Tests using Class-D personnel have shown no upper limit in the 
number of entities affected by the psychic resonance. In one test, 
twelve Class D Personnel due for first-of-the-month termination were 
placed in a room alongside a researcher who was told to randomly 
select one test subject for death. The researcher killed all test 
subjects one by one, despite their professed horror. Prior incidents 
have indicated the possibility of hundreds, if not thousands of deaths 
due to SCP-668's unique properties (see Incident Report 668 A re: 
[REDACTED] Mall massacre and subsequent information blackout 
operations). 


Recovery of SCP-668 in such scenarios is problematic due to the 
item's psychic properties. Agents attempting to apprehend the 
subject during Containment Failure Incidents are often themselves 
affected by SCP-668's so-called "Apathy Field," resulting in 
casualties among Foundation personnel. Following Incident 668-A, 
standard retrieval protocol includes the use of a long-range sniper 
rifle, double-blind conditions, and three different agents working in 
tandem through carefully coordinated actions to prevent any of them 
realizing that they are actively opposing the subject. 


Because of the obvious apocalyptic possibilities, it is the 
recommendation of this panel that SCP-668 be designated a Keter- 
level threat and placed in high-level confinement. 


"What do you think about Jasper?" they questioned. 
"Joyce." 
"Jaden." 


"James. No wait, that's already your name." In response to Draven's 
mistake, Talloran tried opening their eyes and exaggerating a 
disappointed look. giggle, then they both shared in the laughter. 
"Jules? Why stick to J anyhow. Go big, go bold. Avery." 


"Alex." 
"Erin, with an E." 


"Jules, Aiden, Blake, Ari, Devin, E... Eli, Kai. Gr...ey... S... ky...... 
lan ce ceoius uh Sekaceas " Talloran drifted off to sleep. 


snore 


Draven smiled and got out of bed. Tired as he was, there was still 
some stuff he had to take care of before his boyfriend transferred 
sites in a couple days. He could no longer afford to be put off by the 
minutiae of day-to-day work. There was business to take care of. 


He wandered the apartment, one inherited from his deceased father, 
stumbling in the dark. Being tired and still unfamiliar with a new 
place wasn't the best option. When every step forward was also for 
confronting a trauma still being processed, things were even harder. 
Luckily for him, he had the tenacity of an angry, hungry dog, so 
minor issues like "adjusting to dark rooms" and "avoiding bumping 
into objects" were no problem in any capacity. 


That is, until he stubbed his toe with full force onto a metal plate. 


"G-gah, fu—" He slapped his hand over his mouth, trying not to yell 
and wake up Talloran. It hurt like a motherfucker. Though once he 
turned the corner in an attempt to find the bathroom, he managed to 
stumble across it. The door had a single nameplate on it. 


Doctor Benjamin Kondraki 


Calling him a doctor was always overstating it, and maybe he didn't 
fully deserve the honor of being a Foundation employee at times. 
But he did. He absolutely did. He was as good of a father as any, 
and more importantly, he was his father. 


Draven entered the room, and his heart stopped for a brief second. 
In a way, it almost resembled his father's old office. It was still being 
unpacked, and shit was strewn all over the floor. That was fine. The 
desk was positioned in front of the window, the way his father 
typically liked working. The moonlight was potent tonight, and shone 
right onto the dilapidated chair. For a brief moment, he could have 
sworn he saw his father there, looking down at some documents 
with bourbon on the desk, before looking back up at his son and 
smiling. 


He blinked. 
His father left. Only the bourbon remained. 


Draven knew where he could find the thing he needed to give to 
Talloran the most in the mess of a room. He needed to keep it a 
secret, after all. His father's desk had a drawer, which contained a 
manila envelope. And there it was, same location as he put it in. No 
tampering either. At least his boyfriend didn't find it. 


It was still weird to Draven that his father left this behind for them. It 
wasn't even found until the move to the new apartment. His father 
was mysterious in ways that don't befit the adjective, but this was 
maybe the most strange. Talloran thought a lot of his dad despite his 
issues, because the two of them got along together well (or rather, 
well enough), because Ben was his dad and even because there 
was some level of understanding underneath it all. But the fact that 
he thought of Talloran in the same way at all, enough to leave this 
behind, was odd. At least he was considerate. 


Closing the door and choking down sobs again, Draven made his 
way back to the bedroom with one less toe stub this time. It'd be sort 
of pathetic to wake his boyfriend up crying over recent events again, 
but they would understand, surely. 


"Night, bun." Draven kisses their forehead and holds onto him, 


falling into sleep soon after. 


At least they'll always have each other. 


Year 1,996,437 


"Why is it that you keep pushing on?" 

I'm still not sure myselr. 

"Tell me. Do you fear being paranoid?" 

| think so. 

"Do you fear being pursued?" 

I... yeah. 

"Do you fear what life brings to crush you?" 
... Yes. 


| step away from the sharp claws of Its hatred, and see the gallery of 
lives that once could have been. Were it another time, another 
place, another universe, | could have once lived another life. 
Whether they're just my desires and imaginations, or actual realities, 
I'm no longer sure, but to someone, they are real. 


¢ | see agirl and her grandfather, existing in 
happiness as he defies Heaven. 

* | see a family stick together, as tight-knight as 
they'll ever be. 

¢ | see awriter, attempting to fill their stories with 
love. 

¢ | see agirl escaping from the abuse her father 


continues to bring. 

| see technology becoming critical, becoming 
knowledgeable about minor topics. 

| see a robotics company stake their claim on their 
products. 

| see disillusionment, self-doubt, and frustration 
take hold in a personal world where online has just 
as much frustration as offline. 

| see someone transcending body and spirit to 
become happy and affable. 

| see a teenager, wishing to be a princess, stuck in 
her own head. 

| see aliens as pets. 

| see the Foundation turn to nothing from head 
cannons. 


| see reality distorting itself, until it's simply fiction. 
| see a woman taken by fear and hatred to exist 
only in dreams from the in-between. 

| see an artist striving to prove himself. 

| see meandering born from a broken relationship. 
| see those forgotten becoming remembered in 
other ways. 

| see many deaths at the hands of anomalies, 
were they not in the hands of the Foundation. 

| see Nero burn Rome to the ground. 

| see people, the world turned against them, 
unsure of how to deal with it all, try to cheer each 
other up. 

| see an evil man kill for his own gratification. 

| see artists as activists. 

| see Nobody looking for her lineage. 


| see a writer struggle with holding onto the world 
in more than one way, her resolve challenged in 
many aspects. 

| see a news editor, compiling last month's latest 
for those interested. 

And many more. 


My situation is absurd. I'll accept that. | smile, and let myself go. The 
background shatters. 


Year 2,500,000 


Court is in session. 


« Only God Can Judge Me and More | The Moon Is a Dead World| Only Once 
Away My Son » 
Hub 


Only Once Away My Son 


« The Moon Is a Dead World | Only Once Away My Son| Th Vmpr fTm nd Mmr » 
Hub 


Year 2,500,000 


"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and folks identifying otherwise, we 
are live at the William James Courthouse, where we are bringing you live, 
that's right, LIVE coverage of the trial of one Researcher — Talloran and 
the charges levied against them. I'm James Talloran, and joining me today, 
as always, is the lovely Jessie Talloran." 


"You know it James! Yes, this is a very special case today, as the charges 
levied against Talloran are of a very serious nature, and it's been, what, 
some million years since the last trial held here hasn't it? So the fact that 
we're having a session today is absolutely astonishing, and frankly after 
everything that has happened, unprecedented even. We'll be following 
along closely as developments happen." 


"That's right. Throughout the trial, we'll be switching back to Jessie 
primarily and getting her on-the-ground updates. I'll be joining periodically 
to give my thoughts. Trial is in pre-session and expected to start in a few 
minutes. Stay tuned for the latest on JTTV News 45." 


Talloran sat at their bench, surrounded by busybodies, staff, and 
news journalists setting up cameras all over the courtroom. The 
entire world felt suffocating, moreso than usual. If you give the 
illusion of a media presence, it'll end up feeling a lot more real. 


"H-Hey, excuse me, can | get a lawyer?" No one answered 
Talloran's question. "I'm uh, I'm pretty sure courts are supposed to 
provide a lawyer to people who are unable to afford one?" An old 
janitor cleaning the aisles next to Talloran looked up at them and 
grimaced. 


"Don't you remember the predicament you're in, sonny? You won't 
get any lawyers here. Hrmmmm..." His voice trailed off as Talloran 
stumbled for responses. 


"Hey, wait, hey hold on! | still deserve some sort of legal presence 
even in this bullshit nonsense! Can't you like, tell them to give me a 
lawyer? It'll, i-it'll help at least," Talloran spat out frustrated at the 
absurdity of the scene around him. 


"| guess | can bring it up with the Judge, see if we can find youa 
quick guy to fill in for your legal defense, but don't expect anything." 
The janitor grumbled as he continued to clean the aisles, stepping 
over the spectators rushing to their seats. 


The court had started to amass more people, none of whom would 
even accidentally glance Talloran's way. One by one, the room 
started to fill in to any open space they could stand or conceivably 
sit on or in. The claustrophobia Talloran felt was starting to creep up 
on them. Unfamiliar empty face upon unfamiliar empty face. It felt 
hopeless to rebel against the situation as it was right now. 


"All rise!" a voice yells. All 694 beings stood up as the Judge enters 
the courtroom, making Its way to the bench. With bated breath, all 
waited for It to go through the motions. The defendant in 
particular glared at It, watching, waiting. Soon, they'd be able to 
make their break. They just knew it. 


The Judge sat down. It occurred to them at this moment that they've 
actually never attended a trial proper, been on jury duty, or actually 


knew how court proceedings worked outside of fictional media. 
"You may be seated." Everyone but the defendant sat. 


"Researcher Talloran," the Judge boomed, "as requested, you 
have been given a lawyer by the court. We will institute a new and 
unusual two-minute pause as you discuss with your lawyer your 
current situation and proceedings." Wait, wha — 


"Hello there, [insert name here]." The defendant turned to look at 
their right, and spotted, in a court full of horrendous figures, bizarre 
anomalies, and hordes of empty canvasses, the most upsetting sight 
yet; their lawyer. "Name required for continued use. pal." 


The lawyer, a robotic husk of parts, wires and Al, was dressed 
rather sharp and fancy. A tight suit adorned with fancy nonsensical 
seams and a collar entirely unsuited for non-humans. A red-and- 
brown hat garnished with gloss. Grey leather gloves. Despite the 
appearance of a digital smile on its face, it spoke in an utterly 
monotone voice; as bored as a robot could possibly sound. To say 
that the defendant was taken aback would have been an 
understatement. 


"U-Uh... um..." 
"Name not valid. Name required for continued use, pal." 
"Talloran." 


"Hello there, Tall-lor-ran." Every syllable was mispronounced and 
dragged out painfully. "I will be providing your legal counsel in court 
today. | have been informed and up-to-date on the charges against 
you. If there is a course of action you would like to pursue, please let 
me know and | will do my best to assist you." What could possibly 
be a good way to respond to something so utterly useless? What 
would be the point? 


"Uh, | guess, let me just. Handle the stuff | am able to handle on my 
own, and you can handle the rest?" the defendant hesitantly 
answered. 


"Affirmative, Tall-lor-ran. Plan of action noted. Thank you for 


choosing Designated Extraordinary Case Interpreter, Version 23." 
Unbelievable. 


"Talloran, you have been initially charged with the following crimes: 
Working for the Foundation Instead of Pursuing a Better Career, 
Anhedonia, Mental Illness in General, Inability to Cope, and 

. How does the defendant plead?" The Judge's voice boomed 
throughout the entirety of the world; it was hard not to wonder how it 
couldn't have reached the outside by this point. 


"| don't see how any of these could be considered crimes, Your —" 


"Not guilty then. In addition, you have also been charged with the 
following crimes: Non-Conforming Gender, Non-Conforming 
Sexuality, Taking Shit Too Seriously, Unable to Care About Others 
Adequately, and Frustration With Hobbies. How does the defendant 
plead?" 


"Wait, how are any of these crimes? What are you doing with thi —" 


"Not guilty then. The trial is now in session." The Judge bangs Its 
Gavel, and the scene shifts entirely to the same court room.. The 
defendant can feel the atmosphere shifting them onto another plane 
entirely, finding themself on the stand with a splitting migraine. 


"The prosecution may now begin." 


For the Charge of "Unable to 
Care About Others Adequately" 


The prosecutor, Talloran, Esq., approached the stand with a manila 
envelope in hand. 


"Now, Mx. Talloran, do you recognize this envelope?" The 
defendant stared at the envelope, mystified. It wasn't labelled. It 
didn't have any special marks on it. How were they supposed to 
know what was in it? 


"No." 


"It is an envelope containing a letter addressed to you a long while 
ago. It is from..." The prosecutor lifts the paper from the envelope 
and nods, showing it to the defendant. The words are in writing they 
are unable to read or comprehend, but it's immediately clear what it 
is supposed to be. "...Benjamin Kondraki. Do you understand now?" 
Their eyes go wide. "Excellent. People of the court, this is a letter 
written to Researcher Talloran in 2016, approximately a few 
days before the suicide of Benjamin Kondraki. Its significance is lost 
on you right now, but when | read it, it shall be clear. Anem." The 
prosecutor opened his mouth. 


The sound of large metal screeching against metal sounded, 
blasting itself onto the defendant. They were too dumbfounded to 
move, to cover their ears, as blood started trickling down the side of 
their head. Yet they knew what was said, what was written. And 
regret filled their body. 


"Now, Talloran, have you gone on to honor this letter since you first 
read it?" 


It was impossible to answer. Maybe? How could they have 
remembered? It was hard to keep track of the memories from reality 
and from here. But... they had a nagging feeling in the pit of their 
stomach that... 


"No, | have not." Murmurs in the crowd. The Judge bangs the Gavel. 
"At least, | don't remember doing so? It's been hard to tell, with the 
few million years or whatever that I've been in here by this point." 


"So you don't even remember its contents?" 


"Not really..." The defendant trailed off. "But that means nothing! | 
could have done something in relation to it!"