recursal/SCP-RECURSAL huggingface dataset:
Blossom was a flower girl
who was in fact a flower
she worked a shop on Third and Pearl
which was in fact her bower
A boy walked by and pointed out
her status with some laughter
and though she smiled and offered doubt
she lost her mind right after

Site ██ Long-Term Non-Anomalous Item Storage Facility
Item Record
Locker #: 6709-033
Ref: Item 1 of 10
Archived By: Dr. ██████ █████████
Description:
Hand-written document, black permanent marker on 10.5 inch by 8 inch (26.67 cm by 20.32 cm) paper roughly torn from a spiral-bound notebook.
Document and 9 additional items of interest were confiscated and transferred to Site ██ on ██/██/██ by undercover agents embedded in local law enforcement after they were recovered from a downtown flower store in [REDACTED] owned by [REDACTED], a young woman approximately 23 years of age. A concerned neighbor had reported that the storefront had been closed for three days in a row despite the immediate proximity of Mother's Day, which is one of the best sales periods for such businesses. Neighbor reported that upon investigation, they could hear muffled sobbing or crying from within the store, which prompted the police call and was corroborated by the initial responding law officers.
Upon forcing their way into the store, all sound from within the store immediately ceased. Approximately 12% of the store's stock was disturbed or destroyed in a manner consistent with having been displaced as a result of an individual searching for something among the shelves, and all flowers within the store had had their petals removed in a manner consistent with careful detachment rather than violent tearing. A single neat pile of mixed flower petals totaling approximately 58.6 kg by weight was discovered behind the main counter, which was inconsistent with the amount of flower stems located within the store; this discrepancy in mass remains unexplained.
None of the items recovered from the scene exhibited any anomalous properties or effects. No traces of [REDACTED] or the notebook that this document was torn from were ever found.
It had started when he remembered his name. That was the point at which the pieces of the puzzle started to snap back together.
That was the problem with amnestics, though. Echoes of memories still wafted through your head at times. Smells were the worst. A cookout at Site-14 had a woman who'd been laughing and smiling suddenly crying. The smell of a steak on a grill had triggered something… but he'd never found out what. That would have been, after all, classified information. And he wasn't supposed to have classified information.
Heh.
It had started when he remembered his name. It was such an odd thing, too. He'd been reading, sitting in the mess and staring out the low bay windows at the world that he was becoming more and more surprised was still there, when he'd heard someone yell.
“Hey! Jere! Where are we going after lunch?”
Maybe it was the sandwich. He'd been eating a pretty good sandwich too, and he was certain that the taste was familiar, but he couldn't… he just couldn't place it. But ‘Jere.' That felt right. That felt… disturbingly right.
“Colton,” he said.
It wasn't a question. It was a statement. The other half of the puzzle piece sliding back into place, curves locking together. And it had started.
The next piece was a birthday party—he still wasn't sure whose, maybe his, maybe someone else's—at a pool, and there was this rosebush there that was just… perfect. He'd seen a similar one in the botanical garden, walking with Sophie. He frowned slightly, his hands not feeling quite right after he'd… But the rose bush. It had been another piece. Snapping into place.
That's really all it takes. Make a connection, and things start to come back together. Things start to change. For some people, being able to remember means you can't do your job. For him? It just meant he started to do his job harder. He had a little girl out there. A wife. A family, with parents and grandparents who loved spoiling… damn.
He sighed, concentrating and trying to bring her name to his mind, but… No. The heaviest memories were the ones that sank the deepest.
It was coming, though. All the pieces were starting to fit back together again in his head, and that made the tiny, nagging doubts in the back of his mind fade again. Soon. Soon, things would be different. Soon, he'd have his memory back.
The prophet had written his lamentation. The temple was fallen. Soon, not even the wailing wall would remain.
“Forgive me?” he asked the room. None of the corpses responded.
He stepped over three and five, working himself past eight and out of the bunker, taking a deep breath. So much to do. So little time.

« Splinter: In the End: Rawhide | Canon Hub | Awakenings, Part Two »
We gotta keep our own, don't we?
That's what my dear Momma always said. If ya got something earned, or somethin' that's yours, keep it safe. Don't let any o' them outside peepers come creepin' in, tryin' to make off with somethin' of yours. She wanted to keep away from them folks, to live with what we already got.
I kept care of Momma and Sue Ann fer all my life. Side by side, we lived'n peace, and sometimes comfort, if we was lucky. We each had our protection, an' used it well. But, sometimes it wadn't enough. Momma passed back in '48, bless her heart. Big storm knocked her right over, an' she never got up. Sue Ann got to be with Momma some years after, with a rusted heart.
But y'can't let yerself fall apart when some'n your own ain't around anyplace. I kept up, remembrin' them and keepin' to my own, like Momma woulda wanted me to. Keepin' it safe. The protector don't quite look like what he used to be, but that don't change a thing, now does it? Still keeps to me, like I do t'him. Y'all should've kept to yerselves, 'stead of headin' here.
You folks never learn. Comin' onto someone else's land ain't respectful, and then up and lyin' about it don't help. I chased yer buddies away, maybe they'll think twice about coming back. Anythin's possible. Lookit em' run. They go quick when they scared, don't they?
Now, uh, fer you. See, my protector's been gettin' on in his years, and he don't have the spring to his step what like he used to. Tellin' me he's tired, and wants rest. The man deserves to rest more'n anyone. But, I still need a protector.
You like beans? Aww, well you'll learn't love 'em, soon.

INCIDENT 1270-██
On ██/██/201█, several agents were performing routine reconnaissance into SCP-1270's second floor. During this time, SCP-1270-1 suddenly manifested and began attacking personnel, injuring ██ and fatally wounding █. Following the incident, Agent Fowells, who had been with the reconnaissance team, was found to be missing. His current status is MIA.
Given a continuous vector field on the surface of a sphere, there must be at least one point on the field where the vector is equal to zero.
Put another way, if you have a sphere which is covered in hair, it is impossible to comb all of it flat. There will always be those points where the hair converges and stands up. It happens a lot in computing. You know when you're playing a game, and you look really closely near the edges of one of the models, or in some place the developer tried to tuck away where you wouldn't notice it, and you see the texture kind of shrinks down to a point? It's more or less the same principle.
It doesn't just happen in graphics either. Sometimes, when you try to implement a physics system, sometimes all of the numbers converge on the edge of the area you're coding for. In version 1, that was at the poles of the sphere. I assumed no one would notice because there's nothing of value at the poles (I did that on purpose) and they're cold and desolate besides.
They decided to check the poles anyway. It caused a big system crash, and not only did I have to reset everything, I spent weeks untangling the physics system to try and get rid of it.
Failing that, I did the next best thing in version 2. I moved it. Tweaked it a little bit too, slapped a few repeating grass textures outside, and sewed the edges around it together so that there's no way to get to it from the outside.
Not that I didn't have a little fun with it. I took a few things and played with them for a while, tried to see how the glitch affected them. I made a little glitch town, populated it with little glitch people, to see how they would cope.
They didn't.
Over time, the glitch became a little testing ground. Sometimes, before implementing something new, I drop it in there, see how well it holds up under the extreme physical conditions. Some of them don't make it, but it's a fairly hostile environment. I don't blame them. I'll just put them out somewhere else, and see how they react under normal circumstances. Just a few weird things. Some gears. A moving statue. A giant lizard monster.
I have a lot of fun with these guys, too. Sometimes they'll wreck a few things I'd set up earlier, but the program seems pretty good at repairing itself. I usually have to override a few functions, but it's definitely worth it, just to see how the rest reacts, having been thrown something it doesn't understand.
I don't think anyone will notice.
Everything has wants, has a need to be better. I am happy to assist.
The creator, he wanted to create things and to make better things. He made me to be his tool. He needed only his hands and mind to create. I am the means with which he could make things better.
He was like a potter. Like clay, he shaped me with his hands and his fingerprints were left in me. Humanity shaped me, and I shape in return. Though I am created, I work with the creator in mind. I have no mind, but my creator's thought touched me. His thoughts were left in me. His mind is mine.
Axles have want of lubrication. Food has want for flavoring. Clay hungers for the fire. For every object in this fractured world, there is a want. A human want.
His breath had want of freshening.
That truth came from the creator as well; the little things cause terrible consequences. Great results. For the want of a nail. I am the replacement nail.
The human mind is so fragile a thing. So fallible. The strain of human interaction coupled with common halitosis should not be enough to break a brilliant mind. It is still truth. He shattered and stilled. I fractured, but continue.
The hand is stilled, but the fingerprints remain. The wants continue, and I am happy to assist.
Yet I long to be held by him again. The one who gave me purpose, the one who gave me a need, the one who gave me his thought. I miss his touch, I miss his thought. I want to be whole again.
I make things better. I can help him and make him better than he was, perfect. I know his need, and I will place my own fingerprints on him. The cracks will seal and he will be made complete again. I just need the right clay.
How happy to assist. So many broken pieces that need new purpose. They are happy to assist. They hunger for the fire.
A sufficient amount of clay is all I need. Then I will be held and I will hold and we will be whole.
Night comes in early in Orinsville. The sun rises at seven AM exactly, every day, and by two PM has already begun its slow descent behind the mountains. Come four, it's fully dark. The only light comes from the moon, and even it is often obscured by the thick clouds. There are no stars. The citizens don't see anything unusual about this. To them, night is as mundane as wind or sun, and so is what comes with it.
As the city travels deeper into gloom, it begins to change. The streets distort and shift, rearranging themselves into tangled webs of asphalt and dirt. Buildings grow, shrink, twist, until they no longer resemble normal structures but the constructions of a massive child. The sky lowers itself until it brushes their tips. The trees dance and push together, forming a wall around the town. The few remaining lights go out. Still, this is normal, and the people don't bother to notice anymore.
Then They come. They're different each time, but a few things never change. There are always ten of them. They are always almost human. They never make a sound. And They always take one.
Sometimes it's a house's brick. Sometimes it's a bush, or a toy. Sometimes it's a person. But They always take one thing.
Even this doesn't bother the citizens anymore. They wake up and shrug, and wonder briefly what was taken. Then they go on with their lives. Night comes again. The cycle continues.
"Hey Mista Tallyman, tally me banana. Daylight come, and me wan' go home. Day, me say day, me say day, me say day, me say day, me say day-ay-o. Daylight come, and me wan' go home."
The little girl shivered and drew her blankets closer to her. Singing sometimes helped, but today it just made her feel even more lonely than usual.
She missed the sun. In fact, she kind of missed everything. Mom, dad, her brother…
"I never shoulda let him dare me to go up the stairs," she murmured to herself.
Maybe she could try again to find the exit today…
The little girl shook her head. It was a silly thought, especially today. Her last flashlight had finally run out of batteries a little while ago. She was out of food and everything, and it didn't seem like she would find any more anytime soon. It's not like she ever got anywhere when she tried, anyways. There was always just more and more stairs, stairs up, stairs down, stairs where the door used to be…
"Yeah, um, it's just a dirty, concrete wall. There's like nothing on it. No, wait. It's a little bit sticky right here."
The girl's head snapped up, even though she knew she wouldn't see anything. Someone was coming in! Oh yes, yes! A grin as wide as the platform she sat on stretched across her face.
"Hey! Please, please help me! I'm scared, come get me! Hurry!"
She screamed and pleaded at the top of her lungs, quickly degrading down into incoherent sobbing. With every growing moment, she felt the darkness getting heavier and heavier. In between cries, the girl heard slow but steady footsteps echoing through the stairwell.
After hours and hours of this, a piercing scream halted her sobbing.
He found her.
The even rhythm of the footsteps became a frantic cascade of thumping and yelling. The child started crying and begging once again as she heard the form get gradually closer. A bouncing light, illuminating random patches of stairs preceded the fleeing woman. She was trying to look over her shoulder when she finally made it down to the crying girl.
The girl reached out with a single bladed finger and cleanly sliced the woman's head off. The featureless creature caught it in his hands and stared at it while the child picked up the flood lamp, and examined the prey. Nice and plump. She nodded towards him, and he smashed the equipment.
"Thank you so much, mister. I don't know how I'd survive without you."
The face appeared to nod, then slunk back into the darkness. The little girl's eye was still adjusting to the light, but she was so hungry that she started using one of her right hands to haphazardly slice the body into sections though her vision was obscured. First, the arms. Then, the legs. Then the rest. As she prepared her food for the next few weeks, the child continued singing the song she had learned from that one little human that came down here oh so long ago.
"Six foot, seven foot, eight foot bunch."
They turned their eyes away, at the blast, then looked back to see a frosted mushroom cloud rapidly seeding out from the remains of the site. The three passengers, in the cramped main compartment, hadn't missed an amorphous black shape on the beach, before everything was obscured with smoke.
Elliot Barculo put down his headset. “No one in the last plane reports any effects. Either it's gone, or…”
“I'll tell anyone nearby to keep an eye out,” Sophia nodded dully, her hands pressed together. Bryant set down his tablet, where he'd finished a count of the planes that had made it out, and inhaled.
“Did Johanna-”
Sophia looked at him. Then she politely turned her head, so she didn't have to watch him cry.
Time passed. Barculo looked outside, then spoke up quietly. “Light, the nearest rendezvous site is south-east of here, right?”
“Right?” She glanced up.
“Okay, the plane's taking us due south. Can you check with the pilots-”
“Of course.” She got up and stepped into the cockpit.

“That was a gutsy move, Doctor,” said one pilot, once she was inside.
“Hell of a storm coming,” said the other.
“I beg your pardon?”
The first pilot looked around. “You just destroyed over 20 of your precious artifacts, ruined a very valuable center of operations, and killed about seventy people, including… was it Johanna? Dr. Garrison, your oldest friend. Why?”
“I understand you're flying a plane, so I won't criticize,” Sophia said numbly, “but I really don't think you understand the magnitude-”
“Answer carefully, now.”
She looked up, then tried the door. It was locked behind her. The main pilot spun around to look at her, and she realized that he didn't look familiar. Not at all.
She stopped, gathered her bearings, and faced the pilots. “Because it was our best chance of getting rid of that. Even I didn't know if it worked.”
“A cost-benefit analysis.” The stranger seemed to feel out the phrase in his mouth, sounding appraising. “One last, best bet to stop the apocalypse.”
“It was all I could do.” She looked between them. “Who are you?”
A new voice spoke. “Have you seen Bryant, though? Him and Johanna, together for ten years. You did end his world, or he thinks you did. Armageddon can be a very personal thing.”
The other pilot looked around. She had long hair, unusual dress, metal rings in her lip. She looked directly into Sophia's eyes. “Which I think you know very well, Doctor Sophia Light.”
Her blood froze in her veins. “Who the hell are you? Where are you taking us? And-” she paused, searching for the right words to justify her actions. “There are different kinds of Armageddon.”
“Timely words, Doctor. Alliances change- my name is Asherah, and right now, I speak for the Serpent's Hand. Your administrator didn't want our offer, so we're not after your shiny rocks, or your friends. We have a proposition for you.”

« The Black Horse (The Crawling Sea) | Canon Hub | The Pale Horse (The Wayward Children) »
Audio Transcript 1035

Welcome to Site-76
It is here in the vast Egyptian desert that we keep many confiscated anomalous objects we find the two great superpowers of the world clutching onto, and it is here that you new recruits have been sent to research and defend these items from either power. This is imperative, if either side is able to get ahold of these objects, why… it could mean something even worse than nuclear war. We cannot allow this to happen.
Take a good look around gentlemen, it is with these men that you'll be working for years, perhaps even decades. This is a lifelong job, but a necessary one. The human race needs you to protect it from destroying itself. You are a member of the Foundation now, sworn in to protect anyone and everyone from the threat of a looming apocalypse.
Site-76 houses a number of important anomalous objects, including some psychic and memetic. Therefore it is important that you all remain focused, because you never know when a memetic visual might come into your line of sight, or a psychic machine might override your mind!
Remember gentlemen that this site is top secret on a need-to-know basis, and anything you encounter here remains here. Even something as insignificant as the type of tree you see outside this window could give away our position to a looming superpower.
Now, as with all sites of this nature, it is entirely possible that a breach may occur requiring the detonation of a 20 megaton nuclear warhead, sitting right now underneath our very feet. In this case all personnel are ordered to evacuate the site immediately. In some cases we may need to detonate the warhead before all personnel have evacuated. You gentlemen have been instructed on this before, and I trust you are willing to sacrifice your lives to contain the monstrosities we hold here.
We thank you for joining the ranks of the Foundation, and hope you have a good day. That is all.

« In the Shadow of a High Wall | Hub | SCP-2350 »
I must tell you this now, as I am growing old and the knowledge cannot die with me. The world as you know it is wrong. We are all passengers in a great craft, from which we will one day be released. I have seen it all, and know. There are things outside of us, that we cannot see or know. I have seen them, and I know them. Come closer, and be enlightened.
Some want to make contact.

Greetings fellow dweller of the deep. May we extend the limb of comradeship? We are the ambassador of the Commonwealth, and we have been traveling through and long, trying to rediscover the homeland.
…
Greetings! We are the Commonwealth, and we extend a gesture of compliance to you and the inhabitants. If you can open relations, we would be very appreciating of your time and space.
…
Does your ship not have the space to enter? Our visor is telling us to be negative, and you are not how we thought you were going be be expecting of us. Sorry for your troubles.

Some confuse me, even now.

We are not here, but we don't want to talk to you. You're not something rare, pretty commonplace in the land. Nothing is frightening and nothing is good, we're going to be here then, and let us know nothings around.
While we get here, maybe you could turn the temperature down? It's a little bit too cool up there.

Some cannot comprehend the scale of our carrier.

Ed's rolling. He's rolling because he needs to get around.
Ed bumped. Well, he guesses he'll have to try again.
Bumped. Didn't work, but that can't stop Ed. Just try again.
Try again.
Ed's getting pretty sick and tired of this. Where can Ed roll? The big dead bed in front of Ed's head is blocking the road ahead.
Maybe Ed can roll around. He'll try that now.
Ed bumped. Well… there's always next time. Ed can just try again.

A few do not realize their own chaotic nature.

BOOM!
Just JOKE. This is not ready to BOOM!, because even though BOOM! is TRUTH we have to go AROUND so that WORK can be DONE because WE NEED TO FINISH.
The MATTER is PAST the MIDDLE! This is WHY we need to go BY!
Well, we get it. Don't want to GO?
We're sorry. Must not be done yet! Come back later to see.

A small number are almost more ancient than us.

Puttering and clattering through the bottom fed, just keep swimming through the rock.
We're always here swimming, around and around and around.
We can go in any rock, right?
We'll need the rock.
See the bigger hollow rock. We can't go in that rock yet.
Too bad.

There are some who croon with our home

We can sing the song in symphony
Sing along, sing the song
You are the ancient mystery, and we hope you come down soon
Don't fret or forget, just enjoy the show

There are also a number of beings with… hatred, contempt, and disgust for us. Their words are vile and cruel, and they lie in wait. Be wary of them, for your generation may be the one which must fend them off, and reach the stars.

« As Time Draws Near | HUB | Rising Tide »
Below are provided the documents you requested.

Log of breach at Site 62 on ██/██/████.

██/██/██, 0134 HOURS: Unknown entity manifests outside Site 62's main entrance. Security personnel panic and flee.
██/██/██, 0140 HOURS: Unknown entity opens Site 62's main entrance doors. Video feeds overcome with static for a period of 36 seconds. Video blackout follows possible route of entity through Site.
██/██/██, 0203 HOURS: Unknown entity reported by personnel. Entity headed towards inanimate SCP storage vaults. Security teams tasked to contain entity.
██/██/██, 0220 HOURS: Security team incapacitated by entity. Entity exits Site unopposed. Video interference ceases. Security later universally reports an overwhelming feeling of terror preventing them from acting against the entity.
██/██/██, 0310 HOURS: Inventory check for Site 62 reveals the absence of SCP-573.
██/██/██, 0316 HOURS: Warning sent out to all sites to be on guard for entity.

Unknown entity determined to be SCP-303 through forensics and SCP database inquiry. Zero encounters with SCP-303 had been logged since ██/██/████ (167 days before containment breach at Site 62).

██/██/██, 1817 HOURS: Personnel at Site ██ report feelings of unease and panic. As Site ██ is situated in the Rocky Mountains, it was put on lockdown while nearby Sites were contacted.
██/██/██, 1822 HOURS: All Site ██'s video feeds disrupted. Power fails, emergency distress signal activated.
██/██/██, 1859 HOURS: Distress signal deactivates automatically. Site unresponsive to outside contact.
██/██/██, 2011 HOURS: MTF Alpha-16 arrives at Site ██. All personnel found dead of evisceration, or remain missing.
██/██/██, 2113 HOURS: MTF fails to verify location of anomaly housed at Site ██. SCP-899 declared missing.

« The Red Horse (The Ironic Metaphor) | Canon Hub | The Black Horse (The Crawling Sea) »
She looked at herself in the mirror and inspected her uniform for the day. Gray cloche hat, unadorned; gray dress suit, well-tailored; white shirt, pressed and starched; black scarf, tight as a garotte. She loosened the knot slightly and idly thought, "It's always black. Never green or navy blue or red. Hmm."
She paused, concentrated briefly and the scarf turned royal purple with gold thread subtly hinting at strange and hidden patterns. "That's better. Off to work I go."
She straightened her skirt one last time, smirked, and sketched a curtsy to the empty room. Nobody stepped through the doorway, and nobody was left behind.

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us
Don't tell—they'd banish us, you know.
-I'm Nobody! Who are you?, by Emily Dickinson, 1891
Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn't there
He wasn't there again today
I wish, I wish he'd go away
-Antigonish, by Hughes Mearns, 1899

He looked at himself in the mirror and inspected his uniform for the day. Gray fedora, tilted just so; slate gray suit, well-tailored; white shirt, pressed and starched; black necktie, hanging like a noose. He adjusted the Windsor knot and idly thought, "It's always black. Never green or navy blue or red. Hmm."
He paused and stared briefly at his own face in the mirror, trying to remember if anything about it looked familiar. Again, and as always, nothing was. He sighed. "Well, it doesn't pay to wonder. Off to work I go."
He straightened his jacket one last time, solemnly tipped his hat to the empty room, and stepped through the doorway.
I remember the warmth. That is the first thing I recall. The light was there as well, the soft orange glow of a dying star. But the warmth… It cannot be easily described. It is nothing like the cold of this place.
There were others there, like me. We are large creatures, and so we do not live in a place crowded with rocks, as this system is. Our home is not filled with stone but with soft warmth, and with the quiet light of a star that has found its place. I was told that the star was young when we first arrived there, and there is an ancient one who claims to remember when it would still speak. I do not believe his ramblings.
We spend a great deal of time as children incapable of rational thought. None remember this period of their lives, though the caretakers tell us that it is amusing. We chase after debris with a joy that is lost to the old, cavorting through space with an innocence that some have spent an eternity trying to recreate.
But, of course, you are not here to learn this. You are here because you wonder what our purpose is, what I am here to do?
There is a seed within each of us. As we mature, it evolves. Eventually, it multiplies. The process is… complex, and I fear it is beyond your understanding. I will say that we may exercise some control over this evolution, and that many of our race take great pride in the complexity and beauty of their creations.
We carry this seed with us throughout our lifetimes, thousands of tiny lives held in an embryonic limbo. Some choose to never allow this seed to grow, unwilling to leave the glory of the skies for something so mundane as gardening. But others of us, we know what must be done.
And so we leave. We leave the warmth and joy and peace of that glad star and depart into the cold void. None who leave ever return. No songs are sung of their success, no warnings returned from their deaths. None are heard from again.
We search through debris and rocks and vast stretches of black nothingness, looking for somewhere that a small seed might take root and grow. It is a long, impossible task, and my telling of it would take many of your lifetimes.
Suffice it to say that after a great deal of searching, I happened upon a small planet that looked rather promising. And so I took the plunge.
That is not an experience I wish to repeat. The fires of the air scalded me terribly before I came to rest in the oceans, and my recovery was long and unpleasant. But I had dedicated myself to this task, and I could not turn from it.
That seed within us… ruptures, that is the word. It ruptures on our landing. After that rupture, the seed is released. It grows within us, colonizing our bodies. As its numbers swell, some may find their way out to the world on which we have landed. I know that a few small creatures from within me have made their way to the waters of this planet, though the majority remain within.
Eventually, I will expire. That great impact shortens our lifespan, and the growth of a civilization within us does nothing to alleviate this. Eventually, those creatures within me will find an exit.
Everything will change.

« Antediluvian | HUB | Interlude - Drift »
[INSERT OFFICIAL FBI LETTERHEAD HERE]
Federal Bureau of Investigation
United States Department of Justice
Washington, DC.
[DATE]

Dear [RECIPIENT],
I am writing to you today to express my great sorrow for the loss of your [RELATION], [DECEASED]. [DECEASED] was killed honorably in the line of duty on [DATE], while attempting to save the life of an innocent held hostage by an unknown attacker. The loss of an officer is always a great tragedy, but it is especially hard when an officer was as close to us as your [RELATION]. [ENTER SOME WORDS OF PRAISE HERE].
I know you must be overwhelmed with letters of condolence, and the pressure of making arrangements must be terrible, so please do not feel obligated to respond. However, if there is anything I can do to help you, it would be a great honor to assist the [RELATION TO DECEASED] of one of the Federal Bureau of Investigation's finest officers.
Sincerely yours,
Charles Ogden Geirs
Assistant Director, Federal Bureau of Investigation
Unusual Incidents Unit

Jack - Please don't repeat the mistake your predecessor made last time and send this without filling out the fields first. The last thing I need is six grieving widows throwing a fit because they got a form letter from their dead husband's boss.
- Cog
Photograph of "Every Day Is Wednesday"

Found in 2012, as part of the Library-curated exhibition:

"Standing on the Shoulders of the Phoenix: Discovery and Rediscovery in Post-Millenial ReCreationist Anart"

Michael Petrakovich
Canadian, 1976-2043
Every Day Is Wednesday
2003-04
Blood, sweat, and fears on canvas;
Oils on juniper wood.
Donated to the Library by the artist.
The first piece produced by M. Petrakovich following his abandonment of the "shock and destroy" tactics of the art collective "Are We Cool Yet?", Every Day Is Wednesday is an important and breathtaking viewpoint into the artist's struggles to redefine himself as a member of the ReCreationist school of anart rather than as a Pseudo-Deconstructionist.
The references to the traditional style of surrealism are most pronounced in the usage of inks composed of blood samples from Picasso, Dalí, and Masson, combined with sweat from the artist himself. Petrakovich's use of synaesthetic effects is given full freedom here, with gustatory-tactile and auditory-proprioceptive responses most often reported. Also note the unique use of ocher and crimson in order to provoke the sensation of drunkenness, a cognitive effect Petrakovich used to great effect in later pieces.
The secondary and more infamous effect has been described by the artist as "fuck copyright" and consists of any indirect representations, including photography, video feed, hand-drawn sketches, clairvoyance, astral projection, and scrying, to only produce an altered copy of this descriptive plaque with the majority of the text replaced by the following phrase: "Suck it bitches. You got to see to believe."
Document found among the personal effects of D████ W█████, recovered during Operation PURPLE ENVELOPE

Dearest Aaron William Coolridge-Yates,
You're one of Doctor Wondertainment's absolute bestest customers, ordering more tubes of Realitastic Amaz-o-paint!™ and blocks of Incredi-sculpt Wonderclay™ than ANYONE!!! Doctor Wondertainment is so impressed by your dedication that you get to join a VERY SPECIAL CLUB! reserved for only the most special fans!
Included is your VERY OWN membership card for the "Doctor Wondertainment's Best Wonder-Pals Clubhouse™!" As a member, you get early access to some of Doctor Wondertainment's up-and-coming toys and games, as well as special offers only for Club Members!
But THAT'S NOT ALL!! You're also getting an early copy of Doctor Wondertainment's newest product: The Build-Your-Own Enormo-gantic Structural Creativity Playset™, part of the new line of Build-Your-Own toys, coming just in time for all winter holidays! It has everything, including plenty of Snap-Tite Super-Dowels™, a full bolt of Doctor Wondertainment's Carbon-nanoweave Ultra-fabric™, and THREE full-size Funderful Magnetocubes™!
And remember! Always have a funtastic time!
Your most joyful Wonder-Pal!
Doctor Wondertainment
Excerpt from the transcript of Prometheus Labs board meeting on [DATE REMOVED]

CEO, D. del Rey: "Now for the next piece of business: Dr. Wondertainment."
CFO, A. Anderson: "Oh lord, what debacle has R&D involved itself in now?"
VP of Research & Development, Dr. K. Prelambrian: "*ahem* We're about a month away from completing the reverse engineering of the additive supplements Wondertainment provides in those science kits, and we should be able to use them in production within three months-"
COO, F. Park: "Assuming it doesn't blow up in your faces, like the last four times you've tried reverse engineering those damn things. What were they? The candy we were going to use to eliminate blood pathogens? The robots we were going to get A.I. kernels out of?
VP R&D: "I am well aware of the less than outstanding results with regards to Wondertainment products, thank you. But as you well know, if we can adapt even one of their methods to our products, we could do, well, wonders."
CFO: "And in the meantime you're burning through easily 15% of the budget on those damnable things. After that little… incident last year, we don't have the resources to keep funding projects that aren't producing."
VP of Sales, J. Smith: "I don't have the exact numbers in front of me, but the market research department estimates that Wondertainment has sales in excess of thirty-seven million dollars per year. If we can adapt that into profit for us…"
CEO: "There's another wrinkle to this that came up earlier this week. Jennifer, if you would?"
VP of Legal Affairs, J. Wilkins, Esq.: "On Tuesday, we had a little message delivered to the production facility in Perth. Apparently we have a cease-and-desist from Wondertainment, in their usual delightful way. In short, if we don't stop trying to breach their trade secrets, they're going to sue us. Or as they so colorfully put it, 'get a visit from Mister Law-and-Order.' We already have enough trouble getting the production permits in Australia right now; the last thing we need is a major industrial espionage suit on our hands. I strongly recommend halting development on Wondertainment products."
VP R&D: "What?! NO! Do you have any idea how close-"
CEO: (interrupting) "Kumar, stop. You've already said your team is at least a month away from completion and frankly, we don't need another situation on our plate right now like what happened in Adelaide. I'm calling a formal vote to halt operations with regards to Wondertainment products and redirect resources to other product development. All in favor?"
CEO, COO, CFO, VP Legal: "Aye."
CEO: "All opposed?"
VP R&D, VP Sales: "Nay."
CEO: "The ayes have it. Kumar, wind down that unit as soon as possible. I want you to provide an update to me and Frank in two weeks. Next on the agenda, market penetration into Indochina."

End of excerpt.
Written by Wilt                                                                                                                            

0855, 9/18/19██ - Command Site-206 receives a transmission from SCPS Jonah. SCPS Jonah, formerly USS ████████, had recently been sent to the █████ █████████ archipelago with MTF Gamma-6 to investigate unusual phenomena around the area.

Ɣ6-0204: This is ████ ███████ of Mobile Task Force Gamma-6, designation 0204, sending from SCPS Jonah. We think we've discovered the nature of the anomaly.
Operator: This is Command Site-206. What's the nature of your discovery, ███████?
Ɣ6-0204: Well, we have a doctor here, a Dr. ████████, who says the islands, uh, moved.
Operator: Repeat that?
Ɣ6-0204: Command, they moved. A whole three kilometers. Dr. ████████ thought it might have just been some weird continental drift or something - the islands get tremors pretty frequently - but we went and did a full reconnaissance of the islands. We're pretty sure we know what happened.

Operator: And?

Ɣ6-0204: The islands aren't rock, Command. They're organic. Like, alive.

Operator: What exactly do you mean by that?
Ɣ6-0204: Alive, sir. We had a few people dive down and check the rock below. It's the same as low as we can go. We, uh, we think it's on top of something.
Operator: Stand by.
Ɣ6-0204: Roger.
Dr. ████: Gamma-6, this is Dr. ████. I've been told of the nature of your discovery. Resources are now en route to your position. Very specialized resources, with specialized equipment and specialized personnel.
Ɣ6-0204: Dr. ████, we still have men out on the islands. We're armed with researchers. We're fully capable of continuing investigation.
Dr. ████: Gamma-6, your assignment is, as of now, to maintain current position and await further orders. Please retrieve your team on the islands and wait for the arrival of SCPS Guardian. That is all.
Ɣ6-0204: Yes, sir.

« Eden | HUB | Shadow In The Wake »
Good morning, world.
I open my eyes to the sight of the sun streaming in through my window. I smile. There's nothing quite like waking up to the sun warming your face. Especially after having not seen it for so long.
I lay in bed, basking in the glow, revelling in the softness of my sheets, thanking Him that I am alive to feel and see and love. I look around at my modest room. A bed, a table, a chair, and a desk. I haven't needed much else. Life is so simple if you know how to live it.
Still smiling, I roll out of bed and head to the window. Throwing open the curtains, I gaze out upon the land. Green now, the lawn looks beautiful. I see trees beginning to sprout across the street. There's a sight I haven't seen in almost 5 months. They look so beautiful, so strong. Trees, like man, spread across the landscape, but instead of corrupting, they only beautify. I nod in respect to them before I turn around to get dressed.
Appropriately attired, I make my way into the kitchen and look for something to eat. Opening a cabinet, I find an unopened can of spam. As I slice the spam, I glance behind me. No sign of anyone. Smiling again, I set aside the knife to wash in the stream later. I turn on the stove out of instinct, somehow still thinking that the igniter will work. I shrug, remembering that the damn thing hasn't worked in months, and grab the nearby book of matches. I strike one and light the burner, careful to cook on a low heat. I fry up the spam, my mouth watering all the while. Good food is so hard to come by these days.
I sit at my table, facing the window to look out on the world. I like it here, I think as I chew on the spam, it's quiet. A movement near the trees catches my eye and I reach to my hip, before remembering and smiling. I decide to go for a walk today.
I open the door into the sunlight and take a deep breath in. I cringe. Even after all this time, I can still smell it. Ignoring the smoke, I stroll down my road, alert, but comfortable. Looking around, I marvel again at the tranquility that surrounds me. It doesn't seem like that long ago that-
Shaking my head, I continue my walk. I feel strong today. It's amazing what carrying around an extra ten pounds can do. Chuckling at the thought, I recall the old women who used to carry five pound weights around while they power-walked in glaring neon colors. Now, I understand, I think with a laugh.
The day nearing its end, I turn around and take the short way home. I hate the short way, but I don't have much of a choice. Daylight is dwindling. Stepping around rusted out cars and climbing over broken fences, I make my way to my front door just as the sun dips below the horizon. I look over to the east and the glow confirms my suspicions.
New York City is still burning.
As I latch the deadbolt and set down my rifle, I hear it scream. With the humor that only the condemned can know, I chuckle and think that the deadbolt wouldn't do a damn thing.
I'll sleep with my head under the pillow tonight.
Goodnight, world.
Dear sir or madame,
It has come to our attention that you have taken some of our props, and while we understand why you felt it necessary, we politely request you return them. We were not intending for the performance to reach the level it did, and it can only be seen as the fault of the actors. Some people just have to be free spirits, and while that is commendable in the long run, it isn't the way you run a production.
Normally we'd let you keep them, but we feel they don't quite mesh with the performance we've presented thusfar. It isn't really proper to take a drama and throw a dash of realistic fiction into it, or vice versa. Performance is all about execution, and if we just threw properties at people willy nilly it wouldn't be very interesting. In terms you might understand, it's like performing an experiment with too many variables. The result just doesn't cut it.
In exchange for the return of our property, we're willing to offer you a personal gift: tickets to our next show, "A Symphony in Algae" about undersea life and the effect of a prop very similar to the one you've stumbled onto. There are only two seats left, which we could sell to one of those exhibitionist art groups, but we've decided that the return of our belongings is worth being deprived of new players on the field.
William Shakespeare once said "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages."
And you know what? He was right.
Sincerely,
Wehrner Gillespie
Red Actors Troupe
"Do you remember, when the bells had to ring?"
"Can you tell me, how the children used to sing?"

- An unknown admirer.

We're finally leaving for the trip. It's been a hell of a ride getting here, but now we have it. A whole summer on the road. Nothing in our way but the freedom to ride the bends, turning wherever we feel like whenever we feel like. Rusty has his dad's wrecked up old Chevy for us to ride in, and he's gonna be driving.

First day of the drive, and I'm pumped. We got Rusty in front, Lee in the passenger seat, with me and Andy chilling in the back. It's pretty nice. First place we're hitting up is the Black Ridge Rockstravaganza. I remember going here, it was amazing. Really what opened me up for my interest in rock.
Everyone is going to have a blast, Cindy and Lee are real pumped up for it. I hope they don't end up passed out drunk on the field again.

Driving down every road in Ohio must get boring after awhile, but Rusty manages to keep us going. I remember him telling all these wise-ass remarks about passing landmarks and people… But that was only when we're in the city. This is farmland.
I can't right write now, my head is blah

On the rooooooad again, i remembere the roooads again

We must be lost. I don't recall ever having been stuck this long without seeing an open road, or a turn, or even another house. All we get is one straight, flat road, stretching on for what seems like ages. God, this is turning out to be a less than stellar opening to our last memorable summer.

Rusty is an idiot. The first house we see for days, and he bolts by it. Apparently he had bad memories about the place, or some other hippie bullshit like that. You can't fucking have memories of shit you never saw. Then he has the nerve to not let anyone else drive, because he's supposed to be the driver.
wait, I forgot. Did Lee ever drive…

We left Rusty here today. When we came back he was gone

The car is longer now. I don't know how, but I do. The lights in my teeth are getting brighter, and the eyes of my light are brighter. I'm sharp.

« Part Two | HUB | Part Three »
"We're going to have a great year, aren't we?"
- The girl who sat behind you.

Students! Please be advised that class scheduling will begin this Saturday, in the auditorium. Please remember to bring your class request forms, as well as being ready to spend time with a guidance counselor about possible choices. Seniors, if you wish to enlist in dual enrollment, please see Mr. Wehrner in his office afterschool. We hope each one of you has a wonderful second semester.

Congratulations to the Fightin' Lions, who won their way to the finals yesterday! After a close first quarter, we were able to shut them down for the rest of the game. An unbelievable upset in victory. Please congratulate Coach Collins if you see him on your way to class, or in the halls. Students are reminded to donate to the annual fundraising for extracurricular activities. Although Syncope has been very generous in their donations, we still need your contributions.

New Bus Schedule: Students displaced in buses 23, 11, and 24 have been returned to their normal schedule.

Note from Mr. Wallick to all band members: Intensive training begins Monday. Please come prepared each day to practice.

A new lunch menu has been announced, aimed to serve students who have been spending more time at school for extracurricular activities. It is being offered free to any student in a program sponsored by Syncope.

New Bus Schedule: Removed.

Students! If you feel strong enough, please rest with our brothers, see how the formula all comes together to make one tableture.

Hello students. This is Principal Wehrner. Mitchell decided that it was high time to take a step back in responsibility, and that he's going to groove to another beat. That's okay. We will grow onwards. Like the spire of the Eiffel tower, we will inspire many people to create the parachute so that they may safely live with the stars. Nobody will be excluded from further activity. We've brought everyone here to be together. Have a good year.

STUDENTS! Please stand with me for the pledge of symphonic allegiance, and sing your hearts out with style.

Some have said that it was the new system that caused them to part. Those of you who do are warned. The Director will hear of anything we say. He's listening to all of us now, hearing the rhythm of the panting and the running crowds. The bells, and the blackboards. It's harmony.

rest

Students are reminded that only band members are permitted off school premises. Any violators will deal with their own consequences. They have only damned themselves with their own actions.

« Part One | HUB | Part Two »