Unfortunately, bleach would have to wait for another day. He 
proceeded to a shaded area of the shop floor, the shelves labeled 
"Dark Fiction", and then to their neighbor, "Darker Fiction". Trailing 
down the aisle, he thumbed along the spines until he found the tome 
he was looking for: Bodart's Radical Reads 2: Working with the 
Newest Edgy Titles for Teens. 


He flipped it open. The pages were hollowed out to contain another, 
smaller book, bound in featureless black leather. Adam pried it 
open, started at the top of the first page, and read aloud. 


"Lorem ipsum dolor sit..." As he began, a shimmering halo started to 
envelop him from the head down. He could feel himself become less 
real, less anchored. As he continued to read, warmth propagated 
within him, agitated air particles displaced by his coming into being 
someplace else. 


"_..id est librarum." As he finished, the book vanished from his 
hands. He was now among the warm, orange corridors of the 
Wanderer's Library. He could swear that the Ways get more 
complicated each time he has to use them. 


A cursory glance revealed that he was in the portion of the Library 
dedicated to cataloguing alternate-universe publications of Spy vs. 
Spy. Luckily, there was a kiosk nearby, and Adam began to 
approach it. 


At the center of the circular desk was a radially symmetrical, many- 
armed, many-eyed Librarian. Adam thought the Librarian was 
looking the other way, but when it cleared its throat(s) he realized it 
was waiting for him to speak. "Oh, uh. Intersection of... Canadian 
legal documents pertaining to the navy and... rituals and artifacts 
pertaining to sovereign states, please." 


Silence rang for a moment, before an intense ringing noise took over 
as the entire geography of the library began to rotate around the 
circular kiosk, and a portion of the floor around it, quickly becoming 
an unrecognizeable blur. Adam was just getting dizzy when it 
stopped. 


The Librarian raised a finger(s), pointing to Adam's left. As he turned 
to enter the shelves, Adam waved. "Thanks. Have a nice day." He 
couldn't tell if it responded. 


Adam rematerialized on the wet sidewalk outside the roach motel, 
clutching a marriage certificate and a crude crayon drawing of a sea 
fort. 


The skybox sun had already set for today, but the bike rack was still 
mostly empty. Probably for the best. Adam wouldn't want any of the 
other residents disturbing him while he worked tonight. 


The nice lady who runs the motel let Adam stay for free, so long as 
his minor golems helped keep ecto-emanations from gumming up 
the washing machines. It saved her the trouble of subscribing to 
Golemancy United's service, and he got a decent place to stay. All 
in all, it was a pretty good deal. 


His room left a bit to be desired, though. Discarded papers, soda 
cans, and plastic bags cluttered up the desk space next to his 
thaumic typewriter, and the room's lights were perpetually disabled, 
replaced by an ambient red glow that emitted from the air itself, a 
personal touch that assisted in minor castings but wasn't optimal for 
actually living in the room. 


Adam smoothed out the sheets on the twin bed a bit, making room 
to set his papers on the surface. 


First, the crayon drawing, perhaps fit for a fridge somewhere. He 
had sensed the latent power in it as soon as he passed it in the 
library. With some minor effort, it could be used as a focus to raise 
an Aeircan Energy Field, centered on his room. 


Adam placed his hand on the paper. 
Wax and paper, but they hold something more. A connection to a 
time only half-remembered, if it had ever existed in the first place. 
Don't you know what that feels like? 
The drawing was open to him. 
A memory. Some young bixby draws with crayon. 
His magic, sharpened by a life of practice, tentacle of occult sharp 
like a knife, probing into it, finding what was there. 


A creation. Nothing else touches that impenetrable moment. 


The energy traveled up his hand. It began to fill the room. 


An acquiescence. The moment can live again. Take the power. 


He breathed in, then out. And the ritual was complete. 


The drawing sat there, apparently unchanged, but the energy of its 
past had been unfurled. For the next hour, this motel room was, in 
thaumic terms, a sovereign country. Hopefully, that'll be satisfactory. 


He turned his attention to the second piece of paper. A marriage 
certificate, celebrating the lawful union of Jeannine P. McCormick 
and AAAAFALSE QR DENIED back in 2013. 


Hopefully still valid, because Adam was about to file for divorce. 


He typed idly on his typewriter, and the characters appeared ona 
nearby sheet of paper. The attempt didn’t need to be fully accurate. 
Hopefully it would be convincing. 


Adam pulled the page up, setting it on his desk. An official filing. 


It took fifteen minutes of waiting on the bed, reading and rereading 
the paperwork to ensure he hadn't mucked it up, before a soft 
rustling outside his room predicated a paper slipped beneath the 
door. Adam snapped it up. 


CEASE AND DESIST ORDER 


The witness holds that, in the course of lawful or unlawful 
actions in the affidavit has no path by which a SOLUTION 
may be settled. In witness of overwhelming cruelty of the 
accused party and NO MISUNDERSTANDING as to 
intentions lawful or unlawful... 


Well, now he had its attention. Adam rushed back to his typewriter. 
An official document, doesn't matter what, granting rights of 
amendment to legal entities which pursue due litigation against the 
Person's Republic of Adam. 


Ten minutes after that, the first amendment appeared. 


HERETO WHEREFORE does the undersigned party 
seek UNAUTHORIZED PREDATION against sovereign 
actions partaken by a THIRD PARTY of which there is 
no LAWFUL RECOURSE in path of... 


Adam's fingers clicked rapidly, typing a response. 


Hi, I'm Adam. | read about you in the Prometheus 
Intranet. | need your help. 


Stay vague, stay convincing. The geas still ached through Adam's 
brain. 


HEREBY the QUESTIONING PARTY has been DENIED 
in the process of amelioration which has been concluded 
in SOLITUDE... 


His eyes narrowed. 


| am a necromancer. If you tell me how, | might be able 
to summon you to me. Give you increased influence in 
this city. Wouldn't you like that? 


And the ball was in their court now. 


For fifteen minutes, there was nothing. The Aerican field was 
weakening. If Adam failed to catch their attention with this, his plan 
could be dead in the water. 


And then a rustling under the door. A packet of papers passed 
under. 


A patent, filed for a process by which an informational entity is given 
increased ambulatory ability within a pocket dimension, in exchange 
for unspecified assistance. 


Adam smiled. Two down, one to go. 


One week earlier... 
December 1st, 2023 


submarine or torpedo. Contact did not respond to sonobuoy drops or 
active sonar pings. When the contact crossed into the 18km total 
underwater exclusion zone, contact was classified hostile. Sonar 
recorded sounds of an undersea missile launch. Basisty broke away 
and fired a Type 53 torpedo toward the attacker. Missiles of 
unknown configuration were observed breaking the water 15 
seconds later, flying at an altitude of 1.8 meters at a velocity of 0.92 
Mach. No radar emissions were detected from the missiles and they 
did not respond to launched chaff or flares. Both missiles were 
engaged by Basisty's 3K95 "Kinzhal" surface-to-air missiles and 
Kashtan point defense systems, and were destroyed at 1800 meters 
and 210 meters from impact. Afterward, hostile could be heard 
engaging in evasive maneuvers, followed by four closely-spaced 
explosions and the sound of a submarine disintegrating. The identity 
and intentions of the attacker have not yet been determined. 


In light of this incident, the acoustic sensor net should be expanded 
and additional patrol and defense assets acquired. Acquisition of 
undersea retaliatory capability advised. 


Addendum 741b: Further analysis of the sonar recordings taken by 
SCPS Basisty during Incident I1741-C has revealed anomalous 
acoustic signatures not consistent with any known form of 
propulsion, including magnetohydrodynamic drive. Anomalous 
transients reminiscent of [REDACTED] are also audible during the 
breakup of the unknown attacker. 


Document 741-A: An interview conducted between Foundation 
researcher [NAME WITHHELD] and an American intelligence agent 
working for [REDACTED], relevant portion transcribed below. 


SCP Researcher: Why did you decide to come forward? 
The US government sat on this information for 30 years. 


American agent: You've seen those reports - Project 
[REDACTED], for fuck's sake? We knew that part, too. 
How the directors didn't make the connection is beyond 
me. That, and the stuff the pulled up? Yeah. The 
other part you don't hear about is what some of the 
research team died of. [DATA EXPUNGED] doesn't 
naturally do that. And the crewmen we buried? Just 


Two days after he signed the contract, he received a message on 
his phone. 


"Consultant Adam Rowe, please report to your local Redzone office 
for work." 


When he arrived at the office, a large, glass building made of right 
angles and rectangles, a receptionist had welcomed him in and 
pointed him to a concrete staircase leading into the earth. A 
basement. How odd. 


When he made it down the stairs, Samantha was waiting for him. 
"So nice to see you again, Mr. Rowe." 


"You say that like you didn't call me here." The basement was small, 
smooth concrete walls enclosing several cheap plastic folding tables 
set up in the center. "A basement in Three Portlands?" 


"It was custom-built. Closer to the core, makes it easier to access 
other Spaces. Or so I'm told." 


Adam folded his jacket, setting it on a table surface. "So, what do I... 
uh." 


She was holding out a vial of something, covered with a plastic 
screw-lid. The liquid inside shined blue. "You'll need to drink this." 


He took the vial. It was about the size of his thumb. "Focusing 
solution?" 


She nodded. "Of a very particular sort, yes. Should bring you close 
enough to observe the pocket dimension, without putting you inside 
it. A form of protection, as it were." 


"Right. Can't just... dive in." Adam paced a lap around the ring of 
tables, vial in his palm. "No sigil machines. Is that why you need 
me?" 


She smiled. "Observant. Our sigil machines were overloaded in our 
last attempt to breach the dimension. A natural talent like you, well... 
you won't need machines like that, will you?" 


"For, uh, most things, yeah." Adam shook his head, getting out the 
last of his reservations. 


He unscrewed the lid on the vial and turned it over his mouth. The 
blue slime slid down his throat, and he could feel the pulse of a 
beating world wash over him. 


His knees grew weak. He collapsed, into a plastic chair that must 
have been moved beneath him. 


He was travelling, but he was staying in the same place. He 
skimmed the surface of another world, his hands creating ripples in 
the water- no, the fabric of the boundary. Adam was in two places at 
once. 


He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Samantha, speaking. "What 
do you see?" 


Adam opened his mouth and felt the blue mist seep out. "There's... 
an egg-shaped envelope, full of souls. It's pressurized. So dense. 
Who... who are these people?" 


The hand moved off his shoulder. "Oath-breakers. Dead employees. 
People who don't read the fine print.” 


He was gliding between worlds, limbs flat like blades. Void burned 
his skin but he accelerated more. "You just... take people? Who 
disobey?" 


A sigh from behind him. "Adam, this is the security business. 
Without the trust of others, Redzone has nothing. You can't begin to 
understand." 


Adam inhaled the skin of worlds, lungs filling with blue dust. "I think | 
could." He started to cough, and the vision left him. 


Samantha was opposite him, across a table. She pushed a plastic 
cup of water at him. Cautious, he took a sip, to calm his throat. 
"Thanks." 


She folded her arms. "What do you think?" 


He put the cup down. "I think... a union is possible. The pocket 
dimension is close to overload, it could... could burst. In days, 
even." 


Samantha's face twisted. "We don't have the resources to remake 
such a thing. We'll need... specialists." She was making a list to 
herself. 


"So, what... what happens if you can't fix it?” 


She nodded. "If we can't fix it before what you say, we won't have a 
choice. We'll starve it of energy, shut it down, cut it off from 
Portlands. Wait a few years for the souls to forget. And then we'll 
start it up again." 


"Oh," Adam said. "Okay." 
An egg full of tortured souls. A few days before the chance is gone. 
"Well... let me know if you need me before my geas runs out." 


And Adam quickly and quietly made his way out. 


December 8th, 2023 


Adam stood at the base of the marble steps built up to the looming 
facade. On either side of him, thick pillars rose up to meet the 
sloped roof, a singular courthouse looking over Three Portlands. 


It looked entirely different from the last time Adam visited, save for a 
single static detail: the bronze nameplate hung over the door, upon 
which "E. Rowe" was inscribed. 


He knocked on the door. It opened on its own a moment later, 
revealing a dimly-lit hallway. In the center of the hallway, a man with 
sunken eyes and a grizzled beard stood. 


Adam waved. "Hey, dad." 


Eustace Rowe squinted. "Come in." 


The old man led him down the hall, straight to a circular chamber 
that must have been the kitchen. Eustace had been cutting up some 
blood avocados, and the stained knife was still on the cutting board. 


Adam swiveled, examining the building's smooth construction. "You, 
uh... changed it a lot since | was last here." 


The man leaned against a granite counter. "These changes will 
stick, this time. What are you doing here?" 


"Oh, I'm just, uh... well, | wanted to talk, and..." 


His father cut him off. "Is this about your boyfriend? Something 
happen to him?" 


Adam's brow furrowed for a moment. "No, he's... he's in Europe, 
actually. We're thinking of, uh, moving here. To Three Portlands." 


"Europe. Typical." He rolled his eyes. Adam ignored it. 


"But | actually came to ask if you had an... electronic exorcism 
device." 


His breath rasped when he laughed, satisfied in his assumption's 
approximate accuracy. "And why is that?" 


The gears of geas locked up in Adam's mind. "I'm staying in a roach 
motel, and the room's full of bed-demons. | only need it for a day." 
He didn't even need to /ie, the words just gushed as if they had been 
the truth all along. 


"Oh?" 


"Yeah, | figured you might have one lying around. From the old 
days. Right?" 


"| just might." He shifted his weight against the counter turning to 
face Adam more fully. "Tell me, though. What do you know about 
Redzone Security?" 


His blood chilled. His face couldn't betray anything. "Not much, 
really." Adam couldn't control himself. The non-disclosure geas ruled 


him. 
"Really? And how about that job they offered you?" 


"| don't know what you're talking about." Adam was frozen in place. 
His body wasn't his. The probability field of the geas had collapsed 

solely to the possibility of denial, and Adam could not act other than 
to deny. 


"Think | can't tell when you're in Portlands, Adam? Think | couldn't 
smell that geas on you when you walked in the door?" He was 
smiling. It was a game. "Fucking pathetic. You should know better." 


Adam's body was silent. His mind was locked. 


From behind Eustace, an object not unlike an oversized tape 
recorder came from the door, propelled by some unseen force. It 
landed in the old mage's outstretched hand, and he then held it out 
to Adam's front.