"Only some. But it's impossible for most people to tell. The Flow 
here is mostly dried up, you have to poke around to make it work," 
Yang gestured towards a few words of artistic design, which were 
hardly recognizable. "And that takes a professional to know. We'll 
just take a look around. These certainly aren't the best, but would 
serve our tour here well enough." 


"Dried up?" Taman eyed the dried paint on the brick walls. A lot of 
which peeled off, leaving a layer of scrap and dust on the floor. 


"Well, the 'magic' in the art can't work forever, just like you can't 
preserve the colors of a painting forever. It deteriorates over time. 
The only difference is that normal art's preservation depends on the 
materials and the environment, and our work depends on, I'd say 
dedication?" 


"So, the more you pour in to it, the longer it works?" 


"That and how good you make it. | wouldn't say these were very 
successful at that. This whole section is dead." Yang's gaze briefly 
lingered on a poorly drawn owl-man, before returning to Taman. 
"Let's go in." 


Taman nodded. Together, they walked into the bowels of the 
structure. There were no longer any functional light fixtures, but the 
broken walls did a poor job of keeping the sunlight out. The rays of 


bright colors created more shades of grey and black, adding 
dimensions to the graffiti inside. They were slightly better preserved 
than their outside counterparts. 


Yang strode ahead, inspecting the large, empty building. Anything of 
value must have been looted years ago, as all that was left were 
broken pictures and used spray paint cans. She murmured a few 
times, but Taman hardly caught what she was saying. Granted, she 
didn't try very hard to listen; she followed the anartist, but her mind 
had already wandered off. 


She had never been to places like this. Going into abandoned 
buildings, alone or with others, seemed to be a terrible choice on all 
accounts. But she had heard about the charm of exploring depths of 
the city from some of her more adventurous friends, and seeing this, 
she had to admit that there was some truth to it. 


Nothing magical had happened so far, but there was this eerie 
beauty to it that she couldn’t deny. Even though the figures on the 
walls had lost parts of their bodies, the once bright colors dulled 
down into an indistinguishable grey, she could not help but imagine 
what it was like before the erosion of time set in. In some places, 
paint had peeled off only to reveal older artwork underneath, as if 
preserving the history under the layers. 


It was strange, but in a way, also calming. 


They moved through rooms filled with broken sentences, a giant set 
of teeth that were no longer able to chew, and a dragon breathing a 
patch of grey that must have been flames. Yang inspected the 
rooms one by one, some of them blocked by broken walls, some 
incredibly large, and some others shrouded in darkness. There was 
a mostly intact picture of a giant eye that Yang stared at for a long 
time, an impossible staircase she kicked at a few times, and a weird 
statue of aman she frowned at. But finally, they stopped at a large 
wall filled with seemingly random splashes of faded colors. 


"So," Taman suggested. "Finally found the magical art?" 


"Well," Yang answered. "More like finally found a safe one to poke 
with." 


Before Taman could ask, Yang quickly changed the topic: "Want to 
give ita go?" 


Taman stared at the piece. "What should | do?" 
"Hold on." Yang said, walking up. 


Taman watched Yang hold up her hand, and tapped at the picture 
gently. Then all of a sudden, it all changed. 


Yang was no longer there, and she was alone in the building. A 
perfect silence fell through, and the place appeared even more 
lifeless. But the walls were now new and the graffiti were bright and 
colorful. For a moment, the world seemed extra clear to her, with 
every detail visible. Before Taman could comprehend what was 
going on, the colors on the wall moved and merged, crawling down 
onto the floor and spreading to the ceiling. 


In a few moments, the floor melted and the ceiling collapsed. But 
Taman didn't fall down, as she was now standing on a swirl of 
colors. The walls, and the building itself had all disappeared, and the 
art pieces that once dwelled on their surfaces all broke free to join 
them. She had risen above the ground, looking down at the city 
below. 


But it was not her city, as all the buildings moved and changed, 
pulsing with life. As the color patches lifted her higher and higher, 
the city too blurred into lines and shapes and colors. The art pieces 
accompanying her had all converged together, their features no 
longer distinguishable. Then, the abstract city dimmed, the ground 
disappeared, and even the sky had been converted into simply blue 
and white. 


There was no longer any sense of height or direction, and Taman 
was lost in a world of mere colors. They moved and flowed and 
swirled around her, as if an ocean, and she felt like drowning in a 
bucket of paint. 


The next moment, the ocean dried up, the paint retreated, and she 
was able to breathe again. She looked up to see Yang still standing 
next to the wall of colors, the dull paint peeling off to reveal the 


bricks behind. Yang smiled and waved at her. 


Taman breathed heavily. A few moments later, she stuttered: "I, |... | 
really like this." 


Yang chuckled. "It's pretty standard hallucination. We showed 
something like this in class a week ago." 


"Yeah," Taman said, her mind still filled with the colors. "But... | just 
really like this." 


Yang nodded, and waited till Taman regained her composure. 
Exiting the room, they found some more or less clean and intact 
stairs to sit. Taman's head was still spinning, while Yang casually 
looked around. The sun had begun to set. The rays of light reduced 
as the shadows started to grow. 


A few more moments passed before Yang turned to Taman: "It's 
getting late. But there is something else | can show you." 


Taman looked at her expectantly. 


"Legler would say I'm disrespectful, but this place is long gone 
anyways." Yang gave a short laugh, and approached one of the 
walls. A large snake coiled on it, mouth open wide only to be cut 
through by a crack on the concrete. 


Yang pressed her hands against the wall: "You live near the 
campus, right?" 


"Yeah." 


"Um, should be enough." Yang examined the picture once more, 
closing her eyes. 


For a full five minutes, Yang stayed still and reached into the broken 
artwork, feeling its barely moving Flow, its intents and compositions. 
Taman stared intensely, but hardly knew what was going on. 


Finally, Yang reopened her eyes and started to rework the painting. 
Centering on the crack on the wall, she scraped off layers of paint 
with her hands, getting rid of the unnecessary colors and pieces. 


SCP-643 was recovered from a freezer located inside a bakery in 
Jacksonville, FL, where police had arrested 3 employees for 
cannibalizing their co-workers and several of the bakery's patrons. 
Agents embedded in the local police department noted that 
SCP-643 had caused the incident, and recovered 79 instances of 
SCP-643 from the bakery. Witnesses were administered Class-C 
amnestics, and SCP-643 was classified as Safe on / /1978. 


Addendum: Excerpt from Interview 643-A 
Interviewed: D-4312 
Interviewer: Dr. B 


Foreword: D-4312 had attempted to consume D-1122 
while the latter was under SCP-643's effect. 


<Begin Log> 
Dr.B :... and why did you feel compelled to attack 
her? 


D-4312: | couldn't help myself, man... she smelled so 
good, it reminded me of stuff my mom used to make. 


Dr. B_ : You didn't think it was wrong to eat another 
human? 


D-4312: | would've, but it felt... different. Like, it was 
okay to eat just a little, because it smelled so good. | just 
wanted a taste. 


Dr.B_ : If you "just wanted a taste", why did you 
continue eating D-1122 after she expired? 


D-4312: Well, when | had the taste, it was so good. Like, 
all the best stuff. | just wanted more and more and more 
and (D-4312 continued to repeat this phrase for 
approximately minutes.) 


<End Log> 


Peeling off more colors to reveal the black background underneath, 
she began to create lines spiraling towards the crack. She worked 
for the next ten or so minutes, obscuring the detail of the snake and 
reducing it to shapes and elements. Her new additions slowly 
worked their way in. 


By the time Taman started to grow bored and shifted her gaze 
around, the large snake suddenly began to melt. Another moment 
passed, its coiled body expanded, meeting the out-stretching lines 
and turning into a vortex. Amazed at this development, Taman 
turned back to see the green of the snake's scales darken and the 
red from inside its mouth subside, leaving only a deep shade of 
black. The solid crack expanded and seemingly liquefied, its 
darkness merging with the black paint surrounding it. As Yang 
stepped away, the vortex started to spin. Before long, a space 
opened within, allowing a few rays of light to shine through. 


"Here's your shortcut," Yang let out a deep breath of relief. "| think 
this can last an hour." 


"Holy shit," Taman's mouth opened wide. "You can do that?" 


"Well, we work with ‘perfectly normal materials’," Yang grinned 
towards Taman. "Meaning, no actual restriction on what can be 
used to make anart. Which would include this." 


Yang turned back towards spinning vortex as it started shaking 
slightly. "Do know that this is not a good way to go about this. 
Others’ Flow will interfere with yours, so it usually doesn't turn out 
well or last long. Pretty sure Legler can do this just by staring at it; | 
had to make modifications. But why don't you hurry up now; | think | 
overestimated its stability." 


Taman flipped through the pieces of art she had done over the past 
month, and realized Yang was right. She was really stressing herself 
out; and more than that, she was not really enjoying it. In fact, she 
had more fun with Yang in that one afternoon than for the entire 
month she spent going to magic art school. The wall of colors was 
no match for Professor Legler's transforming classroom, and yet she 
was unable to really appreciate it. 


She put her works aside, and took out the clay she had gotten from 
the classroom. Remembering how she played with plasticine in her 
youth, she started molding it. For now, she decided to not be 
concerned with what she made, but instead to just have fun. A few 
crude castles and weird monsters later, she reshaped the clay into a 
ball and set it back down. 


It was fun, and it should have always been like this. Thinking this, 
she left the room to clean herself up. 


A few minutes after she closed the door, a crack showed up in the 
clay sphere. Moments later, it split into two, releasing a swarm of 
colorful butterflies. 


« Foundation Mandated Interlude | HUB | Seven New Characters 
Are Introduced » 


Testing the Flow 


He felt something pressing against his skin. Ever since they had him 
read the goddamn booklet, he felt something squeezing him, trying 
to find its way in. It was as if the air pressure had risen to an 
incredible degree and all the air in his lungs was forced out, 
replaced with whatever it was that surrounded him. 


It should be painful, agonizing. Instead, it seemed almost pleasant 
and alluring. He felt like taking a deep breath to suck all that in, 
down to the very last bit. But he had learnt enough about this 
goddamn place to know it was not pleasant, and it never would be. 
He had heard stories about people who happily wrote with their own 
blood and bled out and died. 


This seemed to him very much like that, and he wanted to resist the 
urge for his own sake. He tried to, and succeeded so far. Only he 
knew that this would not last. Every moment, the air pressed harder 
against his person, pushing his organs together and he felt like 
throwing up. And on the other hand, he also felt as if something 
breath-taking would happen if only he would just heed the flow of the 
air and let it in. 


Only he knew it would not be marvelous. Only he knew he would 
give in. 


“Anart is effectively reality bending.” Dale Fang announced as soon 
as he closed the chamber. 


“What?” Yang blinked, “I’m not a reality bender, you know?” 


“Oh, sorry, | mean, Flow is reality bending,” Fang said as he 
proceeded to turn on the equipment. “Anyways, at least that’s how 
my hypothesis goes: It is formed by, or at least draws from the 
surplus of humanity’s collective reality-bending power.” 


Yang nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. She looked around the tall 
bronze machines that filled the room, before settling her attention on 
a particular one. “Hold on, is that a reality anchor?” 


“Yeah, the stabilizer,” Fang said, holding up a hand-held counter. 
“And this is a Hume reader.” 


“’m not gonna ask where you got those.” 


Fang turned to look at the anartist as he waited for the machines to 
fully activate. “Hey, relax. They are definitely produced in the family. 
It would be useful to get other groups’ more... professional version 
of the devices; ours are rather out of date. But they should be 
enough for me to determine reality bending’s role here.” 


“Don’t reality anchors affect like, magic as well?” Yang went up to 
take a closer look. “They’re used to banish gods, right? Can't 
remember quite well.” 


“Oh yeah, there are those weaponized designs. But in terms of just 
how it can affect reality benders and magic users, there are subtle 
differences. Usually not really effective towards thaumaturgy unless 
you’re targeting its links to the reality...” Dale pulled out of a tool box 
and began to set up a studio space. “But yeah, I’m straying from the 
topic. I’ll just set this up, and see how it can affect your creative 
process... and then I'll be the one to analyze the data and worry 
about what it is.” 


“Sure, sounds fine with me.” 


As Yang helped set up the small art space, Fang went back to 
adjust the devices. 


“| mean | could potentially also monitor your brain activity when 
you're... anarting,” He said, moving the measurement device closer 
to the art board. “But that’s not exactly my area of expertise.” 


“Of course we tracked their brain activities.” Dr. Samuels rolled his 
eyes. “How do you suppose we do tests? Just sit on our asses and 
record how they die?” 


“Actually, yeah, something like that.” Agent Green said as he looked 
around the storage room. Two rolls of anomalous artworks sat 
neatly on the two sides, separated by walls of enhanced glass. Their 
anomalous nature was glaringly visible under the strong illumination 
of the room, as many of them moved around erratically, defied 
Euclidian space, and emitted waves of colors. For a moment he felt 
like he was back in one of those anart exhibitions; in fact, the 
amount of anomalous artwork here was enough to fill an entire 
display. More than one, if being generous. 


“How many D-Classes did you even use?” 


“Not as many as you may think. Most were able to produce plenty of 
works before they... start to use themselves,” Samuels answered, 
pointing at one of the artworks. 


Looking over, Green saw a floating cube composed of what was no 
doubt human flesh. A severed human head on the top (which was 
still moving, and breathed hungrily) and traces of orange jumpsuit 
gave that away. The air contorted around it, pressing on all six 
sides. The cube itself seemed to be constantly shrinking under the 
pressure, but it was a mere visual hallucination. 


Green looked back at Samuels. 
“Well... some reacted quiet violently.” 


“You sure this is a good idea? Those pamphlets caused some major 
incident, after all.” Green frowned in response. “Besides, Cobalt’s 
been handing in reports. And hell, is the containment here even 
safe?”