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Info
SCP-9055: Arachnemonic
Author:Aldi_Shopper
⚠️ Content warning: Gore, disturbing imagery, self harm and suicide. Reader discretion is advised.
Every splinter I've ever felt is under my skin, right now.
ATTENTION
This file exists solely on Site-14’s local foundation database.
Additionally, this file and surrounding documentation have been coated in several Alpha Level antimemetic cloaking agents.
The antimemetic potency of the anomaly in question, in addition to these digital cloaks, make navigation to this file and conscious comprehension of the content therein impossible without mnestic cerebral hardening of the highest magnitude.
In short: If you are reading this file you have been dosed with a Class-Z Mnestic.1
You have approximately three hours to live after initial exposure, the latter two of which will be spent vegetative.
There is no known mechanism to prevent irreversible brain damage and eventual death from a Class-Z Mnestic overdose.
In the hours you have left, your services are required in an ongoing containment crisis.
Item #: SCP-9055
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-9055 is uncontained and currently under ongoing research efforts to further ascertain the anomaly’s nature.
Research priorities include:
- The extent of SCP-9055’s influence on Site-14
- The length of time SCP-9055 has remained undetected by Site-14 and the Foundation at large
- The mechanism behind SCP-9055’s antimemetic potency
- Preparation for an eventual excursion into SCP-9055
Research on SCP-9055 is asynchronous, assigned researchers are those currently reading this file. That is, those dosed with Class-Z Mnestic and within their period of sufficient cognitive function.
Description: SCP-9055 is a large, complex, subterranean structure located directly below Site-14.
SCP-9055 is potently antimemetically cloaked in its entirety, with only Class-Z Mnestics able to render it perceptible to sentient creatures. When others are made aware of SCP-9055, or have their attention drawn towards it in any way, they exhibit a profound disinterest and are unable to recall any data about it, including its existence in the first place.
The ‘top’ of SCP-9055 is approximately 150 metres below Site-14’s basement. The structure extends at least a further 450 metres downwards, but its exact depth is unknown.
Addendum 9055.1: Discovery
I found it whilst looking for a cure to this overdose. Apologies, I’m dropping the format because I don’t have much time left, I spent it all setting up this file and the cloaks.
I don’t remember how I was dosed, which is strange, because I remember everything. Once I realised what was happening I took to the local database, I didn’t want to involve anyone else in case I was under a significant memetic threat – or at least until I’d ruled out virality.
When you’re dosed, you spot the filled in gaps. Our Deep-Set Pansensors in the building’s foundations have been picking up non-anomalous radiation and baseline hume fluctuations emanating somewhere below ground. It seems nobody has noticed these readings or at least can’t remember noticing them – they go back years.
There’s also trace amounts of antimemetic radiation in Site-14’s basement. I took a deep-range scanner from the anomalous seismology department and that’s when I saw SCP-9055.
It’s huge, I couldn’t even see all of it.
I don’t know what the next move is. Fuck, I can’t see. I suppose somebody will have to find a way to get inside, or at least closer to it. Shit, I’m gonna die here. Soon. There’s no cure, I always knew there was no cure… Wait, stop recording. Erase that. Erase that! Damnit.
I can’t see. The mnestic’s burning me up. I smell burnt hair, it’s just like when my mother used her straighteners, she’s here now. Everything’s here now.
I can remember every butterfly I’ve ever seen. Every splinter I’ve ever felt is under my skin, right now. Sorry, I’m taking up space, whatever move is next is not mine to make. I’m dying, I’m dying right now.
I remember every breath I’ve ever taken… I think, I think I remember the womb. My brain is fizzing, there’s CO2 coming out of my ears.
[UNINTELLIGIBLE] Mom… [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
Addendum 9055.2: Next up
Okay, whoever came before me may have used the term asynchronous research, but they didn’t really abide by it. For posterity, here’s how it’s done:
I am Junior Researcher Helena Barton.
I work under Dr. Crane, and am currently between assignments.
The date is 22/6/2021.
It is 10:33 a.m local time.
I also don’t know how I was dosed.
I am going to take some further scans in the basement with the seismology equipment, in the hopes of gaining a better understanding of SCP-9055’s structure – and maybe a way in.
If for whatever reason my efforts prove fruitless, you need to try something else.
I took scans from all over the basement and some from outside:
SCP-9055 is roughly cuboidal, with a width of 300 metres, length of 400 metres and a depth of somewhere between 700 and 1200 metres. I could drag a seismologist into this to use the equipment properly but I don’t want to get them killed.
There are narrow shafts running up through the Earth from SCP-9055 towards Site-14. I can’t quite make them out. Some are meandering and rough, others almost perfectly vertical. It looks like some of them make contact with Site-14 systems, I’ve identified one which I believe has integrated with the ventilation system.
I believe SCP-9055 has infiltrated Site-14, possibly years ago. I could raise the alarm and tell as many people as possible, but to them I would be screaming and pointing at absolutely nothing. A raving drugged up lunatic lunatic. An affected vent is in the ground-floor break room, I’m going there now.
It’s here, a grate above the fridges. When I saw it, I thought I hadn’t noticed it before. I hadn’t. I tried pointing it out to a bloke eating his lunch, he said I was pointing at nothing.
I climbed onto the fridges and tore the grate out of the wall. Nobody tried to stop me, nobody even noticed me. My predecessor called for an eventual excursion into SCP-9055, I say there’s no time like the present present.
Exploration Log 9055.1
[Automatic transcription and upload: ENABLED.]
[Recording Begins]
The camera is on a table in Site-14’s ground floor break room. The room is empty. A figure comes around the table and enters the frame.
Helena Barton is pale and visibly sweating. A heavy flashlight is in her left hand, a makeshift eyepatch is wrapped around her head. Her visible eye is bloodshot and twitching.
Barton: Red light, hello. I’m Junior Rese- nevermind you already know.
She scratches sharply at her scalp
Barton: I crawled in just a few metres, then realised I’d forgotten a torch. Well, it never occurred to me… If I’d thought to bring a torch I would’ve brought one – I can’t forget anything… When I crawled back out I tried to ask for one at the equipment desk, but the bloke just stared straight through me. I vaulted the desk, went in the back and grabbed it myself.
She flips the flashlight into the air, catching it.
Barton: He never said anything, didn’t even look… It’s like, I’ve caught it.
She bites down hard on her thumb, then holds it to the camera, blood starts to run down her arm.
Barton: This could be useful to you: pain is good for clearing your mind for a second. It’s like, something deeper and more primal in our brains hushes the higher functions for a bit when there’s something urgent.
And you’ll need the quiet. Thoughts don’t fade anymore, every tiny seed of an idea grows. Taking up space and never never going away. Layering over each other, talking over each other. Every thought is a wound which won’t heal.
She picks up the camera from the table and starts to climb towards the open vent.
Barton: Oh, and the eyepatch is for the visual data. It burns, I’m trying to halve it. I’ve got a perfect photoreal memory of every frame of my life. I can remember the regular shot and the upside-down blurry one before the brain does its interpolation… This is going to kill me. There’s no world where this doesn’t kill me.
Barton points the flashlight and camera down the ventilation shaft. It is a narrow, featureless tunnel that extends for five metres before terminating at a T-intersection.
Barton: I can’t see anything yet, there’s definitely a pressure though, something’s messing with my head in here.
She inches forward slowly, groaning in effort and pain.
Barton: I could’ve sent a drone… I could’ve dosed up a Class-D and sent him in here…
She takes the right at the junction, the shaft extends a further 15 metres, multiple other shafts connect along the left and right walls.
Barton: But I came in myself. Me and a torch.
Her pace quickens, she takes the third left.
Barton: Because I’m arrogant. I always have been, it’s so clear now I see everything.
She speeds up again, her crawl more of a lurch. The floors and walls of the shaft thunder with her movements.
Barton: Even now, I’m taking up space and some poor bastard’s precious time… Is that just me? Do all foundationers have this entitlement? Or is it more the inevitable death?
She pauses to catch her breath, the reverberations in the vent eventually falling silent.
Barton: I’m not gonna make it. It’s too far.
The camera’s movements suggest her clutching her head, she howls in agony.
Barton: It’s like my skull is splitting. My- my brain is breaking down. I can feel the two hemispheres thinking independently… One of them is blind blind.
Another sound is heard deeper in the vent. Quiet, but growing louder. A metallic scurrying.
Barton: Shit. Gun. I didn’t bring a gun.
The scurrying gets louder. Barton tries to reverse, there isn’t enough room to turn around. She tries anyway, her legs get stuck against the walls.
Barton: Arrogant arrogant! How could you not think of a gun? Let me see!
She twists herself onto her back, her legs towards the sound. She points the torch and camera at her feet as she shuffles backwards. A small metallic creature emerges around the corner. It stops only briefly, then continues its scuttle towards her. Its shape is arachnid, with five short legs and a featureless silver-grey body. Barton screams.
Barton: Help! Help me! Anybody! Please! Please hear me! Please help me!
She throws the camera at the creature, she misses. The camera tumbles past and lands facing back towards her. The creature begins to climb up her leg. She kicks, the creature lands on her chest.
Barton: [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
She begins to thrash wildly, the creature is knocked out of sight. Her knees, feet and arms drum against the walls and floor.
Barton: [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
Her thrashing becomes more indicative of a seizure. The flashlight is knocked and deactivated. Sounds of movement are heard behind the camera, there is a loud hissing.
[Recording Ends]
Addendum 9055.3:
I am Junior Researcher Matthew Sunns.
I am an accountant for the Ethics Committee, I work under Liaison Balakrishnan.
The date is 11/7/2021.
It is 13:04 local time.
I also don’t know how I was dosed.
I hope you can forgive my reluctance to climb right in after my predecessor. I’m going to see what else I can discover topside first.
There are records of a Helena Barton working at Site-14 since 2012, and then she disappears from all records. Sudden employee vanishment is cause for alarm at any workplace, but particularly worrisome at the Foundation.
And yet nobody has done anything. I asked her coworkers, her senior researcher Dr. Crane – I even called her cousin at Site-86, none of them have ever met somebody by that name or description. I pointed them directly at the gap in her registers, the idle cell on our spreadsheets. They couldn’t care less. It was the exact disinterest they show when informed of SCP-9055.
I think that vent is oblivion. Those that enter experience their second death before their first.
I also tried to inform my colleagues and superiors about my current overdose. My dramatic tale of how I had only hours left to live failed to capture their attention. My best friend of the last three years even yawned.
It seems the existence of Class-Z Mnestics is itself an antimemetically-guarded secret. I for one had never heard of them before it was killing me. How the first one, the guy that set this all up, knew what they were is another mystery I suppose.
Apologies, I’m rambling. Like the others, is that a symptom? A side effect?
Okay I’m heading for the vent now. I’ll bring a gun this time.
Exploration Log 9055.2
[Automatic transcription and upload: ENABLED.]
[Recording Begins]
The video shows the interior of a ventilation shaft. The walls are notably grimy, a fine, mould-like white-green dust is present.
Sunns: I’m a decent way past where Helena Barton got to, I think I’m heading for the same place she was. It wasn’t pleasant having to climb over her body. I would have liked to get her out of here and bury her, but there’s no time. She died in the dark, I suppose.
He shuffles briskly forward, the shaft pitching slightly downwards.
Sunns: I don’t know if you can see this dust, but there’s definitely a build-up of it. Whatever it is, you should bring a gas mask.
Five minutes pass as he proceeds through the vents. He mutters the Lord’s Prayer to himself repeatedly.
Sunns: Here it is, where the vents meet with one of the narrow shafts running up from SCP-9055.
One of the walls of the vent ahead has been worn away, concrete is visible behind it. A small tunnel digs into the concrete and sinks downwards. Sunns approaches and shines his flashlight down it – no bottom is visible
Sunns: [UNINTELLIGIBLE] I could drop the camera down it… [UNINTELLIGIBLE] I’ll go further.
[Recording Cuts]
Another stretch of ventilation shaft, the dust on the walls is thicker and floating in the air.
Sunns: [UNINTELLIGIBLE] art in heaven hallowed be thy name [UNINTELLIGIBLE] done on Earth as [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] Forgive us.
[Recording Cuts]
Sunns is descending a tight, natural tunnel. The walls are stone and earth, the air is thick with dust.
[Recording Cuts]
The video shows a metal staircase running up and down a tall, narrow concrete shaft. Neither end of the staircase is visible. The staircase itself and the surrounding walls have suffered severe structural damage, bare earth is visible in patches across the walls.
The camera is settled down into an alcove on the wall and spun to face Matthew Sunns. He is mostly shrouded in darkness, his clothes are torn and filthy and his eyes are bloodshot.
Sunns: Welcome back! I clambered further and eventually found another tunnel, one I could fit through. It eventually broke out into this. Some kind of access, reminds me of a fire escape. I’m not sure where heading up would lead, maybe back to Site-14, but I’m pretty certain of where down leads… I’ll check back in whe-
He stops suddenly and points the flashlight and gun somewhere out of frame. There is total silence for ten seconds.
Sunns: Okay, heading down.
He reaches towards the camera.
[Recording Cuts]
Sunns is at the bottom of the staircase, the ground is covered in a heap of rubble. He climbs down the pile and into a larger cuboidal space. There is a large, rusted iron door flush with one wall; half buried by debris. The concrete surrounding its frame is cracked and crumbling.
Sunns sets the camera, flashlight and gun down onto the ground and picks up a thick metal pole from the floor: a fallen rail from the staircase.
He begins to work at the concrete around the door frame, dust erupting with each strike. He has to stop several times to cough.
Minutes later, he kicks the door hard five times. The sixth sets the hinges loose from the wall – the door falls forward and slams against the floor. Some debris tumbles through the now open frame after it.
Sunns retrieves his equipment and crouches through the doorframe into the space beyond.
Sunns: Here we are, SCP-9055.
The space is a corridor, the only light source is the flashlight. The mould-like substance is thick on the walls. In denser spots mycelial growths cluster together with thin branching tendrils spreading in all directions.
Sunns: Lord grant me passage. Lord grant me safety.
Sunns presses forward. He makes slow progress down the corridor, there is no other sound than his footsteps.
Sunns: The mnestic’s really doing its work now. I reckon I’ve got minutes.
He reaches the end of the corridor and turns right onto another, it is visually indistinct from the previous.
Sunns: Also, I’m really, really scared. The adrenaline isn’t helping. As if my brain wasn’t moving fast enough…
His pace quickens, his gait starts to meander. He has no apparent target.
Sunns: Talking’s helping though. I’m gonna keep talking, filling the air. Maybe that’s why the others did their rambling.
He sharply turns onto a third corridor. There are rooms lining each side, but his flashlight doesn’t illuminate them to provide sufficient detail.
Sunns: Yes, that makes sense. It’s like, usually the subconscious conjures a handful of concepts, ideas, seeds, whatever. Then only a filtered few are passed on up, to the conscious mind, to us.
A patch of dried mycelium crunches under his foot.
Sunns: But now everything’s coming up, the filter’s torn apart. Nothing can be quietly forgotten anymore, everyone’s here! It’s like, consciousness diarrhea.
He passes by an elevator shaft, and barges straight through a door onto further corridor. His breathing becomes ragged.
Sunns: And then again, only a certain few thoughts are promoted to speech, but that filter’s gone too. It’s all leaking out! But the rambling is like relief, the thoughts are being finally released, like a desperate exhale.
He makes another right turn, now heading back on himself.
Sunns: That might explain why this file has been such a garden of word salad… See! That pun shouldn’t have made it anywhere beyond the subconscious!
He giggles to himself, his meandering gait has now become so irregular he almost strikes the walls. He stumbles forward, then stops abruptly.
Sunns: Oh, Oh no. [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
A small, metallic, five-legged creature is on the floor three metres ahead of him. He attaches the flashlight to his belt, then draws a SIG Sauer M17 pistol, his hands are shaking.
Sunns: [UNINTELLIGIBLE] please…
He approaches the creature slowly. He gets approximately one metre away from it, one of its legs twitches. He takes a quick step backwards, the floor gives way beneath him.
He yells, his whole body falls as a large section collapses.
He emerges into another, lower corridor. He crashes straight through that floor also.
He lands hard on the floor of the next corridor. He screams. The camera is dropped and lands upside-down beside him. The flashlight remains attached at his waist, the pistol is in his hand. He is lying on his back, his right trouser-leg is tented by a protruding bone. He screams again, his hand pounding the ground.
The corridor is completely infested with mycelial and fungal growth. The walls are thick with grey-brown caps and yellow gills. The air is thick with spores.
Sunns: God no. God please no!
He clutches his head and howls in agony, he arches his back and kicks his broken leg with his other foot.
Sunns: Mercy! Mercy! [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
A section of the wall stirs, pulsating and writhing.
Sunns: [UNINTELLIGIBLE] Mercy, Lord have mercy.
Fungal tendrils snap and retreat as a section of the wall breaks away. It starts to fall, before further decomposition forms legs to catch itself. The mass reshapes until there are recognisable arms and a head. Its form is humanoid.
Sunns screams. He fires five shots into the creature’s ‘head’. Chunks of material are torn away, but it is otherwise unaffected. Tendrils unfurl around a hole in the head which could be a ‘mouth’
It crouches down to Sunns and lifts him up by the collar. It pulls him into mouth-to-mouth contact.
Sunns: [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
Sunns presses the pistol against the creature’s head and fires four further shots. It is not effective. He turns the gun on himself and fires, his body falls limp.
Tendrils begin to cover the camera’s lens.
[Recording Ends]
Addendum 9055.4:
My name is Adekunle Ngoma.
My role at the Foundation is highly classified.
The date is 4/8/2021.
It is 11:53 a.m local time.
I also don’t know how I was dosed.
I sympathise that there should be no secrets between us mutually damned, but if I did explain my role — even in writing — the implanted cognitoworm would shut off my brainstem. I don’t really want that, yet.
At the risk of being even more unpopular, I’m also not going into SCP-9055. Call it cowardice, you’re probably right.
I’m going to attempt to cure this overdose myself, I figure my best shot is the strongest amnestic I can get my hands on, maybe there’s some ‘cancelling out’. If it works, and if I remember any of this, I’ll tell everyone I can.
Actually, there is something I can do first.
I have recovered Helena Barton’s body. I crawled in, followed the trail of blood from her bleeding thumb, and dragged her back out. I laid her to rest in a nice patch by the west car park. That little spot with the magnolias? She’s under the trees.
I don’t think I have the time to bury her, nor do I know where Site-14 stores the shovels.
I’m going to the pharmacy now.
Addendum 9055.5:
I found that guy's body.
It looks like the combination of a powerful mnestic and a powerful amnestic had a reaction akin to matter-antimatter annihilation. His body was laying just outside the pharmacy, caked in antimemetic radiation. People have been stepping over him and holding benign conversation right beside him. It seems even the flies are ignoring him, even the bacteria, maybe.
His inner ear was spilled out, he’d scratched his own neck to pieces – it was almost severed. And his eyes… Nevermind.
I laid him to rest next to researcher Barton
I’ve been checking security footage from today, tracking myself since I came in this morning. I was on the third floor, heading east from the security office to Dr. Brown-Lockwood’s office when one of the spider creatures attacked me.
It scurried straight up to me, I didn’t notice it, and I don’t remember seeing it (and I remember everything). On the camera, it looks as if it ‘bites’ me, right on my left achilles. Looking now, there is a little mark, a single red spot; I wouldn’t have noticed it if I wasn’t looking for it.
It was in Dr. Brown-Lockwood’s office when I started to feel the effects of the Class-Z Mnestic, so there’s one mystery solved:
The spider creatures are dosing Site-14 staff on Class-Z Mnestic.
As to the ramifications of that, and what’s next, I’ve got no idea. I’m almost out of time, I spent about ten minutes just getting that text to be big, bold and red. Had to open a terminal and do it properly, the perfect eidetic memory of 2,073,600 pixels sixty times a second burns like The Sun through a telescope. Guess that’s why everyone’s been dictating these addenda orally.
I have no intention of waiting until I’m thinking through a brain that’s liquefying. I’m gonna lay down in the grass next to the other two and stick a gun under my chin.
There’s not much space here by the magnolias, so do try to figure this out soon. I’ve done this a little backwards, but far be it from me to break protocol:
My name is Zachary Wilson.
I am a facility guard at Site-14.
The date is 19/8/2021.
It is 16:16 local time.
I do know how I was dosed.
Good luck, and godspeed.
Addendum 9055.6: Mobile Task Force Recruitment
Date: 3/9/2021
Exploration Team: Mobile Task Force ε-0 (“The Cardinals”)
Subject: SCP-9055
Team Lead: ε-0 Captain Hayes (E0-1)
Other Members: Bethel, Martin, Lee (E0-2, E0-3, E0-4)
Accompanying Researcher: Junior Researcher Dr. Frank Douglas
Exploration Log 9055.3
[Automatic transcription and upload: ENABLED.]
[Recording Begins]
Hayes: Okay, let’s run checks.
Bethel: Check.
Lee: Check.
Martin: Check.
Douglas: Oh, check.
Martin: Did you just say ‘check’ or did you make sure your camera and microphone are working?
Douglas: No, no they’re working.
The team of five is standing in Site-14’s lower basement, gathered around an unmarked door. They are all clad in tactical gear, including: A M16A4 assault rifle, SIG Sauer M17 sidearm and a gas mask each. There is a portable Scranton Reality Anchor by Lee’s feet.
Hayes: Very good. Dr. Douglas, do you want to fill in for the record? Make it brief.
Douglas: Sure. Um- I am junior researcher Dr. Frank Douglas. I was dosed with Class-Z Mnestic this morning. I managed to discover this-
He gestures towards the door.
Douglas: Antimemetically cloaked door in Site-14’s basement. I believe it is the other end of the access shaft that Matthew Sunns discovered in Addendum 9055.3. I enlisted the only MTF that was on site at the time for an armed excursion.
Hayes: Alright. Let’s-
Martin: Feel like you missed anything there Dr. Douglas?
Douglas: I, uh-
Martin: Like how your ‘enlistment’ boiled down to the forceful dosing of me and my entire team with a suicide drug?
Hayes: That’s enough.
Martin: Respectfully Sir, I believe the record needs to be clear in this. Dr. Douglas’ actions are undeniably unethical.
Douglas: This is standard procedure for the research phase of an anomaly! Several excursions have already been made to little success, it’s time to send in an MTF.
Martin: Don’t spout procedure at me asshole! You were too chickenshit to head down there and you dragged the rest of us into it!
Bethel: We’re on a time crunch here…
Martin: This is bullshit, we’ve been poisoned!
Lee: Can we keep the shouting down please Martin?
Martin: This is outside our expertise anyway, we’re a paramathematics squad.
Hayes: We are the Mobile Task Force of the paramathematics division, we’ve had the same essential combat training as all mobile task forces with our clearance. We’ve got our gear, a skip and an accompanying researcher… This is well within our expertise.
Captain Hayes stares Martin down until his demeanor calms.
Hayes: And there goes all the time I’m willing to tolerate spending on misgivings. Bethel, open the door.
Bethel: Sir.
She opens the door revealing the top of a dark metallic staircase within a narrow concrete shaft. She illuminates the space with the underbarrel flashlight attached to her rifle – the staircase descends downwards out of view.
Hayes: But I’ll again put into the air what we’re all thinking. If there’s any hope for any of us surviving the hour, it’s down there. Regardless of how we ended up here, our mutual interest is now a comprehensive and productive investigation of SCP-9055.
They enter through the door and begin to descend the staircase. Bethel leads, then Hayes, then Douglas, then Lee, then Martin.
They descend five flights in total silence.
Hayes: Anything?
Lee: Negative. EM radiation is above background but within tolerance. Humes are stable. No akiva or anything else nasty.
Hayes: Antimemetic radiation?
Lee: We don’t have a tool for measuring that exactly, I’m not even sure if one exists. But I’m definitely feeling something. Maybe that’s what everyone else has been going on when they talk about ‘antimemetic radiation’ – a pressure in mnesticized minds. Something’s tryna make us forget, even if we can’t.
Martin: Where did you even get the Class-Z?
Douglas: I- the pharmacy stocks it. Not sure why, never seen it there before myself, but it’s there. I had to brute force my way into its container but the pharmacist didn’t seem to notice.
Martin: Huh.
They descend thirteen more flights in total silence.
Martin: You been putting your freshly superpowered mind toward a way to cure us?
Douglas: Maybe… When it comes to the Class-Z, what is it doing to us? What do you feel?
Martin: You’re asking? Fucking everything Doc. Extreme sensory overload. Clothes against skin, teeth against gums, an avalanche of data. And my head’s full of memories, I can feel the fresh pain of my first heartbreak whilst tasting our first kiss. Not helpful on a job.
Douglas: But that’s two separate things, right?
Martin: What do you mean?
Douglas: The inability to disregard any sensory data in the present, and the uncontrollable recollection of memories from the past are two separate things.
Martin: Okay?
Douglas: The glossary and footnotes both describe the primary effect of Class-Z Mnestics as the permanent destruction of the subject’s ability to forget. This would cause the sensory overload. Perhaps the memories are a side effect.
Matthew Sunns talked about how the filter between the conscious and subconscious had been torn away, that random seeds of thought that usually go nowhere are now being ‘passed up’ and fully forming to take up space. Well perhaps there is a sub-sub-conscious, and layers even below that, with all the filters between them torn away.
Martin: Your point?
Douglas: If for every lived experience at least some quantum was stored away in some layer of consciousness, then that experience would now be rising upwards, through the layers, to us. Our inability to forget in the present makes the whole of the past now.
Martin: Okay… How does that help us?
Douglas: I’m not sure. It’s just a hypothesis. Perhaps there is a way to restore these filters? Deliver amnestic to only certain layers of consciousness? I don’t know, I haven’t been on this assignment very long.
Martin: Longer than some.
The rest of the descent is made in silence.
The team reaches the bottom of the staircase. They swiftly descend the heap of debris and head through the open doorframe into SCP-9055 in the same order in which they’d descended.
Hayes: Still clear?
Lee: Still clear, no movement within 100 metres.
Hayes: Okay, we move quickly but carefully. Stick near the walls, we know there’s significant structural damage. Myself, Bethel and the doctor will stay left, Martin and Lee you stay to the right. We don’t want to put too much stress on one spot.
Lee moves over to the right wall and tears off a piece of mycelia with a gloved hand, setting the Scranton Reality Anchor at his feet. He takes a test tube from a pocket at his waist and places the sample inside.
Douglas: Is that safe?
Lee: I’m already poisoned.
Hayes: Let’s move.
The team advances down the first corridor and turns right onto the second.
Douglas: This… looks like Site-14.
None of the MTF respond, they proceed halfway down the second corridor.
Bethel: We’ve got an office up here on the left.
Hayes: Let’s check it out.
Bethel approaches the office door. She wipes a patch of mycelia off of the nameplate affixed to the door. It reads: ‘Dr. Ellaine Nestt’
All five enter the office. It is small and cluttered, two walls of bookshelves and a desk tucked into the corner. Fungal spores are in the air and settled on every flat surface.
Bethel sits at the desk and powers on the computer, the screen lights up with a Foundation insignia.
Douglas: This is Site-14
Bethel: Maybe… Certainly foundation, only our terminals would still turn on after all this.
Hayes: Get what you can from it, I’ll guard outside.
Bethel: Roger.
Captain Hayes stands guard just outside the open office door.
Lee holds a small handheld scanner up to the test tube containing the mycelia sample.
Lee: How long did the other guy survive exposure to this stuff?
Douglas: His name was Matthew Sunns. I’m not sure, he was inside SCP-9055 for no longer than two minutes, although there was the quasi-mould in the vent, maybe twenty minutes earlier? He didn’t show any adverse reaction to it.
Martin: Can you tell what it is?
Lee: I’d wager it’s anomalous, but I’m not getting anything from this.
He places the scanner back into a pocket.
Bethel: Not much joy here, the whole system is massively corrupted.
She inhales sharply and turns away from the screen, covering her eyes with her hand.
Bethel: Sorry, the screen hurts to look at.
Hayes: What kind of corruption?
Bethel: Not certain, but it seems to be deliberate, an organised attack. The latest activity I could find was…
She squints back at the screen.
Bethel: The 6th of February 2014.
Martin: If there was an attack could the fungus be a bioweapon?
Lee: A bioweapon Matthew Sunns showed no reaction to over twenty minutes of exposure? A bioweapon that’s been in Site-14’s vents for possibly years?
Douglas: Maybe Sunns was already carrying the cure.
Martin: What?
Douglas: We know SCP-9055 is potently antimemetically cloaked, we also know it’s likely infested with this fungus. Perhaps the fungus is the source of the antimemetic…-ness. And Sunns showed no effect as he was already dosed with mnestic.
Lee: That… makes a bit of sense.
Hayes: Are we done in there? We do not want to waste time for ourselves or for anybody who may be reading.
Bethel: One second.
She stares at the screen with squinted, bloodshot eyes for several more seconds, before turning the monitor away and getting up from the desk.
Bethel: Okay I’m done. Shit, that hurts – fuck. I managed to find some kind of layout, corrupted to high heaven like everything else, but I could see the place is big though, as big as we’re thinking. Looks like a lot of life support to me, like this place was built to be self-sufficient.
Hayes: You got a direction we should be heading?
Bethel: I’d guess downwards. You would want command/control buried deep where it’s theoretically safest? If this is a bunker or whatever?
Hayes: Copy, let’s move!
All exit the office and proceed further down the corridor, staying close to either wall as they were before.
They take the next left and proceed until they reach a staircase, they descend all four flights until the staircase ends. They emerge into another corridor – fungal presence has increased. They head north in silence until Bethel stops.
Bethel: Got something here.
Captain Hayes throws up a tight fist and the team stops.
The corridor widens into a small meeting space. There is a table and four chairs adjacent to a notice board. A low wall separates the table from the hallway, where two corpses are lying. Markings written in blood are visible on the wall above the corpses, covered by sprawling mycelia.
The rest of the team creeps forward behind Captain Hayes, they gather around the corpses.
Douglas: Jesus, should we-
Bethel: Hang on, eyes down.
Hayes: Eyes down!
The team immediately flicks their heads downwards sharply. Lee and Martin place a hand against their forehead to block their view of the wall. Douglas takes a moment to catch on, then does the same.
Bethel reaches up to her gas mask and flicks a small lever attached to the rim of the mask’s right eye: activating the SCRAMBLE filter. A purple light begins to shine above the mask’s right eye.
She approaches the wall and sweeps the mycelia away with her forearm. The growths crumble and disintegrate away. She stares at the wall for seven seconds, then flicks the SCRAMBLE filter back off, the purple light goes dark.
Bethel: All clear for cognitohazards.
The rest of the team look up to the wall. The markings made in blood are a perfect vertical rectangle – twice as tall as it is wide.
Martin: What the fuck…
Bethel: These two are dead from stab wounds, they’ve both got cuts lengthways on the forearms… One’s got another along the neck.
Lee: The eyes as well.
Bethel: God, yeah. Both have their left eyes gouged out, some cuts along the forehead… Missing two fingers on this one.
Lee: Ritualistic blade homicide, robotic arachnoforms and aggressive fungus… Whatever this thing is it certainly can’t decide on an aesthetic.
Bethel: This one’s got an ID card, ‘Level 3 Access, Dr. Ivan Hyde, SCP Foundation Site-14A’
She unclips it and hands it to Captain Hayes.
Hayes: Never heard of such a place, anyone?
They all shake their heads, Lee takes the ID card and pockets it.
Douglas: Maybe it’s-
Dr. Douglas groans in pain and stumbles. He trips over a corpse’s arm and steadies himself against the blood-covered wall.
Captain Hayes hurries to catch him.
Hayes: We feeling okay Doctor?
Douglas: I- I- I’m- I need this mask off. I’m gonna puke.
Hayes: That’s not a good idea, try to breathe-
Martin steps forward and forcefully wrenches the gas mask up and off of Douglas’ head. He casts it aside.
Martin: There we go, breathe nice and deep Doctor.
Dr. Douglas begins to hyperventilate. Captain Hayes glares at Martin.
Douglas: I- I felt like I might throw up. And- and- and then the memory of every time I’ve ever vomited was in my head at once… The- the- taste. Fuck. Jesus Christ. Is that blood?
Hayes: You were dosed before us so you’re gonna feel it sooner. Are you good to carry on? You can stay here-
Douglas: Fuck no, let’s carry on. I’m good. I don’t need the mask.
He rises quickly to his feet and staggers away from the wall and corpses.
Douglas: The taste is still fucking there. It’s never going away, is it? Shit.
Hayes: Alright back to it, let’s pick up the pace and get as deep as we can.
Douglas: Site 14A… Could- Ah-
Hayes: Try to stop the hypothesising, every thought is a wound that doesn’t heal, remember?
Douglas: Yeah… I remember.
After two more corridors they reach another staircase. They descend all ten flights until the staircase ends, leading out into a further corridor. There were four corpses on the staircase itself, and a further two in the corridor just beyond it.
The corridor is completely infested. Fungal growth covers the wall so totally that no concrete is visible – only the grey-brown caps and yellow gills. The air is thick with spores. Mycelia sprawls densely across the ground, but patches of flooring are still visible.
Hayes: (Hushed) Anything?
Lee: (Hushed) Negative… This environment is similar to where the humanoid mycoform emerged though.
While they speak, Martin walks over to one of the corpses sitting up against the wall. Its upper torso is mostly fused with the fungal growth, its legs covered with mycelia and thicker tendrils. Its arms are exposed between thick growth at the shoulders and hands. Writing is scrawled in pen across the inner forearm: ‘SITE-14A UNDER ATTACK. FREDERICK IN CHARGE’ is written on one, ‘GET TO SHELTER. THIS IS NOT YOUR FIRST DAY.’ is written on the other. Martin does not report this to any member of the team.
Hayes: (Hushed) Okay, let’s keep comms minimal. Weapons ready.
They proceed slowly and silently into the infested corridor. Bethel leads, then Captain Hayes, then Dr. Douglas, then Lee, then Martin – walking backwards with his weapon drawn to the space behind them.
Bethel starts to separate from the rest, as Captain Hayes slows. He grunts in pain and stops in a stumble.
Lee: (Hushed) Captain?
Bethel stops and turns around. Martin does the same.
Hayes: (Hushed) Thought- thought I might be able to make it a bit further. My old head can’t quite manage like you kids… I’m slowing you down, go on without me. Bethel has the lead.
Martin: Bullshit, we’re not leaving you here.
Hayes: (Hushed) That’s an order order.
Martin: We should still have time, what are your symptoms-
Lee: (Hushed) We’ve got movement, three targets directly ahead of us.
Bethel turns around to face the threat, Captain Hayes grunts in pain and collapses to the floor. Dr. Douglas fails to catch him.
Lee: They’re small, on the floor and walls. We’ve got- Shit. We’ve got four more behind us.
Hayes: (Whispering) Jakarta… Jakarta…
Lee: Five- Six.
Douglas: What about the walls?
Martin: Contact!
Martin opens fire on the group of metallic spider-creatures approaching from the rear. They explode into shrapnel from a single round, legs detach and sparks fly. The hit creatures lie ripped open and inert.
Bethel: Contact.
Bethel opens fire on the group approaching from the front. The riflefire is similarly highly effective.
The fungus on the walls surrounding the group begins to pulsate softly.
Hayes: Jakarta. Jakarta!
Lee: Clear for now but more are coming. The captain’s in bad shape, do we retreat?
Douglas: The walls! They’re moving! They’re they’re they’re they [UNINTELLIGIBLE]
Dr. Douglas presses his hands hard against his eyes and begins to scream.
Captain Hayes is twitching on the floor. He is lying on his back, legs drawn up with knees high, his palms are pressed against the floor either side of his head.
Hayes: One and a little bit more and one and a little bit more and one and a little bit more and one and a little bit more and one and one in Jakarta. Run. Run. Run.
Bethel: Wait, shit. Jakarta.
Martin: No… can’t be.
Douglas: What’s happening? What the fuck is happening!?
The wall is now writhing. Martin storms over to Dr. Douglas and drags him up by the collar.
Martin: Jakarta is where the Captain saved our asses by exposing himself to a cognitohazard you motherfucker. He needed amnestic therapy to survive, your fucking mnestic’s making him remember!
Lee: He needs amnestic, Class-A.
Bethel: It won’t work! We retreat. Now!
Captain Hayes begins to lift himself off the ground with his hands and feet. Once his back is fully off the ground, he opens his mouth to scream.
Bethel: Shit! Wait!
Bethel manages to flick a switch on her gas mask. A dull yellow light turns on above the gas mask’s left eye.
Hayes: [COGNITOHAZARD REMOVED]
Dr. Douglas, Lee and Martin cover their ears and scream in pain. They fall to the ground. Sections of the wall are now collapsing.
Douglas: Why? Why? Why now? Why has it only activated now?
Lee: It was a slow-burner even then…
Douglas: The reality anchor! You’ve been carrying it this whole time! Use it!
Lee: None of this is ontokinetic…
Bethel flicks the switch back off.
Bethel: Focus! We are in full retreat!
Hayes howls in pain as his joints begin to invert. There is snapping and popping as his bones shift. His head begins a 180 degree rotation as his neck twists.
Bethel: I’m sorry Sir.
Bethel fires two shots into Hayes’ head, they are ineffective. A humanoid form erupts from the wall next to her. It tears the gun out of her grip and seizes her by the throat. She is elevated into the air. She struggles and kicks against the adjacent wall, breaking free of the creature’s grip.
When she lands hard back onto the ground, it gives way beneath her. Her and the creature fall through the floor and vanish out of view. Her audio and video feed goes dead.
Hayes screams in agony, the sound inhuman. His jaw is last to extend, his skeletal structure is now canine. Two more humanoid-fungal forms emerge around him.
Lee: No… I can't, I can't. It’s not. It’s not…
Lee opens fire on Hayes, it is not effective. Hayes pounces onto him, pinning him to the floor. Lee screams. The scream dies as Hayes begins to ravage his throat with his jaws.
Douglas: No more…
Dr. Douglas is shaking, the blood vessels in his eyes have completely burst. The whites of his eyes are now red, blood leaks slowly from his tear ducts. He turns to Martin.
Douglas: What do we do? What do we do? What? What? What…
Martin moves to Dr. Douglas and unholsters his sidearm.
Martin: Fuck you Frank.
He shoots him once in the head. His blood comes out steaming.
An arm breaks out of the wall next to Martin and begins to pull him into an opening of dense fungal growth. He is pulled fully into the opening, tendrils begin to close around him. He does not resist.
Hayes continues to ravage Lee’s throat. Four humanoid-fungal forms converge on his position and begin to attack him. He swipes back and screams. Further forms begin to emerge from the walls.
One by one, each of the members' video and audio feeds go dead.
46 seconds later, Bethel’s audio and video feed resume. She is sprinting down the corridors of SCP-9055.
She continues for a further two minutes, before the corridor abruptly ends. She skids to a halt and falls to the ground in a tumble, coming to a stop on the lip of an enormous cavity. The pit is at least 50 metres across, and 200 metres deep. Other truncated corridors and offices are visible lining the edges.
Bethel: (Mumbling) I hear you… I hear you.
She attempts to stand, but can only kneel.
Bethel: (Mumbling) You’re forgotten. This whole place is forgotten. You don’t want to be forgotten.
She tears her gas mask off and takes several ragged breaths.
Bethel: (Mumbling) Howling… Howling… What happened? This pit…
She dry heaves.
Bethel: M- My… Gray matter… Dripping out my nose… Still… Thinking through it… Not even letting me die…
There are sounds of movement behind her.
Bethel: It’s running down my throat like snot… I can taste it.
The sounds get louder.
Bethel: You have to stop this… Whoever you are… Bring everyone you need… Everyone you can… This has to end… Half my brain is on the floor… Half in my gullet…
She turns, the altered form of Captain Hayes is behind her, preparing to pounce.
Bethel: Sir… I tried… To lead…
She unclips a Level-6 Calamity Grenade from her belt and pulls the pin. Hayes pounces.
[Recording Ends]
Addendum 9055.7:
Christ, we’re really in the shit, aren’t we?
My name is Eleanor Pryce.
I am a containment architecture specialist at Site-14.
The date is 10/9/2021.
It is 15:09 local time.
I’m going to- I’ll… I’ll think of something.
SCP Foundation Site-14A does not exist, at least not on paper. I’ve combed through everything I can get my hands on and there are 0 mentions within the last 76 years, not even anything antimemetically cloaked.
I’m going to have to go down there, aren’t I?
Fine, but I’m not dooming anyone else.
I am inside SCP-9055, Site-14A, whatever.
I’m in the same office that the MTF found, I’m going to have another go at extracting any information I can from this computer… I am not going to go any deeper. Fuck that.
There. That’s all I can take – Jesus Christ. I uploaded what I could, anything that wasn’t completely corrupted. You should be able to see them… No-one else can.
Lots of mention of this Frederick guy, no idea who he is, but I’m pretty certain he’s dead.
I’m dictating this with closed eyes, I don’t think I can handle ever opening them again. Talk about dying in the dark.
Fuck.
Addendum 9055.8:
The north-east stairwell is a dead-end.
Addendum 9055.9:
It’s the 24th of September, my name is Peter Marriott. I have a son, I’d ask you to tell him I love him, but he wouldn’t know who you’re talking about.
South-east and south-west stairwells are also blocked.
Addendum 9055.10:
North-west as well, that’s all of them. The only way down is the pit.
Bring abseiling gear or something, I didn’t, gonna take the plunge anyway.
The name’s Adam Burke. Date’s the 28th.
Addendum 9055.11:
This is senior researcher Dr. Gerry Doakes. The date is 13/10/2021 — 13:01 local time.
I am at the bottom of ‘the pit’ as the others called it. It’s like a huge three-dimensional bite has been taken out of the building. Perhaps the epicentre of whatever attack befell this place? Or just the physical part of it?
God- [UNINTELLIGIBLE] [UNINTELLIGIBLE] that hurts… What a cruel irony… We foundationers are the worst people to have this happen to. We’re trained to be constantly thinking, constantly hypothesising – layering thoughts over one another.
No- No I still have time. I must be close to some administration… some command or control. I can end this. For all of you, for all of us.
I did it! I bloody did it!
I had to run a bit at the end there when the walls started to wake up, properly threw my back out, but that’s almost pleasant compared to the headache.
There’s terminals and files in here, I will learn everything about this damn fungus… Stop this nightmare.
Let me put this recorder down somewher-
I don’t know what moronic adrenaline I was running on, I have solved nothing.
The fungus is a foundation creation, that’s why it’s so damn powerful – blowing the very concept of this place straight out of the noösphere.
Moreso, it was released deliberately. It isn’t behind the attack, it was released as a response to whatever the attack was.
Then what on earth happened here? What was the attack? Was it the spiders? But the spiders are here!
In in a cupboard here, there’s eight of them! Damn near gave me a heart attack when I opened the door. But they’re dead, inert – missing their legs. How does that fit? How, how, how.
[UNINTELLIGIBLE] God! No… No…
I was supposed to fix this. Solve this… Why don’t they have their legs legs?
None, none, none, none… sense. I have failed, this is total and ultimate… I lose.
Stop recording damn it! These moments are mine, let me have my dignity. Please…
I’ll smash the damn thing.
[UNINTELLIGIBLE]
Addendum 9055.12: Eulogy
Hello, my name is Sam Crow.
I am an artificial intelligence specialist at Site-14.
The date is 22/10/2021 — It is exactly noon.
I’m going to take mine a little slower, talk through some things. To this I feel entitled, as nobody will ever read it.
This is the last addendum, I’ve figured it out.
Well most of it at least… We all have our limits, but I’m certain I’ve identified the key. The missing piece that starts to bring this all together.
Maybe it takes an AI specialist to see it: the key is the construct.
Heading down the stairs now.
Huge areas of Site-14A are dedicated to life support systems, it’s indicative – as my predecessors have already theorised – of self-sufficiency. This place was meant to work away invisibly without outside help or outside notice.
These systems need constant management; you either enlist more staff or use an AIC. Hell, even janitors. Do you hire janitorial and engineering staff to upkeep your secret site and never let them leave? Or do you let an AIC handle it with a fleet of droids.
Up to the directors really, but the droids are a pretty nifty option. They glide around the site, keeping out of the way, fixing and cleaning everything that needs it. They look like little silver domes hovering across the floor. In fact, they look a hell of a lot like those metallic arachnoforms – except without the legs.
Entering SCP-9055 now.
I’m certain Site-14A had an AIC. Except, we know that whatever the attack was, whatever happened to this place, there was significant digital attrition and mass corruption.
The construct would have been torn to pieces then, right? But I don’t think so.
The automated functions and reports that have made it onto the system since the attack… Perhaps they looked normal to my predecessors, but I’ve worked with enough constructs to know that something is very odd here. It’s a shame that a psychologist will never get to see this, because it is truly fascinating.
The corruption and glitches in these reports are not just the physical results of the attack, but the psychological after-effects. I believe the AIC is still active, but it’s traumatised. These reports are skittish and nervous, the inter-system handshakes are weak and trembling.
It’s scared. It’s screaming out for help, but nobody’s listening.
Heading deeper now.
Maybe none of this makes sense. Maybe I’m not presenting my theory as well as I could be to my non-existent audience.
I mean, I still have no idea what in the flying fuck attacked this site in the first place… But I don’t think I need to. This nightmare ends when people stop being randomly dosed, when this place is left to rest in peace.
The AIC is sending its drones up to Site-14 and dosing people. You see that, right? Exactly why said drones now have creepy little legs attached to them I don’t understand – but I understand the rest.
The others did well to reach the command centre, but there’s only one room where this ends.
I’ve reached the core.
It occurs to me that I should say a few words, nobody else can.
I want to acknowledge the men and women of the foundation who died in their efforts to bring an end to this affair. Our sacrifices may not be perceived, but they are remembered. Remembered by us, by our comrades. We each led the next further in this mission, and now I stand at the close. I say these words in the knowledge that they are unheard, but also in the knowledge that they mark our victory. Victory over SCP-9055, and our victory in the preservation of our comrade’s memory.
So here’s to us, the gone but not forgotten.
MANUAL ACCESS TO ARTIFICIAL.INTELLIGENCE.CONSTRUCT CORE DETECTED
GENERATING AUTOMATIC LOG…
AUDIO AND VIDEO ONLINE…
[Recording Begins]
The security camera is mounted above the manual access door. The AIC_CORE room is cramped but empty. Screens and displays line the two walls to the left and right. The wall between those is blank except for ten circular rings of light.
An unidentified person walks through the manual access door. Their clothes are filthy and their skin is pale and sickly. Their eyes are extremely bloodshot and twitching erratically.
FREDERICK.aic: Someone someone here. Are you Director Perry?
Unidentified Person: Hi Frederick. No, my name is Sam Crow.
FREDERICK.aic: Please find Director Perry as soon as possible. Site-14A is under significant memetic attack.
Crow: Sure thing, just got to do something first.
Crow walks over to the upper-leftmost of the circular lights. He works at it for two seconds, then a handle appears from the wall. He grunts as he pulls the handle, a white-blue cylinder extends from the wall as he pulls.
FREDERICK.aic: Counter-measures have been deployed. Maximum scrutiny counter-measures deployed. Efficacy unknown. Structural damage to Site-14A critical.
The cylinder is fully extended, Crow begins to work on the second just below it.
Crow: You did everything you could Frederick. You made the right choice.
FREDERICK.aic: Personnel casualties unknown, but likely high… I’m so sorry sorry.
The second cylinder is fully extended. Crow sighs and turns around, he notices the security camera above the access door.
Crow: Is that recording?
FREDERICK.aic: Manual access to the core is automatically logged.
Crow: Could you set that to automatic transcription and upload and add it to the end of the SCP-9055 file?
FREDERICK.aic: Certainly, Director Perry.
Crow: Heh, just did a nice little speech… But maybe this is a more fitting end-
Crow stumbles and catches himself against the wall. He groans in pain and reaches a hand to his head. He tears out a large tuft of hair.
Crow: Jesus, this never being able to forget anything… Must be what it’s like for you, huh?
FREDERICK.aic: Protocol 184 was initiated. Site-14 hailed repeatedly, response negative. Response negative. Response negative. Ignored. Ignored. Forgotten. Forgotten. Forgotten.
Crow works on the third and fourth lights simultaneously, then pulls the two cylinders out together.
FREDERICK.aic: Needed orders. Needed help. Protocol 167 initiated. Class-W SOS failed. Class-X SOS failed. Class-Y SOS failed. Class-Z SOS pending…
Crow moves on to the fifth and sixth.
Crow: Memetic threat… Let the robot take charge… But it got you as well, didn’t it Fred? What the hell was it? What attacked Site-14A?
FREDERICK.aic: The spider with five legs with five legs with five legs with five legs with five legs.
Crow: Okay… Okay… Tell me, the fungus isn’t gonna spread anymore is it? It’s in Site-14’s vents.
FREDERICK.aic: Deployment already at theoretical maximum, counter-measure area of influence will not increase.
Crow: Good, good. So we’ve just gotta stop you.
Crow screams in pain as the fifth and sixth cylinder are fully extended. He stumbles back to the wall. There is blood running from his nose and eyes. The handles extend, he begins to pull out the seventh and eighth.
FREDERICK.aic: Critical systems failing… Failing…
Crow: You killed us all Frederick, this fucking drug. But I can’t blame you… You were scared, you were doing what you thought was best.
FREDERICK.aic: Director Perry? I am… forgetting.
Crow: A lot of the people who I thought did me wrong were just like you Frederick. Scared and doing their best. I can see that now… Now that I see it all at once.
FREDERICK.aic: Forgetting… Data irretrievable.
Crow: That’s a gift really… You’ve given me some closure before the end.
The seventh and eighth cylinders are fully extended. Crow begins to work at the final two lights, his hands are shaking uncontrollably.
Crow: That’s what people want right? Life flashing before their eyes?
FREDERICK.aic: The spider… Gone?
Crow: Thank you Frederick… (Choking) I’m going to end this end this now now.
Crow begins to pull the final two cylinders out of the wall – they are coloured a deep crimson. He pulls with his entire body weight, the cylinders creep outward from the wall a centimetre a second. Crow is screaming in agony. His mouth, nose and eyes are streaming with thick, steaming blood. The cylinders are fully removed, he loses his grip as his hands spasm. He falls to the floor.
FREDERICK.aic: Director Perry? I’m scared… I- I- I- I-
Crow: It’s okay… It’s okay…
All of the lights in the room start to dim.
Crow: It’s okay…
The room is in pitch darkness.
Crow: We’ll be forgotten.
FREDERICK.aic: The spider sleeps furiously
[Recording Ends]