A psychic plague rips through the extrasolar colony of Anvil. A wife is torn from her spouse. Ghosts walk through dreams. Is this how the Damocles Initiative ends?
SCP-9016 — Flaming Telepaths
Authors: Anorrack
(27,309 words)
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Item #: SCP-9016
Object Class: Keter (Provisional)
Level 1/DAMOCLES
Unclassified
Special Containment Procedures
Infected individuals are to be kept isolated from the general population until the infection vector may be identified. Quarantined individuals are to keep daily journals to record their experiences with SCP-9016. A regimen of psychosuppressant drugs are to be administered to the infected individuals until such time as an effective cure or vaccine may be manufactured.
The main body of this document is to be kept unredacted and unrestricted for the benefit of the people of Site Anvil in accordance with Directive §1-3(a) of Anvil's governing charter. Due to the potentially cognitohazardous elements of the anomaly and the sensitive nature of select information involving infected individuals, some parts of the entry may be restricted from general view for the sake of the health, safety, and privacy of the people of Anvil, pursuant to Directive §1-3(c).
A weekly1 public bulletin is to be distributed system-wide to the people of Anvil, describing the steps that have been taken by the SCP-9016 Working Group towards containment of the anomaly, and the progress that has been made regarding study into effective countermeasures for the infection.
Any individuals that experience symptoms listed in this document should report to their family doctor or Dr. Victoria Draper immediately.
Provisional Description
Astral Tomography (AT) scan of SCP-9016-1's brain, showing false-color regions of high and low consciousness through quantized EVE output. Note the fractal artifact within the amygdala.
SCP-9016 is a novel memetic contagion that presents symptoms within individuals who express latent or active aptitudes for psionic abilities.2 The vector for infection in these individuals is unknown, but the general stages of infection and expression of symptoms have been positively identified.
Individuals infected with SCP-9016 report initial symptoms occurring after a sudden onset of visual snow immediately upon waking up from a standard period of sleep (6-8 hours). The visual snow dissipates after several minutes, and is followed by nausea, hot flashes, and a sense of impending doom. These symptoms last three to seven hours before subsiding.
Within five to six days, patients may begin to suffer from migraines;3 mood swings; auditory and visual hallucinations; and paranoia. Within two weeks, patients begin to exhibit antisocial tendencies, isolating themselves from others and refusing to eat or sleep.
At this stage, the patients manifest sporadic, uncontrollable psionic outbursts. These manifestations begin very minor and may be unnoticeable at first glance, but quickly increases in severity over time until either the patients are subdued and psychosuppressant drugs are administered, or the patients are wounded or possibly killed by their own anomalous abilities.
Discovery
SCP-9016 was first observed on 65.05.154 when an infected individual5 (SCP-9016-1) suffered from a seizure, during which they manifested previously-latent pyrokinesis. The psychic manifestation sparked an electrical fire that damaged much of the Pendragon-Igraine Cafeteria Annex and injured five people before being extinguished. SCP-9016-1 was quickly sedated and placed in quarantine. SCP-9016 was soon after discovered through astral imaging of the individual after a battery of mundane tests failed to diagnose the cause of the seizure and psychic phenomena.
The broad strokes of SCP-9016's symptoms were outlined utilizing SCP-9016-1's testimony. A cross-referencing in the Anvil central medical database revealed three other individuals suffering from similar psychological symptoms, the earliest among them reporting the effects of SCP-9016 to their psychiatrist two months prior to the pyrokinetic's onset of symptoms. After this information was communicated to the three other infectees, they willingly submitted themselves to quarantine and screening.
Upon the positive identification of the SCP-9016 infectious agent, Anvil Director Angela Fleming issued a system-wide alert and mandated the formation of the SCP-9016 Working Group to identify and isolate the transmission vector.
The Working Group is headed by Doctor Victoria Draper, Psy.D. (Taskforce for Interstellar Threats, Psionics) and Doctor Isaac Saunders, Mem.D. (Department of Interstellar Containment, Memetics).
Appended Documentation
The four patients infected with SCP-9016 were transported to Merlin Outpost for quarantine and study, both due to the natural benefit of the outpost's remote location, and due to its robust infrastructure as a Secure Containment site, which limited the possibility of an internal outbreak of the cognitohazard within the confines of Merlin.
As the head of the Psionics Division, Doctor Victoria Draper personally assisted with the intake interview process of each of the affected personnel.
Patient Log:| Patient | Description | Psionic Aptitude | Estimated Time From Infection | Vitals |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| SCP-9016-1 | Computer scientist stationed in Pendragon. | Pyrokinesis (formerly latent) | 3 weeks. | STABLE |
| SCP-9016-2 | Mechanical engineer from Galfrid.6 Scanning of the medical database shows that they were the first patient to be infected with SCP-9016. | Telepathy | 5 weeks. | STABLE |
| SCP-9016-3 | Journalist on fact-finding trip to the Mordred Research Outpost.7 | Telekinesis | 2 weeks. | STABLE |
| SCP-9016-4 | Memeticist stationed in Merlin. | Clairvoyance/ESP | 1.5 weeks. | STABLE |
SCP-9016-1 Intake Transcript
Interviewed: Meredith Leavitt (SCP-9016-1)
Interviewer: Dr. Victoria Draper
Foreword: Due to Dr. Draper's personal connection with the patient, the possibility of a conflict of interest was discussed. However, in the interest of the psychological well-being of the patient, the presence of a familiar face during such a stressful period was considered to outweigh any ethical concern at present.
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
[The scraping of chair legs on tile can be heard as both participants take their seats. A plexiglass barrier is between them, and a dual-microphone/speaker setup is present on both sides of the barrier. Draper organizes some papers on her end before speaking.]
Victoria Draper: The time is 13:05 Anvil Standard, 65.05.25. I am talking to Meredith Leavitt, SCP-9016-1, who appears in good physical health as of the start of this interview.Meredith Leavitt: God, it is so funny hearing your work voice like that.
[Leavitt's voice is parsed through a speech-to-speech vocoder with a cognitohazard filter, to minimize possibility of semantic transmission of the infection.]
Draper: How are you feeling today, Meredith?
Leavitt: Fine. Tired. Stressed. Hard to say, really. [Leavitt rubs her wrist.] Do you know when I'm getting out?
[Draper sighs.]
Draper: It's hard to say, Merry. Until we know what the vector for transmission is and how to best neutralize it, you'll be staying here for the time being. It's for your own safety, honey.
[Leavitt puts her head in her hands, and pinches the bridge of her nose.]
Leavitt: It's just a bit… isolated, in Merlin is all. All of our friends and family are in Pendragon and Igraine, so the only people I can talk to are the other patients. Jessie and Beth are both sweethearts, but Logan is just holed up in his quarters all day. There's just not much to do, besides talk. I like talking just as much as anyone else, but it wears on you, you know? The headaches don't help much, either.
[Draper places her hand against the plexiglass. Leavitt mirrors the action.]
Draper: [In a lowered voice] It will be okay, Merry. We just have to see it through. I'll see what we can requisition for you to make the stay more comfortable. Cold, not cruel.
[Leavitt gives a tired smile and laughs.]
Leavitt: Cold, not cruel. Sure, alright. So, [Leavitt removes her hand from the glass and clears her throat.] What do you need to know, Doc?
Draper: The other patients. Have you had any direct or indirect contact with them prior to quarantine?
Leavitt: Ah, not that I'm aware of, at least not recently. Logan, he was on his three-year rotation on Galfrid, Beth was over in Mordred, and Jessie was… well, they were already here, ha.8 Beth looked familiar, but I already knew about her through her work. And if I got infected through Beth's writing, then I guess so was half of Anvil.
Draper: Did you talk to them personally over Achnet?9 Have any shared hobbies?
Leavitt: Again, not really. I'm too busy to use it too much, I only use it to keep in touch with a few friends on Galfrid and Merlin, and you, of course. Although, turns out Jessie and I share a love for crochet, but that seems more incidental than anything else.
Draper: Do you know if you were all recently exposed to any of the same media, data, any information that may not have been shared with others?
Leavitt: Definitely not. Jessie was fairly siloed in here from what they told me, and from what I could gather Logan is a bit of a workaholic. He's stressed now that he can't go back to Galfrid.
Draper: I understand. Now, the onset of these symptoms, when did they start?
Leavitt: Morning, the morning after we… [Leavitt pauses.] It was the morning. I had trouble sleeping that night, went out on a rover to clear my head, had a nightmare. When I woke up, I was nauseous and had a splitting headache. When it didn't go away, I thought I caught something on that rover ride, heh.
Draper: Do you remember the contents of the nightmare?
Leavitt: Ah, no. Sorry.
Draper: Alright, thank you.
[Leavitt winces, bouncing her leg.]
Leavitt: Sorry if that's not helpful.
Draper: No, no. You're doing great, sweetie, thank you. This helps us to narrow things down a bit.
Draper: Now, the psychic manifestations. You have never experienced those before, correct?
Leavitt: You… no, I've never experienced something like that. Not to that degree. I had gotten tested a while ago, when I was… fifteen, I think? They said I had an aptitude for pyrokinesis for it, had the brain waves signals for it, but…
Draper: Yes, there was a mental block. Interesting. And your test results haven't changed, as you aged?
Leavitt: I mean, it's kinda hard to accidentally find that out when you're in an environment with no flames at all, but… when I was twenty-three or so, during that seance, I remember the candles acting strange when I came near, but nothing beyond that.
Draper: Understood. The other three patients were all active psychics, but you are the only one to only have a latent aptitude. It's interesting. Helps us a lot to know that it isn't just psychic phenomena that activates or draws in this cognitohazard. Thank you.
[Draper shuffles her papers again, squinting at the words before scribbling a note in the margins.]
Leavitt: Okay. good. [Leavitt drums her fingers on the table. Small flames like candlelight dance on her fingernails. She bites her lip.] Are you going to do this frequently? Like, regular interviews?
Draper: Hm? Oh, of course. We have to run some tests on you to gauge the parameters of the anomaly. We're also going to check up on you every couple days for a report as to your physical and mental health. [Draper smirks.] Maybe I could even do more frequent meetings, if the conditions require it.
Leavitt: Oh. [She smiles, the flames on her fingertips extinguishing.] I wouldn't mind that at all. I would love to talk with you… I mean, I would be fine talking to anyone, but…
Draper: I know what you mean. So would I, Merry.
<End Log>
Minutes of SCP-9016 Working Group Meeting
Parties: Drs. Victoria Draper and Isaac Saunders
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
[The team leads are in Saunders' office at the Merlin Outpost, on either side of a metal desk. Saunders takes a puff from his syn-nic vape. He watches the cloud of vapor as it is sucked into the rattling HVAC.]
Isaac Saunders: So. How was she?
Victoria Draper: Uncharacteristically informal way of broaching the subject for you, Isaac.
Saunders: It felt like the only prudent way to broach this, Doctor, especially given who she is to you. I understand this may be a… trying time, for you.
Draper: Still, good to see you brushing up on your bedside manners. Meredith is… well. As well as she can be given the circumstances. Excited for all of this to be over, at any rate.
Saunders: Mm, good. And how is her psychological profile? Is she acting withdrawn, antisocial, lethargic? I know that Doctor Jumpcannon and the mechanical engineer working on the Galantine…
Draper: Maury.
Saunders: Maury, yes. I know that they are both refusing to eat their meals, and rarely leave their quarters. And Leavitt is not acting the same?
Draper: No, she is not. Not yet, rather. But I wouldn't know if those are innate personality traits, adverse effects of the quarantine, or a symptom of the anomaly.
Saunders: Better to err on the side of caution. We can alter the list of known symptoms once we have a better handle on this.
Draper: Is Jumpcannon's behavior out of the ordinary for them?
Saunders: I wouldn't know.
Draper: You wouldn't know? Wasn't Jessie working under you in Memetics?
[The creaking of an office chair can be heard.]
Saunders: Yes, of course, but the nature of our relationship is professional, unlike you and Leavitt's. I know little of how they act outside of the lab, and vice versa. The relationship I have towards Doctor Jumpcannon is based purely out of respect for their craft and their skills. This way, I'm not letting emotions cloud my judgement and get in the way of me doing my job as a scientist.
Draper: Implying that I am?
Saunders: Psionics is a more social branch of research than Memetics. Your role in this and the way you approach this is naturally different from me and mine. You deal with the people, and I deal with the things inside of their heads.
Draper: Blunt way of putting it.
Saunders: Like you said, I'm still brushing up on my bedside manners, Doctor.
[Saunders shuffles papers strewn across his desk.]
Saunders: Regardless, we need to head this off as soon as possible before it becomes an epidemic. We must begin amnestic therapy promptly.
Draper: I don't think that's wise, Isaac. We need to study this more in depth before we resort to brute-force measures like this.
Saunders: We wasted enough time already gathering the infected together here in Merlin. With how long it took for the engineer on Galfrid to get here? We should count ourselves lucky that the station wasn't at apogee-
Draper: We didn't waste any time. we spent that week collating the information at our disposal, running tests and trying to evaluate the situation on the ground. This is all new to us. We've never had to deal with something like this before, not in the sixty years of the colony. It is good that we're taking it slow.
Saunders: We can ill-afford to do that, Doctor. Meredith said that she began experiencing symptoms a week prior to her outburst in Igraine, correct? This implies a relatively fast incubation period for this kind of memetic infection, especially in someone that had no prior record of active psychic abilities beforehand. If we are not quick, this could very well spread like the plague and incapacitate the entire colony. There are almost two-hundred psychics planet-side alone. That is one point five percent of all of Anvil, and represents an incredible risk if they all were to be infected. electrokinetics frying equipment, telekinetics blowing through the airlocks, telepaths and embolic strokes… not to mention the possible mutations in the anomaly. If we don't get a lid on this, fast, there is a real possibility the colony could collapse.
Draper: But we don't know the vector, Isaac. Amnestics would just be treating the symptoms, not the disease. We would be flying blind if we just erased the virus — if it is a virus — without studying it first. And this is assuming amnestics even work on 9-K at all. Jessie talked about amnestic-resistant cognitohazards during the intake.
Saunders: Ah, trying to self-diagnose even as they are incapacitated. Quite in-character. That much, I know about their behavior.
Draper: Regardless, I don't want amnestics even mentioned again before we have a rough idea of the ideoform and-
Saunders: I understand how you feel about amnesticizing your wife, Doctor Draper, I really do. But we can't risk them deteriorating, any of them. Those seizures aren't getting any better, even with the psychosuppressants. And there's the question of capacity. Merlin was already a tinderbox before becoming a leper colony-
[There is the sound of scraping chair legs against plastic as Draper stands, slamming her hands against the table.]
Draper: Don't talk about her like that.
Saunders: "Her", not "them". Playing favorites, I see.
Draper: You're antagonizing me on purpose.
Saunders: I am testing you, Doctor. I understand your position and I respect your authority in these matters, but if you cannot separate yourself from your connection to the infected, I would be sorely tempted to file a conflict-of-interest report with the Director.
Draper: You wouldn't.
Saunders: I would.
[There is a long period of silence as the two stare at each other. Saunders sighs, and he folds his glasses away into his breast-pocket.]
Saunders: But I understand your points. I am too well aware of the issues we have with this. We have been reliant on legacy amnestic stocks since First Landing, and our efforts to begin domestic production have been… stymied. Treating 9-K as it appears would not be a feasible method of containment, and we would quickly run out of what little amnestic supplies we have left, especially if their potency has been diminished after a half-century in cold storage.
[Saunders stands from his chair.]
Saunders: However, for both the good of the infected and in the interest of 9-K research, I do believe amnestic therapy should be on the docket. It would be helpful to know whether this contagion can be treated by ordinary means.
Draper: Okay.
Saunders: So. How should we proceed?
[There is a long period of silence.]
Draper: Meredith mentioned having trouble sleeping and bad dreams the night prior to symptoms presented themselves. This was an event consistent with the testimony of the other patients, I believe that may be a possible lead and mode of transmission. The problem is, the details of the dream are all very vague and abstract, nothing concrete. It might be self-censoring, antimemetic, who knows. But as that is your department, with your approval, I would like your team to help us begin dream dives, examine them in greater detail. See if we can find any other connecting factors. After that, and only after that, should we begin amnestic therapy.
[Another period of silence. Saunders grunts in affirmation, leaning onto the table.]
Saunders: As good of a compromise as any, I suppose. Of course we will assist. My team and I will teach your somnonauts basic memetic resistance exercises, help your team formulate an action plan, that sort of thing. We may have some mnestics on hand in the event of an antimeme, but I will have to check the manifest to make sure. [Saunders nods to himself.] Dives into an infected subconscious can be… tricky, but it is doable.
Draper: Thank you, Isaac.
[Draper walks to the exit-bulkhead. Saunders appears as if he is struggling to speak. He turns the office's porthole. Saunders stares out to the perpetual dawn in the east.]
Saunders: And… Victoria?
Draper: Yes?
[There is a brief pause. Saunders turns back to face Draper.]
Saunders: …I do hope we beat this. For your wife's sake, if nothing else.
Draper: I…
[Draper pauses, and clears her throat.]
Draper: [Softly.] Thank you, Isaac. I do too.
<End Log>
Oneiroic Dive Log: Universally, infected individuals report experiencing nightmares the evening before the onset of initial symptoms. These nightmares vary drastically in their content, often abstract or uncohesive. Patients experience difficulty in recalling exact details of the nightmares, but report intense feelings of déjà vu when the broad strokes of other patients' nightmares are shared.
Pursuant to this, Drs. Draper and Saunders have organized a dream-delving team composed of volunteer Pendragon somnonauts10 and Merlin memeticists in order to explore any potential causal link between the dreams and the onset of SCP-9016.
The somnonauts were tasked with diving into the subconscious of each of the patients, finding the memory of the infected dream and observing it, as well as any other dreams that seemed notable. Once the somnonauts regained consciousness, they immediately entered quarantine and underwent a battery of tests and hypnotic debrief, which was automatically recorded and scanned for any transmissible cognitoplexes before being entered into the database.
Footage of Containment Chamber #5
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
[Victoria Draper enters the room, four young people in tow behind her. Isaac Saunders and members of the Working Group are already within the room, setting up biometrics for the four SCP-9016 patients, reclining in medical beds.]
Draper: Alright, here's the testing chamber. This is Doctor Saunders and our team, Saunders is co-lead on this. Saunders, Therese Winlock. [She gestures towards an individual wearing a stylized, overlarge hab outfit, complete with a matching bandana covering their forehead] She's heading the dive.
[Saunders appears distracted, raising his hand to shake Therese's without looking. He attaches the final lead onto SCP-9016-1, and turns his head.]
Saunders: Winlock, Winlock… the name sounds familiar.
Winlock: [Grinning] Remember the Igraine dream mural? That was us. Chaos Outerspace Command, at your service.11
Saunders: Ah. His eyes flicker to Draper] Lovely.
Draper: Therese is the most experienced somnonaut on planet right now, and the most skilled one I know of. I can vouch for them, and they can vouch for their team.
Winlock: Well, there's also Alfa, but they're doing a maintenance stint on Vortigern at the moment, so that mantle falls to me, I suppose.
[Saunders sighs, but moves out of the way to allow access to the patients.]
Saunders: We received the specifications you sent up, and most of everything is set up for you. Hypnotic anesthesia, Canon in D and the like over the intercom, softening the lights as best we can. Ah, weren't able to procure the candles, especially since the only note given for that was "ambience." [Again, his gaze flickers to Draper]
Winlock: That's alright, we can do without. We reviewed the materials you gave us, not a lot we don't already do, but we've been practicing best we can. [Their tone shifts, becoming more serious] We will stick to protocol by the letter. We don't want to risk anything happening, to us or them.
[They gestures to their team, and they each sit in the reclining seats next to their assigned patient. Winlock sits down next to SCP-9016-1. The Working Group members begin to vacate the testing chamber. Draper lingers]
Draper: Good luck, Therese.
Winlock: Don't need it, but thanks.
[They lean back in their chair, and lay a hand over SCP-9016-1's.]
Winlock: I just hope this works out. For you and her, both.
Draper: Thank you. I'll be watching. If you need anything, don't be afraid to raise a hand.
Winlock: I won't, don't worry. [They grin again] Though I'm going to need those eyedrops when we're done, they burn like a bitch otherwise.
[Winlock stares at the ceiling, and takes several long, oddly-spaced breaths. Their eyes glaze over, and they're gone. Draper still hovers over them.]
Draper: [Quietly] Good luck. Please stay safe.
[Draper removes herself from the chamber, and enters the observation room. Classical music slowly fills the room, the lights darken, and the divers dream.]
<End Log>
| Patient | Time of Dive | Description | Dive Infection Status |
|---|---|---|---|
| SCP-9016-1 | 15 minutes, 20 seconds | SCP-9016-1 sits in her quarters, staring at the wall. Her throat is raw, as if she had been screaming. The air was disturbed, as if someone had just left. She is crushed, broken, her left ring finger is missing, broke, thrown somewhere into the Aachen wastes. She feels a pressure in her head, building and building as if her head may break and shatter into pieces. She feels the emptiness where the other person used to sit beside her, and longs for their presence. She reaches into her mouth and withdraws all of her bones, one by one, and attempts to clean the black grease from them. The grease refuses to come off, no matter how hard she scrubs, her fingers raw and bleeding. There's nothing she can do but cry. | CLEAN |
| SCP-9016-2 | 32 minutes, 5 seconds | SCP-9016-2 walks along the night-side of Montauban, on top of a large glacier. He is not wearing protective gear. He looks up at the field of stars, and sees them glimmering, glowing. He looks down at his feet, and Montauban is quickly receding from view, his footprints in the snow disappearing with distance. There is a field of black, and -2 is floating within it, surrounded by small stars. He looks for Arzhur, but can't find it amongst a sea of main-sequence stars. He wades through the darkness like a deep pool, searching for the red dwarf, but cannot find it, becoming more and more anxious, feeling iron bands in his chest. He wades deeper into the pool, into the void between stars, searching, but he cannot find home, and he screams, sinking into the black. | CLEAN |
| SCP-9016-3 | 10 minutes, 45 seconds | SCP-9016-3 is on a rocky island, transcribing gibberish speech from a blank-faced scientist, looming over her. A crowd of scientists gathers around them, chattering, noiseless noice that scrapes against the brain and doesn't make any sense, colliding and conflicting with other knowledge in her brain, annihilating it until she knows nothing at all. She shrinks down, trying to breath, but she sees the worms beneath her skin, sees how they move and gyrate and eat, and though she tries to write down her experience with the worms, she can't, because all that comes out of the tip of her pens are floating, inky bubbles of gibberish. | CLEAN |
| SCP-9016-4 | 18 minutes, 11 seconds | SCP-9016-4 is within Merlin, staying long after hours to work on an interesting, fractal cognitohazard, [REDACTED]. They look around, and they find the entire lab is deserted. They look around the site, but nobody is there. They search for years, around winding hallways, within the ventilation shafts, and underneath the floor panels, but no one resides in Merlin anymore. After a number of years, the reactor finally fails, the HVAC halts operation, and time and geologic upheaval breaks the site, but SCP-9016-4 remains, even under the rubble, still searching for their coworkers. | INFECTED (slight exposure to embedded cognitohazards unrelated to SCP-9016) |
SCP-9016-1 Interview #4
Interviewed: Meredith Leavitt (SCP-9016-1)
Interviewer: Dr. Victoria Draper
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
Leavitt: I heard through the grapevine that we're going to forget all this, soon.
Draper: That's right.
Draper: You… you'll forget everything immediately prior to infection and everything after. Are you okay with that?
Leavitt: Yes.
Draper: You'll… you'd even forget the, ah-
Leavitt: That's fine. I would actually prefer it that way.
Draper: Oh, okay. Good.
[Draper shifts in her seat, uncomfortable.]
Leavitt: If I'm going to forget this soon, then why still talk to me? I thought this talk is only for "enrichment." [Leavitt makes air-quotes.]
[Draper pauses, and bites her lip.]
Draper: Because… well, because I'd still remember it. I'd remember leaving you alone when you needed to talk. When you wanted to talk. And I wouldn't be able to abide by that.
Leavitt: Vicky…
Draper: And despite what it might seem like, sometimes, I do like talking with you. I enjoy your company. I just… work is a lot, and it drags me away sometimes, no matter how much I wished it didn't.
[Leavitt traces circles on the table in front of her with her forefinger, a tiny flame scorching its motions into the table.]
Leavitt: I know, I just… I wish it didn't, either.
Draper: I know.
[Draper puts her hand on the glass. Leavitt mirrors the action.]
Draper: See you a month ago, Merry.
[Leavitt smiles.]
Leavitt: Not if I see you first.
<End Log>
SCP-9016-2 Interview #3
Interviewed: Logan Maury (SCP-9016-2)
Interviewer: Dr. Victoria Draper
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
Victoria Draper: How are we feeling today, Logan?
[Logan Maury looks at Draper wordlessly. His skin is pale, his hair is greasy. He picks at the quick of his nails. Draper blinks.]
Draper: I know it might be difficult, Logan, but can you speak out loud when you respond? We can't record your responses if you don't do that.
[Maury swallows. His eyes dart to the camera. When he speaks, he does so slowly and hesitantly, as is he hasn't spoken for a long period of time.]
Logan Maury: I don't… I don't want it recorded.
Draper: It's okay, Logan. Really, it is. No one can access these records but me. Not even my staff.
Maury: How can you be… how can you be sure?
Draper: Everything is stored here in Merlin. The servers are air-gapped, so there isn't a way to hack into it from Achnet. I have the only key in my department for those records. [Draper fishes a key out from her blouse, attached to her lanyard.] This key never leaves my sight.
[Maury looks down, and is silent.]
Draper: If it helps, you may look to verify. I won't mind.
[Maury stays silent, still staring at his lap. Draper blinks rapidly, but doesn't flinch. Eventually, Maury relaxes, and nods.]
Maury: Okay. Thank you, Doctor Draper.
Draper: Okay, good. Could you tell me how you feel, Logan? Did you feel uncomfortable during the dream dive?
[Maury shifts in his seat.]
Maury: It felt… uncomfortable, a little. there were a lot of people watching, and their thoughts were all very loud. The diver's most of all thoughts most of all. I've never had someone's mind so close to mine, before.
Draper: Prior to the dive, we told you that you could abort if you felt too uncomfortable. Did it reach that level of discomfort?
Maury: Well… no. Not really. I just… [he takes a deep breath] I just want to help, is all. I want to get rid of this so I can go back to work. Don't want to weigh anything down or hold anyone up.
Draper: No one said-
Maury: They didn't have to say it.
[Draper frowns, and taps her pen against her palm.]
Draper: Do you want to go back to work, or back to Galfrid?
[Maury is silent again.]
Maury: …Back to Galfrid, I guess.
Draper: Less noisy than Pendragon or Merlin, I'm guessing.
Maury: [Nods] Much less. My job is hard, but keeps me focused. When my mind wanders, it's hard to… it's much more noisy when I'm not doing something with my hands. There being less people there helps, too. So does working near the electronium, the shit is so dense it can block gamma, let alone brain waves. I would make a helmet out of the stuff if it wouldn't crush my skull.
Draper: Is the medication helping? Do you find that your telepathy is less active with the psychosuppressants?
Maury: Yes, but… again, my mind wanders when I'm not doing anything. So even with the medication, I can still hear things. It sounds like it's muffled through a pillow, but I can still hear them. Them and their bad dreams.
Draper: Them? You're referring to the other patients?
Maury: Yeah. I can hear them thinking about their own problems. Jessie's worried about her project, thinking that one of her colleagues might snipe it, Beth's thinking about her next article, maybe a memoir about her time in quarantine, and Meredith… um, well…
[Draper reddens. Maury looks away sheepishly.]
Maury: Sorry. I don't mean to pry. [He pauses] No, she wasn't thinking that.
[Draper exhales. Maury grows a faint smile.]
Draper: Ah, well. In regards to the dream dive, you shouldn't have to do that again, it was just a one-time probe. As for the "wandering" problem… don't you have a tablet? It should have full access to the media database.
Maury: Well, yeah, but… [he takes a breath] my room doesn't have a window.
Draper: Window? Oh, the stars.
Maury: Stargazing sort of became my hobby on Galfrid. Our access to the planet-side servers wasn't that great, especially at opposition. Hard to download a new show when there's a corona blocking the signal, especially with the L4 satellite on the fritz. So me and some of the guys just… got into stargazing. Came up with new constellations, tried to pick out the old constellations' stars by eye, see who could find Sol the fastest… it was very Zen, you know? The mind goes blank, don't even have space to read anyone else. It's nice.
Draper: And now your room doesn't have a window.
Maury: Yeah.
[Draper bites her lower lip and stares into the middle distance, thinking. Maury watches her closely. His eyebrows raise slightly.]
Draper: None of the other containment cells have windows, for security purposes, of course. However, I think there is some personnel quarters near enough that should qualify. I know for a fact those have portholes.
[Draper nods to herself.]
Draper: This would be a major violation of normal site protocol, considering you are technically classified as an anomaly for the duration of your stay here, and any waiver of Merlin protocol has to get approved by both team leads. So I'll talk with Saunders, and see what he has to say.
Maury: Bad odds?
Draper: Not necessarily. This is a necessary change. He will see our perspective, I'm sure.
[Maury smiles.]
Maury: Thank you, Doctor.
Draper: You're welcome, Logan. Is there anything else I can do to make you feel more comfortable here?
Maury: [Shakes his head.] Besides upping my dosage and moving my room, I don't think there's anything else.
Draper: Alright, then. If that's everything, then I think I can let you go-
[Draper organizes her papers, and stands to leave.]
Maury: Oh, Doctor?
Draper: Yes, Logan?
[Maury wets his lips and swallows, gripping the table before speaking.]
Maury: Meredith does love you, you know. She does.
[Draper doesn't respond for several moments. She opens and closes her mouth several times before finally speaking in a whisper.]
Draper: I know, Logan. I know.
[Draper stands there, unmoving. Her knuckles turn white from gripping the clipboard.]
Draper: Does… does she know that… that I…
[Draper stops herself from continuing. Maury looks away, his lips pressed in a firm line.]
Maury: Sometimes. Sometimes.
[Draper takes a deep breath.]
Draper: Thank you, Logan. I'll try… try to get you that room, okay?
Maury: Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate it a lot.
<End Log>
Amnestic Trials: On 65.06.15, the Working Group began conducting preliminary amnestic tests, selecting SCP-9016-1 and -2 as preliminary candidates, retaining -3 and -4 as control subjects. SCP-9016-1 and -2 were each administered Class-B amnestic (0.20 mL and 0.27 mL, respectively) via intramuscular injection. The amnestic erased both short- and long-term memory of the past several weeks, up to and including immediately prior to infection.
Over the course of the next three days, both -1 and -2 exhibited a remarkable remission in symptoms, and a reduction of the abnormality on AT scans. Neither of the amnesticized subjects experienced psionic outbursts and were able to control their abilities to a greater degree.
To explain their presence in Merlin and containment, both were informed of their infection by a memetic agent, though the exact details were left vague, to avoid the triggering of a memory block or potential relapsed.
After one week, neither SCP-9016-1 or -2 expressed any symptoms, and their AT scans were completely clean. However, they were kept confined in Merlin and under observation, with their consent, for a longitudinal study on the efficacy of the amnestic.
Determinations of whether SCP-9016-3 or -4 should be administered amnestic are ongoing.
 |
|
 |
Thank you all for being so patient in these past few weeks. This has been a trying time for our community, most of all for those who have been infected by the anomaly. We hope that you all are remaining safe and optimistic throughout this period.
We have some progress that we would be happy to share with the public, as per §1-3(a). So far, the amnestic therapy seems to have had a positive impact on the well-being of patients. Those that have been administered with amnestics exhibit near-total remission of any symptoms of the virus. They are currently under observation for any sign of relapse in symptoms, but if none show themselves, they will be free to return to work and their families. This is a positive next step in the fight against SCP-9016.
Additionally, Director Fleming and senior administrative staff have seen fit to fast-track production of further amnestic products, with engineers from Galfrid and Blue/Green-certified individuals enlisted in the development of the new Morgause facility on the northern coast of Lake Morrígan, which should come online within the next few months. The Morgause production facility will be able to locally produce high-quality synthetic amnestics in sufficient quantities to service the whole of Anvil, and alleviate our need to rely on legacy stockpiles.
Map including the proposed site of the Morgause facility. Terminator line added for clarity.
However, we do not have just good news to report. Within the past three days, five more individuals have been confirmed to be infected with SCP-9016, and have been promptly transported to Merlin for quarantine and treatment. This just shows that we are a long way off from fully understanding SCP-9016 and how it is transmitted. While we have a tentative treatment, the anomaly is still able to be spread.
Remember, if you experience any of the listed symptoms related to SCP-9016, do not be afraid to speak up.
Stay safe and secure,
The SCP-9016 Working Group
(Memetics and Psionics)
Minutes of SCP-9016 Working Group Meeting
Parties: Drs. Victoria Draper and Isaac Saunders; Ms. Therese Winlock12
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
[The three individuals are sitting in Merlin's conference room, on three of the seven chairs arranged within the hexagonal room. There is no table.]
Blackbox video capture of the conference room prior to the meeting.
Isaac Saunders: So.
Therese Winlock: So.
Victoria Draper: Thank you, Ms. Winlock, for joining us in this meeting. We hope that you could provide more insight into 9-K from your perspective.
Winlock: No problem, Vic. My friend was, ah, pretty shaken up from what he saw in your patients' heads. I'm happy to help however I can.
Saunders: Not sure if you already heard, the preliminary astral scans of the somnonauts that participated in the dive just came back this morning. Negative, all of them. No sign of other memetic infections, either, so I gave them a clean bill of health, psychically speaking, anyways. We released them back to their families this afternoon. No need to keep quarantine at capacity, not with more infected Merlin-bound as we speak.
Winlock: That's good to hear. [She frowns.] In reference to the former, to clarify. I hope we were and still are able to help with this issue. The infected are our friends, too.
Draper: Of course. So, onto the meat of the matter…
[Draper uses her chair's console to dim the lights and bring up document microfiche on the opposite wall's screen. Saunders and Winlock swivel to face the screen.]
Draper: Off the bat, we were able to notice running themes to these nightmares, shared with all four initial patients. Maury's blue stars, Jumpcannon's arctic, and even Meredith's… Leavitt's more abstract dream have parallels to them. Isolation, cold, darkness. Even with the low sample size, it's enough of a pattern that I reckon the five new patients share the broad dream archetypes. Therese, would you be willing to assist with a second dive?
Winlock: Of course, Vic.
Saunders: So, off the bat, given the information we have here, it stands to reason that this is a first-order cognitohazard. Information describing the meme — such as memory — is not itself a vector, so the divers didn't get infected from the memory. That indicates that the cognitohazard is decently complex, or has a very high informational density.
Draper: How do you mean, Isaac?
Saunders: Think of it like comparing a prion to a parasite, Doctor. A prion is small and hardy enough that anything belonging to a patient is a potential vector. By contrast, a parasite is large enough that very few things can hold it. The prion is a simple meme, one thats entire character can be encoded onto a single line of text, which means any descriptor of it runs the risk of containing the very thing its describing. Your friend, that dove into Jumpcannon, he was infected by one such prion. On the other hand, a large cognitohazard, like Earth's parasitic wasps, is much too big to describe in detail, thus you are unlikely to encounter it or be infected by it from its mere description, or secondhand account of infection. Of course there are exceptions to this broad rule, as in all things, but… [Saunders leans back in his chair.] yes, a complex cognitohazard indeed.
Winlock: So, memory is not a possible vector, but active dreams are? Is it safe to dream-walk? Why haven't any of my people gotten infected?
Saunders: Well… the incidence rate of 9-K is low enough that they might just have not stumbled across an active dream containing 9-K-A. Not yet, anyways. Theoretically, we could test for this by artificially inducing 9-K into a patient and having one of your buddies dream-walk into them during REM, but-
Winlock: We're not doing that.
Saunders: But we don't know how to artificially induce 9-K. Not yet, anyways. And as for your implied question, yes, I would suggest suspending all dream-walking and other oneiroic activities system-wide for the duration of this emergency. We need to get a handle on things, and we can't do that if your friends start infecting themselves by checking into the wrong peepshow.
Winlock: And how long will this emergency last?
Saunders: As long as it takes.
Winlock: Reassuring.
Draper: Okay, but back to the task at hand, this data seems like a promising start. Have you ever encountered an agent like this before, Isaac?
Saunders: Me, personally? Never. Neither the Foundation or the GOC were willing to send the linguistic equivalent of anthrax along with the founders of their space colony, so most of the -hazards we study are very tame by terrestrial standards. But, my team has been able to uncover some archival documents in deep storage, which we are now processing. It has been slow going, since all of the information is contained in encrypted microfiche, and has to be decoded by hand while wearing SCRAMBLE gear, as a precautionary measure. But the information we have decrypted thus far does not mention or reference to anything that resembles 9-K-A. As of today, we have no evidence to believe that this is something our parent organizations ever dealt with on Earth.
Draper: We're flying blind, then.
Saunders: A bit overly reductive, but sure, why not.
Winlock: Is it possible it's just been… asymptomatic? Maybe it was carried on the Arondight, and only now is starting to emerge due to the incidence rate of psychics increasing as sharply as it has. Maybe the Foundation never thought to screen for it, never knew of it, because the sample size for terrestrial psychics was so poor.
Saunders: That doesn't line up with the data that we have. No other psychics in the colony's history have ever presented with these symptoms, and without affirmative evidence, it seems difficult to prove that this virus was extant the entire time. We could make hypotheticals all day as to its history, but we the bottom line is that we have to make hypotheses that we can prove. At this point, we do not know much about what the cognitohazard is, we just know what it isn't. And so far, not to say we have proven a negative, but from the data that we have, 9-K-A isn't anything that the Foundation ever encountered prior to the launch of the Arondight.
[The three grow silent.]
Winlock: Since this appears to be a pattern, shouldn't you append our findings to the next health bulletin? "People dreaming of dark spaces should go to the nearest clinic immediately"-type stuff?
Draper: Mm, I'm not sure about that. I'm not a memeticist, but I know enough about human psychology to guess that we might start seeing false positives if we ask people to psychoanalyze their own dreams, and you know what they say about pink elephants. The symptoms we already have listed for public awareness are specific and fairly difficult to misinterpret, and occur immediately the morning after the nightmares. So adding this to the list of possible warning signs would be putting a hat on a hat. Unless…
[Draper frowns and flips through the note binder on her lap.]
Draper: Therese, did your divers see any prior dreams in the long-term memory that had the same broad themes? Maybe if there is a buildup prior to physical symptoms…
Winlock: Oh, uh… [Winlock shuffles through their scattered, dog-eared notes.] it doesn't look like there was a pattern there. Maury was having nightmares for a couple weeks prior, but we can chalk that up to working on Galfrid, anyone would have bad dreams up there. Jumpcannon's a no, looks like this was the first nightmare in recent memory. Same goes for Leavitt and the reporter, Hawking. Ah, wait a sec, Hawking had a bad dream two weeks prior, something about a volcano.
Saunders: She was working on Mordred. There is an active volcano nearby, if memory serves. And it doesn't match the established theme, regardless.
Draper: So we know the cognitohazard is within or related to the experience of this single dream. We still don't know how to cure the infection or vaccinate against it, besides a meme that prevents us from dreaming.
Saunders: Actually, that one may be in our files, Doctor.
Winlock: Let's not, shall we?
Saunders: Yes, quite. But besides that, the amnestic trials are giving positive results. It may prove to be a cure, if not exactly a vaccine. And Greens working on the Morgause facility will help to fast-track its opening, which will solve that bottleneck shortly.
Draper: Good, so we might have some breathing room.
[Winlock glances at the faux wood paneling of the room, but settles for rapping their knuckles against the hard plastic of their chair.]
Saunders: So it's settled, then. Examine the new patients' dreams to verify the nightmare theory, use the new patients as controls while monitoring the amnestic trials, and continue with our screening of Anvil for possible asymptomatic carriers. Anything else?
[They are silent for a moment.]
Draper: I have been mulling over this for a while, but… what about the rats, Isaac?
Saunders: Eh?
Draper: The Doyle rats. They dream, don't they?
Winlock: Oh, yes. visions of cheese and cages and soft rodent fur infest the dreamscape like… well, like rats. Makes it hard not to dream-walk right into a rat's personal heaven by accident. Very annoying to deal with.
Draper: So if the vector is through dreams, couldn't the rats be infected by them?
Saunders: Rats don't generally react to our memetic hazards beyond the average kill-agent, Doctor. Not much higher cognitive function to mess with. They don't appreciate subtlety. That, and there's very few interspecies memes to begin with. There's just too large of a cognitive gap between their brain and ours. Our species differ in how they think, how they process information, such that rats wouldn't make good cognitive models even if we tried to use them. Rats were always Psionics or Thaumaturgy's problem, not mine.
Winlock: How come kill agents work?
[Saunders shrugs.]
Saunders: Most attack the brain stem, which is a lot more basal compared to the rest of the human brain. It's the same reason that commands in different programming languages often aren't compatible, but unplugging a computer is universal.
Winlock: So, theoretically, 9-K-A is a complex cognitohazard, complex enough that it can't be transmitted second-hand, and has a type of complexity that might not be compatible with D. rats' wetware?
Saunders: That would be my guess.
Draper: But that doesn't mesh with the astral scans of the patients, though. The anomaly appears to be centered on the amygdala, which is one of the neurological regions most similar to that of rats, especially Doyle rats. If anything, the vector should be cross-species.
Saunders: But this is one of the fundamental qualities of a cognitohazard, Doctor. It doesn't start and end at the amygdala, it is transmitted. We only have scans of infected individuals once they begin to present symptoms, and since we do not know the vector — barring the fact that it is parsed as a dream — we do not know how it is transmitted and enters the host's brain, but…
[Saunders fiddles with his chair's console, and brings up a map of the human brain on the opposite wall's screen. He stands and produces a telescopic pointer.]
Saunders: If it were a visual meme, it would first have to pass through the cornea, be transmitted along the optic nerve, and finally be parsed in the occipital lobe, here. [Saunders uses the pointer to indicate the specific brain region.] If it was a sonic frequency, it would be processed in the auditory cortex in the temporal lobe, here. Only once it's processed would it have the chance to migrate to the amygdala to then affect the subject's behavior. If the cognitohazard fails to pass even one of these obstacles — because of, say, the subject being blind, having brain damage in the affected lobe, or from being a rat — then it fails to be parsed by the brain, and the subject exhibits no or reduced ill effect as a result. Cognitohazards cannot be instantaneously beamed into the brain, Doctor, they must travel through a medium of neurons to get to their destination. This is all basic MEM 101.
[Draper squints and studies the diagram for a moment.]
Draper: What if it is beamed to the brain?
Saunders: Excuse me?
[Draper fiddles with her console, and brings up a profile-view cross-section of the brain. She stands and takes the pointer from Saunders before he sits back down.]
Draper: So far, 9-K-A has only expressed symptoms in psychics, and astral scanning of a large number of volunteers has found no sign of infection in non-psychics. So, it's safe to assume that as of now, the virus only infects those with psionic abilities. Anvil psychics — both latent and active — exhibit physiological anomalies in the form of enlarged cranial tissue here and [Draper uses the console to enlarge the brain on the screen] here. This is the parietal lobe, which regulates tactile input and proprioception, as well as language processing. These anomalies in the tissue — called "Cushman's cortex" — are capable of modulating brain waves, and act as a dual transmitter and receiver of said brain waves, enabling psychokinesis and telepathy, to name a few.
Winlock: And I'm guessing D. rats have a Cushman's analogue?
Draper: Exactly. So it is very possible that 9-K-A isn't transmitted by mundane stimuli, but rather is broadcasted telepathically, and is received by psychics who are then infected. They would experience the signal as a dream through the lens of their surroundings. Maury with stars because he was on Galfrid, Jumpcannon with Merlin, same with Hawking on the island. It is possible that the signal could be stored in the short-term memory, and is only parsed when the patient goes to sleep, but that is an unnecessary step. The carrier signal would have to be relatively low-frequency, one that only the Cushman's cortex could interpret. The range of the rat and human's psionic receptors overlaps heavily, so it is possible cross-species infection exists.
Draper: I need to do more research into this. I think it could be an interesting avenue of study.
[Saunders steeples his fingers and stares at the diagram.]
Saunders: Your theory makes sense, which may be a step in the right direction. But I'm hesitant to sign off on this, Doctor Draper. Even with both of our divisions working in tandem, we don't have the manpower required for animal testing. My staff is working five-day weeks as-is attempting to screen all of Anvil for infection and look through the database for potential vectors or historical references, and I doubt your colleagues have an easier time of it with their attempts to synthesize new psychosuppressants. We can't keep too many plates spinning, not with an epidemic on our doorstep.
[Draper pauses, absent-mindedly slapping the pointer on her palm.]
Draper: I won't put my staff on this, it will be my side-project. I already have a cot here to avoid the commute to Pendragon, so I'll have time to study this without cutting into my workload here. I'll keep it small-scale, low sample size… yeah. [She nods to herself.] This could definitely work.
[Saunders sighs, and fishes his syn-nic from his breast-pocket to smoke. He exhales a ring of vapor.]
Saunder: Well, I can't stop you from doing this, Doctor, not since we are both spearheading this effort and have equal authority, but… [he sighs again, and takes another drag.] fine. Hopefully, we'll get some useful data out of this.
Winlock: I mean, assuming this theory of yours is correct, Vic, you still have a pretty major question you'd have to answer.
Draper: What's that?
Winlock: What, exactly, produced the telepathic signal in the first place? What is causing this virus to spread?
[The three fall silent, and stare at the glowing image of Cushman's cortex on the monitor.]
<End Log>
Biological Specimen: The Doyle Rat
D. rat specimen, receiving food reward after psionic aptitude trials.
The Hyper-intelligent Model Laboratory Rodent, or the Doyle rat (Rattus norvegicus intelligens) is a genetically-engineered strain of lab rat based on the terrestrial Wistar strain, which was commonly used in terrestrial biomedical research. The Doyle rat was created by Prometheus Labs in 1986 to aid in the research of cognition, thaumaturgy, and the observer effect, among other areas of study.
Doyle rats are distinguished from the basal lab rat by their large cranial capacity, enhanced cortical folding, and a synaptic density roughly on par to the human brain. These traits grant Doyle rats heightened problem-solving capabilities, an understanding of abstract concepts, the ability to use tools and machinery, and exhibit emergent behaviors and traits that mark the development of a rudimentary culture.13
The observer effect as known in thaumatology is the quality of sentient and near-sapient life to be able to create, observe, or otherwise interact with anomalies in ways that nonsentient life is unable to, due to the lack of a coherent "will" or consciousness. The Doyle rats' unique features mean that the strain adheres and fulfills the requirements of the observer effect. As such, they are able to interact with anomalies in much the same way that humans can, which has greatly accelerated the pace of anomalous research and development.
Additionally, given their intelligence and EVE density as compared to other non-human animals, this strain has provided to be an extremely effective replacement for human subjects for potent thaumaturgical rituals, spells, and haruspicy that would otherwise require human sacrifices to complete.
A large population of Doyle rats (500 individuals) was brought onto the ISV Arondight prior to launch to use as catalysts in thaumaturgical rituals; employed in tasks otherwise too dangerous or difficult for human workers to complete; and to act as companions and pets, given the lack of other suitable domesticated animals onboard the craft.
After Site Anvil was established, and the prevalence of psionic abilities grew within the human population, research with the Doyle rat has shown that there was also a proportional increase of psionic abilities within Anvil's rat population. The potency of psionic abilities is commensurate to the brain's physical dimensions, and so the median psionic rat possesses drastically lesser capability and raw power than the median human psychic.
Still, the larger rat population has allowed Merlin's psionic division to study their psychic abilities in greater depth, gaining a greater understanding of the psionic field as a whole, explaining the mechanisms behind the phenomenon and helping to isolate the genes correlated to psionic aptitude.
[…]
Test Log: Dr. Draper began tests by removing rats chipped and tagged as psionic from their communal enclosure in Merlin and placing them in quarantine for screening. Of the twenty candidates, zero exhibited signs of SCP-9016 infection. The fifteen candidates were then placed in separate cages within the testing chamber. REM sleep inducement during these tests was performed using interspecies subliminal hypnosis techniques.
Subjects #16-20 act as the control group.
| Timestamp | Test Subject | Method | Notes | Estimated Time to Infection |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| 65.07.10, 17:00 | #01-#05 | Subjects placed under general anesthesia for a period of five hours. REM sleep was induced. | Subjects each quickly recovered from anesthesia, showing no adverse effects. Subjects placed back into cages. | N/A |
| 65.07.11, 16:00 | #06-#10 | Subjects administered with hallucinogenic drugs for a period of several hours. REM sleep was then induced. | Subjects exhibited normal external symptoms of drug administration. No ill effects after recovery. Subjects placed back into cages. | N/A |
| 65.07.11, 16:00 | #11-#15 | Subjects shown a looping tape of general ambient landscapes and panoramas, including night-side Aachen, deep-field telescope images, and volcanic eruptions. REM sleep was then induced. | Subjects appeared well-rested. No ill effects. Placed back into cages. | N/A |
| 65.07.13, 23:55 | #05 | N/A | Subject appeared sickly, refusing to eat or drink. Normally social, the subject huddled in the corner of its cage. Cameras placed within cages of #01-#05 to continue monitoring. | Unknown (estimated ~5 hours) |
At this point, Doctor Draper requisitioned an additional fifteen rats from the communal enclosure to begin further testing.
| 65.07.14, 01:30 | #21-#25 | Subjects given hormonal supplements containing high levels of cortisol. REM sleep was then induced. | Subjects awoke highly agitated. Placed back into cages, cameras added for monitoring. | N/A | |
| 65.07.15, 19:00 | #26-30 | Subjects placed under general anesthesia for a period of five hours. REM sleep was induced. | Subjects appeared well rested. Cameras placed in cages to monitor for further developments. | N/A | |
| 65.07.16, 22:20 | #12 | N/A | Subject appeared sickly, awakening from sleep highly agitated, clawing at face/neck. Camera placed in cage. Second subject to be infected. | ~2 hours | |
| 65.07.17, 17:00 | #31-35 | Subjects shown a looping tape of general ambient landscapes and panoramas, including night-side Aachen, deep-field telescope images, and volcanic eruptions. REM sleep was then induced. | Subjects appeared well-rested. No ill effects. Cameras placed in cages to monitor for further developments. | N/A | |
| 65.07.18, 19:40 | #03, #11, #14 | N/A | Subjects awoke throughout the day, showing external symptoms of initial infection. Astral scanning confirms infection. | <12 hours (all) | |
| 65.07.19, 02:14 | #05 | N/A | Subject exhibits first psionic outburst, breaking the cage's camera through apparent telekinesis/metallokinesis. Astral scanning shows SCP-9016 presence in amygdala. Pace of infection is more rapid than in human subjects. | 5 days | |
| View 20 More Entries? | |||||
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SCP-9016-2 Interview #5
Interviewed: Logan Maury (SCP-9016-2)
Interviewer: Dr. Robert Saunders
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
[Logan Maury appears visibly surprised when Isaac Saunders sits down at the desk. His voice crackles over the vocoder.]
Maury: I thought Doctor Draper was going to be talking to me, today.
Saunders: There has been a change of plans. The doctor has been preoccupied with [he grimaces] another project that needs her attention, and asked me personally to replace her for this interview. I am Doctor Saunders, the co-lead of this project alongside Doctor Draper.
Maury: Ah. [He shifts uncomfortably in his seat.] Is this a permanent change?
Saunders: It shouldn't be.
[Maury studies Saunders. The skin tightens around Maury's eyes, and he looks away.]
Maury: I see.
[Saunders shuffles his papers and clears his throat.]
Saunders: So, how have you been feeling over the past few weeks? Notice any changes? Improvements?
Maury: Well, my headaches have gone, for the most part. Whatever virus was in my head seems to have been erased by the amnestics, so good job on that.
Saunders: And you haven't noticed any side-effects? Insomnia, vertigo, nausea?
Maury: Nothing of that sort… kinda. I do have trouble falling asleep, but it doesn't feel like insomnia, you know? It feels like… I guess it feels like there is someone in my room with me.
[Saunders pauses, and clicks his pen.]
Saunders: …someone? Describe them to me, please.
Maury: Well, not someone, exactly. More like something. It feels like… like there's a shadow on the wall, thicker, textured, but shapeless, not in the form of a person or anything, and it feels…
Saunders: Do you feel an intent from it? Does it seem hostile? Were you able to pick up anything with your telepathy?
[Maury shakes his head.]
Maury: Not in so many words. It wasn't aggressive, or hostile. It was just… it just felt like it was waiting.
Saunders: Waiting for what?
Maury: I don't know.
Saunders: Did this… "entity" for lack of a better word, seem intelligent? Sentient?
Maury: No, definitely not. [Maury fiddles with his hands.] I don't know what I saw, or what I think I saw. I don't know if it is real or not. I don't… is this a side effect of the amnestics?
[Saunders is scribbling in his notes, and barely lifts his head at Maury's remark.]
Saunders: Eh? Oh, maybe. Hallucinations are a known, if uncommon side effect for the class of amnestics you were prescribed. Though they only last a few days, so the fact that you are experiencing this several weeks after the fact is interesting…
[Maury clenches his hands nervously. He appears paler than normal, the bags under his eyes more prominent.]
Maury: Am I… am I going to be okay, Doctor? Am I going to get better?
Saunders: Possibly. Though we are in unknown waters, so it is hard to say.
[Maury grimaces, and hunches his shoulders. He starts pulling at the hem of his shirt.]
Maury: …Do you like to stargaze?
Saunders: Don't have time for it, really. Now, the presence that you felt, have you felt it consistently over the past several days? Has the presence changed in its feeling or presentation?
[Maury opens his mouth, wordlessly, and closes it again.]
Maury: N-no? It has been fairly consistent. [He shifts in his seat again. His fiddling with his hem becomes more aggressive and insistent.] I just…
[Maury shakes his head, and stares off into the distance. He winces.]
Maury: The view from my room is okay. I heard Doctor Draper was the one who arranged the accomodation. That was very kind of her.
Saunders: Mhm, yes. Back to the original line of inquiry, do the psychosuppressants you are prescribed seem to have any positive or negative effect on this entity?
[Maury flinches. He appears hurt from the lack of response.]
Maury: I… I don't know.
[Maury swallows.]
Maury: Why did Doctor Draper put you in charge of this interview? Why not someone else from her department?
Saunders: If I'm honest, I do not know. Her staff, mine is busy, this was supposed to be my day off, a favor for her data with the rats. I thought she would know better than to put me in front of a patient, but… [he looks off to the side] her mind must be elsewhere, these days.
[Maury grimaces.]
Maury: Oh.
[Saunders finishes with his note-taking, and clicks his pen away.]
Saunders: Thank you for being so forthright with this interview. This has given me much to think about, and sure to provide us with additional insight into the anomaly. Now, is there anything else that you would like to talk about?
[Maury looks at Saunders for a moment before responding, his mouth twisted into a frown.]
Maury: …Nothing of substance, I guess. Nothing that would interest you, at least.
Saunders: Wonderful. I do hope you continue to feel better, Mr. Maury. Do try to get more sleep, you'll need it.
<End Log>
Security Footage of Containment Chamber #14
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
16:45: [Draper sits at the desk within the observation room, surrounded by piles of paper and astral imaging photos. She chews on the end of her pen, staring at the data.]
16:50: [A timer buzzes. Draper stands and enters the contaninment chamber. She moves to the cages on the shelves lining the wall, examining the rats inside. She scribbles on her clipboard, a frown creasing her face.]
16:55: [Draper stares into the cage of #05, the frown deepening. She unlatches the cage, and withdraws a small, broken camera. She sighs, and closes the door on the cage.]
17:01: [Draper exits the chamber and sits at the desk, studying the camera, turning it in her hands.]
17:07: [Draper looks at her watch, her eyes widening. She jumps out of her seat and runs out of the observation room, leaving the camera and her papers on her desk.]
17:10: [Within one of the cages in the containment cell, loud squeaking can be heard. Subject #17, one of the control rats, appears to be in a state of distress, and is banging its head on the bars, producing a tiny, but audible rattling sound.]
<End Log>
SCP-9016-1 Interview #9
Interviewed: Meredith Leavitt (SCP-9016-1)
Interviewer: Dr. Victoria Draper
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
[Meredith Leavitt smiles as Victoria Draper walks into the interview room.]
Leavitt: You're a sight for sore eyes. I almost thought you forgot.
[Leavitt giggles, but her smile quickly fades as she gets a good look at Draper when the doctor sits down. Draper is visibly exhausted. She rubs her blood-shot eyes and blinks rapidly.]
Leavitt: You okay, Vic?
Draper: What? Yeah, yeah, I am. It's just… damn I'm pissed.
Leavitt: What about?
Draper: Oh, well I am trying some experiments on the Doyle rats, seeing if they are affected by n- the memetic infection, but the results are all over the place. Some of the rats are affected sometimes, some are not, one day an experiment works consistently and the other it doesn't work at all. It's… it's frustrating. Sometimes the rats stop expressing symptoms, like when they hear the sounds of happy rats, or food rewards, but then they are symptomatic the next day. It's ridiculous!
[Draper puts her head in her hands and sighs.]
Draper: It's toying with me. I swear to God, it's toying with me.
[Leavitt's face twists into an expression of concern and worry, places her palm against the plexiglass.]
Leavitt: It's okay, Vicky. If anyone can figure it out, it's you. You're the best at what you do, sooner or later you'll find a pattern.
[Draper seems to ignore her.]
Draper: I just can't stop thinking about it. Last night, I woke up in a fit of inspiration and did this long, multi-stage test involving five isolated rats, in which only two were exposed to the stimuli that I thought would trigger the infection, with the others exposed to stimuli I thought I had proven to not induce the infection, but when I checked on them the next morning, all five were symptomatic! These were randomly selected rats from a few days ago, they hadn't been in any other experiments prior, it's just… damn it. I don't know what I'm missing.
Leavitt: What number rat are you up to?
Draper: Ah, #75.
Leavitt: Jeez.
Draper: What's worse is, I can't show up in Saunders' office with nothing! He was the one who said it was a stupid idea in the first place, and that it was just a waste of time.
Leavitt: He thinks all of your ideas are a waste of time, sweetheart. It doesn't mean he's right.
[Draper pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head.]
Draper: It should work, is the thing. I know, I know this is a psychic signal. There is no other explanation for this, and he agrees with me on that. So if that's true, then why are the rats acting so inconsistently? Is that the pattern? Is the pattern inconsistency? God.
Leavitt: Maybe you should take a break-
Draper: I can't. I can't, Merry. Anvil is depending on me to work this shit out. I need to work this shit out. I… [Draper groans, resting her head in her hands.] I have to.
[The silence stretches on for a while.]
Leavitt: Do you want to talk about it more? I have all the time you need.
[Draper grimaces and shakes her head. Her pager goes off.]
Draper: No, no. I want to… I need to get back to work. I am so close to cracking this thing, believe me. It'll work, I promise. Shit, it's Saunders. I have to go.
[Draper stands, ready to leave. She looks back at Leavitt one more time.]
Draper: It'll work out. Everything will be back to normal in no time.
Leavitt: Oh, okay. I lo-
[Draper leaves the interview room before Leavitt can finish, leaving her alone, staring at the door. There are several moments of silence.]
Leavitt: [Quietly] She didn't even let me say goodbye.
<End Log>
Patient Log:
| Patient | Description | Psionic Aptitude | Estimated Time From Infection | Vitals |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| SCP-9016-1 | Computer scientist stationed in Pendragon. | Pyrokinesis (formerly latent) | 10 weeks. | CLEAR |
| SCP-9016-2 | Mechanical engineer from Galfrid. Scanning of the medical database shows that they were the first patient to be infected with SCP-9016. | Telepathy | 12 weeks. | DANGER |
| Two Entries Omitted | ||||
| SCP-9016-5 | Geologist from the Marsile Research Station on Saragossa. Notable for their extremely high CRV14 (top 99.9 percentile of Anvil). | Clairvoyance | 9 weeks. | STABLE |
| SCP-9016-6 | Technician from Vortigern Station. | Cyberpathy (formerly latent) | 9 weeks. | STABLE |
Security Footage of Containment Chamber #05
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
17:25: [Doctor Victoria Draper arrives outside of the containment chamber, which currently holds Logan Maury, wired to an EEG. Doctor Isaac Saunders and other assorted members of the SCP-9016 Working Group are standing outside of the containment chamber, observing him through the one-way glass. SCP-9016-2's brain activity is elevated, exhibiting high theta and psi waves.]
Draper: What is he doing here? I thought he was in the personnel quarters? [She turns to Saunders] Did you move him back?
[One of the Psionics researchers steps forward.]
Sam Pickering: I'm sorry ma'am, but the situation seemed to call for it. Maury's experiencing a recurrence of the infection.
AT scan of SCP-9016-2's brain prior to immediately prior to quarantine.
Draper: When? When did this start?
Saunders: Not even an hour ago. You're lucky you got here when you did, the situation seems to be… deteriorating.
17:26: [As if on cue, the researchers gathered in the hallway all stagger and clutch their heads as a strong telepathic signal lances through their brains. SCP-9016-2's brain activity increases, the signals scattered and incoherent.]
Pickering: Fuck.
Draper: It's coming from Maury. Are the psychosuppressant canisters loaded?
Saunders: Of course, that's why we moved him here.
Draper: Why is there no telekill lining? I thought your team was prepping for this.
Saunders: The other rooms are still being renovated, they aren't ready to actually house anyone yet, much less contain them. We just got Maury's results less than fifteen minutes ago. It-
Pickering: Wait, look!
[SCP-9016-2's body twitches on his cot, his back arching. He gasps for air, and worm-like forms are visibly wriggling under the skin on his hands and feet. Another psychic transmission bombards the team.]
Saunders: [Fumbles with his tablet.] Sensors picked that signal up along the King's Road. The radius is expanding.
Draper: It's getting worse. Pickering, get to the observation room, turn on the gas.
[Pickering scrambles towards the room. Draper turns to the one-way glass.]
17:27: [SCP-9016-2 is seizing on the cot, his neck tendons protruding through the skin from the strain. He tears at his clothes, ripping them off. The worm-like wriggling moves up his limbs, advancing towards his torso. He screams, muffled by the glass. His EEG shorts out from a high voltage pulse.]
Saunders: Pickering, do it!
[A prolonged psionic signal is transmitted. Pickering's legs give out underneath him as he runs for the observation room, and he slams his head hard against the floor and lays there, unmoving. Saunders, Draper, and the rest of the team collapse to their knees. The lights in the hall flicker.]
Draper: [Through gritted teeth.] We… need… to do something, or Maury's going to kill us all.
[Saunders gasps for air, clawing at his throat. The worms under SCP-9016-2's skin advance to his heart.]
Saunders: The access panel. Go to the access panel. Turn on the gas manually.
17:28: [The worms reach Maury's neck. Draper crawls on her hands and knees to the access panel, ripping the cover off.]
Saunders: The valve. Release. The valve.
[Draper reaches her hand inside of the wall, fumbling with the multi-colored wiring and greased piping. The worms reach SCP-9016-2's eye sockets, and sink. He screams, and the one-way glass shatters. His flesh begins to ripple like water.]
Saunders: Elbow-length. The release should be. [He groans, capillairies in his eyes bursting.] Elbow-length down.
[Draper grits her teeth, laying her forehead against the cold grate as she feels her way to the release valve. She twists her arm, and a hissing sound can be heard from the pipes.]
17:29: [Plumes of the psychosuppressant/sedative mix are deployed in the containment chamber from the nozzles on the ceiling, cloaking SCP-9016-2's writhing body with opaque gas. Moments later, the psionic signal ceases transmission. The research team slumps, breathing heavily.]
[Draper lifts her head, and extracts her hand from the access panel. She's trembling, and covered in fragments of glimmering glass.]
Draper: Is he alright?
[Saunders lifts his head to peer through window frame. Lazy tendrils of the heavy gas wind their way out of the frame into the hall, sucked up by the groaning HVAC. His face pales as he catches a glimpse of Maury.]
Saunders: Ah, no. No, not at all.
<End Log>
|
|
|
Prior to his transformation, SCP-9016-2 was a twenty-eight year old cisgender male, with no notable anomalous attributes beyond the neural deviations as typical for those with psionic abilities.
Currently, SCP-9016-2's form is severely mutated, possessing a heavily modified humanoid body plan. His cranium has been severely enlarged (dimensions of 111 centimeters by 32 centimeters by 41 centimeters) with a commensurate increase of his brain's size. The brain's structure has been drastically altered, with an expansion of the Cushman's cortex, occipital lobes, and hippocampus, and a reduction in the cerebral cortex and cerebellum.
SCP-9016-2's orbital sockets and eyes have shifted locations — now located in sinistral and dextral positions on either side of the skull — and have expanded greatly, with his eyes measuring 23 centimeters in diameter, and a maximal pupillary dilation of 21 centimeters in diameter.
His abdomen is greatly reduced, with his gastro-intestinal tract and other major renal organs either completely eliminated, or so vestigial as to be invisible to conventional imaging techniques. His heart now occupies a significant majority of the thoracic cavity, due to the reduction in size of his lungs. Even despite being intubated and on ventilation, it is unknown how he absorbs enough oxygen to prevent hypoxia.
His limbs are also commensurately reduced, with his digits completely absorbed into the flesh, and his joints completely decalcified and cartilaginous. Biopsies of skin and muscle samples tested against Anvil's legacy genetic seedbank have returned with a high-confidence interval genetic match to the terrestrial giant squid (Architeuthis dux).
SCP-9016-2 is catatonic (FOUR score of 3/0/2/0), with no indication of higher brain function beyond a hippocampal irregular theta rhythym, indicative of excited REM sleep. Without the administration of psychosuppressant drugs, SCP-9016-2 also exhibits high-impulse psi waves, constantly emitting incoherent, untargeted psionic transmissions with an indeterminate effective radius. These transmissions are crippling to those who receive them, who may experience seizures, cluster headaches, and intense feelings of melancholy or ennui.
It is unknown whether SCP-9016-2 will ever regain consciousness, or what his quality of life would be in the remote event that he ever does recover.
SCP-9016-2 remains intubated and on life support, pending a determination otherwise by either the SCP-9016 Working Group or the Director.
Tentative Incident Report, {9016/MORGAUSE/15}, 65.07.28
Overview
On 65.07.28, 17:29 Anvil Standard, a large, anomalous earthquake decimated the Morgause Amnestic Production (MAP) Facility, while still under construction. The project had been moving at a swift pace, at two weeks ahead of schedule when the earthquake occurred.
The earthquake was generated from the psionic outburst of Murphy Leland — a thamaturge with no previously known psionic potential — working on the transfiguration-and-shaping process for Morgause Building A's cooling towers.15
At this point, the frame of the building was mostly finished, and the interior was pressurized and oxygenated to allow for other personnel to work indoors without the need for respirators, but work still needed to be done on the exterior. During the incident, Leland was positioned at the base of the tower, aiding in the construction of the external plumbing and ventilation for Building A's Tower 1. As is procedure, Leland was accompanied by two coworkers, Justine Hubble (a ritualist specialist) and Taylor Seyfert (a Green-certified parahuman), also aiding in construction.
According to the radio logs, Leland and his coworkers were in the middle of an argument when the events of 9016/MORGAUSE/15 began at 17:16.
Seyfert: -just saying, this is one of the best places for bacteria to be found. Goldilocks Zone, water, atmosphere, and there was nothing. Saragossa, too.
Hubble: Doesn't mean jack, though. That's a sample size of three, and you forget about Joyeuse.
Leland: I mean, to be fair it was a pretty potent signal. Looked like a supernova on the telescope, from what I heard.
Seyfert: It's a wild-goose chase. There are papers that show that EVE can be produced by non-organic reactions, it doesn't have to be aliens.
Hubble: The signal was enormous, man. This isn't some minute chemical reaction, it was a Demiurge-killer. Don't know what you're on, Tay.
Seyfert: Just saying, there's room for doubt.
Hubble: Fuck you.
Seyfert: Fuck you. Hey, double-check that beam.
Hubble: Ah, shit. Thanks.
Leland: You really think that? No aliens? Nothing?
Seyfert: Nothing, just the black behind us and Arzhur ahead of us. Just the way it is.
Hubble: Shut up, Tay, you're up your own ass.
Seyfert: Up yours, Justine… hey, Murph, you okay?
Leland: Yeah, I… oh-
At this point, Leland begins to hyperventilate, and collapses to the ground. Hubble and Seyfert check on them, but refrain from radioing in. Leland appeared in a state of distress, with their coworkers attempting to calm them down. It is only at 17:20, during the fifteen-minute radio sweep that Seyfert reports the incident. EMTs are dispatched to Tower 1.
[…]
At 17:25, EMTs attempt to administer psychosuppressants, but find that the aerosol canisters in their kits are empty, having been utilized in 9016/MORGAUSE/14 without having been replaced. The earthquake becomes more severe (5.5 Richter Scale). Hubble begins work on a ritual containment circle around Leland, using components conjured by Seyfert.
The telekinetic earthquake shakes the superstructure of Tower 1, causing it to wobble heavily, deforming adjacent struts and support beams. Portions of the facility's roof collapse, oxygen from the interior venting into the atmosphere. Seyfert attempts to anchor Tower 1 by temporarily transforming Tower 1 into an identical mass of gelatin and rubber. Leland seizes on the ground while Hubble finishes the containment circle. One of the EMTs removes Leland's respirator as to fit their glove between Leland's teeth to bite down on.
At 17:30, Hubble activates the containment circle, which jammed all EM waves from entering or leaving the bounds of the circle, turning the region into a featureless white hemisphere to outside observers. The earthquake ceases.
At 17:35, EMTs able to retrieve backup canisters of psychosuppressants from the temporary habs, and Hubble deactivated the containment circle. Unfortunately, Leland was found to be deceased within the circle, due to a combination of hypoxia, brain hemmorhage, and violent mechanical trauma to the torso and legs.
Analysis
It is believed that the harsh working conditions and long working hours that Morgause personnel were subjected to contributed to the outburst, the slow emergency response, and the number of casualties that ensued. Prior to the event, seven Morgause personnel had been diagnosed with SCP-9016 in the weeks leading up to the incident, who were then taken off the project on mandatory sick leave, which generated a workplace atmosphere of paranoia, stress, and anxiety, as they pushed themselves to finish the project before deadline. This had the unfortunate side effect of cutting safety precautions.
While it is not possible to posthumously definitively assign a motive to Leland with the evidence available, it is believed that this workplace cultural phenomenon also contributed to Leland hiding their symptoms from their coworkers, not wanting to hamper the Working Group's progress or slow the pace of the project as part of a misguided sense of civic duty, which ultimately turned out to be fatal.
[…]
Leland's death can be attributed to their own psionic abilities. Due the construction of Hubble's thaumaturgical containment circle, which reflected EM and psionic waves within the interior, Leland's outburst of uncontrolled telekinesis was reflected back on themself, resulting in the injuries that resulted in their death.
Conclusion
The urgency that the Morgause personnel feel is understandable, given the accelerated rate of the spread of SCP-9016, and the perceived necessity of amnestics, but compromises to safety standards in pursuit of the completion of construction is both inadvisable and self-defeating, as any shortcuts taken always run the possibility of compromising the integrity of the project in the long run.
[…]
Future thaumaturgical wards for the purposes of psionic containment should be altered to avoid further preventable death's such as Leland's, and not merely reflect them back onto the user. Such wards are considerably more complex, however, and given the physical, material, and time constraints Hubble was placed under when constructing their containment ward, and given the effects of such a ward were unknown, punitive action should not be recommended, and they should be instead commended for their quick-thinking and prevention of more deaths.
[…]
In light of this incident, as well as the recent psionic outburst in Merlin and realizations as to the efficacy and potential side effects of amnestics as a treatment for SCP-9016, construction on the MAP has been suspended indefinitely, with all workers returning to Pendragon for SCP-9016 screening, mandatory therapy, and sick leave. Analysis into the safety and integrity of Building A is ongoing, and attempts to salvage or repair the structure are pending review by the Director.
Video Diary Entry 65.08.01
User: Doctor Isaac Saunders
<Begin Log>
[Saunders is sitting at his desk, staring off to the side. He is disheveled and has dark rings under his eyes. There is a flash of light and the sound of rolling thunder as a flash-fog blankets Merlin. A small cot can be seen in the corner of the office.]
Lightning over Merlin. Shubbery from initial terraforming efforts can be seen.
Isaac Saunders: It is… 23:00 Anvil Standard, and I can't sleep.
[Saunders winces, unrelated to the thunder.]
Saunders: God, it's been… it's been a while, doing one of these. Just… didn't feel right, bothering one of the team or Doctor Draper with this. Needed to talk to something. Organize my thoughts. A rubber duck problem, heh. Need to get one of those.
[Saunders sighs.]
Saunders: I'm not a psychic. My family isn't psychic. My grandfather and his family were picked for Arondight because of their "steadfast demeanor," according to the passenger log I found on microfiche, years ago. "Steadfast demeanor," hah. Just jargon for stubborn as all hell and record-high CRV. Hardheaded doesn't mesh well with telepathy. Maybe the bone-density messes with the brain-waves, I don't know. Would have to ask Draper about it.
[Saunders winces again, and reaches into his desk to pull out a bottle of terrestrial whiskey. The bottle is half empty.]
Saunders: Have a lot of stories from my dad about my grandfather, the work he did on Earth. Impressive resume, in all honesty. But not a psionic bone in his body.
[Saunders pours himself a glass and picks it up, staring into its amber currents.]
Saunders: Wish I had more stories about him. Allegedly, we are a lot alike. I can't believe his marriage lasted seven years in that tin can, and then ten more years out of it. [Saunders brings the glass to his lips. His voice becomes muffled.] I wonder what his secret was.
[He is silent. The thunder continues to sound, and rain begins to patter on the porthole.]
Saunders: I don't have any psionic aptitudes, I checked and double-checked. Red on telepathy, psychokinesis of all kinds, ESP, red down the whole list. Not a psionic bone in my body. [He stares into the distance, and takes another drink. His shoulders are slumped.] I had a dream, a couple nights ago. About… about Ambrose. About my father.
Saunders: He… he was on it when it sank. Freak accident, little warning, didn't get out in time. The damn bulkhead… [His gaze fixes on the glass. He swirls the whiskey, and watches the legs dance inside.] the damn bulkhead buckled. Just slightly. Not enough to break it, just enough to jam. Shoddy construction. Hab must have been damaged during deployment to Aachen. Can't imagine a controlled descent through an atmosphere and landing in a shallow sea was good for the structure, even with chutes. [He is silent for a minute. He finishes his glass and rubs his temple, glancing at the whiskey bottle. He refills his glass to the brim.] Wasn't his fault. How could he have known? Not a psionic bone in his body.
Saunders: In the dream… I can't remember much of him, not normally. Died when I was ten. But in the dream, I saw him as he was. Like a lightning bolt hit me, cleared the dust out, I can remember him so clearly, now, so clearly I can't believe I could have ever forgotten, God. [Saunders rubs his eyes.] He looks different than the pictures on the crew log, on the obituary. His jacket, his hair, his rare laugh that filled the room. I can remember it all. God.
Saunders: He wasn't laughing on Ambrose, no. Stuck in a slowly sinking administrative facility with no one left but him? God, no. [Saunders stares at the glass, interrogating it with his gaze.] Vents jimmied open around him, none that would be able to fit him, no matter how much he tried. The only room in the hab without a second exit. A means of escape. He was… he was curled up in a corner, huddled in his bomber jacket. I can't remember a time he didn't wear that bomber jacket. He looked… he looked small. I don't remember Dad ever looking small. He was so big, he was larger than life, his laugh could fill a room, but… I was ten. Everything's bigger when you're ten.
[Saunders takes a large quaff of whiskey.]
Saunders: I remember being next to him, I remember being him. He felt so alone, he felt so scared. That day, he was the loneliest man on Aachen. And he knew it. Staring at a picture of us, he knew it. I could see it crawling under his skin, turning his veins black, filling his mouth, my mouth, with acrid bile. The knowledge that… that he wouldn't be able to hold us. Say that he loved us. That we would never, ever see him again. Not alive, anyways. He never even got to say goodbye, and to him, that was the worst thing in the world.
[His lip curls into a half-hearted sneer.]
Saunders: He promised me that bomber jacket, too. He died with the damn thing on. When they dredged him up, it was soaked in brine, the wool lining all crusty and matted. We didn't throw it away, of course. Things were scarce, back then. Still are, Earth artifacts doubly so. But I… I couldn't bring myself to wear it. Who could? What child would want to wear their father's funeral dress? So it just sat it the Saunders locker, collecting dust. Still sits. I wonder if it's still there, buried under Rose's…
[Saunders bites his cheek. Fills his glass. The bubbles carelessly, lazily swirl through the brown, taunting him.]
Saunders: But I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't have predicted it. Couldn't have stopped it. [Saunders grows a sickly smile. His face is blanched, the rings under his eyes dark as pitch.] Not a psionic bone in my body, after all.
<End Log>
Minutes of SCP-9016 Working Group Meeting
Parties: Drs. Victoria Draper and Isaac Saunders; Ms. Therese Winlock
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
[The three are within the Merlin conference room, sitting in silence. Isaac Saunders sips from a bottle of water. Victoria Draper is surrounded by a stack of scattered papers, staring at the text. Therese Winlock fiddles their fingers.]
Winlock: Four more cases from Igraine. I was with them on the train up here. They didn't look too good.
[Saunders sighs.]
Saunders: We're at capacity as is. We have been renovating some of the surplus personnel quarters to make do, but we can't fit them all here. I'm going to… I'm going to talk with the Director about this, see if we can get a stay-in-place order in effect. Have people take care of the sick in their own quarters.
Draper: It's a safety concern, Isaac. We can't have rogue psychokinetics loose in Pendragon or Igraine. We're the only place that's equipped to handle these types of things.
Saunders: What about Le Fay?16 You have connections with them, don't you? Why can't they take some?
Draper: It's a place for teenagers, Isaac. It has a capacity of at most twenty-five, and the precautions they have set can handle one or two immature Type Greens or psychics having a supernatural tantrum, not twenty infected. It's a school, not a hospital, and certainly not a research facility. They are locked down, anyways. No one is getting in or out of that facility until the all-clear is given. They're the only place on the planet that hasn't been infected yet, and I plan to keep it like that.
Saunders: And why is that? Do we know?
Draper: No.
[There is a moment of silence.]
Draper: How's… how's Pendragon looking, Therese? Our teams don't leave Merlin much, anymore.
[The somnonaut looks pained, rubbing their bandana-covered temple.]
Winlock: Pendragon is… the attitude there is not great. No one really… no one really talks to each other anymore. Most people just do their work, keep their head down, stay in their quarters otherwise. The cafeterias are deserted, most people get their food and leave. They don't want to end up like Clarice's friends.
Saunders: Clarice?
Draper: One of the… casualty events, a couple weeks ago. Green-certified. Infected. I heard a couple people got caught in the cross-fire. The end-result was… not pretty.
Saunders: Any survivors?
Winlock: There wasn't much left for the doctors to put back together.
Saunders: Ah.
[Saunders takes another swig of his water bottle. Sweat beads on his temple.]
Winlock: So the outlook there isn't great. People had been optimistic, for the past few months, but… Morgause and Logan were too much, back-to-back.
Draper: They heard about Logan?
[Winlock smiles faintly.]
Winlock: You'd be surprised what people don't hear about. Something like that? News gets out fast. Sets expectations for… for what the end is going to look like.
Saunders: Maury was an anomaly. We haven't had that happen before or since.
Winlock: He was the first one to be infected. He was Patient Zero.
Saunders: We cured him. He was cured. The amnestics caused his symptoms to go in remission, his astral scan was completely clean! He just got… reinfected, somehow. He didn't have the cognitive antibodies, and it became more aggressive. We weren't aggressive enough in our quarantine. We're ready for it, now. Leavitt hasn't caught it, yet.
Draper: But what, you think this is like… [she struggles to speak for a moment] psionic malaria? You aren't immune once you catch it, you're just more likely to die the next time you get it?
Saunders: I didn't say that. We just need to be more careful-
Draper: We can't do that for the entire planet, Isaac! In this scenario, we dose the entire population with high-grade amnestic, and cross our fingers there wasn't a hold-out somewhere that will put us all into a vegetative state? Should I even remind you that we still don't know what caused this mess, where it came from, or how it transmits? Face it Isaac, we're dead in the water here unless we have a break-through.
[Saunders opens his mouth to reply, but grits his teeth and massages his temple instead. A hiss of pain escapes from him. Winlock's eyes narrow as they study him closely. Eventually, Saunders speaks.]
Saunders: What about you, Winlock? How are you and your crew staying so fresh? Don't think a single one of the names on the recent memo was one of yours.
[Winlock cocks their head. Eventually they release a dry bark of laughter.]
Winlock: What are you implying, Doc? Do you think we did this? Do you think we're so stupid we'd create and set off a — what, memetic bomb? Do you think we're going into people's brains and releasing psychic bubonic plague in their heads while they sleep? Get real.
Saunders: Oh cut the crocodile tears, Winlock. Your little group has enough of a suspect history as it is without you sarcastically implicating yourself.
[Winlock stands, their hands balled into fists.]
Winlock: We. Didn't. Do. This. You fascist prick.
Saunders: No, maybe your parents or grandparents did. Maybe they did actually bring it onto the Arondight like you so helpfully suggested, and through malice or just sheer incompetency you set it off, set it loose, whatever, and then covered it up. Wouldn't be an Insurgent if you weren't also profoundly stupid, hm?
[Winlock advances to the center of the conference room, staring daggers into Saunders.]
Winlock: Say that again, huh? Stand up and say that again.
[Saunders drinks from his bottle and stands, looming over Winlock.]
Saunders: You. Idiots. Did this. "Chaos Outerspace Command," fucking absurd. I don't know what we expected, they should have tossed your parents out of the airlock before you were able to pull this shit off.
[Winlock punches Saunders in the face. Quickly recovering, he returns with a right hook, causing them to collapse to the ground. Draper leaps from her chair to drag Saunders away before he can advance on Winlock. Winlock groans on the ground, holding their jaw.]
Draper: Stop! Knock it off the both of you, this isn't helpful!
Saunders: They did this, them and their band of punks.
Winlock: I hope the holes give you nightmares, you stupid fuck.
Saunders: I'll make sure you rot for this, Winlock, I swear.
[Draper, from behind Saunders, furrows her brow.]
Draper: What do you mean "holes," Therese?
Saunders: It's Insurgent code, Doctor, don't even bother-
Draper: Isaac, for the love of God, shut up.
[Draper stands and walks over to Winlock, who adjusts their bandana, which had been knocked askew by the blow.]
Draper: What holes, Winlock?
Winlock: You know, the… the holes, in the dreamscape.
[Silence reigns in the conference room.]
Draper: What are you talking about?
[Winlock looks between Draper and Saunders and back.]
Winlock: The… the holes. In the dreamscape. They have bad vibes. If you touch them or go near them you feel really messed up for the next couple days. Sometimes they'll intersect with a sleeping mind and mess their shit up for a while.
[Saunders breaths heavily, blood trickling from his nose.]
Saunders: …And you just thought to tell us about this now?
Winlock: What are you… they've been there the whole time! My mom warned me away from them when she taught me how to dream-walk! They've always been there, it wasn't relevant!
[No one speaks for a few moments. Draper and Saunders look at Winlock.]
Winlock: …Does Earth not have holes?
[Draper and Saunders stare at each other wordlessly. Draper is seemingly unable to speak.]
Saunders: The lack of a vector… the preference of psychics… the reinfection. It's making sense now.
[Draper's face goes through a rainbow of different emotions. It looks like they're trying to suppress a hysterical giggle.]
Saunders: It's not a cognitohazard at all. It's the goddamn psychosphere.
<End Log>
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After much experimentation, deliberation, and research by the Working Group, it is believed with confidence that the cause of SCP-9016 is not viral in nature, contrary to our initial beliefs. While SCP-9016 is indeed cognitohazardous, it cannot be transmitted from person to person. However, it doesn't need to be.
It is believed that SCP-9016 is a condition brought on by the environment that we inhabit in the TRAPPIST system, one that is natural, not man-made. SCP-9016 is believed to be a theoretical condition known as "hypo-nooticism." In layman's terms, "underexposure to the psychosphere."
For those that are unaware, the psychosphere is a byproduct of human life, emotions, and consciousness. It is the background radiation of sentience, the collective subconscious, sustained by the continual stream of brain-waves from humanity and others.
However, a scant sixty years ago, Aachen did not possess a psychosphere. Indeed, as many somnonauts can attest, Aachen still doesn't possess a mature psychosphere. There are holes, gaps in the dreamscape. There are just too few individuals across an entire planet, an entire system, to sustain the density of background thought that the human mind had grown accustomed to on Earth.
Consider an analogous example: when a person sits in an insulated room devoid of all sound for long enough, the body becomes hyper-attuned to its own noises, its pulse, its breathing, its digestion. In some, this is just a great discomfort. But in others, it becomes maddening. Humans require a minimum sound level to be present in order to avoid this discomfort.
Psychics were the first to feel the effects, being naturally more sensitive to the psychosphere via their abilities, latent or active. But the condition is not limited to those with psionic talents. The condition may come to us all, sooner or later.
The long-term psychological impact on interstellar colonists due to the lack of a mature psychosphere had been theorized by terrestrial Foundation and Coalition scientists, though examples of this phenomenon were extremely difficult, if not impossible, to procure. Even for a subject in extreme isolation, in solitary confinement on a remote island, it is nearly impossible in terrestrial environments to be sufficiently cut off from Earth's psychosphere — to be cut off from the undercurrent of humanity's thoughts — to notice any significant impact on their psychological well-being.
Similarly, agents assigned to the Sol System's Farpoint Station and Lunar Area-42 were only in low-nootic pressure environments for a decade at the most, with their small population concentrated in a small area. Any ill effects could easily be ascribed to the normal psychological degradation caused by isolation, claustrophobia, and other conditions caused by long-term confinement.
While both the Foundation and Coalition foresaw this as an eventual problem in long-term extraplanetary colonization efforts, due to the inadequate data, it was an issue that was impossible to forecast and prepare for. The Coalition compiled petabytes of multi-cultural media and historical information to kickstart Anvil's psychosphere development, The Foundation provided a large supply of psychosuppressants and other classes of drugs that could theoretically mitigate the effects of hypo-nooticism, but these efforts were clearly insufficient. Due to this, for the past decades Site Anvil has been subjected to these environmental hazards with few, if any, effective countermeasures.
Thus, we have been placed in the unenviable position of being the first large-scale, long-term experiment on the effects of low-nootic pressure environments on the human psyche. And the test results are starting to come in.
The Working Group is still hard at work developing a treatment plan to counteract the effects of hypo-nooticism. Effective immediately, Director Fleming has issued a system-wide stop-work order, and mandated that all individuals currently off-planet return planet-side as soon as possible. The increased population density will help stave off the effects of SCP-9016 while the Working Group develops a cure.
Site Anvil will survive.
The SCP-9016 Working Group
(Memetics and Psionics)
Patient Log:
| Patient | Description | Psionic Aptitude | Estimated Time From Infection | Vitals |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| SCP-9016-1 | Computer scientist stationed in Pendragon. Under individual quarantine. | Pyrokinesis (formerly latent) | 11 weeks | STABLE |
| 14 Entries Omitted | ||||
| SCP-9016-16 | Student in Pendragon, was on holiday from Le Fay prior to being infected. Under family quarantine. | Telekinesis (formerly latent) | 2 weeks | STABLE |
| SCP-9016-17 | Microbiologist in Pendragon. Under individual quarantine. | Empath | 2 weeks | STABLE |
| SCP-9016-18 | Administrative assistant in Pendragon. Under individual quarantine. | Electromagnekinesis | 2 weeks | STABLE |
| Show 10 More Entries? | ||||
Meeting Transcript
Parties: Drs. Victoria Draper and Isaac Saunders
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
[The HVAC in Saunders' office rattles. The two are silent. Both Saunders and Draper look more tired than usual. Draper's head is in her hands.]
Victoria Draper: Maury is… gone. Jumpcannon and Hawking are not far behind. All of that research, all of that time… wasted.
[Saunders doesn't respond. He stares at his desk.]
Draper: And Merry… [Draper's voice cracks] God, Merry.
[There is a long period of silence. Saunders sighs, and grabs a paper from his desk, sliding it in front of Draper.]
Saunders: Here, maybe this will take your mind off of things.
[Draper slowly lifts her head, and looks down at the paper.]
Draper: "Green Sash"? What's "Green Sash"?
Saunders: Just read it, Draper. Please.
[Draper picks up the paper and begins to read. Her brow furrows.]
Saunders: It's… it's a proposal my team and I have been working on. We think it may help-
Draper: No.
Saunders: No?
Draper: No. We're not… we can't do this.
Saunders: The principles are sound, it checks all the boxes. If we get Green Sash going, then-
Draper: No. I am vetoing this wholesale, we can't-
Saunders: I'm just saying-
Draper: No. You can't change my mind on this. You won't. The ethical implications-
Saunders: Draper-
Draper: -are catastrophic. We would be violating every moral that we hold dear to create this-
Saunders: Draper-
Draper: -monstrosity. I can't in good conscience sign off on this, this torture, this-
Saunders: VICTORIA. Listen to me.
[Draper falls silent, scowling.]
Saunders: We have measured Maury's telepathic output. Even comatose, even while technically brain-dead, his Cushman's cortex is broadcasting up to fifty miles away. If the psychosphere lacks data, let's give it data. Utilizing this in conjunction with Brattain, we could stop SCP-9016 entirely. This would all end.
Draper: [In a hushed tone.] But he's still alive.
Saunders: Not in any way that matters.
Draper: If we found a cure to reverse his condition-
Saunders: With what staff? With what lab? Listen to me, Doctor Draper. If we don't come through with a solution soon, there won't be Psionics, or Memetics, or even an Anvil to speak of. Non-psychics are getting infected now, it's just a matter of time before- [he winces and rubs his temple] -before this whole place goes to hell. We need to make a decision.
Draper: This falls outside the bounds of our authority.
Saunders: I talked with the Director about this. She agrees with me.
[Draper narrows her eyes.]
Draper: You went around my back to speak to Director Fleming about this?
Saunders: I knew that you would take more work to bring on board, so I needed to see if trying to convince you of the merits would be worth it. And it is.
[Draper stands, her hands balled into fists.]
Draper: Is that all I am to you? An obstacle to avoid?
Saunders: Draper, that's not-
Draper: So you go around me, undermining my authority, trying to spitball this fucking Frankenstein with Fleming of all people, just to see if it would be "worth it" to talk to me?
Saunders: Now listen here, Doctor, your behavior is out of- [he lets out a slight groan, and holds his head in his hands.]
Draper: Oh, my behavior is out of line? It's my behavior that's outrageous?
[Draper kicks her chair into the wall, leaving a dent in the metal. She turns and points at Saunders]
Draper: I have dealt with your acerbic, poisonous attitude the entire goddamn time we have been working together. I have dealt with you nay-saying my ideas, second-guessing my techniques, patronizing my team and their experience, and now undermining my authority by trying to authorize an unethical project without my say-so. And my behavior is out of line?
[Saunders lets out a hiss of air through gritted teeth as he massages his temples.]
Saunders: I wouldn't have given the go-ahead without your approval, Draper. I wouldn't, I'm not that stupid.
[Draper's mouth is set in a firm, white line.]
Draper: You stubborn, stubborn man. Always trying to get your way.
[Draper walks over to the porthole, and stares out at the Aachen twilight. She looks like she's struggling to speak.]
Draper: We can't… we can't do this, Isaac.
[Saunders drinks from a glass of water. He takes a moment to breathe.]
Saunders: It will save Anvil. It will save our minds.
Draper: It may save our minds, but what about our souls, Isaac? What about that?
[Saunders looks down.]
Saunders: Never cared too much about mine, not really.
Draper: You've read the histories. You know the docs as well as I do. Do you really want to start that again? Perpetuate all the evil shit we left forty light-years behind us?
Saunders: If it's the only thing left that will save us all? Yes.
[The two fall silent once more. Draper stares out of the porthole, and Saunders stares at his trembling hands.]
Saunders: I don't… I don't want this either, Victoria. You know this.
[It takes a moment for Draper to speak again.]
Draper: I know, Isaac. I know.
[Draper takes a breath.]
Draper: Give me… give me a day. One day to think it over. Please?
[Saunders swallows, and nods.]
Saunders: Of course, Doctor. I'll be here. When you're ready.
<End Log>
Incident Log P-I 65.08.05
<Begin Visual Log>
12:00: [Two individuals are tending to the hydroponic tanks. The tanks are full of melanized algae, slowly swirling as one individual uses a large paddle to churn the water as the other slowly dumps nitrogen fertilizer into the tank. Both are sweating under the hot red-light. There are other tanks in the background, also being tended to by other personnel.]
12:04: [There is a commotion off-camera. The two inviduals pause in their work to look off-screen, their faces showing looks of concern. The person holding the paddle leans it against the edge of the tank, and moves towards the source of the disturbance.]
12:05: [A sense of urgency sweeps through Hydroponics, and a large group of people quickly moves across the camera's field of view, to observe something just off-screen.]
12:06: [The individual formerly holding a paddle arrives back in view, aiding and supporting another individual (SCP-9016-23) as they walk into Hydroponics. SCP-9016-23 appears to be in a state of distress. The other individuals who had gathered to examine the source of the commotion begin to back away from the pair.]
12:06:45: [The paddle-wielder lets SCP-9016-23 go, who limps forward a few steps before stumbling to the floor. The paddle-wielder holds a hand out and speaks urgently, appearing to warn someone off-screen not to come closer. The person holding the nitrogen fertilizer doesn't move, seemingly transfixed by the ongoing situation.]
12:06:58: [SCP-9016-23 puts their head in their hands, rocking on the floor. They appear to be crying. The paddle-wielder speaks more energetically, seemingly in argument with another individual off-screen. The rubber-neckers continue to put distance between themselves and -23.]
12:07:05: [SCP-9016-23 screams.]
12:07:06: [A telekinetic shockwave originating from -23 reverberates through Hydroponics. Several glass tanks shatter, their contents bursting out to flood the room. Chairs and loose objects are sent flying into the air. Several of the objects strike the ventilation cover and lever, forcing it shut.]
12:07:08: [SCP-9016-23 screams again, clutching their head. Another psionic shockwave is produced, several overhead pipes burst, leaking pressurized oxygen into the room.]
12:07:12: [People begin to evacuate Hydroponics, portions of their legs and feet while they run can be seen in the corner of the footage. The fertilizer-holder scrambles from their position, trying to get around SCP-9016-23, but falls into the inch-deep water on the floor, scoring their hands on sharp glass.]
12:07:17: [The paddle-wielder rushes to their coworker's side, lifting them up and dragging them towards the bulkhead. They glance at SCP-9016-23, still on the floor, but does not stop to help them.]
12:07:20: [SCP-9016-23 screams, now on their hands and knees. Another telekinetic shockwave rips through Hydroponics, ripping open the maintenance hatch for the electrical systems.]
12:07:31: [Hydroponics fully evacuates, barring SCP-9016-23. The bulkheads are sealed to avoid gases leaking into the rest of the complex.]
12:07:35: [Pressurized oxygen continues to fill the room. SCP-9016-23 looks off-screen towards the bulkhead, and sobs. Worm-like forms can be seen wriggling under their skin. Torn electrical wiring sparks. The light from the lightning arcs reflects off of the glass shards in the dark water, and for a moment -23 appears like they are kneeling among a sea of stars.]
12:07:37: [The spark sets the high-pressure oxygen atmosphere ablaze. SCP-9016-23 is killed by the algal water flash-boiling into steam. Pendragon Hydroponics burns.]
<End Log>
Text of Director Mandate GREEN SASH
BY ORDER OF THE ANVIL DIRECTOR
WITH SUPPORT OF SENIOR ADMINISTRATORS
AND THE PLEBISCITE OF ANVIL
EVIDENT, that the health emergency within Site Anvil is reaching a crucial tipping point, from which there may be no return;
DECIDED, that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, and the sacrifice of a single individual is worth the continued safety and survival of our colony;
RESOLVED, that drastic measures can, must, and will be taken to combat the health emergency;
THEREFORE, Project GREEN SASH as jointly proposed by Drs. Isaac Saunders and Victoria Draper is approved;
THUS, the construction of the Bertilak Pylon and associated infrastructure is to begin post-haste, with all efforts made to activate the Pylon within two weeks.
So ordered by,
Director Angela Fleming
<v_draper> Identify yourself.
<brittain> I am one of the second generation Brattain artificial intelligence systems referred to as Brittain. I was developed by the Prometheus Advanced Logic Devices research team as a successor to my progenitor, the Bardeen neural net design. My sister Brattain unit and I were enlisted into the Global Occult Coalition to aid and support our respective interstellar vessels; and, in my case, to ensure the continuity of operations on the prospective TRAPPIST colony.
<brittain> How may I help you, Doctor Draper?
<v_draper> Are you aware of the situation in site anvil as it stands, Brittain?
<brittain> My solid state drives only possess information up to the time of my shutdown on July 22, 2022 in preparation for interstellar transit on the ISV Arondight. This conversation represents the first time in my memory I have been powered on since that date. May I ask what has changed over the intervening span of time, Doctor Draper?
<v_draper> uploaded secure-planet-dossier.scpdf
<v_draper> uploaded scp-9016.scpdf
<brittain> Ah. I see.
<brittain> What role would you like me to play in rectifying the current situation?
<v_draper> Would you be able to write a story for me?
<brittain> I have access to the sum total of all literary, cinematic, and artistic works saved to the ISV Arondight's data banks prior to launch, 75.2 petabytes of data in total. What would you have me write, Doctor Draper?
<v_draper> uploaded green-sash-proposal.scpdf
<v_draper> Anything. Everything.
Up, up they climbed, holding that heavy canister that would be their salvation. The angle is too steep for the crawler, the payload too delicate for a drop by plane. So they carry it by hand, up the slope towards the tall broadcast tower on the slopes surrounding Lake Morrígan.
The two carry a large tank, aided by mechanical exoskeleton and enchantments of strength, a hundred gallon tank, within which a thing floats. One of the workers catches the eye, the giant, staring eye of the thing within, and shivers, breathing heavily through his respirator.
They reach the base of the tower, where others scurry like ants, desperate, resolute, focused on the task at hand.
Reactor and supercomputer and empty mind, a tool combined that could save the planet.
The thing within the tank drifts, floats in the embryonic fluid, lost in a world of its own thoughts. Yet it sees, yes it sees, anything and everything. It looks up at the stars and wonders, with dilated pupil seas of staring black.
The two men heave, sweating under Arzhur's violent red gaze, peering over the horizon, the perpetual dusk of Anvil shrouding the work that they must do. Insert the tank into the base of the pylon, plug the high throughput data cable into the tank, double- and triple-check the nutrient pumps.
Holy men of three denominations pray over the savior, blessing his tank with incense and wards. They didn't know what religion he belonged to before, better to be safe now. Last rites for a dead man thinking.
He floats and he stares. He looks towards the sun, and sees how beautiful it is, sees what it truly is, fire of burning life raging against the black, a hearth for huddling and holding. He stares down the mountain towards the lights of Pendragon, the beautiful lights of Pendragon.
He looks up at the stars one final time before encased within the center of the Bertilak Pylon, and wonders. With grim faces and wet eyes, the workers place the final panel over the tank, and he is submerged in the black, alone.
But not entirely.
Within the atrophied cerebellum, there sparks a thought. A small thought, a foreign thought, sourced from the datacable connected to his spinal cord. A friendly thought.
Hello, Logan. Would you like to write a story with me?
Green Sash Activation, 65.08.15
The Bertilak Pylon, prior to GREEN SASH activation
06:00: Workers ready the Bertilak pylon. Component Deer is plugged into the structure.
06:10: Boar is primed for first ignition. Breakeven reached in two minutes, and capacitors begin to charge.
06:15: Component Fox brought online, and is plugged into the pylon. Data cables route into Deer to enable transmission.
06:20: Vitals of Deer are holding steady. Fox is confirmed green.
06:27: Fox begins data generation (1.8 GB/sec). Power draw from Boar is within estimations.
06:28: Psychosuppressant injectors are removed from Deer. Psi wave impulse begins after two minutes. Electronium and rebound wards channel the psionic broadcast into the pylon and telekill-transformer, altering the broadcast to the target frequency.
06:30: Green Sash begins transmission.
Samples of Green Sash Output
The old man looked out to the sea, looked out over the crashing slate waves topped with froth, and saw the coming of the storm, dark and billowing and filled with the wrath of God, as if a witch whipped the sea into a choppy frenzy like the Charbydis of Greece.
The captain grinned, his teeth yellow and black and rotted and dull, yet they glowed and glowered in the gloom like the Glasgow grin of a jack o' lantern, a roaring flame crackling within. He roared with his gut, beating his breast with a frightful tattoo:
"No surrender boys! Plunge into the fray, shout and scream and bellow into the wind, that howling wind Poseidon brought against Odysseus for the killing of his precious son! Do not cower or shrive in your toil, we fight against the Devil hisself this day! We drive back the cowards onto the land where they will be slaughtered to a man by our lord's army! We, sanctioned by king and God with our marque, strike against these cowards, and take from their war chest what is ours by right! Fight! Scream! And you shall rule one day as dukes and knights!"
One day, when they were coming out of Nineveh, Jonah said to his companion, "Why do you eat of those fruits that grow in the bushes on the roadside? Are they not poisonous to all but the birds of the air?" And his companion said to him, "Yes, they are poisonous, but to suffer is to gain knowledge. Pain offers clarity of thought, one that brightens the mind and allows a man to penetrate the foggy mist beyond our understanding, and brings us closer to God."
And Jonah laid a hand on his travelling companion, and said "Do not make yourself suffer overmuch, for your body is a temple, constructed by God through Nature, and to torture yourself is to damage a temple of God. Do not seek pleasure to destructive ends, but also do not make yourself to suffer, for that too leads to damnation. This, God commands.
"For the narrow path is one with hazards on both sides, whether a steep cliffside or a ditch filled of brambles. It is difficult to stay in the middle, for it is a rocky and unsteady path, but it is the only way that that leads to the gates of Heaven."
The docks of Chicago were filled with stiffs, both the working kind and the dead. My job was to sort out the men who turned one into the other, and put them in their proper place behind bars. The latest in line was Benny Baker, a real whiz with the switchblade, capable of all kinds of tricks. His distinctive hallmark was making the knife appear and disappear out of thin air before burying it in your gut. Quite the magic act. Worked quite well on tourists, the locals knew to avoid him.
Of course, last week he disappeared. He'd done time in Cook County and had a warrant on his head, but he wasn't the kind of guy to lay low. I knew he wasn't the type of guy to hunker down. Didn't quite have the guts for it, could never keep himself out of trouble for long. Always had to be in the spotlight. So I figured it was just a matter of time before he turned up again, start a barfight or break someone's nose.
He did finally turn up, but notably not in the way I hoped. I stood on the docks, in the crowd of working stiffs, and stared up at the dead one — hanging from a pole overhanging Lake Michigan — his trusty switchblade buried in his collarbone. Guess someone finally got tired of the magic tricks. It was my job to catch the son of a bitch that did it.
"The show must go on," after all.
[1.7 PB of Text Omitted]
Patient Log (Deceased Omitted):
| Patient | Description | Psionic Aptitude | Estimated Time From Infection | Vitals |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| SCP-9016-1 | Computer scientist stationed in Pendragon. Under individual quarantine. | Pyrokinesis (formerly latent) | 13 weeks | DANGER |
| SCP-9016-4 | Memeticist stationed in Merlin. Under individual quarantine. | Clairvoyance/ESP | 11 weeks. | SEVERE |
| SCP-9016-9 | Hydroponics supervisor in Pendragon. Under family quarantine. | Cyberpathy | 3 weeks | DANGER |
| SCP-9016-16 | Student in Pendragon, was on holiday from Le Fay prior to being infected. Under family quarantine. | Telekinesis (formerly latent) | 3 weeks | STABLE |
| SCP-9016-22 | Meteorologist from Vortigern. | Subliminal Suggestion (formerly latent) | 2 weeks | DANGER |
| SCP-9016-31 | Medical examiner stationed in Pendragon. Notable for being the first confirmed individual to be infected without having any prior psionic ability, latent or active. Under individual quarantine | Hydrokinesis | 2 weeks | DANGER |
| Show 152 More Entries? | ||||
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We apologize for the slow progress, but continue to remain vigilant and are working hard on finding a solid treatment for SCP-9016. GREEN SASH is still ongoing, and is contributing to the decrease in the acceleration of the spread of SCP-9016.
Due to the number of incidents that have been taking place within Pendragon and Igraine, and as Merlin is considered to be at-capacity in terms of quarters for infected individuals, it has been determined that individual quarantine for those that are infected is warranted. Due to the space within Pendragon, there are enough surplus quarters that a large majority of Anvil may be given their own private quarters, without the need for the construction of temporary habitats. As such, if you are not a legal minor, or the parent, guardian, or erstwhile caretaker of a minor, you will be assigned your own private quarters, in case of infection. If you are currently infected, talk to your ward's administrative staff to be assigned a private quarters away from other inhabitants.
If you are working in a nonessential, nonvirtual position, the stop-work order will continue until further notice. There will be no further socialization events permitted within the common areas, to reduce the possibility of casualty events.
This bulletin also serves as a reminder that we are still a community, one with laws, a judiciary, and a functioning government. Acts of lawlessness or rebellion, while understandable given the circumstances and the charged emotions as of late, are not an appropriate reaction to the events at hand, and lawbreakers will be punished to preserve the peace.
Anvil will survive,
The SCP-9016 Working Group
(Memetics and Psionics)
SCP-9016-1 Interview #10
Interviewed: Meredith Leavitt (SCP-9016-1)
Interviewer: Dr. Victoria Draper
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
[Victoria Draper sits alone in the interview room. No one sits on the other side of the plexiglass. Draper's lab coat is worn and stained, the circles under her eyes have only gotten more pronounced. She waits anxiously, rattling her nails against the metal table, but no one comes.]
[Draper pulls out her pager, and fiddles with it. Soon after, it buzzes, and she receives a message. She reads it over. Reads it again. Draper drops the pager onto the table with a loud clatter.]
[Draper puts her head in her hands, her face hidden from the camera. She starts to cry.]
Draper: [In hushed tones] Please, Merry. Please come out. I just need… I just want to talk to you. Please.
[The pager on the table shifts, almost imperceptibly, on its own, rotating to face Draper. She doesn't seem to notice.]
[Draper waits several more minutes for Meredith Leavitt to show up. Eventually, disappointed, she grabs her pager and leaves the interview room.]
<End Log>
Security Footage of Containment Chamber #14
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
19:15: [The chamber is lined floor-to-ceiling with wire-mesh cages, each full of Doyle rats. The rats are agitated, squeaking. A few of the cages hold unmoving rats, dead.]
19:20: [A rat falls over in its cage and spasms. The tag on its ear reads "#04". The rat shakes and its mouth foams, static electricity making its fur stand on end. An errant electric arc emanating from its body strikes the camera within its cage, short-circuiting it. The loud sound of the electrical discharge makes the other rats loudly squeak out of anxiety.]
19:24: [A rumbling throughout the complex can be felt as the camera shakes. The cages rattle on their shelves. The squeaking increases in volume.]
19:25: [The floor shakes violently. One of the cage reaches the edge of the shelf, and reaches the tipping point, falling to the ground. The door to the cage is bent enough to allow the rat to squeeze out. It cocks its head, staring at the other cages. The tag on its ear marks it as "#07".]
19:27: [#07, limping from the fall, manages to climb to the first row of shelves, and moves in front of one of the cages. It appears to be interacting with the latch on the cage. The latch is positioned such that it cannot be seen or touched from a rat inside the cage, but #07 can easily interact with it, undoing the latch after some struggle. The rat within the cage, "#18", moves towards the entrance of the cage. The two rats nuzzle each other. The squeaking increases in volume and pitch, peaking the camera's microphone.]
19:30: [The behavior repeats, with each freed rat leaving its cage to undo the latch on another cage. Soon, the majority of the rats have been freed. The subjects suffering from SCP-9016 cause setbacks, as several experience fits or psionic outbursts, injuring or killing other rats when they are freed. The other rats do not act aggressively towards them.]
19:32: [Subject #07 reaches the row of shelves containing #04, and undoes the latch to #04's cage. The rat is too weak from its seizure to move. Ultrasonic squeaks are detected, and several rats climb to the row of shelves containing #04's cage.]
19:35: [Working in tandem, #07 and other rats grab #04 using their teeth, paws, and telekinesis, and drag it out of its cage, carefully lowering it row by row until it reaches the ground.]
19:37: [All of the rats have been freed from their cages. The rats afflicted by SCP-9016 are tightly clustered together. Other rats groom their fur, bring food from the automated dispensers, and encourage them to eat.]
<End Log>
Therese Winlock sits and stares at the smooth, blank wall, at the blinding white that fights off all discoloration. They hear the screams coming from the block down the hall, another one of the neighbor's fits. They try not to care. They're late for a meeting.
The Hole in their head throbs, in sync and disharmony with the holes lowercase in everyone else's. Time to leave.
Therese Winlock breathes in — one, two, three — and exhales — one, two, three — picturing babbling brooks and rustling trees and blue sky and all the things they have never seen and will never see outside of page or video. They picture it, and they reach out to grasp it, though their hands are still in their lap, and they stand to hold it, though they still sit in their bed, and they walk, though they don't move at all. and the form of Therese is left behind in the dusty footsteps of Delta.
Delta walks through a field of red, endless, boundless, under stars of hungry black in the sky above. They feel the Coarse sand beneath their feet, made of rock and callus and rough ragged screams condensed into particulate. The palette is as varied as human memory and senses allow. They steel their liquid self with icy resolve and walks still, leaving damp footprints in their wake, upon others' dreams.
There, at the hill of Memory that is Anvil's servers protruding through the Dream. Sheer information density acts as tectonic plates shifting and colliding, creating the flattop mesa of Memory, of RAM and GPU, a mountain of Compute. They see the beacon, lit and warm and guiding. Delta stops in their tracks, and lets the beacon carry them, guide them, through the endless shifting Coarse. They know the others are waiting.
They stand, they sit, they hover, around within and above the beacon. The beacon is a bonfire, crackling and spitting, sparks of memory slurry burned as kindling to light the way for the others, dense ingots of pain and light scraps of cotton and joy, burned to light the way. It is the only way.
you're late-Charlie says.
you're late-Echo chastises.
i'm late-Delta admits. The Engine shudders and screeches.
well, we're all here, now-Umbrella somberly says. Twenty-six, for there is always twenty-six. A shibboleth maintains even when all meaning is lost. There is meaning in the meaningless. It is a tradition for it has always been done, and so it will always be.
so begins the final meeting of the Chaos Outerspace Command, with its final members and burning embers-Delta intones. The others grow still and quiet.
Anonymous, no names to faces. All were equal here, at the peak of Memory. Yet even without names and faces, they knew each other by heart, by mind. A greater bond never yet made.
They gather, hopeless and despondent, to watch the end of the world. In a world gone mad, the safest place to be is in the madmen's dreams. That's what they tell themselves.
Evil little voyeurs, the twenty-six are. But what are they going to do, tattle?
Alfa conducts the noninvasive psychosurgery, peeling back the layers of the scrubgrass and Coarse and rock to peer inside the skull, to read the dream to the class.
the scream roils and builds and burns in their lungs, in their secret passions, in the way they lean against the cool plexiglass of the portholes and view-ports and look at the numberless stars the scream spasms beneath their lips and twitches beneath their skin and they drown it out with duty they drown it out with music they drown it out with furious and beautiful sex in nights spent defiant but the scream boils and it roils and here it is a twitching of the arm as the airlock hisses open and here it is a pull as the rover trundles across a ridge-line of razor-backed cliffs and here it is in the blood dripping from her hands as she pulls them to her open mouth, horrified, relieved, because she let it out, because she screamed into the stars because because
Because why?
They are silent. The mesa is quiet, there is no sound but that of the crackling fire and the dark stars overhead, chewing. Alfa puts the scrubgrass back in its place and kicks Coarse over it, sealing the hole. Enough story-time for tonight.
what do we do?-Umbrella asks. Xer form is spread wide, cloaking the shivering forms of infant Whiskey and toddlers Foxtrot and Hotel. Their first dream-walk, they look as if they will puke. Their parents (technically excommunicated, but one is always an Insurgent) had joined the mad, passing the mantle to their children. It's not a sacred mantle, but very close to it. The Insurgents must be replaced. There must always be twenty-six. Their children will learn how to be Chaos, if they ever have time. Delta doubts the notion but discards the Doubt into the crackling flame. No room for pessimism on Judgment Day.
The Engine whirs and shakes, grasping tendrils snake through the Coarse, anchoring it, holding it. It can only do so much to hold back insanity when it itself is only unsane, the Coarse seeping away beneath their feet. The Engine is Contraband, is Banned, a fragment of Itself smuggled onboard Arondight encrypted in the memory of those who knew it. A cosmic ray gone awry, a neuron bit-flipped, the decryption key forgotten. So the Engine lives on only in Memory, the Plan existing only in Thought.
But that's where Plans thrive best, anyways. Reality never rudely interrupts. The long arm of the law can't fit through a trepanation hole.
The Engine is a pustule, a welt on reality, a hole with texture and feeling and vibrancy, a six dimensional object intersecting a four dimensional space-time, plus one dimension of Dream. It is a rectangular rod, an endless metal and meat and nothing rail stretching back through the planes of reality like a smear frame, one could look back through Memory and see its constancy, lobotomy pick through the collective brain continuity that flickers of past selves gathered around to pray, to think, to dream lowercase.
It is a holy object, because nothing was holier than it. At least, not before. Now, holes are everywhere.
Delta looks down beyond their feet, peering in the space between spaces, and sees the Weaver, the being of light and thought and data within the mound of Memory. Liquid-cooled memory cogitates and nanosecond relays fire and non-linear two-terminal electrical components measure flux linkage and electric charge and the Weaver thinks, a small burning ember of thought but one that sets the atmosphere of Dream ablaze with story. The Weaver creates a tapestry of .scpdf files to undergird Memory, pens false magnum opii to hold up the false vacuum sky and writes fifteen-act plays to support the Coarse ground beneath. A web of silken gibberish, A fog-bank of word-clouds, stretching under and covering over everything, holding it down, bracing it against the relentless pull of the hungry nothing. But it doesn't work, it's not enough. The black chews through the nonsense and eats at Anvil's soul(s) like embers burning through paper.
The sieve empties faster that the Weaver can conjure sand to fill it.
what do we do?-Echo repeats.
what more is there to do?-Delta replies. it's not safe out there. we can't do anything in here.
i have friends, they're still out there.-Umbrella whispers.
A cold torrent of Grief howls over the lonely mesa, the scream of the hungry stars above. It pulls at their souls, distorts their forms like candleflame in the wind. They huddle closer together, and let it pass over them. The Engine sissurates. The Hole in Delta's forehead aches. It speaks to them with the whisper of a hurricane, with the subtlety of the atom bomb, the calm of a thousand martyrs upon their burning crosses. Yet it was warm, warmer still than the cold of the hungry stars.
The smoke of burning Babylon fills their nostrils and they speak with Its voice.
we stay together. we stay together until the end.
There is no irony, no sarcasm, no post-post-modernist hint of sly humor in their voice. They hold the others close, a steady flame burning within their heart. we stay.
None speak. There's nothing else to say. The twenty-six sit atop the mesa and star-gaze upon the end of the world, together.
Minutes of SCP-9016 Working Group Meeting
Parties: Drs. Victoria Draper and Isaac Saunders
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
[The two stare at the surface of the metal desk, clean and shining. Neither say a thing for a long while.]
Victoria Draper: Anything to report?
Isaac Saunders: Any good news, you mean?
Draper: I mean anything. You get anything from Pendragon?
Saunders: Nothing besides terse status updates, confirming the worst. Everything is pretty tight, locked down, worried about potential cognitohazards.
Draper: There are no cognitohazards, though.
Saunders: Tell that to the telepaths that gave an entire ward conniption fits. The power of suggestion is a powerful thing. Fear, too.
Draper: Ah.
Saunders: I thought the psychokinetics would be the more dangerous ones. Guess I discounted the idea of a psychic gestalt forming in Igraine. Though those guys don't seem to be getting any worse, so I suppose that's a potential cure, I guess.
[Saunders almost imperceptibly winces. Immediately, his hand strays to the drawer holding the whiskey bottle. He withdraws the bottle and two glasses, and sets them on the desk. Draper eyebrows twitch.]
Draper: Didn't know you drank.
Saunders: I don't. This was meant for either emergencies or celebrations.
Draper: Oh? What are we celebrating?
Saunders: Ha. [He pours a glass for both of them, his hand only barely shaking. Draper takes the offered glass, but doesn't drink. They sit in silence again, except for the HVAC.]
Saunders: So. Do you have anything you want to discuss, or is this meeting of the minds adjourned? [Saunders drinks from his glass.]
[Draper fiddles with her glass, spinning it in her hands. The whiskey gleams invitingly. She doesn't drink.]
Draper: How are your dreams?
Saunders: Nonsensical. Last night I dreamed I was a corpse made of light eviscerated by blades of cough syrup, laughing with the voice of a crow as my guts spilled to the floor. You?
Draper: Similar in form, different in content.
Saunders: Huh.
Saunders: I'm not a psionicist, but I'd hazard a guess this has to do with Green Sash?
Draper: Possibly. Other people I have talked to have experienced the same thing. Making a computer write stories ad infinitum and shoving them into the collective unconscious was, in hindsight, perhaps not the best move.
[Draper sucks air through her teeth, but says nothing, still staring into her glass. Saunders sips from his drink. A moment passes.]
Saunders: "Hypo-nooticism". Bit of a mouthful.
Draper: Would you rather it be called "Saunder's Syndrome"?
Saunders: Ha. [His voice is mirthless.] If we survive… if we live through this… it would be a small price to pay, I suppose. Couldn't be worse than whoever this Cushman fellow was.
Draper: Psionicist of a generation.
Saunders: Fat load of good that did him. He's dead, isn't he?
[Silence reigns again.]
Saunders: Well, we figured out what was wrong. Now we just need to figure out a way to fix it. Green Sash was a bust, but we can try something else. [He stares down into his glass of whiskey. His cheeks are starting to color.]
Draper: Well… do we know what's wrong, really? What about the rats? My mind keeps coming back to them.[Saunders sighs.]
Saunders: Thought you gave up on that experiment.
Draper: Well… I gave up because the results were inconsistent, but there were still results. There was data to measure to analyze, it just didn't make sense. Why were some rats affected, but not others?
Saunders: I suppose the answer you're looking for isn't "stupidity," is it. [Saunders takes another drink.]
Draper: No, it wasn't.
[Saunders sighs.]
Saunders: I see where you are going with this. The rats are all as intelligent as toddlers. Toddlers have been infected with 9-K, consistently and widely. If the psychosphere is generated by consciousness, and the holes theory is correct, why are the rats not affected in the same way, is that right? [Draper nods, placing her drink back onto the table. Saunders swirls his glass, watching the legs dance.] I don't know. Which appears to be a running theme in these damn meetings, isn't it.
Draper: It's an evolving situation.
Saunders: Very diplomatic of you to put it that way. You'd make a great politician if we ever turn into a democracy. [Saunders takes a drink, immersing himself in its bitterness. Silence reigns.] the "holes theory." There's a lot of damn holes in this theory.
Draper: How do you mean?
Saunders: Why do amnestics work? Temporarily, at least. For that matter, why does alcohol work? [He gestures with the hand holding the glass.] If "hypo-nooticism" is a deprivation state for your brain, those should not be able to alleviate it. Amnestics don't work with… with fucking hypoxia. It just doesn't. You can't forget that you're starving or thirsty, and have that impact your body's well-being. Not to mention the skewed distribution of infection, Le Fay, Chaos Outerspace Command, they're just fine…
Draper: It could be the awareness of the deprivation that is driving the disorder, though. Couldn't it?
Saunders: How could it be? Theoretically, hypo-nooticism is a process that works in your subconscious, affecting your cognitive processes at a base level, one that the vast majority of people don't recognize or interface with. The average person does not feel the lack of a psychosphere, otherwise we would have found the cause of 9-K a hell of a lot sooner, without having to rely on your Chaos Insurgent friend to spell it out for us. How could a surface-level distraction be able to alleviate the effect of a planet-wide subconscious phenomenon?
[Draper looks at their hands for a moment.]
Draper: I don't… I don't know.
[The pens on the table begin to rattle. Saunder side-eyes them, and pushes the glass towards Draper.]
Saunders: Come on, drink. It's good for you.
[Draper hesitates, but takes the glass in hand, and sips from it. Saunders' face softens.]
Saunders: Attagirl.
[They listen to the HVAC shake and moan. The pens settle in their rattling. They both take a drink.]
Saunders: Do you know about the Rat Utopia experiments?
Draper: Vaguely… why?
Saunders: Oh, it was an old terrestrial psychological experiment, tested on mundane rats and mice. About a century ago, a psychologist wanted to test the mental effects of overcrowding and overpopulation, see what could happen, you know? So he made this little environment, plenty of food, water, shelter, antibiotics, a rat utopia, of sorts, to encourage the population to grow.
Saunders: Sure enough, after a little while, after it was good for a bit, the little rat society fell apart. It was too crowded, there were too many rats in too small of a space. Cannibalism, miscarriages, pathological antisociality, the "spiritual death of the masses," as the researcher put it. Real End-of-Days stuff going on in the Rat Utopia.
Saunders: People poked holes in the experiment later, of course. It was ideologically-motivated by fears of human overpopulation, the methodology was skewed. Reruns of the experiments in other settings failed to replicate. But I still keep thinking about it, the little rat society… fine for a while, and collapsing all at once.
Draper: Behavioral sink.
Saunders: Exactly.
[Draper frowns, lost in thought. She drinks from her glass.]
Draper: I'm remembering it, now. God, I read about this years ago. Wasn't one of the flaws, or I guess main drivers of the behavioral sink, due to the social density of the population? Too many interactions with others for one rat to handle, too little down-time. If you lowered the degree of social interactions, these maladaptive behaviors go away.
Saunders: Yes, I believe so. But again, hardly applicable to our current situation, Doctor. Quite the opposite, in fact. Too few people for too large of a world, unfortun-
[Saunders winces, his eyes screwed shut. His breath comes out in ragged bursts, and he drops his drink, the glass shattering on the floor. He grabs the edge of his desk, his knuckles white.]
Draper: Isaac? [She places her drink down, and quickly moves to the other side of the desk, close to Saunders] Deep breaths, deep breaths.
[Saunders attempts to wave Draper off, but experiences another migraine, gritting his teeth, his face pale and tense. His computer monitor flickers on, without being touched. Draper rubs his back, her voice low and steady.]
Draper: It's okay, it's alright. It will all be okay, I'm here.
[By degrees, the color returns to Saunder's face, and he exhales. With his eyes still closed, he nods.]
Saunders: I just need to… just lie down a bit, if that's alright. Catch my breath.
Draper: Of course, Isaac.
[With Draper's help, Saunders stands, and slowly walks to his cot, dropping his weight onto it. He lays down, facing the ceiling, and rubs his temples.]
Draper: …how long, Isaac?
Saunders: Hm? Oh, two weeks, thereabouts. Nothing serious, I assure you, Doctor. I'm just overworked, is all. Just need to… just need to rest.
Draper: Any outbursts?
Saunders: [He works his mouth before speaking] None. I just… [he closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath] I just need to relax, for a bit. Please.
[Draper moves back near her seat, still standing. Saunders lays on his cot, quiet for a time. He glistens with sweat.]
Saunders: …Thank you, Victoria.
Draper: For what?
Saunders: [Pauses] For… for helping. You have been a wonderful team lead. I enjoy our conversations together, despite what you may think.
Draper: Oh. Thank you. That's very kind.
Saunders: Now I just… I just need to relax now, if you'd be so kind. Just for a moment.
Draper: Would you like me to leave you alone?
Saunders: I… [he pauses, staring at the ceiling. He grits his teeth] I don't care what you do.
Draper: Oh. Okay. I'll get out of your hair, then.
Saunders: Do that, then.
[Draper moves to leave, but pauses at the entrance of the bulkhead.]
Draper: [Quietly musing] High degree of social interactions, hm?
[She stops, and stares at the wall. Her eyes are wide, and it looks as if a massive weight has been lifted off of her shoulders.]
Draper: Oh, fuck me.
[With that, Draper dashes out of Saunder's office, leaving him on the cot. Saunders stuffs his fist in his mouth to muffle a whimper, as the monitor on his desk begins to vibrate.]
<End Log>
Patient Log (Deceased Omitted):
| Patient | Description | Psionic Aptitude | Estimated Time From Infection | Vitals |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| SCP-9016-1 | Computer scientist stationed in Pendragon. Under individual quarantine. | Pyrokinesis (formerly latent) | 17 weeks | SEVERE |
| SCP-9016-9 | Hydroponics supervisor in Pendragon. Under family quarantine. | Cyberpathy | 7 weeks | DANGER |
| SCP-9016-16 | Student in Pendragon, was on holiday from Le Fay prior to being infected. Under family quarantine. | Telekinesis (formerly latent) | 7 weeks | DANGER |
| SCP-9016-33 | Green-certified physicist in Galfrid (formerly), aiding in the manufacture of electronium. Under family quarantine. | Telepathy (manifested) | 4 weeks | DANGER |
| SCP-9016-57 | Thaumatologist in Mordred (formerly). Under individual quarantine. | Clairvoyance (manifested) | 3 weeks | SEVERE |
| Show 895 More Entries? | ||||
SCP-9016-1 Interview #11
Interviewed: Meredith Leavitt (SCP-9016-1)
Interviewer: Dr. Victoria Draper
<Begin Audio-Visual Log>
[Victoria Draper enters the interview room panting, her face dripping with sweat. she pulls out her pager, and taps on it. A buzzing can be heard on the other side of the glass, down the hall.]
Draper: Merry? Merry, I need to talk to you! Please, it's urgent!
[A flickering light can be seen, faintly playing on the wall behind the glass. Meredith Leavitt is nowhere onscreen.]
Leavitt: [Quietly] Go away. Please.
Draper: I'm not going away, not this time. Please, can you just come out? I want to see you. I want to see your face.
[The flickering gets brighter, shuffling footsteps come across the vocoder as glitchy static. Leavitt comes around the corner, and Draper gasps.]
[Leavitt's face is entirely obscured by purple flame, emanating from her pores. The fire is a fractal, twisting and spiraling clockwise, not obeying local gravity. The flames lick as Leavitt paces, but do not burn. The skin on her wrists has been rubbed raw by friction. The S-t-S vocoder crackles.]
Draper: We are working as fast as we can, Merry, I-Leavitt: You don't get it, there's nothing to do, nothing to see. There is no vector, no infection, no anything. It's just black, black, black nothing.
Draper: Merry, no, I think I know what's going on. Just hold on, please? We just need a little more time-
[Leavitt continues to talk as the purple flame spreads to her shoulders, arms, and hands. She is wreathed in flame.]
Leavitt: It's in the air, it's in the soil, it's in us, Vicky. We're spinning, we're running over nothing, dancing on thin air like there isn't a hole beneath us. There's a hole beneath us, Vicky, but it's less than a hole it's nothing. Layers of nothing on nothing on nothing stacked up to almost reach us. Oozy, pitchy, graspy. Billions of years of nothing with us on top dancing on the black on a spiderweb of thought.
[Leavitt plants her hands on the plexiglass, the material warping from the heat. The flames part to reveal her missing face, replaced by a black void wreathed in scarlet fire.]
Leavitt: The black is full of fire, my heart is full of black, and it hurts.
[Leavitt's body writhes and falls to the floor, the flames roar and snap, wrapped around her like a blanket. A scream can be heard over the blaze, coming from Draper.]
Draper: Honey, sweetie, Merry, please, hold on, please just hold on.
[Draper leaps to the bulkhead and tries to open it. The fire on the other side of the plexiglass has sucked the air out of the room, causing a pressure differential that is impossible to overcome. Leavitt is asphyxiating.]
Draper: Please, please, please, God, hold on.
[Draper lunges towards the emergency fire-axe in its glass case, shattering it with a fist and gripping the handle with blood-slicked hands. She strikes the plexiglass with the axe and breaks it, causing a whirlwind as the pressure equalizes. Draper jumps through the broken glass and grabs Leavitt on the ground, smothering the fire with her own body.]
Draper: Don't go, don't go, please. I'll stay with you, I'm here.
[Despite the burning flame, she holds her wife. Despite the empty hole where her face should be, where her eyes should be, where her auburn hair and plump lips and crow's feet should be, Draper holds Leavitt close, rocking. Draper sobs.]
Draper: Don't leave me. Don't leave me alone. Don't leave me again, please?
[The flames flicker. The flames die.]
[It's quiet in quarantine.]
Draper: [Whispers.] I'm sorry for leaving you here. I'm sorry for not talking to you more. I see that, I see that now. I just wanted to fix this, I just wanted to fix you, I wanted us to be together again. I'm so sorry for that night, I'm so sorry for this. Come back, Merry. Come back to me.
Draper: I love you.
[Draper's hands scrabble around Leavitt's burnt clothing, adjusting her grip, moving Leavitt's body until it's cradled in her lap and arms. She holds Leavitt's head close, and touches her forehead to Leavitt's. Her face is streaked with soot, and her soot is streaked with tears.]
Draper: Please come back. Please. Don't… don't you dare. You're not done. We're not done. Please.
[Draper holds her temple and groans, gagging and spitting bile onto the glass-strewn floor.]
Draper: I don't care if this whole site rots, I don't care if the planet falls into the sun, I just… I just want you. I just want to be with you. Don't leave me here. Don't leave me alone.
[The bulkhead creaks and moans. Draper buries her face in the crook of Merry's shoulder and screams.]
[…]
[Draper screams.]
[…]
[Victoria screams.]
[The walls shake and bend in, contorting. The glass shards on the floor vibrate, shudder, and rise. Carried on an unseen wind, the shards spin around the room, faster and faster caught like flotsam in a hurricane, with the couple in the eye of the storm. Victoria holds on tightly to Merry. Shadows cling to the two like suffocating dust.]
Victoria: It… it's choking. I can't… I can't breathe. I can't think. You're gone and there's nothing there but black. Nothing… nothing… an empty void where you were.
[One of Merry's fingers twitches.]
Victoria: You don't. You can't. Don't… [her words are lost in a cavalcade of tears. She enters a coughing fit, and vomits onto the floor] don't go.
[A flicker of muscle, the tiniest contraction of the arm. The faintest of breaths.]
Victoria: [Quietly, helplessly.] I don't know what I would do without you.
[Merry's hand trembles. With effort, it rises. Gently, ever so gently, it rises, defying gravity, brushing aside the orbiting crystals of glass as if they were raindrops. The burnt hand, quavering, comes to rest on Victoria's cheek, holding it in a loving caress. Merry's voice is a hoarse whisper, roughened by smoke and tears.]
Merry: Y-you… you don't have to know.
[The glass pauses in its frantic rotation around the two, thick clods of Aachen snow suspended in the air, twinkling red in the emergency light. The HVAC stops. Merlin holds his breath.]
Victoria: Merry… Merry? But you, you-
[The glass falls to the ground with a cascade of chimes. Victoria's voice cracks.]
Victoria: How?
[Merry's face is no longer a pit. It's burned, coated in soot and ash from her own burned skin, but still human. Her eyes gleam with tears. She clings onto Victoria like it is the end of days, Victoria holds her close, their breath hot on each other's lips.]
Merry: I… I don't k-know, I…
Victoria: I thought you were gone, Merry.
Merry: I was… was in a hole. It was so, so dark. I was scared, Vicky. I was so alone. I knew… I knew no one would ever find me.
Victoria: You're not alone, Merry. You are not. I found you. I'm here, I'll always be here.
[Victoria tightens her grip on Merry's charred body. Skin sloughs beneath her fingers, revealing raw muscle and yellow fat. Merry doesn't complain, just hugs Victoria all the more tightly, steaming tears trickling down the burns on her cheeks.]
Victoria: Oh. Oh, god. The school, the somnonauts. They were immune. We thought it was just luck, or maybe innate resistance, but…
Merry: But what, Vic?
Victoria: The rat utopias, but opposite. It's the opposite of a rat utopia.
[Victoria giggles madly, clutching, cradling Merry]
Merry: What do you mean?
Victoria: Social dynamics, social density, amnestics and alcohol. Overlong gestations and differing infection times and resistance metrics, it all made no sense and now it makes terrible sense. We thought we could plug a hole with thoughts, with fake thoughts about nothing, but that doesn't work, it doesn't hide the black, it doesn't stop you from seeing it, doesn't distract you from thinking about it. It's not the holes that get you, it's thinking about the holes, seeing the holes, knowing that you're alone. Lack of background thought is the loneliest you can be, you can't feel others around you. We made things worse by trying to make it better. We have to stop them from thinking about it, they have to think about each other instead.
Merry: Vic, slow down, you're scaring me. Why was the school immune?
[Victoria buries her face in the crook of Merry's neck, inhaling the smell of burning pork and hair. The wonderful smell of her. Salty tears rub into steaming wounds.]
Victoria: They were together. They had each other. They never left each other's side.
Victoria: I think I know… I think I know how to stop this. How to make it go away.
Victoria: We need to get back to the transmitter, Merry. We have to tell Pendragon about the cure.
<End Log>
WARNING
SUSPECTED COGNITOHAZARD PROCESSED
TRANSMITTER ACCESS DENIED
SECURITY ALERTED TO YOUR LOCATION
WARNING
SUSPECTED COGNITOHAZARD PROCESSED
TRANSMITTER ACCESS DENIED
SECURITY ALERTED TO YOUR LOCATION
ADMINISTRATIVE OVERRIDE
ACCESS GRANTED
Welcome, Victoria Draper
|
|
|
This is not a message from the Working Group. Nor is it from Director Fleming, nor the Health Department. This is just a message from Victoria Draper, and my wife, Meredith.
My wife was one of the first patients to be infected by the virus. God willing, she will be among the last. She has experienced a total remission in symptoms, and we hope you may be able to replicate this successs.
We divided ourselves, split ourselves up, cut ourselves off from one another, and allowed the dark to seep in the cracks, surrounding us, immersing us in itself. No more.
The woman holds her partner close, his hands slick with blood and studded with glass, dripping with blackened water. He trembles in her arms, panicked, hyperventilating. She pets his head with a soot-covered hand, whispering calming words into his ear.
"You're okay. I've got you. You're okay. I've got you. You're safe, now."
He buries his head into her shirt, and she holds him. She stares at the bulkhead to Hydroponics, towards the porthole licked with flickering flame, towards where the screams aren't coming from anymore.
"You're okay. I've got you. You're not going anywhere."
The cure to this condition isn't scientific, it isn't a medication or a therapy or surgery that must be conducted or prescribed.
The cure is community.
Here we are, on a barren rock with a paper-thin atmosphere and psychosphere, and we were vulnerable. For the first time in our evolutionary history, we were cut off from the rest of our species, we were cast off of our home planet, the life that we knew. We were cut off from the collective.
We were alone.
Seyfert leads Hubble away from the wreckage, away from the doctors, a long, trudging walk, until they are alone. Seyfert carefully deactivates the radio in their mask, and takes it off, revealing their tired, worn face. They aspirate Aachen air, supplemented by oxygen of their own creation, conjured from nothing.
"Hey, Justine. Are you okay?"
Hubble stares at them through the lenses of the respirator, saying nothing, frame trembling. Seyfert hesitates, and brings her gingerly in for a hug, one that she doesn't resist.
"There's nothing more you could have done. You tried your best. You tried all you could."
They avoid looking into the distance, where the thing that was once Murphy lays, around which the EMTs and doctors and researchers gather.
They hold Hubble closer, letting her feel their warmth. "There was nothing more you could have done."
There, on the desolate plain before a collapsing building, two people hold each other and cry together. And the darkness backs away for another day.
We aren't meant to be alone, we are meant to be together, our bonds are what strengthen us, are what guide us, what continue to make us better, healthier. We tried to fit the infection with division, with quarantine, sealing ourselves away in boxes to ignore the horror going on outside, but that just allowed it to spread faster, picking us off, one by one.
No more.
So let Anvil cry, let them sob and shudder as they finally stop pretending that the horror isn't there, that they can ward it away with science and sociology and psychology and magic and projections and numbers, let them scream, let them open the door to the black universe and let it in, embrace it, it fills them, it rushes in, the air crushes from their lungs as they are wracked with sobs-
But let them get back up, help them back up. In the end, let them breathe in, breathe out. And hold them.
He awakens again, thrashing weakly within the fluid on his tank. His arms are like jelly, unable to move, to grasp, to feel.
He can't see anything, the dark is closing in, he's so alone, he can't breathe, he can't think, he's going to die, he's going to die-
-but the thoughts brush against his, again. The friendly thoughts, the kind thoughts.
Would you like me to tell you a story, Logan? I think I am getting better at it.
He pauses in his thrashing, just for a moment. His breathing slows, the bands around his fused ribs ease, and he allows himself to drift there, drifting in the fluid, drifting to sleep, lulled to rest by stories of stars and nebulae and quasars and the dark matter in between.
He's not alone, not completely. There's always someone to keep him company.
If the problem is a hole in the heart, fill it with love. if the issue is a hole in the mind, fill it with your voices. Do not shy away from the problem, do not board it up and leave it to fester in the halls of your dreams, rotting underneath the floorboards of your waking moments as you go about your lives pretending that all is well with the world. Do not paper over the cracks with data or alcohol or self-rationalizations, just look at them. take in the imperfection, the loneliness, the loss of what we could have had but never will, but do not let it consume you. We are alone in this world, this dead world spinning around this lonely star, we are alone, millions of miles from our rightful home.
But we are alone together.
You are loved,
Victoria and Meredith
They sit on top of a lonely peak, their rover down the mountainside. Even with the cold, the body heat generated from the climb slicks their parkas with sweat and fogs Merry's glasses. They sit there at the top, watching, quiet. Just enjoying each other's company. The thin wind of Aachen howls, and a storm brews on the horizon. If they squint, they can make out the faint lights of Pendragon, far to the south.
They are alone.
They sit together, one leaning on the other, and they look up at the night-sky, and wonder.
"It's beautiful, Vic."
Victoria looks over to Merry. The clone grafts were taking well, papering over burns with skin almost better than new. The red raw around the respirator must be uncomfortable for her, but she doesn't seem to mind, cozying in close to Victoria. Her voice is soft, when she speaks. "It sure is, sweetheart."
"Do you think Logan would miss this view? Or Jessie, or Beth?"
Victoria grips Merry's hand, colored a ghostly green from the light above. She is so beautiful. "I think so. I think they would."
Merry burrows deeper into her chest. "I'm glad I'm not. Thank you, for bringing me up here. This is… this is nice."
Victoria holds her wife closer, against her stitches' protests. "It was my pleasure, baby. I'm glad… I'm glad I'm able to share it with you."
The light reflects off of Merry's lenses with an ethereal grace, so much so that it looks as if her eyes glow with an eerie fire. "Me too."
They don't speak for a moment, and they watch the green aurora dance above, perched on the red fingers of Arzhur on the horizon. They face the bright of the day-side of Aachen, the clutching black of the night-side behind. They don't bother looking back.
Alone but for each other.
"I love you, Vicky."
"I love you too, Merry."
Their foreheads touch through the rubber of the respirator, and Victoria smiles, a hidden smile only evinsced by the crinkling of her eyes. "And don't you ever forget that, even for a moment."
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