".../f itis, we feed them all to it and seal up the chamber." Kazia 
moved out from behind cover, staying low to the ground. "Odekta, 
how many smoke grenades do you have?" 


"Three of them." 


"Three?" Stefania frowned. "You were given five. We used one to 
escape the patrol on Swietojanska, where's the other?" 


"Pressure was leaking. | had to toss it as we were coming up from 
the last square." 


"Wonderful." Stefania signaled to her companions to stay low, crawl 
if they had to. This was easy for Tolek's young frame. Poor Kazia 
had a significant target on her, with the grenades strapped to her 
back. Their plain clothing mixed in well with the rubble, providing 


some cover. From this distance, any Nazi without binoculars or a 
scope would have thought they might have been scraps of paper 
being blown about in the breeze. 


Crawling, inching forwards, they approached the end of the street, 
as the September sun crept overhead. Gunshots rang out an 
indeterminate distance away. Another church in the city wavered on 
its foundations. 


With the pace they were going, two hours had passed when they 
had arrived at the other end of the street. They ducked into 
alleyways, hid in buildings, and pissed on the rubble of what had 
once been a dress shop. They were too poorly-equipped to charge 
in alone, with or without grenades. Tolek looked like he was going to 
vomit at any point during the journey; fear of death outweighed the 
nausea. 


Eventually, they reached the end of the street, believing themselves 
undetected. Five soldiers and one commander stood before a hole 
in the ground. The hole had once been a door to a cellar, and from 
the burn marks on it, Stefania guessed it may have been by a bomb. 
The Germans were accompanied by a pair of dogs, who had their 
attention trained on the hole. Behind them, their objective — the 
airdrop — stood, concealed under a parachute, forgotten. 


Stefania's eyes widened when she saw the hounds. Between 
Tolek's whimpering and their own stench from crawling in the sun for 
so long, they would soon be found out. She suppressed a swear, 
and signaled to her platoon to be at the ready. Both her and Tolek 
steadied their rifles on a pile of rubble that had once been a 
windowsill, ready to shoot whatever noticed them first. 


Instead, the dogs were given a command in German: "Go!". The two 
dogs dashed into the hole. Some time later (Stefania's heart was 
beating so fast that it could have been anywhere from two minutes 
to an hour), one of them emerged, running and whimpering. 
Through her scope, Stefania saw that its eyes were shut. Then, it 
came to a halt by the Germans' transport, and fell over, dead. 


That confirmed it, then. Basilisk Street lived up to its name. The 


cellar of a building, torn down to rubble, once more contained a 
creature that could kill with a stare. A perverse combination of 
rooster and reptile. 


The Basilisk of Warsaw had never died. Or rather, maybe this was a 
descendant? Some youngling, birthed from an egg that had lain 
dormant until the bombs hatched it? Was Warsaw deciding to 
punish its invaders by recreating something that had been the terror 
of the city so many hundred years ago? 


She could not be sure. She gave another signal to Kazia to ready a 
Filipinka; an impact grenade. The Germans were clustered together 
enough that a bomb would take out at least one of them. To Tolek, 
she motioned for him to aim at the youngest-looking soldier, 
adjusting his rifle for him. Odetka readied her own smoke grenade to 
choke out whoever survived the initial blast. 


Stefania pointed, and Kazia threw the bomb. The casing shattered 
on the back of one of the Germans, killing him before anyone could 
react. Another had his arm torn to shreds, and writhed on the 
ground, screaming. The rest had turned their attention to the rebels. 


Odetka's smoke grenade sailed almost in tandem with Kazia's 
Filipinka. \t landed at their feet, and the air was filled with the sound 
of choking and coughing. Nazis were dangerous in groups, but like 
most soldiers, they were an uncoordinated mess when caught by 
surprise. 


Stefania's shot entered the heart of a third trooper as he stumbled 
from the fog. He gasped when his spine exploded outward behind 
him. Tolek managed to hit the knee of a fourth, and as the final two 
gained their composure enough to draw their pistol, Kazia let 
another Filipinka sail towards them. A second later, no more 
Germans lived in the street. 


Stefania ran out from behind cover to a barrier the Germans had 
erected, then to another, and finally, to the jeep they had been next 
to. The others followed, with Tolek in the back, staggering 
themselves so that no one person was behind a piece of cover at 
the same time. Stefania rummaged through the transport. 


"What are you doing?" Kazia hissed. "They're going to be checking 
up on the explosions. We could have snipers above us at any 
minute! Let's just grab what we can from the drop and go!" 


"The basilisk is real, Kazia," Stefania growled in return. "We can't let 
them get it, and if they're not getting it... well, the Home Army could 
use a... how do the Americans say? Trump card?" 


"You're not serious," Odetka gasped, having opened up the crate; 
she was starting to stuff chocolate rations in her bag. "Stefania, that 
thing will kill you, if it is real. How do you even intend on bringing it 
out?" 


"Szkopy are evil, but they're not completely without sense." Through 
her rummaging, Stefania found a cage made for large poultry, a 
metal rod with a noose on the end, an apron with mirrors on the 
outside, and an electric torch. The thing that caught her interest the 
most was an implement with a large set of flaps around a thick loop, 
all leather. 


"What is that?" Tolek frowned as she removed the last object. 


"Blinders," Stefania presented them. "| saw them used in a falconry 
demonstration before the war broke out. They cover a bird's eyes. 
Perfect for the thing down there." 


"It will kill you in an instant!" protested the youngest member. Poor 
Tolek was shaking again. "Please, | can't. We can't lose you, 
Stefania." 


"It can't kill me if it doesn't look me in the eyes." She pulled the 
apron, the noose, and the flashlight out of the transport, and found, 
on top of the cage, a set of black glasses. She placed them over her 
eyes, and smiled at her companions. "I'll be fine. Really.” 


She dressed herself in the apron, and left her rifle behind, electing to 
take a pistol from one of the dead Nazis. If necessary, she would kill 
the beast. She held the torch in one hand, noose in the other, and 
pistol by her side, Stefania descended into the cellar. 


Subject-796-17's pillow. 


See - thing is, you keep calling it that - a condition, an 
affliction, as if you can't bear to call ita disease. But it's 
not. Diseases hurt - they get under your skin and in your 
head and claw and claw at your mind until you beg for it 
to end. This doesn't hurt, not really. It scratches from 
time to time, sure, but that's it. Sometimes you give me 
excuses and talk about keeping me here and finding a 
cure for all of this, but you and | know that that's not 
gonna happen. It's not - and | don't mind at all, because 
I've already gotten better. 


I'm sorry | have to leave. Four blank walls and a locked 
door isn't much different from what I've been used to - 
but there's been so much | want to do, and the cat can't 
stay in here forever. It's not really the indoors type. 


-J 
« SCP-795 | SCP-796 | SCP-797 » 


The room was far too large to exist under Warsaw. Stefania had 
been underneath some other buildings in this area; she did some of 
her education in the basement of a now blown-out apartment 
building not a block from here. She used her torch, and never saw 
the walls. The air was cold, and reeked of petrichor, like she was in 
a cavern. She aimed her light upwards, and could not see the 
ceiling. 


And so, she shuffled through the darkness. She felt a mounting 
dread, that she had known twice before: first, wnen she heard that 
Hitler had pushed his forces through Poland, and was aiming at the 
rest of Europe. Second, when she faced down a man using... 
shooting flame from his hands, in the PAST telephone building. He 
had reduced most of the relays that were still intact to slag, melted 
with no effort. 


Since the Uprising began, she suspected the existence of the 
basilisk. Several squadrons vanished in the area of Basilisk Street in 
the past week. It had been where the myth of the basilisk took place, 
and Stefania knew all the details. The knife-smith's children being 
found dead in a cellar, their nursemaid dying to the creature's gaze, 
the wise doctor instructing on how to destroy it, the convicted man's 
expedition into the cellar... 


Nobody ever knew what happened to the beast itself. A ghost story 
in her neighborhood said that, every time you saw a new statue 
around the city, it was a victim of the basilisk. It was a fairy tale, 
something made to scare the children, get them to behave. 


This did not change what Stefania was looking at. One-hundred 
meters away from where the September Sun was shining down, 
Stefania Borowski was standing over a dog whose eyes had swollen 
to the size of hen's eggs. Its skin seemed ready to burst open; 
poking it with her noose caused an effluence of pus onto the floor of 
the cave. 


She heard something skitter behind her. 


Tolek bit down on a cracker ration he had taken from the supply 
drop. The rest would be distributed to those at the base, but for now, 


this was his. It was an American cracker, and theirs were the best, 
made with some honey or sugar. 


Kazia's eyes admonished him between setting up traps of Filipinka 
attached to poles at either end of the street. When someone walked 
by, they would knock into them, and the grenade would explode on 
contact with the ground. 


They stared at the cellar door. Stefania had just left, but it filled them 
with unease. Warsaw was an old city, approaching 750 years. It had 
much buried beneath its stones, old conflicts, attempted takeovers, 
the bones of tyrants that marched through and stepped on the 
scythes of the people. The bombings, the siege five years ago, and 
now the Uprising might be bringing it all back to the surface. 


"Where are you, Tula?" Odetka chewed at her finger, keeping her 
sub-machine gun aimed at one end of the street. Poor range, but the 
fire could at least cause some to scatter, or set off the impact 
grenades Kazia was setting up. 


"Heh low the hair!" cried a voice in an American accent. All three of 
them jumped at it, aiming their weapons. From out of one of the few 
intact buildings (which Kazia, with a curse, realized had a back 
entrance) came three men in black uniforms, the leader a blond man 
wearing black leather gloves. "Sprichst du Deutsche? Noh, uf korz 
knot." 


"State your purpose!" Kazia growled, letting off a warning burst. It 
scattered off one of the buildings, and the unknown party ducked. 


"Yew hidyot," growled another voice, this one from a more 
diminutive man with black hair and a Polish widow's peak. He had a 
more natural accent. "He's asking if you soeak German, he's an 
American," this one said in Polish. 


"We don't speak Szkopy!" Kazia growled. "We've got you 
outnumbered, and we have a secret weapon. One that will kill any 
German that toys with the Home Army!" 


The Pole translated for the American. "The Basilisk, yes?" 


"...yes," Tolek's hands shook and he gripped his rifle tighter. "How 
did you know?" 


"We sent Stefania here to retrieve it." 


Stefania kept her eyes shut, relying on her hearing. She held her 
breath to listen for the skittering of the basilisk. She had seen its 
body; a rooster with a lizard's tail and claws, just as the myth said. 
She couldn't help but wonder if it was hatched from a cock's egg, 
like the myth claimed. 


She swung her noose almost at random, trying to grab any part of it. 
She remembered what the American — she thought he was a 
reporter — told her. This creature was dangerous, and if it couldn't 
be destroyed, it could at least be locked in a cage, contained, until 
the war was over and it could be properly studied. 


The American told her that he worked for a Foundation, and they did 
not know the city like she did. It was an international organization, 
he claimed, trying to stop two wars — the war she fought, with 
sabotage and sniper rifles, and the war they fought, with monsters 
and magic. An Occult War, he called it. 


In the dark, she stood still, eyes shut behind protective glasses. The 
basilisk didn't caw, didn't chirp, didn't crow like a cock. It just ran 
about on its little feet, and occasionally tried to peck at her. It came 
from her left, and she began a slow turn towards it. If she spun too 
fast, the mirrors would warp with the apron, and the basilisk would 
not be stunned, and would flee for another attack. Too slow, she 
would be pecked to death by a venomous chicken. 


The basilisk came up on her. Stefania turned, noose wand 
extended, and felt a tug on the end. 


"Why would Stefania agree to this?" Odetka sounded skeptical. "She 
should keep it for the cause." 


"And risk losing her own force?" asked the translator. "She could kill 
everyone in the resistance, from the lowliest peon to... you call her 


Jaga?" 
"Lt. Mileska," Tolek nodded. "She's nice. She's cared for us." 


The American nodded and spoke more things nobody understood, 
until the translator spoke, pointing to the trapdoor. "Things are faster 
down there." 


"Faster?" Tolek asked. 


"Time moves faster. She could have been down there for quite a 
while now." The translator looked at them. "Warsaw is a messy city. 
Both of the wars are making it messier. Once she's out, we must—" 


"You must what?" Stefania asked, emerging from the underground 
with a basilisk, blinders over its eyes, trapped in a noose wand. 


"Stefania!" the American smiled, switching to German, something 
both of them could speak. "It's good to see you again! You have 
your prize?" 


"...yes," Stefania replied in the same language. To her compatriots, 
it must have sounded like she was speaking in a snake's tongue. 
"You'll keep it safe?" 


He nodded back towards the transport, with a swastika painted on 
the side. "We have a cage in there." 


Everyone's heart sank. Stefania's blood became volcanic, and her 
vision bore holes into the side of the transport. "You're. A. German 
organization ?" 


Tolek yelped, and covered his ears, curling into a ball. The 
conversation had taken a turn for the worse; he could tell from tone 
alone. The cowardly soldier remained curled up, whimpering. 


"It's a matter of convenience," the American explained. "They have 
better equipment, we can move through freely through the occupied 
zones. No offense to your forces, but those K-Pattern weapons 
aren't going to work against... well, nevermind." 


Stefania's hand approached the basilisk. "Szkopy were here earlier, 


trying to get it out of the hole themselves." 


"They were looking for it as well," the Foundation agent elaborated. 
"We simply wanted to get to it first. Are you really going to begrudge 
us some espionage?" 


The only word that she could use to describe the American was 
‘traitor’. "They were going to use this as a weapon.” She stared at 
him hard enough that even the basilisk in her hand could have 
turned to stone. "How do | know that you aren't?” 


"You don't, I'll admit," the Nazi licked his lips; his nervousness was 
showing. "You're just going to have to take my word. We will keep 
this specimen secured and contained until the war is over." 


"And then what?" Stefania's hand came up the basilisk's beak, 
towards the blinders. "You'll let it lose on the next threat?" 


"Frau Borowski, please—" he began.