Those who watch are also influenced, although in lesser or different 
ways. Increased pettiness, regression to childish states, extreme 
immaturity, decreased bowel control, fetishization, promiscuity, and 
even reports of public masturbation have all been noted. Staff's IQ, 
focus, and rationality all drop significantly over a period of time with 
SCP-597, and they often will fight with each other over silly things, 
such as objects or perceived insults, be wracked with laughing and 
crying fits, be unable to resolve problems in an adult way, and lose 
the ability to control their emotions. After four to five weeks, it is 
impossible for them to function in a work setting, and they all 
communicate with each other with a series of grunts, coos, and 
short confused sentences. Attention should also be paid to the fact 
that the employees’ name for the object degenerates from the 
Official title, "SCP-597" to "The Mother", then to just "Mother", then 
"Mom", "Mommy", "Mum", and so forth, often ending in sucking, 


And a little later on in the book. /t is this sociopathy, combined with 
his loyalty to whatever cause he is allied with, that makes Charles 
Gears such a danger to reality. 


The Sister looked up from the book. What was the noise? It seemed 
to be coming from just ahead, a slow murmur flowing through the 
trees. The Queen didn't seem to notice, or at least, didn't seem to 
care. She just continued on through the brush. The Sister tried to 
quiet her steps and listen closer. It sounded almost like water. 


“Do you hear that?” she said. 


The Queen nodded. “We're getting close. Look.” They were coming 
up to a large treeline. The Queen just strolled through, not even 
pausing. As if the scrapes and cuts from the trees weren't even 
worth thinking about. The Sister sighed, covered her head with her 
hands, and barreled through. She ran for almost a minute, branches 
snagging at her clothes, thorns ripping her skin, before bursting 
through on the other side. 


She reared back as sunlight hit her face. So far, the forest had been 
dim, most light blocked by the canopy. Now, the glare was blinding. 
She managed to squint one eye open and gasped. They were out of 
the forest. She was standing on the bank of a river. It must have 
been close to 30 meters wide. The water was blue and clear, and at 
the bottom, small creatures that looked like wooden crabs scuttled 
across the rocks. Trees sprouted from the riverbed. Their leaves 
were long and vinelike, streaming through the water, and fish swam 
between. Most were too short to reach the surface, but a few 
reached out of the river to scrape the sky. 


Three large, white-furred beasts stood on the other bank of the river. 
They looked almost like buffalo, but their fur was shorter, and their 
horns longer. They arched backwards, almost touching the nape of 
their neck. Short branches sprouted from the fur around their bellies. 
Two took no notice of the Sister. They kept drinking, oblivious. The 
third stared at her. After a minute, it gave a low grunt. The others 
looked up at her. They grunted, and all three turned away to roam 
off. 


Across the river, a plain stretched to the horizon. Far off, she could 
see a herd of the buffalo creatures. Every few hundred meters, a 
massive, branchless tree trunk grew from the earth, taller and wider 
than any of the trees in the forest. 


The sound of branches snapping behind her drew her attention. 
From the branches emerged the Queen, looking none worse for the 
wear. She brushed a few leaves from her clothes and readjusted the 
straps of her pack. 


“It's beautiful,” said the Sister. 


“No,” said the Queen. “It used to be beautiful. This is a disease.” 
She turned to face upriver. “Come. We still have a few more hours 
before we arrive.” 


The woods had been, for the most part, flat. That had been fine. 
Walking uphill sucked. The sun was nearing the middle of the sky, 
and the heat outside the forest was almost unbearable. She'd taken 
off her jacket and tied it to her waist, but it didn't help. The Queen 
strolled on, not even sweating. 


There was something up ahead. Coming up, she had thought it was 
just an outcropping of the hill. Now, she saw it was a tangle of 
branches the size of a building. The river (though by now it had 
narrowed to more like a stream) flowed from an opening in the 
center. They approached it, and the Queen held up a hand to stop 
her. 


“This is it,” she said. 

“About time,” said the Sister. “Are we going to go in?” 
The Queen nodded. “I want to ask you something first.” 
“Yeah, sure. It would be a nice change of pace.” 


The Queen crossed her arms. The Sister stared into her eyes and 
shivered. Something about them felt off. Inhuman. It was like looking 
into a thunderstorm. “What do you plan to do with your father, once 
you find him?” 


“What?” Why would she need to ask that? “Take him back home. 
What else? | was going to try to fix whatever the Foundation had 
done to him.” 


“| see.” The Queen pursed her lips. 
“What, do you have a problem with that?” 


She sighed, shook her head, and stepped into the opening of the 
tangle. “This will be the sixteenth version of our father I've killed. It 
won't be the last.” 


The Sister followed. The cave was dark, except for the Queen's 
flashlight. They stood just inside, still, looking at each other. 


“Not even 10 years ago, this world was very similar to your own,” 
said the Queen. “Your father ruined that. He always does, in the 
end. This time, he accidentally fused himself with forest god, giving it 
the connection it needed to spread across the entire world. But it's 
still not satisfied. Give it time, and it'll spread throughout the solar 
system. Then the galaxy. Eventually, it will find a Way to another 
universe. And from then, there will be no stopping it. It must be 
destroyed here. At the source.” 


The Queen handed the Sister a small, silver canister. “Do you have 
what it takes to kill your father?” 


The Sister looked from the canister to the Queen. She bit her lip. 
“Well... he's not my actual dad, is he? He just looks like him.” 


“Yes. But that doesn't mean much. The mind has odd ways of 
holding onto the associations it builds up.” The Queen crossed her 
arms. “So, can you do it?” 


The Sister turned the canister in her hands, running a finger across 
it. “l don't know,” she said. Her voice was soft. “Will he feel it?” 


“He doesn't feel much of anything now,” said the Queen. “He's just 
fuel for the god.” 


The Sister sighed. “Maybe. Maybe. | can try.” 


The Queen nodded. “Follow me, then.” 


They began to walk away from the entrance. Neither spoke. After 
several minutes, the Sister realized that the ground was sloping 
downwards. From the outside, the tangle had seemed about the size 
of an elementary school, but they'd gone too far for that to be right. 
She looked behind her, but the light of the outside had disappeared. 
The tunnel was pitch black. To steady herself, she ran a hand 
against the wall, and listened for the Queen's footsteps. 


The ground was soft and wet. Every step slipped slightly into the 
earth. She could hear insects buzzing around them. The whole 
place smelled sickly sweet, like rotten fruit. As they walked, the air 
cooled. Soon she was shivering. 


She wasn't sure how long they walked. It felt like an hour, but it 
could have been more. It could have been less, too. For all she 
knew they only went a few hundred meters. But down there, it felt 
like an hour. Ahead of them, a pinprick of green light was forming. 
As they moved forward, it grew. Soon it was bright enough for her to 
see the silhouette of the Queen, and the rough walls of the cave. 
They were covered with thin vines and flowers. Finally, they arrived 
to the entrance of a smaller cave. 


The walls were hidden under layers of branches and ropey vines. 
The ground was clean, smooth stone. Sprouting from it were small 
bushes. Glowing blue fruit hung from them. In the center was a pool 
of clear water. She couldn't see the bottom, but several schools of 
fish swum beneath the surface. Hanging just inches from the water 
was Dr. Gears. 


Hundreds of vines held him suspended from the ceiling, his arms 
splayed out, legs dangling. Sprouting from his skin were leaves, 
twigs, and flowers, that roped around his body. They covered him 
almost completely, left only a few inches of naked torso and his 
head exposed. His eyes were open, they looked empty, like the 
eyes of a corpse. 


Her breath caught in her throat. She tried to speak, but couldn't. This 
was it. This was what she had been waiting fifteen years for. To see 
dad again. She wanted to move, to say something, anything, to see 


if he would notice. If he would know who she was, or even move. 
But she couldn't do anything. Just stare into that face, slightly more 
worn, slightly more wrinkled, but otherwise exactly how she 
remembered. 


“Are you alright?” The Queen stepped forward. She stared at the 
Sister, her lips thin. 


“I'm...” said the Sister. Go on, she thought. Say it. Just say it. “I'm 
fine.” 


“This isn't your father,” said the Queen before going to quiet. She 
looked from Gears to the Sister. “You said it yourself. He's never 
seen you in his life.” She picked up a pebble from the floor at threw it 
at Gears. It smacked into his forehead, but he didn't react. “He can't 
even be considered a human at this point. His memories, his hopes, 
his fears, they've all been destroyed. Eradicated by the Uprooted 
God.” 


The Sister nodded, but couldn't take her eyes off of him. Her 
stomach felt heavy. Something pounded in her throat, like an animal 
trying to break free. 


“You don't have to do this if you don't want to,” said the Queen. “But 
| think it would be a valuable experience for you, to understand more 
of what we'll be doing.” 


Say something. Thought the Sister. Don't just stand there. You're 
better than that. “It's... no,” she said. Her voice was raspy. Her 
throat felt like concrete. “It's going to happen, whether | do it or not, 
right?” She sucked in a breath and held out her hand. “I can do it.” 


The Queen nodded and gave her the canister. It was heavier than 
the Sister expected. Like a brick. She turned it over in her hands. 
“It's easy to use,” said the Queen. “Put it down the wall, pull the top 
off, and run.” 


She nodded. “Will it be quick?” 


The Queen shook her head. “No. But he won't feel anything. This 
will be better for him, | promise.” 


“Right.” The Sister walked to the other side of the cavern and set the 
canister down. The Queen stayed at the entrance, watching. The 
Sister placed a hand on the top. She looked back at the man 
hanging from the ceiling. God, he looked so much like her father. 
Every part of her body screamed that this must be him. She knew 
that he wasn't. She knew that her real father was with the Coalition, 
in a different universe, not trapped like this. But still, her hands 
shook. “Come on,” she whispered to herself. “Come on.” But her 
hands wouldn't move. 


She thought of the past two weeks. Of meeting the Queen, of barely 
escaping from the Coalition alive. Transporting to another world, a 
freezing wasteland, and almost being killed again. Hiking for days. 
Seeing men die. For what? For this moment. To kill this man at the 
Queen's request. No, she thought. He's not a man anymore. One 
look was all it took to confirm that. 


Her hands were slick with sweat. Her stomach felt like it was doing 
somersaults. She could taste last night's meal in the back of her 
throat. The pin of the canister rested between her fingers, waiting to 
be ripped away, to release the fire it bottled in. She didn't want to do 
this, she realized. Why had she come here? Why had she insisted 
on doing this? 


She looked back at the Queen. She'd said it was okay to not do it 
herself, but the Sister knew that wasn't right. The Queen expected 
this of her. She could show the Sister the universe, but first the 
Sister would have to prove herself. She wrapped her hand around 
the canister. Do this, a voice in the back of her head whispered, and 
you'll be able to see dad again. Your real dad. 


She wiped the sweat from her brow. Yes. This wasn't her dad. Her 
real dad was waiting for her, a universe away. And all she had to do 
to see him was pull the pin. 


Three. 
Two. 


One. 


She closed her eyes and yanked her hand back, tearing the pin from 
the canister. There was a hissing noise, and the top of the canister 
erupted in red light. She leaped up, sprinting back to the entrance of 
the cave. The hissing noise grew louder. 


The Queen grabbed her shoulder. A smile spread across her face, 
the first the Sister had seen. “Excellent. Absolutely fantastic. Now, 
hurry. It will soread quickly.” 


The Sister nodded. She took a step forward, then stopped. This 
wasn't right. She couldn't just leave like this. She had to see. 
Turning, she stared back into the cave. And froze. 


The Queen looked back at her. “Is something wrong?” 
She shook her. “No. No it's... fine. We need to go.” And they ran. 


When they finally burst from the cave, and the sun and wind hit their 
faces, she turned and vomited against the side. The Queen stood 
above her, looking almost concerned. “I know how hard this could 
be at first,” she said. 


“No, really,” said the Sister, wiping her mouth. “I'm fine.” 


But her thoughts were stuck on the cave. What she had seen there. 
When she'd turned, she could have sworn Gears was looking at her. 
That there had been recognition in his eyes. That he had mouthed a 
word. Her name. Alison. 


Blood Red Summer Hub 


Prelude 


To Be Noir Not To Be: The Fiction will see the Real. 


We're still not entirely sure what he actually did with it in 
the first place and for almost all intents and purposes he 
shot himself into fictional space and fucked right off, but 
suffice it to say once they'd finished cleaning his corpse 
off the side of a printing office on the Hollywood 
Boulevard, more than a few people got interested in 
whatever method of narrativic ascension he'd 
unintentionally pioneered. 


Act |: Numbered City 


| Care Because You Do: Gears in the machine come 
loose. 


By the time | was done with my handwashing ritual, I'd 
looked up just in time to see the Karcist retracting her 
rope-like tongue into her mouth, residue of Jane's brain 
still dripping from its surface. 


Crossing the Frame: And before the third day, she 
rose. 


Sighing, | flicked through them all, scanning for anything 
of interest — all of them turned out to be typical 
mundanity, one-week seminars on theological 
interpretations of Zipporah at the Forge, updates on the 
samizdat breakout near the Marble District. 


Staring at the Sun [TBA]: Black Queens to move. 


"But — that doesn't make sense, how can there be two 
of you in the same place?" "You're a devotee of the god 
of mass-production and you can't understand the 
concept of two of the same thing existing at the same 
time?" 


Characters 
Connie Xiang: Inquisitor. 


A single-minded and sharp-tongued woman not afraid to 
get into a scrap, for better or for worse. One of the few 
Maxwellist members of the inquisitorial force, she was 
assigned to transuniversal work. Officially, it was 
because she was a rookie who needed a relatively low- 
pressure job: unofficially, she's always suspected it's the 
result of Orthodoxy attempts to keep the heretics in the 
One universe, preferably one that's as far away from 
them as possible. 


Amitha Vikram: Informant.