"Why don't you tell me? Why would you do this? What is wrong? 
Please, please, let me help you,” he asked. He held his hands; the 
guards didn't stop him. 


"I'm sorry. | just want to be sure, you know? Everything is fine. It's all 
over now,” he answered. The hands were cold. 


Draven felt more frustration and anger building up inside him. But 
James looked at him with a look too loving and he talked with a 
voice too comforting, and Draven broke under them. He felt the 
helplessness again, his love right in front of him, but there was 
nothing he could do. He should have been the one comforting 
James, not the other way around. The fear and the hollowness and 


D-17549: | would very much like to see things the way 

the down there do. Just tell those men with the 

guns to put a bullet in me. 

D-17549 starts bashing his head against the desk. Dr 
backs away from the table. D-17549 tackles him 

and is shot by security. 


« SCP-873 | SCP-874 | SCP-875 » 


many other things he could not describe gradually piled up and he 
felt weak. 


Eventually, he managed to make himself ask. "What is over? What 
happened?" 


There was suddenly a stern look on James' face. His smile was 
sadder. A few moments later, he spoke. "You know, | stared into the 
face of everything and nothing and made it back alive." 


Draven opened his mouth, but there were no words. He didn't 
understand what it meant, and wished he didn't have to. 


But then, James looked down at the table and continued. "I just 
have to make sure I'm really back." 


Attempts after attempts, they finally gave Draven what he wanted. 
Perhaps because he was too persistent or perhaps because there 
was no improvement on James' condition and they were running out 
of options. Draven had spent his time between duty visiting James 
everyday and the rest of those applying for the documentation of 
SCP-3999, the SCP James had encountered and neutralized during 
his three missing months. 


There were documents to sign and memetic kill agents to bypass, 
and even after all that, chunks and chunks of information redacted, 
but Draven sat and read. 


Draven was horrified. 


In the documents, he was not James, but Researcher Talloran. And 
Researcher Talloran was to be, 


Isolated. Killed. Melted. Eaten. Amnesticized and made 
someone else. Made to watch his loved ones die. 
Tortured. Thrown into the end of the world. In the void, 
with the monster. 


Researcher Talloran begged. Cried. Called for help. He 
died. Killed himself. But he also fought. He didn't give up. 


He won. 


When he finally put the document down, Draven found himself 
unable to comprehend all this. Or any of it, really. The words choked 
him as he realized it was way more than the monsters in the cells or 
the reality benders he encountered on missions. It was among the 
things that were hidden deeply behind layers of clearance levels and 
passwords and kill agents. 


James had faced a god. 


That night, he couldn't sleep. And when he did, he dreamt of James 
slitting his throat with the kitchen knife in front of their bed, blood 
pouring onto his face. He woke up screaming. 


The next day, he rushed to where James now was, a bigger and 
slightly more comfortable cell, and sat across a similar table. No 
guards this time, only the camera silently recording. He was greeted 
by that same soft smile but now, the smile was choking him, like the 
words he read again and again last night. 


So he held James' cold, cold hands, and asked him if he wanted to 
be amnesticized, because this was taking a toll on him and he 
couldn't just pretend nothing was wrong. 


But James screamed. 


It was the second time James scared him after the incident, and he 
briefly flashed back to when he held the kitchen knife. But Draven 
didn't let go. 


"No," James yelled, desperately, his face filled with panic and anger. 
"| will never forget this, | can't forget this!" 


Draven held his hands tighter and knew they were both shaking. 
Eventually, James stopped shaking. Eventually, he stopped 
screaming. Eventually, he said: "If | forget, then how can | tell?" 


If this is real or not? 


"We can't amnesticize him." Dr. Glass said. 


"Why the fuck not? Now you're respecting people's wishes?" He had 
hated Foundation bureaucracy, but this was a slap to the face. He 
felt the anger burning inside him. 


"...Because we did that already." 
Draven stared at the doctor in confusion and surprise. 


"Every time he was given amnestics, he recovered his memory over 
the next week. It seems like... he had built up a resistance over 
them." 


Researcher Talloran is to be amnesticized. 
Researcher Talloran is to be amnesticized. 
Researcher Talloran is to be amnesticized. 


"We have never seen anything like this before." The psychologist’s 
voice seemed distant. 


"No." Draven said. His own voice broke. 


"I'm sorry," was all Dr. Glass could say. 


Things didn't get much better from there. Six months later they 
moved James to the site dormitory, and Draven went to stay with 
him. Another three months and he was released from the site 
because there was a containment breach and James thought reality 
broke again and nearly stabbed someone with a pen. 


They were back to when James first came back again, but this time, 
Draven knew things were not okay. Because every now and then, 
James checked if tables melt, if the sky was not there anymore, or if 
a passerby was actually a talent agent dressing up as the mother 
with a dog on the back. He bit himself one or two times to make 


himself certain because Draven took all the sharp objects away. 


But he also smiled and talked softly and asked if Draven's work day 
was okay and Draven's heart ached. 


Talk to me. Please just talk to me. 


But James wouldn't; instead he talked about the evening news and 
the TV shows, pretending their life was still normal, which it never 
was. (They never talked about the TV before; they hardly watched 
it.) 


A year passed and Draven woke up from the same nightmare 
screaming, and found James in front of him, throat not slit, quietly 
holding his hand. 


The hands were cold, but warmer than his. 


And that was the point he broke. He had tried so many times, asking 
James to talk about it, to believe in him, but it was never effective. 
This time, the sight of blood all over the bed was still lingering, and it 
was so much like that other room filled with blood and meat. 


Draven collapsed and started to rant incoherently. He cried and 
begged for James to just talk to him, to just stop pretending it was 
okay, because it was not, and it was breaking both of them. 
Because it was all too similar to the night his dad told him it was 
okay when it was not, and he couldn't afford to let go this time. 


He talked about how James stood up against great monsters, and 
he could never be that brave and persistent himself, and he couldn't 
really imagine what James was going through. He just wished him to 
talk even if it seemed all fake and distant. He rambled about their 
time together even though he knew those wouldn't be able to 
convince him. He talked about how scared he was during the 
months he was missing but now he was even more scared. He 
mentioned his father again and had no idea where he was getting at 
but he knew he was afraid of losing him like he did his father. He 
talked about the documents and Dr. Glass' words and many other 
things he had agreed not to talk about; but he did anyways because 
he could not think or breathe or stop shaking. He asked him again 


and again to just, please, talk to him. 
Really talk to him. 


When his throat finally ran dry and he saw James looking at him, he 
felt scared and foolish and desperate that he was going to say it was 
okay again. 


But this time, James hugged him and cried as well. With a soft 
voice, he told him that it was not three months but lifetimes after 
lifetimes, and he had lived all these so many times before. It was a 
completely normal interview until the doctor became a wolf and they 
floated in the void. It was a trip with his family until a containment 
unit came and shot them all in the head. It was his victory until he 
went back to a world with faceless people and the monster mocked 
his futile attempts. So many times he had watched Draven's face 
melt and his body shatter and all the terrible things come out. So 
many more times he had believed yet it all melted away. He couldn’t 
afford to believe it was real. 


He was scared. They both were. 


Eventually they sat together at the bedside, holding hands together, 
and stared into the room with no lights turned on. They were still 
shaking, but for the first time, it felt mildly peaceful. They woke up to 
each other's cuddle the next morning, and decided to stay a little 
longer. 


James didn't say he would believe him, but he believed him a little 
more after that. It was not completely okay yet, but James now 
sometimes talked and cried over his shoulder, and allowed himself 
to ask Draven if things were real instead of grabbing for a kitchen 
knife. James stayed at home and worked on some projects 
unrelated to the Foundation. And they would read and watch TV as 
they never did before and enjoy each other's company. 


It was not okay yet, not really. But things were going to get better. 


maybe god will forgive you if we both beg 


In this world, consequence cannot bear the harshness of 
catastrophe. Mistakes are given lighter punishments. Falling stars 
shoot through the night sky and occasionally grant wishes of 
observers below. It is a softer place. 


The Foundation did not have to suffer from its judgement errors as 
harshly as in other worlds. Employees worked in relative peace; 
some even found the time to grant small mercies. 


When the Foundation first asked Cain to reunite with his brother, he 
took three days to decide. On the third day, he agreed on the 
condition that the only person who could abort the mission would be 
himself. The Foundation took three more days before agreeing. 


Cain settled by the coffin that held his brother in a white room. He 
didn't know if Abel could hear him in there; maybe Abel was 
sleeping. The thought made him smile a bit—at least Abel's habit of 
long naps hadn't changed. Regardless, he spoke his apologies in a 
language to which they were the sole survivors. 


"Say, brother, good morning. Shouldn't you be tending to your 
sheep? They're all down the hills, scattered. Their children have fled 
our lands and fill the cliffs as mountain goats, the deserts and 
savannahs as camels, oryx and antelope. Good morning, good 
morning brother." 


Three minutes later, Abel stepped out of his coffin, drew a blade, 
and tried to decapitate his brother. Cain did not move to dodge; any 
wounds delivered to him would simply reflect back to the attacker. 
Abel's head fell onto the floor, then caved in on itself as a pile of 
dust. The coffin swung shut. 


Cain coughed, ran his hands over his own neck and winced. "Good 


to see you too." 


Every two days, Abel would leave his coffin and try to kill his brother. 
Sometimes, Cain talked to the coffin. For two months, this futile 
attempt at discussion was all they had. 


Eventually, Abel's anger simmered down enough to allow a question 
from his lips. "Why, Cain? Why are you here?" 


"| came to ask for-" 


Abel did not allow the conversation to continue. This went on for 
another month. He would ask the same questions again and again, 
finding himself unable to face any answers. 


Abel had been a colicky newborn; the only thing that soothed him 
was his mother's lullabies. So Cain sang as Abel slept. He breathed 
a soft, haunting melody that dwelt on brighter days. 


Later, the tattooed man stepped out of the coffin and into the white 
room. His bare feet made soft padding noises as he stepped 
towards his older brother, watching him with the patient gaze of a 
farmer waiting for his crops to fruit. "Why. Why did you do it. Why 
are you here, now, after killing me and leaving me." He extended 
arms, pressing them against Cain's clear skin. "Leaving me to these 
people, with their marks on me, all their marks! Tell me!!” 


"| was young and jealous. | got older. Time carved its wisdom into 

me. I'm here now because... because | still love you. Please forgive 
me, Abel. Everyone we knew as children has left to God's garden." 
The older brother leaned forwards to pull his sibling into a tight hug. 


"My beautiful baby brother, it's just us now," he choked out. 


Abel drew a blade. Clutched the hilt, then let go. He leaned into the 
embrace, clinging tightly. "It's not fair. It's not fair. You are so 
untouched. | can't leave a single wound on you." He spoke, soft as 
moonlight. "And yet look at me. Look at all the things done to me. 
You used to be my hero, but this... you let this happen to me." 


"| see it, Abel. | see what I've done. | take full responsibility. I'll earn 
my title back, if you'll have me. This, | promise with everything | 


have." Cain swaddled his brother in his arms, rocking him back and 
forth and stroking his hair. 


Abel clutched Cain's shirt, his body trembling as he wept. His fingers 
began to soften and collapse into dust. His brother continued 
rocking him as he, too, crumbled. By the time their tears reached the 
floor, they could only wet the dust that remained. 


all i ever wanted; all i ever deserved 


In this world, flowers bloom in hues too tender to survive elsewhere. 
Meadows are sacred spaces from which flow all mercies. The 
inhabitants bow to nothing and follow only their own devotions. 
Sometimes the consequences are almost too much to bear. 


On the day Dr. Sophia Light joined the Foundation, she stopped 
crying. She had lost her fiance, Mars -not just her life but her 
memory- from a freak accident that she also couldn't recall. All 
Sophia had left was how it felt to have no recollection about the love 
of her life, as if having fallen in love with nobody. Yet she still could 
not mourn. 


But the Nobody who died was Sophia's Nobody under the name 
Mars. From the corpse sprung forth another iteration- stripped from 
the label of belonging to her beloved. This was Nobody's burden; 
Nobody could not be anyone to anybody. 


She still thought of herself as Sophia's Nobody, even though her 
identity had been killed from her beloved's perception. She believed 
it was alright- that this was an acceptable loss. Sophia was still alive 
and Nobody could still be by her side. 


The Foundation always insisted Dr. Light take a vacation on the day 
of their planned wedding; she would never know why. She 
meandered in ignorance of the arm curled around her left arm, the 
fingers entwining her own, or the head resting upon her shoulder. 
She listened to the sweetness of a summer breeze and did not hear 
the sweeter nothings whispered into her ears. 


Nobody thought herself the happiest woman in the world, to walk a 
forest with her lover on their wedding anniversary. 


As if suddenly entering a daydream, they step into a clearing of 


subtle blue flowers, like the sky's secret diary. 


As far as Sophia knew, this is the first time she had seen sucha 
gem. Yet she cannot contain her excitement. She sprints and 
splashes in the marsh that birthed this field of Indian hyacinth. 


Mars had brought them here, on the day they confessed to each 
other. They had danced together in this soggy landscape until the 
stars became their audience. Here, the two choreographed their 
relationship and believed it would be forever. 


Now Sophia brings them here, on the anniversary of their to-be 
wedding. She is compelled to spin and dance, seemingly alone. The 
sun sets, then sleeps under the horizon. Stars spill into the sky like a 
jar of dropped glitter.