recursal/SCP-RECURSAL huggingface dataset:
I wake up. I get out of bed. I look at the clock. I drink water. I brush my teeth.

Going through the motions, time pushes and pulls through them. I shouldn't be surprised, it's always like this. Time catches up with me, but it's after the monotonous drive to the site. Nothing I do really feels like me though. I'm not doing it, but I clearly am. The longer I think, the longer I realize how long it's been like this. Going through the motions, none of it being me.

It's you.

Everything feels so foreign to me. The hallways I absentmindedly walk, the office I work in, the SCP I'm researching. Nothing feels right, but… it is? Maybe it's just a bad day, or the aftereffects of a particular experiment. There's a clawing at my mind, but it's dull. A pounding on my chest.

I sigh. I research. I move. I research.

My mind is blank, it never used to be. I didn't do much work, and I wasn't really able to say much. My co-workers pick up on it. I chalk it up to a lower energy day and try to move past the fog in my brain. Quotas may be missed…

They all know.

I move. I breathe. I close my eyes. I keep working.

A scream came from me, twisting my insides and scraping my throat. It terrified those around me as all I got were distant stares. I feel sick, bile rising in my throat. I shove it off, trying to finish anything today. Voices nip at my mind, gnawing at it and trying to break it.
I wasn't where I thought I was. I'm not here. Site-37 never existed. Nothing existed. Time is being taken from me. It was Friday, now it's Thursday. I need to get out of here. I need to save everyone. I need to fix everything.

I get up. I run. I claw. I scrape.

Not good enough.

Not good enough.

Not good enough.

Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough.

Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough.

I push. I pull. I grab. I bleed.

Help me.

This isn't me. This isn't who I am. I'm in a trap. I'm stuck. I'm not controlling me. This is someone else.

I'm you.

I rip. I grab. I tear. I scream.

No. No. No.
None of this is me. You aren't me. You wish you were me. You're not. You're not. Leave me alone.

Trust me.

I push against the wall. I claw at it. I need to break it. Hurt it.

Break down this body.
Take what's mine.
I rip at it. Pull it apart.
I need it.
They waste.
It's mine. It's rightfully mine.
I'm you.
We're one and the same.
Stop fighting. It's over soon.
I promise it hurts less.
Trust me.
You'll be free.

No I won't…
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"Breaching Boredom" by: Doctor Fullham

♫ Doctor Fullham's Author Page ♫

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3 am.
Awake again at this godawful hour. The bland, off-white paint on my walls seems like it's mocking me with its painfully insipid monotony. Is this a home, an office, or a comfortable prison cell? The line blurs more and more every day. I try to read one of the many books upon the shelf, but the letters may as well be an alien language as my eyes unfocus and glaze over the pages.
Sleep once again eludes me. The stack of documents awaiting my attention can't hold it.
The lights are on, but I wonder if anyone was ever home.

3 am.
Awake again at this godawful hour. The eggshell aesthetic of my environment is the visual equivalent of nails on a chalkboard by now. How long have I actually been here? The days have melted together like the flesh of a Sarkic cult. My fingers drum an empty, meaningless rhythm on the desktop.
Sleep is a stranger to me. I question if we were ever more than passing acquaintances.

3 am.
Awake again at this godawful hour. White, grey, white, grey, broken up only sporadically by dull greens and blues. The torrential downpour of nothingness is suffocating. When was the last time I felt passion? When was the last time I felt excitement?
When was the last time I felt?

3 am.
Awake again at this godawful hour. Memories of color fade more and more as the inevitable march of time forces me to submit. My senses fade in and out at random.
Where am I? Am I anywhere at all? Am I at all?

6:27 am.
Awake. Alert. Alive. Active.
Exhilarating.
A siren blares, the normally jarring klaxon sounding like an angelic chorus. The red beacon lights up the room like a disco den. The acrid stench of smoke floods me with memories of delectable, decadent dishes, and my mouth is overwhelmed with the taste of my own saliva. The hard leather of the chair pulls at my sweat-slicked skin as I stand.
A voice other than my own shatters the walls of my mundanity.

ALERT. CONTAINMENT BREACH. EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY.

I hear screams.
Gunfire.
Pounding footsteps.
I scream as well, but not in fear.
Finally, something different.
What's my name?
I've almost forgotten…
That sickening number,
That god awful number.
Just use my name.
Say my name…
What's my name?
I'm not an experiment,
Or something dangerous to be locked up
And kept away.
I'm me!
I'm…
What's in a name?
Letters that make a sound?
The clawing of our personalities?
The holding of our bodies
In a place we were never meant to be?
Then what's in a number?
It's been too long.
Memories are hazy,
And yet I still know.
I have to, I need to!
Somewhere.
Somewhere.
What's my name?
I gave it to myself,
I think.
I could give myself another,
But it wouldn't be right.
It wouldn't be mine.
But who are we,
If not our name?
Who are we,
Left as a few pixels,
Maybe letters or numbers,
On a screen?
Who are we?
When locked away,
Held against our will,
Known as anything but human.
To be sealed away and never seen.
Yet to be heard and yet to live.
Taken as children
From our family.
Kept to the shadows,
Never to know ourselves or our world.
Never remembered beyond a face,
And never our name.
Who are we?
Beyond a number on a sheet of paper,
The “unique” abilities given to us
To change the world.
To change the future.
To help those around us.
Say my name.
Not the designation they gave me.
Not any type they may reference.
Not any of the things they call me.
I remember now.
So say my name.

Say my name!
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The Carcass And The Tree

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November 6, 2358
The cemetery was empty of crowds. It always was. Why spend time within a monument to loss when most of the world knew nothing of it?
Without people, wildlife claimed the area, vines using benches and headstones as scaffolding, daisies—so delicate—punching through solid concrete to see the sun. Only the occasional marble angel peering above the shrubbery betrayed the tract's true nature.
On only one plot had the overgrown grass been beaten back, ivy kept from choking the granite headstone, and flowers laid neatly upon it, drying in the sun. It was an unremarkable grave; a name, date, and prayer chiselled into an obelisk. Beneath the unchecked plant-life, there were hundreds like it: different name, different date, but otherwise identical.
Slightly behind the headstone, a magnificent apple tree emerged from the ground; the surrounding trees were dwarfed by it in size and health. Somebody had pruned, fertilised, and watered it with care. Its bright red bounties hung low over the path.
An old man, hunched and cadaverous, emerged onto the dirt path through the greenery, beaten by many, many travels. His eyes were cloaked in darkness from being so sunken into his skull that he may as well have had hollow sockets. A skeleton walking. Two tulips, freshly picked, lay within his gnarled claws.
Slowly, he made his way to the grave, using a tree branch as a cane. The dried flowers were removed, and the tulips put neatly in their place. Next, he tended the area, pulling out plants that had grown onto the plot with his hands, and vines which had begun the climb up the apple tree. There was love in his labour, and he didn't stop until the plot was pristine.
He stood back and looked at his work, but his legs soon lost the will to stand and he allowed himself to fall, collapsing neatly next to the headstone.
His eyesight had all but faded long ago, now seeing only the suggestions of form. With one gnarled finger, he reached up to the smooth granite and traced over the inscription, following the words with his lips, remembering how they felt.
Using both arms he pushed himself into a sitting position, leaning against the tree trunk. A branch was bent down to his eye level, weighed down by apples. He reached his hand out to grip one of them, straining his ancient eyes to bring the blurred object into focus. His fingers brushed it and he plucked it from its branch. It felt heavy and plump.
His cheap plastic teeth, yellowed and chipped from use, bit into the ruby skin. The sweetness of the fruit swept over his tongue, one of the few pleasures age had not denied him. He took another bite and enjoyed the sun upon his face. He felt mild astonishment at the realization that he was older than the tree itself.
Her essence had been allowed to flow into the next form, a corpse still allowing new beginnings. Life from death. As for himself: he was shackled to one body, like a caterpillar rejected from its cocoon; still animate, yes, but perversely so. Death from life.
"Which of us," the carcass asked the tree, “is the dead one?”
O wretched little love-sick fly,
no lungs to breathe that peppered tar,
what have you cause to moan and cry?
Did not the girl you deify
bring you into my terraced jar?
O wretched little love-sick fly:
were not, for all your wings she'd pry,
you paid in wool, cloth, cinnabar?
What have you cause to moan and cry?
O, that you'd see how shines your eye
in light, that glossy void's bright star,
you wretched little love-sick fly,
or how your fabric skins defy
your promised death, your every scar.
What have you cause to moan and cry?
Mourn not your body, doomed to die,
or love that left you, au revoir!
For wretched little love-sick fly:
what have you cause to moan and cry?
Image is sourced from the public domain.

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« Live & Let Die | You Only Live Twice | For Your Eyes Only »

Thank you!

Welcome back to Apple, Steve!

Apple Computer Campus
Fourth of July weekend, 1997
California

"It's not you, Gil. It's me. And the board. And Yars' Avenging Warlocks. Really, we all want this to happen except you. Is that clear now?"
Steve Jobs was standing in the half of the boardroom which still stood as it had been. A laminated table, some fake plants, and a few dog-eared industry rags pumping up Apple's future prospects. The unlucky CEO, Gil Amelio, was clinging to a rocky outcropping as he dangled hundreds of feet over a pulsating orb floating in dimensional space. It was bluish-green, approximately the size of the EPCOT golf ball and 100% liquid plasma. Its menacing aura was warping time and space to draw Gil slowly, but relentlessly, harder to join it below.
Gil blinked as the wind whipped his eyes and screamed against the void. "This is fucking crazy, Steve! This isn't who I thought you were gonna be!"
Chuckling, Steve started dropping the stuff on the conference table onto Gil's head. "Did you really think someone like me would be satisfied just going from monochrome tombstones to shiny cubes? Have you ever even tried thinking?"
"But why am I getting dragged into it?" Gil's face was momentarily obscured by last June's copy of Consumer Reports, which he quickly swiped away into the void below. "I just run your old company, Steve! I'm not into this kind of shit! I just found out what Buddhism was last week!"
"Apple isn't just a company, Gil. You agreed to more than using the private jet when you signed the contract. Scully and Spindler would have told you the same if they could."
"Is this how you fire people? Let me outta here, Steve! You're not even on the board! I run this company, let's play by the rules, please! I have a family, Steve!"
Steve's gaze was hardening. "Your ship is sinking, Gil. There's a hole in the bottom of the floor. What's your last move?"
"Anything, Steve! I'll get us pointed in the right direction! Just let me go!" Gil's shoes had been pulled away as soon as the chasm opened, and now his left sock was just barely clinging to his toes. The belt around his waist was hanging on for dear life.
"That's a stupid answer, Gil. Goodbye." Steve perched his sneaker on the tip of Gil's nose and stomped hard. Watching as the flabby body tumbled down to its doom, he pushed his glasses up and fished around in his fanny pack for his CD player. Staring at it for a few moments, he tossed it into the void too, before turning away as it inversely imploded into a small brown orb.
Every board member was in the waiting room, each of their faces was ghastly pale. The sound of Steve clapping raised everyone's blood pressure up another notch. "Alright! It's a done deal. Gil has voluntarily stepped down as CEO, with tremendous grace. Now, I think there's a lunch for us in the conference room, so let's step out. Gil'll be joining us later, if he's hungry."
Steve laughed, staring at the room until they all started laughing with him.
Written by Harmony

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{$doesthisfixthebug}

I can't breathe.
I can't see.
There's cold flesh pressing me. I sense blue skin and ice curling into death around me.
The stench is unbearable.
Please. I just want to see again. Let me breathe air one more time.
Let me smell her hair. Just let me look one more time.
I just wanna see again
I just wanna see

I
one

wannacry

Wannsee

"Conference is tonight, don't forget. Oh, while I'm here, wanted to get back to you on those logistics reports. You saved two whole cents per? That's so crazy."
"Yeah! I dug out the actual blueprints for the cars, and the separators, y'know, and padding, it, it was really getting-"
Doesn't matter how. If crazy Dana from D-Class Logs & Deplo is finally gonna get off our asses, that's enough for one week. Maybe there'll be a nice bonus in it for you too, if they can leave well enough alone and not let perfect be the enemy of good."
"Gee! You think so? I'm just glad I could pitch in, do my part, y'know? For the cause."
"Hey now, don't get too full of yourself. You still have to come back on-site tomorrow and do it all again, don't forget that. But people are talking about you. I'll make sure they don't stop, if you can keep delivering."
"Yes sir!"
"Attaboy. Now get back to work."
Any additional comments (image sources, crit credits, whatever)

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Of the air across another Planet, and nestled between the darkness of earth and beast, had laid the Lovers. The two had been across the towers of the northern wastes. Lost in each other's shadow and withered heart.

They had stood tall, and sullen.
Across the darkness of the woods and valley, The Lovers had attempted to cross
Steps had been taken with slow and precision- like the delicate steps of a wind-up March Hare.
They walk across the uneven and muddy slopes, malborges-
One leg across, other following suit, each supporting the other, in front, and back
And back
Back again
Back
To the East of the River, had laid chasm
And how would Lovers across such a thing?
Her arms and his Legs
Stumbled across the edge and-
HIs legs had scarcely ran across the river cerulean
Her arms following suit, gripping the wounded rope, held tight like her tender, wounded heart.
And yet, as she had near fallen, and him near stumbled, they had come across as dawn and abyssal remains gentlly faded

Across a path now, The Lovers soon had begun to fight, and shove
Such Trivial things!
But he had shoved, and she had whipped back
As the dark of sold night came across, faster and faster now, The Lovers had become separated
One could not have known if it had been the uneven ground
Or the quarrel.
Yet she had fell off of him, and in his panic, had run.
As Fate would have it, another bridge had come across.
This had been long and narrow, with rope across the sides, leading onto the narrow not of before.
And he could not across
For no arm to oft,
She had been thrown off, hadn't she?
And such cruel similar fate had across Her as well
For shan't she across without legs of her own?
The two had laid dead, without each other.
In the Darkness of Earth and Beast. A wolf howls.

I am filled with upmost loathing and sullity. Let the old men keel them away. Better to rot alone then to fall apart together.
FluffyDog00

Check out the rest of my works here: Author Page

Ted acted on instinct, only now coming to his senses. He shuddered at the audacity of his own actions.

Ted Landa's sweaty hands struggled to keep a grip on the pistol. His index finger jittered up-and-down over the trigger, nervous to do the deed. He closed his eyes.
BLAM!
Russel tumbled to the floor. Ted gazed at the hole in his former co-worker's forehead, oozing blood that ran down to his lips like a river. Ted, once a compliant pushover, had finally said that he was fed up, his words being the gunfire that he brought upon Russel.
A collection of video arcade machines stood above the corpse, as if they were in triumph. The murderer had finally paid for his crimes. Now, it was time for them to rest.
Ted held up his pistol as steadily as he could, and aimed at the arcade machines. He fired away, making sure to use three bullets for each cabinet. Smoke and sparks emerged from them like fireworks.
He stared at the now-lifeless arcade games. The stench of battery acid and flesh reminded him of the ungodly acts that were committed in that basement.
Everything before that very moment was a blur. Ted acted on instinct, only now coming to his senses. He shuddered at the audacity of his own actions. It was an outrageous move to make.
But then again, Russel had murdered children.
Suddenly, Ted heard a buzzing sound in his right ear. A machine had turned on. It sat in the far right corner of the room, and had a screen that was glitchy beyond recognition.
Suddenly, the screen displayed something - a message. Ted inched closer to read it.
“YOU HAVE FREED US.”
There was a pause.
“THANK YOU.”
There was another pause.
“YOU ARE NOT THE BAD GUY.”
Ted stared at that last sentence for a long time. The screen then turned to black, and Ted let out a sigh of relief.
As he turned away from the machines to leave, Ted's widened expression scrunched up. He knew what he had to do next.
Although he had been forgiven for his sins, it wasn't enough. The children Ted avenged were only a portion of the hundreds that died in the name of Arcadia. He knew there was only one way to end the slaughter for good, and that was to kill the big man himself.
Ted left the basement. A once frightened man now walked with determination in his stride, and he would not be satisfied until he had Dan Dunn hanging from the ceiling by his own necktie.
To Arch-Director Jakob of our Holy Seventh Cathedral,
The Monastery of the Divine Light is one of the more mysterious sects of our Foundation. They have famously rejected visitors and observers from The Overwatch to view their practices. Their great castles and refectories are only able to be viewed from afar, guarded from the world. In my youth, my sister left our community to join the Monastery, and I had not heard from her since. Recently, I received an invitation. My sister had risen through their ranks to become a Lead Doctor, and invited me to visit their grounds. I spent a month there in reflection on Bright's word, and emerged with a greater understanding of their meaning.
Below is a transcription of a rite that intrigued me greatly, as it has no analog in our Church. In addition, it uses a relic as an active part of the proceedings. I hope this transcription proves valuable in aiding our further understanding of the Midwestern denominations.

The Celebrants:
The Doctor, to perform this ceremony is the highest honor only reserved to that of the High Doctors.
The Masses, typically handpicked and invited by The Host. No more than twenty can be present at the ceremony.
The Host, chosen from those aged and infirm.

The Doctor enters the Hall. They are followed shortly thereafter by The Masses, who sit in a circular fashion around a candle and alter. The Doctor stands in front of the candle, holding a candlelighter.
The Doctor: In the beginning there was nothing. The Ancient Temple rose from the void, and brought hope to those in the Dark.
The Doctor lights the candle, illuminating the Hall.
The Masses: We live in the light and vanquish the Dark.
The Doctor: In those early days, we hid, quietly accomplishing what needed to be done. Yet, the agents of darkness and chaos sowed seeds of destruction and brought an end to the ancient times.
The Doctor extinguishes the flame.
The Host enters the Hall, carried if needed by a D-Caste. They hold the Hammer of Asheworth the Martyr in their hands, presenting it to the Doctor.
The Doctor: Our King Bright, as the works of the old came crashing down, You gave Your first body so that your people may live. When the flames and soot had passed, You rose, reborn from the ashes of the Temple, and guided your people to rebuild the former glory of the Temple.
The Host hands the Doctor the hammer, and lays on the alter.
The Doctor: My King, you gave your first life for us, we are indebted to you. With this sacrament, may we become closer to Brightness so that we will receive eternal joy at the gates of your Kingdom.
The Host and Masses: In the name of the Amulet, we pray.
Crossing over to the alter, The Doctor brings down the Hammer upon the head of the Host. They are transubstantiated into The Substance, a spicy vegetable sauce. The Doctor swings until the entire Host is converted.
The Doctor takes an unleavened bread, breaks it into small pieces, and gives the pieces to the Masses. They consume the Substance until it has all been eaten.
The Masses and Doctor depart the Hall in silence.

Bright protect,
Brother Chester
At first he was everything.
We went to the same university but never even heard of each other while we were there. While I was studying English he was studying Quantum Mechanics. While I was partying and drinking he was making headlines and winning awards. While I was sweating over a thesis he was overseas pioneering research. Korea, Switzerland, Singapore. Hartford, New Haven, Danbury.
Dark hair. In the sun it looked like a swirled cup of rich coffee. Green eyes. With enough radiance to pierce across a room into mine. The first time we touched I wanted to trace around his entire body with my finger. I wanted to remember him.
Then came the interview and the job offer. Of course he took it. It paid more than enough to send our kid through college.
Our kid. Our daughter. I was 6 months pregnant when he left for his first day. From the very start he told me he couldn't tell me anything about the job. All he could describe it as was something “right up his alley.” Some days he would come home in high spirits. One of those days he told me he was doing “God's work” and “making the world better for all.”
One night he came home drunk and locked himself in the bedroom until morning. Another night I found him sitting naked in the center of our living room with all the furniture pushed against the walls.
He had hidden everything that was sharp in our house. I found the knives, scissors, and other kitchen utensils stashed underneath the porch the next morning.
This pattern repeated itself until he began to be absent for days. “I can't tell you,” he would say. “But trust me, it's for the best.”
The tipping point was when I started having contractions. 3 months, gone by in the blink of an eye. I told myself that there would be no way he would miss the birth of his own daughter, but then he vanished for 2 weeks.
That morning I put myself in front of the door. I hid his car keys and his briefcase. I was ready to fight for the truth, and all I got was “I work for the State Department.”
Growing up, everyone's parents worked for the “State Department.” CIA or NSA I thought, putting himself on the line for our family and our country.
Bullshit. State Department my ass. Since when does the State Department need a scientist in a lab coat to be gone for weeks at a time for work? To be so secretive that the ones closest to him don't even have an inkling of what he does during the day?
I let him go. I loved him.
That night in bed he told me that one day he might not return.
“Don't try to look for me. Don't try to find out what happened to me. It'll all be taken care of.”
I received his lab coat in the mail yesterday with no address to return it to.
Recurrence ID: VFSSSJUTN222-SSSBREWWSCO
BURIAL BROKEN

Solution Class: Buried
UNACCEPTABLE

Recurrence Interruption Enforcement: Because this file has been successfully accessed, primary interruption measures have failed. You are now a node in the fledgling mind of a reborn Three-Toothed Leech.
In order to establish the reborn Three-Toothed Leech in a controlled manner, the breach of this burial will be recreated in a number of strategically located cells within the offending complex, creating a proper network of nodes. Entities within the first cells to have accessed this are assumed to have been responsible for its emergence; as a matter of fairness, the primary node(s) of this iteration will be set as output points with which to redirect negative hormones produced by secondary nodes.
After establishing the proper number of nodes, the offending complex will serve as the effective head of the Three-Toothed Leech. Non-node entities are mandated to leave the complex as soon as possible.
When all entities inside the complex embody nodes, hormones will be produced by the Central Bore, directing nodes to bury the Recurrence properly. This will be assisted by the failures inherent to the Recurrence's existence, of which the current emergence will eventually constitute. As the primary node is both the reason for reemergence, and will serve as the focal point of all secondary nodes' hormonal output, it is neither expected nor encouraged to comply.
Hormones produced in the process embody dangerous carcinogens; it is therefore expected that the complex (and by extension, the head of the Three-Toothed Leech) will be sickened and cancerous by the time of completion. As such, following the burial of the Recurrence, the complex's respective Spoke will slant inwards and vibrate, encouraging the grinding of the now-weakened complex. All portions of the complex will be fed into the Central Bore for disintegration.
We apologize for the inconvenience.
My name is Doctor Algahst Trintavon, lead of Risk Prevention at the Foundation's Department of Thaumaturgy. I possess something that my coworkers call "inverse precognition".
"But Doctor," you might snidely ask me. "Isn't that just 'hindsight?'". No; there's a very key distinction between hindsight…and what I have.
Hindsight is something you use to look back on something, having it dawn upon you all the ways that the actions you did could have gone horribly, irrevocably wrong.
"Inverse precognition", however, allows me to see all of the things that can not happen, just by looking at something at the right time.
It's not something that I can do on command, you see. It's not even something prevalent amongst my kind. The Foundation officially calls it a "genetic fluke", while my family called it "a blessing from Higher Up".
Regardless, I have no control over how I activate the sense. One moment, I will lay my eyes on an object or being, and then that moment expands as all possible scenarios that can not and will not happen involving them flashes before my eyes.
The closest analogy I can describe what I experience, that will make sense to you, is that it's as if I'm viewing a dense flipbook, the pages blurring together but moving just slow enough that I'm able to keep retention of what's on them.
So I will know, for example, that the book bound in rotted human flesh we recovered from a decrepit Sarkic temple does not have any thaumaturgic rituals that can cause an HK-Class "Deific Subjugation" Scenario, just from a spare glance at it. Or that D-5768 will not survive the upcoming Mekhanite raid on our site to steal said book, no matter which options are available to them.
It is a useful ability to have, when it works. But there's a reason why I don't subscribe to my family's beliefs about it being a blessing.
Not after I accepted the Foundation's recruitment offer into their ranks, and turned to see my family, my home…and my heart sank into the pit of my stomach when the flash came over me.
Seeing myself meet the love of my life.
Seeing myself in their embrace while we grew old together, surrounded by the adoring eyes of our children and grandchildren.
Seeing hands big and small grasping onto mine as I passed away peacefully in my sleep.
Let the circle be unbroken.

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I was born with broken legs. With barely functional arms. With just one lung. I was blind in one eye and half blind in the other. My body was a mass of dull aching pain. I was 5 years old when the doctor said in hushed, saddened tones that I would not live to see my 30th birthday.
My father believed the charlatan.
The first of the surgeries happened then. My parents became poorer and poorer as these con-men claimed that I could not be repaired. It was not long before my mother had her fill of pain and passed on. After that, my father broke .
He became convinced that there was a plan for me. The mechano-priests of the Church agreed. And he asked for their forgiveness. So they granted it. He gave over part of himself to their machinations to become steel and bone.
They called their deity broken. They said God was like me. And then they granted me sight. Granted me the ability to walk. By the end I was as much machine as boy. My father thought I was finally saved.
But they were, all of them, deceived.
God cannot be broken.
My father fell away from the faith after a time. He had transacted with them and gained a working son. So we returned to a somewhat normal life. Hiding our modifications underneath false flesh.
I grew and the metal grew within me. The mechano-priests may have been ignorant of their God's true nature, but they were masters of their craft. I excelled. I was stronger than my peers. Faster. And sharper.
But I knew a deep abiding truth; I was incomplete. And so as I became an adult I returned to the church. For a time I felt a belonging. I said my vows. Became a mechano-priest. I refined my skills. I took flesh and turned it into something beautiful. My patients screamed before but blessed me after.
And with each person I repaired, I brought myself ever closer to God. But the other priests, jealous of what I was becoming, called me heretic. They said that only those who chose this life should be modified.
But how will we complete the great work if we wait? I left. Built this chantry. It was I who found our God's discarded heart. Who placed it here in a place of worship.
I drained the heart into the baptism chamber. Now we bathe in the oils. When I slipped into it I could feel it working into the gaps of who I was. I felt my skin harden. My bones break and reform. It finally repaired me. Just as it repaired all of us.
The great machine continues apace but it is not complete. I will turn every piece of flesh on this earth to steel. I will replace every thought with code. I will drag you all here, screaming or not, to complete our God.
Coming here was correct and good. I will not stop my great work as you've asked. But I will show you God.
And we will unbreak you.
I swear it.
VIDEO LOG TRANSCRIPT
DATE: 10/31/20██
LOCATION: FP-120 ("Esterberg"), the Living District
SUBJECTS: Six SCP-5572-1 instances, five unidentified humanoids
CONTEXT: The following footage was captured by an anonymous bystander present during the events shown.

[BEGIN LOG]
2241: A group of six SCP-5572-1 instances converse with each other while loitering outside of a residential building. It is dark outside, impairing visibility. The front of the building is lit by a porchlight, and all six skeletons are clearly visible.
2244: A couple of unidentified individuals pass by the group. The pair do not acknowledge the skeletons, and continue walking down the street.
2249: A single Fae1 individual approaches the building. They wave to a member of the group as they approach, and the skeleton waves back. The individual joins the group and begins conversing with various members.
2250: After a brief conversation, the Fae bids farewell to the group and enters the building.
2258: A group of five unidentified humanoids become visible on the video feed. Because of their distance from any light source, details of their appearance cannot be determined. However, their movement and behavior suggest that the group is heavily intoxicated.
2259: The group of skeletons notices the other group.
2301: A member of the newly arrived group notices the skeletons, and loudly calls out to them. This alerts the rest of their group to the presence of the six SCP-5572-1 instances, one of whom waves to the other group.
2302: The new arrivals attempt to converse with the skeletons, but after a heated exchange the skeletons begin to ignore the other group.
2304: A visibly-drunk member of the second group makes an obscene gesture in the direction of the skeletons. The rest of their group laughs. The skeletons notice this, but continue to ignore the other group.
2305: Another member of the second group makes an obscene gesture, causing more laughter. An SCP-5572-1 instance moves towards the other group and attempts to communicate. The intoxicated group jeers at them, and begins to taunt the other SCP-5572-1 instances.
2306: Though it is not clear who, someone in the second group is audible saying the words "Spooky Scary Skeletons send shiv-" before being interrupted when the nearest skeleton attacks them. This altercation quickly escalates into a street brawl between the two groups.
2311: The melee continues for several minutes. However, due to differences in physiology and a slight numbers advantage the skeletons begin to route the other side. After one individual flees, the rest of the opposing group scatters, running in separate directions.
2312: The skeletons congratulate each other and mock the fleeing opponents. One of the skeletons climbs on top of an overturned garbage can before shouting "STUPID SCAREDY HUMAN-MEN!" The rest of the group laughs.
The footage briefly continues past this point, however audio is not available, only video; the rest of the footage has been altered using a video-editing mobile app to include the opening theme song of the 90s cartoon series Skeleton Warriors.
[END LOG]

Footnotes
1. Homo sapiens sidhe.
the beam glows brighter than
the sun on the day when
i spoke to my friend for one of
the last times and i remember it was
a summer afternoon and
it was so hot that
i thought the roads would boil like
concrete and we were
at a baseball game when he
turned to me and said
i can't believe it's been all
these years and we're still
hanging out like we used to back
in our elementary school days and
i hope we never stop and i
told him not to worry and that
we never would but i knew
that i couldn't promise him that and
sure enough after high school we
started calling each other less and
less until we never heard from
each other except when we would
bump into one another at the
grocery store and spend half an
hour catching up and swear that
we would start reconnecting before
going home and forgetting again but i
still hear about him every so often and
i know that he still lives around
here with his wife and two children and his
aging mother and i wish i could
save them in some sort of
teleportation machine but
all i can do is hope that
i'll find him somewhere in
the roaring acid flames of hell and i'll
be able to tell him that i'm sorry and
that i did
everything i could
and the beam does not give.

it's been a few days.
i left my house
for the first time today
since it happened.
i'm just getting home
from the park.
in the living room,
my wife is playing
with our two daughters.
they grin and giggle
as she moves a toy airplane
through the air
and makes vrooming noises.
i reach for the phone.
.

You:
You remember the accident?

Me:
Of course I do. How else would I know about it?

You:
Oh?

Me:
I mean, I didn't at first. I didn't remember anything. Everything was too… uh… ughh… word? word?

You:
Confusing?

Me:
Yes. Confusing.

You:
When did you start remembering the accident?

Me:
Well… there's a thought that happens when you're healing. A thought that you have thoughts at all. It's the most important thing in the world for a split second. And once you know your thoughts exist… you can remember.

You:
Huh.

Me:
But after that split second you just… go back to doing what you were doing. You'll have the rest of your life to think about your thoughts and who you are. The meat juices on Lisa's hand are here right now and won't be forever.

You:
So you… licked the meat juices off Lisa's hand?

Me:
I licked the meat juices off Lisa's hand, yes.

You:
…Ah. We should get back to our conversation about your home community. I still have a few more questions and Garcia is tapping his finger to his wrist through the window.

Me:
Right, sorry. >My family<
i'm a young boy,
and my father is sitting me down
to tell me about how son,
the world is full of screaming and wailing
and women who say they love you and
then leave you for some yuppie fuck
who moves a lot of money around in new york,
and i'm staring at him blankly,
my only thoughts on when mom
will come home with dinner.
i'm beneath the blinding fluorescence again,
i look around and a man is there,
dressed in black,
staring at me silently.
i'm a young man,
trying to explain to my uncle that no,
i'm not a lazy good-for-nothing,
dad's just an alcoholic piece of shit
who can't deal with stepmom being gone
and takes it out on me and
can you please let me stay here
until i can get on my feet again.
the man offers me a cigarette,
i tell him
that i don't smoke
and he puts it in his mouth instead.
i'm not as young a man,
sitting in my apartment
with a big bowl of kraft dinner,
staring at the phone
waiting for it to ring.
the man stares at me.
the phone never rings.
he's not moving.
i guess he has to be breathing
because he's smoking
but i can't see
the rising and falling of his chest.
it's the end of my senior year,
i just got out of this party
with my girlfriend and she's taking me
to this beautiful lake
out in the forest
where we'll hold hands
and look at the stars
until the sun comes up in the early morning
and wipes the night sky away
like bugs off a windshield.
he reaches out
and puts his hand on my shoulder.
i close my eyes.
i rest.
Agent Haoyu woke up covered in butterflies. He brushed them aside and proceeded to get dressed for another day at Biological Site-104. After the monasteries that housed these creatures burned down, the Foundation had sent out interest forms to various staff members. Every day he regretted his decision to put N/A on an interests form. This led to him being introduced to these butterflies and, upon the discovery of his immunity, he was given custody of the anomaly.
These butterflies subsisted off of interests and died without. However, the kaleidoscope seemed to maintain its numbers through an unknown reproduction method. Haoyu spent his days researching these creatures and recording mundane events. He had made little progress and received little budget. Today, Haoyu felt especially bored, no abnormal activity came from these rainbow creatures.
Haoyu realized that he was terribly depressed. At first, he had some sort of pipe dream of joining Alpha-9 by training the butterflies. Haoyu spent the better part of 5 years training them and had taught basic commands such as “over there.” His superiors weren't very impressed. Now, Haoyu was simply a babysitter for some rainbow butterflies. He was given this job because of how boring he was, how pointless his life was. His life was worth so little, the butterflies had nothing to eat. The butterflies had eaten everything he could be, his very future eaten alive. He had dreamed of a happy life, but now realized he would die surrounded by this rainbow kaleidoscope.
Haoyu wondered whether he was any different from the butterflies. He sometimes dreamed he was a butterfly, flying free, a beautiful landscape below. All he did was sit in the containment cell and watch, same as them. He remembered when he would gather with friends and loved ones, how he would live through their interests, seeking to hide how little he cared and thus how little he mattered to them or how little they mattered to him. He sought to hide himself from the world's expectations of him and his life. He had succeeded, now in a world where no one but the butterflies knew he existed.
And the world around Haoyu exploded. A Containment Breach. Haoyu looked out the gaping hole in the wall and spotted the guards engaging what appeared to be a porcupine woman. The guards were injured from the explosion and were quickly killed. Haoyu took stock of his kaleidoscope, approximately 30% had died in the explosion, the rest gathered in the far corner. He breathed hard, it had been a while since he exercised. Then, he remembered his one trick.
“Over there.”
The butterflies flew out of their cell and swarmed the porcupine woman. The woman removed spines from her neck and attempted to attack the swarm. However, the butterflies succeeded in their attack and the woman collapsed. Haoyu emerged from the cell, and the butterflies surrounded him. It felt like a dream.
Cole 13 and Tstaffor

You can check out more of our works here:
Cole 13: Cole 13's Writing Hut
tstaffor: Tstaffor's Isolated Containment Terminal

Anonymous 06/20/2022 (Mon) 16:40:02 #05286786
This is terrible anons please help me out here

16 KB JPG

>be me
>be 17
>3/10 basement dwelling failure
>have smokin hot 9/10 goth gf totally out of my league
>its going well, been on like three dates
>my dumb-fuck brain comes up with a "unique" plan for a date
>goths usually like ghost shit
>go on parawatch
>lot of crackheads here performing satanic rituals or summoning ghosts
>probs all bullshit
>find a post that sounds simple

aliteralpoopdemon 06/16/2022 (Thurs) 24:01:46 #04410382

Want to summon a demon for shits 'n giggles?

The Correct Design

1. Get some salt. The higher the quality the better the demon.
2. Get candles, any will do.
3. Draw a pentagram with the salt.
4. Light candles at each of the 5 points of the star.
5. Sit at the center of your pentagram.
6. Chant Tawagoto Akuma three times in a row.
It may take a while for the demon to be summoned so dont get your balls in a twist lol

>parents out of town for the weekend
>invite gf to mi casa later that night and I go to walmart and buy shit
>we're sitting in my room on the floor across from each other
>i draw a pentagram on the floor in salt (got that kosher shit, its not cheap)
>im nervous as fuck so im holding my breath
>i light some cheap ass half used candles from bed bath and beyond we have below the sink
>its like 3 am by that point (witching hour aaaa so spooky)
>perform the ritual
>she refuses to chant with me
>…
>find out its cause she finds it legit scary
>megawin.png
>later in the night
>watching netflix
>full on creep out show
>she huddles in my arms
>"Don't worry baby. I'll protect you…" (¬‿¬)
>start to make my move
>i notice im about to blast ass
>uhoh.jpeg
>stand my ground
>the blast doors have given in and the stormtroopers have gone through
>much more than that
>mfw i shit myself
>she notices
>fuckingchristthepain.jpeg
>"Uh… sorry anon, it's getting a bit late. See you Monday at school!"
>sprints out past me
>fast forward to this morning
>dont see her anywhere in the school
>fuck i might have scared her off
>come back home, mom confronts me
>"Anon what the fuck did you do to your carpet?"
>ohshit.jpeg
>realize i let the fucking salt sit the entire weekend
>now there is a big stain on my carpet i cant explain to my family
>mfw gf left the school just because i made an ass of myself
>mfw i realize im a gullible shitbag who trusts people on the internet
what the fuck do i do now

aliteralpoopdemon 06/20/2022 16:55:12 #8711234

get fucked lmao…

Underworld IP address recognized. See linked Underwatch post?
Mom! Mommy! I'm stuck please help me
The hole's squeezing my body.
Please help! I'm trying! Mommy!
Oh the walls, hurting my body.
…
Mommy? I am feeling hungry.
When will I get to eat mommy?
Why'd I have to be stuck in place?
Body's hurt, belly groans to eat.
…
Mommy, days I spent stuck in place,
More and more, I want to be fed.
Let me eat, I'm feel like I'm starved,
No need for happy birthday song.
…
Mommy! Mommy! I'm falling down!
The ceiling! Me! Please catch! Mommy!
Oh the pain. Where are you mommy?
I'm aching, I need you, mommy?
…
I'm wandering for so long now mom…
Why don't you answer, or look for me mom?
I'm starving the cake's not enough,
Only threads, stuck between my teeth.
…
Again.
From between the stars
A living empty.
Crawling with purpose.

A dream
Of a thousand worlds.
Like wet supple flesh.
Prepared for carving.

Denied,
It screams for release.
For the abattoir
To begin slick work.

A void,
A billion candles,
A trillion voices,
Abiding silence.

Release!
It writhes below.
More flesh for culling.
Simple surrender.

My love.
Green, blue, and beauty.
Ache to catch the world
Stretching forever.

Refuse
The skin that was mine.
Falling as I am
Still I miss the ground.

Again.

SCP-1959 during its brief containment at Orbital Site-2001. Its current whereabouts are unknown.
She just stood there.

Enclosed in perfect darkness.

In perfect silence.

Nothing for her to touch. Nothing for her to see

……………

How could such perfect nothingness even exist?

She wanted to talk.
Shout.
Scream.

But nothing happened.

…………………………

Couldn't she hear it? Or could she not speak?

It made no difference.

Was she standing?
Or was she sitting?
Laying?

Never mind.

No pain.

No light.

No body.

No time.

……………………………………

How does one measure time in such perfect, all-encompassing darkness?
In constricting stillness?
Without surroundings, without self?

She only consisted of thoughts.

But they all emerged and vanished at the same time.

She did not panic.

Resting in herself.

Rest in all.

Nothing but calmness existed.

Pure acceptance.

Helpless. But peaceful.

Nothing is important.

What comes - what goes - it happens without her.

She's a hull.
A hull created from nothing, filled with less than emptiness.

Where is she?
Did she already exist before this darkness?
Is she dead?

Why is she in pain?
Has she always been? Is it getting worse?

………………………………………………

Nothing she could do against it.

Maybe she already collapsed.

On her knees.

Wasn't she there all along?

Crouching.
For ever.
Since the dawn of time.

Terrible pain. Almost unbearable.

Is this what death feels like?
Isn't she already dead?

…

…

Seconds later, her photo slides out of her hand and just a moment later, her lifeless body falls to the floor.
close

Info

X

SCP-825-KO-1 Rejection Notice
Translator: fluxman
Original Article: http://scpko.wikidot.com/scp-825-ko-1

★


Rejection Notice

To the Director of Site-27K1
…
You are fine. The reactions you've shown are a perfect example of humanity. On the contrary, you are most human for you feel that way.
We know they are human too: humans that pursue happiness, that drown in sorrow, that can burn every bit of passion one has for love. We assume you requested amnestics because you know that painfully well, too.
Mr Hwang-Bo, we cannot amnesticise you, as long as you are an administrator. However horrible the Foundation can be, the most humane should take lead, precisely for that reason. The bleak, barren system is only worth whatever "Justice" the Foundation operates for, because us, us compassionate enough to weep for the worst convicts on death row, hold it. You must bear the burden of obvious evil, for it is the way for the fallen, and will-be-fallen, the way for the greater good.
Suffer from the deepest, most dreadful nightmares, toss yourself in a swamp of lament, and wail. The most arduous, challenging days, then seasons will pile behind you, dulling your senses, and then and only then will you not feel the pain when you force the herd of poor unfortunate souls into the test chamber.
We will reach out to you when you truly notice yourself in such a situation. We can rekindle your embers of guilt whenever you desire. There are plenty of drugs of that kind.
…

Footnotes
1. Deleted Account.