Same as it ever was.
-
Info
SCP-9499: Palingenesis
Author:
esther619 (More by this author, Palingenesis Hub)
Theme:
Woedenaz
Word Count: 23,004
Contains depictions of torture and psychological abuse, depictions of self-harm, and a low-quality pencil drawing of a vulva.
When you reach the divide, make sure to read in rows, not columns. Everything will proceed as it has and as it should.
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-9499 is not to be stemmed or affected in its perpetuation. Since SCP-9499 is already conceptually ingrained in numerous fields of global thought, the Foundation’s possible reactions are necessarily limited.
Regardless of the passage of time or changes on the world stage, any incarnations of the Departments of Misinformation and Theoretical Theology are to ensure that SCP-9499 is perceived either as nonexistent or a standard element of the universe.
The current effects of SCP-9499 are to be attended by ADMIN and ITF Alpha-1 (“Red Right Hand”). Oracular processes used to detect and preempt the next iteration of SCP-9499 are dependent on the religious beliefs and practiced ethnic identity of the relevant subject. Information on the process regarding manifestations of SCP-9499 can be found in 48 O.C.O. §§ 261-263.
Description: SCP-9499 is, in a broad sense, the phenomenon of a living person being a reincarnation of another, specifically such that they may perform a role or live out a specific scenario. SCP-9499 can affect the currently living, but tends to manifest its traits during birth. SCP-9499 does not involve any sort of passing of the soul of one person to another.
SCP-9499’s effects are ultimately nebulous and difficult to describe through language. Predominantly, it seems to act as a proponent of "destiny" or associated concepts. When present in an individual, it can engender feelings of déjà vu, ennui, and confusion, as well as an abnormal degree of cryptomnesia.
Any further written summarization of information pertaining to SCP-9499 or SCP-9499-108 have been deemed unnecessary and a potentially colossal security risk in the event of a large-scale data breach.
Man saw the sun rise and felt wonder. Man saw the stars shine and felt awe. But marvel is ultimately rooted in fear.
Addendum-01: 7/16/16
SATURN DEER’S WEB CENTER
Home | About me! | Auspices | Other socials
Welcome Back!
Uploaded 16 July, 2016, 03:45
Friends, followers, and salivating apostles, I know the last few years have been nothing but tearstreaked agony as you waited for my return. And now that I’ve gotten past my recent troubles with the Man and found a very secure VPN, I’ve made my way back to all of you.
But what’s that? You just stumbled across this website because of ever-worsening analytical search algorithms because clarity is an enemy of the data-trawling corporations? You have no idea who’s spitting out all these fresh, sexy, revelatory ideas? Then I suppose a reintroduction is in order.
Picture a world unenlightened. The masses, opiated by “love thy neighbor” and motivated into “kill thy enemy”. The fervent, flinging their children into five-pointed furnaces all for the big guy in the sky. And above it all, the rulers of the world laugh and lean back against a fat stack of dried-up spirits.
But courage, deer heart! I am, and continue to be, the great moisturizer of the soul! Shuffle forth unto me and receive the fragrant mist that is my enlightening word. To fallow and fellow, I am SATURN DEER, chalice for the heavens’ guidance with a rockin’ bod. Licensed haruspex in the city of Kurst, ordained minister for the sealing of matrimonial arcane pacts, and the former holder of the Guinness world record for Wearer of the Heaviest Hat in 2012.
Now that you’ve become acquainted with my many beauteous qualities, I want to give those devotees that waited for my descension a gift. First, I am reopening my merch store, which can be accessed by appending “/buy” to this website’s URL! You can also telephone my distributor at 888-SAT-DEER for express delivery! All the world’s Saturn Deer instructional compact discs, Saturn Deer novelty tees, Saturn Deer eventrated rats, Saturn Deer bumper stickers, and pints of authentic Saturn Deer sweat and skin oil are YOURS!
But I know that won’t satiate you. You want more. You want to see what Paradise gifted me. So be my witness and listen close, because I’m going to provide you with my guidance.
Beloved, you did not erupt from your mother’s womb for nothing. Your every action is a step on the path to a greater purpose. Fate is gently leading you by the hand, and I am the soothing voice bubbling out of Fate’s throat to tell you: it’s going to be alright. Just let go and throw away your inhibitions. Looking for an excuse? Consider this it! Talk to that special person. Go to that special place. Do that special thing. Rob that special gas station. Purchase that special, special merchandise. Because Fate, children, Fate will take you where you need to go. So why not enjoy the way there?
Well, I’m going to have to leave you with that, kiddos. I’ve got three former Saturn Deer bodies hanging from meat hooks in my garage, and I need to drain their humors before they get all desiccated. Never say I don’t labor to bring you high-quality gifts and paraphernalia. Nyarlathotep’s got nothing on me.
Oh, and you. The guy in the baggy pants with the hereditary jaw malformation. Yeah, squint your eyes all you like, I’m talking about you. Your husband, on that business trip to France? He wishes you’d call him just as much as you wish he’d call you. Find the time to come through for him now, because you’ll always have just enough time when it’s already too late. Roaming minutes can never be worth as much as love.
Until next time then. I’ve been your caring resident pythia, and I’ll be waiting with bated breath for another encounter.
Passionately yours,
SATURN DEER
View comments (912)
ADMIN CORRESPONDENCE • VERMILLION-GRADE PRIORITY • CONTAINS EMBEDDED DIRECT INFOHAZARD
RED - WHITE - RED - CROSS
A valuable investment prepares to withdraw. The oven is cooling, and the Maker's greedy hand enters.
BLUE - GREY - BLUE
Ego always returns to itself when it is multiplied. We are finishing the equation. You have twelve days.
Ianus represents the beginning and represents the ending. When the Romans sought his placation, they burnt salt and spelt. So too must we.
Shannon Joyner: Nana? What’s going on?
Mildred Joyner: Shannon, you left your binder at home. If you’re still in traffic, don’t turn around, okay? I’m bringing it to you right now.
Shannon Joyner: Oh my God, thank you! I… you’re a lifesaver, I completely forgot about it.
Mildred Joyner: Don’t mention it. I wanted to see your new pieces in person anyway.
Shannon Joyner: Nana… you’re gonna be weird about them!
Mildred Joyner: Of course I am. That’s why you’re so good; because I taught you how to be weird, and now you know how to put together a design. And I’m gonna keep teaching you until I can’t speak through the respirator.
Shannon Joyner: I know. And thank you. But you get, like, Freudian with it. (laughs)
Mildred Joyner: That’s because your sculptures ARE Freudian!
Shannon Joyner: (laughs) Hey, is that you behind the pickup?
Shannon Joyner: …NANA! Don’t honk, there are other people on the road!
Mildred Joyner: Don’t look back at me! Keep your eyes forward!
Shannon Joyner: Okay, look, I’m gonna let you go before I distract you too much. See you in a couple minutes.
Mildred Joyner: Bye, honey.
Text Transcription (starting at title, going clockwise around main image)
STILL BORN
I made this mostly out of a sense of anxiety about the US government. Every day, it feels like we go back to older and older ways of thinking, even as things get more advanced. Some days I feel like I’m sculpting my emotions, not just clay.
Used steel wire to make the palm shape and slotted the ends through the plastic supports
Base is a repurposed pen stand. Use what you have!
Vulva was the easiest to sculpt (simple shapes), but it wasn’t easy to reinforce!
Took a WHILE to shape the wrinkles, but firing it helped the skin look more cracked
Nails are actual press-ons that I chipped and baked in! Thought that was a cool trick
And so Man, taking copper and tin, sought to understand. But when He had eaten His fill of the universe and was sated, a new, bottomless hunger replaced it. And so Man, taking carbon and iron, sought to cage. Because Man fears freedom, for in freedom He becomes less than Man.
Addendum-02: 7/17/16
July 17
Daily Prompt: What parts of yourself do you represent in your art?
SOMEONE BOUGHT STILL BORN!!!!!! I didn’t think I was going to make a single sale but I got $35 for the vagina-hand! The buyer, older guy named Thaddeus or something, said it would look good in his personal home collection, which isn’t exactly where I was hoping it would end up but still. That’s money!!
Also I think Nana was messing around in my room last night, because some of the stuff on my dresser was out of order. I’m gonna finish this entry after work, but I feel alright right now. I tried out that thing with the high bun that Ali told me about, and it looks really good!
Also also, the magnum opus is going well. Nana wasn’t all that pleased that it took up so much space in the living room, even if she’s glad I’m making so much progress on it. I’m thinking I could name it something like Moulded Time or History in Cast. The only part left in the upper half to finish is the toes on the front left foot, which I think i can try and just use pieces of old ladles to accomplish. The transitions between segments aren’t very smooth, but I think if i do it right, it should look a bit chimeric. I can’t believe I’m getting so close to finishing it. The culmination of seven months of work! :D
SATURN DEER’S WEB CENTER
Home | About me! | Auspices | Other socials
Meditations
Uploaded 17 July, 2016, 02:34
On this early, early morning, as the moon sets, I find myself in a romantic, pensive mood. Maybe it’s something about the sleepy omens in the clouds, just beginning to take the shape of their heavenly assignments. Maybe it’s the several hours I spent rinsing my own dead fluids from my clothes and skin (don’t say I never did anything for you!) after last night’s butchering session.
Or maybe it’s just that contemplative feeling that you get when you’ve lived a long, fulfilling series of lives. Children, I think today is going to be a magical day. I can’t explain why, I can’t tell you how, but I have this sense of the beauty of creation.
You don’t need me to tell you how shitty your life is, or how shitty the world is. But I still will. We have racists and monsters seated in our governments, billionaires burning the forests and melting the ices, and the populace being crushed at every turn. None of those bastards telling you what to believe in believe it in themselves. Capitalism, communism, anarchism, none of it’s genuine in the end.
But in this blinding, deafening tumult, amidst the flashes of nuclear fire in the troposphere and the cries of slaughterhouses full of little babies, let me be your anchor. Let my voice be your guiding, soothing Polaris. You can’t put your faith in this world anymore, so put it in me. You know how hard I work to give you prophecies that actually help you, don’t you? I want to steer you right, and all I need is your support. The right person can change the world, but only with the help of thousands. That’s the conclusion I’ve come to on this silvery breaking dawn, disciples. If we all come together to help each other, we can fix these broken, sad times. Because your individual patheticness can, with enough time and presence, amount to the efforts of a successful person!
So please, if you can, check out my Patreon page linked in the “About Me” section. There’s currently five donation tiers, and top-tier supporters gain access to, among other things, weekly personalized kismet readings, DIY occult brands and scar patterns to improve luck, and even a private chatroom with yours truly ;)
If everyone who visited this website on a weekly basis would sign up to the lowest-tier subscription, I’d have enough funding to predict who’s going to win every country’s next major election. And if your financial situation isn’t good enough to support me directly, you can still help out indirectly by sharing the link (DO NOT SHARE ON META PLATFORMS, TWITTER, OR FACEBOOK). When have I ever pointed you wrong before?
With love, lust, and laceration,
SATURN DEER
P.S. If any camera trap experts are reading this, comment below. I need some help with my setup and can send you a bearded vulture with further details <3
View comments (857)
Back. Ok, so Nana swears she wasn’t up to anything last night, but I know she’s plotting something. My birthday is in two weeks, and she’s trying to work out something that’ll top what I did for Mother’s Day last year. Maybe it’s a bad thing to wage psychological war with thoughtfulness, but that’s just how we do it :J
I’m still worried about how well I’m passing at work, but it’s leagues better than when I started there- I’ve made so much progress that I can’t really complain anymore.
Also. Had a weird dream last night that there were nails in my teeth and every time I tried to close my mouth (‘cause my jaw really hurt), it just forced them deeper and broke my teeth more. It was so vivid, when I woke up I could still feel the stinging in my gums.
Idk what that means but it’s probably just my brain being a bitch
That’s all for today, gonna make shepherd’s pie for dinner tonight, and we’ll see if tomorrow I can maybe organize a permit for this convention in DC.
Hope it goes through! I really want to sell those nge and votom figurines, especially cause I used the good acrylics for them. Mecha models are always a fun little diversion between the projects I’m really passionate about
Hide comments (857)
xXtopuserXx
bought three daily prophecies, really hoping they come true ^u^
Posted 08:56, 17 July, 2016
deerfan13_
omg im so glad your back deer i missed you, i know things are gona get better now that your guiding me,.. just sent you the payment information
Posted 10:50, 17 July, 2016
codshapedh0le
KNOWN SCAMMER, DNI
Posted 13:02, 17 July, 2016
youngharley
Hi, career photographer and longtime fan here. What kinds of equipment issues are you dealing with?
Posted 17:28, 17 July, 2016
1withoutend
Open your window ᓚᘏᗢ
Posted 17:28, 17 July, 2016
In freedom, we are without cause or meaning, and therefore without justification or defense. Wicked actions done in freedom are inherently more monstrous than those done within the bounds of society. The idealists cry, “Why must Man chain Man, and why must He chain Himself?” And the realists respond, “The chains are the only things that are true.”
Addendum-03: 7/18/16
06:28: SCP-9499-108 inert. SJ visible in bed lying on her left side (sheets greatly disturbed), limbs huddled against body and face contorted in subconscious discomfort.
06:29: SCP-9499-108 manifests. SJ rolls onto back slowly and emits a faint, incomprehensible noise.
06:30: Alarm on SJ’s mobile phone goes off, and SJ awakens abruptly. SJ grumbles indistinguishably and rubs what seems to be a lesion or other skin-irritating presence near the base of the neck.
SJ eventually sits up, eyes barely opened, and still scratching at implied abrasions around the shoulders and peak of the spine. SJ bats in the direction of the alarm, eventually tapping the screen with enough precision to turn it off.
06:32: After sitting for two minutes in near-catatonic stillness, SJ rouses herself and stands, rubbing at rheum deposits in her eyes.
06:33: SJ yawns and checks her phone, grimacing at something displayed by it.
06:34: SJ begins morning routine, undressing and examining the small red irregularities on her neck in the flipped phone camera. SJ remarks exasperatedly about mosquitoes getting inside, and resumes routine.
06:39: SJ concludes routine and exits room, presumably heading to the bathroom. SCP-9499-108 follows.
SATURN DEER’S WEB CENTER
Home | About me! | Auspices | Other socials
Where I’m At
Uploaded 18 July, 2016, 12:34
I tend not to make these sorts of posts, but I thought it would be nice to make some statements and clear things up since I’ve been getting so many desperate comments asking, “Saturn, where have you been?” It always tickles me how much you all depend on me. You do so with good reason, beloved.
You're some of the most intelligent people around, because you've sifted through the strata of lies and ruin to find me. The fact that I received fifty Deerstalkers (Tier 4 patrons) and eighteen Caudas Dracones (Tier 5 patrons) on the first day of opening the Patreon is a real testament to how useful, praxic, and financially responsible you all are! When you put your faith and funds toward the right person, toward the right cause, you draw one step closer to the perfect life. Because when you give your all to the right parts of this world, those parts begin to flourish and create the best possible outcome for everyone, especially yourself.
Well, you know we like to have fun here, but I'd like to shift gears to a more serious topic. I probably won't be able to keep doing daily updates, at least in terms of these posts. Don't worry, my gift pours out so much that I might deteriorate medically if I didn't discharge these prophecies! But mostly, I just want to establish this because I feel like I'm putting out more than I'm getting back. You're all lovely and supportive, but I just don't know if I can keep going on as I have before and since I came back. To be honest, I was expecting a little more fanfare when I made my grand re-debut. A little more investment. So until I can get at least 5,000 daily visitors to this site, I'm going to only be posting on a weekly basis.
Now, I want to make it clear that this isn't due to stress or burnout or any such basic human trifles. This is merely me making sure my and your time is best spent and offering you all an incentive. Because if you all can get the site to 7,500 daily visitors, I will do a three-hour community soothsaying livestream, as well as revealing ten of my personal tips for leading a fulfilling life and trusting destiny!
Again, DO NOT FUCKING SHARE ANY SATURN DEER-RELATED LINKS ON META PLATFORMS, TWITTER, OR FACEBOOK. Your contributions mean more to me and the universe than you'll ever be able to know.
However, I'd like to move on from that and get a bit personal. As you probably know, I've been off the grid since 2013, and this isn't just because I forgot my password or I was busy in some Undervegas brothel for 32 months. That was in 1997, and not important.
You see, I was on a journey of spiritual self-discovery. I wandered from Tibet to a different part of Tibet, consulted with Napoleon's divine materializations across the Massif Central, and smoked that quality kush with my brothers, sisters, and neithers in the Slab City wizard commune. And of course, I died a few times. Had to get those Saturn Deer bags of hair out to you somehow, didn't I?
But through all of that, I think I've changed a bit as a person. Not in any way improved, you can't go up any further when you’re someone like me, but my worldview has shifted. I realize that my prior focus on being a self-help guru is doing less good than it could be. Of course, I still want to help you all as much as I can, and my prophecies are still for sale at reasonable rates. But I've realized how much your funding to me can help the universe come back into order, and that’s become my new priority. That's why I've been asking so much for your donations. The higher purposes of Fate are my highest concern.
Now, I won't spoil what I've been putting together over the last year or so, but I think this is just very important to state for posterity. I treat you all gently, readers, and I respect your contributions. After all, what more could you even grant to me? You can't effect change on your own. But you are and remain a herd. And a following is the one force that can back a prophet.
You have your mission, beloved people of the world. You have the values I've provided, and until then, I remain the smooth vaticinator of all your dreams and the provider of predictions for pittances.
Ever devoted and dutiful,
SATURN DEER
P.S. To one Mr. Young, I think your vehemence over the lammergeier in your room is a bit overblown. Seems I'd forgotten that not everyone likes getting clawed or bitten… Wait seventy-three minutes and check your mother's recipe cards. BRING A PENCIL.
P.P.S. Yes, for those of you wondering, if I do the livestream, I'll have donation goals there as well. Haven't picked them yet, but I can tell what most of you are hoping they'll be, and it makes me glad you're one of my readers~
View comments (738)
Alright Lee, you have one minute to write back before I start permanently writing over these recipes. I expect you to be timely if you’re serious about helping me out.
Jesus, Deer, these are like the last things I have left of my mom!
All the more reason to hurry up. Now tell me, if I’ve got sixteen infrared trail cameras ringing my property, all about 8 feet apart, what kind of event could prevent all of them from triggering even though there were clear signs of forced entry the next morning and the tree cover makes the area mostly inaccessible from above without being noticed?
Well how sensitive are they?
I don’t fucking know, I didn’t calibrate them. They’ve picked up moths landing on them before.
Okay how are they arranged then?
Circle on the trees, all pointing a little to the right and down, but all toward my house.
Then it seems impossible unless you’re dealing with something either invisible or the exact temperature as everything in the traps’ field of view.
Also, why do you need cameras? I thought you were clairvoyant.
Yes of fucking course I’m clairvoyant. I’m imagining that those bastards are using either EVE filtration webs or a cæcus fati diode array. Thaumic engineering is a bitch.
…what??
Never mind. You probably won’t remember this for long. I did some research on self-destructive memnohazards in between my other self-destructive shit. These thoughts won’t encode properly and when your brain tries to process them, they’ll just fall apart.
…what???
Alright, I think I’m done here. I’ve got at least three more people I’ll need to wrangle up for trigger work before I can start fixing my own shit. If I need your help again, I’ll send my friendliest pigeon because apparently, you can’t handle civil interactions with nature’s most beautiful creature aside from me. Bye.
You acted a lot nicer on your blog.
Shannon Joyner: Hi, this is Shannon. I sent in an application this morning about selling at Neo Con, VBL attached, and I wanted to leave a message and see about, uh, available lots since there wasn’t any information on the website… but yeah, thanks. Talk to you soon.
Shannon Joyner: Hello?
Owen Groenke: Hi, Miss Joyner. Apologies for not being as timely as you wanted-
Shannon Joyner: No, no, I’m sorry. I should’ve been more patient.
Owen Groenke: -but I’m just here to say that your permit has been issued and we’ll be emailing you a list of available sites for vending. You will have to bring your own table in addition to any banners and decorations, but that’s all that you’d really need to know.
Shannon Joyner: Right. Table. No problem. Thank you so much!
Owen Groenke: You have a good day now, miss.
But when Man has made His concessions of flimsy knowledge for stern control, and has shorn His state of pandemonium for one of lawfulness, He shall find that in conquering these things, He has conquered His fear of freedom. For He will have slain freedom, and exist in perfection. In this, Man is happy.
Addendum-04: 7/20/16
ADMIN CORRESPONDENCE • XANTHOUS-GRADE PRIORITY • CONTAINS EMBEDDED DIRECT INFOHAZARD
Necessary actions have been taken. No more, no less. Suspicion is present, but misguided, and poses no threat.
There is a possibility of danger in the level of contact occurring. Exposure may result in greater harm for all involved.
We have personal considerations on how to handle this matter, but will wait for a response before taking action.
α
July 20
Daily Prompt: What is a past experience that you think changes the way you act and behave as a person?
When I was a freshman, I didn’t really have anyone to relate to or interact with. It wasn’t even close to how bad things were back in Vermont (fuck you, Mom), but still, who would want to be seen with that antisocial crossdressing freak? And it felt like some nights I was just alone in the whole world. I wanted to have someone who wanted to be around me so bad, but I was just terrified of what could happen if I got close to the wrong person.
And so I just kept my head down and tried to muscle through it. I didn’t have a community and I don’t know if I even could have found one. There were definitely gay people on campus, but that doesn’t ensure acceptance at all. Even back then, I knew that if I wanted genuine, definite support, it would have to be with other trans women. And then I met Moira. I don’t think I can ever write down how first meeting her felt. It was like finding a single island in the middle of an ocean. Maybe the most liberating feeling of my entire life.
I mean, it’s not like we ONLY became friends because we were both trans. We were both art majors; she was trying to become a professional cellist. We both loved ‘30s and ‘40s movies (there was one that we adored, It Happens Every Spring, even if it was corny as hell), we both loved mint-flavored stuff, and you know what? It didn’t matter if we didn’t share an opinion because we liked each other as people. Of course, from how I’m phrasing this, you can see where things would go eventually.
Moira was definitely more confident with herself than I was. She didn’t worry half as much about trying to look natural and normal as I did. What she was trying to present was just herself, whereas I was still trying to present myself, but as a woman. I still didn’t view myself as intrinsically female, like there was this lingering maleness that would always be a part of me, so I had to hide it. And I finally learned from her that that wasn’t true. Over time, we spent more and more time together, and we just kind of slid into being girlfriends without ever really considering it.
We dated for two years. I haven’t yet had a relationship that meant as much to me as the one I had with Moira. Most of the time, it was like we never had to think about anyone or anything else. But eventually, slowly, we started to step back a bit. And in due time, both of us realized that what we had wasn’t sustainable. The people I knew couldn’t understand; you say she’s perfect for you, so why not stay? And honestly, I don’t fully know.. But I think it’s that we both helped each other become better people, but the people we were refined into through our time together weren’t the same as the ones that got into that relationship to begin with. I could talk forever about all the things Moira said or did, but that’s not what I’m writing about. We still keep in contact, of course. She’s part of a philharmonic group that performs at live theatre and ballet, and I try to come to as many of her shows as I can afford.
There’s no chance that we could have stayed together, and we both understood that. Either we’d have to go back to unhappier stages in our lives to work as a couple, or we’d just be more and more distant as time went on. That didn’t stop it from hurting, at least for me. Maybe Moira had already made peace with it, but I don’t think I’ll ever ask her. But at least when I came home and tried to bury myself in sculpting, Nana was there to keep me aloft. And she was always ready to watch those old movies with me if I was feeling particularly sad. But look at me now. A year and a half on estrogen, a group of friends, and I’m working as hard as I can to be the kind of artist and person I always wanted to be. That’s what changed because of that experience: my entire life.
FUCK THERE’S NO SPACE LEFT FOR THE DAY
guess I’ll just have to tape this piece of paper to the page :P
It feels like something weird is definitely going on. I keep having those dreams about nails and needles and being stabbed, and I can guess as to why that’s happening, but I also have these bruises on my abs that I don’t remember where they came from. Might’ve just been when I hit that doorframe, but it doesn’t seem like it. And I still have this sense that things are being moved around the house! Nana doesn’t seem to notice anything, and that’s worrying me too.
It’s the same at work, there always seems to be someone at my hip, like I’m under more scrunity even than usual for some reason.
Maybe that’s just it though. I’m worried in general, and my stress is making me see patterns where there aren’t any. I don’t knowwwww :(
But it’s not all bad news. After work, Ali, Olive, and Cameron all went with me to see the 10 Cloverfield Lane movie. Cam wasn’t there for the first one, found footage makes them super motion sick, but this one had a traditional filming style. I mean, I wasn’t really a fan of changing up what made the first one so cool, and it’s not really a “sequel” at all, but still. It was a good enough movie for what it was, and the experience of being there with everyone was worth it.
Nana says I can take the card table to the convention so now all i need is a good tablecloth and some safety pins, I’ll pick those up tomorrow along with shellac and porcelain clay for Moulded Time’s torso. Should be good ASSUMING THE CARD TABLE ISN’T ON THE ROOF OR SOME SHIT
SITE-322 INCIDENT REPORT
At 21:59:50, the following anomalous occurrences took place:
- All desktop computers in C Wing shut off their monitors and began to run their fans at high speeds until the spinning mechanisms broke down.
- Every physical document being printed on site had black boxes printed over every noun and verb within its text.
- Password-protected containment chamber doors in Qlipoth Wing refused to accept any input as a correct code.
- The mailboxes of Clearance Level 3 staff and higher were filled with fliers and pamphlets, dating from 1724 to 2009, all detailing various get-rich-quick/pyramid schemes, adverts for deceitful “miraculous” items, and nonsensical philosophical manifestos.
EVE emissions could not be reliably traced by thaumaturgical signature, as the magickal triggers for the separate phenomena seemed to all be distinct and possibly activated by different people.
Estimates of damages have not yet been calculated (though Qlipoth Wing has been re-secured and all affected activities have been halted), but ink costs alone will likely require substantial revision from Budgeting and Expenditure. We have deployed counter-thaumaturgists and IT sorcerers to remedy these issues as soon as possible, with the promise of overtime pay. Please advise as soon as possible.
ADMIN CORRESPONDENCE • ERIN-GRADE PRIORITY • CONTAINS EMBEDDED DIRECT INFOHAZARD
These actions indicate the resettling of incorrect predisposed notions of our operations and intentions as a collective organization, no doubt stoked by 9499-108 and external presences.
While the subject’s naïveté is both useful and self-sustaining to a certain point, careful monitoring will still be required to prevent the break of the illusion. The damages, though inconsequential, should still be sought to be avoided.
Overseer Correspondence • Incinerate After Reading • Contains Embedded Infohazard
Director Lague,
We would like to issue a formal statement of condolence for the damages inflicted upon your area of preeminence. We understand that you and some of your comrades are currently contending with complex enough matters, and do not need the additional headache of the actions of a lunatic enemy of the Foundation.
We have transported in restorative containment specialists and handywizards from the surrounding metropolitan area to preside over repairs and the like. You will not need to personally administer over their actions.
Thank you for your patience and dedication.
Look unto the world Man has wrought, and the worlds others have sculpted beneath Him. Is this not beautiful? What less than beauty could be seen in these affairs? Is Man not now the master of land, the master of beasts, the master of mechanisms of plastics and magnetic energies? And has Man not reached ever further heights, mastery of memory, of magicks, of time and space?
Addendum-05: 7/22/16
Mildred Joyner: …hello?
Jacob Ackermann: Sorry to call out of the blue, but since you’re the listed emergency contact, I thought you might be able to pass along the message.
Mildred Joyner: Oh, Shannon’s already out at her booth, won’t be back until tonight. What did you want with her?
Jacob Ackermann: Unfortunately, the FSU College of Liberal Arts and Sciences has decided that Shannon’s spotlighted pieces need to be removed from our features for the purposes of remodeling-
Mildred Joyner: What, did you want me to pick them up? I can't drive out that far at 7 AM. They'd revoke my license.
Jacob Ackermann: …well then we’re just fine keeping everything in storage until someone can come around to take them. Or if needed, we could mail-
Mildred Joyner: No, no, it’s alright, I’m going, just give me a minute. I’m still scrambling my eggs. If you shipped the sculptures, they’d probably come back as powder. (laughs)
Jacob Ackermann: …Thank you, ma’am.
setup for table
• organize columns mostly by color
• more complex the closer to platform
• would be nice to put a tiny led light on the platform but probably can't get it in time
• first row: standing tortoise and turtles, scopedog, fire parrot
• second row: all eva units, sachiel, zeruel, jet alone
• third row: gundam
• fourth row: decepticons and constructicons
• fifth row: autobots and other tf characters
• keep the angles expository!!
• don’t fuck this up, be friendly, don’t get distracted, you got this girl :J
• maybe grab one of those 25 hour energy things when you’re getting gas?
ADMIN CORRESPONDENCE • XANTHOUS-GRADE PRIORITY • CONTAINS EMBEDDED DIRECT INFOHAZARD
Internal actions have been relegated. Operations are unmitigated, as changing requirements can easily be managed daily.
We concern ourselves with one over the other, as you knew we would. Actions engender responses, some more dire than others.
At present, retaliation could lengthen the process, which is highly undesirable. Our window is tightly trimmed. We believe that it would be wisest to continue as we have, retrieve until tensions cool, and then prepare.
α
SATURN DEER’S WEB CENTER
Home | About me! | Auspices | Other socials
Prophecies by Day!
7/19: Tuesdays are often the best times to make up for your past actions. If you have any regrets that hang heavy in your mind during times of stillness, do whatever is possible to spiritually and physically atone for them. Fate is at your back, but you are ALWAYS responsible for what’s going on in front. How you accept and reconcile with your actions is your greatest duty.
Mars holds sway today, and I believe this is an omen of unrest. It’s funny how in this world, you can take two selfish, hateful bastards that both want you as a smoothed-over meat marionette for nothing but labor, approval ratings, and breeding, and they can both condemn the other over a single word that neither understand from a speech that neither cared about. It’s like, why do we still fund these bloodsuckers when we could be funding me??
7/20: I observed a vague uprising in the arc of the stars just as the moon set, and in conjunction with the sheep liver’s fluid distribution, I’ve concluded that this is a day of woe and tragedy. Neptune mocks us with his sorrowful Sign, so I must offer my condolences to those bereaved. Today, beloved, is a time to offer sympathy to those in pain, and regard inflicters of pain with shrewdness and caution. Act in solidarity and sensitivity, keeping your friends close and your enemies far. Every son a Laius, and every father a Henry Spencer.
7/21: Even if my third eye grows weary, I still pan for fate at the stream of the heavens for you, reader. The curlings of smoke and the settlings of shaken beads are portents of recursion. Thursday will be a day not unlike others, so it is your duty to make it extraordinary! Take a chance on yourself, take a chance on someone else. This is basically a free day, why not take a chance on it?
Take a chance especially on love. Express your true feelings, because the euphoria of acceptance has to feel better than the soul-crushing pain of rejection, right? If you’ve got any special somebodies, do something thoughtful for them. Maybe bring them coffee in bed, or let them confide in you something they’ve been hiding, or tell them “Saturn, you look even hotter when you’re exhausted, but let me keep track of everything while you sleep, and then I’ll be there when you wake up so you know you’re not still alone in a dream!” Just a thought.
NEW! 7/22: Upon reading dice, straw, and donkey lungs, it seems as though today is going to, uh, also be a day not unlike others. But since you’ve already made your most drastic moves yesterday, I think it’s wisest to make little shifts now. Switch your keyboard to Dvorak. Give in to your frustration and confusion. Dust your shelves and wonder if all the shit you put on them is worth keeping. Put back together your carefully-determined oracular sanctum that took months to get together. Or best yet, try to stop failing. And fail at that too.
Rihanna is Marion Crane. That’s all I got.
July 22
Daily Prompt: How has the dynamic between you and your parents changed over time?
Not answering, had a shit enough day without remembering any of THAT. So they’re taking down my pieces, so what? That’s not a big deal, it really isn’t. But I really regret going to the convention. All day long I’m just trying to make some money, maybe even sell some of my original stuff. I figured it would be at least a slightly better place to be than an actual gallery or expo or something in terms of being harassed (and it for sure wasn’t as bad as some venues I’ve tried to sell at) but the environment was just miserable. There’s no ac where I’m set up, so I’m boiling the whole time (plus I’m right by a window so the sun’s adding on too), plus they said the security system was on the fritz, so there’s this awful chirping coming from all around and not even at a rhythm where I could get used to it.
And this isn’t really something I can get mad about, but it was still exhausting; for some reason, everyone who stopped just to glance at, like, a galvatron figurine or something, would be the most talkative person you’ve ever met. It’s like, I’m already worried enough about looking sloppy or overly masc and I’m already anxious just being here, and now you want to tell me about your entire childhood? And you’re not even going to buy anything, you’re just gonna wander off?? I just felt uncomfortable and tired and nervous for ten hours, and I didn’t even get an opportunity to get lunch. I just had to scrounge up half a box of raisins from my bag.
I’m just so glad to be home. I only made like $68, and none of it was on my actual art. Just the unoriginal models of preexisting characters. I thought transformers fans were supposed to be big spenders, but I guess it’s just on the official figures.
oh but ALSO, THERE’S DEFINITELY SOMETHING GOING ON. I took a picture of my room last morning and this morning, and stuff’s been moved around! And now I don’t know if what I thought were bug bites are actually bug bites! I have no clue what this all is, but my nightmares won’t go away and maybe it’s stress but maybe it’s something more
God, I just have this fuckin fog around me today and I need to do something. Anything. I feel like I’m failing as an artist and a granddaughter and I know tomorrow will be better but I’m still wading through whatever the fuck today was. Tomorrow I just want to work on Moulded Time and get my mind off things. If I try selling at a convention like that again, I’m going to actually tell someone if things are bad. I have to learn to not just accept situations I can’t stand.
And yet there is a depth and height in this world that Man has sculpted without knowledge. This is the Tower. This is His Babel, and the ruin it brings is the divide of not of Man’s tongue, but of His spirit. Those below and those above, are they not utterly irreconcilable? What unity can be found among Man, when He is butchered and sectioned into red, raw, groaning mass, piled in units and stories that scrape the heavens? The gestalt is a fable of the weakest minds, and Man must love and live in this Tower. He must treasure and adore the little world He is apportioned. And that beauty that has been described? Man, in many of His worlds, may never know it in its fullness.
Addendum: 7/23/16-7/25/16
SATURN DEER’S WEB CENTER
Home | About me! | Auspices | Other socials
Who’s That Prophet?
A stunning photograph I took in the Rockies back in 2009. It’ll probably be my icon until I can find a camera capable of capturing my raw, vintage, animalistic sensuality in a still image.
Now, I don’t like to give away too much all at once about myself, as I’ve learned that my followers often come up with better backstories for me than Fate ever could, but I’ll still give you the basic play-by-play. I am a prophet and magician of greatest skill venerated in numerous worldwide religions present AND extinct, a philosopher and guru who has improved countless lives and ways of thinking, and a person of the material world and all its myriad ecstasies.
Saturn Deer. The Indivisible One, Apostate Fawn, Irascible Fuckwit, the Undying Magister. Human bodily, but with a spirit like a great bounding hind and a mind as sharp as a hart’s antlers. In my millennia of living in virtually all situations, I have gathered great wealth, many paramours, and emotional fulfillment, and I give it all back because I love you all so much, despite your faults. And you love me too, don’t you?
Here’s some fun facts about me (updated as the ever-fleeting arrow of time makes past experiences seem more fun)!
- I once got in a fistfight with the emperor Hadrian over his beard!
- My favorite food is a microwaved whole onion!
- I have been divorced 37 times in the past century!
- My favorite movies are Good Will Hunting and Roundhay Garden Scene!
- My total lifetime net worth cannot be fully typed out without absolutely breaking this website!
- My total lifetime body count COULD be fully typed out, but that’d just be bragging, now wouldn’t it?
- I’ve learned divining techniques from Zarathustra, Merlin, and Aleister Crowley, and I tutored Crowley slightly in return!
- The last book I read was Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. Lived up to my expectations!
- For the past several days, my generator has been completely fucked and just writing this one fact took twenty minutes because everything in my house keeps going on and off with no pattern!
Here’s something else about me: I value my freedom as much as I value my happiness and possessions. And so should you! So when you encounter those people that would try and limit your freedom, children, what should you do? That’s right! You turn your faces from them and run, or if you can’t, you resist! And if they take the fight to you because you’re an enemy of the powers that be, you kick and bite and gore until you can’t anymore. Because those that would limit your freedom are vile, and must be uprooted from their dark hiding places so they can face the light.
Hide comments (867)
localizedhogs
So inspiring deer, i wholeheartedly agree
Posted 07:17, 23 July, 2016
codshapedh0le
We can have you classified as Tiamat if the need arises. Don’t test your place in the universe, or else you might receive some pushback.
Posted 07:49, 23 July, 2016
1withoutend
Bitch, please. You and your people have done enough to me already, don’t try and talk like Sephiroth to “scare” me or something. Either say something meaningful or fuck off.
Posted 07:49, 23 July, 2016
jJjuStice
feels like i’ve known you for years, robin williams is my favorite actor too
Posted 11:40, 23 July, 2016
16:29: SJ sits in upper left corner of den, carefully wedging porcelain over a table strewn with newspapers, seated near an intricate brass armature of a salamander’s torso. SJ’s countenance is wearily obsessive. SCP-9499-108 present and active.
16:34: MJ enters, looking concerned. She remarks with false nonchalance about SJ having spent all morning and noon working on the statue. SJ turns to face MJ and claims that utterly focusing on something else is helping her feel better.
16:35: MJ expresses measured doubt about this, but states reassuringly that when SJ is finished, if she wants to talk things over for once, MJ will be there for her. SJ smiles, replying that she won’t ever shut her best friend out of anything.
16:36: MJ reacts happily, and engages in pleasant, extraneous conversation with SJ as SJ continues wedging. SJ’s body language grows slightly more relaxed and comfortable.
16:49: MJ, citing a scheduled phone call with an insurance provider, exits. SJ waves and resumes full focus on starting the kneading process.
ADMIN CORRESPONDENCE • XANTHOUS-GRADE PRIORITY • CONTAINS EMBEDDED DIRECT INFOHAZARD
Insofar, one has proved difficult to fully gauge the reactions of, as preexisting capacities for interference make direct monitoring a risk not worth taking.
Your more blunt methods are not preferable, but management of 9499-108 is more important than precision. Delusion remains present and will be your primary aid. Reduce visibility and foresight, and act as you have before.
Time is still of the essence, and culminations should be found and exacted naturally.
Overseer Correspondence • Incinerate After Reading • Contains Embedded Infohazard
Dr. Phillip Shunt III,
We are hereby assuming the control of all programs and teams related to the management of PoI-1710 (known predominantly as “Saturn Deer”), and will require you to present our directives through your own style of writing and under your name.
Your cooperation with this new protocol (which we can assure you is only a temporary change in administration) is greatly appreciated and will be compensated for.
Shannon Joyner: Nan, I-
Mildred Joyner: Shannon, it’s 2 in the morning. I don’t care if you’re still making the body. I don’t care if you’re not done. If you don’t go to sleep now, I’m cutting you out of my will.
Shannon Joyner: Nana, I can’t sleep. I just can’t. I’ll be quieter and I’ll turn off the light but I genuinely cannot sleep tonight. So I need to work on this.
Mildred Joyner: (yawns) We’ve both had to deal with insomnia before… take some Benadryl and you can work things out better in the morning.
Shannon Joyner: No, look, it’s not just that. I could fall asleep, but if I do things will change again. I’m just… scared what will happen.
Mildred Joyner: …honey you’re not making sense. I-
Shannon Joyner: Nothing’s seemed right for the past five days. I don’t know why. But I’m staying awake and I’m going to try and figure things out. I’m sorry. Just trust me this one time.
Mildred Joyner: …Okay. Just at least don’t make such a damn racket.
Shannon Joyner: Yes’m.
Mildred Joyner: Love you. And make sure that when you start the kintsugi part, you make the fractures wide enough that they actually break the inner shell. Just lacquering surface cracks will look worse and make it less structurally sound.
Shannon Joyner: (laughs) Love you too. Goodnight.
so i’m doing subconscious writing and i want to try and get out a single reading or else i’ll have to use that bullshit fucking geomancy loam which isn’t worth SHIT if you want to predict anything and can i even get a single pass from the shekhinah or aiwass or something so i can focus on everything else i can’t fucking get any rest and when i do it’s all dark and i’m sick of having to work for this shit.
i found the perfect industry the perfect people and the perfect spot to run it all and it’s been nonstop work and it used to be so easy to do this, you just needed to turn their sacred rhetoric into hymns praising your exalted name and tell them all the subtle little lies they wanted to hear and they’d buy whatever you sold them and give you whatever you asked of them and now i’m selling my old skins and having to act like fucking haley joel osmont for a single prophecy because none of my other weirding mediums work and i shouldn’t have to bother with any of this nonsense, i deserve a gleaming palace on the ashen cornerstones of the old order where i can be as alone or surrounded as i like and i deserve more riches and bitches than solomon.
this should never be happening, i’ve never been bright enough on the radar of those thirteen wet blankets for them to care beyond digital management that’s as serious as the “harassment” in a 4th grade cyberbullying PSA. so why can’t i see anything anymore. my birds won’t shut up my power won’t stay on i can tell my body has been interfered with i can’t trust my ears or my nose and a gossamer veil is fallen over my world-blind eye
but at least i’m still raking in the moolah and i have all the love they keep sending me so i have no reason to roll the dice and try for a less-pursued body this time, not that anyone could ever keep from pursuing my body
when i am beset, shall i not take strength in the good things? when i am afraid, shall i not shelter behind the bulwark of faith that fate shall bear me along easily? that it shall flow through darkness and carry me to the light?
Oh, the fans are still going to eat this up. Polish the good stuff into a message about self-confidence and perseverance, and cut out all the breakdown shit!
06:30: SJ’s mobile phone screen illuminates the dark living room as its alarm goes off. SJ is huddled on a stool, fraught and exhausted. SJ reaches to shut it off and turns on its flashlight. SCP-9499-108 active.
06:31: SJ shudders and stands, footing uncertain. SJ moves towards sculpture to inspect, apparently reassured by its presence.
06:32: SJ begins to move around the area and occasionally outside of camera view, taking note of every object’s placement.
06:36: SJ moves back to table and begins writing on the newspapers covering it, before tucking away pen, gathering up papers, and exiting. SCP-9499-108 follows.
July 24
Daily Prompt: Cite a dream you remember vividly. What do you think caused that dream, and what do you think it means to you now?
everytning iS blurry and I can barely think but nothing changed tonigt
fuck yes
ADMIN CORRESPONDENCE • SAVOY-GRADE PRIORITY • CONTAINS EMBEDDED DIRECT INFOHAZARD
Action remains productive. No need for further updates in procedure.
Two possibilities can result from this in the coming days. You, of course, understand which would require more management, but neither will be an issue.
α
Oh my god why did I stay up, it was not worth it, i was a fuckin mess at work today and I wouldn’t be surprised if they were thinking of firing me. Ali tried to cover for me a little now and then but I could tell she wasn’t happy about it,
I am so tired and disoriented all the time, I look like shit, i feel like shit, and everyone around me acts wrong. how did everything fall apart in like one week???
It feels almost like i’m in some kind of CIA experiment, like the MKULTRA type. i thought I read something about this when I was looking into psych, but idk
I feel so tired. It’s like im in some awful dream right now, but worse even than the nightmares because I can’t even imagine that it’ll ever end. But I’m even more scared to go back to sleep because i DON’T KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN.
I need to figure this out. Somehow. i’ll sleep tonight, I have to, but I’m going to try and set up some door tape and other things if that’ll even do anything.
Fuck my life
SATURN DEER’S WEB CENTER
Home | About me! | Auspices | Other socials
Congratulations!
Uploaded 25 July, 2016, 00:00
Well everyone, you did it. You showed how devoted you are to living the best possible life. In one week, we’ve gone from around 4000 daily visits to well over 12000! You really have nothing better to do, do you? But I keep my promises and I stick by my word. Therefore, I’ll be pumping out daily Saturn Deer updates as regularly as possible, and I’ll also be doing a 12-hour livestream on Twitch, YouTube, and LiveLeak (don’t ask how I’ll get it working on LiveLeak, just know that I do it all for you) sometime around 7:00 PM EST (4:00 PM Pacific).
Now, to the good stuff! I’ve fermented a lot of wisdom in the cramped crannies of my massive, knowledge-filled brain, and the outpouring of this shall be your daily salvation. Beloved herd, I wish I could give you better news some days, I really do, but I can’t lie to you: things are not good. And they may not be better for a while. We stand divided, fearful, like baby turtles drawn one way or another by brighter, more artificial lights than our true guiding moon. The light is harsh, but we tell ourselves that in following it, we can find a brighter future. But all we find at the end is unfeeling, taunting plastic and filament, and a gruesome end on a gannet’s bill.
This is why I refuse to stop pointing this out, reader mine; you need to understand how severe things are, and how important it is to not bend to the world and follow false prophets. Rapids and tributaries try to pull you in different directions, but you must trust the stream of Fate to guide you properly. And if you can put your faith in me, it’ll be so much easier.
In life, knowing what is of value is key. Do you believe in the sanctity of your body, and the enlightenment granted by enacting your body’s biddings? Do you gather those that love you close and prize them above all else? Do you grasp that material things are not for keeping, and are best passed on to those who can put them to good use in repairing the brokenness of the universe? Because I understand all these things. And so should you.
Find your people. Make yourself worthy of their love. And love them back with all you are. Then and only then, when you give yourself wholly to those who are deserving of it, will Fate smile upon you.
Remain in light, beloved, and leave the dark of heart to their darkness. It is their portion on this earth, and their portion in all to follow. You will suffer on your journey. Even I have suffered on mine, and I suffer still. But the joy that I receive from those who love me and the joy of the blessings of the universe is balm enough for my wounds. I can weather the darkness of my mind and the agonies of the endless waking. I know I can. And so can you.
Until the stars burn out,
SATURN DEER
View comments (1048)
Shannon,
I know I’ll be out by the time you get back, so you had better read this. I think you should head to an urgent care after work today, if you have time, and you need to slow down on Moulded Time. I know it’s your magnum opus and you’re feeling a lot of doubt, but it won’t help to just burn up whatever energy you have left on it.
Also, when you have time, I’d like to talk directly. Something happened this morning that I really need to tell you about.
You’re the best thing I ever contributed to. Love you, Shannon.
Sincerely, your grandmother
Mildred Joyner: Y’ello?
Shannon Joyner: Nana, what did you mean? What happened to you?
Mildred Joyner: Okay, now calm down. It was not a big deal.
Shannon Joyner: I’m never calm anymore and now you’re making me think something bad happened to you! Did your CPAP machine go out again?
Mildred Joyner: Well, yes, but that’s only part of it.
Shannon Joyner: WHAT?!
Mildred Joyner: Honey, don’t yell. It’s murder on your throat, we both know that.
Shannon Joyner: Okay, sorry. (pauses and inhales) Can you please tell me what happened?
Mildred Joyner: Like you said, the machine went out, so I woke up choking just a little bit. And all of a sudden, I realized I couldn’t move. I just was lying there, and it almost sounded like people were talking softly outside the room. Eventually, everything went back to normal, I could move and breathe properly, and everything went back to quiet. Pretty freaky.
Shannon Joyner: So… sleep paralysis?
Mildred Joyner: I guess so. I’ve never had it before.
Shannon Joyner: And you’re telling me I need to go to the doctor when you’ve got this going on??
Mildred Joyner: I never said I wouldn’t go too!
Shannon Joyner: (sighs) Just… do you know when you’ll be back?
Mildred Joyner: Maybe an hour. Traffic shouldn’t be an issue.
Shannon Joyner: Don’t worry me more! The judge said you only had one more infraction left before you’re banned from public roads!
Mildred Joyner: Oh, you’re just mad that I’m more efficient than you.
Shannon Joyner: I don’t want you to be fined!
Mildred Joyner: Alright, alright. I was hoping I could make you laugh.
Shannon Joyner: Well thank you, but… I’m just feeling shitty and-
Mildred Joyner: You have too big of a vocabulary to need to swear, Shannon.
Shannon Joyner: …fine, I’m just feeling atrocious and I want to be able to work through this my own way. You’ve always helped me a lot when I was at my lowest, and I can’t burden you with all that anymore.
Mildred Joyner: That’s nonsense. Me supporting you, that’s not an option. Now when I get home, we’ll both go and get some answers, alright?
Shannon Joyner: Alright. Love you.
Mildred Joyner: Love you too.
July 25
Daily Prompt: If you were thrown in another person’s body, what would you do and how would you adjust?
I feel so numb, but at least I’m still standing. At this point I can’t tell if it’s just being alive in this state or whatever’s being done to me. None of the tapes or fuckin Rube Goldberg machines or any of the other things I set up were broken or disturbed, but I KNOW it’s just another trick. God, I sound like one of those maniacs online, and I think I may have to get into that mindset to get answers. But I have to figure it out. Even if it’s stupid, I’m going to try. I can’t let this just happen.
But GOD this has to be the stupidest possible way to do this
Parawatch Home Page › Forum › Paranormal Consultation › Untitled Post
shannonmakesmagic 07/26/16 (Tue) 22:45:08 #06479112
Hi, i’m new and not really positive if I’m using this correctly but I just can’t find anywhere else to get answers. I have photo evidence that furniture and items in my house have been moved around on a day-by-day basis, I keep waking up with weird aches and injuries that I don’t remember receiving, and when I do fall asleep I have awful nightmares. Not only that but it feels like everything happening to me has just gone horribly. Something is fucked up and I don’t know what it is and I feel like I’m losing my mind. Please, can anyone help me?
philobuster1 07/25/16 (Tue) 22:48:52 #06479114
Could be a poltergeist acting independently or a dybbuk possessing you. Did any of your relatives die recently?
Tonkatsu Enjoyer 07/25/16 (Tue) 22:56:30 #06479117
I’ve seen this before. Clearly, you’re in a state of subconscious unintentional projection, where every time you sleep, you enter a state of such deep ego deprivation that you get shifted to another illusion of a further reality. Depending on how long this has been going on, you could theoretically be dozens of layers of dream-universes down.
ebidus93847 07/25/16 (Tue) 23:17:16 #06479129
you also might just have a roommate that fucking hates you
Saturn Deer 07/25/16 (Tue) 23:49:23 #06479149
Shannon. Open your journal to tomorrow’s entry and get a blue pen. I think I can give you just as many answers as you can give me.
But what of Man, He that stands at the pinnacle of the Tower? He that looks down on all other worlds from His own vacuous one, and laughs at the feeble men beneath? No such Man exists. A Man that rejoiced in the Tower would be a Man in its middle. One in a world that is beneath. Plato spoke of Men with bronze, silver, and golden souls, and these Men live in worlds of silver. They see the bronze worlds beneath and say, “I am in a better world than those below.” But there is a world above them that they can never see, for they are too concerned with those below. And Men in those worlds of gold at the upmost segment of the Tower, they see both below and weep. For they know that if these worlds are below and do not recognize it, there must be uncountable worlds above their own. And the Man at the pinnacle? That Man is simply one in a world too large to see what is above Him.
Addendum: 7/26/16-
July 26
Deerly Prompt: hey, heard you’re dealing with some bullshit too :3
if you can help me, I can help you.
NO.
what, was it something I said?
You are not real. You’re just another hallucination. Get out of my book.
I’m real. you don’t have to believe in me (it’s probably better for your brain if you don’t), but at least listen. you’re a cashier and wannabe sculptor, I’m an adorable sibyl beloved by millions, but we’re in the same boat. there are powerful people fucking with you and me, and I couldn’t tell you why anymore. but you’ve got something they want, so don’t fall asleep again. honestly, you’re lucky you get to still hallucinate. at least you’re not missing one of your senses like me.
I go on 4chan once and even my imagination turns into a conspiracy theory.
hey. hey. don’t close the fucking book. just listen, you imbecile. get your shit together and run. you need to understand what I’m saying and do it.
And what the hell are YOU going to do then?
me? probably kill myself.
08:56: SJ is cutting precise prismatic faces on a large cube of syntactic foam, carving it into an amphibian leg despite the interference of hand tremors.
09:08: MJ carefully approaches SJ from the side, placing a hand on SJ’s. SJ looks up, dazed.
09:09: MJ sits beside SJ and tells SJ that she’s going to keep SJ from hurting however she can, and even if she doesn’t always know how best to help, she’s going to try.
09:10: SJ crumples, presumably trying not to cry. MJ lifts SJ off of table and puts an arm around her shoulder. SJ shrugs it off, telling MJ that she doesn’t want MJ caught up in anything that could get her hurt.
09:11: MJ, confused, asks if there’s a reason for all of this that SJ hasn’t told her. SJ responds that there has to be, but she doesn’t know what it is. SJ continues speaking while forcefully resuming the act of shaving the foam, stating that if MJ leaves her alone, they’re both safer.
09:12: MJ begins to react negatively, but SJ cuts MJ off, pleading that MJ just leave her alone for a few days. The two sit in silence for a bit.
09:14: MJ nods, saying that she’ll give SJ her space, but SJ has to take care of herself, and if things get extreme, she’ll have to call the hospital. SJ agrees to this, trying to muster a smile. MJ hugs her, though her reassuring sentiment is inaudible.
RECOVERY REPORT
At 12:05, reacting to a spike in recorded Elan-Vital energy emissions several kilometers outside Frederick, Maryland, a Site-322 preliminary response team staked out the area. They discovered the dead body of an unknown Caucasian biological male lying at the bottom of a forested ravine. The following features were noted:
- The body was clad in what resembled 18th-century rabbinical attire, as well as wearing nondescript stud earrings. The only other item on the body was a note reading, “be sure to donate tomorrow night! i’ll be very well rested ;3”
- The body had dark brown eyes, lengthy black hair, and a slim face. Its physique was trim, verging on anemic.
- The body’s wrists and ankles were bound with zip ties.
- The body’s face, neck, and front were doused in bleach, and consumption of it was most likely the cause of death.
- The body was heavily battered with numerous broken bones, and it can be inferred that the subject went unconscious from ingesting bleach while standing at the above cliffs, and received these injuries from falling over 40 feet.
- The body continued to emit a slightly higher amount of EVE than the standard.
Considering the elements of this death, it seems as though the subject was either murdered or committed suicide. No legal records of the subject’s existence have been found. The body has been recovered and will be properly autopsied once all reports are approved.
ADMIN CORRESPONDENCE • GAMBOGE-GRADE PRIORITY • CONTAINS EMBEDDED DIRECT INFOHAZARD
A single crescendo in the fourth measure of a four-minute song. 9499-108 remains as it has and as it will be. This should not be any form of an issue for us. Increase limitation.
Two points of weakness on both fronts. They can be overwhelmed in a smooth stroke. Time is a mild stressor.
We refuse to let anyone down.
α
July 27
Daily Prompt: What do you imagine a utopian society would look like?
Tore out yesterday’s page. Haven’t checked to see if it was actually normal or not. Don’t want to.
I think I’m past some threshold where I’m not just exhausted. I feel like I’m a waking dead body. But I’m not going to sleep. I’m not going to run. I just need to figure out what to do. If I sleep again, I know what’ll happen. They’re going to get Nana. I just have to keep working.
Motherfucking Moulded Time. This is my best work yet. The head is rough terracotta, evolving into a Grecian glazed earthenware neck, then into Japanese ceramic ribs and skin leading into the legs. One the ornate metal of European statues, one the rough glassy stone of Sudamerican crafts, one the prismatic plastic of modern cubist models, and one a blend of ephemerals; wood, wax, and solid soap. And the tail, a coiled hodgepodge of whatever I could amass. The temporal amalgamation of styles and arrangements of solids that makes up my art.
Working on it turns off my brain. Everything hurts less when I can obsess over it singlemindedly.
As long as I can keep working it, I won’t go under just yet.
Image of a reconstructed banner of the mythic Tribe of Naphtali with the words "Be right back!" is shown. Live chat is fairly active, showing around four thousand active commenters out of ~9000 viewers. Most chat messages are ones of hope and excitement about the upcoming events.
Camera turns on, showing SD adjusting the webcam's placement. SD straightens it quickly, showing the edge of their Fujitsu Lifebook U772. The background shows an apartment that seems to have had its furniture quickly cleared out of frame, though still slightly visible at the bottom corners of the picture. In its place, dozens of oracular and mystical trinkets decorate the scene. SD seems to have a rather manic active energy about them.
Saturn Deer: O-kay! And we are rolling! Greetings and humble felicitations, beloved children, and I’m so glad you all get to bear witness to me on this fine evening. Whether you’re tuning in from this world, the next world, or any other, all of you will get your fair share today. I’m fresh, phronetic, and phenomenal, and the future belongs to me!
SD winks at the camera and leans to the right, retrieving several reams of old, yellowed paper.
Saturn Deer: As you can hopefully see if I’ve set up XSplit correctly, we’ve got fifteen progressive goals, and I’ll be doing my normal soothsaying and philosophizing in the meantime. And I wanted to apologize for some of the more psychotic content that was on the website in the past week or so. I’ve been in a state of advanced attunement to fatalistic energies, and that can cause some nasty mental fluctuations. Of course, a thing like that would kill most of you, but I’ve labored to be mostly unaffected by such trifles. And now I feel amazing! Whole new body, whole new me! You know it!
SD takes the first paper off the stack.
Saturn Deer: Now let’s get started! Audio’s good, right? It’s good? Okay. Now- (flourishes paper dramatically) -we’re going to get started with the first entry from my list of my ten Saturn Deer personal life tips. “Tip #10: Keep only what is valuable to your own life, not to the world.” Oho, that’s a good one. I know you’ve heard me say this before, but it’s something that I can go into deeper here. It’s not just that people can do more good with what you have than you can. It’s also that clinging to physical things keeps you from acting. And inaction, stagnation, acedia, these are the things that kill the soul. Oh!
SD looks up to a notification and grins.
Saturn Deer: Thank you for the 2,000 bits, Mateo! Yes, I do enjoy math rock. I’d say my favorite would probably be… Tweez by Slint. Great album. And if just 24 more of you donated the same amount, I’d be able to do our first channeling! I have all kinds of goofy shit set up for occult proceedings galore. And if you can’t donate the same amount? Donate MORE.
Stretching back over the chair, SD lifts up a tarot deck and a red votive candle.
Saturn Deer: Going to use some more basic implements for our first reading, but this one’s just for fun. A warmup, you can think of it. Not for me, more for you. I’m in my fortune-telling prime. Hang on, let me get some water while the candle melts a bit more…
SD stands and exits frame.
After roughly three minutes, SD returns, carrying a sizable glass of water.
Saturn Deer: Okay, sorry about the wait. This isn’t my place, after all. Make of that what you will~
SD sits back down and shuffles the deck.
Saturn Deer: Holy shit, thanks so much for the 6,000 bits, madame_hekataion! And you know what? The next prediction after this is going to go out to you!
SD lays out three cards on the table, barely visible at the bottom edge.
Saturn Deer: Let’s see… hm. We’ve got the… Four of Wands, that’s nice! Then Nine of Cups… reversed… and the Tower. That… doesn’t seem right.
SD puts a hand at their temple, squinting.
Saturn Deer: Sorry, got a bit of a headache. Thought I’d feel a bit better in the new body but… I guess not. Ah, never mind.
SD clears away the cards and moves the glass to the forefront, dripping wax into the water carefully.
Saturn Deer: Carromancy, friends, carromancy is where true diviners ply their minds. Now these shapes, I can see the distinctive ooid forms descending into a cloudlike mass. I can distinctively tell you that this is representative of a windfall! Perhaps something to pass on to the universe? Up to you!
SD deposits the glass on the ground and slides the candle aside, sitting back at the table properly.
Saturn Deer: Anyway. I-
Another notification appears on the computer, illuminating SD’s face. SD looks a bit confused.
Saturn Deer: Oh. That’s the payment for yours, Mateo. I didn’t think it would pay out immediately, but I haven’t used this platform in years.
SD tabs out, putting up the “Be Right Back” image, to open the site of a local bank (not visible on the stream). Live chat messages seem to exhibit a bit of general puzzlement from the viewers, the amount of which has dropped by about a hundred.
SD glowers at the display, signing in to their account. Upon viewing it, SD visibly recoils.
Saturn Deer: What the fuck. What the FUCK. I thought I- I had the seals! I had the motherfucking seals! This isn’t possible! HOW DID YOU BASTARDS DO IT?!
SD, enraged, grabs the glass and hurls it at the wall, before turning back to the camera. Live chat is bewildered and worried.
Saturn Deer: There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. And everything else is dead and buried. I can’t get it back. God, I’m so fucking idiotic.
SD’s face goes slack, completely distraught in countenance. They reach up to grab the webcam and yank the cable out violently, and the stream ends seconds after.
Shannon Joyner: …yeah?
Mildred Joyner: Shannon, I don’t know when, I don’t know how, I don’t know who, but I got home and it’s gone.
Shannon Joyner: What’s gone??
Mildred Joyner: Your statue. I called the police, there weren’t any signs of a break-in, I’m so sorry for not believing you. Please, come home quick.
July 28
Daily Prompt: What do you consider the lowest point in your life so far, and how did you rise above it?
I spent so much time and money on it. It was my child. The literal greatest thing I’d ever made. And now I’ll never see it again. The cops said they’d do their best, but I trust them even less than I did before. I can’t leave the house again. I can’t leave Nana alone. I’m on the third day of no sleep, running on four hours from last time. I can’t go to work tomorrow. There’s nothing I can even do anymore.
I have to do SOMETHING. I can’t let this get worse. If Nana gets poisoned by fuckin evil shadow men, I don’t even know what I’ll do. This has to stop.
So I’ll stay awake. Maybe I can get on a reverse sleep cycle and make sure there’s someone around while I’m asleep, and then I’ll be in better shape. But if I do that, the other person could get killed and then I wake up to a body and it’s all my fault.
Maybe I just lock myself in some basement where they can’t find me. It’s me they want, and they’re trying to break me. But I won’t break just yet. And if I ever find whoever took Moulded Time, I’m going to stab them with every knife and tool I used to make it.
I’m going to find a new diversion. Something engaging. Probably I’ll just fill out every single prompt in this goddamn book. Until I can figure something better out, I stay awake.
SATURN DEER’S WEB CENTER
Home | About me! | Auspices | Other socials
(enter title here)
Uploaded 27 July, 2016, 18:54
I’m sure those of you that tuned in last night were a bit worried about me, but I want to confirm to you that I am completely fine. I have millions of dollars (without even factoring in inflation) buried around the globe, plenty of revenue sources, and all of you! Fate is behind me, the future is before me, and all knowledge is mine! And if you thought that I was somehow just coping in saying this, you were completely wrong!
You all know just how many lessons I always have for you, but I’ve got a completely novel one. You’re worthless until you’re what you want to be. And you should know it. Tell yourself every day that you deserve nothing until you achieve your goals, and that blinding self-hate will motivate you! You have to fully and utterly believe that you have no value and no impact in the world, except on yourself. And even when you ARE something, you still have no real control!
And while writing this from a public playground restroom stall, I can’t help but marinate on such things. The pitiableness of all of you is very clear to me. But don’t take this for being forsaken, sports fans. I am a merciful prophet, and I still have faith in your capacity to fuel my pursuits of your perfect world. If you can keep paying out, you will prove your worth to me and to everyone. And I’ll stay the same as I always have been!
No, you know what? Fuck it. I don’t owe you all anything. I’m already ruined. Why even try to salvage this? Is it really worth it to try and keep together a fucking WordPress blog for less than 20,000 people? I could just piss off to a better, more lucrative crowd, one that isn’t made up of the quasi-conscious film of scum on the clear, ripple-free surface of the universe. Doesn’t matter if I’m broke, blind, or barely functioning, I am forty vigintillion times more useful and meaningful than ALL of you.
And you’re nothing without me. So if I’m going down, you all get to pay the price tenfold.
Go fuck yourself,
SATURN DEER
View comments (196)
Dispatch: 9-1-1, please state your emergency.
Shannon Joyner: My grandma, I… she’s fallen and I think she has… something broken, shoulder maybe…
Dispatch: Is she conscious, and has she suffered any brain damage?
Shannon Joyner: No, I don’t think so… she’s hollering just as much as she always does, I’m trying to help her work through the pain…
Dispatch: Alright then. Make sure she is laying flat on a surface, but don’t move the arm that’s been hurt. What’s your name and what phone number are you calling from?
Shannon Joyner: Shannon Vivian Joyner, uh… 240-███-████.
Dispatch: Perfect. Can you tell me your address and describe the property?
Shannon Joyner: 118 Forby Drive, it’s a red brick split level with a white garage door and that, uh, three window descending pattern on the door…
Dispatch: Thank you so much for keeping calm. We’ll have an ambulance over as soon as possible.
Hey bitch. I know you’ll probably be able to find this, even if it’s been months. Hell, you were probably at my last corpse, I bet. I don’t know when I’ll see you again, so I just wanted to reach out one more time. I think I finally get you just a little bit more now.
You never tried to get anything or advance, because you always said this was the way things were. You just fucked around with your little poems and platitudes. And I took what I wanted. I cultivated my garden. But now I get that helplessness you felt ever so slightly, though I’m not happy about it.
Maybe this is the whole Fate thing I yap about. Coming back to bite me for slandering her name. Maybe I deserve this. But right now, I’m sick of having to try. I’m sick of not having what I did have. And it’s not worth it to fuck with the Foundation when I can’t even do the magick I pride myself on.
Also, I know you’re one of the subscribers to my OnlyFans, you sneaky bastard. Don’t try and tell me you aren’t again.
See you in Hell, whenever we manage to finally get there. In the meantime, I’m only going to shut my eyes for a little bit.
-Saturn Deer
September 19
Daily Prompt: What do you believe makes a person irredeemable, if you believe people can be beyond redemption at all?
Nana’s in the hospital. She’ll be safer there, I hope. I made sure to stay until she fell asleep, so she wouldn’t worry. It’ll be bad afterwards, but it’d be worse if I stayed.
I spent hours and hours filling out this goddamn book. I don’t know how I can still even form coherent thoughts anymore. But I just couldn’t help myself. I dozed off. Maybe for an hour, I don’t know how long. And now my favorite person in the world has a broken collarbone and maybe a broken rib.
So I’m holed up in the first decent motel I could find. I just sent Nana the location of my car. She has the other key, so she won’t need to worry about losing it. Hopefully she can sell it and make up for the hospital bill, and also she’s got all the money I had left. But that’s assuming I don’t make it out. See, I wasn’t kidding. I’m here with all of sculpting tools, huddled on the bed, ready for whatever the fuck gets thrown at me. I’m going to cut anyone who tries to get in here, and I’m NOT GOING TO FALL ASLEEP. I won’t be cowed. I won’t.
I’m going to stay awake and fight. No running, no sleeping, no giving in. Until they have to beat me unconscious themselves.
I’m not scared of what’s coming next.
ADMIN CORRESPONDENCE • VERMILLION-GRADE PRIORITY • CONTAINS EMBEDDED DIRECT INFOHAZARD
The day of the return shall come just as a thief in the night.
<Begin Log>
Aleph-Quebec (AQ, recording) rounds the edge of the dirt trail, approaching the west pavilion of Pangborn Park and keeping low to the ground. Aleph-Whisky (AW) and Aleph-Charlie (AC) are visible on either side.
AQ: Jab’s ready?
AC: Yep. Stay near the roots, fewer branches.
AQ pulls ahead slightly, and the operatives break off the path into the more forested exterior, filing into a single line. AC moves in front and AW in back.
AW: (radio) Democritus, forty meters from target.
Democritus: Copy, Aleph Red. Drone footage is clear. Make your approach.
Operatives break tree line and near pavilion. Target is visible lying on their back atop a picnic table, asleep.
AQ: Made it easy for us. Courteous of ‘em.
Operatives circle pavilion, AW at left and AC at right. AW raises TELS-76 and fires at target. Resultant beam reflects at 72° angle, color changing from standard white to gold.
AW: EVE’s normal. Not faking it.
AQ: And you’re telling me this is the one who gave the metropolitan Site network a budget hit in the millions? I never thought we’d get ‘em THIS far gone.
AC: Grab the bag and get the limbs.
Operatives close in. In rapid succession, AQ secures the target’s body, causing a slight degree of unrest. AC inserts needle, quickly reducing unrest until total subconsciousness. AW carefully lifts target’s belongings and places the haversack into a larger burn bag.
AW: (radio) Acquired with no trouble, Democritus. Bring the truck around.
Democritus: On my way, Aleph Red. Aleph White, stand down and return to Locale-28. Make sure Ft. Detrick identification is in place.
Aleph-Xray (AX): Roger. Give us a second to get the birds back to 25.
AQ lifts target effortlessly and operatives begin to head back. Surveillance drones can be heard passing overhead.
Democritus: Tet Blue, prepare the thaumic matrix and keep a bin of iron filings handy. Gimel Blue, ready the gurney and get us 6.8 mils of thiopental.
AC: Wonder who this poor bastard’s gonna be in a few years.
AQ: (laughs) You think you’ll be alive to see that, huh?
AC: Hey, I wouldn’t be talking if I were you! One of these days you’ll regret not bringing a bigger gun, and your muscles won’t save you then!
<End Log>
<Begin Log>
Resh-Dixie (RD, recording) faces Resh-Indigo (RI) and Resh-Hawk (RH), all crouching on the roof of the Super 8 next to the rooftop ventilation unit. RI examines a handheld air quality monitor hooked up to a wire trailing out of frame, and RH tampers with the valves on a sizable gas canister next to the vent.
RH: So you’re a new one, huh?
RD: Yeah, I’m mostly just here to get more experienced with working at the, ah, “level of efficiency expected by the best of the best among the Foundation”.
RH snorts.
RH: Still saying that shit. It’s not wrong but it’s SO trite. But anyway. You should feel honored that you get to start out on a night like this. A day later and you’d have to wait another decade or so.
RD: How do you figure?
RH: You’re not the only new one experiencing something historic tonight, is all I’m saying. Even I don’t know the full story, but we only get calls like this when there’s a hole that needs filled.
RI: You know full well why we’re here. Don’t be cryptic.
RH: (turning to RI) And YOU know why we’re flooding the place with carbon monoxide, then?
RI: Sometimes I don’t know why I do anything at all.
Diogenes: Resh Violet, status.
RH: (radio) We are good, Diogenes. No sightings, right, Dixie?
RD abruptly turns to survey the Hagerstown skyline, then turns back.
RD: (radio) Ah, yep. All clear. Satellites, planes, choppers, all flagged or compliant.
RI: (radio) Flat 16% since 23:17, but target’s still up. Not by much, but still up.
Diogenes: Spectacular. Ease up on the gas a little. Resh Red, stay motionless until we have further intel. And don’t react, but Democritus said Aleph got the other target, and it wouldn’t have even warranted Yod, it was such an easy job.
Resh-Zulu (RZ): Copy. Good on them.
RH: (quietly, radio) Woo!
RD sits down on roof, turning to RI.
RD: Hey, can I see your display?
RI: Sure, go nuts. Not like we’ve got much else going on.
RI passes monitor to RD. Target is visible, looking feverish and fatigued, pacing the inside of her room.
RD: What, just a normal civilian? Is she a reality bender?
RH: Nope.
RD: …huh.
RD passes monitor back to RI. Operatives hold for several minutes.
RI: Down on the bed, aaaaaaand… out like a light. (radio) Target is asleep.
Diogenes: Resh Violet, stand by. Resh Red, you are cleared to initiate.
RZ: Sawing now.
RH snatches monitor from RI, who doesn’t react. RH gestures for the other operatives to approach.
RH: Here, Dixie. Time to watch the fireworks.
RD walks over and watches display. The edge of a power saw can be seen emerging from the ceiling of target’s room.
RD: Whoa.
A small section of ceiling is then lifted and removed, and RZ, Resh-Romeo (RR), Resh-Charlie (RC), and Resh-London (RL) rappel down into the target’s room. Resh Red operatives quickly secure, sedate, and begin to transport the target.
RC: (radio) Got her.
Diogenes: Perfection, everyone! Resh Red, take the target out to the car. Gimel Green, you know what to do. Resh Violet, flush out the AHU.
RD: What’s gonna happen to her?
RH: Don’t act like this is too much for you, Dixie. What’s your head count again?
RD: …20, why?
RI: Alright, let’s get going. Gotta get in the ducts now, so put on your gas masks.
<End Log>
And so I speak on this Tower and the Men within as though I understand it. And perhaps I do, but only as much as I am permitted. There is no highest power. I am not the golden peak of the pyramid of Cheops. I am a truss in the walls of the hundred-and-first story of the Taipei 101. I am only remarkable for my place in that grand order. But I, too, am a Man. The Men of bronze curse the Tower out of fear, the Men of silver worship the Tower out of fear, and the Men of gold comprehend the Tower out of fear. But I? I built the Tower. My own bloody hands laying its cornerstones, and rising with every brick I laid. The higher I went, the more Men that came to lay the bricks for me. Until I was too high to see anyone left beneath me.
Addendum:
| I push myself off the ground quickly, panting. I’m soaked in cold sweat. Is this a dream, a hallucination, or is my life just even more batshit than I could have ever anticipated? | I carefully lift one eyelid ever so slightly. Something isn’t right. This isn’t the usual dark. Either I’m awake, or they finally realized they’d broken me. |
| As my knuckles whiten against the ground beneath me and I get a glimpse of the landscape around, I immediately have another question: WHAT ground? | I open my eyes all the way. God, this looks like the inside of my brain if I was marginally less brilliant. |
| Everything around me is blacker than space. And yet, through the empty everything, striations of red, green, and blue flash and flow like horizontal lightning, or multicolored stains on midnight-shaded paper. | Burning luminaries shoot through the void around me, bending and breaking and joining like electrified clouds. It’s harsh on the eyes for sure. |
| It feels like I’m in a tunnel going under a river, almost. Shakily, I stand, and realize in an instant that I don’t NEED to stand shakily. For the first time in what feels like years, my mind is completely unclouded, and my movements aren’t bogged down by fatigue. | But I feel… good. As good as I ever have. That old pride and invincibility, creeping back through my veins… there’s only one answer here. I unknowingly dropped acid at some point tonight and woke my third eye back up. |
| But I still feel weird. Very weird. It feels like my heart is pounding against something solid, and when I breathe, it feels shallower than it ought to. What the fuck is going on? | Technically wouldn’t be the first time, either. I sit up and look around a bit more. Everything else is still dark. A completely dark passage with wriggling flagellates of light guiding me? Very Freudian. |
| I can’t just stand around. No chance. There must be SOMETHING out there in the dark. So I start walking and trying to feel in the air for some sense of a world. There’s terra firma, for sure, but I don’t know where there would even be a boundary between this and that darkness. | I effortlessly get to my feet, and begin following the bright trails etched in the endless black. Wandering like the blind prophets before me. And even though I feel amazing, there’s still that lingering wrongness that tells me that I’m still bereft of my second sight. |
| And eventually, I see a different light. Almost like a spotlight? Or… one of those noir streetlight things. I couldn’t say. But beneath it, there’s something like a rolled-up carpet. | Don’t dwell on that shit, idiot. You’re pure gold. I just keep walking, and then I can see that same gold before me as a shaft of brilliance. Like the pillar of fire that guided Moses and his herd as they fled captivity. |
| I get up close to examine this strange new development. And then I see someone standing in front of me, facing away. | I notice him the moment my eyes adjust to the new brightness. But I don’t recognize him. |
| Whoever it is, he turns around, looking almost faintly surprised. Older guy, white hair, high jaw, wearing a worn leather professor-style jacket and a pair of weird grey dress slacks. Looks a bit like Ted Danson. I don’t like the energy of him at all. He’s holding what looks like a carving knife in his right hand, and… whoa. There’s a hole on the back clean through to the palm. | Who’s this douchebag? Turning to face me, I notice his polished wingtips clicking on the “ground”. Then I notice some things more my speed. A long-fingered hand clutching a fountain pen, and one on the other side holding a tiny scrap of paper. Beneath his hairline is a row of odd, jagged, shallow scars, decorating his pale brow. |
| I recognize that kind of thing. It’s something you see a lot of in Catholic frescoes and shit. Stigmata, I think the word is. Holes in the hands and feet, and the marks of the crown of thorns. | The guy tosses the pen over his shoulder, a real waste in my opinion, and then inserts the tiny scroll into one of those crucifixion holes. I wonder how fucked up the inside of his wrist is if he can manage that. |
| I start to try to speak. “What’s-” But suddenly, the man raises a hand. And somehow, I can’t help but be quiet. For some reason, he’s looking to the right of me ever so slightly. And then he opens his mouth. | I don’t know what’s up with the guy, but he won’t look me in the eyes. Honestly, I get it. I wouldn’t be able to make eye contact with me if I were him either. But just standing here and getting not stared at makes me antsy. I gotta say something. |
| ”Hello, Shannon. Sorry to have to meet you so roughly. It wasn’t my choice, but it was necessary. Would you like to sit down or anything? I could get you a beverage of your choosing, if that sounds appealing to you.” | ”Hey look, weirdo. Your metadimensional Technicolor cervix is lovely, and I’d be more than delighted to hang out, but I have a shoebox full of tens buried in Michigan and a council estate in Streatham calling my name. So if you can just dematerialize and let me get back to reality, I’m sure I’m staggering around most alarmingly and some children on a swingset are gonna get taught a lot by their parents about American drug culture tonight.” |
| I blink. His voice, quiet and a bit hoarse, seems to impress upon me how absolutely deranged this situation is. This has to be a dream, right? Even though I’m in a place like this, my mind doesn’t feel too odd and I only feel mildly uncomfortable. If this were real life, I’d be absolutely freaking out, wouldn’t I? But… that doesn’t seem right either. | The old guy stares over my left shoulder, shaking his head slightly. Maybe he’s just more senile than I imagined. |
| ”I, uh. I'm fine on chairs. Can you just tell me what all of this is?” I try to sound polite, but I do NOT like this man. Not one bit. He just seems… incorrect. | ”Saturn, you know this isn’t a dream. The respite you’re getting here is a precious small gift. If you don’t understand that, you’re going to be upset later on. And you know as well as I do that the Foundation gives gifts sparingly.” |
| He kneels beside the carpet-looking thing and unrolls it with a single tug. Lying on it, illuminated by the light above, is essentially a hoarder's dream. So many small trinkets and random objects, I can barely even grasp the full scope of what makes it up. He gets back up carefully- I think he's trying to not disturb the items? | "Oh?" I'm deciding right now that it would be best to not dwell on that. Focus on this interaction, not what he's implying. "If you know so much about me, who the fuck are you? I don't recognize you. You know Blackbird? The Kid? Flytrap? The Accountant? Any of those names at all familiar to you?" |
| "Well, I cannot tell you where we are, nor how you got here. That knowledge was provided to me in confidence. But you've proven that you could do with a few answers. It’s my job right now to provide those and more." | He grins a bit. "Oh yes, I'm familiar with those names, alright. You met with some of our finest and brightest, I take it?" |
| "Well then stop stalling! Who are you, and WHY am I here?" I respond frustratedly. The hundreds of minuscule bits and bobs between us keep drawing my eye. | I can't help but bust out laughing at this. "That's what you call them, huh? How about oldest and fascist-est?" |
| "Everyone calls me the Administrator. A simple name, but an effective one. You wouldn't be familiar with my organization or my operation, of course." | "Well, the Overseers ARE the best and brightest. I make sure of that every time. I can't have any less from my own direct employees." His smile grows a bit sadder. |
| I blink. What is he talking about? Is this another conspiracy-fueled phantasm? And why can’t he just say something actually coherent? "Okay, Administrator. Stop being cryptic and answer the second question. Why am I here, if you can’t even say what here is?" | "Bull-shit!" This guy’s level of conceit is hilarious, but I've gotta try to save face at least a little. Rein yourself in, Deer. "So the thirteen most self-righteous motherfuckers in the universe, who could level this whole goddamn planet in one referendum, they answer to you?" |
| He does a tiny facial jolt and turns ever so slightly, now focusing fully on me. Which makes me wish he was still looking away. ”Right, yes. That’s the kicker. To put it in simple terms, you were born to be here, Shannon. We only just now needed to find you.” | ”I’m not lying to you,” he responds, finally looking right into my eyes, ”though I understand your confusion. It was a helpful confusion for our operation, however. If the enemy does not know their opponent, they cannot make any meaningful change.” |
| Now I’m getting sick of the way this “Administrator” is talking. It’s just piling onto how confused I feel already about everything. I take a step back, looking around at the surreal vistas surrounding me. “Okay, sir, look.” I say back to him, my voice reflecting my irritation. “I don’t want to be rude or anything, but can you please fucking tell me, without turning everything into a riddle, exactly what is happening to me right now?” | So the old man wants a staring contest? He’s got one. Try intimidating someone with eyes that pierce the veil of fate, bitch. “Don’t know my enemy? When I’m omniscient? Sounds incongruous to me. But let’s say you’re in charge of the Overseers. What do they- what do you want with me, then?” |
| ”You are here because you have been subject to a manifestation of SCP-9499, namely SCP-9499-108. SCP-9499-108 is, to put it simply, a tag. A tag that is assigned to you through a cycle of death and birth, a tag that means that you meet our requirements. You were this way the moment you began this life, and the impending ‘resignation’ of a certain very important member of my organization meant that we had precious little time to retrieve you. And the reason that we needed to retrieve you was to replace this member, who was also identified and retrieved in much the same way. You are not alone in this situation, and you will hold a position of power unlike anything you had ever dreamed was possible.” | ”You are here because you have been subject to a manifestation of SCP-9499, namely SCP-9499-108. SCP-9499-108 is, to put it simply, a tag. A tag that is assigned to you through a cycle of death and birth, a tag that means that you meet our requirements. You were this way the moment you began this life, and the impending ‘resignation’ of a certain very important member of my organization meant that we had precious little time to retrieve you. And the reason that we needed to retrieve you was to replace this member, who was also identified and retrieved in much the same way. You are not alone in this situation, and you will hold a position of power unlike anything you had ever dreamed was possible.” |
| I’ve turned back around to face the Administrator. ”…what?” The words are unfamiliar, but I think I can grasp the most important part of it. And what I’m grasping is something absolutely insane. “So… so you were in charge of the whole torture thing, then? You’re why everything I cared about fell apart!? And, and this is REAL, where we are right now?” | I scoff again, but I can feel the sense of natural superiority in it is less than it should be. “Right. This is one fine fucking job interview, then. That doesn’t make sense, and you know it. If I got this ‘tag’ when I got a new body, why isn’t it gone already?” |
| Now his face just looks blank. His words, suddenly sounding hollower. ”Yes, if you want to put it in layman’s terms. Learned helplessness was a coarse method, a coarse method for sure, and yet it gets proven results every time. Nothing else that was a part of your life will come to harm. Your image, pristine and untarnished, will be left in the minds of the people you knew. Cover stories are easy, and memories are malleable. But you will remain the same as you always have been.” | The man gives a kind of half-shrug, and kicks open the rolled-up tarp lying between us. There’s enough flashy, trashy bullshit on it that I could probably bankrupt a small town if I sold it properly. ”I am no man of science, but my best guess would be that as you constantly enter new bodies at the same age and state upon dying, with your memories and personality the exact same, you technically never enter the true cycle of metempsychosis, reincarnation to most, and therefore SCP-9499-108 never truly departs from your essence. And thus, you are of value to us.” |
| He’s talking in jargon to impress himself upon me, I can tell, but it’s just making me mad. “So you ARE in charge of some fucking shadow government, then?” I say, my voice growing louder. “So you have neuralyzers or some shit, and you’re going to make everyone forget me?!” | The weight of these words is immense. I suddenly can feel my mouth drying. “And… every time I get a new body, I’m still one of your SCPs? That’s what you’re saying?” I can finish the thought in my mind, if not with my voice. And that means that you’ll never leave me alone? That I can never get away? Even if I died in every way possible, even if I fucking lived out a full, natural life and went back to being a goddamn fetus, you wouldn’t ever leave me alone? |
| The Administrator shakes his head firmly. ”No, not yet, and not necessarily. The fact of the matter is that so many of those injuries and circumstances inflicted on you had a dual purpose. My people are scientists, after all, and you had to be subject to both psychological and biological tests to confirm that you indeed were affected by SCP-9499-108. Those tests have not yet concluded.” | The old guy puts up a hand, stemming the flow of my sudden rush of panic. ”Not necessarily. The fact of the matter is that the pains and thaumic inhibitions placed upon you had a dual purpose. My people are scientists, after all, and you had to be subject to both psychological and biological tests to confirm that you indeed were affected by SCP-9499-108. Those tests have not yet concluded.” |
| That’s it, then. I’m just a lab rat to him. To them. The mix of present anger and bubbling nausea inside my head is making me feel just as shit as I did when I was awake. “It doesn’t matter even a little what you’re trying to do here. I’m not going to just take this sitting down, and if you think I am, then-” | From what he’s saying, he clearly doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, and the respect that I am due from everyone. “Alright bitch, I’m not just some tool for your Organization XIII-ass cronies to use. I’m the motherfucking Saturn De-” |
| ”Please, if you would, just take a look at the selection below. Find the item that speaks the most to you and pick it out. Hold it in your hand. That is the one simple solitary thing I ask of you, and it is the only thing you’re really able to do in this situation.” | ”Please, if you would, just take a look at the selection below. Find the item that speaks the most to you and pick it out. Hold it in your hand. That is the one simple solitary thing I ask of you, and it is the only thing you’re really able to do in this situation.” |
| My angry tirade decapitated suddenly by his interruption, I’m merely left confused. “…why do you want me to?” I ask suspiciously, once again sweeping the junk below me with my eyes. I can’t help but start to wonder which of them actually DOES speak the most to me. | It’s a shock, how commanding his tone suddenly became. Imperious. I’m the only one who should get to speak like that to people. Focus. Exercise your authority. “And what are you going to do for me to get me to do that?” |
| ”Consider it a personality test.” He replies simply. I can’t tell if this guy is lying about any of this or not, or if he has any real power in this situation, but I’m in unfamiliar territory and I don’t want to risk finding out what he could do. “Ffffffffine.” I eventually answer, stooping a little without taking my eyes off of him. Then I start to peruse the many items. | He shrugs again. ”Whatever you pick, you get to keep.” |
| The stuff here ranges from antique to litter. 9-volt batteries, discarded grocery bags, zinc pennies from the ‘40s, blank photo booth film reels, grimy glass bottles, and… whoa. Lying on the bottom right part of the mat is a replica of a classic funeral mask. Made of blue-and-white ceramic, with that vacant, almost fishlike expression. | ”Works for me.” I respond. There’s definitely some valuable shit here, I’m positive of it. I kneel and brush my fingers carefully over the assortment of objects. Tactile association always helped me get a better read on things. Contours rough and smooth, gritty and ridged, sharp and rubbery. And I alight on a thin copper diadem. Coated in verdigris, unornamented, and yet it entices me. |
| ”I think this is the one.” I murmur, picking it up. It’s heavier than I’d expect, but the work on the face, the structure of the eyeholes… it’s magnificent. | Carefully, I balance the crown on my head. It fits perfectly, and goes amazing with my hair. “Nice.” Fitting for a ruler such as I. |
| The Administrator crouches too, rolling the tarp back up. When he speaks, his voice sounds authoritative again. ”Thank you for your certitude, Shannon. That’s all I’ll need from you today. Alpha-1 should be here momentarily to take you to the start of your training as an Overseer.” | I stand back up, the glamour of the moment pushing down my dread. And then the old guy opens his mouth again and ruins my mood even more. ”Thank you for your certitude, Saturn. That’s all I’ll need from you today. Alpha-1 should be here momentarily to take you to the start of your training as an Overseer.” |
| ”An Overseer. So you want me to be a junior supervisor for the Men in Black or some shit?” I scowl. “I’ve had enough of your organization’s ‘training’, thanks.” | His words are astonishing. How the fuck could this happen? “What, me? On your congress of deep state fuckers, deliberating over the best way to mulch prisoners? Nah, you’ve got me wrong, I think.” |
| ”I am sorry that it’s not what you’re hoping for, but there’s no real alternative for you or for me. This is Fate. And you well understand that Alpha-1, my most esteemed direct subordinates, are unquestionably efficient enough to deal with any resistance you could offer.” | ”I am sorry that it’s not what you’re hoping for, but there’s no real alternative for you or for me. This is Fate. And you well understand that Alpha-1, my most esteemed direct subordinates, are unquestionably efficient enough to deal with any resistance you could offer.” |
| I stare back at the Administrator, disbelieving. There’s no way this is real, right? Evil fucking shadow men are going to press me into working in the deep state. But this can’t NOT be real. What do I even do? My heart is going faster now, still feeling like it’s pressing against something rigid. I have to take action before something worse happens to me, and quick. And then I remember. | ”Fate? You think this is Fate, you dumb shitbag?!” I shout. “Fate is on my side! Mine!” I’m scared now. If those paramilitary freaks come for me now, I know I can’t defend myself. And even if I get them to kill me, it doesn’t change a thing. I still don’t know if this is even in the real world. I can’t wait around. I can’t. |
| Can't believe I almost forgot about it. Tucked right under my undershirt, I left it there. A single tiny shaping knife. But a sharp one. The Administrator's pulled back his jacket sleeve, checking his leather-bound wristwatch. He seems so indifferent to everything, yet I don't feel safe even with him as passive as he is. But now the lights in the void are starting to go crazy, and I feel like I can hear footsteps over the pounding of blood in my ears. It's this or nothing. | Now the endless night is giving way to a full-on anomalous lightshow. Rushing around and by me. I can hear wind, and whispering, and I don't want to be here. Anywhere but here. Something's been wrong inside me since the first day I couldn't dream. This is the culmination of that, and I have nothing left to do but one thing. The thing I always do, and always will do. |
| Before he can even blink, I'm hurtling over the tarp, tearing the little blade out and slamming it into the Administrator's right lung. As I shoot my arm out to strike, I can catch a glimpse of something moving behind me, but then it's gone. And then I go pale at the reality of what's happened. It's not that I just stabbed a defenseless old man. It's that he didn't even move a muscle when I did it. | The bastardly bag of bones parts his lips for more empty words, but it's too late for him to do anything. I'm sprinting off the way I originally came, racing in reverse with the arrays of colors in the formless, maddening every-nothing. As I whirl around, I can tell someone's in front of the man, I know it, but I'm not sticking around to get a better look. |
| A salty smell of brine with hints of something sweeter invades my senses, as a stain of ocean water and wine begins spreading from the shiv wound. But the Administrator just makes an odd little twitch, steps back, and walks off to the left into total darkness. Leaving me alone. | As I run, panting and sweating and not in the fun way, the darkness starts to lighten. Giving way to what looks like… a familiar landscape? But one far more nightmarish. |
| "HEY!" I scream at him, starting to stagger after, but then I feel an odd creeping sensation underneath my eyes, matched with a tickling around my nose. Like the feeling when you're holding back tears. But it's not a feeling like that at all. It's something more physical. | I'm rushing through burning Hesse countryside, heading west. The hills, the trees, the grass, everything's ablaze and bloody except the rain, which is the only bit of coolness I can feel. I hear the cries of birds around me, and know it's the sounds of jackdaws and eagles. |
| I can't pursue the Administrator. Something is NOT right. Nothing's right here, but this is… worse. My skin. My goddamn skin is growing. I can feel it all over me. Sealing me up. My eyelids are weaving together. Dermal blooms all over my body. Ears are spiraling shut, nostrils are collapsing inward and blossoming new flesh, even my lips are melting and congealing as one. I can't see. I can't hear. I can't breathe. I can't live. | I have to slow down. My legs are burning, and not just from the flames licking at my ankles. The ridge I'm going down gives way to the Nidda. I know this river. Well, I used to. But now it's as molten and hellish as the Phlegethon. I can feel bird wings beating at my back. The only way out is through, I decide, as I feel the first sharp beak sink into my arm. |
| Before my slits of eyes and pinpricks of nose can knit completely and plug my brain up from the world around me and any semblance of a chance of survival, I feel myself falling. I hit the "ground" forcefully, and then there's dark. Even if my eyes were wide open, it would be just as dark. But the bursts of light remain in my mind's eye, as anoxia takes effect. | The first avian bite is followed by thousands more as, bellowing my throat out, I charge headlong into the fiery river. The birds are tearing my arms off. I can feel every single chunk of venison stripped from the bone as they pierce, rip, and depart, until even the bones are pulled to pieces. And the flow of the phreatic stream of magma and scoria is reducing my legs to ash. |
| And then I'm alone. The blinding, screeching pain, the screams I can no longer voice, all fading away. It's quiet in my head. Somehow. | And then I'm alone. I sink to the bottom, the hot coals singing out my retinas. Not that the rest of my body is still there. Burnt to nothing too. |
| And then I'm alone. It all fades. Every sense, every thought, everything but the feeling of the passage of time is swallowed in the black. A million years? Ten million? It can't be tracked after long. | And then I'm alone. It all fades. Every sense, every thought, everything but the feeling of the passage of time is swallowed in the black. A million years? Ten million? It can't be tracked after long. |
| But eventually. After a thousand thousand thousand thousand lifetimes of nothing. I feel… | It takes longer than even I've lived, but finally, I begin to get the sense that… |
| …just as if that eternity of darkness never happened and I'm suddenly standing to the left of the spotlight I was under? | …the eternity of darkness I went through never happened and I'm suddenly standing to the right of the spotlight I was under? |
| But right across from me, looking just as confused and traumatized as I feel. Is some random person in a shabby red turban and magician robes covered in feathers? | And there's a girl standing across from me. Redhead, stained overalls, very prominent limbal rings in the eyes. Not bad-looking at all. |
| I try to shout out to them, but no words. I just take an instinctive step. Then another. | I move forward a little. If I could, I would wave. Except my arms aren't moving. |
| I’m getting closer. But I shouldn’t be. I’m going to just walk right into them. Why can’t I stop? | Feet are moving, though. She looks like she’s compelled too. What’s the goal here? What is he trying to pull now? |
A curtain of boiling bronze and melted plaster. An impenetrable tangle of thorns and barbs. Everything hurts so much when I step through them. Tearing and blinding, my eyes stinging before I can see what’s on the other side.
I can feel her flowing around me like a waterfall, passing through effortlessly. It’s nothing. Just nothing. Another illusion. Her face fills my vision as I walk through her.
| And then there’s something new. The emptiness has changed to the dark of a barely-starless night, and the faded edges of my sight are now a forest at autumn. But before me is something even more remarkable. | My streaming gaze is greeted by a soft orange light. Pain subsides, and I can feel thick, musty air clinging to my skin. I smell sand, and dust, and rot. |
| It's a banquet. An almost gothic woodland banquet, like something from a really weird The Hobbit fanfic. The table is ornate, long, and made of walnut, same as the fourteen thronelike chairs, one of which is right behind me. Torches burn idly on long poles beside the almost-leafless trees, scantily clad in their oranges and browns. But the banquet itself, oh God, just looking at it makes you think you've never eaten in all your life. | I'm in a tomb. A crypt, I guess would be more accurate. Less actual Valley of Kings, more The Mummy. There are thirteen sarcophagi, twelve lining the walls and one in the middle. Thin, tall, fatty candles drip and drape themselves on every surface in here, and even if all the burial goods are either rusted, weathered, or moldy, I can still feel the regal energy of the place. Except there's no exits. |
| Sweetbreads and kurnik and sauerbraten and blackberries and ortolan and roasted buttonquail and shallow long bowls of consommé and foie gras and honey-drizzled croquembouche and balut and sukiyaki and trout-and-haddock pies and mie goreng and toad-in-the-hole and a huge centerpiece of boiled onion and radish slices, decorated with oleander and zinnia in a vase in the dish's middle. It's so delicious-looking that tears are welling up in my eyes, and I hardly notice the twelve strangers seated at the table, and the one familiar man standing behind me. | I feel at least a little calmer here. This is a place and a situation I can grasp. I could find a way out. Tombs like this have to link to the surface somehow. So long as those candles don't go out… maybe I should snuff most of them to not waste light. But before I can do anything, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Someone is standing behind me. |
| The old man walks out on my other side, now carrying a crown. An infinitely better one than the shitty little circlet I have on under the turban. A cobbled-together wreath of elk antlers, thistles, and grape vines. I grin at him. I wonder why I felt a bit of fear when he first walked out? "That for me, I take it?" | It's the goddamn Administrator again. "HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU ALIVE?? I SHANKED YOU IN THE LUNG!!" I yell at him. He doesn't answer, instead reaching in his stigmata holes to pull out… a tiny scroll… and my knife. |
| "Yes, it is, Four Saturn. For your coronation, actually. Turn just a bit, kneel slightly, and you'll receive this and much more." | "I'm sorry, Nine Shannon. I wish it could be simpler from here. But at the very least, I'll give you back this. As well as some proper answers." |
| I don't even need to consider what 'more' could be. I get down on one knee, bowing my head and unraveling the turban completely, casting the diadem aside. As he tucks the crown of leaves and horns onto my brow, I feel euphoria silence the screaming little voices in the back of my brain saying "Saturn, something's wrong!" They aren't. Things are good. | And he hands me the scroll and knife. I quickly brandish the potter's weapon at this man while he takes a few steps back toward the center casket, feeling even more unsafe, but I carefully unroll the paper to read it. What answers could I even be given at this point to make sense of all of this? |
| I carefully get back up as the old man walks around the table and sits at… the head of the table? No, no, I’m sitting at the head of the table. I’m the one with the stag garland here. I’m about to sit down when he catches my eye, and I notice the way his eyebrows are raised. Everyone at the table is looking expectantly at me. I smile wider. They want a toast. | None of the words or symbols on the scroll make even a bit of sense. My head swims in time with the glyphs, which seem to be shifting and wriggling in their prisons of ink. Changing from cuneiform to Solitreo to Georgian to Burmese to Cyrillic, but never intelligible. I look up to voice my complaints, but the Administrator has slid the lid off the sarcophagus and it looks like he’s… climbing inside?? |
| Well, I know how to work an adoring crowd. I reach out and lift the flagon of kvass set aside my plate, holding it high for all attendees to see. “Friends, I may not know you all personally, but let me say that I treasure your fellowship on this day. On this… most special occasion…” I falter for a second. Somehow, I realize that I don’t really know what we’re celebrating. But then that thought is smoothed over. It’s a celebration of me, of course. “…in which we are all united by bonds of community and destiny. I thank you for your generosity and your contributions, and I am so glad that you chose to bask in my brilliance out of all the other prophets of the world.” | ”Hey, what’re you- HEY!” I shout, rushing toward the casket. But the Administrator, with a single brief salute, lies down inside and closes the lid. Is he insane?! What the fuck does he think this is? Then again, I still don’t even know what this is, and I doubt I ever will. But that won’t stop me from trying something, anything. I start prying at the edge of the coffin’s top with my knife, hammering the blade into the tiny gap as best I can. “Open this goddamn coffin and answer me!” I hiss through gritted teeth with every strike. In my periphery, I get a sense that the candles have started wavering, almost like there’s a draft. |
| The others all applaud, but none stand, and take polite sips of their own drinks. I take a hearty swig. That sour taste of rye and bacteria… reminds me of my time working as entertainer and healer to the tsarevnas of Crimea. God, it’s good. Now, how do I kick this feast off properly? | It’s not a draft. Something’s wrong. Again. I have to turn to face the tomb at large, leaving my only weapon stuck in the sarcophagus. The candles are melting way, way too fast. Wax is already piling at their bases. |
| Then I notice something I hadn’t seen before, right in front of my place at the table. A silver platter with a carving knife beside it. The other guests are already starting to pile their plates high with rocks, bark, acorns, mushrooms, and cobwebs. What kind of host would I be if I kept them from their main course? | And then things go insane. There’s no logical way for the candles to be shedding so much wax, and yet the floor of the crypt is already starting to bubble with boiling, rapidly-hardening lipids. An off-white crust is forming on the soles of my shoes, clinging to the rubber and scorching my feet. I leap up onto the Administrator’s coffin, the weight of which causes my knife to slip back out and fall. I exclaim in anguish and try to grab it, but I’m too slow. My one defense, my one tool, disappearing in the rising molten esters. |
| Lifting up the dome reveals a ring-necked pheasant, looking around confusedly. The perfect game bird, and the perfect complement to all the other dishes. I take up the blade, and the bird has time to ruffle its feathers and let out its little call before I stab it in the leg. | I wrench my hand back and stand up straight. The ceiling is JUST high enough for me to stand with a bit of a lean, so I hit my shoulders on the stone, raining gritty dust all over me. I’d try to brush it off, but the sea of tallow is already half as tall as the sarcophagus itself. |
| The instant I pierce the pheasant’s flesh, I feel a horrible pain in my thigh. But it’s of no consequence. The guests are dining and conversing and praising me, so why shouldn’t I give them the best possible experience? I’m their ruler, after all, and I must show some mercy so they don’t revolt when I bring the hammer down. The knife I’ve got isn’t as good as a cleaver, but when I lop off its leg at the joint, I can tell that it’s a more than adequate implement for the job at hand. | There’s no use even in screaming. Nobody’s alive to hear me. I desperately scrabble at the ceiling. Even a cave-in would be better than drowning like this. But all I get is bloody fingertips and ruined fingernails. The wax is just cresting the height of the smaller coffins. God, what did I do to deserve this? Did I die in the hotel from sheer exhaustion, and is this my Hell? I could’ve guessed that I’d end up here if Hell was real, just by virtue of the kind of human being I am, but how has my life come to this? |
| I use my other hand to brace myself against the table, evaluating the dying bird carefully. It’s tucked its head down, so I use the knife to raise it up a bit. Guess I was a bit too rough, as the tip of the blade punctures one of its eyeballs. | Fuck this. Fuck all of this. I can’t die like this. And if I DON’T die like this, what comes next afterward could be even more horrifying. The wax peeks over the brim of the sarcophagus, now finally having reached my feet. |
| Of course, the next stab is harder to do precisely, but I don’t mind. Somehow, I can even silence my brain when it’s bursting out agony through my every nerve. The pheasant’s not moving, and neither are the guests. But cuisine is art, and you have to suffer for your art. | It’s not just the heat or the burns. It’s the feeling of it clinging to my calves and ankles as the lower layers harden, pulling me down. Pulling me apart. Forever cast in history, unmoving as Pompeii plaster. |
| The next one to the spine sends a jolt to my mind. I have to stop. I have to- nope. Saturn Deer is no slave to false sensations and fabricated electro-meat-signals. I do what I want, boundless and infinite. Because Fate is at my back. Floating downstream, held up and down by the water. I have no fear of consequences or outcomes. In fact, I welcome them! | Now it’s up to my hips. Weighing me down into more and more of the flood. As I pound on the stones, faces flash in my mental vision. My friends… Nana… will they go on without me? Or not? And which would be worse? I can’t break the sandy bricks that bury me God knows how deep. I can’t escape the rising tide. I tried so hard for so long to do so much. Be an artist. Be useful. Make change. Be a good person. Even just be a woman. |
| This is how it should be. This is how it will be. Things are right and correct. The blood pooling on my chair, it is good. Another surface for the ripples of Fate. I wonder how all that food’s going to taste once I’m done preparing this pheasant? | Now it’s up to my armpits. Everything’s going numb from pure heat. Now my hair is getting pulled back too. I worked so much. I tried everything. But there was nothing I could have ever done. There was no place where anyone that society treats like me could win out there. |
| My destiny is a beautiful thing. And even if I can’t see it all at once anymore, doesn’t that make it all the more beautiful? I can’t even remember why I was worrying what feels like only minutes ago. Now to finish the bird and properly begin the meal for us all! Slowly, gingerly, I lay the serrated edge on the pheasant’s neck. And then I make one single stroke. | Now it’s up to my face. I take one last deep breath, as deep as I can make it, but the hard wax won’t let my chest expand much. This whole life was one goddamn game, and I never had a shot to win. I was dealt a bad hand, and the pack was worse. I close my eyes as the wax reaches the ceiling. |
| Fate has won. | And I have lost. |
.png){kind=link}
