widened at was on the other side. It was night. They must have 
been over ten stories up, far above a street of bumper-to-bumper 
traffic. People swarmed around each other on the sidewalks- many 
had umbrellas, and as she shifted her focus, she realized it was 
drizzling slightly. Across from the window was a row of buildings, 
each at least fifteen stories high. Fuck me, she thought. 


That eliminates many of the worst possibilities. We are, at the 
very least, in your home universe. 


Okay, so what's left? She craned her neck, trying to get a glimpse of 
anything that would give her more information. What city was this? 
New York? She’d never been, but it looked like the pictures. 


Similar possibilities, with the added chance that you may be 
able to escape. The voice hadn’t finished speaking when Amy 
heard the door open behind her. 


She turned. A tall, tan-skinned man stood in the entry-way, his hand 
still on the doorknob. Dark black, curly hair fell to just above his 
shoulders, well-framing his already attractive features. Stubble 
covered his chin. He wore blue jeans, expensive by the look of it, 
and a grey button-up poked out from a green sweater. He smiled 
and shut the door behind him. “You're awake. Wonderful.” 


She eyed him suspiciously. There was no doubt in her mind the 
friendliness was an act. If he had anything to do with those creatures 
that had chased her, he probably wasn’t planning anything good. 
And he was blocking the door. “Who are you?” she asked. 


“My name’s Rupinder.” He extended a hand to shake. She didn’t 
react, and after a moment, he drew it back. “I apologize for the 
behavior of my underlings. They may be effective, but can get a bit 
rowdy if not supervised properly. | hope it won’t mean we can’t get 
along.” 


He is telling the truth, said the Witness. Or a supremely good 
liar. 


Amy fought to hide any change in her expression. She crossed her 
arms. “You mean those fucking claw-things.” 


“They prefer to be called the Nish-Hyet. And yes, | do.” The smile 
didn’t leave his face as he spoke. 


“They broke my shoulder.” 
“We fixed it.” 
“They beat the shit out of me.” 


“And they have been appropriately reprimanded for that.” He 
motioned towards the nightstand. “Aren’t you hungry?” 


She ignored the question. “They killed two people.” 


Rupinder raised an eyebrow. “As | understand it, both of those 
people were helping to hold you captive.” 


“That doesn’t mean you kil/ them!” The words came out more 
forcefully than she intended, and she snapped her mouth shut. Why 
was she so worked up? She’d barely known Doctor Galloh. Ed had 
been alright, sure, but still... two days ago she would have told 
anyone she didn’t give two fucks whether he lived or died. 


It is not to your benefit to antagonize these people, said the 
ever-monotone voice in her head. It doesn’t seem he intends to 
hurt you. It is possible he intends to offer assistance. Amy 
gritted her teeth. Fine. She would see what the game was. 


“Few people have the right to do anything,” said Rupinder. “Yet we 
do anyway.” He stepped aside, motioning for her to exit the room. 
“Please, come. | will explain further.” 


She glanced at him, then to the door, then stepped past into the 
hallway. It was about fifteen feet long, stretching out in both 
directions, well lit by fluorescent panels across the ceiling. Several 
doors lined the walls. The floor was covered by a fuzzy red carpet 
that tickled her bare feet. Rupinder walked forward and motioned 
her to follow. 


He continued to talk as they traveled down the hall, arriving at two 
flights of stairs. “Again, | apologize for any harm that came to you. 
Attempting to steal from the Foundation is... not a task most can 


undertake lightly. Doing so without any collateral damage...” he 
laughed. Then he began to descend the stairs two at a time. Amy, 
barely five foot five, had to move double-time to keep up. “Even with 
help it’s doubtful. Particularly help from the Insurgency. We fixed 
everything we could.” 


“Great. Cool. You got a point?” Amy tried to make her voice hard, 
but she was still too disoriented to manage the effect. 


Rupinder didn’t look back. He rounded the bottom of the stairwell, 
into a large room that looked like the lounge of an upscale hotel. An 
ornate chandelier from the ceiling. The floor was covered in a blue- 
green carpet, patterned in spirals that made Amy think of ocean 
reefs. Couches were arranged a flat-screen TV that took up almost a 
third of a wall- it looked like it was showing Ocean’s Eleven. A man 
and a woman sat on the couch. In the corner, a second man was 
reading a book. None reacted to Rupinder and Amy’s approached. 
“The point is, we desire your services.” 


“You’re not getting them,” said Amy. She crossed her arms, hoping it 
could make her look more tough. 


An entryway to the left led to a small kitchen sectioned off by a 
granite counter. Rupinder walked over, tugged open the fridge door, 
and retrieved two cans of Diet Coke. He offered one to Amy. She 
shook her head. He shrugged and placed it on the counter. “As you 
wish.” 


Her eyebrow lifted. 


Rupinder sipped his drink. “Take, or don’t take, what you want. Stay 
or go as you please. We won't stop you leaving.” 


The words processed in her brain. She remained silent. 


“However,” he said, placing his Coke next to the unopened can on 
the counter, “we are the only thing shielding you from the 
Foundation’s search. Do you know how long escaped humanoids 
evade them, alone? Three days. Rarely longer than a week. And if 
you don’t assist us, we see no reason to assist you.” 


He let the statement linger. Amy shifted her eyes to the ground. She 
bit her lip. Dammit. He could have been lying, but she doubted it. 
She’d only seen a small portion of her captor’s - the Foundation, she 
assumed - resources, but they were enough to make it clear they 
didn’t let people out of their grip easily. She sighed. “By my 
assistance, you mean-” 


“The Witness, yes.” Rupinder nodded. 


She grimaced. “Whatever. No way. You think I’m just gonna spend 
the rest of my life- whatever the hell that is anymore- being your 
library?” 


He smiled. “Concerned you'll just be moving to a different kind of 
prison? Fair. One job. All we need. You'll be free to go and we'll 
continue to protect you from the influence of the Foundation.” 


The offer seemed way too good to be true. “You expect me to trust 
this.” 


Rupinder shrugged. “I expect you to make the choice best for 
yourself.” 


Amy looked around the room, glancing at the people on the 
couches, the television, the pantry stocked with more food than she 
had ever seen outside of a grocery. She thought of what it would be 
like, to walk outside again after five years, real outside, not the fake 
habitats they occasionally let her into. She thought of eating real 
food, seeing new movies, meeting new people. She thought about 
seeing storms, or snow, or the sun. And most of all, she thought of 
who she'd been taken from. 


“| need to think about it.” 
Rupinder nodded. “Of course.” 


She wandered back into the lounge, her hands in her pockets, again 
examining the room. Three paintings decorated a section of wall. 
Moving in for a closer look, she glanced back at Rupinder. He was 
still in the kitchenette, but his eyes hadn't left her. She turned to the 
paintings. 


The first was of a man astride a pure-black horse. He wore a long 
red coat which billowed in the wind. One hand gripped the colt’s 
mane, the other thrust a thin saber towards the sky. His face, 
smeared with dirt, was contorted into a furious roar, or perhaps a cry 
of fear. Around him a great battle raged- explosions marking the 
Earth, men eviscerating one another with bullet and blade, air filthy 
with shrapnel and smoke. 


“A wonderful piece,” said a rasping voice behind her. The man 
reading had approached. “Sadly, the artist’s name is long lost. A 
victim of an unprepared world.” 


“Uh huh,” she said. It was difficult to place his age- older than forty, 
probably not older than sixty. His thick blond hair was touched at the 
edges by gray, and lines marked the edges of his mouth and eyes. 
He wore a red and white silk shirt that hung almost to his knees, 
black pants beneath. There was a hungry look in his eyes as he 
stared at the painting. 


He offered a hand. “Il have heard much of you. It is an honor. | am 
Amon.” 


“That’s great.” She turned back to the painting. It almost seemed 
familiar, but any time she got close to the idea of how it slipped 
away. 


Amon gestured at the paintings. “I selected all of these, from my 
personal collection. The finest | have found in years of travel.” He 
sighed. It sounded exaggerated. “It’s a pity, how this world treats art. 
They don’t know what it means to search. To scour a world for years 
in hunt of a true masterpiece. For them, it’s as easy as trading stock, 
giving bills.” 


“Look, I’m not in the mood for this. Go bother someone-” she turned 
and stopped. The man had disappeared. In his place a swarm of 
wasps churned the air, crawled across walls, littered the floor. A 
cow’s skull sat suspended in the center of the mass, hovering 
almost six feet off the ground. As she stared, the skull shifted, and 
the buzzing of wasp wings made a noise that sounded like “Is 
everything alright?” 


You must escape came the voice of the Witness. These are not 
people to be trusted. 


It was the Witness’ doing. Showing her the man’s true nature. She 
blinked and managed to stammer out, “Uh... y-yes...” She glanced 
to the left. Where the man and woman had sat on the couch were 
two grey-skinned creatures. The ones that had chased her through 
the caves. She gulped. 


Okay. How do we get out? 


The most efficient way to do so without risking notice would be 
a rite. 


And what is that exactly? She looked back at the swarm. “Um. This 
is interesting, but | really just need some time to think right now.” 


The skull nodded. “Il understand. You have had quite an 
experience.” The swarm drifted back to the chair. Hundreds of 
wasps settled on a book and lifted it to the skull. 


A less refined being might refer to it as magic. 
Uh, you realize most people don’t know how to do that, right? 


That is unfortunate. However, had you no aptitude for it, we 
would have been unable to bond. | will be able to walk you 
through the steps of a simple rite. Arditio’s Curtain. Find a 
place you will not be seen, and some way to write. It need not 
be ink. 


It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to just ask for a pen and 
accidentally give him an idea of what she was planning. She thought 
for a minute, then approached Rupinder. He looked almost the same 
through Witness-cam, though his clothes had changed from a 
sweater to black rags, and thin smoke drifted from his body. He 
looked at her expectantly. 


“Would it be alright if | took a shower? | just need some time to relax 
after...” 


Rupinder nodded. “Of course.” He pointed to one of the hallways. 


Station lota is currently the least understood station, owing to its 
task of harvesting SCP-684-1. SCP-684-1 takes the shape of small 
(2 cm to 8 cm) spheres of varying color, which bud off the skin of 
SCP-684. Any given nodule reaches full size in three weeks, 
remaining attached for a week before disconnecting from SCP-684 
and being carried off by ocean currents. SCP-684-1 has been seen 
as a supplementary source of nutrition for the entire food pyramid 
surrounding SCP-684. Examination of sea life that consistently 
feeds on SCP-684-1 shows increases in size, general health, and 
overall increased fitness. Human consumption of 684-1 has not yet 
been approved, but many Foundation researchers believe that 
SCP-684 grows SCP-684-1 in way of recompense for absorbing and 
refabricating its ‘caretakers’. 


Addendum-2: Interviews and Communication 
Transmission 684-JH9-4 
Access 


Communication Requested By: Researcher 
J oH , Copy 9, Station Delta 


Responder: Dr. , Stable One 


Foreword: A tear in H 'S diving suit during 
an exploratory survey has left it suffering from 
headaches and nausea. It has requested 
transfer away from SCP-684 for medical 
treatment. 


Dr. :H , old friend, we sent you down 
there because you kept injuring yourself on dry 
land, and now you want to go back? We just 
took down all the padding on Site- |! 


Researcher H : (laughs weakly) Keep it 
up, Will. When the hell am | getting out of 
here? | hate being cooped up when the rest of 
the crew is out there. 


“Third on the right. Everything you need will be there.” 


She strode to the hall and quickly found the room, shutting the door 
behind her. The bathroom was almost the size of her living room 
back home. Everything was black and white, made of hard angles 
and sharp edges. A large mirror hung above futuristic sinks. The 
shower had two metal dials, and she turned the one labeled ‘H’ as 
far as it could go.. In minutes the room was filled with steam. 


Three symbols flashed through her mind. The components of the 
spell. Transcribe each atop the other. Infuse them with power 
as you write. 


Am | supposed to know how to do that? She turned the shower off, 
then approached the mirror. Water had condensed along the glass 


As you draw a symbol, picture it enveloping you. Imagine you 
are an ant, exploring a landscape made only of the rune. 
Crawling through the ink upon the page. Blot every thought 
from your mind but the image you are drawing. 


Oh, simple. She touched her finger to the mirror and took a deep 
breath. The first of the symbols was a spiral that twisted around 
itself, like the old Greek labyrinth. She stared at the image as she 
drew it, tried to stare into it, fall into its depths like a river. As she 
sketched the symbol, her body begin to shiver. Sweat beaded 
across her forehead. Her legs felt weak, as if she’d just swam a 
mile. She drew the final line and stumbled back in exhaustion. 


Do not hesitate. Begin the next, on top of the first. 


It was almost impossible to keep her hand steady as she drew. Her 
whole body shook, shuddering as if she’d just sprinted a marathon. 
Dots of light danced in her vision. Her mouth was dry. She didn’t 
stop, dragging her finger down the glass, etching out the angles of 
the second rune. 


Good. The third. 


She had to grip her wrist to keep her arm raised. Her fingers were 
numb. Her lungs tight. Sweat soaked her face, blurring her vision. 


She wanted to pass out, to fall, anything but continue writing. But 
continue she did, until the final mark had been made. Then she 
collapsed against the counter. 


You must hurry, before the energy dissipates. Put your hand to 
the surface. 


She grunted, forcing herself forward, lifting her still-good arm to the 
mirror. As her palm hit the glass, she felt the energy surging forth. It 
slammed against her like a wave, and as it did the soreness in her 
muscles disappeared, the shaking vanished. She pressed her palm 
against the glass until the wave had flowed past completely, then 
stood. Her body was still tired, but it only a fraction of what it had 
been. Blue symbols covered her palm like a tattoo. 


Highly inefficient said the voice, and it almost sounded like sighing. 
But acceptable, for a first attempt. Now hurry. They have 
forgotten your existence, and will not notice it again in the next 
five minutes. 


In the lounge, Rupinder had joined the movie-watchers on the 
couch. None looked at her as she crept from the hallway. As quietly 
as she could, she moved towards the stairs. Every noise made her 
flinch, glance back to her kidnappers, but they paid no attention to 
her. She reached the stairs and scampered down