“| assure you that the tests were all conducted in a very controlled 
environment with proper procedures; the containment here is only 
temporary, mostly for better observation,” Samuels said, adjusting 
his glasses. “And as for Agent Cobalt, I’ve had my assistant Mendez 
looking into the information she provided. It is indeed helpful, but the 
anartists themselves are relying more on vague feelings. | only want 
concrete science. For now, exposing test subjects to the pamphlet 
and have them access the ‘Flow’ forcefully is my best option.” 


Green began to pace around the chamber, and examined the pieces 
one by one. An array of clay cubes that fused together then spilt up 
again, with animated figures on each of them; a series of two 
dimensional shapes layered onto one another, making the whole 
object alter with every tiny change of perspective; a structure with 
impossible colors that he was sure was an actual hypercube. 


He couldn't exactly claim himself an expert on evaluating artistic 
merit, but it was obvious that most of these were good pieces, and 
would fit right at home in an anomalous exhibition. Not the most 
refined in skills, considering that the D-Classes were most likely not 
professional artists, but impressive enough nonetheless. 


“Green,” Samuels called out behind him. “The analysis of these is 
over already, and if you don’t take them, they are scheduled to be 
neutralized the next month.” 


“Yes, lucky me that there just happens to be this amount of anart 
when I’m in dire need of works that can’t be traced,” Green sighed. 
“I'll take them.” 


“Good, I'll send their files your way.” 


“Although, what’s with those?” He said, pointing to the left side. The 
works placed there were almost uniformly cubical, or contained 
some sort of square shapes. 


“Oh we exposed them to cubical-themed visual stimuli for two 
weeks. To see which part of the brain is responsible for outside 
influence in artwork.” 


“You made quite some progress, then.” 


“We certainly did,” Samuels grinned, showing visible enthusiasm. 
“The brain patterns still need a lot of analysis work, but once that’s 
done we'll be able to move on to the next stage.” 


“Next stage?” 


“Oh yes, if we can find out exactly what parts of the brain 
participated in utilizing the ‘Flow’, figuring out the specific links... 
Eventually, we will be able to break this thing down.” 


“I’m not exactly trying to crack the Flow here, you know. | just need 
to know where it fits in the grand scheme of things,” Fang said, 
activating the anchor. “Now I’ve recorded the data from your normal 
progress, let’s see if the stabilizer does anything.” 


Yang felt as if the air in the room grew heavier. “I’m getting paid, so 
not complaining,” She shrugged. “But can | even do that with it on?” 


“Well, that’s for us to find out!” Dale said as he put the newly finished 
work into a storage unit. The figure on the canvas stared at him in 
silent protest, as the painting morphed from one style to another. 


“| suppose | should get to work, then?” Yang went and picked up 
one of the brushes. 


“If you think you’re ready.” 


Yang nodded and shifted her attention to the blank canvas. For a 
few moments, ideas bounced in her head, as she thought about the 
afternoon where she tossed old painting to her painted cat, about 
the nostalgic trip to the abandoned buildings filled with faded graffiti, 
and finally, Fang’s wild theories of the workings of the universe he 
so enthusiastically talked about. As her thoughts wandered, she 
casually picked through colors, letting loose lines and pieces move 
around and rearrange in her head. 


And suddenly, there was a spark. The image she wanted presented 
itself, emerging out of what seemed like nowhere, and then 
everything started linking together and flowing forward. 


Colors were prepared and adjusted, and she set the brush against 
the canvas. She envisioned, projecting the all details that popped up 
and swirled in her head onto the blank space in front of her, blank 
space to be filled. But as she began to paint, setting lines and fitting 
colors, Yang frowned. 


Ideas came together quickly as usual, and she commanded the 
tools at ease. Yet when the color reached the white background, 
when she put up the dark sky and the metallic ground, it felt 
somewhat plain and dull. It was as if there was something between 


her and the artwork, as if everything was where it should be but she 
was outside of it, and couldn’t quite get through. A thin but invisible 
wall between the artist and the artwork. 


It all felt very... sluggish. 


The Flow slowed down, and then completely dried up. 


Agent Alex Cobalt sighed as her hours of effort broke down in front 
of her. The pencil lines were still there, exactly the same place she 
left them, but were now still and dull. For a few moments here and 
there, during the past three hours, she had felt that they were 
somehow moving, pushing each other. They were part of something 
big that was about to come to life. But now, the lines were just 
broken carbon pieces clinging onto a paper, perfectly normal and 
nothing alive about them. 


She knew that it was not just in her head, as she had done it before. 
She had seen the lines dance on their own in that anart studio, and 
as clumsy as it was, she had made the rabbit jump out of paper in 
front of Green and Samuels. She had seen things come together, 
and even though they may not be anything grand or even beautiful, 
they were good. They were things she felt proud of. Yet that same 
touch was now both so close to and so far away from her, hours of 
work producing failed works only. 


Cobalt resisted the urge to crumple the failed piece into a ball. 
Instead she opted to just toss it aside, stacking it with five other 
perfectly ordinary art pieces she had produced. Foundation loves to 
keep records and archives, after all. 


She turned to the researcher in the room. “Sorry, | just... | guess | 
just don’t feel it today.” 


“It’s alright, Alex,” Researcher Jennifer Mendez smiled at her. 
Looking at her tablet, and then back at Cobalt, she added: “You 
know what, how about let’s just call it for the day?” 


Cobalt nodded wearily and pulled the sensors off her head. She 
turned to Mendez, as the researcher began to get the equipment 


back in place. 


“It’s just... it's bad because | really managed it before. And | guess 
I’m hindering your progress like this.” 


“Oh no, Nothing like that. Dr. Samuels actually gathered a lot of info 
lately,” Mendez pulled up a gentle smile. “Besides, | can see it’s 
hard and you can’t rush this sort of things. Just don’t worry about it, 
okay?” 


“Alright.” 


“You have undercover work tomorrow, right?” Mendez had begun to 
pack the failed pieces, filing them one by one into plastic folders. 
“Guess we'll meet again on Sunday?” 


“Yeah. See you, Jenny.” 
“See you too, Alex.” 


As she left the room, Cobalt sighed once more, and thought about 
the anart class to come. Trying to keep tabs on everyone while 
listening to lectures wasn't really the ideal way to learn. Yang had 
pulled her aside and told her to take things easy, and Cobalt was 
glad she thought it was just stress. Unlike the testing, she really 
couldn’t afford to mess up during undercover job. As she thought 
about her plans, Legler’s smug face popped up in her head , and 
she cursed a bit under her breath. 


“Shit,” Yang turned to look at the machine that just made a loud 
noise, and seemed to have shut off abruptly. “I didn’t break anything 
right?” 


“Oh, no no, don’t even worry about that.” Dale reached his hand into 
the canvas, obviously amazed. “This is, in fact, incredible!” 


Yang started at him, unsure what to make of that comment. 
“First off, tell me how you felt.” 


“Well,” Yang frowned, recalling the sluggishness she sensed, “I felt 


like there was something between me and the paint when | first 
started, and as | go on | kind of forgot about it. And in the end when | 
finish, aside from the normal click when finishing an anart piece, | 
also felt the heaviness was suddenly lifted from the air—shit | really 
broke it, right?” 


“Well, yes and no. It’s more like... you pulled Flow in to do the job. 
And no worries, cost is all on me.” Dale started poking at the silver 
buildings inside the painting, and then reached another hand in and 
pressed it against the cold surface. 


“Okay? But why would it be ‘incredible’, then?” 


“Ah. The anchor may be out of date, but it’s supposed to be able to 
suppress one or two high-class reality benders without any 
problem.” Dale was now squatting in front of the picture, trying to get 
a better look at the painted night sky. 


Seeing this, Yang started to chuckle. “Actually, you can go in if you 
want.” 


“Wait what, the painting?” 


“Yep, let me hold it for you,” Walking to the other side, she held the 
shelf and canvas. “Should be able to fit through.” 


Hearing that, Dale immediately raised a foot and started to climb up. 
As he went deeper, the painted world in front of him shrunk, until he 
was standing on a solid metal sphere. The cityscape, once 
expanding all the way to the horizon, was like grass under his feet. 
He reached up, and found that he could really touch the stars in the 
sky. As he caught one, the others moved around gently, like leaves 
floating in a pond. 


“| now see why so many people are into this.” He said as he held the 
star up towards to Yang, who had now moved back to the front of 
the picture. The star glowed a pleasant cold light. 


“There’s more you can do,” Yang promoted. “Think about 
something, maybe like, the moon.” 


“Sure.” And as Dale’s thoughts went to picture a moon in the night 


« SCP-642 | SCP-643 | SCP-644 » 


sky, surely enough, a sliver of moon appeared in the picture. 


Dale stared at the crescent-shaped object. “Wow, but that’s not how 
the real moon looks like.” 


In the next instant, the crescent turned into a sphere, with mountains 
and valleys, just as how Dale remembered from the satellite photos. 


“It’s kind of like a little world with your own rules. Just figured it’s 
what you may want,” Yang explained. “Standing on the ground and 
reaching for the stars and all that. Actually now that | started to talk 
about this | have no idea where | was going.” 


“Haha, but it’s great, | love it!” Dale said, climbing back out, with the 
cold star still in hand. As he went from the little world back to his 
testing chamber, the star slowly dissipated into the air. 


“Aw, | wish | could keep that,” He looked at the disappearing light 
and then turned to Yang. “But back to the topic, | trust that you still 
want to know what just happened?” 


“Very interested.” 


“So,” Dale went back to the now broken stabilizer, and proceeded to 
check it. “You know why reality anchors don’t work on magic users 
well? | mean, in theory, they’re supposed to enforce baseline reality 
no matter what.” 


Yang nodded. 


“The thing is, the anchors only work within certain range. With reality 
benders, their abilities all come from themselves, so once in the 
range, they’re done. But thaumaturgy is different. Magic users use 
their own EVE, yes, but they are also part of this larger system that 
they tap into and draw from. So enforcing reality in a certain area is 
not enough, you’d have to sever the links. It also works a bit 
differently for higher class thaumaturgic entities, as they are 
providers and sometimes destroyers of those systems...” 


“...’m really not familiar with the magic systems.” Yang cut in before 
Dale went on rambling more about thaumaturgy. 


“Haha, Yes, right.” Dale laughed awkwardly, “What | mean is, what 
you just did, is breaking the enforced reality by directly pulling a 
large influx of humes, or reality bending powers, out of... 
somewhere outside the range, | can only guess. There was this slow 
build up, but by the time you finish, the readings just peaked all of a 
sudden. And there goes the stabilizer.” 


“Are you saying that Flow is... magic?” 


“Oh no, | mean, there’s no fixed ritual or gestures and symbols as 
far as | can see. And if it’s magic... okay | really wish | have one of 
those EVE sensors, those will make the explanation so much easier. 
But if it’s magic, your readings would have showed up differently. 
There’s no... consuming of your energy... I'd say you tapped into 
something, or resonated with it, bypassing the stabilizer...” 


“Well, that part does sound like flow to me. Good to know.” Yang 
said, silently noting to herself that other anartists probably weren't 
going to like this “categorization” very much. 


“This just gave me so much to work on. Rawer than magic, and not 
quite reality-bending.” With all the data gathered and sorted, Fang 
sat down and started poking at the painting again. The city inside 
blinked and abruptly replaced with an ocean. “I need to look up 
some historical documents, but yeah, this could mean a lot of things. 
And | can’t wait to explore further.” 


Proposal: Project Fountain 
Proposed by: Dr. Samuel Samuels, Anart Specialist 


Project Goal: Study the alleged source of anartists’ 
anomalous capabilities, also known as “the Flow”, ina 
more controlled environment. 


Overview: Previous testing with D-Class personnel has 
established a basic connection between certain brain 
areas and the creation process of anomalous anart. The 
next step is to further decode the process, and produce 
more quantifiable and precise results. To do this, 


isolating certain aspects is needed, and the current 
method has been proved limited. 


This project aims to study the anart creation more 
efficiently by eliminating irrelevant factors. A special 
procedure may be performed on D-Class personnel to 
tune their minds for testing. The procedure includes the 
removal of their personality and ego; the deactivation of 
brain areas unrelated to anart creation process. 


Through this, a deeper understanding may be gained 
regarding the parts of human brain involved in anart 
process. Ultimately, this may be a gateway to controlling 
or limiting Persons of Interest’s access to “the Flow”. 


Update: This proposal has been approved by Site Board 
and the Ethics Committee. A D-Class quota of ten (10) 
has been granted. 


Note: Dr. Samuels, while there is enough ground and 
solid evidence for your proposal to be passed, | must 
advise you to use your quota sparingly. The Committee 
will pay close attention. — Dr. Jeremiah Cimmerian 


« Seven New Characters Are Introduced | HUB | Skyboy » 


Skyboy 


There was always fear, slithering underneath their eyelids whenever 
they closed their eyes and chose to sleep, that their dream could 
change everything. 


Of course, that would be too easy. They'd have to get up, sleepwalk, 
release whatever was inside their head into the clay, steel, concrete, 
wood. But what if they would one day actually start to sleepwalk? 
What then? 


What if they didn't need all those silly things like materials to spill out 
everything inside them? 


There was a story about a man who sculpted things in his dreams - 
he dreamt he sculpted but at the same time he never moved from 
his bed. Story says he killed millions not knowing what he did. It was 
just a story, passed from one artist to another but stories need to be 
born somewhere. They heard whispers about similar things 
happening, from time to time. Réunion was buzzing with a similar 
story, for a while. It happened when someone who never dealt in 
written word chose to write. and how they drowned. 


They resisted the urge to chuck their phone out of the window, just 
so they woudn't hear those stories ever again. Cutting off everybody 
was easier.