Z is seen looking at a photo of awoman 
and a [REDACTED] for two hours. Getting up 
from his chair, he proceeds to walk over to the 
airlock and open it, flooding the entire station. 
The entire station, and all crews, are dissolved 
and rebuilt over the course of six hours. It is 
not currently understood why SCP-684 made a 
direct contact with [REDACTED] . Each 
previous iteration of Crewman Z made 
such contact attempts, but this is the only 
recorded time in which SCP-684 did not 
generate the communication ‘response’. At the 
risk of anthropomorphizing SCP-684, we may 
conclude that it simply made a mistake. 


Footnotes 

1. There have been some in the Foundation that have expressed a 
belief that, given SCP-684 has not grown in size or mass since 
discovery, HotBox procedures are a waste of resources. 

2. Double-blind experiments have concluded that without tools to 
detect the chemical differences, all individuals reported that 
SCP-684-based documents had no identifying traits which hinted at 


You’re stuck with me for now.” 
She stayed silent. 


“| was impressed by your little escape routine. Memory magic is a 
tricky thing. For one as new as yourself to use it for any length of 
time is... unprecedented.” He paused, looking thoughtful, then 
added, “Nearly. You may prove interesting.” 


Hearing that made her hesitate. She recovered quickly. “Sweet. Put 
iton a card, | can hang it from my fridge.” 


“Still, you cover your tracks poorly. Following the traces of your 
spellcraft was like trailing a rabbit in clean snow.” He scratched his 
beard. “I’m surprised it didn’t teach you.” 


She raised a mental eyebrow. 


It did not occur to me that it was something you would not 
know. 


You're not really great at this ‘being of pure knowledge’ thing, are 
you? 


!ama collector of knowledge, not a distributor of it. Instructing 
inexperienced mages is not my purpose. 


More reason to find some books on magic, it seemed. She focused 
back on Rupinder. “We had some communication issues.” 


“Well, | suggest you be more careful. There are...” he glanced to the 
side, “others, who may be interested in you. Our offer of help still 
stands.” 


“Super not interested.” His eyes didn’t move at all as he talked, she 
realized. That’s what was so unnerving about him. He’d only blinked 
twice during the whole conversation. 


“One job. Not even a particularly dangerous one. That’s all we would 
need, after which our considerable resources would be turned 
towards helping you.” He smiled. It didn’t touch his eyes. “And your 
family.” 


“Fuck off,” she said. It had worked once before, right? 


Rupinder sighed, and finally his eyes moved off her. “If you insist.” 
Tendrils of smoke began to rise from floor. He pulled an object from 
his pocket and tossed it to her. She caught it. “When you change 
your mind, use that. Your little partner will know how.” The smoke 
thickened, blocking him from view. When it dissipated, he was gone. 


Amy took a deep breath and willed herself to stop trembling. She 
wiped away the sweat from her forehead. It suddenly occurred to 
her how tired she was. How long had it been since she slept? 
Twenty hours? More? Her stomach rumbled. Almost as long since 
she ate. All the food had been lost in the subway, when the bag tore. 


She opened her hand. He’d given her a small black stone, engraved 
with a crown. She shoved it into her pocket. You know this guy? 


! was not sure until this point, but if what I believe is correct, he 
is a spellcaster with many names. One who has been active for 
as long as | have been aware, and should not be trifled with. 


Many names, huh? What do most people call him? 


Payeshim. From a long dead language, translating 
approximately to... \t trailed off, as much as a voice that existed 
only as thought could. The shelf to your left. What do you see? 


She glanced over. It looked fine to her. The wood was a bit 
scratched up maybe, but not horrifyingly so. Uh... books? 


One moment. A second later, a small bug appeared on the wood. 
Amy stepped towards it and bent down for a closer look. It was a 
silver wasp. 


What the hell? 


! believed it a normal insect, until | realized its motions were 
unnatural. It appears to have been masked by a form of 
perception-filter. | have removed it for you. 


Its wings buzzed. Before it could take flight, she thrust her hand 
forward, mashing it against the shelf. She felt a small shock. When 


she pulled her hand back, she saw a small mess of wires and metal. 
Jesus. You think Rupinder... 


No. This is a Foundation drone. 
Her blood turned to ice-water. We’re getting out of here. 
| believe that would be unwise. 


No, fuck that. She began to walk through the shelves, toward the 
Way Silav had directed her to. /f they know we’re here, we’re 
bouncing the hell out. 


lam searching the area around us. There is nothing else 
watching. 


Well, you already missed one, didn’t you? She spun around a 
corner, almost slammed into a large octopus-thing carrying a stack 
of books. It shook a tentacle at her. 


Now | will be less wary. You are worn from your travels. If you 
do not rest, you will be at an even greater risk. | will be able to 
carry watch as you sleep. 


| can be tired for a bit. 


You are safer within the Library than at any point upon Earth. 
Here, nothing approaching violence is permitted. They would 
not be able to touch you without your blessing. Elsewhere, you 
would be at their mercy. This is the optimal opportunity to 
prepare. To plan. Or is it more to your liking to attempt to 
combat the organization that held you for five years, when you 
possess no information and your body barely functions? 


Amy slowed, but kept walking. 


There are places here in which to rest. Think. This is the wisest 
decision. 


With a sigh, she stopped. Okay. We'll stay for a little bit. 


Amy hid, peering around a corner of the shelf. 


Someone had erected a shanty town in the middle of a clearing. 
Over a dozen small huts were scattered around a single, multi-story 
cabin. Denizens manned food stalls placed around the edges of the 
area. Some people had laid sleeping bags on the open floor. 
Children kicked a ball back and forth. It made her remember the 
stories of villages constructed in the New York subways by the 
homeless. She’d always pictured those the same way as this- strung 
together from a hundred pieces, barely held in place. 


They will not hurt you. 


Yeah, well. Suck it up. We’re doing this my way. She watched the 
inhabitants of the village. Nobody in a Foundation uniform that she’d 
seen. Not many humans at all, in fact. The predominant species 
were the multicolored bug/man/lizard hybirds manning the stalls. A 
beefy specimen leaned against the door of the center cabin. A few 
others sat at makeshift tables, chattering with other patrons. 


Her stomach rumbled. Most of the food being served looked like 
brown mush, but that wasn’t stopping her mouth from watering. The 
last meal she'd had had been the noodles, way back in New York. 
Not even a full serving. She glanced around and, satisfied there was 
nobody too suspicious, slunk towards one of the stalls. The chef was 
skinning something long and hairless, and didn’t notice her 
approach. She cleared her throat. It was impossible to read his (her? 
its?) expression as five and a half pairs of eyes looked over at her. It 
chittered. 


“You speak English?” she asked it. 
“L'il bit,” it responded in a voice that sounded like bubbling tar. 


She looked over the available options. There was a plate of what 
might have been meatloaf, except for the wriggling green feelers 
sprouting from the surface. Next to it was a grey crustacean. It had 
been cut open at the chest, and a white gritty substance oozed out. 
It didn't look cooked. Next to that was a sandwich. 


Do | want to know what’s in that? 


Nothing that might hurt you. 
Amy sighed and pointed at the sandwich. “That.” 
The chef's eyes rolled back into its head. “You gonna pay for it?” 


“Uh, how much?” Did she have anything on her to trade? She’d lost 
the bags in the subway station, and there hadn’t been much worth 
bartering anyway 


The chef refocused on cleaning the animal. It hadn’t stopped the 
preparation while it talked. “Recommend me a book.” 


She raised her eyebrows “What?” 


The chef carved away the last bit of skin with a flick of its wrist. It laid 
the knife and animal on the cart. “Gimme a book | ain’t read yet.” 


Amy blinked. Damn, she should have paid more attention in English 
class. What had they even studied? “Uh... Of Mice and Men?” 


The chef's antennae clattered together. “I like mice.” It handed over 
the plate. 


She snatched it and retreated to the emptiest shelf possible. She 
sat, leaned against the wood, and lifted the sandwich. A dollop of 
green sauce dribbled onto the plate. 


Next time you're finding me some real fucking food, she thought, 
and took a bite. 


Maybe it was five years of Foundation meals. Maybe the Witness 
did something to her head so she tasted differently. Maybe she was 
just so damn tired she didn’t care. But it was the best sandwich 
she'd ever tasted. The meat was tender, juicy, tasting like something 
between beef and lamb. The spices were salty, sour, a little sweet, 
blending together in perfect levels, complemented by the tangy 
sauce and fresh, springy bread. She devoured it in less than a 
minute. It seemed far too filling for its size. She leaned her head 
against the shelf. 


A touch on her shoulder startled her awake. Bleary-eyed, she looked 


up. A hooded figure stood over her, shaking her with its right hand. 
Its other arm hung at its side. Instead of a hand, a small lantern 
dangled from the wrist. The face under the hood had no mouth. A 
blue, wrinkled eye gleamed. 


“Shit!” Amy yelled, kicking out. The thing stepped out of the way of 
her foot, turned, and began to walk away. She pushed herself up. 
“Hey, what the hell?” 


It is a docent, one of the Librarian’s guardians. It means no 
harm 


Her shoulders tightened as she watched it leave. /t shouldn’t be 
fucking touching me. 


The empty plate sat on the ground. Sauce had congealed around 
the edges. She picked it up before heading back into the clearing. 
The space was near empty. The food carts were closed. A few 
people still sat at the benches, drinking and swapping tales. The bug 
creature guarding the door had left. In its place, a large, bald- 
headed man stood watch. 


“Uh, hey,” Amy said as she approached him. “You guys have rooms 
to sleep, right?” 


The man looked at her. Most of the left half of his face was covered 
in a tattooed maze of red lines. It ran down his neck and 
disappeared under his collar. “We have a few.” 


“Can | use one? Just for the night.” What even counted as night 
here? There wasn’t anything resembling a sun. Or any lightsource, 
for that matter. Where was the illumination coming from? 


“Sure,” he said. “Price is a secret. One you've never told anyone 
else. And your name.” 


“Uh... right.” Amy thought back. What was there? She didn’t exactly 
feel like exposing the deep dark corners of her soul for a few hours 
of sleep. But he hadn't said how bad it had to be. “I’m Amy Melvil. | 
cheated on my Algebra final in high school.” 


The guard rolled his eyes. “Boring.” He made a note on a pad of 


paper, gestured through the door. “You get one of the rooms down 
the first left hallway. Pick an empty one. We'll know if you cheat.” 


The building’s hallway ran back at least 200 yards, far enough that it 
should have intercepted the the shelves. At the end was a flight of 
stairs. Four paths branched off on each side of the hall. Amy entered 
the one she’d been directed towards, walked a bit before finding an 
open door. 


The room was sparse. One bed. One set of paper-thin covers. One 
nightstand. A carpet that was more dust than fabric. Walls so close 
together she could bring her arms up and touch both. Amy stared. 
Then she stepped back into the hallway and slammed the door. 


Fuck this. 

What are you doing? 

She stormed back to the entrance of the building. “Hey,” she said. 
The guard looked at her. 

“| need a different room,” she said. 

“You need a bigger secret.” 


She sighed, thought for a moment, and said “I was in love with my 
best friend for like four years, even after she thought I’d gone crazy 
and stopped talking to me.” She paused. “And... | tried to kill myself, 
after | got out of the hospital. | forgot to turn the safety off the gun. Is 
that fucking enough for you?” 


Grinning, the man wrote the words down. “More than. Three flights 
up the stairs, second hallway to the right.” 


She nodded and began heading back. 
Something is worrying you. 
It’s nothing. 


You are obviously bothered by something. 


I’m not sleeping in a room like that. Never again. 


The Witness didn’t respond. She made her way up the stairs, to the 
third floor. The hallway had four doors. Only one was open. 


Behind was a basketball-court sized room. White marble flooring ran 
wall to wall, reflecting the light of the chandeliers above. In one 
corner, red and gold blankets draped over a king-sized bed. The 
wall opposite was covered by shelves, all stacked with books. There 
was a dining table, a pantry (fully stocked, it looked like), 
refrigerator, stove, dining table, dresser. 


She barely made it to the bed before collapsing into sleep. 


When Amy woke, the room was dark. As she sat up the chandeliers 
flickered back to life. She rested at the edge of the mattress, staring 
at the marble floors. 


How long was | asleep? 
Thirteen hours and four minutes. 


Right. Rubbing her face, she stood. Her stomach growled. She 
obliged it, moving to the kitchen to rummage through the pantry. The 
contents were thankfully normal. She grabbed bread, butter, cereal 
from the pantry, eggs and milk from the fridge. Pots and skillets sat 
by the stove. She set about frying three eggs. And you don’t feel 
anything strange around, do you? 


Everything is normal. 


Amy grimaced as she dumped too much salt into the pan. You think 
they're still following us? 


If they are, they’re being exceedingly cautious. 


Shit, she thought, both at the Witness’ answer and the smell of 
burning eggs. The pan sizzled as she scraped the salvageable food 
onto a plate. Not bothering to move to the table, she began to eat. 
What now? 


We should travel to the Warden with as much haste as 
possible. How far is the Way? 


She thought of the mental map Silav had given her. About six miles 
from here. Maybe another three to the village once we’re through. 


They didn’t talk as she finished eating. It didn’t seem necessary to 
clean up the dishes- she left them on the counter and walked to the 
door. At the bookshelves, she paused. Do you think they’d let me 
take some of these? 


A Library Card is automatically created if you take volumes 
from the shelves. You are free to keep them as long as you 
wish, until they are returned or lost. After a moment it added, Do 
not lose them. 


See any good ones on magic? 


It directed her to almost a dozen volumes of different sizes, and she 
was able to find a large knapsack in the dresser to carry them (she 
wondered how much, if any, of the room’s contents were specifically 
accommodated to her). Half of them were in languages she didn’t 
recognize, but the Witness assured her it would be able to translate. 


Browsing finished, she exited the room and descended the stairs. 
The doorman, unmoved from his post, grinned as she passed. 


Man, why do | get the feeling | shouldn't have told him all that shit 
last night? 


It was probably unwise. 
Amy sighed. Whatever.