You are not exempt from suffering.
HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN
WHAT DID YOU DO TO DESERVE THIS? | WHAT HAPPENED TO ALICE STARR? | COULD YOU LOVE YOURSELF IF YOU HAD TO?
Retrieving Archived File » SCP-9222
USER ALERT: 3 duplicate files are assigned to this slot. File formatting (e.g. addendum titles) may be incorrect. Similar elements from different files may be grouped together without clear distinction. This effect {may/may not} be related to an anomalous effect on this file. These files {may/may not} be related.
USER ALERT: 3 duplicate files are assigned to this slot. Every assigned file is currently under the purview of the Department of Contrition1.
Special Containment Procedures: Divorce proceedings are to continue uninterrupted.
As SCP-9222 died in 1933, containment is no longer necessary. Further details on its life may still be reclaimed from the diaries of SCP-9222's manager, 'Mr. Altair'. The Rising Sun Opera House has been condemned and is currently being exorcised by the Traumatic Place Task Force (TPTF).
All efforts are to be made to recover exactly which anomalies were contained by SCP-9222 and any possible effects it may have had on them. SCP-9222's technology is to be reverse engineered and integrated with existing Foundation containment processes when safe and prudent. In the event an individual previously staffed to SCP-9222 is discovered, Class-Z mnestics are to be used to restore their memory of the facility.
Until Captain Altair returns from SCP-9222's core, nothing about the anomaly can be confirmed. However, in the likely event that Altair is unable to disprove the ANEMOIA conjecture, Foundation publicists are to determine a way to inform the anomalous community that space has always been screaming.
DESCRIPTION: SCP-9222 is Alice Starr, a non-anomalous human being related through unknown means to SCP-9222-1, an anomalous event/killing that occurred on June 4th, 1929. The victim, an as yet unidentified woman, was found brutalized in the Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge in New Orleans. Her eyes were noted to be heavily damaged, though other traumas were additionally present. The primary suspect is a Mr. Adam Altair, director of the local 'Rising Sun' opera house. Altair reported the body within 2 hours of death, despite its remote location, and refused to explain why he was in the refuge. Notably, Altair died in 1955. SCP-9222 possessed some known relation to Altair, though it is unknown if she was involved in the murder.
SCP-9222 is Foundation Blacksite L13, a blackbox facility in New Orleans built in/under the city proper. A relevant excerpt is attached below.
Secure Facility Dossier: Blacksite L13
Founded: Unknown.
Founding Director: Unknown
Current Director: None/Adam Altair2
Location: Above3 and below New Orleans, Louisiana, USA.
Site Function: Unknown.
Assigned Project(s): Unknown None Unknown None Project ANEMOIA
Structure: The above-ground section is built out of the destitute 'Rising Sun' Opera House, which closed in 1935. The building was abandoned and eventually condemned. At some point after this, it was purchased by the Foundation and renovated. The above-ground section is constructed primarily of offices.
The below-ground section is built under and into the sewer system, which was meticulously cleaned and transformed into a containment apparatus. No contained anomalies remain, nor do any records of containment. 360 Containment Chambers are visible and fully functional4.
Covers: The above-ground section likely masqueraded as an opera house, potentially commissioning anartists. The Foundation has reached out to both Pseudogenisis Productions and Are We Cool Yet? Both organizations vehemently deny any interaction with or knowledge of the site, however.
The below-ground section likely did not need a cover.
Additional notes: L13 was never officially founded, and no records of it (prior to its rediscovery on June 4th, 2025) exist. The Overseer Council denies any involvement in the creation of the site.
It is unknown how long L13 has been abandoned, estimates range from 3 to 60 years.
SCP-9222 is AL1-C3, a star located in the Boötes void. 9222 possess an incredibly powerful5 info/cognitohazardous effect. Individuals who perceive or gain knowledge of 9222 will begin to serve it and worship it6. On June 4th, 2929, 9222 began to emit radio waves. Captain Adam Altair7 was sent to investigate this. As this investigation is not yet complete, no further information about SCP-9222 is known.
Addendum 1: CCTV Footage
Borres is sitting in a booth, smoking. She has a half-full whiskey and a near-empty plate. A few bites of a sandwich remain in her hand. The crust has been cut off and now sits on the plate.
Mr. Altair enters and sits down across from her.
Altair: So, why'd you pick this hellhole?
She laughs.
Borres: Come on, Adam, it's not that bad. They make a great BLT.
Altair: Is that why you're really here?
Borres: No.
She is silent for a moment, sipping the whiskey.
Borres: Why are you really here?
Altair: Because you asked me to come.
Borres: No, you're here to sell something. I can see it in your eyes.
Altair swings a hand through the air, as if to deflect the accusation.
Altair: I'm not! Swear to god.
Borres: Alright.
She spends several moments gnawing on the bread crust.
Altair: So, are you free tomorrow night?
Borres: There it is.
Altair: I'm not selling anything, it's free!
Borres: Free? You must be desperate to fill seats. Showing off a new talent?
Altair: Yup.
Borres: Who?
Altair: It's a secret.
Borres: Don't bullshit me.
Altair: Fine.
Altair leans low, and whispers.
Altair: Alice Starr.
He pushes himself back up. The whiskey sloshes in its glass.
Borres: Really? I've heard of her.
Altair: You have?
Borres: Yeah, they say she has the voice of an angel.
Altair: They're lying. No angel ever sang so good.
She smirks.
Altair: Be there. June 4th 1929, gonna be a night to remember! Best damn show New Orleans ever saw.
Addendum 2: Recovered Newspaper, 2025
The New Orleans Herald
The truth must be fought for.
June 4th, 2025
FAMED SINGER MISSING
Alice Starr, a beloved local artist, has been reported missing.
By Cecilia Borres
Note
Cecilia Borres (1993 - Present) is a famed journalist and news anchor. She rose to prominence by writing economic articles in New York, but ultimately abandoned her column after the 2008 financial crisis. She subsequently moved to New Orleans and began writing for the local news while working on a fantasy novel in her free time.
Famed singer Alice Starr was reported missing last weekend by her partner, who has asked to remain anonymous. Starr frequented many local bars and restaurants; most notably Pensa's Place in downtown New Orleans; in order to study human behavior and get inspiration for her songs.
In her free time, she was getting into painting, often visiting local workshops and learning different styles. She could also be seen at various parks and trails walking her dog, Anemo.
According to her partner, Starr was last seen visiting the Audubon Planetarium, and left the following note before leaving:
To whom it may concern,
I had to do it, it was the only way.
You always told me to follow my dreams.
And I failed.
I wasn't enough.
So I found another way.
There's always another way.
- Alice Starr
If you have any relevant information, please contact your local non-emergency police number. If you'd prefer to disclose to an independent (non-police) organization for any reason, the Searching for Persons Charter is a suitable alternative, you can contact them at ten.pcs|xobni#ten.pcs|xobni.
NOTE:
Soothlax is a non-anomalous pharmaceutical company.
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Addendum 3: Salem ACS Definition
SALEM CLASS
Proposer: [DATA PURGED]
Approver: O5-11
Relevant Department(s): Contrition, Tactical Theology
Derived from: Archon, Euclid, Ticonderoga
# of anomalies: 6
Definition: Item is directly related to a single morally compromised10 individual, and may only be contained by that individual expressing sincere regret for their prior actions and taking steps to display their repentance.
USER ALERT: FILE MISMATCH
Definition: Item currently masquerades as ordinary people. Containment must be facilitated through a series of trials. These trials may not have any basis in logic or science and must result in death. Collateral damage is expected and necessary for containment.
USER ALERT: FILE MISMATCH
Definition: Item was created through an act of god11 and may only be contained thereby.
Addendum 4: Captain's Log
Ship: SCPS Sunrise
Captain: Adam Altair
Date: June 4th, 2929
«BEGIN LOG»
Day 1.
I have officially taken control of the Sunrise. It is meant to crew eight, today it crews one. I am alone. The purpose of this was not explained to me, though I might guess: they don't expect me to survive.
I cannot in good faith say this is an incorrect assumption.
So, if I am to die, let the purpose of my death be explicitly clear. Here's everything we know about SCP-9222:
- It was discovered in the early 2500's by Foundation exploratory vessels.
- A 2000 AU zone of restricted space was created around it as a temporary containment measure.
- This subsequently became the permanent containment measure.
And so it remained for half a millennium, snatching up the occasional poor stargazer, but never doing any real damage. That is until it started to scream. A monitoring station, L13, had been built on the edge of the restricted zone to ward off any ships that approached or to prepare them for the journey if they chose to continue. L13 recently began receiving radio signals from the star, it sounded like a woman screaming, however, there were patterns, meaning, the messages were decrypted.
I've attached these messages (there have only been two so far) for posterity.
COULD YOU LOVE YOURSELF IF YOU HAD TO?
WHAT DID YOU DO TO DESERVE THIS?
Any anomaly, however insignificant, would raise concern if its behavior changed after nearly 500 years, not to mention the most powerful cognitohazard ever known. It is no surprise that they sent me to investigate, frankly I'm surprised they didn't send an army.
I am leaving this message, and the prior details specifically, in case I fail. For my successor to know that I underestimated 9222 and paid dearly. If you are reading this, then I have failed.
To my successor: If I have failed, and you have in some stroke of luck discovered my body, please take me back to Earth. Bury me in New Orleans. I always wanted to go, I guess I never found the time.
On a more pleasant note, the amount of board games in the ship borders on the absurd. There are probably more games than actual machines. They have all my favorites from childhood, even Catan, there's even a little AIC in the game that can play with me. This, coupled with my actual duties of scrubbing rusty metal and lashing pipes together ensure I will not be bored.
I am quite certain I will be lonely.
Addendum 5: Medical Report
Medical Report
On June 4th, 2025, Department of Astronomy Researcher Dr. Adam Altair was found in his office, unconscious, slumped over his desk. He was holding the day's newspaper and was covered in his own blood. The following items were found in the room with him:
- One copy of 'The New Orleans Herald', headline: 'FAMED SINGER MISSING'.
- An uncut record.
- Of note, no record players exist within the office.
- A game of settlers of Catan. Almost complete, however the 'Robber' piece is missing.
- A broken ruby wedding ring, smashed beyond repair.
- A teaspoon, with which Altair attempted to remove his own eyes.
- This has been deemed the primary source of the blood.
Altair was quickly brought to the nearest Foundation medical facility and treated with epinephrine, opioids, and depressants. An invasive scan was performed on his brain which determined that while he was not under the influence of a cognitohazard, he was afflicted with a powerful antimeme, requiring a CRV of 1929 to resist (Altair did not possess this).
An untested treatment plan was proposed and performed in which Altair was continually sedated and exposed to increasing doses of mnestics. This plan persisted over nearly 2 weeks culminating in a dose of 3 parts Class-Y and 1 part Class-Z Mnestic. After this, and the stabilization of Altair's vitals, he was allowed to awaken. A trusted figure was brought in to interrogate him, his boss, Charlie Laplace, was selected.
Debrief/Discharge Log
Individuals Present: Adam Altair, Charlie Laplace
Date: June 15th, 2025.
Location: Classified Medical Facility
Laplace enters the room, Altair looks up at her.
Laplace: Hey Adam, just heard you were awake and wanted to check in on you.
Altair: Bullshit. You're here to interrogate me.
Laplace shrugs and nods slightly.
Laplace: Be that as it may, I am genuinely concerned about you.
Altair: Well, I appreciate the pretense. But if you don't mind, I have a splitting headache and I'd really like it if you could just ask your questions.
Laplace: Okay. Question 1: Why'd you try and scoop out your own eyes?
Altair: I don't remember.
Laplace: Come on, Adam, do you really expect me to believe that? You've taken enough mnestics to choke a horse, you haven't forgotten shit.
Altair: I'm not hiding anything, I don't know.
Laplace: Can you explain the copy of Settlers of Catan on your desk?
Altair takes several seconds to realize that she is serious, before laughing.
Altair: I don't know what you're talking about, I haven't played Catan since I was twelve.
Laplace nods.
Laplace: What about the wedding ring?
Altair laughs again.
Altair: I have never been married.
Laplace: What can you tell me about that morning?
Altair shrugs.
Altair: Not much, it was routine. I got up at six-fifteen, went for a swim, got dressed, grabbed a macchiato and a newspaper, and drove to the office.
Laplace: And what was on the newspaper?
Altair pauses.
Altair: I don't remember.
Laplace: Think harder.
Altair: I can try.
Altair closes his eyes, concentrating. Within a few seconds, his body begins to shake. A trickle of blood runs down from his nose, he doesn't notice.
Laplace: Adam, are you okay?
Altair nods, but does not speak. He grips the bed's sidebar tightly and squeezes. He shakes more violently.
Laplace: Let me know if you need something.
Several minutes pass, during which Altair's body continues to seize and gyre.
Altair looks up, his eyes watering. He abruptly ceases motion.
Altair: I remember, kind of. It was about this missing girl, the headline, I mean, it was about her. Her name was… Alice, I think, Alice Starr.
Laplace: Why would that headline make you pass out in your office?
Altair: I don't know. I just remember reading the article and… missing her. I still do right now, I think.
Laplace: Who is she?
Altair: I don't know. I've never met her.
Laplace: Okay, then. Maybe I'll try this again tomorrow. Sleep well, Adam.
Laplace stands to leave.
Altair: Wait. I remember something else. A name, a facility, 'Blacksite L13'. That's where she is, she was kidnapped.
Laplace: I see. Do you know who took her?
Altair nods.
Altair: Yeah. We did.
Addendum 6: VHS Footage
USER ALERT: All footage on tape is in greyscale.
Mr. Altair is standing outside of Alice's dressing room. He holds a lit cigar absentmindedly and paces.
He bangs on the door.
Altair: Alice? You okay in there?
No response comes.
Altair: Show's in four hours.
Still silence.
Altair: Goddamn it girl!
He pounds again.
Altair: There had better not be booze on your breath!
He pounds a few more times before stopping and turning around. He slumps to the floor, defeated.
He buries his face in his knees.
Altair: Fuck!
His body heaves as he sobs.
The door to an adjacent dressing room swings open. Another talent, Charlie Laplace, walks out.
Laplace: You alright Adam?
Altair looks up, clearing his throat.
Altair: Oh, hey Charlie. You seen Alice?
Laplace nods.
Laplace: Yeah, but she asked me not to tell you where she's going.
Altair: I see.
Laplace: Mind telling me why you're so worked up?
Altair: No, it'd just depress you.
Laplace: I think I can handle it.
Laplace shrugs.
Altair: So I built this place brick by brick, but it wasn't the first. The Rising Sun Public House, in London, built by my old man. It was a place of debauchery, worse even than this. He'd turn people's vices against them and milk em' for coin. This place was a chance, my chance to do something better, to make… fuckin' art I guess, and now that dream's gonna die.
Laplace squats down and stares at Altair.
Laplace: Nothing's dead yet. The market's booming, America's in a golden age. Don't give up yet.
Altair: Have you ever heard of a boomtown?
Laplace: Can't say that I have.
Altair: Never mind then. Point is, everything comes down to tonight. If this show isn't successful, I won't have the money to put on another. And this show sure as shit ain't gonna be successful without Alice Starr.
Laplace: Uh-
Altair's voice gets low.
Altair: Tell me where she is, Charlie.
Laplace turns her head, looking at the ground.
Laplace: Pensa's Place.
Altair's voice rises quickly.
Altair: Pensa… as in James Pensa? That good for nothing — sack of shit — wife beating — east-egg — blowhard?
Laplace: Yes.
Altair sighs.
Altair: Fuck!
Addendum 7: SCPS Sunrise Communications Logs
>USER ALERT: Incoming Message
NON AUTOMATED MESSAGE
This is Station L13. SCPS Sunrise, you are entering RESTRICTED SPACE. The following 2000 AU is under the influence of SCP-9222, an incredibly powerful cognitohazard. We are going to strongly recommend that you turn back the way you came for your safety and that of others.
>Respond: I'm Captain Adam Altair. I'm here to investigate the signals you've recently recieved.
>USER ALERT: Incoming Message
NON AUTOMATED MESSAGE
Ahh, great. Have you been briefed?
>RESPOND: No.
>USER ALERT: Incoming Message
NON AUTOMATED MESSAGE
No problem, lets do it.
>USER ALERT: Incoming Call
L13: Hello?
Altair: Reading.
L13: I'll make this quick.
Altair: I appreciate that.
L13: Ok so, there are a couple things you're gonna have to do.
Altair: Sure.
L13: I'm gonna send you a bearing, you're gonna plug that into the computer, tell it to go full bore, and then you're gonna disconnect all sensors.
Altair: All of them?
L13: All of them. Including your control systems. If your proximity sensor lights up with a single pixel representing 9222, you'll trigger the hazard.
Altair: Got it.
L13: That also means closing all the window shutters, so get ready for some darkness.
Altair: Fine.
L13: There's uh, …one more thing.
L13: There's another ship currently out there. I can't hail it. The SCPS Laplace. They may try to board you, to stop you from reaching 9222.
Altair: I have a gun.
L13: Not painful enough. Too fair, and too… quick. I'll send you something better.
Altair: Thanks, I guess.
>COMMAND endcall
>USER ALERT: File Recieved: 'Protocol_HOTSPOON.rtf'
>USER ALERT: Incoming Message
NON AUTOMATED MESSAGE
Good luck.
Addendum 8: Initial Exploration Efforts
Individuals Present: Dr. Altair, Dr. Laplace (remotely)
Date: June 16th, 2025.
Location: Blacksite-L13
Altair: Alright, I'm here. Traffic was hell. What can you tell me about this place?
Laplace: Nothing.
Altair: Really? You had 24 hours and you found nothing?
Laplace: I checked the DEEPWELLs, the AIC logs, I even asked the library, not a damn thing.
Altair: What does that mean?
Laplace: The Foundation can't fuck with DEEPWELLs, so we know this place wasn't buried on purpose. This is the work of an anomaly.
Altair: How many anomalies can overwrite a DEEPWELL?
Laplace: Not many. Less than ten I think. Most of them were above my clearance.
Altair Fun.
Laplace: What's the view on the ground?
Altair: Boring, actually. I'll send a proper report soon.
Laplace: Alright. One last thing.
Altair: Yeah?
Laplace: I did ask a few of the more powerful AICs we have, and they were able to corollate the phrase 'Blacksite L-13' to 'Project ANEMOIA'. Of course, no records of that exist, but I'd reckon it's what you're looking for.
Altair: Okay, thanks Charlie.
Blacksite L-13 Investigation
by Adam Altair
The parking lot is expansive and in abnormally good repair. There are a few cracks, of course, but nothing to suggest the profound disuse the place doubtlessly suffers from.
The lot itself is abandoned, but the surrounding area isn't. There are many businesses (and many cars) around the place, it is only the lot itself that's empty. I must wonder if this is due to an antimemetic effect (I have taken additional mnestics in preparation of this eventuality) or if it is simply an urban myth that keeps people away. This place surely has picked up a couple rumors over the decades, after all.
There are no signs of any anomalies yet, but something is off. I get the distinct feeling that I am being watched. Additionally, I parked near a streetlight and heard quite the racket coming from it. I broke open the plastic shell around the internals with my car-jack. Inside, I saw many many gears, churning noisily (I am grateful this place is abandoned, or a civilian would certainly have heard them at some point). I cannot guess as to what purpose the mass of machinery could possibly serve, but I am certain it is not to power a streetlight. Of note, once they were revealed, the gears powered down and came to a still. I doubt they were truly reacting to me, though I admit I found it disconcerting.
Addendum 9: Containment History
Individuals Present: Mr. Altair, James Pensa
Date: June 4th, 1929.
Location: Pensa's Place.
Altair storms into the restaurant, startling some customers and marching toward the counter. He slams a fist onto the wood.
Altair: James!
A series of panicked noises emerge from the kitchen. Several moments later James Pensa exits the kitchen and approaches the counter. He smiles.
Pensa: Adam, how can I help you this fine evening?
Altair: Where's Alice?
Pensa: You don't know? Isn't tonight her 'big debut'?
Pensa makes exaggerated air-quotes.
Altair: Did you get my girl drunk?
Pensa shrugs.
Pensa: She's not 'your girl'. She's an adult, she can do whatever she wants.
Altair: And what if she gets caught? You know the sentences they give out for bootleggin' nowadays?
Pensa: She's not a bootlicker, Adam. She's just a young woman with a little bit of stage fright, that's perfectly natural. It's not my fault that her solution to that particular problem is alcohol.
Altair: Cut the crap James. Just tell me where she is.
Pensa: I'd love too, but unfortunately… I don't know.
Altair: Stop screwing with me! I know she was here!
Altair shouts and slams his fist again.
Pensa: Alright, alright. There's no need to get upset. She went into the forest.
Altair: The forest?
Pensa: It was vague, yes. That's why I don't know where she is. Though… I do recall her mentioning the Bayou Sauvage.
Altair: The wildlife refuge?
Pensa: The very same.
Altair takes a deep breath.
Altair: Guess I'll be on my way then.
Pensa plasters on a smile.
Pensa: Happy to be of help.
Altair: But you're coming with me.
The smile drops.
Pensa: What, why?
Altair: So that if she's not there, and you've lied to me… well, the refuge is a good place to hide a body.
Addendum 10: Further Exploration Efforts
Blacksite L-13 Investigation
by Adam Altair
I have entered the facility. I don't really know what to call the place I'm in now. I'm going with 'mudroom', since it has benches and coat racks and closets, though 'entrance hall' could work just as well. I have, accordingly, taken off my coat and my muddy boots. I see my error, of course, it is entirely possible that I will be leaving in a rush, through some other entrance, and therefore not be able to recover my items. That said, when entering places like this I find it better to follow the customs, as breaking from them often results in far worse things than a lost coat (and a subsequent trip to REI).
What's strange is that the lights are still on, and the place is by and large clean. I'd do the car-jack trick again on the walls but I don't want to make too much noise. I have no way of knowing if I'm truly alone, and, judging by the sign outside, I'm not.
I am now faced with the opportunity of going up, or down, knowing full well that I will probably not be able to return here, if prior experience is anything to go by. I feel very strongly that I should go up, it is brighter, less damp, and I can escape through a window should the worst come to pass. This is the tactical choice, it is not the one I am making.
I will go down. I am searching for a secret, and those tend to be buried in the deepest possible places.
Addendum 11: Captain's Log (cont.)
Ship: SCPS Sunrise
Captain: Adam Altair
Date: June 11th, 2929
«BEGIN LOG»
Day 8.
To my successor (I have less and less doubt that there will be one),
I can confidently say you do not need to worry about other ships. I encountered the Laplace, but they did not try to board me.
They never could have, they were already dead. Protocol HOTSPOON was sent to them, and they used it. I toured the vessel (after donning a blindfold, to be safe). Every crewman was dead. The protocol had been done to the letter. I will spare you the gory details (read the protocol yourself if you want them), but suffice to say: I will never forget the image. Two dozen hollow sockets for a dozen hollow men.
I left the damned ship and resumed my voyage, but I grow fearful. I see now the trap they've put me in, why they did not send anyone else. I am a sacrifice. I do not know if they (our Foundation) have fallen under its influence, or if it is simply a test, a human experiment to see what happens when human makes physical contact with the star. I do not know which answer I'd prefer.
Either way, the plan is clear. If I look outside, if I learn anything of my surroundings, I am doomed. I cannot even know when I approach the star, and I cannot turn around. Thus, my fate becomes evident: I am to fly into it. I see now why such powerful energy shields were built around the vessel. Why the cabin is so small compared to the hull. They want me to respond to its signals, and the only place where that can be safely done is inside it (under the assumption that it will not harm itself just to get me, in the same way a person would not tear through their own ribcage to catch a bug inside).
If you are reading this, then I am dead. Whether I have failed or not is immaterial, if I lived to tell the tale they would not send someone to retrieve this log. So take my advice: If I have failed, if 9222 still exists and you are on a mission to it, turn back. It is not worth it. You are a sacrifice. There are people that love you, go be with them.
As for me, I have made my peace. I have not been loved in a very long time.
Godspeed.
PS. I have attached HOTSPOON to this log for you. Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.
Addendum 12: Further Exploration Efforts
Blacksite L-13 Investigation
by Adam Altair
I wish I'd kept my fucking shoes.
After the armory, I descended further, down the next staircase. I'm sure I'm missing huge swaths of the site, but my goal is at the bottom so that's where I'm going.
Eventually, that staircase dropped off, and here I am in this flooded tunnel. It is an undeniably oppressive atmosphere, but it also the first time that I don't feel watched since I entered the site. This has two disturbing implications. One: The feeling was something actually watching me, and it refused to follow me down here. Was it maybe too big? Or was it afraid of something else down here?
The second possibility is that I was being watched by the site itself, if that's somehow possible. This would explain why the gears stopped when I looked at them. If so, why'd it stop looking? Maybe I took a wrong turn, and left the site? I haven't seen any turnoffs though. Maybe I went the totally wrong direction, and it thinks I won't be able to make it back and find its secrets. I do not know, I am not sure I want to.
As for the hallway itself, it is extensive. I have easily been walking half a mile. It is dark, too, thank god for my flashlight. There is writing on the walls, I'll attach a list below, not much of it means anything, though of course the big question is there too.
What springs to mind the most is the source of the flooding. I can guess from the smell: its sewage, but why is it here? Why was that even a possibility? This wasn't meant to be a sewage tunnel, it was connected directly to the other floors, it was even listed on signs as 'path to bottom section'. Who builds their site connected to a sewer system?
Phrases on the walls:
WHAT DID YOU DO TO DESERVE THIS?
COULD YOU LOVE YOURSELF IF YOU HAD TO?
WHAT HAPPENED TO ALICE STARR?
Addendum 13: Bodycam Footage
Individuals Present: Mr. Altair, James Pensa
Date: June 4th, 1929.
Location: Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge
Footage is from the perspective of Mr. Altair's chest.
Plants and brush fly by as he charges through the woods.
Altair: Hurry up!
Pensa: I'm trying!
Pensa is audibly exhausted.
Altair: We need to find her.
Pensa laughs breathlessly.
Pensa: No, you need to find her.
A few moments of quiet elapse as they approach a small pit and jump over it. Altair's fists clench.
Altair: Remember what I'll do to you if we don't?
Pensa: Please Adam, you're all hot air. You wouldn't hurt a fly.
Altair spins on his feet, slamming a fist into Pensa's head and knocking him over. He falls violently to the ground and screams in pain.
Pensa coughs.
Pensa: Fuck!
Altair's voice remains low.
Altair: Get up.
Pensa: I think you broke my fucking nose!
Altair: Get up! Or I swear to god I'll—
Pensa looks up at Altair, blood is gushing from his nose.
Pensa: Kill me then. If you must. I don't give two shits about that girl anymore. I'm staying right here. So if you think it'll help, help you find Alice… get you your money… make you a… heh… artist, then kill me.
Altair: You're a fucking coward.
Pensa laughs again.
Pensa: Better a coward then a… never mind.
Altair shouts.
Altair: What?
Pensa smiles.
Pensa: You wouldn't get it, it's an… inside joke.
Altair shakes his head and resumes running.
Individuals Present: Mr. Altair
Date: June 4th, 1929.
Location: Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge
Altair is running faster now.
Altair: Alice! Alice!
Altair: Get out here! I need you ..r voice!
He keeps running.
Altair: Where the hell are you?
He snags a foot on a root and crashes to the ground, tearing up his knees on a rock as he falls.
He does not get back up.
He begins to cry.
Altair: Thirty minutes now. That's when they expect her. It's almost over.
He fully sobs.
Altair: What the hell did I do to deserve this?
Several minutes pass.
Unknown voice: Adam!
Altair looks up.
A woman breaks into the clearing.
Altair: Charlie?
Laplace: Adam, I found something.
Altair: Alice?
Laplace: Just follow me.
He stands, grimacing in pain.
She leads him in silence for several minutes until they come upon another clearing.
Laplace: Here.
There is a body in the clearing. It is the body of a young woman. She was killed recently. Her eyes have been removed.
Altair: Oh god… is it?
Laplace: No. Just a random girl. Never seen her before in my life.
Altair: Well that's a relief.
Laplace stares at him.
Laplace: How can you fucking say that?
Altair: I just meant—
Laplace: How the fuck can you say that?
Laplace storms out of the clearing.
Altair: I—
Altair stares at the body for a few moments, then turns his attention to his hands, which now shake.
He attempts to close the corpse's eyelids, but only succeeds in covering his hands with blood.
He sits on the ground.
Altair: Sorry.
He hugs himself and begins to shiver.
Individuals Present: Mr. Altair, [DATA PURGED] (NOPD)17, Charlie Laplace
Date: June 4th, 1929.
Location: Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge
Altair is wrapped in a blanket, leaning against an ambulance.
The officer approaches.
Officer: How are you holding up, Mr. Altair?
Altair: Oh, I'm alright.
The officer smiles.
Officer: That's good to hear.
Altair: Any updates on the body?
Officer: Nothing yet, its hard to get an ID without the eyes.
Altair: I can see that.
The officer does not laugh.
Officer: It's good you caught this now. Exhibits the signs of a serial killer, god forbid.
Altair: Really?
Officer: Yeah, but you caught it early. We'll keep tabs on it18.
Altair: Alright.
Officer: You have a nice night now.
The officer begins to leave, but stops.
Officer: By the way, you should know that Mr. Pensa has declined to press charges.
Altair: Okay.
The officer nods, and walks away.
Altair remains in silence for a while, before he is tapped on the shoulder by Laplace.
Laplace: Hey Adam.
Altair: Hey.
Laplace: I heard you say something, before I found you.
Altair: Yeah?
Laplace: You asked what you did to deserve all this.
Altair: I did, yes. So?
Laplace: So, who were you asking?
Altair: Well—
Laplace: Was it god?
Altair shrugs.
Altair: I guess.
She nods.
Laplace: Let me tell you a story. Before I was a singer, I was a cloister girl. Lived in a convent. Never took the nun vows, of course, but I was still 'holy', if that's the word you want to use. I prayed for hours every day, and you know what? Never got anything to show for it. God never stepped in. Didn't stop my dad from working himself to death, stop my mother from being hit by that car, my brother from getting stoned and then shot.
She gazes briefly at the officer.
Laplace: I went to three funerals the year of my 20th birthday, and something inside me broke. I left the cloister, shopped around for other gods, tried the hits, I just wanted an explanation I think. None came, ever.
Altair: You saying you don't believe in god?
Laplace: I'm saying it doesn't matter. If there are any gods, they're way out there in the void.
She gazes up at the stars.
Laplace: They can't hear us, and they sure as hell don't talk back.
Altair laughs a little.
Altair: Are you trying to comfort me?
Laplace: My point is: I went to those funerals, I lost myself in it, I lost everything, and I went to bed on a shitty ash-stained waterbed, and then… I woke up. Life happens, nothing can change that. But then the sun still rises. Tomorrow still comes.
Laplace: Go to your show, Adam. Maybe it'll be shit, maybe it'll be art, but then you'll be done with it. You will have done something, however awful, and then the sun will rise, and you'll start again.
Addendum 14: Final Captain's Log
Ship: SCPS Sunrise
Captain: Adam Altair
Date: June 15th, 2929
To my successor,
I have ejected this at the point of no return. If you are reading this, then either the star is dead, or it is too late for you. If the latter proves true, then I am sorry.
I do not know if the star has continued to communicate, I cannot check until I am inside. I must simply pray the ship's armor holds.
If I have succeeded, then I assume this rust bucket is still floating out there, and on-board you will find my body. I have changed my will. Do not take me to New Orleans, I am not strong enough, I think. I don't care where I end up, so long as it is not there.
I can feel the heat building. I am entering the corona now.
I am at peace. This is what I was meant for.
I hope that you are at peace too.
- Adam Altair, Containment Specialist
USER ALERT: The following is the final file recovered from the SCPS Sunrise's Blackbox, it was found there upon the box's recovery from what was formerly the center of SCP-9222. Upon recovery, both the ship and SCP-9222 were gone, neither have been seen since.
I want to make a deal.
USER ALERT: Solar activity increasing.
I want to be a star. I want to be famous. I want to be the most important person in the world.
I'll give anything.
USER ALERT: Solar activity has increased 1929%.
That's the price? That's all you want? That's…generous. Thank you.
USER ALERT: What happened to Alice Starr?
I do.
USER ALERT: While the prior is the last file on the Blackbox, it, notably, did not originate on the ship. File metadata indicates that its recorded events took place on June 4th, 1929.
Addendum 15: Conclusion of Exploration Efforts
Blacksite L-13 Investigation
by Adam Altair
I expected security, I can't say I expected this. The door is huge, monolithic even. You could drive a car through it. I don't really know what I expect to find inside.
One silver lining is that this part of the underground is not flooded, it's maybe the only part, but it's nice. My feet aren't dry and prune-y anymore.
Of additional note, when I was walking down the tunnel to here, I heard the sounds of machinery, but they don't seem to be present anymore. It is almost upsettingly quiet.
As for the lock on the door, it is unpickable, at least in the time I have. An alternative is necessary. There is a keycard slot, but I still haven't found any bodies from which to take one.
UPDATE: You are fucking kidding me. I held my own card up to the reader, as a gaff, and it unlocked. Made a horrible sound too, the same machinery I heard earlier. The massive doors are being slowly opened by a system of enormous gears, but they are taking a frustratingly long time. I estimate it will take over 5 minutes for the doors to open.
WARNING: THE REMAINDER OF THIS ADDENDUM IS 9222/LEVEL-9 CLASSIFIED
UNWORTHY SOULS WILL BE FORFEIT, CONDEMNED, AND PURGED
Addendum 16: Containment Breach
Individuals Present: Mr. Altair, Alice Starr
Date: June 4th, 1929.
Location: The Rising Sun Opera House
Altair is marching upstairs to the main floor of the house. He is muttering under his breath.
Altair: Goddamn [indecipherable].
Altair: Whole fuckin' thing's a [indecipherable].
Altair approaches Alice's door.
He presses a piece of paper onto the door, it sticks there, it reads 'you're fired.'
He clenches his fists, and then smashes his head into the door.
It opens.
Alice: Is everything alright?
Altair jumps back.
Altair: You… what?
She glances at the sign.
Alice: You don't really mean that, do you?
Altair shakes his head, still speechless.
Altair: I.. uh.. I couldn't find you.
She tilts her head.
Alice: Really? I'm not exactly a hard girl to spot.
She gestures to herself.
She is wearing an ruby dress, which shines painfully against the harsh lighting of the backstage.
Altair: I looked everywhere. The bar, the woods, and further, couldn't find you.
Alice: Really? I've been here the whole time, rehearsing. Haven't left once tonight.
Altair: Bullshit. I must have knocked on that door a hundred times.
Alice: I don't know what to tell you…
She smiles.
Alice: Are you sure you were looking for me?
Altair: I—
Alice: Doesn't matter, the shows about to start! Wish me luck!
He smiles, it does not cover his entire face.
Altair: Luck.
Alice: And remember… you've worked really hard to get me here, you've earned this, you deserve it.
She smiles before running onto stage.
Addendum 17: Recovery of Alice Starr
USER ALERT: FILE MISMATCH
Addendum 17: Destruction of Project ANEMOIA
USER ALERT: FILE MISMATCH
Addendum 17: Neutralization of AL1-C3
USER ALERT: FILE MISMATCH
Addendum 17: SCP-9222 Inoculation
There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it broke the heart of many a girl,
And God, I know I'm one
My mother was a traitor
She sold out to the west,
My father was a rock star,
Still wore his Sunday best.
Well the only thing a rock star needs
Is a million beady eyes
And they'll say they love him on and on,
Won't notice when he dies
Oh, mothers, tell your children
Not to do what I have done
To spend your lives in sin and misery
In the house of the rising sun
I got one foot on the platform
And another on the train
And I'm going back to New Orleans
To wear that golden chain
There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
And it broke the heart of many a girl,
Good God, I'm sure I'm one
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