“Listen, Crux, | understand your beliefs, and I'm doing my best to 
respect them, but we don't want to jump to any conclusions here.” 


“I’m with Perseus,” Norma continued, “we need to figure what’s 
going on here and we can only do that with the information we have 
currently. Orion, you said you found a bunch of cogs underground?” 


“Yeah,” Lilibeth confirmed. “Deep below the grassy field is a series 
of tunnels. Most of them lead to empty rooms, but this one, it goes to 
a big room of machinery. | haven't a clue what it’s supposed to do, 
but it’s certainly doing something.” 


“And you also said something about where the water from the pump 
goes,” Perseus added, “with what you think could be names of other 
alternates of SCP-2508?” 


“Yes. Especially with Crux’s belief in this ‘Slouthering’ entity, I’m 
almost certain.” 


“So what | wanna know,” Norma was pacing now, rubbing her chin, 
“is what the hell needs all this water we’re putting in that pump 
anyway? And if those extra pipes you saw are in fact ours- oh shit, 
that means our cottages our actually physically linked and working 
together to provide this water.” 


“Perhaps The Slouthering is thirsty,” Crux suggested. Norma 
paused. 


“What is this Slouthering thing anyway?” she asked. Crux’s eyes 
widened. 


“Why, it is the divine. The legends of old tell of it, and its Type-Fritz 
Hosts. It needs them to manifest, you know. Do you not have the 
stories in your dimension?” 


“No,” Norma stated flatly. 


Lilibeth travelled back to SCP-2508 on the 7th day since she had 
left. She grabbed belongings, refilled generators and pumps, and 
made sure things were in order. She did not intend on coming back. 
In a way, she would miss the comfort of this place. She had grown 
attached to it. But she knew in her heart that this wasn't the place for 
her. If there was even a chance of escaping it, she had to take it. 
There was a house and a family she hadn't seen in almost 20 years; 
she especially missed her daughter Emily, who would be grown by 
now. 


It was overcast, and there was a salty smell in the air that reminded 
Lilibeth of a beach at low tide. As she shut the door to what had 
been her home for the past two decades, her heart skipped a beat. 
She was leaving. Raindrops began to pepper the ground as the 
world was obscured from view; a circle of dirt and clay rising up and 
slowly consuming the sky as the elevator returned to the depths of 
the dark. 


Soon she was back in The Library, where Crux and Norma were 


searching through an aisle labeled “Auniversal”. They had an 
unprecedented amount of information at their disposal, and with it 
they were trying to find any clues as to what the cottages were, and 
where they might have come from. 


“| see you two have been busy,” said Lilibeth. 


“And apparently we aren't the only ones,” Norma added, “you got 
your stuff from your cottage? Don't need to go back for anything?” 


“| shouldn't. I've had enough of filling up a pump for one life. What 
about you?” 


“We'll be getting to that.” 


“Okay,” Lilibeth sat in one of the nearby armchairs. “Do you mind if | 
ask you something?” 


“Shoot” 


“How exactly are you associated with The Foundation? | mean, | 
know you said you worked at Site-43, but...” 


Norma gave her a look, “but what?” 
“You're like.... 12.” 


“12 and a half, thank you very much. And so what? Kids gotta feed 
their adults somehow.” 


It was day 9 since she had left when Lilibeth saw it, on page 17 of a 
book entitled “The Fareaway Lands”: 


In my travels | met many strange people, but none so 
perplexing as the group of individuals who warned me of 
the Ways. They could tell | was new, and cautioned me, 
saying that there were some places and corners you 
could get stuck in. They explained that they knew a lot 
about these kinds of places, and did their best to keep 
Wayfinders safe. When | asked them who they were, 
they simply replied “Aleph Null’. 


Something about this jumped off the page for Lilibeth. There was so 
far no record of the cottage anywhere in The Library, but this could 
be a lead. If anyone knew anything about what the cottages were, it 
would be this group, Aleph Null. 


Lilibeth rushed to tell the others, who responded with similar 
reactions. 


“What do you think? The author seems knowledgeable,” Crux said. 


“Corners that you can ‘get stuck in’? That sounds an awful lot like 
our predicament,” Norma agreed. 


“Well then that settles it,” Perseus declared, “we have to find these 
Aleph Null guys. I'll run it by Carina to see if she can help us track 
them down.” 


“Maybe they know a way out of this mess,” posited Norma. 


“| hope so,” Lilibeth stared at the cover of the book; deep crimson 
leather with gold lettering, dusty and heavily weathered. “We've all 
spent so long in that place, | think we could use a change of 
scenery.” 


The Pattern (Interlude) 


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Somewhere in the depths of Site-19, an old man by the name of 
Victor Stafford sat quietly in an interview room. Despite being away 
from the Foundation for almost 15 months, he still thought it suited 
him well. He could not- however- say the same for the young 20- 
something opposite him, who had a demeanor that suggested he'd 
rather be somewhere else. A quick glance at his personnel ID 
revealed his name to be Dr. Oswald, and Stafford could tell he 
hadn't been with the Foundation long. It was the look in his eyes; 
that look of confusion and naivety about the organization's many 
dark underbellies. In other words, it would have been putting it lightly 
to say that Oswald was less than prepared for this conversation. 


“Dr. Stafford,” Oswald began anyway, “you were employed here at 
Site-19 for over 30 years, correct?” 


“Correct.” 


“Up until May of last year when you were forced to resign for 
unprofessional behavior.” 


“| suppose that's one way to put it.” 


A pause, filled by the faint lull of ambient noise. The soundproofing 
ensured that they were alone in here. It was no wonder why they 
had politely asked Stafford to leave The Foundation. As a former 
Senior Researcher, he had grossly overstepped his boundaries by 
accessing various personnel files, Site project histories, anda 
myriad of other directories that he only technically had clearance to. 


Even after explaining everything and passing multiple lie detector 
tests, The Foundation made him an offer: resign peacefully and 
never speak of (or contact) the Foundation again, or be forcibly 
amnesticized. Hell, Internal Security considered making him take the 


Action 10-lsrafil-A: Doors, windows, and other possible exits from 
Site- are to be sealed, preventing the transfer of personnel into or 
out of the site. Teams and resources required for Action 10-Israfil-B 
are to be readied and moved into position. 


If reports are received by High Command at the correct time, or if 
instruments or electronic devices return to their normal state, High 
Command will issue an “All-Clear” statement. If such a statement is 
not received within seven minutes of the commencement of Action 
10-Israfil-A, execute Action 10-Israfil-B. If at any time any 
instruments or electronic devices near SCP-579 begin to display 
significant errors or deviations from normal functioning, Action 10- 
Israfil-B must be executed immediately. 


If an “All-Clear” statement is issued, at least 72 hours without further 
anomalies must pass before site can be unsealed and Action 10- 
Israfil-B teams may stand down. 


Action 10-lsrafil-B: Gateway of Site-62 (SCP-004) is to be 
destroyed. This must be done regardless of personnel or facilities 
remaining within the site. Remnants of the Gateway — or the 
gateway itself if destruction proves impossible — are to be 
contained in the same manner as SCP-579. High Command will 
then issue further instruction. 


Addendum [579-002]: 


In the event of a successful Action 10-lsrafil-B, all sealed documents 
regarding SCP-579 are to be released to all personnel involved with 
the Action. Procedures as outlined within the documents are to be 
followed (along with contingency plans if necessary). Be aware that 
even with the successful execution of Action 10-Israfil-B, estimates 
place the occurrence of [DATA EXPUNGED] at 1 year or less. 


If SCP-579 is mentioned, in any capacity, by SCP- _, any anti- 
Foundation or public groups, or [DATA EXPUNGED],, it is 
recommended that Action 10-Israfil-A be executed as planned 
immediately. 


In the event of an unsuccessful Action 10-Israfil-B, no further action 
will be necessary. [DATA EXPUNGED] 


amnestics anyway, but his history was clean and admirable, and he 
had a lot of colleagues vouching for his good intentions. 


“...How would you phrase it?” Oswald asked. 


“| was putting research into a pet project of mine; a collection of data 
that had been bugging me for years before | could even figure out 
why. When | finally started building up an idea of what was going on, 
nobody seemed interested in listening. | slowly became branded as 
the old crackpot, and maybe eventually that's what | became.” 


Oswald looked over a page of notes in front of him, clearing his 
throat as he did so. 


“I'm sure you already know that the reason we invited you in today,” 
he told Stafford, “was to ask about that data.” 


“| do. But I'd be happy to explain.” 
“Then explain away.” 
Stafford took a breath. 


“Okay... So about twenty years ago, a dear friend and coworker of 
mine went missing; Dr. Lilibeth Orion. She was a brilliant 
astrophysicist, and had worked on countless SCP items. Then one 
day, she just up and disappeared. There was a brief investigation, 
which | offered to take part in, since she was one of my closest 
friends. | was turned down, and the investigators found nothing of 
interest. 


But | was unsatisfied. | was intent on finding some semblance of 
closure. That's how this all started. | quickly learned that she was 
only one in a decent sized list of Foundation missing personnel. 
Something about that list irked me to no end. | felt like | was being 
taunted by answers just out of my reach. But eventually | started 
seeing the little threads that connected everything, thin and complex 
like a spiderweb.” 


“And you went to the Site Director, telling him that something was 
abducting Foundation members. But you’re talking about The 
Foundation as a whole, over a very long period of time. Wasn't this 


just the outcome of general probability that any individual- 
regardless of Foundation employment- would go missing? ” 


“| thought so too at first, but when | looked at the number of reported 
missing personnel by occupation within The Foundation, | saw 
something strange. Some of the numbers were erroneously higher 
than others. Compared to the average, Memeticists went missing 
75% less often. Containment Specialists 90% less often. Spatial 
Anomaly Experts going missing was- and still is- virtually unheard 
of.” 


“That doesn't necessarily prove anything.” 


“No, but this does,” Stafford procured a small sheet of paper and 
proceeded to write down a fairly drawn out equation, loaded with 
variables and symbols. Needless to say, Oswald didn't even come 
close to understanding it. 


“What is this?” Oswald asked. 


“This is the function that clearly depicts a pattern within- not all, but 
some- disappearances. Are you familiar with Dr. Cardinal?” 


“No.” 


“He went missing under incredibly strange circumstances in the 
early days of The Foundation. RAISA won't release full details, but 
those bizarre circumstances are a jumping off point for this formula. 
It says that a missing individual within this pattern will determine 
another missing individual based on their interpersonal relationships 
and occupations. It's six degrees of separation with more rules. The 
results look random in the end, but they aren't, and | can prove it, 
because when you start with Cardinal, and follow the function, it will 
always lead you to someone else within the Foundation who has 
gone missing: Always.” 


“| see. So you believe it has predictive power? If it's a mathematical 
function?” 


“To some extent. There are a lot of variables that are difficult to 
know ahead of time, but | can at least predict the next person in the 


pattern.” 
“And who would that be?” 


“Well, the last person to go missing was Dr. Orion. Last Site she 
worked at was this one, on a project regarding some sort of space 
anomaly. Coworker nearest her age was a Dr. Kleinsmann. But he 
has a background in spatial anomalies, and the formula requires the 
individual to be at least 3 iterations down anyway. So we go to the 
previous project he worked on, in which he'd been assigned to 
analyze something Agent Underwood dragged out of a back-alley. 
Underwood's a good fit for the criteria but still only iteration 2, so her 
project before that was dealing with acquisition of, erm, something. | 
don't know any of the details. But | know who else was on that 
project, and..." he trailed off. 


Stafford bit his lower lip and furrowed his brow. 


"They were right about you," Oswald scoffed. "You are a crackpot.. 
This is getting us nowhere." 


“| Know, | know. You think that I'm just seeing things that aren't 
there. You think I'm just looking too deep into things and making 
some sort of narrative to go alongside them... but | also know that 
you think this meeting was the Site Director's idea, and that you 
were merely assigned to talk to me by chance. Don’t agents usually 
handle interviews?” 


Oswald's sardonic grain morphed into an anxious scowl. 


“No way,” he said sternly, “you are not implying what | think you are. 
Don't try to screw with me like this.” 


“I'm sorry Oswald. You were on the project with Agent Underwood, 
whatever it was. You're closest to her age. You're young and in 
good standing and distanced from Orion. | Know you don't want to 
believe me but | thought it best to tell you in advance, who knows, 
maybe you can thwart whatever is causing this.” 


“You're crazy,” Oswald stood, giving Stafford a look of both disgust 
and of dread. 


“That's the reason they made me resign, Oswald,” Stafford leaned 
over the desk, his voice hushed. “But if I'm not? Then something's 
been taking our coworkers, and we have no idea what it is, or how to 
stop it.” 


No More Dull Days 


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Time dragged on, and Lilibeth could feel the metaphorical chains 
connecting her to SCP-2508 grow ever tighter. The small group of 
runaways had spent the better part of the past two weeks attempting 
to track down the elusive group known as the Aleph-Null Collective. 


But, as seemed to be typical of this place, every answer simply led 
to more questions. 


“Get a load of this!” Norma exclaimed one afternoon after talking to 
random Library patrons. The rest of the group was busy taking a 
break from their intensive study, but all turned to the young girl in 
unison as she came bouncing through the conference-room door. 


“So there was this guy on Floor 109, right?” Norma began, “and he 
was just giving away chocolate. Can you believe it?” 


Everyone, save for Lilibeth, turned their attention back to whatever 
was occupying them before Norma’s entrance. 


“| thought you were asking around about our predicament?” Lilibeth 
asked. 


“Yeah, well | was, but then there was delicious food. Besides, 
nobody knows who the hell these Aleph-Null guys are. They’re 
essentially the ghostiest of ghosts.” 


“You can say that again,” Perseus chimed in, “We’ve been at this for 
nearly two weeks and we've turned up nothing on either the 
cottages or this elusive collective that might not even have any 
leads.” 


“Dead ends all around,” Crux sighed. For a moment nobody said 
anything. Lilibeth looked around the room at her fellow colleagues.