modified to provide mechanical energy to SCP-816. SCP-816-1 was 
designed for longevity; however, upon discovery SCP-816-1 had 
nearly exhausted its energy supply, and as such the SCP-816 
research team has rewound SCP-816-1 to continue providing 
energy. The research team concluded that keeping SCP-816 
dependent on a local energy source would aid containment, and that 
without SCP-816-1, SCP-816 would likely adapt to gain energy ina 
way that would allow it to expand beyond Site-P/ . The 
consequences of an expansion of SCP-816 beyond Site-P/ are 
unknown, and could be, in a best-case scenario, harmless, to, ina 
worst-case scenario, an RK-Class Restructuring Scenario, where 
SCP-816 would out-compete biological life. 


distinct species of SCP-816 have been observed, though many 
more likely exist. Based on journal records, all species are 
descended from a single original design. SCP-816 reproduction is 
similar to biological reproduction, with a few key exceptions: any 
individual can act as a “male” or “female”; during “intercourse” the 
designs for both partners are mixed, with infrequent “mutation”, and 
the data is transferred to the “female”, who then begins searching for 
parts to assemble the new design. 


Predation occurs in two forms: The primary form is for the purpose 
of regaining energy; the second is reproductive in nature. In the first 
form, a specialized device has evolved for most species that 
interfaces with the slot that plugs into SCP-816-1 to obtain energy, 
thereby allowing SCP-816 to regain energy without directly taking it 
from SCP-816-1. The second form occurs after reproduction, 
wherein the "female" will search for and "kill" other automatons in 
order to procure parts to build its offspring. 


The basic ecosystem that has evolved is as follows: the foundations 
of the ecosystem are two species of SCP-816: the "assimilators" 
and the "collectors". The assimilators are capable, unlike any other 
species, of creating new parts from their environment. This is the 
only way that new material enters the system, and an evolutionary 
shift in the parts that make up the assimilators can result ina 
population boom or extinction for other species. The assimilators are 
large (roughly ten (10) cm in length) and slow, making them the 
primary target for reproductive predation. The collectors are the 


bloodied hand to her side; Arakur turned away from the bleeding 
councilman, covering his mouth. 


‘You all disgust me. | would rather be exiled than live under filth 
without gratitude nor honour.’ 


Eabani — who had remained wholly motionless during Ninkigal’s 
attack — grinned at the injured councilman. 


‘My loyalty is to my kin; I will go with my brother.’ 


The council made no attempt to stop the three from leaving. 


By the time the sixty-eighth dawn washed down the eastern face of 
the ziggurat, the four guardians were prepared to enter exile. They 
had no plans for where they would travel, nor which direction they 
would go; their departure through the now-open west city gate was 
arbitrary, chosen only to escape the fortified walls surrounding the 
city. 


The only empathy they had been afforded was time to collect their 
belongings, and a donation of a donkey for each to ride — save for 
the council, watching from afar, none of the city’s inhabitants dared 
to emerge. They were too fearful of Giringeme’s pestilence, or 
Ninkigal’s wrath. 


Eabani, however, was worried about neither. Already fully prepared, 
his donkey awaited as he assisted Giringeme to do the same. She 
was still far from healthy; even beneath her full-body sheepskin 
dress, she shivered, coughed and winced. The fact she could walk 
was all the council needed to justify sending her off with the others, 
stating she was fit and well enough to travel — the same went for 
Arakur. 


Seated beside his donkey, he struggled to eat his specially-prepared 
steak. Despite the unbearable hunger and Eabani’s best efforts to 
cook the stake to Arakur’s preference — overcooked and charred, 
assuring a total lack of juices — he still retched after each swallow. 
He hoped to eventually adjust to his new diet, but suspected it would 
be an impossibility. 


As he watched, a different impossibility became real; retrieving a 
loaf of bread from her pack, Arakur watched as Ninkigal approached 
the senator she had punched the day prior. He expected her to hit 
him with the loaf, but instead, she offered it to him. They briefly 
shook hands, then Ninkigal returned to the group. 


‘Are we ready?’ she asked Eabani. 


‘We are,’ Eabani responded. ‘I have the lock, and Arakur has the 
key.’ 


‘Good. We leave immediately.’ 


Arakur discarded the steak and used his donkey to stand before 
mounting it. He herded it to Giringeme’s left; with Eabani on the 
right, they could both catch her if she fell. Ninkigal wasted no time 
on the others, immediately steering her ride towards and through the 
gate. 


The four who had heralded this new age, the ones who had finally 
banished Apakht from the universe and brought about the new 
world, passed through the town gates without fanfare nor joy. The 
air was silent, and none of the townspeople dared disturb it; they 
kept within their homes until the west gates were once again closed. 


The four horsemen departed from the city, heading beyond the 


boundaries of Sumer, knowing they would never again return. 


It wasn’t until night had fallen, and the first camp of their endless 
journey was complete, did they exchange their first words since 
departing. 

‘Ninkigal,’ Giringeme croaked, shivering on a blanket beside the fire. 
‘Yes?’ 

‘Of everything... you did... today...’ 


‘Yes, what? 


‘... why did you... rub bread... on my face?’ 


Arakur turned to Ninkigal; she grinned. 
‘No reason in particular.’ 
« Charon (Part 2: Katabasis) || Charon (Part 3: 


Asphodel) || ??? » 
«« Charon (Part 1: Nekyia) 


Chasing Interest 


Within its watery lair, the creature known to some as Oneiroi lurked. 


Prone in its oily pool, feelers extended, senses probing the surface, 
it searched. It waited. It is difficult to say for how long it so waited, as 
the creature inhabited a realm in which time was mostly a matter of 
perception, and the creature was not, as a whole, all that interested 
in time. Time belongs to those with purpose, and the creature known 
as Oneiroi lacked one, or at least any purpose that could be 
recognized as such by any other living being. What fueled the 
creature, what pushed it to silently contemplate its thought-basin 
with such single-minded intent, was only... desire. 


The scent of fear-dream was about, and the creature known as 
Oneiroi intended to be the first to seize it. For a while it waited. 
Then... a ripple in the pool. A breaking of the oily water surface. An 
image, a momentary glimpse of fluttering emotion, trapped in the 
torpor of restless slumber. The hint of a... taste, and something 
more. The creature known as Oneiroi was incapable of humor or 
true pleasure, but nonetheless it found some satisfaction in this next 
discovery; this prey was in the hands of those who poked in the 
dark, those who sought to stop it from feasting. Those it hated. The 
meal would be all the sweeter if the morsel was stolen straight from 
their hands. 


Rising from the thought-basin, the creature known as Oneiroi retired 
to its face vault to prepare itself. The pattern of the thought-basin 
told it much about its potential target, and as the creature sank its 
many-jointed limbs into the soft clay of the face vault it began 
shaping itself, taking a form more suitable for the task at hand. For 
the creature known as Oneiroi to fulfill its desire, an emotional 
bonding must be facilitated with its prey, and a sense of trust 
established. Though the creature lacked the emotional faculties to 
truly understand its potential targets, it was nevertheless a cunning 
thing and well familiar with the behavioral patterns of prey. 


The shape it took reflected this well. Feelers disappeared beneath a 
layer of tanned, well lined skin. Empty sight orbs replaced with warm 
brown eyes, made to twinkle in the light. Muscles bunched and 
straightened, bone and blood vessels replaced mucous and 
transparent membrane. The clay of the face vault transformed the 
chitinous visage of creature known as Oneiroi into that of a man. Not 
young, for youth often inspired envy or competition in others. Age 
demanded respect, or at least pity. Clothing simple but not 
threadbare. A straight posture, confident without appearing 
threatening. With the final, most crucial touch, the creature weaved 
a kindly smile into its clay face and etched it with laughter lines and 
crow's feet, set the eyes to a thoughtful, considering gaze. Its prey 
would be in a vulnerable position, and nothing would serve better in 
pushing it over the final edge than the illusion of kindness. The 
creature known as Oneiroi felt a vague sense of pride in the fullness 
of the illusion it had created. Soon, it would feast. 


Satisfied with its new form, the creature returned to the thought- 
basin, sinking its feelers (now thin threads of silvery hair tumbling 
from a weathered brow) into its depths. The scent of the dream 
reflected in the basin was... intoxicating. Bitter isolation and sweet 
terror, the tang of vain hope and and the acid bite of claustrophobia. 
Everything about this fear-dream felt tailor-made to the creature's 
personal tastes. Though the creature known as Oneiroi was usually 
as Cautious as a roach and would spend many days probing and 
feeling the mind of its would-be prey, the lure of this dream proved 
too much for it to resist. The creature will have it tonight, it had 
decided. 


Gathering its essence, the creature known as Oneiroi began to fold 
itself inward. Skin into bone, hair into blood. With a sickening 
crunching sound the creature pushed itself into itself again and 
again, its vision growing ever more compact and focused even as it 
broke itself. The way into the dream-roads and the dreamer it sought 
permitted no physical essence. The creature's mind would have to 
keep it intact as it traveled. The pain of this process was beyond 
description and sanity, but the creature known as Oneiroi thought as 
its essence swirled and oozed through the narrow channels of sleep, 
it would all be worth it soon. What were pain and dissemination 
when compared to the chance at a fresh mind? Not much at all 


indeed. Not much at all. 


The prisoner awoke to a grey landscape. He no longer wondered at 
this, as this was the same place his dreams took him to for the 
last... he no longer remembered how long. Distant mountains 
slashed at the overcast sky, a rough hand closing the horizons of his 
world with its ashen fingers. Despite the familiarity of his 
surroundings the prisoner cringed from them, teeth rattling in his 
jaw, hands shaking. This place managed to convey a sense of 
massive distance and overwhelming size without the airs of 
openness and freedom such places should have also inspired. 


The prisoner sank to his knees and covered his head with his hands, 
willing himself not to see. The grey world of his dreams was 
materialized oppression, imprisonment made manifest. In that, it 
was little different from his waking world. He briefly wondered why 
his captors took such great care to subjugate his sleeping hours as 
well as the waking, but this thought escaped him in an instant. 
Though he did not know it, he was not allowed to ponder such 
things. For some time the prisoner could do naught but weep and 
pound the dry earth with his fists in a childish tantrum as he 
bemoaned the cruelty of his fate. The grey world accepted his cries 
and wails with utter indifference. The prisoner shouted vehement 
accusations and venomous curses at the sky and the mountains and 
the gritty grey earth. The world cared even less. The prisoner dug a 
small hole in the ground, vainly searching for a hint of moisture 
beneath dry surface. If the world could yawn and shrug, it would 
have done so. Finally, the prisoner did what he did every night prior 
to this one and simply began to wander in no particular direction. He 
did not truly expect to find anything, but it was a way to pass the 
time until his inevitable waking. This night, however, was different. 


There was a man standing on a small grey hillock. His tall frame was 
robed with fabric flowing and purest white. The eyes set deeply in 
his kindly and weathered face were the color of moist earth, warm 
and comforting and twinkling with sourceless light. He was old but 
not frail and his posture radiated quiet confidence. The ground on 
which he stood was gleaming, bright gunmetal grey replacing the 
dull ash of the rest of the prisoner's dreamtime gaol. The prisoner 


could only gape as the man slowly began to descend from his 
vantage point. Every point of the ground touched by the strange 
man's bare feet was made an aurora of steel as he made his way 
towards the prisoner. The smile never left his face as he 
approached, and as he came closer to the prisoner he lifted a 
sinewy brown hand in greeting, as if the two were the oldest and 
dearest of friends. The prisoner froze in place as the man finally 
reached him and laid a companionable hand on his shoulder. It felt 
right. 


"Ah, my boy. It's been too long. Too long by far." 
"|... wha.." 

"Ha! Loquacious and sharp as always, | see!" 
"Er. I'm, I'm sorry and- who are you?" 


The man frowned at this, and leaned closer to peer into the 
prisoner's eyes. Apparently whatever he saw there horrified him, for 
he shook his head and quickly leaned away. 


"Oh. My poor lad. What have they done to you?" In his voice was 
great sadness, but not surprise. The prisoner briefly wondered at 
that, but his suspicion was quickly banished by the man's disarming 
smile. He was a friend to be trusted. Yes. 


"Can you remember who you are, my boy?" 


The prisoner didn't know how to reply to that. His mouth opened, but 
his words were swallowed by flashes of needles, of voices endlessly 
whispering commands through ceiling speakers, of blinding flashes 
of light. He stayed silent instead. The man seemed to understand 
anyway. 


"Easy, lad. Don't stress yourself. I'm here now, no harm will come to 
you while I'm here." 


The prisoner had no reason to believe this, but he found that he did. 
"Can you help me then? Can you... can you get me out of here?" 


The man shook his head, his entire being sorrowful serenity. "| 


cannot undo this. You know | can't. Your flesh... it's beyond my 
grasp. For them to sink so low..." he stopped, seemingly 
reconsidering. "There might be something | can do, if you are 
willing." 


"Anything! Please, anything to get out of here! The grayness, the 
dullness of it all, | can't take it anymore! | can't can't-," 


"Easy now. Easy. What | said before was true. | can't get you out of 
here. Even if | would, you'd still be at their hands. They'll just throw 
you right back in." 


"But... you said you could-" 

"What | can do, if you are willing to pay the price, is change what 
‘here’ is." 

"What do you mean?" 

The man glanced at their grey surroundings for a moment, sighed, 


then dropped to a sitting position on the ground. He gestured the 
prisoner to do the same. "Look around you. What do you see?" 


The prisoner frowned. "! already told you what | see. It's damn 
obvious what | see! Grey and grey and fucking more grey!" 


The man smiled and shook his head sadly. "You see the surface of 
things. What they're making you see, through drugs and psychology 
and torture. But you do not see the actuality." 


The prisoner said nothing. The man continued. "Look at the ground 
on which we sit. It is different from that which is around us, no?"