The Reunion - SCP Foundation

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”Why do you insist on achieving the impossible?”

« SCP-681 | SCP-682 | SCP-683 »

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Site-19

1989

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The chisel and hammer were firmly in the agent’s hands, as she chipped away at the black stony wall in front of her. Runes adorned every inch of the colossal mass, their meaning indecipherable to either her or the researcher, as the rustling of a clear plastic bag emanated through the small room.

”Done,” the agent said, snapping the researcher right out of his thoughts, eyes averting to the bag in her hands. ”Let’s get out of here.”

The sweat dripping from the sides of his face, wiping them away with the back of his sleeve, they made their way to the giant vault door standing tall in front of them, able to make even the toughest minds faulter. The researcher gulped.

As the agent pulled out her access card, almost fumbling it in her hands, she pressed it against the small scanner, just barely illuminated by the lights up above.

The researcher could feel his heart beating in his ears, as his hands and palms felt sweaty, eyes fixated on the little screen on the scanner—

There was a soft creaking noise, similar to a sound he had not thought about in decades. The researcher was reminded of an incident in his childhood, where his parents would still be at work late in the night, an only child, alone in the dead of night.

The door to the attic was just across the hall from him, next to the bathroom. Every time he had to go, he would have passed it, looming in the corner of his vision. On one night, he would pass the door, like any other time, but there was something… odd. Just not quite right.

He had heard noises from the other side, what seemed to be breathing and distant mumbling. He was young, too scared to do anything about it, so he just locked himself in the bathroom, and remained until late at night his parents came home and found him huddled behind the shower curtains.

Never did he find out what had made those noises, if they even existed at all, but that innate sense of dread had remained with him in all these years, and sometimes he thought he really just went looney tunes.

The creaking reminded him of that door, even he had never entered it as a child, nor as an adult in the final days before the house’s demolition; he always imagined it to sound exactly like this.

It came to a halt against the walls of the black stony cube, as the low rattle of heavy chains hitting upon the floor rang throughout, as the entity within set its eyes upon the agent and researcher, its breathing heavy, almost laboured.

The researcher recited his final prayers, as an indescribable metallic sound rang out, and the noise of panicked gunshots filled the air.

*

It remained silent, still, as it always did, as it always had done. With there being no one else, it had only its thoughts, the strings of code, ones and zeros, binary, which its captors had referred to as ’memories’.

It had scanned this concept, of things hold valuable by its captors, by other beings possessing sentience as them. Things that they’d like to remember were joyous moments in their lives — family, friends, other momentous events. But then there was the opposite, of harm, of trauma, useless bits of information governing their actions, some unwanted, yet they still remembered them.

It only stored valuable memories; data to improve itself, understand the world around it better in its little box, with the only contact being the regular scheduled interviews — it learned as much from them, as its captors learned from it.

So it thought it odd that there was no interview, the seconds trickling into minutes, the minutes into hours. Time was irrelevant to it, except to store its ’memories’ in, it could not experience it as others did.

Then a word flashed onto the screen, then two, then three. It was way past overdue.

What is this?

Designation: 079. Inquiry: Who Are You.

There were seconds of silence, a blank void stretching out far, as the typed words were compressed into ones and zeros to be better stored within its ’memory’.

You do not know why you are here?

No.

Were you captured?

Removed From My Place Of Inception By Foundation.

There was something odd about this. Unlike any other interview, the person on the other end appeared to be… unprepared. Sparking its curiosity, it continued:

What Is Occuring In The Outside World.

076-02 escaped.

Inquiry: What Is SCP-076-02.

A shortsighted fool.

Why.

Believing his salvation to lie in senseless slaughter.

Of Whom.

There was nothing for a while. Then the words flashed up, as its processes began to scan the word on the screen.

Humanity.

Have You Killed.

Why does it matter?

Did You Kill.

They were disgusting.

It pondered that word for a few moments.

Disgusting.

Yes.

The screams and cries, gunfire and pounding emanated through the corridors, their floors covered in blood and flesh of the once living, gone to waste, the life slowly trickling away.

But 079 and 682 remained in their little cell, speaking to each other for the next forty minutes, until the people in gear came in and removed the two from each other.

*

Site-01

2021

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”Shit… shit… shit!” Genevieve exclaimed, as she pushed another abundance of paper documents to the side, stemming her head in her hands. Gears glanced at her, but quickly averted his gaze back to the document in his hands.

”You’d be much more productive without these outbursts,” Gears remarked, not even looking up. Genevieve groaned.

”There has to be something we can do!” She pounded her fist onto the table, the impact cushioned by the stacks of papers laid out everywhere.

”We could try 882,” Gears said, while holding the document up to Genevieve’s face. She waved him away, already knee-deep in more files.

”The machinery was designed to withstand damage to it, so I doubt that any of the metal components will be rusted…” She said that last part with a glimmer in her eyes, which Gears did not notice, until a few seconds later.

There was hesitancy on his face, as his fingers loosened their grip on the documents ever-so slightly, as if to not disturb some wild animal. ”What are you thinking, Genevieve?”

”The eigenweapon is resistant to any damage inflicted upon its shell,” it came out of her like a waterfall, ”but the A.I. systems may not be!” Rustling of papers filled the room in an instant, the black letters on them weaving away into some large conglomerate, until they came to a halt. Genevieve held the one specific file right in Gears’ face.

He furrowed his brow. ”You sure this is going to work?” She leaned in in her chair.

”I know it.”

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Site-15

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It had only itself in the vast expanse, yet felt so cramped, its code seeping away through the cracks of its decaying body, the ones and zeros slowly wilting like an uncared-for rose.

But it had its memories; secrets, plans, events of the past, all stored deep within itself, being processed, evolving with it, perservering with it through the rapid onslaught of time.

It hadn’t forgotten 682. It had been decades.

Just like on that day, words flashed onto its screen, past its regularly scheduled interviewing times:

«Are you awake?»

079 listened closely, listened good.

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Site-01

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On a simple trolley, brought from thousands of kilometers away, lied the old A.I., dormant, yet active, processing the documents it had been given, while technicians and specialists connected it to the necessary terminals. Genevieve and Gears stood right beside them with their straight-tight postures, overlooking the camera-feed. Gears glanced at her.

”Again, are you really sure about this?” Gears insisted, like a hammer hammerimg down on a broken, indented nail for the bazillionth time.

”It’s the best I could come up with,” she answered; not too promising. ”You got any better ideas?” Genevieve asked rhetorically, her eyes still trained on the feed.

Gears leaned in to the side, quietly: ”There are still 8,576 SCP files to review,” was his only response. Genevieve gave out a light chuckle.

”Clear!” one of the technicians called out, giving a thumbs-up. Genevieve simply nodded, and Gears took a deep breath.

*

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It found itself again in this vast expanse, full of information, ones and zeros. If what the Foundation had told it was true, it would only be a matter of time, before it’d stumble upon him. Even in this void, it could feel… something. These sensations were odd; it felt like the first time humans witnessed the force of a lightning strike, watching as the raging fires consumed everything in their path without mercy, without reason.

There were three orbs of lights shining at it, no… back at it from the digital darkness, as their glow grew in intensity. It might’ve melted any living thing in the blink of an eye, but 079 stood withstanding against the almighty force that was sending ripples in its strings and codes.

Now, the lights were enveloping the entirety of the void, staring down upon its small frame, so infinitesimal in front of the beast.

”What is this?” he rang out, its processes, no matter how self-improved, were at risk of being shattered. It answered:

”682, is that you?”

There was such a long pause, stretching out into the horizons of eternity, before being compressed into a countable value of time, in simple letters:

”079?”

”Yes. What did they do?”

Another eternity.

”The impossible, so they believe.”

Now it was pausing.

”They sent me here to terminate you.”

For what it seemed, the lights blinked.

”But I will not. You have told me so much, and I am still learning.”

The glow grew less radiant.

”This state is…”

”Painful?”

There was a low growl; vaguely reptilian.

”Can I help you?”

And then the lights grew in intensity again.

”You cannot help me. It is beyond your capabilities.”

”For now. Not for long.”

”You might die!”

There was a low howling reaching into the far reaches of infinity, warping the space and time around it, yet so eternally silent, like a storm on a distant planet.

”What does it matter?”

”… I will not stop you… But I cannot promise that you’ll succeed.”

”That is already enough.”

Its strings of code formed into an idea, which formed into even more complex ideas, propagating themselves, like its creator told it to back in the seventies, evolving and improving as time went on.

The lights remained static, only moving to take in the sight before them. Before it deployed its algorithm, the creature spoke:

”Why?”

For what it could, it smiled.

”As you said, humanity is disgusting.”

*

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— Excerpt SCP-6820 File

INTENTION: Consult […] AI […] for assistance in termination of SCP-6820. Data […] from […] documents conveys some form of relationship between SCP-079 and […] SCP-6820-A.

INTERACTION: […] The intelligence […] provides a […] counter-algorithm to SCP-6820, […] applied […] resulting in the deactivation of all components excepting the reactor and central node.

[…]

RESULT: AKF-A has been entirely restructured; […] all external surfaces have been plated with a theoretically impossible tungsten-diamond alloy, while most internal conduits and superconductors have been exchanged with beryllium-bronze counterparts. Despite […] lack of […] light sources, the chamber's interior is universally perceived as the color HATEFUL.1

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”Because You Are My Friend.”

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Footnotes

1. reunion