2. Colloquial adaptation of FORC, Foundation Orbital Research 
Compound, referring to standard Foundation space stations with an 
associated entourage of tethered communications/defense/storage 
satellites. 

3. O5-10 was on Minerva Base for medical treatment during the 
Departure and was recovering from surgery in the aftermath. 

4. Colloquial adaptation of CID, the Chinese Central Investigation 
Department, also in charge of the Chinese military spaceflight 
program. 

5. Foundation terminology for the Showmen Transit Plaques 

6. Most thaumaturgical systems in existence under GOC control 
failed completely after the Departure due to the absence of the Earth 
as a locus for binding energy. Of these failures, the crippling of the 
experimental cruiserYeagerwas the most dramatic and well- 
publicized. 


Fish Are Friends, Not Clowns 


The tall and imposing captain of the ship was smoking a pipe and 
checking the map with immense satisfaction inside his great cabin. 
He was surrounded by well-protected relics and trinkets from 
different eras and cultures, some acquired more dubiously than the 
others. A few even followed his steps with their eyes or hissed 
curses, but he paid them no mind. Soon enough, he and his crew 
would acquire a new asset that would make them the envy of the 
richest and most powerful men on Earth. He didn't even mind that 
he was transporting a Circus of freaks. They were only looking to 
make a buck, same as him. Business is business. 


And speaking of business, they should be reaching the Whispering 
Isles soon. The captain left his cabin to speak with Mr. Fuller. 


"The future looks promising, wouldn't you say?" asked the captain. 


"Don't count your chickens before they hatch, Sullivan," the older 
man in a garish red and yellow suit retorted in a dry tone. "I'm 
investing a whole lot of money into this expedition, and based on 
little more than hearsay and a dingy old map. You managed to 
convince me, who knows how, but God help you if this turns out to 
be a rip off." He managed to pack enough venom into each word to 
kill an elephant. 


Sullivan laughed nervously. Even though he was taller, broader and 
stronger than Fuller, he still felt incredibly small around that wrinkled 
viper of a man. "T-t-trust me. I'm not, ah...clowning around. Get it? 
Clowns? Circus?" 


"Save the comedy for the professionals. You have another job to do, 
or so I'm told. How much time left until we find the asset and leave 
the Isles with it? What if the natives fight back, hmmm?" 


"Don't worry, | brought more than enough firepower to take care of 
some natives with bows and arrows. The asset might be, ummm, a 


little harder to retrieve." 


"| did not pay you to make excuses," hissed Fuller with a cold 
hatred. "You have all my resources and my most talented workers to 
help you deal with anything your frail mind thinks it can't handle, 
come hell or high water." He paused, and put an amazingly artificial 
smile. "Easy now, everything will be fine. For the sake of my wallet 
and your head, it better be fine. See you when we find the Isles. Try 
not to get scared off the side of the ship by seagulls. It would break 
my heart." 


Fuller slithered out of the great cabin, a sinister grin on his face. 
Sullivan let out a sigh of relief. Several of his cursed relics began to 
chuckle at him in unison. 


"SHUT UP!" 


Soon enough, the ship reached the tropical coordinates of the 
supposed Isles, but found nothing except more water. Sullivan was 
hurrying to decipher a document he had pilfered along with the map, 
which he believed would reveal a Way into the pocket dimension 
where the Isles where hidden. Sullivan fetched the on board 
translator and begrudgingly allowed her bodyguard to come along. 


In walked an old blind Albanian woman, her forearms fused together 
at the bones. She was accompanied by an oblong creature covered 
in many hands, which crawled around with surprising mobility. 
Despite her unfortunate deformities, the woman seemed to be ina 
serene mood and smiled at the captain. 


"Ah, Sullivan. What do | owe the pleasure?" 


"You see, Fran, | have this here document that | need to translate to 
help guide us to our destination, and | was told you are an amazing 
polyglot. Care to help me?" 


"Of course | can. But why haven't you greeted Luana yet? She's 
here too, you know." 


Sullivan look at the worm of hands suspiciously and with a fair 


amount of disgust, like it would strangle him a hundred times over if 
it so much as thought that he meant harm to old Fran. 


"Sure. Come here, Luana. Just, uh...which hand do | shake?" 
"Any is fine. Except the tiger one, for obvious reasons." 


Sullivan shook hands with Luana, and the creature leaned in for a 
long and strange hug. 


"Ah, so we are friends then? Excellent. | might as well grab some 
refreshments for Fran, in that case." The captain turned around, and 
the old woman just barely held back a big chuckle while staring 
sideways at Luana, who was pointing at herself as if to say "Who? 
Me?". 


Refreshments were savored and the document was eventually 
deciphered. It turned out that some of the relics and trinkets that 
Sullivan had collected could be combined into a Key, which was 
specific to the Way for the Isles. Aside from the deciphering, the 
conversation between the three of them was mostly about their 
travels and the sights they had seen, but it was clear that Sullivan 
entered this lifestyle from a far more privileged background. 


"Do you never feel like settling down? Maybe starting a new life 
away from all this pilfering and pirating?" asked Fran. 


"| could ask something similar of you. But then again, you are, how 
can | say this..." Sullivan trailed off and averted his gaze. 


"Too old? Too strange? Nonsense. That is all in the mind. I'm asking 
you because | think you still have a good chance of doing something 
better, you just have to believe it. Right, Luana?" 


The worm of hands was distractedly juggling some random objects 
due to boredom and was caught off guard by the question. She 
almost dropped the objects, quickly put them back into their place 
and gave many thumbs up to Sullivan. 


"If you two say so. Well, your services were useful, but it's time for 
you to leave. We will soon enter the Isles, so be prepared for the 
adventure of your lifetimes!" 


"That is amazing, captain. But consider this: what use is there 
having a thousand adventures if we don't know what we will leave 
behind when we are gone? Now | excuse myself and wish you good 
luck." 


Luana waved goodbye with her many hands and left with the cabin 
Fran. The cursed relics chuckled in unison at Sullivan again. 


"Oh, WHAT NOW?" 


He looked around and around, until he looked at his back in a mirror 
and saw that Luana had attached a paper onto him with the 
following phrase: 


"SEA DOG BITCH" 


The ship finally arrived on the Isles. The sand was fluffy anda 
pristine white, the water was clear and calm, and for miles in front of 
them stretched luscious forests of slender trees. Even now, the 
namesake sensual whispering of the location seemed to encourage 
them to come hither and indulge like there was no tomorrow. 
Unbeknownst to them, figures with glowing eyes watched them from 
the depths of the forests. 


The captain led the expedition, using Uriel Fishbones' stretchable 
eye stalks to look out for danger like a scout. Motormouth was 
carrying an entire arsenal and supplies for the expedition inside him 
and making awful jokes to try and lighten up the mood. Fran and 
Luana searched the ground for possible dangers or clues. The 
Gnomes built a collapsible trap to catch the asset. Herman Fuller 
followed close behind, armed with a sword-cane and a pistol. 


As they ventured further inside the forest, the heat became more 
intense and the light grew dimmer. Insects buzzed around, the 
muddy ground gave in with every step and one could not help but 
feel a creeping sense of paranoia. All around them creatures ate 
each other in ways typical and unusual, and after some time the sky 
was split by mighty thunderstorms. With all the extraordinary 
resources at their disposal, the expedition set up camp easily and 
rested with overconfidence. They did not expect what would greet 


them upon the crack of dawn. 


Sullivan felt uncomfortable, like his sleeping bag was different. He 
tried to reach out for it and found that his arm were immobilized, as 
were his legs. In a flash of terror, he opened his eyes and realized 
he was tied around a log being carried by towering grey people with 
six arms and lurid masks. His mouth was covered as well, 
preventing him from screaming. He trashed and looked around for 
the rest of the crew in vain, and all he could hear was the godawful 
chanting of those freakish people. Soon enough, the log was placed 
in a vertical position inside a large clearing near the coast and he 
could take a good look at his captors. 


They began to light up torches, spread around flower petals and 
perform bloodletting in a circle around a stone altar encrusted with 
jewels. Whatever this ritual was, Sullivan wanted no part in it. He 
began to stretch and fiddle with his arms until the ropes were loose 
enough for him to catch his hidden knife, at which point he cut 
himself free and ran away looking for the crew. He dashed through 
the forest, reached a cliff and heard a long whale-like roar coming 
from the ocean. Freezing behind a tree, he held his knife and hoped 
to God it was just his imagination. 


Something began to push its way out of the water. Something 
massive and pitch-black, covered in seaweed and the detritus of a 
thousand empires. It climbed the cliff with tentacles like massive 
buildings and stared up at Sullivan with a cylopean, electric blue 
eye. The thing grabbed a large stone in one of its flabby clawed 
hands and began molding it like clay. The thing turned the stone into 
the shape of something resembling Sullivan's ship and placed it 
before him, then clapped a few times while still staring. 


Sullivan didn't care. He ran away as fast he could, and through 
sheer luck found most of the crew tied to similar logs. He got out his 
knife and freed them as well, but he immediately regretted doing so 
for Fuller. 


"What was that about more than enough firepower?" spat Fuller. "! 
swear, in all my travels, | have never seen a captain who allows his 
entire crew to get kidnapped! And by savages, no less!" 


SCP-848: Interdimensional Spider Web 


Item #: SCP-848 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-848 is contained in a 10 m 
x 10 m x 5 misolation chamber, which is to contain several non- 
organic structures that may be used by SCP-848-1 specimens to 
construct SCP-848-2. SCP-848-1 specimens usually do not need to 
be fed, but if they are unable to feed for periods lasting greater than 
2 weeks or begin to exhibit signs of malnutrition, harmless insects 
may be introduced to SCP-848's containment as food. 


SCP-848's chamber must be cleaned at least once per week and 
continuously monitored for the appearance of anomalous objects. In 
the case of hostile organisms, armed response teams may be 
deployed and full Nuclear-Biological-Chemical (NBC) precautions 
should be observed by all personnel when retrieving objects from 
SCP-848-2. 


Description: SCP-848-1 is a colony of Nephila clavipes (golden silk 
orb-weavers, a.k.a. banana spiders). Specimens of SCP-848-1 are 
approximately 15% larger and significantly stronger and faster than 
normal specimens of Nephila, but generally no more dangerous than 
a typical spider of the genus to humans and do not exhibit any 
particular hostility to humans in their containment. 


SCP-848-2 is the web created by SCP-848-1. As with normal N. 
clavipes, SCP-848-2 can be enormous and often times reaches 
diameters of 5 m or more. The silk used in the production of 
SCP-848-2 is somewhat stronger than is normal N. clavipes but 
otherwise appears normal in composition. 


Periodically, anomalous objects will be discovered ensnared in 
SCP-848-2. The frequency of these occurrences varies greatly, but 
typically occurs from once per week to up to a dozen in one day. 


Sullivan shook, grit his teeth and pointed a finger right at Fuller ugly, 
hooked nose. "Listen here, and listen good. | just saved your sorry 
ass from getting sacrificed back there. And you know what else? 
You don't OWN me, or anybody else!" 


"| own your paycheck, you ingrate! And if you don't do exactly as | 
say, you can look forward to sailing back home with empty hands!" 


"| don't need your money! Right now, what | need to do is get my 
crew to safety! And | bet you need to as well, even if it's just 
because of your wallet." 


"Fine, fine. We'll do it your way. Lead on if you're so brave." 
"I'm not brave. I'm terrified. But I'm still a better fit than a slaver." 


After a lot of bickering, Sullivan and the crew came up with a plan to 
rescue Fran and Luana. And Fuller was not going to like it. 


Fran had been tied to the stone alter, and her bodyguard had been 
restrained far away. The godawful chanting, drumming and 
bloodletting of the natives increased in tempo along with the 
rainstorm and lightning. Along the horizon and above the canopies a 
looming shadow lumbered ever closer to the altar, unleashing 
whale-like sounds that only grew louder. After a time that seemed 
like an eternity, the leviathan stepped into the clearing, every step 
making a small earthquake. 


The ritual stopped. 
The leviathan stared at Fran. 


Luana was thrown from a catapult right into the leviathan's eye and 
began punching like a mad motherfucker. 


The natives stood ramrod stiff for several seconds, unsure if this 
was for real. A hail of snoke bombs from the sky answered their 
question. Uriel Fishbones came speeding in on a bamboo vehicle 
built by the Gnomes, using his eye stalks to trip up the natives and 
throw them inside Motormouth, who would spit them out one by one 
into a cage. Meanwhile, Fuller used a new version of the Mixing Rod 


to further aggravate the leviathan by spraying him with copious 
amounts of mashed up fruit pulp from the isle. When it tossed Luana 
away and chased after Fuller, he yelled profanities and ran as fast 
as his old legs could carry him, right into the cage that the Gnomes 
had prepared. He leaped out the other side before the metallic walls 
closed, hitting a palm tree at full speed. 


"Hahahaha! You see? Herman Fuller always gets the last laugh!" he 
proclaimed triumphantly. A coconut fell from the palm tree and hit 
him on his head, knocking him out. The coconut bounced, hit a rock 
and cracked open, spilling its contents on the sand. 


"| guess the old man finally ran outta juice!" joked Motormouth. 


Everybody decided it was safer with the leviathan than with this 
nonsense. 


After a long trip back home with their prize secured in a huge water 
tank, the Circus prepared their new show for the people of New York 
City. Flyers and megaphones went into the streets for days, and 
soon enough the tents were raised high up into the sky. Business 
was good.