The first reflex she had was to simply fly back up. That instinct 
served her poorly in a place where thaumaturgy was useless. Her 
second reflex was to reach out and grab a ledge, but there was 
none to be had. Her third instinct was to furiously curse as she fell, 
and thankfully no one was around to hear her words. There would 
be very unpleasant consequences if some of them were uttered in a 
more conventional reality. 


Ahmadi landed with a distinct lack of grace. She paused to brush 
non-existent dust off her intangible form before looking down into the 
vast stone pit stretching out just in front of her feet. It crawled with 
distant figures, each dragging squat objects toward the fire furiously 
burning below. Ahmadi squinted, and saw that the countless 
fragments of Egret were dragging filing cabinets down to be 
incinerated. None of her previous inspections had ever led her to 
such a place, but that was no excuse to stop and gape at it, not 
when she needed assistance to get back on track. Not that she 
expected it to be very hard when she could just follow the 
screaming. 


"Move, you jackasses! This was supposed to be done ages ago!" 
The distant crackling of a thousand burning libraries eagerly rushed 
to fill the space in between hoarse words. "Do you want to get out of 
here or not? Just two more vacations to go after this!" 


After an indeterminate amount of time (and a much more 
determinate amount of yelling) Anmadi came across a fragment of 
Egret in a baggy green jumpsuit making vigorous use of a 
megaphone. She saluted sloppily as Ahmadi approached, hair flying 
wildly in the hot wind. Except for the soot stains across her face, she 
was entirely identical to the other pieces of Egret's mind all around 
them. 


"Egret." 


"Overseer." 


"You've sidetracked me again." 


"It's not my fault, ma'am. The higher-ups wanted all this cleaned 
out." 


"You realize that you're all the same, don't you?" 


Egret's smile crept across her face like sludge, distorting an 
otherwise wholesome expression. "| wouldn't know, ma'‘am." 


"| assume you can send me onward. | don't plan on loitering here." 


"Sure. Of course." The fragment reached into one of her sleeves 
and pulled out a phone receiver. It looked old and cheap, faded 
beige plastic connected to a tangled cord. She pressed the receiver 
to one ear and paused, rolling her eyes at whatever was going on at 
the other end of the line. "Yeah. Yeah. | know. Yeah. Look— Yeah, 
okay. Yeah? Well, fuck you too." Egret jammed the whole back into 
her sleeve with a snarl, which she quickly replaced with the same 
unpleasant smile. "Someone will come for you in a minute." 


"It would be best if they hurried." 


"Why wouldn't they? You're our Overseer." She turned away before 
Ahmadi could say anything, and began screaming again at the 
countless versions of herself toiling below. The comparisons 
between the workers and a long list of stomach parasites were 
particularly vivid. 


A bird appeared in the far distance as the list of comparisons 
reached encyclopedia proportions, black wings steady as it glided 
down toward the pit. It neared Ahmadi faster and faster, until it was 
closer to falling than flying. It flapped its wings deliberately, then 
desperately, and then hit the ground in an explosion of feathers and 
gristle. When the air cleared, all that was left in the bird's place was 
another piece of Egret, this one in a dark greatcoat and bearing a 
particularly grim expression. 


"Overseer, I'm your grade three liaison." 


"Egret, I'm not doing this with every bit of you | meet." 


The fragment tilted her head slightly to one side. "I'm sorry?" 
"No, it's nothing. Please, let's conduct the inspection. I'm in a hurry." 


"Of course." Egret stomped one boot on the ground, and an elevator 
car burst out with barely a rumble or puff of dust. The door opened 
with a ding, and the same grotesque music that had been playing in 
the waiting room leaked out. "After you, ma'am." The two of them 
stepped inside, and the elevator lurched upward at an 
uncomfortable speed. 


"Have there been any problems?" asked Ahmadi. 


Egret grimaced, an expression that was still more pleasant than her 
smile. "There's been some... lingering contamination from the 
incident in China. It propagated through a section of childhood 
memory storage. As you saw, the grade twos ordered a purge." 


"Isn't that serious?" 

"It won't impact our performance, ma'‘am." 

"| meant, aren't those memories important to you?" 
"It won't impact our performance, ma'’am." 

"Il see. Is there anything else?" 


"No, nothing comes to mind." The elevator dinged, and the doors 
swept open to reveal a long, high-ceilinged chamber packed with 
row after row of desks, each hosting fragments of Egret clattering 
away at ornate typewriters. Snow drifted in through the tall, empty 
windows, only to be crunched underfoot by the higher grade 
fragments patrolling the space between desks. Each of them wore a 
greatcoat identical to the one worn by the piece of Egret at her side, 
are bore equally grim expressions. "By all means, Overseer, 
conduct your inspection." 


The two of them walked straight down the middle of the great hall on 
a path of melted snow and discarded paper. None of the Egrets 
looked up at them, but Ahmadi could feel their eyes on her all the 
same. It was no secret why she was there. 


synchronization. 


Multiple subjects being exposed to SCP-919 behave as expected. 
Each individual reflection breaks synchronization and disintegrates 
at the appropriate time. The use of additional mirrors has been 
shown to extend SCP-919's active range. 


Also worth note is that SCP-919 has no ability for memetic 
contamination. Its apparent control over individuals is entirely verbal 
persuasion. 


Addendum: 


The use of SCP-919 for interrogation purposes has been approved 
for authorized personnel. 


Exposing animals to SCP-919 produced identical results. Of note, 
68% of animals showed strong aversion to being exposed to 
SCP-919. After initial exposure, all animals showed extreme 
aversion to being exposed to SCP-919. 


Transcript of Incident-919-016: 
<Begin Log> 


It is at this point that Dr. encounters Agent 
standing in front of SCP-919. 


Dr. : Hey, where have you been? You were 
supposed to be at the lab ago. What gives? 
Agent =: 1 can't leave. It'll kill him. 

Dr. : What? Who else is there? 

Agent :Him! 

Dr. : Who? Oh, that's SCP-919, isn't it. He's not 
real. It's just- 


SCP-919: I'm real, goddamnit! Why are you trying to kill 
me!? 


"You," she said to one of the Egrets at random. 
"Yes, Overseer?" she chirped. 
"How did you start working for me?" 


"You saved me from early retirement, what else? Alpha-1 didn't 
appreciate me enough." 


"Do you think | appreciate you?" 
"Of course." 


Ahmadi nodded curtly and continued down the rows, one fragment 
still at her heels. The answer was correct, and more importantly was 
nearly identical to the answer she had received the last time she 
asked the question. Forty-five desks down, she stopped again. 
"Egret." 


"Yes, Overseer?" 
"What was the first job you did for me?" 


"| put down three of those Committee shitheads sniffing around after 
you." Her smile oozed out like crude oil through cupped fingers. 
"They didn't die easy." 


"How did you feel afterwards?" 
"Satisfied." 


Ahmadi moved on. Two-hundred and twenty-five rows down, she 
halted again. The fragment she spoke to was no different from any 
of the rest. "While working for me, do you do good things?" 


The fragment stared up at her with empty, longing eyes. "Of course 
not." The senseless chattering of countless typewriters ceased in an 
instant. "What? You all know it's true. All of us know that 
everything's super fucked up! This whole thing is a nightmare! I'm 
the honest one here!" She went on yelling at the sea of silent 
fragments, unceasing even as the Egret next to Ahmadi calmly drew 
a pistol from inside her coat, leveled it at the head of her perfect 


twin, and fired. The shot was loud as a cannon, and the force of it 
scattered bits of brain and bone in a wide arc. 


"Tch," said Egret, lowering her gun. More shots rang out in the hall 
seconds later. 


"Egret, what's happening?" 


"There might have been a bit more fallout from the thing in China." 
Heavy metal shutters slid over the open windows, adding a harsh 
sound to the echoing cacophony that had already become 
overwhelming. "We'll handle it." 


"Egret —" The the elaborate chandeliers above them flashed bright 
red as sirens sounded from hidden alcoves. 


"Overseer, you should go. Everything's under control. | promise." 
"Egret, | don't think —" 


"Will you just listen to what I'm telling you and let me do my fucking 
job!?" the fragment howled at Ahmadi. It was not nearly loud enough 
to carry far over the din, but she had heard it, and this piece of Egret 
could tell. Even wide-eyed with what might pass for fear, her smile 
still managed to curdle the moment it formed. "That's just the 
infohazard talking," she continued weakly, raising her gun to her 
temple. "The rest of us are loyal. You'll see." With that, she pulled 
the trigger. 


Yes, perhaps it was indeed time for Ahmadi to leave. 
Overseer-6 awoke with one clammy hand still pressed to the 
forehead of her most valuable employee. Egret followed her into 


consciousness as soon as Ahmadi moved her hand away, bolting 
upright on the examination table. 


"Well, how did | do?" she asked, more chipper than anyone had the 
right to be in her situation. 


"You'll need more rest before going out again. | insist." 


"What? No, I'm... ugh." She collapsed back onto the table and 
clutched her head in her hands. "Yeah, maybe." She looked up at 
Ahmadi, who was still staring intently at her. "Really, what is it?" 


"Have you ever thought that working for me might not be particularly 
healthy for you?" 


"No. Never." 


All things considered, that was the only answer she could have 
expected. 


« Previous Tale | Maim the Sky, Slay the Sun | Next Tale » 


Quid Non Scitum Est 


The former Great Hall of the Nine-Teenth Ruin was, for the first time 
that year, completely full, an observation that Cardinal Frakes made 
with no small amount of pride. 


Dignitaries from every Monastery had made an appearance, from 
Deacon Collings (of the Temple of the Red-Pool) to Sister Bissett 
(from the Agnethain Sisterhood, founded at the time of the Great 
Breach by the Saints Rights, Erdrich and Break) to Arch-Cardinal 
Liriano, of the Council of Ethicists. They had all come, despite the 
dangers of traveling through Expunged territory, to witness the 
Ceremony of the Clockworks. 


Stepping up to the podium, Frakes raised his arms for silence before 
beginning the chant from the Holy Procedures. 


"Only personnel who submit a formal request and receive approval 
from site command may operate 914," he chanted. 


"Only personnel who submit a formal request and receive approval 
from site command may operate 914," echoed the crowd. 


"SCP-914 is to be kept in research cell 109-B with two guard 
personnel on duty at all times," he continued. 


"SCP-914 is to be kept in research cell 109-B with two guard 
personnel on duty at all times," echoed the crowd. 


Frakes continued like this, reciting the words from memory. Decades 
ago, at the beginning of his study, he had chosen to focus on the 
writings of Saint Gears, a path he had never regretted. Because of 
this, he was the natural choice to carry out the Ceremony of the 
Clockworks after the previous Cardinal in charge had died. 


"The process takes between five and ten minutes, depending on the 
size of the object being refined," concluded the group. 


When the last echoes died down, Frakes spoke. "D-Caste 
100718468294, please approach the Intake booth with the Input." 


The chosen D-Caste picked up the object in question-a small, hand- 
carved wooden statue depicting a whale-and walked to the Input 
box. 

"Please insert the object into the input box," Frakes said. 


The D-Caste proceeded to do so, causing the door to slowly grind 
shut and release a small ding. 


"Now proceed to set the knob to 'Fine'’," Frakes said. 

The D-Caste did so. 

"Now, wind the key underneath." 

The D-Caste wound it, then stepped back from 914. 

Deep within the machine, parts that had been neglected and used 
sparingly for years ground to life. For five minutes, the Great Hall 


was filled with the shrieks of tortured metal and awful grinds of 
rusted gears. 


When the process was done, the machine ground to a halt. 
"D-Caste, remove the object from SCP-914," Frakes said. 


The D-Caste opened the "Output" booth and removed an object that 
superficially appeared to be the same statue that had gone in. 


The room became completely silent. 
"The resulting anomaly is classified as SCP-2986," chanted Frakes. 


The resulting anomaly is classified as SCP-2986," echoed the 
crowd. 


"SCP-2986 is to be contained inside a box constructed of pine,” 
Frakes recited. 


"SCP-2986 is to be contained inside a box constructed of pine," 


came the echo. 


After the recitation of the Holy Procedures, another D-Caste brought 
out a pine box, handcrafted to the appropriate specifications, and 
the new SCP was contained. The Ceremony of the Clockworks was 
now concluded, and the box was passed around to be studied by 
the dignitaries. 


After the examination was complete, and after all the dignitaries had 
begun their journey back home, Cardinal Frakes picked up the box 
and walked deeper into the ruins. 


After an hour's worth of walking, he came to a room filled with stacks 
of pinewood boxes identical to the one in his hand, which extended 
as far as the eye could see. 


Reverently, he set his box on top of the stack closest to him before 
bowing down and saying a short prayer to Saint Gears: 


"Saint Gears, please guide me in my time of need as you guided the 
Holy Foundation during the Great Breach." 


"Bequeath unto me the knowledge to discover that which is false." 
"Grant unto me the ability to separate logic from falsity." 
"Allow me to grasp but a portion of the knowledge you once had." 


"Quid non scitum est potest causare magis nocere quam nulla 
intentoque malevolentia unquam speraverunt effectum." 


Quiet Days 


It was over. 


No one in the Foundation, from the lowliest security guard to the O5 
council, could quite explain exactly what was over. If they were to 
hazard a guess, a likely answer would have been "everything". 


It was generally agreed that the first one to notice this was Dr. Victor 
Balakirev. Dr. Balakirev, though a veteran of many a dangerous 
experiment and not one to be easily surprised, couldn't believe what 
his eyes, or rather his high-power telescope, were telling him. What 
Dr. Balakirev couldn't quite believe was that a routine scan of the 
Crab Nebula revealed nothing but empty space where a rather 
conspicuous and rather hateful star was supposed to be. The alarm 
was raised, a dozen more telescopes were commandeered from 
various facilities and agencies, and there was no small amount of 
shouting and running around. The star, however, stubbornly refused 
to reappear, despite Dr. Balakirev's insistent claims that "a star isn't 
a bloody remote control, you don't just lose it!"