World Of Wolves: Episode Two - SCP Foundation

« Episode One |=| World Of Wolves |=| Interlude »

1:13 A.M.

“…so, *yawn,* how far is ‘Baceloena’ now?”

The Old Man sighs as he trudges across the dense foliage of the forest, moving between the dead, blackened trees as Scarf asks this question for the sixth time in the past four hours.

“Once again, we still have multiple weeks of travel ahead.”

“Oh, ok..”

Scarf appears to shrivel slightly, before puffing up once more.

“Hey, can I share another story about my owner?”

“Certainly; I enjoy hearing of his feats.” In truth, the Old Man tolerated the stories because they both were easy to tune out, and kept Scarf occupied on this otherwise quite boring trek.

“Yay, thanks! Ok, so, he once said he rode a big firecracker all the way to the ‘Unturned Plateau’, he called it..”

As Scarf rambled, the Old Man quietly considered… a lot of things.

Knowing what little he did about the true state of the world, he did not hold the same conviction as Scarf did that this enigmatic “owner” would just be waiting at his house for a simple piece of winter gear.

Beyond that apprehension, though, there was a growing concern within the Old Man’s mind, a nagging suspicion that blanketed his thoughts like the deluges of a flood:

There was a possibility - and a rather large one, at that - that his curse might not have fully abated; that the Brothers’ wrath wouldn’t be stifled completely by a simple deal, that he would soon bring that same suffering upon his newfound companion.

Both these thoughts shadow the Old Man as he weaves his way through the forest, clouding his vision as palpably as a high mountain blizzard.

So preoccupied was his mind, in fact, that he does not notice the sudden, frantic motions of Scarf until they tighten around the Old Man’s neck like a wet noose, snapping him to attention.

“ack- What- what is it?”

“To the right, behind that thicket! I hear something!” Scarf quietly whispers, in contrast to their prior, chipper tone.

The pair falls silent as the Old Man tries to listen, a challenge with how dulled his hearing has become across the ages.

Eventually, though, he manages to catch a soft clicking noise, evidently mechanical from its even pace & sharp tone.

Slowly, with stealth honed from centuries of practice, the Old Man sneaks right up to the thicket, and tries to peer through it, with Scarf anxiously attempting to follow suit.

And there, in a small valley a good distance ahead, stands an eclectic trio of strange machines, their forms gleaming in the moonlight.

The clicking comes from a bronze, wireframe automaton with an anatomy akin to a beast of burden, its head replaced by a large gear that loudly rotates in its neck-socket.

Another machine stands close by, starkly contrasting its companion by virtue of its rectangular build, supported on a large metal stump connected to four cylindrical legs arranged in a cross-pattern.

The third robot stands a distance away, bearing the most humanoid proportions of the group, though this did not count for much due to its lack of a head, as well as a black, rod-like right arm, a grey tube for its left, and no hands to speak of.

What concerns the Old Man the most, however, was that all three machines appeared to be spattered in a considerable amount of dark fluid, as well as a clearer, less identifiable one.

As the Old Man watches, the humanoid slowly rotates its torso, revealing a camera lens embedded in the center. The others moved to flank it, as a small black rod suddenly juts out of a hole in the humanoid’s shoulder.

“…w-who.. who are those guys?” Scarf’s voice was the quietest the Old Man had ever heard it.

“…I do not know.” The Old Man keeps his voice low as well, while still maintaining his level tone. “But I presume that they would not mean well for us.”

“..d-do we run?”

“That would likely draw their attention. I would suggest we instead retreat at a slow and measured pace - or, rather, I should do so, seeing as-”

Suddenly, a soft breeze kicks up, blowing into the pair from behind.

Almost immediately after, the humanoid’s antenna starts beeping with the pace & intensity of a bomb timer, and all three automatons rapidly maneuver themselves to face the thicket.

“…Never mind, their attention has been drawn, and I suggest we run.”

With that, the Old Man breaks into a sprint as Scarf clings to his neck with a vice-like grip, and the forest fills with whirrs and clanks as the machines give chase.

On his right, the bronze robot gallops through the brush as two long, jointed arms unfold from its sides; one bearing a pair of stained shears on its end, and the other a long, hollow, equally stained rod.

He veers to the left, only to see an array of black, pointed tendrils snaking between the trees, all leading back to the rectangular robot.

Said robot’s front has opened like a fridge to reveal a human-shaped hole at the center of its interior, with a large concentration of what is definitely blood near the head area.

The Old Man moves back towards the right, only for Scarf to shriek and yank his neck downwards as he hears a loud snap where his head just was.

The shears retract back toward their owner, before lunging for the Old Man’s arm, which he pulls away in time to only tear his coat.

The tendrils then start closing in, and the Old Man has to veer towards the bronze robot to avoid being snagged.

The shears move again, and with every clean dodge the Old Man achieves, there is an instance where metal grazes his skin, leaving clean, linear wounds.

Scarf is, at this point, coiling so tightly around the Old Man’s neck that it’s slightly asphyxiating, their only speech being soft whimpering.

It’s at this point that the Old Man has the brilliant idea of stopping dead, and then sprinting right; his two pursuers keep forward long enough for him to gain considerable ground before they stop to reorient.

The Old Man allows himself a small, silent chuckle, for somehow retaining enough stamina after all this time to be able to outwit pursuers so smoothly.

This confidence fades when he realizes he hasn’t seen the humanoid robot at all, and then vanishes entirely when said robot shoves hard into his right side, sending him tumbling across the dirt into the trunk of a tree.

Scarf unspools from The Old Man’s neck and tries to hastily slither away, but their pace slows as the robot’s tube-arm whirrs to life. The detritus of the forest is sucked in with force, and Scarf has to wrap around a tree branch to avoid following suit.

Roused by the noise, the Old Man manages to shakily rise, in time to watch as the robot’s other arm somehow splits into two thinner arms, despite lacking a seam.

The ends of both new arms each then start blurrily morphing as if sped up in a timelapse; the bottom one settling into a white, plasticine claw, and the top into a smooth, circular saw-blade of identical color.

Before the Old Man can react, the claw wraps around his throat, pinning him to the tree behind. He tries to remove it, but the metal of the arm is too slick and oily.

The robot walks forward, keeping its tube-arm trained on Scarf, whose grip is evidently starting to fail. Their screams are drowned out by the sound of the vacuum.

The robot’s saw moves forward, orienting itself to be perpendicular to the Old Man’s forehead, just above his eyes. It moves in slowly, with medical precision, the camera-eye watching impassively as the Old Man desperately attempts to both free himself and hold the blade away.

Said blades closes to three inches away, then two..

One…

thud

The saw stops a fourth of an inch from the Old Man’s skin.

thud thud thud

The robot’s torso turns to its right, thankfully moving the saw away, but keeping the claw around the Old Man’s throat.

thud thud THUD THUD THUD

The Old Man also directs his gaze in the direction of the distant, heavy impacts, and notices a large figure lumbering out from the darkness.

THUD THUD THUD THUD

As it approaches, the figure’s shape becomes identifiable as humanoid, and its movement becomes identifiable as a full sprint.

CRUNCH

The robot barely has time to back away slightly before a large, stone foot slams into its midsection, releasing the Old Man as the automaton careens through the air, right into the trunk of another tree.

The Old Man looks up at his savior, now identifiable as a giant statue of a monkey, constructed from a gray, cement-like substance; clad in carved garments of seemingly Ancient Chinese design, and sporting a large, intricately carved pillar upon its back, held in place by its tail.

Scarf, now freed from the vacuum’s pull, shakily slithers back onto the Old Man’s neck, covered in soil and foliage.

The statue pays both no mind, as it turns its attention to the other two robots, who charge forth from the brush (or reach forth, in one’s case).

The bronze one darts haphazardly across the forest floor, loping around the left of the statue, and beelining for the Old Man & Scarf, both shears & chute bared.

The statue - in one fluid, frighteningly quick motion - turns, pulls the pillar from its back, and brings it down upon both the quadruped’s extended arms, stopping it dead a mere foot from the shellshocked pair.

With its other hand, the statue pulls the struggling robot away, dismembering both of the arms in the process, before crushing the bronze frame of the machine’s body within the monkey’s massive palm.

The robot’s broken corpse falls stiff to the earth, seemingly bleeding a grey, gelatinous substance in addition to actual blood.

The Old Man barely manages to comprehend the entire sequence before he feels something wrap around his ankles, and then yank his legs out from under him.

More black tendrils wrap around both him, a fleeing Scarf, and the monkey statue, as the boxy robot slowly ambles forward, a harsh thrumming emanating from its open, bloodied interior as the Old Man is slowly dragged closer.

With an oddly calm pace, the statue drops its pillar, reaches behind to grab several tendrils with one hand, and pulls, placing the extra length into its other hand before repeating.

Eventually, there’s a loud thud from the inside of the box, and it subsequently topples over onto its front.

The Old Man watches as the automaton is pulled right up to the back of the statue, and then winces as the giant then smoothly falls backwards, directly onto the robots’ immobilized form.

The tendrils holding the Old Man spasm slightly before going limp, and he rises once more as the statue rolls off of the crushed box, the once mostly-spotless cement skin now layered with dark, gritty stains.

A soft, erratic beeping draws the attention of both to the humanoid, which is struggling to rise from the dark puddle at the base of the trunk where it impacted, its bottom half almost perpendicular to its upper.

The automaton’s cracked camera-eye gazes up with seeming resentment as the statue ambles over to it, before the beeping falls silent as a bare stone foot pushes the robot’s plasticine chest into the soaked dirt, before cracking all the way through.

The Old Man watches, Scarf coiled around his arm, as the statue retrieves its pillar, and secures it back under its tail, before turning to face the pair.

Slowly, almost cautiously, the statue approaches, its hands raised in an apparent show of non-hostility.

Eventually, it kneels on one leg before the pair, its face set in a beaming, toothy smile.

Scarf is the first of the pair to speak up, in a meek, shivering cadence:

“…erm, h-hello, Mr. G-Giant Monkey Man! Th-th-th-thank you for saving us from.. from those mean r-rrobot guys.”

A moment of silence, as the pair stare up at the unmoving monolith.

“…s-so, could we m-maybe, uh.. know some- some things about you?”

More silence.

“I- I mean, it’s okay if.. if you don’t want t- *eep!*”

Scarf is interrupted by a steady grinding noise, as the monkey’s jaw slowly opens, revealing a solid wall behind, save for an rectangular inset…

…bearing a digital phone.

After another brief pause, the phone’s screen flashes to life, and the white outline of a top hat fades in over a blank, black background.

A pair of white ovals then appear within the outline, spanning the hat’s whole height, followed by two black “pupils” the size of pinholes, which then “focus” upon the Old Man & Scarf.

oh hello there new buddies!!

The voice is sudden, loud, and grating, with a quality the Old Man finds hard to describe, but very easy to recognize.

The noise almost sends Scarf off the Old Man’s neck, which seems to amuse the hat-being.

aw did i scare you sorry teehee XD

Now it is the Old Man’s turn to speak “Who.. what are you?”

The hat-thing’s eyes momentarily turn to upside-down “V”s.

oh right i should introduce myself. my name is hatbot, but most call me an asshat haha

The sound of drums & cymbals, tainted with a certain grittiness.

“…Right. And may we know why you are here, in this..”

The Old Man struggles to find the words to describe the statue.

“…this giant monkey man?”

oh right, that

hang on let me get the script

“Hatbot’s” eyes look to the right, at some unseen object within their own world.

it’s just under these prayers one sec

The sound of rustling papers, also bearing that same grit, and repeating every four seconds.

man, fat lot of good these did. WAN probably wasn't even real lol

that or the Haven killed him. them. it? i wouldn't know, never answered my calls :]

The Old Man has a momentary double-take.

“Wait, you have knowledge on th-“

found it

The rustling ceases, and Hatbot’s pupils recenter, but at the bottom of the eyes, as if looking down at something in its’ own world.

alright gotta get my speech voice back in shape

A throat clearing, followed by gargling, then a sneeze, and then a coughing fit.

sorry xp

When Hatbot next speaks, it’s in a deep & baritone dialect, entirely dissimilar to its voice prior.

“By the request of President Xiu Lidao, Great Sage, Equal of Heaven, and leader of the Twelve Galaxies Coalition, you are invited to join the new society of Earth, as defined by its new citizens. We will provide shelter, supplies, and support, in exchange for your cooperation. We hope you will take this offer. In Solidarity We Are United.”

Another throat clearing, before Hatbot returns to their prior voice.

the president part’s where he got this statue from, btw. subsumed the position a few weeks ago, now twenty-seven-whatever-the-fuck is his own personal pet

it is better than the snakes were, though, i’ll give the Haven that lolol

“So you know what the Haven of Man is?” The Old Man interrupts.

A moment of silence.

… if i say we do you’ll come see my boss right < — <

The Old Man thinks, for a moment, his brow furrowing in thoughtful apprehension.

Scarf looks between him & Hatbot, before whispering in the Old Man’s ear.

“…what’s a ‘haven of man’?”

“I suppose we may both know soon enough, if we agree to follow this strange hat-being, but..”

“…but what?” Scarf’s voice belies their confusion.

“..I… ..I fear as though..”

“…as though, i-if we partake in this offer, we will not reach your owner’s abode.” the Old Man’s speech is hasty, entirely unlike his prior eloquence.

“Oh, that’s true; Baceloena is still very far away.” Scarf’s head-end seems to wobble, as if in thought.

… you know i’m still right here T _ T

The two turn back to Hatbot, as the icon’s pupils flick between the pair.

well good news

one of the things we have is a bunch of doors that can lead anywhere

maybe one of those is next to *Barcelona

sorry couldn’t resist :P

“Couldn’t resist what?”

nothing dw ;)

anyway join us please we’re kind of desperate for any help because the brain-stealer attacks have been happening for weeks now and

Hatbot suddenly cuts off, looking into the distance.

speak of the devil

wait is that a phrase people still use

… eh who cares world’s already ended haha

Hatbot’s eyes refocus, now with a humored expression.

welp, seems like the choice has been made for you

i suggest you follow us, if you’d like to keep your brain in your skull

Hatbot takes a moment to eye up Scarf.

or as your body, that would work too @ v @

anyways see ya

… hey, that’s your cue to go, man <~<;

The statue’s jaw suddenly closes, before it calmly rises from its kneel and begins walking back in the direction from where it had arrived.

The Old Man & Scarf watch in its wake, before the former looks to their carrier.

“…should we follow him?” Scarf’s voice indicates they have recovered slightly, though not completely.

“…I suppose we could, but if that strange hat-being is to be believed, then there is in fact a larger society of my fellows, and I fear that if I am brought to them…”

The Old Man trails off, but the implications evade Scarf.

“..B-but, he said he had a shortcut to Bacelona! We can probably at least check!” There’s an air of desperation in Scarf’s voice, mixed with the indignity of a child.

“Well, that could be a dishonest ploy on his part, and we cannot waste travel time if we could help it.”

The Old Man starts walking, only to be halted as Scarf wraps around a nearby piece of foliage.

“No, come on, we can spare the time, I’m sure!”

Scarf’s grip is firm and unyielding, and the Old Man has to temper his strength to avoid ripping the nerve cluster in two.

“No, I am certain that we cannot, and I request you cease this immature behavior.” The Old Man’s cannot help but let annoyance slip into his cadence.

“No, no, I want to see!” Scarf’s voice is shrill and impotent, as they tighten their hold at both ends.

This back-and-forth continues for a while, before the Old Man pauses, suddenly acutely aware.

“…Say, do you hear that?”

Scarf also quiets down, and the two listen as the distant sound of marching becomes audible.

Lights suddenly dot the distant treeline, each one artificial, and all steadily growing in luminosity.

The Old Man sighs.

“Well, then; thanks to your efforts, our agency in this matter seems to have been revoked.”

“…Yeah, I guess so.” Scarf uncoils from the branch, and stares off into the horde of the horizon.

“…we should be going now, right?”

“Most likely.”

And thus, they make haste.

« Episode One |=| World Of Wolves |=| Interlude »