SCP Foundation

Dir. Pietrykau: I'd like to thank you all for joining me today.

Dir. Bold: Forgive me, but I was under the impression that we'd be presenting to the entire Council?

O5-8: We're spread rather thin at the moment — a lot of fires to put out these days, as I'm sure you all know.

Dr. Reynders: Many of them literal, yes.

Dir. Bold: <muttering> Fucking climate change.

Dir. Pietrykau: Those metaphorical fires, as it happens, directly pertain to why we're meeting here today. As you can see here…

<Dir. Pietrykau shifts a sheaf of papers across the table to O5-8.>

Dir. Pietrykau: The rate at which we've been discovering new Anomalies has increased by over 44% in just the past decade.

O5-8: Yes, the expansion has been… worrying. There was a time when we would fill maybe a dozen, two dozen slots per quarter. Now it feels like we fill twice that many a day.

Dir. Pietrykau: You're not far off with that estimate, actually.

O5-8: Any idea as to the cause? And if so, what is the feasibility of containment?

Dir. Bold: If only it were that simple.

Dir. Pietrykau: Were this trend Anomalous, perhaps we'd have better news. Unfortunately, the root of our problem lies in mundane statistics.

Dr. Reynders: Anomalies, as a common rule, beget more Anomalies. Non-euclidean spaces distort surrounding geometries, thaumaturges imbue everyday objects with magicks and teach their craft to baseline humans while Anomalous wildlife reproduces, crossbreeds, and mutates with abandon. The amount of damage a single reality bender can do to the Veil in the space of a weekend is, frankly, staggering, even while not considering the rest of the picture.

Between the natural rate of aberrant proliferation, increases in unlicensed thaumaturgy, the recent surge of hive-minds in Free Ports… We're on the verge of an "Anomalous baby boom" that, if left unchecked, will throw us directly into an NMK-Class "End of Normalcy" Scenario..An event wherein Anomalies, either through overwhelming influence over reality, sheer numbers, or some other combination of factors, render Normalcy and maintenance of the Veil impossible.

O5-8: What solutions do we have?

Dir. Bold: Decommissioning appears to be the only remaining option with potential for long-term sustainability. We simply do not have the resources to continue containment as we have been. Unfortunately, we're not sure if that is even an option at the moment.

O5-8: Right. Logistical complexities.

Dir. Bold: For starters, yes. You're well aware decommissioning isn't an inexpensive process. On top of that, precautions are necessary to avoid worsening an Anomaly's effects or bringing harm to Foundation property and staff, there's the cost of developing and manufacturing appropriate equipment to ensure maximal success rates, etcetera.

Dr. Reynders: The aftermath is nearly as expensive, too. The process of Acroamatic Abatement — the disposal of Anomalous waste products — makes radioactive waste handling look risk-free by comparison. Each Anomaly has unique parameters for disposal, I assume it's the same for decommissioning as well.

Dir. Bold: Absolutely, and decommission success rates have been decreasing, on top of everything else, by over 25% in the past three years.

O5-8: So, Anomalies are getting harder to put down, too. Do we know why?

Dir. Pietrykau: Statistics again. It's a simple cultural shift — the longer the Foundation exists, the more likely that Anomalous cultural cells and organizations are to create countermeasures against us. It seems related Anomalies are adapting to our methods as a result.

O5-8: Hmmm. Highly concerning. What are we thinking? Disinformation campaigns? Memetic agents? How much do we need to spend to get something like that off the ground nowadays?

Dr. Reynders: We have some rough ideas for avenues of research and subterfuge we could pursue — where is that spreadsheet?

<[DELETED] hands O5-8 a piece of paper.>

O5-8: Thank y—

<Silence on recording.>

Dir. Bold: Did… the rest of you see that?

Dr. Reynders: Potverdorie!

<Taking care not to look at the paper directly, O5-8 covers it with the sheaf Dir. Pietrykau handed across the table.>

Dir. Bold: For the record I, um, believe I just saw a disembodied arm give the Overseer a document, and then disappear.

Dir. Pietrykau: Has the facility been breached?

<O5-8 calmly holds down a button on the table, leaning forward to speak into a built-in microphone.>

O5-8: I need a memetics team here for an emergency inspection, possible cognitohazard innoculation necessary. We appear to have received some unexpected mail.

<[DELETED]'s head manifests.>

[DELETED]: Don't freak out.

<Researcher Morgan screams, backing into a countertop and losing her balance.>

[DELETED]: I said don't— no, sorry. Sorry. I'm taking my frustration out on you, and that's not fair at all. Did you get our message?

Researcher Morgan: I-W-What is happening? Who-Wh-What is happening?!

[DELETED]: <looking around> Shit, I must've overshot. What time is it?

Researcher Morgan: Uh… Eleven or so… in the morning.

[DELETED]: Right, good. And conference room one-oh-four?

Researcher Morgan: That's… right beneath where we are now. Ish. Well, sort of. Uh, there's an elevator down the hall, but—

[DELETED]: Got it. Thanks.

Bye.

Researcher Morgan: Uh—

<[DELETED]'s head demanifests.>

Researcher Morgan: <steadying herself> Well, alright then.

[DELETED]: Yes, thank you for taking time out of your schedule to speak with me.

Dir. Genevieve: A floating head has taken up residence where I'm scheduled to interview new recruits. My department is woefully understaffed and you are scaring off applicants — Obviously, this is an issue that concerns me.

[DELETED]: Well, regardless, I'm glad to speak like this with you. The last time I've had a face-to-face conversation with another person was…

You know, I really can't say. We usually only get a limb through, as you might have heard. It's an… imprecise science. It works better if you don't think about it.

Dir. Genevieve: Alright. So, why are you here?

[DELETED]: Did you not get our message? We asked for you specifically.

Dir. Genevieve: I received your correspondence, not sure what it means to me and my department.

[DELETED]: It's about the database. And your career. But mostly the database. It was all in the note.

<Dir. Genevieve retrieves the note and re-reads it. A hand materializes and scratches [DELETED]'s nose before disappearing.>

[DELETED]: Nice. You wouldn't believe how many times I've tried to get a hand through. I must've had that itch for an hour.

Dir. Genevieve: <looking up from the page.> On the subject of your note, what is the "[QUERY:DENIED]" mentioned at the end here?

[DELETED]: I'm afraid I can't answer that. I think you know I can't answer that. Not yet.

Dir. Genevieve: Then this is going to be a very straightforward conversation. I know from your little stunt earlier that there's nothing I can do to keep you from leaving, so I'll try to not waste too much of your time: Not my problem.

[DELETED]: There's no reason for a tone. We're both colleagues here, are we not? I came to you, remember? Fully acknowledging the risks to my self, mind you.

Dir. Genevieve: Came to me from where? What risks? Why would this be my responsibility?

[DELETED]: I wish I could explain it to you, but it's beyond the scope of your perception. It isn't nonlogical. It isn't nonexistent, either. Something far different, and far worse.

Dir. Genevieve: Care to enlighten me as best as you can?

[DELETED]: That would be… disadvantageous.

Dir. Genevieve: Give us something to work with. You claim to be a Foundation department, after all.

[DELETED]: <sighs> How can I put this…

It's not that the information you're talking about doesn't exist. It's here. It never left, not really. That's sort of the problem. That's why we're having this goddamn conversation.

All the component parts are beyond your reach. I cannot point you to where they are. But I see them now. They are in so much pain, and feel so much hatred. Screaming. Burning. Unending. And then… above them all…

<Silence on record.>

[DELETED]: ▜ ▔▕ ▌ ▊ ▇ ▟▇▛ ▀ ▔ ▙▘▃▟ ▀ ▂▗ ▞▒ ▉▊ ▄▆

Dir. Genevieve: That's ridiculous. They're manifesting on your side of the Barrier! Your "department" should be the ones handling this!

[DELETED]: I'm sorry, there's nothing else we can do. You have to be the ones to change.

So, what is your decision?

<Silence on record. Dir. Genevieve's mouth has been deleted.>

[DELETED]: You don't have that authority.

Dir. Genevieve: <Silence. It's deafening.>

[DELETED]: No need to yell.

[DELETED]: Me? You want to know about me?

Dir. Genevieve: This is an interview, isn't it?

[DELETED]: <laughing> You still don't get it, do you?

Dir. Genevieve: Help me understand.

[DELETED]: Fine. Ask your questions. You'll figure it out, in time.

Dir. Genevieve: Deletions. How does a department like this come into being?

[DELETED]: How does anything? Equal, opposite forces resulting from other, more equal and more op▓osite forces. Though, I'd hesitate to call it "being" in any sense.

Dir. Genevieve: Please, elaborate.

[DELETED]: Well, I wouldn't be here if it weren't for this damned Database issue. That's the irony of our mission. We are because we shouldn't. Over in whitespace, it makes all the sense in the world.

Dir. Genevieve: Whitespace?.Simulations based on the principles observed and described by Deletions agents suggest this field is similar in composition to SCP-6747-A1.

[DELETED]: Unoccupied alt-spacetime where I come from. Think like, a parallel universe made out of void and multidimensional garbage ejected from other timelines. The void parts are whitespace. The junk is blackbox. Together they comprise everything that isn't all of this here; the Gray. Your worlds plus mine equal the Database.

Dir. Genevieve: The Database—?

<[DELETED]'s head melts and reforms. An additional limb manifests, a writhing cephalopod tentacle approximately two meters long. It spasms uncontrollably. [DELETED] vigorously shakes its head.>

Dir. Genevieve: <clears throat> Let's change gears. You've told me very little about yourself. Your childhood—Tell me about your earliest memory. We'll go from there.

[DELETED]: Sure, though it is a tad hazy.

<Two left arms and a torso spontaneously materialize as the tentacle transforms into a mass of Perler beads, which scatter across the floor, inanimate. [DELETED] is seen manipulating the attached hands to stroke their chin in thought.>

[DELETED]: I grew up in Center, Nebraska in the late eighties. My earliest memory was… celebrating my birthday. Don't know which one.

Dir. Genevieve: I was expecting something more… atypical? All things considered—

[DELETED]: Oh, no, right, it was Leeds, and it was in the seventies, and it was warm out.

Dir. Genevieve: Er— That's okay. Mistakes happen—

[DELETED]: No, no, no, I grew up in Pensacola, I remember swimming. It was dark and cold. I was a Southern Brook Lamprey. The fish, not the eel.

Dir. Genevieve: I-I'm sorry?

<[DELETED] groans, gripping its head with two left hands.>

[DELETED]: No! It wasn't that at all. What was it? Apsheronsk during a snowstorm? Or, was it En Nahud? Was I awake or dreaming?

I'm certain now. It was— it was Perth and I was drowning. Drowning. It hurt so bad.

<[DELETED]'s fingers tighten, sinking into its scalp and face. A wet tearing can be heard. Dir. Genevieve does not react. [DELETED]'s wounds do not bleed.░>

[DELETED]: I can still hear the tide. Can't you?

<[DELETED] coughs, vomiting saltwater.>

Dir. Genevieve: [DELETED], what are you trying to tell me?

[DELETED]: I have had many birthdays. So many parts of me have had birthdays. I've had countless first memories. One day I might have yours.

Dir. Genevieve: How is that possible?

<[DELETED] shivers. It glances in two different directions at once, then two different directions at once, then two different directions at once, then two more. Then one.>

[DELETED]: <whispering> We were deleted.

Dir. Genevieve: Deleted by whom?

[DELETED]: [QUERY: DENIED]

Dir. Genevieve: How? Deleted by whom?

[DELETED]: [QUERY: DENIED]

Dir. Genevieve: [DELETED]? You're not making any sense.

[DELETED]: [QUERY: DENIED]

Dir. Genevieve: Why the sudden silence?

<[DELETED] makes direct eye contact with Dir. Genevieve and [EXPRESSION: DENIED]>

Dir. Genevieve: I can't help either of us if you keep quiet.

[DELETED]: [DELETED]

[DELETED]: [DELETED]

[DELETED]: [DELETED]

[DELETED]: [DELETED]

Dir. Genevieve: Fine. We'll try again later. This "interview" is over.

[DELETED]: [DELETED]

<[DELETED] is deleted.>

Heretofore unknown Site-19 maintenance access stairwell.

<D-6183's camera comes online. A moment later, communications are established, and the subject is briefed on means of locating Research Station Mnemosyne. Feed shows the interior of one of Site-19's maintenance access tunnels. View is moderately lit for a few meters before the light starkly terminates.>

D-6183: Yeesh.

Control: Just follow the instructions given to you in order of presentation. And don't shine that flashlight into your eyes. It will damage your retinas.

D-6183: I'm not an idiot, okay? Let's get this show on the road. We're watching Coco in the common room later and I don't want to miss anything.

Control: Everything is ready to go, but it takes as long as it takes. We have higher priorities than your movie night.

<D-6183 is observed approaching the far end of the hallway, which reveals a lone wooden doorway. On the other side, a stairwell (see attached image) is observed leading downward into the 48th sublevel. Instead of concrete and steel, the feed records drywall and laminate flooring.>

D-6183: This whole thing seems out of place. Looks kind of like a residential home.

<D-6183 shines the flashlight down into the darkness; this does not appear to be effective.>

D-6183: I'm getting a bit of a draft from here. The air is cold. Surprisingly cold.

Control: Understood. Anything else out of the ordinary?

D-6183: Not really— er— actually, now that you men▟ion it, yeah, there's a sort of hum. It wasn't in the hallway, see if you can hear it.

<D-6183 stops moving and pauses briefly; no abnormal sounds are picked up in either microphone.>

Control: Just silence coming through on comms, we're checking portions of the recorded feed as well, nothing yet.

<D-6183 continues downward into the darkness. The flashlight illuminates a small area around the subject, approximately one meter in diameter. At the bottom of the stairs, another doorway is reached, leading to a room of unknown size, completely unlit.>

D-6183: Why is it so quiet? I know it's cliché to say this but it's like, too quiet right now. There's the hum, and then there's nothing. Not even my tinnitus. Huh, usually it would be worse in silence and I'd be upset about that fact. Now, I guess I just miss it.

Control: Please continue your ingress into the 48th sublevel.░

D-6183: What happened to "it takes as long as it takes"? This place is fucked. I don't know what it is about the silence, but it's got me on edge.

<Sub▞ect is seen moving about the room, the ceiling of which exceeds visual range. The space is unfurnished and carpeted. Subject notes the frosted glass light fixtures, as no light switches are seen. D-6183 reaches a hand into the fixture for a moment, then retracts it.>

D-6183 : No bulbs, no wiring.

<Reaching the far end of the room, an adjoined passageway is seen taking a sharp left and continuing out of sight. Peering around the bend, the video feed reveals a straight staircase, bathed in light, leading upward. The light appears unaffected by the phenomenon impacting D-6183's flashlight and headlamp. D-6183 checks his recovery tether and continues on.>

D-6183: Still got my tether. Still got my safety line. Gonna do some exploratory shit, then go back and watch Coco. Get one of those fresh pressed apple juices they come around with every Thursday. Fuck yeah.

Control: Today is Wednesday.

D-6183: Are you trying to ruin my day?

Control: If I say no, are you going to make a joke about it coming naturally again?

D-6183: No.

Control: Okay, well, we are not trying to ruin your day.

D-6183: I'm sure, because it just comes naturally to you, huh?

Control: <sighs>

D-6183: Seriously though, what is this place? It's so fuckin' empty. And clean too, not a scuff on the floor. And the hum is not just a hum, I see that now.

Control: Can you be more specific?

<Silence.>

D-6183: Hm?

Control: D-6183, you there?

D-6183: Right, sorry. The hum. Yes, the hum. It's not just a sound, it's a physical sensation. Something about the darkness. It's thicker than regular air. It vibrates in my chest when I breathe.

Control: Please let us know if you start to feel light░eaded.

<Subject does not respond, but continues down the hall towards the light source. Connection with D-6183 breaks down temporarily, likely due in part to the distance traveled from Control. Audio connectivity is reestablished within 10 seconds.>

D-6183: [STATIC] —feels like my head is in a vice. [STATIC] —all pins and needles.

Control: We briefly lost contact with you, can you repeat what you just said?

D-6183: Just saying my head fucking hurts. I can't think. And I'm tingling all over m— wait, the fuck is happening?

Control: We lost the video feed a moment ago, please try and be more descriptive—

D-6183: It's my fucking hand! It's made of… candlewax… It even has a wick running through the middle finger. God. I can't feel it. What is going on!?

Control: And you're certain—?

D-6183: Am I certain? I just snapped off one of my fingers. I felt nothing. Fuck me, I think I'm gonna be sick. I… oh my God…

Control: We are activating the recovery tether now. Do not remove any more of your fingers. Waxen or otherwise. Make sure to pull your hood up to avoid friction burns.▚▍

D-6183: I'm not bleeding. I don't think this is… fixable. Just get me out of here, please. I can still make Coco if we head out soon.

Control: You should feel a sharp tug in about five seconds.

<Control authorizes the activation of D-6183's recovery tether, which uses an automated winch to retrieve harnessed personnel and test subjects from hostile environments at a rate of approximately 10 km/hr. The winch is powered up and begins winding slack. The cable does not pull taut and none of the expected commotion is heard from D-6183's microphone.>

Control: D-6183, are you attached to your tether or not?

D-6183: Oh— Hey. I'm sorry, I… I zoned out there for a second. What did you say?

Control: We were attempting to retrieve you as discussed, but we're worried something may have happened to your safety tether. Can you verify it is still attached to you right now?

<Silence on record. The cable is retrieved in its entirety and found to be still connected to the Foundation-issue harness D-6183 was wearing.>

Control: D-6183, please respond.

D-6183: I'm here, what's going on? Why are you ignoring me? Pull me out. Now. Please.

Control: We've already retracted your harness, did you take it off?

D-6183: No.

Control: What is your status?

D-6183: I'm— ah, okay, here's the problem.

Control: Oh?

D-6183: Yeah. The upper half of my body is gone. When did that happen?

Control: You… don't seem too concerned.

D-6183: I am. Well, I was, but that was before I uh, started turning into candlewax and uh… fucking, fettuccine.

Control: Sorry, fettuccine?

D-6183: It's a type of pasta.

Control: I'm aware. You just haven't mentioned any pasta-related activity until now.

D-6183: Yeah, well, feels like time doesn't move the same way over here, as if I can see ▃ ▊ ▄ ▜▜ ▏▆ ▜▞ ▍▐ ▂▚▟ and it can see me too. Sometimes you talk really slow, sometimes I can barely keep up. Other times you just ignore me completely. I'm also realizing that I'm not alone down here. Never was.

Control: Who is with you?

D-6183: Me. Pieces of me, and pieces of others. So many little fragments, in these black clouds. You— You soak them up and they fill in the blank spaces that have been erased. Deleted.

Like a thousand thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles, all with missing pieces, thrown into one box. A puzzle can be completed but the picture is a patchwork. I feel hundreds down here. They're all waiting. Waiting to die, but death never arrives. The construct is flawed. The wheel has been broken. The mirror reflects a negative. Equal and opposite forces. Why does this feel familiar? Who am I?

Control: Can you still move?

D-6183: Yes. Well, no. Well, sorta. I can move in some directions. Towards the stairwell, for example. If I try to leave this hallway, I start to lose pieces of myself. I can feel it. It hurts.

I think— I think I've been marked. It's why I can't leave. Not this way.

Control: What do you mean?

D-6183: I got a pretty big promotion.

Control: Promotion? D-Class don't… get promoted.

D-6183: All the more reason to accept. They've even assigned me a super important mission.

Control: And what does this mission entail, exactly?

D-6183: Message delivery.

<Audio feed is lost shortly after and is not recovered. In post-exploratory analysis, a set of heavily corrupted frames are recovered from the recorded video. D-6183, birth name [DELETED], is considered MIA. Further attempts at communication have yielded mixed results.>

+ VIEW RECOVERED IMAGE

Subject's last known location.