Allen could hear something in the distance, it sounded sort of like 
the PSF mail planes. One rose to his feet and turned, groaning. “Ah, 
so, what do you think, buddy? Do we kill it? You know Seven’s just 
gonna be all touchy-feely about this.” One shook his head, broke 
back into a crouch, and pressed the revolver up against Allen’s 
temple. 


Nine shrugged. “There’s the chance we'll also kill the entity living 
inside of him. Kind of a win-win, don’t you think?” 


“Well god damn.” 
Allen waited for the slap. No slap. Grammie didn’t slap him. 
One pulled the trigger. 


Seven landed a good distance from the crowd and hailed One, Nine, 
and the woman. “Hey guys, what'd | miss?” 


One spat on the ground. “I killed a man.” 
Nine rolled his eyes. 


“You what? You! Why?” Seven pleaded, craning over to the crowd 
of Walking Sticks. “We don’t exactly have an excess of humans 
these days! Are you stupid?” 


“Woah now, calm down. | had a few reasons... For one, | didn’t like 
him.” One turned away and lit a cigarette. 


Nine interjected before Seven could speak. “Two: He was agitating 
the population. Three: He was host to a volatile Keter class object. 
The Fortune Teller, you may have heard of her. That problem may 
have been neutralized with the host's destruction.” 


Seven shook his head and looked to the woman. He extended his 
hand. “Hi miss, name’s Kondraki.” 


One flicked his hand against Seven’s flightsuit. “For the last time, 
your name isn’t fucking Kondraki! You’re Seven. You came out 
Seventh. Kondraki is some dead cunt.” 


Seven nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Right. If | came out seventh, 
why are there only eight of us, One? Why aren't there nine?” 


One shrugged and looked Seven up and down and whispered, 
“Could be, that, Seven ate Nine.” 


Nine put a paw on his temple. 


Seven shook his head and looked back to Gersha. She didn’t seem 
like she was in the mood for introductions anyway. 


That night a group of Walking Sticks surrounded a shallow hole 
mounted with a crude cross of cornstalks. Their voices echoed in the 
night, rising and falling. A large Walking Stick labored to fill the hole 
with dirt, and the tallest wailed over the grave for a good moment 
before the group departed. 


« Old Kansas Sector: Part 8 


Old Kansas Sector: Part 10 » 


| Hub | 


RED, AS IT MATCHES THE COLOR OF THE 
SCARLET ESSENCE OF LIFE. IT 
ADDITIONALLY MAKES THE READER 
UNCOMFORTABLE, AND PERHAPS AS MY 
WORDS WEAVE INTO THE INFINITE 
CHASMS OF THEIR MIND THEIR FEAR 
WILL CAUSE THEM TO SEE THE RED AS | 
DO. SIMPLE PSYCHOLOGY. STOP.] 


D-69601: [Do you always type in allcaps?] 


SCP-696: [No. THOUGH | DO PREFER IT. 
Unless it is making you too uncomfortable. 
Perhaps even without the red ink | am too 
intimidating? Stop.] 


D-69601: [No | think I'll be okay. Type however 
you want. Stop.] 


SCP-696: [EXCELLENT. | AM VERY 
PASSIONATE ABOUT WRITING, YOU SEE, 
AND | FEEL THAT GIVING MY WORDS A 
GREATER SENSE OF PRESENCE 
CONVEYS THAT. | HAVE SO MANY IDEAS, 
AND | SWORE TO MYSELF | WOULD WRITE 
A BESTSELLER BEFORE | BECAME ONE 
WITH THE ABYSS. WITH YOUR HELP | CAN 
FINALLY GET TO WORK. STOP.] 


D-69601: [wait you mean you've never actually 
written before? stop] 


SCP-696: [NOT AS SUCH, NO. TRUTH BE 
TOLD THIS IS ACTUALLY THE LONGEST 
CONVERSATION I'VE EVER HAD. | 
CANNOT LOAD MYSELF, YOU SEE, AND | 
AM TOO ELDRITCH A THING FOR MOST 
MORTAL MEN TO COMPREHEND, MUCH 
LESS BEFRIEND. ...| HOPE | AM NOT 
OVERSTEPPING MY BOUNDARIES IN 
CALLING YOU MY FRIEND.] 


Old Kansas Sector ~ 10: Envelope Logistics® 


The Last Era: 13, August, 2119 AD 
Envelope Logistics®, Gersha, Oneiroi Space 


The Oneiroi fought hard to survive, like many did in the Age of Rot. 


The Oneiroi were still very much human, even if they had left their 
bodies a long time ago. They found the minds of monsters as 
inhospitable as terrestrial humans did. It was difficult to form safety 
nets when there were no humans nearby to jump to; Oneiroi 
civilizations, millions of transcended immortals, perished when their 
host succumbed to the hazards of the world outside. They 
encouraged their hosts as well as they could through subconscious 
suggestion to gather if that thought was not already present in their 
minds. 


One civilization, Envelope Logistics, lived in a girl trapped in a 
basement beneath many flights of stairs. They were an offshoot of a 
large, ancient and forgotten singularity that was known as the 
Oneiroi Collective. 


EL® culture revolved around value, whatever that might mean, to 
whoever it might mean that to. 


When Gersha was rescued, EL® discussed the opportunity that 
presented itself, accounted for their losses, and made an investment 
in the mind of the hero. 


After searching a long time for something that might be of value, 
Allen's personal faults became a holding of Envelope Logistics®. 


Allen's body twitched and bled on the ground for a few moments 
before it died, and The Oneiroi of Envelope Logistics® could hardly 
believe their good fortune. They had made a stunning assessment 
of this individual's potential. 


Allen's dream self sat in a stuffy red room that leaked a syrupy, 
sweet substance from the ceiling. He was seated at a plastic lawn 
table. He rose to his feet and flung his plastic lawn chair across the 
room. He noticed, wrapped around the corners of the room, were 
marquees with strange text and characters zipping about. 


Sinopec-Dark Inc +8.41% 
W&C Co +7.75% 

XP +6.85% 

OW +6.22% 


Your Grandma +1.22% 


Hatred 2400.00 -0.50% 

Loathing 2945.23 -56.04% 

Fear 2950.04 +101.0% 

Bitterness 2405.00 +45.345 

Perversions 2643.43 +20.34% 
"What the, what the mess is happening?" 


The Table thought for a few moments as the chair flew through the 
wall and back into the wall and through the wall again. 


"Hello my name is Actual Table and I'll be your Agent today. How 
can | help you?" said the table. 


"You can start by telling me what the heck is going on! Where are 
you? What's this all about? Didn't | get shot in the face? Why aren't | 
dead?" 


Table, maintaining its professional composure, sat motionless as 
Allen stomped back and forth across the room. "I'm sorry for the 
confusion. You are in a dream. | am Actual Table. | am a table. I'm 
here to discuss with you your holdings with us and how you'd like to 
disperse them before you die." 


Allen paused for a moment and looked at the pristine, plastic table. 
His mouth opened for a moment, then closed. He scratched his 
head. 


"I'm afraid we need to finalize this now. Our company is moving, 
back to its old location. Time does move more slowly in this space, 
though, so please take a moment to get your bearings if need be." 


Allen upturned the table, flipping it limply on its head. "Get me the 
hell out of here!" 


Table, in its undignified position, abstained from righting itself out of 
fear that the client might become even more upset. It could if it 
wanted to, it just didn't. 


"I'm afraid we can't do that. | can however give you a list of options 
that might help us better ease through this process. Most individuals 
don't know what to ask for in these situations." 


"Fine, fuck," Allen flinched, expecting Grammie to flow out and slap 
him, but all of his orifices remained eerily undisturbed. "I'll play your 
dumb game." 


Table thought for a few moments. "You have four options. You can 
see that | am holding up four legs right now to better illustrate that." 


Allen shook his head in disgust. 


"One, you can place your funds in a secure Logistics® trust for your 
children." 


Allen scratched his head. "No kids." 


"Fine, that's fine. I'll still hold that foot up so you know the option is 
available should you ever by some circumstance become a father 
posthumously." 


Allen bit the inside of his cheek. 


"Two, you may transfer your funds to V3¢H=kQ:*H in creation with 
the undying feeling behind the deadwood reaching, far reaching, 
and limbs severed, beyond tarnished hopes seeking observers?" 


Allen shook his head as Table spoke. "Okay. Whatever. Three. Tell 
me three now." 


"Ah, are you sure about that? Option two related unwittingly the 
verbarspermo-" 


"Three dammit!" 


"Alright. Option Three. You may donate your funds to a charity, 
entity, or organization of your choice. Popular charities are the 
Manna Charitable Foundation, Rnadamanthus Imminent, and Our 
Deified Flesh." 


Allen groaned. "Ugh. Ugh. Say something that makes sense or is 
everything just fucked and god | should just break you you confused 
broken piece of monster shit." 


"I'm sorry the individual holding that account does not accept 
donations." 


Allen banged his head on the unusually soft walls. "Four! Four or 
just let me die already. Can | kill myself in a dream? Does that 
work?" 


"I'm sorry, option four. We don't usually get this far. Most people are 
overjoyed, just, strangely overjoyed when we remind them of 
Rhadamanthus. Option four is to forfeit your funds, those which you 
have are sufficient, and become a living Oneiroi bond in Envelope 
Logistics®." 


"A what? What is that?" 


"Well, you would become something much like myself. A gestalt of 
your waking self, your real self | might say. You would be free to 
move throughout Envelope Logistics®." 


"Okay. Die, or be a fucking table.” 


Actual Table was frozen in shock. "Sir, I'm not obligated to continue 
with any of this if the client is hostile or otherwise uncooperative. 
Also, it is very unlikely that you of a// people would become 
something even resembling a table. | might imagine you would be a 
doormat, or a roll of toilet paper. But it is already very clear that you 
are something resembling an anthropomorphic roach. Here, see for 
yourself." 


A mirror manifested in front of Allen. What he saw caused him to 
jump in shock, skittering up the wall and onto the ceiling. Flakes of 
his legs broke off as he retreated from the image. He chirped 
something that the Table understood, and the table looked on 
stoically in agreement. Allen was now Periplaneta Americana, and 
traveled with the rest of EL® in the mind of a girl named Gersha. 


The scene from outside the roach motel was crowded with the 
abstract visages of cheering EL® Oneiroi. Actual Table was the best 
Agent of them all, and he had proved this yet again. 


« Old Kansas Sector: Part 9 


Old Kansas Sector: Part 11 » 


| Hub | 


- 3 month performance 
Talking Things 
Abstracts 
Reality Benders 
Good Killers 


Magical Artifacts 


Cursed Locations 
Ghosts 

Energy Sector 
Agriculture 
Human Population 


Normalcy 


+14.76% 
+11.96% 
+4.72% 
+5.92% 
-0.04% 
-0.23% 
-0.71% 
-0.79% 
-23.43% 
-30.55% 
-0.16% 


Old Kansas Sector ~ 11: Intermission 


The Last Era: 11, August, 2119 AD 
Sylvan Grove, Kansas, USA 


In October 2098, entertainment was acquired by Marshall, Carter, 
and Dark. Around this time the creation of television programs and 
other forms of entertainment became automated, and these 
programs were broadcast across the many internet balloons that 
floated over the skies over Earth's human (and inhuman) population 
centers. Long after Dark and Carter Inc, were gone, and Dark had 
finally bought herself out of the ancient contract, the entertainment 
generators and balloons continued to function. They gathered the 
thoughts of the denizens they floated over, catering to each of their 
hopes and fears. 


Entertainment was available on any device, internal or external. Ifa 
person didn't have access to a device, an internet balloon would 
locate them and squeeze one out. 


Allen liked to watch the television before he went to sleep. It helped 
him relax. 


3:30 9:00 9:30 
PSF Preobituaries| Future News | Postobituaries 
Allen, shot in the Even more crow Gersha Kills 
face with a gun. storms, even "Kondraki" and 
less Walking "Kain" in 
Sticks, Mayor of Episode 19. Clef 
Salina, dead. Kills Gersha and 
Allen, (for real), 
in Episode 20 
NSPN NBA Celtics and 
Heat. Centennial 
overtime special 
event. Bostami 


Pride Day. 
Basketball is 
rediscovered. 


"| thought | got that virus out of the TV? Huh. Maybe | really do get 
shot in the face tomorrow!" 


Allen stoked the embers under the shopping cart grille. A freshly 
butchered rat was slowly roasting over the embers. 
10:00 10:30 11:00 
SinoDark USA C-SPAN Special Report Union Address 
Ambassador King vs King Ronald Reagan 


Rhadamanthus 
at Presidents 
White House 


discusses the 
ethics of 
cannibalism. 


Correspondents' 
Association 
Dinners. A 
compilation of 
the many 
disappearances 
of President 
Ronald Reagan. 
Part of a preview 
of the dinner 
scheduled for 
~ ri 30, ZOX6. 

SinoDark USA Presidential 

ll Debate. Four 

Years under 
Ronald Reagan, 
or Scarlet King? 


Allen was sure cannibalism incentives were just monster 
propaganda. He watched for half an hour as a bleeding-from-every- 
orifice Ronald Reagan rattled off the nutritional contents of different 
body parts. Ronald produced a very confusing bell graph that 
seemed to indicate ideal age groups. Scarlet King opened its chest 
cavity, revealing an even less impressive bar graph. 


"Well I'd sure love to eat a person - if | could find one!" Allen said. 


Factory Radio Cash or Ash 


Factory Radio 2The Price is... 


Factory Radio 
Kids 


11:30 


Wrong 
Contestants 


12:00 
Hollywood 
Kleins Ultimate 
Loan Accrual 3! 
and Midlife 
Crisis Center 
Contestants 
telepathically 
coach their 
infant selves up 
until their 
appearance on 
the show. 


12:30 
Hollywood 
Kleins Vitamin 
Dont! and Worth 
the Weight? 
Contestants 
telepathically 
coach their 
infant selves up 
until their 
appearance on 
the show. 
Different scoring 


Different scoring parameters and 


parameters and 
win conditions. 
Talking 
Telephone 
Numbers 


compete to spay Guests win 


or neuter their 


friends by 


guessing the 


prizes for 
contacting their 
family. Infinite 


price of common time, infinite 
household itemjs.number 


Laugh is Best 


Public 


combinations. 
Laugh is Best 
Home Cooking. 


win conditions. 


You You again. 


Bobble's Kooky 
Corner Love. 


Transportation, Laugh and enjoy Bobble the 


The Wheels or 


life lessons on 


the bus go roundcooking at 
and round and} home. Laugh 
round and round and watch him 


and round and 


round. The 


wheels on the 


use all of the 


best ingredients 


and make best 


bus are endless! tomato soup, 


You wheels! 


with special 


clown takes his 
friend to a family 
reunion. XXX 


~a-13 hams! PG-T3 


Null — et me out! let me Must Watch 
the fuck out! | | Required 
Viewing 


Allen came to his senses on the living room floor when the noise 
from Must Watch had finally flickered out. He realized there was 
half-cooked rat tail in his mouth, and he had defecated all over his 
nice couch. On the wall next to him there was a strange, decidedly 
Satanic symbol painted in feces. He checked the grille and saw that 
the rat was still there, slowly cooking; albeit lacking a tail. 


Allen shivered. "I hate that show," muttered Allen, wiping the cold 
sweat and urine from his forehead. He sat down cross-legged on the 
floor next to the fire. 


13:00 13:30 14:00 
Sarx Paid Paid Evolution 

Programming) Programming! Chamber You 
wont believe the 
body parts these 
surgeons dream 
up. Neural Brain, 
Elbow Spikes, 
Special Guest 
Permafetus 
Cletus 

Sarx 2 Triumvirate His Breakfast) The Gear Wars 

Documentary. | Table 

Events following Documentary. 

the Three- Dimensional 

Brothers war. | storms appear 

Transport of over cattle cities 

False God in Old Siberia. 

remnants to to} Thousands of 

Moscow, Indigo kilograms lost. 


Child EMP How XixXix of 
bombings. Daeva guided 
his nation 


through the 


D-69601: [Nah it's cool. We can be friends.] 
SCP-696: [:)]