“Maybe it would be better if | didn’t know that it was going to happen, 
just to get rid of the anticipation.” Naomi exhaled deeply. “I don’t 
know. | really don’t know. | don’t even know if the Texts will be worth 
anything tomorrow morning. | know the Vatican hasn’t been in favor 
of that, but it’s a bit shaking seeing your whole life’s work get tossed 
like that, even if the replacement is better than what it ever could 
have been. You get attached.” She shook her head. “Look at me. 
You come here to make peace and | just unload all of this.” 


“It's no trouble.” 
“You would have liked it. The Texts, | mean.” 
“Probably, if the times were different.” 


“Probably. I’m just going to trust that by the time we all wake up 
tomorrow, things will be okay.” 


“And if they aren't, you will have my support.” 
Naomi looked over, nodded, and they shook on it. 


« Hub » 


Down by the River 


Those Thin, Penultimate Hours, while not strictly plot 
related, will help greatly in understanding things. 


Dawn hung in misty sheets, curling through tangled forest. A 
mourning dove cooed in the grey distance. Here and there the half- 
collapsed skeleton of a house could be seen through the thick trees, 
lit softly by the pre-morning. 


A woman walked down the road, splattered with gore, a lumpy black 
body slung over one shoulder as if it was little more than a bundle of 
twigs. She was a very heavy-set woman, in both overall shape and 
the fact that she consisted of nine hundred pounds of white marble 
studded with smoothed chunks of amethyst. 


The marble woman’s name was Ahlama Bat Amir, and she was 
singing. Her voice reverberated through the trees, clear as the 
morning itself. 


“As | went down in the river to pray / studying about that good old 
way / and who shall wear the starry crown / Good Lord, show me the 
way...” 


The cyclops slung over her shoulder, with the snapped neck and 
caved-in skull and shattered rib-cage, had been stalking around the 
local farms for the last few nights, and at least three goats had been 
stolen. Poor thing was starving and half-mad, not stable enough to 
be relocated elsewhere. Had to be put down. Their meat wasn’t any 
good to eat, but the biology classes would have a fine time 
dissecting it. 


“Oh, sisters, let’s go down, let’s go down, come on down... Oh 
sisters, let's go down, down in the river to pray...” 


The path road wound on through the forest. Occasionally, Anlama 
would pass a watchtower or tree platform where a member of the 


Guard would be sitting, huddled in their jacket, perhaps sipping tea 
or soup out of a thermos, or gnawing on some squirrel jerky, gun at 
the ready, radio at hand. She waved at each one she passed, 
though she was not able to see if they waved back. The watchtower 
guards hid themselves well. 


“As | went down in the river to pray / studying about that good old 
way / and who shall wear the robe and crown / Good Lord, show me 
the way...” 


The woods gave away a bit from the road, revealing a few inhabited 
homesteads, and the stone walls of the town rose in the distance. 
The first sunlight of the day filtered through the trees. 


“Oh, brothers, let’s go down, let’s go down, come on down... Oh 
brothers, let’s go down, down in the river to pray...” 


The walls rose higher and higher as she approached. They did not 
have the distinction of being unbreached, but no walls in these days 
had that to brag about. But they were tall and thick, with various 
wards against harm carved into the blocks, and they were manned 
by the Guard. That was good enough for most. These were walls 
that promised salvation to the lost. 


“Good morning!” She waved at the gatehouse. 


A window above the gate opened, revealing the head of a gangly, 
acne-faced, tired-looking student. 


“Morning, Ahlama,” he yawned. “Nice job ther-what?” He turned his 
head back inside the window. “Sister, | am not falling asleep, I’m 
completely awake...yes, Sister, | know...yes, | know...Sister, | am 
not falling asleep.” He turned back to Ahlama, rolling his eyes. “Hold 
on, we'll let you in, get you some water to wash all that off.” 


Ahlama nodded, and a short time later the groan of machinery could 
be heard from within the wall as Gate Leibowitz opened. A second 
student, shorter and mousy looking, was standing there with a 
bucket full of hot water and a rag. 


“Here you go, Ahlama.” 


“Thank you, Ben.” The gate shut behind her with a monolithic sound. 


“We got a note from the Headmistress for you.” Ben handed Ahlama 
a folded piece of paper. 
The note read: 


Ahlama- 


A woman by the name of Jun Iseul Error should have 
arrived with the West Road Trade Guild caravan late last 
night. She’s here to do some study of the reliquary and 
will be staying at the school for several weeks. | need 
you to show her around. Standard tour, nothing special. 


I’m afraid | won't be able to meet with her today, so 
please pass my apologies on to Ms. Error: the Transit 
Authority decided to call a meeting with the town council 
and we'll be at it all day. If | manage to get out early, I'll 
see if | can find you. 


Thanks a bunch 
-NIZL 


There was a pneumatic hiss from the wall on the right, ending ata 
tiny opening in the wall at head height, just the size of someone’s 
thumb. A moment later the white-haired, black-armored, stern-faced, 
and incredibly tiny countenance of Sister Superior Victoria, OVH, 
stepped out onto her little balcony. 


“Good morning, Sister.” Ahlama saluted with her free hand. Victoria 
nodded for ease. 


“| see the Emperor has granted you victory in your hunt. And that 
you've received the Headmistress’ missive. Excellent. I'll have these 
louts take care of that carcass.” 


Ahlama watched Ben’s face drop in disappointment and gave him a 
sympathetic smile. No one got off work when Sister Victoria was on 
duty. She then excused herself, found a secluded spot a short 
distance away, and washed off the splatters of dried blood and pulpy 
viscera from the cyclops she had killed. Wouldn't be fitting to show 


anyone around while looking like that. 


Jun Iseul Error wiped the grit from her glasses on a threadbare 
handkerchief. Around her, the caravan market bustled. The West 
Road Trade Guild, being a sizable group meaning to stay for several 
days, had set up inside the walls, in the Inside Market, and the town 
within a town had planted its short-lived roots there: cooking fires 
sent their smoke up to the sky, dogs and children raced underfoot 
through the trucks and wagons, bison! snorted, and the merchants 
bickered and shouted in a dozen dialects. With the day would come 
business: some wise shoppers among the townsfolk had decided to 
beat the later crowds. The Guildsmen appreciated this, and took the 
opportunity to break out their fake early-bird specials. 


Jun stuffed the handkerchief back in her pocket. She was a thin, 
wiry woman, the kind that was built on stretched meals and long 
work hours, somewhere on the shy side of thirty years old: black hair 
pulled back in a short ponytail, straw hat to block out the sun, beaten 
old backpack and weather-worn hunting rifle, travel-mussed 
clericals. Someone had accidentally stepped on her collar a few 
days ago, leaving it rather crumpled and sad looking. 


But she was finally here. It took a month and a half on the road from 
the west, but she was finally here. Not that she had a chance to 
enjoy it yet, but the relief was setting in. Travel didn’t agree with her, 
or at least the plodding monotony of cross-country travel. Dealing 
with spookums in the night was easy. The byzantine labyrinth of 
intra-caravan drama and the omnipresent bureaucracy of the Transit 
Authority were well outside her areas of expertise, and she was glad 
to trade them for regular access to toilet paper. 


The letter of introduction sat folded in her pocket. She didn’t think 
she’d need it now: she had spoken with the Headmistress of the 
Hope Lake School on the phone several weeks ago when the 
caravan had stopped in CORN LAND, DOMAIN OF SRQNABOTF. 


“Hello? Excuse me, are you Ms. Error?” 


Jun turned to see a fat woman approaching her. It took a moment 


SCP-636: Elevator to Nowhere 


Item #: SCP-636 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: The building containing 
SCP-636 has been officially condemned for supposed mold 
contamination, and the lot fenced off to prevent unwanted intrusion. 
A minimum of two (2) armed, undercover guards are to be posted at 
ground level and any unauthorized individuals attempting to enter 
the building must be detained and questioned. Any experimentation 
on SCP-636 must only be performed with prior permission from at 
least two (2) level 3 personnel. 


Description: SCP-636 is a maintenance elevator at the 

Hotel located at [DATA EXPUNGED]. Unlike the other elevators in 
the building, SCP-636 contains a magnetic card reader, which when 
used with a specific card key will cause the elevator to move to a 
third sub-basement beneath the building. According to the building 
plan, there are only two sub-basements beneath the building, and 
the owner of the property was not aware of an elevator with 
magnetic card access. 


Whenever any individual attempts to access this floor via SCP-636, 
the elevator appears to work normally. However, upon reaching the 
non-existent floor all contents of the elevator (including any 
personnel or remote monitoring equipment) will disappear. 
Exploration of the elevator shaft itself has yielded no useful 
information. While the shaft does extend to a third sub-basement 
level, there are only blank walls at that depth and video cameras 
placed within the shaft have shown no unusual activity when the 
elevator reaches the bottom. 


Furthermore, SCP-636 will periodically move to the third sub- 
basement level on its own. Upon its return to ground floor the 
elevator car has occasionally contained anomalous objects as 


for the details, the word carved into forehead, the hollow eyes filled 
with gentle fire, the fact that she was made of stone, to fall together 
in Jun’s head and spell out “golem”. 


“Yes, that’s me.” 


“Oh, good. | was worried | wouldn’t be able to find you: | can barely 
understand these people when they’re giving directions.” 


Jun had never met a golem before, and she had not expected them 
to be so conversational. This was a reassuring surprise. 


“The accent is pretty thick, yeah. Are you from the school?” 


“Mmm-hmm. The Headmistress wanted me to show you around 
today, and to let you know that she’s sorry she wasn’t able to do it in 
person.” 


“No problem. | can’t imagine her life is anything less than busy. Lead 
the way." Jun didn't voice it as a command: that would make sense, 
but it felt impolite. 


The golem nodded and began to walk back the way she had came. 
Jun kept pace with her. 


“| Know you know who | am, but | don’t know your name.” 
“Oh, sorry. I’m Ahlama. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Error.” 


“Likewise. Oh, and, uh, just between us, you can drop the whole Ms. 
Error thing. Jun is fine, or just Error. Friday’s good too.” 


“You have a lot of names.” 


“When you throw them all together I’m Mother Jun Friday Iseul 
Error, and by that point it’s just nonsense.” 


The golem-woman chuckled, the sound rolling out in P-waves. 
“| suppose it is.” 


The pair made their way out of the Inside Market and into the town 


proper. 


By modern standards, the town of Hope Lake was a place of almost 
unimaginable wealth: clean cobbled streets, electric streetlamps, 
solar panels and windmills and vegetable gardens and chicken 
coops among the houses and shops. The lake provided enough 
algae to make sure that no one went too hungry, and the presence 
of the school meant that the literacy rate was significantly higher — 
nearly eighty-five percent. The presence of the Guard meant that 
crime was low, as well as deflecting threats from the outside, and 
the old sponsorship of the Initiative had seen to keeping the 
populace’s spiritual needs fulfilled, though Tribunal had become 
more of a cultural power rather than a political one: The settlements 
had their own leaders, their own governments, all tied together by a 
shared birth. 


The cost of creating these havens in the chaotic aftermath of the 
Breach had been bankrupting the Initiative, clearing out its 
reliquaries, and begging, borrowing, stealing and scavenging every 
spare cent that could be drummed up. But where the Initiative fell 
apart, the seven city-states of Horizon rose to fill its place: Bastion, 
Hope Lake, St. Kateri, Watchpoint, New Pitt, Ghibli, and Levi. 
Mizbeach had been the eighth, but had been handed over to 
Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd as collateral for a loan default. 
Prayers went up daily for the sake of those who lived in that town. 


Ahlama had not been born in Hope Lake, but it was home. She 
knew many of the townsfolk she saw now by name (golems have a 
good mind for memory), and she waved to them as she passed on 
towards the school. Jun remained quiet, though Ahlama noticed that 
the woman was watching everything with an intent eye. 


“So where are you from, Jun?” she asked. 


“Little trapper town around Mount Whitney, right off the trader road 
down to Vegas. Nothing like this. A lot more...salt of the Earth, if you 
get what I’m saying.” 


“Lots of hair, bad teeth, and everyone’s related?” 


“Yep. Plain old folks.” 
“The best kind.” 
“And the not-so-best.” 


“Yeah, that too. Lot of the time they’re the same people. You’ve got 
a parish, then?” 


“| was wondering when you'd bring that up.” Jun tugged at her 
crumpled collar. “You know how it goes: world falls apart, then gets 
put back together all on its head. Job’s gotta get done, and | don't 
think God cares much about who does it, so long as they do it right.” 


Ahlama nodded. Jobs needed doing, and if you were told to do the 
job, you did the job. 


“You think like a golem.” 
“Good thing | know that’s a compliment now.” 


The pair passed through the gate of the school. The archway above 
them was engraved with the following: 


Hope Lake School 
Founded 2036 
IN SCIENTIA SUPERVIVERE 


The walls were not as tall or as thick as those surrounding the town, 
but they were fortress enough to serve as a fallback in the case of 
invasion. Thankfully, that had not yet been the case. Ahlama waved 
to the guards as they passed. 


“If you have any questions, just ask, and I’m sorry if | ramble a bit.” 
Ahlama imitated clearing her throat: she didn’t actually have a throat 
to clear. 


“Hope Lake School was founded in 2036, shortly after Horizon 
troops retook this area from...” 


Jun juggled observing the school and listening to her guide: there 
was a great deal to take in. 


The school was a nested fortress. If the town’s walls fell, the school 
could hold out. If the school’s walls were breached, barricades could 
easily be put up between the buildings to fortify the inner campus, 
and if those barricades were breached, the buildings themselves 
were easily defensible from the inside. Fortresses within fortresses. 
Jun was a woman of the hinterlands, fit for chasing away spookums 
and brewing moonshine. This was all far more impressive than 
anything she had seen back west, save perhaps the Angelic 
University and the Vegas Archives. 


The campus was still, as it was still quite early. The students would 
be scraping out five more minutes before breakfast, though a few 
early risers could be seen jogging around. A few of the children who 
lived in town hovered around in little groups.