The hallucinations are essentially your brain structures behaving in 
such a way as if you are really receiving those signals from outside. 


"As if these things were really affecting my receptors." 


Yes. You will not resolve this paradox unless you understand there 
are no outside signals. There's no light falling on your retina, no 
outside world. You are the one who creates it. You are the only one 
in your head. 


"Are you talking about the imaginary world?" 


I'm trying to say there is no real world and no imaginary world. There 
is only one world - and it isn't. 


I'm slowly processing what | just heard, trying to correlate it with the 
designs I've been making my whole life. Slowly, an understanding 
dawns on me. 


For years | have been building a scheme of all creation in my head, 
a scheme that would incorporate both the objective reality and the 
crazy things I've been able to see. For years I've been building 
borderlines millimeter by millimeter, fencing one world off the other, 
making a place for every thing. | desperately sought a place for 
myself in that scheme, while studying and developing my own 
mental capabilities. My Mentor taught me to exist in both worlds; the 
first one was necessary to maintain my physical body's homeostasis 
- that is, | had to eat, drink, keep myself warm, supply my neurons 
with oxygen. The other world was necessary to perfect my 
consciousness. 


Now | have to cast it all away. 
"Am | the cause of the world around me?" 


By the power of your mind. Your brain is like a hologram projector 
and everything around you is a manifestation of your perfect mind. 


These words pull a certain string in my memory. | concentrate on the 
vibrating thread, grasp it and obtain the memory | need: a 
holographic model of the Universe. 


"All the information about the creation is written on the surface of my 
consciousness, and is projected inwards." 


Inwards or outwards. Same things, in all but name. Remember your 
last journey. 


| start remembering. | remember how incessantly the words from the 
Emerald Tablet were coming to my mind: as above, so below. As 
outside, so inside. 


The Mentor's image is no longer before me. His voice resounds in 
my head, vibrating inside the liquid mental space. | realize the voice 
I'm hearing is my own. 


At this moment every distinction between inside and outside loses 
any meaning to me. Everything is as he said. | feel elated and 
gleeful. | fling my eyes open wide, viewing the things around me. | 
look at the books on the table and see every atom, every tiny clump 
of divine irony - my irony - they are composed of. | laugh and see 
that they don't exist. 


And they vanish. 


I'm looking at the pile of boxes before me. So substantial, so 
material they pretend to be. Substantiality? | tell them, ‘You are not.’ 
And they are not. 


"| understand," | whisper quietly. 


| unveil everything. | crack open the walls around me - and they are 
no more. | see the grey, blocky houses, the woods like a greyish 
green ring around me - and they are no more. | raise my head, look 
at the sky, hazy with thin misty clouds - and the sky is gone. 


I'm frozen in a void, weightless, like a laughing deity sitting in the 
lotus position, my arms raised. Around me, as far as the eye can 
see, is only emptiness. I’ve unveiled every thing, every tiny particle 
of the outside world, even the air itself. | cast all their shrouds away 
and reveal there's nothing underneath. Serenity fills me, as deep 
and final as it can only be in the grave. | turn my attention inside 
myself. My skull is empty, as if the brain has been taken out, and 
filled with bluish purple light. Splashes of light dance inside the 
dome of my cranium, converging into images and unraveling into 
delicate threads again. | look deeper still and see the same void that 


| discovered around me. And with relief | realize | am a product of 
my own mind too. 


"| understand." | silently smile before completely cleansing my 
consciousness and collapsing in on myself. 


Excerpt from SCP-2470 recovery log: 


"The first report of the object's anomalous activity came on . .20 
at about :00 from an airplane observer of FGU “Avialesookhrana’”, 
who was conducting fire safety monitoring in the [REDACTED] area. 
The pilot reported a huge deforested area centered around a wide, 
deep cavity. Communication with the pilot ceased soon afterwards. 
The report was intercepted by undercover Foundation agents in the 
MES and a reconnaissance operation with mobile task forces was 
arranged. Initial hypotheses regarding the object's nature were 
defining it as something akin to a miniature black hole. However, 
primary analysis disproved this point of view and demonstrated the 
true nature of the anomaly. Several methods of containment and/or 
neutralization, such as [DATA EXPUNGED] had been applied 
unsuccessfully, and were followed by a proposal to use 
“WeiBschatten’s paradox” in order to neutralize the object. This 
attempt was a partial success. Neutralization was not achieved; 
however, it was discovered that the paradox’s carrier was not 
susceptible to the object’s effect, which allowed the Foundation to 
capture SCP-2470 after several unsuccessful attempts and to 
develop the current containment protocols. Total losses throughout 


Thy Will Be Done 


The two men quickly walked down the hall, pushing the small cloth- 
covered cart in front of them. A sudden door slam far behind them 
made the older man cry out, to be quickly stifled by the younger as 
they picked up their pace. 


“This is wrong, we shouldn't be doing this. They are going to find 
out, they have eyes everywhere,” the older man looked about the 
ceilings, seeming to search for cameras. 


“Just shut up and get it to the lab. Once we're there, we can just say 
it got spat out from some test. It’s shift change, and as long as 
nothing hits the fan, they won't look over hallway tapes that closely,” 
the younger man scratched his arm nervously, pushing the cart at 
just under a run. “Beside, we'd never get it up and running without 
this stuff. We need it, and The Foundation would never let us have it 
without years of testing. Just shut up, smile, and nod at the right 
times.” 


The older man grumbled as he pushed open a heavy door, letting 
out a puff of very cool, well-filtered air. “I still think this is a bad idea. 
Dr. Valence may have told us to get this done by any means, but | 
really doubt he meant this,” the younger man sighed, shaking his 
head as he pushed the cart past the older man and into the room. 
“Listen, all that matters is the bottom line. It's two years of research 
into biomechanics, polymorphic computational components, and 
tons of red tape, or an hour with a screwdriver and some sterile 
gloves. Now shut the damn door so we can get in the clean room,” 
the older man complied, grumbling something about a church as the 
door swung shut. 


Neither noticed the small drop of gray liquid that had dripped from 

the cart. Neither noticed it suddenly gain surface tension and roll like 
a washed out drop of mercury either. The blob quickly slid under the 
microscopic gap under the door, and rolled quickly up the outside of 


reports, with a neutral expression. 

Photo Result: Subject appears to be sitting on a picnic blanket in a 
park, laughing as a small beagle puppy licks his face, and 
surrounded by Site 19 and Site 17 personnel, including 
[REDACTED]. All pictured seem to be smiling, eating a variety of 
picnic foods and desserts, or engaging in a variety of leisurely 
activities. 


Subject: Dr. Malfoss 

Photographed Activity: Sitting at his desk reading a report on 
SCP-682. 

Photo Result: Dr. Malfoss is riding SCP-682 through what appears 
to be a world war Il-era battlefield, slaughtering soldiers with what 
appears to be some sort of elongated katana sword. 

Note: Well, he’s just thinking what we all would do if we could 
control SCP-682. 


Subject: Dr. Gears 

Photographed Activity: Standing in Service Hall A-9, holding a file 
folder in his right hand, looking at the camera with no observable 
expression. 

Photo Result: Standing in Service Hall A-9, holding a file folder in 
his right hand. Dr. Gears appears to have a expression of very mild 
amusement. His ID card also appears to have been signed with his 
signature, as opposed to the standard Foundation barcode. 

Note: Photo immediately seized by Site Security, and 

remanded to custody. Request for return of photo denied. 


Subject: Dr. King 

Photographed Activity: Standing in the break room and smiling 
towards the camera. 

Photo Result: A close-up photograph of one apple seed. 


Subject: D-23192 

Photographed Activity: Reading [REDACTED] pornographic 
magazine while wearing a helmet made from SCP-148. 

Photo Result: Photograph appears blurry and distorted, but 
appears to involve nude human figures. In the centre of the 
photograph the outline of a man reading a magazine can be faintly 
distinguished. 

Note: Result appears to indicate Telekill interference. Further tests 


the older man’s pant leg, before hopping across and sliding back 
under the cloth covering the cart. Both men were too absorbed in 
the task at hand to notice the small shift under the cloth, and too 
focused on the robotic frame in front of them to contemplate it even 
if they had noticed it. 


He sat in the middle of the smoke. He sat and inhaled deeply, 
eyelids fluttering, sweat dripping from his body to mix with the soot 
and ash on his skin. The smoke was strong, and smelled of machine 
oil, wood, coal and flesh as it billowed from four grates in the floor, 
pooling in a noxious cloud in the ceiling as the ash rained down. He 
opened his mouth, and exhaled the smoke, pouring forth the ash 
and soot as would the Lord. Truly he felt the touch of God, felt his 
body within his own, his flesh within- 


A sudden knock on the unseen door broke his concentration, 
causing him to cough on the suddenly biting and acrid smoke. A few 
choking, hoarse commands caused the grates to snap shut and the 
ceiling to open, the smoke quickly venting away. He pulled on the 
heaped robe he had hung in the corner, still coughing and silently 
cursing whoever had broken his communion. He wrenched open the 
door, letting a thin yellow light spill in. “I swear to you, if this is any 
less then a message of the utmost end of need, | will personally 
head up an Inquisition on your behalf.” 


The young girl kneeling in the hall trembled, wincing and trying to 
shrink into an even smaller heap. "I-l w-was told,” she stammered, 
near tears, her voice starting to waver. He sighed, crouching down 
and taking her chin in his hand, tilting her face up to see her green 
eyes nearly drowning in unwept tears. He smiled, the black ash and 
soot causing his teeth to shine even whiter. “Ease, my child. | was in 
deep communion with the Lord. Your coming scattered His Voice, it 
is not your fault. Calm yourself, and speak.” The girl rubbed her face 
with her wrist, managing a small smile before blushing slightly and 
looking away. “I was told to come and tell you that the Will of God 
had been delivered to the Jailors.” 


He blinked several times, the girl shyly looking back and smiling, but 
his returning grin was not for her. Indeed, his eyes appeared to be 
miles away as he asked “Who has done this great thing? Who has 


delivered Salvation to the Corrupted?” “Brother Jacob,” said the girl, 
watching as he rose again, “he is still coming back, but | was told 
that the Will had been given over freely to them.” He quickly stepped 
around her, striding down the hall without a word, leaving her still 
kneeling and watching his quickly receding form. Truly, he thought 
as he quickly went to meet with the Faithful, God is great. Even as 
he is Broken, the portions of the Lord can still do his Will. 


“Dr. Valence, a question: why do you call it ‘hatbot’? Isn’t there 
something a little more," the researcher paused for a moment, lost in 
thought, "appropriate?” Dr. Valence shook his head, still grinning at 
the assembled staff. Behind him stood a small, slightly skeletal 
android, with what appeared to be a top hat pulled three quarters of 
the way down on its “head”, leaving only a small LCD screen 
displayed below it. To the robot's left stood a nervous older man with 
a name tag reading “Prof. Grommet’, and to its right stood a 
beaming young man in a suit, whose name tag declared him as 
“Agent Gild”. 


Dr. Valence shook his finger playfully at the staff member who had 
asked the question. “Now now young man, didn’t anyone teach you 
not to question your elders?” The assembled staff chuckled, and the 
questioning doctor’s face started to take on a mild shade of red. 
“Yes, Hatbot does seem like a very silly name, however during the 
initial testing, the processing unit looked very similar to a top hat. 
We've moved away from that design with the now completed 
prototype, however the name has stuck. Also, the somewhat 
whimsical configuration allows for more acceptance and ease of 
interaction.” The good doctor continued to beam like a proud father 
as he gestured to Prof. Grommet, who quickly reached over and 
pressed a sequence of buttons on the robot’s back. 


The robot suddenly sprang up in a slight hop, before landing several 
inches forward of its original position, causing many of the staff to 
abruptly retreat several steps, a few of them even producing 
weapons. The LCD screen below the top hat suddenly lit up, and the 
robot raised one skeletal, wire-wrapped arm and waved to the staff, 
while a small animated cartoon mouth appeared on the LCD anda 
voice emanated from it. “Hello, | am Hatbot! Hatbot | am. Hello!” 


Silence dominated the room for several seconds. Dr. Valence’s 
smile faltered a moment as he observed none of the staff to be 
abandoning their position of retreat. Or their firearms. “Hatbot, don’t 
be rude,” he said, keeping the nervousness from his voice with a 
small effort, “Let the nice people know what you are.” The robot 
suddenly snapped to attention, and rattled off the lines not unlike a 
new army recruit. “Hatbot is a speech recognition, interpretation, and 
deciphering system! Hatbot’s polymorphic computational matrix is 
able to adapt, interpret, and utilize any form of vocal or written 
communication!” 


Dr. Valence was suddenly bombarded with questions as the staff 
overcame their initial concern with the desire to know more. Several 
began to test Hatbot’s speech capabilities, watching as it not only 
parroted back words, but then use them in new sentences. Dr. 
Valence described various technical details, and laid out his 
proposal to use it to decipher some of the unreadable texts and 
untranslatable languages that The Foundation had been unable to 
crack. 


“Doctor, how did you develop a processor capable of such advanced 
communication recognition in such a short time? You’ve only had 
this project a few months, it seems almost impossible.” Everyone 
was too engrossed in Dr. Valence’s reply about “late night 914 work” 
and Hatbot’s slightly confusing responses to notice the sudden cold 
sweat break out on Professor Grommet’s face, and the harsh, 
silencing look from Agent Gild. The staff started to slowly filter out as 
Dr. Valence stated his need to run more tests. Two lingered, 
however, watching Hatbot and the two men who stood slightly 
behind them. 


“What’s wrong boy? Got the scent? Did Timmy fall down the well?” 
the short woman asked, using a tone better reserved for a small, 
over-eager puppy. 


The tall man in the outlandish hat to whom this statement was 
addressed continued to stare and grin at the small robot. “That is the 
most evil thing I've seen in years," he said, continuing to smile 
cheerfully. "I think there’s a world-destroying demon in it.”