Three people passed by in another of the loud, self-propelled 
carriages. They had puzzled him when he first saw them on the 
streets. Without horses to draw them, he assumed they moved with 
magic. But as he’d studied them more, he’d begun to suspect 
something else. Behind the gate of a building labeled “Dave’s 
Mechanics and Auto Repair’, he’d found several of the carriages 
caged, their shells open. The guts inside reminded him of something 
he’d seen years ago, in the war against the Broken Lords. Perhaps 
these people had learned to harness a similar power? But he’d seen 
no signs of the infestation that came with the embrace of the God. 
Strange. When he had the opportunity, he would to take apart one of 
these carriages to learn its secrets. 


Few people seemed concerned as they passed him on the street. 
They most likely confused him for one of the worn-looking beggars 
that seemed to be everywhere. An insult he could ignore for now. 


A man in a dark blue, unwrinkled outfit approached and stood next 
to Alarath. He smiled down at him. “Enjoying the view?” 


Alarath eyed the man. He was tall, skinny, and gave the impression 
of a person who had never been in a true fight. His hair was silver 
and ghostlike in its thinness. On his neck was a tattoo of a slit- 
pupiled eye. 


“Are you the one who brought me here?” said Alarath. 


“lam but a lowly messenger,” said the man. He bowed deeply. 
Before he could rise back up, Alarath snatched his collar and pulled 
him in close. He pressed his dagger to the man’s throat. In the 
corner of his eye, he saw a pedestrian jump back. Someone nearby 
screamed. 


“Then perhaps | should send a message.” 


The stranger seemed unconcerned by the blade. “Wouldn't you 
prefer to receive one first?” 


“Speak quickly. While you still can.” 


A man grabbed Alarath’s shoulder. “Hey man, what the hell do you 
think you’re-” he cut off as Alarath’s elbow smashed against his jaw. 
He fell to the ground, clutching his bloody mouth. 


The stranger nodded appreciatively. “Excellent. That’s the kind of 
aggression you'll need if you want to bring back the Daeva.” 


Alarath’s grip on the knife tightened. “What did you say?” 


“You don’t think a civilization like this could exist as long as your 
people were still around, do you?” He gestured to the buildings 
around. “Your empire has been extinct for thousands of years. 
Wiped out for getting too casual with powers they didn’t understand.” 


“Impossible. The Daeva empire will reign eternal. It was foretold.” 


“Well, | doubt any of the people here would agree with you. | bet 
none of them even know what the Daeva were.” 


Alarath looked at the crowd that had gathered around them. Such 
passive, fearful faces. They looked like human cattle, too dumb to 
react or take any sort of initiative that hadn’t been thrust upon them. 
Such people would never have been found in his city. They died too 
easily. 


“And how do you expect me to bring back a civilization that’s 
thousands of years dead?” 


=Warning: 


SCP-715 Reclass 


The inconsistencies with SCP-715-B instances were first L 
tested SCP-715 himself. It was noted in his personnel file 
down a request to transfer to the SCP-2090 project, a pos 
freedom in his research than the SCP-715 project, as well 
This was noted as unusual’, but was otherwise ignored. 


Sometime later, during a routine sweep of Site 81 for reali 
for inspection, despite the sweep being mandatory for all 
personnel processed in this procedure, again, this was lar 


It was not until Site 81 Research Head, Dr. Agatha Rights, 
behaviours became apparent. It was noted, in Dr. Rights's 
project and the personnel sweep would have subjected Re 
distortions. In both instances, Researcher Patton managex 


Following up with the report, Dr. Rights had a Fulmann-Br 
rigged in Researcher Patton's quarters. After processing tl 
evident that our understanding of SCP-715 was flawed. 


To be frank, we've been killing the wrong subjects. 


The collected footage showed that, when put through a fil 
Patton appeared to be one of the creatures we've seen wi 
Researcher Patton ever gaining access to Site 81/715, or 
the previous administrations secrecy campaign regarding 

SCP-715-A could have escaped our security. 


Then we used the same devices to observe the instances 
humans. They're all humans. They're not like those things 
beings, and they've been trying to tell us, but we can't und 


In our haste, we quickly upgraded the classification to Ket 
instances we were aware of. We managed to get an interv 
well. Due to the information recovered from this interview, 


“First | hope that you'll release me. Then, we'll need to find a certain 
book...” 


« Why? Where? What? | Hub | But Life Goes On » 


But Life Goes On 


In the underbelly of a numberless Site beneath Navi Mumbai, Pavio 
Kharkiv sat alone in a dark room with a glass of vodka. One by one, 
four computer terminals around him flickered to life. They hummed 
as the faces of his co-conspirators, washed in blue light, loaded into 
view. He laughed softly to himself as he watched. The Foundation 
was the most technologically advanced organization on the planet, 
rivaled only by the Coalition. It had explored regions of space 
beyond the limits of normal humanity, it conducted business across 
multiple dimensions, it constructed chambers to hold beings that 
could be described only as gods. And they still couldn’t figure out 
how to make a damn video stream load quickly. 


He lit a cigarette and watched the light drift upwards, filtering the 
glow of the computer screens. This would be trial. If he convince 
himself, make the others see the necessity of his actions, they would 
be forced to follow his plans. If not... nothing that came afterward 
would matter. 


As he watched the ember consume the cigarette, he wondered how 
he had come to be in this seat. When had he first realized the 
lengths he would go to to accomplish his goal? Had it been when 
the representative of the Watchers first came to him, explained the 
secret history of the Foundation? Told him of the enemy lurking 
within his organization’s ranks? Of the secret war going on under his 
nose? No. Even then, he’d had trouble believing. He hadn’t been 
sure. He hadn’t known until he’d stood in the ruins of the original 
Site 19 and seen what had become of the members of the first 
Foundation. 


The screens had loaded. He took a final drag of his cigarette, 
drawing the flame down to the filter, extinguished it, and turned to 
look at his jury. “Ladies. Gentlemen. It’s nice to see you.” 


“Cut the fucking shit, Pavlo,” said Liam Brook, known to the rest of 
the world as O5-2. “Tell us what the fuck is happening.” 


Pavlo looked to others. “I expect you all feel the same?” 
They didn’t respond. They didn’t need to. 


Pavlo shrugged, stood. Stay calm. Stay in control. Show them that 
this was his moment. “I killed Aubrey because it needed to be done. 
She came too close to understanding our plan. Had | not acted 
when | did, all we have been working towards would have 
collapsed.” 


“And now it’s definitely going to fucking collapse,” said Liam. His 
voice came out as almost a growl. It was the most emotion Pavlo 
had ever seen the man show. “How the fuck are we supposed to 
cover up a dead 05?” 


“It is being handled. Trust me. They will not know until we want them 
to know. Until then, it will be too late for them to be saved.” He drunk 
from the vodka. “The body has disappeared. The apartment has 
been scrubbed clean. Cover stories have been manufactured." 


“And how much scrutiny will those stories hold up against?” said 
Yukiji Endo, director of Site 53. “What could you have possibly come 
up with on such short notice?” 


“They will last enough. But we must begin our plans quickly.” He 
looked at each of his conspirators in turn. “We have waited too long 
already.” 


“We don’t have ‘plans’,” said Dr. Clef. The image in front of his face 
was obscured by static. “We have fucking napkin drawings and 
chalkboard doodles.” He cackled. “I love it. When do we start?” 


“What do the Watchers have to say about this?” said Dr. Spencer. 
Having only just earned the title of full Researcher, she was by far 
the least experienced member of their group. At first Pavlo had 
wondered why the Watchers had chosen her. He hadn’t wondered 
for long. 


“They were the ones who first told me of the situation,” said Pavlo. 
“They must have known how | would handle it.” 


The others went quiet. Yukiiji broke the silence first. “So what’s our 


next step?” 
“Isn't it obvious?” said Clef. “We take down the rest of the fuckers.” 


“Don't be stupid,” said Liam. “Unless you know how to kill every 
counsel-member and high ranking official at once, we'll just put them 
on alert. No. No. We need to gather our tools first.” 


“We need to take 2000,” said Spencer. 
The others agreed. 


« God Am | Hub | Rather Die Young » 


Rather Die Young 


“Hello, Emily.” 


Agent Cipher flinched at the use of her real first name. Underneath 
layers of digital modulation, the voice coming from the phone was 
unrecognizable. But there were only half a dozen people in the world 
who knew that name. And only one who still had business with her. 
“| told you I’d kill you if you ever tried to contact me, Luthor.” 


The phone gave a distorted, electric laugh. “You shouldn't assume 
your secrets are so well protected. Don’t worry. I’m not Luthor. The 
Coalition kept their word.” 


“I’m still going to kill you.” 


“Don't make empty threats, Em. It doesn’t suit you. Do listen. | have 
an offer, and it would be best for everyone if you took it.” 


Cipher looked at Kantos. Her partner's gun was pressed to the 
imposter’s head. The imposter looked as unconcerned as ever. 
Kantos’ face was furrowed in worry. “Would it?” 


“If you like your partner’s head still attached to his body.” It was hard 
to tell, but under the warble voice filter was a hint of amusement. 
“Step outside.” 


Cipher thought for a moment, then motioned to Kantos. “Come on. 
I’m going up.” 


They moved back to the elevator. It rumbled to life and began to 
carry them upwards. They reached the dark interior of the shed and 
Cipher pushed the door open. 


A second car had parked next to theirs. A woman stood next to it. 
She looked like the type of person who’d graduated top of her class 
in law school by poisoning every other student. Her black hair was 


cropped short, and a bulky jacket enveloped most of her upper 
body. When she saw Cipher she smiled and lowered the phone 
she’d been holding to her ear. “Before you do anything rash, you 
should know that we have three snipers placed around this area. Try 
to bend reality, and they unload.” 


There was a moment of silence, broken by Kantos saying, “What did 
you say?” 


The woman turned towards him and smiled. “You didn’t know? 
Agent Cipher... I’m sorry, Emily Vakes, is on the run from the 
Coalition. She’s one of the most powerful type green’s they ever 
seen.” 


“No.” Kantos shook his head. “No, that isn’t possible. She’s a 
Foundation Agent. She’s worked here for ten years.” 


“Correct. And she joined to stay safe from the Coalition. Among... 
other reasons. She’s suppressed her powers. Barely using them. 
Nudging things just enough to let her rise through the ranks. To get 
her where she wanted to be.” She raised an eyebrow at Cipher. 
“Right?” 


Cipher took a step towards the woman. “What the fuck do you want 
from me?” She could feel her fists clenching and unclenching, 
trembling. It would be easy to end this. To reach forward and snuff 
the woman from existence. Who cared if they killed Cipher after? 
How dare she come in here, how dare she reveal these things, open 
up Cipher’s past for all to see. And when she was so close to her 
goal. But she’d spent ten years resisting the urges that welled up 
inside her, whispering for her to take control. She wasn’t about to 
give in to them now, when so much was on the line. 


The woman didn’t flinch as Cipher approached. “We want you to 
save the Foundation.” 


« But Life Goes On | Hub | March Of The Fire Ants » 


March Of The Fire Ants 


The sound of sirens made Alarath look away from the stranger. 
They split in the air in the distance, growing closer every second. 
They were unlike any warning horn he had heard used in the 
Empire, too loud and shrill. It sounded less like a call to battle and 
more the warning cry of a predator. He looked back at the stranger. 


As if he’d perfectly anticipated Alarath’s thoughts, the stranger 
laughed. “I’d suggest running. This world’s changed more than you 
know.” He tossed a small object to Alarath. Thin, black, and 
seamless. One side of it lit up as Alarath held onto it. “We'll talk 
again soon.” 


Alarath crushed the object in his palm and let the pieces fall to the 
sidewalk. “You think a few empty words will be enough to turn me 
into your dog? | have a reply for your masters.” He struck forward, 
thrusting his dagger toward the stranger’s throat. 


Before the blade could make contact, the stranger disappeared. His 
voice came from behind Alarath, “I didn’t, actually.” Alarath spun 
around. The stranger stood ten feet away, looking as unconcerned 
as ever. “But that’s why we make plan B’s, isn’t it?” 


“What are you playing at?” snarled Alarath. 


“A game with a much larger board than you could possibly imagine,” 
said the stranger. “And which you're already a piece of, whether you 
want to be or not.” He tilted his head, listening. “Now, | really 
suggest you run.” And he vanished. 


Alarath spun around, but the man was nowhere to be seen. The 
sirens were growing louder. It now sounded as if they were almost 
on top of him. A moment after the disappearance of the man, a 
white carriage careened around the corner of a building. Lights atop 
its roof flashed, and the siren blared from it. It screeched to a stop in 
front of him. 


Two men climbed from it, each point a bent metal item towards him. 
A weapon of some sort? The design and way the men held it 
reminded Alarath of the weapons he’d seen used by the First Ones. 
Stronger than any bow and arrow, they’d been able to wound men 
from hundreds of feet away, killing with ease. If that were the case 
here, he would have to be careful. Plus, the men who held them... 
the differences were small, but he could tell they were unlike the 
others he had seen. They weren't true warriors, certainly. But they 
were different from the rest of the untrained rabble he had see so 
far. There was an edge to them. Perhaps one sharp enough to cut. 


“Get on your knees,” said one. “Drop the fucking weapon and get 
your hands in the air.” 


Alarath frowned. They were asking him to surrender? Before the 
battle had even begun? Perhaps he had overestimated these men. 
“My name is Alarath of Redakor,” he said. “| am pleased to meet you 
in the field of battle.” He took a step forward, pulling his second 
blade from its sheath. 


“Stop where you are! | will shoot.” 


Stop? No. He had never before surrendered in battle. Why would he 
begin now? He continued his approach, daring them to strike first. 


A noise cracked the air between them. Alarath flinched, his shoulder 
struck back by a sudden force. He looked down. A small, bloody 
hole had appeared in his shoulder. Just like the ones that had 
covered the bodies he had woken up in. One mystery solved, then. 
Pain chewed at the wound, but he set it out of his mind. He’d had 
worse injuries.