Pizzicato - SCP Foundation

The sun rose to mark the start of the new day, its light bleeding out onto the expanse of trees visible from the high-rise window. Slowly, the light inched its way across the landscape until it brightened even the darkened room at the top of the concrete facility eking its way above the forest. From this darkened room the silhouette of a woman took shape: tall, upright, and clad in a suit as black as space. The sun illuminated a solemn frown below a narrow nose, finally brightening two eyes, dark and piercing. Many who saw these eyes would later say they were cold, unemotive. This was only partially true.

Her office was sparse, but perfect in that regard. A smooth black desk, a picture on one wall, a wall of cabinets on the other. A large window covered the wall opposite the door. A nervous knock came from this door, followed by the click of the same door opening. There was no time for waiting, apparently.

"Lieutenant Dean reporting, D.C. al Fine," came a voice from the door.

"Status report. Now," the haughty voice demanded.

"The countermeme has been, um, detected again. An anartist project displaying the countermeme prominently was identified about 20 minutes ago." The smaller voice stated.

A moment of silence. You could feel the smaller man's apprehension. You couldn't feel the sober woman's creeping fear. Her back remained turned as her eyes wavered across the pines. They weren't cold. They were calculating.

"How many infected?" There wasn't a single sign of fear in the firm voice asking the question.

"Unknown. The anartist threat has been on display for an unknown period of time, assumed to be about 2 days, in which the countermeme has entered the civilian population. Infected civilians have been identified and detained in every continent."

She knew that something would happen. Had known ever since the countermeme was detected that this would be a global threat. Somehow this didn't make hearing it any easier. More silence. More calculations.

"Then we must execute that procedure." Fine's words, heavy and grim, expanded and filled the room.

"Do you mean…?" Lieutenant Dean left the question to linger, afraid to even say the words.

"I do. We are out of alternatives." Fine turned from the window, looking Lieutenant Dean in the eyes. She saw a young man, naive and afraid.

She turned back to the window, back to her thoughts. The sun shined on her again. Were there really no other options? No. There weren't. This was the only chance. Humanity's only chance. The world weighed heavy on the shoulders of this woman judging the future of humanity. The next words were quiet. Still firm, but quiet.

"Execute Procedure Pizzicato."

The sun rose to mark the new doomsday.

From the PHYSICS division field manual:

Procedure

-Activate all sleeper units in rival agencies.

Procedure successful

The emptied hallways of Site-85 echoed with steady steps. Researcher Vongvichit hurried through a cold hallway, passing under a looming Foundation logo as she reached the front desk. The receptionist offered a tired greeting, falling on distracted ears as the researcher passed by, turning into another winding corridor. She too was tired, but fascination filled her mind much more than the need for sleep. Between identical doors and signs, the studious scientist was lost in thoughts.

Her site director had recently been handed a file displaying statistics from the nearby forest as a sort of test. She couldn’t work on the SCP present there unless she identified the anomaly present in the data. Researcher Vong mentally recalled figures and charts as she marched swiftly to the office. All researchers with environmental science specialties had also received the same papers, but space was limited in the project. Of course, the threat of personal danger came with being accepted into it, but almost all of the researchers at Site 85 were desperate to get out of paperwork duty. Researcher Vong was no exception. It certainly seemed like a trivial process compared to just choosing researchers for the project, but it wasn’t her choice. The office had only a few researchers at this time of night, typing away at computers or reading papers as she pulled into her desk.

The familiar packet lay in front of her as she took her seat, facing her as if in opposition. She opened it again, peering through the neon yellow highlights and scratchy annotations. If there was an anomaly, it should be obvious. A blatant mistake. But there was nothing out of the ordinary here. Everything was predictably constant. Plant growth and animal populations barely even fluctuated. Researcher Vong sighed, pulling back from the report. She knew that there were researchers who had already cracked the packet hours after obtaining it, so it must have been obvious. She prepped herself for another comprehensive read-through, purposely oblivious to the other piles of paper that would have filled her schedule.

It was mundane stuff. Researcher Vong had to actively fight off the urge to sleep at this late hour. But persevering, she got through the whole document a third time. As usual, there was nothing. Feeling less hopeful than ever, she pushed the papers aside.

A thought popped into here head. She pulled the papers back. It was the footnotes. She hadn’t read the footnotes. Why didn’t she ever check the footnotes? She mentally berated herself as she flipped through to the last page. Minutes of careful reading ensued, until Researcher Vong saw the line:

27. Interference with local plant and animal life can also be attributed to human development. In 2012, a zone including one-third of the forest’s total area was demolished for housing.

Bingo. That had to be it. Throughout the reports, everything remained completely stable. If a third of the forest was destroyed, why wasn’t it reflected in any of the data? How could this forest act completely unchanged after such an event? This is where the anomaly was in the data. A small chuckle came from Researcher Vong’s mouth as she got up to report to the head scientist and, hopefully, get that spot in the project.

Dr. Adam was having a relatively easy day. He had just filled up his research project with talented new scientists, and all that was left to do in the day was complete the paperwork for it. Then the research would start and the fun begin. Somehow, he’d managed to gather some of the most important scientists in the whole area, all working on his discovery. In all honesty, Dr. Adam really did enjoy the discovery of a new SCP. The unexplainable marvels of the world were out there, waiting to be discovered and tested. It made for an interesting job, as long as they weren’t dangerous. Dr. Adam hated the dangerous ones.

The paperwork-filling and thinking was cut short by a knock on the door.

“Come in.” He saw the door open and a short, upright woman come through. She looked familiar, he’d definitely seen her around sight. What was her name?

“Hello Researcher Vin,” he said cautiously. He added in an uncertain smile.

“Hi Dr. Adam. It’s Vong, but that’s alright. I’ve read the packet and believe I’ve identified the anomalous data.” Dr. Vong excitedly stated.

Dr. Adam’s first thought was “Damn, did I forget to announce the project was filled?” His next thought was “Damn, do I have to tell this researcher she can’t work on the project?" Dr. Adam let out a sigh.

“I’m sorry, but the project’s been filled.” He could see her enthusiasm fall as he said the words.

“I see. Well, have a nice day.” Researcher Vong mustered up a little bit of warmth in the statement as she left the room.

Dr. Adam sighed again, pulling up the files on Researcher Vong on the nearby desktop. According to the files, she was good. A diligent scientist with a specialty in environmental sciences. If he didn’t already have so many other talented environmental scientists, she’d be great for the project. It was a shame, really.

Dr. Adam was surprised by a single beep from the small digital watch on his arm. Peering down, the current time flashed on and off across the tiny screen. He snapped away from the computer instantly, standing from his chair to lock to the door with careful rapidity. His face was grim and alert. He settled back down and took the watch off his arm onto the smooth oak desk. His fingers went to work tapping the corners of the rectangular device.

He clicked each corner with the preciseness of a machine. Top left. Bottom right. Top Left. Top Right. Top Right. Bottom right. And so on. In time, the screen transformed into a black and green grid. Dr. Adam pressed his finger onto the new scanner. Thick black words flashed onto the screen.

PROCEDURE PIZZICATO ACTIVATED. GLOBAL THREAT ENTITY ELIMINATING COMMUNICATION METHODS. SLEEPER AGENTS REMAIN ON ALERT. DO NOT REVEAL POSITIONS. REPORT BACK TO COALITION FREQUENTLY.

They flashed once. Twice. A third time, and they were gone, replaced by a simple black-and-white 10:46. Dr. Adam unlocked his door and left his office. He had all the best scientists under his wing now, but he couldn’t watch them alone.

Researcher Vong was on her way out of the facility when Dr. Adam intercepted her.

“Researcher Vong? I believe there may be a change in my project’s lineup.”

“Hm?” Researcher Vong looked at him quizzically. This was a fast turnaround.

“I’m saying you now have a spot. Welcome to the project. Here are some papers you should be familiarized with. Work starts tomorrow.” Dr. Adam handed her a short stack of documents.

“Wow. Thank you. I must say I wasn’t expecting such a quick change of mind.”

“Well, sometimes new situations can arise very quickly.”

The office was empty at this hour. Regardless, Dr. Adam pulled in close to Researcher Vong as he whispered the next words.

“Keep an eye on the others around you. Report back to me regularly. Stay vigilant.”

“Understood.” As Researcher Vong replied, she pulled up the sleeve of her coat just a tad. A small, black digital watch rested on her arm. The watch was identical to Dr. Adam’s.

-Alert all allied government agencies and allied government officials.

Procedure successful

In an important building, far away from modern society, rows of tables created a vast semicircle around a raised platform at the center of a large room. Suits filled with aged men and women shuffled around the area, finding seats and speaking with each other. There was an oppressive, gloomy silence that filled the hall, stifling most conversation. There were not many smiles. There were many grimaces.

The small sound of conversation died down as a tall woman in a suit as black as space took the podium. She stood silently upright as the blue Global Occult Coalition logo appeared on the screen behind her.

“If you are here, then you know our organization. You may not all be on the best terms with us, but you know who we are, and you know the paranormal, parascientific and paratemporal threats this world has. Some of you are from established nations. Others, from paranormal organizations. All of you, however, are important people who run this world. Now, we need you to protect this world.”

The slide changed to a graphic of a head with an exclamation point covering the mouth. The black shapes carved heavy figures on the yellow background.

“In response to a rapidly-growing, uncontained memetic agent, we have indeed activated Procedure Pizzicato. Everyone in this room should have the proper documents regarding what this means. This memetic agent can travel across visual and auditory forms of information, infecting individuals and robbing them not just of the ability to understand all forms of communication, but also to convey any information themselves. Any form of contact with this ‘countermeme,’ as we have called it, will result in infection and communication failure. As we have said earlier, this countermeme is not only uncontained, but also rapidly spreading. We estimate there are currently infected individuals in every country.”

A chorus of raised voices filled the room. Worry and anger presented itself in myriad ways across a variety of voices. They crescendoed to a peak before the stern amplified voice of D.C. al Fine broke the panic.

“Settle down. Settle down!”

The severe voice boomed across the hall, ushering a wave of silence. An aged figure clad in white vestments remained standing. On his head rested a miter clad with a red cross. He spoke in eloquent Italian, which a younger, similarly-clad man next to him translated.

“With all due respects, D.C. Al Fine, we seek further understanding. The Holy Order of Knights Templar must inquire as to the origin of this entity.”

“Patriarch Gallo of the Knights Templar, please be seated. We currently understand that the anartist group Are We Cool Yet? is the originator of this countermemetic invasion.”

More hushed talking across the hall. Another person stood, this one a brown-skinned, balding man clad in a white achkan.

“Is there any more information available pertaining to the countermeme threat? How many has it infected? Where is it concentrated?” He spoke in a thick Indian accent.

“His Excellency Ra-“

“What does Are We Cool Yet? seek from this attack? Do they have conditions?” A suited man with a French accent interrupted. More individuals joined in, throwing questions into the air. The chorus of confusion returned to drown the room in sound.

D.C. Al Fine’s next words were loud and acerbic.

“Silence!”

The audience in the hall obeyed. The words that followed were sharp and exact.

“We understand that this situation is regrettable. More than anyone else, we do. We would not have called this meeting if it weren’t absolutely necessary. Now, let us establish the necessary procedures to contain and eliminate this world threat. We are certain that the countermeme is uncontrollable, and that elimination is the only possible solution. Being the foremost authority on both parathreats and their destruction, the Global Occult Coalition will require a higher degree of freedom in order to establish global safety. Every person here should have a document on their desk regarding the exact requirements needed of you.”

Silence again. The shuffling of papers soon filled the room. More silence. Whispers to secretaries and assistants. As fearful as it was, this was indeed the calm before the storm.

-Mobilize all PHYSICS teams.

Procedure successful

"Shit, I'm itching all over."

Ten figures in black combat suits sat in the dark. The sound of an engine droned in the background as the seated soldiers bumped to the rhythm of an unsteady road.

"New suit?" Asked one of the seated figures. He was tall and well-built. A large rifle rested in his dark hands.

"New operative." Replied another. She had a mouth shaped by constant scowling and a face covered in scars.

"Shit. They're seriously bringing you here for your first operation?" Asked the tall one.

"Yeah. What's the problem? It just looks like we're stuck with some quarantine duty." Said the original speaker. He was skinnier and younger than the others, and had a pale complexion.

The tall one sighed.

"What's your name, son?"

"Bradley Jones."

The scarred soldier turned her attention back to the conversation.

"I recognize you. Sap, wasn't it?" She remarked with a mocking tone. Jones looked down and sighed reluctantly at the statement.

"I'm not going to outlive that name, am I?"

Seven other soldiers remained silent. Some of them were too afraid of their future. Some simply didn't care.

"Sap? What's that about?" The tall one asked.

"Skinny and pathetic. He had a hard time with the training course." The scarred one answered.

"Dammit, I finished the course! I passed my training, didn't I?" Sap yelled.

No one responded. The air in the back of the truck was heavy. One soldier with a large mole beside his eye was whispering a prayer to a cross on a necklace. That, and the roar of the engine, were the only sounds for a while. Sap broke the silence.

"Well, while we're all sharing names, who're you?" He directed his question to the tall soldier.

"Mark."

"Mark?"

"Yeah, as in I never miss mine." A slight smile played across his lips. The scarred soldier called him out.

"Bullshit, Your name's Goat." She turned to Sap. "As in, his e-goat's bigger than anyone else's." Sap didn't get it.

"Like, his ego. Look, I didn't choose the name. They call me Scarface. At least I've accepted it."

"So what are we actually doing?" Sap asked.

"Lesson one of PHYSICS: always read the damn briefing.” Goat said. “Basically, there's a thing out there that'll make you forget to how to speak or read or write. You lose the ability to communicate. The doctors are saying it's not a disease though. We're going in to cut off the infection and take care of the citizens."

"Huh. What do you mean by 'taking care' of citizens?" Sap unsteadily asked.

"I think you know what he means. We don't have a cure for this thing. We gotta get rid of it." Scarface filled in.

There were a couple seconds of uneasy silence.

"I don't wanna kill innocent people." Sap quietly said.

After another pause, Goat spoke.

"Not our choice."

"Either we kill these people, or we let this thing kill every person on the planet." Scarface added.

"But this disease or whatever, it doesn't kill people! Why don't we just hold them and wait for a cure?" Sap loudly asked, holding back anger.

"Look I don't know, greenhorn. I don't call the shots and neither do you. No matter what you say, we're still here and we're still required to follow orders. Get used to it." Scarface resigned herself with the last few words.

She sighed. More quietly, she spoke again.

"I don't wanna kill innocent people either."

And with that, a truck full of Coalition soldiers drove off into an uncertain fate.

-Publicly acknowledge existence of Global Occult Coalition, rival agencies, and Threat Entities.

Procedure successful

Words and calls filled the air as people rushed around the camera-laden site of the Global Occult Coalition's film set. At the center of the commotion, a well-dressed man adjusted his tie and waited, patiently. An array of cameras surrounded him, staring him down. An antsy makeup artist toyed with his hair, her nimble fingers brushing through smooth, greying locks. She threw a worried look at him.

"You got this?"

His mouth transformed into a steadfast smile as he looked at her.

"More than ever."

A tired, frantic director rushed around the set. He called for a final announcement, quieting the room.

"Listen everyone. We're right about to film, so I want to make one final announcement. In a matter of moments, we'll be going live in what will be one of the most important transmissions in history. Anyone trips up, and the whole world gets to see it. Not trying to scare anyone, but this is going live out to the whole world. And more than anything, this is a warning. The world needs to know of this global threat. So let's get rolling and save the world!"

Sporadic clapping broke out among the gathered crowd as they took positions. A call broke out in a matter of moments, silencing the set.

"Pictures up!"

The well-dressed man shooed away the makeup artist as everyone cleared away from him. A while wall inscribed with the Global Occult Coalition logo stood behind him, dark cameras making an arc in front of him. He adjusted his hair and looked at the central camera with a steely gaze.

"Rolling."

Across the world, screens lit up with the same steely gaze. A wizened yet sturdy face graced with a shock of silver hair filled televisions across the glove. The authority-filled face appeared in televisions in the corner of bars, in sets at homes and in massive screens attached to crowded skyscrapers.

"Hello world."

"What you are seeing is not a fake transmission, nor is it some form of trick. What you are witnessing is an emergency broadcast, made in cooperation with governments across the world. First and foremost, a primary statement is required for all citizens of Earth:"

"The paranormal exists."

"We live among anomalous dangers. With the support of the United Nations and the Council of 108, we, the Global Occult Coalition, have been combating paranormal, parascientific and paratemporal threats for decades, protecting the human population from the unknown. Our main mission has been peace and survival for the human race, and thus we stand above any single nation's agenda. Our interest lies only in the protection of humanity."

"There are other organizations like us, though not all of us share the same goals. More information on these organizations and the paranormal threats of the world will be explained in future broadcasts. Currently, our main focus is a threat that, if left unchecked, has the ability to eliminate modern society."

"An information-based entity with the power to eliminate communication on a base level is currently present on a global basis. Any person, once infected, will lose the ability to speak, write and understand speech and writing. This countermeme, if left unchecked, can cause a worldwide loss-of-communication scenario, destroying society on a primal level."

Though his face remained unchanged, the confident voice began to slur as he continued.

"It has come to a point where it has been deemed impossible to continue with our current path of secrecy. Thus, we must warn all of-"

A slight pause. The steely gaze wavered as confusion rose in his eyes.

"Thus, we mist warning all of-"

The confusion grew. A struggle was apparent in his rising voice.

"We are to wan all oven pemp that the ers is-"

Confusion gave out to panic. The feed cut out as screens across the world turned to black.

In the studio, panic gave away to terror. The man, once confident and proud, began to fall to his knees, gibberish spewing from his mouth. Someone grabbed a phone off the wall and urgently spoke in to the other end. In moments, combat-ready operatives filled the room, dragging the struggling man through double doors.

The director got off his chair and looked at the assistant director. They said nothing, but the fear and devastation in their eyes gave everything away.

"Good lord, what have we done?"

-Request for global martial law & worldwide protective curfew.

Procedure successful

“Now, everyone.”

The attention of many dignitaries and officials returned to the dark-suited D.C. al Fine. Her sharp, precise voice was amplified to echo in the vast hall the meeting was in.

“It should already be clear that the Global Occult Coalition is the organization best suited for tackling this global problem. We lack time to argue this fact. No other organization has the same history or experience in dealing with the paranormal. It is possible to eliminate the countermeme completely, but we cannot do this without everyone’s cooperation. I'm sure you can all understand that it’s hard to run an operation which requires multiple wings to be in agreement in order to get anything done. Similarly, the reaction time we have to a dangerous event is minimized when a majority of our time is spent appeasing and negotiating with opposing sides.”

The speech was cut short by a tan, silver-haired man.

“Al Fine, please get to the point. What does the Global Occult Coalition need?”

An irked D.C. al Fine cut a searing glance at him before turning back to her papers.

“We would hope that you can understand that in order to ensure the survival of mankind, the Global Occult Coalition will require global martial law.”

And with that, chaos broke out. Throughout the hall, men and women stood up to object. Others rapidly turned to their assistants or to each other. D.C. al Fine stood back from the podium for a moment as the room decided how to react. She waited for a moment, purposefully oblivious to the barrage of questions and accusations before returning to the microphone.

“I cannot answer every question at once!” It was too formal to be a yell, yet the statement carried the ferocity of one.

“There are 198 national leaders in this hall, as well as 108 more in the Council. We cannot eliminate the countermeme if we have to appease over three hundred different organizations. It is impossible. The Global Occult Coalition requires your unquestioning loyalty and trust to accomplish this.”

While the chamber had died down for the most part, rogue voices still ran rampant throughout it.

“We already have plans to establish a safer world. First, a worldwide protective curfew will be established for all civilians so we can account for our people. Second, we will establish safe zones for individuals who are confirmed to be free of memetic infection. The list goes on, but the idea remains: we will only establish measures to destroy the countermeme. Nothing else.”

D.C. al Fine allowed a pause for the audience, letting them recuperate and decide their path of action. Minutes later, she spoke again.

“We will now vote on this measure. I hope we can all agree to do what’s best for the world.”

Everyone turned from the speaker to their tablets, each screen lit by three digital buttons. The red urged “Against.” The grey advised “Abstain.” The green advocated “In Favor.” D.C. al Fine stepped off the podium and approached a group of assistants off to the side.

“Damn, am I talking to the established world powers or a zoo? So much for international cooperation.” Al Fine’s irritation was clear in her voice. The group nodded along to her.

One of the members spoke up, asking, “Do you think the vote will work?”

“It has to," she said. "The world is behind us on this. If we fail, so does the world."

Another asked, “What do we do if it doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll have to carry on. It’s still possible for us to save the world without their help, it’ll just be a hell of a lot harder.” She looked at her watch and sighed. “Alright. Let’s see what happens.”

The screen behind the podium displayed the votes:

IN FAVOR: 117

ABSTAIN: 5

AGAINST: 186

D.C. al Fine walked back to the podium.

“I see. I hope you all understand the gravity of your choices. The Global Occult Coalition will continue to act on the world’s behalf.”

She turned to walk off, but threw one last statement to the crowd.

“And if we never hear from each other again, I wish you all the best of luck. It’s a mad world out there.”

-Establish and/or refresh KTE termination triage sequences for all Threat Level 2 and 3 entities.

Procedure successful

“Like hell you’re gonna override my orders.”

The butt of an iron cane aggressively tapped the floor as Dr. Wythers yelled at the man cowering behind a clipboard in front of her.

“You know damn well that you have neither the authority nor the willpower to deny my command. Now get the hell out of here.” Though she held a cane, in this moment Dr. Wythers stood fully erect. She wasn’t taller than the other person, but he still backed away as she spoke.

He cleared his throat and said, “I just, I just can’t in good faith authorize these thaumatic weapons. It’s not safe. Most of the things on this list are untested. Some are even prototypes. It’s just a bad decision no matter how you look at it.”

She stepped towards him, repelling him back into the steel door behind him. The room was sterile and white, with a variety of strangely-shaped objects covered in symbols held on counters on the walls. A couple of men and women in coats also covered in symbols discreetly tinkered with some of the objects. Though they didn’t turn around, they were listening to Dr. Wythers’ tangent too. Her voice rose as she continued to speak.

“Really. Because the way I look at it, the whole damn world’s going to shit right now, and you’re worried that these weapons are untested? There are threat entities out there that will kill hundreds of people, and bullets sure as hell don’t work on them. You bring them these thaumatic weapons or you let innocent people die. So go through that door and ship those fucking weapons!”

“No.”

“No?”

He held his head high and repeated, “No.”

Dr. Wythers held his stare for a second before pushing past him.

“Then fuck it. You’re fired. Get out the way I’ll do this myself.” As she spoke, she yanked the clipboard out of the other doctor’s hands and pushed the door back.

“Wait, stop! You’re not doing this!” The other doctor yelled as he chased after her.

“Oh yes I am! Now go take a hike, you don’t work here anymore.” She dismisses him with a wave of her hands. She stopped, caught with a thought. Dr. Wythers swiveled around on her cane to face the other doctor.

“And one last thing. We’re fighting a war right now. If everything was fine and dandy, yeah, there’s no chance in hell I’d authorize these. But if everything was fine and dandy, would we be refreshing these termination sequences? If everything was fine, why are we choosing to kill the lesser evils now?”

The other doctor didn’t answer the question.

“Because right now, we’re fighting an evil that could let them escape, could let them cause destruction out among the normal people. If we were winning the fight, we wouldn’t have to stop them now. But we’re not winning the fight. We’re not.”

Dr. Wythers let out a sigh, holding her cane still. She looked tired, resting on the iron cane.

“Listen, kid, you’re not fired. But if I hear so much as a word that you’re disobeying me again, you will be. We need all hands on deck right now. So go find some way to be useful."

The other doctor reached out to take his clipboard back. Dr. Wythers snapped it away from him and turned her back to him, continuing her march down the hall.

“I’m authorizing these weapons myself.”

And she did.

-Execute termination triage sequences.

Procedure successful

Emily Davis had a way with weapons. Well, to be more accurate, Emily Davis had a way with lead. Bullets went whichever way she wanted them to. They tended to work very well with her, and not so well against her.

She first learned of this affinity for bullets when she went shooting out at the islands in her teenage years. She never missed her targets, and her affinity soon became local legend. There weren’t many people on the islands, so word about her traveled fast and she became a celebrity. Shooting wasn’t just a hobby, it became who she was. It was a gift.

It was also a curse. One morning, after a night of drinking and partying, Emily awoke to her house riddle in bullets. The walls were covered in deep, small holes, with broken items shattered below. In one wall, the holes made a smiley face. Another read, in small dots, “JIM IS A DICK.”

Around this time she found that her uncanny ability with firearms went beyond that of a regular person. Videos she found amazed her with recordings of her shooting a gun, only to have the bullets go straight backwards. A couple of tests on the shooting range proved this unnatural power to be real. More nights of drinking and bad decisions also proved this power to be real.

So impulse control might not have been her best trait. Big deal, right? Though her thoughts rested along these lines, the reality of the situation proved to be more serious. In a couple years, interspersed with more incidents of a similar nature, she managed to catch the attention of larger powers.

She had not the slightest idea she’d been followed. She may have lived on island, but she certainly didn’t know every face. So the new ones that appeared meant nothing to her. That is, until she found herself woken in the middle of the night, surrounded by men in tactical wear.

Her first reaction was surprise and fear. She was taken away before she had time for another reaction. Bounded and carried away, her next memories involve her waking up in a sterile facility. Here she remembers testing, trials ranging from inconvenient to excruciating. All centered around her abilities.

It was months before she was returned home. She was only freed with the strict promise to never touch a firearm or speak of any of her experiences to anyone again. For all intents and purposes, she had run away for an extended vacation.

They frequently checked up on her. She developed a sense of paranoia as she gained a better sense of when she was being followed. She knew they wouldn’t be done with her. It took years until her fear was proven real.

It was when she woke up bound and gagged in the forest that she realized the day had come.

At that moment, four men dressed just like the ones who had kidnapped her years ago stood in front of her. She was on the ground, her back to a tree. Her hands and feet were tied, and a gag covered her mouth.

They were talking. She screamed. No one reacted. She screamed again. The gag hurt her jaw and the ties scraped her wrists and ankles. One of them pulled out a pistol, and another seemed to reprimand him. He put the pistol back in its holsters as the first one said some more muffled things. The agents finished their chat and directed their attention to Emily.

An agent reached into his backpack and pulled out a strange object. It bore a resemblance to a large, chrome speed gun made of a shiny metal. Rows of fine markings were inscribed down the barrel, though Emily couldn’t see what they were. The agent brandishing it pulled down the dark cloth covering his mouth as he pointed it at her head. He spoke for a while in a language Emily didn’t know, and the markings on the gun glowed a whitish-purple. The end of the gun lit up in a reddish hue, almost blinding Emily.

“Is there anything you wish to say before you die?” Another agent said, with a slight Eastern European accent. One of the agents cautiously approached her, unclipping and removing the gag from her mouth.

“Why…why are you doing this?” She said, her jaw sore.

“To protect the walld.”

“To protract the wild.”

Confusion shot across his face.

“To priddick dawald.”

One of the soldiers tackled him as another shouted orders at the others.

“Keep him down! Cover his mouth, dammit!”

One of the agents just looked at the tackled soldier, tears running down his eyes.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.” He repeated, over and over.

The agent with the glowing gun changed its direction towards the grounded soldier. In the chaos, Emily wrested with her restraints. Nothing came loose, but she managed to struggle away from the tree. A pistol lay on the ground, freed of its holster after the tackle. Emily inched closer to it, twisting her tied arms over head and in front of her. She grabbed the pistol.

An ethereal sound interrupted the process. Turning to look, Emily saw the weird gun’s glowing lights fade away. The soldier at the receiving end of it was frozen with a horrified expression. He moved again to scream loudly. Parts of his suit seemed to bubble. His whole body was squirming and moving.

A black bubble rose out of the suit, leaving behind a patch of bare peach skin. The bubble rose and popped, disappearing into air. More bubbles followed. More screams also followed. After the suit ran out, the bubbles turned peach as skin left the body. They went from peach to red to white, and there was nothing left after that. Just plain ground where the agent once was

It was time to take action. Emily held the gun’s trigger in her struggling fingers. She couldn’t stand up, but she didn’t need to aim.

Three loud bangs, one immediately after the other, and the remaining agents slumped to the ground. Two more, and speeding bullets broke Emily’s restraints. Freed, she stood and stretched out. Then she vomited. She had never killed anyone before.

Shakily, she walked away from the scene. She was safe. She was unharmed.

The world was in danger, but Emily was safe.

-Establish cooperative relations with allied occult agencies.

Procedure successful

D.C. al Fine stood at the end of a table in a nondescript room. Her dark black suit bore the marks of being worn for too long without being changed. The table stretched across the room, allowing ample space for twenty people to take a seat on it.

At this time there were only seven characters seated, each one spread as far apart from the others as much as possible.

D.C al Fine turned to one of them, a man in a cheap three-piece suit lounging behind a plaque that read “MANNA CHARITABLE FOUNDATION”.

“Mr. Johnson. Any word from the Serpent’s Hand?”

He looked at her with a weary gaze.

“I’m afraid they won’t be coming.”

D.C. al Fine cursed quietly and moved towards the head of the table.

“Hello everyone, I’m glad you could all make it for this meeting. Even if your top brass may have been busy, we appreciate the representatives.”

A suited woman, younger than the others in the room interrupted.

“Cut the crap. This is about the countermeme, isn’t it?” Her plaque read “CHAOS INSURGENCY.”

“Right. We are in the midst of a crisis. And I don’t just mean the Coalition. I’m referring to all of us, including the organizations who didn’t appear today. I am speaking, of course, about the countermeme.” Al Fine stated.

A dashing man with slicked hair spoke up from behind his “UNUSUAL INCIDENT UNIT” plaque.

“We are aware of the current predicament. However, we lack information about this threat. Could you please share your knowledge with us about the countermeme?” His phrasing made the question sound more like a command.

“That’s why we’re all gathered here, isn’t it? We all have different information, different resources.” Al Fine continued in a consistently formal tone.

“You’re proposing an alliance?” The man who said this emanated an aura of power. His accent was Canadian, and though he was forty, he appeared ten years younger. “SCP FOUNDATION” was emblazoned the plaque in front of him.

“Like hell you are.” The Insurgency representative shot the sentence more at the Foundation leader than al Fine.

“I ask that you all consider the possibilities. This threat is more than capable of wiping us all out. With limited cooperation, we can all be better off. Listen, everything is negotiable at the moment. Currently, we need to focus on eliminating this countermeme.”

“That you made.” The Insurgency representative added.

“Culpability is not the most pressing issue at the moment. We need to stay focused on the most important issue.” Al Fine forcefully said.

“Well that’s easy for you to say,” said a large man in a white button-up shirt in a thick southern accent. His plaque read “THE FIFTH CHURCH.” “You’ve got all to gain from this. What are we gettin’?”

“At a minimum, mutual protection. At a maximum, well, we’re open to discussion.” Al Fine said, with a tinge of irritation.

“Nope. This won’t work. I’m leaving.” The Insurgency representative said, as she stood from her seat. “You created this mess, you’re gonna deal with it.”

Al Fine turned around, visibly angered. “Oh no, you’re not pinning this on us. We destroyed it. Sure, we created this thing, but we got rid of it. And we’re going to do it again.”

The Insurgency representative watched al Fine, amused.

Al Fine continued, “It’s this one who let the countermeme break out.” She pointed at the most unusual figure in the room. The Insurgency representative remained standing near the door.

Clad in a bright blue and red suit reminiscent of a bus seat from the 80s, a man with greying hair simply smirked. He had brought a plaque that matched his suit, reading “ARE WE COOL YET?”

“Please. Who broadcast an infected transmission to the entire world? That’s not on me. I don’t even know why I’m here. You’re all bureaucrats anyways. I’m leaving too. See ya.” The eccentric man stood up and left the room as the arguing continued, taking his plaque with him. A sharply-dressed man spoke up afterwards.

“I’ve abstained from speaking so far, but I don’t find this meeting to be particularly productive. Judging from the Coalition’s lack of competency, the Insurgency’s lack of agreement, and everyone else’s lack of interest, it would seem that nothing effective will result from any agreement in this meeting. My time would be better spent elsewhere.” He left his “MARSHALL, CARTER, AND DARK LTD.” plaque as he departed from the meeting. The Insurgency representative followed behind him.

Al Fine continued her speech, saying, “I already knew that not everyone would be agreeing with this proposal. We don’t need them. What we do need is each other.”

Al Fine continued, but she knew that she’d already lost this battle. In time, she concluded her speech and shook hands with the remaining four people in the room, each one leaving with vague promises. The room seemed especially dreary with only al Fine in it.

None of the representative and leaders contacted the Coalition about that proposed alliance again.

They’d fight their own battles.

Without cooperation, none of them would win.

A long, silent night was falling.