Link to article: Log-214.
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[[>]] [[module Rate]] [[/>]] **Personal Log of:** Agent █████ **Date:** 04-05- ████ I got my latest assignment. Apparently there's reports of cult activity centered around a public library in ██████. Shipping out tomorrow to investigate, along with the rest of Lambda-7. There's major concern about it being a part of Church of the Broken God given that the location contains a large museum of machinery. Hate dealing with them, the crazy machine god thing gives me more creeps than rest of the shit here. Most of them only kill your body. **Date:** 04-09- ████ Initial recon's back on the building. Nothing anomalous so far with ninety percent of the building mapped. Only thing left is the periodicals wing, that seems to be closed for renovations. Seems like people go into there quite a bit after dark, but the door's always locked and the architect that designed this place seems to have a personal vendetta against windows. Nothing wrong with spikes though, this place has spikes on every surface they could think of. Team's going to shadow one of them in tomorrow and see what's going on inside. **Note:** Between this log and the next, the entirety of Lambda-7 vanished without a trace, along with the reported cultists. **Date:** 04-11- ████ Pages upon pages flitter through my mind, breeze born motion revealing in the saturation of information. Coalesced and indexed to perfection, safely stored. The Library approves of the new acquisitions to its collection, filling her walls evermore with the distilled essence of being, for all to borrow but never keep. Subsuming the identity, enrobing oneself in another for a time for the goals for the plans and partly realized dreams. Emulating the flesh and its frailties, its ichors and impulses as a marionette on string dancing its jerky frivolity. **Date:** 04-12- ████ 9:32 AM Awake again. Not sure how long I've slept on the way back to [REDACTED]. Read previous log, I think I might have been sleep deprived. It doesn't make any sense. Cult's gone. Team's gone. Writing after action report. Attempted to erase previous log but can't see the button to do that. Compromised. The word keeps echoing in my head. I think I've been compromised. Cut myself shaving this morning and bled quicksilver into the sink. The sensation of the blade cutting into my skin felt like a lover's caress. It's my duty to self terminate. I've been compromised. Once the report's done, I'll do that. Still have my side arm. 12:04 PM Tension, build up, trembling finger, burnt cordite taste, the flash, the burst, the romance of lead entangling bone and fat, followed by orgiastic release. **Date:** 04-13- ████ Awake again. Bullet didn't do anything. No recollection since I pulled the trigger. I was in the bathroom, now I'm in bed. There's hotel and medical staff uniforms laying around but no people, no remains, no sign of a struggle and not a drop of blood. Tried to call my superiors to warn them that I'm coming but my fingers keep missing the numbers. All I can do is write in here. Something makes me think that they want this to be found, just too late. Still bleeding out of the back of my head. Something feels right about that and the warm sensation running down is delightful. <**End Log**> [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box |author=ZanderChaney]] [!-- N/A (No Images) --] [[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]