The needles were bamboo, six inches or so in length, streaks of rainbow stain running down their length. The yarn was Angora wool, pure white. She had seen a skein in a local craft shop and studied it; this one in front of her was purer, whiter, superior in every regard.
She inhaled deeply, exhaled. She began the home row, wrapping, threading, wrapping, threading. She inhaled deeply, exhaled. Wrap, thread.
The Headache dimmed, ever so slightly. It was a proper noun at this point. The headache began on a Sunday afternoon, remained through the evening, and she felt it still the next morning. That was thirteen years before. Her condition rendered painkillers unusable; anything that could impair her judgment could expose her. She couldn't let her guard down. She could never let her guard down.
Inhale, exhale. Wrap, thread. Eighty-eight stitches on the home row, then she inserted her free needle into the loop nearest the end of the needle. The Headache dimmed ever so slightly more. Josephine smiled, knitting and purling down the row. She didn't have much interest in the end result, an end pillow for a love seat, but the point was the repetition. The relaxation. An audiotape of Pachebel's Canon in D played in the background, and the headache dimmed further.
"I hardly see the point of further discussion," the old man said. "You never seem to unearth anything new."
"You claim you're here voluntarily," the researcher said. "If you're so annoyed by our line of questioning, you can simply leave, can't you?"
"That would be remarkably impolite, I feel," the man said. "I simply think you're not having an adequate amount of fun with this."
"Fun?" the researcher asked. "SCP-343, this is my job. My job is to make new discoveries into beings such as yourself, and there is no part of you inclined to help me. You would be more than happy to lead me on a wild goose chase of contradiction and invention until my superiors sent me to a microbiology lab in the Arctic Circle."
The old man paused for the first time in their conversation. "That was remarkably forthright, Dr. Castile. I admire forthrightness. I see so little of it from individuals such as yourself, researchers, bureaucrats. Very well, I'll tell you a secret. I'll tell you something I haven't told any of your people before. Lean close, Richard."
The researcher, taken aback for a moment, leaned his head close to the other man in the room. The old man across the table leaned close as well.
"Richard, I have no idea how I got here."
Josephine was well into her third row of the pillow when she realized the headache had almost completely faded away. She was amazed. It had been literally years since she had felt so at peace. She had a list, a very, very long list of ways she had tried to find relaxation, tried to find peace, from her burdens. Her burdens never ended. So many enemies, Josephine had thought (she would not let those thoughts get in the way of her knitting). So much work to be done, all the time. Josephine felt the throbbing intensify momentarily, then fade again. Her hands bobbed forward, caught the yarn, pulled backward, and formed the next stitch. One step at a time. Each motion deliberate, yet inevitable. Each step optional, yet destined.
The headache was gone. She felt so much relief; she had been so burdened, burdened with the work of evading the Beast. That was her name for those so-called "scientists", those animals that hunted beings that were different than they were. Her Inquisition. Her witch hunters. On days when she questioned herself, days when she doubted herself, she wondered if she really was a witch. Something unnatural. Something that needed to be confined.
The yarn was perfect, floating in the air in front of her. The skein unraveled itself, feeding inch after inch, foot after foot into her handiwork. She had seen a skein in a local craft shop and studied it. She had created this one from pure thought, pure imagination; she had vibrated quantum foam and Platonic form and rearranged molecules and humors and atoms into something new, something that had never existed in the universe before. This was what she did. This was what God or nature made her to do, and she would do it. The headache returned for a moment, then passed as she began a new row.
"You don't know why you're here?" Researcher Castile asked. "You're God, you're here of your own will, but you don't remember doing it?"
"Did you…I mean, that isn't…I lied, child," the old man, SCP-343, said to the other in the room. "It is tricks, games. I play with you, as I always have." The old man's eyes stopped tracking the researcher in front of him. "I am here and God and always will- -be here- -lied, child, it is tricks- -" The old man jerked forward suddenly, ramming his head against the top of the table. His arms hung limply by his sides as he rammed his head against the table again.
"What are you—"
"Gerald Clifton, Cleveland, Ohio," the old man said, blood streaming from a gash in his forehead. "I was born in 1912, please. Let me die. I feel it controlling me. She controls me. She'll come back any minute."
"What are you talking about?"
"It isn't me talking. When you talk to me. 'God' is what it wants you to see me as. It watches you. It sits inside me and makes me talk. Kill me. Let me die. It will come back for me, it will lie to you again." The old man seemed his age for the first time that Researcher Castile could recall. Seemed…human. Seemed normal.
"You're being controlled by an external force? Is that what you're telling me?"
"Let me die," the old man pleaded, tears streaming down his face, blood dripping into his eyes. "Let me die free, please."
Josephine neared the end of her sixth row when she realized something was amiss. The headache had left her, but it pulsed ever so slightly as she paused. Too relaxed, she thought. I let go of one of them.
She closed her eyes and her mind left the room, the house, the area code that her body inhabited. It traveled from one predetermined location to another, isolated locations. They would have been impossible to find if she didn't know exactly what she was looking for. The people who had built prisons on those locations had designed them to be impossible to find. She checked containment chambers across half a dozen Sites before she found what she was looking for at Site 17. Gerald, she thought. I'm so sorry I needed to use you.
She concentrated further and found herself in the same room- -
Researcher Castile was furiously scribbling notes. "Gerald, how long have you been controlled by this entity?"
"I have no idea," the still-sobbing old man replied. "So long. Most of my life. She put me here. She wanted you to find me. She wanted you to catch me. She watches me, and watches you through me. She needs spies. She knows what you would do to her. She fears you. So many others. She's so old, at least a century, maybe closer to two. She's so tired."
Castile perked at this. "More? Other beings controlled by the same entity?"
"Many," the old man replied. "I can tell you at least that- -" The old man stopped talking suddenly, his eyes closing, his head sagging downward.
His head rose, his eyes locking on Researcher Castile, and Richard knew he was looking at someone different. Something different.
"So smart," said the voice coming from the old man's mouth. "So lucky. Such a breakthrough. Such a promotion," the voice said.
"Am I speaking to—" A flash of light blasted across the table. Castile tried to speak, heard only croaks; he had been rendered mute.
"So lucky," the voice repeated. "How lucky are you now? Think you're so smart. Hunting. Think you're such a good hunter. Think you're all such good hunters. Worthless. God, so worthless." The old man did not rise; rather, the chair he sat in seemed to melt into the air, the table rolled forward without effort, and the old man suddently was standing at his full height. "Think you caught God. You caught a drifter, fool. Think you're studying God. God studies you, you fool. You child. I study you. Every cruelty. Every injustice. Think you can catch me."
"Wh….what are…" Castile croaked.
"Forget it," the old man's voice said, and Castile forgot. The notes he had written disappeared, graphite pulling off of the page and reforming on the pencil. Another chair materialized behind the old man, and the old man's form sat within. Castile felt something…missing, felt something leaving him. Felt something gone.
The feeling lasted only a moment, then he began. Nothing unusual here for Castile; just another SCP, another containment test. Just a moment of discomfort, nothing more. Foundation researchers felt that uneasy feeling all the time. Nothing unusual here.
"Okay, beginning interaction with SCP-343," Castile said, looking at the smirk on SCP-343's face. The smirk that was always there.
The headache returned as Josephine returned to her body. Stupid girl, she thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Almost gave it all away. Almost let them find you. She forced herself to focus on the headache, make it stronger. You deserve this. Stupid girl. Throbbing, blinding pain drilled through her head. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She was floating fully in the air now, and the pain in her head bloomed brighter until she screamed. A bright flash of light. She opened her eyes and looked around. Her anger faded into shame. She reconstituted some clothing around herself and disappeared.
MEMORANDUM
LEVEL 5 CLEARANCE ONLY
CODEWORD: "GREEN KING"
FROM: OPERATIVE AMBER
TO: OPERATIVE MAGNUS
TWO MORE EVENTS DISCOVERED. INTERVIEW BETWEEN SITE 17 RESEARCHER AND SCP-343. VIDEO ATTACHED. RESEARCHER WAS COMPLETELY AMNESTIZED BEYOND ANY KNOWN CHEMICAL METHODS; MRI SUGGESTED CHEMICAL PATHWAYS AND NEURAL DEVELOPMENT OF MEMORIES WAS LITERALLY REVERSED AND ELIMINATED. COVERT VIDEO SURVEILLANCE OF SCP-343 AS PER "GREEN KING" PROJECT ALLOWED FOR RECOVERY. INTERVIEW ENDED AT 1523 HOURS ON 11/02/13.
KEYHOLE SATELLITES DETECTED AN ENERGY SURGE IN AN ISOLATED AREA OF SONORA DESERT AT 1525 HOURS. RESULTING CRATER RESEMBLED THERMOBARIC WARHEAD DETONATION SITE.
ANALYSIS ONGOING.
AMBER
The marketplace was busy, as always. Goods being heaved off of and onto ships, merchants trying to raise their voices above the clamor to peddle their wares, the various colorful trinkets being sold. All set beneath the overpowering aroma of the ocean.
Caleb couldn’t care less about any of it. He was just trying to get the crates of God knows what off of the boat and onto the dock without killing himself. It was hard work, but it paid well enough, especially this job. For some reason, whoever owned this cargo was paying the crew double what they normally got for a load this size. No one knew what was in them, but for that kind of money, Caleb wasn't really in the mood to ask questions.
What Caleb did know was that whatever it was, it was heavy. It took three men working the ropes to hoist the cargo off the upper deck of the ship and down to the dock. Even then, the boxes still made a resounding thud when they hit bottom.
The job only got harder as the sun got higher. Caleb’s hands were getting sweaty, and he was getting tired. Still, there were only two or three more crates to go. Better to finish the job now and go home early then spend more time out in the sun.
Then, without any kind of warning, a little girl, unimpeded by the thick crowd in front of her, dashed over, past the guiding ropes and onto the docks. Before anyone could yell to her to stop, or even have the time to recognize her presence, she had tripped on a loose plank. At that exact moment, the rope holding the crate gave way.
The next few moments were forever etched into Caleb’s memory. He heard the snap as the rope broke, and saw the little girl on her knees directly below it. He tried to call out to her, but even in that instant, he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He saw the crate falling, faster and faster, getting ever closer to the girl’s head…
Global Occult Coalition Manifestation Priorities for Extranormal Abilities in Type-Green Entities
This document outlines the order in which abilities typically manifest in Type-Green entities. Keep in mind that while this progression is typical for Type-Greens, it may not be representative of all cases. In addition, in many cases Type-Greens may manifest multiple levels of ability simultaneously.
Level 0: Spontaneous Defensive Behavior
Typically, a Type-Green entity’s first experience with his or her abilities comes unintentionally, in response to an immediate perceived threat. While the mechanism by which this reflexive action occurs is not well understood, it has been shown that increased levels of adrenaline, as well as other hormones associated with the acute stress response, can cause reality-affective powers to manifest more easily.
…and then it wasn't.
Caleb blinked. The crate was gone. There was no trace of it anywhere. No pieces of rope, no splintered wood, none of whatever was inside it. The only evidence that something had fallen was the frayed end of the rope still attached to the pulley.
Everyone who had seen the incident froze for a moment. No one knew exactly how to process what had just happened. The poor girl kept staring up where the crate used to be, as if she was still waiting for it to come back down.
Most people, however, hadn’t seen the crate fall. Because the crate never hit the ground, it never made any noise, so nobody really paid attention to it. The dumbstruck dock workers escorted the girl back into the crowd and gave her a lecture on how it wasn’t safe to go onto the docks when people were working.
The human mind copes with what it doesn't understand by ignoring it. Among the people who had actually seen the incident, most chose to believe that they had somehow mis-seen what had really happened. The crate missed the girl and fell into the water. The rope never broke. The entire incident never happened.
A select few, however, chose to remember. They knew what they had seen, and what they had seen wasn’t normal. Some of these people were later dragged from their homes in the middle of the night and made to forget. Others were smart enough to keep their heads down about it, earned the right to guard their memories, and with it, the knowledge that the world around them was not nearly as coherent as they had been led to believe.
One person in particular, however, learned a little bit more that day. The instant they saw the crate vanished from the air, not simply moved somewhere else or made invisible, but actually removed wholly from existence, they knew that they were responsible. They did not understand how or why it had happened, but they knew for certain that they had been the cause. In that instant, as they perceived the imminent danger, they looked at the offending object. Then they looked at it in a slightly different way, and it was no more.
Thus, Josephine, the little girl who was nearly crushed, lived. And a great power lived with her.
Level 1: Manipulation of Matter
After the initial discovery event, many Type-Greens will begin a phase of experimentation. Typically, abilities which involve the manipulation of matter are the first conscious abilities to manifest. These can include telekinesis (the physical manipulation of objects without applying measurable force), transmutation (the conversion of one type of matter into another type), and violation of the conservation of matter (destroying matter or bringing new matter into existence).
It took some time before Josephine was again able to cause something to happen by her will alone. At first, she tried pointing at inanimate objects and ordering them around, as if the atoms contained therein were soldiers waiting for orders. When that failed, she tried making hand gestures and saying magic words. This, too, proved ineffective against the permanence of reality. She tried simply thinking very hard at an object, but the solution proved more complex.
She reached an epiphany in the middle of the night. She awoke from a nightmare, breathing heavily and shaking slightly. She had dreamed that she was again on that dock, immobilized as the crate fell down on her in slow motion. She smelled sweet salt water, heard the waves rushing around her. She struggled desperately to move out of the crate’s way, but she felt as if her whole body were encased in concrete. Her physical body failing her, she was now forced to control her power or be crushed. She closed her eyes and tried to focus. In her mind, she saw the crate. She saw the gravity pulling it down, and the friction pulling it up. She saw the air moving across the surface of the crate, she saw the nanoscopic foam which formed the atoms which formed the molecules which formed the wood which formed the box. She saw the crate for what it was.
And then, she saw that it was not. Influencing reality is, in the simplest possible terms, a matter of perspective.
Many years later, Josephine returned to the dock. The waves were rolling in gently. Gently, at least, so far as other people would see it. Josephine could feel the kinetic energy in the water, the energy pushing the waves, the energies flowing in waves and particles between earth and water and sun and moon. But the salt water, the sweet smell basking in the air, she had no way to reproduce or analyze it. Deep down, it was all neural impulses, memories, particles. But some part of Josephine didn't want to analyze it. She didn't want to spoil every little magic for herself.
Josephine told nobody about her…condition. She did it to protect herself, and her loved ones. But part of the reason was that she knew, deep down, that if anyone knew what she could do, they would try to use her for their own purposes.
And Josephine had plans of her own.
Lemme just give you an executive summary of what I'm changing. Some of the phrasing in your narration needs tweaking, especially the use of adjectives; a third-person limited omniscient narrator can't use judgmental words like "lowly". Second, Josephine's thought processes needed some polish. Finally, some other things needed polish. Okay, this is a shitty executive summary. In general, I'm cleaning stuff a bit.
NYC2012 β
Site-40
A young boy walked lazily around Site 40, watching brooding soldiers and overworked scientists make their daily rounds. He was a janitor, with access only to what he needed to know to survive as long as possible. Access to classified rooms. There was nothing to hide from him; all sensitive materials were either secured within the rooms or on endlessly secured computers. Usually.
He eventually wandered to the cafeteria, moderately filled, with very little noise. The janitor got a small snack and began to exit, but was quickly stopped himself as he saw a woman walk through. Very few new people joined the staff, and they almost always seemed slightly unsure of themselves. She was different. She seemed like she could stop a bullet with her gaze.
She passed through quickly, with a slightly rushed gait. Silently, the janitor followed her. He knew that it wasn't in his best interests, but he had both a curiosity and an understanding that most people didn't even see him in the first place.
He watched her dodge through many corridors, eventually stopping at a door he had memorized over many months.
He had been at the site for months, and he could recognize nearly all the staff, but, every couple of weeks, he saw a group of people, small in number, make their way into an unmarked room, and after many hours, file out once again. The members of this group, from what he had gathered from the members of his staff's site, had no noticeable connection. Physiologists, physicists, tacticians, every field under the sun. These shadowy people were very secretive, even by the Foundation's standards, usually not even conversing with other researchers out of purely technical matters. He tried to keep a watch out for them, but if he even saw the edge of their glare, he inched out as fast as possible.
Today, he waited in the cafeteria for the woman to pass through again. He didn't know if she would, but he was on break and had a few minutes to wait and watch. Soon, she arrived. As she walked through, along with three researchers in the site's staff, he heard a researcher a couple of tables away attempt to joke with some half-asleep coworkers about something work-related.
"…explosion with four forty seven. It affects spacetime so everything seems green! Huh, whadda ya think?"
"You're drunk?" The young woman was as visibly bored as she could be without being openly rude.
"No, you're just jealous! Amazing Green, I'm gonna call it. Patent it. Market it. They're gonna call me the Green King before I'm—"
The eccentric researcher's last word echoed as he raised his voice to emphasize. The four professors suddenly stopped in their tracks, and glanced over their shoulders, a mix of anger and suspicion on their faces. They listened for half a minute more, and after realizing what the researcher was talking about, left to their own lives.
An unknown distance away, a woman stood, feeling the world around her. She was angry - as she commonly was. She hated anger. She hated hate. She hated herself. She wanted peace. Tranquility. Freedom. She was trapped, needing to control her actions so she wouldn't be chased by…them. She hated them, only because they were relentless. They hunted her. She knew that they feared her, knew she was capable of changing the world. They weren't the only ones, but they were the most persistent. The constant thorn in her side.
She lost the feeling. When someone thought of her who knew what she could do, they always thought of her in the same way. She eventually found a way to track those thoughts, track those who knew about her. She could erase their memories, or destroy them. It was simple, but slow.
Then, one day, they disappeared. Every person who knew her slowly faded off her inner radar. She didn't know what they did, and she couldn't figure it out. She spent months looking for any sign of where they had gone. Finally, she hit on an isolated location in Pennsylvania. She couldn't be certain, but it was a building with foot traffic going in and out and she couldn't hear any thoughts at all. Someone was hiding something, and she had a guess who.
She stopped reminiscing, and focused on finding someone to throw the Foundation on a wild goose chase. Her mind stumbled upon a person with a dynamic love of bizarreness and creativity that some would describe as "insanity". She saw it as a useful trait under the circumstances. She quickly decided to turn him into her own personal distraction, letting her mind rest as her new pawn wreaked havoc.
Site-40
As the janitor finished mopping up the last hallway of his graveyard shift, he felt the ground shake as an ungodly metallic screech echoed down from the center of the site.
He heard many women and men yell to each other as emergency klaxons started to wail. He quickly retreated to a side hallway as a squadron of soldiers rushed towards the commotion. The boy decided to attempt to find out the cause of the commotion. He had heard of containment breaches, but there was very few SCP-related rooms in the inner structure.
He wandered into a nearby office, attempting to find a reason behind the alarm, and started checking the locked computers until he heard many loud cracks coming from outside the office. He quickly hid under a desk, hearing bullets ricochet and men scream.
The clanking grew closer and closer. He quickly made his way into the darkest corner of the room, wide eyes watching the door to the hallway. He suddenly felt the air rush by him as a heavy built man flew through the wall and into a bookshelf, hanging onto threads of—
Through the newly-made hole in the wall, he heard a drunken voice half-singing, half-screeching a small poem, with a sadistic snicker.
"Oh Mother, Mother, she hates you so,
She hates you and wished you would go,
And let her be,
Or wipe you from histor-eeeee~"
That tune stuck in the boy's mind, shoveled in next to the screams of pain and maelstrom of of whizzing bullets.
He jumped at a sound behind him. He turned to see the solider attempting to get to his feet, despite bleeding from head to toe. The janitor, despite his fears, helped the guard to his feet, and saw him stumble back to the hole, kneeling on one damaged leg, using his assault rifle to attempt to fell the singing madman. The singing stopped for a second, and in the silence that followed, he heard a low growl before hundreds of small objects flew through the wall, scraping him in many places, leaving large gashes on his torso as he finally, realizing the inevitably of his own death, wandered to the hole in the wall.
He saw many bloody corpses laid about, many with scratches just like his own. In the middle of the carnage, a skinny, blond haired man whistled the accursed tune that the janitor had heard. There were small pieces of debris - splinters of wood, concrete blocks the size of a mans' fist, and twisted metal, slowly orbiting around the man in a fluid, deliberate fashion. The same debris had just punctured hundreds of holes in the room he was in.
The janitor, blood dripping from his hair, watched as the woman from before held a stone tomahawk, its head pointing at the interloper. She muttered a single word, and a blinding flash enveloped the hallway.
The boy fell limp as the woman heard the tomahawk make a firm "thump" in the intruder's skull.
FROM: MARTIN KRAKE, DIRECTOR, SITE 40
TO: Prof. G. Quaero, Foundation Research
An attack has occurred on my site. Structural damage was moderate, and loss of personnel was severe. When I attempted to inspect the damage, I was stopped by several officers claiming themselves to be of "GK" clearance. They have informed me that they have taken over operations of the assaulted area. I have been told I will be returned control after they finish their investigation.
Please advise.
FROM: OVERWATCH COMMAND
TO: KRAKE, SITE 40
MESSAGE SENT 2-17-20██ INTERCEPTED.
AUTHORITY OF INDIVIDUALS IN POSSESSION OF GK-LEVEL AUTHORIZATION IS TO BE CONSIDERED VALID AT LEVEL 5 RANK.
NO FURTHER COMMUNICATION RELATING TO GK-LEVEL AUTHORIZATION, PERSONNEL, OR ACTIVITIES IS TO BE MADE TO ANY SOURCE.
NO FURTHER INQUIRIES ARE TO BE MADE.
O5-4
Dr. Herrero walked slowly along the empty white corridor, like a condemned to the scaffold. His footsteps echoed on the cold walls, while several cameras observed him from the ceiling. He knew that he was being analyzed by the most sophisticated surveillance devices ever invented by man. If those cameras at any moment found anything abnormal, the security system would have activated the alarm in the whole building and the automatic sentry machine guns stationed near the door at the end of the corridor, capable of tearing any intruder into pieces in a few seconds, would have blown him away.
Hilarious, he thought. The defenses would do nothing against the one they're actually afraid of.
Nothing happened. Dr. Herrero arrived in front of the massive steel door resembling a monolithic tombstone. He said, with a calm and determined tone that didn’t show the storm of emotions weighing in his heart, "Dr. Robert Herrero, Clearance Level 5, Access Code 09-42-8695." The microphone above his head registered his words, and the sentry turrets, which hadn’t stopped pointing at him since when he arrived there, immediately disengaged themselves and started guarding the corridor again. He pressed his hand on the digital fingerprint sensor and the enormous door opened without a sound.
It. It. They always called her "it". Like an animal. Like an object. Like something worthless.
Robert entered the elevator, as empty as the rest of the facility, and the door closed behind him. Even there, he was constantly monitored by video cameras. He didn’t pay them any attention, and, as he had done many other times, pressed the single, big grey button on the wall of the lift, which started descending into the darkness. Dr. Herrero crossed his arms and waited, giving an absent look to his reflection in the elevator’s mirror. Time had not been gentle with him. He was still good looking for his age, but his face was marked by wrinkles, his hair grey and his right cheek crossed by a long, thin scar. He touched it gently, thinking that, maybe, the end of that story was finally near.
Am I ready? I know what they'll ask me. Am I ready?
The elevator reached the floor, 400 metres under the Italian surface. The secret bunker didn't have a name; it was built to host the most important meetings of the Foundation, and the Foundation wasn't in the habit of giving a place a name if it didn’t officially exist. As the door opened, Dr. Herrero was greeted by two men in black uniforms. Robert knew one of them, the German, Captain Strauss. He was rapidly making a career for himself, and his presence there made Herrero think about his son, Martin. Made him think about how much Martin hated him. What hurt Robert the most was that Martin had a good reason to hate him.
Strauss saluted him. "Greetings, Dr. Herrero," he said in awkward English. "I have been ordered to inform you that the assembly is about to begin. Your presence is required as soon as possible." Robert nodded and walked down the gently sloping hallway, heading to the conference room. All his confusion disappeared during that walk, supplanted by a sense of urge and anxiety. After all, he was a member of the Foundation. He had made vows to the Foundation. Most of the researchers laughed at those vows, laughed at the old words. Secure, contain, protect. Robert lost a lot for those vows, and they were all he had left. He had lost his wife. The words were what he hadn't lost.
Arriving in front of the room, Dr. Herrero stopped, revised mentally the information he had, breathed deeply to calm himself, and opened the door.
The room was occupied by a large, round mahogany table. Around it there were almost two dozen people, speaking in a low tone. There were members from every secret department of the Foundation, though oddly not a single member of the Senior Staff. Robert noted in particular three figures, two men and a woman, in black business suits. He had never seen them before. As soon as he walked into the room, Dr. Jonathan Redwood, the American presiding over the meeting, welcomed him. “Hello, Robert. We were waiting for you. Please, have a seat.” Robert walked to the nearest empty chair and glanced at his colleagues; most looked nervous and stressed. This probably feels awkward for them, Robert thought. Redwood stood up.
"Gentlemen’’, said Redwood. "Before we begin, I’d like to remember you all that this meeting is classified Level 5-Black, as per protocol GK-09-Black, and what we are going to discuss about today is classified for all individuals without level 5, O5, or GK-X clearance. Our orders come from the director of Project Green King, and to him and him alone do we report our actions.” He looked at the people around him. ‘’Is that clear?’’ Everyone nodded.
"Good. In that case, we can begin." he said, clearing his throat. “As you have been informed, Project Green King is focused on the containment of an entity considered one of the most powerful beings the Foundation has ever faced. This being is a reality bender identified as Entity HL-49, or by her original codename, 'Green King.' This entity may have existed for years, maybe decades, before its interactions with the organizations predating the Foundation. At some point after this "discovery", it began to investigate us. Our best psychological profile—"
"Guess," one of the dark-suited men said, his Krakow accent showing. "Your best guess."
Dr. Redwood cleared his throat, looked around nervously. "Our profile suggests that it was scared. It knew that, if we captured it, we’d eventually find a way to keep it contained forever.” Redwood stopped, drank a sip of water and began talking again. "To obtain the information it needed to escape us, the Green King resorted on a ingenious strategy, as Operative Magnus will now explain you. Magnus?”
The dark-suited heckler from before stood up. “Thank you, Dr. Redwood. Green King, thanks to its abilities, managed somehow to create a reality bender under its control using only an ordinary man. This first of them contained by us was SCP-343. His infiltration was total, and after him came others, but for a long time we didn't suspect anything. And this gave the Green King enough time to spy us…spy on us.” Magnus shook his head at the English phrase.
"Today, we have uncovered three different entities within the Foundation that worked for the Green King," Magnus continued. "And we would have never discovered we were being spied upon at all were it not for the Green King’s difficulties in controlling its puppets.’’ Magnus stopped for a second, then resumed talking: "It made a mistake. During an attempt to gather information, the entity appears to have suffered some sort of episode or break; during this, its puppet, a young Palauan girl, was freed from its control and began confessing to us that it had been "possessed," as she put it, by a being that was giving it anomalous abilities and monitoring its interactions with Foundation personnel. In combination with the already extant evidence of the Green King's existence that the Foundation had, we were able to deduce this particular entity's involvement. That was the beginning of our problems. It became more careful, more shrewd, it found methods to prevent us from finding it. We continued looking for it, winning some battles, losing others. The situation, however, remained somewhat stable. Back then, the Green King was a powerful reality bender, but still a reality bender like many others, simply trying to escape from us.’’
Magnus lowered his voice. "Operative Amber will continue the briefing from this point." He sat, and the black-suited woman sitting beside him stood up.
"On 11 February 1974, during our sole offensive measure to date, two unnamed mobile task forces launched a direct assault upon a suburban home in eastern Pennsylvania where it was believed the Green King was basing its operations at that time."
"Its base was in a populated town?" one of the other, unnamed researchers asked.
"This is not a press conference," Operative Magnus said. "Please remain silent throughout the briefing, Taurus." He turned to the woman. "Please continue."
"During the attack," Amber continued, "two civilians were killed. Judging from radio transmissions from operating agents in the field, the civilians were between the ages of eight and fifteen years of age, both male. Entity HL-49 was engaged moments thereafter, the entity apparently having discovered the deaths of the two civilians in the house. A screaming was heard over the radio just before contact with the assault force was lost entirely. Moments afterward, an explosion was registered within the on-site fission reactor of Site 86, from which the assault was launched. The Site was lost with all hands."
The room sat in silence while the assembled individuals absorbed this information. Operative Amber continued moments later.
"Event E-GK-04 was one of the largest attacks against the Foundation ever recorded in our history. Perhaps most frighteningly, our psychological analysis of the Entity suggests that its restraint came primarily out of a lack of thorough intelligence gathering."
"Restraint?" a voice in the room said.
Operative Amber paused, looked at the speaker. "The Entity's restraint in not killing every man and woman working for the Foundation was due to ignorance. She didn't take the time to track us all down, then burned down one of her best leads; one of her operatives was working out of that Site. The annihilation of Site 86 was, in the end, just a self-defence act, and the Green King kept running away without any actively hostile action against us, but it was starting to break down mentally. It might have lost its mind entirely. Then, it…" Amber paused a moment, cleared her throat. She briefly made eye contact with Herrero, looked down at her notes. "Several years later—"
"I can tell the story from here out," Herrero said. Robert stood up, slowly, while the people in the room looked at him. His blue eyes seemed like trying to incinerate Amber. He knew she knew the story; at least, her version of it, but he was nevertheless raging. It wasn't her place. "Sit down," he said to Amber. ‘’Now.’’ The wrath in his voice made the woman turn pale slightly, and she sat.
"I was twenty-seven when I met my wife, Annie," Herrero continued. "We met in a park one night, late at night, later than either of us should have been out. We were both running away from something, wandering, hoping to find something better, and we found each other. She told me about her first love, the breakup. I told her about mine. I told her a little bit about the Foundation, some of it a cover story, some of it…maybe more than I should have. She told me about her job, how much she hated it, how much she—"
"I'm sorry, I don't understand how this is relevant—"
"You can wait a goddamned minute, Jeff. Yeah, I know I'm not supposed to call you by your names. But you dragged me in here, and you know what you're asking me to do, and I know what you're asking me to do, so you can sit through my little pity party." Herrero sighed. "It was a quick courtship, a quick…it was just all so fast. I fell in love with her. We were happy, for the first time in our lives. That was all I knew."
"One morning, right around four o'clock, we were asleep. I was restless, I got up and went to the kitchen. Right at that moment, there was an explosion. Explosions. An attack. I was a desk worker, I had no experience with what was happening. I was knocked unconscious by some force. When I woke up, I was blindfolded, tied to a chair. A voice kept asking me questions, random questions. Pain happened. I blacked out."
"The Green King used torture? Can't she—" The black-suited man stopped, seeing the look Magnus gave him. Robert couldn't see that look, but he was sure the operative wouldn't be interrupting again.
"No, Jeff," Robert said. "Two mobile task forces swarmed our house, took me into custody. She had left already, had known what was coming. The Foundation had figured it out somehow. It was just another operation for them." Robert looked up at the ceiling. "She knew I worked for the Foundation. It was infiltration for her, at least at the beginning. Maybe the whole time. I lost my wife, and I'll never know if she felt anything for me or not or if she used me to get to the Foundation. I'll never know if she thinks I set her up. I'll never have an answer to that I can believe. Ever."
The room was silent as the implications set in.
Redwood stood up and coughed, embarrassed. Then he spoke: ‘’After… after this Event, E-GK-06, the Green King became actively hostile to the Foundation, and the leaders of the Green King Project decided to make its existence a secret to everybody but a few personnel. This happened twenty-five years ago. And now, I’ll let Operative Taurus conclude.’’ Then he sat, and he looked sideways at Robert, feeling bad for him. Robert looked like he had lost all energy, and simply sat there, staring at the table.
Operative Taurus, a corpulent Hispanic, stood up: "Since E-GK-06, the Green King has become more hostile, dangerous and aggressive to the Foundation as time passed. As years gone by, the deterioration of its mental and moral conditions, which had stopped during its relationship with Dr. Herrero, resumed at an even faster pace. Now, we think it is at a final stage. As the psychological evaluations say, the Green King is tired, exhausted, and doesn’t want to fight or hide anymore, and these discouragement and depression can lead to unpredictable consequences. As you know, four days ago we had two more Events, and yesterday Site 40 was attacked. We know the Green King is involved.’’
"Thus, the Green King Project leaders have decided to eliminate this threat once and for all. The Neutralization Committee expressed their agreement, and our R&D division has developed a weapon that we believe will be able to render the Green King harmless for enough time to kill it. All what we need’’, said, looking at the people around him "isthe right time and place, and a bait to lure it and maintain it in the same spot for enough time to let us activate the weapon."
The people around the table started talking all together, and Taurus had to speak up to make them stop. "It will have to be a carefully chosen bait. Considering its hate towards us and its powers, we’ll have to choose the right person, someone able to speak with it for several minutes without being annihilated.’’ He looked at Robert. "Dr. Herrero, we think the best candidate for this task is you.’’
The room was again silent. Everyone was speechless. Robert seemed not having heard at first, then he started emitting a guttural sound that made the people around him shiver, while his shoulders winced. The laughter exploded, harsh and raucous. The laughter of an insane man. It seemed like boiling water was gurgling in the old man’s throat, and when it faded, its echo resounded on the walls. Dr. Hererro stood up, his face darkened and pointing towards the floor. He spoke with a low and dreadful tone.
"You are asking me to help you kill the woman I love, trying to take advantage on an oath I took when I was too young to really understand it and that I am too honest, or stupid, to stop observing. You take advantage on the fact that I haven’t seen her for more than thirty years, hoping I accept. Now tell me, you manipulative sons-of-bitches: why should I do it?’’
"Dr. Herrero," Magnus said, a frown flashing across his face.
"No, goddammit, I deserve an explanation. You tell me exactly why I haven't given enough yet."
"Robert."
Robert threw his hands up. His mind was confused, but in the great storm of toughs, one of them stood mighty and beautiful, like a beacon in the darkness. I would see her again.
Am I ready? I know what they'll ask me. Am I ready?
He looked up, and a single, bright tear fell from his right eye.
"All right. I'll do it."
—ck from our music break, we'll do our weekly segment "Tuesday Update with Researcher James," where we bring everyone's favorite researcher live on-air to discuss the, uh, goings-on around the Foundation. We'll be back with Toone and Ames in the Evening after this special request, straight from…let's see…the janitorial staff at Site 382! Representing the outskirts of Seoul, we'll be back after this on your station, 98.3, WSCP.
Isun ganeul neukkyeobwa highlight, hi-hi-highlight, jigeum buteo michyeo bwa highlight, hi-hi-highlight
Gati gati ttwiyeo bwa ma eum daero jeulgyeo bwa, take it all, take it all, hi-highlight
Magazine tabil myeoneul jang shikhal spotlight, geu torok cham barae wateon 4minute time
On mome jeonyuri jjaritae teon feeling, imi naneun algo iji the fantasy
Naega naega naega naega queen of fashion, naega naega naega naega queen of motion
Ije buteo nareulbwa naege nuneul ttejima, coming, coming, coming geudaero
Isun ganeul neukkyeobwa highlight, hi-hi-highlight, jigeum buteo michyeo bwa highlight, hi-hi-highlight
Gati gati ttwiyeo bwa ma eum daero jeulgyeo bwa, take it all, take it all, hi-highlight
Neol saro jabeul holic, holic, holic, neol yuhokha neun holic, holic, holic
I make you crazy now ( deo nopi ollaga) you make me crazy now, just want it up, up, up, up now
Drawing, drawing sang sang motal neol hyanghan strike, ije buteo shijagiya 4minute time
Tteugeo un nae show time, bultaneun nae soul live, ije modu heundeureo bwa hit to the beat
Naega naega naega naega queen of fashion, naega naega naega naega queen of motion
Ije buteo nareulbwa naege nuneul ttejima, coming, coming, coming geudaero
Isun ganeul neukkyeobwa highlight, hi-hi-highlight, jigeum buteo michyeo bwa highlight, hi-hi-highlight
Gati gati ttwiyeo bwa ma eum daero jeulgyeo bwa, take it all, take it all, hi-highlight
Jigeum buteo naye highlight, dubeon dashi eopneun soul fight
Nae mom jiseun slow, slow nae shim jangeun stop, stop
Pyeong sowa neun dalla now, isun gan keep it right
Cheo eum buteo kkeu kkajida nun ttejima keep your eyes
4, 3, 2, 1, action
Isun ganeul neukkyeobwa highlight, hi-hi-highlight, jigeum buteo michyeo bwa highlight, hi-hi-highlight
Gati gati ttwiyeo bwa ma eum daero jeulgyeo bwa, take it all, take it all, hi-highlight//
Neol saro jabeul holic, holic, holic, neol yuhokha neun holic, holic, holic
I make you crazy now (deo nopi ollaga) you make me crazy now, just want it up, up, up, up now
(fade)
Okay okay okay, we're back. Coming off of that hit, "Highlight," by the Korean pop band 4minute, we have our weekly chat with Researcher James. Toone, do we have James on the phone yet? No? Well, I'm sure the little guy's having trouble with his fifth-grade math homework. Heh, heh. In the meantime, we've got the best news the Overseers pay us to allow you to know, only several hours after it hits the intranet: this is Foundation World News Report!
theme song: orchestrals, sound of telegraph
Okay, first off the wire, from Site 55, we have the interesting story of one Researcher Torres, whose recent demotion to Level 1 couldn't have come as much of a shock to her. Seems that Torres was a bit of a prankster and decided that she was going to have a little fun with some fellow Foundation personnel and a couple of instances of SCP-531. Torres sets up two of the little cat statues outside of the Site breakroom on remote-controllable rotating platforms, and held onto the remote for herself. Security footage (which is pretty hilarious, just so we're being honest here) shows four hours of the same people walking up to the breakroom to get coffee, stopping in the doorway, and turning around. The distraction effect from 531 had some interesting side effects; personnel turning around, walking into one another, turning back, trying again, turning back, ad infinitum. Then, when 55 had a Euclid containment breach…and the only way to the Euclid wing was through the breakroom…Needless to say, two Mobile Task Forces were startled from their lunches and Researcher Torres is going to get some good experience with a mop.
(rimshot sound)
All right, settle down, settle down. A few other quick reports. Seismographs reported some earthquakes in Arizona, outside of a predictable seismic area. Transportation snafus have delayed all personnel transfers from Site 40 in Pennsylvania, so if you're on third shift and waiting on relief from Lancaster, you better put on another pot of coffee. The Mennonite cavalry will not be coming to your rescue, I'm afraid.
(opening to "Amish Paradise" begins)
A couple more pieces; food resupply to Site 17 has been delayed by — whoops, getting some blackboxes here. Bust out the emergency rations and say your daily prayer to Saint Bowdler of the Expunged Order of Redaction. A couple of blackouts in New Mexico have cut off communications with Research Site Beta-23; Our Lady of the Overwatch says cell towers are down, higher-ups have access to black comm channels but regular communications out are going to take a little while. In honor of all you beautiful Anabaptists stuck in traffic in Site 40, here's Weird Al.
ENCRYPTION PROTOCOL "WSCP GK-33" ACTIVE
SIGNAL STRENGTH 97%
BEGINNING TRANSMISSION…
FOLLOWING DOCUMENT CLASSIFIED LEVEL GK-09-BLACK:
ACCESS RESTRICTED TO PERSONNEL WITH LEVEL 5, O5-X, OR GK-X CLEARANCE
TO: SELECTED PERSONNEL
FROM: PROJECT GREEN KING COMMAND
SUBJECT: CODEWORD "GREEN KING" BACKGROUND INFORMATION
DR. JONES
PERTINENT EXCERPTS OF GREEN KING BACKGROUND FOLLOW.
MAGNUS
This project's earliest incarnation began in 1894 with the death of a man named Samuel Enfield. Enfield was a field agent working for the American Secure Containment Initiative, a precursor organization to the Foundation. Enfield was found dead on assignment in Boise, Idaho in close proximity to another man, their two bodies positioned in such a manner as to suggest the two were intimately engaged with one another prior to their death. Their deaths were determined by the local coroner to have been caused by gunshot wounds from Agent Enfield's two Smith & Wesson Model 3 revolvers. Enfield's wife, Agnes, was arrested two miles out of town and tried for double murder; she was found dead in her cell three days later from an apparent suicide.
Initiative researchers were able to connect several irregularities with Enfield's death. First, eyewitness testimony from two fellow agents on assignment with Enfield suggested that he had run out of ammunition for his revolvers earlier that day and was told he would not receive further ammunition until a supply wagon came by three days later. Second, even by the limited familiarity with homosexuality present in the late 1890s, no prior indication of a sexual relationship between Enfield or the other man was noted by any of Enfield's associates. Third, while paper records were located after the fact, several Initiative commanders expressed confusion at the identity of Enfield's supposed erstwhile companion, claiming they had never heard of a field operative by his name and insisting that an error had occurred. Fourth, while paper records after the fact again supported the official story, several corroborated reports stated that a woman closely resembling Enfield's wife had been found dead in their home several hours before the agent's murder. The body was lost at some point after Enfield's death, and some (though not all) of the corroborating witnesses changed their story later, claiming not to remember the period of time between the body's recovery and Enfield's murder. Though proper amnestics had not yet been developed, a comparison of interview transcripts before and after the body's disappearance closely resembles before-and-after reports of amnestic application.
Agent Enfield was murdered during an investigation into a being that would now be classified as a "reality bender," though that term did not then exist. The reality bender was a Paiute American Indian religious figure known as Wovoka, an individual who had attempted to start a general uprising against the American government. After a failed attempt at such an uprising, he was pursued by Initiative agents for some time. Enfield had detained Wovoka, interviewed him briefly, and was scheduled to interview him in the morning. He was found dead that night. Wovoka escaped custody and was never subsequently located.
Though most of the Initiative believed Wovoka to be responsible for any irregularit
— ENCRYPTION SEQUENCE ENTERING DORMANCY
SCRAMBLING TRANSMISSION
ENCRYPTION SEQUENCE FAILING
RECALIBRATING ENCRYPTION SEQUENCE…PLEASE WAIT…
ENCRYPTION REESTABLISHED
DECODING SEQUENCE RESUMING
TRANSMISSION CONTINUES
terview suggested that Wovoka was not a reality bender at all; rather, he had been set up as a reality bender by an unknown entity. Wovoka described a godlike entity that came unto him one day and offered him the power to retake his tribal lands from the American occupiers. Wovoka, naturally, accepted this offer. Wovoka realized later that he had no actual control over his abilities when an attempt to begin such an uprising was defeated, his powers failing him at the critical moment. Shortly thereafter, according to Wovoka, he "felt his god leave him"; he described feeling himself in connection to his unknown entity, felt this being's extremely troubled emotions, and then felt "free"; he was able to escape this entity's attention and surrender himself to Agent Enfield's custody. Of course, his claims could not be confirmed or denied.
This was the first and, for many decades, the only evidence of entity HL-49. Even this evidence was shaky; all that was actually recorded was two pages of interview notes from Enfield and a handful of witnesses who remembered versions of history that were identical to one another but contradicting the official record, a record that was clearly doctored. There were nine of them, and they formed the core of what would become the Green King project.
The GOC classifies reality benders as "Type Green" entities. Three of the nine original members of the group became members of organizations that later formed the core of the GOC; through careful recruitment, the project investigating the entity first detected in Boise continued through both the GOC and the Foundation. The entity was presumed to be a male reality bender, and possibly the most powerful reality bender known to exist. Additionally, given the entity's penchant for disguising its behavior through others, individuals thought of as subjects, the entity was given the codename "Green King."
You are now a part of the operation to locate, secure, and detain this entity. Next WSCP transmission will contain details regarding the time and location of your orientation meeting; for now, you are advised to purchase tickets to Italy and await further instructions.
“We’ve got the results back.”
“And?”
“Three positively compromised, five more with a confidence of 50% or greater.”
“Good. Shuffle them around.”
“Yes, sir.”
Clearance Level GK-5
Eyes Only
Special Intelligence Protocol
Project Codename: Green King
In response to the nature of Entity HL-49, codename "Green King", Intelligence Protocol ███-██ is now is effect. As prescribed by Protocol ███-██, all personnel and resources allocated to Project Green King are to be evenly divided into two separate operations. Overwatch has agreed to supply false information regarding Foundation actions to one of the above operations. Any personnel of clearance below GK-5 are not to be informed of this protocol change. Which operation is receiving false information should be changed on an irregular basis.
If it is positively determined that an agent assigned to Project Codename: Green King has been compromised by the enemy, he or she may or may not be moved from one Green King operation to the other. This is to be done without regard to which operation is currently receiving false information.
Watch and remember. Remember for me.
I really need to get more sleep. I keep dozing off when I’m supposed to be working. Sooner or later, Dr. Alloway is gonna notice, and I’m really not interested in finding out what happens to people who start falling asleep on the job at the Foundation.
Come on, David. You’re an intelligence officer working for the most secretive organization on the planet. Show some professionalism.
All right, snap out of it. What’s next? Anomalous energy readings in the Sonora desert. Doesn't really seem like the kind of thing we’d usually be concerned about, but Doctor blackbox here seems to think it has something to do with the King.
The King. Why do we call him that, anyway? Always makes the think of Elvis.
Alright. So. According to this, the energy release was picked up by at least four Foundation detectors, so it was probably picked up by some civilians too. I’ll file a request for a misinformation campaign. Let’s call it nuclear testing. No, that might have some political repercussions. Freak lightning storm? I don’t know enough about meteorology to know if that would happen. No, we’ll call it a meteor strike. Big enough to cause a nice boom, small enough to be destroyed by the impact. Have a team go out and make a decent sized crater, maybe get someone from NASA to sign off on it, and that’ll probably be enough to fool most people. I’ll forward it to Sarah, though; she’s pretty good at picking out loose ends.
Now, on to the real business at hand. Where’s our King? Well, let’s try sending the energy data back to Doctor blackbox with a few security holds remo…
Good. Now stop. Forget.
…
I really need to get more sleep. I keep dozing off when I’m supposed to be working. Sooner or later, Dr. Alloway is gonna notice, and I’m really not interested in finding out what happens to people who start falling asleep at the Foundation.
I’m not getting paid enough for this. They keep me locked in this windowless bunker an undisclosed distance underground and make me sort files all day, and they wonder why my productivity’s dropping? The Foundation would fall apart without the archivists. Let’s hope that promotion request comes through.
Let’s see what we have here…
Spending report for site 37 for last month. Classified. Forward to accounting.
Experiment report out of site 46. Classified. Defer to someone with higher clearance so they can file it with the relevant SCP.
Surveillance data from sector 367. Even if that wasn’t classified, I don’t know where that is. Archive under site 367 intel.
Project Codename: Green King. Classified. Divert to higher cleara…
Destroy it.
Marked for destruction. Goody. Now I have to go all the way down to the shredder…
Burn it.
I mean the incinerator.
You will watch for me.
I should be grateful. You know how many people in the Foundation would kill for a boring job like this? I should just be glad that I’m not getting shot, eaten, or god knows what else.
Still, I’m guarding a fucking hallway. There’s not even anything here, as far as I know. It just connects one part of the site to the other. I mean, I understand the need for security—I’ve seen more containment breaches than I really like to think about—but it does make Overwatch look a little paranoid.
The ID scanner does most of my work for me, anyway. All I really have to do is stop anyone who doesn’t fit their ID.
…
Yeah, go ahead.
…
Whoa, slow down there, buddy. You gotta scan your card on the…
He is mine. Let him through.
Yeah, go ahead.
No matter how many times I do this, it doesn’t get any easier. I understand why we have to do this, but knowing why and actually pulling the trigger are two different things. This isn’t gonna be easy from a tactical standpoint, either. According to the briefing, this is supposed to be the most powerful thing any of us have ever gone up against. I already don’t like reality benders, not after that bullshit seminar they put us through when we started training.
Alright, here we go. Focus.
…
It’s not locked. Not a good sign.
…
There’s nothing in here. Are we sure this is the right place?
…
Seriously. No furniture, no decorations, not even any fucking lights.
…
Shit. I can feel it now. I can feel her mind. I really hope they’re doing a good job distracting her at the site.
…
It’s getting stronger. The walls are bending and the room is bigger on the inside.
…
I can destroy hear her now. She’s in mdefendy head.
…
There she is. She hasn’t seen us. This is our chance.
…
No.
…
This is my chance.
…
Oh god. She knows we’re here.
…
Stop.
…
…
…
Die.
Martin Herrero parked in the alleyway of his house and got out of the car, shopping bags in his hands. He smiled. Despite the cloudy sky and the gentle autumnal breeze, in that late October afternoon the temperature was pleasant, and that made Martin even happier than he was. Elizabeth had accepted his invite to a dinner, and his job interview went well. He hoped that he would have soon found a new job, away from his father and from his past. And, above all, away from the Foundation.
When he walked along the garden, however, Martin noted something that made him shiver for no particular reason. Everything was oddly silent, and even the wind seemed like trying to avoid making any noise. There was no one in the street, and the windows of his house looked like empty eye sockets. Upon everything weighed a sense of anguish and imminent tragedy. Ridiculous, thought Martin. It’s only your stupid imagination. But when he arrived under the portico, he saw a yellow envelope under the door. Martin picked it up, and he saw that there were nothing written on it, except his name. That alarmed him. He had two hypothesis on who could have sent the envelope, and in both cases he would have preferred to stay as far as possible away from the sender. He suddenly felt cold.
After having entered the house, Martin left the bags in the kitchen and sat on the couch in the living room, the envelope in his slightly shaking hands. He couldn’t decide what was better: to thrash the package, remaining oblivious of whatever was in it, or to keep it, and face the risks? After a moment, he opened it, revealing an hand-written letter. Martin immediately recognized the writing, even before reading the name. It was from Robert. His father. Conflicting feelings flooded in his heart, first of all the rage, but Martin resisted to the urge to rip up the letter without looking at it any further and tried to reason. He and his father hadn’t talked to each other for almost four years, until now. There must have been a reason if Robert tried to contact him, right? But what could it have been? Uncertain, Martin stood up and went back to the kitchen. He took a glass and a bottle of scotch and got back to the living room, sitting again on the sofa.
Yes, it really was a letter from Robert Herrero, no doubts. Martin filled the glass. What the fuck does he want?, he asked himself confused. It has been four years since the last time we talked. Why did he write me this letter? There was just one way to understand it, so Martin emptied his glass and started reading.
Hi, Martin.
Hi, piece of shit.
It’s me, Robert. The father you hate.
Well, at least you understod that.
I hope you are not going to throw away this letter before reading it just because it is from me. I must tell you important things, and I have little time, so please, read this letter. After you have done it, you will be free to do whatever you want of your life.
Martin took a deep breath. Ok, ok, his father had something important to tell him. Ok. It was the millionth time, but he had never spoke to him like that, and years had passed since the last time. Why reappear so suddenly, if not for a good reason? He filled the glass again and continued reading.
Author note: being known in foreign lands as the Delay Master, I didn't manage to translate the letter today. I will post it tomorrow, hoping that Eskobar will manage to give it a quick look. If everything goes right, this should be posted on the wiki the last day, on 5/2/13.
]
1816
She was working too hard, maybe. She shouldn't have been, but there wasn't a choice. There wasn't somebody else who was going to wash the dishes, and she wanted to keep Issac happy. She loved him. She didn't marry him because she loved him; she married him because that, well, that was just what you did. He was handsome once, and he loved her. He was kind to her. He had a temper, she knew, but she had hardly ever seen it. And he had hardly ever laid anything but a loving hand on her. And as she felt something give way, as she felt a trickling down her leg, she knew she was about to give him a child.
She had heard about what came next; she made her way to the small bed she shared with Issac and rested against its surface. She prayed for a girl as the contractions came.
Richard's hike was hardly going any better than the last one, or the one before it. This jungle seemed like a nice challenge to him, but he simply wasn't enjoying himself. It was difficult without being a challenge; it was physically grueling, yet still purely boring. A mudslide, native wildlife, anything would have worked. Yet all this jungle had was…jungle. Brush. Trees. Leaves. Eating wasn't even a challenge; there were plenty of fruits and nuts to be found. Living was easy enough to lack a challenge but miserable enough to make it completely undesirable.
Then the bell rang.
He just assumed it was a bell; a deep, deep ringing sound, too quick to be rung by any human Richard had ever met. It sounded muffled, as though under some brush. He made his way through the jungle towards the sound.
He reached the source of the ringing, and it certainly looked nothing like any bell he had ever seen. A black box with curving sides, leading up to a black rack. Upon the rack was something that looked like a door handle, some kind of cord or rope spiraling from the handle to the box beneath it. A wheel sat on the front of the box, numbers printed on it.
The box rang. The handle atop it rattled slightly. Richard, never one to shy away from the completely impossible, kneeled on the ground and lifted the handle away from the box.