"No, | get it. She protected you when you were kids, and now you 
think that makes you beholden to her for the rest of your life. She 
helped you once, but now she's on a downward spiral and she's 
intent on flinging as much of her own shit onto you as possible 
before she crashes." 


Priss shook her head, averting her gaze from Sharpe, "It's... she's 
family..." 


"Don't give me that crap... ‘blood is thicker than water’ horse shit. 
Psychopaths like your sister exploit that to their advantage. Just 
because they're related to you doesn't mean you should have to 
bear the burden of their assholery. What if you had an uncle who 


kept stealing your panties and sniffing them and selling them? What 
if you had a cousin who kept beating the fuck out of you and stealing 
your things? What if your father was a sexual predator who kept 
raping people and asking you to keep it secret — ?" 


"Except she's not," Priss gnawed on her lower lip. She wasn't angry, 
but the reaction at least got Sharpe to stop, "And what is it with you 
with those crazy-ass examples? Everything's always ‘uncle 
pedophile’ with you." 


"Aurianne Sharpe?" The voice of one of the attendants interrupted. 


"She's not a psychopath out to hurt everyone around her. She's sick, 
and she needs help." 


Sharpe rose up, straightening her jacket, before leaning over to 
meet Priss's gaze, "Then get her help. Professional help. Mental 
illness isn't a zero-sum game — half-assed help isn't better than no 
help." 


Shi Mingxia couldn't focus with the lab assistant staring at her. She 
cast a sidelong glance at him. He was still staring. She finally gave 
up and turned to face him. That got his attention. 


"Are we going to have problems here? Should | send for another lab 
assistant?" 


He stared at her, eyes widening as he realized what she meant, "My 
apologies, Doctor. | do not mean to — | am not particularly fond of 
women." 


She caught on, and sighed, "Can you stare someplace else, please? 
Shouldn't you be taking notes?" 


He held out his notes to her, "This is what | have managed. We 
cannot conclude if it is man-made or not. If not —" 


"| know what it means." 


"Dr. Sienowicz was killed by this disease, wasn't he?" The assistant 
was on the edge of his seat, thinking himself on the brink of some 


new realization. 


"Or he was killed by whomever was responsible for engineering this 
bacterium. You know, the more realistic possibility rather than 
assuming the bacterium is intentionally targeting some people but 
not others." 


She glanced down at the counter. She had been wearing gloves 
when she handled the bacterium. Visualizing the old man in her 
position, shuffling papers and pretending to look busy whenever she 
was around, she couldn't remember if he had been wearing 
gloves... 


She almost stopped herself, and had to actively fight the compulsion 
to give up and try something else. Very carefully, she slid the 
sample out from under the microscope, and adjusted it to give her 
hand some space to take its place. She held still, and peered in to 
the microscope. Why she had expected anything, she could only 
ascribe to her own general ignorance. Sienowicz was the true 
scientist; she was only an assistant. 


There, nestled amongst the grooves of the latex, but unable to 
perforate the polymer fibers, was the bacteria. As if noticing her 
reaction — the subtle tension of her muscles, the sharp intake of 
breath — the bacteria stopped moving, like cockroaches caught out 
in the open when the lights came on. The mere fact that they were 
there, on a solid surface, outside of a moist environment... 


"You," She flailed her free hand at the lab assistant behind her, 
hoping he was at least staring in her direction now, "Quarantine. Get 
on the phone, tell the manager to quarantine this lab." 


"Where did it come from? 'We don't know’. How does it work? 'We 
don't know’. Is it trans-dimensional, trans-universal, both, or neither? 


‘We don't know". 


Dr. Jaime Marlowe felt like a failure. The more she filled out the 
report with those sorts of non-answers, the more she wondered how 
a Dr. Eddlestein, Dr. Bright, or a Dr. Eastwatch would have handled 
this sort of anomaly. How quickly would they have deciphered the 


form of microorganism, hereafter referred to as SCP-927-1. 
SCP-927-1 has infested all surfaces inside SCP-927, and is also 
present within all liquids in the residence. Since the SCP-927-1 
infestation, SCP-927 has shown no further structural collapse and all 
biological tissue within SCP-927 has ceased decomposing. 


SCP-927-1 reproduces quickly and has on multiple occasions 
infested other properties in the area. Upon infestation of a 
residence, SCP-927-1 will proceed to replicate SCP-927's 
conditions. SCP-927-1 will infest any humans in the residence, 
usually killing them by tunneling through their heart. SCP-927-1 will 
then proceed to systematically injure the corpse. 


In the case of males, SCP-927-1 will replicate blunt trauma to the 
head and neck, and will tunnel through the right leg to create severe 
lacerations. In the case of females, SCP-927-1 will apply precise 
trauma to simulate strangulation and blunt trauma to the ribs. If there 
are more humans residing in the infested residence than SCP-927, 
any additional corpses within the infested residence will be broken 
down extremely quickly, until no evidence of its existence remains. 
SCP-927-1 within victims bodies will, through a process as of yet 
unknown, alter its DNA until is identical to the corresponding body 
within SCP-927. 


Any carbonated liquids within SCP-927 will go flat and fruit will rot to 
a certain point, and then cease decomposition completely. 
SCP-927-1 will convert the leg in the northeast corner of any table 
within an infested residence to iron, and produce nails identical to 
those in SCP-927. Any paintings, portraits or photographs within the 
infested residence will be converted to a slightly torn painting of a 
sunflower. 


If residences infested by SCP-927-1 possess a second floor, the 
third step will be tunneled through and made to collapse. SCP-927-1 
will produce live termites within the walls until the residence can be 
considered infested. SCP-927-1 will tunnel through surfaces until 
they have reached a similar state of collapse as SCP-927. 


Removing objects from SCP-927 appears to have no effect on this 
conversion process, as it would seem SCP-927-1 is operating ona 
‘template’ of SCP-927's state when it was first infested. SCP-927-1 


incoherent number patterns on it, or begun to grasp the 
thermodynamics behind a thing like this, which left the room freezing 
the more it was used, while making those obnoxious clicking noises 
as it started to overheat. She couldn't even understand how they 
had figured out it was called "Anabasis". 


She spun the paper about on the cold desk top, contemplating just 
how long it would take for her to run out of things to do, button 
combinations to press, and random trash to "warp" in from the fifth 
dimension. How long before they decided to give up and stick itin a 
box in a basement someplace, and assign her to something utterly 
pointless, realizing how much of a failure she was and how she 
couldn't be trusted with potentially game-changing anomalies like 
this one. 


She jumped to her feet, gasping and heading out the door before 
she ended up having a panic attack. The place bustled with activity; 
Foundation personnel assigned to the site, looking busy. She hated 
how easy they made it look. So often, she had long stretches of time 
with essentially nothing to do. Meanwhile, everyone else always 
seemed to be busy at every moment, and she ended up re-reading 
the same files, re-typing reports, re-doing things, just to ook busy. 


Again, she felt her chest tighten and stomach churn violently. Panic 
attack. She rushed down to the cellar where it was being held. At the 
very least, the temperature in there would be cool, so she wouldn't 
start sweating so horribly. 


"Nothing?" She asked the small group clustered around the 
Anabasis. It always alternated, and that annoying woman was 
always among them. 


"Nothing," A male voice said. 


"No, wait," Of course, that woman Priscilla Locke, "I think I've figured 
out the first two knobs." 


"Have you, or have you not?" 


"The numbers change with the last click. We've been testing it a bit, 
and we figured the first three clicks are for length, width, and height, 


setting up the dimensions of whatever is going to be brought in." 


Marlowe glared at Locke. Her stupid freckled face and that stupid 
way she stared back without blinking. Was she retarded, or did she 
think it was cute? Marlowe looked to the others. They all seemed to 
be in agreement. 


"It took you a month to figure this out?" She asked incredulously. 


"To be fair, we were using the first three knobs all at once and 
thinking they were each for length, width, and height," The first man, 
a technician called Edgars, said, "We saw it wasn't actually working 
consistently each time, so we started going by trial and error until we 
figured out we only needed the first knob for shape." 


Dr. Marlowe gripped at the side of her head, fingers curling in her 
hair and tugging until they were tense around her fingers, "So you've 
figured out how to adjust for size." 


"Basically, yes." 

"And it doesn't like... re-set any of the other settings?" 
"No." 

"Okay. Start testing with D-Class." 


They all stared at her, and Locke butt in, "Excuse me, Dr. Marlowe, 
but —" 


"Put in a fucking man-sized space, put in a man, send him out, then 
bring him back. Make sure he's got a hazmat suit and oxygen. 
Logical?" 


She knew the looks on their faces. It wasn't anything to do with the 
device or the potential testing. It was the D-Class. Always with them. 
They couldn't handle the simple fact that the D-Class were there to 
be used. That they had to be clothed and fed and taken care of was 
incidental due to the fact that they had to be as human as possible 
when facing the unknown, so that no real loss would be suffered 
should something go wrong and they died. People had done it with 
animals for centuries. Suddenly they cared because it was humans 


being used instead of animals? Did they care enough about the D- 
Class to clothe them and feed them and shelter them from their own 
pockets? To have one sleep in their home? Date their sisters or 
daughters? 


"Get it done," She gave Locke a last smoldering glare, then turned 
to leave, feeling much better now. 


Shi Mingxia didn't mind being naked around others. It was entirely 
fine for her; it was just unpleasant when those others were dressed 
in big white hazmat suits, and had her in the center of a room 
wrapped in plastic. She smirked at them as they looked her way 
again, and gave a little wave. They turned, heading back outside. 


"Can | at least get a bathrobe?" 


They didn't listen. She sighed, and lowered herself onto the plastic, 
sitting down and getting to work thinking. She hadn't had anywhere 
near the level of experience with the bacterium as Dr. Sienowicz 
had, so she could only guess as to the mode of its transmission. 
Thus far, it had demonstrated itself to be waterborne, highly 
resistant to extreme temperature, and now potentially able to survive 
on dry surfaces, given what had happened to her. 


Best-case explanation she could think of... it was a weapon. A 
nanobot posing as a bacterium, perhaps, changing based on 
commands being received from a hacker somewhere. Despite the 
fact that it was very clearly not a nanobot, and very clearly 
biological. 


That left the lab attendant's goofy-ass theory, that the bacterium was 
somehow sentient, and forcibly mutating based on what it 
overheard... despite the utter impossibility of something that small 
being able to discern human speech. But she wasn't an expert in 
any of this... she was little more than a glorified intern. And now she 
was squatting in a quarantined room, completely naked, and 
probably about to die at any moment. 


The door slowly started to open. She glanced up, and could see an 
unprotected face through the plastic, looking around quizzically. It 


was that lab attendant... She couldn't remember his name. Xi- 
something... 


He noticed her, eyes widened, then he opened the door into her little 
sealed chamber. She bolted to her feet, rushing to try to stop him. It 
was too late; he stepped out, nearly bumping against her. 


"What is wrong with you? How did you get out of quarantine?" 


"They're dead," His eyes briefly traced down her bare body, only 
seeming to put him more on edge, "All the scientists. All the 
Officials." 


She glanced over his shoulder, noting someone in a hazmat suit 
approaching the doorway. She turned him around, just in time to see 
that person fall over, face-planting on the threshold, and starting to 
curl like a worm on fire. Xi the attendant started to whimper and sob. 
She gingerly reached out, turning the squirming body over. 


The man's eyes were drenched in blood, his mouth working open 
and shut, with nothing but reddish-black and dark green pooling in 
his mouth. The site alone made her gag. He'd been sweating 
profusely, and coughing up blood. 


"He's dead," She murmured. 
"But wait, he's moving. The others —" 


"He's dead," She reiterated. She drew up, and peered out of the 
containment room. Other bodies lay around. Some were squirming. 


"It's zombies. Zombie apocalypse. Heaven help us, zombies!" The 
boy was getting hysterical. 


She smacked him to get him to stop, "It's not zombies, you twit! Go 
find my clothes. We need to contact someone. And do not go 
squawking about zombies to people." 


All it took was once; "Steve Chin" he'd introduced himself as, 
forgetting that it was family name first, then given name. They all 
laughed at his embarrassed reaction. Now he was "Steve Chin", or 


"Chin Steve the American". 


"Ey, Corporal Steve," One of the men beside him nudged, noticing 
how profusely Chin was sweating, "how're you enjoying the 
weather?" 


The convoy had crossed into Indo-China an hour earlier, part of the 
Emperor's surge in forces to put down the Communist elements in 
Dai Viet and further pacify the region. The eight-year plan to annex 
Indo-China was five years behind schedule, so the Emperor's 
patience was understandable strained. 


"This blows," Chin grunted in response, "Why don't we burn out the 
jungles so we can force the fuckers out in the open?" 


"This is the Emperor's land. You wouldn't dare slash and burn what's 
properly his." 


"The damn | wouldn't. The Emperor has plenty of trees all over 
China. What's a few more square kilometers to him? | say burn it all, 
rebuild later." 


Despite the heat, Chin sneezed, and found himself starting to shiver. 
He glanced up, and noticed all the others around him were sweating 
profusely too. Not a big deal, he figured; it was rather humid today. 
He wiped his face on his sleeve, and got odd looks from the others. 
Looking down, he realized he'd sneezed up a big wad of bloody 
mucous. 


"Must have caught something." 


The man beside him nudged him again, “Just a little blood, Corporal 
Steve. At least you didn't get to see the crime scene | left in the toilet 
back at base." 


« Voice of Decay | Rot | Potent Drug » 
Anabasis Hub 


Rough Beast 


Book of Movements, Third Gear: 


00:01:00 And God was torn into six parts, and those parts were sent 
to the edges of the world, so that none that knew Its name might 
recover them. 


00:02:00 The parts were carried away as it follows. 


00:03:00 The Heart of God, so that It may feed upon the living and 
unliving, was placed in the deepest of oceans. 


august 
The last two humans on Earth bowed. 
"It is time, Brother Stound."