"Likewise," Alison said. "Pardon me as | get ritualistic here for a 
moment. I, Alison Chao, known as L.S., also known as the Black 
Queen, come here to meet with you on behalf of the inhabitants of 
this plant, on behalf of the Serpent's Hand, and on behalf of myself. | 
have come to ask a bargain of you." 


Fifteen minutes left to go. 


There were new words in song now, new words that Sigurrdés could 
recognize. 


Never never never never 

Yesterday and forever 

Forever and ever and ever and ever 
Never never never never 


Never never never never... 


Cross led Campbell through the labyrinth of hallways that was 
Site-17. 


"You're obviously not supposed to be here," Campbell said. "You're 
gonna get jumped first time we pass security." 


"I've given myself a bit of a glamour," Cross said. "But | don't really 
think it'll be a problem. | don't think many people are going to be 
paying us much attention." 


The sound of shouts came from down the corridor. Campbell 
listened to the security codes echoing through the speaker. 


"Shit," she said. "Containment breach. SCP-239." 
"Not a moment too soon," Cross said. 
"You're ending the world," said Campbell. 


"What?" A note of surprise was in Cross' voice. 


"Really, after all that talk, this is what it comes down to. You 
releasing a reality bender and ending the world." Campbell laughed. 
"To think | almost fell for all that shit you said." 


Cross sighed. "We're not ending the world. We're saving it." 
"Right." 


Cross paused, moved ahead of Campbell, cautiously peered round 
a corner, continued. "Remember that breach — the one when your 
friends captured me? We didn't cause that breach. We came here to 
try to stop that breach." 


"You came here to stop a containment breach?" 


"We knew about it in advance," Cross said. "A hole in reality erasing 
an entire planet — yeah, that's gonna leave a mark. In both the 
future and the past. Fortunately for us." 


They arrived in front of the Site-17 bar. A dozen members of an MTF 
detachment squad raced past them. Not one batted an eyelash. 


"| see the glamour's working pretty well," Cross said. "It's because of 
Rita, even though she doesn't know it... Family members are 
mystically connected. The glamor makes me seem like | should fit in 
here because my sister fits in here." 


"So—" Campbell started to say. 


In the next instant, she saw a massive explosion balloon above one 
of the holding facilities a block away. Not natural: A flash of 
blackness, not light. The instant after, she was knocked off her feet 
by the shockwave. 


Cross had been knocked over too. She sat up, still clutching her 
giant potted plant. She stared at the black flames and swore loudly. 


Campbell hauled herself up off the ground, ran her keycard through 
the slot, and stumbled through the door. 


The humming was everywhere, now. 


Rita Butler had been drinking, sitting alone, in the Site-17 rec room. 
The rules were lax here; it was easy to sneak in the vodka in clear 
plastic bottles. 


There were always people here in the rec room, but they were 
people doing their own thing — playing ping-pong, punching 
hanging bags, lifting weights. People who wouldn't talk to her. 


It was, in its own way, a perfectly acceptable existence. 


When the klaxons went off, she hadn't thought to head for the doors 
fast enough, and her way was blocked by a milling crowd of people 
by the time she had. 


Then a burst of green light blew the side doors right open. 


In came four people who clearly didn't belong. A lizard-person, a 
woman in a flamboyant outfit waving a staff, and another woman 
with color-shifting skin. 


The woman who led them was dressed in street clothing, carried a 
strange-looking shotgun and a giant flower, and looked deadly 
serious. 


"Get out of here if you don't want to die," the leader said, and to 
punctuate that, she raised the shotgun in the air, and fired a blast of 
green light at the ceiling. 


The crowd scattered away. The leader pointed her minions in 
various directions, and they scattered along with the crowd. But she 
herself strode forward, eyes searching the crowd — landing on Rita. 


Shit. She froze in place. Deer in the headlights reaction. You need to 
run. 


But the leader was upon her, before she knew it, seizing her arm, 
leaning in, hissing in her ear. "Your sister is here, trying to save the 
world. Help her, for gods' sakes. She's in the cafeteria. Go. Now." 


And then she was striding away, leaving Rita shaken and alone in 
the emptying building. 


After a minute, Rita lurched towards the door. She grabbed an 
abandoned sidearm on her way out. 


Sigurrés Stefansdottir heard the words of the song reach the fever 
pitch she'd been waiting for, that she'd been dreading. 


They were running through the hallways, Alison just ahead of her 
and the others close behind, but they weren't going to make it to the 
surface in time. Somewhere up above, she could hear the chittering 
of innumerable wings. 


She could teleport herself there... but she could sense reality 
shaping up there on the surface, and you never wanted to be so 
sloppy with another reality shaper. They could smack you right back 
to where you'd come from, she'd heard. 


Sigurrés looked up at the ceiling. Her feet lifted from the floor. She 
rose into the air. 


Never never never never never never never... 


The nice thing about the Site-17 bar is that one of its main rooms 
had a wall of surveillance camera feeds. 


The Foundation knew its personnel, at least to that extent; if a 
containment breach happened in the evening when a lot of people 
were (mostly) off-duty drinking, it was to everyone's advantage to 
get as many people aware of the situation as well. Even if some of 
them were drunk. People joked that containment breaches were to 
the Foundation what sports were to everyone else. 


Right now they showed the breaching SCP-239. 


239 was crossing camera feeds at a rapid rate, heading for the 
surface of the Site via the most direct route possible. She simply... 
unfolded the chambers and hallways out of her way and let them 
settle back into place after her. It was both impressive and oddly 
tidy. 


Campbell had never seen a reality bender in action before, but the 


thought rose in her mind: She knows how to clean up after herself. 


Behind her, Cross was doing... something... with her potted plant. 
Taking it out of the pot, holding it over the center of the floor with 
one hand, making odd shapes in the air with her other hand. 


"| hope to god you're telling the truth about trying to save the world," 
Campbell said. 


"Shit," Cross said. "It's not taking.” 


Campbell was transfixed by the cameras. She saw something 
familiar. 


A creature that she'd last seen wearing SCP-963. A humanoid with 
a featureless face and scaled black skin. 


Sigurrés burst through to the surface, letting her feet touch down on 
concrete, closing up the path she'd taken behind her. 


It felt a little startling breathing the surface air again. Physically, not 
just in a dream form. She hadn't expected there to be that much of a 
difference. 


In fact, it felt very odd to be breathing like this, she realized. She 
needed to go back to her room. She needed just a bit... just a little 
bit more sleep... 


She startled awake as she nearly fell over. The adrenaline rush 
countered the soporific effect, and she realized the presence of 
something behind her. 


She turned around to see a blank, scaled face watching at her 
through invisible, myriad eyes. Eyes within eyes within eyes. No 
mouth, but a voice. That eternal murmur... 


nevernevernevernevernevernevernevernever 


The murmur had a feeling soaked through it, the urge to go to sleep 
and never wake up again. Not noticeable until you got close, until it 
was almost too late... 


"My name is Sigurrés," she told the thing. "Who are you?" 


In response, it reached out, invisibly, with its mind, and touched her. 
Seeking, probing. Sigurrés was startled enough by this that she 
didn't immediately stop it. Then, she probed back. 


The strange creature seemed to open up, to unfold in response to 
her probe. And it kept opening, further and further, eternally 
branching tendrils, reaching out far away into forever — 


"You're... a Way," Sigurrdés said aloud. 


Five minutes left until the end of the world. 


It was almost comical, the way Cross was looking at her weird 
potted plant in obvious frustration. 


"Alright," Cross said. "Breathe, start again." She began moving her 
hands again in a new pattern. 


Campbell watched the screen. "What /s that thing?” 


"You were there when | was captured," Cross said. "You saw Dr. 
Bright killed and resurrected." 


"Yeah." Campbell thought back, remembering the necklace curling 
around that sword. But... 


"Just keep asking me questions," Cross said. "I'm not joking. | get 
anxiety. Talking helps my anxiety." 


"No shit," Campbell said. "Okay. | saw 963... Bright... take over 
that... that thing. | thought that... killed it?” 


Cross laughed a little bit. "That thing is the personification of a 
damaged Way, forced into humanoid form to heal itself." 


"A Way? A magical passageway?" 


"At least you Bookworms know that." Cross moved her fingers a little 
faster, making shapes in the air. "This transformation almost never 


happens, especially not like this. We all had the bad luck that your 
Foundation found it first. Wandering the wilderness alone, 
blundering across highways, scaring farmers..." 


"Why didn't 963 kill it?” 


"Because it's not possible to kill a Way. But you can damage it. You 
can make it vulnerable. And... there are things that live in Ways. 
Things that prey on the vulnerable. Some of them are things that 
never did exist, and never will exist, and don't exist, but desperately, 
desperately want to." 


"And they're... dangerous?" 


"More than anything you can imagine." Cross grimaced, paused in 
her invisible-pattern-weaving, shook out one of her hands, and 
continued. "They are the Neverwere. You can understand them as 
parasites of the soul." 


"Oh." 


"They are deeply unhappy and deeply hungry, and this one has 
landed the most powerful host it could imagine. This one is trying to 
become a Way. To take over its host." 


"Okay." 


"It only got that foothold because of the damage that... soul-searing 
medallion did. Nine sixty three. And then it only worked because the 
Way is in this form, so its soul has become something a Neverwere 
can understand." Cross laughed. "It's as if reality is conspiring 
against us." 


"Why is that a problem?" 


"Because it won't work. It can't become the Way. And the way it is, it 
can only stay stable for so long. Soon... it's going to go nuclear." 


"What happens then?" 


Cross smiled grimly. "A hole in the universe where the Earth used to 
be." 


Campbell took that in. "How do we fix this?" 
"The Witch Child," Cross said. "She has to kill it." 
"What is the plant for?" 


"It's a focus." Cross adjusted the angle of the plant's stem. "Sigurrés 
is young, inexperienced, and the only person currently on this planet 
who can help. These things are designed to help her." 


"Okay." 


"We've got to metaphysically plant them in magically "key" areas of 
Site-17. In this case, the bar is a locus of human energy, but it's 
such drunken energy that I'm having trouble—" 


Cross stopped talking. 


Campbell had been watching 239 and the faceless humanoid stand 
stock still in front of each other in an apparent staring contest. She 
turned to look to see what was going on. 


She saw Rita Butler, standing in the doorway and aiming a gun at 
Joanna Cross' head. 
« Family 


Sisters » 


any means available, potentially by attempting to destroy the source. 
This 'shielding' lasts only for as long as SCP-714 is worn. 


They are still at significant risk if exposed to any memetic influences 
that do not take immediate effect. Exposure to such influences 
should be handled as normal for the source in question, as the 
degree of ‘protection’ afforded by SCP-714 has yet to be fully 
documented. 


In addition, ‘normal’ images and sounds that would cause revulsion, 
nausea, etc. simply due to shocking or disturbing content have next 
to no effect on the wearer of SCP-714. The wearer will not even 
recall seeing them once SCP-714 is removed. Mundane persuasion 
(such as motivational speeches) has no effect, regardless of the 
speaker's skill and charisma. 


5) Chemical Tolerance 

Just as their minds block memetic influences, the bodies of 
SCP-714 wearers slows and nullifies the effects of various 
chemicals on the body. Fully poisonous or toxic substances are 
generally not hindered, but those that specifically impede or 
enhance neural and/or nervous functions in some way (such as 
stimulants or sedatives) have very diminished effects. With the 
removal of SCP-714, this nullification effect expires instantly. 
Wearers may still suffer from standard overdose effects whilst 
wearing SCP-714. 


The manner (or manners) in which SCP-714 causes its various 
effects has yet to be discovered, and no unusual emissions of any 
kind have been detected despite extensive monitoring. If SCP-714 is 
significantly damaged in any way, such as being broken into two or 
more pieces, its effects will cease immediately. If the pieces of 
SCP-714 are then placed within close proximity, they will gradually 
reform back into a whole copy of SCP-714, flowing as if made of 
liquid. Once SCP-714 is fully reformed, its functions return as if it 
was never damaged. Grinding SCP-714 down to a fine powder did 
nothing to impede its "self-repair" behaviour either, though the 
process did take considerably longer. Though the exact nature of 
this self-repair behaviour has not been determined as of this time, it 
is thought SCP-714 could theoretically recover from complete 


Sisters 


« Showtime 


Present Day 


Sigurrés faced off against the faceless entity in front of her with 
growing curiosity. 


She sent out her thoughts again, and probed further this time, 
feeling her mind enmesh with the mind of the thing in front of her — 
if it could be called a mind. It was like staring into an eternal maze of 
strings, stretched out on some vast cosmic framework set in in too 
many dimensions at once. 


There was something else there — something — 


Her mind touched something that wasn't there, and the backlash 
sent her flying physically backwards. She landed on her back, 
gazing up at the open sky, too stunned to move. 


The voiceless voice and songless song filled her head again. 
NEVERNEVERNEVERNEVER 


Sigurrés telekinetically lifted herself to her feet. It was really very 
strange operating this body, this physical shell made of bones and 
muscle and tendons... 


No. She couldn't get distracted, not right now. She focused on the 
blank-faced/many-faced thing in front of her. 


Which was sort of easy to do, because it was sprouting masses of 
tentacles. And with her spirit-sight, she could see it spreading a 
countless number of wings. 


Whatismynamewhatismynamewhatismyname? 


The world stopped existing for a moment. Sloppy. Sigurrés brought 
it back. 


"You can't just soft-delete things,” Sigurrés said. "They're super easy 
to bring back. They come back on their own after a minute anyway 
and no one notices." 


The thing did not answer in words. It opened its mouth without 
opening its mouth, and a river poured out — no, a tsunami, a 
tsunami of blue-black water imbued with want and longing and 
forever. Sigurrds turned the water into a swarm of birds and 
butterflies, blanketing Site-17 with their wings. 


The thing flew into the air and thrust its tentacles into the buildings 
surrounding them. The buildings turned into a massive wave of 
spiders that came crashing down on them. Sigurrés, who'd always 
liked bugs, let the wave come.