Directive Legends
rating: +22+x

My best friend bled out in my arms. I wish I was a strong enough person to have let that just be the end of it. To just…let him die that one time. If wishes were horses, we'd all ride. -From the personal journal of Dr. Jacob Kensington


Dimensional Site-04, September 27, 20██

The office was significantly more plain that Dr. Kensington had expected. He had figured an O5 would have all well appointed oak, felt desk covers, drinks cabinet, the whole shebang. O5-2's office was, at best, a spartan space. Six large filing cabinets. Several computers. A reality anchor localized to this room. It was a place of work. O5-2 lounged back in her chair. "So tell me again. What exactly are you proposing here?"

Dr. Kensington shifted uncomfortably. He'd stolen the files in front of him, and all of the related materials from Michael's files. They hadn't been disturbed in months, but still, it irked him to steal from his friend, "I think we can use this to enact some kind of permanent change in reality. Something to give us an edge against the benders, and the anomalies. Lord knows they've been escalating."

O5-2 sat up, and steepeled her fingers, resting her chin on the intertwined digits. "And how, exactly, is this going to help us?" She reached across the desk, and rifled through the papers. Several mentions of 'reality anchorage' and 'Sumerian hex-cross-referencing' were scrawled across pages of graph paper. None of it made any sense according to the experts who'd read it. "This is all gibberish, and you know it."

Dr. Kensington hesitated a moment then nodded, "That's correct. In our reality, Dr. Magnus' 'research' is nothing but bunk. But in another reality it doesn't have to be. The entire theory of reality transference, and ego-spacial deference matrices isn't bullshit. It's just bullshit here." He could see the look in her eye. The same look Magnus must have gotten every time he ever tried to explain this.

Kens shifted the chair forward, and pointed to a diagram of a device, made of some black stone, which cradled a bismuth case. "Look, in our local space-time and hume levels, this is just a ludicrously expensive paperweight. But if we could…well, for lack of a better term, 'bend reality', we could make it function for a few seconds. Enough to jumpstart the transference. Whoever or whatever we needed could be…enhanced."

O5-2 looked across the table with her unnerving stare, and smiled a very slight smile, "Enhanced how? We've tried to do this in the past, and all of our attempts were…temporary at best. Or better left as footnotes in a file."

Dr. Kensington nodded, reaching down to his briefcase, and pulling out several level 4 clearance files. "Yes. The duke incident, I'm aware. While the damage was catastrophic the results where undeniable. If you could have all of your senior staff, every single one, as unkillable and, well, for lack of a better word 'lucky' as Dr. Kondraki all the time, would you?"

Her reply came without hesitation, "Of course I would. So what do we do?"

"We'll need some kind of object. Something to imprint this whole shebang on. Personally, I'd go with something living. It would have to be something relatively unimportant though, because there's no telling what this would do to the subject. Not something I'd like to think about honestly, reality takes exception with people screwing with it." Dr. Kensington adjusted his glasses, his fingers flexing nervously, several candidate files ready.

O5-2 nodded, and pressed a button on her phone, "Sal, can you bring us some coffee? It's going to be a long one." She looked up with an eyebrow cocked, "You drink coffee, right Jacob?"

Dr. Kensington swallowed. It was unnerving that an overseer knew his first name without having to look it up. "Of course." He reached down, checking his phone reflexively as he pulled out a few plans and designs. "We'll probably need the help of SCP-343, and a few others to begin the initial reaction…"

O5-2 nodded, "Not a problem. Let's talk about specifics, you let me worry about logistics."


Site-19, July 17, 20██

The site was under attack, and there was little to nothing that Michael could do about it. He ran through the halls trying to find a safe zone, but all of the lock down points had already been, well, locked down. It was his own stupid fault for waiting so long. He had to make sure that Jacob was alright before looking for cover.

An explosion rocked the corridor ahead of him and he fell to the ground, his glasses splaying out across the floor. Everything blurred, rocking back and forth as the tinny ringing in his ears slowly quieted to a roar. He scrambled for a moment before finding his glasses. In the distance he could see armed men in black uniforms rushing through the hole in the wall that had been created by the explosion.

Oh god. It's really happening. They're here, and I'm going to die.

He pulled himself to his feet, turning to run in the other direction. The loud report of gunfire filled the corridor behind him accompanied by raised voices.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. It's supposed to just…oh god, the guns are so loud!

He turned down a side corridor, and rushed past the medical wing. He tore through the door, and came to a halt in front of the reception desk, "Hello!? Is there anyone here?"

His eyes swept across the area behind the desk, and met with the eyes of a junior medical officer he'd met last week. Her glassy orbs stared in to the blank distance of oblivion. Magnus stood frozen, his blood running cold. Kayley. Her name was Kayley, and she loved falafel and salsa music. Now she was dead, and he was transfixed. The neat bloody holes in her neck stood out in a mockery of the vibrant life she'd had just this morning.

"N-no. Jesus christ no!"

He spun on the ball of his foot, running out the door. A jog turned in to a dead sprint, looking around to find signs of any foundation personnel. He caught a flash of a pair of lab coats down a distant hallway, and tore off after them, retreating from the gunfire. He turned the corner, green light emanating from an adjacent corridor.

An open shelter! Jesus Christ, I'm the luckiest son of a b— He turned the corner towards salvation, and came face to face with a tall man wearing black body armor, and a set of black fatigues. At his feet were two foundation scientists, and he was smacking some kind of gun in his hands. He caught a glimpse of Magnus, and stared hard at him.

Magnus fumbled at his side, looking for the absurd revolver he carried for a while, to try and impress the combat agents. The ridiculous leather holster was empty. Of course. I left it in the dormitory wing. I haven't carried that thing in months. All he could find was his little folder pocket knife. He pulled it out of his pocket, and flipped it out with sure motions, his hand settling around it as he had done a million times. To open boxes. To pry open a soda. He didn't know the first thing about defending himself with it.

The man in front of him cocked his head to the side, and smiled, reaching up to the shoulder of his body armor for the handle of what looked like the biggest knife Magnus had ever seen, dropping the gun in his hands to let it hang from its strap. The knife's blade had to be at least ten inches long.

"S-security teams are on their way! You'll never get out in time, before they get here! You should just go!" He tried to look confident, changing his stance to something he thought was approaching threatening. His legs felt so awkward. His fingers gripped the G10 handle of the little folding knife like a vice. He remembered buying the thing on Amazon, and bragging about how awesome it was. How it was basically razor sharp forever. It felt absolutely useless in his stiff fingers.

"No they're not. Yes I will, and I don't think I should." The man in front of him said. He walked forward with casual motions, his knife held upright from his fist. It was so goddamned big. Magnus tried to shift his knife backwards, like he saw on TV. The little knife blade sticking out of the bottom of his fist. "Defensive grip" his brain told him, but he didn't have the first clue.

At two paces away, the enemy agent flicked out his free hand, towards Magnus' face. Without even thinking about it, he sliced out with the knife, which maybe brushed the heavy gloves of the agent's hand. A sharp, and sudden pain hit his knee. A lashing boot had caught him in the knee cap, and he fell to the ground, supported only on his other knee.

A hand closed around the wrist of the arm holding the little knife, and a quick hot sensation filled his senses as he heard the bones of his wrist crack. The agent reached forward with his other hand gripping Magnus' hair, his head forcibly tilted to look him in the eyes. The giant, black-bladed knife looming about ten miles long above his face. "Should have stuck to the lab, pencil neck."

Magnus tried to say something in reply but the sudden bright flash of pain in his chest stopped him. The hand released his hair and fell away as several other hot sensations bloomed in his chest. The man turned and started walking away, as Magnus realized the truth. Oh fuck. He stabbed me. He stabbed me a lot.

It all happened so fast. The whole confrontation couldn't have taken more than a pair of seconds. It wasn't like that in the movies. For some reason, all he could think about was, Why wasn't it more like in the movies? Magnus' body hit the floor, blood rapidly pooling under him, his eyes staring up at the ceiling.

The last few moments of his life, he felt someone scooping his shoulders off the ground. Someone yelling in his face. But everything was so numb, so hard to make out. "K-Kens? I don't—"

Kensington screamed his rage to the ceiling as his best friend died in his arms. The security team behind him swept the area as the impotent rage washed over him.


Dimensional Site-04, July 18, 20██

O5-2 sat at a desk with the open file in front of her. Across from her desk sat another member of the O5 council, and Dr. Kensington. He hadn't yet washed the blood off his hands from the attack on Site-19 last night. "Gentlemen. We've accomplished the goal we set out to do last fall. Now all we needed was a willing subject to—"

"I have one." Kensington looked up at O5-2, his eyes clear, and bright with the pain and anger of the past 24 hours. "I have a body you can use. And an event, too. Something strong, and clear to latch on to."

O5-2 steepled her fingers again, leaning forward, "Do tell, Jacob." O5-6 turned his head, the vague black haze around his head from the persona obscurer tracking the movement and compensating.

"Michael Magnus. He was killed in the Site-19 incident last night. It gives us causality, a traumatic event, and a sufficient causal link to shift causality away from the Senior Staff." Dr. Kensington tried not to let his voice shake. Medical science was a hell of a thing, but it had been far, far too late to save Michael's life.

If they hurried, they could redirect the entire fact that he died away from reality, though. If they timed it right, they could give him a second chance. O5-6's voice came out a warbly mix of several voices, "So, if I'm reading this all right, we're going to knowingly bend reality so that we can turn our research staff in to anomalies? Is that about right? And we would use this…Dr. Magnus' body and death to do so?"

O5-2 nodded. "We would have. Why, did you have issue with the council's vote?" She looked across at the man in the chair, directly through the haze. They held eyes for several seconds, before he looked away, and stood.

"No. You know how I voted. Sorry about it, 2. But that's how it goes." O5-6 walked to the door out of O5-2's office, and punched in a six digit code, opening the door, and stepping through in the reality anchored location in Site-26.

"Alright then, Dr. Kensington. Have the remains brought here. We'll proceed at midnight tomorrow, if that's amenable to you?" Kensington hesitated for a moment, then nodded, and followed the same exit as O5-6, his eyes set and determined. Fuck the council. He was getting his best friend back.

She paused for a moment, her chin resting on interlaced fingers then smiled. She opened her desk drawer, and reached forward pressing the button on her phone, "Sal, come in for a moment?"

The door in front of her opened, and her assistant walked in, reading off of a ledger, "The memetic has been distributed. All mentions of Dr." His mouth moved, but no sound came out " have been removed from this reality. Are we sure that using this memetic agent is a good id—"

She held up a hand to silence him. "Begin Directive: Legends at once. We need to get this done before the other council members catch wind of this." She looked back down and started to jot notes on the file. The large block red letters of "REJECTED BY O5 COUNCIL VOTE" stood out starkly from the case file.


Dimensional Site-04, July 19, 20██ , 11:50 PM

The blacksite depths of Dimension Site 4 were hardly a pleasant place. Cold concrete surrounded the assembled group, flickering purple fractals manifesting in the corners of the room, aftereffects of the process holding Site 4 in dimensional suspension.

The only way to access the deeper levels of the site were with the direct accompaniment of an overseer. Kensginton's access card stopped working after the third basement. Six levels, and four elevators later, the concrete rectangle that contained the work of the past day stood starkly illuminated by floor lamps and industrial lighting.

A rough hewn altar, with chiseled bismuth crystals in the crude shape of a bowl, the lattice of crystals barely supporting the weight of the black bodybag inside it stood in the center of the room. Around it stood O5-2, Dr. Kensington, Sal, several medical assistants, and a man of indeterminate race, and very tired eyes. "Want me to shore up the altar a bit?"

She shook her head, "No. This is exactly how it was supposed to be according to the design." She took a step forward, and placed a hand on the bodybag in front of her. "You know what you're going to do right?"

He shifted uncomfortably, and the room heated up a fraction of a degree. The tie of his suit changed color from red to blue. "Yes. We're going to bend the area around this…thing, until it functions, right?" He took a step forward, and placed his hand on the body bag as well. "This is…an ugly ugly thing you're asking Mel—"

She looked over with a severe glare, "Don't you dare. And I know what I'm asking of you. You owe me."

Dr. Kensington's eyes were locked on the bag in front of him. This would work. He'd have his idiot friend back, and O5-2 would get her reality deference matrix. He clicked the pen in his hand a few times out of nerves, and looked up at O5-2. "Can we get on with this."

"Get out, Kensington. I'll let you know what happens" He started to protest, and she cut him off with a gesture, "I wasn't asking." Dr. Kensington looked at her with smoldering eyes, and stalked out of the room. She nodded, and looked over at the man next to her, "Whenever you're ready Ch—" He held up a hand, closing his eyes.

"Since you're insisting on titles, at least call me 343. And after this, we're even. This is…wrong. You don't even know what this might—" She turned away from him, and nodded her head. "Alright. Fine."

He held his hands out, concentrating on whatever enigmatic turn of fate allowed him to do what he did, and the temperature of the room rose. Several minutes passed, as sweat beaded on the rapidly reddening face of the nondescript man, the air taking on a faint metallic tang. His fingernails cracked as several minutes more passed, before the crude altar in front of them started to shake, and rattle. His voice croaked out, strained, "Now's the time, if you—"

O5-2 took a step forward, and slapped the body bag, and in a confident voice intoned, "Death was too good for you, idiot. It never happened." Everything around O5-2 slowed down, and a faint crackling sound could be heard, followed by a roaring. Her senses were overwhelmed, as her vision faded to white…then black…then slowly back to normal.

As the screams faded away, Michael Magnus lay on the floor gasping, the skeletal remains in the bowl of the altar glowing a faint purple.

"Where…what…I don't….?" Magnus' words were slurred. "I don't…I was dead, how am I here?! I didn't…oh my fucking god—" he ripped open his shirt, looking down at his chest. The stab wounds were just…not there. No scar, no line, nothing. "I don't understand."

O5-2 took two long steps to stand in front of Magnus, "Oh Michael. Don't you know, legends never die?" He looked up at her with wary eyes, as she gestured to several medical staff present. "Get him cleaned up, and back to Site-19. He has work to do."

Sal took a step forward, standing next to O5-2, "The design specifies that the effect will get stronger with subsequent breaches of the causality. Are we going to—"

She smirked, and turned to head back to her office, "Don't worry Sal. Michael has quite a few "fieldwork" missions planned for the future."


Dimensional Site-04-a (provisional designation), July 19, 20██ , 11:59 Pm

Dr. Kensington's eyes were locked on the bag in front of him. This would work. He'd have his idiot friend back, and O5-2 would get her reality deference matrix. He clicked the pen in his hand a few times out of nerves, and looked up at O5-2. "Can we get on with this."

"Get out, Kensington. I'll let you know what happens" He took two steps forward, and squared his jaw. "With all due respect, ma'am, fuck off."

She smiled faintly, then nodded, and looked over at the man next to her, "Whenever you're ready Ch—" He held up a hand, closing his eyes.

"Since you're insisting on titles, at least call me 343. And after this, we're even. This is…wrong. You don't even know what this might—" She turned away from him, and nodded her head. "Alright. Fine."

He held his hands out, concentrating on whatever enigmatic turn of fate allowed him to do what he did, and the temperature of the room rose. Several minutes passed, as sweat beaded on the face of the reality bending man, the air taking on a faint metallic tang. His lips cracked as several minutes more passed, before the crude altar in front of them started to shake, and rattle. His voice croaked out, strained, "Now's the moment, if you—"

O5-2 took a step forward, and slapped the body bag, and in a confident voice intoned, "I've worked too hard to put this much faith in this idiot, now get the hell up!." Everything around O5-2 slowed down, and a faint crackling sound could be heard, followed by a shattering sound. Her senses were overwhelmed, as her vision faded to white…then black…then slowly back to normal.

SCP-343 looked over at O5-2, "I'm sorry, I don't know what you were expecting, but that's all." He had returned to his usual appearance, all traces of strain gone from his features. "I'm heading back to containment now." With no warning, he simply vanished without ceremony.

She looked over at Kensington, and frowned. "Well, that's all?"

His eyes fell to the floor, gritting his teeth. God dammit. It was supposed to work, everything in the notes indicated… Fuck it. At least I tried. Rest in peace you old asshole. "I guess that's all." He turned, and stalked out of the room, heading back towards the dimensional entrance to Site-19.

A few minutes of strained silence passed. At least there's no one to deal with from the council this way… She thought to herself. From the corner, Sal's tablet started to beep. "Ma'am, we have reports of Hume levels are spiking off the charts. Something's happening." His phone rang in his pocket, and he lifted it to his ear. Several tense moments passed in silence. "We've got a confirmed anomaly in Montana. The agents responding report…dogs. Lots, and lots of dogs, and some kind of entity leading them."

O5-2 chewed her lip for a moment, eyes darting from the altar in front of her to Sal. "That's just a coincidence."

Sal looked at her sideline. "Yes. Because there's so many coincidences in this world, right?" She made a vague dismissive motion, and turned to walk towards her office. "Get me the head of the containment team." She took one final look at the burnt body bag and the skeletal remains that were all that was left of Michael Magnus. "Keep a survey team around the remains. If there is a correlation…we…" She paused. "Sal, I don't even know. Just keep a team in place."

He watched her leave the barely lit basement room, and looked down at the tablet in his hand. The steady stream of messages was coming in regarding Montana. He shrugged, and called in for the containment team, his back turned towards the altar, and the faint purple light present on the flickering nick in the third rib.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License