| About the Algeciras Accords |
|---|
| Byㅤ |
| Published on 03 Aug 2026 10:01 |
| About the Algeciras Accords |
|---|
| Byㅤ |
| Published on 03 Aug 2026 10:01 |
A war dies down.
THE PRELUDE
A war dies down. New boots move to the halls of power, both the ones in the sun and the ones under the darkness of the Veil. Somewhere else, thirty-eight men, women and others escape on a ship bought out by a paramilitary global conspiracy, leaving their country forever. People looking for a better present in neighboring countries are bombed from above, and die an ignominious death in the path of tears. Under Zaragoza runs a newly minted train of molded flesh.
THE WHERE
There’s a building in the sleepy city of Cadiz, amongst the walls of the original town, overlooking the never calm waters of the bay where the ancient Mediterranean meets the primordial Atlantic. In its basement, a Marinid sultan once dreamt for ten years. The ceiling once caved in due to a well-placed cannonball fired by Francis Drake. It was the birthplace of an infant that was supposed to be the next coming of the Messiah, yet she died from an acute case of streptococcal pharyngitis three days after being born.
What was in the times of yore a white building is now a gray ruin. It will be a part of history once again.
Under it, a vault, built by clockmakers under orders of King Philip the Second, filled with crosses, rosaries, garlic and incense. Six exorcists, blessed in blood and mind filled with static, chant prayers taken from apocryphal texts for protection, lest a red bomb blows the structure away for a last time.
THE WHEN
The day is the 24th of September of 1953. It is the day of the timely conclusion to a process years in the making. The day before, three agreements had been signed elsewhere. A month prior, a pope had stamped his middle ring on a piece of old parchment. And today would be the day these pacts saw their first immediate consequence.
THE WHO
The world is filled with different natured people. There are, of course, good people, who help you when you need it, and give time for a good cause, who are starry-eyed and have inmaculate hands. Yet none of the bastards that grace these rooms with their presence fall into that category.
Ruprecht Carter, a herald of Mammon himself, walks on shoes made by slaves of slaves and financed by gold plundered by old Leopold himself. True to the predictable tenets of the system he has helped build, and now worships in an altar he bought and resold himself, he’s here to witness the opening of a new market. He and his company have funded this meeting with bribes. However, in this table he is forced to hide his vested interest behind a mask of polite etiquette. There are other sharks in these waters and eagerness is punished by a colossal financial loss.
General Mulhausen has bloodshot eyes, mirroring the red that he spilled on the shores of the Tajo, the jungles of Indochina and the Antarctic SCP Foundation blacksites. His once mighty frame has been brought low by bureaucracy, but has a somber faced apprentice at its side who watches and learns. He is here to represent another private sector that wishes to barge in. His screams and growls are made in honor of safekeeping, controlling and preserving the anomalies of the country and its inhabitants.
The somber faced apprentice doesn’t have anything to say, and won’t for a while. His status as a young Factotum of the shadowed thirteen-headed hydra makes him perfectly fit for observing these events and earning a promotion in the future to secure the hard earned place of the Foundation in the dry Spanish landscape.
D.C Al Fine is the most powerful woman in the world. She has a face that has made many people lose hours of sleep. She wears it with pride and changes it often. It’s the face of the Global Occult Coalition, witness to uncounted silenced wars. Her bird-named cruelty hasn’t been fully unleashed, but it will be, in due time. Her eyes betray her hate for the fact that she isn’t fully in control of the situation, at the whims of the decision of the Council of a Hundred and Eight, the rulings of the UN and the backwards thoughts of the Security Commission. If she wasn't legally bound, she would waltz to Madrid and erase a certain dictator with a high-pitched voice from existence, but the geopolitical stage and its myriad of pieces forces her to conform to the parameters of the meeting.
Four-star General Stanley Bowe is, arguably, the greatest beneficiary of the event. He’s used to seeing star spangled banners rise over every place he has stepped on, and the skin of the bull shall be no exception. He is in an oppressed land to represent the interests of a self-proclaimed land of the free. A three lettered president has vested power in him and he is backed by burly men in uniforms and cocked guns who are afraid of the power rising in the east.
Presiding is the General Inquisitor of the Special Security Commission, Andrés de Torquemada. He’s always been perfectly aware of the significance and weight of his name and station, and he has shown it off by being the best at ordering executions. He wears the most expensive uniform of the room, decorated with golden epaulettes and medals made from the teeth of purple-eyed children. His white-gloved hands are always clean, even when he supervises the garrotting of suspected GRU-P spies or the prisons where dissidents are starved to death or the weekly exorcism of the daughter of the supreme leader. He is the lord of this domain, and he relishes on the fact that all the powers of the anomalous world have come at his doorstep to ask for permission of entry.
THE HOW
Sweat was poured over well-worded letters by tidy secretaries. Polite discussions and rough arguments were had in the halls dedicated to paranatural law, Site-01 and the Escorial Monastery. Exactly 47 stamps were issued, for it is a number of deliberate occult insignificance. An assassination was performed in the streets of Toulouse, ending a long standing blood pact between the Bavarian Illuminati and the Spanish branch of the house of Hapsburg. And spies from the Soviet Republics were rounded and brought to different locations where they would be executed.
The culmination was a six hour conference held in the aforementioned ruinous building in Cadiz, attended by the afforementioned dramatis personae of war criminals.
THE WHY
The distant dream of normalcy has been a presence ever since men decided that they wanted to have states and authority. The Romans had their Praetoria and Tiburtine Sybils. The Tang dynasty had their instructions to deal with gods and celestial signs from the heavens sealed within bamboo scrolls. A Khmer chakravarti built cells out of rock inscribed with enchantments to keep a menagerie of captured monsters. The Italian priests of the Middle Ages dutifully classified the works of the devil following Thomas Aquinas’ model and sent fearmongering militant knights to kill and imprison whatever they found in their travels.
The Iberian Peninsula has a convoluted history with the concept, a forgotten one, only spoken of in whispers. The town criers of yore knew of the Knights of Borja and Aragón, who would burn witches at the stake during the day and make deals with faerie devils during the night. In their sleepless vigils atop the catacombs full of unnatural beings, they sought solace in the fact that they were preparing for the next coming of the Lord. Their centuries long history is drenched in blood, and they were in good company with the other organizations that founded the SCP Foundation. This didn’t stop them from facing ostracism during the civil war and being replaced with the more ignorant and more bellicose Special Security Commission.
But times changed. A new world order emerged: the planet has been split in twain and there’s bits that get left hanging. And it is a struggle between the biggest fishes of the pond to try to get the most out of the juice that the orange is able to give.
The world below the visible follows the same tenets. There is power in the anomalous and PENTAGRAM and the Scarlet Hammer have been created to harness that power and defeat their enemies using it. There will be a silent war, fought in the airwaves, in secret laboratories, in the back alleys of anomalous enclaves. Sleeper agents with psionically implanted activation phrases will attempt to murder world leaders, isotopes of higher dimensionality will serve to develop nuclear weapons and deep space will be conquered using rockets powered by ghosts. There are many truths to war, and one of them is the eternal search for an edge on the enemy.
Spain represents the last of the fascist status quo in the western Europe of the 1940s. A unique position that doesn’t move them closer to either side. Yet the hate of the red menace is a strong motor and the new world has masterfully used it to lure the country to its side. And with mundane access to the wonders of a non-autharchy economy, also comes the opening of the anomalous underground to new forces.
THE WHAT
Three hundred pages of parchment filled stipulations and bylaws and careful measuring of egos and national pride. There are five empty spaces at the last paper of the book, and it is hungry for names.
It will seal the fate of the abnormal in the right side of the Iberian Peninsula. Everyone gets a cut. Carter and his company get new products to sell: scented andalusian perfumes that cause hallucinations, surrealist paintings that scream and move on their own and bull seed with demonstrably aphrodisiac properties. Mulhausen and the mouse under his wing get back the rightful ownership of the facilities the Foundation was forced to abandon during the Spanish Civil War and free reign to assist the Commission in enforcing normalcy. The GOC gets another organisation to add into their purview, extending their global hegemony over a new territory. The PENTAGRAM gets new five military bases to operate from and the guarantee that all scent of redness will be punished with McCarthyan cruelty. And the Special Security Commission will have its due: the "Spanish question" gets ultimately handwaved away from the discussion halls of the United Nations, their fanaticism gets justified in the grand global politics stage and their persecution of anomalous phenomena gets more manpower and funding.
There is no hesitation in the hands of the four men and one woman. They wield their quills and sign their names.
THE EPILOGUE
There is a slight change in the status quo. It signifies a broadening of horizons and new gold and blood to fuel the machine that is the Veil. For twenty-three years, the stranglehold officialized in this forgotten building of this ruinous city will hold. And then it will change, as all things do.
In the present day, emboldened, five tricorn-wearing brutes clad in grey charge through the Barcelona underground passing through an invisible threshold and screaming as they fall to the void of an upside down city under their feet. The new director of a Foundation site plots in the dark, moving chess pieces in his mind. A caprine god is felled by an unholy machine. sixty-eight US navy soldiers are drowned by a mythical being in the Mediterranean.
And the wheel of history rolls on.