For a time, the figure did not move. The master dropped the 
consort's lifeless body to the floor, where he was gathered by his 
weeping fellows. The Prince said nothing, looked at nothing. He only 
wished to be away from here, back at his games, back at- 


Indeed. Harak, son of the Third Brood. No other has delivered 
so many into my halls. Such I shall give you. You have filled 
them to the bursting. 


His master seemed to straighten at that, as if the All-Death was his 
own master and he but an apprentice, awaiting praise. It was an odd 
sight. 


Consider this, when the day comes you to join them. For me to 
take you to them. 


And just as fast, his master deflated, all strength seemingly leaving 
his body. The Prince has never before seen him thus. 


This is my gift to you, on the day of your birth, insect. | bid you 
contemplate on it. Until next year. 


And the figure was gone. The Prince gaped at the empty space it 
was in only moments ago, and then at his master, who sunk back to 
his throne like a dying man. He was actually shivering, by creation! 


Why did he want the Prince to witness all of this? What was the 
point of it all? 


The Crimson Monarch let out a soft breath, and turned his gaze to 
the Prince. 


"| did it so you remember. Conspire against me, and all shall be 
yours. My worlds, my servants, my power. The fear of all creation. 
Dominion over all." 

"And this." 


Hub 


Therapy 


The tip of the knife was plunged into his ear. 


It was an odd sensation. Sure, there was pain, incredible, exquisite 
agony, but that stopped at the surface of things. Below was the 
sensation of cool steel severing skin and sinew, and the sudden 
warmness of leaking blood stood at such sharp contrast to the 
metal. Below even that was the deeper understanding that a vital 
part of him was being destroyed, that he was somehow forever... 
compromised. Never to be whole again. 


All these feelings. All these stark impressions. He couldn't help but 
find them fascinating, even as he wreathed and squirmed against 
his bonds. 


"Do you see what | meant now? Do you understand?" 


The stranger loomed above him, her masked face half hidden in 
shadows. The long beak of her mask hovered slightly above his 
forehead, threatening to poke out his eye if she leaned any closer. 


"Gah \" 


The stranger raised a gloved hand to her chin and rubbed it 
thoughtfully. "Not quiet yet, | see. Not to worry, we'll get there yet. 
Hold steady now." 


With that, she plunged a second blade into his other ear. This one 
was serrated, and he could feel each of its each teeth massaging his 
auditory canal as it slid towards his eardrum. Again there was pain, 
and again he could sense something beneath it. Something... else. 
A lesson? 


As he considered this, he screamed some more. Some things could 
simply not be avoided. 


After the first two weeks of testing of SCP-619 (in which 407 trials 
were run), 53% of all retrieved bills had the word "STOP", 
"PLEASE", "WHY", or "NO"S written across their surface. Analysis 
has shown the words to be written in optically variable ink. The size 
and handwriting of the letters is suggestive of very limited expertise. 


On trial 588, a single twenty-dollar bill was retrieved. In contrast to 
previous bills on which writing was found, the writing on this bill was 
small and legible, and spanned multiple sentences. It is reprinted 
here in its entirety: 


we surrender. you've taken the whole village and now 
people from other cracks and other couches are pulled 
out. whole families. if it's revenge for the dye packs and 
matches. you have to understand that we don't have 
other ways of stopping you. WE DON'T LIKE HURTING 
YOU but we're scared and it's all we have. we gave them 
to as many as we could in case you tried to have us 
spent. just tell us what you want and we'll give it to you. 
think of the coins 


do you want humans? we can get you three whole 
heads. we could even pool together all the fingers and 
toes left over or open up the graves if you want. 
nonsequential unrelated dna no questions. just send a 
$20 and talk to our other $20 and we can make it work. i 
don't know if you care at all but all we want is for you to s 


Another eight trials revealed the absence of any further writing. 
Special Containment Procedures have been revised. Testing on 
SCP-619 is suspended. 


Footnotes 

1. Turning the pocket inside-out or removing it from SCP-619 
negates its anomalous properties. Damage to SCP-619 may be 
repaired with conventional materials without altering its anomalous 
properties. 

2. Requests to induce a change to US currency to test this potential 
temporal anomaly have been denied. 

3. Could be either "NO" or "ON". 


"Do you see now? Do you understand now?" There was a hint of 
imploring in the stranger's voice, the very slightest tremor in her 
voice. 


"The pain..!" 


"Yes! Yes, the pain! What does it tell you, beloved? What does it 
mean to you?" 


He could feel hot tears streaming down his lacerated cheeks. Those 
had endured the woman's treatment earlier. The salt stung as 
wetness dripped over barely scabbed wounds. 


"Tears! No no no, not tears! This teaches us nothing! This means 
nothing! Completely within established parameters, utterly normal! 
No cure, no cure!" The woman was now pacing around the dim 
chamber, obviously vastly irritated. He wished he could help her, 
wished he could take the hurt from her voice. But all he could do 
was to bemoan his own. It was shameful. 


"We were so close! So close! All of this, all of it for nothing!" 


With that, the woman returned to the chair he was tied to and 
carefully drew out both blades from his ears. He was surprised he 
could still hear her with all of the damage. His vision was dimming 
as pain threaten to overwhelm his senses utterly. 


"You sleep now. We'll continue tomorrow. Knives obviously 
inefficient, should've known, should've known. Too hung up on 
traditions, was not thinking clearly. My fault, my fault. You sleep 
now." 


Darkness swallowed him, and relief from the pain. Why did he find it 
so... disappointing? 


He did not know. 
Session Note #1213-A-55 


Today's experiments have been an utter failure. 
Beginning to fear | am losing my touch, and perhaps 
more than that. Must retain grip on what | am. Believed 


old ways will reinforce this, was mistaken. Must attempt 
something new tomorrow, must advance, not retreat. 
Must not become like Surgeon. To lose identity and 
meaning, to find enjoyment in what should only be 
necessity. It is good that they have taken him, locked him 
up like the animal he now is. Lost all awareness of what 
he is doing and why, believes he has succeeded without 
understanding in what. "He is the cure", Hah! His 
conduct shames us all. To dabble with the dead... no, 
must not think of this further. Only the work matters, yes, 
only my labor. 


Must not forget this lesson, yes. Tomorrow shall be 
something new. This one will be cured. 


"Wake up, wake up! Time to try again now." 


Cold water splashed against his face, and he awoke with a startled 
gasp. 


"Yesterday was a failure. My fault. Something different now, 
different. Hold still.” 


The masked woman was there again, holding some sort of vice in 
her gloved hands. He did not struggle as she inserted his head into 
it. He was strangely giddy, almost excited. He did not know why. 


"Good, good. Improvement, no squirming. Very proud. Open mouth 
now." 


He did, felt her inserting something into it. He could not see what it 
was, but he felt it slide down his throat. It was dry and chalky, almost 
like a big pill. 


He could feel something was wrong right away. His eyes began to 
burn and tear, his skin was itching terribly, but the very worst of it 
was his throat and stomach. They felt as dry as ancient bone, as if 
they have never sensed the touch of water. He tried to scream, but 
his vocal cords were like dried leather straps, unresponsive and 
useless. 


"Dehumidifying, new technique. Very modern, very modern." She 
was leaning close to him again, peering closely into rapidly drying 
eyeballs. "What do you feel?" 


"Nngh, frngh!" 


"No, no talk. Not important, | can see myself. Focus on sensation, 
see through it, see below it. Focus." 


He tried. This pain was nothing like what he experienced yesterday, 
nor any of the countless days before it. Though the pain the blades 
inflicted was a layered thing, it simply could not compare. This 
agony rang in every cell of his body, the desperate need for 
moisture radiating like the sun's heat through every tissue. He could 
imagine individual cells drying out and dying, could almost smell his 
skin dissolving into coarse powder. Such sensations! 


"Excellent! You are close now, very close now!" 


Yes, she was right! He have never experienced such a thing before! 
His awareness of his own body increased to level he has never even 
imagined possible. Everything was pain, and he was everything! The 
world itself was crumbling around him, reality torn away and 
mulched and refined. All of existence shared his agony at this very 
moment, and so he was one with it, one with all. The world was his! 
All of it was worth it, all of it was worth it! Just like he was promised, 
like- 


His body collapsed on itself. With no moisture at all left in it, he 
crumbled into a pile of desiccated skin and empty, crumbling organs. 
His last impression was that of the masked woman reached for him 
in dismay, desperately trying to stabilize his dying form. He tried to 
reach for her, to tell her that everything was alright. To thank her for 
all she did for him. But his mouth no longer worked, and his tongue 
was a black, shriveled thing in it. It was too late for that. He was 
going away now. The world was drifting away from him, all sensation 
and pain leaving with it. He hated to see it go. 


As he died, his only regret was that he was never able to tell her 
what she did for him. 


Session Note #1213-A-56 


Lost patient 1213 today. Unfortunate side-effect of new 
therapy, could not be avoided. Prior to death, patient 
showed promising signs of deepened understanding, 
though the rapid degeneration of his speech capabilities 
prevents me from making a more accurate assessment. 
New dehumidifying treatment possess necessary depth 
of sensation, but may prove too rapidly lethal to be 
viable. Must attempt again with next patient, this time 
without attempting the knives first. Possibly weakened 
patient 1213 too much prior to last experiment. Must 
learn to avoid old habits, attempted knives too many 
times, inefficient. Must learn to control more primal 
urges, that is the way to madness. Must not become like 
Surgeon, must not go too far away, must not believe in 
my own righteousness. Retain purpose. 


Still, today was progress, must not regret progress. 
Patient 1213 showed advanced signs of positive mental 
assimilation towards end of treatment, another positive 
sign. All effort goes towards the cure. Through pain, 
understanding. Through understanding, peace. Through 
peace, healing and enlightenment. | must always 
remember what | am, and why | am here for. Do not let 
guilt consume me. Do not become like Surgeon and find 
relish in my work. Work only for understanding, peace, 
healing, enlightenment. Remember that | am Therapist. 


Remember that | must make them become the cure. 


Hub 


Painless 


"So you can cure me?" 


The doctor rubbed his forehead then rearranged his heavy plastic 
spectacles. They were supposed to compensate for his missing 
mask, but he found that all they really did was remind him of its 
absence. 


"I'm sorry, perhaps | did not explain myself correctly. As | said 
before, | cannot cure you, of pain or of anything else." 


"But..." 


The woman sitting on the other side of his desk was in a pitiful state. 
Her skin, which might have once been a healthy light brown, was 
now pale and sallow, hanging loosely over protruding bones. Her 
dark eyes were clouded with pain of many different varieties. She 
set slumped in the comfortable armchair the doctor reserved for his 
patients, as if trying to appear smaller than she really was. Despite 
its being a hot summer day, she wore a heavy, long-sleeved blouse. 
The doctor didn't need to roll up those sleeves to tell why. 


"That does not mean | can't do anything to help you. | do require, 
however, that you understand the nature of the treatment you will 
receive." 


"Um... okay?" 


They never understood when he first explained it to them. The 
doctor did not blame them, for he wasn't truly sure he understood 
himself. 


"Pain... is chronic. Not just yours, but everyone's. It is a symptom of 
human existence, something all must endure simply because they 
are." 


He could tell he wasn't getting through to her. Her eyes were darting 
around his small office, noticeably lingering on the high shelves 
containing his medical supplies. A glint of desire sparked in the 
woman's otherwise dead eyes. She was barely paying attention to 
him at all now. He sighed and pressed on regardless. 


"Humanity exists in a constant state of conflict. Nation against 
nation, religion against religion, person against person. It has always 
been thus, and always will be. Not only that, we are at a constant 
struggle with ourselves. 'Am | good enough? 'Is this the way | should 
be?' 'Why does my body look this way?' 'Why must | always suffer?’. 
As long as we live, we can never be at peace. It is antithetical to our 
very nature." 


"Uh huh... | think | get it, yeah." 


"I'm telling you all of this because you must understand what my 
treatment entails. | will have no unwilling or uninformed patients. | 
have seen where that leads." 


And he had. Stark images sparked to life in his mind, livid with 
shame. A brother, dissecting and making puppets of dead and living 
alike. A sister, delivering pain and calling it healing. Another who... 
no. 


He will not be like them. 


"| will not cure you. Do not for a second imagine that | will. What | 
can do, however, is put your pain to sleep." 


For the first time, he had her full attention. 
"You... you can do that?" 


"It is about the only thing | can do for you. | can take your pain, and 
bury it within you. | will take every possible cause for it- past, present 
and future, and | will suffocate them. They will still be there, but you 
will no longer have any capacity to sense them." 


"| won't feel anything?" 


He could sense the hesitation in her voice. Good. Perhaps he could 


persuade her to forgo this yet. 


"You will feel nothing, and | mean this in the very broadest of terms. 
The treatment must be most comprehensive if it is to be successful. 
To bury pain, | must also bury everything else that is... you. 
Permanently." 


Something filled the woman's dark, empty eyes, and for a moment 
the doctor believed he had succeeded in turning her away. But then 
he realized that it wasn't fear he saw there. It was surrender. 


"Do it." 

"Are you quite certain? | am not sure you fully understan-" 
"| understand. | said do it." 

In face of such determination, what else could he do? 


The woman laid strapped to the bed in his operating theater, the 
filthy rags she came into his office with replaced with clean medical 
scrubs. The chamber was bright and as clean as the scrubs, and 
empty but for the doctor and his patient. 


"Are you sure the straps are necessary?" she asked. 


"Quite certain, | am afraid. Even if you are willing, your body may 
attempt to reject what | am about to do to you. If it resists me, it may 
compromise the procedure. | must have no interruptions." 


"Okay. Are you going to start then?" 
"| shall. | need only my tools."