They stopped in front of the door of the cell, where Seymour left 
Elizabeth to retrieve Quincy. Elizabeth took a deep breath, her mind 
absolutely clear and focused for the first time that day. The hallway 
around her was dark except for the occasional lantern, and the air 
was stagnant and cold, but it didn't bother her in the slightest. This is 
where she knew she was meant to be. 


After a moment, Seymour returned with Doctor Quincy, who nodded 
dismissively at her as he adjusted his formal black tie. She curtsied 
in response as he opened the door for her. She steeled herself 
behind her facade, took another deep breath, and stepped inside. 


The room was dark, containing only a small lantern, a table, and 
another man, who was affixed to a chair by a straightjacket. As 
Quincy and Elizabeth stepped in, he looked up for a moment. There 
was a wild look in his eyes, like that of a cornered animal. Shadows 
from the lantern danced across his face, making his expression hard 
to read. Elizabeth did her best to ignore this, and took a seat on her 
side of the table. The facade hardened into an iron shell around her, 
and she spoke. 


localized human voices which originate approximately two (2) 
meters away from the subject. These voices may be recorded and 
interacted with by the subject, but will generally not appear if 
multiple personnel are present. Universally, SCP-916-1 claim to be 
individuals who have been "helped to die" by SCP-916. These 
voices are able to provide names and detailed information which 
corroborate this claim, of which 91% have been confirmed.3 
SCP-916-1 has been shown to use a wide variety of tactics to 
attempt to persuade the subject to commit suicide in the presence of 
SCP-916. Generally, these attempts can be broken down into four 
phases: 


Phase 1: 

SCP-916-1 makes verbal contact with the subject, 
generally using soft, gentle tones. 916-1 will allay the 
common fear response to disembodied voices by 
explaining that they are "invisible". These voice(s) 
introduce themselves and attempt to establish rapport 
with subject. 

Phase 2: 

If not already aware of the effect, 916-1 will point out the 
reduction/elimination of pain in the subject. Voice(s) 
often ask the subject to bite his/her own tongue or to 
pinch him/herself to demonstrate the effect. 916-1 
attributes this to SCP-916's "healing powers". 

Phase 3: 

916-1 attempts to persuade the subject that suicide is a 
better option than their current condition. This often 
includes vivid descriptions of a heaven-like afterlife, 
assurance that the subject need not worry about 
conditions in the physical world, and encouragement to 
do so immediately in SCP-916's presence to avoid pain 
during "the short trip home". 

Phase 4: 

916-1 suggests viable options for suicide, depending on 
the subject's circumstance. Researchers are commonly 
advised to thrust a writing instrument into their own eye 
sockets. D-Class subjects are told to make a false 
escape attempt so as to be shot by security. Records 
indicate that severing the tongue and bleeding out was 


"Can you please tell me your name?" 


The figure across from her regarded her uneasily, giving her an odd, 
sideways look. After a moment of studying her, he spoke, in a raspy 
voice. It sounded as if he hadn't drank any water in years. 


"...Gregor. You can call me Gregor." 


Foundation Gothic | Chapter 1.1: Husk » 


Prelude: The Sensation of Falling 


"...tellin' me | live inna world where silly fucks don't let 
their own children recieve medication because some 
asshat on a talk show told them not to, and you wanna 
know how my day is goin'? lemme tell ya, bea- no, 
thanks, | can't drink anymore, heart condition- lemme tell 
ya..." 


The guy on my left keeps talking to the woman across 
from me as | order a can of ginger ale from a flight 
attendant with an enormous nose. It's the third hour of a 
seven hour flight, and | already want to just jump. The 
attendant gives me a can and cup of ice and moves on 
before | can ask for a napkin, which | suppose is just par 
for the course. 


My name is Stephen, and | am a commercial writer 
bound for Shanghai from San Deigo. I'm writing all this 
down to keep myself amused on my journey- if it comes 
out entertaining, | may pass it on as a travelogue to 
some magazine and make a few bucks. So far, though, it 
looks like the chances of anything interesting happening 
ar 


Adrift at sea on an airline life raft. This is the sort of shit 
you see in movies. | never expected it to happen to me. 
While it's fresh in my mind, I'll write out what happened. 


I'd just gotten my drink when the front half of the plane 
disappeared. | know that sounds crazy. It is crazy. But 
that's what happened, | fucking saw it. | was in seat 23B. 
Everything beyond two rows ahead of me just vanished 
with a rush of exploding pressurized air, leaving a 
yawning view of empty blue sky that tilted all too fast into 


approaching clouds and the howling rush of free fall. 
From the looks of the spray of blood | glimpsed before | 
passed out, the whole row's legs went with it, like they'd 
been cut by God's own invisible scalpel. | instinctively 
rammed my notebook back into my briefcase and like a 
moron started to raise the tray table when the lack of 
oxygen and adrenalin put me to sleep. 


| woke to impact, as what remained of the plane hit the 
water and threw me hard into the seat in front of me. | 
had just enough time to gulp for air before the water 
rushed over me to fill the cabin. 


| dunno who thought to pull the raft and toss it out of the 
plane, but | hope that crazy bastard got a hero's 
welcome in heaven. It was floating there waiting when | 
surfaced, briefcase deathgripped in my hand. | flipped it 
right side up and clambered into it. That's when | blacked 
out for the second time. 


Eventually, one of the other survivors woke me up. There 
are seven of us. The one who's at the front of the raft 
says there's a small island ahead and we're moving 
toward it, but it's going twilight now and we may miss it in 
the dark. | hope we don't miss it. 


We've reached the island. There's a house 
here. 


Presence 


During the recent Foundation raid on a Marshall, Carter, and Dark 
"Exhibition for the Perusal of Artistic Anomalies," Foundation agents 
discovered the following journal entry. The author, Ms. (on 
staff at Hotel during the exhibition), is being interrogated at the 
time of this writing. 


The thing... was alive. After a fashion. 


Mr. Victor's art is ever so hard to classify, as always. And this one 
confused us all terribly, when he showed up to the latest exhibition 
without his usual semi-trucks full of self-assembling wonders — 
nothing but a single tiny seed, curled in the palm of his hand. 


For the two days of convention time before the exhibition began, he 
had it displayed in the main hall, on his customary glass pedestal. 
We'd reserved the entire hall for him, expecting the usual 
Brobdignagianism, so the little thing looked somehow alone sitting 
there. 


Well, not alone. Not really alone. There was something about it... 
Oh, | still can't put my finger on it. It haunted me, all those two days. 
| spent far too much time in that hall, just pacing its bounds or 
standing in front of the pedestal to examine the thing. It was tiny, 
and somehow inverted — convoluted — curling in on itself. Subtly. 
All its faint contours led inward, yet its presence filled the entire 
room. 


By the third morning, everyone was sure that the sense of presence 
was the art — that Victor had abandoned his usual medium 
completely and gone for something more psychological. There were 
whispers of pheromones, even hypnotism, among the less anchored 
of the clientele. That was before he proved us all wrong, of course. 


His was the last presentation of the day. He led the gathering into 


the central hall, said a few words (no one seems to remember what), 
and picked up the seed. It fit into his palm as if born to it, which | 
suppose it was. Then he smiled and gestured, and the room fell 
away. 


I've no idea how he'd done it, but in those two days he'd had the 
convention center remodeled to fold back at his command. The 
walls slid down, the roof coiled into its beams, and suddenly we 
were standing on a wide flat platform in the open air. The city 
stretched around us, its honking clatter suddenly deafening after the 
genteel chatter of the convention. 


He said something else. "I give you this," maybe. | was too 
astonished to pay much attention. (Or maybe the talk of hypnotism 
had some merit. Who knows?) But he said it, and he raised his hand 
to his lips and kissed the seed. 


A murmur spread around the roof, audible somehow even over the 
cars. The seed... fell. 


Swish. Tap. It hit the floor and did not bounce. 
Silence. 


The quiet stretched out, unnaturally poised, until | was sure it would 
snap and go whipping among us with stinging fury. | almost missed 
it, even, when the seed began to split. 


Its surface cleaved, folding inward along an intricate moire pattern, 
then bulged out between the clefts. The body of the thing swelled, 
heaved, and grew. We watched, enraptured. 


Arms rose out of it, grasping skeletal tendrils sweeping round to 
grasp each other... Superstructure, | realized with a jolt, before they 
connected fully and began to swell and fill the gaps between. They 
moved like twigs in the wind or like paintbrush strokes. My eyes 
were unbearably full of the impossible, wrong, beautiful things. 


Finally, a second or an hour later, Mr. Victor's sculpture stood 
complete before us. The shape was familiarly alien, an 
amalgamation of forms too common to recognize — a teapot, 


perhaps, or a hunched-over vulture. The silence folded itself away 
inside the thing's body; the city's clamor rose around us again. 


Mr. Victor bowed. 


Helpless with awe, we applauded. 


Pretty Magic Gaiden Mecha Tokyo-Mon Demon Ninja 
Sailor Clef 


EXT. PUFFER KITTENS GENTLEMEN’S CLUB - DAY 


The exterior of the building EXPLODES as CLEF-SAN is tossed 
through the window like a weekly shonen jump tossed through a 
shoji. He hits the ground bounces once, twice, rolls to a stop in front 
of a large figure. The figure’s face is hidden. WHO COULD IT BE? 


PAN UP and we see that it is the last person anyone could have 
expected... NOBODY has survived the brutal beating he received in 
the GEARNIVERSE, and to survive, has outfitted his entire body 
with cybernetic enhancements, the most cutting edge of science 
available. He is now MECHA-NOBODY 


Clef leaps up, does a FUCKING TRIPLE BACKFLIP off the ground 
and ROUNDHOUSE KICKS Mecha-Nobody RIGHT IN THE FACE. 
The shadow-machine figure stumbles and falls. Clef darts away. 
Noise behind makes him turn. He sees NIGHTQUEEN 
ULTRABACK X pushing her way through the storm front. His attacks 
have done absolutely no damage! How can this be!?!!? 


Mecha-Nobody has recovered and is advancing on Clef-san along 
with Nightqueen Ultrablack X. Clef-san is surrounded. Clef-san 
glares down at the keter-bracelets. They are almost dim and 
cracked and he knows there is not much time before they fade and 
he loses his Pretty Magci Gaiden Mecha Tokyo=Mon Demon Ninja 
Sailor transformation and when that happens he will die because he 
will not be strong. There is only one thing Clef-San can do. 


He must use 
TWENTY TIMES POWER 


Clef-san screams as the energy flows out of him! His aura is too 
strong, the enemies are forced back. The walls begin to crack. His 


power is too much. Site 19 will not be able to survive it. But Clef-san 
keeps going. TE TIMES POWER. ELEVE. TWELVE. It is too much 
power! He must attack. 


He leaps forward, smashes a mighty GAIDEN SERPENT FANG 
TWO HAND FIVE FINGERS POINTED DEATH STRIKE into 
nightqueen Ultrablack X’s chest. She is sent FLYING back into the 
Gentlemen’s club and CRUSHES A STRIPPER. 


Clef is at SEVENTEEN TIMES POWER and still growing. The keter 
bracelets are about to crack. He leaps at Mecha-Nobody for one 
final attack, his most powerful move the secret technique learned in 
the temple of MOLOCH the FINAL MOTION MOTHERWEEPER 
TRIBUTE SMASH no one has survived it before. It smacks Mecha- 
Nobody in the face. Clef has one! 


But no!!! Mecha-Nobody looks up. He grins. HE spits out blood and 
a tooth! 


MECHA-NOBODY 
Is that... all you got? 


He reaches up and grabs clef-san’s arm. Just has he does, The 
keter bracelets SHATTER. Clef-san’s energy disappears. Mecha- 
Nobody squeezes. Clef-San’s arm CRACKS. Clef-san screans in 
pain.... This is the end. He cannot do anymore. There is no more 
power left, he is about today. Cut to behind him. We see Nightqueen 
Ultrablack X standing up. She is stll alive, somehow! She advances. 
These two villains are about to kill Clef-san. 


Then there is light and a figure flies down from above. She slams 
into the pavement, in a cool triangle drop pose, her shiny black long 
hair waving in the wind, swirling with energy. We are able to see she 
has her own set of Keter bracelets! She looks up. Her dark green 
eyes shine. 


PRETTY MAGIC GAIDEN MECHA TOKYO-MON DEMON NINJA 
SAILOR CLEFELLA 
Get your hands off him! 


ZOOM IN 


PRETTY MAGIC GAIDEN MECHA TOKYO-MON DEMON NINJA 
SAILOR CLEFELLA 
Because he is! 


ZOOM IN 


PRETTY MAGIC GAIDEN MECHA TOKYO-MON DEMON NINJA 
SAILOR CLEFELLA 
My ROOMMATE! 


FADE TO BLACK! ROLL CREDITS! TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR 
THE STUNNING CONCLUSION OF SEASON SEVENTEEN! 


Primo Gustu Color 


***CoolGuy95 has joined #post-phenomart 


Welcome to Post-Phenom Art - RULES: 
www.pastebin.com/GHeXgyQW | Topic: Non- 
Euclidean Sculptures: Overdone or Underdone? 
Topic set by TheEntirePolishArmy on Sat Jan 

11 2012 00:47:55 GMT-0500 (Eastern Standard Time) 


Phenylalanine: so baisically you just need to work on 
your shadding 

blusepth: okay 

Phenylalanine: hey coolguy, welcome to postphenom. 
you're new here right? 

CoolGuy95: Hello people. I'm new. 

jorgumander: ASK HIM THE QUESTIONS! 

blusepth: ASK! ASK! 

CoolGuy95: questions? 

Phenylalanine: 1. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PIECE 
OF POST-PHENOM ART? 

Phenylalanine: 2. HAVE YOU EVER CREATED ANY 
POST-PHENOM ART YOURSELF? 

Phenylalanine: 3. HOW DID YOU FIND US? 
CoolGuy95: | would say Stendhal's Nightmare. 
CoolGuy95: No, and a friend of mine mentioned you 
guys. 

blusepth: Who? 

CoolGuy95: She said her username is autotrophic or 
something like that. 

Phenylalanine: Ah, you're with autotrophia. She's cool. 
Phenylalanine: Well, the initiation is complete. your free 
to go 

blusepth: ONE OF US. 

jackomundo: ONE OF US. 

CoolGuy95: So you guys are Are We Cool Yet?, right? 


once regularly suggested. However, during an early test 
this was attempted by the subject and medical personnel 
were able to save the victim. This method has not been 
suggested by any instance of SCP-916-1 since. 


Any phase may be interrupted by sufficiently disturbing 
SCP-916 itself or simply leaving the room, returning it to 
an inactive state. 


Note: Due to Incident -3c4, instances of SCP-916-1 now have in- 
depth knowledge of Foundation procedures and personnel. Since 
that event, SCP-916-1-42, -43 and -44 have consistently informed 
all Class-D test subjects of Foundation termination schedules in an 
attempt to persuade the Class-D subject to "end it now, painlessly". 
Due to the efficacy of this technique, testing on Class-D subjects is 
currently suspended. 


Footnotes 

1. SCP-916 was recovered by the Foundation on August 26, 1977 
2. To date, 44 separate instances of SCP-916-1 have been 
identified. 

3. Assuming that these events did occur in the presence of 
SCP-916, the object would be atleast years old.