered angrily as he nursed his cheek.

"No, sir. I apologise."

The Lancer huffed and reached for his walking stick.

"Find me my Key, Artyom, or you'll find yourself on the other end of your torture chamber."

------

+++ //Jacqueline Leakey, British Occult Service Correspondent//

In the distance, from Paddington came the sounds of trains puffing, shunting the late-night trains and post carriages. Between their puffing and clanging, Fredrick could hear the water of the canal lapping at the banks.

"It's a nice spot," said the woman in the black hat, "You can see the Moon's reflection on the river."

Fredrick gave the woman a serious look before smiling. "How are you, Jackie?"

"Oh, let's not do this. I've already had to make several excuses to get here, let alone get what you wanted"

The two friends sat down on the bench.

"Have you heard from Blackwood? Westinghouse?"

"Last I heard, Blackwood went off looking for something in the South America's. Westinghouse's off in the States somewhere. Says he's setting up a toy shop."

"What about Anderson?"

An uncomfortable pause followed before Fredrick answered.

"I've tried reasoning with the boy. Everyone has. He's just - just too caught up in it all. This war isn't helping."

"I blame his father," said Jacqueline, pulling out a bag of aniseed balls and putting one in her mouth.

The two sat in silence for a moment, listening to the rhythmic sound of the city, slowly falling to sleep.

"OK, so what is it you know?"

"Well, the public believes it was tuberculosis that killed him. However, according to one of my contacts with the Tsar's Seers, it was one of their own. Did it with a bottle of scent apparently. Then they made off with several weapons and men. Made their way to the Alps but the trail goes cold after that."

Jacqueline waited a few seconds before answering. "Do you know where they're heading?"

"Turkey, we think. Maybe Syria. In truth, I don't think they even know where they're heading. But it's East."

"What is it you think they're after?"

"Something old. Something they believe is more powerful than the Rite. I don't know what, but it's been hiding there for a long time and the Scholars had done a lot to keep it like that. And with the barriers of this world getting thinner, I don't think it's going to be a challenge for them to find out."

Jacqueline turned but didn't speak. A slight crack came from her mouth as she bit into the seed.

"This didn't come from me, all right. There are enemies and traitors all over the place, especially these days."

"You have my word."

"And I need something in return."

"What is it."

"We need arms. Good ones. Our men in the Baltics are running low on munitions and resources. If you stop these people, we want a cut of your pilfering."

Fredrick hesitated, then nodded.

"A few days ago, some of our diplomats met them in Budapest. You were right, they killed the Lancer. They wanted asylum, claiming they killed the Lancer because they'd become disillusioned with the cabal's goal."

"Of course, they'd say that."

"Anyhow. We made an agreement to grant them passage to Constantinople in exchange -"

"You did what!"

"I know! But they had with them the Alfred Jewel. You know how powerful and dangerous that is. It's better to have it in our hands rather than in theirs. And remember, this idea you have isn't supported by any evidence. We can't arrest them. And any attempt at an ambush would've been reckless. I know these people have capabilities."

Fredrick scoffed and put a hand to his head.

"But I can confirm," continued Jacqueline, "Last we heard of them, they were heading to Aleppo, hoping to catch a boat at Lake Assad."

Fredrick got up from the chair. "Are you sure?"

"We're not positive but we know they're heading East"

Fredrick clapped his hands together and grimaced triumphantly. This was enough. He would need to call Tavish as soon as possible.

"Thank you, Jackie. This is all I needed. I'll write to you when we get our lot."

As he turned to leave, Jackie called out.

"Have you heard from Charlotte?"

The name caused Fredrick to stop in his tracks. From the rush in her voice, it was clear Jacqueline had been desperate to ask this. Of course, she would be. Everyone in London would be.

"No, I haven't. Not since Joseph's birthday."

Fredrick had his back to her, but he knew Jacqueline regretted her decision. He hated it when people did this.

"Has she left," Fredrick asked, not turning his back.

"She left six months ago. Wanted to do something quiet."

Fredrick laughed sarcastically, louder than he meant to.

"What about Joseph? Is he still living with you?"

At the mention of Joseph, Fredrick looked over his shoulder but didn't look at Jacqueline.

"No. He left. He wanted something different. We - "

He didn't want to speak of it. Talking about it only brought up the whole ordeal again. When Joey made the house shake while drinking. When Fredrick bailed Joey and his friends out of jail. When Joey discovered his father attempting self-exorcism. When Charlotte embarrassed the two of them at Joey's 19th. When Joey called Fredrick a 'dictator' and Fredrick called Joey a 'freak-of-nature'. When Fredrick came home to find the safe empty and a note left in the dining hall. When it had all gone wrong.

"He's off. Gone away for a while. Needed a holiday," he replied finally. The lie healed the sting a little, but not by much.

"Freddy. I didn't mean -"

"Thanks, Jacqueline. I'll write to you."

And before Jacqueline could apologise, he left without saying another word.

------

+++ //On the Banks of Euphrates//

With the sun now vanishing, the cold crept in on frigid winds. Outside of the thin strips of green that hid the banks, almost everything was sand and stone. From the squat houses, makeshift huts and tents came the smell of smoke and cooking fish. Light chatter could be heard coming from some of the buildings. Firelight flicked at windows and flaps. On the water, a boat was slowly making its way south. No one would've guessed its passengers were about to end everything.

On the desk, Artyom was consulting a series of papers in varying writing styles. One document was stained with a dark liquid which definitely wasn't ink. As he read, Artyom murmured under his breath.

" - and the world was changed, in a day of flowers."

He was interrupted by a cough from one of his men. "Sir, we'll be disembarking soon. The rest of the journey is on foot."

From his pocket, Artyom withdrew a small stone statue in the shape of a boar. A faint blue light was surrounding it and the stone was warm to the touch. Everything was weakening. As expected.

"Good. Get the horses ready. I shall fetch our guides."

Going below, he made his way to the hold at the back of the ship. At his presence, the four guards withdrew their chains and knives, ready for a surprise. The one nearest the door turned the lock, which clunked loudly, echoing against the metal.

The guides were just as they'd been before. Hands bound in silver-plated, iron chains and heavy sacks pulled tightly across their heads. A faint musk of urine was coming from the youngest. Walking slowly forward, taking in the pleasure of watching them shake, Artyom removed the sacks from the guide's heads. The two youngest, a young woman and a man with horns on his head, had puffy eyes and the woman was sniffing. The oldest, however, a person coated in sigils and fine-coloured scars, was staring up at Artyom with a stoic rage. Amused, Artyom leaned down to meet them at eye level.

"Time to go."

------

+++ //The Battle of Mari//

[[div class="jotting" style="background-color: #f3cea1; text-color:black;"]]
[[=]]
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 16pt"]]**Episode 1866-0301-A:** The Battle of Mari
[[/span]][[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 12pt"]]Collated by Brig. Tavish Dickinson
Commander of Force η
[[/span]]
[[/=]]
------
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000"]]In the late afternoon of March 1st, 1866, a group of individuals, formerly members of the cabal known as //The Godless// arrived at in Deir ez-Zor via boat along the Euphrates River, led by Russian theologian and folklorist, Artyom Dunajski. The area, believed to be the birth of civilisation, agriculture and metallurgy, has been an occult and paranormal dead spot - long believed to be the result of the efforts of the Nehushtan's Scholars group. At 6 pm, the group left their ship and made their way to the Syrian Desert on horseback, accompanied by three imprisoned Scholar members -  believed to be acting as forced guides. At the same time, Force η were in pursuit of the group, 15 miles upriver.

At around 7 pm, dusk had fallen and the group had arrived at a mountainous region. They were met with a kinetic barrier which they displaced through the display of an artefact stolen from the British Museum.

At 7:15 pm, during their ascent, the group were ambushed by several individuals, all believed to be members of the Nehushtan's Scholars. Both groups began a conflict, which resulted in the formation of a dense sandstorm. According to accounts from locals, the storm could be seen 30 miles away. As a result of the sandstorm's manifestation, sudden changes to atmospheric conditions occurred, resulting in a thunderstorm forming around the perimeter of the site of the conflict.

At 8:20 pm, Force η arrived at the perimeter of the site, though due to the density of the sandstorm, were unable to enter the storm's centre. Attempts were made to mitigate the storm through the application of meteorokinetic techniques and the summoning of geological [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/raisa-6147|homunculi]]] via alchemic means. During their efforts, many members of the force reported witnessing lightning and lights forming within the sandstorm, along with the persistent sound of screaming and shouting.

At 8:40 pm, a loud non-human screech was heard originating within the storm. Within minutes, the surrounding wind speed of the storm forced all members of the force to retreat to a safer distance. 2 members were injured during the retreat. During their exit, many members claimed they were experiencing a rise in temperature and air pressure, though nothing came of this. After all members were covered, the force witnessed the collapse of the storm, which released a substantial blast of force.

------

Notes: After the conflict ceased, Force η searched for any survivors. The site had experienced heavy ecological alteration, with a vast majority of the area now housing pockets of foreign ecosystems and paranormal weather patterns. In addition, the forces registered theurgists reported feeling a subsiding force within the area, implying the elements used to hide and defend the area were rapidly decaying. A number of fulgurites made up of volcanic glass were seen across the site and upon closer inspection, several were found to be encompassing deceased individuals. Those who had not been encapsulated had presumably died from conflict-related injuries. All attempts at psychometry proved useless. A total of 84 casualties resulted from the conflict. No survivors were found.

Following their search, Force ηseized control of the cabal's ship for further investigation.

[[/span]]

[[/div]]

------

+++ //Sandpit//

It was cold to the touch.

The Brigadier  had seen his fair share of astonishments and peculiarities. Pools of blood that move and stripped the flesh of bone, spectres the size of churches and islands that came and went in a single day. This wasn't something he'd seen before. Suspended in the black glass, was a man, frozen in mid-disembowelment. As he moved around it, the Brigadier saw the sunlight shine through, revealing that the blood of the victim had shaded the crystal slightly. Silhouettes of organs, flesh and bone were dotted through it too. It was both disgusting and beautiful.

"What do we do with them, Sir?"

"How many are there," the Brigadier asked, not taking his eyes away from the glass sculpture.

"37, Sir. I believe that accounts for almost 80 percent of the invading group."

"Any properties we need to consider?"

"Enlli says there is some kind of force still attached to them, but it's fading fast. Just like the weather spots."

"OK, let's get them out of here."

The glass shards crunched loudly as the two walked along the sand back to the carts.

"Sir, I know I'm not a seer like Enlli, but there is something -"

"I feel it too, private. There is something still here."

There was an aura around them. Not something tangible. A presence. An emotion.  It was the kind of feeling you got when you wanted to tell someone a secret.

Then it all happened all at once. The spots suddenly flicked and then vanished, leaving no trace of their existence. The ground shook violently, causing large dunes to pile up like waves. The mound where the conflict had centered around began to crumble, sinking into the sand, and pulling the rest of the area down with it.

"Everyone clear now," shouted the Brigadier, running towards the carts, pulling the private along by the scruff of his neck. As they moved, the land began to slant upwards, causing the glass sculptures to topple over. The horses began panicking, pulling desperately at the carts, which were being pulled towards the sinking mound.

"Get them out of here! Get out!"

"Sir, the glass - "

"Do not disobey me! Get out now!"

Then out of nowhere, a wedge of glass burst from the ground like a fish and pulled the two men into the sand, taking them into the deep pit where the mound had once stood.

[[=]]
--
[[/=]]

It took two whole minutes for the Brigadier to clear the dust from his eyes. All while attempting to cough his throat clear.

"Private," he called out hoarsely.

His voice echoed around against something. They'd landed underground, in something big and cold.

"Private!"

Regaining his footing on the piles of broken glass and sand, the Brigadier quickly checked himself over for any pieces that had lodged themselves into him. Nothing. Good. Calming slightly, his attention was drawn to the funny smell that hit his nostrils. It was a fresh smell. Like the scent of flowers and gardens.

"Private!"

Above him, a hole in a stone wall was letting sunlight through. In the bricks, carvings of strange people, plants and animals could be made out in the faint light. "What are those winged creatures," he wondered, trying to make out what the shapes were. Then something crunched loudly under his foot. Looking down, he grimaced at the sight of a cracked skull, crushed under his boot. It wasn't the only one either. In the piles around him, the Brigadier saw several bones placed haphazardly, all mangled by the wave of sand.

"Dear, god."

A faint whimpering brought him out of his astonishment. Moving quickly, he found the private lying in the sand, clutching his leg. Dark stains were forming on the cloth of his clothes and the Brigadier saw a thick shard poking out between the private's hands.

"There you are! Oh, my dear boy. What a mess, eh?"

Acting quickly, he began assessing the private's leg. The shard was lodged deeply into his calf. The poor boy was shaking in fear and whimpering.

"Stop! I can't help you if you shake."

The private bit his lip as the Brigadier did what he could.

"Right, I've done what I can but we need to get out of here before you start to bleed out. Don't worry, boy. It's going to be all right."

From the hole in the stone, the sounds of shouts were heard.

"Down here! Come quickly. We have an injured member in need of medical attention. And can you -"

The Brigadier's voice trailed off as he looked behind him. Now that his eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, he could make out the entire area. The two men were inside a large dome. As big as a cathedral and equally, ornately sculpted. And in the centre, just visible, was a large tree.

------

+++ //Anomaly-008//

[[div class="document"]]
[[=]]
[[size 170%]] **Her Majesty's Foundation for the Secure Containment of the Paranormal** [[/size]]

[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/anomaly-243-the-neamh-mairbh/HMFSCP2.png style="width:20%;"link=#]]
@@@@
**BY DECREE OF HER ROYAL MAJESTY QUEEN VICTORIA, RULER OF THESE UNITED KINGDOMS OF GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND, THIS DOCUMENT AND ITS CONTENTS ARE TO BE HELD IN SECRECY, AND USED TO PROTECT AND FURTHER THE INTERESTS OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE.**

**GOD SAVE THE QUEEN.**
[[/=]]
-----
**Designation:** AO-008.  [!-- Always start with AO- --]

**Threat:** //Awaiting Assessment.// [!-- None, Benign, Irascible, Enraged --]

**Classifications:** Botanical, Archaeological, Invulnerable, Inert [!-- Brief descriptions of anomaly --]

**Stored:** Chamber 010, Hall 06, Site-Blue [!-- Where is the anomaly kept or located --]

**Identifiers:** Anomaly resembles a mature Taxus Baccata, approximately 11 yards in height. Item remains in full foliage and seed-baring regardless of external conditions or forces.  [!-- How does the anomaly usually look --]

**Abnormality:** On face value, anomaly does not outwardly display any abnormal properties. However, physical examination has found the item to be physically invulnerable, despite appearing to be only made of botanical matter. This makes the removal of any piece of the item, from leaves to wood, impossible, with the expectation of the seeds and aril.

Upon the consumption of the seeds and aril, subjects will enter a deep sleep. Subjects in this state can not be awoken, either through physical or chemical stimulants. At random moments in this state, subjects will die, regardless of their physical health. Autopsy of subjects has found that the cause of death is identical to those caused by blood loss. However, no subject has been witnessed sustaining any injury during their sleep state. Further observations are underway. [!-- How does the anomaly usually behave and what makes this unusual --]

**History:** Anomaly was discovered by //Brigadier Tavish Dickinson// following his brigade's investigation of a site located within the Syrian Desert, a few miles from the banks of the Euphrates River. The anomaly was initially located within a domed room, believed to be a reliquary of sorts, beneath a tel[[footnote]] An artificial mound marking the site of an ancient settlement since lost to natural causes.  [[/footnote]]. Examining the site's layout and features has suggested the site once was occupied by an early branch of the //Nehushtan's Scholars//[[footnote]] A scholastic division of individuals, dedicated to the study and practice of paranormal and abnormal phenomena. The group primarily work within the confines of the Wanderers' Library, whose supposed guardian, a giant serpent, they take their name from. [[/footnote]], however little evidence remains both due to the effect of thousands of years of natural causes and the fallout of the //1866-0301-A Episode//.

In its initial discovery, the anomaly was found with several skeletal remains surrounding its base, some of which were found to belong to abnormal humans. An observation team was called for and following five days of observation, the anomaly was removed from its site of discovery to Site-Blue. Study and observations are currently being overseen by Chamberlain 5. [!-- How did the anomaly come under the control of HMFSCP --]

[[/div]]

"Is this everything," asked Fredrick, holding up the papers to the boffin, who nodded firmly. He was shaking slightly around the knees. He had not been expected to be called to a Chamberlain's quarters.

Fredrick flicked through the pages once again, pausing now and then to read a section.

"We've added the pieces we found on the ship too," said The Brigadier, "Most of that was collated by Artyom Dunajski, I believe."

"Well, he did his research. Very detailed work. And no one came after you or anything? The Scholars? The Godless? Someone from the Sihirlerin Taburi," he asked The Brigadier.

The Brigadier shook his head. "No one."

Fredrick glanced up at the Brigadier's bemused look over his spectacles. "What is it, Tavish?"

"It just - it seemed so - easy and - confusing. To recover it, I mean. So much effort was made to find or protect this tree. Clearly, a lot of power and magic was used to keep it safe from discovery. And then after a menial fight, it was just sitting there."

"Well, that could be down to what's going on in the world now. Remember, this war is causing significant shifts in the workings of natural and hidden nature. Many things are undergoing augmentations and diminishments. Maybe that fight was the last ounce of power that was left in that place to protect it."

"And as for the anomaly itself, it doesn't appear to be something worth fighting or defending. It's just a tree that kills you when you eat its fruit."

The boffin made a sudden movement with his finger but quickly retracted it.

"You can talk. We're just people like you, my good man. What do you want to say," avowed Fredrick, not looking away from the papers.

"It's - it's the subjects we tested, sir. Not - not all of them were killed," squeaked the boffin.

The two men looked at him with puzzlement. "Has someone been asleep all this time?"

"No, sir. The one we tested this morning. He woke up 5 minutes after he ate the fruit. That's why I was sent here to give you the files. I was to tell you."

Fredrick removed his spectacles and bit the end of one of its temples. "Is he alright?"

"He was fine, sir, but he was adamant about passing on something."

"Which was?"

"He said, she told him to stop. She told him to leave them alone."

------

+++ //His Voice, Shaded Purple//

"It was a miracle the site has chambers big enough," thought Fredrick to himself, as he locked the exit to AO-008's storage room behind him. Site-Blue was Her Majesty's Foundation's most private and secured facility. Buried deep under the ground, this was home to some of the most dangerous and secretive items known to the organisation. There were things in here that could wipe out armies, kill nations and establish governments in a single hour. And Fredrick was certain that 008 was more dangerous than any of them.

Reading the notes again carefully, he walked towards the base of the tree and looked up. In the branches, dotted out against the vivid green, were the familiar little, red berries. Fredrick smiled to himself as he picked one. A faint memory of Joey in the park came back. Once, he'd managed to sneak away from Charlotte's hand and had scampered up the graveyard's trees like a little squirrel. It had taken a full 15 minutes for Fredrick to climb up and collect him.

It had all been so easy once.

Making himself comfortable, Fredrick rolled the fruit between his fingers and popped it into his mouth. The seed cracked as he bit into it and the soft aril's sticky sweet juice quickly coated his tongue. A bitter tang began to form in his throat. Giving everything a few more bites, Fredrick swallowed the strange concoction in one gulp.

And then, there was nothing at all.

[[=]]
--
[[/=]]

The tree was much bigger on this side.

Fredrick had awoke face down on a soft patch of grass. The sky here was a deep wine colour and a gentle wind was blowing. Almost all of Fredrick's view was a large silhouette of a tree. It was enormous. And every now and again, a low rumble was heard and streams of golden light came pooling from its branches. It was all rather spectacular.

"URRAH!"

Even with all the combat training he had, the knife still made a deep cut into Fredrick's forearm. His attacker, a creature clothed in fur and leather, was thrown back into a large black trunk. It recovered and began on Fredrick again. Now prepared, Fredrick managed to clasp a hand around the creature's neck and knock its knife to the floor. It was then he noticed it was a human. A young woman with scarred brown skin and a powerful build. She thrashed wildly as he held her.

"Stop it! Let me explain," ordered Fredrick. The woman was a lot heavier than he'd thought.

"I warned you people to stop," snarled the woman in perfect English, and with good aim, she kicked Fredrick in the stomach, winding him. Dropping her, she quickly scoured the grass for her blade while Fredrick tried to gather himself.

"Wait. Pl -  please," Fredrick coughed, hunching over, but the woman wasn't listening. Snatching up her knife, she held it aloft as she ran at Fredrick once more. Fredrick had had enough now. Violence hadn't worked so he'd have to play dirty.

"**###6a5eff|Stop!##**"

His voice, shaded purple, echoed around the area. As soon as he'd said it, the woman froze in place, her rage-full face now confused and intimidated.

"**###6a5eff|Throw the knife away!##**"

Though she resisted, she obeyed.

"**###6a5eff|Sit down!##**"

"What is this," she said as she was forced onto the ground, "What is this magic!"

"Right, now you've calmed down, I think introductions are in order." He took a seat on one of the protruding roots. "My name is Fredrick Quigley Williams. I believe you've met some of my associates."

The woman glared at Fredrick. If Dunajski's research was right, she wasn't going to be easily convinced.

"A lot of people have spoken very highly of you back out there. Mind you, the article genuine is drastically different to the innocent naked woman most associates you with."

"What are you talking about," she spat, getting up. She made an abrupt movement but a sharp glare from Fredrick soon stopped her.

"I only want to ask questions. That's all."

The woman gave Fredrick a look of distrust. Now she wasn't growling and zooming around like a wolf, he could see how young she was. About 25. Possibly 30. Finally, she threw her hands up and sat on the grass.

"You may speak," she huffed.

"Thank you, Ninhursag."

------
@@ @@
[[=]]
+ //**Part 2: The Veil**//
[[/=]]
------

+++ //Tales from the Sixth//

[[div class="page"]]
###0b5369|April 16th, 1867##
@@ @@
###0b5369|My Darling Nataila, -##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Forgive me for not writing sooner, but I have been overwhelmed by work. The life of an assistant technician is a trying one.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|America is proving to be a challenging place right now. So many of our products are requested by the military these days and they don't like to be kept waiting. The engineers here are being pushed to their limits and I've been expected to run calculations that even Oxford graduates would struggle with. You know how much I hated calculus. The more I stay here, the stronger my longing for home grows. I miss Edinburgh very much.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|A man came to the shop last Wednesday, who was wearing the most unusual garments I've ever seen. All reds and yellows and whites. Harvey said his name was Reginald Westinghouse. He was in the manager's office for almost the entire afternoon. When he left, I was told we'd be opening a new shop in Pennsylvania, focusing on the production of entertainment pieces. I am perplexed by this decision but I am glad to see our work is changing into something more joyful. It would seem those tales about Anderson's factory may be true.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Since my workload is yet to lighten, I doubt I shall see you until the new year begins. I shall write to you regarding my work in the north.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Give my love to Teddy.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Your loving,##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Isabel##
[[/div]]
[[div class="jotting" style="background-color: #f3cea1; text-color:black;"]]

[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt"]]**Livingstone Asylum**
**29-08-1867**
[[/span]]
------
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt"]]

Mrs. Primrose Braithwaite,

Unfortunately, even though your son has stopped making mediumship accusations, his behaviour is still not acceptable. Since the disappearance of his "guardian angels", he has taken drastic measures in his attempt to bring them back. He has since begun to inflict physical damage to both himself and the other residence, made several attempts at "summoning them from the other side", and taken to eating his own hair. We have restrained him for now, but if his behaviour does not improve, we shall have no choice but to operate.

Yours,

Doctor. Jonas Mort

[[/span]]

[[/div]]

[[div class="page"]]
###0b5369|Dear Diary,##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Today, I dreamt I was walking in the orchards with Grandma. She wasn't dressed in clothes like the ones in the photographs. She was in a nice blue gown. She was crying but she seemed so happy.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Then a strange man came into the orchard and picked an apple from the tree. I wasn't happy but Grandma said he had to do it. The man was crying too. He said he was sorry. I still was angry at him but I don't know why. What he was doing so wrong.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Then the sky went all black and file with this strange gold light. It was singing too. Then I started crying too but Grandma said it would be better after it went away.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|When I told Papa, he got angry and said I was a silly girl and made Nanny give me a caning. I don't like Papa anymore.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|That man is bad. I don't like him.##
[[/div]]

[[div class="page"]]
###0b5369|October 10th, 1868##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Father,##
@@ @@
###0b5369|If you're reading this then what I am about to do has worked. Hawshore promises he knows someone who can get this to you. I just wanted to finish some things before I go, see.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Firstly, I know you and Mother don't get along but maybe with my departure, you could find some time to try and talk. Do it for me.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Secondly, I don't regret running away. I've had the time of my life with the friends I've made and I've done some things I think you'd be proud of.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Lastly, I forgive you. I know you didn't mean to call me what you called me. I was being a bad son and I didn't understand why you were doing what you were doing. I do now. You're just trying to help. I'm proud of you for that.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|I love you very much,##
@@ @@
###0b5369|Joseph##
[[/div]]
------

+++ //October 13th, 1868//

In all of humanity's history of warfare and destruction, no conflict compared to that of the Sixth Occult War. Exactly what happened is still only partially known. During the four years, sides and alliances ended as quickly as they were formed, several feats in paranormal, theurgical and technological development were performed and politics became so muddled with contradictions and falsehoods that it became impossible to recognise the reasoning for most actions. One thing that was known, however, was when the war truly ended.

Nobody quite knows how it all happened. Some theorise that the cabal, known to the higher-ups as //The Godless//, merely interpreted the Rite incorrectly. Some believe in the theory that one of the keys had indeed been a replica. There had been rumours that a Factory had been in contact with the organisation. Others hear whispers that the ritual had been intercepted by a second group, bent on destroying gods rather than constructing one. The true answer is lost. It doesn't not matter. What happened is what people remember.

In Portland, Oregon, residents were shocked to discover their buildings miraculously switching places with buildings from the city of Portland, Maine, the Isle of Portland, and the settlement of Portland, Victoria. When the switching finally stopped, a gap in space had formed underneath the four cities.

In Paris, for 2 whole minutes, the 7th arrondissement became filled with [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wniosek-o-dotacje-na-wykorzystanie-paryskiej-architektury|ghosts]]]. All the spectres had their eyes missing and were screaming at the top of their lungs.

In Shenyang, everyone within the walls of the Mukden Palace suddenly knew when they were going to die.

In Ujiyamada, the hidden box containing the Yata no Kagami blew up, causing significant damage to its shrine. When examined, the mirror was found to be undamaged, though several [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1548|glyphs]]] were seen shining in its reflection.

In Mathura, the river Yamuna suddenly cleared of all pollution. Many of the women who were within its waters at the time later found themselves pregnant.

In Kumasi, a whole shipment of Cacao was broken into and found to contain a vile chocolate, shaped into a rectangle and wrapped in a strange glossy substance. The name written on the wrapping, //Hershey's//, was briefly associated with a god.

In Yakutsk, a young man by the name of Ivan was targeted by a pack of 127 grey wolves. His bones were found in the faeces of dogs all across Russia the next day.

In Munich, a ritual tore the world apart.

The ordeal was coined by the French author, Eliphas Lévi, as '//a day when humanity saw its power, and in turn, saw its repulsiveness//'. Thanks to the tidal wave of power and discord that resulted from the annihilation of the being known as the Demiurge, the number of paranormal occurrences increased tenfold and around 700,000 further individuals were added to the war's casualties roster. Whilst the conflict continued into 1869, many of the world's normalcy organisations' had now begun to cooperate to halt any further damage. The worst had been done.

------

+++ //13 Crises//

*  [[size 120%]]Abnormality Institute[[/size]]

"How is she," asked Aiguo, who rushed into the room. He carried a small thin box in his right hand and a bottle of red liquid in the left. "This is all I could find."

The attendant bowed his head and took the box from him quickly, moving out of the way to allow Aiguo to take his place.

"Madam, please keep going. It's a mess out here. Please. Please."

Matriarch Qiang hadn't stopped in three days. She hadn't eaten, drunk, slept or gone to the bathroom. Her skin was covered in scratches and most of her hair had fallen out. She remained on the bed, writhing and groaning in deep pain. Since the shock, the psychic bonds and measures her organisation had formed over the many centuries had all come undone. All at once. In order to recover as much as possible, they were required to use as much of their psionic manpower to reverse the damages and re-establish the lost telepathic cages. Qiang was the last psychic the Institute had. She was also one of its last remaining leaders.

"I have it ready," said the attendant. Aiguo moved aside as the attendant pushed the needle into Qiang's left arm. The liquid's fluorescent properties activated within her skin and it quickly flowed through her body. Qiang let out a blood-chilling scream and began to shake violently.

Aiguo wept lightly into his palm as chains were attached to her body to hold her down.

* [[size 120%]]Tsar's Seers[[/size]]

The smell was abominable. Yuri took quick inhalations of breath to avoid sensing the foul air. The handkerchief tied over his face did nothing.

"They're in here, Doctor," said the nurse, pushing the tent flaps apart. A horrible sight met Yuri's eyes. There weren't people in the bed. Instead, five mounds of moving, wet flesh were lying where once, five people were. Two of them were making loud low warbling sounds, despite seeming to have no mouth. One had grown a star-like appendage where the head was supposed to be which was made up of, when examined closely, many small tongues.

"How long have they been like this," asked Yuri, taking his medical kit out and donning his uniform.

"3 hours. We thought they'd died before but then they started - sorry - changing." The nurse pressed her wrist to her face as she held back her disgust.

"You haven't been touching them," asked Yuri, leaning in on what had once been a 30-year-old farmer. The nurse shook her head. "I thought there were six patients. Where is the sixth?"

One of the guards took Yuri to the back of the tent. The smell was at its worst here. Now the odours of faeces, bile and blood were joining the rotting. It was a miracle Yuri could keep his breakfast down.

"Here she is," said the guard and Yuri gasped for the first time in months.

The woman was only around 16 years old. From the chest up, she appeared dead. Her pale skin was tight across her skeleton and her arms were spread out at odd angles. Her chest was moving, however. Thought Yuri suspected it was something inside her that was breathing. Not her. As for her hips and legs, a large yellow polyp the size of a marrow was growing where her pelvis had been. What was left of her legs had shaped themselves into chitinous spikes which released a stick, grey liquid.

Before Yuri could say anything, the polyp quivered. A loud ripping noise was made as the thin flesh broke. Chunks of fatty flesh swimming in viscous liquid oozed from the sack, causing all those in the tent to cry out in disgust. As the chunks lay there, they began to wiggle and emit a series of cries. Just like those of a baby.

Yuri forced the cloth of his handkerchief flat against his face as the nurse left the tent to vomit.

*  [[size 120%]]American Secure Containment Initiative[[/size]]

"This is unprecedented," said Adolphus, checking the map against the surrounding area. He should be standing in the centre of [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4003|Temperance's]]] main street. "There's nothing?"

"Not a thing," said Mark, picking up a piece of dry grass and letting the soft wind take it, "The whole place just vanished."

"Where did it go? How can an entire town just vanish?"

* [[size 120%]]Bureau of Onmyō[[/size]]

"Take my hand!"

Ryouma lent forward as far as he could. The girl was refusing to move another inch and continued to scream for her parents.

"Take my hand. Please. It's alright."

"I can't! I'll fall!"

The rocks around them clattered and clashed as a few stones fell into the abyss below. The girls slid down as the ridges of the cliff began to give. She couldn't stay here.

"What's your name, little one? I'm Ryouma. Hello."

The little girl looked up, panicking but distracted.

"Po - Po -Poko."

"That's a pretty name, Poko. I know it's scary, but you need to trust me. I can help you up."

"I can't. I'll fall. I don't want to fall."

"You won't fall. I won't let you fall."

Poko swallowed.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Poko hesitated, then bent her knees and with great force, she reached up to grab Ryouma's hand. Ryouma kept it out just enough for her to leave the cliff edge, then withdrew his hand. Their eyes met as Poko released what was done. Her screams of terror resonated around the cliffs as she fell.

[[=]]
--
[[/=]]

"It's done," Ryouma said as he awoke from the slumber. His attendees nodded, removing the now-dead old woman from the bed and began the counter-ritual. "Alert me about Kyoto's condition as soon as you get word of them waking up." His assistant bowed and exited the chamber. Sipping his red tea, Ryouma moved towards the next bed, where a man on the brink of death was tossing in his sleep, plagued by a nightmare he was forcing all of Tokyo to share. Swallowing the leaves and liquid, he closed his eyes and entered the dream.

* [[size 120%]]Estate noir[[/size]]

The silence was deafening. It had been ten whole minutes since the buyers moved and the annoyance was killing Yannick. He needed him to take his queen. If he didn't then that would mess up his entire plan. Cautiously, the buyer reached forward and hovered around the queen. Keeping his face blank, Yannick willed him on. The buyer shot him a knowing smile and moved his knight.

"D7," said the android.

Damn it.

* [[size 120%]]Her Majesty's Foundation for the Secure Containment of the Paranormal[[/size]]

The Brigadier walked down the line of shrouds, counting the rows. The number of corpses recovered was up to around 1,500. That was twice the number of forces the Her Majesty's Foundation had. When he reached Fredrick, he stopped and stood to attention. Fredrick didn't say anything. He didn't look. He didn't respond. He was too busy looking ahead. Looking at Jacqueline as she comforted a weeping Charlotte.

"Sir, the Prime Minister is in your office. He wants to discuss the events in Scotland. The North Sea problem."

Nothing. Fredrick just stared. Charlotte had stopped weeping now and the Brigadier could see how angry she was. Pushing Jacqueline aside, she marched towards the men, a look of fury on her face. With the force of a bullet, she slapped Fredrick in the face. He didn't flinch or shout in pain. He merely gritted his teeth and looked away.

"You did this to him! You and your world! You did this! Why didn't you help him? Why?"

"Lotty, please," said Jacqueline, "It isn't his fault."

But Charlotte wasn't listing. She grabbed Fredrick's waistcoat and pulled him towards her.

"I wish you had died instead."

She then let go and stomped away, followed by an apologetic Jacqueline. The two men stood alone in the halls. The silence was chilling.

"I'll tell the minister you're busy," said the Brigadier.

"Thank you, Tavish," whispered Fredrick.

Only when the Brigadier left did Fredrick finally allow himself to let go.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The hall was then filled with the soft sound of suppressed cries and grumbles of rage.

* [[size 120%]]Inner Africa Expeditionary Society[[/size]]

After a series of several hard kicks, the doors finally opened, with the snow spilling in. In the space near the top of the frame, sunlight could be seen. Qeero began to attack the area with his dagger. The sun had already softened much of the top layer, though it took a lot of work to make an opening big enough to let a person through. After 15 minutes, Qeero had successfully made a small gap. Wrapping his hands in fabric, he climbed up and walked out.

Even with the climate now reset back to normal, it was still cold. Everything was so still. In the distance, he could make out the tops of trees. Most had been frozen in mid-gust by the ice. Further away, Bahir Dar stood out against the horizon. Were those people on the top waving?

A crunching came behind him. Ebo was making his way out of the bunkers to join him. He pointed to the buildings and signed. "Survivors?" "No," signed Qeero back, "No one outside of the organisation could've survived a blizzard for over a week."

* [[size 120%]]Royal Office for Christian Artefacts[[/size]]

It was bloody, painful and grizzly, but Samuel was having the time of his life. He'd already taken out 37 demons, beating his personal best by 6. One of the beasts leered from the fountain's statue, with several mouths bearing several teeth. "Come on then," taunted Samuel, smiling playfully and beckoning with a gloved finger. Screeching, the demon lunged, drool dripping from its many tongues. With a movement quicker than a bullet, Samuel withdrew his rapier and cut the abomination's head clean off. As it plopped on the blood-stained tiles, Samuel gave a deep bow to an invisible audience.

"Hey, do you mind not acting," said his wife, Marcia, who was busy cracking a succubus' neck, "We need to close this Way up before more Tartareans come through." "You never let me have my fun," laughed Samuel, leaning in to give her a quick kiss, "Fine, dear. See you in a minute." And he ran off into the twilight, laughing joyfully.

The Way, which had opened right outside the Vatican, was spreading fast, reaching out like creeping ivy, decaying everything it touched. From the red mist and brimstone dust, which was shooting out from the centre, winged humanoids with dark red skin were flying around. Samuel smiled at the sight of them.

"My friends, I do not wish to fight," he said, gesturing as he was reciting a play, "If you could find it in your good hearts to leave this ignorant, miserable, mortal plane, I shall be most grateful." The beings laughed, or the closeted to what could be considered laughter. They swooped down and began to circle Samuel like vultures ready to feed. "So be it," smirked Samuel.

Before they could do anything, Samuel withdrew his rapier and pointed it skywards. "//But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream//," he chanted, holding his chains of icons in his free hand. In seconds, the skies clapped with thunder and a flood of rain began to pour. As if fell, the Way wailed and black smog began round the edge. The winged humanoids cried out in pain as the rain ate into their flesh and skin. In the clouds above, other winged humanoids descended, all faceless and made of rushing water. "This is the life," cackled Samuel,  his sword slashing off a demon's wing.

* [[size 120%]]Sihirlerin Taburi[[/size]]

At the sight of them, Parvin moved quickly. "Get the doctors," she said to the researchers, "Now!" They ran off in a panic. Kneeling, she began tearing off sections of her shawl as she inspected the wounds. Xerxes and Ayda were already dead but Ebrahim was still breathing, though the bullet hole was deep and a large halo of blood was forming fast. If she acted quickly, then maybe there was a chance. Maybe.

"You won't save them," came a voice from behind her.

"You don't know that," she said, holding the ripped fabric in her mouth as she pulled off more pieces.

"But I do know that Parvin."

The figure then walked past her and revealed himself to be her co-leader Navid. In one hand, he held a small blue crystal, embedded in a necklace of bronze. A gun was in the other. At the sight of the weapon, Parvin stopped ripping but maintained her stance. Keeping composed, she looked up at Navid's face. To her astonishment, she found that he'd been crying.

"Navid, who did this? Did you stop them?"

"No, Pa. I did it."

She had known but didn't want to be right. The tense moment was interrupted by Ebrahim's wet choke of passing.

"You wouldn't have been able to help him. He had to die you see. I had to save him."

Parvin got slowly to her feet, glancing down at the gun now and again. Navid gave a sob and laughed.

"I always thought I would be the one to reach my 60s. Turns out I was wrong." He gave Parvin a look of pity. "Looks like you get the honour. Thought you get to live much longer than anyone."

"Navid, listen to me. That item you've got is a dangerous relic. It shows you images to affect your -"

"It's the truth," he said, holding up the necklace, "What it shows is the truth. About yourself. About your friends. About your country. About what's to come. There's so much to come."

He began to back away to the window.

"Navid! Don't!"

"It's up to you now, Parvin. It's up to you, Number 7."

And with a bang like a cannon blast, he shot himself beneath the neck, leaving Parvin standing alone.

* [[size 120%]]Seekers of God in New Spain[[/size]]

No matter what Hugo did or said or commanded, the stupid thing just sat there, grinning, using mismatched teeth.

"I'll ask again. Where. Are. The. Children! We know you're involved because your group - which I'll be asking you about later - has been sighted all across Catalonia. All in areas where, coincidently, kids have gone missing."

The thing just stared, looking straight through him. Then, it lifted its oversized, white-skinned hands and began rubbing them together, faster and faster. But before Hugo or the attendant could do anything, it stopped and held out its hands. In its palms, a loud of brightly coloured, damp silk cloths sat.

"Oh, this getting us nowhere," huffed Hugo, "the damn thing won't talk."

"Maybe it's not playing stupid. I think it actually is stupid."

Hugo gave the thing a loathing glace. It gazed at him and pushed its large knobbly nose, which made a high-pitched squeak.

"I hate clowns."

* [[size 120%]]Imperial German Anomalous Matters Examination Agency[[/size]]

"Are you sure this is the right address," asked Ada. The apartment appeared to be empty. No furniture, no curtains, nothing. Even the sink had been removed, with its pipes left mangled, stitching out of the wood.

"It has to be, miss. This was the address the Artilleryman gave us."

"Never use the advice of a cult. Especially those who were about to end the world," tutted Ada to herself. She walked to the window and opened it to look out towards the city centre. In the distance, the smoking remains of the summoned god could still be seen peaking over the top of the roofs. Munich was going to have to deal with its leavings for a few more weeks.

"Miss, Miss Ada, we've got something."

Shutting the window with a firm bang, Ada walked into the empty bedroom and saw one of her researchers pushing against a trap door on the roof and fumbling around.

"What's up there," she called.

Ten seconds later, the researcher came down with five, stained bottles, each with a slight residue around the edge. A piece of paper had stuck to the bottom of one.

"What's in the bottles," Ada asked, carefully pulling off the paper.

"Well, that's blood," listed the researcher, "That black one is pitch it think. Smells like it. This one is milk. Yes, milk. That one is - I don't know. I don't want to smell that one. And this last one, I believe is bile."

Ada nodded as she read the paper.

[[div class="page"]]
###0b5369|Otto,##
@@ @@
###0b5369|The Society thanks you, Joey and Fenric for what you have done. You have prevented a great upset in the balance of things and stopped a formation of further impossibilities. The world is already plagued with too many Gods.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|But I am sorry to tell you that your work is not done. You have stopped the formation of a God but the Society must prepare for a greater conflict. One which will come in the dawn of the next century. The Bronze Mimzy has spoken and the battle must take place in the States. We must prepare for that battle and find a suitable battleground. So come. Find us in the place between places.##
@@ @@
###0b5369|We shall become Unified with Inanimatum, entering the Somnium Aeternum. May we be forgiven.##
[[/div]]

Ada curled her lip in confusion. Was this [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1936|Victory Society]]] serious?

* [[size 120%]]Imperial Commission on Transgressive Occurrences[[/size]]

The two sides of the table shot daggers at each other. The Broken Church, per usual, was standing all equal distance from each other, quiet and dispassionate. Every now and again, one of their oil tanks or metal enhancements would make a clunk or puffing sound. But they remained vigil, eying their opposition carefully. The Sarkic's representatives were anything but dispassionate. They leered at the Church like greedy children. Some of them even threw taunts or showed off their metamorphisms. Their leaders were calmer, though still gnashed noisily.

The display was interrupted by the slamming of the doors of the room. In came their mediator, being pushed by one of his attendees. Without even saying hello, he pulled himself out of his wheelchair and moved to the marble chair at the edge of the table, the two parties at either side.

"Gentleman," announced Dominik, "Shall we deliberate?"

* [[size 120%]]The Scientific Academy of the Anomalous[[/size]]

"Are these all of them," asked Gonçalo.

"Everything," said the general.

Gonçalo gestured for his exit, and he and his men left, leaving the director alone with the photographs. Given the latest in the Academy's imaging technology, the results were rather poor. "Still," thought Gonçalo, flipping through the pictures, "at least you could make out the mushrooms." In the blurry black and white, images of a forest made of enormous mushrooms could be seen. Many of them were the size of trees.

"More forest fires," sighed Gonçalo. It was a pity to have to keep burning such a beautiful rainforest. Then he was it. There, in the fuzz of grey in the fifth picture, something stood out against the fungal shoots. Something big and hairy.

"Is that a man?"

------

+++ //Deeds Undone//

The rain bucketed down, its heavy splashing nearly loud enough to mask the cracks of thunder in the distance. The streets had already started to flood as the puddles in the brick grew and merged. But with great, forceful strides Fredrick continued down the road, towards Bottlegreen Place. Time was of the essence.

The door to No. 36 was locked. Checking to see no one was around, Fredrick parted the joins of his [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-262|coat]]]. From within the dark lining, a dark, feline-like hand with seven fingers popped out, holding a large [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-005|key]]], which it slid into the door's lock. The hand turned it and the door swung open. Making sure he wasn't followed, Fredrick stepped inside.

Igniting an oil lamp, Fredrick made his way to the study. The many taxidermied cryptids and ornate antiques cast twisted shadows in the lamplight. Particles of dust hung in the air. The room had not been entered in a long time. If Fredrick remembered correctly, it was usually hidden in the fireplace, along with the accounts and sketches. Finding the secret latch, he opened the flap in the corbel and rummaged around for it. After a few seconds, his hand found something hard and ornate. Withdrawing his arm, Fredrick smiled assuredly at the sight of the [[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-662|silver bell]]].

Lighting the rest of the lamps, Fredrick once again pulled back the fabric of his coat. This time, two human arms, one pale pink, and one light brown, came out, each holding piles of paper, bound together with fabric and wax. A third arm then came out, a purple tentacle one, and began putting pieces of wood in the firepit which it ignited with a flick of its tip. As the arms then retreated into the coat, Fredrick picked up the bell. Removing the scrunched-up paper on the inside, Fredrick held it up and rung it.

"Good evening, Sir Williams," said Mr Deeds, appearing behind Fredrick, bowing stiffly.

Fredrick gave the well-dressed butler a nod of greeting. "It's good to see you, Deeds."

The butler looked around the room, searching for something. As he did so, his face stiffened at the sight of the dust that caked the shelves and books. Then, it changed into an expression of horrible realisation as he worked out what was going on.

"I'm sorry, Deeds. I would've come to see you sooner but my job has required my constant attention for the past few months."

The butler composed himself somewhat and held his head up, arms behind his back.

"May I ask, Sir. How long has it been?"

Fredrick paused before answering, "4 years since I saw you last."

The butler did his best to hide his emotions but Fredrick could tell that he wasn't taking this news very well.

"Would you please sit, Deeds? I should explain."

The two sat at the desk. The cold November air was leaking through the damaged window seals but the fire was warming the abandoned house up.

"When did you last see Blackwood," asked Fredrick.

"March, 1865, Sir. He was leaving for an expedition in the South Americas."

"Has he ever been away for this long?"

"Oh, you know the master, Sir. He's always busy on his - journey."

Fredrick gave Deeds a look of pitying look as Deeds laughed embarrassed. In truth, he shared Deeds' denial somewhere deep down. Blackwood was a good man and an excellent researcher. Having him here would make things easier, especially for what Fredrick had planned. But his butler, thought not as primed, would also be a useful asset.

"Mr. Deeds, in the 4 years since your master's departure, the world has undergone many changes. Most of which have happened too quickly and too loudly. I and many of my colleagues are about to perform a mountainous series of tasks that require careful diplomacy, planning and force. Since we are well acquainted with each other and given your master's trust in me.'" He indicated to the hidden door in the fireplace. "Would you accept temporary employment with myself? Until your master returns that is."

The butler listened carefully to Fredrick's request. After he was done, he said nothing, and remained silent for several seconds, fiddling with the edges of his cuffs and gloves. Finally, he stood up and gazed down at Fredrick with a look of determination.

"I shall assist you, Sir. The master spoke very highly of you and it would be an honour to serve you."

Fredrick gave a thankful nod as he rose.

"What is it you require me to do, Sir?"

Fredrick picked up the papers his coat had placed on the desk and held them up to Deeds.

"You still possess your translocational capabilities?"

The butler nodded.

"Firstly, I would like you to get in contact with the three people on this list. Their location and establishment are attached. When you meet them, tell them I sent you and give them to required documents. They'll understand. Next, I need you to find a man called Ioannis Castellanos. The last I heard of him, he was working with Edison Machine Works in New York. Tell him I 'need to talk about Prometheus'. If he argues, tell him I have funding for him. Then, I need you to go to an island in the Pacific called [[[SCP-2256|Maikiti]]] and obtain at least 3 gallons of a substance called teùkoka. The natives will argue but you must be adamant. This substance is vital for what I'm going to do. Finally, I need you to visit the Wanderer's Library and meet with an individual of the name the Zeroth Wandsman. The Librarians can help you but stay away from the Nehushtan's Scholars. They are not our allies right now."

The butler took all this in without question or hesitation. When Fredrick had finished, he nodded firmly and bowed.

"I will do my best, Sir Williams. Please." He gestured towards the bell. "Take it with you. I may need to reestablish myself if my travels go wayward."

With that, Fredrick handed Deeds the documents and made his way to the door. The lightning had arrived now and the rain was heavier than ever. As he made to leave, Deeds called out.

"Sir, I do not wish to keep you longer but - what of Lord Westinghouse? Has he survived this - changes?"

A sense of shame came to Fredrick. He hadn't considered Reginald in all of this. Now he was thinking about it, would the toy maker have survived? He was always a bit of a daydreamer and prone to flights of fancies, which made him vulnerable. Fortunately, Blackwood had been there for him when he was in trouble. Blackwood was always there for Westinghouse. Always. But Blackwood wasn't here.

"I haven't heard from the man in a while, Deeds. Last I heard, he was in America, trying to find some new markets."

"Oh, that is a shame. It would've been nice to know. Lord Westinghouse is a good man. He and Blackwood were very -" He stopped before he could say what many had guessed and Fredrick knew.

"Theodore was very fond of Reginald. I know Deeds. I'm sorry. Good luck."

And he marched off into the night.

------

+++ //Convention on Preternatural Phenomena, or The Birth of the Modern Normalcy//

"There must be another way."

The whole room sighed wearily. It had been hours. Firstly, there had just been introductions. Though there had been tensions between Qiang and Ryouma and Qeero had kept giving Adolphus judging looks, a mutual understanding was reached within the hour. It was when Fredrick had made the proposal had things begun to get heavy. Two hours had been wasted on political and sociological differences, though the points raised regarding sex and ethnicity were necessary to consider. A further three hours were taken to establish roles and workings within the proposal, for the very idea was a monumental challenge, and if it was successfully enacted, its results would shape the fate of humanity and the forces around it for millennia, if not longer.

After finally getting their 'consensus' on paper, the last five hours had all been about getting things started. Dominik, Ada and Fredrick had made a detailed plan for obtaining political and financial independence. Hugo and Yannick begrudgingly volunteered to handle the correspondence with the more elusive parties. And though it took some time, Adolphus eventually agreed to the "Four Portland" part of the plan.

And when the sun rose, it seemed like everything was ready, only for Gonçalo to through a spanner into everything.  

"Oh, we sorted that out ages ago," whined Yuri.

"It's just - it seems so unethical."

"We know," said Ada, who was very close to hitting someone, "But as Adolphus said, in an international crisis we must discriminate. We should never have to and I certainly don't want to, but we must put our ideals aside and think of the bigger picture."

"This coming from the country that kicked this whole mess off in the first place," sneered Yannick.

"Honestly, can't you give that a rest!"

"But Gonçalo got a point," Yannick retaliated, "We've just spent an entire night deciding how to dissect our species' reality without really thinking if this will actually do any good. All of us have seen what's out there. Magical hidden rules. Beasts. Machines that think for themselves. I've seen creatures land in the Alps who came from a whole other planet. These are powerful forces. Is hiding them really going to solve anything?"

And as I said before," interjected Gonçalo, "Not everything out there is a threat. Last year, Parvin's people gifted me a cutting from their flame bean plant. It just sits in my garden and warms the night. And a few days ago, my men found a species of ocelot capable of mimicking music. This divide -  this Veil - will strip them of their rights to be acknowledged. Is that right?"

As Ryouma made to speak, Fredrick slammed his hands against the table and said, in a tone tinted indigo, "**###6a5eff|Enough!##**" Immediately, the twelve others were jolted out of their frustration and looked towards the Englishman. He was shaking with fury and his face was transfixed in a glare of weary outrage. But then, he inhaled, sighed and sat back in his chair. He then picked up the file titled Anomaly 008 and stroked its card exterior.

"Humanity in its present state has been around for a little more than a quarter of a million years. And yet, only a small fraction of that has been of any significance. 10,000 years ago, thanks to one individual and one plant, we were given an opportunity. Since then, whilst we have invented, imagined, learned and travelled, we have also grown power-hungry, abusive, irrational and distractable. Many of you have been victims of these faults. The war was an example of it. Despite all we have learnt, we remain innocent. That innocence has been both our weakness and our weapon. As we grew, the fantastical and unseen continued to exist, and our defects made them both our abusers and our victims."

"All of you have to understand this is truly our only real option. To quote Brutus, //'There is a tide in the affairs of men'//. Right now, the current is changing and this is the opportunity to rebuild and rethink and if omitted, then we shall be destroyed, at the hands of our own immaturity. So by dividing nature, into a consensus reality and hidden fantastic, between a Veil of Isis, we prepare both sides. Humanity can grow and rationalise and the unseen can be studied and understood. And I hope one day, we can bring them back together and forge forward. So we need to provide that opportunity. That is what the Veil is."

There was a silence. Then the two men looked at one another and one nodded.

------

+++ //One warning and that's it//

The Brigadier had been in the Library once, and that was during a mission with Force σ back in Crimea in 1854. He'd been in and out in minutes and hadn't really seen the place. It was a breathtaking dwelling, with shelves of books and papers and an inviting glow of amber light at every corner. The heavenly scent of polished wood and comforting fire was in the air. No wonder it was so loved.

The Zeroth Wandsman fidgeted in their seat, moulting feathers as they moved. They could sense a growing hosility in the air. As someone who did not enjoy conflict, they didn't want to stick around for the coming battle. "Do hurry up," they whispered. The Administrator held up a hand and continued writing hurriedly. Finally, he sealed the letters with a black wax and seal.

"Here we go. This will explain everything that will happen between now and December 29th, and the various [[[locations-of-interest|free ports]]] available for sanctuary. This is the only chance they will get. One warning and that's it."

The Wandsman took the papers and examined the seal. Compared to what other parties had, it was rather bland. Two rings, one inside the other, with three arrows pointing inward.

"Where am I to take them," they questioned.

"We've already made some announcements with the more notable parties, so aim for the larger settlements. Boring, Soho. La Rue. You know the places. Maybe try some of this place's more popular Ways too." The Administrator gestured to the halls around him.

The Wandsman bowed and got up, sliding the papers into their bag, nestled against their [[[scp-5917|map]]]. They then reached out a feathered hand, which the Administrator shook firmly. "I hope this comes out as you want it." And they vanished at the touch of their maps paper.

"What now, sir," asked the Brigadier , walking forwards.

"Portland, then to the Area. We need the guardians ready and in place, before the protocol can begin. I hope Ioannis has made progress."

The two then left the reading area and made their way to their exit. But as they walked, a frigid wind passed through the bookshelves, focusing around them.

"Sir, get down!"

Seconds after the Brigadier forced the Administrator's head to the ground, a cauldron of bats, accompanied by two spheres of blue fire flew over them. They moved upwards then circled back, ready for a second attack. "Get to the exit," demanded the Brigadier as he withdrew a Colt 1860 from his holster and began firing at their attackers. The Administrator got up and hunched over, ran towards the open halls. In the distance, he saw their exit, a stone hump near a shelf of holy books. But he was met with three figures, all of whom were glaring at him bitterly. From the skin of their arms, shoots of ivy and vines began to spring forth, slithering around their legs and towards the floor.

"This is ridiculous," sighed the Administrator, pulling back his coat, and allowing several hands armed with weapons to appear from the dark lining. The three began to walk forward. The Administrator held his ground.

"Stop this nonsense," cried a voice from above. The four looked up as an ivory snake, larger than a steam engine glided down the wooden pillars of the hall and coiled themself into a sitting position before the four. "Great Nahash," exclaimed one of the attackers. The snake opened their three green eyes and stared at the Administrator.

"Leave us," it hissed softly.

"Your grace, this man and his associates have in their possession, a weapon you had hidden and protected. With it, they are about to conduct an act of suppression and discrimination unseen by this world before. You allow -"

"I said leaves us," spat the snake, "I am the Guardian of this Tree. This Library. Do not argue with me. I know this man well. I shall deal with him!"

The figures looked at one another, then slowly walked, giving the Administrator looks of loathing as they walked.

"Thank you," said the Administrator.

"Do not talk to me like we are who we were, Fredrick! I merely sent them away because I believe in diplomacy and argument. This is not mercy."

"You wish for me not to use it? I hate to disappoint you but I am not changing my mind. Many have tried, both friend and enemy."

The Serpent tightened their wreathe and towered over the Administrator.

"I hid that tree away for this very reason. I knew humanity could not be trusted with its power. And now you, who I once favoured very much, wish to use it a second time. To commit a second transgression. I cannot allow it! I will not allow it!"

But before the Serpent could do anything, the Administrator pointed up at their scaled head.

"If the stories are true, I recall you did not punish us when we used it the first time. You punished the Fair Folk instead. Why?"

The Serpent dropped their head and came to the Administrator's level.

"I wanted to give you a chance. Whilst she had committed the act, she was acting illogically. She did not truly understand what she was doing. I don't think she understands even now. I wanted you to learn. I wanted you to be better."

"And have we been? Even with your guidance, and generous that it has been, the path we have taken has been a messy one. We have put ourselves in corners and surrendered to ridiculous morals and beliefs. Many a time we have come close to causing our own demise. And as we remained deluded and lost, both we and the invisible forces exploited each other. So I ask you, has your guidance really done anything?"

The Serpent stared at their former friend with shock and hurt. they were quiet for a moment, before speaking slowly, "I wanted you to learn and grow. But I couldn't control you. I had done that many aeons ago, along with my family. I did not want to do it again. I wanted you to grow on your own terms. Be your own rulers."

The Administrator leaned against a shelf and looked away from the Serpent. "We both have seen what horrors lie in the world today. Both of us have lost things we love because of it. You say you want us to grow on our own terms. Well, this is our own terms. I'm not proud of what I am doing. I don't even think it's right. But I think it is necessary. If I can give the people and the forces of the future a chance to become something worthy, then I can be content with my actions."

He walked forward and held his hands against the Serpent's face. "Do not punish humanity for this act. Punish me, my associates and my act." The Serpent lowered their draconian head. A single tear welled up in their centre eye.

"I will grant you this mercy in the form of banishment. Your access to this realm will be prohibited until your act is reversed. I cannot stop my followers, however. You'll have to deal with them."

The Administrator whispered a thank you, and the Serpent uncoiled, returning to the regions above.

"Sir, Sir!" From behind the Administrator, the Brigadier ran out, puffing and panting. A small cut, burnt around the edges was slashed into his face. "I managed to subdue them, but they ran off before I could apprehend them. What's our next action?"

"Nothing. We're leaving, Tavish."

As they made their way to the Way, the Brigadier asked, "Who were you talking to? Before I arrived."

"A friend. An old friend of my son," lied the Administrator.

------

+++ //50 millilitres//

"This is it?"

Only about 50 millilitres of colourless liquid lay at the bottom of the bottle. The Administrator held it up to his eyes and turned the glass in his fingers. Would it be enough?

"That is all your chemists could extract from the teùkoka, Sir," answered Deeds, not looking up from the desk. He was currently busy with the medical tools, which consisted of a needle, bandages and an accompanying bottle of morphine. All had been sterilised, tested and enhanced with several anomalous workings to prolong the liquid's effect on the mind. It was vital that nothing could go wrong.

"It's ready, Sir," said Deeds, presenting the tools. The Administrator inspected the morphine before placing it with the first bottle and sat himself down in the nearest armchair.

"Would you prefer it if I administered the mnestic," Deeds asked, but the Administrator shook his head.

"It would be better if I did it," he answered, rolling up the sleeve on his left arm, "I am familiar with its effect."

Deeds nodded and stood to attention as The Administrator reached for the two bottles and needle.

"Before I dismiss you, Deeds, I need two last favours. After this, your service is no longer required."

"Anything, Sir."

On the desk, a large package wrapped in brown paper sat. On top of it was a small pocket watch and two files consisting of large piles of papers. One read, '[[[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/wjs-proposal|SCP-001]]]'. The other, 'The Akashic-Neith Protocol'. The Administrator took the two files and placed them on his lap.

"Firstly, take the watch to Lady Charlotte Élise Al Fine. Give her the pocket watch. She'll understand who it's from."

Deeds picked up the watch. On its casing, an engraving of the sun and moon were pictured in bronze and gold. On the backside, the words 'To Joseph' were engraved in cursive. Even through gloves, Deeds could feel it ticking.

"Lastly, take the package to the office of General Tavish Dickinson. He'll be on his way with the others to Hy-Brasil so he won't see it until he returns. He'll have better use for it. I don't need it anymore."

Deeds picked up the package but didn't look at the Administrator. Instead, he looked out of the apartment window, at the snow-covered city of York. Outside, everyone was celebrating the Christmas festivities. Laughing, singing, eating. Enjoying themselves. No one would know the world was going to change tomorrow.

"It all seems so unfair, sir," said Deeds, lowering his head. The Administrator smiled sadly and took Deeds' hand.

"Thank you for what you have done, Deeds. Blackwood would be very pleased."

Grasping the hand back, Deeds smiled. He then picked up the package and opened the door. Before he left, he turned to face his temporary master. "It has been an honour, sir," he said with a bow. And he shut the door.

Now alone, The Administrator reached for the mnestic bottle and drew up the liquid into the syringe. Acting carefully, he pushed the needle into his arm and inserted the drug. He felt nothing but knew that in a few minutes, pain would come. Sipping from the bottle of morphine, he opened the file designated 'SCP-001' and began to read.

------

+++ //Lest Ye Die//

It was mere seconds until he awoke under the familiar purple sky. To his left, he saw the tree towering over him in the distance, ejecting golden light. Nearby, on an arching root, Ninhursag sat patiently, looking down at him with a look of pity and revulsion.

"Must you look at me like that?"

She said nothing and hopped down from the root to kneel by his side.

"You could show me some compassion, you know. All I had for breakfast was a piece of toast and a very poor cup of tea."

They both laughed lightly at the joke, as the light rumbled loudly above them.

"This it is then. The second sin."

He got up and walked towards the root she'd been sitting on.

"This is what you did? Are you sure?"

"Just picture the thing you want to be forgotten and push it all into the root. The tree will do the rest."

"Are you sure?"

"My captors said that's how it worked when I overheard them. It worked for me."

Wrapping his hands around the root, he looked up towards the towering plant in the distance. It was older than the Serpent. It had been a victim itself. Would it understand?

"Does it hurt? Dying from this?"

"More than you can possibly imagine."

Taking long deep breaths, he thought back to the world he was leaving. He thought of the Overseers and if they would be ready for their tasks to come. He thought of the Serpent and the hatred it felt towards him. He thought of the humans and all the fantastical things he was making them forget. He thought of the fantastical things and whether they would understand or resent him. He thought of his son.

"When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things."

And with that, he remembered the file and changed the world.

------

+++ //December 29th, 1870//

* [[size 120%]]Consensus Reality[[/size]]

It began with a rumble. Like a thunderclap or a cracking of rock. Everyone heard it. Everyone looked around in panic and confusion. Everyone looked up as the sky turned a dark purple, sending the world into an eerie twilight. Then, golden lights filled the heavens, moving and shimmering like oil in water. And as the lights danced, everyone heard a sound. A choir of whispering all around them. A song. A poem. A story.

And then it was over.

No one remembered it had happened, which was the point after all. For most people, nothing had changed. They just went back to doing what they usually did. Some, however, felt different. Something had gone inside them. Something was lost. Something they longed to have back. But in time, like everyone else, they moved on and forgot.

* [[size 120%]]Four Portland[[/size]]

Everyone in the Plaza outside of City Hall waited with bated breath. They didn't know what to expect. Would they be safe in this realm? Could the barriers and loci holding it together really protect them? Then, the world around them quivered at the edges. A loud clunk was heard and nothing. They all turned to the Mayor who was seated cross-legged on the fountain edge. Opening their eyes, they looked around and nodded. "It's done."

* [[size 120%]]Backdoor SoHo[[/size]]

The residents of Soho all looked towards the horizon. The air outside had changed colour through the atmosphere of Backdoor remained unchanged. As the world outside returned to normal, they're was a buzz of activity all around the neighbourhood. The artists felt inspired and plenty of them ran home to draw what they'd felt. In a little alleyway in the west quarter, a chef named Ambrose consulted his grocery sources, annoyed with how expensive everything was going to be from now on. At the top of a marble building in the centre, three men in fine clothes drank their wine, each laughing at a private joke between them. Marshall, Carter & Dark, Ltd. was going to have to expand.

* [[size 120%]]**##green|The Unspeakable Forset##**[[/size]]

In a forest, severed from the world, the small, nameless beings with strange faces all saw the trees of their land twitching. Something outside had changed. Many of them looked at one another in bemusement, but the oldest gave each other knowing glances. Could it really have happened a second time?

* [[size 120%]]Cascade Range[[/size]]

At the sight of the darkening sky, the group of tall furred creatures stopped their gathering. They made their way to the edges of the woods, near the cliffs facing the lake. They saw the lake reflected the strange lights in the sky. The lights glowed and moved and then vanished, and the sky returned to normal. The group all felt something in the back of their minds. This had happened before, hadn't it?

* [[size 120%]]The Library[[/size]]

In the deepest sections of the Library, in the place where the weapon had first been made, The Serpent felt a tremor travel across the wood that made up the Tree. They paused and listened. Above, in the halls of books, they heard hundreds of voices cry out in union and anger. They heard chanting and roaring and the words 'Serpent's Hand'. They sighed sadly and descended deeper into the Tree's roots.

* [[size 120%]]Hy-Brasil[[/size]]

The twelve of them sat in silence in the Royal Court, accompanied by Nuada Airgetlám VII. No one spoke, but occasionally, the twelve would go over to each other and hold their hands, rub their back or just look at each other. It had finally come to this moment.

"Can my stewards get you anything," said Nuada awkwardly. All of them shook their heads but at that moment, a steward walked in, accompanied by General Dickinson. Without saying anything, the twelve knew it had been done.

Qiang wept. Yuri swore. Adolphus roared. Ryouma nodded. Yannick tutted. Qeero prayed. Samuel laughed. Parvin gasped. Hugo groaned. Ada sighed. Dominik choked. And Gonçalo wimpered.

* [[size 120%]]Area-01[[/size]]

With it all over, The Administrator fell to his knees, clinging to the base of the Sapling. Blood seeped from his mouth and nose, with his salty tears replaced with sweet sticky juice. The pain was leaving him. So was his mind. It was being pulled back into the Sapling's realm, to join Ninhursag in penance. "It's over," he choked with a slight smile. And letting go of the tree's wood, he fell to the ground and died.

------

+++ //First Day Jitters//

"Your package is on your desk, O5-1," said the secretary, "I'll be back when the others have arrived."

O5-1 walked over to his desk and inspected its contents. It was very clinic. Very bland and without any character. The Chamberlains' quarters had been much nicer back in London. Nice furnished desks. Bookshelves. Drinks cabinet. He wasn't going to have those days again, wasn't he?

He reached over and opened the package. From the brown paper, a familiar smart, light brown greatcoat fell out onto his lap. He held it up in disbelief. "He wouldn't have," he thought to himself, "He loved this thing." Succumbing to temptation, he left the desk and put it on. It was just his size. More likely, it adjusted to anyone's body shape. O5-1 stroked the smooth fabric and fumbled at the opening. Dare he?

Delicately, he pulled apart the fabric and exposed the lining. From inside the coat, a hand came out, holding a small brown envelope. It gestured for O5-1 to take it. When he did, the hand retreated and the coat closed on its own accord. O5-1 opened the letter.

[[div class="jotting" style="background-color: #f3cea1; text-color:black;"]]

[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000"]]To Tavish,

If I could've handed my role as One to anyone else, I would've. But you really were the best man for the job. I have known you longer than anyone else and you have also understood what I and your now fellow Overseers have done for the good of the two worlds. I hope you can forgive me for this.

Good Luck.

Your friend,
Fredrick Quigley Williams

P.S. I hope you enjoy the coat.
[[/span]]
------
[[=]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/theme%3Aminimal/minimal.svg style="width:20%;"link=#]]
@@@@
[[span style="font-family: 'Special Elite';color: #000000; font-size: 14pt"]] We secure. We contain. We protect. [[/span]]
@@ @@
[[/=]]
[[/div]]

Finishing the letter, O5-1 caressed the fabric of the coat and grinned sadly. He wasn't sure if the coat made up for it but it was a nice gift.

Someone knocked and the secretary popped his head from behind the door. "They're here, Sir." Taking the coat off, O5-1 folded it neatly onto his chair and left for the auditorium.

[[=]]
--
[[/=]]

O5-1 tapped the microphone and everyone quickly entered a respectful hush. Four thousand pairs of nervous eyes looked back at thirteen calm ones. O5-1 coughed to clear his throat and began.

"Good Morning, everyone. I am very pleased to see you all here today. My fellow council members and I didn't think we'd have so many willing to join our cause."

"There are some difficult times ahead of us. The Sixth Occult War has created several anomalous issues in the world which are yet to be dealt with. The creation of the Veil has helped but much still remains to be done. So I ask you to be prepared for what is to come. In due course, you will be assigned to your respective sites, departments and cases. Make sure you familiarise yourself with the information provided to you. If you need assistance, please ask your head managers and site directors."

"With that, I welcome you all. Welcome to the Foundation."

fragment:scp-8899-2

Module Styles

Inline Styles

Includes

CSS Classes

Page Source