9000contestfrankentropy 2

Link to article: 9000contestfrankentropy 2.

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+ SCP-9317-Ω Ecology - Fauna

//By Anna Newman//

**Overview:** The following section includes preliminary accounts of several exotic entities that MTF-GIGAS has encountered over the course of Project SCHRODINGER.

------

[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-block
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width=300px
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**Item #:** SCP-9317-Ω-1

**Description:** SCP-9317-Ω-1 are large, pale, humanoid creatures that usually reside in the outermost forest regions of SCP-9317-Ω. Entities uniformly lack lower jaws, possess fish-like scales, singular eyes, as well as an enlarged cranium. Agent Newman, who originally observed them, reports that during the day, these entities would slumber in groups in the forests. Entities range from 8ft to over 12ft.

As sunset approached, however, instances of SCP-9317-Ω-1 would wake up, at which point they would engage in highly predatory behaviors towards each other. Entities would assault and feed upon one another with impunity. Behavior was remarkably violent, cruel, and unnecessary. SCP-9317-Ω-1 entities are carnivorous, and would pursue smaller prey on all fours.

During the course of the mission, Agent Usher encountered an instance of SCP-9317-Ω-1 pursuing Agent Newman. At which point, he attempted to engage with the instance via gunfire. Though unsuccessful, this attempt made it possible for Agent Newman to escape. Agent Usher was confirmed KIA.

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**Item #:** SCP-9317-Ω-2

**Description:** SCP-9317-Ω-2 is a humanoid entity that was encountered by Agent Xob and Agent Newman at MTF-GIGAS’s Camp in //Psuedo-Daevon.//[[footnote]] Placeholder designation for the SCP-9317-Ω’s recreation of Daevite society.[[/footnote]] According to Agent Xob’s account, the entity resembled an older male cloaked in a robe made out of stitched-together leather, possibly human skin.

At the time of discovery, the entity was apparently consuming Foundation rations. Agent Xob pursued the entity into Psuedo-Daevon, where the entity demonstrated remarkable agility and navigational skill, making use of several topographical anomalies in the area in order to move across vast distances.

The exact motivations of the entity is unknown. Similarly unknown is whether the entity was part of SCP-9317-Ω, or was in fact another outsider.

[[/div]]

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**Item #:** SCP-9317-Ω-3

**Description:** SCP-9317-Ω-3 refers to a large number of incorporeal beings that occupies Psuedo-Daevon. Everyday at 12:00pm, SCP-9317-Ω-3 manifests, and does not disappear for about 7 hours. During this time, most instances of SCP-9317-Ω-3 carry out routines until the manifestation period is over. MTF-GIGAS has yet to ascertain if the same SCP-9317-Ω-3 instances materializes every time in the same routines, or if SCP-9317-Ω-3 instances are representative of actual once-living people.

All SCP-9317-Ω-3 instances appear to resemble glowing decomposed late-Empire Daevite slaves, with individual appearances ranging from mummified to bare skeletons. As typical of incorporeal entities, physical matter and entities can pass through them without issue. However, a number of MTF-GIGAS’s equipment consistently fails within their vicinity, suggesting some form of Akiva interference or irregularities. Further research is required.

Initially thought to be an effect of Traumatic Imprinting similar to Psuedo-Daevon, further examination revealed that outside observers are able to affect SCP-9317-Ω-3 instances by communicating with them in Old Daevite, at which point the SCP-9317-Ω-3 might choose to respond to the observer, or choose to ignore the observer entirely. That these interactions are possible seems to suggest that SCP-9317-Ω-3 instances are some subset of the Wandering Spirits class of incorporeal beings.

For further information regarding communications with SCP-9317-Ω-3, refer to Daniela Tatton and Val Sander’s research.

[[/div]]
[[/div]]

------

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+ Black Stone Temple

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"Rest."
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[[/div]]

“Are you //sure// this is the correct way?” Daniela asked, as Val charged ahead through the little huts and towers. As always, the ghostly Daevite apparitions all ignored them. “I swear, if this //doesn’t// turn out to be the correct way…”

“C’mon, honey, have some //faith// in me, will ya’?” Val turns to her, pulling up his comms. A thin line was on the display. “Look! There’s an offline location mapping program on this thing. All we need to do is backtrack!”

“Huh… I didn’t realize that was part of the comms.” Dina pauses, “...Wait. That //isn’t// part of the comms. It only had like, //three// basic functions-”

“Oh, Artie cobbled it together, he gave it to me this morning! It’s… I don’t know what to call it. He managed to get into Aug’s mapping tablet, and managed to replicate it somehow on one of the comms.” Val turns the comms over to show her. The back of it is torn out. Loose, dangerous-looking wiring connects to a crystalline chip on the back, constantly emitting light. Tape holds the entire contraption together. “He’s a real //McGyver//, him. It’s certainly not as //comprehensive// as Auggie’s actual map, but it’d help us find our way back. Good enough for me!”

“I didn’t know Vaughan was that //tech-savvy//. Can he do that for all of us, too?”

“Ehh, he told me it wouldn’t be //advisable//. This thing here? Completely useless for communicating now! Plus, aside from him, we’re the only ones who really need to travel out here to do our work - and we’re always together! I guess he thought it’s too much work, since we’ll all be going to the epicenter soon, anyways.”

“Hmm…” Daniela said, and some things were running through her mind, but she decided to keep quiet for the time being.

[[div class="document"]]

**PERSONAL NOTES - DANIELA TATTON**

------

**Entry 12:** Still nothing. Turns out ghosts aren’t very talkative. The problem is that all the ones that we talked with yesterday could barely hold a conversation. We’d ask them who they were, what they were doing, and then mid-conversation they’d just turn away and go on with their day. Seems today is more of the same. Recorded a few more conversations, but it’s just the usual stuff. “My name is (weird fucking Daevite name) and I am a (farmer/slave/holedigger)” or something to that effect for most of them. Then they just go through you.

Might have to ditch the Foundation questionnaire at this point. Whoever wrote this garbage clearly didn’t account for dementia-ridden ghost slaves.

[[/div]]

[[div class="document"]]

**Entry 13:** Finally got one that seemed to hold something of a conversation. Val was basically just fucking around, and this one ghost, he seemed to get this weird look. And it went like this, translated from Old Daevite, obviously:

> **Val:** Terrible weather today, isn’t it? The sky’s like a dang tomato!
> **Ghost:** //…terrible… weather…//
> **Val:** ##grey|*In English*## Holy crap, pay attention, this one’s actually saying something!
> **Ghost:** //…I remember it…//
> **Val:** Remember… what? What is it?
> **Ghost:** //The flood.//

Now, this was interesting. While the prevailing theory for the fall of the Daevite Empire is mass slave uprisings throughout the entire kingdom, a couple years ago, some Foundation archaeologists uncovered evidence of a flood that happened around that time in the same location. Now, nothing’s confirmed, but could these two events have been concurrent?

Jesus Christ, I’m reading this back and I sound like fucking Cameron. This is a disaster.

[[/div]]

[[div class="document"]]

**Entry 14:** We talked to a few more ghosts around the area. For some reason, it seems the further out, the more talkative these guys are for some reason. They still don’t appear to hold much of a conversation, but… there’s definitely more substance here. I still don’t get it, it’s unsettling. Most of them still ignore us, but I’ve transcribed some of the more interesting conversations.

> **Val:** Hello? Hi, could you please…
> **Ghost:** //…Have you seen my child…?//
> **Val:** Oh, no, I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t think…
> **Ghost:** //…Oh, my child, my child… My (ot-tah?)...//

> **Val:** Hey, uh, could you tell us about who you are?
> **Ghost:** //…I… am… of the mighty Daevite Empire…//
> **Val:** Yes, but could you tell us more about yourself?
> **Ghost:** ##grey|*Laughs*## //What… else… is there… to say…?//

> **Val:** Hello there, if it’s alright, I’d like to ask you about-
> **Ghost:** //I know… who you’re looking for…//
> **Val:** Really? Well, er, do tell.
> **Ghost:** //You… are looking… for God.//
> **Val:** And… where should we be looking for God?
> **Ghost:** ##grey|*Stretches arm out*## //Everywhere… and… nowhere…//

And up ‘till now, when the ghosts decide they don’t want to talk with you anymore, they just walk through you and ignore everything. But that last one, it was //laughing// as it went away. And it just kept doing it. When we looked around the place, we realized there were a bunch of statues of the Scarlet King all around. Not sure how we missed that. Figure that’s what he was pointing to.

[[/div]]

[[div class="document"]]

**Entry 15:** Why are they all slaves? We’ve seen no Upperclass ghosts. No army ghost. No Daeva ghost. Only the slaves, the lowliest class. The sacrifice class, not the sacrificers. Shouldn’t a god’s realm be filled with followers instead of offerings? And considering how prolific the King’s cults remain in the modern day…

[[/div]]

Val could see that Daniela was growing uncomfortable. He put his arm around her shoulder.

“Feelin’ okay?” He asks, “Is it about that last ghost? I’m sure he was just a bit of a //joker// back in his day.”

“It’s… it’s not that. I don’t know. I kinda feel like…” She looked over her shoulders, “...like I’m being //watched//.”

Val glances around at the dozens of ghosts that were around them. “Hey, so, not to //alarm// ya’, but I //think// I feel the same way.”

“//Hah//. Look, okay, it’s… it’s probably nothing. It’s just…” Daniela hesitates, “It’s just… strange. I read about the Daevites, I… I always had this //picture// in my head, but… this is…”

They paused, and just soaked up all of the details. One of the ghosts seems to look at another while crossing paths. Was that a nod? Did that one just smile? They didn’t seem to be shambling anymore, they were just walking normally. Were they this alert back at the clearing, near the camp? They leaned on one of the stone huts, and the scene in front of them was… it was almost…

“Well, it’s certainly lacking a lot of the //torture//, isn’t it?” Val says, “If it wasn’t for all of them being red skeleton people, it’d almost feel //peaceful//.”

“Yeah, it’s weird. I’m… I’m kinda fuckin’ //flabbergasted.//”

And then, as if sensing the irony in what she just said, something came out of one of the opposing stonehuts that they definitely didn’t expect. Daniela saw it first. She gasped, and tugged on Val’s shirt, pointing at it. He let his jaw go slack.

A much smaller ghost, half their height, popped out. Then another, and the two of them chased each other in what seemed to be a game of tag. Following them was a taller ghost. She carried in her arms a bundle. Tiny mummified limbs reach out from within.

“Children,” Daniela whispered, taking in the strangeness of it all. “There are //kids// here.”

There are kids in Hell. There are //babies// in Hell. And it’s a strange feeling, because she looked up again, and she saw it again, another horrible sculpture hanging on the roof. Their horrible red god of death.

“Right. I mean, it’d make sense. They //did// sacrifice kids to him.” She sighs, something stinging her eyes, and they continue watching as the child ghosts play with each other. Then, she looked up. The ghost mother was staring right at them.

[[div class="document"]]

**Entry 16:** We looked around, but there was no other ghost that she could’ve been looking at. So we crossed to the other side, and I asked Val to talk to her.

> **Val:** Are you… looking at us?
> **Ghost:** //You… are travelers… You have… questions…?//
> **Val:** I… yes. I’m sorry, I was supposed to ask-
> **Ghost:** //I… don't have... answers…//
> **Val:** Oh, uh, that’s alright. I…
> **Ghost:** //But… I know… where you can… find… them…//

And then she pointed into the distance. We didn’t see it at first, but then we saw it. Among the towers was a spire. When we turned to ask her again, she didn’t look back. Her, and her little ghost children continued down the dirt path, not a care in the world.

[[/div]]

“I know that spire,” Daniela whispered.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“It’s… It’s a famous Daevite ruin. The temple. I… I saw its real world counterpart. We need to get there, how much time do we have?” Daniela asked, "An hour and 43 minutes."

She turned to Val, "We might still make it if we run."

[[div class="document"]]

**Entry 17:** We ran most of the way there. I thought we wouldn’t make it in time, but somehow, we got there much quicker than we anticipated. It was as if the buildings were opening up a path for us. All the paths were straight and clear. We made it there with about half an hour to spare.

I recognized it from the book. It was one of the first discovered Daevite ruins, and one of the best preserved. The Temple Of The Scarlet King, it was called. I remember the details, the rusty red bricks, the metal cages, the instruments of torture, all the horrific shit that they could barely tell the use of. And the most striking detail: The statues on the walls of their god staring down on the sacrificial altar. They say that the bones of the last slaves were so well-preserved in the cages that they could make out individual cuts of the ritual blades.

It looked far more imposing than it did in the textbooks. So much larger, so much worse. The cages are still shiny. The statues still had its details, and the King looked so much more... real. As we walked up the stairs, more ghosts came to greet us. One of them came up to us and spoke.

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**Ghost:** //Greetings, travelers.//

**Val:** I… uh… hello, there! We followed directions here. We were told that we could find… answers here?

**Ghost:** //What are the questions that you seek to ask?//

**Val:** My uh, //wife,// would like to ask this first. What are you, really?

**Ghost:** //We are the lowly workers of the Daevite Empire. We till the soil, we worked the mines, we slaughtered the animals.//

**Val:** Right, right, that I get but… you’re not living, are you? I mean…

**Ghost:** //Ah, yes.//

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**Ghost:** //We’re not sure of that ourselves. Hahah. We have been here for a very, very long time. Some of us think that this is the afterlife, others… others, such as I, I think this is our… retribution.//

**Val:** Retribution?

**Ghost:** //Punishment. For what we’ve done.//

**Val:** Er, what did you do?

**Ghost:** //That answer is not mine to give. In the end, perhaps this place is neither. Perhaps we are but memories in the fog. A mirror image on the water surface.//

**Val:** Right, right. We can circle back to that later. Uh, one of my own questions now. How are you talking to us? We’ve talked to some of the others, out there, I mean. They do not seem interested in conversation, but it seems that the closer we get to this place… you get it?

**Ghost:** //You speak of the others, the ones who play deaf and blind. They do not hesitate to speak. They just can’t be bothered.//

**Val:** Can you explain further?

**Ghost:** //As I’ve said. We’ve been here for a very long time. Some of us feel the need to continue ruminating on our situation. But for many of us… a routine is enough. Even if it means to be an aimless wanderer, forever.//

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**Ghost:** //Sometimes, I think they forget that they were anything but a wanderer. I think some of them have forgotten the sound of a voice, altogether.//

**Val:** I see. In that case, can I ask one more question? 

**Ghost:** //Yes.//

**Val:** ##grey|*Gestures at the statues of the Scarlet King on the walls.*## That thing. That’s the Scarlet King, right?

**Ghost:** //I don’t understand.//

**Val:** That guy! That- The one-eyed dude with antlers. Who is that?

**Ghost:** //Ah, yes… that is God.//

**Val:** Okay, and… what would you describe him as? Is he… like… the Font?

**Ghost:** //No. God is not like the Font. He is… He is hard to describe. ##grey|*Pause.*## This was his temple. One of the largest of its kind. They say it was the holiest place in the land. This is where they fed us to Him.//

**Val:** They?

**Ghost:** //The nobility. The matriarchs. You know of whom I speak of. You are no doubt familiar with our Empire. The sacrifices, the blood shedding for food and riches? The pits in which they threw the young and sick? They who did what God commanded them to. They who shed us for his blessings.//

**Val:** Right, right, yes. We know, we know… but… there’s something we don’t get. Where are they, then?

**Ghost:** //Where is who?//

**Val:** Y’know, the upper class. The Daevas. If this place is what you say it is, why aren’t God’s devout followers here?  Why is it only the slaves?

**Ghost:** //Why would they be here?//

**Val:** I mean, if this is the Daevite God’s afterlife, then-

**Ghost:** //But it isn’t the Daevite God’s afterlife. It’s our’s.//

**Val:** It’s… //your//… afterlife?

**Ghost:** //No, as in...Well, that is not for me to say.//

**Val:** Oh, come on!

**Ghost:**  ##grey|*Shrugs.*## //I apologize. We all have our limitations, but-//

**Val:** W- Wait a minute, did you just //shrug!?// No- I know- I //know// for a //fact// that they did not have //shrugging// in 8,000 BCE!

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**Ghost:** //Oh.//

**Val:** Yeah, what the heck!?

**Ghost:** //Well… you are not the first to come asking questions. There is a stairwell leading down to the caverns below in the main hall. There is someone there who can give you all the answers you need. The first Heretic.//

**Val:** Wait, now-

**Ghost:** //Oh, travelers. I bid you farewell, and good tidings.//

[[/div]]

And then he just fucking walked away with all of his ghost friends, leaving us looking completely dumbfounded. So, we continued down the stairs. The stone brick walls gave way to a carved tunnel, and it grew narrower and narrower, like the walls were closing in. And suddenly, it felt like we were closing in on something, too.

[[/div]]

[[div class="document"]]

**Entry 18:** I don’t know what to say.

There’s just so many.

[[/div]]


Words couldn’t describe what Daniela and Val felt as they emerged from the bottom of the stairwell. They did not know what they were expecting, but it wasn’t //this.//

//And it was different than just reading about it,// Daniela thought, all the facts and figures, all the guesswork, all the numbers obscured by time. She’d gloss over the pages time and time again in her uncle’s study, but this was certainly something else.

They were at the walls of what seemed to be a colossal silo-like chamber. And the walls of the silo-were lined with what had to have been tens of thousands of skeletons.

//No,// she thought, as she peered down and discovered that she couldn’t see the bottom of the chamber. //There had  to be millions.// The product of the First Empire’s two-thousand years of systemic subjugation. And it occurred to her that Foundation historians had apparently underestimated the true scope and size of Daevite civilization by an extraordinary amount.

Upon the ceiling was the most grotesque depiction of the Scarlet King that she’d ever seen. It took up the entire ceiling and it still wasn’t enough. His one eye peering down, an utterly soulless gaze. His gaping maw opened so wide that only his upper jaw can be seen. The skulls lining the walls merged into large columns, all of which spiraled into his mouth. Several layers of teeth can be seen within, before it all fades into darkness. His appetite was fitting of that of an ur-God - endlessly ravenous, going on forever.

Seven chains embedded into the corpse-walls suspended in front of them a lone cage. A thin steel walkway from the bottom of the stairs to the cage was the only other feature of the nightmare silo. As they wordlessly approached the cage, they both realized that the cage itself was also made out of bones.

There was a lone ghost in the cage. A bare skeleton. Completely unclothed, with only fabrics and strings wrapped around its bones. The fabrics and strings were tied to the cage itself, but did not appear to restrict its movements.

It was furiously scratching at a stone tablet.

[[div class="document"]]

**Entry 19:** There was really nothing else to do or say. We just stood there for a few minutes, soaking in the horror. Then, I asked Val to talk to the ghost in the cage.

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**Val:** Hello?

**Ghost:** ##grey|*Unintelligible.*##

**Val:** Oh, shit. I think that’s… Proto-Daevite. I can’t speak that.

**Ghost:** //Ah. I can accommodate that. It’s been a long time since I’ve had new visitors. I was not expecting to see another outsider for a very, very long time.//

**Val:** Hello… ma’am. I… okay, crud, I don’t even know what to ask. Dear Lord. What is this place?

**Ghost:** //This is the Black Sanctum. The resting place for the Daevite Slave. There are countless other temples like this out there. It is said to be the greatest honor, to be entombed in its walls. To become an eternal sacrifice for God.//

##grey|[Val looks up.]##

**Val:** Uh, yeah, I can… I can see the idea.

**Ghost:** //Terrifying, is He not? They told us that He could see through his images. That every sculpture, every carving was his holy Eye. That he was all-seeing as well as all-consuming. He was the ceaseless cycle of life. The endless death and rebirth of all things. And it was then our way of life to work, suffer, and be consumed in the end. Our purpose for living was to be fed into His holy furnace.//

**Ghost:** //That’s why He only had an eye and an endless maw, you see. God was a watcher, and God was a devourer.//

**Val:** From your tone, you… didn’t approve?

**Ghost:** //I did not. That’s why I ended up here.//

**Val:** Could you tell us more? From the beginning, maybe.

**Ghost:** //Yes.//

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**Ghost:** //In the beginning, I was… No, no. My mother was part of a small group of people. An order who kept a secret. Forbidden knowledge. A gnosis. A secret that was said to have been capable of destroying the Daevite Empire if it was ever to be spoken aloud. It was passed down by mouth, mother to daughter, father to son. Ever since the Ancient times.//

**Val:** The Ancient times?

**Ghost:** //Before we came to be known as the Daevites. I know not when the knowledge became lost, nor when it was rediscovered, or how. Perhaps it was around the time we departed the shores and moved inwards. Perhaps it was even earlier than that.//

**Val:** And what was the secret?

**Ghost:** //You did ask for the story to be told from the beginning, did you not? I hadn’t gotten there, yet.//

**Val:** Uh, my bad. Carry on, then.

**Ghost:** //Generations passed. My grandmother gave birth to my mother, and my mother gave birth to me. And one day… I was told that for transgressions against my father and God, my mother was to be killed.//

**Val:** I’m sorry.

**Ghost:** //It was a long time ago. ##grey|//[Pause.]//## Before they came for her, she told me everything. Of the order that she’d been in. Of the secret that they, the Erikeshens had kept for ages. And she told me why they did it, for so long.//

**Val:** Why?

**Ghost:** //Because one day, in time, they believed it would be used. And if the time was right, if the moment was right… the Daevite Empire would fall. And on that day, when I saw her corpse flayed on the altars of God, I swore that that is what I would bring.//

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**Ghost:** //I dedicated my entire life to my mother’s cause. I recruited in the darkness, away from God’s watchful eye. I spread messages. I whispered in darkened rooms, and I hid myself away from the light for years. I told them all the secret, and what they had to do.//

**Val:** Could you tell us the secret, now?

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**Ghost:** //We revolted. I led them. It didn’t work. Perhaps I spoke to the wrong person. Perhaps what the Daevas said were true, that they had God on their side. Ten thousand people, I led them into the Halls Of The Matriarchs, and they slaughtered us. The survivors turned on each other, destroying themselves for a chance at forgiveness. In the end, not even the cowards were spared.//

**Ghost:** //My dearest followers, my own daughters. They fashioned this cage for me from their bones. They had had God on their side, and God had commanded that I be kept here until the day I die. That every day, I’d wake up to see His wrath as he consumed all those who had placed their trust in me. God was hateful and wrathful and all-consuming, they reminded me. God was disgusted by me, and all those who followed my ways.//

**Val:** That’s awful.

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**Ghost:** //They did have God on their side, traveller. That was my first mistake. Our fight wasn’t merely physical, but spiritual. And we were lacking. But it wasn’t all for nothing. My followers kept my words alive in the dark. And… there was something else that my captors had never discovered.//

**Val:** What was it?

//##grey|[The Ghost looks up. Though no flesh remains on her skull, she seemed to be smiling.]##//

**Ghost:** //All I had to do was wait. They wanted me to live, to suffer. But I was biding my time. Every so often, I’d hear it from the guard. Another revolt. A larger one. And at the end of my life, I did it.//

**Val:** Did what?

##grey|//[The Ghost leans over. Val looks down to find that in her hand, a white sphere of light was being channeled. He looks over at Daniela.]//##

**Daniela:** It’s… she was a //reality bender.//

**Ghost:** //My mother had told me that I was favored by the Font. That I had starlight running through my veins. But I had to wait until it was time, and…//

**Val:** What did you do?

**Ghost:** //One day, when the clamoring outside could not be ignored any longer, my guard abandoned me. I cleansed my skin from my arms. I scraped the meat off my bones. And I invoked a long-forgotten ritual.//

**Val:** What?

**Ghost:** //Is it not beautiful?//

##grey|[The Ghost moves away, motioning Val to look at the tablet.]##

**Ghost:** //That day, I invoked it, as my blood dripped through the cage. It is the secret that my mother had told me of, a long, long time ago. The secret that I had spread to all of my followers. An old symbol of Hope, even in the most desperate times. A symbol of Montauk.//

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**Val:** But… isn’t that… That’s the Daevite God. The… hateful and wrathful one.

**Ghost:** //No. It is ours.//

[[/div]]

It was at that moment that our alarm rang, and the Ghost disappeared, leaving behind that tablet. The tablet had nothing but an intricate sketch of the Scarlet King and three lines underneath. I asked Val what it said, and he translated it for me.

“The Red God”
“The God of Montauk”
“The way to Life”

Afterwards, we just looked at the sketch, and we looked back at the great big sculpture on the ceiling. I told him that it just looked the same to me, the same single eye, the same mouth with long teeth. The antlered horns that looked like trees, and the same awful red shade to it all. It was identical. Absolutely the same.

And then Val said something so obvious, and I just stood there for what felt like ages, taking it in. How the fuck did we miss it? How the fuck could the Foundation have missed this, all along? 
[[/div]]

[[/div]]

------

[[div style="border:solid 3px maroon; background:#000000; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]

+ In The Dark

[[div class="blockquote"]]

= **Artifact 5N-523DVC - Anomalous Scroll**

------

**Details:** An anomalously preserved scroll, undateable due to its properties. Given to the Foundation during a 1953 information exchange by the Vatican.[[footnote]] It is believed that the Vatican currently possesses nearly all information pertaining to Da'vo Christianity. [[/footnote]] It is one of the few accounts regarding [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/ero-vahk the Da'vo Christians], believed to be a formerly influential branch of early Christianity that combined Christian doctrine with various anomalous practices.[[footnote]] The true extent of Da'vo Christianity’s involvement in shaping modern Christianity is unknown, as the Church would later order extensive cover-ups and purges in an attempt to remove all knowledge of Da'vo Christianity from the public knowledge. Similarly unknown is the fate of the Da'vo Christian population. [[/footnote]]

------

[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-block
name=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/DaVoChristianity.png|
caption=A Da'vo Christian-made Scarlet King statue in the Vatican archives. Later depictions of the Abrahamic Devil adapted traits from such works.|
width=300px
]]

**Translation:** //“It had taken many moons, but we finally managed to track the demon men back to their sanctum of power. Our suspicions of their unholy abilities proved true, it seems, as we uncovered a magically-hidden temple of blood, buried in the mountainside.//

//Horrific sights awaited us. The invaders were well-versed in the old magicks, and they knew we were coming. We were ambushed, and many of our miraclemen would perish in the ensuing fight. By the end of the weekend, our dead were innumerable, but they had been completely wiped out.//

//It was only on the third morning after that night did we dare enter their sanctum once more. It was truly a Godless place. It was as if we had entered Hell itself, that eternal damnation had made itself physical on God’s earth in the form of this red stone temple of sin. We discovered instruments of unthinkable tortures, scattered and defiled remains of unknown persons, as well as countless ritual artefacts.//

//But it was their pagan god that was the most terrible thing. It was present everywhere in the temple’s design. This antlered beast with one eye and an endless maw. It occurred to us that this could perhaps even be the same beast that was worshipped by the pagans in the South. That it had made itself present here again spelled an existential threat to our community.//

//I dare not say what we discovered below the temple. It must not be put into writing, and my hands shake as I write this. It was here that we recovered an ancient tablet with blood writings. A depiction of this beast, with ancient writings underneath. It was here that we enlisted the help of an Erikeshan priestess to translate it. And now, we finally have a name for this agent of the Devil.//

//He is The Scarlet God-king. Lord of Montauk. And he, along with all of his followers, must be destroyed, for they are an existential threat to Christendom as a whole. For the sake of all things, for the sake of existence itself.”//

------

**Note:** This is considered to be one of the earliest mentions of the Scarlet King and its followers. As such, the account provided was foundational to the modern understanding of the Scarlet King.

[[/div]]

[[/div]]

------

[[div style="border:solid 3px maroon; background:#000000; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]

+ Fragmentations

[[div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/Eye.png link=#]]
[[div class="scp-image-caption"]]
"Seeing is believing."
[[/div]]
[[/div]]


“Rise and shine!” says August, as she emerged from her tent.

“It’s //near mid-day//, Auggie.” Hannah calls out from the other side of the tent. “Then again, it’s hard as //hell// to tell the time here.”

“Wait, Hannah, you’re still out here?! You didn’t sleep at //all// since last night?”

“Hell no,” Hannah says, shaking her shotgun at August, “We just cycled through, I just took over for Val. Still no trace of //him//, by the way.”

“God, I still can’t believe he was in the tent right next to mine…” August yawns, “I was so busy yesterday that I didn’t even //hear// him. Uh, where’s Val, anyways? Did I miss him?”

“Nope. Daniela and him are about to leave. Vaughan left early, still doing… navigator stuff, I guess. I think he’ll finish determining the epicenter today, but it’s looking pretty //likely// that it’s that black castle,” Hannah shrugs, “You should get up now, if you wanna see them off.”

At the edge of the camp, August could see Daniela and Val showing something to Anna on the camera.

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**AUDITORY RECORDS - GIGAS**

------

##grey|//[Agent Newman is examining a photo on the camera. It is of two Daevite slave ghosts.]//##

**Agent Newman:** It really looks like they’re posing! How’d you //do// that? Seriously, I thought these guys barely listened to anyone, like, at //all//.

**Agent Tatton:** Yeah, it really... really //does// look that way. Hey, listen. We're going back to that temple from yesterday. We still have some questions, still trying to figure it out, and I figure we’ll have all that we need after today’s trip.

**Agent Sanders:** Yeah! And you can use that picture for the article. Imagine that. Anna Newman, article of the year, followed by Val Sanders and Daniela Tatton, //photo// of the year.

**Agent Newman:** God, //us?// Getting credit for contributing to anomalous sciences? You //wish//. Though, you sure you don’t wanna publish your Daevites research yet, Dina?

**Agent Tatton:** No, not yet. Not until I get all the facts today, gotta make sure if my hunch is correct… Oh, hey, Auggie.

##grey|//[Agent Kilroy approaches. She runs up to the group.]//##

**Agent Kilroy:** Hey, Dina! Hi, Val, Anna! You two are leaving already?

**Agent Tatton:** Yeah, it’s pretty close to mid-day. Last time, we didn’t get much due to poor timing, but this time, we think we could make some decent progress here.

**Agent Sanders:** Don’t worry, lil’ Aug! We’ll be //fine//, we know our way home! This is probably our last day here in Daevitesville, so gotta make it last! Make //lotsa’// memories!

**Agent Kilroy:** Okay, well, I hope your trip goes //great!// We’ll have everything in the camp packed and ready by the time you’re back.

**Agent Sanders:** D’aww, thanks!

##grey|//[Agent Sanders turns to leave, but Agent Tatton pauses.]//##

**Agent Tatton:** Oh, wait. Auggie. Take this.

**Agent Kilroy:** Yeah?

##grey|//[Agent Tatton slips Agent Kilroy a small sheathed blade.]//##

**Agent Kilroy:** Oh, uh, thanks! I…

**Agent Newman:** Ah, I know that model! That's the F72 Tactical Blade, ain't it?

**Agent Sanders:** Sure is! Actually, I also brought one along with me... wait, //hey!//

**Agent Tatton:** Not like you were //using// it. Look, Auggie. Hannah told me about what happened. The weird old guy that showed up at camp. Apparently, you were the only one there at the time.

**Agent Kilroy:** Yeah, and I’m sorry that-

**Agent Tatton:** No, I mean, something really //bad// could’ve happened, Auggie. If push comes to shove, you need to be able to //defend// yourself, alright? This isn't much compared to the stuff in the emergency arms kid, but it's much more portable, and relatively easy to use and keep on your person. //Don’t pull it out yet!//

##grey|//[Agent Tatton clasps her hand around Agent Kilroy’s to push the knife back into the sheath.]//##

**Agent Tatton:** There’s a poison coating the blade, it’s activated when exposed to air.

**Agent Kilroy:** Oh, fuck, //fuck!// Did it get on me!?

**Agent Sanders:** Calm //down//, Aug! There’s no cuts on you. //Breathe!//

**Agent Tatton:** Yeah, don’t worry. It’ll only be a problem if you get cut.

**Agent Newman:** Also, uh, I think there’s some general poison antidotes in the emergency arms kit. But, again, uh, try not to accidentally //slice// yourself open with it.

**Agent Tatton:** Right, just practice drawing it a few times when you can, okay?

##grey|//[Agent Kilroy draws deep breaths and tuck the knife into her back pocket.]//##

**Agent Tatton:** Alright, so that’s it, yeah? We’ll be back in… //seven// hours. Just stay safe until then, and-

##grey|//[Agent Kilroy pulls Agent Tatton into an embrace.]//##

**Agent Newman:** D'aww.

**Agent Tatton:** Woah. //Someone’s// in a good mood.

**Agent Kilroy:** Thank you, Dina… I really appreciate all this!

**Agent Tatton:** Yeah, c’mon, it’s //just// seven hours.

##grey|//[They let go.]//##

**Agent Kilroy:** Still… good luck with your Daevites mission!

**Agent Tatton:** Mmhm. Will keep that in mind.

##grey|//[Agent Tatton nods and walks off. Agent Sanders follows, but turns back after a few steps.]//##

**Agent Sanders:** Wait, where’s //my// hug?!

**Agent Newman:** See both of y’all later!

**Agent Tatton:** See ya’.

[[/div]]

August watches them as they leave, and though it wasn’t the last time that she saw them, it is the way she’d like to remember them.

Over the course of the next several hours, Anna, Hannah, and August worked to disassemble the camp. All of the tents had to be packed up, all of the equipment had to be sorted into the appropriate bags and packs. The waste is organized and processed.

It was surprisingly heavy work. So much so that they didn’t even notice it when in-between deconstructing the porta-potty, the old man showed up again.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m sorry for bothering you folks yesterday.”

“No problem,” Hannah said, as she twisted one of the bolts on a beam off.

Two seconds later, he had a shotgun pointed at him as Anna and August both hid behind Hannah.

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**AUDITORY RECORDS - GIGAS**

------

**Agent Xob:** You have thirty fucking seconds to get on the //fucking// ground!

**Unknown:** Oh, Lord, oh God. Please, please don’t- That //is// a gun, right? That’s a gun?

**Agent Xob:** You bet your fucking //ass// it is! Get down!

##grey|//[Unknown complies.]//##

**Unknown:** Okay, okay, look, please! I’m doing it. //I’m doing it//. I’m so sorry for what I did yesterday. It’s just… It’s been //so long// since I had real, actual food! And- I’m sorry, it’s been a very long time since I’ve even //seen// another human being!

**Agent Xob:** Who are you?

**Unknown:** My name… I’m… My name is Alberto. I just…

**Agent Newman:** Wait. Uh, Hannah, could you tell him to stand up?

**Agent Xob:** Okay, stand up. But no sudden moves, okay?

##grey|//[Unknown slowly stands up. His features are clearer. He is wearing what appears to be a very old leather shroud that’s been ripped apart and stitched together several times.]//##

[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-block
name=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/Alberto.png|
caption=Possible photo of Alberto Weider-Hoffman, circa 1994. (Foundation Archives)|
width=200px
]]

**Agent Newman:** Wait, Alberto… as in //Alberto Weider-Hoffman?// The guy who kept sending Scarlet King poems to Foundation sites? I… I recognize you! Jesus, I thought you disappeared //ages// ago!

**Agent Xob:** Oh, so you’re a Scarlet King cultist. Gimme one reason why I shouldn’t just //shoot// you now.

**Weider-Hoffman:** Please, don’t do that. Look, I’m- I’m not like the //other ones//, okay? I’m not //like that//, I swear. I’m… I’m a creature of //truth//. That’s all I am. A seeker of the truth. That’s why I’m here.

**Agent Xob:** I’m not //hearing// a reason.

**Agent Kilroy:** Hannah, please. He seems… he seems //harmless.//

**Weider-Hoffman:** Yes, yes. I swear, //I swear// I mean you no harm. I just… I was just so hungry. Please, //please// just listen to me. Okay? Please.

**Agent Kilroy:** Hannah, please, c’mon. He didn’t attack you or anything yesterday, did he? He just ate our food. And… talking to him could //help// us. Please don’t kill him…

**Weider-Hoffman:** Please, don’t. Oh God, //please don’t kill me.//

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**Agent Xob:** Okay, pull out a seat. You can talk. You can even have some of our rations.

**Weider-Hoffman:** Oh, //thank// you-

**Agent Xob:** I’ll be keeping my gun on you the whole time, though.

[[/div]]

About an hour afterwards, Hannah finally lowers the gun somewhat. Not out of any particular growing sentiment towards Alberto, but mostly out of frustration with the fact that this guy just wouldn’t //stop talking// or //stay on topic.// Certainly, though, it was getting clearer and clearer that this man was not a threat. Just… extremely disoriented.

He was obviously keeping some things close to the chest, but she figured she couldn’t fault him for that. He told them that he grew up in some sort of village, that they’d apparently practiced some pacifist version of Urdalism (which she couldn’t //possibly// understand). He said he was here to do some soul-searching after a particularly bad existential-slash-theological crisis, but that he wasn’t sure how he got there.

The whole thing was pretty hard to make out, as he kept derailing into unrelated topics, such as obscure art analysis, or random books that he read once upon a time. He seemed to improve in time, though.

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**AUDITORY RECORDS - GIGAS**

------

**Weider-Hoffman:** I think I walked. And then, I was here.

**Agent Newman:** You… //walked?//

**Weider-Hoffman:** Through the night sky, through the tall grass. I stared into the face of eternity, I looked for answers in the starlight, and the universe opened itself up to me. I closed my eyes, and…

**Agent Xob:** Mother//fucker,// if you’re quoting //Ralph Waldo Emerson// again-

**Weider-Hoffman:** //No!// No, I’m just- This is what I //felt// at that moment. I don’t remember what came before, or what came after, but I remember that moment. I walked through the darkness, I walked through the night, and I was here.

**Agent Xob:** You //walked// here? To a metaphysical god realm? On //foot?//

**Weider-Hoffman:** There are //many// paths to the gods, Xob, I assure you. I know mine wasn’t as concrete as yours, but I didn’t shed blood for it, either. It’s been so long, I can hardly remember it myself. I found myself here…

**Agent Newman:** And then?

**Weider-Hoffman:** …I don’t //remember.// It’s been so long. I’ve been living here since. I don’t even remember what //answers// I’ve been looking for. I don’t… I don’t even remember how to get //home.// All I’ve done is survive. All these years, looking for company other than the ghosts, setting up signs.

**Agent Xob:** Wait.

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**Agent Xob:** Wait, wait, okay, the instructions out in the valley. That was you?

**Weider-Hoffman:** I see they were finally of use, after all these years.

**Agent Xob:** Tell me in more details.

**Weider-Hoffman:** Well, my journey was much like yours. I found myself in the wilderness. I eventually found my way to the Daevites, here. For years, they kept me company.

**Agent Newman:** How did you do that then? The topography here is anomalous. It goes back into itself several times. We wouldn’t have made it out here if it wasn’t for //your// instructions, so how…

**Weider-Hoffman:** Oh, I listened to the voices on the wind.

**Agent Xob:** The what?

**Weider-Hoffman:** The howling. The sounds of the realm, always there.

**Agent Xob:** The howl- Oh, //that// noise. It’s faded into the background, these days. I barely even //hear// it anymore.

**Agent Newman:** I mean, I can still hear it, just a bit.

**Weider-Hoffman:** If you can focus on it, you can make it out. The little changes in vibrations, like little signals, telling you you’re on the right track. It took me ages to do it, so when I found the way the first time, I went back and set up a system to help me remember it. May I?

**Agent Xob:** Sure.

##grey|//[August spoons some Foundation rations into Weider-Hoffman’s mouth, as his hands are tied. He chews on it, then swallows.]//##

**Weider-Hoffman:** Thanks.

**Agent Newman:** It’s courtesy of Telal.

**Agent Xob:** So the noise… is that what happened yesterday, when I was chasing you? You seemed to navigate the anomalous topography amazingly well.

**Weider-Hoffman:** Yes, well, that, and a bit of instinct. One only needs a bit of dedication to find their way here. Well, //obsession// might be a better term for it. I’ve been through this place many times before.

**Agent Newman:** Which reminds me. Xob, you said he was running towards the castle, right?

**Agent Xob:** Yep.

**Agent Newman:** Alberto, if it’s okay, could you tell us about the castle? We don’t know how anyone could’ve built that thing here, and our Daevite expert doesn't seem to think it was ever something created by the Daevites. Is it just part of this place?

**Weider-Hoffman:** It’s not. I’ve… I’ve been there. It’s something else from this place, entirely.

**Agent Xob:** What //is// it?

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**Weider-Hoffman:** I don’t know. I’ve never entered it. I’ve been //trying// for years.

**Agent Xob:** Well, what’s been stopping you?

##grey|//[Weider-Hoffman furrows his brows in contemplation. August spoons another mouthful of Foundation rations into his mouth as he chews slowly.]//##

**Weider-Hoffman:** There are //defenses// at play, there. Defenses that I can’t get through //myself//. But… seeing your people here, I think if we co-operated. I think we might be able to get inside.

**Agent Xob:** Uh, how’d you figure?

**Weider-Hoffman:** I’m a trained thaumaturge. I’ve bounced around from organization to organization in search of the truth. But I don’t have… the resources needed. You do. If we were to form an alliance… We both want to find the truth, yes? And it seems more and more likely that we’re both on the same path.

**Agent Newman:** Uh, that’s certainly a proposal. I’m sorry, but we’re not even sure if it’s our mission to get to the castle in the first place. Our navigator’s currently trying to track down the epicenter of this realm, and our mission’s basically just to map out things up to there, then wait for another team to take care of further explorations. I’m sorry, Alberto, but if we accept, it might //derail// our mission-

**Agent Vaughan:** It won’t. I’ve got the results. The castle is the epicenter.

[[/div]]

Apparently, he’d just gotten back. A lot later than he intended, as he got lost along the way. They never even noticed him returning. He walked Alberto into his tent for interrogation. As the zipper closed behind them, Anna could see them through the small transparent window on the tent, and there was that inscrutable expression on Arthur's face again. Only except there was something different about it, this time. She saw his eyes twinkle in that strange way as he rattled off questions for Alberto to answer.

Arthur didn't fill them in on what they talked about during the next thirty minutes, but it seems that he was convinced that Alberto was trustworthy, and somehow there was the implicit understanding that that was the end of that. They’d just wait for the ghosts to disappear, wait for Val and Dina to return, regroup, then with Alberto’s guidance, move to the castle. Apparently, it’d cut the trip down several days.

[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-block
name=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/CAT.png|
caption="Deployable once. Do not expose to self."|
width=190px
]]

Of course, he’d be bound the whole way, which he didn’t seem too concerned about, and there was one last test he’d have to pass to gain their trust. A Foundation-devised, fool-proof way to know for sure that Alberto was trustworthy.

“Alberto, can you look at this image?” Anna says, removing the card's envelope and deploying the cognitohazard. “Now, can you tell me what it is?”

“It’s an inkblot?”

“Yeah, but… what does the inkblot //look// like? To you, I mean.”

“Well… I guess it’s a… black cat? A black cat made out of arrows.”

Anna turns to Vaughan, and he nods. Then, he pulls up a chair. Val and Dina would be back in about two hours.

Over four hours later, and they were not back yet, and it was clear that something had gone very, very wrong.

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**AUDITORY RECORDS - GIGAS**

------

**Agent Kilroy:** Look, we //need// to find them, they wouldn’t- They wouldn’t be //late// like this. Something //must’ve// happened-

**Agent Xob:** Auggie, //calm down.// This place is a damn //labyrinth.// We get lost all the time!

**Agent Newman:** But they were pretty confident about where they were going, they said they had it all mapped out.

**Agent Kilroy:** God, if only I’d woken up earlier, I would’ve- I could’ve had them map it out so we knew where to look. Are they even still at the temple?!

**Weider-Hoffman:** Your friend was at the temple? Which one?

**Agent Kilroy:** I- uh, this one. This one…

##grey|//[Agent Kilroy shows the camera to Weider-Hoffman. He takes a long look at it.]//##

**Weider-Hoffman:** I know where that is. I know a shortcut. If we go //now,// we’ll make it there before sunset.

[[/div]]

And things proceeded pretty quickly after that point. Within five minutes, everyone had packed their belongings, strapped on their rucksacks, and Arthur was holding Alberto on a leash as he led the way. He didn’t seem to mind the leash any more than he minded the gun that Arthur was holding to the back of his head, in case he made any sudden move.

Hannah walked in front of them to check for hidden dangers. Whenever she turned around, she noticed that Alberto had his eyes completely shut. Yet, somehow, he always seemed to know where to go.

Alberto’s shortcut was horrifically counter-intuitive, yet absolutely effective. They went in the opposite direction that Dina and Val last went in, they went in what felt like circles, yet emerged at a completely different location in the end.

“Sometimes, this place hinders you,” Alberto said. “Other times, it helps you.”

With one final turn they’d somehow arrived at the temple doors. At that point, it was already getting dark outside. Hannah remembers thinking that it looked so much worse, so much more foreboding than what they’d seen in the photo. She looked up, and it was as if it’d go on forever. For a moment, she couldn’t make out where the dark red of the temple ended, and where the sky began.

They had it all planned out. They’d go inside, shout for Dina and Val, see if they could respond. August and her would check the upper levels, Arthur and Anna would check the lower levels. After that, they’d slowly work their way out through the surrounding area. With Alberto’s help, they could get it done quickly enough. They had it all planned out, so she had to stay calm, because August was on the verge of hyperventilating. She needed to stay calm, for her. They had a plan.

//(August’s hand shook as she clutched her comms. It’s still not picking up Val and Dina’s signals, but the interference should already be gone, now. Why weren’t they picking up?)//

They found them almost immediately. The stench of iron hit their nose as soon as Arthur kicked down the door. There was no need to search any further, because they could see the sacrificial altar from here.

Val was hunched over Dina’s corpse like a starved beast. The noises, the soft chewing, the glistening of intestines would haunt Hannah until the day she died. Dina’s head was lolled over. She couldn’t tell what her expression was, because she didn’t have much of a face anymore. The area where her eyes should've been were entirely, horrifically slashed - though somehow, the empty pits still manage to gaze accusingly at one of the depictions of the King on the wall. Even in the perpetual redness, they could make out the copious amount of blood, seeping into the dirt floor of the sacred temple.

Time was frozen, and things were happening frame-by-frame, as Val seemed to turn his head with a motion that took a thousand years. The lens on his glasses were shattered. His entire face is wet. Bits of meat spewing out from his over-packed gullet. He looked almost proud as he surveyed the facial expressions of all present for his grotesque display of devotion. His movements were slow, meticulous, like some high-functioning predator fit into the wiry frame of a man.

“...//AAaaarrrrttthhhuuu//…” Val groaned, as antlers burst from his skulls. The contents of his jaws dropped to the floor, and it was a sound of nightmares. They watched as this thing shuffled around, like its bones didn’t fit its skin, like something was threatening to burst out. Things like worms moved under his skin. Something pulsed behind the black void where his eyes used to be.

//(God licked its lips, savoring the claret)//

And things were moving again, nerves kicking back in in ways that they were never meant to, and Hannah remembered trying to draw a gun, but as she turned, a shot rang out, and she looked back to see the thing that was Val, and he, it, was bent over backwards. She could smell gunpowder in the air, and the thing that was Val rose again, and it was smouldering and shedding red scales, and it was crawling on four ungulate limbs, and its entire head was one huge eye and maw, and it had tree-like horns growing out of its head, and Arthur shot the damn deer-thing again, and it //still wasn’t fucking dead,// because it was //breaking into a sprint with a hole in its chest// - and now it was upon them, and it opened up the //abyss// it had on its face, and-

Her ears were ringing. Her world was pitch black, and moment by moment, she tried to force her eyes open. As her vision cleared, she saw the headless corpse of the red thing, still smoldering and smoking as it bled. Bits of brains and teeth sprayed across the wall like some violent abstract mosaic. Its muscles still twitched. It had to be twice as big as Val was.

Arthur walked over and emptied the rest of the gun into it. Sharp blasts that grew duller and duller, and as her hearing cleared again, Hannah could finally make out the other sounds. The sound of blood dripping, both Val and Dina’s. The sound of Anna retching behind them, the sound of Alberto praying, and the sound of August, who had been howling since the moment they opened the door.


[[/div]]

------

[[div style="border:solid 3px maroon; background:#000000; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]

+ Somewhere God Can't See

[[div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/Celebration.png link=#]]
[[div class="scp-image-caption"]]
"Milestone reached! Congratulations!"
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

All sciences are studies of change. Chemistry, Physics, Biology, Psychology, Theology. Flesh rots, stone oxidizes, steel rusts. People, of all things, are subject to the most change. Pressure, time, it all broils over in your mind. It’s just too much.

Someone’s running outside. Russell watches through the window as Stan’s team rushes the man. They drag him across the dirt, and beat the living shit out of him with their little batons, and as the man curled up and stopped moving, he felt himself changing too, but it didn’t bother him as much.

Liam enters his office soon after, and he hangs up his lab coat by the door as he always did. Russell could still hear the sound of that damn Billy Joel song blaring from his office down the hall. He closes the door and the music is completely muted by the sound-proof layering.

“How is it?” Russell asks, closing the blinds.

“Same as usual,” he replies. “Though, we’ve finally got the numbers back for this month. You think it’s something?”

Liam tossed a bunch of documents on the table, lit a cigarette. For the next 30 minutes, he just waited in silence as Russell read through the files, one by one. When he was finished, he stacked up all of the documents into one neat pile, then opened a file drawer, dropping it onto a stack of identical document piles.

“A 12% increase in efficiency.” Russell says. “An even larger yield than last time. And that’s //after// amnesticizing the last of Rowe’s staff. How’s everyone over there?”

“Well, they’re taking it better than last time, so as you said, the hypothesis holds.” Liam stared at him, and then raised his eyebrows. “So, what now? I doubt we can just keep leaking files, Overwatch is still pissed at us, so I figure we’ll need to keep low for now.”

“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Russell says. “The cat’s out of the bag, at this point. I think we can keep pushing it in subtler ways. I doubt Overwatch is looking through our equipment list, or at our reassignment pool. The psychological testing just gets locked up in vaults, anyway.”

“So, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, we have a scientific framework. The next part after that is applications.” Russell says, as he retrieved a binder from his desk. “This is what’s next.”

Liam opens up the binder. Now, it was Russell’s turn to wait. It didn’t take long, because several pages in, Liam was already flipping to the end.

“The Ethics Committee would have our asses for this, you realize that?” Liam says, “Their memorandum didn’t exactly mince words.”

“That’s why we won’t be the one to do it. Keep reading.”

Liam kept reading. Russell poured himself a glass of scotch. As he poured, he watched Liam’s expression grow more contorted with each passing line.

“Jesus,” He said, as he closed the binder.

“What’ll you want in exchange for it?” Russell asked, retrieving another glass.

“A bigger office. A cushier job, maybe something with Stan’s crew,” Liam said, after a pause. “But you’ll have to look for someone else to be your errand boy, soon enough.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Russell says, “For now though, just enjoy the free promotions. That glass’s yours.”

“How long will this last?”

“As long as the Foundation lets it. So… long enough. And God-willing, the things decided in this room today will usher us into a better age. A “Foundation fit for a modern and moral world”, as it were.”

Liam laughs, choking on the harsh alcohol.

“You don’t agree?” Russell smiles.

“No, no, it’s just… ” Liam wipes the alcohol on his sleeve, “God’s not got nothing to do this, Russ. That’s why we’re here in the first place. God’s not watching. No one is.”

“Maybe,” Russell says, raising his own glass. “Though, for some reason, I get the feeling that even if He was, He would //approve.//”

[[/div]]

@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@
@@ @@


= [[size 7em]]**__ACT IV__**[[/size]]
= [[size 3em]]**YOU ARE WHAT I MAKE YOU**[[/size]]


[[div class="document"]]

+ On Fine Art

//Continued.//

And that's exactly it, I told him. That's what Krakolche wanted the audience to contemplate on. If they were truly the first, the purest ur-example of human civilization, that great portrait of suffering, what did that say about //us?//

Mr. Ottinger just shrugged. //"I never thought of it like that,"// He told me. //"I just thought it looked cool,"// Which, in hindsight, explained what a genuine Krakolche was doing in a room of gaudy faux-medieval artefacts and overtly-nationalistic Crusades propaganda befitting a Klan compound.

Then, my host tells me to enjoy it while it lasts, for it shall be sold to a private collector next year. I felt a pang in my heart as I considered the fact that this was to be the state of all that remains of Da'Vo Christian artistry. I watched as he shuffled away to gush over some other cheap trashy oddity in his collection.

Then, I was alone, soaking all the details of that vivid display of suffering. Suffering... and yet, there was //more// to it than that. I look at all the little people underneath, I see their little eyes - Krakolche's specialty has always been the eyes, you see, and what the eyes convey...

Words fail me, and I dare not say more. We //must// see it together when you visit this winter.

There's so few pieces remaining free, unshackled by the Vatican, or unburnt by the Foundation, but as a scholar of Krakolche, I think I can say definitively that //"A Portrait Of Daeva Society"// was her greatest piece.

@@ @@

Your friend,
AWH.

[[/div]]

------

[[div style="border:solid 3px maroon; background:#000000; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]

+ Funny Story About That

[[div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/Army.png link=#]]
[[div class="scp-image-caption"]]
"Front towards enemy."
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

The night is still. The wind is gentle. There is only the sound of crickets, and the rustling of leaves. Hannah Xob looks through the binoculars again at the patch of yellow light in the distance. They didn’t look like Scarlet cultists, of course, but then again, she’d been fooled by appearances before. No, no, it was stupid to think of it that way. It’s stupid, and it could get people killed.

She watched as little shadows moved through the night, watching for any sign of the usual depravities. Nothing yet, so far though, but she knew that if she just kept watching, something would present itself. Something always does, because the Foundation knows what it’s doing, and the Foundation were the ones to tell them what the villagers actually were.

They were called the //Children Of The Red Soil//, in their language. Words filtered down from Scarlet Response a couple weeks ago, about the rituals, about the corpses laid out in front of all the children. They took a look, didn’t like what they saw on the satellite images, and Hannah was on a plane within the hour. It was a standard mission, like all the other ones she’d been on, and she guessed she was grateful for it, even though the amount has been dropping off for a while now, and she didn’t like to think what would happen to her if it stopped altogether.

“Hannah, it’s my turn,” says a voice behind her, and she turns around and it’s Ulrich, with his trademark mustache. “Nothing yet so far, eh?”

“Nope, still nothing,” Hannah says, handing over the binoculars, “They’ll slip up soon enough, though. How’s everyone else?”

“All the other teams still haven’t arrived yet. I think Luke’s still trying to sort it out,” Ulrich says, lying down on his stomach at the observation point, “Some Foundation drone did come though, not sure what that’s about yet.”

“Drone? You mean like, an actual drone? Or like they’ve just got some dude in a business suit out here in the woods?” Hannah grins as she gets up.

“Uh, I don’t know, //both.//” Ulrich says, “Watch your step, you’re gonna break your neck if you aren't careful.”

Of course, Hannah’s gotten pretty used to the lightless places. Any Omicron-14 member worth her salt had to be, and she was particularly good at finding her way through the darkness. It was comforting to her, and that made all the differences. She stepped through the grass until she felt the false rock-face on the cliffside, and opened it.

The Omicron-14 camp on the other side was well-lit. There was a working freezer, there were cooled tents, and there were all the other amenities that you got when the Foundation decided that you were one of the more useful Task Forces to keep around. Most of the guys and gals were still sleeping. Usually, the mission didn’t start until enough members had arrived, and this time, for some reason, the rest of the task force had been delayed by at least several hours.

“‘Sup, Artie. How’s the game going?” Hannah waved at Arthur Vaughan, Conley’s stoned-faced right hand man. He’d been watching some sort of football game for the last hour or so, but for some reason, he didn’t seem to emote through it at any point. Not upon someone scoring a goal, or anything. “So, same as usual?”

“Mm. He’s still in the back.” Arthur says, “Arguing with someone.”

“Oh, crap. Is there some sorta issue? Does he need me or anything?”

“//No.//” He says, turning to her, and something in his voice unsettles her, even though nothing seems to show outwardly. “He doesn’t //need// you.”

It turns out Ulrich was right. Behind one of the tents, at the far end of the camp, Lieutenant Colonel Lucas Conley was currently arguing with a thirty-something man in a business suit. The man had slicked back hair, held in his hand a clipboard, and was made out of flickering red light. A whirring noise from above indicated the presence of an actual Foundation autonomous messenger drone, projecting his image through a port on its bottom compartment.

The man had a bemused expression, while Lucas Conley looked //pissed//. But then again, Hannah thought, he always kinda did look that way.

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**AUDITORY RECORDS - SCARLET RESPONSE**

------

**O-14 Wormwood:** -treat us like fucking //dogshit!// I don’t give a //shit// what Russell said, it’s //your// fucking people’s job to not fuck this up, and-

**REDSIGHT:** Oh, //come// on, you can’t //blame// Scarlet Response for this. Take it up with the O5s if you’re //that// pissed about it. I just told you, the next best thing-

**O-14 Wormwood:** The next best thing will be me shoving my fucking //fist// so far up your //rectum// that your fucking //teeth// gets knocked out.

**REDSIGHT:** Dinner and a movie, first, //pal.//

##grey|//[O-14 Cassiel approaches. Both the REDSIGHT Operative and O-14 Wormwood turns to her.]//##

**O-14 Cassiel:** Uh, Luke? Why are you shouting about fisting rectums with a hologram right now?

**O-14 Wormwood:** They redirected the fucking planes, Hannah. The rest of Omicron-14 ain’t coming. They’re heading to Russia right now, apparently new orders from some Scarlet Response dickhead came through.

**O-14 Cassiel:** What? They can’t //do// that, the only person who gets to make that call is you.

**O-14 Wormwood:** Apparently fucking //not!// Apparently, they can just reroute my troops without my permission, and then just not fucking tell me about it so we can //dick around// in a forest for //five fucking hours!//

**REDSIGHT:** Jesus, not everything is an attack on //you//, Connie-

**O-14 Wormwood:** //Conley.//

**REDSIGHT:** Sometimes, shipments get delayed. Sometimes, the chain of command //breaks down.// Sometimes, and //forgive// me for this, it’s hard to get word to some random task force leader in the middle of nowhere because the camp they’re staying at is improperly memetically cloaked at the //wrong// frequency.

**O-14 Cassiel:** Wait, you’re saying that //I// set up the memetic cloaking incorrectly?

**REDSIGHT:** I’m not saying anything! I don’t know why your team didn’t get the memo! I’m just saying that shit happens sometimes!

**O-14 Wormwood:** Fuck you. You know as well as I do that this is a fucking //humiliation ritual.// You Scarlet Response //fucks// have been doing this ever since I filed that complaint, because you //know-//

**REDSIGHT:** Oh, know what? We’re //very// interested in that. Would you like to present that before the Scarlet Response team in person?

##grey|//[Silence.]//##

**REDSIGHT:** Anyways, as I said, the next best course of action is for you to get on the next plane over. You’ll be there in a couple hours. You can regroup, set things up… New mission! Ta-da.
 
**O-14 Cassiel:** Uh, what’ll it be, this time?

**REDSIGHT:** Oh, uh, you’ll get the full documentation on the plane, but, let me see…

##grey|//[The REDSIGHT Operative flips through his clipboard.]//##

**REDSIGHT:** Occult Neo-Nazis.

**O-14 Wormwood:** What, is it the Blood Reign Aryans again? I thought we //killed// all of them.

**REDSIGHT:** No, no, not… not anomalous Neo-Nazis. Regular occult ones. We’ve had a low-level monitor on these guys for a few years. Russia-based. Small-scale terrorism, sextortion, shootings. Recruits online, usually targeting //minors.// A few cases of ritual sacrifices, worship of some egregore deity…

**O-14 Cassiel:** Holy //shit.//

**REDSIGHT:** Now, I know the obvious question here, that-

**O-14 Cassiel:** Yeah, why haven’t we //gone// after these guys before? This is //awful.//

##grey|//[The REDSIGHT Operative stares at O-14 Cassiel. O-14 Wormwood keeps his head down.]//##

**REDSIGHT:** I just told you, they’re //non-anomalous.// They just //LARP// otherwise. The obvious question is, //“what does this have to do with us?”// And, well, usually the answer to that would be nothing, but recently, we’ve seen this pop up in their associated websites.

##grey|//[The REDSIGHT Operative presses something, and a number of images display on the hologram. O-14 Wormwood furrows his brows as he browses through them.]//##

[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-features-source |image-change=--]
|blur-amount=10
|speed=300
|float=true
|align=right
|width=300px
|start-url=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/Ru1377RU.png
|hover-url=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/Eng1377RU.png
|alt1=alt|alt1-text=Terrible.
|alt2=alt|alt2-text=Bad meme.
|add-caption=true
|caption="Example of an SCP-1377-RU Instance. Memetic triggers censored. Hover to translate."
]]

**O-14 Wormwood:** Have we classified them yet?

**REDSIGHT:** Our guys in Moscow’s currently listing them as [http://scp-int.wikidot.com/scp-1377-ru SCP-1377-RU]. See that little //red seal// there? We think it's some kinda memetic conduit, but no one's sure yet. You can read up on it on the plane, too. So, the mission is the same as always: Ice these fuckers, burn everything they’ve got, and find out //how// the hell they did it.

##grey|//[Silence.]//##

**REDSIGHT:** Hmm. Well, it’s your call, Connie. Plane arrives in-

**O-14 Wormwood:** I didn’t say anything, yet.

**REDSIGHT:** Plane’s not just for you, it’s to carry your //replacements,// too. You can get on if you want, or not.

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**O-14 Cassiel:** //…What?//

**REDSIGHT:** It’s something new that the folks up in Scarlet Response has been rolling out. Well, after the success of the IDEOSIG system, the next step is, of course, a way to deal with the small fries. Don’t worry! You guys are still gonna get the bigger piece of the pie. All the major missions are still yours, but considering how low Scarlet King activity has gotten these days, you’re almost all on your way to retirement!

##grey|//[The REDSIGHT Operative raises his hand in mock-celebration, shouting “Woo-hoo!” O-14 Wormwood and O-14 Cassiel just stares blankly at his hologram.]//##

[[/div]]

The plane came early, all cloaked and silent. Another benefit of working for the Foundation. They all watched as the cargo hold opened up to reveal the dozen or so state-of-the-art Foundation drones. About twice as big as a beachball, but vantablack, covered in a transparent, shiny shell. Little repulsors extended from the sides of each of the drones as they all floated off into the night sky, towards the little village. Everyone got on and waited for the plane to take off.

As Hannah got on, she thought that Conley looked older than he’d ever looked. It was probably the first time that she really noticed how much he was greying.

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**AUDITORY RECORDS - OMICRON-14**

------

**O-14 Wormwood:** Can’t let shit like that get you down, kid. The Foundation’s full of people like that. Jackasses trying to make you into some drone, some //puppet.// That’s something that Liam wouldn’t have taught you in orientation.

**O-14 Cassiel:** I //get// that. I was just thinking about the other stuff he said, I guess. I’ve been involved with Foundation work for so long, sometimes I forget how fucked up //regular// people can be.

**O-14 Wormwood:** Lemme tell ya’ a secret. You gotta kill that part of you. First thing we learn to do is separate what the Foundation //can// do, and what the Foundation //is.// Otherwise, you just go insane.

**O-14 Cassiel:** Yeah, I guess… uh, what was he //implying// back there? You filed a complaint or something?

##grey|//[O-14 Wormwood waves dismissively.]//##

**O-14 Wormwood:** //Ehhh…// It’s nothing. Just Foundation corporate //gossip// shit. I figure I just overreacted that time, and some yuppie upstairs is still //mad// about it.

**O-14 Cassiel:** I guess.

##grey|//[Pause.]//##

**O-14 Cassiel:** Y’think we’re really gonna be out of a job soon? I mean, what he said about Scarlet King activity dwindling. I mean, that’s //true.// We’ve been getting less and less missions for a while now, and now they have //drones// doing it for us.

**O-14 Wormwood:** I mean, probably. We //have// cleared out lots of the bigger cults over the year, especially after IDEOSIG. Lately, it’s only been the straggler groups, the //leftovers.// We’ve basically driven them to //extinction.// Certainly something to celebrate! We’ve managed to vanquish evil at an unprecedented level, that’s not something many people can //brag// about.

**O-14 Cassiel:** Yeah, but… you don’t look //too// happy about it.

**O-14 Wormwood:** Yeah, well… maybe it just hasn’t sunk //in// yet. I don’t know. Also, uh, why do you keep //staring// at me like that? There somethin’ in my hair?

**O-14 Cassiel:** Yeah, it’s turning gray, //a lot.// I only just noticed.

##grey|//[O-14 Wormwood panics, and immediately checks his reflection on his phone.]//##

**O-14 Wormwood:** What? Fuck. How the hell did I //miss// that?

**O-14 Cassiel:** Heheh, c’mon, it doesn’t look //that// bad.

##grey|//[There is a rumble as the plane takes off.]//##

**O-14 Wormwood:** Ah, well, //shit.// Thanks, that’s gonna be on my mind for the rest of the night.

[[/div]]

They share a laugh in the cabin as the stealth plane rises into the night sky, and the last thing Hannah saw as it turned was the village. She was the only one on that plane who looked back.

The village was burning. From here, the drones were still visible. Tiny black dots zooming around, shooting out white jets of light and flames. And though she knew it was the right thing to do, she closed her eyes and tried to put the image out of her mind.

When she woke up, they were just landing in Russia.

------

That was years ago, and Hannah didn’t know why she was thinking about that memory now, and she didn’t understand why there was this subtle dread building up in her chest. 

It was just before sunrise on the day after Val and Dina had died. They did not retrieve their corpses, nor did they manage to sleep the night before. They were all staying in one of the nearby Daevite huts. Anna was sitting on the floor in the room next to them, staring blankly out the window, counting the minutes until sunrise. Vaughan was probably pacing the streets outside.

Hannah was laying on the dirt floor, and August had been sobbing into her arms for the last several hours, though only she knew that. Alberto was sitting on the window frame, swinging his leg, and sometimes he tried to say something to sound comforting.

"I didn't have the pleasure of knowing your friends," he said. "But my heart goes out to them."

And Hannah could've pointed out that they've only really known each other for 5 days, but instead, she just mumbled a "thank you."

//(Has it really only been 5 days?)//

“You have to keep going, friend,” He said. “You have to keep something in your heart to drive you. Keep Dina and Val in your hearts. Let their spirits lift you out of this place.”

“That’s really nice, Alberto. But, //please…//” Hannah whispered, “Just try to get some sleep.”

“It works, Hannah.” He turns to look outside, “It’s worked for me at least. When my thoughts are at its darkest, I picture them in my mind. My old friends, my home, my village. I dream of one day returning to them, my…”

And then he says a name, and for some reason, Hannah shoots up at this one, though she didn’t understand it. She didn’t know why she felt like her heart was about to burst.

“What… //what// did you say?”

“Ah, sorry, you wouldn’t’ve understood that,” Alberto smiles, “It’s what we called //ourselves//, back at home. It means…”

She'd like to say //stop it//, say //that's not funny,// but the punchline was coming. A breath dies in her lungs. Something else also dies.

“...the Children Of The Red Soil.”

And then Alberto probably said something else, but her mind had already gone blank, and somewhere out there in cosmic space, right at that moment, something laughed uproariously.

[[/div]]

------

[[div style="border:solid 3px maroon; background:#000000; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]

+ Die For Your Work

[[div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/CastleAlt.png link=#]]
[[div class="scp-image-caption"]]
"I'm here."
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

For two days, the remaining members of MTF-GIGAS walked in silence as Alberto guided them towards the castle. They barely stopped for food or water. They slowed down during the night, but they didn’t stop, and they kept marching, grim-faced, as the surrounding Daevite villages and huts were replaced with downward-sloping grasslands, and the grassland was replaced by sand. And suddenly, before they knew it, the castle was hours away from them, then minutes.  The entire way, August diligently worked on the map, as Alberto pointed out all the shortcuts.

They came to a stop as the black lake came into view. Like a light house from Hell, the castle sat on a black stone island surrounded by a vast expanse of angry boiling black water. There are no bridges, no stone steps, no pathways to the island. There is zero way of getting across. It was something that the Foundation never took into account, so even if everything had gone right for the mission, they’d probably never have made it to the end. An entire planning committee was caught flat-footed by the premise of a boiling lake, because for some reason, //that// was somehow unexpected.

Then again, they didn’t expect that MTF-GIGAS would meet Alberto, either. So, it was something of a happy coincidence. Tracing sigils and symbols into the sand, Alberto repeated a few words that humans shouldn’t be capable of reproducing, and from the sand rose a large flattened boulder, suspended in the air via nothing but the will of this eccentric old poet. Everyone else got on, carrying with them their rucksacks. The boulder slowly levitated across the lake, bobbing rhythmically to the sound of Alberto’s steady, measured breaths.

That was the easy part. The hard part would be landing the damn thing, but that’s where MTF-GIGAS came in. He’d explained that he couldn’t take care of the island’s defenses on his own, he was too weak for that, and he couldn’t multi-task so well. And as the boulder approached the stone island’s shore, they understood what he meant.

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-block
name=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/Demons.png|
caption=Artist's Depiction of SCP-9317-Ω-4, based on Weider-Hoffman's accounts.|
width=300px
]]

**Item #:** SCP-9317-Ω-4

**Description:** SCP-9317-Ω-4 refers to a species that inhabits SCP-9317-Ω-CASTLE, the epicenter of SCP-9317-Ω. According to SCP-9317-Ω-2 (henceforth Weider-Hoffman), these instances are a sub-species of SCP-9317-Ω-1 (or possibly vice-versa).

As such, SCP-9317-Ω-4 bears many anatomical similarities with SCP-9317-Ω-1, with a few exceptions. SCP-9317-Ω-4 entities are smaller, darker-colored, and more agile. They also apparently do not possess a sleep cycle, remaining awake at all times. The biggest difference, however, is that SCP-9317-Ω-4 instances are septipedal (see image) and move around much like a spider. Entities also possess distinctive growths on their foreheads, reminiscent of antlers.

According to Weider-Hoffman, all SCP-9317-Ω-4 instances are highly aggressive and predatory. As such, all instances must be terminated in order to access SCP-9317-Ω-CASTLE. From observation, SCP-9317-Ω-4 instances are not impervious to damage, and can be injured through conventional means.

[[/div]]

Alberto called them “the toddler people” because that’s what they looked like to him, with their large heads, lack of teeth, and repetitive, one-note behaviors. August subsequently questioned if he had ever actually seen a toddler before.

He told them that he’d theorized that they were not native to this realm, because to him, they exuded an “energy” far different from the energy of this world. Perhaps there had been others here before them, once. Mortals from outside who had found their way to this realm. Perhaps they couldn’t find a way out. Perhaps, he theorized, they reproduced.

“Who knows what the effects of this place are on the human body, after generations and generations of descendants?” He said, “They could've been here for centuries, or perhaps even millenias. There’s no way to tell. Entire lives, spent here, without knowing that there is a world beyond them. Living only to maim each other and then die.”

Of course, his descriptions didn’t stop MTF-GIGAS from doing what had to be done afterwards, as they all emptied out their rucksacks on the boulder. They were Mobile Task Force members, and they all shared that same affinity.

In the end, they could all agree that, sometimes, the quickest way through a problem were Foundation arms.

Sometimes, you just have to indulge in certain excesses.

They were crawling all around the island, and they looked almost confused upon seeing them for just a moment - but it was only a moment. They snarled, they screeched, biting down on imaginary flesh with their maw, not unlike archetypical demons from some Christian B-movie. Hannah could count dozens, which meant there were probably hundreds in the castle. It'd take a lot of guns and ammunitions to keep them all down.

They’d overpacked.

Shots rained down from the sky onto the creatures below. They screamed and recoiled from the onslaught of hostile stimuli that they as a species had never experienced before. Some ran, some tried to leap toward them, drowning themselves in the boiling water in the process. Others just died, from thaumaturgically-enhanced lead, from fire, from exotic ammunition made out of energy or jellyfish extract or whatever alternative they had to use to shield from SCP-9317’s effects. Their brains leaked out of their skulls, their skulls burst, their flesh burned.

The boulder cycled around the island, and they picked off every single one of them until nothing was moving. At that point, they landed. The boulder docked. Arthur leapt off, followed by Anna, then Hannah, and August. Alberto followed suit, carrying along additional munitions and arms.

Hannah felt it in her heart that at that moment, she was no longer afraid of dying. And she wondered if the others felt that way. They’d kicked the door down, and there were dozens more, and they came, and they shot them down, and more came and they shot //those// down, too. They all moved in one file, neutralizing all threats, like a well-oiled, perfect synchronized machine.

It is the satiation of urges long forgotten, the feeding of an appetite long-starved, and something primal burned in Hannah Xob’s core that made her finally feel alive again after so long, it was the feeling of light coming back into your eyes, and as she looked back and saw that same light in August’s eyes, in Anna’s eyes, as they put bullet after bullet into these monstrosities, the world feels sane. This is what she was meant for. This is what she lived for. //War. Righteous// war. Sisterhood. The vanquishing of an unprecedented, unambiguous evil for the greater good of all mankind. It is something that she’d missed since Omicron-14.

And it burned inside her, it burned as they continued on, reaching the stairwell in the middle of the first floor. It burned as they shot at all of the remaining ones as they went up. It burned inside her as they repeated the same process on the second floor, then the third floor, then the fourth then fifth. They barely noticed the little details, the cells, the wiring, the markings, the crystal lantern, the tablets, the spiderwebs…

And then it was done. They’d emerged on the roof of the sixth floor, and the sun was upon them again, and Hanna Xob could see it all through the gun smoke, through the bodies of what had to have been hundreds and hundreds of the toddler-spider people, and she ran up to the edge of the roof, and she sees it all, and it’s all so big, and it’s all so small. The entire realm under her, the tree where Telal’s grave was, the forests in the distant where his body was buried, the temple where Val and Dina still laid rotting, the Daevite streets and paths that didn’t go where they went and the entire field where the directions made no sense, and she saw beyond the horizons, beyond SCP-9317, beyond her shitty dead-end apartment at Site-252 where she wrote about dead things for 30 minutes everyday, beyond the hospital wing of Site-19 that housed the broken body of the first person who’s ever taken her seriously, beyond her parent’s house where she promised herself that she’d make it pass the cripplingly lonely mediocrity that had dominated her entire existence, and she screamed.

For a moment, nothing in the world existed. Not August, not Arthur, not Anna, not Alberto, not the castle nor the realm, not the giant locked chamber behind her and the dead-alive thing locked inside of it, not the world outside (if it still existed) and not even her. There is only the screaming.

She screamed, and then she just kept on screaming, and she does not know if it is because she feels triumphant over evil, or because she feels completely, horrifically alone in an absurd universe that just takes what it wants, or if they’re the same thing, because she doesn’t know what she’s feeling, and then she just kept on screaming until her voice goes hoarse and she’s coughing up what she’s pretty sure is blood.

Then someone puts their hand on her shoulder and gives her a few pats, and suddenly, it becomes all too normal again, and she just sighs, and hangs her head.

“Oh, God,” says Hannah Xob. “Oh, dear //God//.”

And the noise was there again, that background screech, unending and unwavering, like it came back just for her, louder than ever. Like it heard her scream, and now it was howling back in sympathy.

[[/div]]

------

[[div class="document"]]

+ Goodbye

It’s done. My contact at the Foundation came through. I have almost all of the pieces, and there’s only one thing left to do. The Horizon Initiative has heard me out, and the Oneiroi Collective has agreed to take me up on the offer. I think that the time for truth is fast approaching. I can hear them calling to me. My family, and my Red God.

By the time this letter reaches you, It’ll already have been done. I will no longer of this mortal coil. I don’t know what lies on the other end, but I hope that one day, I will make it through, I will make it back, and I will see you again.

Thank you for reading my letters all these years. I’m so sorry I was never for you when you needed me. You deserved more, so much more than what this cruel world has put you through, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t just take it all away.

Thank you, Sarah. I’m glad we met in the big city. That night, I was looking for my faith, but it was you who saved my soul.

@@ @@

Forever your friend, always.
AWH.

[[/div]]

------

[[div style="border:solid 3px maroon; background:#000000; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]

+ The House By The Lake

[[div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/Door4.png link=#]]
[[div class="scp-image-caption"]]
"Proverbs 7:27"
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

She felt like howling, too, but nothing comes out these days. That well had run dry long ago.

Everyday, she feels it. Something slips away from her, and it’s always something crucial, but the work must be done.

It’s been four months, she’s counted. Four months since she went to meet with that woman in that house by the lake. She can’t remember her face, or what they talked about. That part’s gone too. She still remembers seeing the antlers for the first time, and realizing beyond all doubt that she was now not in a world of her own.

//(Was there something in the tea?)//

Four months in, and the //thing// inside of her stomach wanted out. It clawed at her from the inside. It talks to her in a voice that only she hears. It was developing too quickly. It is a hateful, watchful thing, and it would not die, no matter what she tried. And //she// would not die, no matter what she tried. She’s not sure if she’s still capable of that.

//(Sometimes absolutely horrible things happen to innocent people for no reason at all and there’s absolutely no meaning in any of it.)//

Four months of hearing screaming down the hall from the other rooms, four months of coming to awful inhuman realizations after realizations that tested the limits of her psyche beyond what any human should be capable of experiencing, of what had happened, of the fact that no one was coming, that no one was looking for her. She turned to hope, and her hopes went unanswered. She turned to faith, but prayers did not escape this place. Nothing did.

//(Sometimes absolutely horrible things happen to innocent people because the universe is a sick and twisted place, and we can’t fight against it.)//

She remembers the first time trying to communicate with the girl in the next room. The sheer horror of it all, the cold comfort of solidarity, and the despair when she stopped talking like a human being, and she was alone again. She remembers feeling emotions without name when the next girl was carried down here, in the cell next to hers. She remembers hours of screaming inarticulately through the little hole in the door from which tainted food came. Insults, then pleading, then wrath, and everything else in-between. There was never a response.

//(Sometimes absolutely horrible things happen to innocent people because people are inherently horrible, and innocence is an aberration.)//

Four months of breaking down and rebuilding herself again. Four months of losing hope and desperately trying to find it again in a matter of minutes. Four months of expressing all the forms of protests that a human body is capable of in the face of something so universally vast and malignant and uncaring that she can’t see past no matter what she tries. She cannot picture her life a year from now.

//(Sometimes absolutely horrible things happen to innocent people because God is good, and He wants to test us against the works of the Devil. To forge us into impervious steel.)//

Four months of scribbling down notes.  Because even if //she// doesn’t make it out, if none of them makes it out, someone will know. Someone has to know. Prickling her finger for blood, tearing off the rags she wore for paper, she documented the entirety of her world, as seen through the doors of the food window. There is a small gap between the bricks of her cell that no one can find unless they know where to look for it.

//(Sometimes absolutely horrible things happen to innocent people because God has been the Devil all along, and this is just the Law of Creation.)//

She writes about the strange pictures on the wall. She writes down what she sees in the opposite room sometimes, full of strange mementos and books and sculptures. She writes down the layout of the house, the details that she can remember. She writes down the names of the girls in the other rooms.

//(Sometimes absolutely horrible things happen to innocent people because there is no God.)//

She writes about the antlered woman, who wrote in the little Campus notebooks in the other room. Who collected and categorized human bones and intricately tied strings and fabrics to them. Who set up the little altar after she first came here, and then again after the girl that came after. She wrote about the intricate gray door that she carried into the tomb one day, that she hammered into the stone wall at the end of the hall. She wrote about the two sculptures that the woman carved one night, and the look in her eye when she did it.

//(Sometimes absolutely horrible things happen to innocent people just because.)//

The eyes of a cold, cruel, and uncaring God.

//(Absolutely horrible things.)//

And today, she was writing again. And the thing in her stomach kicked so hard that it felt like her ribs would crack, but she kept on writing. And that’s when she hears the footsteps. She slams the thin piece of fabric into the gap, and stands up, but then there are too many of them. There are too many footsteps. Unfamiliar ones.

She watched as armored men made their way into the room, and something in her heart swells. She had forgotten how to hope. She screamed through the gates, she told them that she was there, she asked them to save her…

//(A long time later, someone would write a book about that particular incident, and they'd muse about what could've happened if the team hadn’t proceeded any further, if they’d just unlocked the doors, gotten the girls out, and just left while they still could.)//

The most haunting moment, when she looked back, was when one of the men locked eyes with her. They’d all heard her, of course, the hallway was tiny, but barely any of them glanced at her. That man locked eyes with her, blinked, and then just casually turned away. Hope is replaced by something else as she kept screaming, and the men kept streaming past her, toward their true mission. She kept screaming until after they were out of eyesight.

//(Most of the time though, it’s pretty simple. Absolutely horrible things happen to innocent people because people just don’t care.)//

After a dreadfully long pause, they started screaming back.

A few hours later, the antlered woman came down, and she watched as the Second Acolyte walked past her cell, the dirt floor squelching beneath her feet as she stepped through blood and viscera.

//“You won’t get away with this,”// she whispers to her through gritted teeth and tears. //”God will strike you down for what you’ve done.”//

And the antlered woman, covered in dust and blood, just stared at her, then walked on.

//“God will strike you down for what you’ve done!”// She screams. And a part of her knows that it wasn’t true. Because this place, and the things that happen here are all outside of His conception. Because God isn’t here right now, and it’s not likely that he ever was.

But that wasn’t correct, either. Because God //is// here. He is closer everyday, and every night, she hears Him laughing at her from down the hall.

//(In time, she’d trade the dirty stone cell for a modern, clean hospital room, but that’s [http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-231 a story for another day.] Most times, absolutely horrible things happen to innocent people because someone gets something out of it.)//

...however, all it takes is one little clue to get out. And sometimes, the dead can topple empires that the living could never touch.

[[/div]]

------

[[div style="border:solid 3px maroon; background:#000000; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

+ __SCP-9317-Ω-CASTLE Analysis__

[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-features-source |hover-enlarge=--]
|enlarge-amount=12
|speed=100
|float=true
|align=right
|width=300px
|url=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/CastleSimplified.png
|alt=alt|alt-text=Image Description Here
|add-caption=true
|caption=Simplified diagram of SCP-9317-Ω-CASTLE. Hover to enlarge.
]]

**Description:** SCP-9317-Ω-CASTLE, henceforth “the castle”, refers to a large castle of indeterminate size [[footnote]]Prolonged direct observation of the castle apparently causes a mild cognitohazardous effect that confuses the viewer. As such, accurate measurements have yet to be taken.[[/footnote]] that exists within SCP-9317-Ω. The castle is located on a small islet in the middle of a large boiling lake, which renders it inaccessible by most conventional means.

Prior to the arrival of MTF-GIGAS, the islet on which the castle was located was infested by several hundred instances of SCP-9317-Ω-4, which had survived on the islet, apparently isolated, for an indeterminate amount of time. Most of these entities were later neutralized to permit ease of access, aside from a single live specimen which has been captured for study.

As of now, the origins of the castle, whether it exists as a part of SCP-9317-Ω or was constructed by an outside party remains disputed. Initially thought to be a traumatic imprint similar to the buildings of Psuedo-Daevon, materials in the castle were found to be completely material, and subject to lasting change and destruction. Regardless, it is believed that some form of thaumaturgy was used in the construction of the castle, as indicated by a few signs in its physical make-up.[[footnote]] Notably, lack of lines in certain areas of the brick face, unusually perfect detailing, and a “fizz” upon exposure to Hume counters. [[/footnote]]

Advanced geometric calculations reveal that the castle is located at the exact epicenter of SCP-9317-Ω, which according to the theories of Dr. Paxton, would suggest some sort of spiritual or thaumaturgical significance to the operation of the realm. Investigation of this is underway.

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**Investigation:** SCP-9317-Ω-CASTLE is composed of seven floors (refer to above diagram) and houses a number of artifacts of interest. The following section will catalogue the contents of each floor.

A helix staircase is present in the middle of the castle, wrapping around a large pillar. Notably, all floors were infested with SCP-9317-Ω-4 instances upon discovery, but numbers tapered off towards the upper levels.

------

**1st Floor:** The ground floor. The entire floor is designed similarly to a panopticon, with three sub-floors, all containing entrances to dozens of small individual rooms. All rooms appears to contain a small flat rock plain, apparently designed to be used as a bed. No other materials were recovered from the rooms, save for a large amount of heavily decomposed biological materials, presumed to be the remains of dead SCP-9317-Ω-4 instances.

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**2nd Floor:** Found to contain a large amount of decorative strings, fabrics, and wiring that fed into and outside of the castle walls. The floor was otherwise empty. Notably, the surfaces of the walls were found to be covered in intricate designs and patterns, apparently composed out of human blood. Notably, the designs were somewhat reminiscent of circuit patterns on computer components. Further investigation revealed that the decorative materials were composed of a mixture of fabrics and wool, as well as small human bones, and apparently dried sinews.

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**3rd Floor:** Room housed only an intricate mechanical array that looped around the room in a circle. On the array was a large crystalline lantern that emanated red light around the room. The mechanical array slowly propelled the lantern in a circle across the room through an unknown mechanism. At least two observers later reported feelings of temporary infatuation towards the lantern, possibly signalling some form of memetic influence. Thin holes were created in the ceiling of the room that lead to the fourth floor, apparently to let the lantern’s light through.


[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**4th Floor:** Room contained a large amount of stone tablets on the walls, arranged into a spiral pattern. Most of the stone tablets had writing etched into it in Proto-Daevite. Thin holes in the floor of the room allowed light from the lantern to shine onto the tablets. As the array moved the lantern around the third floor, the holes would allow the lantern’s light to sweep through the tablets in a circular manner before returning to its original position. See //“Further Analysis”// section for more information regarding the contents of the stone tablets.

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-block
name=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/Bloodweaver.png|
caption=Scan of a daevon bloodweaver spider. Note stinger.|
width=240px
]]

**5th Floor:** Room contained an immense amount of spiderwebs. A large amount of spiders resides in this room. Upon examination, the spiders were revealed to be the long-extinct //daevon bloodweaver// spider - a race of red, venomous, scorpion-like 7-legged spiders, the fossils of which were discovered at several Daevite archaeological sites.

Living instances as well as venom samples are currently being catalogued. Information as well as samples are to be delivered to the Department Of Parazoology as well as the Department Of Paraentomology upon completion of the mission.

See //“Further Analysis”// section for more information regarding certain behaviors during the mid-day period.



[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**6th Floor:** Room contained large amounts of decorative materials identical to the type found on the 2nd floor. These materials emerged from the walls, and all fed into the ceiling, presumably connecting to something in the 7th floor. The staircase did not lead upwards into the next floor, but onto a terrace-like area on top of the castle.

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**7th Floor:** The seventh floor consists of a single large chamber on the terrace of the 6th floor, accessible by a large door. However, no means of accessing this door has been discovered, as the door is apparently thaumaturgically locked and fortified. Thaumaturgical decoding of the floor is on-going.

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**Further Analysis:** After it became apparent that the tablets on the fourth floor were all written in Proto-Daevite, we decided that we needn’t bother with translating the text, as none of us knew the language - and our translator was already deceased. We made plans to archive each tablet and move on, but it was then that Weider-Hoffman revealed that he had a basic grasp on Proto-Daevite. He didn’t explain how he came to learn of the long-dead language, but it was decided that his input would be valuable here.

The following are several synopsis of the tablet’s contents, as described by Weider-Hoffman. He has since expressed interest in working with Foundation resources in order to produce complete translations in the future.

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**Details:** Small stone tablet, intricately painted with blood. Third row from bottom. Northern wall.

------

**Synopsis:** “Seems to be something from a Daevite temple. Stuff about God sending down commands from the sky, leading the Daevites into war with the other tribes and villages, and what not. Very, uh, descriptive text about the tortures that the Daevites meted out to the other populations. They were quite creative back then, yes?”

------

**Notes:** Stone used for the tablet seems very close in composition to the stone back at the temple encountered previously.

[[/div]]

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**Details:** Large cracked tablet, engraved, positioned at the very bottom of the floor. Southern wall.

------

**Synopsis:** “Alright, so, this is just it in my words, but this one seems to tell some sort of story. It’s about two Daevite slaves who ran away from the empire. They encounter some sort of sea god, or river god, and the god asks what they wish for. They say they wish they knew the way to escape, and the god asks for their heart. So, uh, the god takes one of the slaves away. The god feeds on his Montauk while he cries for several days, but then he finds land, but then he returns to the shore and tries to drown himself, because of what he did. The god returns, and gives the other slave back to him. Then the god delivers some aesop about how the only thing they need to escape is to never turn their backs on one another. Pretty nice story.”

------

**Notes:** This is almost exactly the contents of “The Blood Man On The Lake,” but I cannot account for the altered ending, or why it was written in Proto-Daevite, though the 1972 tablet was in late-era Daevite.

[[/div]]

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**Details:** Large totem pole, carvings with illustrations. Fifth from the bottom row. Eastern wall.

------

**Synopsis:** “Instructions on carving and killing prey animals as a sacrifice for God. From the antlers, I assume that’s a deer. There’s stuff about the patterns to use, how to cut the flesh. I can’t make out what that last picture is, either, but according to the text, it depicts God waging holy war against… something. It ends with this a diagram of how to position the deer carcasses. Seven deers, one for each of his brides.”

------

**Notes:** One of the sides of the totem is obscured by the wall. A continuation of the text probably lies on the other side, but it’ll have to be examined by someone who knows what they’re doing.

[[/div]]

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**Details:** Rough metal, engravings. Seventh from bottom row. Western wall.

------

**Synopsis:** “A story of a Daevite woman who tries to commit suicide by falling into a well. Somehow, the well falls through the world, and into the realm of God. She meets one of God’s three acolytes, who asks the woman various questions about her life. She confesses to her life’s hardships, y’know, her lover was flayed because it was the Daevite empire, her best friend was murdered, that kind of stuff. Then God appears, and he gives her the gift of Montauk. He says it’s power over all existence, but she can either take it, or continue falling to death. So, she takes the gift, and suddenly she’s back to just before she fell down the well, but this time she walks away. I guess the story here is, uh, life is what you make of it?”

------

**Notes:** More confusion. This is the first time I’m hearing about the Scarlet King having three acolytes. Plus, there wasn’t even any sacrifice in this one. I’ll have to re-read my notes on Montauk again when I get out.

[[/div]]

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**Details:** Mixed. Item is cobbled together out of pieces of other artefacts, including tablets, wood carvings, and other mixed items. The result is a very rough mosaic of a cyclopic, antlered, one-eyed figure with a hulking body. Closest to the ceiling. Southern wall.



------

**Synopsis:** “It just says the Red… no, //the Scarlet// King.”

------

**Notes:** The redness made it hard to notice, but seven chains has been drawn on top of the mosaic in blood. Surprisingly, the first instance we've seen of the chains.


[[/div]]

Further research on the other tablets will be added later, but for now, I will say that I have a strange foreboding feeling for some reason. Obviously, some nuance is probably lost in translation, but it’s undeniable that a certain amount of these tablets is describing a much different deity than the rest. I don’t know what this implicates just yet.

Upon closer inspection, we’ve also discovered what looked like erosion on some of the tablets. Some of it covering the writing. For some reason, they looked quite recent, too. More bafflingly, when we placed one of the tablets under enhanced analysis, it appears that the erosion was somehow mending. Unlike the castle, were these tablets in fact traumatic imprints? Or have they simply been thaumaturgically treated?

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]
**Further Analysis - Addendum:** Something just happened. I don’t know what to make of it. At about mid-day, my alarm sounded. It’s something that Val set up that I forgot about. I was coming down to the camp, when I came down through the 5th floor. As previously documented, an immense amount of daevon bloodweavers resides on this floor. However, as I saw then, tens of thousands of these spiders were //rushing// downwards, scurrying through tiny cracks in the floor.

We found them covering the walls on the 4th floor, and it wasn’t apparent what they were doing at first, but after 30 minutes they returned to the 5th floor, and we discovered what it was: They were depositing venom on the tablets.

For some reason, they seemed to have been trying to erode the tablets in a very specific manner. They must do this everyday as the tablets reconstituted themselves, which explains the previous signs of erosion. We noticed that many tablets now had entire lines, sentences, and sections missing entirely. I immediately retrieved Weider-Hoffman and asked him what seemed to have changed. He spent several minutes re-reading things, and this is what he said:

[[div class="blockquote"]]

“It’s… it’s like they removed all of the inconsistent parts. You know what I mean? Earlier, it was as if we were reading about two completely different gods, but now, all the contradictory stuff has been scrubbed. All that’s left is a pretty clear depiction of the Scarlet King. He has seven brides, he kills people and gets people killed in his name, he feeds on Montauk and grants boons in exchange for sacrifices.”

[[/div]]

All of this is beginning to paint a picture for me, and I don’t think I like what’s being spelled out. Tomorrow, I have some thaumaturgical analysis of the door to do, but after that, we’ll go back to translating the tablets when they’re legible again.

I still haven’t managed to read Dina’s notes, yet.

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**Notes:** I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking about everything in this castle. The tablets, the spiders wearing away at them, the lantern that moves around to... scan them? I'm missing something, because I feel like this all feels incredibly familiar to me, yet I can't remember what it reminds me of. It's driving me nuts.

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**Notes:** I think I know what the things in the castle reminds me of.

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**Notes:** What the fuck.

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**Notes:** I swear im not fucking insane

[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-features-source |hover-enlarge=--]
|enlarge-amount=6
|speed=100
|float=false
|align=right
|width=400px
|url=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/ScrantonAnchor.png
|alt=alt|alt-text=Image Description Here
|add-caption=true
|caption=Recovered from "The Containment Handbook 101" by Dr. Robert Scranton.
]]

[[/div]]

[[div class="darkdocument"]]

**Notes:** what is behind that door on floor 7?

[[/div]]

[[/div]]

------

[[div style="border:solid 3px maroon; background:#000000; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]

+ Call Of The Void

[[div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/Beach.png link=#]]
[[div class="scp-image-caption"]]
"Here with you."
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

Hannah didn’t know why she woke up at that particular time. She didn’t usually wake up in the middle of the night, but for some reason, it felt urgent that she was conscious at this time of night.

Similarly, something compelled her to exit the tent. The gray moon is high in the sky. It’s the middle of the night, and she still doesn’t really know why she’s out here. Maybe a walk would clear her mind?

Alberto and Vaughan said that they would be examining the castle up until sunrise. August’s shift would start in two hours, and hers would start in five, so that means that as of right now, the person on watch would be Anna. Oh, right. Anna was also holding onto some of Telal’s medical supplies. Hannah wondered if they’d packed some Ambien before coming here.

So, she put one foot in front of the other, and started dragging herself to the place where Anna usually sat. She spotted her soon enough. She tapped her on the shoulder.

No response. Anna was sleeping.

Mildly annoyed, she was about to shake her awake when suddenly something occurred to her. She glanced over to August’s tent, and felt her heart drop almost immediately. The tent was opened.

“Anna, Anna! Where the //hell// is August!?” Hannah shouted, her hands on Anna’s shoulder, shaking her back and forth. Anna shot up, shaking and terrified, and looked around. “She’s gone, did you see where she went!?”

“N-no, fuck, I’m- I’m so sorry. Oh, //Christ!//” Anna said as she got up. August hadn’t been well ever since Daniela and Val died. They didn’t want to say anything to each other, because they hadn’t been well either. There was an implicit understanding, and they didn’t think they would slip up, but it was a stupid decision to look away like that. Stupid. //Stupid.//

They decided to split up. Hannah would go search around the island, and Anna would search in the castle. Armed with nothing but her flashlight, Hannah started sprinting around the little Islet, past the little camp they’d set up near the shore, past the little locked cage that housed the little devil cyclop that stared at them, past the mountain of monster corpses that now littered the shore. She kept running until she was almost on the other end of the islet, and that’s when she found her.

She was staring into the boiling sea, feet merely inches from the lapping void water. The steam rose up into the nightsky, surrounding her form as the wind gently blew around her. Hannah couldn’t make out August’s face. She yells her name, but the wind seems to carry the sound away, so she started picking up speed, so she start running-

//(She’s been hearing the call of void all her life. All of them have been, even before they got here. Their work kept it down, but there’s not enough to go around.)//

August takes one small step towards the shore. She takes a deep breath. The sand sizzles as the caustic void water laps at her feet. She was sobbing. Then, she hears something, and turns her head to see-

Well, she doesn’t see much, because in a split second, they were a crumpled intertwined mess on the sand. Hannah had leaped onto her, but apparently had miscalculated the jump quite a bit.

“What the //fuck,// August?! Are you serious?! We’re only a few days away from being //done// with all this mess! You wanna give up //now?!//” Hannah shouted, wide-eyed and shaking. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as she waited for a reply, but none came.

“Jesus //Christ,// Auggie, my God…” She says, holding her face in her hand, and the horror of the past few days flows over her again, and August just reaches up and taps her.  “What, what //is// it? What are you…”

//“Hannah, I can’t… breath…”// August gasped, struggling under the weight of Hannah’s elbow and entire upper body pressing down on her lungs. Hannah barely even notices until she looks down.

“What are you- Oh, oh //shit,// I am //so// sorry-”

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**AUDITORY RECORDS - GIGAS**

------

//##grey|[Alberto Weider-Hoffman and Agent Vaughan are both on the terrace of the 6th floor. Vaughan is shining a special light onto the door that increases the contrast of the door’s surface, revealing very faint engravings. Weider Hoffman is inspecting the engravings very carefully.]##//

//##grey|[After a long time, Weider-Hoffman speaks.]##//

**Weider-Hoffman:** It’s a story as old as time. Two people finding each other in a strange place where neither belonged. They are both in search of something bigger than themselves, so they join forces, hoping that each of them could assist the other through their quest.

**Agent Vaughan:** Carry on.

**Weider-Hoffman:** So, the two of them faced obstacles and hardships. They meet enemies that became allies, and allies that became enemies. They are put through the wringer time and time again, going through all the myriads of pain and despair that life had to offer them. They face death, and destruction, and a million other beasts. But at the end of the story, they finally meet God, and they demand what they’d sought after all these years.

**Agent Vaughan:** And then?

**Weider-Hoffman:** And God asks them what they seeked. And for both of them, it’s a list of things. Meaning, purpose, a place in the cosmos. A reason for being. And God says…

**Agent Vaughan:** Let me guess, it was in them the whole time?

**Weider-Hoffman:** Well, not them. It was in //each other//, but I guess it’s not that big of a distinction.

**Agent Vaughan:** Certainly a bit childish. You are sure that this is what it says?

**Weider-Hoffman:** Oh yes. It’s a nice tale, I liked it.

**Agent Vaughan:** Then how does it help us open the door?

//##grey|[Weider-Hoffman smiles, then turns to face Vaughan.]##//

**Weider-Hoffman:** Well, it doesn’t. Maybe it’s not //meant// to?

//##grey|[At that moment, Agent Newman runs onto the terrace. She catches her breath. It’s obvious that she’s just ran up the entire castle without stopping.]##//

**Weider-Hoffman:** Anna! What’s wrong?

**Agent Newman:** Alberto… ##grey|*huff*## Artie… Look, I… Auggie wasn’t in her tent… I don’t know where she is…

//##grey|[Weider-Hoffman’s eyes widen, and he rushes to the edge of the terrace. Arthur furrows his brows.]##//

**Agent Vaughan:** Why would she be gone?

**Agent Newman:** Look, she’s… ##grey|*huff*## she’s not been too //well// these past few days… After Val and Dina, so we… we were concerned that… that she’d…

**Weider-Hoffman:** Isn’t that her?

//##grey|[Agent Newman runs to the edge of the terrace as well, peering down below. Weider-Hoffman points out two tiny figures walking along the shore back towards camp. Agent Newman lets out a sigh of relief.]##//

**Agent Newman:** Oh my fucking stars…

//##grey|[Agent Newman starts walking down the stairs again. Weider-Hoffman advises her to not sprint on her way down. She acknowledges it with a thumbs up.]##//

**Weider-Hoffman:** Do you think that we should check up on her?

**Agent Vaughan:** No. We’ll stay until we open this door.

[[/div]]

//“You were sleep-walking?!”// Anna shouts at the two of them. Hannah had carried August back on her shoulder. Hannah had a strange smile for some reason, and August looked almost embarrassed.

“So basically, sleep-walking is when you get up in the middle of the night, then you-” Hannah explains, but is interrupted.

“I //know// what //sleep-walking//, you ass! I just mean- Auggie, you have no idea what a scare you gave me and Xob!” Then suddenly, Anna’s voice softened. “Are you feeling well, Auggie? Seriously.”

“I’m fine! I’m feeling okay. I’m just… I’m sorry I frightened you both like that. I think I’ll just go back to sleep now, before it’s my shift…”

“Your shift’s not gonna happen, Auggie. You sleep now until morning, me and Xob, we’re gonna cover it, okay?”

“But-”

“No buts. It won’t be an issue, I mean, there’s a bunch of stimulants that we have in the emergency arms kit, I’m gonna crack those open. It’s what they’re here for.” Anna puts her hand on August’s shoulder, “You need to sleep. We’ll only be here until we get the door open, and then after that, we can go back to the forest. At that point, we can try to contact the Foundation again when the mission schedule ends.”

“Thanks, Anna…” says August. “Yeah, uh, good night. Sorry for all this trouble. Both of you.”

“It’s no issue,” says Hannah, as she limps back to August’s tent.

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**AUDITORY RECORDS - GIGAS**

------

//##grey|[A tent unzips.  Hannah carries August inside and gently places her on her bed. She sighs, then zips the tent up again. Both of their facial expressions almost immediately revert to a pensive, downcast look.]##//

//##grey|[They do not say anything for a while.]##//

**Agent Xob:** Do you… want to talk about it?

//##grey|[Brief silence.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** …I’m sorry. It’s just… it’s just been so much lately…

**Agent Xob:** I know, I know…

**Agent Kilroy:** Telal, and Val, and Dina… all of that happening, all like that… I just… oh my God. I… is this what MTF agents usually deal with, everyday?

**Agent Xob:** Yeah.

//##grey|[Silence.]##//

**Agent Xob:** Well, uh, I mean, there are worse cases and better cases. Usually, it… //usually//, it doesn’t go so wrong this quick. But… I mean… hey! When we get back, we can always find something better to do.

//##grey|[Silence.]##//

**Agent Xob:** Auggie. It’s okay, it’s been awful, but we’re almost at the //end//. There’s only a few days left. We just gotta make it back, and then things’ll be fine. You can find some cushy job, doing mathematic stuff, or draw maps in some less volatile place, y’know?

//##grey|[Silence.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** …I can’t.

**Agent Xob:** What? Why?

//##grey|[Agent Kilroy places her hand over her eyes. She’s speaking in a way that Hannah had never heard her speak before.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** …this was my last chance.

**Agent Xob:** What do you mean, last chance at what?

**Agent Kilroy:** …working at the Foundation.

**Agent Xob:** What, as an agent? Auggie, I mean, uh, no offense. I didn’t think it meant that much to you, but-

**Agent Kilroy:** No, just… in //general//. I’m… I’m at //Black Notice.//

**Agent Xob:** What does //that// mean?

**Agent Kilroy:** It’s… some dumb HR term. It just means you’re basically useless to the Foundation, and you’re about to get //fired//. You’re good at what you do, I’m sure you haven’t heard of it, but…

**Agent Xob:** Oh, //fuck.// I’m so sorry to hear that, Auggie…

**Agent Kilroy:** It’s… It’s not so bad. Usually. If you //were// useful, for a while, I hear they try to set you up with some benefits. Some work, maybe. Not much, ex-employees can’t feel betrayed if they don’t remember, but… sometimes, they do that.

//##grey|[Silence.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** …you can probably tell. I didn’t… uh, I wasn’t //that// useful. So, I was looking at the standard package for termination.

**Agent Xob:** …which is?

**Agent Kilroy:** Amnesticization. No benefits. No healthcare, no severance, just ceremoniously dumped back into your old life, whatever still remains. Just a paper trail, and some mental blocks to keep you from questioning what you spent all those years doing.

//##grey|[Silence.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** I… I’d rather die than //that.//

**Agent Xob:** Auggie, I mean, that’s-

**Agent Kilroy:** No, no, trust me. I //meant// what I said. You don’t know the half of it. So…

//##grey|[Silence.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** …things just didn’t get better. Not //once//. After Theta-90, I had trouble finding more work, so I tried research assistance, but… it just… didn’t work out. I don’t know why, I just kept making mistakes. I couldn’t //connect// with anyone. I tried to do containment optimization, but that fell through, too. A year in, and I was basically moving from job to job without actually having done anything, so… they tell me I’ve got to stick to one thing. One thing, or I’m out. Permanently. So… I just selected doing paperwork. Little office in the back of Site-883, typing up containment efficiency parameters on Excel. 

//##grey|[Silence.]##//

**Agent Xob:** Did… something happen?

**Agent Kilroy:** //Nothing// happened, I just… it…

//##grey|[Silence.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** …I don’t know how some people //do// it, y’know?

**Agent Xob:** What, Excel? Yeah, beats me.

//##grey|[Agent Kilroy laughs.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** No, Hannah. I just mean… okay, it’s something I hear about. People who pick one of the small little bureaucratic jobs in the Foundation, y’know? Doing the boring stuff, out of sight, out of mind. They keep quiet, they //never// make waves, and they do it day after day after day. They live in their tiny Foundation apartments, and they keep the same routine. For //years//. And they never feel bothered, or anything. Have you ever heard about that?

**Agent Xob:** …No. Not really.

**Agent Kilroy:** It sounded //depressing// to me at first. Someone told me when I first joined that that’s what //I// should do, if it all becomes too overwhelming. Finding a job where you just… //existed//, because you could live for very long just feeding on the Foundation’s bureaucracy. And now, I was in that exact position.

//##grey|[Pause.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** …I shouldn’t have been alone with my thoughts for so many hours everyday, for so long. I was on my last chance. I was too terrified to get another job. I couldn’t quit the Foundation. I could never, //ever// go back. Socializing was still just... //agonizing,// no matter how hard I tried. I didn’t know why, I didn’t know how it could be so difficult just //talking//.

//##grey|[Pause.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** I don’t think I even said a word to anyone after the first two months. And everyday, I just… did the same things. Then I went back to a dark room to just //think// for the rest of the day, and I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t stop //thinking.// Everyday. And it felt...

**Agent Xob:** You… felt like you were at a dead end, that you were trapped, yeah?

**Agent Kilroy:** Eight months. I had that job for eight months. And I don’t know why, but just existing… It was so //exhausting.// And it just… never got better. Once. And… one day, I just… I just…

//##grey|[Pause. Agent Xob places her hand on Agent Kilroy’s shoulder.]##//

**Agent Xob:** Auggie…

**Agent Kilroy:** I know. I’m… not //proud// of it, either. But I need to //admit// it.  I saw the high-risk tag, and I…

**Agent Xob:** No, I mean…

**Agent Kilroy:** I was already on //Black Notice//. There was nothing else I //could// do. I really didn’t plan on making out of it //alive.// I figured it was a good… good way to go. At least I would go as an //agent// - not stuck in a //cubicle.//

//##grey|[Agent Xob embraces Agent Kilroy.]##//

**Agent Xob:** //Auggie.// I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine…

**Agent Kilroy:** It’s okay, I… It’s… I changed my mind afterwards. Y’know? Because… I met you.

//##grey|[Silence.]##//

**Agent Xob:** Wait, really?

**Agent Kilroy:** I’m not lying, I promise! Hahah, seriously… It was when you saw my logo. No one’s ever reacted that way towards my art before. And… that really made me consider things. If you can believe it… you //saved// me, Hannah.

//##grey|[Silence.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** Hah, what's with that face?

**Agent Xob:** Uh, Auggie, look, I…

**Agent Kilroy:** Oh, don’t worry. I //knew// you didn’t like the logo. I could see it all over your face, then. I’m talking about when I asked you again afterwards, and you said that it looked good.

**Agent Xob:** …I don’t understand. You’re saying that I… saved you… because I lied?

**Agent Kilroy:** No, Hannah. I’m saying you saved me because you were trying to be //nice.// No one’s ever reacted that way with me. Most people… most people don’t even act like I //exist.//

**Agent Xob:** I… I mean, I’ll take it. And for what it’s worth… the logo’s grown on me.

**Agent Kilroy:** Hey, you’re doing it again!

//##grey|[Agent Xob and Agent Kilroy laugh.]##//

**Agent Xob:** I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I just… I mean, hey, //Liam// liked your logo too, didn’t he? That’s something.

//##grey|[Agent Kilroy's smile falters. She looks downward.]##//

**Agent Xob:** …was it something I said? Are you okay?

**Agent Kilroy:** It’s nothing. Hannah, honestly… meeting you here, meeting you guys, even Alberto... It’s been some of the //best// things that’s happened to me in ages. I just…

//##grey|[Agent Kilroy’s voice begins to crack.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** I just wish we could’ve met elsewhere. //Earlier.// I just wish we didn’t meet at the //end// of our lives.

**Agent Xob:** Auggie, I…

//##grey|[Agent Kilroy begins to cry. Her breath is ragged and uneven.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** I can’t believe it, you know? Because it’s all so //cruel.// I finally met people I could //connect// with… and it's on the mission where everyone //dies.// And now… there’s no //point.//

**Agent Xob:** Auggie, no, come on. Come on, //it's not…//

**Agent Kilroy:** You saw how Anna //looked// earlier, Hannah. When she talked about contacting the Foundation again. She doesn’t believe it, either. Everyone’s been talking //around// it for ages, like it’s something to deal with later. But //half of the team is dead.// And it's just… I always just feel like something //awful// is gonna happen, right around the corner… but even if we make it back unscathed… how are we even supposed to signal them, or //hear// from them?

**Agent Xob:** Auggie, listen to me! We’ll make it out, I’m telling you. The Foundation always knows what it’s doing. The Foundation has //ways// around this. We’re still on the mission schedule. They already gave us our mission, so they’re probably just waiting until the mission time ends. At that point, they’ll send in a back-up team. They managed to send us in, after all. And… even if that doesn’t work, because 9317 is broken, or something… we can just wait! Look at Alberto. He’s been here for years. But one thing that’s certain, Auggie, we //will// get out. 

**Agent Kilroy:** You really //think// so?

**Agent Xob:** I //know// so. We have a life //beyond// this place, Auggie. We have a future.

//##grey|[Agent Kilroy’s breathing is calming down, but she is still crying.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** I don’t know, Hannah… I just… even if we get out… what's //waiting// for us when we get back? I don’t know if I can go back to the life I had, just… //rotting away// in an empty room. There’s no nothing out there for me...

**Agent Xob:** You have //me//, Auggie. And Anna, and Alberto, and even though they’re not here, I really think that Val and Dina would’ve wanted you to //thrive//. And when we make it out, I //swear// to you… I’ll be there for you. We all will.

**Agent Kilroy:** You… you mean it?

**Agent Xob:** What do you think? Does it //look// like I’m lying?

//##grey|[Agent Kilroy manages a smile, though her tears are still flowing.]##//

**Agent Kilroy:** Hahah… no. No, it doesn’t.

[[/div]]

And for the first time in a long while, it seemed like everything was gonna be okay for the two of them. August was smiling again, and they both knew that Hannah had meant every word. It’s a moment of connection that neither had experienced before in their lives, and would never experience again.

There were many things left unsaid, of course. Hannah considered telling August that she had joined the mission for the exact same reason as she did, but she thought better of it. August considered asking Hannah why she never mentioned Arthur when she listed everyone else, but she thought better of it.

Instead, the two shared this brief exchange.

“Would you like me to leave so you could sleep?” asks Hannah.

“If it’s alright, could you… stay a bit longer?” asks August.

And that’s what she did.

In the light of the monochrome moon and under the watchful eye of God, they embraced again, and she dried her tears, and they were both safe, and they were both happy, and they were both okay, and the red realm, the castle outside, the universe, everything else, it all ceased to exist, and the two of them were the only thing in the world. Twin centers of each other’s intertwined universes. A supernova in miniature.

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**Weider-Hoffman:** How about we stop for the night?

[[/div]]



[[/div]]

------

[[div style="border:solid 3px maroon; background:#000000; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]

+ Blindspots

[[div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/CompoundBurning.png link=#]]
[[div class="scp-image-caption"]]
"They deserved it, by the way. Unironically"
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

Conley’d worked tirelessly all his life to get rid of his blindspots. Leave no stone unturned, nothing left unchecked. Use them if possible, maybe. He’d gotten quite good at the shock and awe aspect of it, too.

The doors of the compound blasts open. Thick red smoke pours out, as angry gun-wielding, swastika-tattooed men pour out of the building. They saw Conley and the task force, and they aimed. Horror crept upon their face as they realized, one by one, that try as they might, their finger just wouldn’t press down.

//(On one of Conley’s first missions, their reconnaissance had gone badly. They’d lost contact with one of his friends prior to a raid. When direct action was approved two days later, they found him crucified on a post on the enemy’s front lawn. The state he was in was horrifying. The trauma seemed to have been unsurvivable, but then they approached the post, and the “body” jerked up to beg them to kill it.)//

Omicron-14 made short work of the first few dozen that came out the door. At that point, there were figures scrambling around the windows, so the two sides engaged. At that point, the other team was already streaming into the back of the building.

//(Back then, Conley’s commander stopped him from obliging the request. When they cut him down, they found packages of nerve gas and explosives surgically inserted into his body. He promised himself that they’d never be caught off-guard like that again. It was a lesson that he’s tried to instill into his team, ever since he made it to the top.)//

[[include :scp-wiki:component:image-features-source |image-change=--]
|blur-amount=10
|speed=300
|float=true
|align=right
|width=300px
|start-url=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/RussianNazi.png
|hover-url=https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/EnglishNazi.png
|alt1=alt|alt1-text=I fucking hate Nazis.
|alt2=alt|alt2-text=Did I mention I fucking hate Nazis?
|add-caption=true
|caption="Scarlet Legion recruitment posters - link is dysfunctional due to a typo in the domain name. Hover to translate."
]]

Hannah Xob rushed into the building, dispatching every single enemy combatant that she saw. Men in red hoods and white hoods and military garb and cheaply-made tactical vests purchased online, men wearing black and white graphic t-shirts with incorrectly-drawn occult symbols alongside swastikas and crosses and pentagrams.

A man cried as he backed into a bookshelf,  posters and slogan pins raining down on him - each of them decrying life’s meaninglessness, each proclaiming that the true sign of civilization is murder and rape and maiming and torture of the inferior. Surrounded by his killer ideology, he pissed himself, and begged for his life to be spared.

When all was clear, they all moved up the stairs.

//(It was a fire, and it was a fire that burned all around him, and it was a fire that warmed him. It wasn’t just war, it was a sacred ideal. They were warriors, something out of old legends. Good men and women in shining armor who fought demons and dragons. And Conley knew that what they had was pure, and good, and  incorruptible. Making the world a better place through gratuitous tribute to its oldest art, the art of violence.)//

Ulrich and Arthur sprayed bullets across the wall, painting it with fractals of blood and gunfire. All of the other task force members kept spraying as well. The compound was chosen to be isolated, hard to notice, and forgettable. Omicron-14 took full advantage of that. By the end of the next half hour, the last remaining enemy signature in the compound goes cold as Ulrich dragged a man with a giant swastika tattoo on his face out of the closet and slit his throat. But it wasn’t over yet, because they still hadn’t found what they were looking for.

//(...Or maybe that was just bullshit that he told himself to deal with the fact that things were changing, and that what they were doing these days just felt more like kicking the can down the road here.)//

“Watch for blindspots,” says Conley. “They have to be here, somewhere.”

They damn near turned half the compound upside down looking for them, but eventually, Hannah noticed it. It took a long time, but there it was. That sensation. As if by nature, she knelt down and examined the wall, and in tracing the invisible lines, it revealed herself to her. The invisible light that no one else could see, save for those in her line of work.

“It’s a sigil. A sigil for antimemetic cloaking,” says Hannah, as she traced her fingers around the door. “It’s… I broke it. We can use it now.”

A quick round of applause as a line of men and women in tactical suits celebrated her, and Hannah felt a bit giddy, soaking up all the compliments.

Equipment showed there were only three of them down there, and the stairs were quite small, so Conley ordered everyone else to start clean-up operations - get rid of all the fire, the blood, the bodies, and the debris. Arthur closed the door behind them as Hannah and Conley headed down into the dark.

Another door. Conley kicks it open and immediately ducks. Hannah fires two more shots. Then, they were in a small bunker with a bunch of computers, food supplies, and two dead skinheads. A third one cowered in the corner, scrambling for a gun. A third shot at his foot deterred him from coming any closer.

The computer screen was still open. Hannah could see that it was a bot farm, posting the offending images all over. She couldn’t make out much else, though, as she didn’t speak Russian.

[[div class="blockquote"]]

**AUDITORY RECORDS - OMICRON-14**

------

**O-14 Wormwood:** We have our man, then. Hannah, could you leave, please? We’ll do the interrogation and get up soon.

**O-14 Cassiel:** Are you sure?

**O-14 Wormwood:** I think we can handle 5 minutes with this jackass ourselves. Just tell the others to pack up after they’re done, I’m sure the plane’s coming back soon.

**O-14 Cassiel:** Alright.

**O-14 Wormwood:** And kid?

**O-14 Cassiel:** Yeah?

**O-14 Wormwood:** You did great today, especially with that door trick back there. I’m glad we’ve got you on the team. Woulda’ been a fuckin’ goose chase otherwise.

**O-14 Cassiel:** Ah, thanks, sir. I really appreciate that.

**O-14 Wormwood:** Mm.

##grey|//[The sound of footsteps can be heard as O-14 Cassiel exits the room. The door closes behind them.]//##

##grey|//[Silence, save for heavy breathing PoI-1377-RU.]//##

**O-14 Wormwood:** Arthur, get on the computer, get Disinformations on the line and tell them how to remove all the SCP-1377-RU instances, won’t you?

**O-14 Penemue:** Yes, sir.

##grey|//[PoI-1377-RU backs away as O-14 gets on the computer.]//##

**PoI-1377-RU:** Please… please don’t //kill// me.

**O-14 Wormwood:** You’ve made some pretty wonderful toys over the years, Andrei. I heard about you from one of my guys on the AWCY front. Your work was always too //avant-garde// for my taste. Always thought of myself as more of a //Cubism// guy.

**PoI-1377-RU:** You… know who I am?

**O-14 Wormwood:** I did some research on my way here. Know thy enemy. Enough to know that you’re not a Scarlet King cultist, Andrei. So, tell me, //why// are you working here in the bunker of a Russian neo-Nazi group, apparently spreading the good word of the Scarlet King among them? And tell me, why…

##grey|//[O-14 Wormwood points at the computer.]//##

**O-14 Wormwood:** …why do you have bot-farm, running 24/7, posting memetic hazards to get //little kids// to //kill themselves// in the name of a god that you don’t even //believe// in?

##grey|//[Silence.]//##

**PoI-1377-RU:** Listen, please, you have to //understand.// I’m not… I’m not like those //dumbasses// up there, okay? I don’t agree with them, I’ll be honest, I’m just an opportunist, if that-

##grey|//[O-14 Wormwood rushes ahead and grabs PoI-1377-RU by the neck, lifting him up. PoI-1377-RU claws at his arm.]//##

**O-14 Wormwood:** I’m not fucking around, you twisted //shit!// Do you know how many //kids// you’ve //killed?!// Do you //know// what we do to //sick fucks// like you?! //Do you!?//

**PoI-1377-RU:** //urrrp//

**O-14 Wormwood:** Is this just a fucking //joke// to you!? Kids are dead, and you think this is a fucking //gag!?//

**PoI-1377-RU:** //stop it’s urrp it’s a aughhh//

**O-14 Wormwood:** Say it, you //cunt!// Say it!

**PoI-1377-RU:** //it’s not meee ulpp it was a commissionnn//

**O-14 Wormwood:** …what?

##grey|//[O-14 Wormwood loosens his grip.]//##

**PoI-1377-RU:** It… oh, lord, it was a //commission.// I… someone sent it to me in a letter over a year ago. They sent me some Scarlet magic ritual instructions… and they sent me some money. They… //they// asked me to make it. It’s not //my// fault!

**O-14 Wormwood:** You… //what?//

**PoI-1377-RU:** Scarlet magic needed followers to work! I just… got local //help// from the Legion, I… I was just //posting it// because the client ghosted me afterwards, I just wanted to see if it //worked.//

**O-14 Wormwood:** Who… sent you that letter?

**PoI-1377-RU:** I don’t fucking know! It was unaddressed, the instructions told me to burn everything afterwards. I… fucking let //go//, you //asshole!// I was just doing a fucking //job!//

**O-14 Penemue:** Disinformations just got back to me. They managed to erase every single one of them and disabled the bot-farm.

##grey|//[O-14 Wormwood drops PoI-1377-RU onto the floor. He turns his back. He looks disturbed.]//##

**O-14 Wormwood:** You, //you…//

##grey|//[O-14 Wormwood turns around again, just to see O-14 Penemue drawing his gun.]//##

**O-14 Wormwood:** Wait-

##grey|//[O-14 Penemue dispatches PoI-1377-RU. O-14 Wormwood leaps back. O-14 Penemue turns to him, expectantly. Silence]//##

**O-14 Wormwood:** Arthur, what the fuck?!

##grey|//[O-14 Penemue drops his face.]//##

**O-14 Penemue:** Well, we were done, right?

**O-14 Wormwood:** What the //fuck// is wrong with you?! Why the hell did you do that!?

**O-14 Penemue:** I… I thought we were finished. You told me to dispatch all of them immediately, no need to stop and-

**O-14 Wormwood:** How the fuck am I supposed to //interrogate// a dead man?!

##grey|//[Silence.]//##

**O-14 Penemue:** Well, I’m sorry, sir. I… I just… I wanted…

##grey|//[O-14 Wormwood rubs his forehead. He stares blankly ahead in quiet contemplation.]//##

**O-14 Wormwood:** Over a year ago. It… it could’ve been any of them. Maybe we already took care of the issue. Maybe… //maybe…//

##grey|//[Silence.]//##

**O-14 Wormwood:** Fuck it. It’s too late for this. Goddammit. 

##grey|//[O-14 Wormwood walks up the stairs.]//##

**O-14 Penemue:** Sir, I’m sorry, but- What am I supposed to-

**O-14 Wormwood:** Arthur, shut up. Just erase everything on the computer. Don’t bring anything back. Completely wipe it. Like always.

[[/div]]

In the end, it was ironic that Conley’s obsession with avoiding blindspots was exactly what led to his downfall. The reason, of course, was that it made him think he was being careful, and that made him dangerously complacent. That, and the fact that he deified the job too much. He deified the work, he deified the missions, and he deified his team.

The worst blindspots are not the ones you can’t see. The worst blindspots are the ones that you knowingly turn away from. He loved the job too much, he loved the missions too much, and he loved his team too much. He let so much slip through his fingers in the end.

Arthur Vaughan watched as Conley went up the steps. He watched as Conley closed the doors behind him. He stayed in the dark for a long, long time, illuminated only by the dim grey light of the computer screen approaching sleep mode. Or maybe just a few minutes. He couldn’t tell the difference. He only snapped out of it when he heard the moaning. He looked down.

//“Hel… help… muh…”// says Andrei, blood streaming from a hole in his head. Glowing veins emanating blue light pulsates from his wound. Some esoteric last ditch attempt at avoiding death that wasn’t working quite so well. He clawed uselessly at Arthur’s boots.

Arthur just stared at the man, for a while longer, watching him struggle. Then, he brings his boots down on his head.

//”Pleas-”//

He keeps stomping until he breaks through bone. By the time he was done, Andrei was little more than a red pulp on the floor. He imagines Andrei’s face to be someone else’s. He smiles, and can’t stop smiling.

//(Conley had never really looked. Not at him, not into his eyes. Not really. Maybe if he did, he’d seen something behind those cloudy gray eyes, he’d see the fire, the ambition. The urge to devour the world whole.)//

Then it all goes away, and he is alone, and he is weak again, and the smile leaves his face so quick. Then, he is in the dark again.

//(But if Conley had looked even closer than that, he might’ve seen past all those superficial traits as well. Because just after the fire and the ambition and the urges was the void, and it went on forever.)//

So Arthur turns to the computer, and he pulls out from the sole of his boots a USB drive.

//(Then again, Conley had never really looked, after all.)//


[[/div]]

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= [[size 7em]]**__ACT V__**[[/size]]
= [[size 3em]]**DEAD YESTERDAY, NO TOMORROW**[[/size]]



[[div style="border:solid 3px maroon; background:#000000; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]

+ Malfeasance

[[div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/Nietzsche.png link=#]]
[[div class="scp-image-caption"]]
"I'm sorry, I just couldn't help myself."
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

The clock is ticking. Midnight is approaching. It is Christmas Eve, 1983, and within a few minutes, the Foundation will know if a three-year on-going XK-Scenario has been averted, or if their entire organization is doomed.

It is 11:58:24 PM.

There are oil slicks and dead bodies strewn across the room, which is itself filled with strange contraptions made out of metallic discs and elaborate glass sculptures. At the center of the room is an empty copper frame. Electrical currents run through the frame, and sparks appear every second.

A group of people stand outside the room. Some of them are weeping, while others are praying. Some appear terrified, while others betray nothing but a stern look of concern upon their face. Some are standing up, some are sitting. All of them were watching as the seconds ticked down.

It is 11:59:02 PM.

The O5 council watched as footage of the room was transmitted to their room in real time. It’s a special model, with as little delay as possible to make sure everything is timed in the acceptable parameters. Every single person in the room held a pill in their right hand.

It is 11:59:41 PM.

Everyone closes their eyes. Dr. Harley Rowe takes a deep breath as she prepares to pull the large lever in the back of the room.

It is 11:59:58 PM.

This could’ve been considered one of the greatest feats in Foundation history, if you really thought about it. Unfortunately, no one outside of this room and the O5s will ever learn of it.

It is 11:59:59 PM.

And of everyone in this room, only one individual will possess a complete recollection of the events that have transpired here over the last three years. Dr. Rowe flips the switch.

It is 12:00:00 AM.

There is a flash of light, and Dr. Russell Pater’s thin frame appears in the doorway. He is covered head-to-toe in blood, but it is not his own. A silver rod is still in his hand.

He looks up, and makes eye contact with everyone in the room simultaneously. The side-effects hadn’t worn off yet. He forces the words out, as clearly as he can, because he knows they’re on a timer here.

He remembers telling them that the entire team had died except for him. Dr. Paxton was dead. Xavier was dead. So was everyone else. The mission had been a success and they had 4 minutes, 32 seconds, and 93 milliseconds before catastrophic failure due active recall obliteration. 

Whatever was remaining in him is now no longer there, and he collapses. There is a second of silence as everyone registers what they’re seeing. The next second, there is practiced pandaemonium as everyone scrambled to their positions.

“Med team, we need a med team, stat!”

“Get me explosives! We need to take the device out, now-”

“-the amnestics, distribute the amnestics to everyone!”

Somewhere else, thirteen overseers takes thirteen amnestic pills and down thirteen glasses of water. Immediately afterwards, one of them pulled a level that sealed the conference room, releasing red gas from the vents.

A few more seconds, and Russell was on a stretcher, a nurse shining a light into his eye and asking him questions. Stimulants pumped its way into his veins. Dr. Wynn comes up to him and taps him on the shoulder. Russell almost didn’t make out what he said over all of the commotion.

“What in //God's name// happened to everyone else?” asks Dr. Wynn.

Russell says that he doesn't know.

“Was Dr. Paxton’s theorem correct? Was this a //true// Mortal-Dei…” Dr. Wynn got even closer to his face.

Russell places his hand over his eyes and moans something leaning towards affirmative.

“Dammit, stay conscious.” Dr. Wynn hissed, as he leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Did you //see// it die?”

Russell remembers growling another affirmation. The effects were wearing off too quickly. It was hard, getting used to having a body again, getting used to being physical…

“Okay, //good,// good. Because there’s no risk of us doing this.” Dr. Wynn said, and before Russell could react, he felt a sharp pain in his neck. He’d scream out, but Dr. Wynn’s hand was over his mouth. He opened his eyes to see the nurse withdrawing a syringe from his neck.

//(The concoction was something of his own devising, an untraceable mnestic-derived compound with a sleeper effect. It’d allow the absolute recall of amnesticized memories when the subject is exposed to a certain codeword.)//  

“Listen, Russ. Everyone’s purging themselves. Someone is gonna come over here later, they’re gonna put amnestics into your throat, just //stay still and don’t fucking protest.”// Dr. Wynn practically screamed through gritted teeth. “My part is done. They were //never// going to let me out.”

Red gas was beginning to fill the room here, too. At this point, all of the contraptions in the other room were all smashed and burning already. It was one of their finest moments, and none of it will ever be remembered. Half of the room was already passed out from the amnestics. Most of the documents were still being burned.

Russell remembers telling Dr. Wynn to go fuck himself.

“Do it for them, son, if not for me. Do it for Paxton,” Dr. Wynn said, holding onto Russell. His eyes bulging out of his skulls. “You have to, son. You //have to-//”

He doesn’t make it another word, because at this point the MTFs were rushing in and one of them decides to just shoot him in the head. The nurse, too. Apparently, they decided that was probably quicker than the amnestics. A quick revenge for what he did a few years ago.

Then, they took one look at Russell, then they wrenched his mouth open, shoved half a dozen amnestics in just to be safe, then held their gloved hands over his mouth until he swallowed them all.

//(The codeword would be his user verification password. He’d collapse on the floor dry-heaving about two weeks afterwards in the middle of checking his email.)//

-----

In the end, he supposed that things worked out the way that they were supposed to. And sometimes he’d feel bad about Dr. Paxton, and Dr. Wynn, about what he’d do to Tatton and Rowe and the others, about the thing with the O5s, about Arthur and the rest of the team, but it never really stuck for long. He’d visited Dr. Paxton and Dr. Wynn’s graves once each, and he never did again.

Xavier, though, was a different story.

Every year, on that day that Russell made it back without him, he'd leave a bouquet of flowers on his grave. Magnolias, his favorite. And he’d just stand there, anticipating nothing in particular, and then leave after a while.

Sometimes, he’d wonder what would’ve happened if Wynn’s little plan had failed. That if the amnestics had worked correctly, what his life might’ve ended up as. Or if he’d died during the whole experiment, and someone else had come back.

Most of the time though, he just stared at the engravings on the grave, and thought about all the things they said and all the things they left out. In the end, it was a superficial thing, he realized that, but still.

Dr. Paxton was an “Inventor, mentor, and contributor to the sciences” - yes, but they’d left out “reckless, borderline-suicidal, and extremely conflicted.”

Dr. Wynn would end up getting a more modest grave owing to what he did later in life, and the Foundation didn’t want to splurge on the extra expenses. There was but one word on his tombstone, and it was “Pioneer” - which was true enough, but Russell felt that “Braindead” would’ve been more appropriate.

Xavier’s tomb didn’t say anything, and sometimes Russell was pissed about it, but other times, he was fine with that, because all the things to be said about Xavier wouldn't fit on a rock anyways. Any rock in the world for that matter. In a way, the tombstone was correct. There was nothing left to say.

Sometimes he’d still think about the Malfeasance Crisis. How he’d only gotten away with it because of how strict the Foundation’s information control was back then, and how that ironically let him slip through the gaps. And, he guessed, as consolation for everything, and out of respect for his mentor, they’d let him keep some of prestige, even if it was for a crisis that by nature no one could talk about.

Sometimes, he’d think about what his own tombstone would say. He’d wondered what it’d say had it not been for Malfeasance, he’d wondered what it’d say after his plans all went through. And sometimes, he wondered about what they’d leave out on his own tomb. Maybe he’d get a blank tomb, like Xavier. Maybe he’d get an entire paragraph on it. Then again, he’s not much of a vanity guy.

Though, he told himself. There was one point of pride, one thing that defined him that he kind of wished would make it in when he dies, but he knew it’d never make it in in any permutation of his death, anyways. They’d never put something like //that// on a Foundation researcher tombstone.

It was a shame, too, because he would’ve been really proud of the title of //“Godslayer”.//

[[/div]]

------

[[div style="border:solid 3px maroon; background:#000000; padding:15px; margin-bottom: 10px;"]]

+ Pride

[[div class="scp-image-block block-center" style="width:100%;"]]
[[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-9317/Pride.png link=#]]
[[div class="scp-image-caption"]]
"Matthew 7:22-23"
[[/div]]
[[/div]]

Lucas Conley helped straighten out the edges, and Father Ferguson helped nail them down. They repeated this another four times, loud bangs echoing through the empty church as the seventy-something old man hammered away with surprising force. Afterwards, they both stepped back to admire their handiwork.

Conley figured that it looked quite alright, the brown wood contrasted nicely with the pride flag’s rainbow array of colors, and some of the stripes even lined up with the plank’s details. It actually looked better than he would’ve thought. Though…

“We probably should’ve ironed it.” Conley narrows his eyes, as Father Ferguson poured him a cup of coffee. “It’s, uh, really wrinkly up close.”


“Eh, my grandkid doesn’t iron hers, either. She says it’s a thing,” Father Ferguson sipped from his own cup. He glanced at Conley, and raised his eyebrows. “You don’t approve?”

“What? No, I mean, I’m not…” Conley gestured at the flag. “Some of the kids in my team, they’re, //y’know.// And I’m proud of //all// of them for it, I am. But I mean, the flag itself… you don’t feel like it’s a bit… //commercial?//”

//“Commercial.”// Father Ferguson repeats, dryly.

“I mean, I’m just //saying.// I just… Site-19 has giftshops, y’know. Sometimes, I walk by, and I see all the t-shirts and cups and keychains. You get it? I mean, I guess they’re just //really// into the whole thing, but…”

“Yeah, you haven’t seen their healthcare, benefits, and //discrimination// policies then,” Ferguson rolls his eyes. “Luke, I keep tellin’ ya’, you gotta get out of the Foundation once in a while. You’re working there your whole life, it’s messing with your mind.”

“Well, I //do// need a vacation,” concedes Conley. “That's why I came //home.//”

“Yeah, well, you know better than anyone that this place isn’t exactly the most //enlightened// of southern Bible-belt towns. So don’t worry, Conley,” Father Ferguson laughed bitterly as he poured himself another cup of coffee. “I’m not making //any// money off the damn flag. But for some of our neighbors, like that boy //Kenny// from down the block, or that Sheila you grew up with? If it’s gonna make ‘em feel any safer, if it gives some poor kid hope that the entire world’s not out to get  ‘em or make money off ‘em, then it’s //worth// it.”

“Look, I’m sorry, Vic. Yeah, I kinda got ahead of myself there,” Conley rubs his neck. “I see where you’re coming from. I’m really sorry for implying anything back there.”

“Eh, don’t mention it, I don’t blame you. Just can’t let all the greedy imbeciles of the world ruin something good for everyone, you understand? Even if they’re Foundation.” Father Ferguson moves to rearrange some newspapers, “Then again, not like the profitability angle is gonna work much longer, unfortunately, if you’re following the news.”

“I don’t really pay attention to above-Veil matters. Foundation staff always tries to stay impartial.”

Father Ferguson cracked his knuckles, breathed in, then breathed out.

“Yeah, you //would// say that.” Father Ferguson says, looking back. “No, I don’t blame you. I blame the Foundation.”

Now it was Conley’s turn to roll his eyes. “Can’t we have one conversation without you blaming the Foundation for //everything?// I get it, you //quit.// I respect that, but you don’t need to keep //bringing// it up.”

“Hey, you said it, Luke. Always moral, always impartial, always //apolitical-//” Father Ferguson chided, making exaggerated waving gestures with his hands, as if presenting something before an audience on stage. “The Foundation! The apotheosis of the liberal //fascist// dream.”

Every single time, without fail, Conley thought. Every single time they met after he quit, they'd go through this routine. Conley mentally prepares himself again for the next half hour. And yet, he was still here. He still decided to come to this church, to this man...

“Oh, dear Christ, I mean- //sorry,//” Conley facepalms. “How the //hell// do you sound even more like a //snakefucker// than the last time we met? New fuckin’ record, I tell ya’ what. Vic, I managed to stop //three different mass-murder rituals// over the last 2 //months.// The combined possible casualties of those incidents? Somewhere in the 10,000s to 15,000s. //I// did that. //We// did that. We’re //saving// the fucking world here.”

Now Father Ferguson was sitting down on the pews. Conley kept staring at him, but it was like Father Ferguson wasn’t even seeing him. He just stared ahead into nothingness before him.

“I remember when I thought of things like that too.” says Father Ferguson, after a while. “I remember when I thought //I// was saving the world, son.”

“Oh, //now// you do the pastor shtick.”

“I don’t deny that the Foundation has prevented the world from being destroyed, that you and I //both// have. But that work never seems to be //finished//, does it?” Father Ferguson looks at Conley. “There’s always something else coming, some other cult that appears, some more mad men on the horizons.”

“Ah, you’re a utopian too?” Conley scoffs. “The Foundation is fucking //fascist// because it, what, it doesn’t save the world //enough// for you? Is //that// it? There’s always gonna be sick fucks loose in the world! That’s the point! That’s why you and I //fought!// We //were// saving the world, and you //quit.//”

“Can't you get it through your head? The work will never be //finished// because we //weren’t// saving the world. Because we were never meant to. We were just caretakers, cleaning up the Foundation’s damned mess.”

“The Foundation is responsible for every fucked-up terrible anomalous cult out there now, is that it? Do you //hear// yourself?! Because the world isn’t perfect, we’re //bad// for //trying// to make the world a better place?”

Then they were both silent. Father Ferguson sits up again, and leaned back on the pew. He closes his eyes, and opens them again. He seemed calmer now, but Conley was still fuming.

“I fought off a horde of Mekhanite terrorists to retrieve a cure for the clockwork virus,” says Father Ferguson. “And my wife died of //breast cancer// because our insurance didn’t cover the treatments. We dealt with W. Bowe and Pandora’s Box, and my son still died in //Iraq// thanks to W. Bush. The shit we do in the dark? How much of it transfers to the light?”

Conley’s expression softens, but he’s still crossed. “I told you, Vic. You have to separate between what the Foundation //can// do and what the Foundation //is//-”

“Why, because the Foundation tells you to? Because of your //pride// as a Foundation agent?” Father Ferguson turned to him again. “Because there’s no //reason// it can’t be otherwise, Luke. Because even though what we do in the dark doesn’t matter to the light-”

“It //does// matter. I just told you, we saved-”

“You don’t even //buy// it.” Father Ferguson grits through his teeth. “Even you can’t possibly believe that this is all there //is// to the Foundation, just knocking the gun out of the world's hand whenever it tries to //kill// itself, forever! That’s the thing, whatever happens in the light //always// falls down into the dark. That’s why the Foundation is //fascist//, not just because of all the cages, the inhumanity that runs through its corporate veins, but because at its core, all it is designed to do is support the //order// of things. The order that continues the //world-killing//. The order that creates //monsters-//”

Ferguson starts coughing. The noise is awful. Dry, hacking, wheezing sounds that rocked the frail man's entire frame. Conley moved to help, but Ferguson put up his hands.

"I'm fine... It's just... fucking //shit// in the old uniforms... never coulda' fixed it."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no. //Look// at me. Lifetime of service, and all's I got to show for it is a //hole// in my lungs..."

Father Ferguson finally steadies himself, and it's as if Conley finally sees all the years on his face. So many lines framing the glassy old eyes that almost perpetually stared off into the distance. Such duller shades than he last remembered.

“And now, look at //you//, Luke.” He continues, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “You’ve fought Rubes and doomsday cults your entire life. And you //still// ended up with neo-fascists in your own neighborhood preaching for the apocalypse.”

Lucas Conley pauses. “What are you talking about?” he says. Father Ferguson reaches over and grabbed a newspaper from under the pile, handing it to Conley

Conley snatched it and read. There’d been a Christian Nationalist rally in his town just a while ago. On the front page was a row of men in matching red clothes, sunglasses, and white masks, marching on the streets. He recognized a few buildings in the back, past the postage signs preaching God’s hatred of the jews and the gays, and the flags of America with swastikas replacing the stars.

“It happened two days before you came home.” Father Ferguson says. “They walked past the church, actually. Then they turned the corner.”

“I… look, that’s //awful,// but you can’t compare the dangers here, Vic.” Conley says, still reading the newspaper. They’d marched past his home. They’d harassed one of his old neighbors. They’d dispersed and no one knew who they were. “You can’t… you can’t compare these guys to a //doomsday// cult, or…”

“And how long is it until one of them learns magic to bring about the apocalypse they keep asking for? Or learn about the Ol' King from another one of your cults, trying to recruit online?” Father Ferguson says. “All those talking heads on TV calling for civil war, how long until one of their acolytes comes across something with enough spark to cause an XK? That’s the issue, Luke. The people you fought, them being anomalous was the //least// of your problems. The real problem is that they’ll always keep coming. But that’s not //your// job to deal with, or the Foundation’s. It’s //nobody’s// job, at all.”

Conley kept reading. Father Ferguson watched silently as he continued scanning the paper, looking to see if he’d see it, that familiar glint. The glint that he first saw in his own mirror all those years ago when he decided to quit.

“I know, I don’t understand it either.” Father Ferguson sighs, and looks back at the pride flag. “Y'know, that morning, when I floated the idea of putting up the flag, Father Cruz asked me if I really thought it was a good idea. If that was what //God// wanted. I told him that I knew in my heart that the answer was yes. Because He is all-loving, and all-merciful, and He is good. He spoke through love, and hope, and that is what I wished to bring. And then that same day, a man wearing a cross came to my doors and threatened to kill one of my flock for… wearing a rainbow pin, I guess. Threatening to kill a //sixteen//-year-old in the name of the Lord.”

Conley finally finishes reading. He says nothing, just staring expectantly at Father Ferguson to finish what he was gonna say.

“I just don’t understand why God lets evil dress up as him so often.” Father Ferguson concludes. “Why does He allow men to commit atrocities in His name? Why does He let them twist Him into something else, something hateful, something wicked?”

Conley’s still searching for the right words. Suddenly, Father Ferguson turns to him and furrows his brows.

“Wait, have you //dyed// your hair?” he asks.

“What? Oh, uh.” Conley says, running his fingers through his artificially-red scalp. “Uh, yeah. One of my soldiers noticed that I was graying, so… does it look good?”

“It looks awful.” Father Ferguson laughed. “How the hell did I not notice it before!?”

The two men share a chuckle before the silence returned. But this time, Conley knew what to say.

“I think you’re wrong, Vic.” Conley says. “I swear to you. What we’ve done, it all mattered. It’s made the world a better place. And I know the Foundation is flawed, but it //can// become better. Things will change, gradually. More work put into prevention, more work put into dealing with societal cancers before they all blossom into the things we fight. In the end, it’ll all work out. That’s what I //believe.//”

“No, it’s not.” Father Ferguson replies, his smile dropping. “I know it isn’t. Because if it was, you wouldn’t have visited me.”

[[/div]]

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