It's Not Real, It Never Was, You Pathetic Fools - SCP Foundation

The crowd gathers around an empty stage. The Esterberg anart exhibition is in full swing around the free port, with performances encompassing pretty much every aspect of modern anomalous art on every corner of the exhibition space. Even then, the central stage brings about the most attention at this moment in the exhibition due to the novelty of the performer herself.

It's unusual for a new artist to score a performance on the main stage, much less when the artist has never performed before. This combination of details draws the eye of passersby and artists alike, all curious as to what type of performance would elicit such a warm welcome to the scene. The stage's set-up is simple, a blank slate announcing nothing but the artist's name: Lorem Ipsum.

As the clock marks the beginning of the allotted time slot, Lorem begins moving toward the center of the stage, quietly panicking at the size of the crowd. There are way too many people here.

Lorem stands at the center of the stage, all eyes on her as she begins raising both hands above her head.

And lowers them.

And leaves.

It isn't until the five-minute mark that confusion sets in. Artists briefly leaving the stage is nothing novel, but the scant few minutes left for the performer to do anything makes it much more likely that the artist simply bailed. The confusion then leads to large-scale annoyance, and several insults are hurled at the artist responsible for the piece. The crowd stares blankly ahead, and for the entirety of the thirty minutes during which the stage remains empty, very few eyes are diverted from the non-performance.

At the thirty-minute mark, with a minute to spare, Lorem returns to the stage. Immediately, the crowd begins hurling haphazard insults and demands, while the artist calmly watches the crowd ready to tear her apart at any time. She speaks.

Thank you for your time, this has been "Really Unreal". Reproductions of this exhibit will be available for purchase later this week through my website.

With that, Lorem leaves the stage.

Or tries to, anyway.

The crowd cuts off her attempt at a clean breakaway, forcing her onto the stage once again, and Lorem begins to ponder her options. Can't really make a run for it. With a resigned sigh, Lorem returns to the stage, where a significant portion of the Esterberg anart scene is ready to start lobbing whatever's near at her. She motions for the crowd to calm down, and then speaks again.

Fine, whatever. Want a real exhibition?

The crowd settles down (for the most part), and expresses mild interest in the proposition. Lorem continues.

Alright here it is, I've been saving this impromptu version of my act that should be a little more… tangible, so to speak.

Lorem starts weaving a pattern of precise movements. The complicated handiwork immediately makes a good chunk of the crowd recoil, gauging their odds that the act isn't a large-scale spell of some sort. And suddenly, Lorem stops. For a minute, the crowd does not move, and Lorem looks at the sky, satisfied.

Immediately afterward, a significant number of Foundation forces storm the exhibition, immediately rushing to deploy Scranton Reality Anchors throughout the venue. Most residents of Esterberg have evacuated the premises by this point, leaving only a handful of unsuspecting anartists to be interrogated by a cadre of agents.

A number of streets away, Lorem smiles. Guess it's not useless after all.

At Site-120, a number of doors simultaneously appear along an unused corridor. From one of these doors appears Foundation researcher Alex Thorley, who isn't sure what to think about the sudden spatial displacement of the entire Department of Unreality to Poland.

What worries them much more is the current state of disarray they find the site in. Sirens going off at every corner warn of an impending ZK-Class "End of Reality" Scenario, which seems ironic to Alex in a way they can't really articulate. Something about really obvious bait.

The premonition proves correct when, upon flagging down the first agent that didn't look like he was facing imminent death, Alex learns about the sudden malfunction of all Hume Field Monitoring Equipment around a nearby Free Port. Alex asks for transport to the area, looking for answers, and after checking their clearance, the agent directs them to the nearest transport.

The stage is barren, and as Alex approaches the site of the disruption, they can find no noticeable flaw that might've pulled the admittedly finicky spatial anomaly that was their office to an entirely new continent. As they're leaving, Alex finds a sheaf of papers, immediately recognizing the format from a seminar on anomalous art courtesy of their stay at Site-184. The document read:

Project Proposal 2024-000

Title: Really Unreal. by Lorem Ipsum.

Material Requirements:

Nothing. (Already in my possession)

A stage.

Thirty minutes.

Abstract: Really Unreal is a performance piece showcasing the intricacies of that which doesn't exist.

Intent: ;)

Alex sighs.

Ah, fuck.

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