THEY ARE TASTY

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:scp-wiki:theme:dark [info]

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[[include :scp-wiki:theme:dark]]

> None of this is my fault.
> 
> ...
> 
> I think what's been eating me the most -- //second// most about this occupation is that the Threll aren't even //strong.//
> 
> Dr. Estrada analyzed 9298's anatomy to hell and back, and when the invasion began, she was only proven more correct with every battle. 
> 
> Their soldiers exclusively use halberds and gastric juices as weapons. Well, that, and those hieroglyphs they weave out of light, throw, and paralyze you on contact. Their shells are bulletproof, but their skin isn't -- and their blood is high-pressure gas! Not only do they bleed out in seconds from single bullet, but they start feeling woozy once the air temperature drops below four degrees Celsius. 25 degrees below, and they're stone dead. 
> 
> Had this been a fair fight, they would have never broken through our defenses.
> 
> But they didn't need to break through.
> 
> ... None of this is my fault.
> 
> On August 19th, an invading force of approximately ten billion soldiers of the Threll Dominion appeared on the Earth. Apparently they used a parallel iteration of Earth they had already conquered -- one of how many?! -- as a kind of dimensional springboard. 
> 
> They materialized without warning on our streets and highways, in our workplaces and homes, in our military bases -- and in our Foundation sites. The whole planet was under martial law before we could even process what happened.
> 
> Ten billion. ... More than enough Threll to hold every single human being at spearpoint.
> 
> ...None of this is my fault.
> 
> Another thing I still don't understand. Why is the power still on? Why are the all the telecommunications satellites still up? Why is the Internet still active?[[footnote]](Uhl- Thank you for your query. Though I am about to be bio-repurposed into a vending machine in five minutes, they let me keep my phone, and I managed to get the answer from one of my captors. Turns out the Threll treat the disruption of e-commerce as an unforgivable sin in the eyes of their god. ... It's my turn in the skinning machine. Tell them I went out infodumping.) - Senior Researcher Nadia McKearn [[/footnote]]
> 
> ...
> 
> There //is// one more thing that's been bothering me... but it shouldn't. This isn't an elephant in the room. This isn't even a weasel in the room.
> 
> Let's be honest. The Threll could have done this at any time. Again: the Threll could have done this //at any time.//
> 
> How was I supposed to know 9298 could fly?
> 
> He could have broken out //himself.// And how many times did we open the door to clean his cell? He wasn't actually emaciated, he was faking it the whole time. How many secrets?
> 
> Whatever the inciting incident for this invasion was, it had //nothing// to do with the Macduff Protocol.
> 
> None of this is my fault.
> 
> ...
> 
> Say it enough, and my conscience will get the memo. I've got the last remaining Foundation site to keep in one piece. I need a clear head.
> 
> //None of this is my fault.//
> 
> ...
> 
> Let's change the subject.
> 
> Estrada's on suicide watch again. She's the only one who's studied these creatures. If she dies, we're all boned.
> 
> Besides, this wasn't all her fault. 
> 
> And therefore, none of this was my fault.
> 
> [[>]]
> +++++ - Dr. Damon Uhl
> [[/>]]

------

[[div style="border:solid 3px #000000; background:#000000; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
+++ ##red|**EMERGENCY MEMO TO ALL REMAINING FOUNDATION PERSONNEL**##
[[/=]]

Speaking to you is the entity formerly known as the Administrator and the O3 Council. As of my bio-repurposing and fusion into a single organism, I will be heretofore known as Provisional Commander.

My authority over the remnants of the Foundation will continue until my physical form has been sold off-world, whereupon the mantle of Provisional Commander will pass to the Site Director of Site-912 -- currently Dr. Damon Uhl. This will not happen for some time, as I am very expensive.

If you can read this, use any means of __**ground travel**__ available to reach Foundation Site-912 in the former city of Yakutsk, former Republic of Sakha, former Russian Federation.

__**Do not**__ attempt air travel. The Procurator has forbidden all forms of aviation. Planes are being bombarded from orbit as we speak.

__**Do not**__ attempt sea travel. The Threll have introduced marine megafauna from their native reality to all major bodies of water. Additional data on these new species will be provided once a Foundation research vessel returns undigested.

Whenever possible, avoid areas with hot air temperatures.

Lethal force is to be used against any Threll encountered. All personnel that come into contact with Threll projectile runes are to be considered lost.

I understand that your suffering is great. Words of sympathy and encouragement would normally accompany this sentiment, but unfortunately, my capacity for compassion was removed during bio-repurposing. To maintain decorum, I will instead provide this aesthetically pleasant phrase:
[[=]]
[[size 300%]]{{Bunny rabbit.}}[[/size]]
[[/=]]
Your morale is hereby ordered to increase.

We must endure.

We Secure. 

We Contain. 

We Protect. 

I manufacture. 

I refine slaughterhouse byproducts and ammonia into organic vitamin supplements. 

I do this with my nervous system. 

I would like to stop.

[[>]]
+++++ - Provisional Commander
[[/>]]
[[/div]]
------
[[div style="border:solid 3px #ffffff; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
[[=]]
+++ Morning briefing, 2/10/2027
++++ Site-912 Conference Room, 8:00 AM
[[/=]]

<Begin Log>

[Director Uhl leans over the central table. He sips from a mug shaped like a wood duck.]

**Uhl:** Calling roll. Lieutenant Packard, Security Czar?

**Lt. Emmet Packard:** Here.

**Uhl:** Dr. Fogel, the entire Ethics Committee?

**Halle Fogel:** Hmm.

**Uhl:** Dr. Gwan, containment director for the Box Pit?

**Dr. Gwan Hee-Jin:** Please stop calling it that. The salvaged anomalies are only in their present state of disorganization due to lack of resources, and --

**Uhl:** Dr. Koroviev, director of D-class personnel? 

**Dr. Ilya Koroviev:** They're gone.

**Uhl:** What?

**Koroviev:** The last one hung himself. (Understandable.)

**Uhl:** //[Sigh]// Dr. Koroviev, Chief Groundskeeper?

**Koroviev:** ...Here?

**Uhl:** Dr. Estrada, chief researcher of --

**Dr. Sybil Estrada:** [[size 75%]]Oh. Her. Heh. Yeah, yeah, I... recognize that name. She's a famous mass murderer. She left a door open and turned into Judas. Lemme know if you see her. Heh. Because the minute I do, the very minute, I'm gonna **slap the shit out of her.**[[/size]]

...

**Uhl:** Here, great! Anyway, first order of business. That scout patrol from India that broke off from Nu-7...

**Gwan:** Bio-repurposed?

**Uhl:** Nope! They've made it here. And either they're ready to meet with us or they're sleeping off the mother of all hangovers. (...someone let them into our liquor stash.) 

**Packard:** Yeah... It was me. They look like they needed it more than us.

**Fogel:** That's it, calling a vote!

> [[=]]
> **Measure:** Censure Packard.
> **Grounds:** This shit don't grow on trees.
> **In Favor:** Gwan, Uhl, Koroviev, Packard, Fogel
> **Oppose:** None
> **Abstain:** Estrada
> **[PASSED]**
> [[/=]]

**Uhl:** The ayes have it. Packard, you are hereby censured.

**Packard:** Fair enough.

[Fogel assaults Packard with a brick labeled "CENSURE" with a permanent marker.]

**Fogel:** Censure over. Don't do it again!

**Packard:** 'kay.

**Estrada:** [[size 75%]]I miss disciplinary hearings that didn't involve bricks.[[/size]]

**Uhl:** Yeah, yeah, I get that. But do you know why sailors held onto flogging long after everyone else?

**Estrada:** [[size 75%]]Why.[[/size]]

**Uhl:** Because a formal written warning doesn't mean shit when your "society" is a few guys stuck in the ocean.

**Fogel:** And Bricky's the only one who understands me.

**Estrada:** [[size 75%]]Hmm.[[/size]]

**Gwan:** Moving on. The chief of the scout team -- is he awake yet?

[A knock on the door.]

**Uhl:** Speak of the devil. Come in!

[Sgt. Chakradev Kapur, //de facto// chief of the scout team, comes in, holding two briefcases -- one in each hand.]

**Kapur:** ...You were //not// kidding about how cold this city is.

**Koroviev:** Right?! I lived here for a while. We had to keep our cars running all winter so the gas didn't freeze.

**Fogel:** But hey, it's a death trap for Threll! Right, Estrada?

**Estrada:** [[size 75%]]I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry.[[/size]]

**Uhl:** I appreciate you showing up. Tell me you've got news.

**Gwan:** With respect, sir, if they had any news, there would have been quicker ways then meeting in person.

**Packard:** Quicker, but easier to trace.

**Gwan:** Touche.

**Kapur:** Well, I've got good news and bad news.

**Uhl:** //[Prolonged groan.]// Okay. Bad news first.

**Kapur:** Global warming.

**Fogel:** That's bad, but hardly news.

**Kapur:** Well, specifically...

[He opens the first briefcase. Inside, his laptop displays pictures recovered from the Nu-7 base in Sri Lanka.] 

[Most notably, seven plumes of black smoke extending from a swamp.]

**Packard:** Burning oil wells?

**Fogel:** Heh. Saddam was reincarnated as a Threll.

**Kapur:** No. We're actually not too sure what they are, but the going hypothesis is that they're interdimensional apertures. The Threll punched them into the ground with what I can only describe as a hybrid of a jackhammer and a crucified badger. 

We got close enough to analyze, and that smoke is some kind of melange of methane, carbon dioxide, and... some third thing we've yet to identify. The stream's coming out of each of those holes at about 500 kilometers an hour without stopping. 

We've been in contact with some of the survivors across the pond, and they've been seeing even more of these smoke geysers.

**Uhl:** Jesus...

**Gwan:** So they're fast-forwarding climate change? ... Why?

**Koroviev:** Why else? Human extinction. Then we'll be conquered in full.

**Estrada:** [[size 75%]]Don't you //get// it?[[/size]]

[Awkward silence.]

**Uhl:** Dr. Estrada, if you're not feeling--

**Fogel:** Hang on. The expert's talking.

[Estrada takes her first intentional deep breath in two days.]

**Estrada:** The Threll... they have orbital artillery surrounding the planet. They could have killed us all overnight if that were their plan. But you can't enslave a corpse. They won't kill us if they can still turn a profit.

**Packard:** I mean, aren't they using it on airplanes?

**Kapur:** Teleportation shells. The plane is destroyed, but all the organic matter on board gets taken to the Procurator's ship for his personal collection.

**Estrada:** See? Killing us is the last option. But think about why we're //here//.

[She gestures around with rigid hand motions.]

The surviving humans have all gathered in similar climates. Antarctica. Greenland. Nunavut. Lapland. Because they're too cold for the Threll.

What if they weren't cold anymore?

**Uhl:** They're smoking us out!

**Kapur:** Exactly.

**Uhl:** Damn it... so, what's the good news? Did you find a way to stop them?

**Kapur:** I'm afraid not.

**Uhl:** Have any of the other human armies managed to rally against them?

**Kapur:** Only the Latvian army has yet to disband.

**Gwan:** ...why //Latvia?//

**Uhl:** Come on, do we have any Thaumiels left we could use against them?! Maybe GOC remnants?

**Kapur:** We don't know.

**Uhl:** So what's the good news?!

**Kapur:** The Threll got Putin. ... He's a fridge now.

<End Log>
[[/div]]
------
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[[=]]
++ ##black|☽☽☽##
[[/=]]
+++++ ##black|**From the desk of Eternal President Girard Niang**##
+++++ ##black|**To:** Foundation, Earth Iteration-5B##
+++++ ##black|**Re:** Threll Problem##
------
##black|Foundation.##

##black|On behalf of the ☽☽☽ Initiative, let me be the first to offer my deepest sympathies for the current state of your world. You were right to contact us.##

##black|Indeed, the slavers of the Threll Dominion are among the Initiative's oldest and most bitter enemies. Their Prince HAJHETI and our own JALAKÅRA are estranged brothers. They once fought over the Flame of Origin -- their father's inheritance. JALAKÅRA wisely acknowledged that the Flame belongs to no one. HAJHETI grasps for it still. Neither has forgiven the other.##

##black|To whet this ancient grudge, we have met the Threll on the battlefield countless times. Even now, the Humanity Defense Corps gather our mightiest weapons for the day of the final confrontation -- the day //Homo sapiens invictus// finally puts a Starbucks in the Primrose Deep.##

##black|...We are currently in a cease-fire with the Threll Dominion. Unless you'd like to be responsible for World War III on a multiversal scale, our hands are tied.##

##black|The Initiative extends its deepest apologies. According to the treaty, to even give you advice would constitute a renewed declaration of war. I will say that it would be a smart move to activate any number of doomsday devices in the Foundation's care so that humanity can be given a fresh start in any number of our world-class afterlife packages, but I can only say that because you've doubtless considered it first.##

##black|In fact, collaboration with //you// in particular would look especially damning to the terms of our cease-fire. Those of you involved with the progress against the Threll would do well to know the following: a fairly recent arrival to Corbenic, a Foundation security guard from your Iteration by the name of Cesar Fletcher, infomed us that the Threll invaded as a direct consequence of a MacD/[a]f█#v███**[DATA CORRUPTED]**##

> [[=]]
> ++ ##red|**!! WARNING !!**##
> [[/=]]
> I have received incontrovertible evidence that the Threll's SK-class scenario was caused by the Three Moons Initiative selling out our iteration of Earth as a peace offering. ##red|**They are no longer to be trusted.**##
> 
> [[>]]
> - Dr. Damon Uhl
> [[/>]]
[[/div]]
------
[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Dr. Uhl. It's been a while.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**I had to reset my contacts. Who is this?**##

##white|**...if this is Shialekuaruk again, come back when you've listened to [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rNPp1UkbkNc this].**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**[currentselfie.png]**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Oh my God.**##

##white|**Dr. Cunningham? You're alive?**##

##white|**...and you found Site-19, too. Impressive.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Given the state of the world, what else is there to do?**##

##white|**Besides, if you wanna talk impressive, look in the mirror.**##

##white|**From site director to second-in-command to the whole Foundation. How'd you pull THAT off?!**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Eh, well, I was more or less grandfathered in.**##

##white|**There was only one Foundation site in a place cold enough to keep the Threll away, and there was only one surviving Site Director.**##

##white|**And now that there's only one higher-up...**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Right, the Provisional Commander. I met them in São Paulo. They're basically a two-meter cube of body parts. Great singer, though!**##

##white|**But second-in-command? God, I can only imagine what it's like to be in your shoes...**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Wonder no more: a nonstop panic attack.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Naturally.**##

##white|**But I know how long you've been searching for recognition for all your hard work. Whether it's with that duck stamp, or as site director...**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**I mean, when you put it like that...**##

##white|**You know what? Yeah. Stress notwithstanding, it's great to feel like the most important person in the room again.**##

##white|**Thanks for putting a new perspective on it! I've been really worked up lately.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Oh, of course! I can only imagine the toll such success has taken on your //conscience//.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**...**##

##white|**Let's talk about something else. What are you doing at Site-19?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Yeah. Funny story.**##

##white|**Basically, I caught word that after all the Site-19 staff had been taken to Brazil, the Threll didn't know how to keep [[[SCP-682]]] in containment. So the Lizard broke out, and the Threll were massacred.**##

##white|**The rampage stopped once one of the Procurator's ships landed a teleport bomb on 682. The kind of thing they've been using on planes to salvage passengers.**##

##white|**I guess the Threll plan on turning 682 into something you'd see in an alien infomercial.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Heh. "What could possibly go wrong?"**##

##white|**Either way, it's their problem now.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Anyway, so many Threll died in the rampage that the Procurator has forbidden the Threll to come to Site-19 anymore. Cursed grounds, taboo, lingering evil spiits, yadda yadda.**##

##white|**So, now that I'm here, I've got the whole place to myself! You're looking at the new Director of Site-19!**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Wait...**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Do you know how many times they rejected my experiment proposals for [[[SCP-914]]]? Well, now I no longer need to file any paperwork.**##

##white|**I've already got a pile of garbage I'm gonna put through on "very fine."**##

##white|**Which will then become... very mine.**##

##white|**One man's trash, am I right?**##

##white|**Just because the rest of the world's gone to Hell doesn't mean there isn't someone who gets to live like a king.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**No, no, a thousand times no. Stop. This is ridiculous.**##

##white|**I only have a limited understanding of SCP-914. But it's also not a Personal Gain Machine.**##

##white|**If anything, we should work together on a way to use it to produce cryogenic weapons to use against the Threll.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Hmm.**##

##white|**Anyway, I understand that the Provisional Commander gave you a sort of skeleton key code to grant you access to any locked door in the Foundation, so long as it could stop the Threll... right?**##

##white|**And seeing as I //really// don't know how to open this door to 914...**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Out of the question. This conversation is over.**##

##white|**Talk to me again when you have something useful to contribute.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Oh, but I do!**##

##white|**You'll //really// wanna see these screenshots.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**What screenshots?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**[macduffprotocol1.png] [macduffprotocol2.png] [macduffprotocol3.png] [macduffprotocol4.png]**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**...**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Hmm. Think I should put these on blast?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
++ ##white|**YOU FUCKING //PIG!//**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Well, I've always been a cunning ham.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**YOU'D BE IMPLICATED TOO, DUMBASS!**##

##white|**I GAVE THE ORDER! BUT //YOU// FOLLOWED IT!**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Yes. I did. But consider:**##

##white|**Which one of us is alone in an empty Foundation site full of handguns, and a machine that can turn them into railguns with  no questions asked?**##

##white|**And which one of us is surrounded by Foundation personnel, with their survival banking on the faith the Foundation has thrust upon them to save humanity?**##

##white|**But most importantly: which one of us still gives a shit?**##

##white|**Your move, MacDuff Boy.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**... ... ...**##

##white|**Okay. Fine.**##

##white|**There should be a console on the fifth basement level with a ten-digit keypad. Look for something under a molly-guard labeled PROTOCOL E38. Enter the code**## █████████##white|**. You'll hear a beep. Enter it two more times, and all the doors in Site-19 will open at once.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Done.**##

##white|**Okay, now what? The doors aren't opening.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**... you didn't actually follow my instructions.**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**And how would you know that? You're all the way in BFE Siberia, you can't hear me.**##

##white|**Unless, of course, the evidence is the fact that I'm replying in the first place...**##

##white|**By any chance, was that how you activate the onsite nuclear warhead?**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #00B029; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**FDPHKSDG:NKSBAELKJHSBFD<JGJ>EHKQ>**##
[[/div]]

[[div style="border:solid 3px #363636; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]
##white|**Real mature.**##

##white|**My finger's over the left mouse button and the cursor's on send.**##

##white|**Last chance. Access code. The REAL one. //NOW.//**##
[[/div]]

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████████████████
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##white|**Thanks, buckaroo. Just like pulling off a bandage.**##

##white|**I'll be in touch. In times like these, it's always good to know there's someone I can depend on.**##
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[[size 75%]]##white|**you should have been stillborn you rancid cunt**##[[/size]]
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##white|**Love ya too, buddy!**##
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[[=]]
+++ {{[http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/Scp-9298/offset/4 (+ Some time later...)]}}
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THEY ARE TASTY

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