Chapter Text
The derelict desert plains. A place not known for its safety, or its fair temperature. No, it was a place feared by many, seen as a place unfit for humanity. Second to the Everman's lands, this was a place no sane man would willingly enter. Which, of course, gave rise to the not-so-sane men who called it home. They called themselves treasure hunters. The world called them madmen.
At least, the world used to call them that. Things had been changing lately, in the hot dunes. What had once been legend was now becoming concrete. Mystic, massive structures were found, jutting out of the earth to dizzying heights. Within them, great treasures had been found. Glittering gems, which seemed to stretch on for miles. Repositories of knowledge, sold to the highest bidder. More things which could not be mentioned, but seen, and known to ones self alone.
Yes, many of these treasure hunters had made themselves rich men. Which, in turn, brought a new breed of seekers. Young people from the northern cities, leaving their families and friends behind to seek their fortune. Which brings us to the young man currently taking shelter beneath a dune.
His name was Actop, and he was beginning to wonder whether or not the treasure hunting business was really worth it. Sure, he had seen what came out of this place. Some of his own kin had made themselves fat and happy through plunder in this desolate land. But, he'd found nothing. Six cycles, he'd been scouring the land, and all for naught.
Every night, he went to bed with a blistered back, and each morning he awoke with frozen blisters. In the day, all he seemed to do was wander from place to place, looking for anything interesting besides sand dunes and oddly twisted Spineplants. The one claim he'd made had turned out to be a rusted dome, containing nothing but stinging gas and bones. So, he walked on, and considered whether or not turning back and returning in shame would be better than burning the small patches of unmolested skin that was left.
But this day, it would be different. That is what Actop told himself every night as he went to bed. That even though this day had been a bust, perhaps the next one may be better. Maybe he would find a million jewel-encrusted naked women, or some bread. Bread would be nice.
The next day, things were different.
Actop first noticed the difference when he crawled from his makeshift hole, and looked to the south. Expecting to be greeted by another series of endless dunes, he was surprised by a small black dot appearing to be perched snugly atop one of those sandy hills. It looked like a meaningless speck on the horizon, but to Actop, it represented a light at the end of a really brightly lit and sandy tunnel. Justification for all the time in this hellscape.
So, with renewed vigor, he set off towards the speck of might and righteousness. The sun and heat were still pressing down with persuasive force, but this new determination cast aside any thoughts of surrender. That little speck meant something was still out there, and he was going to plunder it, damn the cost.
Over days, to weeks, he walked towards it, trying to make progress. It was a slow going, over dunes and through shifting sands. The ground would form to his sandals, seeming to drag on them as he went on, telling him to give up. But the speck remained, like a siren extending a hand to Actop's tired ship. He was coming in to port. As the days went by, the speck became more of a dot, and then a fuzzy shape.
Actop stood at the base of the specks dune, looking up towards its now nearly-clear form. For a moment, he considered taking a minute to plan out his final approach, and to take each step with care. Then, he tossed such thoughts to the wind, and scrambled up the dune dauntlessly, making rapid progress as he clawed up, up, and closer to his prize.
The top of the dune was like nothing Actop had ever seen. White, metal husks stood half-buried in sand, with wooden posts outside each one. There were rusted blocks of what might have been another metallic material buried in front of each one, with some flecks of paint clinging to each one like the last survivor of a shipwreck.
In front of each one, a brightly colored staue depicting a strange bird was impaled upon two stands. Static and undamaged by age, they stood guard outside each block, the last residents of whatever this place had been. Actop regarded them for a moment, before plunging into the first husk.
This was his claim. Not as wondrous as the other objects brought from the desert, but it was something. A reason to return, not in shame, but with triumph. Tools, strange and rusted, filled his arms as he emerged from his treasure trove. His first thought on returning was imagination of triumph, and grins only victory can bring.
The second, and more pertinent thought, was where the birds had gone. It was this thought he would not have to wait for it to be answered, because the next moment a metal spike was plunged through his skull, the inquiring mind, and out the eye. Actop fell without a sound, save for a small piff as he hit the sand. The pink flamingos rolled him down the hill, and out of their minds.
On the horizon, some sand was being kicked up. Maybe somebody was actually out there. Who knows. Perhaps this would be the day something different would start to happen. They could put the feelings back in people. Would be nice.
> The following transcript was broadcasted within SCP-084 on 9/18/19██
> Hey, this is Chazz "The Mazz" Magespie calling into your soundboxes from WKFM! More sound, for later. Now we're gonna be bringing back the best of the charts in a minute here, but first we're gonna give you some news.
>
> First off, traffic news. Renmar drive has a bit of congestion, so if you're headed that way, it'll be awhile. No other streets got any traffic reports coming in, and I don't think they will. Stay safe out there.
>
> For the weather! We got some new stuff here. Well, old stuff, but it's still a little new. There's some clouds on the horizon, and might be some rain later, but we can still see the sunshine here.
> <pause>
> Now... lets get some
> <pause>
> <Broadcast becomes static for 51 minutes and 7 seconds>
>
> -appened, we're experiencing some blackout here. Some lights still work, uh, but we're not all here. Stanley says he was going to check outside... so, uh, we got some tunes to play until we figure it out.
>
> <The first 22 seconds of "Maybe" by "The Ink Spots" plays for the next 16 hours and 40 seconds. During the final two hours, the singers’ voice shows notable pitch changes, sounding more masculine.>
>
> We're back now, and uh, Stan hasn't come back in yet. We can see him out there, walking away, but he isn't turning around... or moving... he's, uh, kinda walking in place. Looking flickery and jumpy. Andy said he'd go outside too, uh, but changed his mind. I don't blame him.
>
> If you're in town, we can't see you. Maybe that storm rolled in, made a fog or something. Don't look like fog, but it could, uh, be the reason.
>
> <The sound of a door opening can be heard, followed by indistinct arguing and sounds of physical struggle. These continue for 4 minutes and 8 seconds.>
Hello, friend. Sit down and have a drink or something. I do love to entertain company, and this is the first friendly face I've seen in awhile. Most folks go slightly cross-eyed when I have to them in the halls... which is suppose is for the better... oh, I think I'm rambling again. And such a generic monologue too, surely I could make up something better than a posh accent and a mental hazard to make myself interesting.
Maybe I could tell you some stories of the places I've been.
Notice to students and faculty
The instructor "Professor Gideon" has been released from staff as of yesterday, due to persistent failures in his attendance and suspected confiscation of philosophy department property. All classes shall be moved away from his tutelage, and to the effective care of our other educators. His termination notice has been filed and he should be removed from the campus.
Sorry if that's a bit difficult to read, had to take some translation liberties to have it used in idle conversation. This was from the University, which I hired myself to because it seemed like an interesting place. It's technically how I found you and your friends, on account of all their lost stuff. Followed it here after they managed to punch me out of the record. Well, until I let them. They were kinda funky over there, in the not so good way.
I followed the stuff after that, and met some nice rich folk. I hired myself up there as a donor.
Fellow patrons,
It pains me to inform you that our secure deposit and transaction system may have been compromised. Several million pounds appear to have been appropriated to a false identity known as "Professor Gideon" or "Commodore Gideon." Do not worry about your transactions, as our financiers are as we speak tracking down this thief. No auctions have been disrupted as of this moment, and no objects stolen from inventory
Sincerely,
Mister Carter
It's not what it looks like. I simply went into their system and set myself up as a donor, figuring I'd get some promotion to give myself soon after. But, didn't work out, because apparently donors need to have several million money in the bank. I had a whole bunch of blank bucks. So... panicked a bit. Think anyone would. Dumped it all, and took off to someplace the records mentioned. Which... didn't work out.
GOC DOCUMENT 44Y
All offices and equipment attributed to the "Commander Gideon" persona have been removed. Records that were altered have been replaced, and it is currently believed that we have neutralized it. Hard sonofabitch to hunt down, but we nailed him good.
See, too hostile. They spotted me almost immediately and went on with trying to kill me. Didn't stick around on account of the murder, but luckily they were an international organization. Through their channels, I found someplace safe and interesting to hire myself to.
That was safe. Also extremely dull, and full of really depressed people. I mean occasionally, we'd get someone who had actual drive, but that just made me feel bad for occupying the director position. It's a very homogenous environment, which made it pretty easy to hire my way in, but once I was there all that I got were mopers. But, luckily, your friends came along to help me out.
So... that brings us to today. I've got a pretty good gig here. Basically all the fun of being payed attention to without the fear of being smashed. Sometimes I even get to carry on little tests of my own. You all don't mind the things you don't recall.
Where to next? I don't know, Librarian. Why don't you tell me?
Federal Bureau of Investigation
United States Department of Justice
Washington, DC.
We are sad to report, that after 30 years of dedicated service, the Director will be stepping down as the head of the Unusual Incidents Unit. During his tenure, the UIU has been a leader in the investigation of unusual incidents. The department has evolved from being staffed by just a few men and women to being made up of the finest agents offered by the Bureau. The Director has removed the few personal possessions he owned from the office he has faithfully served in, and requested that no parties be held in his honor. Unfortunately, we were not able to contact the Director to hear his parting words, but we can be assured he leaves the department in its highest regard.
His friends described him as having few truly close friends, but being a man of good heart and judicious judgement, even if his attendance was somewhat legendarily tardy.
Director Gideon's successor has...
Agent Giles was surprised to see the bald man standing in the lobby. He recognized him from the photos, but this was the first time he'd actually seen Director Gideon in the flesh.
"Sir?"
"Yes, agent?"
I heard, uh, heard that you were retiring?"
"Yes, I've decided the time to pass on the torch has come."
"What're you doing next, if you, uh, don't mind me asking?"
"I've decided to build some new Foundations, agent. Be seeing you."
They probably told you that SCP-001 was the very first one. The biggest, toughest, most horrible thing that the Foundation has ever had to deal with. The origin of the organization as a whole, and the reason we do what must be done. Maybe they let slip some talk about gods and ancient times, to make you think about it. Then, they made you an offer you can't refuse, to direct containment for the greatest threat.
Maybe you thought we trusted you, or that something you'd done had proven to be great. But, that isn't it. You're just the one we thought could deal with it the longest. The truth is, SCP-001 isn't the worst thing we have by a long shot. It's not even the catalyst of what the organization is. SCP-001 is the Foundation's greatest mistake.
There have always been things we couldn't explain, things that had to be hidden away in locked boxes and barricaded rooms. When it was needed, there was a group that would hide them. We went by different names, and sometimes with a different agenda, but it was always the same principle: to secure, contain, and protect.
Before we found 001, there were only about a hundred anomalies that we knew of. About half of them were with us, and a good third were in the hands of some other groups. It wasn't a very big operation, or even all that impressive, but it didn't need to be. We had the tools to get the job done, and we did it well. That was all that mattered.
We first heard news of it coming from Greece, after the Allies drove Hitler off the Danube. We were reclaiming our old sites, when we found something that shouldn't have been there. Maps, and artifacts, dating to some temple in the mountains. Of course the overseers wanted us to go there right away. Whatever was up there might be dangerous, and all that garbage.
It wasn't an easy journey, which is probably why whoever was researching it never went all the way. Then again, maybe they did, since they had the sense never to go up. The structure itself was unimpressive, and didn't seem fitting the descriptions we'd found. Then we went inside.
What we saw there was staggering. All the things you might think of as common, or run-of-the-mill today was mind-blowing to us at the time. We'd never seen anything like it. I thought it was incredible.
The central chamber was not as wondrous. I don't want to blame anyone for what we did there, because we had no way of knowing what it would unleash. All I saw was these horrible… things, feeding off one another and cycling together, all around in balance, with atrocities being pushed out by unreal fluctuations to thinking. We tried to get rid of it. It didn't work.
A house of cards descended on us, breaking and obliterating everything that it could see. Some of us made it out, and others… didn't. The cycles were broken, and things were different. You can't even imagine how things were at first. The ones who could remember lost themselves pretty quickly. That left just a few of us to pick up the pieces. Things aren't as bad as they used to be. We've got color working again, and I heard that pretty soon they're going to start putting the feelings back in people.
Now, you're here. Maybe you'll be the one who can put it all back together again. There's always the possibility that we can set things right.
If you see the seventh bride, tell her I'm sorry she had to open the box. Maybe she'll remember it.