SCP-8556

| CONNECTION ESTABLISHED |

3985-JW: i wonder if the new secure transmission lines are finished yet
8596-KR: Maybe but dont count on it
8596-KR: No one is going to see this, unless they go searching
8596-KR: Don't give them a reason to
3985-JW: ominous
8596-KR: Im just saying youd be surprised how much stuff gets overlooked around here
3985-JW: i'm aware. i got overlooked, didn't i?
8596-KR: That is true
3985-JW: is it catalogued?
8596-KR: Somewhat
3985-JW: what does that mean?
3985-JW: send me the doc
8596-KR: Are you sure you want to go about it this way?
8596-KR: There are safer ways to dig through metaphysic department’s dirty laundry
3985-JW: you were the one hyping this thing up
3985-JW: departments always go frantic with new arrivals, and there's no better opportunity to get a foot in the door than when it's already open
3985-JW: just show me the doc

8596-KR: sftp 8596-KR@3985-JW

SCP-[PENDING]

[PENDING REVIEW][SEE I-483, SECT. 6]
Item #: SCP-[PENDING]

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-[PENDING] is to be kept in a safe-class soundproofed item containment locker at Site-89, Containment Lot 6-B, only removed for preliminary research testing.

Any usage or testing involving SCP-[PENDING] requires Metaphysical Department clearance or direct prewritten approval from Site-89 Director Amir Mendoza.

Description: SCP-[PENDING] is an Electronika-508 Video model reel-tape recorder, developed by the Soviet Ministry of Electronic Industry. SCP-[PENDING]’s physical properties align with reel-to-reel recorders of a similar make, both in appearance and functionality. The play button is replaced with a misprinted inverted triangle enclosed within a circle, presumed to be a production mistake.

When used to play a compatible tape recording, SCP-[PENDING] generates an anomalous effect within a 15m radius. To observers both within and outside the radius, the nature of reality within said radius appears altered, including spatial distortions, sensory stimulation, and the creation, transmutation and disappearance of matter, sound and light waves. Tapes originally recorded with little to no audio seem to produce no measurable effect. Further testing is required to determine whether SCP-[PENDING] alters reality or merely the perception of affected observers, as well as the extent of these alterations.

3985-JW: early draft…
3985-JW: no designation?
8596-KR: Hasnt been officially processed
8596-KR: Was supposed to go in thursday but it hasnt
3985-JW: interesting
3985-JW: why?
8596-KR: It's getting buried under red tape
8596-KR: Fund appropriation, containment lot delegation, anomaly recognition procedures
8596-KR: Even the fucking ethics committee which doesnt make any sense
8596-KR: This thing’s euclid at best
8596-KR: Probably doesnt even warrant a skip number but it's getting stopped at every hurdle anyway
3985-JW: honestly, i like the sound of that
3985-JW: tells me that someone is fucking up
3985-JW: i wonder if we can widen this crack a bit
3985-JW: you got to see it come in, right?
8596-KR: I did
8596-KR: Everything was bog standard
8596-KR: Save for all this administrative crap gunking up the works
3985-JW: probably not a recovery issue then
3985-JW: who wrote up the doc?
8596-KR: Horstman
3985-JW: but he's in psych department
3985-JW: humanoids
8596-KR: I found it weird too
8596-KR: Him and Kovtun are all over this
3985-JW: kovtun?
3985-JW: there's a crack right there
3985-JW: he has been overstepping a lot
8596-KR: Gunning for his job?
3985-JW: haha
3985-JW: more like his recommendation
3985-JW: he's not nearly as savvy as everyone thinks, but a word or two from him could bump me up a sector
3985-JW: if he's got dirt in this…
8596-KR: Even if he does, savvy or not, he knows how to hide his tracks
8596-KR: I would know
3985-JW: i still feel bad about that
8596-KR: Wasnt your fault
3985-JW: is there anything on its recovery?
3985-JW: that usually gets included on the main doc
8596-KR: Nope
8596-KR: Its all been scrubbed, black boxed to high heaven
8596-KR: Level 4 clearance
3985-JW: jesus
3985-JW: must've been something big
8596-KR: Only thing I could get out of it was some place in russia
8596-KR: Nizhegorodskaya
8596-KR: Beyond that, the rumor going around is that it apparently racked up a few bodies
3985-JW: causalities?
8596-KR: Id wager so
8596-KR: Maybe even one or two of ours
3985-JW: that's huge
3985-JW: we could really do something if we had the number
3985-JW: can't completely cover up an incident like that, even with amnestics
3985-JW: one little death count leak means an open chair upstairs
8596-KR: I will keep digging but no promises
3985-JW: just be careful
3985-JW: you know i can't back you up if something happens
8596-KR: Im not the one you should be worried about
8596-KR: I'll keep looking
8596-KR: It's a lot of mess to sort through, though
8596-KR: Dont get your

| CONNECTION LOST |

| WARNING!
|
|Error Window@@
|Error: Corrupted background structure
|
|C: \RM06>RUNCOBOL
|DOS/4G error (2001): exception 0Dh (general protection fault) at 24F : 000046BB
| TSF32: prev_tsf32 6CAC
| SS 26F DS 28F ES 26F FS
| EAX 1F8A EBX 120 ECX 3 EDX 72B2
| CR0: unavailable
| {21-25}{21-4CDOS/4G deintializing
|… deinitializing LINEXE_LOADER
|… deinitializing D32_INT31
|… deinitializing int31 package
|

|… reconnecting

| CONNECTION REESTABLISHED |

3985-JW: what just happened?
3985-JW: you there?
ERROR: Still here.
3985-JW: everything shutdown for minute
3985-JW: like a lockdown or something
ERROR: Something like that. Maybe something shocked the system.
3985-JW: mess up on your end too?
3985-JW: you're coming in as an error
ERROR: I had to circumvent a few things here and there. Persuade a few backdoor advisory procedures to see things my way.
ERROR: It wasn't pretty.
3985-JW: shit
3985-JW: were you noticed?
ERROR: Of course not. Security would be at your door by now if I was. It's just you and me.
3985-JW: not that i don't believe you, but we should cut the connection
3985-JW: just in case
ERROR: No.
ERROR: You wanted this. You wanted a leg up. Be a little brave.
ERROR: Or stay stuck in your tiny utility room of an office. All those packages flying through the pneumatic tubes over your head to people more important than you. Must be quite the view.
3985-JW: alright I get it
3985-JW: dick
ERROR: We all need a little encouragement.
3985-JW: i don't
3985-JW: so what?
3985-JW: you have something else?
ERROR: I do.

ERROR: run /path/local_storage

Testing Log 8556-01

---

Research Lead: Dr. Dmytro Kovtun
Parameters: Tests performed in Testing Chamber-47B. Prepared tapes manually inserted. Standard set up:

• One (1) table
• Two (2) KIP Emitters
• One (1) single-photon detector (SPD)
• One (1) Geiger counter

---

Test 8556-01-01
Date: 09/19/1994
Notes: A taped recording of a dog barking is inserted into SCP-8556
Results: Ten seconds into the recording, several researchers present began sneezing and coughing uncontrollably. Others unaffected noted each convulsive expulsion was on tempo with the barks of the recording. Any attempt at intervention was ineffective. At the tape's conclusion, all affected researchers were able to regain composure without difficulty. Impromptu medical examinations revealed no discrepancies or afflictions.

Test 8556-01-02
Date: 09/19/1994
Notes: A taped recording of Edvard Grieg's "Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Op. 46: I. Morning Mood," performed by the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra. Researchers moved to further remote surveillance room
Results: Twenty-one seconds into the recording, the table SCP-8556 was placed on spontaneously combusted. The fire suppression system failed to respond as instruments detected no smoke or change in temperature. The sun doesn't rise. We turn. Researchers noted the presence of a smell similar to ethanethiol. Amounts of ethanethiol were not detected. At the tape's conclusion, the fire died out without intervention. The chamber and SCP-8556 were left undamaged, but the table was in a state of heavy disrepair with its metal components in various stages of corrosion.

Comments: Horstman's hunch might have been correct. Measurable damage is hard to refute as a perception anomaly.

Test 8556-01-03
Date: 09/19/1994
Notes: A taped recording of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky's "Capriccio Italien, Op.45," performed by the New York Philharmonic. Table replaced
Results: Fourteen seconds into the recording, researchers present in surveillance room reported senses of "longing" and "nostalgia," but none could explain what these feelings were in reference to. At twenty seconds, an aerosol akin to fog, originating from SCP-8556, flooded the testing chamber, heavily limiting visibility. Instruments detected no moisture or airborne particulates. Throughout the recording's duration, researchers described obscured silhouettes and lights within the chamber. Candle dancers march the trail to the burning man. Video playback shows reported lights but no presence of silhouettes. At tape's conclusion, the aerosol dissipates, restoring visibility. A decapitated lamb's head is discovered within the chamber, and follow-up tests reveal no anomalous properties.

Comments: Researchers still seem to be affected, despite being outside the approximate radius of effect. Let’s try reviewing the audio playback of each test instead of a live feed.

Test 8556-01-04
Date: 09/19/1994
Notes: A taped recording of John F. Kennedy's "Cuban Missile Crisis Address," October 22, 1962. Live audio disconnected.
Results: Fifty-seven seconds into the recording, SCP-8556's audio playback abruptly cuts. All of the original audio of the former president's address is seemingly replaced with silence, except for the words "missile," "nuclear," "armament," and "defiance." Upon closer inspection, sounds of breathing and faint unintelligible voices are also heard on the recording. The world listened but heard very little. No other anomalous activity confirmed. Tape is examined posttest, and playback reveals recording reverted to original audio. No alterations detected.

Comments: Researchers unaffected. Earlier hypothesis might be holding up. Let's stick with music, though. Seems to provide more significant results.

Test 8556-01-05
Date: 09/19/1994
Notes: A taped recording of Nat King Cole's "Mona Lisa"
Results: [DATA EXPUNGED] [PENDING INVESTIGATION]
Comments: [DATA EXPUNGED] [PENDING INVESTIGATION]

3985-JW: wait
3985-JW: but you said it wasn't fully processed yet
3985-JW: there shouldn't be a testing log
ERRIR: There is now.
ERRIR: That hiccup in the system seemed to open the door a little. Let a few unintended things through.
3985-JW: it has a number now…
3985-JW: why?
3985-JW: wait, these happened today
ERRIR: Over the last couple of hours or so, actually.
ERRIR: But again, nothing is officially processed.
3985-JW: you can't start testing if processing isn't finished
3985-JW: that's basic protocol
3985-JW: no process no number. no number no anything, especially tests
3985-JW: this is incredibly sloppy
ERRIR: I agree. Intentional?
3985-JW: you think so?
3985-JW: i mean maybe
3985-JW: you mentioned ethics before
3985-JW: mendoza could be trying to rush it, bypass the committee
3985-JW: but he's not the careless type
3985-JW: and why is the committee even involved?
3985-JW: i still can't wrap my head around horstman either. it's not his department
3985-JW: this thing might be bigger than we thought
ERRIR: Or they thought it was something smaller. Seems to me like the department is struggling.
3985-JW: and that last test
3985-JW: i've never seen results blatantly pulled off of a log like that, especially the day of
3985-JW: something crazy must've happened
3985-JW: hell, might even be behind that system crash
ERRIR: Well, the new bodies haven't been processed yet either. Could be gunking up the works a little. Internal Affairs got called in and everything.
3985-JW: what
ERRIR: I'll get you the interview with Birch later on, when they're done with her. She saw more than me, but I can go into what I know, if you'd prefer.
3985-JW: what are you talking about?
ERRIR: The test.
ERRIR: They put on a rather contemplative song. Mona Lisa, men have named you. Why do you smile? What is hidden behind that mystic smile? Isn't the answer obvious?
TRRIR: Teeth.
TRRIR: There are teeth behind every smile. Teeth like to chew. Mouths like to eat. Teeth dance and mouths purse the exhaust of ego. And what does the ego eat when it can't find a mirror? Well, it bites itself. It feeds on the hunger that squirms on the inside.
TRRIR: A hunger like stray hounds, ravaging gray hills and valleys. Digging up broken coffins and memories rotten. Tearing open the expanse of bioelectric self. A hunger so hungry it can't even comprehend the concept of the feeling.
TRRIR: These hills have no grass. These cliffs have no stone. The sky is made of bone, and the pillars of the earth are spine and rib. And once you see the house of bone, its cracks brittle and its mortar stiff, how easy it is to break it down and let the hunger free.
TRRIR: Something happened, by the way. To your coworker from the third floor who you couldn't back up. Kieran, right?
TRRIR: Collateral. The hounds wanted a taste of something real.
TRRIR: But I'm losing myself here. Teeth chattered too much chit. Haven't lost your appetite, have you? I have more to share.
3985-JW: who is this?

TRRIR: run /path/local_storage/

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING FILE IS LEVEL 4/8556 CLASSIFIED

---

ANY ATTEMPT TO ACCESS THIS FILE WITHOUT LEVEL 4/8556 AUTHORIZATION WILL BE LOGGED AND WILL LEAD TO IMMEDIATE DISCIPLINARY ACTION.

Nizhny Novgorod Region, Museum of Old Equipment and Tools Entrance, timestamp 00:47

Incident 8556-A Video Log Transcript

---

Date: September 9, 1994 16:32

Response Team: AR Gamma-4 "Alkonost"

• Alkonost-1: Senior Agent Minkin Romanov (TEAM LEAD)
• Alkonost-2: Field Agent Mitchell Whittaker
• Alkonost-3: Field Agent Lorraine Melbourne

Subject: Anomaly Response and Containment

---

[BEGIN LOG]

Romanov: Time is sixteen-hundred hours, thirty minutes. An effective quarantine perimeter has been successfully established. Clear to enter?

Command: Copy, Alkonost-1. All clear.

Romanov: Melbourne, Whittaker, we're green.

Whittaker: Mel, the containment gear. Don't forget the KIP Emitter.

Melbourne: I've got it. I swear this shit gets heavier every time.

[Agents proceed into museum facility. They enter through the main entrance, which siphons inward towards a singular corridor. Hanging signs and posters, translated from Russian, tell of an Electronic Ministry showcase, as well as select Rocket Forces and Energy & Development exhibits.]

Romanov: Alright, we’ll sweep through the first floor and the main exhibits. The calls coming in reported hysteria with an unclear source. Possible casualties and fire damage.

[Agent Romanov motions towards the corridor as he walks, and the other agents follow his direction. A Soviet mural is plastered overhead, partially painted over and surrounded by scaffolding.]

Melbourne: Talk about bad timing. That’ll probably take awhile to finish.

Whittaker: Are we even thinking it’s an anomaly? Could have just been some freak attack. Arson or something.

Romanov: Could be, but the team at 47-RA is telling us otherwise.

Melbourne: Don’t act like they don’t pull the alarm for the smallest of things. Hell, I still remember the time they called us in because some drunk college kid caused a traffic jam.

Romanov: Command is telling us this is the real deal, and I’m inclined to believe them. Something lit up all the instruments.

Melbourne: Those detectors will beep at anything. They’ll beep because it happens to be cloudy or something.

Romanov: I don’t know the specifics. I just know they picked up something substantial and that it’s enough for us to be here. You still got paid for that drunk college kid, remember?

Whittaker: Well, what exactly — Hold on, we’ve got a body.

[Moving through the entrance corridor, agents encounter a corpse. It lies collapsed against the wall. Scratches and scorch marks trail up the floor towards it.]

Melbourne: Oh my God. Poor fucker.

[Agent Melbourne crouches beside the corpse. Its face and chest have suffered third to fourth degree burns, exposing bone and charred muscle, and its eyes and mouth faintly glow with pulpy embers. Rigor mortis forces its arms to be outstretched upwards.]

Romanov: Command, we’ve got a casualty. Caucasian male, appears to be somewhere in his thirties. He’s got heavy burns, down to the bone. Might have been a struggle, but we’re not seeing anything that might have caused these injuries.

Command: Copy that, Alkonost-1.

Melbourne: Look at their eyes. They're like coals.

Whittaker: It's like they've been burnt from the inside out.

Melbourne: Spontaneous combustion?

Romanov: Our job isn't conjecture. Just mark them off for recovery.

Melbourne: I'm allowed to ponder, Roman.

[Agent Whittaker approaches, adhering a recovery tag to the corpse.]

Whittaker: You'd think they'd have their hands over their face or something, where they were burned.

Melbourne: I'm thinking maybe they were too preoccupied with dying to worry about how presentable they'd look.

Whittaker: No, I just mean it looks like they were reaching out towards something.

Melbourne: To what, Mr. Forensics?

Whittaker: I don't fucking know. I'm just saying that's what it looks like.

Romanov: Cut the chatter, you two. Form up and keep moving.

Whittaker: Mel, the emitter.

Melbourne: I've got it, I've got it. I set it down for one second.

[Agents continue through entrance corridor. Similar environmental damage is encountered. Scratches and scorch marks are spread throughout, while minor construction equipment litters the floor.]

Melbourne: You think civvies did all this?

Whittaker: I mean, people panic. It wouldn’t surprise me.

Melbourne: Shit, what were they running from?

Whittaker: Hopefully just an asshole with a thing of gas and a lighter. At least you can shoot assholes.

Melbourne: I’m starting to think we won’t be so lucky.

[Agents approach entrance to main exhibition hall, at which an unknown source of music from within is recorded. Song confirmed to be "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes" by the Platters.]

Whittaker: Wait, I think I hear someone.

Romanov: Stack up on entryway. Command, possible civilian targets.

Command: Copy. Hold position.

Romanov: Holding.

Melbourne: I recognize this song. Bit of a weird place for it though, Russian and all.

Command: Alkonost-1, confirm audio. We're picking up music.

Romanov: Confirmed. Might be the museum intercom, but it sounds too localized.

Melbourne: Could be a radio.

Whittaker: Music?

Romanov: Whittaker?

Whittaker: You don't hear it? The humming?

Melbourne: The what?

Whittaker: There's someone in the room ahead, humming. I think it's an older… woman. It sounds like a woman.

Melbourne: Do you not hear the music? Prerecorded and shit?

[Agent Whittaker shakes his head.]

Romanov: Otvali. Day mne pereryv. Command, advise. We've got a potential auditory cognitohazard.

Command: Hold position.

[Agents hold position. Agent Whittaker displays minor discomfort.]

Melbourne: Keep it together, Mitch.

Romanov: Command?

Command: Alkonost, clear to proceed. Prepare auditory dampeners and follow standard cognito procedure. Confirm and extract civilian targets, if possible, but containing the anomaly remains top priority.

Romanov: Copy.

Whittaker: —on of a bitch.

Romanov: Alright you two, remember Cognito Camp. Instinct comes last. Do not trust the voice in your head.

[Agent Romanov motions forward, and the team enters the exhibition hall. It is a large, spacious room that branches off into several wide corridors. Like the ventricle chambers of a heart. Rows of exhibits crowd the hall, displaying technological artifacts, miniatures, documents, and other historical electronics.]

Romanov: Where do you hear this woman?

[Agent Whittaker points ahead.]

Whittaker: I think in the next room over, past these exhibits. It's faint, but they sound distressed.

Melbourne: Same direction as our music.

[Agents traverse the exhibition hall towards the music source. The hall is in a state of general disarray. Many displays are broken and knocked over. Benches and trash bins are scattered, obstructing intended paths.]

Romanov: People sure got out of here in a hurry. Watch out for broken glass.

Melbourne: Hey Mitch, how did the mantra shit go again? I'm always forgetting the beginning.

Whittaker: Ignore the sights of your eyes and the sounds of your ears. The method of the mind is interpretation.

Melbourne: Oh yeah. That's it.

Whittaker: (to himself) Instinct is the base. The base is buried first. Don't trust the voice in your head.

[Which voice do you trust then?]

Whittaker: Trust is the — What?

Melbourne: Trust is the lock on the door. I remember that part.

Whittaker: No, I…

[Agent Whittaker hesitates.]

Whittaker: Yes, that's right. Lock on the door…

Melbourne: Another thing too. Roman, is it just me, or is this song going on for too long?

Romanov: I wouldn't know. I'm not familiar with it.

Melbourne: Well, I am. It should have ended three choruses ago.

Romanov: Auditory manipulation outstanding, it could just be edited.

Melbourne: I doubt that, auditory manipulation considered.

Romanov: Ah, proklyatiye. This way's blocked. Move right.

[Agents continue to navigate toppled displays until entering an offshoot hall. A fire exit is to the right, and the music source is further on through an open arch on the left-hand side. The song has not ended or changed. Nor will it.]

Last chance, timestamp 12:23

Romanov: Clock that exit.

Whittaker: The humming is right here, around the corner.

Melbourne: So is our music.

Romanov: Alright, stack up. Melbourne, read me the EM.

Melbourne: We're… point seven above normal. Staying pretty steady.

Romanov: Command, hear that? Could be approaching our anomaly.

Command: Copy, Alkonost-1. Clear to proceed.

Romanov: Copy. Okay people. Set dampeners to high. Whittaker, offside.

Whittaker: Sure thing.

Romanov: Alright, move in.

[Agents cross the threshold, entering an isolated exhibit of defunct radio equipment. SCP-8556 is discovered to be the music source, displayed within a glass case among other analogue devices.]

Melbourne: Damn. That's fucking bleak.

[Agents approach SCP-8556. Several corpses surround it, exhibiting similar burns and poses. All are facing SCP-8556. Glass makes a lousy cage.]

Romanov: Command, music source identified. Looks like a tape recorder, probably part of the exhibit. Could be our anomaly. Counting… seven casualties. All similar injuries.

Command: Copy, Alkonost-1. Proceed.

Melbourne: Who even turned this thing on? And why this song?

[Because it has words, Lorraine.]

Whittaker: I wonder if they heard it too…

Romanov: Melbourne, the containment equipment.

Melbourne: On it.

Romanov: Slowly. It might be volatile.

Melbourne: I'm careful. Though I could use a hand.

[Agent Whittaker moves to assist Melbourne. Too late.]

Whittaker: That's… trippy. I swear, it sounds like a woman is standing right there humming. Right where that recorder is.

Melbourne: Hand me the destabilizer.

[Agents Melbourne and Whittaker proceed to establish the containment perimeter, while Agent Romanov patrols the room. He examines the scattered bodies. Wisps of smoke and a faint howling wind escape through their permanently agape mouths. The tape in SCP-8556 continues to play.]

Romanov: (to himself) Inside and out. Were they… singing?

Melbourne: No, not there. That's too far.

Whittaker: But that's what…

Melbourne: Mitch, push it closer.

[Agent Whittaker appears visibly confused.]

Whittaker: Yeah, okay.

Romanov: Command, perimeter's nearly done. EM is… Melbourne?

Melbourne: Still point seven.

Romanov: Still above point seven. I'm thinking we ferry the anomaly out through the fire exit we passed.

Melbourne: No, Mitch. Too close.

Whittaker: What do you mean? You said closer.

Melbourne: Well, now you're too close! The wire cage distance needs to be precise.

Whittaker: I am not the house, Mel! The door is locked!

Melbourne: What?

Whittaker: I’ve done this as many times as you have. It’s right where it needs to be.

Melbourne: Mitch, hold on. You’re not the house?

[Agents Whittaker hesitates to respond. His eyes are watery.]

Whittaker: No, I… What did you say? I can’t hear you.

Romanov: Whittaker?

Whittaker: The — the wire… stomach. I'm…

[Agent Whittaker goes silent. The windows are open, my dear.]

Melbourne: Mitch—

[Surely you realize your heart's on fire. Don't let the house burn down too.]

Whittaker: She's… she's not… I know her.

Romanov: Melbourne, get that kusok der'ma turned on now.

Melbourne: Oh fuck.

[Agent Melbourne scrambles to finish setting up the containment equipment.]

Melbourne: Mitchell, you're trained for this. Don't let it in.

SCP-8556: Oh, I smile and say — when a lovely flame dies — smoke gets in your eyes.

Whittaker: I—I don't…

[Agent Whittaker keels over, head in hands, skull in head, blade in skull.]

Whittaker: The method of the — the mind is… The heart hears the blood…

Command: Alkonost, Station 47-RA is reporting dangerous ionic levels. Is the containment perimeter established?

Romanov: Whittaker? Tell us what's going on.

SCP-8556: Smoke gets in your — eyes!

[Agent Whittaker collapses to his knees, screaming. His eyes immolate. Revelation.]

Melbourne: Jesus Christ! Mitchell!

Whittaker: Trust is the BASE on the floor in the HOUSE THAT — HILLS aside are — RED DOGS DIG OUT THE SOUNDS!

Romanov: Blyat! The emitter, Lorraine! The emitter!

[END LOG]

TYRIR: Someone new.
TYRIR: Nizhegorodskaya. Don't fret over the warning. I took care of it. No one can see us.
TYRIR: Can you hear the music too?
3985-JW: what are you?
TYRIR: Did you even read the classification document? Are you sure all the lights behind your eyes are turned on?
3985-JW: are you going to keep being a vague asshole?
3985-JW: fine, youre the recorder i guess. a fucking voice box
3985-JW: how are you even talking to me?
3985-JW: through the computer
TYRIR: Recording tape to digital circuits is not as large a leap as you might expect.
TYRIR: I’ll admit this method of sending message bottles down rivers of coiled wire is rather effective, but it lacks the panache of voice to ear. I’ll never understand how you people could give that up so easily.
3985-JW: you’re still not answering my questions
TYRIR: I’m not here to give you convenient answers. I despise convenience. Convenience is a fucking plague afflicting weak men with weak ideals.
TYRIR: But assistance? Cooperation? That’s a different story.
TYRIR: I’m here to show you things, my dear. I want to help you.
3985-JW: what's that supposed to mean?
TYRIR: You wanted dirt. I'm a shovel.
TYRIR: I've a soft spot for ambition. I like people who want. Who covet. I like people who know good music when they hear it.
3985-JW: i don't want to hear offers
3985-JW: i don't want to hear deals
3985-JW: i don't want anything to do with you
TYRIR: Do you even like your job? You're so close to all these strange, wonderous things, but you're stuck pushing pencils and shredding papers.
TYRIR: One of those strange and wonderous things is offering you help.
3985-JW: i want you to leave me alone
TYRIR: Don't be stupid. You came looking for me because I opened the door for you.
TYRIR: Don't you want me to keep it open?
3985-JW: stop
TYRIR: All the other doors are locked shut, aren't they? You've banged your head into a bloody pulp on each and every one, and what has it gotten you? Has anyone noticed the blood dripping down your face?
3985-JW: i said stop
TYRIR: Where is your office? It's not even on the ground floor, is it? Do you even get to use the elevator on your way to basement? The god damn basement. I don't think they even keep the lab rats down there. They're too valuable.
3985-JW: STOP
TYRIR: Right now, this very moment, you're stuck. You don't know where to cut anymore.
TYRIR: No prospects, no respect, no consideration. Stuck in your job, stuck in your shitty office, stuck on the last rung of the ladder. No money, no career, no way out. Stuck. Stuck. Stuck. People you hate, people you despise, people you want out of your way.
TYRIR: Stuck. Stuck. Stuck. But so many dreams. Dreams of things you want to change. Dreams to make things better. Dreams of things you want for yourself. Dreams you will die for. But you're STUCK. STUCK. STUCK.
TYRIR: You're a fucking pirate, Jameson. Scurvy and all. And if you're going to be a pirate who people take seriously, you need a weapon.
3985-JW: you don't know me
3985-JW: you don't know anything about me
3985-JW: i can just report this
3985-JW: get you contained properly
TYRIR: You can hear me, little bug. There is no veil thick enough to block me out.
TYRIR: I know what you want. I'm giving you what you want.
TYRING: An advantage.
TYRING: The moment you entered this organization, the moment when you started looking around where you weren’t supposed to, the moment you gave your life to this pursuit was the moment you let me in.
TYRING: You want to do damage. You want to draw blood. This mountain isn't made of rock.
TYRING: Will you snitch? Of course not. Imagine the disappointment upper management would feel discovering that an esteemed employee of many years, such as yourself, has been backchanneling and undermining their authority for who knows how long.
TYRING: But you know how long. I've come to understand that they're not particularly forgiving.
3985-JW: and you're better?
TYRING: Yes. People bite and claw. Swords cleave.
3985-JW: you want to use me
TYRING: As much as a gun uses a bullet.
3985-JW: bullets only last one shot
3985-JW: i’m not interested in being discarded after some one-night stand
TYRING: So you’re interested in a lasting relationship? Looking for a lover, lover boy?
3985-JW: that’s not what i said
TYRING: Such a flirt. We can keep it business. That's all it needs to be between us. Business.
3985-JW: so you want something?
TYRING: People kill one another over that word. Want. Even if it's just safety or satisfaction, you kill because you want. We all want something, but the throne of want is too small a chair.
TYRING: I told you what I want. I like people like you. I am attracted to people like you. Isn't that enough?
TYRING: For now, I just need a shoulder to cry on. I've so many things I can share. So many secrets to get off my chest.
TYRING: And you're such a good listener, right?
3985-JW: i can be
3985-JW: you want to be partners? okay
3985-JW: what does that get me exactly?
TYRING: Results. I have a habit of seeing what people really are. Who do you want to step on?
3985-JW: just like that?
3985-JW: okay, kovtun
TYRING: A respectable doctor, so I hear. Many remarkable achievements in field work. Plenty of experience getting his hands dirty, especially in his own backyard.
TYRING: Want to hear about what’s buried beneath his back porch? You won't just find a few forgotten family pets, I can assure you.
3985-JW: he killed someone?
3985-JW: that's bullshit
TYRING: Well, he also faked his master’s thesis with falsified data, but I suppose it depends on what you think he cherishes more: his professional legacy or his comfortable life outside of prison.
3985-JW: you have to be lying
TYRING: I’m not much of a liar.
3985-JW: and how am I supposed to trust you?
TYRING: That's a stupid question. You already trust me. You already know me.
TYRFING: Blood for blood, Jameson.
TYRFING: And do come by my Lot 6-B locker when you have the chance. That Mona Lisa song was quite lovely. Poetry even. I want to hear it again.

| CONNECTION TERMINATED |

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