recursal/SCP-RECURSAL huggingface dataset:
Project Codename: Olympia
Project#: PRJOLM-000134
Clearance and File#: NPF-00051473
Head Researcher: Professor K.P. Crow
Experiment Aims:
To integrate the physical body of the subject with the mental body using SCP-158.
Materials Used:

The product of Olympia Integration Experiment ALPHA.
The product of Experiment Log 158 AG.

Pre-Operation Note:
Special precautions have been taken, should the subject behave differently than originally anticipated. Several strike teams are on call, and the entire test chamber is to be flooded with nerve gas should the subject appear hostile.
Integration Log:

25/12/2008 1600hrs - Integration begins.
25/12/2008 1602hrs - Integration stalled.
25/12/2008 1604hrs - Integration restarted.
25/12/2008 1605hrs - Integration stalled.
25/12/2008 1609hrs - Integration restarted.
25/12/2008 1611hrs - Integration stalled.
25/12/2008 1615hrs - Integration restarted.
25/12/2008 1621hrs - Integration reaches midpoint of operation, although is performing slowly.
25/12/2008 1624hrs - Integration slows far past normal rate of integration.
25/12/2008 1645hrs - Integration enters final stage.
25/12/2008 1652hrs - Integration stalls momentarily.
25/12/2008 1653hrs - Integration device emits grinding noise.
25/12/2008 1657hrs - Integration continues at slow rate.
25/12/2008 1706hrs - Integration complete.

Post-Operation Note:
The difficulty regarding the integration could have been down to either the transcendental properties of the mental body, the high content of SCP-148 within the subjects bone and cell structure, or even a combination of the two.
{Note: This document was retrieved during a raid on a known Global Occult Coalition safehouse by Task Force Omega-7, "Pandora's Box." Sections of this document were damaged in the firefight and subsequent conflagration/water damage due to firefighting efforts.}
PERSONNEL FILE: FIELD OPERATIVE UK-17
Code Name: "Ukulele"
GOC Serial Number: 09976657-Cobalt-Triplet-Finnegan
Service Record

1981: Recruited into GOC by [SECTION DESTROYED].
1982: First confirmed kill: Known Threat Entity (KTE) 5988-Red ("Hillsborough Beast"). Received the Silver Aegis commendation for successfully killing KTE-5988-Red despite severe losses to field team, including death of Operative Mortimer X.
1986: Failed to successfully contain KTE-7859-Silver ("Xenobiological Hemorrhagic Prion") resulting in deaths of [SECTION DESTROYED]
1988: Sabbatical.
1989: Promoted to Specialist Operative.

[SECTION DESTROYED]

199█: Engaged and destroyed KTE-9927-Black ("The Goddess") in Cornwall, England. Unable to confirm kill on KTE-9927-Blackchild ("The Daughter").

[SECTION DESTROYED]

20██: 99th confirmed kill on KTE-10734-Green ("Mister Nice Guy"). Expressed desire to retire from active service: granted.

[SECTION DESTROYED]

████: Resurfaced under alias of "Dr. Alto Clef" at Special Containment Procedures Foundation. Classified as Threat Level 1 (monitor, do not engage).

Skills Assessment

Certified adequate in standard firearms array (pistol, shotgun, scoped and unscoped rifle, submachinegun, light machine gun).
Certified proficient in heavy firearms array (heavy machine gun, grenade launcher, shoulder-mounted rocket launcher).
Certified expert in demolitions.
Advanced Driver certification in Class A, B, and C vehicles.
Authorized Instructor at Lanthanide Hills Training Facility (field of expertise: Type Green KTEs).

Alterations and Talents

Standard optics array.
Standard longevity treatments.
Resistant to standard photography techniques.
Polymorphic features.
Level 1 T[SECTION DESTROYED]

Notable Kills

KTE-9927-Black: Threat Level 6 (Immediate Global Threat). Target eliminated by use of KTE-9927-Blackchild as bargaining ploy, followed by termination by gunshot to head. Operative "Ukulele" severely injured, unable to confirm kill on 9927-Blackchild.
KTE-0467-White: ("Caveman Phil"). Atavistic humanoid entity eliminated by use of local wildlife (500 pound mountain lion).
KTE-9245-Pink: ("Frogman of Marsh Cree[SECTION DESTROYED]

Addenda
Does anyone know who this guy is or where he came from? He's good at what he does, but every time I ask him about his past, I get a completely different answer. - Colonel Richard Adams
Written by Danteson                                                                                                                            
The spell book has been revoked by the Foundation. It's not like she'll use it much anymore. - Dr. Wright.
Chapter One: The Foundation and You!
Now, your job as a witch is to do whatever the nice folks at The Foundation tell you to do. Even if they ask you to do something, and you don't want to do it, you must, or else you may not get your witching license when you grow up! You don't want that to happen, do you?
Another important rule is that you must never ask any questions about any of the other witches or wizards you may see. They might have different powers than you, but don't worry, that's perfectly normal. If The Foundation tells you that they are safe, then you are allowed to be friends with them. Yay!
Chapter Two: How to Cast Your First Spell
Casting spells is easy! Just say the magic words out loud, and imagine the spell happening in front of your very eyes! Always make sure you say the words firmly, correctly, and most importantly, confidently. You will be turning your hair purple before you even know it!
One very important rule that all witches must follow, is that you must never, ever, ever, try and cast a spell that is not listed for you in this book. This is a very serious crime in the witching community, and it could even be punished by burning at the stake! Oh no!
Chapter Three: Safe Spelling!
(Writing in this book is cheating, you cheater!)
Chromus:
Tap an object with your finger, say Chromus, and it will turn any color you want!
Aquafier:
Point and say Aquafier, and your finger will shoot out water like a squirt gun! How fun!
Duco:
If you drag your finger along something and say Duco, then you will make a magic mark, like a magic marker! Don't draw on the walls with this however.
Estus:
Hold a cup in your hands and say Estus, and your drink will be nice and hot, just for you. You can make your own hot chocolate any time.
Nutrimens:
Just hold out your hand and say Nutrimens (be careful, this is a hard word!), and your favorite kind of food will pop up in your hands.
Tergo:
Don't like taking baths? Just use Tergo. It will get you squeaky clean in moments.
Quiesco:
Are you having trouble sleeping? Just whisper Quiesco to your pillow, and you will sleep like a baby.
Mortus:
Only to be used with the permission of a Foundation member! By pointing at the picture of a person and speaking this spell, you cause the pictured person or creature to die. Oh no!
[DATA EXPUNGED]
The Foundation uses the presence of other businesses and organizations as frontages to mask the existence of the SCP Foundation. These may be anything from local flower shops to international conglomerates. Websites to a few of these facades are as follows:

So Clean, You'd Think You Were In Heaven!
Your premiere source for human remains based soap and lye products! Experience a cleanliness like no other and indulge in the renewing lather that will have you believing in the resurrection of your aging, lifeless cells.

We are a society of skeptics who seek to disprove the foolish beliefs of conspiracy theorists and paranormal enthusiasts.

A gated community for the discerning family.
South Cheyenne Point is a privately-owned civic development aiming at creating an utopic living environment for our denizens. Admissions are only accepted on the basis of availability, and a strict set of requirements must be adhered to before the process may go forward. Currently there are no openings in our development.
ATTENTION: REPORT 076-2/682 IS FOR REVIEW BY CLASS-4 PERSONNEL ONLY
Incident: 076-2/682
SCP involved: SCP-682, SCP-076-2
Personnel involved: Dr. Gears, Prof. Kain Pathos Crow, Generals ████████████ and ████, Mobile Task Force Omega-7 (aka "Pandora's Box")
Date: ██████████
Location: ██████, Northern Canada
Description: Omega-7 dispatched after reports of SCP-682 being sighted in the area. Dr. Gears, Prof. Kain Pathos Crow, Generals ████████████ and ████ temporarily attached to supervise and observe, over objection by SCP-076-2. Contact made three hours after initial deployment.
After several hours of searching, SCP-682 is eventually found in ██████, near ████, having killed the civilian population there.
SCP-076-2 stopped Omega-7 from firing upon 682, then approached the subject. The pair are seen to converse for several minutes, with SCP-076-2 constantly looking back at the main group, and gradually becoming more and more agitated as the conversation goes on.
SCP-076-2 attacked SCP-682 with a bladed weapon. SCP-682 disarmed and attacked SCP-076-2 with its claws, suffering massive damage. SCP-076-2 re-engaged SCP-682 after recovering from the initial assault. Combat proceeded quickly, with both SCPs suffering and dealing enormous amounts of damage. SCP-682 suffered the most damage recorded to date, with damage or removal of over 93% of its body. SCP-076-2 produced more weapons in this single event than the total number recorded since containment.
SCP-682 was incapacitated, with SCP-076-2 preparing to “finish it off”, when the Anomaly occurred. Sensors and monitoring equipment measure a enormous burst of electromagnetic energy, radiation, and wildly varied temperature readings. Site Command received reports from Central Monitoring of a sudden alteration in space-time, localized around SCP-682. Analysis has shown this event to be consistent with both the sudden appearance and disappearance of a black hole, or the theoretical event of a sudden hole forming between our dimension and another.
Serious questions have been raised in light of the Anomaly, and the repulsed reaction SCP-682 has to most organic life. It is currently theorized that SCP-682 is not “alive” in our sense of the word, or possibly is extra-dimensional in origin.
SCP-682 and SCP-076-2 both incapacitated due to physical trauma. SCP-682 moved to temporary containment. Remains of SCP-076-2 and combat area firebombed from the air. Missile test misfire story issued.
Notes: I am telling you, it's not actually here! I think SCP-076 is the same way. It's like poking your finger into a balloon: you're inside it, but still outside of it. They are “projecting” into our reality, and causing all kinds of problems when our reality tries to comprehend them. It's like in programming, when you request a pixel that isn't there, it makes the whole system go haywire! -Dr. █████████
One day, Dr. Cog was walking through his lab (being a scientist and all), when he found Dr. Crow trying to catch his attention. It was never a hard thing to do, as Dr. Cog was usually quite bored, and Dr. Crow was a talking dog.
“You should take a look at this,” insisted Dr. Crow, in a somewhat excited manner, “It's really quite interesting.”
“Well, I don't have any experiments running at the time, so show the way.” Dr. Cog replied in his usual monotone.
The pair walked down several hallways, and through several elevators (Dr. Crow isn't good with stairs), the bipedal doctor occasionally deflecting attempts at smalltalk.
“Any interesting hypotheses?” Dr. Crow would ask, “Any developments with the exploding crabs, or the self-aware maze of pipes?” Dr. Cog hemmed and hawed, it was all work to him.
After a good many turns and descents, they reached a darkened observation room. Behind the single large window was a boy, probably no more than ten years old.
“What is this supposed to be?”
“This,” Dr. Crow indicated with a wave of a paw, “is a small boy who eats only plastics, and is about three times as strong as an average child of his age”
“Interesting. Not particularly dangerous. Administer sedatives, run a four month circuit of tests with some of the new researchers, and slate the item for destruction if it presents any difficulties.”
“You know, Cog, we've been friends for years, research partners at the least. You've seen some strange things that I couldn't imagine. I've never understood, though, how you can deal with things like this so easily.”
“Like what?”
“Like asking a dog with glasses to kill a small child if it ‘presents difficulties.'”
Already on his way out the door, Dr. Cog replied: “There's always another one tomorrow.”
Document 941-B was located in the men's lavatory at Site ██ June 3, ████. Despite an authorized review by the on-site forensic department, there are as of yet no clues as to who is responsible for publishing Document 941-B. Even though much of the information within Document 941-B has been proven false after lengthy investigations, such periodicals are not repeat not permitted under the employee contract.
ALL periodicals must be submitted to and approved by at least two Level 3 administrators and must be printed using supplied on-site equipment.
Note from O5-█:
Even though we have yet to find any further items related to Document 941-B, we must still be on the lookout for possible attempts to distribute items like these. They only serve to undermine the established authority and can possibly have negative effects on the disposition of researchers.
Note:
WHO THE HELL IS PRINT ABOUT MY SEX LIFE
SON OF THE BITCH
I HAVE YOUR HEAD ASS FOR THIS YOU SON OF A BITCHES
-D. Strelnikov
With respect, Captain, none of this can possibly contain information the whole site wasn't aware of before.
-Dr. Light
For the record, you totally traded down.
-Agent Yoric
Hey man, how come this one even has some Javanese date and matchmaking articles? It even has prediction dates for some of our personnel… Let's see… Iceberg, Kliwon Friday ██th ████████, ████… 'Be careful, watch for the flying money hidden dump' …I seriously can't decipher this one.
-Agent Carriontrooper
MOVE ALONG NOW, NOTHING TO SEE HERE, PEOPLE.
IN PARTICULAR, PAGE SIXTEEN IS TO BE TREATED AS, ahem, A CLASS- uh, TWELVE MEMETIC HAZARD.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR COOPERATION.
-Dr. Klein
I am not a Monkey.
-Dr. Bright
On the upside, the extra advertisement from the ban should sell enough to cover printing cos- er, nevermind. How do I make it erase that?
-Agent Yoric
It all really depends on your definition of Doctor, I suppose. I refuse to comment beyond that.
-Lurker
So THAT is what happened to that poor, poor pony.
-Dr. Ziegler
Damn. I expected an article about Strelnikov's beak wetting habits, but I didn't expect close-up pictures…
-Dr. Kald
I think I was at that wedding.
-Agent Nicholakis
I was at 914 and Gears' counselling session. It was the most uninteresting thing ever.
-Agent Spoon
Whoever came up with "Dear Able: Advice for the Lovelorn": that was funny as hell, and it was nice knowing you.
-Dr. Lambert
Everything on page 16 is FALSE. FALSEFALSEFALSE. And I swear I'm going to hurt someone the next time I hear the word "Necrololi".
~Dr. Trebuchet
Regarding the article on page 24 about my botched attempt to get 050… The pictures about the "Sushi-Inator" are just photoshops of 914 with inari-sushi filling! I wasn't even near 914 that day, so shut up about trying to get pictures of Josie wrapped in seaweed! IT NEVER HAPPENED!
-Dr. Okagawa
That Pisces horoscope regarding 999 is just downright disturbing.
-Dr. Armstrong
Jesus Strelnikov, I had to turn those pictures upside down twice before I realised what they were showing.
- Dr. Aeish
Who the fuck approved a 231-7 paternity test?
-Dr. Stoeckle
I see that nobody else slipped the Internal Communications staff a fifty to keep their mouths shut.
-Clef
Dear Mom,
Hi from school, it's me, Elaine. I know it's been a while since I've written anything, but it's been really busy over here and I just haven't had the time. I know it's strange for me to be late, but I wish you were here so I could tell you how crazy everything has been. I really miss you and the whole family, and I'm hoping I can get some time to visit during the break. I did finally find the package you sent me a while ago, and I really appreciate it because I love the patterns on my dresses. The stuff they sell over here is just not the same as what we have back home.
Anyways, it's about time for midterms here, and you can't go anywhere without seeing people studying. You know, it's kinda scary being out here for the first time, but I guess you can really start to like it after a while. Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about our promise. Our minds are still on the same thing, so we are going to make that date no matter what!
I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to go home for the break, the flight to home is already booked up. You'd think they'd learned to create an additional flight this time of year, but I guess they would have to order additional help or something, and I wouldn't want to be stuck out working over break. A week of watching everyone else go home would just kill me. Anyways, hopefully I can figure something out before the chaos really starts. That, or I'll just have to find a better time. Or maybe I should just come home for good. I don't know any more, it's like there's just so much wrong right now, I just want to be home again. I'm sure someone could help me with all this, but you know how I am with being helped out by other people. It's just like there's nothing there for me if I don't do it myself. Anyways, I'll keep trying, there has to be something I can do. Please tell Dad I love him, and we'll get together again soon. I hoped you saved us some of your special cookies! Anyways, I should get back to studying before something bad happens.
Hello there.
scritch scritch scritch
I couldn't get any sleep last night. There was something scratching from behind the walls. It's probably just rats or something. I'll probably get it checked out tomorrow.
scritch scritch scritch
Couldn't sleep again last night. That damn scratching sound came up again. This time, it was all over the place, like it was scurrying through the walls and ceiling. I seriously have to call somebody about this.
scritch scritch scritch
That damn scratching won't stop. I called over the landlord and an exterminator. They gave my room and the entire floor a thorough inspection, short of knocking holes through the walls. They said they couldn't find any evidence of pests anywhere. Well fuck them. At least the inspection was free.
scritch scritch scritch
Fucking hell, it's still there. I borrowed some plastic sealing spray from one of my neighbors. I'm not sure how he happened to have several cans of the stuff lying around, it just seems to be a bit too convenient. From the way he acted, it looked as if this wasn't the first time he's done something like this. Maybe…?
Nah, just my imagination.
I didn't sleep that night. I spent the whole time sealing every possible crack and hole in my apartment. I don't want to risk that damn whatever it is crawling into my room.
scritch scritch scritch
FUCK.
I think the thing must have crept in while I was out. I can hear it scratching around on the inside of my room now. Oh god, I think it's coming closer…
I'm calling Amy#1000..
scritch scritch scritch
It's in my head eating my thoughts!
Itsinmyheadeatinmythoughtsitsinmyheadeatinmythoughtsitsinmyheadeatinmythoughtsitsinmyheadeatinmythoughts!

Transcript of Autopsy Report
Doctor █████: Alright, subject is a ██-year-old Caucasian male. Cause of death unknown at this time.
Doctor ████████: But, look at him! His head-
Doctor █████: Doctor ████████! I know you're new here, but please refrain from making unprofessional statements during the autopsy. Severe trauma in the top half of the subject's skull. Scratch marks on the wounds suggest that the trauma was self-inflicted and done by hand. The blood, skin, hair, and bone fragments found under the subject's fingernails correlates with this hypothesis.
Doctor ████████: He scratched his own brains out?
Doctor █████: That's a very blunt way to put it, but yes. That seems like what happened, does it? But you can never be too sure. Let's continue…
When I was a little boy, I was afraid of monsters.
They always lurked in the dark places where the light didn't reach. It didn't matter how many times my father shone a flashlight into the dark corners of my closet; I knew, the moment that the light was gone, that the monsters would come back. They would lurk in the darkness and whisper to me. I would cower under my blanket and hope they would go away. Sometimes, they would, when the morning came, but I knew that the moment the darkness came back, the monsters would return too.
And they always did.
When I grew up, I learned why: the real monsters don't hide in dark corners and closets. The real monsters are the ones that live behind your eyes, in the darkness of your mind, and it takes more than a flashlight to send them away, more than a blanket to hide from them. They're always there, whispering to you, saying terrible things that children don't understand.
After enough listening, you'd do anything to make them stop.
You'll find what you're looking for in the basement of the abandoned Murphy house. She's still alive - at least, the parts that I still had were alive the last time I visited her - but the others are long dead. I've kept their teeth in ziploc bags in the old file cabinet. Maybe you can identify them from dental records.
Anyway, she hasn't eaten in days, and she's lost a lot of blood, but she might still live if you hurry. If she wants to live, that is. The others didn't want to, in the end.
All I ask is that you leave the light on when you go. This prison cell is very dark, and I'm afraid that the monsters will come out when you leave.
Tales from the Bright Side 1.5
Intermission: Back to the Return of the Son of the Future Strikes Back
3125
The young man blinks as the VR helmet rises, attempting to sort through the various memories now in his head. His furrowed brow turns towards his waiting teacher. "I don't grok, sir."
The old man leans on his staff, his own head above the skull that tops it. "Go on."
"What is 'God'?" The student can find no equivalent reference in his studies.
"Outmoded concept. Creator Myths." The man smiles, with a twinkle in his eye. "Anything else?"
"682. Still active. No solution?"
"No, sadly." The man clucks under his breath. "No solution. Keep studying."
Once more, the boy dons the helmet, submerging himself in his studies. His teacher watches him for a moment, then glances at the yellowed skull that tops his staff. "I don't know, Kondraki, they just don't make them like you anymore. I should be glad… but I miss the challenge."
End Intermission
Project Codename: Olympia
Project#: PRJOLM-000134
Clearance and File#: NPF-00051473
Changes to Olympia Prime (Production Model Template):

Left eye is to come from Experiment 914 THETA Test Subject 2, rather than Experiment 914 THETA Test Subject 13.
Lower left leg and foot, lower right leg and foot, and neck and head musculature and various organs of Experiment 914 THETA Test Subject 2, rather than Experiment 914 THETA Test Subject 5.
Mental body is to be recreated via the processes outlined in Experiment Log 158-AG, as Professor Kain Pathos Crow has disallowed direct copying of Olympia Zero.

Security, Control and Containment Procedures:

A small audio device is to be implanted within the inner ear cochlear canals into all subjects. Implant is to be recharged via kinetic energy generated by the subject. Implant is to play SCP-061 non-stop. Subjects are then to be "programmed" via complex verbal commands until a workable AI has been established.
While in service, subjects are to be outfitted at all times with:

One (1) helmet, fitted with variable multipurpose goggles, and shielding against electromagnetic pulse, and a comm uplink for command and control purposes. Helmet is also internally fitted with a small electromagnetic explosive, as an instant kill device in case the subject is compromised.
A full body suit that allows for maximum movement ability, and constructed of variable heat retention polymers. Also available in camouflage varieties.
A variety of projectile and close combat weapons as situation warrants.

Production Procedures:
Subjects are to be cloned directly from Olympia Prime using SCP-222, then modified and implanted with the cochlear audio device. Programming can then take place.
Have you ever been Alone? Not just alone for a bit while others are out, or feeling rather isolated at the end of a relationship, but Alone. That special Alone that you feel at 1:25 in the morning, when the whole world is asleep. Nobody to call, no real place to go, even the depths of the Internet unable to turn up even a passing conversation. You suddenly realize how isolated you really, truly are.
The house is louder and quieter at the same time. You'll catch yourself turning on things just to have light, noise, something to fill the space, and sometimes that can work. At least, for a while. Still, that gnawing feeling of Alone keeps creeping in. You could even consider calling someone you know to be asleep, just to hear the sound of another voice. After a while, you'll start getting more…alert.
It's the first over-the-shoulder glance that brings it to the forefront. You'll feel stupid for doing it…but you can't stop it. Maybe you even justify it by looking at something to the side of you…but you're really craning around though your peripheral vision, trying to see what's behind. It's so stupid…but it's that itchy spot in your back that does it, you just keep having the weird urge to look behind you.
Keep doing it.
They only take prey when they're Alone. For some reason, eyes scare them.
Maybe because they don't have any.
A Holiday Appeal
Good Evening, this is O5-7 with a Public Service Announcement. Here in the United States and abroad, SCPs are starving and homeless, but you can help by sponsoring an SCP through the Christian SCP Fund. For less than a dollar a day, your contribution can:
— Provide SCP-053 with the clothes she needs to go to school.
— Keep SCP-682's containment tank full of Hydrofluoric Acid.
— Feed a Pufferkitten for a month.
When you sponsor an SCP, we'll send you its picture and Containment Report. You may write to your SCP whenever you wish, and quarterly progress reports let you see how your sponsorship is helping.
Please give. Think of the Pufferkittens.
Disclaimer: The Christian SCP Fund is not responsible for:
— Injuries sustained while visiting Euclid and Keter-level SCPs.
— Memetic effects of letters from your SCP.
— Mental disturbances caused by a picture of your SCP eating a [REDACTED].
Please refer to [DATA EXPUNGED] for briefing about Agent Waters and Event [DATA EXPUNGED]
These 432 pages of documents were recovered on ██/██/████ from the residence of Agent Waters (KIA) in ██████, South Africa, three months after his disappearance. It is unknown whether the partial translation of the documents was done by Agent Waters or his partner, Agent Laker (MIA), or by an unknown third entity. The handwritten notes on the documents match the handwriting of Agent Waters, and the questioning of the other residents in the building leads to believe that Agent Waters was the only occupant of the residence for at least two months. Indeed the only evidence towards Agent Laker ever arriving in South Africa are short references to him in the handwritten notes in these documents.
Examination of Crash Site B1 has found only destroyed remains of the craft, and the irradiated metal object classified as SCP-███. An entry in the personal voice diary of Agent Waters (see file [DATA EXPUNGED] ) confirms the theory that the documents were somehow extracted from SCP-███, which makes further research into it crucial. It should be noted that Agent Waters claims the date to be 25th September at the time of the entry, but the actual voice file was created two weeks after said date. Evidence collected by Agents ██████ and ████ suggests that Agent Waters located and secured the Crash Site as per his original orders, but after his final report to Foundation staff on ██/██, destroyed the craft and isolated himself into his residence in ██████ to translate the extracted data.
Because of the large amounts of data in these documents, only the most coherent and notable parts are collected here.
Page 52:

Page 54:

Page 99:

Page 312:

I am going to personally supervise the investigation into the information leaks apparent in these documents. All that information about the Foundation should have never been accessible to a single person. Class-A amnestics will be administered to all agents and other personnel who have had access to the original documents.
O5-██
I am followed by fire.
It sounds really, really weird, I know, but it's true. Every house, every apartment I've ever lived in has burned to the ground. Even stranger—it's predictable. If I lived somewhere for six years, six years after I move out it goes up in flames. It's not exact, but it's close, usually accurate to within two or three months.
It's true. I'm not sure when I noticed the pattern for the first time, but it's always been there. When I was just a kid, right after I was born, my family lived in an old house behind my grandmother's house. We were there until I was two, when we moved. I remember visiting my grandmother's at four, watching the smoldering embers of the little house and the curling smoke rising into the air. Old wiring from the 50's finally gave out.
From the shack, we moved to a farm. We weren't well off enough to own it or anything, but we did run it for the local doctor. The farmhouse wasn't that big, and most of my childhood memories come from the cozy, family setting it engendered. Here, I remember Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthdays. I think of it whenever I think of “back home.” We lived there from when I was two until I was nine, when the doctor we worked for died. At fifteen, it burned, an old tree struck by lightning sparking off the blaze.
The third house I lived in was the second to burn to the ground. We only lived there for around two years, so it happened when I was thirteen. It was an old house, a very old house. What I remember most was its shape. We called them “shotgun” houses, because you could fire a shotgun from one end and it would pass all the way through to the other. One room after another, all in a straight line, built as needed. It was, honestly, very old and dry. I'm not surprised that the heating stove in the front room sprung a leak on the tenants after us.
Other than where I'm at now, the only place left is my parent's current house. When they asked me why I was moving all my stuff stored in the basement out, I didn't have the heart to tell them, so I made up some excuse about having my old books and stuff closer to college. I didn't know what else to say.
When I turned nineteen, I moved out of my parent's house, and went to college. Before renting the house I live in now, I stayed in an apartment in the city. I shared it with a couple of assholes that seemed nice enough before I moved in. Everyone knows the type. Won't pay their bills on time. Eats whatever they can lay hands on. It got worse and worse until I made up my mind. When I'd finally had enough, I left. We were four months into a one year lease. Now I'm just keeping an eye on the news. Waiting for the sparks. A gas leak, a stray match… Sooner or later, they'll burn.
They always burn.
I'm going to preface this. This was written as a joke. You shouldn't take this as something to emulate. Having someone write something in the same vein would be embarrassing, and I'd probably end up taking the story down. So please, as you read this, remember, it's not even CLOSE to possibly being canon.
Thomas lazed at the security desk. Fifteen minutes until his shift ended. Fifteen minutes until he could go get a drink, hit on that cute girl from maintenance. She looked like she sure knew her way around a wrench, and Thomas had a "tool" of his own for her to handl-
"Uh, Pardon me. Can you tell me where the research labs are?"
Thomas' musings were interrupted by the sound of his genitalia retracting inside his body from sheer horror.
Floating in front of him, approximately four feet above the ground, was a fetus. A high pitched voice spoke again.
"Normally I would know where it is, but I'm a new transfer and your site is set up strangely. My name is Doctor Abortion."
"Do-do-doctor what?!"
"Doctor Abortion. As you may imagine, my name is centered around my unusual appearance. Now, if you'll direct me to the research labs, I will be out of your hair."
Thomas wordlessly pointed. The fetus bobbed at him, and floated off.
Today, Thomas decided, was a good day to hide. Under his bed.

In the hallways, people stopped and stared. A female lab assistant screamed, and fainted. The fetus bobbing its way along the corridors took no notice. A tune was hummed, though, for the life of them, they couldn't understand how.
The abortion who floated like a butterfly and gave nightmares like an elder god paused in front of a door. A knock was heard, and boggled many a researcher.
Doctor Gerald poked his head out and stared.
"Surprise, Daddy!"

Thomas, hiding under his bed, shrank deeper into the darkness at the sound of a piercing scream.

"But, but, but, but!"
"You transferred right after I started to show. Not trying to run on me, were you?"
"No! I didn't know! No one told me!"
"Probably because of the fear of me being captured. Most one-night-stand babies aren't this valuable."
"So, you're sure it's me?"
"Yes, I am. They ran all sorts of tests on me. Still are, actually."
"So, uh, what is the, uh…?"
"He's a healthy little boy."
"What are we going to name it?"
"Oh, sticking around are we? Well, I was thinking…Claude. After me."
Gentlemen, the year is 194█. I have been gone from your sight for a very long time, and traveled far along my own grim path. Such is life! But, having left you as keepers of my fortunes in my absence, I must now instruct you in the stewardship of that wealth, that it might better your own futures as well as mine.
You will find enclosed with this missive a series of generalized instructions on the sale and distribution of my stock portfolio. Such things are of little importance as compared to events unfolding elsewhere. The mad German will soon be toppled, though his influences will live on for a regrettably long time… You may perhaps find it prudent to disassociate yourselves with that party entirely.
Politically, you will find yourselves carrying quite sufficient resources to ensure your own prosperity, however, those offices which cannot be purchased directly must be closely watched. In Britannia, you have several years yet with the current monarch, and his succession should be easily guessed. In the United states, it may behoove you to wait before exerting any modicum of control; I suggest 19██ as an appropriate time to establish a member of our little cabal in the presidential office, which segues me neatly into my next point.
In the wake of war, the commander-in-chief of the United States will likely find himself beset by furtive offers from such organizations as may oppose our interests; you well know to whom I refer. Perhaps your influence shall suffice to deter him from aiding their endeavors, or perhaps not. Tread lightly. When the time is ripe and one of our own has risen to power within the colonies, cast your eye toward that rabble of lab coats and secrecy who have so recently moved against your holdings in France, for they will actively seek to prevent his works.
█████ the Foundation, gentlemen. ████ ████ ██████ ███ ████████ ███████, and then become our greatest ███████. Of this I shall tell you more when the time is right.
In conclusion, gentlemen, I bid you good luck. Even from the deeper dream in which I walk, I cast my thoughts and my will toward the furthering of our mutual goal.
As always,
B██████ P███-F████ Dark

"Damn you, Dark. You always were an aesthetic wacko."
"He's never been wrong yet."
"He's dead."
"Perhaps, my dear Carter. Perhaps. But that changes nothing. Will we follow his advice in Germany?"
"Looks like we'll have to."
"Very well."
Sic transit gloria mundi.
Dr. Bright stirred his coffee with a spoon, taking a long moment to savor the aroma. One unusual aspect of his bond with 963 is that certain sensations were different in each body he occupied. Colors were slightly different, smells triggered different emotions, and coffee… cheap instant coffee was unusually good in this body. Who knew that a chimpanzee's taste buds and instant coffee got along so well?
"Good morning, old chap." Dr. Kain's nails clacked on the tile floor as he trotted into the break room. "Got some good news and some bad news. First the good news: 682 escaped again last night."
"How the hell is that good news?"
"Well, after killing 792 guards on his way out, he stole a car and went on an alcoholic bender across two states."
Dr. Bright furrowed his brow. "You're pulling my leg. If that is the good news—"
Kain barked happily. "I'm not done yet! 682 wrapped the car around a tree at 150mph. The airbag did not deploy. The big bad lizard is dead."
"Of course!" Dr. Bright said. "Drunk driving! Why didn't we think of this sooner! Well, what is the bad news?"
"It was your car."

DRUNK DRIVING DESTROYS LIVES DON'T DO IT OKAY
BROUGHT TO YOU BY MADD(itcwys)
MONKEYS AGAINST DRUNK DRIVING (in their car which you stole)
I'm real sorry about all of this.
I knew we was in trouble soon as Barnes shot yer daughter.
Oh, hey, quit cryin', she'll be fine. He's a lousy shot.
Anyway, I'm real sorry about yer dog. I mean, it did bite my leg, but I guess it wouldn't've done that if I hadn't been beatin' you with that lamp. Hey, good news there. Lamp still works. Little duct tape, it'll be good as new.
Those ropes too tight? Sorry. I'd loosen 'em, but we don't want you gettin' loose an' tryin' to escape. There's been enough screw-ups tonight, don't you think?
Guy you should be pissed at is your neighbor. Fucker switched the house numbers. Must've known we was on to him.
You wanna know what this is about? Eh, what the hell. Ain't like you'll remember any of this tomorrow.
See, a few months ago, there were some murders. Yeah, you read about 'em. Skinned alive. That's a bunch of bullshit, right there. You ever skin somebody alive? They wriggle everywhere.
Oh, now look what you done. Never throw up when yer gagged. Here, lemme clear yer mouth. Now, you scream, we're gonna have to break another finger. Okay, there you go. That's good, right in the bucket. And now the gag goes back on, an' you still got eight good fingers. See how that works? An' just kiddin' about the finger. I'd've just shoved the gag back on. You've suffered enough, y'know?
So, where was I? Oh yeah, skinnin' people alive. Hard as hell. That bit was made up by the papers. Sounds a hell of a lot more exciting. Nah, he cut their throats first, then skinned 'em. Anyway, twenty years back, there was another case kinda like this, back east. There's a few folks who've talked about it, but they don't think there's a connection, on account the guy there was caught. But check this out: The fucker said he needed to eat the skin to live. How does he end up dyin'? Malnutrition, even though he gets three meals a day.
So, we look into it, an' the guy had a kid, who moved out here. Yeah, yer neighbor. So, we come in, do some checkin' up, an' once we did, it came pretty clear he did it. Unfortunately, looks like he got wind of us, an' skipped out, with a last little screw you in the bargain. So, we got guys tearin' up his place to figure out where he went. Oh, we'll find him, don't worry. He's sloppy. He'll screw up eventually.
Anyway, get comfy. We got someone comin' here who's gonna make you forget everythin' that happened. Tomorrow mornin', this'll seem like it was just a botched robbery. We'll even set you up t'look like a hero, saved yer family. How's that?
By the way, how's rent around here? Seems like a nice neighborhood.
Lemme tell you about reality benders.
First off, we like t'call 'em Bixbies. Why? One, in case somebody accidentally says somethin' in front of a civilian, it don't tip 'em off. Two, if yer talking to a reality bender, they might not know all they can do, an' you don't wanna give 'em any ideas.
These fuckers are dangerous. You see one, you don't engage unless you absolutely have to. If you do have to, be polite, try t'think happy thoughts, maybe you'll have a good day. Probably not. Whenever you can, let the experts deal with 'em.
We don't try containin' them, most of the time. Yeah, Foundation don't usually work that way, but we like t'have a world to live in. So on this point, we usually agree with the GOC. Better they're gone.
Okay, so, you're fightin' somebody who can do pretty much anything. How d'you stop 'em? Well, first off, they can't do anything they ain't thought of. Like, they can maybe all read minds. But if they ain't thought about doin' it, don't know they can, then they're not gonna try it. Remember, they're not smarter'n you. They may be able to do things different, might know things you don't, but they're not smarter.
Second, they gotta concentrate. We had one asshole, he decided he was gonna know about everybody watchin' him. Fucker killed twenty of us before we just had a bunch of us rush him. Couldn't get all of 'us, y'know?
Which kinds of Bixbies are worst? Depends how you mean. For my money, it's a kid Bixby. Almost always ends with a bullet. Sniper can usually take 'em out pretty easy. But actually killin' 'em? You show me a guy who just shot a three-year-old, I show you somebody with some damage upstairs. There are worse things you'll do for the Foundation, but not a lot.
Now, hardest to take down? Usually, somebody around late teens, early twenties. Much younger, they don't know enough to do as much harm. Older'n that, they don't got much flexibility in their thinkin' to try anything real out there. Late teens, early twenties, they're gonna experiment. They're gonna try anything that springs t'mind. They're not gonna be slow an' careful in figurin' out what they can do. We get one o' them, we pull out th' big guns.
Now, it don't always end with us killin' 'em. Sometimes, especially older ones, we can talk with 'em, a little. Convince 'em the world ain't worth it. Get 'em to move on somewhere else. A lot of 'em will even do it on their own. So far, ain't one of 'em ever come back. No one knows just why. Maybe this world really is that much of a shithole. Or maybe somethin's eatin' 'em, I don't know.
Anyway, now you see what I mean when I say a giant turtle ain't no big deal, even if it is spittin' fire at us.
Don't talk to me about no fuckin' urban legends. Jesus, in our line o' work, you'd think you'd know better.
Whadda I mean? I mean they ain't just fuckin' stories, dipshit. Oh, fine, some of 'em are. I mean, sure, no gangbanger's gonna shoot you just 'cause you flashed your headlights. But a lot of 'em ain't. Why don't nobody hear about 'em? Why don't they hear 'bout no fuckin' skips? We ain't the only ones dancin' in this here party, ya know?
No, I ain't fulla shit. Look, I'll tell you how I know they're real.
Okay, so this was a while back. I was out huntin' elves in Jersey. What? They was short, had pointy ears, an' squeaky voices. That's good enough for me. Were they really elves? Probably not. Sure as hell didn't bake no cookies. Do I give a shit what they're really called? No I do not. Anyways, don't interrupt.
So, I'm off duty, having finished up for the day. I go drinkin' at a dive in the bad side o' town. Reminds me of home, right? So, there's this broad. She's cute, so I buy her a drink. One thing leads to another, an' I go back t'her place. No, it ain't professional, but what the fuck do you care what I do in my fuckin' off-time? Jesus.
So, we have some drinks, make some small talk, an' I suddenly find myself crashin' harder'n Buddy Holly an' the Big Bopper. Yeah, you see where I'm goin' with this.
Thing is, the bit where you wake up in a bathtub, wit' ice? Yeah, that's bullshit. They're takin' yer fuckin' kidneys. The fuck do they care if you live? You're just some random fuck who can point 'em out in a line-up. Best if you don't ever turn up.
Yeah, I'm still alive. Thanks fer noticin'. Y'might also notice somethin' they didn't account for, proper-like. I'm a big fuckin' guy. Three hundred pounds, hair under seven foot. There's a whole fuckin' lot of me. An' it takes a lot to take me down, an' even more to keep me down. I wake up with this real bad pain in my side. I open my eyes, and there's this fuck with a scalpel openin' me up. I put a stop to that really fuckin' quick, believe me. I was a bit woozy, but I'm a trained Foundation agent. They was a bunch of amateurs. It went down about how you'd expect.
So don't talk to me about no fuckin' urban legends.
Anyway, keep yer eyes open. This fucker with the hook's gotta show up sometime.
He is taken aback when the waitress smiles at him. The steam coming off the coffee gives her face a wavering, ephemeral look. It's genuine. Not the smile you give a customer, but one of gentle knowing; a "had trouble sleeping didn't you" smile.
He wonders if it's a pretty smile right down to the bone, if the skin and muscle clouds true beauty, pale and gleaming. He wonders if that smile would be so friendly if she knew he was imagining her ribcage, laid bare for all the world to see, light trickling through to illuminate the vertebrae. Bundy could have felt like this, a monster walking through the world of men, unmotivated by money or desire for peace. Just wanting to imprint his own fractured reality over the world.
He's slipping and he knows it. He used to only think about the beauty underneath the skin once in a while. A passing fancy. It consumes him now, constantly trying to distinguish the bone from meat, mentally butchering those around him. Soon enough the butchery will stop being mental.
Sometimes he feels trapped. His skin too heavy, the muscle below restraining him. Breath is constrained by lungs. His organs are a weight that bends him forward, a hunch he could shake if only he were truly free.
It's odd, planning someone's death. It starts as a mental exercise, something he insists to himself is never going to happen, not ever. None of the meticulous ritual, the precise timing will ever be more than a fantasy. This is the lie he tells himself as he mentally runs down the checklist of when the waitress will end her shift. The map of her route he has pinned up in his bedroom says she'll be taking the subway, past that dark alley between the abandoned warehouses, in the district where no one reports screams to the cops.
The coffee cup is white, and, staring at the sparkle from the lights, he wonders if her skull will have the same gleam, or if he'll have to steam it; heat stripping the last particles of meat from between the teeth. Maybe a lacquer, to give it a glorious shine. Well, there'll be time enough to think of that later… He wrenches himself from that line of thought. No. Not yet. He doesn't want to walk away from the rest of the world yet.
There's nothing sexual about it. Indeed, the very act of sex disgusts him, too much sweat and fluids and the noise of meat striking meat.
The steam from the coffee fogs the window, and he can almost see it, phalanges glowing in the light of the street lamps, the eternal friendly grin of the passers-by. The world he should have been born in.
He sips his coffee and feels the patina form on his teeth. Still hiding beauty. For a while.