Good news, Dr. Wachtel's proposal was approved by the 
O05 council, O5-9 managed to push it through. | don't 
even know how many guys are going down. They put 


Blackguards and Silverfish back into action. They pulled 
the Dancers off of that facility up in Canada, and some 
members of the Kitchen Sink are providing rear guard; at 
least if it fails we'll have a clean extraction, right? Too 
bad Lambda-2 ain't showing. 


The plan is set for 0225 tomorrow morning. There's a 
couple hundred gallons of gasoline and napalm being 
carted down by D-Class right now. I'll have to cut this 
one short, these burns hurt pretty fucking bad. Give us a 
prayer that we can take this thing out. 


Bjornsen 


She picked at the tattered remains of a white turtleneck. Her 
stomach growled painfully, her withered and thin body tucked tightly 
into a fetal position. She had meticulously cleaned the floor of its 
glass and debris much earlier, now only an assortment of emptied 
emergency kits and cans lay next to her. Her personnel belongings 
had been refashioned into makeshift tools, but now lay with no use 
for them beneath her. Panic had given way into anxiety, and anxiety 
had given way into apathy. Hundreds of pounds of rubble encased 
the laboratory she had taken shelter in, and sealed it off from the 
rest of the facility. It was horribly silent, and aside from the distant 
screams of the intercom and hum of computers she was held 
captive by utter silence. 


The closest thing she had to human contact during her 
imprisonment was megaprime. She dared not let it go offline, 
otherwise it would never accept her long-expired password. A 
constant dim light spilled from it, a comforting glow which was more 
consistent than the malfunctioning overhead lights. It did not matter, 
though, as there was no comfort in what was coming. She knew that 
she would starve soon, or possibly perish of dehydration. It was sort 
of strange, the course which fate took. There was at first the almost 
crippling pain and nausea as her body hungered and thirst, but 
those feelings had subsided into a dull ache. It was held in the back 
of the mind, the sense that death was approaching, however slowly 
and carefully. Her listless eyes lolled about in their sockets, and she 
turned in a sickly motion towards the humming. When she slept, she 


dreamed of salvation. She dreamed of saviors in all forms, of having 
her blond hair back, of being at home, of doing her job. So she 
never went to sleep. 


They teased her. At the climax of her dreams, in her happiest times, 
she would always awake to the bleak and dreary reality which 
surrounded her. She hated them, knowing that the illusion beckoned 
to her a world which did not exist. She was tired of, and on that 
thought she looked towards megaprime. 


Hello, world! 

Hello. 

Hi. 

| am not feeling well. 

The dwindling supplies can not meet the demand. 
What do you do before | talk to you? 

| was in the dark. Do you like the outside? 

Yes. 

The outside is not a nice place. 

Yes. 

| am glad | am not outside. 

It is cold. 

It is warm. 

No. 

You are lying. Misinformation is the root of distrust. 
| don't think I'll be around much longer. 


The supplies have run out. 


Goodbye. 
Goodbye. 


She closed Jacob. Jacob was very strange, but gave a sort of 
comfort which could be found in conversation. Still, she was aware 
that he was not human, and not flesh and blood. She surprised 
herself with how much she had thought about the outdoors and 
other people. Since the pain dulled she had little to do besides think 
and sleep. She wanted to feel the hands of another around her 
waist, and the sound of laughter and sensation of warm sun. The 
voice of her lover, a single word, even his breath on her neck. She 
felt like it was all locked up away from her, like it was some foul 
misunderstanding of fate. She felt so trapped, tired, alone. Her sigh 
cracked away in soft sobs. A cold darkness enveloped her. 


Your head pounds ever harder as you struggle through the jagged 
bramble. You gaze back through the smog at the silhouette of the 
old lighthouse to the north, the faintest glimmer of hope extinguished 
so violently by your foolish exploits. A distant and unattainable 
fantasy, you know you can never return. 


Die. 


As the world around you fades to blackness, you know that you 
deserve the consequences of your actions. 


Network Correspondence #000023 


From: Prof. Bjornsen, [INPUT FAILURE] 
To: Dr. Dier, [INPUT FAILURE] 


Dier, 


That lizard didn't know what hit it. Yup, that's right. | think 
the smoke might've killed a couple D-Class but who 
cares about them, that fire was enormous. The assault 
teams had something like a half-a-dozen flamethrowers, 
XFOG or something, and they stormed the place. A few 
casualties here and there, a few guys got separated from 
the main teams, and we saw them get skewered over the 


site's cameras. The SCP-229 infestation was torched, 
and not a scrap of it remained by the time they got down 
to D-10. SCP-682 was down there, and put up a bigass 
fucking fight, but there was sixty-four of us and one of 
him. He was down in no time. We're going to start re- 
establishing the site's major electronics tomorrow. You 
just stay put, we're all safe here. 


Bjornsen 


Men in black uniforms trudged down a decrepit hallway, on their way 
to kill a beast. Masks concealed their faces, as they had always 
worn in the past. Electronic eyes gazed at them, knowing that they 
would never succeed. The smoke wrapped around their bodies, soft 
orange light billowing and receding around them. 


The light curled and twisted, danced in the eye, sparks flying like the 
pollen of a tender flower. The majesty of light capered along the 
walls, and the stories played by the paramours would continue until 
the last flame was snuffed. Creepers made of fire worked their way 
across the ground, exhibiting as much life as any man ever had. The 
shapes held by the stretching hot wisps would form great 
quagmires, merging and splitting as their medium permitted. They 
tended to the surface, and when the timing was perfect and the 
gentle push of the air in the right direction, they would grow. Their 
breath was ebony smoke, pushed by a great heat into the freezing 
blackness where it turned ephemeral. The brooks of fire ran from the 
Gahanna building up behind them. It formed the maw of a monster, 
sucking greedily from the air. The awful acrid air of burning napalm 
sunk to the ground, the miasma and fire forming a storm overhead. 
The heat blazed hotter, all-consuming and all-devouring, the rivulets 
of fire escaped quickly along the corridor. 


The cloud of gas overhead ignited like a big Christmas bulb. It was 
instantaneous, like the flash of camera, or a bolt of lightning. It swept 
outwards, reducing all to ash under the blanket of fire. It spread far, 
reached its crescendo and, like that, it ended. It turned in upon itself 
and choked and died, having consumed all the air around it. A few 
small flickers remained waiting in the ashes, waiting to form their 
own hellfire. They would never get the chance. The powerful footfall 


of aman running for his life extinguished them. His own life is 
extinguished a little while after. 


Some time ago men in black uniforms trudged down a decrepit 
hallway. Now they fought. A trap was sprung, and they were caught 
in it. They realized the futility of their actions, how soon their doom 
would come for them, but they tried anyway. Perhaps, if just one of 
them could relay their discovery. That the beast was not there in the 
bowels of Site 17, that it had escaped, then maybe they would have 
at least a partial victory. 


But the beast would not let them, it would ensure that they perished 
forlorn. Their valiance was vanity. It would not have changed 
anything if they just had laid down to die, and it would have been 
much less painful. Their guns blazed fire, but even as it burned 
away the wires and circuit boards, it could not stop the tonnes of 
concrete and fucking lead. Their worthless mortal lives were crushed 
as their skulls caved in and their repulsive bodies fractured beneath 
the weight of the collapsed ceiling. From the rubble and above the 
moans came deep and seething laughter. Growing through flesh 
and stone the wires struck upwards and Site 17 echoed with the 
laughter of a beast no longer contained. 


Encrypted Transmission 


From: *S%S#—|! 
To: S#%S!% 


site systems compromised infested all our gear cant find 
682 anywhere termination of unnecessary personnel 
mass evacuations arming on-site nuclear warhead 
silverfish KIA blackguards MIA/KIA dancers KIA 


i don't think we're getting out of this 


A Breath of Fresh Air: Holding It 


« Imago | BoFA: Inhale | BoFA: Holding It | BoFA: Exhale » 


Audio Log, 14:25, / /2011, Foundation front "Sunny 
Coast Productions" 


M_ S_, Switchboard Operator: Thank you for calling 
Sunny Coast Productions, how may | direct your call? 


Agent Debra Michaels: Yes, can | speak with Jackson 
in the casting department? 


M §S :... One moment, please. 


[MS places Agent Michaels on hold while reaching 
Site Security DirectorV ] 


Director V_: You've reached casting. Who are you and 
what do you want? 


Agent Michaels: Hi, Jackson, this is Deb Michaels, one 
of the stunt doubles. | was calling to see if you'd started 
casting for "Does the Black Moon Howl". 


Director V_ : Not until the midnight sun bleeds. Are you 
free to talk about the movie? 


Agent Michaels: Well, |'m in a clinic with my family at 
the moment, so there might be some background noise. | 
wanted to know if you'd finished getting together the 
extras, because there's some beautiful scenery up here 
that | think the location scout might be interested in. 


Director V_ : Understood. Where are you? How many 
people do you think ought to visit? Are there any special 
considerations they should be aware of? 


Agent Michaels: |'m up-state in Spring, visiting family. 
And, oh, | think you could get away with no more than 10 
or 20. And bring some cameras, you might be able to get 
some preliminary shooting done. A warning though, if 
anyone has any allergies, they ought to bring something 
to help them breathe. | think there's something in the air 
like a high pollen count and | feel like I've had a mind- 
bending headache for a few hours. Also, the local wildlife 
is a little excitable, so try not to run over anything when 
you're scouting out the woods. 


Director V_ : Oh, | think we could handle a few wild 
animals. Would you like us to meet up with you when we 
come into town or should we scout out the area first? 


Agent Michaels: |f | can get away from my family | could 
probably show you a few interesting spots, but you might 
want to do some scouting on your own. 


Director V_ : Understood. The location scout will make 
the decision whether or not to contact you before they 
arrive. We can reach you on the company phone? 


Agent Michaels: Yeah, I'll keep it on vibrate. Don't want 
to disturb anyone up here, after all. They're just all so 
nice that | wouldn't want to bother them. 


Director V_ : Good luck out there, Deb. 


Agent Michaels: Thanks, Jackson! You have a good 
day, too. 


One of Debra's selling points as a movie stunt-double was that she 
could lose herself into a role to the point that it was almost 
impossible to tell her from the actress she replaced in the shot. This 
skill had helped her both on-camera and when she was out in the 
field, but she was getting taxed now. It was difficult to hide the rage 
and fear when her 14 year-old son cried heaving sobs into her 
chest, desperately heartbroken that he was "too old to grow up." Her 
husband was no help; he was too busy arguing with his brother, 


trying to find some way of getting that... thing to reconsider. 


She watched the small clinic from over the top of her son's head, 
murmuring comforting noises as she kept a sympathetic look on her 
face. They had come straight here after that meeting in the clearing, 
ostensibly to treat her "migraine". In reality, Debra wanted to keep 
an eye on the other children that that creature had interacted with. 
They were, to a child, grossly overweight and somehow their skins 
looked tight over their faces. That doctor had escorted three of them 
and their parents to the clinic, and another two had shown up shortly 
afterwards. 


Doctor Shivaji had forgotten to close the door all the way when she 
went in to see the last child, so Debra was able to overhear her 
talking with the parents. 


"Mary is looking quite well, based on what the adult has led me to 
expect. | expect that she'll put on about another 10 pounds before 
the end of the week and she's further along than any of the other 
boys and girls. In fact, she might actually be ready in the next day or 
so. | recommend that you take her over to Marcia Brody's B&B 
downtown; Mrs. Brody has agreed to let the kids stay there when 
they're almost ready. | already have some monitoring equipment 
over there and it'll be easier for the adult to come in and help the 
kids when it's time." 


The unfamiliar voice of a woman, presumably Mary's mother, 
responded, "Is Mrs. Brody charging anything? We've already been 
spending a lot to feed Mary's hunger, not that we mind, and money's 
a little tight until the next paycheck. | do want the best for Mary, 
especially if the adult is going to come personally to help her, but if it 
costs too much | just don't know what we're going to do." 


"| don't know whether or not Mrs. Brody is charging anything; you'd 
have to check with her. But if you can't take Mary over there, at least 
bring her here if she starts to feel strange. It'll take longer for the 
adult to get here, but at least | should be able to keep Mary stable in 
the meantime." 


Debra kept a concerned look on her face, but made a mental note to 
recommend a certain bed-and-breakfast to her coworkers, as a nice 


place to visit. 


Gunnar Deathrage lay at the edge of a ridge and looked down at the 
town with a pair of binoculars, wondering when him and his cell were 
going to finally see some action. They'd been staking out this 
podunk little town for over a week on the orders of The Teacher, but 
with nothing to show for it. There weren't any flying dudes or sexy 
glow-in-the-dark tree spirits (Were those nymphs or dryads? Eh, 
what's the difference. It'd be fun to fuck both) or exploding cars or 
ANYTHING. Just some dumb-ass little shit-hole of a backwoods 
town that they were supposed to watch because "one of ours is 
there". Whatever. 


"Ralph!" someone whispered behind him, and Gunnar shifted a little 
to get more comfortable (He didn't startle me at all. | knew Sgt. Dave 
was behind me the whole time.) and looked over his shoulder. He 
said back, "| told you, my name is Gunnar Deathrage now. If all the 
other weird-ass people get to be out in the open, then so do I. And 
my true name is Deathrage, Gunnar Deathrage. And dude, why're 
you whispering? There's no-one else around." 


Sgt. Dave rolled his eyes (Fucker. I'm gonna zap you when my 
powers kick in. | just know | can throw lightning. And fire guns with 
endless ammo. Yeah. That'd be cool.) and pointed back down the 
ridge. "Fine, 'Gunnar’, but I'm whispering because we don't know 
how good our brother's hearing is and we don't want to scare him 
off. Plus, it's hunting season and | don't want one of those townsfolk 
taking a potshot at me because | made a sound like a deer or 
something. 


"Also, we just got a call that the kumiho is coming to visit us. 
Apparently she's making a tour of the watch-camps near the 
Liberation Point and we're next. She should be here in a couple of 
hours max and | need you to go back and help clean up the camp 
for her. I'll take over your watch here."