The spell is fading. Hurry. She glanced at her palm. The symbols 
had begun to grow faint. She quickened her pace, leaping down the 
stairs two, three at a time, until there were no more to descend. 
Ahead was standing in a large room, at the end of which was a door. 
Through the glass, she could see people moving, cars driving 
through the street. 


The spell is gone. Run. She was at the door almost before it 
finished speaking. Her shoulder slammed against the glass, but she 
ignored the pain. The door swung open, and she stumbled onto the 
sidewalk 


The drizzle had changed into a downpour, and she was soaked in 
seconds. Swarms of passerby bounced her between them. Water 
streamed around her ankles, carrying with it garbage and muck that 


clung to her legs. Sprays of water from passing cars splattered her 
with filth. A smell clung to the air, unmoved by the rain, fumes and 
cheap grease and rot and sewage and a hundred others. 


It was beautiful. 


She squeezed through the crowd. Though it was night, light from the 
buildings illuminated the street. Restaurants, thrift stores, a tattoo 
parlor... she freed herself from the river of people and ducked into a 
Chinese restaurant that didn’t seem too crowded. A couple in the 
corner swiveled to stare as she stumbled in, dripping wet. The 
middle-aged man behind the counter’s face twitched, but he said 
nothing. 


Amy collapsed into an empty chair, brushed the wet bangs from her 
eyes. She stared up at the ceiling and began to laugh, a cackle 
bursting from her belly, growing louder until it seemed the room 
would buckle under the force of it, then trailing into a giggle only she 
could hear. It was several minutes before she became aware of the 
man from the counter standing next to her. 


“Ma’am, you’re going to need to order something.” 
She sighed. “Come on, just... fuck off for a minute, alright?” 


He did. Bells above the door jangled as he stepped into the rain to 
be swept away by the crowd. The couple stared, wide-eyed, and 
almost tripped on their chairs racing for the door. Amy stared after 
them. | can’t look that bad. 


Your aptitude for the Craft showing itself, triggered by the 
casting of your first rite. An unwitting compulsion charm, said 
the Witness. It felt the need to add, The lovers left of their own 
volition. 


Great, I’m a Marvel supervillain now. She glanced at the abandoned 
table. The food was half-eaten, but not nearly finished. Her stomach 
growled. In an instant she was at the table, shoveling as much lo- 
mein into her mouth as her fingers would allow. She finished, then 
descended upon the plate of General Tso’s chicken. Jesus, how 
could food this delicious exist? 


After the plates were licked clean, she settled back in the chair, 
rubbing her hands with napkins. So. The Foundation. How fucked 
are we? 


There was a moment of pause before it said, Thoroughly. 


Great. She ran her fingers through her hair, rubbing her scalp. Plus, 
Rupinder and the three razor-sharp amigos. Still no idea who they 
are? 


They are almost certainly Serpent’s Hand. 


You can tell me what that means later. She stood, walked to the 
counter. After a glance back at the chef, she popped open the 
register. Only a few coins and crumpled bills. She pocketed it 
anyway. So, my family’s in San Diego. We’re in New York. That's... 
what, a 200 dollar plane ticket? Shouldn't be too hard. 

This would be a regrettable decision. You will be apprehended 
before boarding the aeroplane. Should you manage to make it 
home, they will certainly be waiting for you there. 


I'll avoid them, then. She slipped from the restaurant into the rush of 
the sidewalk. 


This is impossible. 
She gritted her teeth. /’// fight them off. You can show me a spell. 


! would show you arite. And we have very little time for that. 
You would only make yourself easier to capture. 


“Goddammit, I’m going to see my fucking family!” she roared, halting 
in traffic. A few passerby shot her dirty looks. 


You will not. If you attempt to contact them, you will be 
captured. If you do not leave the city, you will be captured. If 
you give anyone your real name, you will be captured. If you 
make any one of a million possible mistakes against this 
enemy, you will be captured. You will need the help of another. 


“Yeah?” she hissed. “Who’s that?” 


You must find the Warden. 


« All The World Will Be Your Enemy | Hub | Riddles From The 
Dark » 


Riddles From the Dark 


“Man, if I'd known you were so useful for petty larceny, | would have 
started years ago.” 


Years ago you believed I was a schizophrenic delusion. 


“Whatever, Nancy Nitpicker.” Amy pressed her hand to the 
storefront window. The storm had settled into a soft drizzle. 
Raindrops marked the glass, blurring the lights of the alley. The 
three bags she held bulged under the weight of clothes, toiletries, 
and food. One had burst already, and she’d had to reinforce them 
with second layers. She’d swapped the rain-soaked pajamas for a 
pair of loose jeans, white T-shirt, and navy hoody. Not the time to be 
choosy about fashion. 


A line of sweat rolled down her face as she stared out at the alley. 
Her breathing slowed. She felt a pinching in her shoulder, not 
painful, but not pleasant either. Like someone kneading their 
knuckles against her skin. It crawled down her arm, until every 
muscle trembled, and her fingers clenched against the glass. 


Excellent. Now release. 


She grunted, and the world reversed. The sensation was like hitting 
water after a thirty foot fall. The briefest moment of panic ran 
through her as her consciousness snapped forward, then she was in 
the alley, stumbling back from the glass. This time she managed to 
stop herself before colliding with anything, at least. Hopefully the 
store manager wouldn’t be too angry about the broken mannequin. 


A much improved attempt. Don’t think that means it is in 
anyway acceptable. 


“You sound like my swim coach.” Her nose wrinkled at the smell of 
the alley. There was a garbage bin at one entrance, and going by 
the stench someone had probably been using it as an emergency 


sewer. Covering her nose with her free hand, she exited from the 
other side. 


Fortunately, no one paid much attention to the girl coming out of the 
closed store with enough goods to supply a small family. Most of 
them were too focused on their phones or not tripping on the broken 
sidewalk. “Thank god for New Yorkers,” she muttered. Then she 
thought, Which way is it? 


East. 
Which way in a real direction? 


Right. Which is towards that large blue sign, if you happened to 
be curious. 


Laugh it up. She began to walk with crowd. Someone knocked 
against her shoulder. She tried to shoot him a dirty look, but he had 
already disappeared into the swell of people. 


Spend five years locked in a cell, and you feel fine. But now that she 
was out in the open city, she felt claustrophobic. There was barely 
room to breath, mashed between a dozen people fighting to move 
forward. She hissed as someone else bumped into her. Didn’t any of 
these assholes watch where they were going? 


Left, said the Witness as she reached an intersection. The light at 
the crosswalk was mercifully red. She dashed across the street. 


What must be remembered is that every working has a price. 
The nature of repayment varies, but appears in two broad 
forms- immediate and delayed. 


Right, she thought. In school, she’d sat solidly in the middle of the 
class, grade-wise. The work wasn’t difficult, but none of the material 
interested her- the swim team had always been the focus of her 
attention. She’d begun reading more while in captivity, chewing 
through books faster than her captors would authorize them to her, 
but those were fiction. She’d never been the studious type. But since 
the Witness showed her those first spells, she hadn't let it have a 
moment of peace. As soon as it finished one topic, she demanded it 


begin teaching another. So, something like the place-swapping 
trick? 


Immediate actions demand immediate remuneration. 


Didn't feel like | paid anything. She walked as close to the curb as 
possible, practically in the street. Sticking to the edges of the crowd. 


It is not necessarily noticeable, or localized. Students of the 
workings have devoted lifetimes to the study of payment. In 
doing so, they discovered very little. The only obvious pattern 
is the correspondence between size of the working and the size 
of the payment. But the price may range from a change in the 
working of an internal organ, to affecting a nearby piece of 
landscape, to targeting people you know or love. 


Amy frowned. You're saying me doing this stuff could hurt my family. 


When enacted on a particular scale. Such a vindictive payment 
would necessitate a drastic action on your part. There is very 
little to worry about. 


She fell silent. Suddenly she was very aware of how cold and 
uncomfortable it was. The stolen coat was doing much to keep the 
chill back. She wrapped it tighter, shivering. Her hair was soaked 
from the rain. No matter how vigorously she tried to brush the bangs 
away, they fell back to block her vision. Every muscle in her body 
felt worn. Just walking was triggering aches in her bones. 


The tunnel. Down. She was approaching the entrance to a subway 
- the J track, going by the grey sign. With a sigh, she plunged into 
the herd of evening commuters. One turnstile-hop and staircase 
later, she stepped onto the dirtiest subway platform she’d seen in 
her life. The tile shone like someone had slathered it in a layer of 
grease, and didn’t smell much better. Garbage was piled against the 
walls and tunnel. Commuters waited with heads down, hands buried 
in pockets, lost in bubbles of isolation, even where they barely had 
room to move. 


Onto the tracks. 


God, she wished it had a physical body. Instead, she thought very 
hard about giving it a withering look, and hoped the message went 
through. 


Quickly, please. Time is limited. 


She leaned against the platform wall, away from the crowd. /’m not 
climbing onto a subway track. 


This is the most convenient Way to the Library. There are no 
closer options. The train will be approaching soon. Take the left 
path. 


This was insane. She was going to get herself killed because of 

some crazy fucking voice in her head. And yet, she found herself 
approaching the platform edge, until the tips of her shoes rested 

over the lip. 


The tunnel floor was rough with grime. Something covered in mud 
rummaged through the collected garbage. Its friend poked a head 
up from the pile, teeth clamped around something more mold than 
food. A puddle of what she hoped was water had collected on the 
other side, the surface black and unreflective. And where the track 
met the tunnel’s darkness, there was a symbol marked in green 
paint. 


The sign of the Ways. 


Even New Yorkers weren't so self-absorbed as to not miss someone 
jumping onto a subway track. There were gasps as she hit the 
ground. Chip bags and canned food spilled across the ground as 
one of the bags caught a loose bit of steel. Whatever. She had two 
more. Before anyone could react with more than a gawk, she 
disappeared into the tunnel. 


The darkness was overpowering. She could fee! it in the air, sticking 
to her skin like wet tissue. She blinked. When her eyes opened, red 
lines cut through the darkness. They formed a web of images, 
outline every piece of garbage, every contour of the tunnel ahead. 
Shakily, she began to advance. The bags beat a rough tempo, 
slapping against her thigh. 


Here. said the Witness, as she approached a bend in the tunnel. 
She stopped. A section of the wall was bent inward. The stone was 
cool and rough. Cracks in the wall nipped at her fingers as she rana 
hand across the concrete. 


What now? 
Wait. 
For how long? 


The Witness didn’t respond. She sighed, letting her hand fall back 
down. Not for the first time tonight, she wondered what the hell she 
was doing. Had the Witness really proven itself trustworthy? It was 
entirely possible, likely even, that there was another agenda it was 
moving towards. Would it be best to ignore its warnings, find a plane 
ticket or hitchhike home, try to forget this whole thing? But that 
wouldn't be possible. If there was one thing it had said she was 
certain of, it’s that the Foundation was searching for her. And if she 
went home, they would find her. 


Place your hand on the break. 
She did. Now? 
Do not run. 


Before she could ask what that meant, the tunnel shook. She 
glanced down. The red lines marking the track were vibrating. Her 
eyes went wide. Okay, no way she was sticking around for this. She 
turned and prepared to bolt from the tunnel. 


Keep your hand on the wall, barked the Witness. You will not 
survive the passing otherwise. 


“Fuck that! I’m getting out of here.” 


This is the Way into the Library. You MUST be touching the 
wall. You MUST let the transport pass. You will not be harmed. | 
understand you may not have faith in me. But have faith in this. 
Our existence is linked. | would no more harm you than | would 
myself. | give you my bond, this path is the best opportunity to 


Dr. : Oh, two minutes or so. (childishly 
laughs) | was supposed to tell you when we 
sent down the submersible a few hours ago, 
but | guess it just sort of slipped my mind. 


Researcher H : Asshole. (coughs) | didn't 
even have time to pack. Remind me to beat 
you once the docs fix me up, okay? (There is a 
sound of a submersible docking in the 
background) See you in two hours or so, Ted. 
Station Alpha Out. 


Conclusion: Video records show H -9 
walking slowly to the docking platform, which 
opens in front of him. As the doors begin to 
close, the walls of the enclosure dissolve into 
SCP-684 around H -9, who is seen 
struggling as the doors finish closing. All of 

H -9's personal effects are dissolved and 
absorbed into the walls of Station Delta. Three 
minutes later, the docking platform doors open 
and H -10 steps out, carrying his personal 
belongings. Later on, other crewmen on Delta 
greet him warmly. 


Transmission 684-AZ48-1 
Access 


Communication Requested By: 
Maintenance CrewmanA Z , Copy 48, 
Station Alpha 


Responder: [REDACTED] 
Foreword: Z would, on a monthly basis, 


use his personal-call allotment. This is the one 
anomalous call. 


[REDACTED]: Hello? 


reunite with your loved ones. 


Every cell in her body was begging to run. She could feel the animal 
panic clawing at her skin. The rumble of the tracks swelled through 
her bones. The light of the train was visible now, rushing forward like 
a falling star. 


Fuck it. 


She stepped forward, placed her hand on the wall, and gritted her 
teeth. Wind whipped paper into the air, tossed soda cans, sprayed 
dirt. The light plunged forward, faster, growing, growing, so that it 
filled her entire vision, an orb of white bringing with it obliteration. 
She squeezed her eyes shut, felt the final burst of wind, felt the 
metal brush her skin- 


And it was gone. The wet air of the tunnel vanished. The storm of 
wind and noise fell away to the sound of footsteps and whispered 
voices. She opened her eyes. 


The world was a forest of bookshelves. She stood in a clearing, ona 
raised stone platform, so that she could see the stacks stretching to 
the distance, farther than seemed possible. Around her, people 
explored the rows. Some sat at tables, speaking softly to one 
another, playing board games, fiddling with rusted devices, or just 
reading alone. Further away, in other clearings, what looked like 
small shops and restaurants had been set up.