Project Charon, by extension learning of both its relation to Project 
Pluto and of my whereabouts for the past several months. However, 
as a consequence of this you will need to be declared missing or 
killed in action under similar circumstances to myself, in order to 
ensure informational security of Project Charon. This will be a 
permanent designation; your life outside the Foundation will end." 


Keeping his index finger out, Quinton then extended his middle 
finger as well. "Second: You reject this induction, be administered 
with sufficient amnestics to prevent you from recalling both this 
conversation and the circumstances behind it. You will resume your 
work on Project Pluto as though this never occurred and as far as 
you will be aware, it never did." Quinton put his hand down. "Any 
questions?" 

Looking at the stern expression of his superficially resurrected 
friend, Yanma's anger faltered and began to subside. Quinton had 
been a prankster at times, but he always took his work seriously and 
never before had he been so persistent in maintaining a joke's 
facade. Coupled with the curious inability for anyone within the 
Foundation to find anything about him during his disappearance, the 
question of whether this was a trick at all was rapidly becoming 'no.' 
Yanma instinctively rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the onset 
of a headache. 


"This must be what it's like for those nosey few who ask me if the 
Lock exists." he groaned. 


"Yeah, probably. Pain in the ass, isn't it." 
An idea appears in Yanma's mind. "What if | just... walk out?" 


A look of sinister disappointment covers Quinton's face. "In order to 
ensure informational security, should you attempt to leave this room 
without choosing, you will be forcibly amnestised and reprimanded. 
Should you resist being apprehended, immediate termination has 
been authorised. | would strongly advise making a choice over that 
outcome." 


Applying more pressure to the bridge of his nose to help ease the 
pain, Yanma strained his mind to choose between the two choices 
he had been presented with. He had next to no family to consider, 


having lost contact with his few living relatives. His friends all worked 
back at Site-10, and would be dearly missed - but Yanma had to 
know. His curiosity at what this Project Charon was, and what it had 
to do with the Lock, was overwhelming. With a feeling he would 
inevitably regret his decision regardless of his choice, he came toa 
conclusion. "I'll accept then." 


Quinton's grin grew at Yanma's choice. "You are hereby inducted 
into Project Charon." Satisfied that the recording would appease the 
Overseers, Quinton stopped the handheld and returned it to its 
pocket. 


"About damn time. Let's start with a crash course, shall we?" He 
briefly rubbed his hands together before continuing. "Project Charon 
originates from the final few years of General Bowe's command over 
the Foundation, when he collected up a group of researchers to 
open the Lock shortly after he got his hands on it. They set-" 


"You're fucking terrible at lying. You know that right?" Interrupted 
Yanma. "The Bowe Commission was done and dusted before the 
end of the seventies, everyone knows that. The Lock was found 
almost thirty years after them, in a museum." 


Quinton sighed in return. "Yes, it was found in a museum by an off- 
duty researcher, who noticed it had the Cosmic Microwave 
Background on it. Which was discovered in nineteen sixty-four, 
meaning the little gem had been sitting on display for thirty-nine 
years, magically unnoticed not only by the Foundation, but also by 
anyone who was aware of the CMB." He produced a manilla folder 
from his satchel, removed a single document from it, and passed it 
to Yanma. Yanma quickly recognised the document as an altered 
copy of the Lock's documentation, with details about it's discovery 
and certain dates changed to be far earlier than before. 


"Don't act stupid, Yanma. This is the Foundation we're talking about 
- we're ahead of everything, and the CMB was no different. The 
Lock was found and recovered in nineteen sixty-eight, and was 
recently changed to twenty-oh-three. I'll come back to why in a 
moment." 


Quinton took a breath as he recalled the information he was about to 


survey. "Anomaly production wasn't considered as taboo as the 
Foundation treats it today. Even if it was, | doubt Bowe would have 
cared - he probably would've just told the early Charon researchers 
to make whatever was needed anyway. They made quite a few little 
trinkets and what-not, but only got two things close to what they 
needed; one was a key that unlocked the concept of what we 
assume is ascension, which got shuffled off elsewhere to be 
weaponised and subsequently lost for a couple of years until it 
showed up again. The other was a key that could unlock any door 
within a certain area, which was closer but since the Lock isn't a 
door, not close enough." 


"Then, out of the blue, the perfect key popped up here at Site-17 
during an incident. A key which could unlock anything - the missing 
key to the Lock." 


Yanma wasn’t surprised by the revelation. “SCP-005, | presume? It's 
pretty obviously the most likely item to open the Lock. I'd asked for it 
a few times, but the Overseers didn't want it leaving here for some 
inane reason." 


Quinton's grin re-emerged. "No, Yanma. It isn't the most likely." He 
produced a small ornate key from a pocket, matching the 
photographed appearance of SCP-005, and held it in the air 
between them. "It is." 


The connection hadn't quite clicked yet in Yanma's mind. "... | don't 
follow." 


“This is the ‘why’. This is why the recovery date for the Lock was 
pushed forward forty years. This is why you’re allowed to do 
anything you want to the Lock, as long as you aim to open it.” 
Quinton produced a second, nearly identical key from his other 
pocket, showing the vivid orange bow it had. “This is why they won’t 
let you use the skeleton key to unlock the Lock.” 


“Because you, and everyone else keeping track of Project Pluto, 
would realize the Lock is already unlocked.” 


Yanma leaned back in his chair. The Lock was unlocked, and had 
been for at least forty years. “Apakht...?” Yanma mumbled, intrigued 


yet frightened to find out what had been sealed away within the Lock 
for so long. 


Quinton returned the two keys to their pockets, then gestured to the 
manilla folder he had given to Yanma earlier. “Page two. You've got 
some reading to do.” 


Flipping to the page in question, Dr. Yanma Mirski began reading 
and learning the secrets now being revealed to him by Dr. Quinton 
Hack. 


Item #: SCP-005 
Object Class: Safe/Keter 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-005-1 poses 
no immediate risk in any direct sense. Even so, the 
circumstances under which it was obtained and the 
subsequent discovery of SCP-005-2 necessitates special 
measures be taken to restrict access and manipulation of 
the objects. Under no circumstances is SCP-005-1 to be 
removed from Site-17... 


« N/A || Charon (Part 1: Nekyia) || Charon (Part 2: 
Katabasis) » 


Charon (Part 2: Katabasis) 


« Charon (Part 1: Nekyia) || Charon (Part 2: Katabasis) || 
Charon (Part 3: Asphodel) » 


The taste of the coffee was repulsively bitter. Yanma Mirski 
considered spitting the mouthful out to save the remaining taste 
buds that hadn't been obliterated by the drink, but he needed the 
caffeine more than he needed to enjoy it. Pausing to ready himself 
for the next onslaught, Yanma drank a second mouthful before 
putting the mostly full mug down on the desk beside him, where it 
would remain until a cleaner was forced to dispose of it. A third 
attempt would be too much for his body to handle. 


Yanma had been catching up on the secret workings of Project 
Charon for several weeks now - many long days had been spent 
reading countless documents, some of which he recognized but 
sported new packets of information. Sometimes he'd be lucky 
enough to come upon a video or audio recording, which he would 
listen and watch in a manner similar to watching a movie at home. 
Regardless of how he went about it, Yanma spent every waking 
moment doing the same thing: absorbing information. 


The constant mental drain was taking its toll, too. His usual sleeping 
routine had been utterly destroyed, his erratic rhythm making it 
difficult to maintain punctuality. Waking up on time had started 
becoming an issue, as was evident from the twenty odd alarms on 
his phone, all set to go off within a five-minute period. There were 
some nights where he would lay in bed for what felt like hours, (but 
would later turn out to be a couple of minutes, elongated by what 
surely was the anomalous powers of sheer boredom.) only to give 
up trying to go to sleep and resume his document binge. 


But through it all, Yanma’s insatiable curiosity drove him to continue. 
Clicking on the next link in his list, he began reading the document 


that appeared on the screen before him. 


Item #: SCP-184 
Object Class: Thaumiel 


Special Containment Procedures: Information 
regarding the Thaumiel classification of SCP-184 is 
restricted to personnel with Level 5/Charon clearance. 
SCP-184 is to be classified as Euclid in all documents 
below Level 5/Charon clearance, with references to 
information pertaining to the item’s Thaumiel 
classification removed. 


SCP-184 is not to be contained in any structure. 
SCP-184 is to be attached to a high-power 
electromagnet at all times. Should the electromagnet fail, 
agents are to report to SCP-184's containment area and 
prevent access to all unauthorized personnel until the 
electromagnet is restored to 


"You really need to get a proper night's sleep." Quinton had entered 
the room without making a sound, and had adopted an idle stance 
next to Yanma with his own mug in hand. The tall man loomed over 
his seated friend, equal parts humour and concern in his gaze. 


"Yanma." 
"Whu..." 
"You're drooling.” 


"Uoh." Yanma used the short sleeve of his shirt to wipe the non- 
existent saliva from his mouth, his eyes never leaving the screen 
before him. No further response was made - running on fumes and 
crappy coffee, he could spare no more attention than was needed. 


Quinton waited a moment before his concern got the better of him, 
quickly reaching across and turning the screen off. "You're taking a 
break, right now." 


"Hey, | was reading th-" 
"Object class." 

"What?" 

"What was the object class." 
"How should | fu-" 


"Item number then. Or anything, even. Anything you saw on the 
page." 


"It was the fucking ball thing, the thing that had the..." Yanma made 
various motions with his hands in an attempt to visualise a softball- 
sized sphere. 


Quinton, unimpressed, kept waiting for a better response. 
"What?" 


"You didn't even get the most obvious thing on the page right. 
You're having a rest." 


Yanma sighed loudly, knowing he couldn't argue with the sound 
logic. At some point he had stopped absorbing the information, but 
had kept reading; several thousand words worth had leaked from his 
mind like an antimeme. 


The analogy rung a strange bell. Hadn't there been an 
antimeme on his list? But why would there be concealed 
information about something that couldn’t be 
remembered? He needed to remember the number, so 
he could read it again. 


... The number of what, though? What was he trying to 
remember? Yanma’s exhausted mind had forgotten. 


*Fine, | need something better to drink than coffee anyway. Fucking 
tastes like shit.” Yanma thrust the chair out from beneath himself as 


he stood. Even standing up, Quinton was still noticeably taller than 
the American. 


“The coffee is fine - you’re the problem.” Quinton grinned sheepishly 
as he dipped a finger into the abandoned coffee, collecting enough 
of the liquid to get a taste. He retched the moment his brain 
registered the taste. 


“Fuck, that’s godawful.” 

“Told you it was shit.” 

“| didn’t think you meant literally. Did you even put coffee in?” 
"Oh shut up." 


Quinton returned the mug to its original position. He paused for a 
moment after letting go, as if he was expecting something curious to 
Occur. 


"Huh." 
"What?" Yanma had stopped in the doorway. 
"| was expecting it to be stuck to my hand." 


"Wh-" It took him a moment to catch on, but he caught the 
reference. "Oh fuck you." 


Quinton couldn't hide his grin as he stepped past Yanma and out of 
the comfortably-furnished office, into the familiar whitewashed halls 
of a Foundation facility. The inhabitants of this place - the entirety of 
the staff assigned to Project Charon, of which there were quite a few 
- had only a vague idea of where this place actually was. Its style 
suggested an isolated wing or unit of a Site, but which Site in 
particular was impossible to tell. Without any signs or markings 
beyond obvious ones, and a complete absence of any windows or 
even doors leading to the exterior of the place, the only thing they 
knew about their new home was the vague definition that had 
whisked them to this place; 


The staff of Project Charon were Inside the Project Charon offices. 


The only noteworthy feature the hallway sported was the green line 
in the center of the floor, interrupted every five meters by a pair of 
coloured arrows that each pointed to a door on either side of the 
hall. Each arrow had a number followed by a letter, and this served 
as the main method of determining location in the offices; the 
number denoted the section of hallway, and the letter specified 
which door. 


Remembering the rule that was critical to navigating the offices, 
Quinton set about navigating from Yanma's office, 49L, to the 
kitchen at 26R. His pace was quick, not because of a sense of 
urgency but because of how large his stride was. Within minutes 
they had arrived, passing through the single door leading directly 
into the small kitchen. 


"Want a sandwich?" The bread and boiled eggs were already being 
removed from the fridge. 


"Sure." 

"Lettuce, egg and mayo?" 

"Mayo?" 

"Yeah. Stops it from tasting too dry." 
"Sure then, whatever you're having." 
"Why do you do this to yourself, Yanma?" 
"Uh?" 


"Look at yourself. One of the highest-ranking members of a global 
shadow organisation, entrusted with one of the most powerful and 
dangerous artifacts under its control..." 


The two plates, carrying a pair of sandwiches, were gently placed on 
either end of one of the few tables in the room. Yanma and Quinton 
each sat down with their own meal before them. 


"... being nursed back to health by a ghost making sandwiches." 


"Cut me some slack, you don't usually have to look after yourself 
when you're dead." 


Quinton chuckled - his humour was rubbing off on Yanma. "I am 
serious though, Yanma. | don't understand why you're doing this." 


"I'm behind, aren't 1? Going through everything is the fastest way to 
catch up.” 


"But it isn't the best way. You're missing details, forgetting things. 
You won't be able to find It if you keep doing that." 


He was, of course, referring to the contents of the Lock. Apakht, 
whatever that actually was. With the key in one hand, the Lock in the 
other and the wrath of Bowe watching, there was nothing stopping 
the predecessors of Project Charon from unleashing whatever 
waited within. 


What they weren't expecting was for the key to turn loosely in the 
lock, the mechanism having been released long ago. They weren't 
expecting to realise Apakht had escaped long ago, while they 
studied an empty container. 


"Quinton, we have no idea where it is, what it’s doing... we don’t 
even know what the fucking thing is.” 


“See, now that proves my point. You're rushing to read everything, 
but learning nothing; we know what Apakht is, and what it does. This 
is exactly why it took you so long to figure out my clues."