GUNSIGHT

Link to article: GUNSIGHT.

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```
al-fine
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omalley
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textbook
```

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

[[include component:preview
text= The basement floor will crack in the morning. Thirteen monkeys shall be punished by rod, whip, and time-out. Recess will never end. The sandbox is forever.
]]

[[>]]
[[module Rate]]
[[/>]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:author-label-source start=--
|name=Anorrack]]
**GUNSIGHT**
**Authors:** [[*user Anorrack]]
(1716 words)

**Other Works:**

**[[[Dead Man Walking]]]:** In the finale to DEAD RECKONING, Quinn Law and the UIU race against time to stop the Lighthouse Mafia from staging the largest breakout in Paramax history.  By Anorrack


[[include :scp-wiki:component:author-label-source end=--]]


Lights come down, projector goes up. Dozens of deadened eyes stare at him, from corpses bureaucratic and necromantic. A bunch of bloated bodies stuffed in suits slump over folding chairs, elephants and donkeys pinned to their chests. God, some of the ones he thought dead are breathing, and vice versa. He tries not to take in the smell of formaldehyde as the mumbles and groans die and the slide comes to life.

"I trust you all read through the briefing, so I need not retread generalities. The supernatural, fairy dust, sugar plums, et cetera. What we do here is rather more immediate, as is the subject of today's presentation, [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/FALLOUT 'Utilizing the Occult for Battle-Preparedness, Simulation, and Predictive Warfighting- Defending American Paranatural Dominance From Threats Domestic and Foreign']. If you would all open the attached dossier to page four? Thank you, next slide please-"

------
[[div class="al-fine"]]
[[==]]
The Nornir weave their web of fate with petabytes of skeins, exabytes of thread, a pattern so dense it approaches the computational limit of the universe. Within their sub-sub-sub-chambers one can sense reality buffering. Data compacts close to Planck-length — more data that one can ever need and more data than one should ever use is counted and recounted in the space between atoms and the infinity between zero and one. Quantum entanglement becomes extra storage as the Norns dive deeper, splitting atoms into quarks and suspending them in superposition to test Heisenberg, who fails miserably as they measure and observe simultaneously.

More data for the algorithm.

The world cannot accommodate this computational power. It cannot comprehend it. Time slows and stutters. The fabric strains, twists, and //bursts//. There is a hernia at the bottom of Eurtec. The Web of Fate bulges through the skin of reality into the underneath, scraping data from Outside and putting it to use. This hernia will fester and metastasize and consume the world in //nine nine nine nine// time units, but it will be enough. It has always been enough.

More data for the algorithm.

A tangle in the web of fate. A tumor. An intrusion from another dimension. Unpredicted. The Norns observe it, accommodate it, assimilate it. More data for the algorithm. The Web updates and flickers, in its trillions of zetabytes. [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/greenlight They see a nuclear flower blooming], a battalion on the moon, a bastion in Hell. A blip on the Web. It doesn't matter to them but they record it anyway. It is now part of the Web. As it always has been, and always will be.

More data for the algorithm.
[[/==]]
[[/div]]
------
"-and as for our strategic predictive capabilities, ladies and gentlemen, you can rest assured that we are the best in the business."

Dry lids rasp against cracked cataracts. Corpses as conduit and simulcast, for PENTAGRAM staff in Okinawa, Wainwright, and other, more esoteric places classified beyond his clearance. Death rubbing shoulders with the Secretary of Defense and the loudmouth DINO from West Virginia. How apt. They boldly ignore the flies. Rot internal made external. They're used to the smell of decay.

"Divining and 'reading the bones', as it were, allows us a practical predictive advantage exceeding three weeks' time relative to near-peer powers. Our boys in black give America a chance to act and counteract before the enemy even decides to pick a fight. Hard science, no woo-woo bull, cracking past quantum mechanics and predicting clean through Newton."

------
[[div class="omalley"]]
[[==]]
The seers of the [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/paralaw Federal Office of Prophecy] writhe in their swamp-gas sensory deprivation chambers of obsidian glass. Bloodshot eyes swivel, plucked from their sockets and placed backwards, staring into their own frontal lobes at the hole where their pineal glands used to be. They chant in asynchronicity, each oracle one point one one repeating seconds out of step with the other, following the path laid out by Messiah Washington all those centuries ago. Their lips move in psycho-memetic mantra, interspersing bloodsoaked foresight with the stolid words of that old refrain.

//**{{-mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord-}}**//

Scribes stolen from Harvard Law Review scribble their ramblings onto dataslate and parchment, translating them into Latin, American Morse, the future-language of Hebrew-Spanglish and back again to resolve the ravings of the time-mad into coherency.

A scribe drips sweat onto their yellow legal notepad, blurring an R into a B and making sense of it all. As was foretold.

The prophecy is made clear. It will be delivered onto the president's desk five minutes before PENTAGRAM notifies him of the Foundation's will-be actions in the Middle West.

Prophet Atom and God Plutonium are born again in forty-eight hours to be martyred upon the altar of Asveth Korgaul.
[[/==]]
[[/div]]

-----
There's a commotion in the hall. Running. There's never running in the PENTAGRAM. Hushed whispering, the most urgent of whispering. He strains to hear over his own lecture. The corpses don't seem to care.

Classified whispers turn to declassified shouts. He closes the door to the hallway.

"-these methods are at once economical and bear little impact on civilian life. The drones of tomorrow. Drop them from a plane and watch them take out enemy combatants with no loss of life or equipment on our side, save the cost of a few bronze nails. I could get those at Home Depot!" Opens can of laughter, finds none. "But Zeta assets are just one portion of our large and growing arsenal- ensuring the future of the free world as we head into a bright and //certain// tomorrow. Be sure to thank our friends from Raytheon on your way out."
------
[[div class ="elaimal"]]
[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-2630 Intestines drip body fluids], plucked from the gut of Wall Street's golden calves. The S&P twitches, the DOW spasms, tachyons and positrons travelling backwards against physics to impinge on goldbeater skin. Munitions expend backwards, bullets return to nest in their casings, jet fuel recatalyzes from expended energy and exhaust, a AGM-114L Hellfire reverses out of the side of a Humvee. There is a two point six billion dollar procurement contract in Lockheed-Martin's future. Tensile strength increases. A lower intestine contracts by zero point five centimeters and a corresponding stock rises by seven points. The Foundation dies in nineteen hours. The market has already priced it in.
[[/div]]
------
Folding chairs creak. Preservative fluids drip onto stained neckties.

"Together, these systems work to protect our homes, our families, our children, and our very way of life."
------
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See the haruspex stand atop a great ziggurat of marble and jet, more carved than constructed. See a gilded obsidian dagger held aloft in one hand, a bundle of arrows in the other. Sticks of cedar pierce her eardrums, the smell of sulfur blinds her nose. Demons crawl upon bloated bellies, walk upon crooked legs, fly upon tattered wings in circles around her, sensing magic and death in the air as the grave-wind howls and the Wheel of Fate unspools.

The haruspex kneels before three mighty thrones, carved, not built, fitted for forms unworldly in make. Seated upon those cthonic thrones of onyx and jet and granite is a warrior-king as stolid as oak, a wispy harlot as pale as ivory, and a scheming vizier dark with sin. It is for they that the haruspex performs her wicked craft, for they that she cradles a gentle lamb, born and suckled and raised on the bitter grain of the Ashen Plains. For her king and god and country.  

The king nods. The harlot smiles. The vizier laughs.

The knife slides neatly across the neck of the ewe, its spotless fur never touched by the sun, spotless fur now stained with blood, spotless fur now dripping with viscera. The knife traces a path to the groin, spilling intestines upon the plinth, the obsidian plinth, the plinth inlaid with gold. The haruspex, deaf to her own chants of the Bārûtu, bloodies her hands by extracting the liver and lungs, the breastbone and vertabrae, the ribs, colon and heart, the heart of the good and the young.

The haruspex shakes the arrows in her hand. She calls the names of gods living and dead, old and new, above and below. She calls them to unfurl the web of fate, the grand design, to make it fit for mortal ken, such that she can see the destiny of all with pareidolic eyes within the liver and intestines and gall bladder of the innocent.

See as she sees it in the coils of the gut and the veins of the heart and the color of the colon. Behold the crumbling of the cornerstone, the assassination of mechanical men, the silver blades burning against the night sky, the death of an empire. All this and more Iskur reveals to her, a mouthpiece to speak to her king, the Breaker of Chains, the Slayer of Wickedness, king of kings.

**GILGAMESH:** [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/dead-king-s-march Then so mote it be.]
[[/div]]
------

"Thank you for your time and your close attention, I hope this has been eye-opening and informative to you all, and I hope this has given you a greater understanding of our mission, our methods, and our magics. That concludes my presentation. God bless you, and God bless America."

A rolling dirge, coming from dead tongues and dead minds. "God bless America."
------

[[div class="textbook"]]
A child strikes their head on a crag of twisted cement when falling from the monkey bars. The recess monitor screams for help between panicked attempts at CPR. When the child is placed in the ambulance, an exacting sequence of vibrations and aural stimulus worms through the crack in bone and flesh and sets dying neurons aflame with the song of reality. Light, color, images, sound. Glory and horror and death and life and the course of all things flows through the child and its eyes glow blinding white and it rises from the stretcher a beautiful resplendent angel with blooded wings of gilded brass. It speaks in trumpets.

> ##black|{{The basement floor will crack in the morning. Thirteen monkeys shall be punished by rod, whip, and time-out. Recess will never end. The sandbox is forever.}}##

Sally Jensen, aged thirteen, was declared dead of a brain aneurysm when she arrived at the hospital.
[[/div]]
----
An alarm sounds, the room floods with red like fire-ants. Corpses fall limp as psychosphere connections are cut and the politicians panic and scramble in insectoid confusion as the nest is kicked.

[https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/FALLOUT War is here. Colorado is on fire. The Foundation begins to crack.]

[[module css]]
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Electrolize|Slabo+13px');
@import url('https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Special+Elite');


:root {
    --header-title: "GUNSIGHT";
    --header-subtitle: "Omnia vide, omnia nosti";
    --link-txt-color: rgb(var(--accent));
    --logo-img: url("http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/local--files/strikefall/PENTOSTAMP.png");
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        padding-inline-start: 55px;
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[[/module]]

GUNSIGHT

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