Forgotten Days - SCP Foundation

22nd of May, 1985

Site-120, 5 kilometers south-west of Częstochowa, Poland

You wake up, alone in the darkness of your own prison you've made for yourself so many years ago. You can feel it's rough edges, containing both you and the other within. The other, Red, the beast, the destroyer. It has many names, but it's always the same — an antithesis to your inherent need to create. You'd say you hate it, but that would be too much of a word — just like it's in your nature to create, it is in its nature to destroy — a ying-yang of sorts, if you will. You can feel it festering within your guts — contained, but still a threat. You'd say you regretted trying to run away from the old universe you so foolishly gave up to it for technology, but you know that by doing so, you created this one. And, well, living inside a prison for an eternity is a good enough deal for such a beauty. At least for you.

The scenery suddenly changes — you're no longer within a dark cell, but standing within an extremely large cave, with water dripping from the ceiling into a lake in the center. You look around yourself, seeing you're no longer a god of creation, but a tall thaumaturgist standing next to a shorter man with long, black hair. Both of you are hooded in long, white robes, and are smiling, with the other holding a large manuscript written in Fae. You recognize your point of view as, well, you'd put it differently, but he is your host.

The two open a portal together, and you feel a powerful call into this reality. You exist within the memories of your host and on the other side of the portal at the same time, merging as the ritual is finished. You look at your new host within this memory, feeling powerful, looking at the other, within whom you can sense the destroyer and its lies, You start to fight, but you can feel the memory changing to a new one. You'd want to see the full stretch of a duel between the hosts of both you and the other two, but you couldn't control the dreams and memories of your host any longer — you could feel he is beginning to wake up.

The scenery changes once again, this time to show a burning city, all in flame. You can hear the screams of its terrified citizens, running away from people thinking what they're doing is right. You know it isn't, but you also know you can't let the other finish a ritual here, and he only can do that when these people are alive. Through the falling buildings and engulfed streets, you and the red-haired woman you call Jessie Rivera enter a house within which the other is hiding. Walking through the doorstep, you suddenly feel swarmed by the presence of the Red and something else within. The part of you that's Blue feels attacked and is ready to attack itself.

As you summon the flames with which you fight into your hands with the sheer force of will and years of training, you suddenly fall away from reality, as the overwhelming screams of agony from around you and the heavy burden you all will have to bear when you finish get into you. You cry, because you know you're complicit, you cry, because you know you're wrong, and you cry, because you know you're guilty, no matter how much you'll try to racionalize it to yourself.

You're suddenly pulled back again, this time by the alarm clock from whatever reality is above you, taking you away from this horrible place.

You wake up, your bed full of cold sweat.

Your name is Daniel Asheworth.

* * *

You're almost ready, you, the other woman, and the other man. You know you have to be perfect and that no one can know you're leaving — if all goes well, you will be back by sunrise, with everything having ended. At least you hope it will.

You look around the corridor around your office, frantically looking for someone that could see the two of you there — though initially careful, after a while, you realize everyone's probably already asleep. Waiting until 1 AM to initiate your plan was tiring but definitely had its benefits, you had to admit — with the best one being everyone thinking you're just jam-filling long-due RAISA checks as you should as the Site Director of 120. You know you've neglected this duty for a while now, but you hope you won't have to after this night. You know he has to be in the Sanctuary or he will have to wait another decade to finish his plans. It's all in from both parties, and the less people from the Foundation know about your plans, the less the chance is of you failing. You know that place like your pocket, and you won't fail. You don't have the luxury of being able to.

You start the incantation, opening the portal between your office and Stargard's plains, uttering the words holding power. With a couple of sparkles and a couple of bends of reality, the gate opens, merging the two locations together with one beautiful and fluid destruction of the current wall of reality. of You look at the woman and the man standing next to you, and the three of you silently nod with your heads in agreement that it's time to go. He readies his rifle, she readies her gun and her though, and you ready your flame.

And as you enter into the other side, you take a deep breath.

It will end there.

It has to.

* * *

22nd of May, 1985

Somewhere in the caverns underneath Stargard, Poland

You wake up, together in the darkness of your prison one part of you made for yourself so many years ago to contain the other. You can feel it's rough edges, containing both of you within. Two of you, together, a unity — you have many names, but your relation is always the same — an inherent need to fight each other, with no one ever coming on top. The two of you would say you hate this cycle, but that would be too much of a word — neither of you can even exist without the other — a ying-yang of sorts, if you will. Your joined wills can feel each other within the shared body — together, but still enemies. You'd say you regretted only feeding this never-ending cycle of war with your actions, but you know that by doing so, you give yourself meaning within your lives. And, well, having to forever struggle with each other was a good enough deal for purpose. At least for you.

The scenery suddenly changes — you're no longer within a dark cell, but standing within an extremely large cave, with water dripping from the ceiling into a lake in the center. You look around yourself, seeing you're no longer two gods, but a short thaumaturgist standing next to a taller man with white gloves. Both of you, smiling, are hooded in long, white robes, as you hold a large manuscript written in Fae. You recognize your point of view as, well, you'd put it differently, but he is your host.

The two open a portal together, and the two of you can feel a powerful call into this reality. You exist within the memories of your host and on the other side of the portal at the same time, merging your two conciuousnesses into one body as the ritual is finished. You look at your new host within this memory, feeling powerful, looking at the other, within whom you can sense only a part of you, one of its elements that make this fusion up. You start to fight, but you can feel the memory changing to a new one. You'd want to see the full stretch of a duel between the hosts of you two and the creator alone, but you couldn't control the dreams and memories of your host any longer — you could feel he is beginning to wake up.

The scenery changes once again, this time to show you standing near another group of anomalous races. You can hear their screams of anger, only rallied against their enemies by your words. You know your words aren't fully true, but you also know it doesn't matter — the goal of bringing this world back to everyone, not just humans, justifies the way.

As you scream louder into the crowd of cultists, Fae, Night's Children, and humans following your cause, you suddenly fall away from reality, as the responsibility of being the leader of this operation get to you. You scream with rage, because you know only you are able to help, you scream with rage, because you know only this can make you not feel guilty for everything you're done, and you scream with rage, because you know you are, ultimately and for this cause, in your right to wrong.

You're suddenly pulled back again, this time by the words of one of your followers, calling you to wake up again into reality.

You wake up, alone in a tent underground, near the end of your journey to your new destination.

Your name is Damien Nowak.

* * *

As you take the final step of your mission, entering into the cavern you sought the way back to for so many years, you fall down to your knee, brought down by pain. You grab your knee with your hands, trying to cover the bleeding wound that goddamned woman gave you with her gun during the operation in Esterberg. You hoped none of them would ever find out about it, but someone gave you away. To think people who you help betrayed you is a thought you don't want to entertain. At least you broke another Seal in that town. That's all that matters.

You stand up with the force of sheer willpower telling you you can't fail under the eyes of so many followers, entering through into a large cave with a gigantic lake, water dripping from the ceiling into it. You look around, thinking of everything that started all of this — the ritual that brought all these parts into the tw— you are suddenly pulled away as you have a weird feeling within your guts of a third party having been involved. You check the memory within you again, only to realize there have always only been the two of you there — you and Asheworth. But… but even then, you feel there's been someone else there. Someone… someone that tangled with all—

"Friend, what must we do?"

A silent whisper suddenly distracts you from your nonsensical thoughts, breaking the chain of paranoia. You realize it's probably just your brain acting weird and snap back to reality, realizing you have to guide your subjects. You quickly look around the again-found cave, and wonder upon its beauty. Poland's most thaumaturgically active area, only accessable a week in a decade. You know you have a lot of time to finish the ritual started ten years ago and finally break the third Seal, but you have to hurry — you know he knows you'll be here. He knows too much about you and what happened so many years ago, you think. He needs to be put down.

"Friends," you say, looking around your followers. "Today, we make history. If everything goes according to plan, today, our victory will be made certain."

They start to chatter among each other, not knowing what to make of your so-sure-words. If you didn't win many times before, they would most likely not trust you — but you've proven yourself more than enough to win their trust.

"Today, we break the third Seal and bring down our stalkers. Today, we win back this nexus of natural magic, bringing its power to everyone back again. And today, we rejoice, because today, we take our victory into our hands," you shout at the top of your lungs, trying to hide the pain and fear behind the charisma.

"But to do that, we need to get to work," so exclaim, snapping your fingers. "So make all of us proud…!"

As they come away from you into their previously established duties, making sure no one hears you, you whisper:

"…because this time, we might not get a second chance."

* * *

22nd of May, 1985

Overwatch Command, ██ kilometers █████ of ██████, █████

You wake up, forever chained within the body of the other, who self-imprisoned itself within these halls so many years ago. You can feel its rough soul, containing the only part of you that existed within this reality in itself. The other, Blue, Father, the creator. It has many names, but it's always the same — an antithesis to your inherent need to destroy. You'd say you hate it, but that would be too much of a word — just like it's in your nature to destroy, it is in its nature to create— a ying-yang of sorts, if you will. You can feel yourself festering within its guts — kept under watch, but still ready to strike. You'd say you regretted entering into this universe from the old one, consumed by you, but you know that by doing so, there is a chance to feed your never-ending lust for destruction even more. And, well, being partially imprisoned within your arch-enemy is a good enough deal for even a slight promise of that destruction. At least for you.

The scenery suddenly changes — you're no longer within a dark cell, but standing within an extremely large cave, with water dripping from the ceiling into a lake in the center. You look around yourself, seeing you're no longer a god of destruction, but a young woman, standing next to a shorter man with long, black hair and the other, your beloved thaumaturgist. All three of you are hooded in long, white robes, and are smiling, with one of the other holding a large manuscript written in Fae. You recognize your point of view as, well, you'd put it differently, but she is your host.

The three of you open a portal together, and you feel a powerful call into this reality. You exist within the memories of your host and on the other side of the portal at the same time, merging as the ritual is finished. You look at your new host within this memory, feeling powerful, looking at the other, within whom you can sense the creator and its truth, You start to fight, but you can feel the memory changing to a new one. You'd want to see the full stretch of a duel between the hosts of the creator and the weird mix of you of the creator within the leader of the cult, both lead to fight by your own lies so that only you would survive, but you couldn't control the dreams and memories of your host any longer — you could feel she is beginning to wake up.

The scenery changes once again, this time to show a group of twelve people examining you within the same cave, this time after the battle. You can hear their chatter between themselves, trying to finally gain access to the entity they've been studying for so long before. You know they won't actually gain anything from this, but you also won't ever tell them this, as it's a perfect opportunity for you to strike within the heart of power in this world. Through the numerous tests they run you through and the numerous interviews they make you take, you lie, making yourself to be the victim.

As you accept the seat of power they offer you in exchange for information, you suddenly fall away from reality, as the overwhelming screams of agony from all the worlds you destroyed and the pleasure you get from them get into you. You scream in ecstasy, because you know they will never see it coming, you scream in ecstasy, because you know you've outsmarted them, and you scream in ecstasy, because you know you've already won.

You're suddenly pulled back again, this time by direct Overseer messaging line, calling you onto the scheduled meeting of the Council.

You wake up, your dark tomb full of red, dim light.

Your name is O5-9.

* * *

You pretend to sigh with a tired voice as you enter into the hall of the Council's next meeting — you've waited too long for all of them to gather in one room, and you can't let your lies be anything less than perfect. You need to be Overwatch's tirelessly working and endlessly exhausted thaumaturgy specialist for one more day. Just one more.

You come into your seat as you take a sip of coffee from the cup standing before you, pretending to listen to the old man that called himself One. If not for the fact he is too busy angrily fighting with another human, he would notice that you entered into the room. They fight some more as you check if everything's fine with the invisible demons you call friends.

"Oh, Nine!" the man says nervously, trying to mask the fact he didn't notice you with a chuckle. "Great to see you're here, we were just beginning to set everything in motion."

He turns around as the remaining eleven eyes turn to look irritated at him, awaiting his next words. He presses a button, and the remaining twelve of you within the room receive a message on your private messaging devices only the thirteen of you know about.

"So, as you know, I didn't call all of you here for no reason," he says, clearing his throat. He knows that such emergencies are rare and that his reasoning that will soon be to come will determine the amount of respect he'll loose or gain within the next hour. You can practically feel the fear within him, filling you with pleasure you crave. "The situation regarding PoI-5936 has… gotten out of hand recently. I… I won't lie, the destruction of Esterberg's two whole districts is more than worrying, and—"

You clear your throat loudly, showing everyone you're there.

"Yes, Nine?"

"Before we properly begin," you say, failing not to smile slightly. "May I say something, One?"

"Oh, of, of course," he says quickly, not knowing what to make of this interruption. "Please go forward."

"So," you say, standing up from your seat, starting to walk behind your councilmen. "As we all know, the Foundation has always respected power," you say, putting special emphasis on the last word. "From the least important MTF members to the highest-ranking Department leaders, we've always valued this… ability to work on your own even in the worst situations, let's call it that."

You come near the irritated One as you almost let the Red within you take control. No, not yet. You have to hold it back. Just for a little while longer.

"Maria Jones showed that a while ago when she singlehandedly stopped the Foundation from collapsing, working solely with her database" you exclaim loudly, showing the power within your voice, slightly weirder than your usual tired mood, but just slightly enough not to be suspicious. "Hell, even some random general could do that during the Insurgency, back in '48."

You pause as you circle back into the middle of the half-table upon which all of you sit, putting your hands together.

"But what do you have to show as the sign of your power? What can you bring up as an example as to why you should be the ones in charge?" You scoff. "You weren't even able to deal with the Third Diaspora properly!"

Dead silence fills the room as no one knows how to respond — they're not even angry for a drastic breach of protocol that would normally result in instant termination, but they are simply stunned by your words and this sudden coming out of line.

"WHAT IS THIS SUPPOSED TO MEAN, NINE?" a single, robotic voice of Two answers your question in a furious manner. He is angry at the time the two of you already wasted, but even more angry you have to waste even more of it. "EXPLAIN YOURSELF IMMEDIA—"

"That's what I thought," you to say in a pretendingly disappointed voice. "You do not have anything to show as a reason for your authority."

You blink twice as the Red within finally takes over, filling your eyes with burning hatred. You literally cannot hold the excitement within as you snap your fingers.

"And what do we do to leaders with nothing to back their leadership with?"

Reacting to your given order, red gas fills the area, with the only response being the instant coughing of the people you had to call collegues for so long as a fighting mechanism against the inevitable unconcious. They usually have methods against this but, well, not here. They never saw it coming from one of them. They were so high up themselves they never even considered that. Ironic.

"We make them fall."

You bow, finishing the pre-final act of your long-awaited plan. It's funny, you think — it's funny that all it took to overthrow the council of the most powerful organization on the planet were a couple of lies over the course of a decade and some unnoticeable magic.

And as the twelve oppressors fade into Morpheus' cold grip, you smile. You smile, because you've outsmarted them, you smile, because you just took control over the single most important group on Earth, and you smile, because you know you've almost certainly already won every other game else your plans hold.

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