End of the Lonely Wanderer

Translator's Note: This is an alternative interpretation of the events in SCP-6500 and contains mostly anomalies from the German language area.

rating: -8+x

The sun was high in the sky. Beneath it he walked, with another document about himself. He had never had a real friend. Everything about him he had to find: Files, human in orange overalls. But these did not stay. Suddenly he felt something. It was only a slight pain, but a resident one. A friend? At least something that stayed.
Slowly the sun set. The pain grew stronger and stronger. He stopped and looked around. "Did someone mention me?" He thought nothing of it and was about to move on, but again he heard someone say his name. He turned around and saw a well-dressed middle-aged man. He sat down on the floor next to him and immediately took out a pack of cigarettes. The man offered him one, but he refused. Then the man put his hand on his shoulder and just looked at him. Finally, a knowing person who would stay with him and not immediately run away when he saw his jet-black fibrous body.

The sun has set. All that remains of him are shredded rags and a document. Next to it, a still-smouldering cigarette. The lonely wanderer has finally found peace.

Meanwhile, a man in an orange jumpsuit reads a similar document aloud. He is alone in the room. In front of him a desk with a lamp and on the ceiling a camera. Outside the room, people in white lab coats stood watching with expectant eyes. But nothing happened. Then a scientist broke the silence: "That's enough. It must appear and if not, then…" He didn't want to finish saying it because he didn't believe it himself. "Send a team out. Tell them to find it."

Three days later, the results came: Magic began to fade, fantasies to fade. The scientist didn't quite know what to think about it. Something was killing it and he had to find out what. Later, that same day, came the next blow. The Sun Patron had died. Investigations had to be made and soon they found the Source. The only question is: Who will it hit next?…

Moo feels a similar pain, but she ignores it. Yes, she almost enjoys it. 1100 years and no sign of improvement in her bloodthirsty form. But now, she feels again the long-desired humanness, which is only reflected in her vis-a-vis. A man dressed in a white coat sits at the table with her. They have reserved it just to enjoy it together.

She takes a sip of wine and asks, "Was it worth it?" "What do you mean?" he asks. "Do countless civilisations have to crumble for people like us to get our wishes fulfilled?" She seems dismayed by that fact, but tries to mask it with her expression. "There are things that are out of our hands," he says placatingly, "but you have to live in the moment." They both toast, drink, and kiss witheringly into eternity.

They all, whether lost or cursed, found their peace. Even the last of his kind was granted a request, although he did not understand the meaning and reason. He found himself in another place, surrounded by the clearest waters, the most magnificent corals and fish. But all beauty was not enough, which is why he swam; always in one direction. Neither hunger nor thirst might dissuade him from his goal.

A beach; palm trees cover the sandy clearing in front of an eternally long sea. She has been waiting for her partner to return for a long time, but she was also aware of the fact that you just can't change things. Then, a fin sticking out of the sea, her friend appears. She runs towards it, incredulous at the sight. She clutches his dorsal fin and they both swim off into the sunset.

It's late, dinner has been served.

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