There were no crickets around to fill the night with their calming 
chirping, all was quiet, safe for Robert’s snoring. The anartist was 
lying on one of two mattresses in the narrow room, turning in his 
sleep. Steven was resting next to the provisional bed, currently in his 
inactive state. Despite Robert being its creator, he himself had no 
idea how exactly it functioned. All that mattered was that it was an 
easy-to-keep and fun pet, one that didn't mind being kicked by its 
feisty owners at times. Its resilience was key to being a favored 
entity. 


Some rustling made Thomas turn around to his cousin. 


“What's with ya and your goddamn lack of sleep? Get back to bed, 
you woke me up!”, Robert groaned. 


“Just smoking, sorry dude”, Thomas apologized meekly. 
“In a minute.” 


Robert grumbled and turned to the other side as he pulled the 
blanket over his head. 

Thomas shrugged at that and looked back up at the sky. The world’s 
gone mad, it seemed to him. Ever since that catastrophe in New 
York, the Man’s efficiency at dealing with the situation dropped 
significantly. No one bothered with cover-ups since that event, the 
focus was now keeping everyone safe and finding a solution to the 
problem. 


Thomas’s eyes scanned the far too many star constellations before 
eventually resting on the moon. 

Despite the catastrophes here on earth, no one had been prepared 
for that. It just happened, from one moment to the other, and millions 
died as a result. 

He sighed, finished the cigarette and flicked the small nub away, 
granting the satellite one last look. The way it was looming over the 
planet, far closer than ever, not even spherical any longer... 

He shuddered, unnerved by the thought, and pulled drapes before 
the window to cover the awful sight. 


He wouldn't find any more sleep this night. 


Though | Walk Through the Valley 


Jarnary 20, 708 

This is the bitterest winter | can recall. | fear that | will not 
be able to make it back through the pass before the 
snows Close it. | can still turn back; Redmont is four days 
behind me. But if | do, | will not reach Rachel and Abe 
until the thaw. | have supplies for the journey, and the 
mule is sturdy. | will press on. 


Jarnary 21, 708 

The snow has started in earnest. | don’t know if the pass 
will still be open. It would be incautious to try it at this 
point. There should be a way to the south, but that 
passes near an area declared blighted by the Holy 
Foundation. | don’t always trust them on that sort of 
thing. Most times I’ve had to ignore their warnings, any 
peril has long since rusted, decayed, or departed. They 
are nothing if not cautious. | do not have that luxury. | will 
take the southern road. I’ve known it to be traveled 
without incident, but never the mountain road after winter 
strikes. I’d rather skirt a forgotten and (Jack willing) 
absent menace than face the certainty of an icy death. 


Jarnary 23, 708 

The road is in poor condition, but I’m making good time, | 
think. This takes me between rather than over the 
mountains. | should have ample supplies, even if the 
weather does delay me. | should be a three to five day 
journey from Gargestown, and from there, it’s only the 
highways back to New Sant. 


Jarnary 24, 708 

| seem to have entered the region the Foundation 
Fathers warned of. | am safe, and | see no obvious 
dangers, but this is a terrible place. There is no life here, 


nor signs that there ever was. No pikas scurry away as | 
ride past, no trees jut up from the ground. Even the snow 
does not cling to the ground here, which is warm to the 
touch. In the silence, | can hear a distant rumbling noise, 
and | see an immense shadow looming over the 
mountains to the east. | do not know what it is, but | will 
not breathe easy until | pass beyond its still and 
oppressive presence. Those mountains are similarly 
scoured of snow and life. To the west and north, the 
snow fields start again. The road still heads south, and | 
can only hope | will leave this dead land soon. Should 
tragedy befall me during the night, and this diary is ever 
found, then let be known that | loved my dear wife 
Rachel Arnold and our child Abraham Arnold more than 
life itself. 


Jarnary 25, 708 

Last night passed without incident, although also without 
much sleep. The barrenness grows no less unsettling 
with continued exposure. Fortunately, | believe | see the 
reflection of snow in the distance, and | should make it 
past this blighted land tomorrow. But | found two curious 
things along the road. Manuscripts: one a single sheet of 
vellum, the other a bound book written in the language of 
the ancients. Though the book would likely fetch an 
impressive price, | left it. ’'ve seen enough to know better 
than to disturb anything in a place like this. | could read 
the paper, and have here transcribed the message: 
“Traveler, fear not. Accept salvation, no matter the form. 
| was once as you are.” A rather ominous message, but it 
is too late at night, and the mule is too tired, to carry on 
to the snowline. Once again, | give all my love to Rachel 
and Abe. 


Jarnary 26, 708 

The mule is gone. | don’t know what happened, but | 
woke up and it wasn’t there. | imagine | would have been 
woken by a struggle. There were patches of fur and and 
what might have been blood on the ground. | don’t know 
why | wasn’t taken. Perhaps a mule is meal enough for 


Subject: SCP-1363-1-A 

Photographed Activity: Being interviewed through D-89235. 
Photo Result: Two subjects, identified as H D andL S_, 
standing in front of the Lady Godiva Device, smiling. D-89235 is 
seen sitting at the edge of the photograph, smoking a cigarette. 


Subject: SCP-1370 

Photographed Activity: Threatening the photographer with 
dismemberment. 

Photo Result: Ruins which can be identified as the subterranean 
room housing SCP-1370's containment display, which is now 
exposed to the surface. Massive, rusted clockworks drenched in a 
greasy rain dominate the landscape. Smog obscures the sky, except 
for one area where a tower of pipes and gears appears to be 
reaching towards the full moon. There is no sign of SCP-1370. 


Subject: SCP-1424 
Photographed Activity: Pacing in its containment cell. 
Photo Result: No change. 


Subject: SCP-1454-3 

Photographed Activity: Watching a televised football game 
between [REDACTED] and [REDACTED]. 

Photo Result: All four members of SCP-1454 are present in the 
photograph: one is attending the football game in person, one is 
sleeping, one is using a toilet, and one is engaging a Foundation 
security guard in a fistfight. 


Subject: SCP-1459 

Photographed Activity: Stored in its containment vault. 

Photo Result: Two photographs were produced. The first depicted 
the photographer bludgeoning a Doberman Pinscher puppy with 
SCP-978. The second photo depicted an oatmeal raisin cookie. 
Oatmeal raisin is the photographer's preferred cookie type. 


Subject: SCP-1468-18 

Photographed Activity: Carving the text of The No. 7 Ladies’ 
Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith. 

Photo Result: No change Careful analysis of the picture reveals 
that SCP-1468-18 is in significantly improved physical condition. 


whatever malevolence dwells here. The supplies were 
also left untouched. | will proceed on foot for as long as | 
am able. | am so sorry. | only wanted to see you sooner. 


Jarnary 27, 708 

| have reached the edge of the snowline and | fear my 
journey may become somewhat harder now. | had not 
appreciated the amount of snow that fell during my 
passage through this cursed land. | will make camp here 
one final night, then set out for what will likely be the final 
stage of my journey. 


Jarnary 28, 708 

O horrors! Whatever the true nature of that place, it was 
worse than | had feared. The mule returned. | awoke to 
find a figure near the edge of my camp. It was 
unmistakably the mule, but terribly, grotesquely altered. 
It stood on two legs, with cylindrical devices supporting it 
in a mockery of human stature. Metal bands held its 
torso in a state that its ribs ought to have rendered 
impossible. Whatever did this must have removed those 
ribs, as the hide around the bands looked torn and 
matted with blood. There was a reddish light glowing 
from inside its collapsed chest. And its face! The long 
ears were snipped off, and its muzzle itself had been 
removed and replaced with a polished metal plate. The 
thing that had once been my trusty mule was no longer. | 
ran. Off into the snow, carrying only what | had brought 
with me. It is cold, and | do not expect to make it, but 
there are things | fear more than death. Worst of all was 
the way it looked at me. | expected pain, the pleading 
gaze animals assume as death becomes a mercy. But it 
had a tenderness in its eyes like | have only ever seen in 
yours, Rachel. 


Jarnary 29, 708 

It is very cold. | do not have much food. | am beyond the 
reach of that dead and barren land, but | have emerged 
into another. The snowfields stretch as far the eye can 
see in all directions. | will travel as far as | can. 


Jarnary 29, 708 

| have to stop just for a minute. The only thing but snow 
is my tracks behind me. The world is white and there is 
no sound. 


Jarnary 30 

| can’t feel the cold. Is that bad? It’s gray now. | also 
can’t smell anything, unless snow smells like nothing. 
There’s nothing here. 


Jarnary 31? 

Abe, was that you | saw climbing the mountain in the 
distance? For shame, boy, not helping your father move 
faster through the gray land. | will continue as far as | am 
able. | smell the nothing. It is all around me. 


32? 

| had to stop again and, | ran into the cold again. | asked 
it for my eyes back but it said no. | think | didn’t ask it 
very nicely, because it said it would have my leg too for 
impudence. | don’t think that’s very fair. I’ve given seeing 
hearing smelling tasting to the gray nothing. | want 
feeling for me. 


33 

Now cut that out! You know | love you, so accept my 
help. I've made everything just the way you like it. So 
come to me, Abe, and I'll keep you safe like any father 
ought to do. You're a great son, boy. You'll do me proud. 
If | could walk over to you up in the sky it would be fine. 
But the nothing tells me | may not walk that path. 


34 
| have to stop for just a minute. 


Febry 2? 

| do not know how long | was gone for, nor how close to 
death | came. | did not escape unscathed — far from it. It 
is hard to grip the pen, and my right leg does not feel to 
the touch like a leg should. | have not yet tried to put my 
weight on it, but | do not have high hopes. The greater 


issue, however, is what my fate will be. My rescuer was 
the thing that was once my mule. | have been returned to 
the blighted land. It stands before me, as horrible as 
before, looking at me with that same awful kindness. And 
it appears to be offering me food. 


Gruel, but surprisingly appetizing. Or perhaps that is 
simply hunger speaking. Why was | saved? Was it some 
lingering loyalty from my pack animal of four years? Or is 
whatever rules this place saving me for some more 
sinister agenda? For some reason, my wagon is nearby, 
standing just inside the snowline. More figures are 
approaching. | cannot quite tell from this distance, but 
they do not look human. 


One is a butchered elk, resembling the once-mule. 
Another appears more metal than flesh; | do not know 
what it once was. The last appears to be a mass of 
several dozen ground squirrels, grafted together by 
silvery bands into a crude simulacrum of the human 
form. It is hard to look at without a wrench of nausea. 
Between them they bear a palanquin. They stop a short 
distance away, and my rescuer gestures between the 
cart and the palanquin, then between the snow fields to 
the south and the mountains to the east. It is a choice. | 
can either brave the snowfields once more or allow these 
things to bear me to their hidden master. Forgive me, 
Rachel. You cannot imagine what it was like out there. | 
cannot face the gray nothing again. 


We have just reached the summit of this barren 
mountain, and | can see clearly what loomed over them. 
It is a tower, a massive, gleaming tower stretching higher 
than | can believe. Around the base, there is a forge- 
glow. | do not know what these things intend, but | fear | 
may have chosen poorly. The palanquin has begun its 
descent into this hellish valley. If | am able, | will continue 
to relate what may befall me within. 


Day One 
It is marvelous up here. | can see for miles, and the air is 


so clear and brisk. And when | have my fill of the vista, | 
can walk down inside the Tower to join the others of the 
Honored. No sleep-stalkers, no dybbuks, no fleshsmiths 
can threaten me here. The cold of this winter can do me 
no harm. | will not starve, | will not parch, | will not want 
for anything. There is no trick, there is no hidden peril. 
Push past the appearance of the Servants. Accept 
salvation, no matter the form. Come join me, my family. | 
cast my testament to the winds, in the hopes that it will 
reach you. | love you, and so does the Tower. 


Thousand-Tooth Rat Trap 


LEVEL-3//TITAN STAR QUIXOTIC/MOONDROP 
INNATE//OPDIR 


IMMEDIATE CEASE ALL 


RECEIVE PRIORITY ORDER 
ISSUE VERIFIED: OPCOM 


NEW OVERSEER COUNCIL IN EFFECT 

DETAIN ALL FORMER OVERSEERS 

TREAT AS ANOMALOUS / TYPE UNKNOWN 
DETAIN ALL RESISTING PERSONNEL 

TREAT AS HOSTILE AGENTS 

ENGAGEMENT PARAMETERS: 14-ULTRAVIOLET 


VERIFY AS RECEIVED ON SECURE BAND 


LEVEL-3//TITAN STAR QUIXOTIC/MOONDROP 
INNATE//OPDIR 


The corridors of Site-12 were long, white, and dusty. Egret stood at 
an intersection, wondering what the place had been like before it 
was decommissioned. Researchers in long white coats might have 
walked down these halls, followed by technicians pushing heavy 
carts of oddities along. There might have been something like 
normalcy there once, or at least whatever passed for normalcy 
within the Foundation. 


"Well, this is it, | guess," said Egret. Her heart felt surprisingly light 
as she looked at her hands, one empty and the other clutching her 
favorite pistol. Both were rough and scarred, and their deeper 
creases were lined with dried blood. Each was a good symbol of a 
good life as far as she was concerned. 


She looked at the other hands sprouting from inside the heavy, 
unbuttoned coat draped around her shoulders. Some were pale and 
sinewy, others covered in fine fur, more still with the wrong numbers 
of fingers and joints. Together, they bore the armory she had spent 
half her life assembling, each limb shifting according to the faint 
currents of her thoughts. Strange symbols of a strange life. 


Hold them off. That was what the Overseer told Egret before giving 
her the coat and descending deep into the fortified bunker with 
Dhole in tow. Delay her foes. Wear them down. Half their number, 
then half them again. The Overseer seemed diminished at the time, 
more so than months without sleep ever left her, but that was beside 
the point. Egret would serve as she always served. She would do 
the right thing. It didn't matter if a tide of nightmares washed through 
the reinforced doors of the abandoned Site, or if it was stormed by a 
horde of every enemy the Foundation ever made. She would fight, 
and bleed, and die in those whitewashed halls if she had to.