"Thank you. | appreciate being compared with someone so well- 
respected at Site-19." 


The force of Lament shaking his head splattered black ichor against 
a wall. The pattern reminded them of an inkblot. 


The first order of the day was meeting a new patient, a man by the 


label of Mr. Laugh. 


The interview room was organized differently than most. It consisted 
of two couches and a coffee table laden with snacks, sweets, and 
soft beverages. A tape recorder for later transcription lay in the 
middle of the coffee table. Mr. Laugh had already seated himself on 
a couch, nervously sipping soda. Dr. Solace sat on the other couch 
to give the man some space. 


Mr. Laugh looked up at his doctor, then at his doctor's identification. 
He arched a brow. 


Dr. Solace doodled on their clipboard as they spoke. "Hello, Mr. 
Laugh. Are you alright with that designation, or would you prefer 
your number? Perhaps another name? | know my nametag says Dr. 
Solace—but you can call me Avery if you desire it." 


"... You're supposed to be wearing your... your..." Mr. Laugh 
stopped drinking his soda, downcast, waiting for the laughter. It was 
expected; everything he did struck people as funny. Even his pain. 
There was a moment of silence. Another. He looked up after a solid 
minute of quiet. 


He stared. Laughed with relief. Within the first fifteen minutes, he 
was curled against the doctor's side. Within twenty, he had settled 
on Avery's lap, swaddled in their arms. He had never known an 
interaction so painless. A touch so sympathetic. 


He tried to express this, but all he could do was weep. 


For the three hours of the assessment session, Dr. Solace 
accomplished nothing that would make it on the books. A second 
session would need to be scheduled. 


Dr. Solace broke out into laughter during lunchtime, loud enough to 
receive strange looks from the next table over. Doctor Mark Kiryu, 
sitting in front of them, tilted his head. "What's so funny? Avery?" 


They snickered for a few minutes longer before responding. 
"Someone told me a joke earlier this morning. | just got it now." Their 
smile faded, returning to their typical neutral expression. 


"It must've been a funny joke, then." 
"...No. A jellyfish could have made that joke." 


Dr. Kiryu tilted his head the other way. "Okay, I'll bite. Why jellyfish?" 


"Jellyfish. They have no brains. They're also slimy, | think. Ichor- 
like." 


He paused in his eating, then shook his head. "What're you working 
on, now? We got a lizard in our labs the other day. It's for Riven. It 
might cheer him up a little." 


"...Someone sad, Dr. Kiryu." 


"We went over this yesterday, Avery; | prefer to be called Mark. 
They're always sad, aren't they? Your patients?" 


"Yes. Mark. Always." Dr. Solace stared into the remainder of their 
coffee. "The lizard. Tell me about it." 


Their next task was to find an anomaly that had broken out of 
containment. The Foundation had narrowed it down to a small town. 
Dr. Solace's job was to find the anomaly based on its behavior, 
interviewing each male person that matched the description. 


They despised these tasks most of all. The interview rooms were 


always macgyvered. Insecure. The agents were just as haphazard. 
Most personnel out on these jobs were either people who had 
forgotten, or had wanted to forget. It only served to remind Dr. 
Solace how much they would like to forget, as well. But the 
amnestics didn't take. Then they didn't take again. 


"Please give me your name." 
"Dave." 


Dr. Solace looked to the agent beside them. The agent paused for a 
moment. "The guy said Dave." They nodded. The next man was 
brought in. It had been hours. It felt like days. 


"Please give me your name." 
"I’m not going to tell you. You'll just ignore me." 


The agent scratched his head. "Uhm. Joe something. | didn't quite 
get the last name." 


Dr. Solace stood and walked over to the anomaly. The man stood 
from his chair and began to back up. They stopped. Slowly so as not 
to startle, they extended their right hand. "I'm-" 


Joe raised his arm in a fist, then slammed it down on the offered 
forearm. They winced, then pulled their arm back to rub at the 
bruising flesh. "Calm down, sir. I'm not going to ignore you." 


The agent didn't react, as it should be. 


"You... What? How?" he sputtered. The anger drained from his face 
like thick honey from a bottle. 


Dr. Solace tried to show confidence in their smile. "I'm Avery. Please 
give me your name, then come back with me. If you cooperate, we 
can get to know each other. | can explain when we get back why | 
don't ignore you. It's not a nice story, but | think neither will yours 
be." 


When Dr. Solace was done with their day, most of the site had 
already gone to sleep. They were halfway there themselves but 
needed to get back to their assigned room. It didn't help that the 
half-lit halls took a few seconds of walking to recognize movement 
and fully illuminate. 


In each moment before their movements were picked up, they could 
see their dark companion dance from shadow to shadow. 


nan 
"| do not know what to make of that... Please explain." 

ng gn 

Dr. Solace had to pause and take a deep breath before continuing. 


At some point, they could swear Lament had begun to reach out 
from the darkness to pat their shoulder. Even if he wasn't real, the 
goosebumps were no illusion. 


The hallway with their room was already lit when they turned into it. 
The janitor was there, cursing as she scrubbed at a particular spot 
on the floor. She looked up at Dr. Solace, then down at their 
clothing. "Hey! Watch where you've stepped. I've spent the past 15 
minutes getting that black shit off this floor. | don't need you mucking 
it up again." 


Dr. Solace followed her gaze. There, on their left shoe. A splash of 
sticky, inky darkness. Like a clumsy painter. They stared for several 
minutes, then looked back up to the woman. "...E-excuse me. The 
time. Could you give that to me? The time. | don't know it." 


"Yeah. Hold on." She checked her phone. "One-oh-eight in the 
morning. Late night, huh." 


They checked their phone to confirm the time. 


"T-than... T-thank. You. Yes. A late night. Good... Good sleep? 
Night. G-good Night." 


Doctor Avery Solace entered their room, undressed, and pretended 
not to notice the black, slime-coated humanoid in the center of their 
unlit room. 


The entity only began to speak once the psychologist had begun to 
climb into bed. The warbled voice of Lament, corrupted to become 
as slimy as his flesh, echoed off unseen walls. 


"Avery. Skipping a dose again tonight? You must like me around. | 
hope the other docs don't get jelly.” 


"...1'm not that bad. I'm their only test subject for these things 
anyways. I'm not a guinea pig... And the medication doesn't make 
you go away. So it doesn't work." 


"Well, you can't say you're not a lab rat." 


Dr. Solace turned away from the direction of the voice. Tried to get 
some sleep. The last thing they felt was someone tucking them in. 


thinking/knowing/living 


the worst part of living 
if you really think about it 
is thinking. 


immortality 
it wouldn't be so bad 
if you didn't have to notice. 


the only way 

that one could stand knowing 
anything 

is the knowledge that one day 
with luck 

they may forget. 


and so we sat down 
learned the core mechanics 
and decided to live forever 
as stupid fools. 


but it was misaligned 

the others knew nothing 

and through the worst of fortunes 
| knew everything. 


an eternity 
of knowing. 


all conversations known. 
all possibilities conceived. 
all people understood. 


there is nothing 
that | do not know. 
| Know that 


there is nothing 
that | do not know. 


there is no meaning 

when there are no questions. 
there are no questions 

when there is no meaning. 


| Know | cannot be cured 
of the plague called life. 
| know | cannot not know. 


hear my words and 
take them to 
your enviable grave. 


the most grievous wound 
that anyone can inflict 
is knowing. 


the most beautiful gift 
that anyone can share 
is not. 


and so with my curse 

| gift the world. 

secure knowledge. 
contain wisdom. 
above all 

protect the stupid 

for their lot is enviable. 


Thirty Pieces of Silver, Plus Inflationary Costs 


FOR SALE - SECRETS TO SUCCESS - $2000 


Rare books containing methods to excelling in any field. 
Limited printing, little wear. Hand delivery in the north- 
eastern United States. Price negotiable. Will exchange 
for equivalent goods and services. 


Do not contact the seller with unsolicited services or offers. 


"Turn to the next page," said the ethereal projection of Overseer-6, 
floating an inch above the seat of a chair in an extremely cheap, 
extremely beige motel room located just outside Nowhere, 
Pennsylvania. Egret dutifully turned the page of a book she had 
retrieved from a dead drop in an abandoned school bus a couple 
miles away. "Next page." She flipped from one heavily annotated 
page of Organizational Symbology to the next. None of the red ink 
notes crammed into the margins did much to improve her own 
understanding of the text, nor did the new diagrams that had been 
scrawled over old ones. "Next page." 


"| can have the book delivered to you, Overseer," said Egret, doing 
as she was asked regardless. She might have personally 
considered her time better spent hunting the last owner of the book, 
but her boss knew best. As always. 


"No, | don't want it near me. Next page." 
"Should | be wearing gloves or something?" 


"Not unless you're also being kept together by a thaumaturgic 
superstructure, no." The Overseer's apparition sighed and rubbed 
the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "Forget | said that." 


Egret did, and quickly too. Tossing aside a few just-passed seconds 


Notes: /t appears as if 573 is indeed sentient, in any case. -Dr. 
Bright 


Subject: SCP-590 

Photographed Activity: Subject is playing with blocks. 

Photo Result: SCP-590's face is close up to the camera, filling the 
entire photo. His hands are displayed as if pressed against the lens. 
His mouth is open, and tears fill his eyes. 


Subject: SCP-607 

Photographed Activity: Being restrained while having its ears 
cleaned. 

Photo Result: Lying dead alongside the mutilated bodies of the 
personnel engaged in cleaning its ears. 


Subject: SCP-645 
Photographed Activity: Seated in its containment chamber prior to 
testing. 
Photo Result: Seated in what appears to be its original location in 

, Italy. It is surrounded by a large crowd of weeping people, all of 
whom have had both hands severed. 14 are identifiable as 
Foundation personnel; 19 have been identified as current and 
former Italian political figures. 


Subject: SCP-662 
Photographed Activity: Posing for the camera. 
Photo Result: No change. 


Subject: SCP-665 
Photographed Activity: Drinking his evening meal. 
Photo Result: Walking free and unencumbered. 


Subject: SCP-682 

Photographed Activity: Contained in Holding Tank. 

Photo Result: SCP-682 was shown surrounded by several dead 
personnel, and mauling the cameraman. 

Notes: Well, that was predictable. -Dr. Valence 


Subject: SCP-698 
Photographed Activity: Sitting in its box 
Photo Result: No change 


was as easy as discarding an empty beer can once one was 
practiced enough at it. "Should | be wearing gloves? Or like, a 
mask?" 


"It's not dangerous. Next page." Egret recognized the sensation of 
lost seconds, but refrained from looking at her watch as she turned 
the page. Better to not give her brain any reasons to start worrying 
over what might have just happened. "Next page,” the Overseer said 
again, faster than before. "Next page. Next page. They want you to 
do what? Not you, Egret. Skip to 46 for me. Next page. No, this is 
absurd. Next page. You can't arrange the substantiation apparatus 
like that, not without... Next page. Next page. Hold it there." The 
Overseer's projection abruptly fizzled out, leaving Egret feeling 
foolish for presenting the book to an empty chair. Several minutes 
full of the sensation passed in silence. 


"Overseer?" she asked. 


"Yes, I'm still here," replied a small cloud of bright shapes, shifting 
shapes that flickered into existence over the seat. "It's unfortunate, 
but | believe we're dealing with a powerful idiot." 


"Sorry?" 


"You'll have to kill them, of course. Whoever edited this copy, and 
whoever was trying to sell it. Bring me their heads, as much of them 
as you can." 


"Yes, Overseer. And the books? If there are more?" 
"Burn them all." 


Egret's smile oozed across her face as the last traces of the 
Overseer's presence vanished from the tiny room. Arson and 
murder, she could live with that. Whether or not other people could 
was more of an open question. 


The tome itself didn't contain any hints on who had been buying or 
selling it, especially not after it was reduced to ash in a rest stop 
parking lot. That was fine. She had already been chasing ghosts 
when she found the book, and she could chase them a while longer. 


Sooner or later, she would draw close enough to hear the beating 
heart of the conspiracy. Close enough to grab it and squeeze. 


A string of informants who toed the boundary of what the Foundation 
would consider to be acceptably weird led Egret eastward. A man 
with impeccably awful luck and brothers in the local doomsday cult 
told her about two strangers who came in the night offering to sell 
the secret key to the stars. A woman who mixed remedies out of spit 
and swamp water told Egret about a similar pair who came in the 
night wearing masks and seeking to trade. A bank owner (who birds 
swore at in Arabic) told her of the pair's strange familiarity, and a 
cigarette smuggler who worked for the Sarkic-connected mob told 
her of the pair's common strangeness. 


Egret caught up to her prey on a chilly morning in the distant 
outskirts of Philadelphia. Breath clouding in the air, stomach warmed 
by a thermos of soup, she stole intermittent glances at the pair of 
booksellers as they left Mack's Taphouse And (whatever came next 
on the sign had been painted over long ago.) It was a known nexus 
of anomalous activity, though nothing ever seemed to be done about 
the place. The two booksellers could have passed for any number of 
normal people, being of intermittent builds and dressed in slightly- 
ragged parkas, if only they had not been wearing wooden masks 
carved in the likeness of sheep heads. 


Egret could have gunned them down on the curb, of course. She 
strongly considered it in between mouthfuls of wilted vegetables and 
mystery meats. The Overseer wanted more than two corpses to pick 
apart though, and it was hard to imagine these two being at the 
center of the conspiratorial web. Especially not as she watched them 
argue over a map of the city. Memories of hollow siblings picked at 
the back of Egret's mind, but she shook them away. 


The booksellers were gone the next time Egret looked over. 
Whether they walked away or vanished into thin air, she couldn't 
say, but she had their scent now. Ink, paper, secrets, and the 
faintest trace of some unimaginable atrocity, it wasn't a bouquet she 
was likely to lose track of any time soon. 


Following as closely as she dared, Egret tracked them around the 


city, watching as others paid them so little attention as to almost run 
them over. Each attempt to get close enough to eavesdrop ended in 
failure, as one would invariably straighten up and look around as 
she approached. Weirdness, as always, got in the way of honest 
fieldwork.