bluntfiend: This is how it feels to take a life. It isn't one 
for another. It's not a system of trading. It doesn't make 
up for Dove. Nothing does. One Nazi is dead, and Dove 
is still gone. 

polaricecraps: im sorry 

bluntfiend: It's okay. 

polaricecraps: are they gonna get me 

bluntfiend: | don't know if the janitors are that good. It'll 
take them at least a day. 

bluntfiend: We can get you away if you need to. 
bluntfiend: There's always Kenowhere. You made sure 
it was always safe. Nobody there would turn you away. 
polaricecraps: im scared of goin there and meetin him 
after this 

bluntfiend: God, you never met Mr. Destiny in person, 
did you? You made him, but you never met him. That 
guy is like, he doesn't see things how we do. He likes to 
brag about the Sarkic thing, but he's not some kind of 
avenging angel. 

bluntfiend: He just believes in you. He always believes 
in you. 

polaricecraps: what do | do blunt 

bluntfiend: You stay put, log off, chill out, and someone 
will be over right away. 

polaricecraps: blunt? 

bluntfiend: Yeah. 

polaricecraps: can you tell harmpit sorry 


bluntfiend: | will. 
polaricecraps has logged off. 


Archived Log from The Place You Learn What 
Sublingual Means 


chereamie has entered the chat. 

chereamie: hi. :3 

hetcopogg: hey!!! 

acuterobot: owo who's this 

hetcopogg: she's the girl i said i was inviting. she just 
started figuring stuff out and she's way nice 
chereamie: “_“;; also | do magic. 

hetcopogg: also she does magic. 

chokerless: Can you make anime real? 

chereamie: no? | don't think so. | never tried. 
acuterobot: it'd be great if you could make homestuck 
real how about that. 

chereamie: what's homestuck? o_o; 

acuterobot: what the fuck. 

chokerless: Owned. 

chokerless: Cool to meet you anyway. What's your 
name? Im Gracidae. 

chereamie: (‘@ ~ *) [haven't actually picked a name yet. 
I'm thinking uhh maybe lily or dove? 
bluefootedboobies: trans girls love flowers and 


birds....... 
bones: | think they are beautiful names. Hello, 
chereamie. 


chereamie: thanks!!! who're you? 

hetcopogg: bones isn't trans or anything, but it's like the 
mod of all the chats, sort of. 

acuterobot: it's always sooooo good at multitasking and 
it's one of the reasons why i love it. 

bones: Yes. You are also good at doing many tasks 
simultaneously. 

acuterobot: :3c 

chereamie: it's nice to meet all of you! the trans thing 
and the magic thing havent made getting a social life 
exactnyl easy (sweatdrop) 


acuterobot: there's definitely a sweatdrop emoticon. 
chokerless: literally what else is the ; 

acuterobot: no it's crying. that's different from sweat. 
bluefootedboobies: it's the same things yo 
chereamie: it's contextual. 

hetcopogg: most of the people here got those both 
going at the same time. you're with people who feel you 
now, dovelily. 

acuterobot: relaxxxx! w3 und3rst4nd jO0!!! 
chereamie: is that homestuck? 

acuterobot: i mean a little bit? 

chokerless: So what do you do? 

chereamie: healing *_4;;;;; 

bluefootedboobies: like the overwatch lady?? 
chereamie: no | guess | mostly use different ways. 
chereamie: | go to clinics. | work at one. well, volunteer | 
guess. sometimes | take the disease out of people. 
chereamie: I've always been able to do it. my grandma 
did. my mom. and | bet more before that but i don't 
remember. 

chereamie: | think I'm best at it tho, probably. 
hetcopogg: i love the false modesty over here. 
chokerless: If you can do sweet shit, you should be 
fucking proud. 

bluefootedboobies: honestly you shoul be careful tho. 
the janitors pay close attn when people suddenly stop 
being so sick all the time at every place you're @ 
chereamie: I'm not scared. | just wanna do as much as 
long as | can. 

acuterobot: that's noble. 

acuterobot: brave, even. 

chereamie: it's just what i'm good at. *_;; 

bones: It is admirable. 

chereamie: thanks! 

chereamie: | think | have to put good into things while | 
can. 

hetcopogg: because it's what people should do. 
chereamie: yeah! :3 

acuterobot: okay cool but do you wanna hear about 
homestuck 


chokerless: Are you seriously doing this already? 
acuterobot: she's a total maid of life. maybe a witch of 
life. 

chereamie: :O | wanna be a witch! 

acuterobot: hell yeah well why don't i throw you some 
links and we'll see what your classpect is 

hetcopogg: and the siren song takes another.... dun 
dun dunnnnn 

chereamie: btw, you all can just call me Dove. i decided. 
hetcopogg: it's beautiful!!! 

bones: It is a good name, and | think it will do well for 
you. 

chereamie: oh, shoot. i'll talk to you guys later. 
chereamie: parent stuff! 

chereamie: thanks for being so cool! 

chereamie: byel!!!! 

hetcopogg: have a good night, dove. 

chokerless: Bye. 

bones: It was lovely to meet you. 

chereamie has left the chat. 


Sophia Light At The End Of The Tunnel 


Senior researcher Mars sucked in one last desperate, gasping death 
as she began to die. The hole in her chested burned. She could feel 
herself, floating upwards, lighter and lighter, as though she was 
made of feathers. A burst of color struck her senses. It even tasted 
and smelled bright. 


Senior researcher Mars sucked in one last desperate, gasping death 
as she began to die. The hole in her chested burned. She could feel 
herself, floating upwards, lighter and lighter, as though she was 
made of feathers. A burst of color struck her senses. It even tasted 
and smelled bright. Was this what the afterlife was like? 


Mars opened her eyes.... 
And saw Sophia Light. 


"What is this? Is this the afterlife? Are you dead too?" Mars shook 
her head, trying to clear out the last vestiges of yellow from her eyes 
and ears. 


Sophia turned to stare at Mars. "I... recognize you." 


Mars tried to stand up. Shakily, she managed to crawl up to her 
knees. She looked up again and saw 682 staring back at her. 


"Oh god! Sophia! Why are you... riding 682? What is this place? 
What's going on?" 


"Oh." Sophia looked down at her mount. "Um... just because? This 
is the afterlife. To some degree.” 682 huffed in agreement, before 
growing out several more eyes and limbs. 


"But... Argh. This is confusing. Why are you in the afterlife if you are 
not dead? | don't remember hearing about you dying. Was there 
another containment breach?" 


All around, an seemingly infinite plane stretched. Mars tentatively 
reached out a hand, and unexpectedly found a wall. The only source 
of light seemed to be coming from.... Sophia, apparently. 


"This... it might be easier to show you." 


The floor cleared. All of a sudden, the 3 of them were floating a mile 
above a frozen mountain range. Below, shifting ice crackled as 
massive chunks collapsed into a bay. 


"Site-6. You used to work here, right?" 


"Yes... | used to. And | still do." The landscape stretched, anda 
cubicle was shown. Space curved around the visitors, allowing them 
all to fit. Nobody seemed to notice anything. Sophia Light was hard 
at work, typing on a computer a new report for a new SCP. And yet 
Sophia Light looked over her shoulder with an old friend behind. 
"And yet | never did." 


With a single hand wave, the Sophia working at the desk was gone. 
And with another wave, she was back again. This time, she turned 
around and gave a blank smile to the invisible visitors, before going 
back to her work. 


"I'm not really here, Mars." Sophia gave a little smile. 


Mars was shocked. "Explain, Sophia. How can this be? Showing 
isn't enough." 


"|..I'll do my best. Nearly 2000 years ago, | was transported out of 
the timeline, due to... Events. | could see everything. Including you, 
who had been changed. We had separated, neither remembering 
the other. | could not bear this. So, using my new abilities, | began 
changing things. You kept your identity. | influenced the 
subconscious of this timelines version of me. Now, when she dies, 
she'll be a part of me. And we'll all be together!" The shining Sophia 
suddenly increasing her luminosity. 


"Look!" And the white plain was back. "Look what | have done, 
Mars!" 


Shifting icons began appearing. Codes, names, SCP numbers. They 


collapsed into a sphere of spinning letters and phrases, going faster 
and faster and faster. 682 reared its head and roared in triumph. 


"All of these are my changes to this reality. All of this is for you! I've 
learned so much... And now, at least, we can be together. Forever. 
Nothing separating us. You were a Nobody. Now, you can be my 
everything. The entire afterlife, ours to enjoy forever!" 


The infinite plane yawned before Mars, its emptiness echoing in 
upon itself. Mars, 682 and Sophia stood alone. 


Mars collapsed in despair and shock. The whole afterlife? Gone? 
What about the others who had died? "No, Sophia. This is not how 
things should have turned out. You were an expert in biology for 
crying out loud! How can you know for sure the consequences of 
your actions? And this after life. Its not right. There is more to life 
than you and me. | know you did this out of love, and | love you too, 
but you have to let go. In the end, to the passing of time, we are.. 
nothing. Nobody. Shut this down. " 


"NO! This is it. There is no other afterlife. | did this for you. For You! 
You can't turn it down! You can't!" Sophia's glow had become 
unbearably bright. All of 682's eyes had closed, and its back had 
developed reflective armor. Had they both become larger? Was 
there really no way out? 


Mars sobbed. She could do nothing for the others by herself. 
Helpless. "Fine then. Just... tell me. Is there anything you can do to 
restore things? Just a little bit? There has to be other people in left in 
this place. Just one person would be enough. Just one." 


Sophia smiled, a little smile, and she dimmed to a bearable level. 
682 stood up, and carried her over to Mars. Sophia leaned close, 
caressing Mars's cheek, and whispered: "Nobody." 


92.95 million miles away 


"What the hell man, | need a rocket launcher. Its not that hard. It 
doesn't even have to be a big one. Give it to me and I'll be on my 
way." 


"Clef. This is the afterlife. Why do you think we have rocket 
launchers? Yes, we have some. No, | am not letting you take any. If 
the O5 council won't give you any, why should |? Besides, we need 
them for the everlasting torment. | mean, you have the ability to 
come back to life. Isn't that enough?" 


"I'll sell you my soul." 


"Clef, we all know you don't have one. Even if you did, | wouldn't 
take the dirty thing. I'm tired of your damn shenanigans and claiming 
to be me all the time. | have a reputation to protect, you know. Get 
out, and next time, Loki or Hades or whoever the fuck you choose to 
bother that's not me can deal with you." 


"After coming all this way to visit you, my friend?" 
"Yes." 

"Fine. So be it. But I'm taking the Fedora." 

"No, you are not taking my damn Fedora." 


"Why does the devil even need a Fedora? All it does is cover up 
your horns and make you look old." 


"Just... shut up Clef. Just shut up." 


Soufflé 


There were rats in the soufflé again. Expert chef Jean-Pierre 
grimaced at the wretched sight. Dozens of the miserable vermin 
were crawling around the innards of what was supposed to be a 
delicious meat and cheese soufflé, baked exquisitely for a very 
specific palate. Shaking his head at the disgusting dish, Jean-Pierre 
emptied the rats nest into the nearest trash bin and set to work on a 
new puffed cake. 


He grabbed his already-warm saucepan, threw some butter in, and 
turned his recently-used burner back on medium. As he 
absentmindedly melted the butter, he began to think of how he got in 
this position in the first place. He remembered being a lowly sous 
chef at a respectable French restaurant in Boston, working for a 
disgraceful bastard of a head chef at his last position, a man who 
despite supposedly being a world-renowned culinary genius couldn't 
tell the difference between a roux and a stock. Even the memory of 
such a man made Jean-Pierre so furious he almost didn't realize his 
butter had become liquid. 


Turning his attention back to his cooking, he scooped up a handful 
of flour and tossed it into the pan, stirring the mixture constantly. 
After a couple of minutes, he began to whisk some of the leftover 
milk into the pan, taking care not to add it too quickly. He set his 
saucepan down to simmer and began dreaming of the last time he 
cooked in a proper restaurant kitchen. It had been his final day with 
the ignorant American who called himself head chef, and he had 
been tasked with preparing duck confit for a very respected 
politician. He toiled over every tiny detail, ensuring every tiny morsel 
was oozing with flavor. As he finished plating the dish, the head chef 
approached and callously declared the meat overdone, and without 
warning tossed the dish into the trash. With a punch of the face and 
a slamming of the door, Jean-Pierre had found himself without a job. 


He lifted his spoon from the milk and butter mixture. Pleased with 


D-39393: Uh... | don't feel anything, really. A bracelet on 
my arm, now... the hell is that thing, anyway? 


Dr. Heiden: Just keep giving me updates, Mr. 


D-39393: |... | guess | feel a little nervous. No, a lot 
nervous... God, what is this thing? 


Dr. Heiden: You're doing well, keep it up. 


[The subject is sweating profusely and has an elevated 
heart rate. | 


D-39393: | am so, so fucked... [D-39393 begins to sob 
softly] 


[D-39393 continues in this vein for approximately five 
and a half minutes.] 


D-39393: Oh, man... man... [D-39393 perks up slightly] 
Wait - shh, did you hear that? Fuck... 


Dr. Heiden: What do you hear, D-39393? 


D-39393: ...uh, voices... real faint, though, trying to hear 
‘em. 


Dr. Heiden: Continue, Mr. 


D-39393: Yeah, yeah... hey, how's it going? God, it 
sounds like I'm back at work... just a bunch of noise. 


Dr. Heiden: Subject appears to be switching from talking 
to the voices addressing him and myself. 


[Approximately three minutes pass, the subject muttering 
rapidly to nothing in particular before his voice rises 
again] 


D-39393: Yeah... no, | hadn't seen the budg- gah! Sorry, 
| didn't see you there... you want to show me a ledger? 


the thickness of the sauce, he took the saucepan off the burner and 
began adding the rest of the ingredients. Spinach, egg yolks, 
cheese, salt, pepper, nutmeg, all finely measured to ensure 
maximum flavor, all thrown into the sauce with care. One ingredient 
left, Jean-Pierre grabbed the bowl of excess meat from last time and 
added it into the pan, taking a small morsel for himself to sample. He 
shivered in delight as he chewed the deliciously perfectly cooked 
meat, remembering fondly how fresh the meat was when he cooked 
it. 


He set the saucepan down and began to work on the egg whites. He 
turned his hand mixer on high and began beating the whites, the 
loud whir of the motor drowning out any thoughts he may have had 
about what he was doing. Eventually, the whites began to hold 
peaks as they should, and Jean-Pierre stirred about a fourth of the 
egg whites into the batter. He gradually folded the rest of the whites 
into the mixture, added it all into the soufflé dish, and popped it into 
the still hot oven. 


Jean-Pierre sighed and sat down, kicking aside a loose bone on the 
floor. He leaned back and began to picture his acquisition of this 
kitchen. It was a dark, old, disgusting place when he first arrived at 
it, and true not much has changed since then, but he still believed 
then that he had what it took to run his own kitchen, moreso than the 
idiot who he used to work for. He hadn't believed the stories of the 
"haunted kitchen", though he was more than happy to take the 
property for dirt cheap due to said rumors.