There are loved ones in the glory whose dear forms you often miss. - SCP Foundation

Let the circle be unbroken.

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F.A.Q.

I was born with broken legs. With barely functional arms. With just one lung. I was blind in one eye and half blind in the other. My body was a mass of dull aching pain. I was 5 years old when the doctor said in hushed, saddened tones that I would not live to see my 30th birthday.

My father believed the charlatan.

The first of the surgeries happened then. My parents became poorer and poorer as these con-men claimed that I could not be repaired. It was not long before my mother had her fill of pain and passed on. After that, my father broke .

He became convinced that there was a plan for me. The mechano-priests of the Church agreed. And he asked for their forgiveness. So they granted it. He gave over part of himself to their machinations to become steel and bone.

They called their deity broken. They said God was like me. And then they granted me sight. Granted me the ability to walk. By the end I was as much machine as boy. My father thought I was finally saved.

But they were deceived.

God cannot be broken.

My father fell away from the faith after a time. He had transacted with them and gained a working son. So we returned to a somewhat normal life. Hiding our modifications underneath false flesh.

I grew and the metal grew within me. The mechano-priests may have been ignorant of their God's true nature, but they were masters of their craft. I excelled. I was stronger than my peers. Faster. And sharper.

But I knew a deep abiding truth; I was incomplete. And so as I became an adult I returned to the church. For a time I felt a belonging. I said my vows. Became a mechano-priest. I refined my skills. I took flesh and turned it into something beautiful. My patients screamed before but blessed me after.

And with each person I repaired, I brought myself ever closer to God. But the other priests, jealous of what I was becoming, called me heretic. They said that only those who chose this life should be modified.

But how will we complete the great work if we wait? I left. Built this chantry. It was I who found our God's discarded heart. Who placed it here in a place of worship.

I drained the heart into the baptism chamber. Now we bathe in the oils. When I slipped into it I could feel it working into the gaps of who I was. I felt my skin harden. My bones break and reform. It finally repaired me. Just as it repaired all of us.

The great machine continues apace but it is not complete. I will turn every piece of flesh on this earth to steel. I will replace every thought with code. I will drag you all here, screaming or not, to complete our God.

Coming here was correct and good. I will not stop my great work as you've asked. But I will show you God.

And we will unbreak you.

I swear it.