Kendra Campbell: "Because torture doesn't work. 
Subject just tells you whatever they think you want to 
hear. You have no way of knowing if the information is 
true or not until it's too late. Sometimes you'll never know 
at all.” 


Joanna Cross: "Oh, please. The Foundation isn't gonna 
give up a thing like torture merely because it doesn't 
work. They'd torture me anyway if they could, merely 
because it's tradition. It's how these things go, and that's 


reason enough. It's part of the Plan." 
Kendra Campbell: "And yet we're not torturing you." 


Joanna Cross: "| have protections. | don't mind telling 
you that they are protections that are easy to unravel." 


Kendra Campbell: "Why would you tell me that?" 


Joanna Cross: "Because you'll never figure out how to 
unravel them. Not you or the rest of your team. Your 
bosses are too scared to let you. To delve too deeply 
into anomalous methods. So here | sit. Forever safe. 
Only in the SCP Foundation." 


Kendra Campbell: "We use anomalous methods. When 
we have to.” 


Joanna Cross: "Yet here we are." 


Kendra Campbell: "Kinda tempting fate, don't you 
think? You almost sound like you want some good old- 
fashioned torture." 


Joanna Cross: "Jack Bright said something similar." 
Kendra Campbell doesn't answer. 


Joanna Cross: "Doctor Bright was in here to talk to me 
before you. He mentioned anomalous methods as well. 

Technically, he's best suited among you to back that up. 
Our conversation... did not go well.” 


Kendra Campbell: "| can't even imagine." 


Joanna Cross: "Man, Jack Bright, though... | knew 
about him before coming here, you know. One of the few 
exceptions to your No Anomalies No No Not Ever rule. 
An SCP item who gets to be considered a person? Anda 
staff member? Heavens forfend!" 


Kendra Campbell: "He's a good scientist. We don't 


imprison our members just because they had anomalous 
exposure, not unless we have to. | would've thought 
you'd approve." 


Joanna Cross: "| do. I've seen his file, of course. They 
used to keep Bright on a short leash, but it got longer 
and longer as time went by, right? Now he's... a 
personnel director, if | remember correctly?" 


Kendra Campbell: "Right." 


Joanna Cross: "Let me tell you a secret about Jack 
Bright. Do you know why they keep him around? Why 
they trust him with so much?" 


Kendra Campbell: "I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to 
know that." 


Joanna Cross: "Then they'll wipe your memory of this 
conversation anyway." She smiles. "Do you know about 
Five-Ninety?" 


Kendra Campbell: "SCP-590? That healer kid. Touches 
you and you get healed. Fucked up in the head." 


Joanna Cross: "Touches you and he receives all your 
ailments. Pain. Wounds. Broken Bones. Cancer. Mental 
illnesses." She pauses. "Did the file you had clearance 
for happen to mention Bright's involvement with Five- 
Ninety?" 


Kendra Campbell: "Yeah. He used 590 to heal several 
cases of mental retardation for ... | don't know. People. 
Made 590 tractable. Easier to contain." 


Joanna Cross: "Five-ninety is Bright's brother." 


Kendra Campbell: "What?" She pauses. "What, so he's, 
like, a little Bright kid too?" 


Joanna Cross: "Jack Bright's little brother. They 
scrubbed the name pretty well, but... definitely Bright's 


little brother." 
Kendra Campbell: "He's... jesus..." 


Joanna Cross: "Bright's been around longer than most 
of you already. He doesn't age or die. When you're 
rotting in your grave, be it tomorrow or after dying at the 
ripe old age of a hundred, Bright will still be here. Quietly 
doing this having proven his loyalty on the skin and 
bones of his own little brother." 


Kendra Campbell: "What's your point?" 
Joanna Cross: "Isn't it obvious?" 


Kendra Campbell: "Why are you telling me all this? Why 
all this philosophy crap? All these existential questions? 
You know I'm not gonna listen. Are you trying to deflate 
me with word flood? Seduce me to the dark side, what?" 


Joanna Cross: "| don't know. Is it working?" 
Kendra Campbell gives her a skeptical look. 
Joanna Cross: "I'm just kidding." 


Kendra Campbell: What, then? Why are we having this 
conversation? 


Joanna Cross: | am trying to convince you, yes, but 
you'll probably be mind-wiped after this anyway. But it's 
not just you. I'm trying to convince all your colleagues 
and superiors who who will read this, the security 
personnel who will obsessively vet it before deciding 
which clearance level can read it and what needs to be 
redacted into oblivion, I'm even trying to convince your 
Site Command. 


Kendra Campbell: Why? Aren't we the enemy? 


Joanna Cross: | think you're redeemable. Not just you. 
This whole Site. My sister. The whole Foundation. Even 


Dr. Bright. | don't think you've gone far enough into the 
dark that you can't yet find your way out again." 


Kendra Campbell doesn't answer. 


Joanna Cross: "Am | wrong?" 


It was that last exchange in particular, especially, irrationally, those 
last three words, that echoed in Campbell's mind long afterward. 


As it turned out, Cross was wrong about at least one thing. For 
whatever reason, Campbell was not mind-wiped. Not to blank out 
Cross' last, desperate pitch. Not to remove the knowledge of Bright's 
little brother, that suffering little boy locked up in a cell somewhere in 
this very site. Bright came to receive her report, and said nothing. 
No one mentioned a thing. 


There was, however, no follow-up interview. No thirty-ninth interview 
with Joanna Cross. They moved her cell, to ... somewhere. She was 
still held in Site-17, but Site-17 was an enormously big place, a 
place that Campbell had only seen about 2 percent of in five years 
of living on location. 


She got rid of the blue lily chains, and stopped suffering audiovisual 
hallucinations. And she added that to the report. Finally, something 
solidly anomalous. 


And nothing else happened for a while. 


One month later, Campbell returned to her computer to see a 
message on it, typed in Notepad and left open for her to read. It 
read: 


If you change your mind, don't forget about me. 


The note was unsigned. Campbell did not report it. She was going 
to, but somehow... she never did. 


The second month passed without incident. 


Present Day 
Sigurrés Stefansdottir lay awake in bed with her eyes closed, 
listening. 


She could hear it now, as the hours ticked down. That indefinable 
humming, that humming that sounded like it was coming from 
somewhere deep inside her soul, and all around at once. A 
wordless, tuneless, eternal song. 

Twelve hours left to go. Twelve hours to the end. 


As she listened, she found that she could make out one word. Just 
one single word in the endless song. 


Never never never never 
Never never never never 


Never never never never... 


« Prisoners 


Showtime » 


Showtime 


« Family 
Sisters » 


Present Day 


Two months passed since the strange final interview with Joanna 
Cross. 


The day began on which the Foundation's mistake would end the 
world. But Kendra Campbell did not know that. 


As the day went on, Kendra Campbell became more and more sure 
that she could hear some kind of humming. No one else could hear 
it: never a good sign. 


She decided that she would call in to the site therapists on Monday. 
She hoped maybe Glass was around again. He was always cool. 


The clock ticked down. 
Thirty minutes remained before the end of the world. 


Campbell returned to her desk after a late lunch break and found 
that she had a message waiting for her. 


Doctor, 


| am afraid | have not been completely forthcoming with 
you. 


Footsteps, behind her. Campbell turned around — and stared down 
the barrel of a gun. 


Joanna Cross approached Campbell's desk. In one hand she held a 
gun. In the other she held a gigantic potted flower by the stem. 


"Hello, Doctor Campbell," she said. "Long time no see." 


After several hours of climbing stairs, swimming through multi- 
colored oceans, and climbing through the machinery underneath the 
Library, Alison Chao carefully stepped through a tangle of roots and 
onto a thin, long wedge of granite protruding out into thin air. Rain, 
Septima, and Dega followed. 


Thirty minutes left to go, Alison thought. 
They stood in front of a vast sky. 


"Sky" was a bit of a wrong word for it, but no better one came to 
mind. It was a nice clear, blue and possessed of a number of 
pleasant-looking clouds. Up above at the top of the sky, a vast 
network of roots weaved itself into the distance. Amorphous floating 
light sources moved slowly through the root-hung chandeliers, the 
kind found all over the Library. 


The sky below seemed endless. Alison wasn't even sure there was 
ground down there. True, this space was technically all contained on 
the inside of the Library, but... 


Dega swished her tail. "Is this a bad time to mention I'm afraid of 
heights?" 


"I've got some rocks | could throw down there,” Rain said. "So we 
can listen to hear when they hit the bottom." 


Septima collapsed to her knees and planted her ear firmly against 
the rock, and started whispering. 


"Jeez," Rain said. "Just a bad joke." 
"| require silence!" Septima said. "| am communing with the rock." 


"Don't," Alison said. "You'll need all your power for where we're 
about to go." 


Septima shot her a glare. "This takes no power. | am merely 
communing. If anything, this would help regain my power." She 
huffed a little bit, like an angry cat. "Please, | will need quiet, 
respectful silence." She resumed murmuring. 


They waited several long minutes in silence. 


Presently, a shape soared towards them, resolving into the figure of 
a humanoid with four vast wings. 


"Good," Alison said. "He's here." 


Septima leaped to her feet. "I have finished communing with the 
rock," she said. "It is a very, very, very long way down." 


"Great to know," Rain murmured. 


The four-winged figure drew close and dropped down, folding his 
wings as he landed and smoothly transitioning into a bow. Alison 
and her companions bowed in return. 


"Greetings," the humanoid said. His face was covered in a thin 
coating of down, and his hair seemed to be entirely feathers; 
otherwise, he looked relatively human. "| am Ataxis. | believe we 
have not time for true introductions, for we must make haste." He 
gestured at Alison. "Do you have my payment?" 


"| do," Alison said. She reached into her pocket, drew out a simple, 
silver key, and pressed it into the avian man's hand. 


Ataxis examined the key from several different directions, gave it an 
experimental lick, and swallowed it whole. 


An immensely pleased expression crossed his face. "Excellent!" he 
proclaimed. "Truly satisfying, truly. You are a woman who makes 
good on her bargains! And so, without further ado—" Ataxis pivoted 
on one foot, facing out towards the sky, opened all four wings at 
once, and swept his left hand upward. 


One instant there was nothing but sky at the edge of the granite 
protrusion, and the next that space was occupied by a massive 
crystalline door. 


Weearers that are tired prior to putting SCP-714 are at serious risk of 
falling asleep on their feet, possibly falling over in the process. If no 
furniture or furniture-like object is available nearby, wearers either 
stand on the spot they donned SCP-714 or attempt to fashion a 
resting place out of any suitable materials (cushions, blankets, etc.) 
available. 


The drive to sleep can be resisted, but requires formidable willpower 
and self-control on the part of the wearer. Even so, the following 
effect makes it impractical for field use. 


2) Slowed Reactions, Sluggish Movement 

Subjects suffer from severely impaired reaction times; a normally 
sharp, alert and physically fit subject can have a hard time catching 
a slow-moving object thrown to them, even if warned and given 
ample time to prepare. Anyone wearing SCP-714 should not be 
allowed to operate any heavy machinery or other vehicles under any 
circumstances. 


Wearers of SCP-714 move much slower than normal, managing an 
average walking pace at best. Their movements are not physically 
slower, but they are incapable of exerting themselves. 


3) Reduced Mental Capacity 

Seemingly as part of the mental fatigue, anyone wearing SCP-714 
claims that they ‘think slowly’, or may even have trouble finding the 
words to adequately communicate that they cannot think as clearly 
as normal. The wearer may take a long time to think of an answer to 
a trivial question (eg; "What colour is this red ball?"), never mind one 
that is vague or requires a more complicated response. 


With removal of SCP-714, mental capacity is restored to normal 
within a few minutes. 


4) Mental 'Shield' 

As a dubious "benefit" of seemingly reduced mental capacity, 
wearers of SCP-714 show abnormally high resilience to memetic 
and mental influences, particularly commands or immediate effects. 
Weaker memetic influences may be totally nullified by this. In both 
cases, the wearer feels a strong and instinctive fear of the source of 
the influence; this fear drives them to immediately seek ‘shelter’ by 


Alison reached out and touched it, closing her eyes and 
concentrating for a moment. Then she smiled. 


"This will do nicely," she said to Ataxis. 


"Most excellent," Ataxis said. "You will understand if | would like to 
be far away before you open this door. And... remember to shut it 
after you." 


When Ataxis had flown away into the distance, Alison finally sighed 
in relief. 


"Okay," Rain said. "It's a door. Where to?" 


The door began to open. First, there was only diffuse light in the 
doorway. Then, the mist resolved itself into a plain, metallic-grey 
corridor. 


"This," Alison said, "is a Way directly into Site-17." 


An indefinable hum began to fill the air as Alison and her 
companions stepped through the door. 


For a long moment, Kendra Campbell stared down the barrel of 
Joanna Cross's gun. Then Cross lowered the gun. 


"| will shoot you if | have to," Cross said. "But | really, really don't 
want to." 


"Why?" 
Cross chuckled. "Call it affection." 
Campbell eyed the plant. "What the hell is that thing?" 


The plant was... hard to look at. Green, with a pink-and-red 
blossom, but with a sheen about it that made it look like the colors 
were swimming. And the way it was shaped — the color of the green 
was Off, the stem too thick, too smooth. It seemed like a thing 
shaped into the idea of a plant rather than a living organism. 


"It's a focus," Cross said. "When you asked me two months ago if | 
was here to break out the Witch Child — the answer is yes. But it's 
not the whole answer." 


"Alright," Campbell said. "What's the whole answer?" 


Cross looked at the watch strapped to her wrist. Funny, Campbell 
thought, | haven't seen anyone wearing a wristwatch in a while. 


"The world ends in twenty-six minutes," Cross said. 
"What," Campbell said. 


"Twenty-five minutes now," Cross said. "Walk with me. Walk ahead 
of me. I'm gonna need your keycard to open doors." 


"Where are we going?" 
"To the Site-17 bar." 
"You want to get a drink?" 


"What better time than right before the end of the world?" Cross 
laughed. "No, there's an actual reason. Let's get moving. We're 
running out of time, you know..." 


Sigurrés Stefansdottir was still listening. Only twenty minutes left to 
go. 


The song was changing. Building. More words and not-words being 
added to the chorus. A curious pain from everywhere, a full-body 
headache. She could barely hold still. 


Then she saw the light opening in her mind's eye. Down the hallway. 
A familiar form stepping through, with three companions. 


She was still pulling out the IV tubes when the woman opened the 
door, but she remembered her manners. 


"Hello," she said. "My name is Sigurros. It's nice to finally meet you."