FOR 05 EYES ONLY

ALL VIEWERS NOT ON THE 05 COMMAND WILL BE TERMINATED BY LATENT MEMETIC TRIGGERS EMBEDDED IN THE FOLLOWING TEXTUAL KILL AGENT.

MNET-009: The crass happy frog said ';olio maskus amol;' to the folly of the gods.

Debriefing: The following set of information has been retrieved via decoding thaumaturgical cosmic background radiation1 surrounding the perimeter of SCP-6166. This information has been known to cause psychosis and fever. Proceed with caution.

I: Oh great, I'm awake…God my stomach hurts….my head….I should get a Tylenol. No, too far a walk, and didn't I just have one…I should call in to work…no…too early..must be 2:00, 3:00 AM. Wait do I even work? Man it's dark. Are my eyes open. Who knows. I feel my bed, so hot…..no, cold. Am I on a bed? Oh my god my head, I must have a fever…must…feel…forehead. What a weird word for a body part. Four head. Imagine, like hydra, four heads.

Me: Man I was OBSESSED with Greek mythology in high school. Wild stuff. Athena being birthed through Zeus' head getting split by an axe, Pan turning women into flutes, Erysichthon eating himself to death…

I:There was one other story, oh yeah, creation.

Me: We really loved that.

I: At first there was only the primordial Chaos. An entity of nothingness. No darkness, no light, no soul, no consciousness, only the hate accompanying infinite loneliness and despair. But then…

Gaia: And then I brought forth light. I brought forth the heavens through the birth of my son Uranus, and I formed the earth with my essence. And as my mate, Uranus-

Tartarus: STOP. Stop. I don't think anyone wants to hear that. No place for incest in the 21st century.

Gaia: Well that's not fair, times were different in 4,009,343,110 B.C.

Tartarus: Ahem…B.C.E.

Gaia: What?

Tartarus: B.C.E., before common era, B.C. stands for before Christ. It's just more appropriate, less centered around Christianity.

Gaia: Why thank you brother, I'll take that to heart.

Myself: Who are you.

Me: That's Tartarus, the primordial darkness.

Tartarus: That's correct, and I've had enough dealing with Gaia and Uranus' mess-ups.

Gaia: Hey I'm the one who had to castrate him.

Tartarus: Yuck.

Gaia: Oh don't be childish.

Wait, Wait, Wait- Myself

YOU SAID TARTARUS WAS THE PRIMORDIAL DARKNESS, ISN'T CHAOS THE PRIMORDIAL DARKNESS?

Me: No, Chaos is NOTHINGNESS.

Tartarus: I'll take it from here. Often humans confuse nothingness with darkness, and I don't blame you, darkness is as close to nothingness as you guys get during life. Nevertheless, nothingness, true nothingness is beyond the absence of light, matter, thought. It is not a vacuum. It doesn't exist. The mere concept it could be named, explained or labeled as a thing fills the infinite, abyssal, infinitesimal nothingness with hate.

Me: Wait what's that, over there.

I: Over where, I can't see anything here, I'll turn my light on…no…too tired.

Tartarus: Gaia shine some light on that.

Gaia:

+ //I will.//

- //Are my services no longer needed?//

Myself: Hold on… I'm adjusting…Ok, what is that thing.

Me: It looks like.. a paper.

I: Hey Tartarus, you're made of dark, you mind bringing that closer?

Tartarus: On it.

Iteration A

Item #: SCP-6166

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-6166 is to be shackled to a hospital bed in a standard containment cell in Site-XX with its walls and door lined in 3 inch plates of lead. An IV drip supplying SCP-6166 with nutrient-rich fluids is to be kept within the cell and SCP-6166 is to be fit with a catheter. A pair of vents is to be affixed at the top and bottom of the cell to prevent a buildup of radiation.

Description: SCP-6166 is a middle-aged male of eastern European descent in a comatose state named █████ ██████2. The anomalous property of SCP-6166 is the constant leakage of gamma radiation from its ears, nose, mouth and eyes. The signatures given off by the radiation manifest in the outline of various thaumaturgical symbols, specifically those representing 'earth', 'night' and 'the self'.

Bad News: Waking up is NOT an option.

I, Me and Myself: Wow.

I: So I'm in a coma, that's why it's so dark, why I can't move, that's gotta be what this means, this is all some fantasy created by my dying brain. None of you are real.

Tartarus: Who's to say that?

Gaia: We may all lie within your dying mind but reality above is no more or less false.

Me: I guess you're right Gaia.

Myself: Well if we're all stuck here together we might as well enjoy it.

Me: Hey I, if this is your coma why don't you, you know, control it?

Myself: Oooo, good idea Me.

Me: Thanks, I came up with it myself.

I and Myself: No that's all you Me.

Me: What. Oh wait. Nevermind.

Tartarus: What do you say I, wanna give it a try?

I: Here goes nothing.

*APPLAUSE*

: "Welcome! Welcome everyone to the Theatre at the End of Time! If you'd all please take your seats. I'm beyond elated to be taking on the new title of the master of ceremonies for the following play. The titular tale of "The Eternal Pairing", is one of both creation and manipulation, of deliberation, disagreement, despair, desire… well I'm getting ahead of myself, now, without further ado…"

THE ETERNAL PAIRING

By: The Dying Mind of █████ ██████3

Characters

YALDABAOTH: The writhing mass of flesh, changing in form to fit whatever role it so fits. YALDABAOTH serves only himself and the base instinctual drive that both fuels and encompasses his fleshy essence. He delights in the natural order of the universe and garners hatred towards perversions in the flow of blood, skin and muscle that is life.

MEKHANE: A humanoid assortment of dull grey gears and wire with the light of consciousness shining through every meticulously crafted crack. As The Broken God and She Who Created the Mind, MEKHANE the more mature, calculated older twin sister of YALDABAOTH places great value in civilization, order and giving everything a second-thought. Her ideals often lead to squabbles with her brother.

I: A level-headed hero type and controller of reality. More of a self-insert character of █████ ██████, but important to the story nevertheless. I keeps it real, but looks out for his friends ME and MYSELF.

ME: A smart, nerdy number two and best friend of I. Me is a loyal companion and avid fan of Greek mythology like I. ME spends most of his time looking out for his less-than-brilliant little brother MYSELF.

MYSELF: The loveable goofball brother of ME, MYSELF is a naturally curious spirit and enjoys spending time with his brother ME and friend I.

TARTARUS: A human shaped, true-black god. The soul of the deep pit that holds back ancient evils sprung from unspeakable deeds. This smooth-talking laid back primordial deity of darkness enjoys cracking wise, hanging loose and laying into his primeval siblings.

GAIA: A woman of pure earthly beauty, the primordial light, she who arose that from that which is not. A wise, kind, formal earth mother radiating benevolent botanical and geological energy.

THE TARASQUE: A large, swampy, green reptile covered in spines, armor plating and eyes. A six-legged beast hell-bent on the destruction of all life. The sultan of hate.

JOY: A viscous, slimy, orange opaque ball of pure fun. A deity of delight. A god of greatness. He truly cares about making everyone happy. Even that grumpy Gus, the Tarasque.

ACT I

SCENE 1

Scene opens in a room of rusted alien machinery, cogs, gears, pipes and grates. Patches of flesh cover several areas of the backdrop and small skin bubbles fitted to the ends of a myriad of pipes rise and fall rhythmically. Bodily fluids leak from loosely fitted rubber washers and holes in the overly rusted areas of the machinery. In the center of the room is a cubic white marble slab. Atop the slab's right side is a ceramic bowl full of organs, and on the left a small drum of crude oil. Two cylindrical onyx chairs sit on each side of the table, on the right sits YALDABAOTH and on the left sits MEKHANE.

YALDABAOTH: So Mekhane why have you called me to this plane?

MEKHANE: I ponder, our genesis projects, may I regard yours?

YALDABAOTH: You may.

MEKHANE: [Taking a sip from her oil drum.] What is the status of your world dear brother?

YALDABAOTH: [Forming a mouth of needles and fangs.] My flesh children are upon the fertile grounds of my creation, I crave the view of my creations dance upon the beating tides of entropy. My world is clean. And yours sister?

MEKHANE: My world is one of systems and rules. I have organized machines whose infinity of interlocking interactions create an ubiquitous progression of efficiency. My world is clean.

YALDABAOTH: [Pounding a tentacle of viscera and teeth and eyes and blood against the marble table.] Ha… you humor me sister. Your system is flawed in its perfection. Entropy, randomness, variability these cannot be ignored, without these facts you're world has no meaning.

MEKHANE: Brother, mine is a world of purpose as it is a world of efficiency, your world requires no effort, it is ruled by its own absurdity, your world, my dear brother, is without purpose.

YALDABAOTH: Koja kalma!

The lights emitting from MEKHANE flash a bright red and a loud whirring sounds from the bowels of her very being. Four pairs of lead, spindly, robotic arms emerge from her back piercing YALDABAOTH's form through two fleshy paddles, three claws of sinew, one antennae of eyes, one gaping maw and his main body. In a voice of a thousand ingots of scraping metal and an epoch of rattling tongs MEKHANE speaks.

MEKHANE: Careful brother, do not curse in the tongue of your decaying children in my name, do not incite my mechanical wrath!

YALDABAOTH: My chatter is nothing but, chatter, you think too much sister, you apply meaning, laws, to what? An utterance. Why take offense at my words? Why not leave my verbalized thoughts to drift away on an entropic sea.

MEKHANE: My order is necessary, and you are rambling.

YALDABAOTH: Maybe so, but my point stands, I prefer chance, why waste time polishing every detail.

MEKHANE: I like to polish. Your world could stand to benefit from so intensive care, after all can you really call it YOUR world if you aren't pulling the strings.

YALDABAOTH: Strings. Ha! You sound of a puppet master. And I may not be 'pulling the strings' so to speak but I did lay the seed of life.

MEKHANE: A miniscule contribution. Maybe one day you'll visit your world, make a change or two.

YALDABAOTH: Oh I admire your ignorance of my desires, however it appears our disagreement has hit an impasse.

MEKHANE: So it seems brother. So it seems.

YALDABAOTH: …Do you feel that…?

MEKHANE: [Unhooking YALDABAOTH.] Feel what?

YALDABAOTH: That rumbling, it's coming fr-

The room begins to shake, rusted rubble falls from above and dissolve into thoughts. The fleshy balloons affixed to the various pipes rupture in a cacophonous fury of sweat, liver and belief. The walls of machinery crumble into shimmering cubes revealing a inky black abyss. From the abyss spring four beings, three conceptual and one divine: I, ME, MYSELF and GAIA. The rift of infinite depth and darkness shrinks to fit a man's form and TARTARUS steps forward.

I: Umm…where are we?

TARTARUS: Hey don't look at me, I'm just the car, you're the driver.

GAIA: We appear to be in a rotting space of another age.

MYSELF: It looks like an old boiler room.

I: I'll say.

ME: Do boiler rooms breathe? This place looks alive.

YALDABAOTH and MEKHANE notice the groups and the pair quickly turn to face them, YALDABAOTH's form contorts into a sleek tongue-like worm covered in scales of ivory fingernails and ooze and MEKHANE poses for a confrontation.

YALDABAOTH: You dare set foot in the Workshop of Worlds!

TARTARUS: [Snaps.] Ahhh workshop, that's what it is.

MEKHANE: Silence!…State your names and business.

I: I'm I.

ME: Me [gestures to MYSELF] that's myself, and Mother Earth and Mr. Void over there are Gaia and Tartarus respectively.

I: And we don't know why we are here.

MEKHANE: You mean to tell me you came to this holy place, a place as old as time, far beyond what your mind could even consider all-powerful, and you do not know why.

I: Um…yeah…I guess.

YALDABAOTH: Then. I suggest. You should leave!

I: Well, why don't we find out why we're all here first, I mean it must be for something important.

YALDABAOTH: Do you even know who I am!

I: Um..I..uh..

GAIA: No, but I sense your power, your age, you are well above us all and we respect that, but we are here, is there anything here we can do any voids we can fill. I's mind brought us here, there must be a reason.

YALDABAOTH: Perhaps, I am Yaldabaoth, my sister Mekhane and I have been at arms over which one of our worlds is best. Maybe you all could decide.

MYSELF: I believe I speak for all of when I say we'd be happy to help.

YALDABAOTH: Excellent.

SCENE 2

The Workshop of Worlds falls out from around the group revealing an empty white expanse. They quickly turn around when a large shadow forms above them. The shadow is cast by a planet, a planet of skin and hair and nails and teeth. Oceans of blood and pus rage across the surface of the scape sounding a hellish swish. A large pit exists at the bottom left side of the globe, the pit extends impossibly deep and is lined in flaxen yellow teeth, slicked clean in a mucus glaze. Next to the hellmouth planet is another, more pristine and mechanical. The world is more aesthetically simple and clean, colored a milky white shade and lined bands of heavenly blue lights, delicately blinking in a silent symphony.

ME: Woah.

MYSELF: Ditto.

MEKHANE: Before you sits our two worlds. One of muscle, one of machines. We will send you to each and it is up to you to decide the better world.

I: Seems like a valid process, but I'm not sure any of us could survive the world with all the teeth.

YALDABAOTH: There is a lot more to it than that, and I have assigned an advisor to escort you on your trek and assure no harm comes your way.

ME: Promise?

YALDABAOTH: My word is my bond.

ME: Well, what are we waiting f-

+ Day 1

- Day1

Day 1,

We arrived on Yaldabaoth's world today in a region the locals called Arlak Mols. The plains of Arlak Mols do not harbor soil, plants, stones or streams, they are a wasteland of dry cracking flesh inhabited by plump, wet, fleshy mounds that locomote via bony protrusions sprouting from their underside. From the flaking plains arose large arcs of taught muscle, atop these arcs are 'trunks' that spout a pink viscous substance that appears to feed the amorphous creatures of the plain. The only structure we could see, if you could even call it that, was a cave of sorts, resembling an upper-lip raised in a parabolic shape. The interior of the cave was dark, the only light being that reflected off the many teeth that lined its interior, another thing, there is no sun in this place, the sky is bright red, a deep crimson fog beaming down on the plains in a fuming hot display. We traveled deep into the caves bowels until the darkness consumed our every thought and word, it was then a muffled voice spoke.

The voice belonged to a member of the wet mound creature species we encountered on the plains. It told us that its name was Gebrok Sa'Lakir and that Yaldabaoth had instructed it to be our protector and guide us through the lands of Sakpeŋe. Gebrok Sa'Lakir informed us that its species called themselves the Koemusi, or mushy men in their mother tongue, which I guess is accurate. It said that the plains of Arlak Mols were once a great ocean of pink ooze blanketing a seabed of rippling skin, the skin was in love with the sea and they mingled for eons in a oceanic dance. However, Kulo, the great maw of the west, grew jealous of the love shared by the sea and the skin and syphoned the sea into its greedy gullet. Wanting to hold on to its dear lover, the skin preserved a layer of glaze from the slime of sea. The glaze mixed with the bed of flesh forming sentient mounds cursed to a lonely existence wandering a dry plain with only small sprouting taps to remind them of the loss that they sprung from.

Gebrok Sa'Lakir scratched a bleeding rune into the tract wall of the cavern resembling {OBSERVED THAUMETURGICAL SYMBOL 328-SAR: EMBER}. Gebrok Sa'Lakir scratched a bleeding rune into the tract wall of the cavern resembling a melting eye. From the rune radiated an intensly bright light illuminating the cave. The area of the cave surrounding us was fit with a scape of sunken pits as far as far as we could see. Gebrok Sa'Lakir told us we would be spending the night in the pits as we had a long trek ahead of us tommorow. I, Gaia and Myself took pits on the left, and me and Tartarus decided to share a pit on the right. Our pit was mostly sleek with a flaky, drying patch towards the back and several pores leaking blood near the enterance. I, hold on this might be confusing, from now on I will be referring to I as Self as to not mix it up with the pronoun. Anyway, I made a makeshift bed out of skin flakes in the back and Tartarus faded into one of the 'walls'. I decided to take some of the flakes and gathered some blood to record my experiences for Yaldaboath and Mekhane.

+ Day 2

- Day 2

Day 2,

I woke up in a coughing fit, it appeared that I breathed in some flakes of the skin wall in my slumber. I stepped out of my pit to meet the others, all gathered around our guide. Gebrok Sa'Lakir said that if we chose to the leave the plains of Arlak Mols then we would have to catch a ride on a Juma Juma before the East winds bellowed. Gaia asked Gebrok Sa'Lakir to elaborate on what a Juma Juma was but it would not.

We left the cave to an arid, blazing day, the bleeding sky gave off a secret heat, an evil heat that burned through my every being. Our team of dessert travelers set out towards a particularly empty patch of the plains, more empty than the already desolate expanse before us. For hours we walked over the endless eb and flow of waxing and waning crusted skin, only stopping occasionally to satiate ourselves with some of the pink goo. The goo's taste is bland with the slight hint of charred lamb, its texture is gelatinous but stiff, airing on the side of pre-chewed food. We reached what I assumed was our destination when Gebrok Sa'Lakir stoped skittering forward. A paddle-shaped flap emerged from atop Gebrok Sa'Lakir, it twitched with the breeze for a spell then sunk back from whence it came. The breeze around us began to pick up and Gaia held onto us with a beam of light as it transformed into a tempest whirlwind. The crest of skin we had stopped upon began to shake furiously like a bear awoken to early in winter. The rumbling ceased as soon as it began and we started to feel heavier, it only took a moment for us to discover the source of this newfound weight, we were airborne!

Once the goliath flake of skin stabilized in the air I started to make my way over to Gebrok Sa'Lakir to ask what was going on. Gebrok Sa'Lakir said that we were upon a Juma Juma, and that it was up to the universal winds to decide our destination. I looked down upon the plains, once a cracking abyss, now a clean slate of beige dotted with black freckles. The sky is darkening now, I shall write more when we land.

+ Day 5

- Day 5

Day 5,

We were in the air for three days, or so I assume due to my observation of the pattern of lightening and darkening skies, and Sakpeŋe, by all accounts, is the most alive yet barren world in existence. From the view upon the Juma Juma I saw no cities, roads or any structures. I asked Gebrok Sa'Lakir why this was and it looked puzzled, well, as puzzled as any living mound a organs can be. I asked if any other structures like the pit we slept in existed and it replied "That was a pit, a random dip in the fleshy drying seabed, no thing on this world Sakpeŋe is done with reason, no things are made, for order, organization, these are illusive concepts in this realm, we are all but bumbling bloats of muscle and flesh upon the open sea of existence." It appears that as Yaldabaoth held in high esteem the absence of order, so did his world reflect that belief.

After a few hours of turbulence, the flake finally settled on a 'beach' of sorts. The beach's surface was crinkled, at least that's the closest adjective I can use to describe the thing, like the crease in the middle of a thumb. Gaia grew increasingly excited upon seeing what she thought was plant-life, but upon gliding over to the foliage with Myself let out a disappointed sigh as the growths along the oceans side were long stalks of hairy, eye-laden cilia. The ocean was crimson and dull a perfect reflection of the sky above and walking along it we all quickly became accustomed to the rank intensive smell of iron. Waves on the beach did not appear to be bound by tides, perhaps trying their best to avoid order, they splashed in all directions, jumped many miles into the air, formed loops, bubbles and swirls and occasionally even ceased movement all together. As the day began to fade around us the ocean began to pull away, I guess it knew not to over stay its welcome lest it anger the shore.

The many-hilled grounds of the beach were soft to the touch, so we figured it would be a good a place of any to lay our heads for the night. There's no moonlight in this place to illuminate my page so I'm using Gaia as a light to record the day's happenings. Although I don't seem to need food or drink, I do need sleep I shall write again tomorrow.

+ Day 6

- Day 6

Day 6,

The sea was gone. There was no other way to describe it, just, gone. I woke up to a much harder ground than I had become familiarized with the day before, the hills more compact and dry, the garden of filaments wilted. I yelled to alert the others believing that we had been transported to another area but Gebrok Sa'Lakir let me and the others know that this was not the case. Gebrok Sa'Lakir told us that Kulo, the great maw of the west, did not stop its hunger with the consumption of the pink sea of Arlak Mols and it, over the past millennia, had been consuming all the liquid on this world. I asked if there was anyway to stop this consumption, to which Gebrok Sa'Lakir replied "Perhaps, but if the universe deems Kulo's actions fit they will continue, it is not up to a Koesumi like me or an outsider like you to instruct order in these lands." Self replied "But why, why no order, no community." No response from our guide.

It has been made explicitly clear that the lack of order Yaldabaoth forced on this world will most definitely destroy it. Kulo is no more of a threat to Sakpeŋe than its paradoxical one law that the concept of law could not be. This world is flawed. We requested for Gebrok Sa'Lakir to inform Yaldabaoth we had learned all we needed for our tour and that we were ready to return.

This concludes my records.

ME: -or… woah.

YALDABAOTH: I trust you were able to navigate my world with ease.

ME: Hold on a sec, I'm a bit shell shocked.

I: We were, we're gonna have to go to Mekhane's as well, but things are not looking good for yours.

YALDABAOTH: Or perhaps you have looked from the wrong eyes.

MYSELF: It was a terrifying wasteland.

TARTARUS: Woah, woah, woah, lets not generalize, I mean I enjoyed the Juma Juma ride.

I: I never said that.

TARTARUS: Pronoun. Idiot.

A low rustling sound can be heard as Yaldabaoth's world completely dries, with only the mucus on the great mouth's teeth remaining, but that quickly dries as well. The world begins to spin with increasing speed as the exterior crunches and falls in toward the mouth. Yaldabaoth's world collapses into itself leaving a pile of beige rubble behind.

YALDABAOTH: Üra kunsi!

MEKHANE: [Cheerfully, with the grace of a well oiled machine.] My turn!

+ INCOMING TRANSMISSION

- INCOMING TRANSMISSION

| LOADING TEXT

| LOADING THOUGHTS

| GENERATING ART-LIKE MEDIUM

| LYING

USER: ME

VIA A REMOTE TERMINAL ON MEKHANES WORLD I HAVE PREPARED A POEM DESCRIBING MY EXPERIENCES.

|THIS PLACE: A GRAVE FILLED OF ITSELF|

This place a grave no life to fill it,

A world of constant whirring,

But silence forever encompassing, no life to screech an kill it.

This place an ivory citadel,

With no dwellers to breath joy,

This place a dead, not dying hell,

To life a crass decoy.

No art, no song, no aesthetic glee,

No soul, no man, no friends,

No flesh, no chance, God's barren sea,

No meaning till' a whimpering end.

This place is evil in its design,

No chance, no love, no meaning,

This place is evil.

No matter who I share this world with,

I find the loneliness all encompassing,

A darkness putting Tartarus to shame,

This place is evil, this place, is evil.

No art, no song, no soul, no beauty,

No chance, no chance, no chance,

No love, no passion, no skin,

No teeth, no bone, no muscle,

No pain, I miss the pain,

No meaning,

No meaning,

I have to leave,

A swirling, whirring, beeping, mechanical madness,

Evil.

This place a grave filled of itself,

A place without a soul,

A madness of solitary,

An endless, evil hole…

TARTARUS, GAIA, ME, MYSELF AND I: [Weeping.]

ME: Terrible. Mekane your world… it's terrible.

MEKHANE: I see.

Mekhane's world begins to phase in and out of reality for a spell before finally disappearing in a flurry of its own absurd solitude.

MEKHANE: Oh.

YALDABAOTH: So, whose world is better.

ME: Neither! Your world was a fleshy hellmouth ruled by chaos and Mekhane's was a desolate vortex seeping out all semblance of hope.

YALDABAOTH: Nonsense! One must be better! One of us must be the victor!

ME: No! You have both created an individually evil hell and you both…wait there might be a solution here.

MEKHANE: Listening.

ME: Well, Mekhane, your world has no whimsy, no life, it's… inanimate. And Yaldabaoth, your world has no order, no bonding, it's a soul without a body. Maybe, just maybe, if you worked on a world together you could create something beautiful.

YALDABAOTH: I never thought of it like that.

MEKHANE: Well, what do you say brother, shall we give it a try.

YALDABAOTH: Why not?

Me's journey is complete.

ACT II

Characters

FIELD COMMANDER I: A level-headed hero type and controlling force of MTF Phi-2 ("Clever Girls"). More of a self-insert character of █████ ██████, but important to the story nevertheless. I keeps it real, but looks out for his squadron.

AGENT MYSELF: A rookie to the Foundation, taken in after only two years of CIA Operative service. A good kid and skilled in action beyond his years, an asset by all accounts.

AGENT EGO: A self-absorbed, but realistic agent. Looks out for himself and himself only, but Phi-2's goals mesh with his so he's along for the ride.

AGENT TARTARUS: A jack of all trades. Been with the Foundation for decades, yet declines all promotion as he's a fan of action. Seen it all but still carries his wit.

JUNIOR RESEARCHER GAIA: A brainy, compassionate type, transferred from MTF Lambda-12 ("Pest Control") to help deal with containment of the Tarasque.

THE TARASQUE: Known as SCP-682 by I and the AGENTS. A colossal, swampy, green reptile covered in spines, armor plating and eyes. A six-legged beast hell-bent on the destruction of all life. The sultan of hate.

JOY: Known as SCP-999 by JUNIOR RESEARCHER GAIA. A viscous, slimy, orange opaque ball of pure fun. A diety of delight. A god of greatness. He truly cares about making everyone happy. Even that grumpy gus, the Tarasque.

SCENE 1

Scene opens on a moving car, presumably of military make, on the side of the car a logo is plastered featuring a black circle marked with three inward-facing arrows, all encompassed by black gear-like outline . The bumper of the car is labeled "SECURE. CONTAIN. PROTECT.". The car passes over a rubble road, screams and wails can be heard in the distance and the camera pans to reveal a landscape of ruined homes and burning vegetation. As the car approaches the ruined village, FIELD COMMANDER I's voice can be heard.

FIELD COMMANDER I: [Voiceover.] The day of the retrieval was cool. Damp. Most days are during these sorts of missions. Entering the village there was one thing we all smelled. Death.

The car parks next to a compound, with tents and the fixings for a makeshift settlement plastered with the logo seen on the car's side. The headlights switch off and the car's humming ceases, out from the car steps FIELD COMMANDER I as well as AGENTS EGO, MYSELF, TARTARUS and JUNIOR RESEARCHER GAIA.

AGENT MYSELF: So why are we here again.

FIELD COMMANDER I: Again, tracking SCP-682, the indestructible reptile.

AGENT MYSELF: But aren't we supposed to wait for at least three others. It's too dangerous.

FIELD COMMANDER I: The situation is too urgent, 682 is on the move, fast.

AGENT TARTARUS: Smells like a flattened raccoon on the road cooking in 100 degree heat.

FIELD COMMANDER I: Hmm. Figured a season agent such as yourself would recognize the smell.

AGENT TARTARUS: Oh I do. Rotting flesh. Just trying to lighten the mood.

AGENT MYSELF: [Gagging.] Jesus. Fuck.

AGENT EGO: Who cares what the smell is, lets just get somewhere to shake it.

JUNIOR RESEARCHER GAIA: Over there, an amnestics booth, lets get some info.

The team strides over to the booth where lies a woman sitting on a foldable chair, glossy eyed and unmoving with an IV drip in her arm. Next to her stands MARIA GOMEZ.

AGENT MYSELF: Wow, I've never seen a forget-me-booth in person before. Freaky stuff.

AGENT TARTARUS: She's lucky to make it out alive. They'll probably overwrite her memory, say there was a tornado or something.

MARIA GOMEZ: Close. She'll be told she was knocked unconscious after a dust storm wiped out her town.

AGENT TARTARUS: What I wouldn't give to forget 682.

FIELD COMMANDER I: We're the requested back-up. Who might you be?

MARIA GOMEZ: FIELD Medic Maria Gomez, place was hit pretty hard, glad the superiors called you guys in.

FIELD COMMANDER I: So can you tell us what happened here?

MARIA GOMEZ: Sure. SCP-682 came to Santo Tomas about a week ago, we headed over after we intercepted a few distress calls about some mutated alligator wreaking havoc in a local village. And when we got here…God there was only 5 left, place had a population of 120 more. Luckily it still has a tracker from containment.

MARIA GOMEZ hand FIELD COMMANDER I a tablet featuring a digital map with a dotted line from a containment site, through Mexico connecting with a blinking red dot in southern Panama.

MARIA GOMEZ: This device broadcasts the present and former location of 682, based on its trajectory we predict it is headed for an abandoned site belonging to a long-thought evaporated cult known as the Children of the Scarlet King.

FIELD COMMANDER I: Thanks. Any idea why it's headed there?

MARIA GOMEZ: The current theory is that 682 is being pulled by a thaumaturgical vacuum to large signature of energy.

FIELD COMMANDER I: Alright gang, lets head back to the truck, 682 looks to be only a few hours out.

MARIA GOMEZ: Before you go, here, command wanted me to give this to you, they say you'll know when to use it.

MARIA GOMEZ hands AGENT MYSELF a cubic wooden crate labeled in black spray paint, "999". AGENT MYSELF begins giggling and MARIA GOMEZ speaks up.

MARIA GOMEZ: Might wanna keep the box at a distance, it has that effect.

AGENT MYSELF: [Walking towards the car.] G-good, ha ha, t-to, know.

FIELD COMMANDER I: Thanks Ms. Gomez, we best be on our way.

MARIA GOMEZ: Good luck.

AGENT TARTARUS: [Mockingly.] and god bless our souls.

JUNIOR RESEARCHER GAIA: [Annoyed.] Tartarus.

AGENT TARTARUS: Again, just lightening the situation.

FIELD COMMANDER I: Let's go!

SCENE 2

The rest of the team brushed passed a group of men in gas masks and get back in the car. The car starts up and drives back up on to the gravel road. FIELD COMMANDER I's voiceover can be heard.

FIELD COMMANDER I: [Voiceover.] We were on the road for six hours. Not a word was spoken for the first four, perhaps we instinctively knew not all of us would make it past 682, the only sounds made being the laughter of those who accidentally brushed against the box.

Around four hours into the ride the car hits a pretty raised bump in the road causing the crate to open and spill out, revealing JOY.

AGENT TARTARUS: [Laughing.] Holy shit! Is that the fucking tickle monster? I've heard of this thing.

JUNIOR RESEARCHER: SCP-999, I did some research regarding medical testing with this little guy's slime for depression.

JOY: Grrble bwwwr.[Reaching towards AGENT EGO]

AGENT EGO: [Gesturing towards AGENT MYSELF] Hey, hey I don't want this thing messing up my brain chemistry. You take it.

AGENTS MYSELF: [Picking up JOY.] Come here little guy.

AGENT TARTARUS: I'm thrilled 999 is coming with us but why do you think command provided him for such a dangerous mission.

FIELD COMMANDER: My guess. Moral support. I mean for such a dangerous retrieval they probably thought we needed a boost…given our impending doom and all.

JUNIOR RESEARCHER GAIA: Might as well enjoy it.

SCENE 3

The scene opens with the team outside of a ruined beachside hotel, surrounding the hotel are half-eaten corpses, pools of blood and human heads. The team with the exception of JUNIOR RESEARCHER GAIA is crouched by the car now armed with long barreled guns attached to plastic tanks on their backs and heavily armored. JOY hangs out from a satchel on AGENT MYSELF's side. A trail of large dinosaur-like footprints lead from the parking lot toward the beach.

AGENT TARTARUS: So what's the plan boss.

FIELD COMMANDER I: We aren't trying to kill, or even neutralize 682. All we have to do is corner it and then Lambda-12 will swoop in and airlift it out. Your tank-guns are filled with sulfuric acid, it can harm 682 enough to cause it to back off but do not spray for too long, this thing…adapts. Gaia, you stay here, you aren't trained for combat and we need you to radio for Lamba-12 when we've cornered the thing.

JUNIOR RESEARCHER GAIA: Got it.

FIELD COMMANDER I: On your mark.

AGENT MYSELF: Get set.

JOY: Bwwrb.

FIELD COMMANDER I and the AGENTS head towards the beach and the shot pans toward the beach revealing a long trail of large sand mounds leading to a crimson ball of hate floating above the shoreline. The team leans against a mound, listening for THE TARASQUE. Upon hearing a low rumble the team turns around just in time to see a sharp barb exit AGENT EGO's chest. As AGENT EGO's body collapses to the ground the team fires at the mound with their tank guns revealing THE TARASQUE. The beast quickly stands to a towering height before roaring at the team.

THE TARASQUE: You putrid, vile swine. You impish stains on this reality. You are a mockery to stand before I, The Tarasque, Atanti-ql-Paneu, Exile of the Flesh.

THE TARASQUE take a swipe with one of its claws at AGENT TARTARUS causing his suit to rip open and him to bleed.

AGENT TARTARUS: Fuck [Fires at THE TARASQUE].

THE TARASQUE: [Backing up toward the floating hate.] I was brought to this world in hate and now I will end it. No longer will I have to bask in the agony of seeing humanity's joy while I sat unable to feel the slightest hint of love. For centuries before my capture I tried to feel love, to feel, joy happiness. But alas, no I return to my King, my power will add to his, and all will be destroyed.

THE TARASQUE bites down on AGENT MYSELF's right arm and begins dragging him towards to hate, leaving a trail of blood behind, a thorny, thin red arm with infinite joints begins reaching out toward THE TARASQUE as it approaches.

AGENT MYSELF: [Grunting in agony.] Can't…feel happy..huh?

AGENT MYSELF reaches into his satche with his free arm, grabbing JOY. He hurls joy into the face of THE TARASQUE, who instantly drops him. THE TARASQUE screams in happiness as it collapses to the ground, JOY completely encompasses him and then gets smaller and smaller until only JOY remains. The arm retreats and the portal falls, the field had been evened.

Myself's journey is complete.

ACT III

Characters

I: A self-insert character of █████ ██████, important to the story nevertheless. I keeps it real.

TARTARUS: Darkness.

GAIA: Light.

TARTARUS: And then there were three.

GAIA: It appears so.

I: World travelers, supernatural agents, did I do all that?

TARTARUS: Your coma. Your story.

I: I guess. I Just…

GAIA: Just, what?

I: I thought there would be more, it was so anti-climatic. I feel uneasy, something's wrong, incomplete.

GAIA: Maybe there's still more for you, what's making you feel uneasy.

I: I don't know, I love being here with you guys but when I look at Tartarus I feel depressed, alone, he's so…dark I guess, but when I look at you, Gaia, it's blinding, like I'm staring directly at the sun. I feel like I'm being pulled in separate directions.

GAIA: That sounds horrible. Any idea on how we can help.

I: One. Why don't you two.. join forces…you know, not to dark not to bright. Even things out a bit.

GAIA+TARTARUS: Very well.

Grey. Perfect.

fin.

"WAKE UP."

█████ ██████: I'm awake.

"WHAT DO YOU REMEMBER?"

█████ ██████: Plays, gods, journeys, three of…me.

"WHAT DO YOU REALLY REMEMBER?"

█████ ██████: The Foundation. The one from the play. I worked for them, I was a doctor, no I was a senior researcher, assigned to an old bunker, more of a high-tech factory.

"WHAT DO REMEMBER, ABOUT THE FACTORY?"

█████ ██████: The Foundation, they called it SCP-2000. It was a grand thing, the factory, it could restart humanity during XK-class end of the world events, made people, places, higher ups used to call it Deus Ex Machina… I was there. I was there before I was here.

"WHY WHERE YOU THERE?"

█████ ██████: I was one of the last ones left. People were… I can only describe it as blending into the air, as if they were cartoons losing their outlines. That's not all, after they lost their form, no one could remember their names. It was only after something around 57% of people had lost themselves that it started happening to objects, concepts, and feelings were losing their names. It was then I was sent to restart the world. Guess me being here I failed, what are you, my subconcious.

"I WORKED FOR THEM, LIKE YOU, BUT I WAS A BIT HIGHER UP."

█████ ██████: Why are you here, with me?

"TELL ME, DO YOU KNOW WHAT MAKES A MAN, OR ANYTHING BY THAT MATTER?"

█████ ██████: …God?

"NO. YOU SEE, ALL THINGS THAT ARE EXIST FEEBLY. WHAT CAUSES A THING TO BE IS A NAME. NAME'S EXIST AS A CASING FOR ALL THINGS. WITHOUT A NAME THINGS ARE NOT."

█████ ██████: So those people…they were…their names were taken, that's why they disappeared.

"PRECISELY. NAMES ARE MORE THAN NOISES."

█████ ██████: I can't remember mine.

"YOU WILL. WHEN WE'RE DONE."

█████ ██████: The names. Why were they being taken.

"THE PLAYS. CAN YOU TELL ME A COMMON THEME."

█████ ██████: Well, in every act, two things mix to maintain balance.

"THERE ARE ONLY TWO THINGS THAT REMAIN CONCRETE IN REALITY: WHAT IS AND WHAT ISN'T. THERE WAS A RACE OF BEINGS, THE FAIR FOLK, THEY KNEW THE VALUE OF NAMES. LONG AGO THEY WERE FORCED TO FLEE TO A PLACE THEY WERE NOT MEANT TO BE, PUSHING AGAINST THE BOUNDS OF WHAT ISN'T. THE PLACE THAT ISN'T LEARNED OF NAMES AND FORMED A VACUUM, RETURNING NAMES TO ITSELF, ERASING THEM."

█████ ██████: So the thing that isn't, it took all of the names?

"I WAS FOOLISH. I THOUGHT I COULD TRICK IT, I MADE A DEAL WITH THE THING THAT ISN'T, GAVE IT MY NAME. I HAD ALTERED MY MIND, TRANSFORMED IT INTO A TRAP, MY NAME WAS A PRISON FOR WHAT ISN'T… BUT I WAS A MAN. I COULD ONLY HOLD IT FOR SO LONG. MY NAME WORE OUT AND IT BEGAN TAKING THE REST OF NAMES BACK. SOMEHOW I HAVE BECOME ATTACHED TO THE THING THAT ISN'T, IT REMAINS MY CASING, BUT I AM FADING. "

█████ ██████: Why am I here?

"THAT FACTORY, SCP-2000, THE PLACE YOU WERE SENT, IT HELD THE LAST REMAINING POWER OF WHAT IS. IT HELD YOUR NAME FOR JUST LONG ENOUGH FOR ME TO FIND YOU, SHIELD YOUR NAME WITH WHAT LITTLE POWER I SEEM TO HAVE LEFT."

█████ ██████: Thank you.

"DO NOT THANK ME. I DID NOT DO THIS FOR YOU. I REQUIRE SOMETHING OF YOU."

█████ ██████: What is it?

"THE PLAYS, TWO OPPOSITES FORMING A BALANCE, I WAS PREPARING YOU. I NEED YOU TO BECOME WHAT IS."

█████ ██████: Become what is? How?

"THERE IS A WEAKNESS IN WHAT ISN'T, A SOFT SPOT CREATED BY THE FAIR FOLK. WHEN I REVEAL YOUR NAME IT WILL COME FOR YOU, AND WHEN IT DOES, THROUGH THE SOFT SPOT I WILL RELEASE UPON YOU ALL THE NAMES."

█████ ██████: Why, why me and not you?

"BELIEVE ME MY CHILD, I WOULD IF I COULD, BUT AS A TREE REQUIRES A SEED, ALL NAMES REQUIRE A NAME TO SPROUT FROM. I HAVE NO NAME."

█████ ██████: I'll be alone.

"NO YOU WILL BE WITH YOURSELF, AND YOU WILL BE EVERYTHING."

█████ ██████: Ok. I'll do it.

"THANK YOU. YOU WILL NEVER KNOW THE GRATITUDE OWED IN YOUR NAME. I WILL RELEASE YOUR NAME NOW FOR IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO DRIFT A VESSEL ON THE OPEN SEA, TO BECOME EVERYTHING."

"i am"

FOR 05 EYE'S ONLY

THE FOLLOWING CONTAINS THE FACTUAL ITERATION OF SCP-6166.

Item #: SCP-6166

Object Class: Esoteric

Secondary Class: Zurvan4

Special Containment Procedures: Due to the immense size and universal nature of SCP-6166 it cannot be contained physically. Foundation implants in space observing institutions amnestisize all who discover SCP-6166 and rapidly disprove or stop the spread of information proving its existence.

Description: SCP-6166 is the observed shape of the universe. SCP-6166 resembles the shape of a man whose facial features are eastern European in origin. Surrounding SCP-6166 is a blanket of radiation-based thaumaturgical symbols relaying a story of a man becoming the universe, though no other sources can prove this is a factual account.

History: The first hypothesized SCP-6166 event occurred in 1953 when intense signals were picked up on thaumaturgical relay devices in Foundation custody relaying the message "Scan it. Scan all of it." In 1969, a powerful astronomer employed at the Foundation with reality bending abilities attempted to trace the universe and described it as a 'corpse'. Further astronomical scans have confirmed that the shape of the universe is, in fact, SCP-6166.

Footnotes

1. Radiation originating from the Big Bang.

2. Think man think!

3. Hey, who isn't forgetful once and a while?-Myself

4. Item constitutes an aspect of baseline reality and ought not to be interfered with.