Let the Maze of My Design Carry You On - SCP Foundation

Ralliston

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With a thunderous split in the fabric of reality, the sky above the desert shattered like ice stricken with a hammer. At first, it was a mere crack, spawned by the portal knocking at the dimension's doors with a heavy hand. But like a domino falling over, just seconds later, the reaction it spawned grew larger, opening a net of broken windows into the universe below. And from within those windows fell gods.

Well, not exactly — one of them, the alchemist, might've perhaps been close to a god in this universe, but the same couldn't really be said about her digital and mortal companions. Still, destiny decided they would all meet the same fate: screaming at the top of their lungs, for the fourth time in less than a month.

"YOU FUCKING TWAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTTT," Ann Barlowe shouted mid-air, not caring for the very much real and very much deadly ground below her. With a single movement of her hand and a gentle push of will, she seamlessly re-aligned the alchemical particles forcing them downwards, mitigating the wind's blow to their side and making her and Robert Madden's fall as slow as possible. "I'LL FUCKING KILL Y—" she tried to say, but was stopped by Madden's shoe entering her face.

Their third companion, the android-bodied Ra — who was similarly descending next to them — was frankly glad she was too occupied with trying to make all her systems connect to local reality to have to choose a side between her colleagues. There was nothing in the world she wanted less than to get between a furious Ann Barlowe and a self-satisfied Robert Madden, who was still practically beaming about his plan forcing them to jump realities.

"I'll—" Barlowe began, but quickly realized she had just lost her focus — and her grip on the air Aethers that stopped them from falling to their deaths along with it. So, once again allowing the winds of the sky to take their rule on the three escapees, they abided by gravity's iron-fist rules, and continued falling.

Fighting off hyperventilation and all other signs of panic from overtaking her — the situation was far from ideal — Barlowe focused the final and fragmented parts of her consciousness, forcing them back together. With a silent snap inside her soul similar to basic alchemical elements forming a bigger mass, she brought her own mind to order, quickly grasping at the elements she had just lost control over.

She was back in the game.

With one move of her hand and one spark in her soul, she forced the rocks below them to extend upwards and shatter, meeting her and her companions as nothing more than warm sand. Just like in the last world, she could feel that the Great Seal of Alchemy didn't exist within this universe, which allowed her to experience and control billions of forces she couldn't have ever dreamt of back home.

Mashing the particles of air and elements of the scorching sun above, she heated the sand up to hell-like temperatures, immediately cooling it down with the Aethers of wind, so that it would not burn either of them. The thick glass that formed from the reaction took the shape of a slide leading downwards, its entry just meters below the three. Ann resisted the urge to grin.

As the travelers met the slide at mach one speed and slid right down it, the creak of glass realizing it was no longer being supported by the unhinged power of the alchemist suddenly filled their ears. With horror in their eyes, the glass shattered right behind them, making Madden silently pray to nobody and no one that they were faster than the inevitable catastrophe that followed behind them.

Much to his surprise, the universe even listened.

With a quiet grunt, the three fell to the dusty ground of the desert below.

The scorching half-sand half-dirt that that the ground was made from didn't hesitate to show them whose land this was, making Madden curse at its heat. Ra simply sighed, realizing her systems now had to account for simulating the expression of her fake neurons being ablaze, throwing the sand off her metal feet. And Barlowe — having the skill to literally wave off heat like it wasn't there in this universe — didn't even need to do that. She simply started walking forward, ignoring both of her companions.

With another grunt of pain, Madden stood up, turning his sights forward. The valley they found themselves in stretched as far as the horizon could reach, filling his entire vision with a barren wasteland of nothing else but sand and rocks, only occasionally broken up by loose cacti or tumbleweeds. At the end of the horizon mountains stood, towering across the entirety of the landscape. In their ridiculous grandiosity, they almost looked like they were observing the valley below them. They reached the cloudless sky above, acting as the only thing to break up the otherwise monotonous wasteland.

But no, that wasn't quite right, he realized. He squinted his eyes further, and noticed something. He could see a single small town, standing in opposition against the mountains' hegemonic shadow. Robert couldn't quite make it all out from where he stood, but deep down he knew the town was there, despite some still-rational part of his mind suggesting it might just be a fata morgana caused by the blazing sun above. He didn't need Ra's nod to know that. He faintly smiled.

He also knew Barlowe was aware of the town's existence, too, judging by the destination she had set her steps in.

"Barlowe!" he shouted, trying to follow the alchemist. Not having much of a choice, Ra joined him, though still shrugged nonetheless. "You can't just run away from your problems forever! You know we did the right thing!"

She didn't reply, instead picking up her pace, but her posture very much told Madden that she thought that she not only could, but also that she would run away from her problems. Or at least run away from Madden, he supposed. He didn't think he deserved it — he still thought tricking Ann into jumping dimensions with him was the correct thing to do — but he couldn't blame her, not really.

Allowing Madden's words to pour down her like rain on a windshield, Barlowe just moved her hands, and felt the ground below her start rumbling.

Responding to a will and order they couldn't ignore, the half-solid rocks Barlowe treaded on started to move as if they were alive. They gathered near her feet, forming something that looked like a surfboard, elevating her just a few centimeters off the ground. The structure then began to move forward, faster than the alchemist herself could ever manage on her own. Whenever she ordered, the rocks followed, forming a seamless and continuous highway for the board to traverse. In just a few seconds, she was off.

"Ann! Don't be ridiculous!" Madden shouted once more, trying to run after her. After just a few meters, the temperature and the ground all around him made sure to tell him that the chase was impossible.

Even despite her distance, Ann heard Madden; she still ignored him.

She allowed herself to smile faintly. For the first time in a long while she started to laugh, finally feeling free. She didn't need to listen to that idiot's orders or to somehow fit into a hierarchy set up by the last world; here, she was her own woman. Barlowe extended her arms outwards, sensing the scorching air all around her, knowing it couldn't harm her. She took off her hood, exposing her red curly hair to the sun, allowing its light to blind her.

At the other end of the valley, Robert screamed in frustration, once again trying to continue his walk towards the town, scoffing loudly. Ra didn't say anything; she knew no words she could think of could change anything. She just followed her companion, ready for the long and tiresome journey that was about to follow.

Despite its mostly stranded appearance from afar, Flatrock Falls — as that was what the town was called — was practically booming with life.

As Barlowe entered the city's main road, she started to notice its population wasn't "twenty people max" like she had previously imagined. With each step she took in her strange clothing and bizarre hair, at least ten sets of eyes looked at her from the countless windows nested in the wooden structures the townsfolk used as homes. Each time, she returned the gaze, maintaining her posture and pace.

Making her way across this civilized part of the desert, she eyed her surroundings, searching for anything that could prove useful.

Sheriff's.

No, not really. The last thing she wanted after their first two multiversal encounters was to deal with cops.

Motel.

Maybe later. She wasn't feeling tired. And she wasn't feeling like getting robbed.

Bank.

Not that, either, but it was something to remember; what good are godlike powers if you can't use them to get rich?

Saloon.

Bingo.

With a faint smile she headed towards the large wooden building before her. It smelled of shit, sweat, cigarettes, and cheap booze — which could only mean it was the perfect place to get information from. A sign of questionable quality hanging above the almost doors told her she was entering "Saloon Number 72." She entered through.

The insides stank even worse. She wrinkled her nose, but didn't stop.

The place was half-lit by just three chandeliers hanging above the main hall, giving it an atmosphere she thought was reserved only for morgues and Foundation containment cells. The bar, located directly in front of the entry, was occupied by a tall man. He was built pretty well and was busy polishing mugs and bottles. He eyed her suspiciously, perhaps surprised a lanky lonely woman was brave enough to enter his building, but then shrugged and got back to his business.

Before Barlowe stood seven tables, all of them occupied by people she wouldn't ever want to meet after dark. Smoking and playing cards they laughed with rough voices, evil voices; they were too busy minding their own business to notice that Ann had even entered.

Well, not all of them — there was one exception. At the table located in the farthest corner of the saloon there sat one man, who had taken very keen interest in the alchemist. He was seemingly sleeping with his hat covering his eyes, but from under it, she could see his grey irises follow her movements. Half his face was burnt, the second half filled with strange tattoos, reminding Barlowe of the ones that were carved with fire into her very own body decades ago. The memory of being initiated into her alchemical order almost made her shiver.

On the walls next to the man, tens of "WANTED" posters hung, all crossed out with bright red.

Ann smiled, knowing she found exactly who she looking for. With a confident step she walked forward, ready for whoever — or whatever — the man was.

Sensing her movement, the others finally noticed her, giving Barlowe an annoyed and angry look. They didn't look for long, though — not when she met their gaze and returned the gesture, letting just a flicker of fire dance around her eyes.

When she turned back to face the man, there were no eyes on her anymore. She took the stool standing next to his table and sat on it, giving the man a nonchalant cough.

"Yes?" the stranger slowly said, his time rough and almost annoyed, as if he was trying to ascertain why someone as insignificant as Barlowe would dare interrupt his faked sleep. "What do you want?"

He took his hat off and put it on the table before him, revealing his slightly longer, dark hair underneath it. They were no longer covered, so Barlowe could see that his gray eyes were full of flame — she could also see them drill into her soul, scanning her for any signs he could read. One of his eyes — the one on the burnt side of his face — was scarred, barely clinging to the nerves that allowed it to move. It was slow, almost white; it was obvious that movement came to it with great difficulty. The other, though — the fully healthy one, in spite of the almost alien runes surrounding it — more than made up for its twin's faultiness.

Ann had to admit, the man knew how to give someone a heavy stare.

His equally dark leather jacket covered most of what would otherwise be second-degree'd skin, the burn visible only on his hands. The jacket was dirty, and it smelled of smoke. Of smoke and burnt-up dreams.

"Saw a wolf among the tens of sheep out here," Ann replied, nothing but confidence present in her voice. The man raised an eyebrow, both amused and surprised, and took out a smoke from his pocket, putting it in his mouth. He didn't ask if she wanted one. Barlowe blinked, and the smoke suddenly turned ablaze, starting to taint the atmosphere with even more smoke. She refused the urge to clear her throat, and continued, "Need someone to tell me what the town is. How the town is. Why the town is."

He exhaled the smoke, maintaining the stare. "There's people out there that'd be happy to answer that question for free, alchemist." He emphasized the final part as if it were a slur, practically spitting it out of his lips. She didn't ask how he knew. "And I'm no tour guide."

"I want to know how the town really is," she replied, waving a hand and forcing the smoke to disappear with the force of her will. He didn't even wince. "And I need help."

"Help?" His ash-dried lips and tired eyes almost formed a smile. "Do I look like the goddamned medic, girl?"

Ann glanced at the posters around him, sighing in seeming disappointment. He immediately picked up the signal. "I'm looking for people who can show me if there's anything here worth my time. And I don't mean no oil deposit."

His grin widened. "And what, you think I will help you?

"Indeed I do." She nodded and snapped her fingers, causing the cigarette to dissolve into thin air. The man gave her an almost impressed look. She continued, "So, will you answer my question or do I have to find another one of those idiots to do the job?" She pointed with her thumb at the rest of the bar's population.

The man grunted. "What do you need, exactly?" He corrected his posture, propping his elbows against the table. The wood creaked beneath them. He didn't really want to show it, but now, he was getting interested. "Info, men, or just pure power?"

"Your name would be a good start." She extended her hand.

He shook it, groaning as his burnt hands met the skin of another human being. "It's Daniel Ash."

The road was long, dirty, and messy — but most importantly, it was exhausting. And neither Robert nor Ra had any shortcuts like Ann did.

Almost entirely out of spirit, one step after the other, Madden walked towards the town in front of him. It took hours that felt like weeks, but he had no other choice but to push forward in the everpresent sun. Even if he wanted to stop, the only real alternative was to lie down and get a heat stroke. And his weekend plans didn't really extend that far.

The first thing that gave up was his arms. He could no longer afford to have them cover his eyes, protecting him from the blinding beams above. He let them fall to his side, wobbling aimlessly with each movement forward, as if they never even had a purpose to begin with.

The second thing that gave up was his legs. He thought it would be easy — just an hour or two of marching, and he'd be done. But it was much, much worse. The town was there, on the horizon, but it always remained just out of reach. It felt like every step he had to take was equivalent to running a marathon, multiplied tenfold. He wished so much that it'd end, the movement almost impossible under a hell-hot sun, but he had no magic to aid him — just his lifeless appendages to carry him forward.

But just before his will — the last thing that held together — gave up, he suddenly realized that he and Ra were standing inside the town.

The specter of a man he was, he looked unconsciously in search of anything that would look like both Barlowe and any potential resting place. When he found neither he resisted the urge to scream — the myriad reactions of surprise and disgust he met from the townsfolk around him didn't help his frustration, either.

The first reaction that actually broke his trance and made him realize just how miserable he was was the wide-opened eyes of the barman, noticing that Madden had entered his building. Ra didn't come inside, instead choosing to explore the town on her own — now that they had no Barlowe with them, they didn't want to bring too much attention to themselves. A feat that was literally impossible with a two-meter metal android.

"You good?" the buff asked, putting aside whatever glass he'd held in his massive hands just seconds ago. Good-spiritedness wasn't exactly his nature, but something in Madden's posture — and thoroughly exhausted eyes — made him make an exception. "You look like a horse ran ov—"

"W-W… Wat-ter…" Madden uttered through his broken lips, putting a few loose coins onto the counter. "P-P… Please…"

The barman nodded, and handed him the requested bottle. The liquid wasn't clean, quite far from it, but it was the best Madden was going to get. He didn't complain.

"Woah, easy there, bud," the saloon owner said. "It ain't healthy to drink this mu—"

Robert didn't listen, instead chugging more and more until he was done, relief entering his face not moments later. He sighed with exhaustion, relief, and genuine appreciation for the other's actions.

"So, uh, what do you need?" the bartender said, going back behind the counter and leaving Madden to sit on a stool before him. "Drink, something to eat, or…?"

"Did… Did you…" he panted, still catching his breath. With his index finger up, he showed the other man to wait up, giving his lungs a moment to recover. When they did, he continued, "Woman. Around my age. Curly, red hair. Black robes. Arm of metal. Did you see her?"

The man shrugged. "Nope. Women… don't really like this part of the town, you know?"

Robert paused to consider. "What… What about a, uh, big metal frame? Looks like a hexagon and lights up when you come close? Buzzes like bees, making your hair stand up?" The other raised his eyebrow, unsure if Robert still wasn't hallucinating. "Not just here, I mean — in general. Ever seen or heard of it?"

The barman turned to the shelves containing alcohol beside him, putting one more bottle where it belonged. "You sure that desert heat wore off?" He scanned Robert from top to bottom with a critical look, just a spark of worry in his eyes. "'Cuz it ain't looking like it, pal."

Madden ignored him, realizing that the SCP-6172 portal he was looking for was nowhere to be found around these parts, and glanced around the bar.

It was awful.

Full of smoke and the smell of alcohol, it was truly one of the worst places a labrat like him could ever imagine. Its seven tables were almost entirely filled up with the type of people he'd never ever want to meet alone. The only exception to this was the farthest desk in the corner. It didn't just feel suspicious, like the rest of the bar, no; it was much, much worse. Something in the figure seated in it — a robed man, a gun next to his belt — made him shiver.

The energy of the place was slowly strangling him alive. Robert could survive a cyberpunk dystopia with its billion colorful clouds of smoke and neons, he could get through the dirt and mud of a world reverted to a state from centuries ago, and he could even stare down the Coalition's barrel — but this was too much. Something about the energy of the place made him want to run away and never come back, but he had to push through with a few more questions. Because otherwise, all of the sacrifices he'd made to get across the desert would've been for nothing.

"Forget it." Madden rolled his eyes. He needed to stay strong, because places like these very much didn't like the broken. He paused for a moment, thinking about his current situation. "What about a… huh, treasure? What's the best thing I can get here, if you know what I mean? Any game-changer, that's all I need." He was already beginning to hatch a plan.

The barman didn't even seem surprised by the question. Judging by the state of his establishment, Madden guessed that he heard a similar version of the same question quite frequently. "I… hmm… yeah, I guess you could say that. But… it's not an easy job, pal. And it might get you killed. But if you're looking for a good game…" he replied, pausing for a moment to look at Madden. "Well. If you want to take the risk, it'll get you results."

Madden raised his eyebrow, intrigued, and came a little closer. "Tell me more."

The bank was old, dusty, and just like the rest of the town — boring as hell. Nonetheless, Barlowe didn't complain: she understood this was the best she was gonna get. Instead, she simply raised her eyebrows, surprised at Daniel's uncharacteristically enthusiastic reaction.

"This the place?" she asked, covering her head with her hood once more. The heat was getting unbearable. "It… It doesn't look like anything even worthwhile. Would be surprised if they even had enough gold here to get past the ocean." She paused. "Which, you know, is the whole reason I want inside."

He looked at her, slight irritation in his eyes. "You don't know nothing about this town, alchemist. Trust me when I say it'll be worth your time." He paused, lighting another smoke up with one of his thoughts. The flame was small, but she could feel its heat even from two meters away. He didn't seem to be bothered by it one bit. "Been there before. The thing the bank holds is better than just mere gold."

Even if she tried, she couldn't possibly raise her eyebrows higher. "And that thing is…?"

He shrugged. "The source of all wisdom and power the universe holds. Like I said, I've seen it before. Once. Before I got kicked out for not being a coward and actually using magic." Within his eyes, she could still see the fire of rage burning strong. She almost shivered. He pointed at the building. "With that, you'll get to your little home all right." She didn't think he fully believed her when she told him their story, but just partial belief was all she needed. And it wasn't like she was going to get better help anyway.

"So," she started, cracking her knuckles. The day was getting late and the streets reacted accordingly, forcing more and more inhabitants into their homes. If Flatrock Falls could feel even more like a wasteland, it very much did so now. "We going in or what?"

He scoffed, smiling patronizingly. "Please, dear. You really think you can just break into the best-guarded thaumaturgic secret in the entirety of the West like you're walking into a saloon?" Before she could answer, he continued, "No, no you can't. Trust me, I tried." His hand touched the burnt part of his face, groaning upon meeting the scorched skin. "You have to learn some lessons the hard way."

She stood there, silently for a few moments which made her realize just how little her power must've meant there, even when entirely unshackled. She threw those thoughts away just seconds after — it was not in her style to enjoy pondering notions that made her feel not like the most powerful person in the room. "So, what the hell do we do?"

He turned towards her, putting his black hat back on and smiling widely, this time with pure enjoyment. "We put together a crew."

At the edge of the town, the sun was setting.

Crossing the now mildly cool atmosphere of the West, Ra's metallic body walked forward, without real purpose or merit. It was a weird feeling for her, if she was being honest — to a being of pure logic and efficiency to do… nothing, really, felt more than unusual. But, in a sense, it also felt liberating.

Before she could really realize what she was doing, she found herself at the border between civilization and desert, separated only by a single wooden pen, holding two or three horses. Within it, a person stood, carrying out a few of his personal belongings from the pen: he was preparing to head back home after a long day of work. He was tired, and so were his animals — she could see it in the way in which he moved.

She stopped her march, leaning onto the wooden fence before her. It creaked upon meeting the dark steel of her arms. Even if her body was covered with stolen shirts, a hat, a shawl, and some pants, the illusion could only work on humans — the unthinking mind of gravity didn't let itself be fooled so easily.

Seconds later, the farmer noticed her, slowly walking forward, slight worry in his eyes. Not often did he see someone so tall. Especially someone whose arms shined with pure steel.

"Yes?" he asked, spitting out the tuft of grass that occupied his teeth. "What d'you want?"

"I'm a newcomer," she said, trying her best to mask her electronic tone. She failed. "Wanted to ask a few questions about the town, if that's all right." Noticing the man's surprise at the sound of her voice, she tried to clarify. "Apologies for the hoarseness. Had been shouting a lot lately."

He nodded in seeming understanding, coming much closer and with much less worry. "What d'you need? Just general information or something specific?"

She scratched the monitor covered with cloth that acted as her head. There was no need for this, of course, but a detailed study of human behavior told her it was an appropriate reaction. "Need just one thing, really, nothing overly detailed." She was now fully leaning on the fence, scratching her chin, too. She wondered if it was too much scratching per action non-scratched, but the fake neurons she ran on had no answer to satisfy this question. So instead of thinking about it more, she just pointed at the building of the bank in the distance, illuminated just enough to be visible but not enough to make out the wooden letters making up the sign above its doors. "What's there?"

He smiled a surprised smile. "The bank, obviously."

She made a slight sighing sound, putting her gloved hands on her equally covered-up knees. She was rather happy with her human disguise. "No, no, I mean what's truly there, y'know? I can feel the buzzing and power from within. I want the whole truth."

And so, sighing with slight disappointment that he had been had, he told her all of it.

"Name?" Barlowe said, massaging her eyes as gently as she could, trying not to force herself to just tell everyone to get out. To her, any action that took longer than four hours felt like it took forever; the blazing sun above certainly did nothing to help her exhaustion.

The muscular and tough-looking cowboy in front of her grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes. He corrected his hat, not allowing any of his graying hair to pull through. "The name's Mike, the—"

"Next!" she shouted, rolling her eyes for the god-knew-which time this evening. The alchemist was way too tired to withstand mentally listening to yet another middle-aged gunslinger explain how they're the fastest hand in the West. She needed power, not the next dumb-muscled victim of a heat stroke.

Awaiting for the next attendee to step forward, Ann turned back to the rest of her already-assembled crew. At the table beside her, there sat two local magic-slingers. They were exchanging quiet and awkward whispers and glances with Daniel, who was sitting with his legs crossed, a satisfied smile plastered on his face. Truth be told, Ann was quite surprised such a small town was home to three such powerful mages, but she wasn't complaining. She still needed more people, though.

She turned back to face the line before her, realizing there were not many pretenders still awaiting their chance. With just two people left, she might not have many options left, she realized. But then again she did get two people on her side. It always could've been worse.

The next in line was just as generic as all the previous self-proclaimed heroes, making her sigh and wave her hand in dismissal. But the last one — he gained her attention immediately. Frantically eying each corner of the saloon, the lanky man's gray robes wobbled around with each movement of his body. Ann couldn't quite make out the rest of his face from underneath his hood, but the rapidly moving eyes were more than visible to her. They were small, almost rodent-like, and they stopped at every little item and person within the room, as if trying to see if nobody wanted to steal the chain of keys the man held in his malnourished, old hands.

"And who might you be?" Ann asked and tilted her head, not doing much to hide her curiosity.

The man looked two more times around the room before he turned towards her, his uneasy eyes shivering with unarticulated fear. "Joshua. Joshua Meyers," he replied with a hoarse voice.

Ann extended her hand forward, resulting only in a panicked retrieval of the arm holding the keys back under Meyers' robes. She didn't apologize — her image couldn't afford it — so she just continued, as if nothing had happened, "Any special talents?"

As a stray ray of light found itself above Meyers, Ann caught just a glimpse of the rest of his face, illuminated for a single moment by the candles and chandeliers of the locale. It was full of wrinkles, scars, and deformities, forming an image of a man most would avoid.

Exactly the type she was looking for.

"I can open doors," he answered, tightening his grasp on the keys. They clung together in a chaotic harmony. "All doors. Lots of doors."

"I imagine that extends to what I asked for, correct?"

For a single moment, he stopped, looking directly into her eyes, an unusual and almost unsettling sensation behind the movement. With a calm and clear voice, he answered. "Yes."

She had no idea where it came from, but she realized that the moment their eyes met she knew he was exactly the type of man she needed for the job.

"You're in."

The day was late, and the sun was setting.

Heading back towards the saloon, Ra felt tired. For the first time in her almost half-century existence, she was overwhelmed by exhaustion. She of course knew the supposed physical fatigue all humans felt — in a sense, her human-like consciousness was programmed to feel certain sensations normally only known to humans. Physical fatigue was one of them. But mental exhaustion — that was something else entirely.

When you spend all your days safely living inside a computer tailored especially to your needs, you never really learn of mental exhaustion. And yet, here she was — outside that haven, inside a body acquired two worlds prior, her mind electric burdened with a thought so so alien, a thought so… so weird, that her systems almost told her to consider it a virus.

She sighed. She was getting homesick, she realized. She yearned to get back to her home, the one she and the rest of her colleagues back at AIAD had built for themselves. It was embarrassing, almost, for an AI to have such esoterically human thoughts — she wasn't meant to be like this, of that she was sure. Still, to feel something so curiously new was quite exciting.

Getting back into the range of the lanterns, only barely illuminating the town after dark, Ra changed her sensors to tune in to heat signatures. She didn't want to remain blind. Not in this part of the multiverse.

She turned to her left, where one of the two saloons stood. She reached inside with her eyes, trying to see if Madden was still there. He was. She tried simulating a smile, knowing he was well and safe.

Even through the walls, her superior senses heard him, half-drunkenly laying down the details of the next day's heist to a crew of his own. She recognized none of them, but she didn't need to — all that she needed to know was that her friend was relatively safe and had a plan for the future.

She then turned right, looking at the second saloon.

She immediately picked up the heat signatures of two more people she knew. Surprised, she zoomed in, realizing it was Ann Barlowe. Ann Barlowe and Daniel Asheworth.

Shocked, she zoomed in once again, trying to discern what had just happened. Most of her brain told her that this was impossible — Asheworth was still back home, still reporting the catastrophe that started all of this to the higher-ups. He wasn't personally affected by their multiversal stranding. And yet, there he was — standing next to Ann Barlowe, all well and alive.

She paused for a moment to consider, and realized that the man wasn't their Asheworth.

It felt weird, seeing someone she'd known for so long be somebody he wasn't. She thought she should perhaps intervene, ask this alternate version of her own boss—

What would she even ask him, exactly? She was at a loss for words.

She quickly calmed herself, realizing there was no need for any intervention — if Asheworth stood next to Barlowe, both of them were more than safe. She was sure of that.

All that was now left to do for her was to await the next day, upon the dawn of which she was sure both of her companions would strike upon the bank. That would finally force them to get back together again.

Turning towards some remote part of the town that nobody traversed, Ra sat on the ground, covering herself in her coat more tightly. She never slept — no AI ever did, not really. But then again, no AI felt what she was now feeling, either. So who was there to tell her what she was allowed to do, so far away from home, in a place and time where she was her own master? The only ruler of her fate was her, she thought, putting her hat on her supposed eyes just like she had always seen in all of those Western movies.

And, just like that, she temporarily told the world goodbye, allowing herself for such a stupid and illogical act of inefficiency.

Trying to simulate how a yawn would feel like, Ra woke up, stretching her metal arms widely. Putting her hat back up and allowing herself to see the world once more, she remarked on how strange of a feeling sleeping was. She might've lived for almost fifty years, but not once had she felt something even slightly similar.

The more you know.

She smiled slightly, standing up from the dirty ground she had just slept on. It was a good test, she thought as she headed back towards the center of the town from back alleys and horse stables, putting her human disguise back on.

It was high noon.

With a shock in her sensors, she realized something truly horrifying — she was late. Somehow — perhaps by error, overheating, unconscious will, or all three at the same time — she had overslept. By four hours. Which meant the bank heist had been going on for literal hours.

She wanted to shout out in frustration.

Funneling that internalized anger she ran, allowing her body to surpass speeds normally allowed by that of a human. There was only one target before her — the building of the bank at the end of the alley, its wooden structure ablaze. From within, she could pick up tens of of buzzes, screams, and shots, all fired at the same time as a flurry of ambient confusion and greed filled the area

Ra sped up even further.

In mere seconds, she found herself standing next to the doors leading into the building, her hand on their handle. Ra looked into the building with a couple of sensors more detailed than those which imitated human sight, and saw the heat signatures of at least ten people within — only three of which she recognized. The entire area was covered and scarred by tens of weapon shots and magic imprints, only made worse by each second the battle within went on. Her overheating pumps took a deep breath, preparing for the worst, and she took the first step forward.

The bank was on fire. Both metaphorically and literally — with one of her sixth senses in which she recognized emotions as physical patterns, she could feel every one of the ten people inside burn with pure, uncontained rage, both at the fact they weren't alone and the fact they failed in their heist. The main hall of the building was split into two parts, each occupied by one of the crews that wanted to succeed in the raid. Protected by strange and unique forts spawned from chairs, barrels, crates, and tables, they stood far away from each other, occasionally launching a stray curse or bullet toward the other crew.

Madden and Barlowe were, of course, on completely different sides of the barricades. They were both looking at the gigantic, metallic doors in the middle of the hall. They too were furious — both at each other and at their own crews.

And in the middle of all of it, Ra stood, realizing what a whole goddamned mess this is.

"Why do you always have to do this?!" Barlowe shouted, flinging a single spark of fire across the hall. It was little more than a vague flicker — Ra didn't think that Ann was using the full extent of her power, here. Otherwise, the bank would have already been buried six feet under. "It was supposed to be a quick fucking mission — my miss—"

She was interrupted by the need to duck from an incoming leg chair, thrown at her by Madden himself. "Your mission? You're a goddamned god here, what possible financial help do you even need?!"

All the mages and outcasts the two had recruited stood frozen in utter shock, not really understanding what was going on. All except the man with the keys and Asheworth, who both saw nothing of the world but the vault doors, pure excitement and greed in their eyes. Still, none of the crewmembers did anything to stop the never-ending stream of insults, too surprised and confused at the ongoing situation.

"What the hell do you two think you're doing?" Ra shouted, making her presence known with a heavy cling of her metal feet.

Ann and Robert faced the android, their confusion widening even further. "I…" Robert started, standing from his fort with his hands up. "I'm… honestly unsure?" He scratched his head, looking over at the other stand, Barlowe next to it.

She revealed herself as well, putting her hood off — as if that did anything to diminish her skills in his reality. "Well, I was supposed to take the gold inside that vault and take a trip across to Poland to find the possible ruins of -120, and—"

He closed his eyes, exhaling silently. "Yeah, right, right. I, uh, came up with the same idea."

Ra displayed an angry little face on her head-monitor. "And you didn't think a single second to tell each other about it?"

Barlowe stepped forward, fully leaving the safety of her own barricade. Before she could say that she had indeed not thought of that, her eyes went wide. At the speed of light, Madden cocked his pistol, pointing directly at her. "This dimension ain't big enough for two of us, kiddo," he said, deadlocking his eyes with the irises of the alchemist. "Give up. Now."

She actually laughed out loud. "Really?" She gave him a patronizing look, snapping her fingers, forcing the gun's barrel to break into two. "How long have you been holding onto that?"

He looked at the weapon, slightly embarrassed. Ra couldn't quite discern whether at his broken gun or the realization of what he had just said. "Look," he started, walking forward, his hands now similarly bare. He was smiling now, too. "Not often do you get a chance to say something like that with a straight face. I wasn't about to waste it."

Ann shrugged. "Fair enough."

For a quiet moment they just stood there, all three looking at each other, all very self-conscious.

"What the fuck," Madden suddenly said, his tone flat. "What the fuck are we even doing, this is embarrassing as hell."

"Yeah." A red flush entered Barlowe's face. "I… You're right. I guess."

Ra sighed once again, coming forward towards the rest. They too came closer. "So," she said, turning her eyes towards the vault door. "What's there?"

"It's not gold, that much I know for sure," Barlowe said, giving the alternate Asheworth a look. The man was still frozen in confusion. "At least according to him."

The mercenary snapped out of the trance for a second, still staring down at the trio before him. "I… uhhh… I…" he stuttered.

"Well? What is it?"

"It's… hard to explain, I…"

Ann sighed, turning her sights to the hooded keybearer. "And you? You got anything to tell us about the insides?"

Meyers didn't reply, instead slowly walking towards the metallic doors standing at the other end of the room. Throughout his very short journey, he kept staring at the floor with an absent stare. When he reached the doors, he touched one of his keys with a trembling hand, and opened the vault.

The room inside smelled of cobwebs, old books, and candles. It remained almost entirely dark, only illuminated by a single structure levitating twenty centimeters off of its ground. It was a buzzing, green hole in the fabric of reality. The shape of a portal was unmistakable to all three of them.

"Are you kidding me?" Madden scoffed, taking a couple of steps towards the gateway. "How the hell does a bank out here contain a goddamned Library Way?"

Barlowe shrugged, examining it closely. "A stable one, at that. Huh."

Ra stepped inside as well, scanning the portal for any potential ontokinetic instabilities. She was surprised to find none. "What's even more curious is—"

Suddenly, their moment of triumph was interrupted by continued clapping and laughing coming from behind them.

"Thank you for doing my job better than I ever could, you idiots," Daniel said, slowly entering the vault, little sparks of anger burning bright in his eyes. "But this is where your usefulness ends."

Barlowe raised an eyebrow. Daniel reacted by igniting a one-meter-tall pillar of pure power in his hand, allowing for the rage inside his soul to magnify the magic, forcing the three to take a step backward from the heat. "The Library dared to throw me out all those years ago when I came to them, begging for help." He smiled, his realization that vengeance was close bordering on orgasmic. "And now, all those years later, they will learn what it means to—"

He suddenly shouted out in pure agony, grabbing his knee with both his hands. His magic flame died out, Daniel's will now focused on something else than maintaining it — the fact that his knee had just been shot.

"Jesus Christ I thought he'd never shut up." Robert sighed, boredom in his tone, as he put the still-smoking gun back in his pocket. Ra noted that its barrel was back to being normal. "Why does every asshole always feel the need to do this?"

"I'm… not sure?" Barlowe looked at him, amusement in her eyes. "Either way, that solves our problem."

"Indeed it does."

All three looked at each other and nodded, reaching mutual agreement without any words spoken. Not paying much attention to the continued sounds of Daniel's agony, they just shrugged, and with a silent swhoosh reverberating through reality they walked through the portal, nervously excited for what was about to come.

There was something quite unsettling about the everpresent silence that filled every corner of the Wanderers' Library.

Carefully taking a step forward, Barlowe held her breath unconsciously, as if she was awaiting some unsaid horror to jump at her the moment they entered the Library. By all means, by all reason she shouldn't be afraid — just like everyone that ever had anything to do with magic, she knew the Library quite well, and so she was certain no threats awaited them in this corner of the structure. And yet, there she was — standing cautiously, her sixth sense tingling in some distant part of her consciousness, telling her there was danger afoot. She looked at Madden, and their eyes met for a moment. His too were filled with worry.

The myriad bookshelves around them smelled of gunpowder and smoke, encompassing the corridor in the aura of a saloon. From the low ceiling, a chandelier similar to the one back at Saloon Number 72 hang, illuminating this branch of the multiversal tree with a dim light, only barely visible against the darkness around it.

The corridor blended into the rest of the differently-themed Library in the far, far distance, forming a frankly bizarre construction with the other halls around it. Each of the corridors was somehow different from the rest, crafting together a unique and esoteric thematic combination of numerous alternate worlds clashing together to form one part of the Library. Looking at it, Ra felt at least ten different hiccups in her systems, trying to interpret this utter chaos as somehow making sense. She knew that the Library wasn't a Euclidian space, but even then this blending and mixing of at least twenty different styles was truly too much to handle. This unorder told her that they were very, very near the edge of the world tree.

Wordlessly, the alchemist took the first step forward, checking with her shoe if the creaking planks that laid under them were stable. She picked up that habit in early Foundation training — they told her you could never be sure of structural stability in standard anomalous locations. She figured the outskirts of the known multiverse could only be worse in this regard.

The second her boot touched the ground, some immaterial force she could subconsciously feel reverberated through the Library. All of her senses sharpened. She looked all around herself, trying her best to find the source, only to notice a dead-end where their portal had been just seconds earlier. Like powerful wind the force came again, carrying death for a few of the lamps previously burning above them. The force might've been incorporeal, but it was real — Ann could see the invisible eyes behind it staring right at her soul. She shivered.

"Madden—" she tried to say, only for no words to come out of lips — lips she realized weren't even there. In a hopeless panic, she tried to grab her face, only to realize there was no surface for her irreal hands to catch onto. And, as she turned towards the rest of her companions, she came to understand the worst part of her situation: she was utterly and thoroughly alone.

And that was when she felt it. The Library's bare, uncontained might, staring directly at— No. Not at her. Into her. Into her soul. The Serpent's very own eyes, its very own being, all of its trillion-year wisdom and power, focused solely on the stranded alchemist. The lost heathen, the disgusting danger to the stability of its multiverse, the one who dared enter its home, its Library. As a hiss louder than all of existence began to drill itself into her skull, she tried to scream, but found that the gaze of the Serpent made her unable to move even a muscle. Its sight unobstructed by anything, here within its own nest, the custodian of the Library saw her for what she truly was, behind all of the illusions of mortality and flesh.

Where the mortal who called herself Ann Barlowe stood, the Serpent could only see a threat.

Like an organism fighting a virus, the Library saw her and her two companions as an irregularity, a glitch in the stability of the multiversal matrix, an error that needed to be corrected. Their very presence threatened the integrity of the multiverse — the integrity and balance of the Serpent's very own body. They were intruders. And there was only one way an organism this big and this powerful could and would deal with such a threat.

Before she could form even a single coherent thought, she felt the planks beneath her disintegrate into nothing more than dust. The hole that formed where the corridor had used to be forced her and her companions to fall down into an irreal void. As the crescendo of their screams rippled through a bottomless pit beyond the reach of the multiverse, it soon died out as they reached a place where light and sound no longer lived. A reality so distant from the rest of the world tree, a reality so hopelessly close to expiration that even the Serpent considered it little more than a lost cause.

The second they fell through, the Library simply regenerated the corridor it had just temporarily sacrificed, as if the three travelers were never even there.

As the thousand candles around the ritual site back in baseline Site-120 once again lit themselves up, the world suddenly regained its colors. They burst with pure, unchained thaumic fire, making the portal room once again visible to James Micheals and Ethan MacCarthy Jr. Hope in their eyes, the two scientists corrected their ties, and looked at the result of their occult work.

In the middle of the room, there stood a gaping hole through the fabric of reality.

In pure shock, Micheals subconsciously took a step backwards, allowing shivers to take him whole. And that was when he felt it — the unmistakable stench of blood, its terrible smell unmistakable, even to him.

Around the previously perfectly aligned thaumaturgic circle, the twenty mages who, just mere minutes ago, had supported the spell meant to take the multiversal castaways back home, were now lying unconscious. From four of them, Micheals could sense the foul stench of death — from the rest, a mixture of fearful sweat and confusion. The only people in the room who remained untouched by the blast of the spell going haywire were the tens of non-magical Site-120 personnel, who were stationed around the room to monitor the supposed deus ex machina. They too were still recovering from the shock of an uncontained wave of pure thaumaturgic energy hitting their unprotected and unprepared bodies.

By all protocols Micheals had ever known, he should've been running towards his own personnel lying on the ground, making sure there was anything he could do to help them. And yet, there he was — frozen, unable to convince even his eyes to blink. He couldn't take them away from the site of the explosion. He couldn't comprehend what could've gone wrong.

"Micheals?" a rough voice from his side asked, its source gently slapping Micheals' shoulders. "Are you all right?" said Ethan MacCarthy Jr., the only other man in the room with a clearance equal to that of Micheals. He looked at Micheals, worry in his eyes, and let out a single weak cough.

"I… I…" Micheals struggled to find words to express his confusion. "I-I… I d-don't…"

"Micheals!" Ethan slapped him again, this time much more firmly. The sharp expression of pain made him suddenly snap back to reality.

"W-What… What just h-happened?" he asked, stuttering even more than usual. He turned his head towards the rest of the room, trying to assess just how much damage the magical explosion caused to his men and his Site.

The sight was awful.

The room was covered by a thin layer of magical waste, the dust formed entirely by the uncontained backlash of the failed spell. Micheals had no idea why their plan had failed — by all means, it shouldn't have — but even without asking he could see and hear that the work of the twenty best mages he knew had just been irreparably lost. As was the hope for the safe return of Ann Barlowe, Robert Madden, and Ra.aic.

"We… We aren't sure," Ethan said, trying to slowly and very carefully choose his next words. He didn't like admitting that he too had no idea what had just happened. "From what I was able to gather so far, it seems that… the spell didn't find our targets anywhere in the multiverse. So, it did the only thing absurdly powerful magical energy could do when not given a purpose and a chain to hold it back for long enough." He paused. "It exploded."

Even though Micheals had the innate ability to understand each of the words that his friend had just said, his brain simply couldn't comprehend the true meaning of the sentence. It simply couldn't grasp the fact the only failsafe they had in place that could bring his lost colleagues back home had just gone up in flames.

"What… What does that mean?" Micheals said, his mouth quicker than his thoughts.

Ethan paused, looking Micheals dead in the eyes. "It means that they're dead, James."

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