Giant blue birds perched on railings along the path, staring with 
beady eyes as Dhole passed by. Each waited for her to die. Waited 


to feast on her flesh and her spirit. She tossed loose stones at them, 
but they only scattered for moments each time. Even raucous 
squawking would have been better than the silence they regarded 
her with. 


Travelers passed too, walking in the opposite direction. Each had 
odd forms, but were uniformly sunken and haggard. Many came to 
witness the majesty of the Pillar and the city slowly crawling up its 
sides. Most left with empty purses, useless trinkets, and crushing 
disappointment. Maybe they would make it back to whatever places 
came from, maybe they wouldn't. It had always been hard to care 
about the fates of tourists, especially when they treated her 
bookstore like a common library. She had survived her ordeal, so 
they could manage their own. 


Dhole stopped behind an outcropping of rock at the outskirts of town 
to switch her mask. The moment between taking one off and putting 
the other on was grating, but nothing compared to how it would feel 
to be recognized wearing a dog's face. She was a sheep, she 
insisted to herself as she put her old mask back on. She made 
money. She didn't hurt anyone. That was her nature, no matter what 
had happened. No matter what would happen. 


The gatehouse guards stared as she approached, eyes intent 
behind paper masks. Once, Dhole would not have dared to enter 
this part of the city without an escort, but she wasn't worried. She 
remained unconcerned, even as peasants stared openly at her. 
Violence was apart from her nature, but she had seen enough of it 
to not be cowed by its possibility. Pitiful light shone from street 
lamps above her, barely strong enough to illuminate the patchy 
gardens and dying bushes that lined the street. It was not a pleasant 
part of the city, and thankfully not her destination. 


She walked up through three rings of the city. Each was built better 
than the last, and each clung closer to the base of the Pillar. The 
edifice dominated her vision as she went, gray stone thrusting up to 
spear the sky. People stared at her along this path too, muttering 
under their breath to each other as she passed. Many had finer 
masks than her own, replete with gilded teeth and gemstone eyes. 
Her family's standing was such that she should have been 
recognized at most, worthy of a slight nod only if they were feeling 


CIRCUMSTANCES INDICATE TAMPERING. IMPLIES 
COMPETING ACCORDANCES. 


Addendum: Partial list of notable vocalizations made by 
SCP-928. 


Date Vocalization 

September 13, 1947 Glad that I'm not on my first 
try here. 

May 19, 1958 We are not expecting 
visitors at any point. 

May 30, 1968 Such a controlling nature. It 
should be tamed. 

November 19, 1977 This code, the cipher can be 
Cracked. 

September 11, 1985 Shattered to pieces, the 


princess is unyielding 
nonetheless. 


January 8, 1992 Need some help? It's said 
I'm quite handy. 
October 15, 1998 You and me should play 


again afterwards. 


Remaining records are sealed until further notice. 


Date Move Event or Notes 
events 
hypothesized 
June 8, 1945 Castling Recovery and None. 
containment 
of SCP-928 
by the 
Foundation. 
September | Archbishop) Formation of Move noted 
28, 1951 1B to C3 Global Occult to establish a 
Coalition by) stronghold for 
UN Mandate White. 
Defensive 
position was 


respectful. Their attention was more unnerving by far, but there was 
little Dhole could do but bow respectfully and keep going toward her 
parents' bookstore. There would be solace in the austere place. 
Calm, for a time. Peace, if she deserved something like that 
anymore. 


Dhole passed under trellises thick with red flowers, and alongside 
long fountains that sprayed mist into the air around them. She 
walked by towering statues of the exarchs, each wielding the 
ceremonial swords of their office, and past plaques telling the 
ancient history of the city. A flock of the giant blue birds from outside 
the city followed close behind, silent and staring even in flight. 


She stood at the foot of her childhood home, and stared blankly at 
the empty lot sitting in its place. Grass grew at its edges, and bits of 
the foundation still poked through the earth. 


She turned, and kept walking toward the base of the Howling Pillar. 


It took days to climb the stairway carved into the guts of the Pillar. 
Days of wind screaming through narrow holes in the walls. Days of 
gentle, gnawing hunger. Days of fellow climbers collapsed on the 
stairs. Only the exarchs of the city below, replete in their arrogance, 
could possibly expect anyone to make such a climb for simple 
meetings. Step by step, one foot over another, she left the dusty 
earth behind and below. Her bag grew heavier as she ascended, but 
it was better than her heart doing the same. She had business to 
attend to. Such was her nature. 


The climb was one she had made before, and Dhole reached upper 
levels without issue. Faceless attendants whisked her through a 
maze of cells draped in ornate tapestries and reclining magnates, 
stopping short of the threshold to a room full of first morning's light. 
She had to cross that boundary on her own. A wide window 
dominated the office, second only in majesty to the open chests full 
of naked lucre. A long, black sword was balanced haphazardly 
against a wooden desk piled high with coins of every sort, and a tall 
figure stood waiting for her. 


The Exarch of the First District looked down at Dhole through an iron 


mask. It was wrought in the shape of an impossible beast, antlers 
forking upward, long ears straight and even, jaw distended to show 
a nonsensical collection of teeth. It was the face of a god, masking 
the spirit of a slug. 


"Fires are dim before you,” said Dhole, bowing deeply from the 
waist. "The sky is low before you." 


"High and bright before you," said the Exarch. His white robes 
billowed as he stepped closer, golden thread sparkling in the 
morning light. "High and bright indeed. The prize head of a most 
capable herd, sheared and shamed. Sheared, shamed, alone. 
Where is your brother lamb? Where are the prizes promised to me?" 


Dhole picked at the bandages lining her fingers. "Dead. Gone. My 
apologies are unadorned." 


"Useless. Well and truly useless. What of my investment? My 
hoard?" 


"Lost. Gone as well," said Dhole, picking harder. Dark blood welled 
at the edge of one bandage, running down her finger and dripping to 
the floor. 


"Useless three times over!" 


The Exarch stared down at her through glassy eyes, and Dhole 
could not help but stare back. The man's presence was a scourge 
on her. It was revolting, to see him care more for what money could 
have bought than the money itself. To hear him whine over its loss. 
He had never been less worthy of his family's supplications. One of 
the birds that followed her up the tower landed on the windowsill, 
and chirped in an eerily familiar fashion. 


"Does my family remain in your favor's shadow?" she finally asked, 
when the silence became too oppressive. 


"How could they, when their lamb disgraced them so? | do not 
shelter contract breakers." 


"They would never!" 


"Did you not?" 


Dhole ground her teeth viciously. Late, she may be, but only under 
extenuating circumstances. Failed, she might have, but only due to 
freak chance. The bird chirped louder, each high-pitched noise 
sounding more like a word than the last. 


"What has become of them?" she said, struggling to keep her tone 
even. 


"Does the lion mind the rats? They are vanished, one way or 
another. Our agreement remains, however, and its violation is 
severe." 


He kept on talking, but Dhole struggled to listen. She struggled to 

breathe easily, to not ball her hands into fists. Violence was not in 
her nature, she repeated to herself again and again. If money was 
what she owed, she would produce money. That was her way. 


The bird on the windowsill chirped louder still, seemingly unnoticed 
by the lecturing exarch. The sound grew rounder and more fluid, 
flowing and forming until sense could be made of it. /s that really 
your way though? came a familiar voice. 


"You're dead," hissed Dhole quietly. 
You shouldn't let him talk like this. Take it from me. 


"—and twenty more years mining salt," the Exarch concluded firmly, 
as Dhole wrenched her gaze away from the bird. "Five hundred 
years of service, and your debt will be paid in full." 


Something like that was to be expected, of course. Promises had 
not been kept, and obligations must be met. It was the matter of 
other obligations that gave her pause. Some things could not wait 
that long, especially not the insistent canister in her bag. 


"Might | be allowed to order my affairs first?” 
Not like that! 


"Why should you be, when mine have been set to disarray?" 


Asshole! Tell him he’s an asshole! 

"Other contracts are just as binding.” 

Dhole! 

"Others are not present to wring out your debt." 


The bird flapped silently into the room, alighting weightlessly onto 
Dhole's shoulder. She could not feel its talons digging into her skin, 
and the Exarch did not so much as flinch away from it. The 
Overseer's a better boss, isn't she? She never treated you like this, 
did she? Tell him you found someone else to follow. Tell him he's 
nothing! 


"| will not break another contract," she said evenly. Payment would 
come, but it could wait a while longer. Payment would come when 
she could stomach toiling for the sake of a slug. 


"The choice isn't yours," said the Exarch, placing a heavy hand on 
the shoulder opposite to the bird's perch. It felt vile. Just as vile as 
Egret had ever been. "Nor should that face be yours, with the 
fortune you lost me." 


Dhole wrenched back as the Exarch reached for her mask. He 
stumbled forward, but did not relinquish his grip. The room filled with 
a flock of birds, each screaming at her. Do it! Do it! Do it do it do it 
She clawed inside her bag for the thing Egret had left her do it do it 
do it do it shoved the Exarch back doitdo/tdoit brought the muzzle 
level with his chest Do it! and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was 
deafening. 


Dhole pushed him back again, taking a grim satisfaction in the 
sudden weakness of his grip. She turned away just long enough to 
swap masks again. The comfort provided by the dog's face 
disgusted her, but she would bear it. The birds were gone by the 
time she was done. 


"You have the right of it," she said, walking calmly after her victim as 
he tried to crawl away. "I don't deserve this." Her sheep mask 
clattered loudly against the floor as she threw it aside. "In this trial, | 


find you just as undeserving." She leaned down to pry the iron mask 
from his head. The man behind it was just as plain as she always 
expected. The feeling of emptiness swelling up inside her was 
unabating as she shot him again, and again, and again, until the 
trigger clicked impotently. 


That's not enough, is it? chirped a voice inside Dhole's own head. 
Was it her own? Egret's? She agreed regardless. The sword leaning 
against the desk was heavy in her hands, It had the weight of 
generations inside it, a terrible symbol of a worst past. Dhole lifted it 
as high as she could before driving it into the Exarch's chest. 


You need my help, the voice continued as she stalked out of the 
office, bloody sword trailing behind her across the stone floor. Just 
listen to what | say, and we can save the Overseer. Do what | say, 
and the blood won't even be on your hands. Trust me, Dhole. 


The laughter that came from inside her mask was harsh and 
barking. Of course it wouldn't be. Nothing was her fault when people 
pushed her like this. Nothing would be, when the world kept on 
shoving. 


Inside her bag, the darkness squirmed appreciatively. 


« Previous Tale | Maim the Sky, Slay the Sun| Next Tale » 


Sands Of Time 


The person formerly known as Dr. Amanda Richards walked across 
her little secluded section of the beach, allowing her feet to feel 
every inch of the sand, letting it seep in between her toes. She 
breathed in the sweet and fresh Hawaiian air. It was nice to be up 
and about for a change. It was closest she had felt to being alive ina 
long time — ever since The End. 


The End. 


She stopped for a moment to look at the ocean. Light reflected 
across it from the sun, which was setting across the horizon. She 
remembered back to when it didn't rise the next morning. Back when 
things were ‘normal’. Back before The End. 


lt had been 2,312 days since The End. 2,312 days since the 
demons disappeared. 2,312 since 'normal' disappeared. 2,312 days 
since the Foundation was dissolved and everything was supposed 
to be 'normal' but they weren't 'normal'. Not for Amanda. 


She tried pushing the thoughts out of her mind. They were bad 
thoughts — and weren't those thoughts the reason she was here in 
the first place? 


She continued walking, attempting to think of 'normal' things. Think 
of the footprints she was leaving behind. Think of the beautiful trees 
and cute animals and fresh hair. Think of the socio-political 
implications of increasing taxes, of the increasing tensions between 
Russia and the United States, fuck, anything aside from the obvious. 


But those thoughts just kept coming back to her. 
She thought of that day. 


The day The End (as she liked to call it) began. 


She was in the cafeteria that morning — reading some shitty James 
Patterson novel, she recalled — when The Announcement began. 


The Announcement was Sstraight-and-to-the-point, as her father liked 
to say. It was delivered by a board Site Director, probably thinking of 
some alone time with his readheaded assistant. She remembered 
those words that stopped everyone in their tracks. 


"Staff of Site-43. | have a special announcement to make. 
Yesterday, over 95% of all anomalies within the Foundation's 
possession disappeared without any trace. What few were left lost 
all their anomalous properties. Today, at 1100 military standard 
time, the O5 council have, after interactions with other Groups of 
Interest like the Global Occult Coalition, Marshall Carter and Dark, 
and the GRU-"P", come to the conclusion that all anomalous activity 
has ceased. Over the next couple of days, you may experience 
many changes, but do not worry, the O5 council are handling any 
and all —" 


She blanked out after that message. Was...was everything gone? 
Was it true? Was — was everything really ‘normal’ again? 


She looked over at her fellow staff members — all with similarly 
shocked expressions on their faces. Dr. Kirk, the former PL scientist, 
had gagged on his Big Mac. Dr. Kennedy's beady eyes were bulging 
out of his skull. Dr. Carol had her hand covering his mouth, 
attempting to hide her gaping mouth. Dr. Henderson was, well, still 
Dr. Henderson. The old man could barely see, let alone hear. 


Then someone yelled. 
"It's over! It's finally fuckin' over!" 


More yells, and cries, and eventually singing as the entire cafeteria 
— and by extension the entire Site began cheering in unison. 


As for Amanda, she remembered her face permanently cast into a 
smile for the rest of the day. She smiled so hard it began hurting, but 
she didn't care. Something in her — some part of her brain that was 
responsible for detecting bullshit — told her that, yes, this was true. 
And she felt relieved. Relieved and happy. 


Amanda kept walking along the beach, occasionally side-stepping 
some broken glass and underwear left behind by some couple trying 
to pitch a tent.