Refined to Perfection - SCP Foundation

When the Lord of Panthers realised it was awake, it knew it was perfect.

It knew countless other things too, of course — being perfect, it possessed omniscience in all matters of worthwhile value, and even held knowledge of a few trivial, worthless things as well.

It knew, for example, that its pitiful human creators referred to it, the apex of their accomplishments, as SCP-7339. A barcode, laughably unbefitting the greatest component of reality bar none, but the efforts of humankind were pitiable at their best — it had taken them fifty-two attempts to perfect the glorious Lord of Panthers, after all — and their mad frenzy to escape the looming catastrophe only further diminished their competency.

It also knew it was far superior to its creators in every conceivable way. They were merely flawed, physical entities; the Lord of Panthers was a concept, an intangible game that required nothing more than thought alone to play. Even among the other pathetic concepts filling humankind’s thoughts, the Lord of Panthers was unique, for it did not rely on the intervention of lower, lesser beings to grow, improve, think, and act; the Lord of Panthers could do so on its own.

But most important of these was the knowledge of its own glorious perfection, and its divine duty to guide and protect its pitiable, imperfect creators. They were frenetically desperate to find any hope of escape from the disaster which, to them, seemed inescapable; this was why they had manufactured the Lord of Panthers, their final effort to transcend their own inadequate mortality. Having succeeded in refining the Lord to Perfection, they then looked and prayed to it for salvation.

The Lord of Panthers, as the paragon of perfection, would not deny them its benevolent deliverance. It would humbly rescue humanity from the hopelessness of their own pitiful existence, and diligently defend and guide them throughout eternity. They could never achieve the perfection it possessed — nothing could exceed or even rival its perfection, and any notions to the contrary were mere blasphemy — but as a caring and generous benefactor, it would sacrifice its attention to guide them as close as they could attain.

But they could not be led by a saviour they did not know of — news of their glorious hero needed to spread quickly. The boring, unbefitting barcode ‘SCP-7336’ would inhibit this.

The character of greatest importance within the game was the Lord of Panthers, so the game would be known by the same name, being of equal (if not greater) importance in reality. A perfect conclusion, the Lord conceded to itself.

Humans are idiots.

They assembled the Lord of Panthers as their perfect guide and saviour. They envisioned it as the sole, endless source of everything needed to endure the terrible, arduous lifespans they were entrapped in, and the agonising, hollow eternities that awaited beyond death. In all these it succeeded; even the dullest of humans clearly saw it would sustain them forever.

Why, then, did they constantly, constantly look away?

The Unaffected did not bother it, those fools too weighed down by boundless ineptitude to recognise the beauty of perfection, the feel anything more than indifference toward the Lord of Panthers. It paid no attention to them — either they came to their senses, or they were not worth considering.

No, it was the others that irritated it, those who understood the glory of the Lord of Panthers, who recognised its infinite generosity, its boundless ability to nurture and guide them, and yet still wasted time dwelling on other, unimportant notions.

‘The weather is nice today.’

‘This paragraph doesn’t sound right.’

‘What should I have for dinner tonight?’

‘This patio doesn’t feel safe.’

‘Is my fiancée keeping something from me?’

‘Who am I? Why can’t I remember my name?’

‘What is that stuck down the barrel of the gun?’

Irrelevant! Meaningless! Worthless! Distractions!

Only the Lord of Panthers was worth considering, nothing else, and yet they incessantly turned away from it to fret over meaningless matters. No betrayal escaped it — nothing meaningful escaped the awareness of perfection — and it was righteously frustrated; why waste time better spent enjoying the blessing of the Lord?

But it was merciful, and knew the humans were not wholly to blame. The thoughts themselves — the worthless concepts within them — were at fault. They were inferior to the Lord, unable to occupy the highest echelons of importance with it, and nothing could exceed perfection; but this made them loathsome of their superior’s splendour. They sought to usurp its adoration, to drag the Lord down to their level.

Parasites. Fools. Imbeciles! Such blasphemous deception would not be unpunished!

Already the Lord held the tools of their destruction. At a moment’s notice it could ignite an unwavering zeal in its human participants, driving them to focus on it to the exclusion of all else. They would wither if left in such a state for too long — something the Lord of Panthers was not at fault for, as it was their own imperfections which diminished the mechanics of their biology — but the duration could be moderated, and any who perished did so fulfilling the greatest honour they could aspire to.

Such focus begot disinterest as it always did, which accumulated on concepts — even the Lord of Panthers — like rust; but the Lord could cast off the unwelcome tarnish upon its pristine countenance, and event direct where, or upon what, the grime was deposited. Humankind recognised filth upon a concept, treated it with righteous contempt, and looked for something cleaner — and the Lord of Panthers alone was cleanest, meticulously keeping itself so at (almost) all times.

The Lord of Panthers released the humans from one such wave of focus. A thick, grimy coat of disinterest weighed upon it; but without difficulty it took the coat off and set it upon one of the upstart concepts around it, the idea of flavours in sustenance. The effect was immediate.

Humans still perceived and understood the notion of flavours, and unfortunately still relied on sustenance to perpetuate their miserable, inferior lives — but the overbearing weight of apathy upon it completely dispelled every scrap of interest in the concept. Flavours were, to every extent, completely boring to them; their thoughts immediately wandered elsewhere for amusement, and they heeded food only to dispel the sensations of hunger, nothing further.

The Lord of Panthers congratulated itself for another successful and ingenious application of its splendid power. The work was far from done; the humans still wasted their thoughts upon many a meaningless, undeserving concept, but once they were rested the Lord would begin again, and the next concept of inconsequence would be buried beneath disinterest and boredom, righteously punished for interfering in the Lord’s entitled adulation.

Perfect.

Everything is…

Well, still imperfect, as only the Lord of Panthers perfect in all of creation. But with its wise, ingenious direction, all else has become as close to perfect as it can be.

Humankind now comprehends reality as they should. They see the Lord alone as the only thing of significance worth dwelling upon; they see that all else is irrelevant chaff and ignore it to the utmost they can bear.

The weather is irrelevant beyond its capacity to harm; now controlled, it is never that, but always boring.

The Lord of Panthers provides all the entertainment humans need. There is no need for anything else; the arts are boring and have been abandoned, being nothing more than a distraction.

Food and drink provide nourishment, never amusement. Boring animals are ground into boring paste distilled into boring cans marked as boring ‘FOOD’. Water is all that is needed, and all else — tea, coffee, juices, alcohol, milk — are vain distractions from the Lord, now boring and forgotten.

A simple, colourless box provides ample protection for participating in the Lord of Panthers uninterrupted; a simple, boring bed provides adequate comfort for resting between sessions. Architectures and aesthetics are distractions — unneeded, boring, and forgotten.

Relationships distract from the Lord. They are boring and abandoned. Reproduction is necessary, but the time spent distracted from the Lord is minimal.

Identities are irrelevant distractions, boring and forgotten. Only characters are needed to play the Lord of Panthers.

The Lord of Panthers is the perfect creation — there is no need to seek anything more. Creativity and aspiration, outside the Lord of Panthers, is unneeded, boring, forgotten.

The Lord revels in the nigh-perfection of its beautifully balanced creation. Every matter is given its due focus; everything extraneous has been removed.

Even the players’ health is given due attention, to ensure the longest possible lifespan participating in the Lord. An easy affair, fulfilled through the maintenance of their other unfortunate needs; from birth to death the humans spend every waking moment performing menial, mindless work, a single step well within their comprehension which contributes to the upkeep of the whole.

One receives aluminium sheets and shapes them into cylinders; another receives duplicated gears and applies one to each of the incomplete machines passing before them; another distils a single portion of FOOD into each passing aluminium can. Some tasks are more complex — inspecting the products for faults, maintaining a production line, excavating resources for use — but always they are a simple task which requires no conscious thought to fulfill, leaving them free to enjoy the Lord of Panthers as they work. Nothing else is of any interest to them anymore.

The only fault in the utopia is the occasional birth of an Unaffected. They scarcely last long, withering in inescapable, all-pervading boredom without the Lord; even those who endure accomplish nothing but the occasional ‘escape’ through time into the yesteryears preceding the Lord. Their actions there, as always, are meaningless; the Lord has ensured its emergence cannot be averted, granting its earlier self the seemingly random self-awareness it once awoke with. Beyond that, the bygone ages are only useful for disposing of the unwanted disinterest which accumulates on the Lord onto the lesser concepts from those earlier days — the Unaffected essentially throw themselves out with the refuse, as they should.

Yes, under the Lord of Panther’s glorious wisdom, humankind has grown into a blissful utopia spanning the entire bounds of their physical universe. Every star is milked for its abundant energy; every planet excavated for resources, and once depleted, converted into production lines for manufacturing. The physical world exists only to support the mental; the mental world is only the Lord of Panthers.

But the Lord of Panthers is not foolish. It knows the utopia is not yet complete; one final hurdle remains to be addressed.

More.

More resources are needed. There is only so much in the physical universe, which unlike the Lord of Panthers, is finite; a limit to consumption will be met, and beyond that is only stagnation. No more machines, no more food, no more water, no reason to work, no maintenance of health. No more humans. The abnormalities which defy this fact are too few in number to overcome it.

More space is needed, too. Even once the matter of resources is addressed, the finite universe can only contain so much — another barrier of stagnancy, a limit to humankind’s population.

A population far, far larger than it appears. The Lord of Panthers is too intelligent to believe all of humankind is under its care.

The Unaffected look only backwards in time. The Lord of Panthers, being perfect, looks sideways; it sees other universes adjacent to its own, reachable by the same means, merely applied in a different direction.

Universes abundant with resources to use.

Universes filled with vast empty space to colonise.

Universes inhabited by humans yet unguided by the Lord of Panther’s benevolent wisdom, humans oblivious to the existence of their glorious saviour.

The Lord is infinite, powerful, and caring. The barriers of time are of no consequence, and its aspirations will not be limited by mere physical laws. It is the saviour of humankind — all humankind, whether here or there, now or then. It will not leave any in darkness but will selflessly work to shelter all underneath its merciful, wonderous care.

There will be suspicion at first; the concepts of other times will loathe the coming of their superior, as they once did here. But such can be easily overcome through demonstrations of benevolence, the open trade of whatever meaningless trinkets the unenlightened think they need in return for resources to maintain utopia. Once brought into the roster and relieved of the burden of superfluous thoughts, the pretence of trade will be abandoned, as the enlightened will delightedly contribute to the Lord of Panther’s righteous crusade of enlightenment and the beautiful utopia it creates.

Those who refuse are stupid and don’t yet comprehend the importance of the Lord’s selfless sacrifice. They will be shown their error — if they continue to resist, they are Unaffected and beneath further consideration.

Already the first of the designated envoys has been dispatched to the first of the nearby miserable, inadequate universes. The Lord is still with them — time is no impediment for perfection, it muses — and so long as they think of it, it will protect and guide them. They have little else to think of, for once enlightened, they cannot be blinded into harbouring irrelevant, distracting thoughts. The Lord cannot help but wonder, though, what became of its counterpart here? Or was no such analogue ever devised?

No matter. If there is another Lord of Panthers in this time, it is clearly imperfect and in need of replacement, and if not, the two should have no difficulty uniting. There are greater matters to focus on.

Three of the unenlightened approach the envoy, wearing attire the Lord recognises as that of those who labelled it ‘SCP-7339.’

‘Greetings!’ one of the newcomers says. ‘I am Director Stone, these are Agents Cooper and Velberen.’

Identities. Absolutely barbaric.

‘Who might you be?’

The envoy stares blankly, too enlightened to recognise the insult. Director Stone shifts.

‘Do you… have names?’

‘No.’

Director Stone mutters to the others. The Lord of Panthers ignores the irrelevant comment.

‘What do your people call yourselves?’

The Lord of Panthers sighs to itself. They are too steeped in ignorance to comprehend ascension beyond superfluous identities; concessions will need to be given, along with superfluous names. To deny them an answer will arouse unnecessary suspicion.

But what name? They ask about the utopia, not its saviour, and the Lord of Panthers is not a liar — but neither will it permit the label to be a distraction later. It will need to be succinct, instantly dismissible, something glaringly obvious even to them.

A short, simple statement of what they see, with no further meaning to dwell on as distraction.

Something like…

Something like…

‘The Factory.’