Bleep's Onyx Proposal - Threads of Fate

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SCP-001.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Special Containment Procedures

Description

Addendum:

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2

3

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5

6

Level 5 Access Required


The fate of your world, of our reality, rests on my shoulders.

I cannot shirk this burden, no matter what accosts me.

Regardless of warnings, the future doesn't scare me at all.

No matter what may come, I will walk on.

-SCP-001

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Popular artistic rendition of SCP-001, one of many found on buildings throughout Eurtec.


Special Containment Procedures: Personnel interacting with SCP-001 directly must adhere to the following rules:

  • When addressing SCP-001, it is to be referred to as “Seeress” at all times unless otherwise instructed.
  • Professionalism is expected in all interactions.
  • Movements in SCP-001’s presence must be slow and methodical.
  • Disciplinary measures to ensure SCP-001’s continued anomalous activity are unnecessary and actively detrimental.
  • Suggestions of punitive measures for undesired outcomes or inaccessible results are unacceptable.
  • Verbal abuse, threats, and acts of physical violence towards SCP-001 are unacceptable.
  • Attempting to force SCP-001 to exert prescience without electronic assistance is unacceptable.

Failure to follow any of the above guidelines will result in revocation of access to the Silicon Nornir and SCP-001, and referral to the Ethics Committee for disciplinary review regardless of seniority, office, or internal standing.

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The Norns.

Utilization of SCP-001’s anomalous capabilities for all relevant purposes is restricted to Department Heads, Site Directors, the Ethics Committee, and the O5 Council unless explicit permission was received one year in advance. SCP-001, the Nornir, and Eurtec are remanded to O5-07’s domains of operation at this time.

Researchers interested in conducting projects and initiatives involving SCP-001 are required to submit applications to join MTF Omega-77 as part of the broader Department of Prescience and Predictive Sciences.

In the interest of maintaining the techno-thaumaturgic Nornir Cult and the Silicon Nornir’s Foresight Matrix Array’s operation, SCP-001 has been granted level-5 humanoid anomaly privileges. Level-5 privileges have continued since 1970 when the Foundation assumed operational command and control of Special Anomalous Free Port-03 (Eurtec) following the collapse of the GOC. These privileges are as follows:

  • A private residence within the greater city of Eurtec, free of active monitoring and/or containment measures in recognition of excellent behavior.
  • Freedom of mobility throughout Eurtec without armed escort.
  • Access to leisure activities upon request and within reason.
  • Disability accommodations for blindness.
  • Remote and direct access to monitored personal electronic equipment capable of interfacing with the Nornir Foresight Matrix Arrays at all times.
  • Access to artistic and creative materials for Trojan Events where personal electronics are insufficient.
  • Approval for extra-Eurtec excursions accompanied by field and combat trained elements of MTF Omega-77 (“Fortune Tellers”) submitted with six months advanced notice.1

The organizational structure of the Silicon Nornir2 at the time of its absorption by the Foundation consisted of SCP-001 and what is now MTF Omega-77.3 It is in the best interest of SCP-001’s anomalous capacities to continue to maintain this social structure.

Personnel who notice severe irritation of the skin on SCP-001’s left arm should immediately notify medical personnel. Should SCP-001 attempt to remove a large segment of tissue from its left arm, at any point, medical personnel should be notified. After medical intervention, the anomaly should be reminded that no matter how many times it removes the flesh, it will always come back.

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Portrait of SCP-001.


Description: SCP-001 is both a single Class IX4 humanoid prescient anomaly and a Class VIII5 reality-altering entity. The techno-thaumaturgic Silicon Nornir Cult believes SCP-001 to be the last surviving member of the Norns or Nornir.6 It is referred to by the Cult of the Silicon Nornir as “The Last Norn,” “The Seeress on High,” “Destiny’s Fingers,” or “Name Unspoken.” SCP-001 presents as a 1.79-meter-tall woman believed to be of Mediterranean descent who appears to be in its early thirties, with this appearance remaining in perpetuity due to its functional immortality. Notable bodily features include a utilitarian block-needle tattoo on its left arm reading “4444” and blindness.

SCP-001’s anomalous properties involve the onset of prescient “visions” which frequently occur at all times of the day, regardless of its stage of consciousness. It describes its abilities as “uncontrolled sight”. The manifestation of SCP-001's uncontrolled sight is referred to as a “Trojan Event”7 by research personnel. These events consist of possible past, present, or future events of varying magnitudes and importance. Trojan Events are normally random, unfocused, and often undirected, though some specificity arises from contact with specific triggering items, topics, or words. Use of the Nornir Foresight Matrix Arrays (NFMA)8 or exerted prescience9 can focus SCP-001’s capacities, but it prefers to avoid exerted prescience.

Continuous efforts are ongoing to maintain, replace, and increase the number of empathetic individuals with strong moral direction working with SCP-001 in order to improve its predictive capacity.

Despite having been in Foundation remand for more than half a century, personal details regarding SCP-001 are sparse to nonexistent. Its true given name, if it has one, remains undisclosed.












ACT I


CHTHONIC BLACK


WADING TOWARDS FREEDOM
















Addendum 1: Discovery Documentation

RECOVERED GOC FILE

PTE-001

“Oracle of the End”

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Foreword: The following excerpts are from summary reports and personal logs obtained from Global Occult Coalition archives concerning the Allied Occult Initiative’s efforts in the liberation of Obskuracorps Occult Facilities in Norway following the end of World War II.

On 12th May 1945, four days after the capitulation of German Armed Forces within Norway to the Allied Military Mission sent to Oslo, the Allied Occult Initiative and Interim Norwegian government were notified of a major subterranean Obskuracorps facility at Hegra Fortress refusing to surrender. Its small garrison had been complemented by the assimilation of a much larger local German garrison from Trondheim, both of which were refusing to acknowledge General Böhme’s capitulation order.

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Entrance of Hegra Fortress.

As a component force of Operation Doomsday, the 1st and 2nd British Thaumic Corps, the 32nd American Thaumic Battalion, and the 4th Norwegian Thaumic Division were deployed to Trondheim via troop transport with orders to capture the facility and any anomalous research or tech contained within. Hegra Fortress’s fortifications were extensive. 300 meters of tunnels and halls, 75 mm and 105 mm half-turrets. There were also multiple field guns, prior to its capture by German forces in 1940. With these details in mind, the AOI deployed additional support in the form of ground artillery detachments of the US Third Army. Close air support from nearby Royal Navy and US Naval carriers were on standby to assist in softening up surface targets.

Additional aerial reconnaissance efforts revealed the presence of elemental gun emplacements, and several unidentified esoteric and ontological thaumic weapons emplacements. This resulted in additional commitment of nearby Allied forces.

At 0600 hours on May 14th, 1945, the perimeter regions in the forests around Hegra Fortress were scouted for enemy activity before Allied forces encircled the stronghold and began preparations for assault. Signs of occult ritual were present in substantial quantities, but no active effects were immediately detected. A messenger was sent to the fortress with a small scouting party to assess enemy strength, fortifications, and deliver a final capitulation demand from joint German and Allied command.

Will be hard to forget this day, lass. Forest was thick and quite a bit of chill in the air. Still a bit of snow on the ground, and there were signs of recent jerry foot tracks. Scent of damp and decaying leaves as we trudged along. There was something else on that breeze, incense and wood smoke maybe?

Was full of stew meself when we started climbing that bloody steep hill. Not a grand flat stroll through the garden either.

Command’s reports said there was supposed to be only 1500 stationed in the fortress. Problem was, there were 3500 jerries missing from the Trondheim garrison. Waffen-SS types that refused to demob. Brass hats thought they ended up there in that hilltop, which was bad news for us.

Sent me up surrounded by a few jocks, yanks, and good old chaps. They were whispering and glowing with all sorts of magic which wasn’t much reassurance after Bastogne. Especially since half of them looked like greenhorns. Certainly pulled the lottery.

We saw the walls long ‘fore we saw any of their stags, like they had skived off and abandoned all patrols. Incense and wood smoke kept getting stronger closer we got. Something else burning too— that awful smell of skin. Might have added bone and fat in there too. Had to put cloth over our faces just to breathe.

Squaddies knew something was up soon as I did. Laid down in the brush, all of us, and waited. Listening.

Front gate was dead ahead. Could see some of the turrets and fireposts up on the higher ridge of the fort. It was quiet—not the kind of normal quiet you expect in a forest, much less a fort.

No movement. No officers shouting orders or metallic pings of ammo being moved around. Nothing. Where were the chittering birds, the crunching branches, and the rustle of underbrush?

Coulda heard a branch crack miles abreast.

Hair was standing up on the back of my neck.

Lieutenant makes a few hand motions next to me. Next thing I know, we’re trekking around the edges checking for movement, sound, any signs of life.

Still nothing. We backtrack and they get the bright idea, these barmy yanks, for me to just walk up and announce myself. So, what’s a lad supposed to do, risk his life or risk jankers? Well, I’m bloody daft, aren’t I?

So, I waltzed on up to the gate, ready to bolt at the first sound of a loading gun. The smell was overbearing, making my head spin. Incense and whatever was burning were so thick now I could almost see’em.

I had the flag raised, as if that would do much good against bloody Obskurakorps or fanatical SS. I shouted—hells, I don’t remember what I said. The usual drivel of message for such and such commanding officer of such and such in the fortress of Hegra.

Absolutely nothing.

Now the silence in the forest was bad enough, but next to the gate like that, after shouting? It was taking everything I bloody well had not to duck and run right past the squad and book it into the trees.

Being the bright lad I was, I, instead, waited a minute or two. Still nothing. Try again, I said to myself.

So, I knocked on the door again. Bear in mind lass, these were heavy wood doors. The kind I’d run into in my youth touring castles up north before you hit Hadrian’s wall. They take three or four men or a whole pulley system to open. They didn’t so much as move the first time I knocked. But now? Well, they didn’t just open. They slammed back with a bang that made me jump out of my skin. The sound just went on and on, bouncing off the mountains again and again.

Then there was this sudden breeze whipping at my back. It was filled with whispering voices that were singing. Singing a song that stirred a strong longing for home in my bones. Started calling my name. Was hard to ignore.

What was inside? Maybe a hundred, two hundred squareheads. Mostly in their twenties. About half had blonde hair, blue eyes. SS stripes on their uniforms. No sign of Obskurakorps. There were rifles, tools, boxes haphazardly scattered on the ground at their feet.

I stood there, frozen in place, terrified I’d relieved myself. My muscles refused to respond. Couldn’t look away. They were all swaying back and forth as if to some unheard marching drum. Took me a tick to realize it was actually the rise and fall of those whispers.

Closest one I could make out, well, his pupils were huge and unfocused. Helmet had fallen off and he was shaking. He was staring straight through me, and there was nobody home. There was a stream of drool leaking from his lips, landing on his half-buttoned uniform. His hands were twitching every few seconds as he swayed along with the others.

Now, maybe in hindsight, I should have run away. Let some other hapless wanker take the next steps. But with the assault on my senses, I wasn’t thinking straight. I had a message to deliver. So, I stepped inside, starting to call out to them. My hand was up in the air with the message raised—

“Dillon Hopkins,” the whispers said.

In an instant, I was floating. No, not floating, falling. Falling through an endless series of picture frames with nothing and no one else in sight. No, that’s not quite right either. There were others there, two presences. One falling next to me through the picture frames. I couldn’t make out the face, the details, only a silhouette trailing these endless black.

The second presence was everything, everywhere, all at once. The frames streaked through a twisting horizon, maybe it came from within it. Maybe they were it. I felt like I was screaming but not a sound came out of my mouth. That thing was singing of an end, of a fraying everything. An oblivion that threatened to consume me just by looking at it. So I tried to stare anywhere else. For a moment, I could see its face, its shape. Now I can’t remember anything but the eyes. Four golden eyes, filling and flowing through the horizon, dozens of times bigger than the moon. They were eating through my very soul. I would be better if I could forget them.

“Dillon.” The silhouette was calling to me now.

Then I was no longer falling. I was sitting at the kitchen table again, no more than ten years old. My mother was humming one room over. She was complemented by the ticking of that old mechanical clock in the entryway. Children laughing in the distance. The smell of lamb chops, mother’s perfume, and wet dog hanging in the air. A spoon, dripping taste of sweets onto my tongue, spoiling my supper. Across the table was the silhouette with all its strings staring back at me.

It was like everything was stacked atop each other, things that might have been, could have been, would be, or never were at all. Homes without the dog, the ticking, with piles of dirt and grime from years of neglect.

Next came places strange and unfamiliar. They had larger rooms, richer smells, finer furniture, and expensive clothes. Sometimes there was an empty home full of cobwebs and no furniture left behind, just a shell of what might have been. Sometimes there was no home at all, just an empty field or a plot of dirt along a busy street. Walls began to twist together, tilting strangely. Fabric began to melt together. Brick and mortar expanded, contracted and frayed as if made of twine. Floors began to slide apart like bars on a door. Colors danced, flowed; rivers of paint all congealing down into a forming pit. We, that silhouette and I, tumbled through time and space.

“Dillon!” it screamed.

I stopped being able to tell which images and memories belonged together as it all bled into one giant collage of possibility. Too many sounds, too many smells, too many different views all filling my senses at the same time. It was like witnessing every detail and choice of your whole life spiraling out before you. The endless tree of possibilities of branching towards root and sky. Believe our Norse lads call it Yggdrasil or some such. Only there was no blimey way to filter any of it.

Then there was a raging sky with the world aflame and nothing left behind. The song was filling my whole mind, swallowing us both in its rising pitch. We were falling again, falling into a frame filled with an ageing painting. There were angry stars screaming at the black above. Gently rolling hills flush with green grass. Grand stone walls tore the ground, a palace of gold and gems and sprawling marble columns.

The silhouette was screaming and sobbing, drowned out by the din of everything else. I couldn’t make out what it was saying. There were flames. Everything burning Screams echoing in the night, pounding against my flesh. The smell of moke, sweat, musk, and incense filling the air. The last thing I saw was a colossal timber horse backlit by the inferno.

“DILLON, CUT THEM OUT! CUT THEM ALL OUT!” It screamed. Flame crawled into my flesh, eating me from inside out. I was screaming with it.

Then I was awake in the woods, 30 km from the fort and that was it.

It was a sort of para-weapon, I think. The magic kind you don’t know you’re in the middle of till it’s done with ya. Worse, it was malfunctioning.

At least, I think it was.

At 1000 hours, the scouting party reported a large-scale thaumic effect had encapsulated the entirety of Hegra Fortress and its garrison, rendering them incapacitated but the fortress unenterable.

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Subterranean halls of Hegra Fortress.

Careful review of regional power grid records revealed a massive utilization spike in the days leading up to the task force’s arrival. Suspecting malfunctioning experimental thaumic-tech, power was abruptly cut to the fortress at which time observation parties reported the simultaneous collapse of Obskurakorps and SS garrisons.

At 1100 hours, Initiative forces stormed the fortress, discovering the entire garrison in a comatose state. Thorough exploration revealed that in addition to the known tunnel systems, an extensive subterranean bunker complex had been constructed by the Obskurakorps.


Synthesis of Oral Report and Memoir of Sullivan Morrow, American 32nd Thaumic Battalion

Coming into the fortress was like walking into the middle of a para-weapons test gone very strange. Hundreds of men on the ground in SS and Obskurakorps uniforms. Out completely cold. Like they had all dropped on the spot for bunk fatigue. Equipment, paper, and boxes scattered everywhere. Like the place had been hit by a tornado. We’ve seen a lot of weird shit with Obskurakorps’ experiments gone awry over the years; but I don’t think I’d ever seen anything at this scale.

Then there was the way the whole place smelled. Like someone had dumped an unpleasant combination of incense, burning wood and bodies across the entire fort. We all had to keep cloth over our faces otherwise we’d start gagging. It lingered for about an hour or two. The wind eventually blew it off, thankfully.

After we’d cleared the courtyard, we started running out of rope to tie ’em all up with. That was about three hours in. When we started moving into the tunnels and fortifications, we had to start using spare bootstrings. Wasn’t long before those threatened to run out too.

I was heading topside again to go find a logistics officer. Scrounge up more rope or something. Maybe find some mages to start binding the Nazis up. That’s when I was pulled off mop-up duty by Colonel Riggs, around 1400. Told me I had too much experience to be wasting time tying up Germans. Said he had a job for me.

Command’s first priority in the stacks was a soiree in spooning up the fortifications underground. Standard stuff, blocky concrete hallways and dirt tunnels. Well, except littered with SS on magic shutters; but they weren’t my problem anymore.

We were sweeping for any unpleasant surprises; hidden Obskurakorps thaumic-traps.

Kept running across all this thaum-tech pulsing with light. They were outshining the dim incandescent bulbs dangling above our heads. We’d catalogue each one, check for any thaumic traps. Unplug ‘em before moving on.

You’d almost figure it was a normal Obskurakorps base. ‘Cept we’d only seen a handful of Obskurakorps so far. Supposed to be almost 1500 of them too, so where the hell were the rest?

Our first indication something was amiss was at the bottom of a dugout shaft. We stumbled on these doors down a ladder. Dense metal, surrounded by poured concrete. All sorts of thick wires running into huge holes.

Well, I tell everyone to can it and then press my ear to the metal to listen. No sounds inside. Must have been way thicker than they looked.

Get one of these fresh-faced mages to check for thaumic mischief when I couldn’t sense anything. No illusions or rune traps like in France. They weren’t trying to hide it. So, I pull out the blueprints. Wasn’t too surprised they weren’t on them, that’s standard for Obskurakorps.

On the blueprints or not, I wasn’t about to head inside with three greens and a handful of rifles to our names.

While I’m trying to figure all this shit out, we’re getting hit with this thick mix of earthy smells and rich perfume. It was making it a bit hard to focus so I pull us back up to the top of the shaft.

I finally just grab one of the greens and send him topside with a message for command. We weren’t waiting long. He came back with orders for me to sit tight. The greens were led off by my runner, leaving me all alone.

I start tapping my foot, glancing around. Getting this tight knot in my stomach. I’m close to getting to go home now. The war’s done, and I’ve been bunker diving against Obskurakorps for four years now. Not a chance in the seven hells the brass are going to send me down there alone. So, I light up a lucky strike and find a tunnel ledge to sit on. I park there, trying to figure out how I’m going to weasel out of a solo dive, if it comes to that.

About 10-15 later, a whole bunch of old files and peep sights come marching down the tunnel. They’re walking with some harried looking mages that are scrounging around in their packs.

They sent me a whole goddamn platoon.

I stood up; dropped and stomped out my cigarette.

Well, one of them harried mages says I’m leading a breach into the bunker. One last dive into the Obskurakorps’ raunchy shit in the dark.

We all put our enchanted frog-stickers on. Mages start drumming up the glow charms and doing their thing with the good ammo. I get the names of every single person in the breach party. If we lose someone to an astral rift or some other horse shit, I want to at least be able to write home to the family. They all had lots of little scars, hardened expressions, tired eyes. Three years’ experience, minimum— all of them, even the translator. I start thinking up Mother McCrea’s for if we make it out of the meat wagon.

We all shimmy back down into the hole. Breach charges make short work of the doors. We clear the initial corners, and walk into—

It wasn’t a bunker. It was a Nazi palace.

As we moved in, perfumes, scented candles, aged books and wood overpowered any residual scent of dirt from the tunnel outside. The floor was carpeted, red and gold. Well-kept and clean of dirt. Antique wood shelves and benches lined the walls. There were these opulent paintings on the wall, Da Vinci’s and many other artists I didn’t recognize. Surely must have been famous. It was warm, warmer than the tunnels. There must have been some sort of central furnace somewhere else.

There was music playing faintly, somewhere further ahead. Edvard, our translator, tall Norse man, Eddie for short, said it was German. There was something else. This low-pitched drone that was just barely audible. I’d say it was coming from below us, but that would mean it was penetrating through the concrete.

We start moving door to door in squads of four. One group held the rear, one group ahead, three clearing rooms. Inside the first couple were shelves with arcane tomes, stages with half-finished rituals. Further we went, the more we were finding storerooms filled with gold. Furniture and jewelry encrusted with gems and precious metals. Obskurakorps were everywhere, even in the hallway, most of them completely unresponsive. Not all of them though.

A few of them were dead. Their brains and blood splattering the walls of the ritual room. Mostly from bullets. Some had—their heads looked like they had burst like a balloon, bone fragments embedded in the walls or in their peers. Some of them, the rib cage looked like it had been ripped open. Others were withered husks, like all the moisture had been sucked out of them. When Davis nudged one of those with his foot, they just dissolved into a pile of dust.

Rooms with the dead had this pungent rot polluting the air that turned my stomach. Impossible to breathe. It didn’t look like any of the corpses were actively decomposing so I still don’t know where it came from.

Mages marked the living with binding spells, once they’d cleared each room for traps. We left the dead alone and moved on. The rooms further into the hallway were filled with desks, filing cabinets, and office supplies. Drawers were thrown open, papers, and folders scattered everywhere.

There were these big metal drums; green flames burning inside of them. Comatose Obskurakorps at their feet. Eddie starts gathering papers, half torn, half burnt. He’s reading them out loud as we marked and bound the prisoners. Detailed lists of dates, changing numbers. Took us a while to figure out they were stock market trends from New York.

Why the hell were Obskurakorps out in the middle of the Norwegian wilderness, tracking American stocks?

There were also dates, times, and locations. At first, it seemed random, until they started naming places some of us had campaigned in. Major battles and offensives during the war. They were typed up and dated years in advance of them happening.

Didn’t have time to get bogged down in figuring out the why of it all. Not when we didn’t know the scale of this place.

As we approached the stairwell at the far end of the hallway, that low-pitched tone just got louder. So did the music, which was in German. Sounded like opera.

The last room we cleared had a mantle-sized radio inside. There were two men collapsed at its base, older than the other Obskurakorps we’d run across so far. One of them had a colonel’s markings. His ears were stuffed with dried blood, and he was very much dead.

Edvard shut off the radio, leaving only that low pitch humming in our ears. The whole place was throbbing with magic.

We descended the stairs, frog-stickers primed. I got one of the scatter guns up to the front as a precaution. Every hair on my body was standing on end. It got worse when we stepped off onto the second floor. There was a natural grime to this level that wasn’t present on that first floor. Still that sort of luxurious feel to it but the air was charged with something deeply unpleasant. There was a darkness clawing at our feet, that low hum rattling now in our skulls louder than before.

We set into the same pattern as the first floor. One of the sergeants kicked open a door and we were immediately hit with sulfur, decay, and burning bodies. Knocked us all back. I gagged. Several of the boys lost their lunch.

Once we had the presence of mind to press cloth over our noses and mouths, well, we were then assaulted again. Inside the room were circles of arcane marks. Inside those were organs, blood, bone, muscle, fat and nerves. Obskurakorps thaumaturges lay on the floor, some of them still breathing. A few were tangled together in twitching masses of flesh with too many eyes and teeth. What was left of their mouths opened and closed in twisted last screams.

Black fluid dripped from the ceiling.

Bones embedded in the walls.

Blood splattered everywhere.

We just stood there, staring. Not sure how long.

Even our bunker dives in France and Germany had never been like this.

One by one we started pulling each other away. Stood there in the hallway, our heads spinning; trying to regain whatever composure we had left.

When we regained our wherewithal, we started crawling deeper. The rituals we stumbled across became increasingly taboo. The outcomes more twisted. Accidents more esoteric and unspeakable.

Twisted necromantic horrors built from dozens of humans, animals, and other things I wouldn’t even know how to describe. Scattered across diagrams and glass sealed rooms. Obskurakorps thaumaturges had gone too far, and all that was left were conceptovores, annihilated holes in reality, and unrecognizable masses of what might have been flesh. I’ll be seeing them until I die.

The whole time we’re walking, Eddie has been collecting an almost comically large sack of papers. They weren’t more than singed scraps, really. At least, that’s what I thought at first. He started getting this look on his face, something between alarmed and excited. I was about to ask him what he had to report, when he stops us near about 2/3rds through the 2nd floor.

“Sir, I think I know what all this is,” Eddie said.

“Well, don’t keep us waiting, spill it,” I said, watching him shuffle through the pack.

“These papers, they’re written predictions. Forecasts of the future.”

I stared at Eddie for several seconds.

“Predictions? You’re serious?”

“Yes. It looks like they were trying to use prescience for their own purposes. But here’s the thing, half of the predictions that survived the flames? They’re wrong.”

I turned this new information over in my head, connecting all the individual pieces together.

The Nazis were—what? Sacrificing people, probably locals or Jews? Why? To get rich? Control the outcome of the war?

The mundanity of it all. I spent those few moments following Eddie’s revelation standing stock still. I was reliving the hours after we discovered the camps in Southern Germany. The eyes, the hope and then despair as we had to funnel them back into the camps to stop them eating themselves to death.

I excluded this next part from my official report, for obvious reasons. There was movement behind me as Richard, Mike, and others descended into the rooms around us like spirits of vengeance. There were gunshots, frog-stickers slicing into flesh. I pulled out my pistol. Went back into one of the rooms. Stared down at an Obskurakorps officer with their eyes wide open, still alive, breathing. His eyes moved, focusing on me. They were brown. Maybe he was still conscious. Maybe they all were.

The bullet went cleanly through his skull and I felt nothing. I moved to another and just kept going.

Eventually, enough of us regained a sense of duty to stop the others from continuing to slaughter the monsters. Before we went back up the hallway to put a hole in every living Obskurakorps officer left. Not everyone wanted to stop.

I don’t blame them.

Once we’d all had our fill, we started moving again. At this point, we stopped going into rooms. We sealed the doors trapping whatever was in there inside. The shadows were getting steeper, that low tone loud enough now to rattle against our bones.

I thought we were getting pretty close to the end of this floor based on the first. I didn’t know if there was a floor below us, but given we hadn’t found the source of that noise yet, I figured there must be. Suspicion aside, we had been going for a while and hadn’t seen anything other than Obskurakorps littering the floor. It was like they were all running from something and dropped all at once.

Then I saw a trace of the stairwell in my flashlight beam.

Behind us there was an explosion. The whole bunker shook.

Immediately, several of us stumble into the walls, shelves, chairs.

My rifle slipped in my hand, nearly clattering to the floor. There was a clatter of other rifles meeting the fate mine almost did.

The flashlights and charms flickered.

There was shouting from somewhere behind us.

Everyone spun in different directions. Weapons were raised.

The emergency lights of the bunker cut off.

More shouting in the dark. Gunshots, close and far. Flashes in the black. Small explosions in the distance.

A blood-curdling scream filled our ears. Came from every direction. My bones quaked against muscle and fat. Thought my eardrums were going to burst.

Then, it stopped.

The emergency lights didn’t come back on, but our flashlights and charms stopped flickering. It took a minute for the ringing from the scream to stop bouncing around in my skull.

When I looked up again, everyone started releasing their ears and bending down to pick up dropped weapons.

We used to be able to see about twenty feet behind us. Now, we were submerged in pitch black. It was eating the beams of the flashlights.

“Sound off!” Everyone answered. Nobody was hurt.

We took a minute to gather our bearings and assess.

“Where did that come from?”

“Back to our right, I think. Maybe down one of the side hallways we sealed off.”

“That scream was everywhere.”

“The shouting was in English and German,” Edvard added.

“Maybe another party from another angle?”

“Maybe Obskurakorps who avoided what happened to the rest.”

“Could you make out what they were saying?”

“Black, black, black, repeated several times. Some other things I didn’t catch either.”

Did they set off a trap? Accidentally finish a ritual? Unleash some monstrosity?

Command never told us the truth of what happened back there. Nobody topside spoke about it at all. Eventually, we agreed not to discuss it further. Superstiation that it might come back again, for us this time.

Sometimes I wonder if we just imagined it in the dark.

We stood there for a few more minutes. Watching the trace of our flashlight beams penetrate no more than five or ten feet behind us. It was worse when we pointed down the stairwell. Looked like it was getting thicker with every passing minute.

It was quiet now. Absolute silence, other than our breaths and the occasional creak of the bunker.

Here I was, about to lead a bunch of hardened vets into the abyss. Every single one was shifting around, hands shaking, looking over their shoulders.

I bit the bullet and led by example, descending the stairs into the unknown. They were harsh and steep. No carpeting now. The sound of my boots echoed in the silence, as did those of the others. We went slow. The flashlight beam eroded down to only a few feet. Every noise that wasn’t one of us provoked movement. Every movement was accompanied by clinks of metal and swishes of fabric.

I was the first to step off the stairs. They ended so abruptly that I nearly fell and planted face first into the concrete.

My eyes had adjusted now, and I could kind of see through the black. There were these floating mists, pockets of heavier darkness. Around them I could make out the shape of a big square room. There were doors behind us that were ripped off their hinges. Seemed to lead deeper into the bunker. The room was barren, utilitarian with no hint of the luxury we’d seen above. The main lights had been fried in the initial power surge. Any backup lights likely went the same way during the chaos a few minutes before.

It was silent as a graveyard, other than the pair of double doors on the far wall. They were squeaking. Probably loose hinges causing them to swing slightly in and out. Otherwise, it was just our breathing, the scent of wet dirt and festering mold, and those incessant squeaks.

“Sullivan.” My name cut through the silence in that familiar low-pitched hum. Only for a second. The voice was croaking, dry and scraping. Like someone in the field who hadn’t had water in days.

I thought I was hallucinating. There was also a chill breeze washing across my face from the direction of the doors.

Sergeant Richt and I looked at each other before training took over.

Twelve of us lined up against the wall. Six flanking each of the double doors.

The remaining eight stood on either side of the room, next to the tunnel going deeper into the bunker.

I gave Sergeant Richt hand signals: flash grenade and thaumi-lumiter charm to rub salt in the wound after the flash bang. Then breach and clear. Counted down:

Three.

Two.

One.

Grenade pin popped, door opened, in it went. It bounced good, Richt had a supernatural ability for that.

The grenade went off. We surged in.

Everyone was shouting.

“Drop your weapons!”

Lights danced in my eyes. Traced the walls and floor.

People were yelling. Too many people.

Shapes dancing in the shadows. Something moved against the wall.

Click of a rifle. No bang. Again. Still no bang.

Crack of bone. Sloshing Fluid. Something wet and meaty hitting metal.

Chill breaths against my face.

Flashes of gold in the dark.

Our charms go out, all at once.

There’s a series of metal clicks.

Flashlight bulbs crack one by one.

Everyone shuts up real fast.

It was completely dark now. I held the only light.

There was this sickly-sweet odor filling the air. My flashlight’s beam flickered against the far wall. There was a huge, blocky machine there. Telephones embedded on some sort of slanted metal desk covered in mechanical buttons and gauges. Chairs, filled with the bodies of Obskurakorps officers. One’s head was completely caved in. Both slumped over the console, blood trickling onto the metal and dripping onto the floor. At first, I thought the sounds of liquid hitting the concrete came from them. But the plops were irregularly spaced. Some were closer than what I was seeing. The closers ones were timed as if to the beat of a heart.

I moved slowly, like my limbs were tied to lead weights. Up the flashlight beam went. Traced the colossal machine that towered towards the ceiling. There were hundreds of tubes and wires coming out of it. They stood out against the grey and white of the concrete ceiling. Some of them curled up into unseen conduits higher in the bunker.

The others were silent as the grave. I could feel ‘em edging back towards the door, their eyes burrowing into me.

Not me though. I don’t know if it was just morbid curiosity, there in the dark. Maybe it was those quiet whispers urging me to shed my mortal flesh and fly free. I had to see what this all was for. I tracked my flashlight across the ceiling. I was following the wires, until they hit a sort of disc in the middle of the central support beam.

It felt like the walls were starting to tilt, like there was something there in the dark dragging us all into some void. Something old. Something waiting to pounce.

The tubes and wires arced down from the disc in this triple helix-like scaffolding. They wound and curled in these repeating patterns that almost felt like they had some meaning I didn’t understand.

Someone called my name. I think it was Richt, because Edvard was still right next to me. The pair of us were caught in a tide that was calling out to our very being.

Magic, maybe? Nah, nah now that I think about it, it was something else. Something ancient, magnetized to me in that moment in the dark. What was so damn important to the Obskurakorps that they refused to surrender? Why build a whole concrete bunker down here? What were they keeping that drove them to try to predict the future?

We certainly found out.

My arm was moving of its own accord now, beyond my conscious control. There, as the light fell on the mists of shadow, was what the Obskurakorps were hiding. A few feet in front of us was a sight that twisted my stomach into knots.

A woman. Or… well, sort of. Woman feels like the right term.

There was… No, I think it best not to speak of it, even here. Out of respect.

She was half slumped in a kneel. Bald, her head was a patchwork of scars. Dozens of tubes and wires embedded in skin across her body. The flesh was raw, red and pink in dozens of places. Blood. There was so much blood oozing from gaping gashes around the contact points. The palms of her hands were split with fat tubes coming out the center. Others on the forearms, the elbows, shoulders. The whole thing was coordinating, keeping her arms suspended above her head.

She was rail thin. Skin was sallow and sunken. Ribs visible through the tattered rags that barely clung to her shoulders.

We stood there in that void, staring. Couldn’t tear our eyes away. Recent welts, old scars, new bruises all over. Surgical marks everywhere, some raw and fresh. Marker scrawled across her skin. I think we’d all seen enough of the Germans to know in our stomachs what it all meant. I briefly thought back to the floors above and what we’d seen up there.

On the left forearm, block tattoo numbers. Like photos we’d seen from the Soviet liberation of Polish camps. Heat crawled up the back of my neck. My jaw clenched and my fists balled.

For a moment, I considered taking my men back up. Dragging those men down from where they were comatose. Shaking them till they woke up. Force them to see what they had done here in the dark. Skin them alive, break every limb, and let them beg for a merciful end.

It still wouldn’t be enough. It would never be the justice they deserved for this most horrific of crimes. We still needed to extract and report back so the AOI could bag the ones who were still alive. So they could face the fire of what they had done and pay for it.

But this sort of suffering? Nothing could take that back.

I thought she was already dead. She was so still and there was so much blood. Maybe what I had heard was nothing but a ghost. Some projection of whatever she had been, lingering here until everything was set right.

I was halfway to turning my head to tell the others to get ready to extract, when she moved. Her head rolled from the right. It rose slowly, looking up. Past me.

Her eyes were hazel. They were accented with a strange and otherworldly trace of sunburst. Yet, paradoxically, they were also dull and washed out.

She was blind. Blind and looking into nothing.

No, that’s not quite right. She was looking straight at Eddie. Or through him.

Everyone froze. Everyone stared.

Don’t know how long we stood there like that.

Finally, she opened her mouth. This rattling gasp for air clawed through her whole body with a shudder.

I raised my weapon on instinct. Now that I knew she was alive, I was becoming afraid she was some sort of malevolent force greater than the Obskurakorps. Maybe she was about to try to vaporize us all with some sort of curse.

What came out of that mouth was the clearest and most authoritative voice I have ever heard. At the same time, it was layered with a dry, hollow rattle from a throat that had not seen water in years. It spoke so loudly that it rattled my bones and made me drop my rifle to the floor.

“Cut them out. Cut them all out.”

At 1607 on May 14th, a messenger from one of the advanced exploratory expeditions returned to the surface and notified operational command of the discovery of Potential Threat Entity-001 (PTE-001) “Oracle of the End”. A detachment of field surgeons was deployed into the fortress at which point PTE-001 was extracted from an eigenmachine of unknown purpose.


Addendum 2: Cult of the Nornir Petition

Member Organization Petitions

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PTE-001 was extracted from Hegra Fortress to Trondheim. It was then extracted by air to Oslo under heavy guard to receive intensive medical care, prepare the entity for interrogation to determine the extent of its anomalous properties and begin its Threat Assessment. During transport, the entity did not communicate with AOI personnel but was still cooperative.

Before the determination council could interrogate PTE-001, a petition from a registered member corpo-religious organization, the Cult of the Nornir, was submitted to block extradition and full threat designation.

Threat Assessment Negation Petition
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Concerned Member Organization: Cult of the Nornir.

Filing Member: Edvard Hägglund (4th Norwegian Thaumic Division, Speaker), Ella Haugen (CEO, Speaker).

Purpose: Avoidance of Threat Assignment and Liquidation Protocols.

Entity Concerned: PTE-001 “Oracle of the End”

Asset Condition: Severe malnutrition and injury from long term abuse.

Argument Against Assessment: PTE-001 represents a protected person as laid out by Initiative guidelines for post-war liquidation activity signed at the Malta Conference of 1945. She is a Type-Black entity of substantial cultural, thaumaturgic, thaumatological, and historical significance to Norse traditions and beliefs. Especially with regards to religious and mythological contexts. Based on observed contextual evidence from Obskurakorps activity, we of the Nornir are certain that PTE-001 is a Norn— the last surviving Norn. This certainty has arisen from her predictive capacities. The Obskurakorps obviously took advantage of her with new experimental thaumic-technology that enabled them to hijack PTE-001’s divine properties to facilitate their attempts to manipulate material wealth outcomes, alongside the strategic and tactical course of the war with the Allies and the AOI.

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The Norns spinning fate beneath the Well of Urd.

On the 12th of July 1940, Obskurakorps forces of Hegra Fortress utilized thaumic rituals to disrupt the divine mists in the deep mountains near the Swedish border. Here they accessed the roots of Yggdrasil and the Well of Urd in a pocket space. Resistance forces attempted to intervene but failed with massive casualties. Obskurakorps mages stormed the Hall of the Norns and killed all but PTE-001, whom they captured for inhuman and cruel purposes. When resistance units recreated the access avenues, the hall was destroyed, and the roots of Yggdrasil were partially burned. At this point, the Cult of the Nornir was unable to track or locate our namesake. This remained the status quo until PTE-001 was rediscovered in Hegra Fortress on the 14th of May, this year.

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Yggdrasil, the world tree.

PTE-001 has been tortured and subjected to extreme dehumanizing conditions at the hands of the Nazi Obskurakorps. She must be allowed the dignity and grace to recover before being subjected to any further assessments. Recovery must be facilitated in a place and context of significant worship and compassion.

Beyond PTE-001’s significance to our organization, she is culturally important to the religious and mythological history of the Norwegian, Danish, Icelandic, Faroese and Swedish peoples. She represents one of the final remaining mythological links to the spiritual traditions of our ancestors. She likely possesses intimate knowledge of mythological and cultural underpinnings which defined the day-to-day lives of our ancient predecessors. Her loss would impair our peoples’ ability to fully repair the damage done to the Norse peoples by Christian syncretization. Such a course of action would place the full body of our history, and any potentially beneficial anomalous locations or relics, forever out of our reach.

In addition to cultural, historical, and mythological significance, PTE-001 could prove to be an economic, political, and strategic boon for the AOI. Her passive and extorted predictions, while in German captivity, led to the aforementioned personal enrichment of Nazi officials. In volume, they utilized her predictive capacity to alter troop movements, as well as offensive and defensive thrusts to increase their successes. The Obskurakorps ultimately failed, largely due to the biases of German High Command in interpretation of her words.

In summary: If treated with the care and reverence she deserves, we believe that PTE-001 will be a transformative asset. Both to the growth of the AOI and the elimination of future hostile threats to humanity. We, therefore, petition the larger governing council and the Threat Assessment Committee to return PTE-001 to the Cult of the Nornir with obvious stipulations for oversight.

Petition Issues: Obskurakorps records on PTE-001’s origins were fragmented and heavily damaged, providing little coherent insight or corroboration to the Cult’s assertions. Scouring of broader German records indicate it was transported from processing points in Southeast Europe to a concentration camp. It was identified in and moved from the same concentration camp where it had been documented as Roma. PTE-001’s appearance is more suggestive of Mediterranean origin. However, several other possibilities cannot be ruled out, including PTE-001 escaping capture and fleeing south. Thus, at this time we cannot eliminate a contentious Vanir origin nor the potential for shapeshifting.

The Cult was notified of these factors in the official AOI response. The subsequent counter-response was insistent that the Norns have many potential origins and shapes, sometimes disguising themselves as foreign divinities or mortals to avoid scrutiny. Furthermore, the Cult suggested that the Nornir are shy. They may prefer to be undisturbed by mortal petitioners and even the Aesir. The Cult suggested that PTE-001’s appearance may in fact be evidence of this avoidance tactic. Thus, there remains the possibility that it may have disguised itself as a member of the Moirai10 or another blind prescient entity, such as Tiresias, when it initially escaped Obskurakorps capture.

Despite the Cult’s assertions, the fact remains that the majority of documentation recovered from Hegra Fortress are of divination, prophetic overtures, and predictions. Primarily for events of financial, political, and strategic concern that either did not occur or were incorrect. Given the difficult-to-confirm nature of prescience, these miscast fortunes, and the unclear history of the entity, the logical presumptions of the Cult of the Nornir’s petition cannot be properly validated or rejected at the time of this evaluation.

Evaluation of the Cult’s arguments is impossible until the entity has recovered sufficiently. The Cult of the Nornir was informed of this fact and were insistent that its recovery would be accelerated in their care. This request was denied in light of the severity of its condition and will continue to be denied until proof of its beneficial nature can be demonstrated. Contrary to the Cult’s protests, this is a safeguard measure put in place after interference from member organizations with threat entities in the Burma theater.

In the intervening period, AOI technicians have assessed the eigenmachine discovered in Hegra Fortress. They have determined that it was designed for invasive insertion into PTE-001 and has been tuned to its biothaumic signature. Efforts will promptly begin to deconstruct the device for further study.

Following the initial petition response, the official founding of the GOC and the founding of the United Nations, the Cult of the Nornir submitted a second petition reasserting PTE-001’s significance. They subsequently suggested a future project proposal submission for the creation of a large-scale predictive matrix to enhance PTE-001’s unconfirmed properties.

The Cult of the Nornir were reminded that only one open petition per member organization per entity was allowed at a time.

Addendum 3: Four Month Medical Evaluation

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On September 14th, 1945, after four months in a secluded ward of Oslo University Hospital under heavy observation, AOI medical staff were required to provide an up-to-date medical evaluation of PTE-001 for record keeping purposes as a prelude to beneficial asset assessment in order to resolve the Cult of the Nornir’s pending petition.

Patient Name: Unknown

Patient Identifier: ████████-████

Admittance Date: May 17th, 1945.

Height: 1.79 meters

Weight at Admittance: 36.3 kg

Current Weight: 72.5 kg

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Oslo University Hospital Central Wing.

Condition Upon Admittance: Patient arrived in Oslo on the 15th of May, 1945 by air transport in critical condition. She was in and out of consciousness and relatively unresponsive to initial cognitive assessments on landing. Skin was pale and clammy. Patient had sustained lacerations to more than 45% of her body. These included deep surgical gashes which exposed bone and nervous tissue. Said wounds had been hastily stitched up with field-grade surgical sutures which were insufficient for long term healing. Multiple fractures and complete bone breaks were present in limbs and torso. Patient was regularly coughing up and excreting blood, indicating severe internal bleeding and trauma. She was severely underweight and suffering from acute malnutrition. Initial prognosis was poor and admitting nurses and physicians were extremely skeptical about short term survival. Patient was rushed to surgical wards for intervention.

Physical Description: Patient is an unusually tall female individual with strong Mediterranean features, including a prominent hooked nose and moderately tanned skin. There were initially some questions raised about sex identity due to the presence of certain anatomical features. Otherwise the patient is anatomically and mentally a woman in her thirties.11 Was initially bald upon admission. With proper nutrition, hair has both grown at an abnormally fast rate, and has shifted to brown with natural red highlights. Patient’s eyes are hazel with strong sunburst affectations which are washed out. Patient was admitted with substantial scarring across large parts of the torso and limbs. Other identifying features include a natural halo around her skin, producing a glowing effect. This is most noticeable in dimly lit or dark environments. Patient has not altered their own appearance supernaturally during residence.

Medical History: Familial history is unknown. Claims that the subject was blind in both eyes were confirmed by ophthalmometer, ophthalmoscope, retinoscope, and tonometer. Complete lack of response in the pupils to light stimulation were noted despite some assertions that patient had "stared right at them." Hallmarks of congenital disease.

When pressed about familial history, she was non-responsive. Displays supernatural regenerative abilities; minor lacerations and bruises disappeared within minutes after beginning to receive proper nutrition. Surgical intervention had to be aborted due to rapid closure of major incisions nearly trapping one surgeon's hand inside. Major lacerations, broken bones, and torn ligaments healed within days. Several life-threatening wounds resolved in under two weeks with no additional medical intervention. These included severe internal trauma and bleeding. Within three months, all scar tissue was healed and no longer visible or detectable. She remains prone to occasional nose-bleeds, vomiting fits, and seizures.

Mental State: Patient is currently responsive and aware of mealtimes and day/night cycles. Initially, patient communicated through tapping simple pattern responses. Usually to indicate a need to use the restroom, when she was experiencing pain or when she was hungry. Displays frequent cravings for milk mixed with chocolate powder. Positive responses and emotional engagement with nurses and physicians under specific conditions. These involve gentleness during examinations as well as gifts of chocolate milk, sweets, or savory foods. She has demonstrated some capacity for speech. Will use simple words to get staff attention, but only when it's apparent tapping is not working. Strong fear response to guards in uniform. Mentally and socially presents as a woman.

During attempts by medical personnel to encourage social engagement, we encountered persistent non-responsiveness and silence even when provided aforementioned items. Some signs present that the patient actively ignores staff. She either refuses to engage with or doesn’t understand attempts to administer cognitive tests and intelligence quota measurements. May be suffering pronounced delusions about gender and sex according to American psychologists attending to patient. Exhibits a tendency to descend into dissociative episodes mid action, sudden onsets of aggressive behavior, emotional instability, rapid descent into screaming and even weeping. Highly likely that the patient is afflicted with a form of insanity or hysteria. Likely an invalid incapable of taking care of herself. Whether this state has come about because of her time in German captivity, or was present beforehand, is not clear.

Supporting Incidents: This list is nonexhaustive but exemplary of many individual incidents across PTE-001’s time in GOC medical care.

Incident 1: Nurse Oglethorpe attempted to engage patient in conversation by addressing her with her number identifier. Patient became visibly agitated and pressed her hands over her ears. Oglethorpe continued trying to get the patient’s attention using her number identifier. Patient descended into hysterics and had to be sedated.

Incident 2: Dr. Burnhart attempted to engage the patient in an intelligence quota examination. Patient was handed several tactile puzzles built specifically for the blind. Patient’s nose began to bleed less than a minute into the test; her hands visibly began to shake. After several minutes of verbal encouragement, patient began weeping. Patient then proceeded to throw pieces of the puzzle indiscriminately, seemingly without provocation. In the process, she struck a nurse and Dr. Burnhart. Patient had to be sedated.

Incident 3: Patient was given a glass of chocolate milk in the hopes that this gesture would make her more cooperative for cognitive testing. Dr. Gearing administered the exam, given previous positive responses by the subject. Initially subject was responsive to the opening test of fitting objects through shaped holes. The exam broke down when she abruptly dropped an irregularly shaped pyramidal object and clutched her head. She began rocking back and forth. Dr. Gearing attempted to deescalate what appeared to be the onset of an episode. The patient then began convulsing and screaming. She then devolved into projectile vomiting. Patient was only able to be sedated after several nurses and doctors managed to crawl to her bed, after repeatedly slipping and falling in pools of vomit. The room had to be cleaned and sterilized. Patient refused to engage with the test further after she awakened.

Incident 4: Nurse Hesteul, one of the subject’s favored staff, left her a large amount of chocolate after a particularly difficult series of attempted tests and engagements. At some point, in-between the nurse’s departure and the arrival of the attending physician, another nurse overheard two physicians and a nurse discussing the patient with little discretion for their proximity to her room. Dr. Lugen, the attending physician, arrived five minutes later. He found the patient curled into a ball in a melted puddle of chocolate and other unidentified fluids. The walls of the room were smeared with chocolate lettered text reading “I am not insane. I want to go home. I want my [Unintelligible]. STOP CALLING ME INSANE. I’M NOT A MAN. I’M NOT MAD.”

Despite the patient’s full physical recovery, we have retained her in the critical isolation wards. It is our opinion as physicians that the patient should be moved to an asylum. There she will be closely monitored and kept away from normal society for the good of her health.

AOI medical staff forwarded the evaluation report to the Threat Assessment Committee. The Committee, initially, did not review the report. They also failed to forward it to interested parties. This was largely due to ongoing post-war spikes in threat assessment volume. It was another two weeks before the Committee returned to the matter.

On September 28th, 1945, the report was finally reviewed and forwarded to all parties of interest.

Both the contents of the report and its delay prompted immediate outrage. The Cult of the Nornir submitted multiple rights violation reports and medical misconduct petitions. They pointed to a number of precedents and historical cases12 as examples of PTE-001’s physiological responses and behavior being consistent with common manifestations of prescience, precognition and sight affliction. They asserted that the constant attempts to get the entity to engage socially, participate in cognition tests and measure its intelligence were demeaning, humiliating and degrading. The Cult argued that the liberal use of sedation employed by AOI medical staff exacerbated the entity’s state of elevated distress.

After reviewing both the cited cases and PTE-001’s medical documentation, the AOI Rights Oversight Body partially agreed with the Cult of the Nornir that the entity was exhibiting emotional and physiological hallmarks of prescience. The Body disagreed with the notion that the patient’s rights were being abused. They also disagreed that there was ongoing medical misconduct, given the available conduct reflected best practices of standard care at the time.

The Rights Oversight Body instructed both medical personnel and the Threat Assessment Committees that PTE-001 must be granted immediate relief. This should come in the form of a delegation from the Cult of the Nornir being allowed 24-hour access to it to ensure treatment was conducive to the best care for individuals with precognition. At the same time, the Cult of the Nornir was denied the ability to move PTE-001 to a facility under their care.

The Threat Assessment Committee acquiesced to these requirements but reasserted that proper assessment was still needed to evaluate the entity’s anomalous properties. They also asserted that medical case history and historical precedent alone was insufficient to meet the burden of proof required for determination of prescience.

Addendum 4: Removal of PTE-001 From GOC Medical Care

Abuse Report and Immediate Extraction Petition

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Summary: The following is a comprehensive report consisting of firsthand oral testimonies from ‘speakers’ of the Cult of the Nornir and select AOI medical personnel in regard to the treatment of PTE-001 prior to the arrival of the Cult of the Nornir at Oslo University Hospital on September 29th, 1945, and the observed instances of abuse and neglect discovered in the following weeks.

Evidence of Mistreatment and Neglect:

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Oslo University Hospital from afar.

On September 29th, 1945, the Cult of the Nornir’s delegation arrived in Oslo and was checked into a local hotel for the duration of their observation period. Speaker Edvard Hägglund,13 who was present for the discovery and liberation of PTE-001 from Obskurakorps control, took a streetcar to Oslo University Hospital to make an initial assessment of PTE-001’s condition and establish a baseline for her current treatment. Reports have been translated from Norwegian for ease of reading, potentially removing period and region specific contextual language intricacies and terminology.



Synthesis of Internal Firsthand Report and Memoir: Edvard Hägglund, September 29th, 1945.

It was unseasonably warm for September when I stepped off the streetcar in front of the hospital. Strange since it had rained the day before. The tunics and cloaks felt, with every passing second, like more of a mistake than they usually were. Not the first time our weather mage has been wrong of course.

But I too had made a mistake. Obksurakorps mages appropriated many of the vestiges of our craft and their associated symbols. Which is exactly why I normally eschewed them in public. Yet this morning, my mind had been elsewhere and now the barely concealed, glowing runes about my person were drawing attention. Especially that of the AOI soldiers guarding the entrance to the occultic wards of Oslo Hospital. I understood that look of apprehension and disdain in their eyes all too well.

Oslo was relatively untouched by the war. I suppose that factor made it among the most appealing places to move patients from across Europe. Mundane, anomalous or Obskurakorps thaumic afflictions, it didn’t seem to matter. The Americans were also apparently airlifting pacific combatants, suffering from Japanese thaumic weapons, to European AOI wards. Probably due to the larger body, variety, and diversity of various experiences with thaumotological healing traditions. Thaumic and Para weaponry was, to say the least, nasty stuff.

I flashed my badge to the guards as I moved towards them. There were a few seconds where their mouths turned down into frowns. I thought they might stop me. Instead, they let me through, begrudgingly.

The entryway to the occultic wings of the hospital throbbed with familiar wards and protective sigils. Whispers of nasty countermeasures curling in my ears, promising wicked ends. Rudimentary, but effective precautions. The lobby I stepped into smelled strongly of cleaning solution, floor polish, and perfume. I approached the front desk at a steady pace already anticipating more looks of scrutiny.

There were several women there who had made similar mundane mistakes to my own. Long heavy dresses for a much colder day. They were sweating now, makeup starting to run. A few nurses were there too, darting back and forth. It was loud, multiple running conversations, squeaking carts, rustling papers. I tried to get someone’s attention but there was just too much happening at the moment for me to interject.

So, I waited, politely. It didn’t take them long to notice me. Soon as they did, they were all staring, pointing and whispering. The shift in expressions made perfectly clear how remarkably unwelcome I was in their space. The head secretary waved me over with a glare that could boil ice. She was an older woman, brown hair starting to grey. Wrinkles on her face. Her eyes lacked the hardened gleam I’d become used to in the resistance. Certainly full of judgement though.

“Are you here to see someone?” she looked me up and down like I was about to commit a bank robbery. Was my American accent still so notable after all these years?

“I’m here on official AOI business. Evaluating the health and treatment of a potential beneficial entity.”

I presented my badge and the paper documents. I was quite glad Ella had made sure to have them notarized with the Cult’s sigil. But, well, this woman’s eyes just narrowed.

I nearly missed her sneer when I looked down to rearrange something in my bags. Something slid under her breath that I didn’t catch.

“No magic while you’re here,” she said curtly while handing me back the papers. She then pointed off to the east towards a pair of quite beautifully crafted wood doors.

“If the staff suspect you’re trying, you’ll be thrown out in the snow. Isolation wards are through there. Watch yourself, and if you’re going to be here regularly, choose something else to wear.”

I bit back a snide reply. There wouldn’t be much point in antagonizing the medical personnel who had valid, if prejudiced, axes to grind. Instead, I gave her a simple nod. With that pleasantly unpleasant introduction to the hospital out of the way, I walked around the central receiving desk and entered the east wing.

First were the critical care wards. They were cramped, hot and stuffy as I walked. The air reeked with the stench of blood, sweat, scorched hair and rotting flesh. Dozens of people lay on cots lining the hallways. Every door I walked past, there were multiple people per room. At one point, I stopped in a circular receiving area and just watched as physicians and nurses ran or jogged back and forth. They curved around me as if I were yet another pillar.

They were clearly overwhelmed with long-term cases of thaumic injury. The state of these patients varied along a wide axis. Whole limbs frozen. The ice being chipped away by diligent nurses while another held the patient down. Every stroke produced a metallic ting.

Some had flesh that was aflame with green embers and refused to go out. It filled the air with that scent of burning hair.

Some had gaping wounds with yellow and greens around the edges. The skin was literally rotting by the second. Whole limbs stripped of flesh and muscle, leaving only bone. Reanimated bone that was pinned to the table and trying to break free.

Memories bubbled up of what we had to do during resistance operations. Bile in my throat. My heart was starting to race. Legs moved of their own accord, at a slightly quicker pace.

I came to moments later in a hallway between wards, breathing hard. My hands were shaking. That old familiar craving for bitter spirits clawing at my mind. A sinking desperation to wet the dried cotton of my mouth.

I pressed on burying the feeling again by grasping the symbol of our order twixt my fingers. The building wove into a maze of hallways and stairwells. Some of them didn’t sensibly connect to others in places they should. Spatial magics, probably to expand hospital capacity.

Clever approach, and something that Ella would certainly have come up with.

The medical staff were, near universally, friendly at first. Until they looked up from whatever paperwork or prep they were doing. The shift in expressions paired with cold, short, and severe exchanges was dramatic. It certainly hurried my pace along.

At some point, I got lost. I got turned around several times as the hospital stairwells and floors rearranged themselves at will.

It’s possible that several of the medical personnel may have deliberately given me wrong directions. Spiteful bastards.

It took the better part of half an hour just to find the critical isolation wards. They were quieter. White paint on the wall, little decorative wallpaper or other comforting flairs. Smelled of cleaning products.

There were these two half-circle service desks in a little roundabout; which were themselves at the center of six individual corridors. Behind the desk was a younger nurse, no more than her late twenties. Blonde hair, tired green eyes with purple bags underneath. She was looking down, sorting through a stack of folders and filling out forms. On a concrete support pillar, I saw several charts, calendars and logs with lists of patients. I couldn’t quite make out what they said.

I cleared my throat, preparing for the inevitable hostility that had followed me throughout the hospital so far.

“Excuse me Miss, I’m looking for PTE-001. Can you point me towards her room?”

She looked up from what she was doing and took me. There was confusion dancing in the wrinkles on her forehead. Then, concern in the twitch of her lips. I thought I might have to ask again, but instead she pointed down one of the corridors.

“Her room’s down hall five, seventh room on the right.”

I turned my head to look. Something about the way she said it prickled against my skin. Given the red flags already present in the medical evaluation, the hair on my arms was starting to stand up.

So, I put my cards on the table while trying to be diplomatic.

“I’m here on official AOI business with the Cult of the Nornir.” I flashed the badge and showed her the documents. “If I go in there, will I be interrupting her treatment schedule?”

“I don’t—she’s not one of my patients.”

“Then you won’t take issue with me going in to see her?”

She hesitated for a moment before fishing a key ring out from beneath the desk.

“No, I won’t. But I’ll need to unlock the door for you.” She paused. “I’m Nurse Moen. I’m very sorry for the inconvenience.”

I had intended to go in regardless of what she said. But the fact the door was locked gave me pause.

“Why would her room be locked?”

She started hurriedly shuffling down hallway five. I followed.

“The patient can’t be allowed to wander the halls. She made an escape attempt a few weeks ago, so we’ve been monitoring her closely since.”

The door unlocked with a click. With every passing second, every step, every word, the hair was standing up on the back of my neck.

“Why did she—” the words died on my tongue as the door swung in.

Given everything else I had encountered so far in the hospital, I suppose you could say my expectations were low.

Absolutely nothing could have prepared me for what was behind that door.

The first thing to hit was the smell. Feces, urine, putrefying vomit, body odor and many other things that I can’t even begin to name. I gagged instantly. Had to shove the collar of my tunic over my mouth to breathe.

The room was a panache of distinct colors in the worst way imaginable. Dried and half-chipped orange vomit flakes clung to the tile floors on the edge. The walls were stained with brown lettering of dried chocolate, red and black smears of blood. There were small pools of standing liquid scattered across the floor. Some were dark, cloudy, and of unspeakable content. Others were varying degrees of yellow, green, or translucent.

It looked as though someone had, maybe a few weeks ago, come in with a mop and swirled it around the center of the room. Maybe chipped away at the vomit and given up trying to remove it from the edges.

Not even Loki could have fooled me into believing they’d made a sincere attempt to clean that room for her.

Then they’d just locked the Seeress inside.

My eyes drifted across the horroific kaleidoscope of body fluids until they landed on her. There was Name Unspoken, the only reason I was here.

She was huddled in one corner of the room, shaking violently. Her eyes stared in the general direction of where Nurse Moen and I stood. The room wasn’t large, and there wasn’t a lot of furniture so, I could see her clearly.

Dried blood polluted her nostrils and upper lip. The only thing shielding her core from the air was a torn and fraying hospital gown. It looked as if it might dissolve if she so much as moved. She was caked in dust, oily grime, chocolate, excrement and blood. Stains coated the gown. There were dried and flaking patches on her skin. Dried food, vomit, and matted blood clumped in her hair.

The bed, towards the right side of the room, was not much better than the gown. It looked as if the sheets hadn’t been changed in weeks.

My hands curled into tightly clenched fists. The nails biting into the skin and drawing blood.

I stood there, trying to understand what I was looking at. Trying to make sense of how my Goddess came to be cowering in a corner. How she could be covered in her own shit. I only barely clocked Moen next to me. She might have been pressing a hand over her mouth in a clear expression of horror.

How could this happen? How could anyone let a human, much less a goddess, wallow in filth like this? Perhaps only mimmir knew how long this had gone on for.

With flame burning in my chest and my jaw clenched, I turned towards Moen. She tried to slink back but I was having none of it. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her out into the hallway.

She made an undignified squeak of protest. It was silenced as she cowed beneath the glare I rained down upon her.

“How long has she been locked in there!?” My voice boomed like Mjölnir striking down the jötnars of the mountain. It startled us both.

“Not—not more than a week. I think.”

I towered over her, staring down. Trying to grasp how she could not know.

“You think? You think?”

“I—”

I took her by the shoulders and shoved her into the doorframe. She gagged and squirmed by I did not let go.

“Look in there. Look in that room. Do you see her? She is your responsibility! When was she last bathed? When were her sheets last changed? Her gown? Are you even fucking feeding her?”

“I-I-I don’t know. There’s so much going on, so many other patients and—”

I turned her around and shook her, cutting off her excuses. I shut the door, out of respect so no one else who might walk by would see our goddess in this state. Then, I dragged Moen back down the hall under heavy squeaks of protest. I pointed at the calendar on the pillar.

“You have an entire schedule there, charts for every patient. You expect me to believe you didn’t know? That you have accidentally neglected a patient of high importance? For weeks? That not a single person has bothered to make a note of how squalid that room is and do something about it?”

“I’ve only been here a month…” she offered meekly.

I released her. We stood there; I towering in my glowering fury. She with her awkward fear and shoulders slumped. She did not meet my gaze. Her wrist was turning a shade of red, both from her rubbing it and my iron grasp.

I could not let this continue.

“I’m going to give you a list of things you’re going to go get. Right now.”

There was another few seconds of awkward inaction between us. Then she grabbed a clipboard, a piece of paper, and a pen off the desk.

“Fresh bedding, fresh gowns, and someone to give her a proper bath.”

As she wrote, I forced myself to take a step back and let cool the rage of surtir burning in my chest. It struck me that they’d probably make a mess of cleaning her up as well. Out of spite or incompetence, it didn’t matter, I couldn’t let that come to pass.

“No, actually, I don’t want any of you bathing her.”

“What?” she looked up from writing.

“None of you can be trusted to treat the Seeress with the dignity she deserves.”

She stared at me, frozen in place.

“I didn’t know about any of this.”

“Hel’s stillness you didn’t.”
I ignored her further excuses considering everything else I’d seen. The thought flittered through my mind that I should probably check on the other patients. If this was more than just the Seeress…

“Let me see your other patients.”

Her mouth worked through a frown. Conflict squirmed in the wrinkles of her brow. She looked in the direction of the keys for access to the other doors. Then she looked down a different hallway towards a big, lettered sign which said, “Linens and Laundry.” She looked back and forth several times.

Eventually, she pulled off several keys. Then she sheepishly shuffled over to another door and opened it. The patients in this ward were largely recovering from other long-term thaumic injuries and illnesses, most of which were more palatable on the senses than those in the wards below. Room to room we moved as if in a fever dream. I made a mental archive of each patient’s condition and compared it back to the Seeress. In my mind, that justified the violation of each patient’s confidence.

Many had bedsores. Lapses in cleanliness, just enough to support Moen’s claims of being overwhelmed.

No vomit on the tile. No blood and excrement on the clothes, skin, or hair. No putrid stench provoking instant gagging. Nothing, nothing like with the Seeress. The walls tilted as that familiar heat crawled up my neck again.

“Her condition is unconscionable.”

“I promise I didn’t know,” she repeated to me as we stood in the doorframe of the last patient.

For a moment reality seemed to crack apart at the seams. The whole world began to spin with a sense of hostile vertigo. Reds, yellows, greens, blue began to mesh into a menagerie of colored hearing as she just kept talking and talking. Finally, I rounded upon her, screaming.

“It’s your responsibility to know! It’s your entire job.”

She shrunk beneath my glare as I shook like a mountain struck by Odin’s fury. I thought I might explode right there. I thought I might slap her across the face. Instead, I slammed the door to the room. Released that building steam threatening to explode in my ribcage. It vibrated the entire hallway; the noise persisted for some time.

“Where’s the nearest payphone?” I asked through clenched teeth.

She pointed down the hall; finger shaking in the air. I spared a quick glance to make sure she wasn’t sending me on a pointless search. Sure enough, there they were.

“Good. Go and get the linens and everything else while I make some calls. Pray now that I don’t make one that will end your career.”

She scurried off mumbling what might have been “I didn’t know.”

I turned, with a somewhat dramatic flourish of my cloak, and marched to the phones. I wasn’t about to give them time to cover up their abuse of the Seeress.

The door closed behind me in the booth with a solid click. It was quiet. I stared at the wood shelf upon which the phone rested, breathing hard. Like a bursting dam, everything smashed into me all at once. I felt like I was losing my balance, the whole tiny enclosure spontaneously tilting. My hands pressed against the glass door of the booth when it began to rotate. It was hard to stay upright. Maybe it was the adrenaline finally wearing off.

Next thing I knew, I was leaning over the trashcan, vomiting. The sight and smell of the Seeress raining down upon me like an artillery barrage. I remember leaning against the wall, trying to recover. The entire time wishing I could take up the bottle again and break five years of sobriety.

How could I have let this happen?

She had endured so much already at the hands of the Obskurakorps. Instead of breaking her chains and bringing her into a better world, I had delivered her into another nightmare.

I’m not sure how long this went on for. Couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. But it felt like hours.

The chill of the porcelain receiver in my palm was a welcome relief from the heat burning in my cheeks. The coins clinking to the bottom of the receptacle was a soothing familiarity. My hand stilled as I waited for the operator. She had a pleasant voice. I asked for our hotel.

Initially, I had been against Ella making the trip with us. We needed her to stay atop any bureaucratic wrinkles the Threat Assessment Council might throw our way. Now those concerns seemed silly. I was relieved she was along. The last thing any of us would want after this is for me to be the decision maker. Because I would burn every fucking bridge.

“This is Ella?” her tired, raspy voice filtered through the speaker.

“Ella, it’s Edvard. The situation is far worse than we anticipated.”

“Do you need us?” Her reply was sharp, losing all hints of exhaustion.

“Yes. Bring everyone, the cameras too. I am going to keep them from covering anything up. And Ella, hurry. I’m already on the edge—” she didn’t let me finish.

“Be there within the hour, Edvard.” The phone clicked and she was gone.

I stood there for at least another minute, staring down at the trash can. The phone was still in my hand. It took another minute after that to put it back in its receiver. Straightening the cloaks was the first step back towards normalcy. Checking for vomit the second. Taking several deep breaths the third and final.

“You’re Speaker Edvard of the Cult of the Nornir.”

I stepped out of the booth. Moen was wheeling a fresh cot down the other hall towards the Seeress’s room. The cot was stacked with fresh sheets and gowns. Perhaps it’s unfair to say that this was the first time she had done something right.

The commotion and Moen’s haul had drawn the attention of a few other nurses. They were trailing her at a slight distance. I didn’t get a good look at their faces beyond the expressions. Then they saw me and, well, the souring purse of lips said everything I needed to know.

“Wait out here.” It was a sharp command, perhaps a bit harsher than I meant it to be.

No protest this time, just a curt nod. Reaching up, took the clipboard with her chart out of the metal holder, next to the door. It was swallowed by my bag’s dimensional pocket before I could be stopped.

The door handle protested. It squeaked and then groaned as the wood opened inwards. A damp washcloth pressed tight to my nose and mouth. Stepped inside.

She had not moved. The High Seeress, last of the Norns, pressed herself firmly into that corner with every step taken. With every groan of the door’s hinges. A cinch tightened around my chest with each step.

I moved slowly while also making a substantial amount of noise. Mostly so she would know I was coming. Didn’t know what she might do if she was startled.

Before I reached her, she suddenly sat up straight against the corner. A metallic tang filled the air, my nostrils, washing against my tongue.

“Child of the Silicon Cult, I know your steps,” her voice filled the room like a thunderclap from Mjolnir.

I froze in place as if seized by some invisible hand. For a moment I couldn’t move. Could barely breathe in her presence. Maybe it was hallucination, but in those few seconds after she spoke to me, she seemed to grow, casting dark shadows across the ground. There were threads unwinding from her fingers in an endless web that embedded in everything, including my skin. She was engorged in some sort of maelstrom of destiny which plucked the strings in time to some unheard song.

Or no, the vibrations and plucks came not from reality itself, but from the small motions of her fingers. A calculated dance of push and pull.

Maybe, she had trapped destiny in her strings.

“You were there, in the abyss,” she said at barely more than a whisper now.

The moment I blinked, she was back to normal. I could move again. It took a minute to work through what had just happened to me before I regained my bearings.

“Nameless one,” I began carefully. “You must forgive me for us meeting like this again.”

I finally reached her. She looked up and stared straight through me.

“Do not apologize Child of Silicon to be,” she said again in that tiny, soft voice. “None but those who arranged this torture are to blame.”

“Did they tell you we were coming?” I kneeled next to her; taking in the whole of her grime covered shape.

She simply shook her head.

“I have wallowed in the squalor of my own excrement. I have remained sleepless from the stench and cloying grasps against my skin. Alone with the ticking hours through ten turns of the autumn sun. Only the clink of metal plates bearing hardened grains, pale meat, and rotten legumes have cleaved the abyss with great inconsistency. Each time with the prick of a sharpened point and the gouging of a charging bull.”

She rolled up a sleeve of the tattered gown, and I watched the fibers literally disintegrate. On her skin were red welts, already fading. Around them were deep bruises and punctures.

“Always they are followed by the dulled, listless senses robbed of dreams and consciousness. They think me mad for bouts of commandment by the threads of fate and sight ever spiraling. Always taken in the midst of tasks. Always triggering flights of history and future unwound that they care not to decipher.

A shiver ran through her, head to toe. Then she drooped. Purple bags lay under sightless eyes. Wrinkles rippling across her face and exposed skin. For that brief moment, she seemed three or four times her age. It was as if all the weight of what she had seen had caught up to her.

“I saw your coming, but you came far later than hoped. Later than I had prayed.”

A sharp pang in my chest. She looked up then, past me. Those sunburst eyes shined with a hope brighter than Muspellheim’s lava flows. But, also, a deep sadness colder than Hel’s stillness.

This indignity could not go unanswered.

Náströnd would see a feast by the end of this madness.

I reached as if to touch her, then though better of it.

“We are here now. Your clergy and speakers are on the way. We are going to make sure this can’t happen again. Just need to wait a little longer while I go meet them. Then we will get you cleaned up and moved to better accommodations.”

It was pure instinct which carried me to stand again. ‘Maybe I should ask her many more questions,’ ran through my mind.

Soft fingers clasped my wrist before I could fully stand. Stopped me from moving back to the door. I looked back to the High Seeress and my stomach dropped so low I thought it might leave my body. There was liquid trickling down her leg and pooling at her feet. She wallowed in it. Open sores on the underside of her legs. From the floor? From the rotting bedding? Wasn’t sure.

I looked about for a bathroom. There wasn’t one, not like in the newer wards I had wandered through.

It kind of hit me all at once. I had been maybe too shocked to really process everything she had said. They had locked her in here. Forgotten her for more than a week except for meals, where she couldn’t access a bathroom. Couldn’t bathe or clean herself. Isolated her completely.

“Please do not leave me alone with them,” her voice and entire body shook like the smallest branch being battered bout in a great ice storm.

So, I sat back down next to her and decided I too would wallow in the filth until help arrived.

“Okay. I won’t go anywhere.”

Following the initial assessment of PTE-001’s condition by Speaker Edvard, the Cult of the Nornir’s party arrived at Oslo University Hospital. They proceeded to document: the abysmally unsanitary conditions of the room, the lack of clean clothing and bedding, the profound neglect of regular bathing and other hygienic practices. Photos have been redacted from this document due to the extreme nature of their contents. They are available to higher clearance personnel upon request.

PTE-001 was taken by Ella Haugen to a room in a different ward with more modern accommodations, including a private bath. Several nurses attempted to stop the procession from removing the Seeress from her current quarters. They were ignored or instructed to move out of the way by members of the Cult entourage.

Further interference occurred while a healer was hand-bathing PTE-001. A physician entered the room, pushed past Speaker Ella into the private bath. The physician invaded the patient’s privacy while yelling at both the healer and Speaker Ella. He asserted that they had no authority to move a patient and interfere with ongoing treatment. Speaker Edvard overheard the commotion and entered the room to escort Dr. Fisker out. At this time Fisker was informed of the full context of the situation.14 Dr. Fisker was appalled. He approved the room transfer, as a temporary measure, to allow the Cult to secure movement of PTE-001 from the hospital into monitored, organizational care.

While this was occurring, PTE-001’s chart and schedule were reviewed by other members of the entourage. Several nurses and doctors attempted to interfere but were stopped by other members of the entourage. It became clear that the Seeress was scheduled for three meals daily and was supposed to be visited by a physician at least once a day. She was also to be bathed every other day, have bathroom visits logged, and be allowed recreational and monitored socialization. In the prior two weeks, she instead had only 22 meals logged, compared to the required 42. No baths or bathroom visits were logged. She also had not been seen by a physician in eleven days. She had not been granted recreational time in weeks.

Photo evidence was developed in a dark room studio on the other side of Oslo.

At this time, the Cult identified ten nurses who were assigned to the ward and three regular physicians. Nurse Moen, Nurse Hesteul, and Dr. Lugen approached the group when it became clear that there was an ongoing investigation. Members of the Cult entourage were shown patients in other rooms within the ward confirming that PTE-001’s situation was unique. They then gave individual testimony on the behavior of other nurses.

Nurse Hesteul

A few of us were here when the patient was initially brought in for treatment, but not all the nurses reviewed her reasons for entry. It’s very clear in her chart that she was bald at the time because she had been in Obskurakorps imprisonment and was so malnourished that her hair had all fallen out. But I never saw Oglethorpe, Nieminen or Hilda look at her chart other than to skim details at the beginning. They saw the shaved head, that she was a special condition patient, had some anatomic abnormalities. Then they just ran with rumors and conclusions that she was a collaborator or some sort of voluntary Nazi occultic experiment.

They were rough with her, grabbed her arms hard here and here. I walked in on them belittling the poor woman for needing to use the restroom or asking for pain medication. I wrote up a complaint and report on their behavior, but I don’t know if it ever got actioned. The ward was so busy that we were all swamped taking care of patients that we started rotating between them less frequently.

When I had her, I’d bring her sweets or chocolate milk when she asked. When I tried to change her sheets or bring her clothes, a situation would start up elsewhere. Oglethorpe, Nieminen, and Hilda would need help and I’d have to go running. By the time that was done, I was exhausted. Or my shift was ending. I never got back around to her. I thought the nurses on the next shift change would attend to her.

Half the time I had her, when I came into the room she was sedated. Or barely awake like she’d been drugged. When she was awake, she was sharp and aware. Also, quiet and withdrawn. About a month before now, she started becoming very scared whenever I’d walk in, before she heard my voice.

I tried to report that too, but nothing ever came down from it. Then I stopped getting her on my schedule altogether. I didn’t think about it much till now, but it seems deliberate.

Nurse Moen

I rotated into the ward about two weeks ago. She was a patient and room on the list, but I never got her. Oglethorpe pulled me aside after asking a few of the other nurses and one of the doctors about her. Said she was a volatile patient, insane, suffering from hysteria, and delusions. Said that the more experienced nurses were assigned to handle her until she was transferred to a mental facility. Shouldn’t worry about her. Well, Hilda is the senior charge nurse. She handles all the schedules and makes sure everything gets logged.

About two weeks ago I started noticing her room was getting fewer logged visits for her normal schedule. I thought we were just packed, and Hilda was forgetting to log it. Then I also started noticing noises coming from that room. Banging on the door, weeping, screaming. I started to get concerned and asked Oglethorpe about it. She just said that the patient was having an episode and that she’d take care of it. She’d go walk off, find Hilda or Nieminen, then go in there with a tray of food. It would stop after that.

I noticed a small discrepancy in our medication inventory a few days ago. We’d gone through more sedatives than we should have. I didn’t think much of it until today. I’m just horrified. This is not what we’re about.

Dr. Lugen

PTE-001 was an odd patient. 50% of the time she was cooperative, alert, and highly aware. The rest of the time, it was like she was living in an entirely different world and registered nothing else. Magic and the occult are disturbing, especially after what we’ve seen it do to people. But she never seemed like one of those.

I’d dare to say she was in good spirits after she got here. Her recovery was astounding in the first month she was here, mentally and physically. But then about a month in, she started declining. She was having episodes of aggressive behavior. Shouting, weeping. She started withdrawing from me, socially, during evaluations and tests. Had pronounced nose bleeds, vomiting, and these really vivid disconnects from reality.

I caught Oglethorpe and Hilda in the hallways several times, talking about her in a way that I would see the Germans talk about Jews or the French and English talk about the Roma. Subhuman, unstable, insane and suffering from hysteria. Obsessed with the anatomic abnormality. They insisted she had to be a man despite everything else suggesting otherwise.

They were very insistent she was a drain on hospital resources. Sometimes it was right outside the patient’s door. I reprimanded them, reported it and they stopped doing it. But now I know nothing was done and they probably just moved it elsewhere. Or continued when I wasn’t around. PTE-001’s condition just kept getting worse from there and I should have put the pieces together. But there were so many patients. Then I stopped getting her during rounds. I didn’t realize until today that none of us had her on our rounds. When I went to look back at the schedules, it had been that way for nearly two weeks.

To be frank, I was mortified when I learned that she hadn't already been moved to an asylum.

Deeming current circumstances to be unacceptable, Ella Haugen arranged, with the help of Dr. Lugen and Dr. Fisker, for PTE-001 to be immediately discharged. It was placed in the Cult of the Nornir’s monitored care on September 30th, 1945. Complaint petitions of medical abuse, medical neglect, and rights violations were submitted with the AOI Threat Assessment Committee, the Rights Oversight Body, and the AOI Medical Corps. The Cult’s entourage remained in Oslo for another month while awaiting higher body decisions.

In the face of overwhelming evidence, on October 23rd, 1945, the Rights Oversight Body found that PTE-001 had been subject to both medical abuse and neglect. They demanded explanations and investigations from both the Threat Assessment Committee and the Medical Corps. The Rights Oversight Body then officialized the transfer of PTE-001 into the custody of the Cult of the Nornir with oversight from the Threat Assessment Committee.

A secondary investigation was then conducted by the Medical Corps. They discovered multiple conduct and patient care complaints had been suppressed by hospital administrators across multiple wards. Administrators were fired, and follow-up investigations began into the suppressed complaints.

Due to the formation of the United Nations and the subsequent large-scale structural overhaul resulting in the formation of the GOC, explanations from the Threat Assessment Committee and Medical Corps were never submitted. Follow-up investigations were never concluded. Implicated medical personnel were either transferred or reassigned to different departments within Oslo University Hospital.

Addendum 5: Beneficial Asset Assessment BAA-001

Assessment of Beneficial Properties of PTE-001 “Oracle of the End”


Assessment-Team.png

Entity of Concern: PTE-001

Stated Beneficial Capacity: Precognition/Prescience

Evaluating Body: Threat Assessment Committee

Organizer: Colonel S. Bowe of Pentagram

Sponsoring Organization: Cult of the Nornir

Foreword: On December 25th, 1945, a little less than two months after PTE-001’s transfer to the Cult of the Nornir’s care, the sponsoring organization filed a Beneficial Properties Assessment motion asserting that the entity of interest had recovered sufficiently and was ready for proper assessment and assignment of a Beneficial Entity designation. The Committee reviewed the documentation, approved it and set an evaluation date for January 2nd, 1946. The following document is a composite of PTE-001’s interrogation by the Committee, its predictions, and the subsequent outcomes of said predictions.

<Begin Audio Log>

The recording takes place in a meeting chamber with a raised dais containing twelve seats and a single table for the assessment council at the back of the room. The GOC logo is on the wall behind them. The assessment council, with the exception of Colonel S. Bowe, are anonymized by thaumaturgic shadows. In the middle of the room is a table with seven seats which are occupied by PTE-001 and the Cult of the Nornir delegation. Behind them are multiple rows of empty courtroom-style pews. People talking at a low volume can be heard.

PTE-001 is in a simple dress. It is silent but visibly nervous. It is holding a 2-meter-tall staff in one hand that leans against the table. It is wood gilded and coated with gold and silver. The top has been shaped into a lyre and is encrusted with precious gems. The staff was recovered from Hegra Fortress shortly after PTE-001’s discovery where it was confiscated by the Cult of the Nornir as a religious artifact.

A gavel bangs close to one of the microphones, and the low chatter in the room ceases.

Colonel Bowe: This first meeting of the GOC Threat Assessment Committee will be brought to order.

A brief pause of silence.

Colonel Bowe: Very good.

[Extraneous material regarding GOC standard protocol and introductions removed for brevity.]

Colonel Bowe: The stated purpose of this motion is to evaluate threat entities for beneficial characteristics that can be used to aid the GOC’s greater mission of identifying and removing threats to mundane humankind. As this is the first such evaluation we are executing under the GOC charter, the Threat Assessment Committee has come to agreement that we will also be doing a Threat Evaluation in addition to the previously submitted motion.

Speaker Ella stands, pointing at Bowe.

Speaker Ella: This is outrageous! You cann—

Colonel Bowe: Silence! The Cult of the Nornir are here as observers. You may interject only when called upon to do so or if the subject is visibly incapable of doing so themselves. This is not a court of law; this is a tribunal to evaluate a threat to humanity and will be treated as such. Further outbursts will result in your removal.

Several seconds of shuffling papers.

Colonel Bowe: Now then, it is clear in the last year that PTE-001 has been subject to exorbitant circumstances. To ensure that our assessment is as accurate and fair as possible, PTE-001 do you feel able to be evaluated properly through a Threat and Beneficial Assessment today?

PTE-001 flinches and sags in its chair. It speaks, but the words are unintelligible.

Unnamed Committee Member: Please speak into the microphone PTE-001.

A shaky breath is picked up by the microphone. PTE-001 speaks softly with a tremble in its voice.

PTE-001: Yes, I am lucid and capable of presenting myself before this strange gathering of self-proclaimed judges, jury and executioners.

Several seconds of whispers.

Speaker Edvard places his hand on PTE-001’s shoulder. Colonel Bowe is smiling.

Colonel Bowe: You understand that at this time, your sponsors within the Cult of the Nornir are asserting that you are the last living Norn, shaper of men’s fates, and keeper of the record of all lives?

PTE-001: Yes.

Colonel Bowe: Good, with these basic understandings out of the way, let’s begin. The assessment will be split into two parts. First, we will begin with questions to examine the entity’s history, especially in the context of this claim that she’s a Norn. In the second portion, we will examine any prescient occult abilities the entity might possess. All responses will be monitored with detection thaumaturgy which will tell us if PTE-001 is attempting to deceive the Committee or not. Any deception will be heavily weighted in assessment outcomes.

PTE-001 looks down at the table to avoid eye contact with Colonel Bowe. Its hands continue to shake.

Colonel Bowe: PTE-001, what was your occupation prior to your internment with the Obskurakorps?

PTE-001 visibly flinches again and grips the staff tighter. Speaker Edvard and Speaker Ella briefly look at each other. When it speaks its voice has a pronounced tremor.

PTE-001: An old hermit staring at the sky and endless swirls of stars and beauty.

PTE-001’s voice breaks and it pauses. Heavy breaths can be heard on the microphone. Speaker Ella says something to it that is not picked up by the microphone. The entity’s shaking lessens.

PTE-001: Lost in the threads of time and remembrance in an ancient place of forest and streams yet untouched by modern machinations. In simpler terms, I was a blind hermit living in mountain woods. Sometimes a fortune teller for young lovers and small children who came up to my cabin from the villages. It depended on the person who stepped into my abode.

Colonel Bowe looks down at the papers on the podium and stops smiling.

Colonel Bowe: So, would you say you were a part of an occultic organization prior to your capture?

PTE-001 tilts its head. Now when it speaks it is less shaky than previously.

PTE-001: No. Such things have not been appealing to me for a very long time.

Colonel Bowe: Strange, one would think a Norn as you are claimed to be, would be associated with a coven of sisters. Is this not the case?

PTE-001 is still for several seconds before slowly tilting its head.

PTE-001: I was with a coven of sisters of many natures, of fate, of thread and weave of man’s inspiration and make. Yet not all the same. Tied and bound to the strands of destiny in ways both our own. Yet not.

Colonel Bowe: So, you were with the Norns? Why did you tell the committee you weren’t with an Occultic Organization?

PTE-001: They went by many names. But they were never a structured hierarchy of grand sprawl as mortals weave in modern days.

Colonel Bowe pinches the bridge of his nose.

Colonel Bowe: I’m certain that both my peers on the Committee and the Cult of the Nornir are aware that the Norns are very well characterized as beautiful women. If you would all please turn in your folders to the medical documentation, and read the report submitted by the staff at Oslo University Hospital.

Several minutes of pages rustling and silence as all parties read the indicated documents. Cult of the Nornir representatives become visibly agitated.

Colonel Bowe: Now, I don’t think anyone in this room will contest that PTE-001 is certainly beautiful. However; here in this medical report it indicates that PTE-001 possesses atypical anatomical features inconsistent with a woman. In other more direct terms, PTE-001 has male genitalia. Are you, in fact, a man, PTE-001?

PTE-001 sways in place and hunches its shoulders. Its voice becomes shaky again.

PTE-001: No, I’m a woman.

Colonel Bowe: Even with the anatomic abnormality you possess? Don’t you think it’s a little odd? Just about all the perfect features, except for this one part. Maybe you’re ashamed of what they did to you? Maybe you’re a deviant, or maybe you’ve been struck with hysteria.

PTE-001 places one hand on the back of its neck. Its head is tilted down and its voice cracks when it speaks.

PTE-001: No! I—

Speaker Ella: I must object! How can you sit here and lecture us on what shape the divine might take? How can you know that they don’t take whichever forms they wish, no matter how strange they may seem?

Colonel Bowe: That’s precisely my point, Speaker Ella. How can we know that the Norns, or any of the divine, will take the shapes we expect? Wouldn’t that open the door for our enemies? Or worse, open the doors for the very things we seek to prevent from destroying humanity to slip in? Would that not allow them to mime the very shapes we put our highest faith in?

Speaker Ella: This is beyond the realm of speculative! How is any of this relevant and not discriminatory?!

Colonel Bowe: It could be relevant if he’s the result of some twisted Nazi engineering. An imperfect Nazi weapon to topple us from the inside. Too late to save them, but just in time to sow chaos. Or maybe he's a member of the Serpent’s Hand? Or maybe he's some otherworldly anomalous force looking to ingratiate and plant himself in our midst to bring about the GOCs end. An imperfect infiltrator. Maybe he’s a shapeshifter desperate for attention who got lucky on some predictions. A shapeshifter that molded himself into what he thinks a Norn would look like to prevent being gassed and burnt to death by Nazis. A very good liar, but an imperfect imitator. Imperfect in all ways because he can’t remove the deepest truth about himself.

PTE-001 flinches and then sits motionless.

Colonel Bowe: Can you shapeshift PTE-001?

PTE-001: N-n-no. I—I don't know.

Colonel Bowe: See! Even he doesn't know if he can! Why don't you try, right now, for all of us?

One minute passes in silence with all parties looking at PTE-001. Nothing happens. PTE-001’s face is pale.

PTE-001: I can't.

Colonel Bowe: You can't, or you won't? Won't because it will result in your immediate liquidation!?

One of the Committee Members bangs their gavel as the room erupts into shouts.

Unnamed Committee Member: That’s enough! Quiet, all of you, or I will have you removed. Colonel, this has veered into the realm of thinly veiled speculative fiction. Keep your questions focused on the evidence we have.

Colonel Bowe: I’m simply addressing what the whole Committee was thinking about him. But I think I’ve hammered home my point enough, let’s move on.

Colonel Bowe shuffles a stack of papers for several seconds.

Colonel Bowe: PTE-001, How old would you say you are?

PTE-001 spends several seconds staring at the table. It rocks backwards and forwards in the seat. Colonel Bowe repeats the question. PTE-001 sits up straight and speaks in an abruptly raised voice, slamming the butt of the staff against the ground. Multiple members of the Cult’s delegation and the Committee jump or flinch. Several guards shift closer to the Committee.

PTE-001: Too old. Old enough to remember the world aflame, the sky torn asunder with bleeding light, and the great battle drums hammering against a raging sea. Older than I should be, should have ever been, and yet younger than I will be when the sky fills with the lights of a place and time reborn, when the thunder of creation shall begin its ascent once more to the hateful stars.

PTE-001 sags back down in its chair, shaking vigorously. Several seconds of silence.

PTE-001: I am old. Very old.

Several more seconds of silence. Colonel Bowe taps a pen on the podium.

Colonel Bowe: Can you give us an exact age?

PTE-001 shakes its head. It begins rocking back and forth again.

Colonel Bowe: Please state your response into the microphone, PTE-001.

PTE-001: No.

Colonel Bowe: Moving on then. Obskurakorps records are few and far between when it comes to you, PTE-001. You were mistaken for a [Slur Removed]15?

PTE-001 places one hand on the side of her head, staring down at the table. It shakes for several seconds before answering.

PTE-001: Yes.

Colonel Bowe: Was that the real reason they took you to the concentration camps? Or was it because you’re actually a deluded, shapeshifting transvestite?

PTE-001 breathes heavily into the microphone.

PTE-001: No it wasn’—it was because they believed me Romani. I’ve seen what they did, again and again. So many lost to gas, bodies rendered ash and hastily buried in the ground. Children screaming for their mothers, families pulled apart, men shot and beaten.

PTE-001 breaks down into heavy sobs. A brief thirty-minute intermission occurs at the Cult of the Nornir’s request. Upon returning, PTE-001 is more composed. When the Committee reenters, Colonel Bowe’s face is red and he is frowning.

Unnamed Committee Member: For the record, before we resume, let’s hold a moment of silence for all those lost to Nazi cruelty.

One minute of silence.

Colonel Bowe: These questions might be difficult for you, but we must ask them. Where did the Obskurakorps capture you?

PTE-001 starts and stops speaking several times.

PTE-001: Outside a sacred place that cannot be spoken of. A sanctuary removed from the whispers of the mortal world for they will drown its pools in blood and leave it barren. A fate repeating again and again and failed to be stopped. Always failed, always binding an innocent other to an arduous path.

Several seconds of whispers. PTE-001 breathes heavily into the microphone, releases its staff and rubs its face.

Unnamed Committee member: She’s telling the truth, Bowe.

Colonel Bowe’s frown deepens. He looks towards the Committee member, opening and closing his mouth before looking back at PTE-001.

Colonel Bowe: Can you give the Committee an exact location?

PTE-001’s voice cracks.

PTE-001: No.

Colonel Bowe rubs his brow.

Colonel Bowe: Even if we are already aware of the Well of Urd and the roots of Yggdrasil?

PTE-001: The answer would not change.

Colonel Bowe’s frown deepens. He looks down at his podium.

Colonel Bowe: You’re not exactly giving the Committee much trust in your willingness to cooperate, PTE-001.

PTE-001 does not respond. It has begun biting its bottom lip.

Colonel Bowe: Here, I’ll throw you an easy question. What is your name? You should be able to answer at least that.

PTE-001’s head tilts up from the table and stares in the general direction of Colonel Bowe.

PTE-001: Many different things to many people. She Who Saw the End, Many-Knowing Maidens,16 the Mad Storyteller, a Spinner Who Sits by the Sea17, The Blind Wanderer, The Thresher, Bringer of Doom, The Weaver, Twister of Fate, Sister of the Damned.

Colonel Bowe clenches his fist against the podium with each additional title.

Colonel Bowe: And what about your given name, the one you use to describe yourself? Surely you have one of those you can tell us? One of the Norn ones? Or maybe you had different names for yourself. Or is it Tiresias? An Oracle? One of the Moirai? Something surely?

PTE-001 sits up and speaks louder with more confidence.

PTE-001: A true name has power. Holds sway in the minds of those who seize it. It was spoken many times, long ago, but… now it is spoken only in history and whispers in dances of fiction and myth. I prefer it that way. It shouldn’t be spoken elsewhere, not by mortals like you, not to the masses who would wash in it. If you seek a title to properly refer to me, Seeress will do.

Colonel Bowe rubs the bridge of his nose.

Colonel Bowe: I am asking you a simple fucking question. Either you give me a proper answer, or you don’t have one. Who the fuck are you? What is your given name placed on you at birth?

Unnamed Committee Member: Language, Colonel.

PTE-001: I cannot tell you that. I have no name that I recognize as mine in your eyes. You look for something that cannot be given to you. Something only a few who remain would believe if told. You are not among them.

Colonel Bowe throws his hands up and then bangs one fist on the podium.

Colonel Bowe: How are we supposed to trust you when all you do is run circles around us with this cryptic speech?

PTE-001: Trust is earned.

Colonel Bowe growls. PTE-001 is sitting up straight, both hands holding the staff.

Colonel Bowe: Who are those few who remain?

PTE-001: In time they shall reveal themselves to you without ever knowing their connections, yet against you they’ll remain until it ends in flames and red-lines. They will stand against your children and children’s children onwards everlasting. And you? Black dripping from your flesh, feathers fluttering in the air and screams.

Colonel Bowe sighs and holds his hands up in the air.

Colonel Bowe: Well, this is getting nowhere. It seems he both knows everything yet knows nothing and can say nothing of worth at the same time.

PTE-001: There is one thing I know of that I can speak about.

Colonel Bowe: Enlighten us, please.

PTE-001: You are wearing a black tie, a blue navy jacket and straight legged pants that are slightly too large; bought when you were twenty pounds heavier. Your hair is gelled back and dyed to compensate for the grey spreading on your scalp. Your shoes are too tight. Most discomforting, your stomach is still aching from an ancient sausage you had this morning. A deep longing insecurity burns in your belly for something you don’t understand. In another life, you may have seen it, your grandchild certainly will.

Several seconds of silence, followed by whispers and then light applause. Colonel Bowe stares at PTE-001. PTE-001 stares back.

Colonel Bowe: How did you know all that?

PTE-001: I can see it in the way you’re squirming in that chair, obviously.

Colonel Bowe: But you’re blind.

PTE-001: Yes, thank you for explaining the joke. I can read it off the transcriber’s paper again if you like?

General Bowe frowns and narrows his eyes while the rest of the room descends into several seconds of chuckling.

Colonel Bowe leans forward over the podium and speaks aggressively.

Colonel Bowe: PTE-001, you were moved from a Nazi Concentration camp shortly after Obskurakorps discovered your self-claimed prophetic occultic properties. Were you ever an Obskurakorps collaborator?

Several of the speakers make as if to stand or shout while baring teeth. They are stopped by other members of the delegation. PTE-001 flinches at the question. Its mouth is open, and it shrinks into the chair.

PTE-001: No! I would sooner throw myself into the sea to be killed at the hands of a kraken. Those monsters did unspeakable things to me!

Colonel Bowe: But you did assist Obskurakorps forces with the use of your ‘claimed’ prophetic occultic properties, didn’t you? Did they promise you fulfillment for your sick and twisted sexual fantasies if you cooperated?

PTE-001 begins rocking back and forth while shaking vigorously.

Speaker Ella: I must object! Colonel, you have read the reports of the condition she was found in. It wasn’t assistance, it was coercion!

Colonel Bowe: That’s precisely my point, Speaker Ella! PTE-001 claims he was coerced into providing assistance to the Obskurakorps and the Nazi regime. What’s stopping that from happening again in the hands of one of our enemies?

Speaker Ella: Nothing right now, but if the GOC gives her adequate protection and lets us assist her in her divine duties with little interference, it should never be an issue.

Colonel Bowe: But the possibility remains nonetheless, no?

Speaker Ella hesitates for several seconds.

Speaker Ella: We can’t completely rule it out.

Colonel Bowe: What if he’s lying and we’re letting a wolf in sheep’s clothing through the door?

Speaker Ella hesitates again.

Speaker Ella: She would have done an incredible job in fooling us all.

Colonel Bowe: That’s what I thought.

Colonel Bowe turns right then left looking at the rest of the Committee.

Colonel Bowe: My peers, the fact that this anomaly can be forced to assist another party means it is a threat, just one that isn’t active right now. At least while he remains under our thumb. But who’s to say how long that lasts? Who’s to say he won’t turn on us internally? Important thing to remember and develop countermeasures for. If it’s of any benefit to us, assuming its prophetic occultic properties are even real. But let’s face reality for a minute. The fact that it refuses to tell us its real name, its age, and where it even came from throws serious doubt on whether it is actually prescient or even a Norn. Furthermore, the fact that it is a he, and not a she, as so many of you seem to be defaulting to, is indicative to me that he cannot be a Norn. We have photos!

Colonel Bowe holds up medical photographs of PTE-001’s anatomy.

Colonel Bowe: We must stop playing along with the mental derangement of this clearly, extremely ill man. He is in need of desperate assistance in an asylum for the anomalous where he cannot threaten our global mandate. And if that is not enough to stymy the potential threat, then liquidation is our only option.

Several seconds of raised voices and exchanges rendered unintelligible by the number of people speaking or shouting. A gavel is heard banging.

Unnamed Committee Member: We will come to order!

All yelling stops as the gavel banging continues. An unidentified committee member speaks with a layered thaumic voice modulation.

Unidentified Committee Member: Thank you, Colonel Bowe, for proselytizing on the nature of the entity. I’ll remind you that this isn’t a military court, it’s a committee tribunal. This discussion is for the Committee to have behind closed doors, and you know this. And for the last time, stop dragging your frankly disgustingly primitive American perspective on women into official matters.

The unidentified committee member sighs for several seconds.

Unidentified Committee Member: Now then. I’ll remind the Cult of the Nornir that this is a tribunal, and that we will not tolerate such outbursts again. I am not afraid of having you all dragged out of this room kicking and screaming. Please take your seats and let’s move forward to the second part of our assessment.

Colonel Bowe’s cheeks redden and he sits. Speaker Ella places a hand on PTE-001’s shoulder. The latter is still shaking and has its head in its hands.

Unnamed Committee Member: Speaker Ella, does the entity require another short recess?

Several minutes pass where Speaker Ella and Speaker Edvard are quietly whispering to PTE-001.

PTE-001 slowly sits up and removes its hands.

Speaker Ella: The Seeress is ready to continue, Ma’am.

The Committee member nods their head.

Unnamed Committee Member: Speaker Ella, would you please state, for the record, PTE-001’s occultic properties as you best understand them?

Speaker Ella stands.

Speaker Ella: The Seeress possesses powerful precognition, prescience, and sight affliction which are, mostly, random and uncontrolled. It’s our understanding she can actively control them, at physical cost to herself.

Several seconds of whispers from the Committee. Colonel Bowe both appears skeptical and rolls his eyes.

Speaker Ella: She also is blessed with an abnormal healing ability. We believe, after some discussion, she is immortal and much older than she appears.

Unknown Committee Member: That seems clear by the earlier exchanges. Do you have any idea how old?

Speaker Ella: She has not been more forthcoming with us than she has with the Committee. But by my best estimation, thousands of years old.

Unknown Committee Member: Alternatively, if she is as powerful in prescience as claimed, she may see far into the past, giving the misleading impression of being older than she is. Regardless, let’s move on. Of these properties, which does the Cult of the Nornir believe to be most beneficial to the GOC?

Speaker Ella: Her prescience, ma’am.

Unknown Committee Member: Sensible. Thank you, Speaker Ella.

Speaker Ella sits and the Committee turns their attention back to PTE-001.

Unknown Committee Member: PTE-001, we are going to ask you to demonstrate your prescience. Are you capable of doing so at this time?

PTE-001 stands slowly, shaking and hesitates before speaking.

PTE-001: I will do what’s needed.

The Committee members nod. Colonel Bowe crosses their arms.

Unknown Committee Member: Cooperation is good. We’ll start with simple demonstrations of predictions based on probability.

Colonel Bowe: You can’t be serious; probability tests can be easily gamed.

Unknown Committee Member: Do you have a better suggestion, Colonel?

Colonel Bowe: Have him predict major world events for the next year, like we discussed beforehand.

Unknown Committee Member: Would a simple probability test not be an effective screen so that we don’t waste our time further?

Colonel Bowe snorts loudly.

Colonel Bowe: If you want to waste more time, then go ahead I suppose.

Unknown Committee Member: Your flippancy is unwarranted, Colonel. That said, objections are noted.

PTE-001 is asked to identify the outcome of twelve individual coinflips and eight dice rolls. It is then asked to predict cards drawn from a deck nine times. It accurately predicts all events.

Unknown Committee Member: We appreciate your cooperation, PTE-001. That was… impressive.

The other committee members nod in agreement while Colonel Bowe sneers and looks away.

Unknown Committee Member: Now that the simple tasks are out of the way, we would ask you to predict as many major events that will occur this year as you can. To the best of your ability, of course. We will track how many of these predictions come to pass, though not necessarily the granular detail at this stage. After one year, we will evaluate all your predictions and conclude this meeting. This seems a long time, but you will be allowed to remain in the care and custody of the Cult of the Nornir while being made accessible to us as needed. You may take your time in making these predictions, but we will all remain in this room until they are finished.

PTE-001: It is a very short time in the great sweeping tides of life. I will do my best.

Several seconds of silence as the committee members watch PTE-001. The entity sways while leaning against its staff.

PTE-001: May I make a request for some items to assist me?

Several seconds of murmuring.

Unknown Committee Member: It’s unusual, but we’ll entertain it if you can explain why you need specific items.

PTE-001: Whatever is necessary.

Unknown Committee Member: Go ahead then.

PTE-001 sways again for several seconds before speaking.

PTE-001: May I have a glass of chocolate milk, some water, soda, candy, a sandwich with roast beef, and a bucket.

Unknown Committee Member: …why the chocolate milk?

PTE-001: Chocolate milk helps with the headaches from weaving time and fate.

Unknown Committee Member: And the roast beef sandwich and bucket?

PTE-001: The roast beef is for iron to replenish lost blood. The bucket is for vomit.

Several seconds of whispers. Colonel Bowe frowns, appearing incredulous.

Unknown Committee Member: Well, not the strangest explanations I’ve heard in my tenure. Would one of the assistants please retrieve those items?

[Idle conversation removed for brevity]

Unknown Committee Member: You may begin at your convenience, PTE-001.

PTE-001 has been given an entire pitcher of chocolate milk. Colonel Bowe appears apoplectic.

PTE-001 grips its staff tight, sitting up straight in the chair. Its voice is layered in the audio recording, commanding attention similar to an audio-hazard but with no observable lasting effects. The lights in the room begin to flicker.

PTE-001: In a land once swept by Immortals and grand emperors, the earth shall split. In the North beneath the wash of a red tide and a ringing hammer shall come proclamation of freedom and determination. The land will bleed, the valley shall burn, and a red tide shall break at the whims of an eagle balding beneath a branching globe.

Summary of Predictive Outcome: Iran Crisis 1946

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Separatists during the Iran Crisis of 1946.

On 21st November, 1945, the Peoples Government of Azerbaijan and Republic of Mahabad seceded from the Iranian state after the end of World War II. British and Soviet forces had invaded Iran during the war to secure supply lines to support the Soviet war machine. Joseph Stalin refused to relinquish influence over these regions following the end of hostilities.

Pressure from the United States at the UN and through material assistance to Iran eventually forced the Soviet Union to withdraw support. Iranian troops stormed both breakaway regions and retook them over the course of late 1946 and early 1947. An estimated 2000 people have died as of June 1947.

Predictive Assessment as of January 2nd, 1947: Though vague and somewhat cryptic, PTE-001 predicted the event and outcome.

A small trickle of blood leaks from PTE-001’s nostrils. The head of its staff is glowing. It pauses to pick up the pitcher of chocolate milk from which it drinks.

Colonel Bowe glances at his watch and begins tapping his foot.

PTE-001 abruptly gasps before speaking with a trembling voice. A light at the far end of the chamber abruptly flickers and winks out.

PTE-001: Swirls of black in noxious fumes deep in the flesh of the earth. Three, three repeating in the marks on wooden beams and metal struts in the light. A spark, a single spark deep in the dark. Fire, bodies—

PTE-001 stops abruptly. Tears are running down its face.

PTE-001: Bodies, so many bodies crushed and choked in the abyss, burning, flame and smoke and columns of black. Rising, rising, falling chunks of heavy earth and boulders. So many bodies in the ground beneath that city in the south of the streaming Lippe.

Summary of Predictive Outcome: Bergkamen Coal Mine Explosion February 1946.

On February 20th, 1946, Bergkamen Coal Mine experienced a “firedamp explosion” when mine gasses escaping from the surrounding deposits mingled with coal dust in Grimberg Shaft 3. A spark ignited the mixture and the pressure and heat waves set off a wave of coal dust explosions which collapsed the shaft and killed 418 miners.

Predictive Assessment as of January 2nd, 1947: PTE-001’s prescience identified the cause of the disaster and the shaft number, but not the location. It wasn’t pressed on details.

PTE-001 staggers against its staff and is supported by Speaker Ella and Speaker Edvard to prevent it from falling over.

It speaks again, while being held. More lights flicker and flare out in the back of the room. The room’s occupants do not appear to have noticed.

PTE-001: A man standing against the rolling thunder of the west. A fortunate son in the eyes of a loving mother. Mocked and dismissed in a palace, three tens before in the eyes of men of paling skin. Scorned twice. Enough is enough! Agreements signed by bloodied pens, torn to pieces in search of breaking chains. Elected to lead his people, colonizers and exploiters everywhere. Total war extends. Jungles and rice fields burn. In a valley fortress surrounded by mountains, those who claim what is not theirs will meet the end of an empire. A night of blood and fire.

Summary of Predictive Outcome: First Indochina War

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Ho Chi Minh.

Ho Chi Minh is elected president of Democratic Republic of Vietnam on March 2nd, 1946, and subsequently signs an agreement with France recognizing Vietnam as an autonomous state in the Indochinese Federation and French Union. This was part of a larger series of negotiations following the French overthrow of the DRV government in the south and their advance northward. This created a temporary peace between the DRV and the French that lasted until November of 1946, when tensions exploded following the Haiphong Incident. Open hostilities broke out in Hanoi. Ho Chi Minh and his government went underground, fleeing to the forested mountains and hills to the west.

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Photos from French Indochina.






Predictive Assessment as of January 2nd, 1947: PTE-001 referenced the snubbing of Vietnamese self-determination at the Treaty of Versailles in its prescience and predicted initial negotiations and their breakdown ultimately leading to war. We remain uncertain about her final words given the current success of the French campaign.18





PTE-001 audibly gags and is handed the aforementioned bucket. She gags three more times before picking up the glass of water and then the pitcher of chocolate milk from which she drinks.

PTE-001 breathes heavily into the microphone for several seconds. Blood is now dripping from its chin onto the table. Speaker Ella attempts to wipe its face, but the entity pushes her away.

It speaks again, shouting louder than it had before. Its voice fills the recording and the room. Twisting shapes of color begin floating in the air. A growing golden aura envelops PTE-001 as more lights in the room flare out.

PTE-001: Five times the earth shall quake, with tremendous fury in the eyes of creation. First in a place of ice and snow. On the edge of a ring of fire far in the northern wash of islands! Great walls of water will rush the gap to a paradise. Scores of bodies shall be swept in its reign!

PTE-001 bangs the staff on the floor. All present are startled by the motion and noise.

PTE-001: Second shall split the earth on an island south and east, where grand timbers stand in sheets of rain. A third shall sweep a place of great poverty. It once rebelled against the ire of pale skin of the old flames. It shall smash the homes of tens of thousands. Fourth shall strike in mountains and plateaus high where a great empire once reigned. Grand slides of earth and rock shall rain, and thousands suffer beneath its plume. The fifth and final shall strike a war-ravaged land with quaking earth and a great wall of water that sweeps all away.

Summary of Predictive Outcome: Earthquakes, 1946.

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1946 Nankai Earthquake.

Five major earthquakes occurred in 1946. These included the Aleutian Islands Earthquake which created a tsunami that killed more than a hundred in the Hawaiian Islands. The Vancouver Island Earthquake, which had little impact. The Dominican Republic Earthquake which killed around 100 people and destroyed tens of thousands of homes. The Ancash Earthquake in Peru created massive landslides and killed more than a thousand people. The Nankani earthquake created a huge tsunami that killed more than a thousand and swept away thousands of homes.

Predictive Assessment as of January 2nd, 1947: Predicting one major earthquake in a year would be impressive, but all five major earthquakes and their relative region descriptions? I believe we’re hitting the point where it’s obvious she has powerful prescience, but the details are somewhat vague and she’s not giving us relative timeframes. One wonders if we could convince her to give timeframes more properly. Addressing the details may require a different approach. Did Obskurakorps figure out how?

PTE-001 vomits into the bucket several times. Its nose is bleeding copiously, and its hands shake vigorously. It begins screaming. The light enveloping the entity flares as more lights in the room are extinguished. The Committee, including Bowe, is frozen, appearing hypnotized. Guards have noticed the extinguishing lights and are edging closer to the Committee.

PTE-001: Sprawling fences of barbs and chains with wooden towers stand above a gathering of monsters. Bread shall be baked, and baked, and baked. In its doughy flower, green flame to extinguish the patters of rats shall be mixed. Many will fall ill and die by the hands of Avengers on high. And they will deserve it for the pain they inflicted upon millions more in camps of slaughter and shackles. Yet punishment shall come for systemic weight falls on all our shoulders. Many will stand before the world’s eyes. One shall embrace their cowardice in full. Ten shall dangle from the crooked man’s rope.

Summary of Predictive Outcome: Nakam Bread Plot and Nuremberg trials, 1946.

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Photos from the Nuremburg Trials.

Sh’erit ha-Pletah, a group of Nakam, baked arsenic into bread loaves at Stalag XIII-D, a prisoner of war camp containing 15,000 members of the SS. Hermann Goering committed suicide by poison prior to the conclusion of the Nuremburg trials, and the remaining ten convicts were hanged.

Predictive Assessment as of January 2nd, 1947: This seemed personal.









PTE-001 vomits directly onto the table, provoking shouts from the Cult of the Nornir. A power surge is detected in the local area, and rolling blackouts begin, resulting in the extinguishing of all remaining lights in the chamber. Backup generators kick on, and emergency lights activate but flicker erratically.

Speaker Ella: Seeress, you can stop!

PTE-001: On the shores of the foundation of Rome, great screeching metal horses shall ride faster than any has ever dared. A tradition will be born of daring danger and feats of speed.

Summary of Predictive Outcome: First Grand Prix Motor Racing19, Italy, 1946.

PTE-001 predicted the advent of a new form of motor racing sport.

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Second place winner of the first Formula One Grand Prix in Turin, 1946.

Predictive Assessment as of January 2nd, 1947: Accurate.








PTE-001 is screaming, its arms nearly convulsing. It braces itself against the table. Blood is pouring from its nose and beginning to appear from its eyes. Colonel Bowe is leaning back against his chair while the rest of the Committee is now on their feet. The light enveloping PTE-001 surges forth and undulates around it, resembling tendrils of the sun. The light ripples several times, forming indistinct shapes around and in front of it. One of SCP-001’s hands grip a strand of light which squirms in its grasp.

Speaker Edvard: Seeress, you must stop!

Unknown Committee Member: Someone get medical personnel in here!

PTE-001: A DEMON OF WAR SHALL BE CREATED IN A GRAND SPACE ATOP FLAT MESAS. THE DEATH SHALL BE UNSPEAKABLE, THE FATE CRUEL IN THE EYES OF THE ELDRITCH GODS WHO GOVERN THE FABRIC OF ALL.

Summary of Predictive Outcome: Criticality Accident Los Alamos National Laboratory, 1946. Demon Core.

On May 21st, 1946, a demonstration of how close a plutonium–gallium alloy sphere containing fissile material was to criticality went awry when the screwdriver holding the hemispheres of the core apart slipped. The core became super critical and eight people were exposed to an intense neutron burst. Louis Slotkin, the physicist demonstrating the principle, died nine days later. Several others present would die from radiation exposure related conditions within the following two decades.

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The Demon Core.

Predictive Assessment as of January 2nd, 1947: Accurate.











Speaker Ella: Seeress, they have enough!

PTE-001 nearly throws Speaker Ella, causing her to tumble over the table onto the floor. The sound of stamping hooves can be heard through the microphone.

PTE-001: TIME CANNOT BE STOPPED. THE MARCH OF FATE EVER WHIRS, THE THREADS OF REALITY UNWINDING BEFORE ALL TO REVEAL THE MOTHER’S BEATING HEART ONCE MORE. A FUNGAL FIRE RISES IN THE CORAL ATOLL OF A DEEP BLUE SEA, THOUSANDS EXPOSED TO BOMBARDMENT FROM A THING THEY WILL NEVER TRULY KNOW AS ASHES CLIMB IN THE SKY FROM A PRIMORDIAL FIRE.

Summary of Predictive Outcome: Nuclear Airburst Tests, Bikini Atoll.

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Bakers Test, Bikini Atoll.

US Military Tested fission Bombs at Bikini Atoll to evaluate atomic weapons usage on Naval Assets. Detonation was succesful and revealed that most naval assets could withstand the physical blastforce of bombs. It was later discovered that the warships involved in the test were highly irradiated and had to be scuttled.

Predictive Assessment as of January 2nd, 1947: Accurate, but we remain unsure what the entity meant by bombardment.20







PTE-001 abruptly stops shouting, and sways dangerously from side to side. Blackouts stop, and the main lights abruptly turn back on. The light around PTE-001 vanishes suddenly.

PTE-001: A final warning, a great coalition wields in their birds of metal sweeping the sky inadequate securements. Blood and bone lost in flame and sea and dirt should they fail to be changed.

Summary of Predictive Outcome: Advent of Airline Seatbelts in GOC Craft, 1946.

Thousands of fatalities avoided when high ranking GOC personnel immediately demanded replacement and refinement of airline safety measures through rushed mass production. Multiple personnel have been reprimanded for interfering with Threat Assessment of an entity by acting on privileged information.

Predictive Assessment as of January 2nd, 1947: Accurate.

PTE-001 collapses and is caught by Speaker Ella and Speaker Edvard. Colonel Bowe stands.

Colonel Bowe: Well, with that I believe we can call this meeting adjourned. We have been given a substantial number of predictions to evaluate for the year, and I think it’s obvious to everyone that PTE-001 is incapable of continuing. Thank you, Cult of the Nornir, for your time, and we shall be in contact.

<End Log>

Postword: After one year’s time, PTE-001’s prescience is considered confirmed as predictions were able to be correlated with events that occurred throughout 1946. As such, PTE-001 has been approved as a beneficial asset and remitted to full custody and care of the Cult of the Nornir with GOC oversight. This comes despite the protest of Colonel Bowe and other evidence that was initially suggestive of threat potential. As a compromise to ensure PTE-001’s continued cooperation, Pentagram and Colonel Bowe have been assigned to oversee and coordinate PTE-001’s use of prescience for GOC purposes.

Addendum 6: Project Proposal Eurtec and the Silicon Nornir P113-445

Project Proposal Eurtec P113-445

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Access provided by the Silicon Nornir archives.

Petitioner’s Note: When we initially conceptualized the basis of this petition, we set out to identify viable sites which would be able to properly house our ambitions. This is where we confirmed what had been informally suspected by us and our fellow para-resistance organizations within the Nordic influence sphere.

The gods have abandoned us.

Following the destruction of the Hall of the Norns and the burning of some of Yggdrasil’s roots, we were still able to access the Well of Urd for some small period of time. Though roughly two months after the slaughter of our Seeress’s sisters, Nidhogg ambushed a few of our priests, who were still trying to salvage some aspects of the Norns, and slaughtered them. After that, we could no longer access the Well. It seemed that the rest of the pantheon also became aware of what happened at that point, as they bottlenecked or completely cut access to the rest of the realms. Then they ejected both our priests and other cults as well.

It’s a great tragedy that, when we began our surveys, we found our access to the rest of the pantheon and the Nine realms removed near entirely. All attempts to petition the Aesir or Vanir were met with messages heavily implying we should, quote, Fuck Off, unquote.

The fact that the Seeress survived is honestly miraculous. Yet, at the same time, it means she is our soul anchor to the Nordic pantheon, though even that hasn’t moved the Gods. It is less than ideal.

No, it is devastating.

But we have to move forward and build something new. We have alternatives, and we have to make the best of a bad situation.

So, we looked elsewhere.

Title: Project Eurtec

Submission Date: January 15th, 1946

Petitioning Bodies: The Cult of the Nornir and 17 other member organizations.

Purpose: To establish a GOC controlled under-veil settlement to relocate, provide tightly controlled habitation and employment to occultic communities to preserve the veil from threat entities. To create a colossal scale Foresight Matrix Array to facilitate the Last Norn’s prescience and precognition to a higher degree than currently possible.

Abstract: The Cult of the Nornir has identified a site at the mouth of the River Lethe. Coordination has been undertaken with 17 other member bodies to prepare ritual and thaumatological executions for the purposes of creating a large-scale nexus by which occultic communities may migrate away from normalcy into a GOC controlled space. There they may be provided secure housing, employment, and livelihoods that would otherwise be targeted by GOC operations for liquidation. This nexus, which we have preemptively named Eurtec, will be a largely vertically stacked urban arrangement bordered by low walls and the River Lethe to keep the underworld out. Eurtec security will be maintained by GOC para-military detachments.

As a component of this new settlement, following our extensive study of an Obskurakorps eigenmachine discovered at the end of World War II, we are proposing the construction of a large-scale thaumo-computing complex at the center of Eurtec. This structure will consist of two 333-meter super-tall skyscrapers which will contain the Nornir Foresight Matrix Array (NFMA). This complex will facilitate the utilization and amplification of Beneficial Entity-001’s (BCE-001’s) precognitive and prescience capacities to fundamentally transform GOC strategic, economic, and political approach to the Veil and its maintenance. We estimate full construction of the complex will require twenty-four years’ time as of this project proposal submission. In line with organizational goals, this new technology will be non-invasive for BCE-001, making cooperation easier and less physically and emotionally demanding.

Please find attached more in-depth engineering documents.

Show Supplementary Detail Documentation

Response: Project Proposal Eurtec and the Silicon Nornir P113-445

The Council of 108 has unanimously approved this project proposal with the following stipulation: Oversight of Eurtec construction and security will be maintained by Pentagram under the direction of Colonel S. Bowe due to his experience with management of construction and logistical execution of large-scale, under-veil projects.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Special Containment Procedures

Description

ACT I

1

2

3

4

5

6

Level 5 Access Required

ACT II

8

9

10

11

12

ACT III

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

Epilogue

Table of Contents


Addendum 7:

WARNING

NOTICE: CHANGE OF ROLE DETECTED. PLEASE ENTER NEW USER IDENTIFIER AND ACCESS CODE.

THE FOLLOWING FILE REQUIRES DIRECT APPROVAL FROM O5-07 TO ACCESS. MEMETIC KILL AGENTS ARE PRIMED FOR UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS.








USER CODE: LIGHT EVERLASTING.

KEY PHRASE: WE DIE IN THE LIGHT SO NONE MAY SUFFER IN THE DARK.












KEYPHRASE ACCEPTED. WELCOME O5-07.

Incident Report I-001-01

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GOC Incident of Note: GOC C-47 Crash, December 8th, 1948.

Location: Scandinavian Mountains, Norway

Passengers: Two pilots, eight passengers.

Casualties: Two injured, four dead.

Description: At 0840 on December 8th, 1948, flight 11284 lifted off from Oslo Gardermoen Airport into a bank of heavy clouds. At approximately 1020, the pilots realized that their altitude gauges were malfunctioning and they were at a much lower altitude than expected. This realization came too late to stop the resulting collision of the right wing and engine with a nearby rock outcropping on an adjoining mountain, resulting in the loss of the engine and severe damage to the wing.

The pilots immediately announced evacuation of the plane, and abandoned the aircraft, where they would suffer mild injuries. Four other passengers successfully escaped the fuselage before the plane collided with a nearby summit at speed.

When search parties reached and recovered the fuselage forty-eight hours later, they found the four remaining passengers had survived the initial impact but succumbed to extreme low temperatures. Passenger seatbelts had defective latches which resulted in deformation of the metal in the buckle. Deformed buckles prevented the passengers from unbuckling the straps. In addition to the defective latch, the pulley which allowed lengthening or shortening of the strap material was also defective, resulting in sliding back/tightening of the straps when pulled on.

The combination of defective components appears to have resulted in the passengers exhausting their energy from panicked motions which eventually trapped them against the seats. It is estimated they were still alive for fifteen hours after the crash and one by one succumbed to exposure.

The four passengers who died were GOC medical personnel who helped treat patients suffering from occult induced conditions at Oslo University Hospital during the post-war period.

Last Names of victims: Oglethorpe, Nieminen, Hilda, Burnhart.

Director’s Note: I spent some time digging through the GOC archive materials and tracked down manufacturing notes. Flight 11284’s safety features were hastily replaced in 1946 with newly manufactured designs created in response to SCP-001’s prediction. There’s a larger pattern here that’s starting to emerge.



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Access provided by the Silicon Nornir archives.

Foreword: The following is archival footage pulled from the Cult of the Silicon Nornir’s library depicting SCP-001 within the Nornir Cult’s countryside sanctuary.

0830-0930: SCP-001 exits one of the communal buildings within the sanctuary. It is alone and in heavy winter gear with a mug of liquid. It makes its way across the compound through the view of several different cameras before it arrives in a snow covered open-air garden with a view of the Scandinavian Mountains to the east. It periodically hums to itself but otherwise maintains a neutral expression.

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View of the Scandinavian Mountains from the Nornir Sanctuary.




1000-1020: At approximately 1000 hours SCP-001 looks up in the general direction of the sky. The buzz of a multi-propeller plane becomes audible. More upward facing cameras capture a C-47 appearing from the southeast. SCP-001 continues to look up for the next twenty minutes, its head tracking the plane until it disappears into the low clouds around the mountains.

1021-1051: Echoes of metal scraping faintly against rock are picked up by camera microphones, followed by a much fainter crack. SCP-001’s shoulders slowly slump, and it continues to drink from the mug for the next half hour. It returns to the building at 1051 hours with its head raised, but eyes closed.










ACT II


ABYSS CLIMB


ELLA, BOWE, AND THE GODDESS OF FATE















Director’s Note: Addenda 8-12 cover a timespan of ~23 years from 1946-1969 and concern the personal developments of SCP-001, SCP-001’s role within the UNGOC, and the geo-socio-political relevance of SCP-001 to the function of Pentagram and its influence on the United States Government within this period. The core conceit around the following addenda is contextualizing the personal memoirs of CEO Ella Haugen with existing archival records. Some details have been removed and replaced with more concise audio-video recordings where possible.

Video logs contained within these addenda occur over a wide timespan during which there was rapid development of CCTV camera system technologies. For Overseers or level-5 personnel reviewing this document who may be suspicious of the authenticity of the footage provided, there is a 2-3 decade gap in technology between well-funded private anomalous organizations and publicly available technology.

Addendum 8: 1946-1949

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Access provided by the Silicon Nornir archives.

Collated Personal Diaries and Memoirs of Speaker Ella Haugen, CEO of the Cult of the Nornir, January 1946-Decemeber 1949

I’ve never been terribly good at keeping up consistent journal entries or diaries. Paperwork and other forms of record keeping come naturally. Not journaling though.

I stopped trying altogether during the war. With Norway under the boot of the Nazis, we came together with the other surviving Norse cults, few as they were, to build a network of resistance. With all lines to the gods severed, we struggled. That first year alone, we lost half of our Speakers. To an enemy who was appropriating our symbols, our occultic heritage. They used them to propagate their hate. Worse yet, half our countrymen were split between loyalists and Nazi sympathizers.

There was scarce time to think between operations. Trust became a luxury we couldn’t afford. Paper trails became a liability that could collapse the whole network and get us butchered. Wehrmacht if we were lucky. SS or Obskurakorps if we were unlucky. We almost learned that lesson the hard way. One close call from a junior speaker who had one too many drinks. After that, we burnt any exchanges and used runic script for codework.

So, in May of 1945, when the war came to an end, I think we all expected some sort of restitution. That maybe now the gods would reopen their gates to us.

They never did.

It was in this post-war environment that the Last Norn found her way to us. That she became our beacon in the godless dark. A flame that would spark a grand vision of a city dedicated to the future. A river which would feed the ocean of my ambition. I was ready to try journaling again. Ready to try anything really. Which is how we ended up settling on the Greek Underworld.

Diary Text:

Construction has just finished on the first residential complexes within Eurtec. The biggest surprise was that the construction itself wasn’t the largest barrier.

It took a year to completely clear the local flora and fauna out of the entire area. Then the mages needed to anchor the whole space for proper habitation. That provided its own sets of challenges, largely due to thaumic background interference from the pocket realm. This is going to make harvesting the silicon, rare earth metals, and gemstones more challenging than we initially thought. We’ll have to open dedicated mining facilities and anchor them.

The main problem, at the time, with using a foreign, conceptual entity’s pocket space, was largely that thaumic anchoring alone wasn’t enough to keep the underworld out. It would creep in over the perimeter walls as a green mist. Then it would settle in, underworld flora would push up through the fresh concrete.

Once the flora took root, shades and mythological creatures would spontaneously manifest. Then they’d run amok. It took us another year just to erect the perimeter walls after constantly dealing with the cleanup.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Way ahead of myself.

Let’s wind back the clock and talk about the High Seeress.

Diary Text:

The GOC built us a temporary complex in Oslo, so we stayed there, initially. We eventually decided to return to the country estates with the Seeress in tow when it became clear Eurtec’s construction was a more complicated matter than initially projected.

In other circumstances I might have been livid, but the Seeress’s predictions were already paying dividends. We’ve quintupled our yearly profits through her passive divinations. They’re going to emblazon my name on every piece of corporate property for the rest of the Cult’s eternal existence for recovering the Last Norn.

The stunning financial successes that were filling the Cult’s accounts would also be used to self-fund much of Eurtec’s early planning. Yet, economic prosperity stood in sharp contrast to the difficulties we all faced with Name Unspoken in those first three years. The decision to move out of Oslo was our hand being forced. Not just by the construction delays, but by socio-political moves within the GOC.

It’s still difficult to write or think about everything that happened. She may have been physically well, but her time with the Obskurakorps left deep scars. Her time in Oslo University Hospital made them bleed.

For those first few months, she stayed with one of our medical teams. We took the time to visit every day. We brought her offerings of chocolate milk, mead, honey, and bread. Even spun yarn to work with. She refused the mead, stating:

I will not tempt those who have foresworn the sting of amber.

She was improving, gradually. By the time the beneficial asset assessment arrived she was well enough to move around under her own power. We were already discussing giving her her own room. A goddess should have her own space after all. She seemed receptive to the idea, or at least, not opposed to it when asked. After the beneficial asset assessment, we gave it a try.

Log 1 | January 3rd, 1946:

It wasn’t a big room by any means.

1900-1950: SCP-001 is brought into a small, furnished apartment with comfortable amenities. Speaker Ella and Speaker Edvard are in the doorframe. They spend approximately twenty minutes helping SCP-001 walk around and navigate the apartment’s interior, where they have the entity touch appliances and obstacles to its navigation. There were no cameras in the bathroom. After this initial tour, Speaker Ella guides it into the bedroom. Ella attempts to leave the room after a small exchange with the entity. SCP-001 stops Ella from leaving by grabbing her hand and beginning to sob.

1950-2010: Ella sits on the bed and speaks with SCP-001 for the next ten minutes. She gestures in a direction parallel to the entity’s apartment. At one point they both exit the apartment and walk down the hall where Ella places SCP-001’s hands on the door to another apartment. They then return to the room where Ella retakes her seat on the bed. They speak again for another minute. Ella remains on the bed while SCP-001 undresses off camera in the bathroom. The entity remains out of sight for approximately thirty minutes. During this period Ella can be seen gesturing and shifting on the bed.

2040-2110: SCP-001 emerges from the bathroom. SCP-001’s hair is wet and Ella helps wrap its hair in a towel. Ella assists SCP-001 into the bed. Once its hair is dry, Ella layers the covers atop it, carefully.

2115: Speaker Ella sits with SCP-001 for an additional ten minutes. Their lips move but no audio recording device compliments existing footage.

2125: Once SCP-001 is asleep, Speaker Ella departs the bedroom, and the apartment.

2130-2240: SCP-001 spends the next hour and ten minutes rolling back and forth in the bed before it sits up and curls into the fetal position against the backboard. SCP-001 begins showing signs of physical distress, including holding its head, pulling its hair, and rocking back and forth in place.

2300: SCP-001 leaves the bed and crosses the apartment at a fast walk, colliding with several objects including the corners of a kitchen counter and the small dining room table. SCP-001 trips over a chair leg and falls to the ground in a prone position in which it stays for approximately two minutes.

2310: SCP-001 leaves the apartment with a slight limp. In the hallway, the entity moves to Speaker Ella’s apartment door, which it bangs on rapidly. Speaker Ella opens the door, and proceeds to hug SCP-001, before escorting it inside.

We had to come up with a compromise until either we could help her or she could heal on her own. We started letting her stay in our apartments. In the meantime, we tried to find a psychologist or shrink that wasn’t going to throw her in an asylum. While we searched, she rotated between us on a daily schedule. It helped relieve some of the burden of having to take care of her.

But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t start to take a toll. Worse, with all the details in her medical records now, every preliminary consult ended the same. Even with sympathetic psychologists.

The truth was, none of us quite realized that this was only the wavetop concealing the serpent in the depths.

Log 2 | January 4th, 1946:

<Begin Log>

2130-2230: SCP-001 is in the guest bedroom of Speaker Ella’s apartment in bed. As before, it spends the better part of an hour rolling back and forth across the mattress.

2235: SCP-001 sits up in bed. It presses its back against the backboard and raises its arms above its head in a near identical position in which it was found during the liberation of Hegra Fortress.

Diary Text:

I remember that first night she was with us with clarity. I was woken by these low-pitched tones coming from down the hall. The noise rattled in my bones. Wood and brick of the walls were creaking. As if something had dug in its claws and was trying to stretch it downwards.

There was this oppressive gloom creeping under the door of my bedroom. A cold, deep black that sunk to the floor and swept out like a wave. It came with this smell, ageing books, decaying leaves. I rolled out of bed in the dark. Black mist cloyed at my legs; the hair on my neck and arms standing on end.

2255: Speaker Ella exits the master bedroom while rubbing her eyes. She stands in the dark hallway for approximately two minutes before moving towards SCP-001’s bedroom.

Diary Text:

The mist was everywhere. It choked out the light from the hall trying to crawl under the door. With every step taken, the noise just got louder and louder until I was standing before the guest room door.

2300-2310: Ella opens the door to SCP-001’s bedroom, slowly. She steps inside but stops. She then turns on the light. Her hand covers her mouth, and she stands in place for several minutes. SCP-001 does not react. Ella’s hand falls from her mouth. Both of Ella’s hands ball into fists. She turns off the light, shuts the door, and punches the doorframe. She stands there for approximately a minute while shaking the hand that struck the doorframe.

2310-0000: Ella walks into the kitchen and pulls out a glass bottle. She unscrews the top and pours a small glass of clear liquid. She then returns to the door, bottle and glass in hand. She turns, presses her back against it, and slides down to the floor. She sits with her back against the door for the next hour, drinking from the glass and refilling it before slumping sideways, presumably unconscious.

<End Log>

Sleep became evasive, for both Edvard and I. Our only saving grace rotations and the bottle.

Mead has become a vice. It dulls that idle burn of exhaustion I’ve increasingly felt crushing my shoulders. I know that’s bad to lean into. Especially after how far off the wagon I fell after Olief’s death. But I don’t know what else to do.

It would be one thing if it was just her inability to sleep, but there are other scars as well.

Log 32 | February 7th, 1946:

<Begin Log>

1000-1005: Speaker Ella, SCP-001, and Speaker Edvard are in Ella’s apartment within Oslo. A wall mounted rotary phone is situated behind SCP-001. Edvard and Ella are speaking to SCP-001. They gesture at several folders full of paper documents. There is an abacus on the table. Ella is wearing spectacles and there are purple bags under her eyes.

1006-1009: SCP-001 suddenly stops moving. Its eyes widen and its hands shake. Abruptly, it moves from the chair, knocking it back and over with enough force for it to hit the wall. Ella and Edvard flinch. SCP-001 runs through the guest bedroom and into the bathroom. The door is slammed hard enough to vibrate the camera. Ella and Edvard remain in place for approximately a minute.

1010: Edvard gets up and picks up the phone. He speaks into the receiver while Ella begins searching the apartment for SCP-001.

1015-1100: Ella discovers the guest bathroom door closed. The door is locked as she tries the handle several times She spends the next forty-five minutes standing or sitting next to the door and talking to SCP-001 inside. Edvard joins her after hanging up the phone, fifteen minutes later.

1110-1115: SCP-001 emerges from the bathroom an hour after it entered. Its clothes and hair are soaked. Ella guides SCP-001 back into the bathroom after briefly speaking to Edvard. Edvard remains in the guest bedroom while Ella grabs a towel from a hallway closet and a spare change of clothes from the dresser. Ella hands the clothes to SCP-001 in the bathroom and shuts the door. Edvard then leaves the guest room. In the main area he stares at a GOC propaganda poster on the wall. He makes obscene hand gestures for the next five minutes.

1115-1145: Eventually, Edvard returns to the kitchen, where he pulls out a bottle of amber liquid and a small glass. He spends the next twenty-five minutes drinking from and refilling the small glass. At 1140 hours SCP-001 emerges from the bathroom in clean, dry clothing. Ella brushes her hair for the next several minutes before they leave the bedroom.

1145-11:50: Ella and SCP-001 emerge from the bedroom. Ella becomes visibly agitated. SCP-001’s hands begin shaking. Ella takes the bottle from Edvard, and they gesture at each other rapidly for the next five minutes. The phrase ‘no sedatives’ is written on a piece of paper and held up by Ella. She gestures to it with emphasis. Edvard says something and SCP-001 becomes immediately distressed, fleeing to the bathroom again.

1145-1345: Ella and Edvard make big, sweeping gestures at each other while yelling for the next five minutes. Several of the manilla folders are knocked onto the floor, scattering papers everywhere. Ella then spends five minutes with her face pressed into her hands. Edvard throws his hands up and goes to the guest room’s bathroom door. Ella eventually joins him. Together they spend the next two hours repeating the process of getting SCP-001 out of the bathroom, showered, dried, and into clean clothes. They then return to what they were doing before the phone rang.

<End Log>

Diary Text:

After the Well of Urd, after the death of his parents? Edvard swore off the bottle for good. Made me promise I’d keep him honest.

Yet there we were. Five years of sobriety gone in an instant.

I never should have left the bourbon where he could find it.

His temper has only gotten worse since he fell back onto the tap. Between him and the Seeress I just don’t know what we’re going to do. Especially since we’ve not been able to find a psychologist that is right for her.

That sentiment held true for most of the first six months. Every step forward was met with two steps back. I think everyone was beginning to feel as if it all would start to unravel.

Then, through Eir’s great kindness, the Seeress started improving.

Foreword: In May of 1946, audio recording technology was integrated into existing camera systems.

Log 211 | August 18th-19th , 1946:

<Begin Logs>

1945-2000: SCP-001 is tucked into bed by Speaker Ella, and the lights are turned off.

2000-2159: SCP-001 lays in bed. Eventually, it begins slow rotations, rolling back and forth while asleep.

2200-2210: Ella opens the door at 2200 and spends several minutes in the darkness. When she emerges from the room, she has purple bags under her eyes and her shoulders are relaxed. Ella moves to the master bedroom. She crawls into bed and cries until she loses consciousness.

2210-0055: SCP-001 remains asleep for another hour at which point she begins rapidly rolling back and forth again. At 0000 hours on August 19th, it sits up. It then falls asleep in the upright position.

0055-0100: Speaker Ella emerges from the master bedroom. She is visibly distressed. She stands in the hallway for several minutes, staring in the general direction of SCP-001’s door.

0100-0130: Speaker Ella opens the door to the guest room. She sees SCP-001 in the upright position. Her expression is not visible in the dark. She closes the door. She spends the next thirty minutes sitting in front of the door with a bottle of amber liquid while drinking from and refilling a small glass. During this period, she alternates between uttering obscenities and sobbing. Eventually, she loses consciousness.

Log 213 | August 20th , 1946:

1100-1110: Ella and Edvard are speaking with SCP-001. They are gesturing towards a bound book full of graph paper. SCP-001 either bobs or shakes its head, at irregular intervals, when asked questions.

1110-1120: The phone begins to ring. SCP-001 stops moving and is stiff. Its hands shake. It begins breathing heavily, rocking in place, but it does not run from the room. Ella reaches over and places one hand atop SCP-001’s. The entity startles in place. Edvard rises and answers the phone.

1120-1135: Ella shifts her chair closer to SCP-001. She whispers to it for the next fifteen minutes while Edvard talks on the phone.

1140: Edvard hangs up the phone and asks “Seeress, do you want a dose of sedatives to help with the nerves?”

1141: Ella looks at Edvard and opens her mouth. SCP-001 responds before she can speak.

“N-n-no. If I can survive the roaring flame and blades of betrayal earned for another, I can survive the ringing of a bell.”

Log 220 | 1100 hours August 27th , 1946:

Ella and SCP-001 are alone in the apartment. SCP-001 is reading a braille book on Celtic Mythology.

Speaker Ella: Seeress, it’s about time for lunch. Do you want to bathe first?

SCP-001 closes the book and sets it on the table.

SCP-001: Yes, I think that would be for the best.

Speaker Ella: Alright. Come on, let’s pick out your clothes and take you to the bath.

SCP-001 hesitates.

SCP-001: Actually, Ella, I believe I can handle the silence of the bath moving forward.

Ella has circled around the table to help SCP-001 get up from the chair but stops in place. Ella’s face briefly changes expression but is indiscernible due to footage quality.

Speaker Ella: Are you sure?

SCP-001: I am. I have been an imposition for long enough. I should, no, need to begin reclaiming my autonomy. My song is enough—should be enough to cleave that hateful silence.

Speaker Ella: It isn’t an imposition to me, I promise. But, if you’re sure?

SCP-001: Careful or I will begin to believe you enjoy listening to me sing.

Ella laughs.

Speaker Ella: Well, far be it from me to go against the wishes of a Norn.

SCP-001’s hands shake but it smiles slowly.

SCP-001: I appreciate your discretion.

Ella looks at SCP-001’s hands.

Speaker Ella: Come, your hands are shaking. Did you doubt that I would honor your wish, Seeress?

SCP-001: There are few yet in the world who I can still trust. That ability is small and feeble in this now. You have saved me, and I trust you will continue to in these small moments. But the doubts still claw in my skull.

Speaker Ella: Your trust means a great deal to me, Seeress. I won’t break it.

SCP-001 smiles.

SCP-001: But do I sense there is a desire lurking inside you?

Ella hesitates.

Speaker Ella: I have come to enjoy listening to your songs. Our small conversations too.

SCP-001: Wo-worry not, I shall still fill your mind with my voice from the echoes of the falling rain of pipes and in the quiet hours of boredom. That shall not change, no matter this independence I lay claim to.

SCP-001 pauses for several seconds.

SCP-001: But… some things still lay beyond me. Would you be so kind as to lay out the clothing and towels?

Ella smiles.

Speaker Ella: Of course. I’ll make sure they are in the same, easy-to-reach places. If you need my voice again, please don’t hesitate to call for me?

Ella begins walking towards the guest room.

SCP-001: I will, and Ella?

Ella stops in the doorframe of the guest room.

Speaker Ella: Yes, Seeress?

SCP-001: May I have a glass of chocolate milk while in the bath?

Ella smiles, nods, and walks out of sight of the main area’s camera. She pauses in the guest room and picks up a framed picture of a little girl on the drawer and looks at it for several minutes.

<End Logs>

Diary Text:

Having grown to know the Seeress as well as I have, I need to admit that it is strange for a sacred divinity like her to be so surprisingly, well, human. I have always felt as if the Norns, the Aesir, and the Vanir were these distant silhouettes in the mist. Whispers in the dark providing directions towards a plan we couldn’t see. We were held at arm’s length like a visitor to an art museum. Never quite able to touch the canvas they were painting on. Perhaps this change in the Seeress arose from being cut off.

But it’s a risk, isn’t it? For the divine to present themselves as so vulnerable. So, human. I suppose it leaves me wondering, are they all like this?

Is that thought blasphemous?

Maybe, at one point, I was certain about such questions. Now? I’m not so sure.

Even as I was beginning to understand the Seeress, even as I was beginning to interrogate the nature of divinity and my faith, there were depths that I couldn’t know. There were strings in motion. Obfuscation and mystery in who she was and what she was capable of.

There was an unfortunate clarity in the fact that Seeress was healing. It distresses me to admit; she was a burden. Whatever financial machinations she allowed, the emotional and physical toll from her recovery pushed us to our limits.

Yet, she was about to be but one of many problems.

Diary Text:

A year after she moved in with Edvard and I, the Threat Assessment Committee made their decision.

It came on the eve of a delayed Jól feast within the compound. A phone call from New York broke the news. She was now a Beneficial Asset.

The atmosphere that night was thick with celebration. The smell and taste of mead, mutton, and fish dances still in the ripples of memory.

All our plans were about to blossom. I was already making mental plans to submit all the necessary forms for Project Eurtec. Hands were being shaken all around me, congratulations given. It finally felt as if the gods had returned to favor us. The celebration plodded on through the next few days.

But the image of that first night still haunts me in my dreams. In the corner of that cramped apartment, the High Seeress sat staring silently out at the mass of us. There was solemnness clinging to her tanned flesh. A sadness swirling in her eyes. Remembering it now, it seems clear she knew.

On the following Thursday, I received a thick tan envelope stamped with the GOC logo. I remember running up and down the halls screaming at the top of my lungs “It’s here! It’s here!” Like a school child who’s just learned she’s getting a puppy for Jól. We read the full text of the decision as a group, all thirty of us crammed in that tiny apartment.

The festive atmosphere withered away as we collectively realized, a familiar villain was about to return. The Seeress sat in the corner with a pair of needles and a ball of yarn, listening the entire time.

When we finished, and sat in that miserable silence, she spoke.

“So, comes again the howling of the abyss. So breaks the freezing wind against our backs in this arduous climb.”

Video Log Excerpt: Predictive Session, January 1947

<Begin Log>

We were given maybe a day’s warning at best.

SCP-001, Speaker Ella, and Speaker Edvard are in Ella’s apartment. Ella is leaning forwards in a chair, looking down at a paper document. Edvard is sitting upright in a separate chair, one hand on the table. He is tapping his fingers. He stares at the door while frowning. SCP-001 is drawing on a sheet of paper with a pencil.

There’s a loud pounding on the door. SCP-001 and Ella are startled while Edvard is not. The sound is followed by the voice of Colonel Bowe.

Colonel Bowe: Speakers of the Cult of the Nornir, this is Colonel Bowe of the Threat Assessment Committee. I am notifying you of my arrival as is required for all mandatory predictive sessions as stated in subsection 13, line 36 of the Beneficial Entity Oversight Agreement. Pursuant with required cooperation protocol regulation 344, you have exactly one minute to open the door. If you do not, we must assume that the Cult of the Nornir has been compromised or incapacitated. BCE-001 will then be considered a hostile threat entity posing as a beneficial asset.

Ella rises from her seat and starts to open the door.

Speaker Ella: Would it kill him to ask politely to enter?

SCP-001: He arrives exactly on the mark of the ticking hand.

Speaker Edvard: Punctual and a bigoted asshole.

When Ella starts to open the door, it is slammed into the wall by two men with Thompson sub-machine guns. Ella is knocked into the wall. Bowe’s retinue nearly tramples Ella as they enter the room. Edvard stands abruptly. His chair rocks violently threatening to fall over. Colonel Bowe and several other men in uniform then enter. They are carrying a mixture of M1 garands and sub-machine guns. Colonel Bowe’s hands are clasped behind his back.

I was winded and dazed laying there against the wall. The smell the thick cigarette smoke, gunpowder and boot polish filled my nostrils as they stomped past.

Speaker Edvard: By Odin's will!

Colonel Bowe: Is there a problem, Speaker Edvard?

// Ella rubs her shoulder from where she has fallen next to the door. Edvard moves to help Ella. SCP-001 sits very still. Its hands have begun to shake.//

Speaker Edvard: You’re damn right there is! Your men nearly trampled Ella! Look, you put a massive dent in the wall. We’re going to have to have that fixed! What right do you have to threaten to knock down our door, and then shove your way into the apartment without permission?

Colonel Bowe: I think you’ll find we are operating well within acceptable parameters.

Speaker Edvard: You call this within acceptable parameters?

Edvard gestures to the dent in the wall. Then the guards with their weapons out. Colonel Bowe looks at the dent in the wall, but his expression remains neutral. He then looks back at Edvard.

Colonel Bowe: Speaker, I am empowered by the GOC charter and the Threat Assessment Committee. I may employ whatever means necessary to ensure the continued cooperation and security of a beneficial entity, in the use of their anomalous capacity, to pursue GOC interests. Feel free to submit a complaint to my superior, if you feel I am acting outside my authority.

Colonel Bowe smiles at Edvard. Edvard curls his fingers into a fist and uncurls them several times. His face is red.

Speaker Edvard: I certainly will.

Colonel Bowe yawns and then looks at a watch on his wrist.

Colonel Bowe: You do that. Now, if there’s no other complaints you wish to voice, please return to your seats and get whatever the boy needs to do his prophesizing. I’m on a timetable and the clock is ticking.

Colonel Bowe pulls out a long sheet of paper and produces a pair of spectacles from a glasses case stored in one pocket. They briefly turn a shade of crimson before it fades. Ella and Edvard stare at him for several seconds before moving to the kitchenette. They begin preparing a pitcher of chocolate milk as well as a beef and cabbage sandwich for SCP-001. Ella briefly disappears into the main bedroom bath. She remerges with a bucket several seconds later. SCP-001 remains seated. It slowly rocks in place, hands shaking. Its eyes are closed. As they return to the table, Bowe takes a seat opposite SCP-001.

Colonel Bowe: Jones, make sure he’s awake.

Speaker Edvard: What?

A soldier standing next to the wall moves to SCP-001. He presses the butt of his rifle into SCP-001’s shoulder, several times. He is not gentle. Ella gets up and starts to move around the table. She is frowning and her fists are clenched.

Sergeant Jones: Wake up boy. You’ve got a job to do.

SCP-001 jumps up, knocking the chair over. It turns as if to run. It trips on the chair while Bowe watches with a neutral expression. Ella catches the entity and helps it stand back up. She speaks to it quietly.

Speaker Edvard: She was already awake. Now you’ve spooked her.

Colonel Bowe: Good. She’ll be alert and attentive. I would say that’s an ideal condition to be in for a matter of such importance, wouldn’t you, speaker?

SCP-001 buries its face in Ella’s shoulder. Ella rubs its back and continues whispering. Colonel Bowe watches for approximately one minute while tapping his pen against the table. He frowns and then sighs.

Colonel Bowe: BCE-001, retake your seat or we’ll have to take you downtown to local administration. I don’t think you want that. It is much less accommodating, and the Speakers won’t be allowed to come.

Edvard picks up and sets SCP-001’s chair upright. SCP-001 releases Ella slowly. It retakes the seat while its hands continue to shake. It rocks back and forth in place. Bowe watches it for several seconds, before looking back down at the paper.

Colonel Bowe: Now, there’s a few pressing questions that you never resolved in your Beneficial Assessment.

SCP-001 does not react.

Colonel Bowe: What is your true given name? Where did you come from? Who are you?23

SCP-001 presses its hands to her head.

SCP-001: I have already told you the answers which I cannot give. I have told you the depths of complexity that binds those secrets.

Colonel Bowe: And we are not playing a game of secrets here, young man. I will get an answer out of you.

Speaker Ella: Pressing her for an answer isn’t going to get you anywhere, Bowe.

Colonel Bowe: So, if he won’t tell us, I have to assume he’s told you then?

Speaker Ella: She’s the last Norn. We don’t need to ask because we know who she is already. Forcing it won’t change the truth.

Colonel Bowe: You may buy the lie in the mist of your misguided spiritualism, but I certainly don’t. I can be quite persuasive.

Speaker Edvard: Burn your two hours on this one question then.

Colonel Bowe looks at Edvard briefly. Bowe frowns. He taps the pen against the table before speaking again.

Colonel Bowe: Very well, but you should expect the same questions moving forwards until I get a proper answer. This goes for everything else I don’t find satisfactory.

Bowe glances down at his list.

Colonel Bowe: With that out of the way, let’s move on to operational business and world affairs. How about, French Indochina first?

Bowe spends the next hour and a half asking SCP-001 to cast predictions for strategic, economic, and political affairs from his paper list. These include both United States and NATO foreign policy interests as well as GOC operations. SCP-001’s physical state slowly deteriorates with each incidence of exerted prediction. Power within the apartment flickers erratically. At multiple points, Bowe’s facial expression shifts and he writes on the paper list.

Edvard remains seated with his arms crossed through much of the period. His face is marked by a clenched jaw and stress lines. Ella excuses herself several times to the master bedroom where she becomes increasingly agitated. At some point, she returns to the master bedroom where she begins violently tearing sheets, blankets and pillows from the bed. She punches both the mattress and pillows within easy access. Near the end of the session, Ella is having to wipe blood from under SCP-001’s eyes and vomit from around its mouth.

Colonel Bowe: I would say this has been quite a productive session, would you not agree, Speakers?

Edvard grits his teeth.

Speaker Edvard: That’s one way to put it.

Speaker Ella: Are. You. Done?

Bowe taps his pen against the table, seven times, while looking at SCP-001.

Colonel Bowe: I have three more questions.

Speaker Edvard: You can’t be serious, look at her! She is on the verge of collapse!

Colonel Bowe: And that collapse will be well worth the price, if he wants to continue being a protected individual within the GOC.

Ella and Edvard look at each other. Both are grasping either their chairs or the table with a great amount of physical strain. SCP-001 shakes violently in place. Its hands are interlaced into its hair while its breathing is heavy and ragged. It leans forward, laying its cheek against the wooden table. Ella looks at SCP-001 and then Bowe. She holds up one hand with three fingers raised.

Speaker Ella: Three. You have three more. Then you leave. If anything happens—

Colonel Bowe: You’ll submit a complaint to my superiors.

Bowe smiles.

Colonel Bowe: I’m glad we understand each other, Speakers. Now, what I am about to ask about is a state secret. The kind that gets people shot or hung as spies. Do you understand?

Bowe looks at Edvard and Ella. They both nod slowly.

Colonel Bowe: Good.

Bowe taps the table several more times, looking down at the paper.

Colonel Bowe: Christmas, last year. The Soviets began operation of their first nuclear facility in Moscow. They achieved criticality, something only the U S of A had done till then. Strangely curious that you didn’t predict that for the committee, isn’t it, boy?

SCP-001 does not respond and is still lying with its head on the table.

Colonel Bowe: Now I want you to tell me, son, do the Soviets have the capacity to build an atom bomb?

SCP-001 breathes heavily. It slowly sits up and reaches for its staff. Edvard moves the staff closer, allowing SCP-001 to find it faster.

SCP-001: A field of great smoking towers. The edge of sweeping mounds of earth. A pouring river. A tide of never-ending grass shall arise in the sunken earth a star all its own. Metal burning. Drums of war pounding in the inevitable heat of splitting spheres. Thousands shall come to live and work. Poison dumped into rivers and sky. Its venom tainting tens of villages until great capsules containing the noxious sludge burst and all would be for not.

Director’s Note: SCP-001 is referring to the A-1 plutonium production facility in Mayak. Mayak produced much of the early material for the Soviet Atomic Bomb program and was also subject to substantial issues with handling and storing toxic waste. In 1957 the Kyshtym disaster released a massive radioactive cloud which disseminated over the Urals.

Map_of_the_East_Urals_Radioactive_Trace.webp

Areas affected by the Kyshtym disaster.

SCP-001 bleeds from its eyes and nose. It proceeds to vomit in the bucket that is hastily placed in front of it. Bowe scribbles on the paper rapidly, leaning forwards.

Colonel Bowe: When will they have a bomb? Surely not before 1954?

SCP-001: When war ceases to threaten the land I called home. When the last drop of blood trickles down the green summer hills. A great thunderclap upon a barren, grassy plain. Once ruled by a great man who could not walk but caused the earth to rumble beneath a horde of hooves. Smoke, a ball of fire, poison in the air. A great stack of mushrooms rising high into the sky.

SCP-001 shudders violently. Its face is pale and it sways back and forth. Ella continues to wipe its face with a towel which is now soaked with blood and vomit. She tosses it aside into a basket and retrieves another from the counter before continuing. Edvard’s face is red, and his whole body is tensed.

Speaker Ella: One more, Colonel. No more.

Bowe clenches his jaw.

Colonel Bowe: I have what I need for that topic. I did not need the reminder, Speaker.

Speaker Ella: If you have an issue with the reminder, take it up with the Rights Oversight Body.

Bowes mouth twitches briefly.

Speaker Edvard: You’re leaving as soon as you’re done.

Colonel Bowe: Let’s not be hasty. Maybe I’d like a cup of tea. Maybe I’d like a casual chat to get to know the Cult.

Edvard opens his mouth. Ella puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes her head. He closes it and frowns for several seconds before speaking again through gritted teeth.

Speaker Edvard: I think it would be best for you to leave as soon as we’re done. She’ll need her rest.

Bowe says nothing. He leans back in the chair and watches Ella finish tending to SCP-001. SCP-001 continues to breathe heavily.

Colonel Bowe: Perhaps another time then. Let’s finish, shall we?

Speaker Edvard: The faster the better.

Bowe frowns at Edvard for several seconds, before looking back to SCP-001.

Colonel Bowe: Final question for the day, boy. The GOC is putting a lot of eggs into the effort to save China from the communist scourge. We are supplying billions in economic and military aid to the KMT, and we have just learned that both sides have stumbled upon troves of ancient anomalous artifacts. China must not fall, but there are concerns about the merit and integrity of the war effort. So, we need to know whether or not they will stand on their own. We need to know when the communists will be crushed.24

Shangtang.webp

Scene from the Chinese Civil War.

SCP-001 coughs. Blood splatters on the table.

SCP-001: A furious dragon shall sweep the land from North to South. It will taint that howling river of yellow cream crimson. The fields shall rise like grains of rice and snuff out men who wage war. To bring a culture not their own to this ancient place. The fire of freedom and change shall settle in the fifth year of the man named Truman.

SCP-001 collapses onto the table, bleeding from its eyes and nose. Bowe takes several additional minutes to write everything down. When Ella and Edvard attempt to move SCP-001, they are physically stopped by the soldiers. Bowe waves the soldiers away after several seconds.

Colonel Bowe: A very productive first session. Very productive indeed. Such a pleasant experience, Speakers. It could’ve been better, however. If I may offer some feedback?

Speaker Edvard: It would be better if you left now.

Colonel Bowe: Next time, Earl Grey tea would be quite lovely. Perhaps some pastries too?

Edvard stares at Bowe. Bowe tucks the pen in his shirt pocket and rises, waving his guards towards the door.

Colonel Bowe: In any case, I will be back in a month. Assuming everything here the boy disclosed was accurate.

Bowe leaves the apartment with guards in tow. Once the door has been shut, Edvard and Ella take SCP-001 into the guest bathroom. Edvard exits and returns to the kitchenette pulling out a large glass bottle of amber liquid and two shot glasses. Ella returns to the kitchen shortly after putting SCP-001 to bed. She frowns and attempts to take the bottle from Edvard. Edvard frowns, looks down, but says nothing. Ella looks at the shot glass and sighs.

Speaker Ella: If you’re going to do this again, I’m going to watch you like a hawk. Three glasses, and then you’re done.

Speaker Edvard: I’m sorry, Ella.

Speaker Ella: Don’t apologize, moderate. Hold each other accountable, that’s what we have to do.

Speaker Edvard: You’ve fallen off the wagon too then?

Ella grunts and puts the bottle up in the cabinet. She prepares another beef and cabbage sandwich, which she then takes to SCP-001 in the bedroom. Eventually, she returns to the kitchen again. Edvard hands Ella the other shot glass.

Speaker Ella: The audacity of that man to ask us to make tea for him.

Speaker Edvard: We have to do something.

Speaker Ella: We’ll submit a complaint to everyone relevant.

Speaker Edvard: Ella, are you serious? That’s it? Complaints that will take weeks, months to process?

Speaker Ella: What else do you want to do, Edvard? Shoot the man?

Speaker Edvard: It’s not a half bad suggestion.

Speaker Ella: That’s the bourbon talking. What comes after?

Speaker Edvard: We celebrate.

Speaker Ella: The whole GOC will come down on us, and we’ll lose member organization status. Worse, the Americans will come down on us, and we might end up in a prison camp. With Nazis.

Speaker Edvard: Maybe then I’d be able to kill the rest of the fuckers.

Speaker Ella: This was a mistake.

Speaker Edvard: The only mistake is letting him walk away free of accountability. We have to do something. I can’t sit by and watch him do that to her again and again.

Speaker Ella: It’s only once a month.

Edvard stares at Ella for several seconds.

Speaker Edvard: You can’t be serious. Once a month it’s ok to let him torture her like that? It’s only once a month right now. He could change the rules anytime he wants; he’s lording his authority over us like some sort of despot!

Ella and Edvard sip from their glasses quietly for several minutes. They do not notice the door to the guestroom crack open. SCP-001 is leaned against the doorframe, listening to the conversation.

Speaker Ella: He has all the power over us. Other than complaints, what can we do but reduce his access?

Speaker Edvard: How?

Speaker Ella: We take her to the sanctuaries in the countryside. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. The building of Eurtec should proceed at sufficient speed so that we can move into early compounds there soon enough.

Speaker Edvard: That won’t solve the current Bowe problem.

Speaker Ella: No, but once Eurtec is built, we will have total control over his access. We can dictate everything on our terms. Besides, there’s no way the GOC will continue to allow these abuses.

Edvard stares into the shot glass for several minutes.

Speaker Edvard: I hope you’re right. By Gungnir, I hope you are.

<End Log>

Nothing could have prepared us for the callousness of that first session. For just how monstrous Bowe would be. How was I supposed to cope with having to sit there and do nothing? Watch as Bowe reduced a goddess to a vomiting, bleeding, weeping mess.

I can’t even stop Edvard from drinking again. I can’t even stop myself from drowning in the bottle. This was not how things were supposed to be.

Worse, this was only the beginning of his tyranny against the Seeress.

Sender: Colonel Steven Bowe

Official Notice:

At 1900 hours on the 15th of January, The Cult of the Nornir and BCE-001 are expected to be present for a Gala in the Oslo University Auditorium. All parties, including BCE-001, are expected to observe a formal dress code. BCE-001 in particular is expected to wear a suit and tie, with men’s dress shoes. His hair should be appropriately cut to a length of no more than two inches.

Against all of us.

Diary Text:

We sent a complaint up the chain after that first communication. He backed down on demanding she appear in specific ways, for a time. But he continues to misgender her regardless of the context.

But it wasn’t just communication.

Notice of Documentation Changes

Assessment-Team.png
Access Enabled by The GOC Archives
Office of Asset and Threat Records
Sender Colonel Steven Bowe, Pentagram Oversight, Threat Assessment Council.
Recipient Office of Council Records
Date 1947/20/JAN
Subject Change in Documentation for BCE-001

Pursuant with Pentagram’s role in oversight of BCE-001 I am submitting the following changes to its documentation.

Change in Designated Accommodations: BCE-001 is to use the Men’s restroom at all times during visits to GOC facilities. It is to be referred to as “sir” or “mister/mr.” or “Seer” by during one on one interactions and when presented before the Council of 108. Medical personnel are instructed to hereby refer to the entity as “he” or “him” and alter gender markers in relevant records.

Changes to Special Instructions: For all official events, a new standard of appearance for BCE-001 will now be enforced. Hair of the entity should be no longer than two inches. For formal affairs it will be dressed in a suit with either choice of bowtie or tie. Closed toe dress shoes are expected. For both formal and non-formal event, dresses and effeminate clothing are forbidden.

Change in Primary Contact for Documentation Records: Please change the primary contact from The Cult of the Nornir to myself.

Please find attached all appropriate forms.

Office of Asset and Threat Records
Sender Office of Council Records
Recipients Colonel Steven Bowe, Pentagram Oversight, Threat Assessment Council. Ella Haugen, CEO Cult of the Nornir.
Date 1947/21/JAN
Subject Change in Documentation for BCE-001

Colonel Bowe,

We have received your change in documentation request. However, there seems to have been a small oversight in your application. I do not see Consent Form 31A: “Acknowledgement of Primary Record Contact Transfer” in your application. I have looped in Ella Haugen, the current contact, to make sure we receive all proper forms while I make the necessary changes.

Office of Asset and Threat Records
Sender Ella Haugen, CEO Cult of the Nornir.
Recipients Office of Council Records. Colonel Steven Bowe, Pentagram Oversight, Threat Assessment Council.
Date 1947/21/JAN
Subject Change in Documentation for BCE-001

Hello Francois,

Please revert all changes to BCE-001’s documentation immediately. The Cult of the Nornir did not sign off on any changes to her special instructions, accommodations or a primary contact transfer. While Bowe is tasked with oversight of the entity, she remains an asset and ward of the Cult of the Nornir.

[308 responses and 263 additional attempts to change documentation removed for brevity]

Bowe used intimate knowledge of the GOC bureaucracy and charter to undermine us at every turn. I spent days on end filling out counterclaims and complaint forms to mitigate the damage.

Most we caught right away, but some slipped through the cracks. Those were the ones that hurt the most. We’d bring the Seeress to an event, or meeting. All of the sudden, she’s being addressed incorrectly. Blocked from using the restroom or even entering. It wounds her too; I can see it in her eyes. In the silence in the evening. The soft sobs that she doesn’t want us to hear.

What drives his obsession with her, with us? I don’t understand his hatred, his attempts to inflict misery.

What did we do to him to deserve this? What did the Seeress do to deserve such abysmal treatment?

I can only think of his displeasure during the Beneficial Asset Assessment. Surely, he would have defended his interests much the same, no? Surely that would not be why he was doing all of this?

Whatever the answers to these questions plaguing us, we needed to protect ourselves and the Seeress.

Diary Text:

We began working on the appropriate document submissions for the move to the countryside. We didn’t need to, but it would look better on paper if something were to happen and our hand was to be forced. Or if Bowe decided to try to stop us. In the meantime, when Bowe couldn’t harass the Seeress physically, he would do so by telegram or phone from his headquarters in Oslo. We would just send a runner or telegraph with the Seeress’s latest predictions otherwise. There wasn’t much we could do other than file a complaint with his superiors, and I don’t know what happened with any of those.

We waited for complaints to be processed, and for the initial facilities of Eurtec to be completed. In hindsight, we should have left sooner.

Between Bowe and our own growing distress, the Seeress regressed in her psychological recovery. Knowing that her protectors were holding off the teeth of a wolf just beyond the door. Knowing that even we might eventually break. I can only imagine how many dark thoughts coiled in her mind during that agonizing wait.

Maybe she grew accustomed to the dagger hanging above our heads because she started improving again. Right about the time she started feeling safe; well, as safe in the space in between his visits as one can feel; is when the Colonel decided that the Seeress was not being as helpful as she could be.

I hadn’t yet learned my lesson, that yes, in fact, things could get worse.

Video Log Excerpt: Predictive Session, August 1947

SCP-001, Speaker Ella, Speaker Edvard and Colonel Bowe are seated at the dining table in Ella’s apartment. Guards with weapons are present, and the presented video excerpt begins roughly halfway through a two-hour predictive session. SCP-001 is still mostly lucid, though bleeding from its nose. Bowe rises from his seat, he is frowning and rubbing his thumbs together behind his back. His eyes briefly turn a subtle shade of red, as if irritated, before returning to normal.

Colonel Bowe: Now, BCE-001—

SCP-001 flinches and laces its fingers into its hair. It rocks back and forth in place.

Colonel Bowe: If you’ll recall, about seven months ago I asked you about China and if our side was going to start winning. Now, I never believed that the negotiations with those damn commies were going to go anywhere, but I relayed your prediction to the Marshall Mission anyways. It sure sounded like the nationalists were winning from your point of view, wouldn’t you say?

SCP-001 does not respond.

Three_people_for_peace.webp

The Marshall Mission.

Colonel Bowe: Well, in their infinite trust in your wisdom, they decided to continue on their current course for another four months. Four. Months. Do you know what happens when you suspend the supply chain to an ally for four months?

Bowe leans down next to SCP-001’s ear.

Colonel Bowe: Do you, boy?

SCP-001 does not respond. Bowe slowly walks to the other side of SCP-001.

Colonel Bowe: Well, then our diplomats decided to tell the commies some reworded form of your prediction in the subtle way that diplomats do things. You know what they told me? The commies looked pleased. Pleased, BCE-001. Now that doesn’t seem right, does it?

SCP-001 shivers but does not respond. Bowe looms over SCP-001.

Colonel Bowe: And you want to know something? Here we are, three months later in August, and the Nationalists are starting to lose, bad. We went nearly ten months without giving them anything and now that we are again, it’s all going into the hands of corrupt warlords. Truman’s losing faith in the ROC by the hour. We’re going to lose China; can you imagine that? So, I think you can imagine me sitting here wondering if you didn’t tell me the truth?

Gu%25C3%25A8rra_Civila_Chinesa_%25281946-1950%2529.webp

Progression of the Chinese Civil War.

Bowe puts his hands on the back of SCP-001’s chair. Ella and Edvard watch; sitting tense in their seats. Several seconds pass in silence.

Colonel Bowe: Boy, are you listening to me?

I could not possibly have been more wrong.

SCP-001 does not respond. Bowe’s hand moves. He grabs SCP-001 before Ella or Edvard can move and yanks it out of the chair. He holds its arm up in a painful position. Ella practically leaps out of her chair, standing still as she stares at Bowe.

Colonel Bowe: Son, don’t you sit there and ignore me when I’m talking to you!

Bowe shakes SCP-001 vigorously by the arm. SCP-001 cries out, using its other arm to try to push away and get Bowe to release it. It fails.

Colonel Bowe: Did you lie to me, boy?! I’m growing less amused by this cryptic mystery shit you keep peddling. You are playing with my patience and time by acting like some ancient Greek Oracle in a fable! You’re a goddamn intelligence asset and your games are threatening national security! I advocated for you behind closed doors because I thought you could be a useful little man. Instead, you’re playing games and making me look like an idiot!

SCP-001 cries out again. Ella knocks over her chair, and rushes over. She tries to pry Bowe off of SCP-001.

Speaker Ella: Colonel, you need to release her right now!

There was a spell on the tip of my tongue. The fire spreading heat beneath my skin. Fingers twitched with a curse that would put an end to this. I could already smell the flesh rotting off his bones in slow, agonizing waves.

Then, his man points a damn rifle at my skull.

One of the guards moves, pressing the barrel of their rifle to the back of Ella’s skull. Ella freezes in place. Edvard shifts as if to stand but stops when another gun barrel is placed against the back of his skull. SCP-001 stops struggling. Its sightless eyes are wide.

Ella’s hands shake.

Sergeant Jones: You make one wrong move, your brains all over that wall. Got it?

All the moisture fled my mouth, leaving it filled with cotton balls.

Ella nods her head up and down slowly. She is shaking Bowe turns to Ella, releasing SCP-001. It attempts to flee toward the guest room but is stopped by one of the guards who bars its path. It collides with him and falls to the floor, curling into the fetal position.

Colonel Bowe: I am conducting business on behalf of the Council of 108. Business that is of the highest priority to the security of the organization. The geopolitical stability of our world. Noble causes wouldn’t you agree?

Bowe paces around the table, looking Ella up and down.

Colonel Bowe: You both fought in the war. Surely you understand the need to get rough with a noncooperating entity? Surely you understand interfering is grounds for disciplinary action, Speakers? Interfering could also be considered treason. Now, what happens to him if you commit treason, hmm?

Ella clenches her jaw.

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Nationalist troops waiting for the next phase of action.

Speaker Edvard: Manhandling and violently shaking a blind woman is official business? Pressing guns to the back of member organization official’s heads too?

Bowe raises the volume of his voice.

Colonel Bowe: Are you interfering, Speakers!?

Edvard pulls his lips back to reveal teeth. He narrows his eyes.

Speaker Ella: Edvard, don’t.

Edvard growls before slowly sitting back down.

Colonel Bowe: Good man, good you understand your position. Now, I need you to make the boy understand his or we are going to have a lot more problems.

Ella looks at Bowe.

Speaker Ella: You cannot treat her like this. The Seeress is protected through the GOC Beneficial Entity’s Rights Bill, Colonel. Two can play the game of citing regulations.

Colonel Bowe: Those rights only apply as long as the entity is being cooperative. And they are enforced at the discretion of the overseeing bodies. As luck has it, I remain the overseeing body.

Ella stares at Bowe for several seconds.

Speaker Ella: You won’t get anything out of the Seeress through violence.

Colonel Bowe: Perhaps not today, but we’ll see about next time.

Ten minutes pass as Bowe attempts to get SCP-001 to return to predictions. The speakers are held at gunpoint during the entire duration. The entity is non-responsive, remaining curled up on the floor. Bowe puts his pen and notebook away before looking down at SCP-001 again.

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PLA troops attacking Jinzhou under heavy para-artillery fire.

Colonel Bowe: A shame that you forced me to become so unpleasant, BCE-001. Hopefully, this will be enough to make sure you understand what cooperation looks like. Hopefully it’s enough to help you avoid such disruptive behavior in the future. Despite my position, I quite hate it when you force me to resort to violence. It’s beneath me.

Bowe and his guards then turn to leave the apartment. Bowe stops in the doorway as Edvard moves to the door.

Colonel Bowe: Oh, and speakers? I am disappointed that there was still a lack of tea and—

Bowe is cut off as the door is slammed in his face by Edvard.

Speaker Edvard: Fucking fascist monster.

SCP-001 is helped off the floor and into the guest bedroom. Ella makes sure the entity is fully in bed before returning to the main area of the apartment. Edvard returns to his chair and remains seated. His arms are crossed and he stares at the door. His face is red. When Ella returns to the room, he gets up and throws the chair. It smacks against the wall leaving another dent.

Speaker Edvard: I’m going to murder that man with my bare fucking hands!

Edvard walks over to the cabinet and pulls out a bottle of bourbon and two glasses.

Speaker Ella: Don’t say such things, not here!

Speaker Edvard: Why not?! He can say whatever the fuck he wants, do what he wants. I’ll kill him and end this.

SCP-001 slips out of bed and moves to the door, pressing its ear against it. Edvard pours them both a glass.

Speaker Ella: How do you think that’s going to end, Edvard?

Speaker Edvard: Better than whatever in Odin’s name we’re doing right now. This all stops with his bloodied corpse on the floor, full of holes. Or with his last struggles as I crush his windpipe.

Speaker Ella: Realistically, you will be on the floor bleeding from a dozen bullet holes. He has guns, guards, and Pentagram at his back.

Speaker Edvard: I saw that curse you wanted to lob. You should have done it. You felt what I do, don’t hide it.

Speaker Ella: That would have been a mistake, and you know it. We must be smart, Edvard! Not rash!

Speaker Edvard: Smart? Smart? Does smart involve continuing to do nothing? Does smart involve standing here helplessly? Does smart involve watching the Seeress be battered around like a doll? Watching her piss herself every time that bastard walks in the room?

Speaker Ella: No, it means we go. We leave. Go where he can’t access her unless it’s on our terms. It means filing a rights complaint. It means using the levers of the GOC. Either force Bowe back into line or have him removed.

Edvard takes several deep breaths.

Speaker Edvard: You said that seven months ago, and yet here we are! It’s getting worse and you’re still putting a lot of faith in the GOC to do the right thing.

Speaker Ella: They’re onto his bullshit now within the bureaucracy. Faith in the system is all we have. Besides, it’s— better than being shot. It’s better than leaving her alone at his mercy!

Edvard curls and uncurls his fist several times. He sets the glasses and bottle on the table before picking up the chair again and retaking his seat. He then grunts.

Speaker Edvard: When do we leave for the sanctuary?

Edvard downs the glass in one swallow before pouring another.

Speaker Ella: First thing tomorrow.

Speaker Edvard: If this doesn’t work, Ella, then what?

He takes another long swallow before reaching for the bottle again. Ella moves it out of his reach.

Speaker Ella: I don’t know.

Edvard’s cheeks become red.

Speaker Edvard: You don’t know!? We can’t keep letting these things happen to her. We have a responsibility, after everything she’s been through, to give her a better existence.

Speaker Ella: I know. One step at a time.

Speaker Edvard throws up his hands and rocks the chair back and forth.

Speaker Edvard: If this doesn’t work, then—

Speaker Ella: Then we’ll figure out another way within the existing systems.

Speaker Edvard: And if all the existing systems fail? Then what?

I didn’t know how to respond to that question. What does one do if everything fails?

What do you do when the system that’s supposed to protect you from abuse starts to enable that abuse? You go higher in the organization and have faith they will protect you.

Or at least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.

Ella does not respond. She stares at the table for several seconds and rubs her temples. Edvard spends several minutes silently running one hand through his hair. Ella and Edvard then wordlessly pull several folders from a filing cabinet. Ella begins making phone calls, while Edvard begins filling out GOC issued forms.

SCP-001 slowly moves away from the door to the center of the guest room. It stares in the general direction of the mirror on the wardrobe for roughly five minutes while its hands shake.

For the next hour, SCP-001 attempts to engage in physical activity. It attempts to practice coordinated martial movements with its staff and engages with various exercise techniques. It struggles substantially. Eventually SCP-001 collapses on the bed and sobs until it falls asleep.

Ella and Edvard continue to work for the next several hours, while drinking from the bottle of Bourbon. This continues on into the next day before they both collapse from exhaustion.

<End Log>

Diary Text:

We spent hours agonizing over the complaint forms and rights abuse conditions to make sure we documented everything. Photographs of the bruises, eyewitness accounts between us and the other speakers, everything. Then we submitted the forms.

A large part of me wondered if this would work. What we would do if everything failed. How could we fight it? How could we break free of the system without being destroyed?

I didn’t have an answer then. I suppose I still don’t now.

While we were fighting to save our vision of the GOC, the Seeress started regressing, again. But this time it was different.

She was tired all the time and started eating like a starving wolf. She rarely left the apartment alone in those days. Her physical activities were limited. I can’t say what caused or continues to cause her change in hunger and exhaustion. Is it trauma?

I wish I could provide some hope that things will get better. But I’m no longer sure a move to the countryside will even accomplish that.

I thought we had a plan. I thought after the war; after discovering SCP-001, we could make a better world with the GOC. Maybe I was a fool all along.

Once everything was submitted, we began the long wait.

We hoped the complaints would be resolved before we left for the countryside.

A few days became a week. The first response came back from the Rights Oversight Body. The complaint had been received.

We waited another week to hear back, only to receive a letter apologizing that the files had been lost in transit. Thankfully, I had taken the steps to have multiple copies made in the event of something like this. We sent those out. The Ethical conduct board then responded, their copies had been damaged by fire. So, I sent another copy out. This happened with both offices several more times.

The final time, the documents seemed to stick. So, we waited a week.

Then nearly a month.

Nothing happened.

I would stand by the mailroom in the hours when the postman would come. He would look at me and shake his head. Always with a smile. Oh to have been that man, so unbothered by the greater concerns that we were drowning in.

Finally, we got a notice in the mail. Two letters, one from the Rights Oversight Body and one from the Ethical Conduct Board.

Formal Notices of Complaint Decision

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Access Enabled by The GOC Archives
__ Rights Oversight Body __
Sender Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body
Recipient Ella Haugen, CEO of the Cult of the Nornir
Date 1947/3/OCT
Subject Status of Rights Complaint

Dear Speaker Haugen,

After thorough review of your case materials, the Rights Oversight Body has come to the conclusion that the current complaint lacks sufficient evidence to validate the claims which you have made about Colonel Bowe. If you have additional materials pertinent to this complaint, feel free to submit them for further analysis. Otherwise, at this time, if we do not receive a response within three weeks of your receipt of this letter, we shall consider this case resolved.

Assessment-Team.png
Access Enabled by The GOC Archives
__ Ethical Conduct Board __
Sender Rebecca Haufsen, Chair of Ethical Conduct Board
Recipient Ella Haugen, CEO of the Cult of the Nornir
Date 1947/3/OCT
Subject Status of Ethical Conduct Board

Dear Speaker Haugen,

We have reviewed the materials attached to your complaint. We have come to the conclusion that the conflict you are currently experiencing with Colonel Bowe largely seems to be of an interpersonal nature. As such, your complaint falls outside the scope of our jurisdiction and would be better served by either seeking mediation with Colonel Bowe or working alongside him to improve interpersonal relationships and communication.

I sat with those letters for several hours. Staring at the text. In a fit of anger, I spat on the official paper seals. Tossed curses that would make even Loki recoil in horror. Then I lit a fire in the hearth and watched them burn, pretending all the while that they were everyone involved in this debacle.

This is the successor org to the AOI? The organization we relied on for supplies? For compassion? To provide strength to our continued resistance of the Nazis? There was a mass wave of retirements during the formation of the GOC but… surely the institutions I trusted could not have fallen apart this fast? How can they say there is nothing to do against abuse of power by one of their own? Did they even look at the comprehensive evidence we sent them?

This is not the GOC I believed in. As long as the bureaucracy could tie him up, there was still some hope. But it was becoming more and more clear that we would need to find our own path, even as we remained with the Council of 108.

Diary Text:

A few days out from Bowe’s next visit, we packed up and left, leaving behind a note explaining we had departed for the countryside sanctuary. He was furious, but we accounted for that.

We received a phone call in the evening when Bowe’s visit was supposed to be, demanding to know where we had gone.

Can he not read?

There was rage in his voice. I hope that the giddiness in mine.

I told him we had departed to a more comfortable set of arrangements for the Seeress. Then I hung up.

I remember the benefits being immediate once we arrived. No more bustling streets of Oslo. No more Bowe just a few buildings away. Woods, the mountains, the crystal lake, and all our gardens and ancestral halls. Nature’s scent hanging heavy on the wind polluted by mead and mutton.

Bowe was finally at our mercy. Forced to travel for his visits and with limited contact that required going through one of us. At least for the years that followed our move.

He bitched about it constantly. That we’d made his job much more difficult. That his superiors expected him to be accessible for regular contact. This was back before the dedicated train-line and long-distance telephone wires reached the retreat. We drank heavily to the revelation he couldn’t follow us out here.

Of course the long distance abused continued. Phone calls at odd and unreasonable hours, telegrams with cryptic requests or demands we make a trip to Oslo. Half the time we simply pretended there were issues with transmission. It finally felt as if we were in control, as if I could actually protect the Seeress from him. Peace, at least for a time, was palpable.

With peace, she began to improve again. I think it was more than just the quiet. She thrived in the nature, standing next to the lake, wandering the gardens. Like Oslo had been a trap constantly agitating an old wound.

But as I’m sure you have come to appreciate by now, nothing in my story stays calm for long.

On August 29th, the Soviets detonated a Hiroshima style device. We wouldn’t find out until nearly a month later.

Video Log Excerpt: September 23rd, 1949

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A house in the Silicon Nornir’s countryside sanctuary.

<Begin Log>

Speaker Ella, Speaker Edvard, and SCP-001 are in a large open room within one of the mead-hall-styled homesteads which compose the central living spaces of the Cult of the Nornir’s sanctuary. Two dozen Nornir cultists are present. Ella, Edvard, and SCP-001 are discussing the contents of a novel near the center of the room.

The doors to the building violently open. Twenty men with weapons enter the building, followed by Colonel Bowe. Bowe is hunched forwards with his hands clasped behind his back. There is a cigarette in his mouth, and it briefly trails maroon smoke. Ella and Edvard make to rise but are stopped by weapons being leveled at them. The other cultists in the room remain seated. Guards begin handcuffing everyone to their chairs. SCP-001 is frozen in its chair, breathing rapidly and shallow. It is forced to stand by a soldier pulling on its hair violently. SCP-001 then drops into a kneel when the soldier kicks the backc of its knee’s after kicking away the chair.

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Traditional Norse Style Home in the Silicon Nornir’s countryside sanctuary.

Bowe points at Ella and Edvard.

Colonel Bowe: Speakers, you will stay where you fucking are or I will have you shot.

Speaker Ella: Bowe? What is the meaning of this!?

Ella and Edvard are promptly handcuffed to the chairs.

Colonel Bowe: Six hours ago, I received confirmation that the Soviets detonated their first atomic device. And that happened almost a month ago.

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First Soviet Nuclear Bomb Design.

Ella and Edvard stare at Bowe, then look at each other. Then SCP-001. Then back to Bowe.

Speaker Edvard: What in Hel’s icy depths does that have to do with us?

Colonel Bowe: It means you are subject number fucking one for treason, against the GOC and the United States of America, in the disclosure of nuclear secrets to the Soviets.

Speaker Ella: That’s absurd!

Colonel Bowe: Is it? We live in a world of absurdity! What better way to spy on your mortal enemy’s deepest secrets than with a false divinity that can see the past, present and future? We have lost China to the communists and now the Soviets have the bomb! Maybe I was wrong 3 years ago. Maybe she wasn’t a product of German engineering. Maybe she was a Soviet spy all along.

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Site of Soviet nuclear weapons tests, Kazakhstan

SCP-001 is in tears, likely due to the pain of its hair being continuously pulled.

SCP-001: I am-m-m n-n-not a warmongering spy.

Colonel Bowe: For once the boy speaks for itself. Then who the fuck are you?! Where did you come from?! Who are you working for?!

SCP-001: You would not believe the details in the fractured looking glass. You would not understand the depths of origin. I work for no one but the tides of Fate!

Colonel Bowe: Then I have to assume the worst of you, boy! Prove you’re not a spy, son. Prove to all of us that you’re worth more than the mud I should throw you into!

SCP-001: Man of CHARLES found in REST beneath an auspice of Fuchs from a man bereft of the jolly Klaus. Burdened by message of Auric reticence and bound to reveal Glass of Green and a Rose who will sear beneath the current of electric penitence. In these words, you will find the spies who bore fruit. In these words, I doom others for a greater good in name of your vapid ego. Take these sins to VENONA and you shall know the truth.

Director’s Note: SCP-001 here was likely referring to Klaus Fuchs, Harry Gold, David Greenglass, Julius Rosenburg, Theodore Hall, and other theoretical physicists frequently referred to as the Soviet Atomic Spies. These individuals provided critical information to the Soviet NKGB and NKVD which in turn accelerated the development of the Soviet Atomic Bomb program.

SCP-001’s testament aligned with the approximate parallel decryptions of Soviet communications by the VENONA Project, which were interpreted by GCHQ and used for interrogation of Klaus Fuchs. Fuchs did not confess until January of 1950, when he revealed his courier, who then exposed a greater network of theoretical physicists involved in the Los Alamos project and included the Rosenburgs.

Bowe writes SCP-001’s words on a piece of paper and hands it to one of the guards.

Colonel Bowe: Send an encrypted telegraph to British Intelligence services. ASAP.

The soldier leaves the building and heads for the local post office, which has a telegraph wire.

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The mundane and occultic codebreakers of Project VENONA were mostly women.

Colonel Bowe: Now, we are going to wait here until confirmation comes that you’re not pulling the wool over my eyes. No one moves until then.

[The next hour of footage has been removed for brevity.]

One hour after a message was sent, the soldier returns with a decrypted response. He hands the piece of paper to Bowe. Bowe stares at it for several minutes before reading it aloud.

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Mundane and occultic codebreakers of Project VENONA were mostly women.

Colonel Bowe: To the attention of Colonel Bowe, Pentagram, stop. For your eyes only, stop. Klaus Fuchs suspected to be Soviet code name CHARLES at REST, stop. MI5 is currently investigating, stop. Classified information, stop. Please advise at earliest convenience of potential information breach, stop. Please advise on relevance of rest of message, stop. Again, how did Pentagram acquire this information, stop?

Several minutes of silence as Bowe reads over the telegram again. Eventually he sticks it into his shirt pocket and straightens his posture.

Colonel Bowe: It seems, I was a little hasty in my assumptions.

Speaker Edvard: ‘Hasty?’ You fucking stormed our home with a whole platoon, and damaged hand carved doors that took carpenters years to properly make!

Colonel Bowe: How would you respond to the leak of nuclear secrets?

Speaker Ella: Perhaps consulting with other intelligence agencies first would have been a good move?

Colonel Bowe: Advice I will certainly keep in mind for the future. Despite this rather convenient piece of intelligence exonerating the boy, I remain suspicious.

Speaker Edvard: You cannot be serious!? She likely just handed you an entire Soviet spy ring on a platter!

Colonel Bowe: Which makes it all the more imperative that I am in increased regular contact with him. Imperative to ensure one of you is not leaking prophetic information to enemies of the GOC, of course.

Ella and Edvard stare at Bowe for thirty seconds. Before they can say anything, he speaks again.

Colonel Bowe: So, to better account for these new circumstances, I am altering the arrangement. I will now see BCE-001 twice a month. Bi-monthly. Maybe more or less as needed.

Speaker Edvard: By Midgardsommars tail you will, I’ll—

The rage in his eyes burned so hot I was afraid it would melt Bowe’s flesh. What he would say next might doom us in some unexpected way, so I had to act.

As they are uncuffed from the chairs, Ella covers Edvard’s mouth with a hand. SCP-001 is released and collapses onto its hands, pressing one hand to the back of its skull.

Speaker Ella: You cannot simply change things on a whim! This is outrageous.

Colonel Bowe: I make the rules, Speaker Ella. I can change them as oversight requires.

Bowe turns and leaves with his men. Nornir cultists continue to protest vigorously. Once Bowe is gone the cultists look between each other, SCP-001, and Ella and Edvard.

Speaker Ella: Everyone, please return to your homes for the rest of the day. We will handle things from here.

The rest of the cultists hesitate but eventually slowly begin filing out of the hall. This leaves Edvard, Ella, and SCP-001 alone. Ella helps the entity up as Edvard stares at the table with his jaw clenched.

Speaker Edvard: So, here we are, Ella.

Speaker Ella: Edvard…

Speaker Edvard: Don’t. Just, don’t, Ella.

Speaker Ella: It’s my job to protect us politically.

Speaker Edvard: And it’s my job to protect us physically. Yet, here we are.

SCP-001: I am sorry. For bringing this all down atop you. For dragging you back into the depths of a habit which you had long forsworn.

Speaker Edvard: Seeress, under absolutely no circumstances do you need to apologize. I am sorry we have failed you, repeatedly.

SCP-001 stares at the table.

Speaker Edvard: We tried and we tried but the whole system is failing us. The GOC isn’t what we thought it would be.

SCP-001: It is because I am weak. It is because they see my weakness. It is because they took so much from me. Heavy weigh the trace of serpents against my skin. It is the curse of this gift that wraps around my neck and the necks of all who grow in my shadow. It chokes them, smothers them.

Speaker Edvard: No. It’s not you. It’s the weakness of men, their greed and hatred of anything that’s different from them. We have to find another way.

Thirty seconds of silence. SCP-001 rocks slowly in place, reaching for its staff.

Speaker Ella: What do you want to do? What do you want me to do?

Speaker Edvard: You… should do nothing different from what you have been. We should give Bowe nothing to confirm his suspicions.

Speaker Ella: What are you going to do? Are you going to—

Speaker Edvard: No, I’m not going to leave.

Speaker Ella: Then, what?

Speaker Edvard: I will figure out something. I just need you to trust that I won’t put everyone at risk.

<End Log>

Bowe started taking a plane out from Oslo twice a month with his band of trolls. Anytime one of the Seeress’s predictions seemed even a bit suspicious over telegram, the phone would ring and we would get bombarded with accusations and questions.

We lost two speakers to suspicions of Soviet sympathies in the first few weeks alone!

Diary Text:

Between the Seeress, Bowe, and my constant vigilance against the GOC’s bureaucracy, I find myself indulging far more than I should. There have been many mornings in recent memory where I have woken up with no memory of the night before and a horrendous hangover.

Those are the mornings where I find myself being taken care of by the Seeress of all people. She holds my hair while I dry heave over the toilet. Is surprisingly adept at making tea and herbal concoctions to soothe my stomach and acheing skull. But the way she furrows her brow, the pursing of her lips. Are we worrying her?

The questions that sit with me in the days and weeks following that visit are many. But perhaps the most present was, where would Edvard turn to? What was he going to do? How was he going to do it?

I cannot help but grow increasingly uneasy as Edvard leans heavier on the mead. It’s not as if I can blame him. But I’m afraid he’ll do something while drunk, and we’ll all have to pay the price. His temper is certainly worsening when we even see him.

Sometimes it’s hard to tell why he’s becoming reclusive and increasingly secretive. Is it because he’s hiding just how far he’s fallen off? Or is it because he’s following up on his promise?

Video Log Excerpts of Speaker Edvard


Log Excerpt 1028 | September 25th, 1949

1500-1505: Recording begins in one of the Nornir greenhouses on sanctuary grounds. Speaker Edvard enters into frame. He stands in the door, half in the greenhouse and half outside. He looks back and forth several times. He walks further into the greenhouse and continues to stop and turn in place. He examines the interior of the space several more times. Eventually, he walks towards a brick wall on the far side of the enclosure. The footage becomes obscured by static for several seconds. When it returns to normal, Edvard is no longer visible.

1600-1605: Camera footage becomes obscured by static again. When the static fades, Edvard is again visible. He is holding what appears to be a hand mirror. He then leaves the greenhouse.

Log Excerpt 1030 | September 27th, 1949

Ella is walking on the premises of the property in one of the open-air verandas near a walled garden. There is only one way in or out. She was within the walls of the garden near the entrance for the better part of an hour. She is now walking towards a corner, which leads to another vestibule of the gardens. Abruptly, Edvard rounds the corner, walking fast. Ella yelps as they almost collide.

I remember first running into him in the gardens that September. His breath reeked of alcohol, smoke, and something indescribably thaumic. His eyes were dilated and bloodshot. Was he doing drugs now too?

Speaker Ella: By Mjölnir, Edvard, where did you come from?

Speaker Edvard: I’ve been out all day. Came in here to think amongst the flowers. It’s a wonder you didn’t hear me.

Speaker Ella: It certainly is!

Edvard walks past Ella and does not stop for conversation. One hand is obscured within his cloak.

Speaker Ella: Edvard, where are you going in such a hurry!?

Speaker Edvard: I just remembered that there is something I need to ask the Seeress before she is put to bed.

Speaker Ella: Well why don’t I—

Ella turns. Edvard has already left the garden.

Speaker Ella: Someone is in a hurry. Never mind I suppose.

Log Excerpt 1050 | October 15th, 1949

Edvard is in his private home on the Nornir Cult’s sanctuary grounds. SCP-001 is seated nearby, drinking from a cup of chocolate milk. Edvard is looking into a mirror placed on a dresser near the door. There are dark shadows under his eyes. Someone knocks at the door twice and he hastily throws a sheet over the top of the mirror before sliding several pieces of parchment into an envelope. The door opens and Ella appears in the doorway. She walks towards him.

Speaker Ella: Ah! You’re both here! I thought you might have taken a garden walk and checked there first.

Speaker Edvard: I was just about to come find you to take over with Name Unspoken.

Ella gestures towards the envelope.

Speaker Ella: What’s that?

Speaker Edvard: Just post for the stock exchange predictions.

Speaker Ella: Do you want me to take it to the post-office? It’s closer to my quarters and might save you the trip.

Speaker Edvard: No that’s alright, I need the walk to clear my head.

Speaker Edvard, SCP-001 and Speaker Ella depart the residence into the dim light of the evening. Edvard walks in the opposite direction of Ella and SCP-001. Ella stops and watches him for several seconds before calling out.

Speaker Ella: Edvard, the post office is this way.

Speaker Edvard: I know, I’m going to go for a little stroll in the wooded thicket. The long way around. Don’t wait up for me.

Speaker Edvard disappears from view into the trees. Speaker Ella stands still for several seconds. SCP-001 waits for Speaker Ella, holding the woman’s hand.

Speaker Ella: He’s acting off recently. Did you discuss anything Seeress?

SCP-001: Inquiries into the stars and mirrors. Questions about the idle hand and strings of fate. Your worries, while justified through his increasing anger, will not be realized in the turns to come.

<End Log>

Diary Text:

The obvious truth is, the Seeress likely knows exactly what he is doing. I’ve made multiple attempts to sit down and ask her. They end the same way each time. She certainly loves her word puzzles and cryptic vagaries. Which makes the lack of solid answers frustrating.

But her evasiveness is a sign of good things. She’s healing and regaining confidence with every passing day. There are still the occasional night terrors, that low tone in the deep night, but I’m no longer running on fumes for days on end. Hopefully soon, she will no longer need our constant monitoring.

As the end of 1949 approached, and we prepared to exit the tumultuous years of the 40s, our conditions, overall, seemed to stabilize. We settled into a rhythm those last few months. For the first time since 1946, I felt like we were finally able to breathe. Progress with Eurtec’s construction was good. Daytrips to pick the exact site of the NFMA and oversee the laying of its foundations became more frequent.

It wouldn’t be long before we moved into the nearby residential compounds.

Perhaps I was growing confident that the worst of our trials were over. We had scraped rock bottom, and there was only room to go up.

Still, I could not help but worry that Edvard might leave or do something rash that would agitate the delicate balance we now found ourselves in. His behavior grew increasingly erratic, between drinking and resorting to what I can only assume were thaumic drugs. To this day, I still don’t know where he went when we were searching for him. Maybe he was using Ways. But the question then was, where was he going?

Every time I was left wondering, would he come back this time?


Addendum 9: 1949-1950

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Access provided by the Silicon Nornir archives.

It was in December of 1949 that the seeds of our future began to bloom in earnest. The first residential compounds, which would become part of the NFMA, finished construction in roughly late November. They were ready for occupation by the middle of December.

It was colder than Hel itself when we started the move out of the sanctuary. By then, there were close to seventy-five of us, nearly double what we had just a few months ago. We had to shovel the snow for the trucks and make a clean access avenue for the large Way that would take us directly into Eurtec. My hands were numb by the time we had everything loaded and ready to move.

Before we all piled in we took a moment to look out over the sanctuary that had been our home for centuries. The mountains in the distance, the quiet gardens and forests, and the crystal lake shimmering. We were going to miss it.

Name Unspoken shuddered as we crossed that boundary, looking up towards the sky. She held her arm up, wrapped her fingers around something intangible and pulled. I looked up to see a starry false sky embedded onto the ceiling of an impossibly tall cavern. For a moment it almost seemed as if the stars themselves were connected together by lines of light. There were these large, dark shadows curling across them. Three silhouettes, I think. She mumbled something, but I didn’t quite catch it.

The Underworld was warm and muggy compared to the frigid Norwegian Winter. A sharp contrast to my three trips to Helheim in 39. There was a thick humidity clawing at my skin. The cavern was filled with a green haze, clouds of grey and green drifting across the false starry sky. Distinct smells swirled together. Sulfur, chlorine, flowers, decaying leaves, concrete and asphalt. The languid purple waters of the river lethe cut a channel through the mainland and curled across the various islands in its delta, across which Eurtec was being constructed. In the far distance, I could see that great golden cypress tree under which the lake of Mnemosyne gave birth to the waters of the river from some deep well in the earth.

Trucks carried us along one of several paved roads that crisscrossed between the skeletal frames of futuristic art-deco skyscrapers.

It took maybe twenty minutes to reach the residential compound; I hadn’t quite realized just how big Eurtec was going to be when finished. In the process we passed an ugly brutalist style building in the shape of a pentagram. The familiar banners streaming from its walls sent an unsettled shiver up my spine. As we reached the residential compound and began to unload, I had to face the reality we were moving into. Our ordeal was far from over.

Bowe had been promoted and he was already here in Eurtec.

Footage Excerpt from Predictive Session, September 30th, 1950

<Begin Log>

When war broke out in the Koreas, Bowe became a constant presence in the compound.

The deteriorating conditions of the Pusan front pushed him to the absolute limit. The pressure he was under to produce useful intelligence? It must have been immense.

I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

General Bowe and SCP-001 are seated at a table in a conference room, within a Eurtec office space. Bowe is wearing an unusually bright, crimson tie.

Korean_War_bombing_Wonsan_%2528cropped%2529.webp

Bombing of Wonsan during the Korean War.

General S. Bowe: Now listen to me very carefully for this next question. What will happen if UN command crosses the 38th parallel and invades North Korea?

When they started to push the North Koreans back out of the south, there was a palpable shift. That same desperation which brought him to our doorstep day after day for the last few months?

SCP-001’s hand clenches around the staff it is holding. Its nose begins to bleed.

General S. Bowe: Well, come on! I don’t have all day.

The_People%2527s_Volunteer_Army_disembarks_on_a_western_Korean_island_under_the_cover_of_artillery_and_machine_guns%252C_c.webp

The PLA assaulting a ROK and US position with para-weapons.

SCP-001 shudders, taking a deep breath. It remains in place, taking stuttered breaths. It does not attempt to flee as it has in the past.

SCP-001: …

It evolved.

General S. Bowe: Do I need to get handsy with you again, boy?

SCP-001 tenses. General Bowe gestures to a guard who starts to slowly walk around the table. SCP-001’s hands shake but it does not pull at its hair or rock in place. Edvard is watching Bowe and SCP-001. He has a small black notebook open in front of him and is taking attentive notes. His jaw clenches as the guard stands over SCP-001. Ella is tense where she is seated but she does not move. Her eyes move between Bowe, the guard, and SCP-001.

SCP-001: …

General Bowe gestures. The soldier grabs SCP-001 by the arm. He pins it before yanking on its hair. SCP-001 lets out a cry of pain and struggles briefly against the hold. After several seconds of failing to break free, it speaks.

SCP-001: A great wave of men shall flow across a chilled river and smash upon an ill-prepared line. The sky shall fill with birds of metal. Fre and blood will run deep in the mud. In the hills. Much as it did in the ides of my youth upon a forgotten plain. A great victory! Driving towards an end to the storm of death spawned by a sea of red.

U2.webp

US soldiers preparing to push towards the Yalu river.

Bowe gestures again. The soldier releases SCP-001. It breathes heavily while shaking but does not attempt to flee.

General S. Bowe: Now that’s what I call good work, boy. More of that, or else we’ll have to keep being handsy.

<End Log>

Memo to General MacArthur, October 3rd, 1950: Operational success in North Korean Invasion assured by prescient asset. Chinese threat is a bluff. Proceed with offensive at your imperative.

-Pentagram Command

With every session the leap to violent handling of the Seeress has quickened. Every day I was afraid a line would be crossed that cannot be walked back.

Diary Text:

Edvards anger deepens with every session, the red in his cheeks darkening to a purple only beets can match. But he doesn’t act. He sits there and takes detailed notes in his little black book. He watches and he waits. I wonder what he is writing?

Perhaps he is doodling his violent waking dreams of unspeakable acts against Bowe and his retinue. Whatever is in there, he doesn’t let that book out of his sight. He doesn’t want me to see it either. Every time in recent memory I have walked in, and seen it on the table, he shuts it. Then he tucks it away in a bag, a pocket, or an extra dimensional space.

His drinking has not diminished. Worse, he no longer does it where I can see it. In the evening he dons his coat and walks out. Into the mists of Eurtec’s sprawling construction to Mimir knows where. I’ve stopped asking where he’s going, because it’s always the same response. “Out.”

When he returns, he reeks of alcohol. Sometimes he comes back high on new occultic drugs, trailing the aftereffects of their thaumic discharge like a spell gone awry.

I should have staged an intervention. I should have done more to hold him accountable. But how could I? Between Edvard, Bowe, Eurtec’s ongoing construction, and Bowe’s endless waves of bureaucratic bastardry, I was drowning. Both in my own imbibes, and in fighting to keep myself glued together.

By that point I had given up on Rights Oversight Body complaints as anything more than a stopping measures to create a paper trail. The answer I received from every submission, no matter how heinous the abuse from Bowe, was always the same. There’s only one reason I can think of for why Bowe was able to continue this madness for so long. He must have gained more pull with the GOC.

Private Memo Exchanges, GOC Archives

Foreword: The following is a private memo exchange extracted from the GOC’s early computerized terminal system running on software; which would eventually become the basis for DOS. The exchange occurs between two parties. General Steven Bowe of the Threat Assessment Committee and Eurtec Oversight Command and Councilor Roger Stucchi of the Rights Oversight Body. The memos presented are largely regarding ethical and rights abuse complaints received from the Cult of the Nornir.

October 5th, 1950

To: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative.
From: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body

Steve,

We’ve received another infraction complaint from the Cult of the Nornir about your treatment of BCE-001.

As your friend, you’re pushing the envelope pretty far. What’s the goal here?

Help me understand why you’re being so publicly visible? Why do you need an iron fist towards the Cult of the Nornir and BCE-001? I want to continue making these complaints go away, but at the rate you’re generating them, it’s going to get noticed. Someone will eventually make a stink in internal reviews.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get exposed and take us all down with you.

-Roger

To: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body
From: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative

Good Evening, Roger,

It’s simple. Self-righteous, religious zealots cause problems. Polytheistic religious zealots especially. Their beliefs empower them and whatever pseudo divinity they believe in with substantial thaumic capacity.

The way to deal with zealous cults is to disabuse them of the notion that their divine focus is anything but a sniveling imposter. Simply look at that abomination, it’s a man pretending to be a woman. It clearly isn’t even of Norse origin. But the cult has deluded themselves into believing as such and are empowering this imposter.

I’ll admit, he has his uses. His information certainly seems to be a boon to us and them. But vigilance and constant degrading of its status is the only way to keep them in check.

If I can just get him to tell us who he really is and where he came from, we can tear their whole system down. Then we can use him at will.

-Steve

To: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative.
From: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body

Steve,

Those are all fair points. But some of the things in these complaints seem excessively public, even for an abomination.

It feels very personally targeted. Like you’re going above and beyond what you need to do in terms of humiliating and embarrassing both the Cult and BCE-001. Your son has also indicated to me that you’ve been behaving out of the norm the last few years.

Is this personal?

-Roger

To: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body
From: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative

Roger,

Of course it’s personal. That abomination of a man, parades itself around pretending to be a woman. It does this every day, mocking every noble woman we have the honor of working with. He’s a freak. To make matters worse, it made a point of embarrassing me in front of the Threat Assessment Committee. My Threat Assessment Committee, Roger.

Everything I’m doing is to protect our interests, keep the Cult of the Nornir in check, and put this boy back in his place. Ideally, the Cult of the Nornir dissolves once we tear off the drapes, and then none of this will be an issue any longer.

-Steve

To: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative.
From: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body

Steve,

Right, well, if you’re going to continue on this path, please tone it down at least a little. You’re putting a lot at risk. If the Nornir go public, it could cause some serious problems.

Now, Amelia and Acheliomel seem to be flaking and don’t seem willing to play ball. Do you have any recommendations for how to bring them around?

Above, you said BCE-001 isn’t Norse. If he’s not a Norn, who is he?

-Roger

To: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body
From: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative

Roger,

They won’t. Their CEO doesn’t have the stomach to buck the GOC. Just look at the complaint forms and how hopeful and ideologically deluded she is in her belief that the GOC’s mission statement serves her greater good.

As for the councilors, I would recommend trying several nice dinners at any of the places on the attached restaurant list. If that doesn’t work, I’ve attached blue cheese. You were right that the photographer was well worth the investment. If all of that doesn’t work, remind them of their new properties in Southern Japan and how difficult it was to convince MacArthur to approve those permits.

As far as the abomination is concerned, it doesn’t matter who he really. What matters is using him to tear down the Nornir organization. He’s not a person; he’s a tool.

-Bowe

Back then, my best guess was that it was a consequence of the Americans funding most of the GOC strike teams. Just about everything else too. Bowe’s responsibilities involved lobbying the US government for GOC funding. So, I supposed any complaints ended up dead in the water. It wouldn’t be until years later that I’d learn the truth.

Diary Text:

I don’t know how to legitimately combat Bowe or any of his cronies anymore. I’m not sure I can. At first, I thought we had completely won on the bureaucratic front. Now every official new document, pertaining to the Seeress, we get from any GOC office, that has even a slight interface with the Threat Assessment committee, will refer to her as a man.

I screwed up in June. Missed one of the changes, and it came around to haunt us at a local galla. The Seeress was constantly referred to as a man, he, him. Each individual instance a punch to the gut. I lost track of her in the melee of people at one point. Found her crying her eyes out in the bathroom.

It’s spread beyond Bowe now like the blood-tinged cigarette smoke he sometimes produces. With each passing week, more documentation needs to be corrected. I feel like I’m fighting an endless wave of hostile bureaucracy and I’m drowning. Every slipup, every missed bureaucratic maneuver cuts her again. Fuck the Americans. Fuck Bowe.

It feels hopeless.

Despite feeling as if I was flailing in the dark, everything was slowly changing. The very person who had once been a burden was shedding the shackles which once made her so. She was becoming our beacon in the dark.

Foreword: The following log excerpts concern the movement of SCP-001 within the Cult of the Nornir’s Eurtec residential compound.

Log 1458 | February 27th, 1950

2000-0500: SCP-001 is in the guest bedroom of Speaker Ella’s residence within the Cult of the Nornir compound. It is asleep in the bed. It occasionally rolls over but is otherwise still. At roughly 0000 hours, Ella opens the door, slips inside and stands in the doorframe. She watches the entity for several minutes. Eventually, Ella exits the room and shuts the door again. She stands with her back against the wood for several minutes. During this period, she cries. When she leaves the vicinity of the doorway she is smiling.

Log 1521 | March 15th, 1950

1000-1005: Ella, SCP-001, and Edvard are in Edvard’s residence inside the Cult of the Nornir’s transition compound, within Eurtec. A digital phone is mounted on the wall behind them. SCP-001 is moving its fingers over several braille documents. It is speaking with Edvard and Ella about the contents while holding its staff.

1006-1010: The phone begins to ring. SCP-001 pauses in its movements but does not shake or show signs of distress. Edvard gets up to answer the phone. Both he and Ella glance at SCP-001 before its movements resume. It continues speaking to Ella as Edvard takes the call.

1011: Edvard hangs up the phone. He turns back to Ella and SCP-001.

Speaker Edvard: Destiny’s Fingers, do you need anything?

SCP-001: Why would I need anything, Edvard? It’s just a phone.

She had been clawing back independence for some time already. Now, there were traces of tension beginning to appear between us. A flame in her eyes, one I’d seen in my daughter’s half a decade ago.

Then she said the words I had been waiting for, hoping for, and dreading all the same.

“I’d like to have my own apartment.”

I had been anticipating the arrival of that day for four years. But it came upon us far faster than expected. That seems to be the way life goes. So, we gave it to her.

Video Log Excerpts: Eurtec Nornir Residences

Log 1540 | May 3rd, 1950

<Begin Log>

0600-0800: Ella, Edvard, and SCP-001 are within Ella’s residence. They are packing two bags containing SCP-001’s clothes and personal belongings.

0801-1000: Ella, Edvard, and SCP-001 leave the residence. They walk a few doors down to an empty residence. They spend the next two hours helping SCP-001 explore the apartment before helping unpack its things. When everything is unpacked, Ella and Edvard depart.

1001-2000: SCP-001 spends the rest of the day moving between bedroom, kitchen, and the sitting room.

2001-2015: SCP-001 leaves the residence under its own power. It approaches Ella’s door. It knocks and Ella answers. It wishes Ella, then Edvard, a good evening, before returning to its own residence. Once inside, it begins exercise and martial training with the staff. This pattern continues for all future recordings.

2015-2020: Ella closes the door of her apartment. She turns and stand there for the next five minutes.

Diary Text:

—Just sort of blankly staring at the furniture. For the first time in four years, it was just me. I was intensely aware of the lack of her staff tapping on the floor. No more quiet hums while reading, knitting, drawing, or listening to the radio-plays. The peculiar intensity of her smell, that simultaneous mix of floral and autumnal decay, was already fading. It wouldn’t be long before I couldn’t smell it anymore.

Solitude, pressing down on me.

2020-2200: Ella moves to the guest bedroom of the apartment after several minutes. She turns on the light. Standing in the doorframe, she stares at the made bed for some time before moving to the guest bathroom. She remains in the bathroom for approximately fifteen minutes. When she reemerges, her shoulders are slumped. She spends the next ten minutes tracing her fingers across the dressers and end table, where SCP-001’s personal items previously sat. Eventually, she sits on the bed. She remains there, staring at the wall.

I just sat there in her empty room. It was cold, filled with the sudden absence of her departure. A goddess-shaped hole left behind. I can’t really say where my mind drifted while sitting on that bed. Maybe I fell asleep while sitting up. One moment I was staring at the dresser and its mirror, in the next the room was starting to tilt. The walls were melting, the windows bending unnaturally inwards.

Perhaps some residual element of her power had accumulated there. In the mattress she had slept in for the past four years. It felt like I was floating, seeing the strings of our lives twirling together then unfurling in every direction. Again and again. I was rising, flying upwards, through infinitely many rings. They were made of thick twine, no, not twine at all. Flesh. Spectral flesh, maybe souls? There were whispers all around me, flickering images I couldn’t quite grasp.

Great works of art piecemealing themselves together in my periphery. Symphonies, ballads, and harmonic epics rippling against my ears. The sky was being sculpted into an infinitesimal blanket of fragmenting images which I can’t even begin to wrap my head around.

“Ella.” Echoed through my entire being.

Shapes in the distance, four titanic orbs of blistering golden light.

Then, I was back in that room, the bed quaking as if I had actually fallen back on it. That’s when I heard the door open.

22:00-22:10: There is a continuous distortion of footage in the guest room for approximately ten minutes. It ends at exactly 2210.

2210-2310: Edvard enters Ella’s apartment after knocking several times. He calls out to her, and she responds from where she is seated in the guest room. Edvard enters the room and finds Ella sitting on the bed. Ella appears disoriented for several seconds.

Speaker Edvard: Ella, what are you doing in here?

Speaker Ella: Habit, I guess.

Speaker Edvard: Are you alright?

Speaker Ella: Yes, I’m fine. Just—I’m fine.

Speaker Edvard: You look like someone’s kicked your puppy.

Speaker Ella: I don’t know, Edvard. I guess I got used to her being here.

Speaker Edvard: Ella, it’s not even been a day.

Speaker Ella: I know.

Speaker Edvard: She’s also just down the hall. You can go see her anytime.

Speaker Ella: I know. But she deserves space, needs time to find her feet alone. I don’t want to seem like I don’t believe in her.

Speaker Edvard: I doubt she’d see it like that.

Speaker Ella: But I would.

Speaker Edvard: Fair enough, I suppose.

Speaker Ella: I guess it just feels emptier now. Like when my daughter left home or my husband…

Speaker Edvard puts an arm around Ella’s shoulder.

Speaker Edvard: It was his sacrifice that led us to the Seeress. You’re not alone Ella; I need you to know that.

Speaker Ella: I know.

<End Log>

Once she had that taste of freedom against her lips, she bit down and refused to let go. Perhaps letting her spread her wings without a set schedule or routine wasn’t the best idea.

Video Log Excerpts: Eurtec

Log 1591 | July 4th, 1950

0800-1000: SCP-001 leaves its residence and wanders the halls of the Nornir compound. This behavior continues until it comes upon a garden containing local flora. The flora of the Greek Underworld is alien, emitting bioluminescence and swaying without a breeze. Some change shapes at random intervals. Some exhibit a wide range of unnatural pigments. Some bloom oddly shaped flowers when there are no pollinators present. SCP-001 sits on a bench for several minutes; staring in the general direction of the flora.

1001-1400: SCP-001 leaves the garden and continues wandering the compound. Eventually, it manages to leave the Nornir residential compound altogether. It wanders the streets of Eurtec, much of which is in various stages of construction. The staff serves to guide it through the streets and around obstacles. It takes a winding route through several miles of city streets over the course of the next 6 hours.

1401-1800: Speaker Edvard knocks on the door to SCP-001’s residence. He is holding several folders. When no response comes, he opens the door and enters the apartment. He spends several minutes looking around with an increasingly furrowed brow. He calls out for SCP-001 several times before searching the entire apartment and finding it absent. He then goes to Speaker Ella. They share a brief but heated exchange. Edvard and Ella then begin canvassing the Nornir residential compound, looking for SCP-001. When they cannot find it, they go door to door alerting the rest of the Cult. The Cult then notifies local security, but not Pentagram or GOC security forces. Together the Cult and local Eurtec security begin canvassing the city, street-by-street, to find SCP-001.

1801-1900: After four hours of searching, SCP-001 is located in front of a Gyro shop on the far side of Eurtec. It is eating from a souvlaki and speaking with several humans and anomalous humanoid individuals with animalistic features. When Ella and Edvard arrive on the scene, they engage SCP-001 in discussion.

Speaker Edvard: Oh thank Freya! High Seeress, you had us worried sick!

SCP-001: Why?

Speaker Ella: Because you vanished without a trace, without notifying us.

SCP-001: So, I did. There is no need to worry, I knew exactly where I was at all times, knew where I was going. Where I needed to be. Where I would be when you found me again. I could see exactly where I was going at every step.

Speaker Edvard: You can’t just wander off like – wait, you can?

SCP-001: Of course, in the reflection of your mirrors.

Edvard purses his lips.

Speaker Edvard: Seeress, this is serious. What if something happened?

SCP-001: I would have seen it. Avoided it. I am not a child Edvard, and I have always had a penchant for wanderlust.

Ella and Edvard stare at SCP-001 for several minutes.

Speaker Ella: Will you at least tell us next time?

SCP-001: I will consider it.

Speaker Edvard: Please do. If Bowe were to find out you regularly wander without anyone knowing where you are, he might remove you from us.

SCP-001: Mmmm. Fine. Send a guard with me if you must.

Speaker Ella: I worry about their ability to keep up.

SCP-001: As you should.

<End Log>

From that point forward she’d leave the compound on extended excursions in the daylight hours.

Diary Text:

I was, at first, worried that this would be a burden upon our security personnel. You can imagine my surprise when escorting the Seeress became, paradoxically, the most coveted and yet dreaded assignment for our officers. When she’s with Edvard and I, she’s quite slow and methodical. When she’s with security, she’s apparently far quicker and less patient. It’s to the point that I’ve had several rookie officers complain they can’t properly clear areas. She will often already be half a block away before they realize, leaving them scrambling to catch back up.

Some part of me suspects it’s a game to her. How fast can she lose her escort and cause mischief.

On the other hand, Edvard’s had to settle several disputes among the veterans. Apparently, there’s quite a bit of contention over the five or so slots assigned to escort her around Eurtec. The challenge of a rather willful charge and the opportunity for a change of scenery apparently attracts them. Might be worth reviewing rotations.

The denizens of Eurtec have noticed her presence as well. I’ve heard some murmurs attributing to her the title of “Spirit of Eurtec”, “The Blind Wanderer”, “The Young Prophet”,25 or “Lady of the Strings”. The last one seems to be the favorite epithet of the citizenry. As construction in the city has continued, she’s begun to migrate towards parks, busy streets, corners, and local business avenues. Places where foot traffic is high. She’ll find a bench, ledge or set of stairs, plant herself and start knitting.26

With every passing day it felt as if we were seeing more of who she really was emerge. A quiet but radiant woman. Subtlety confident. Her shoulders are weighted with a depth of purpose I can’t pretend to understand. A resilient seriousness backlit by a constant infliction of mischief, self-deprecating jokes, and chaos on others. I never quite know what she’s going to do next. I think it was most important as a welcome distraction from what our relationship with the GOC had become, and she knew it.

Having known and lived with her now for a little more than four years, I have grown used to her eccentricities and psychological scars. Most had, by this point, faded into the background only to appear during night terrors. But those too were fewer and far between. Perhaps I was confident that I knew every cut and stitch in her psyche.

Whatever I thought I knew about this goddess who had changed our lives was dwarfed in the shadow of what we didn’t know.

I remember, quite vividly, what happened almost a week after her excursion into the city.

It was a muggy morning, July the 10th. We hadn’t seen the Seeress in a few days, not unusual; sometimes she just holed up in her room. She’d read books, knit clothes or blankets. Recently, she’d taken up drawing and painting. Surprisingly talented and creative.

I wasn’t really concerned when the Seeress was late for her morning stock prediction session. I reasoned that Frigg or Bragi had sunk their claws into her, and that it was unfortunate we’d have to interrupt.

Normally I would have sent Edvard or security to find or wake her up. Something was different that day.

From the moment I woke up there was a tautness in my muscles. An anxiety clawing at the edge of my vision. One moment I was making tea, and the next I was emerging from a bank of mist, cloaked in a mental fog. I stood for several minutes, trying to figure out where I was and what I had been doing. When I regained my bearings, I realized I was standing in front of the Seeress’s door. To this day, I still don’t quite know what happened.

What I do know is that nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to discover.

Video Log Excerpts: Nornir Compound

Foreword: The Following video log was captured by CCTV cameras within the Cult of the Nornir compound on July 10th, 1950.

<Begin Log>

Shortly before the beginning of the log, there is a compound wide outage of camera footage. When camera feeds resume, Speaker Ella is standing before SCP-001’s door. She appears disoriented and begins looking around. She knocks on the door after several minutes. There is no response.

Speaker Ella: Seeress? Are you in?

No response. The cameras within SCP-001’s residence remain distorted with static. Ella knocks again.

Speaker Ella: Seeress, it’s time for stock predictions. I don’t like them anymore than you do, but you know how important they are for us.

Again, there is no response. Ella waits for another minute.

Speaker Ella: If we don’t do it today, Seeress, tomorrow’s session will be twice as long.

Ella inhales and then sniffs the air several times.

Speaker Ella: Shit is that… blood?

Ella bangs on the door.

Speaker Ella: Seeress!? Can you hear me? Please open the door!

No response. Ella begins to search her cloak pockets for a master keyring. It takes her roughly a minute. She fumbles with the keys and drops the whole ring.

Speaker Ella: Snakes black teeth, come on. Seeress I’m coming in!

Ella retrieves the keyring. After another fifteen seconds of checking, she finds the key to SCP-001’s door. It swings inwards with an unusually loud groan. Abruptly, the cameras in the central living area clear of static. Ella stands in the doorframe, slowly turning to look at the contents of the room. There are blood splatters on the ceiling and the walls. The hardwood is soaked with puddles of human blood. Where there is carpet, large fresh spots are seeping into the textile. Older spots have already turned brown. The room is littered with large chunks of bloody, discarded tissue. Ella presses the hem of her cloak over her nose after several seconds.

Speaker Ella: Eir’s mercy, what is this?

One chunk of flesh, facing towards the camera, is tattooed in utilitarian block letters. 4444 is legible. Audible movement is picked up from the direction of the bedroom, accompanied by quiet weeping. The camera in that room remains obscured by static.

Speaker Ella: Seeress? Are you in the bedroom?

Ella begins carefully walking in the direction of the bedroom. The door has been marked with multiple bloody handprints. There is a trail of maroon which splits from several different locations within the residence and traces towards the bedroom. The trail vanishes underneath the threshold.

Speaker Ella: Seeress, I’m coming in.

Ella opens the door to the bedroom. The camera’s within return to normal. The bed is soaked with residual blood. A severed arm rests a few feet in front of the doorway and is surrounded by more chunks of excised flesh. Ella stands in the doorway, staring at the arm for several seconds. She abruptly turns and vomits into a trashcan. The weeping is much louder in the bedroom. There is motion in the bathroom. Ella speaks softly as she fully enters into the bedroom.

Speaker Ella: Seeress, what did you do?

She moves to the bathroom and pushes in the door. Ella recoils before instantly vomiting into the bedside trashcan. SCP-001, still out of sight, weeps.

SCP-001: I can’t cut it out! It keeps coming back! Even when I cut it all off.”

Speaker Ella: Odin’s eye! Seeress please give me—By Thor, where did you get a bone saw!?

SCP-001: I can’t, I can’t, I want it off. I want it gone! Please, please cut it away!

Speaker Ella: This is not the path to walk!

The sound of a knife cutting through skin and muscle begins. It’s followed shortly by the sound of bone being sawed through. SCP-001 screams at a high pitch.

Speaker Ella: Seeress, stop!

SCP-001: I can’t—I can’t let them. They marked me. I’m stained. Every day I see it I'm reminded of how they branded me. I was lesser to them.

The sounds continue. Ella tries to enter the bathroom and there’s the sound of a struggle.

Speaker Ella: Seeress, please stop this!

SCP-001: I can’t let them keep their brand. A reminder that I lived and they didn't! I didn’t deserve to live over them. I didn’t earn this.

Speaker Ella: Seeress, this isn't the answer!

SCP-001: They didn’t deserve it. I just want the shame gone! Every time I look at it, I see what they did again and again. I don't want this; I never wanted any of this. I’m a coward, a waste of breath! I’m not worthy of bearing this scar, because I lived!

Speaker Ella: You’re not a coward; there are other ways!

Ella stumbles back out of the bathroom, with blood splattered across her face.

Speaker Ella: Leather-necked boars I can’t stop her. How are you so strong!?

SCP-001: Help me cut it off or let me suffer in peace, please Ella.

Speaker Ella: Fuck! Fuck fuck!

Ella runs out of the bathroom. In the process, she trips over the discarded arm. She skids on the slicks of blood. Out of the apartment and into the hallway where she collides with a wall. She falls to the ground for several seconds, dazed. When she recovers, she slams her fist into the wall.

Speaker Ella: FUCK.

Ella gets up and runs to Edvard’s room. She pounds on the door.

Speaker Ella: Edvard, by Hel’s stillness open the fucking door now!

Edvard opens the door, dodges Ella’s swinging fist and instantly recoils.//

Speaker Edvard: Ella, what—

Speaker Ella: There’s no fucking time. The Seeress is cutting off her arm.

Speaker Edvard: What!?

Speaker Ella: Grab the strongest of your men on security, get medical up here now, and prey to Freya that we can avoid her thaumically obliterating us by accident!

Edvard’s expression shifts into a frown. He pushes past Ella and takes off into a dead sprint. Ella returns to SCP-001’s apartment. No more than a minute later, Edvard, four large security officers and the Cult’s medical team arrive. Each officer’s skin shimmers with shifting runic and arcane marks of warding and protection. They experience similar visceral physical reactions to Ella as they move towards the bedroom. Out of camera view, there is a brief scuffle. The camera footage becomes distorted for several seconds. When it clears, a bone saw and knife are being stuffed into a bag. SCP-001 is unconscious and being carried on a stretcher. Its arm hangs off the stretcher, connected to its shoulder by a single thread of ligament and stretched muscle.

The medical team stops the stretcher bearers. One of them presses the arm back up against its severed socket. The flesh of the oozing wounds attempt to knit back together but come apart again.

Dr. Olga Brandt: No good, the arm’s a loss.

Speaker Ella: Shit.

SCP-001’s arm is removed, leaving a raw and oozing stump. New bones, muscles and ligaments are already beginning to form at an accelerated rate. The stretcher bearers and medical team head for the door. Dr. Brandt remains behind with Ella, holding the amputated arm.

Dr. Olga Brandt: Her regeneration rate has increased since ’46.

Speaker Ella: That is the least of my worries right now. Contact the fixers and have them clean this up. Not a word to Bowe or Pentagram, understand me?

Dr. Olga Brandt Yes, speaker. What about all this tissue?

Ella looks at the piles of flesh. There are some signs of regeneration from the discarded arms.

Speaker Ella: Incinerate it. All of it.

Dr. Olga Brandt: Do you want us to preserve the most recent arm? We might be able to extract material for bio-thaumic study.

Ella looks at Brandt for several seconds.

Speaker Ella: Are we equipped for that?

Dr. Olga Brandt: No, but we could be if you wanted to open a new R&D department. We certainly have the revenue streams.

Ella considers for approximately a minute.

Speaker Ella: Put it on ice and wait for her to wake up. Then burn the rest. Be prepared to burn the arm if the Seeress doesn’t consent.

Dr. Olga Brandt: Yes, speaker.

Speaker Ella: Come get me when she wakes up.

SCP-001 is moved into the medical wing of the Nornir compound. Over the course of the next hour, its arm rapidly regenerates. By the time it regains consciousness, its entire upper arm has regrown. Dr. Brandt is recorded entering the ICU to speak with SCP-001 at which point there is a five-minute gap in the recording due to missing footage.

// Dr. Brandt is next seen speaking with other medical personnel. Dr. Brandt spends the next 30 minutes giving instructions to have all of SCP-001’s tissue samples incinerated except the arm. She then enters the freezer area where SCP-001’s tissue samples are being kept. The cameras in this room abruptly shut off for the next twenty minutes. When they turn on again, Dr. Brandt leaves the room with a cart containing multiple large coolers. She hands the cart off to another member of the medical team. The coolers are loaded onto a van which takes the samples across Eurtec to a crematorium.//

Dr. Brandt leaves the medical wing and heads to Ella’s residence. She knocks twice and Ella opens the door.

Speaker Ella: Oh, Brandt. Good, I was starting to wonder.

Dr. Olga Brandt: She woke up 30 minutes ago. Apologies, I had some logistics to deal with before I came up.

Speaker Ella: How is she?

Dr. Olga Brandt: Calmer than when you found her. Physically stable, the arm was a little more than halfway regenerated when I left.

Speaker Ella: Thank Eir’s touch.

Dr. Olga Brandt: Indeed.

Speaker Ella: What did she say to your proposition.

Dr. Olga Brandt: She was hesitant but consented after a calm discussion. She didn’t want to discuss it further than that.

Speaker Ella: I think that’s understandable. Well, put together a list of supplies, equipment, and facility needs. We’ll go from there.

Dr. Olga Brandt: Excellent. I think it’s best that you don’t bring the matter up with her further. She expressed extreme distress when I offered to keep her regularly informed about the benefits of using her bio-matter.

Speaker Ella: Right, well, I won’t bring it up. I’d better go speak with her.

Ella steps past Brandt and makes her way to the medical wing. By the time Ella arrives, SCP-001’s lower arm is more than halfway reformed. SCP-001 looks in the direction of Ella’s footsteps when the Speaker enters the room. It tenses.

Speaker Ella: Seeress, it’s me.

SCP-001 relaxes. Its shoulder’s sag.

SCP-001: Ella I am—

Speaker Ella: You don’t need to apologize, Seeress. I think everyone understands why this happened.

SCP-001: But?

Speaker Ella: But we are going to have to put in place a safety net. That or you’ll have to move back in with Edvard and I.

SCP-001: Ok.

Speaker Ella: How do you feel about an electronic distress system?

SCP-001: You mean a panic button?

Speaker Ella: Yes. A panic button.

SCP-001: Within the room?

Speaker Ella: I think that would be best.

SCP-001: I could… live with that. What about if I am not in my room?

Speaker Ella: We’ll also get one that works remotely.

SCP-001: Ok.

Speaker Ella: And the next time you start to feel like this, if you can’t use either, you come immediately to Edvard or I, understand?

SCP-001: Yes.

Several seconds of silence.

SCP-001: I’m sorry, Ella.

Speaker Ella: Don’t be sorry. We can’t help the illnesses that afflict us. We can only find ways to cope with them.

SCP-001 looks down as the end of their lower arm finishes forming. The block letter 4444 tattoo has returned.

SCP-001: I don’t know how to cope. Not with this reminder of my cowardice embedded in my flesh.

Speaker Ella: First of all, you are not a coward. Coward implies you ran away and left those people to die. That is not what happened.

SCP-001: But perhaps I could have done something to stop it.

Speaker Ella: I doubt it. The Obskurakorps had already killed two of your sisters. Seeress, you played the long game and put yourself in a better position to help the world. You could have given up, withered away from lack of faith. But you didn’t. That is brave. That might be the bravest thing anyone has ever done. You might be the bravest goddess I’ve ever known.

SCP-001: The Valkyries might take offense.

Speaker Ella: The Valkyries hid when the gods cut us off and withered almost to nothing. If it weren’t for the Order of the Æsir, Brandt, and the Nifelheim Armed Tactical Order, they likely would have died off.

SCP-001: I think your view of me is overinflated by your beliefs.

Speaker Ella: Perhaps. Regardless, we cannot control—that is dumb to say to you, a goddess of Fate. We live with the hands we are dealt, and we weave our own destiny from there.

SCP-001: Mmm.

Speaker Ella: It’s unlike you to wallow in what could have been. Why not make this mark your own? In a way that is meaningful to you and those who didn’t make it.

SCP-001: How?

Speaker Ella: A tattoo. Take back your body by making it something meaningful to who you are. Not who you were.

SCP-001 thinks for several minutes.

SCP-001: Maybe I will. For those who didn’t make it. Thank you, Ella.

Speaker Ella: Of course, Seeress.

<End Log>

Post Incident Diary Entry: The blood. The piles of sawed out flesh. The dismembered arm. The Seeress screaming as she sawed through flesh and bone to remove that Nazi branding. All of it still haunts my nightmares to this day. I will probably see it until the day I die.

I don’t know how we managed to keep it quiet. The sheer terror of Bowe potentially finding out still makes every hair stand up on the back of my neck.

The revelation of this new deep scar in the Seeress’s psychology did have a benefit. We’ve begun a bio-medical research program using the harvested material from one of the Seeress’s arms. Brandt is very optimistic about what we can do from here. Several thaumo-chemical compounds are already quite promising for future use.

If anything positive comes out of this nightmare, it’ll be having more than one revenue stream originating from the Seeress.

We would continue to grapple with the implications of the Seeress’s mental breakdown and the use of her biological material for some time to come.

For every two steps we took forward it felt like we were shoved three steps back.

I was starting to pull myself together, but Edvard? Edvard was falling apart. He was so rarely sober then. I am fairly sure he was hitting the bottle from the moment he woke up until he passed out. His drug use was getting worse as well. His eyes were constantly bloodshot or dilated. It hadn’t yet hit the point where it was interfering with his ability to reliably manage security. Still, I was growing concerned for his health and productivity, given how frequently he disappeared during the day.

Something would have to give, an intervention, some vision which would alter Edvard’s course. The question remained how and when?

But with everything I was juggling, I just simply didn’t have the time to sit down and figure it out. Curbing Pentagram’s influence remained my biggest obstacle.

Diary Text:

Then, Bowe became apoplectic in late October and November. Something happened on the political and strategic end that resulted in near daily visits with the Seeress.

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US soldiers retreating from the Chosin River basin after Chinese intervention.

This was right after the first bits of foundation for the Foresight Matrix Array were laid. He seemed frantic… almost desperate in some ways. A much shorter fuse than normal. I’m not sure what to make of it, especially the initial accusations that the Seeress had misled him. With how many little things tend to set the man off, I couldn’t quite tell you what pushed him to be even more like Thor in temperament than usual. Maybe I should pay more attention to the big details that the Seeress predicts in these sessions.

I only stopped because the abuse weighs so heavily on me. And because the GOC and Bowe use her knowledge for operations which would rob me of any faith I have left in humanity.

Outcome: Allied forces approached the Yalu river after capturing Pyongyang and advancing to the Ch'ongch'on river. The Chinese People’s Volunteer Army crossed the Yalu river on October 19th, repelling the initial attempt to capture the Yalu before retreating back across the border. The PVA then crossed in full force on November 10th, pushing allied forces out of North Korea and back across the 38th parallel. Chinese offensive resulted in 24,000 US and 12,000 South Korean casualties.

Eurtec Reporter

Triple Fates Woven

Eurtec 11/3/1948 FREE

Truman Wins! Declares Eurtec City of Tomorrow!

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Directors Summary of Truman era policies and Dwight D. Eisenhower administration viewpoint on the GOC:

There were many consequential figures with regards to the formation and development of GOC policy. Notably, in terms of the early GOC, American Presidents Harry S. Truman and Dwight D. Eisenhower were critical.

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President Harry S. Truman.

While many historians will point towards Wilson and Roosevelt as the critical drivers of the formation and continued contribution of the AOI during WWI and into WII, the truth is that the United States was largely uninvolved with AOI initiatives in WWI. Roosevelt, early on, sought to correct this mistake as part of the Lend Lease Act. Contribution of para-tech from American occultic manufacturers to its European Allies in 1939, 1940, and, eventually, solely to the United Kingdom during 1940-1941 helped to stave off Obskurakorps para-weapon assaults. They also likely played a critical role in preventing Operation Sealion.

Truman, a young senator from Missouri, realized, after touring mundane and occultic manufactories, that there was considerable waste in this process. He became an outspoken advocate for the continuity of support to the reformed AOI, in line with Roosevelt’s policies. The need, in Truman’s mind, to counteract Nazi occultic initiatives was critical to the stabilization of the precarious situation in Europe. His subsequent placement on the Subcommittee on War Mobilization then facilitated the consolidation of the majority of American paranatural military initiatives under an already existing department, Pentagram. This, in his eyes, would make coordination with the AOI easier.

Pentagram, an organization which had existed since the Mid-20’s, was initially planned to be headquartered in a pocket-space within the Pentagon. Due to budget cuts and the Great Depression, Pentagram’s ambitions never materialized. Up until Truman’s centralization, Pentagram was relegated to a tiny office within the pentagon, where they were generally considered pariahs by most military personnel.

Prior to Pearl Harbor and even Operation Barbarossa, Pentagram was already engaging in covert counteroperations with AOI forces against Obskurakorps. Small units operated across Europe and the Middle East and provided critical support which helped stall the German offensives in North Africa.

After Pearl Harbor, Pentagram’s offices were hastily expanded. American occultic organizations were recruited to bolster its ranks. Then its command centers were split into two theater specific arms. One command office was quickly relocated to London to make coordination with other AOI member organizations easier in the European theater. A second moved to the pacific. The pacific command would shift several times as the theater developed. These shifts proved to be a source of added friction between General McCarthur and Admiral Nimitz who frequently butted heads about theater priorities.

Initial ideas about restructuring the chain of command so that Pentagram was directly under the Chiefs of Staff. Such notions were quickly abandoned as the experience of occultic field personnel often trumped the fact that the Chiefs of Staff were largely familiar with mundane warfare. Truman oversaw many of these changes in his role in increasing wartime efficiency. His careful management of the relationship between the AOI and Pentagram would help set the stage for the success of the AOI once America fully entered the war, and for the formation of the GOC.

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President Truman at a Gala event within Eurtec. SCP-001 is visible back right.

Post-war, Truman was made aware of SCP-001 through correspondence with the Threat Assessment Committee. Contrary to the committee’s initial misgivings during SCP-001’s recovery period, Truman pushed and strongly advocated for officializing the anomaly as a BCE. In multiple letters and correspondences, Truman recognized the potential socio-economic and geo-political possibilities that SCP-001 offered. As a result, he strongly advocated for Pentagram oversight of the Cult of the Nornir, once SCP-001 became a BCE. Largely for the purposes of achieving American geo-political ambitions. Truman was also a vocal supporter of the Cult of the Nornir’s efforts, which provided some relief to his administration’s economic woes in the post-war period. There were some rumors at the time, especially among the council of 108 and the GRU-P, that Truman may have had a direct phone line to Ella Haugen’s residence. This rumor has never been confirmed.

Truman, through his advocation for the UN, also strongly pushed for the formation of a Global Occult Coalition. To Truman, an organization like the GOC could both maintain the veil, as well as further centralize America’s interests on the world stage. He accomplished this aim through several means. He bolstered Pentagram’s role in the fledgling organization. Appointing aggressive leadership and increasing funding to the GOC, especially Pentagram, were the primary mechanisms he relied on.

Despite his initial hardline stance against making SCP-001 a BCE, Colonel Steven Bowe appears to have won a substantial amount of favor with Truman early on. Surviving correspondence indicates their relationship largely arose through careful diplomatic maneuvering, aggressive political initiatives and meticulous oversight of SCP-001.

Bowe prioritized issues concerning American foreign and economic policy over GOC directed initiatives, except where GOC strike missions aligned with American interests. He used these successes to crowd out his peers, who were competing with him for recognition within the GOC and Pentagram. In part, this was a political game on Bowe’s behalf to assuage the upper ranks of the Pentagon. The chiefs of staff held a much more skeptical view of SCP-001. They also frequently clashed with Bowe over his treatment of subordinates and his borderline insubordination. There were some calls beginning inside of the Pentagon for Pentagram to be brought to heel in the post-war environment. Bowe’s success largely torpedoed such efforts for the first four or so years following SCP-001’s BCE designation.

In the last few years of Truman’s administration, he became moderately disillusioned with the presidency. Truman did not seek reelection to a second term for the 1952 elections. His failure to save China, the rise of McCarthyist anti-communist sentiment, strategic failures in the Korean War, inability to enact his agenda due to a republican congress, and the post-war inflation and economic struggles tanked his popularity in 1950-51.

Truman became bitter. He privately accused members of his own party, and even his cabinet, of purposefully mismanaging his initiatives and not believing in his visions for the future. He also became disillusioned with the GOC as a successor org to the AOI. Truman appears to have been increasingly aware of the mismanagement of the GOC. He also seems to have become aware of rumors of corruption in the upper echelons of the GOC and the council of 108. There was even some reports of human rights abuses in the Balkans that reached his desk. Adding salt to the wound, Truman also became aware of Bowe encouraging the degradation of civil rights of under-veil populations. Pentagram’s failure to provide appropriate interpretations of SCP-001’s messaging which lead to foreign policy disasters, did not help the situation.

Eurtec Reporter

Triple Fates Woven

Eurtec 10/23/1958 FREE

Eisenhower Slashes Funding to the GOC, Again!

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President Dwight D. Eisenhower.

The Republican candidate for president in 1952, Dwight D. Eisenhower, was also strongly supportive of the AOI during WWII. As commander in chief of the European theater, Eisenhower had firsthand experience with witnessing the devastation that Nazi para-tech and para-weapons could inflict on allied soldiers. Unlike Truman’s stronger support for the GOC, Pentagram and the predictive capacities of SCP-001 during most of his presidency, Eisenhower was more skeptical. His believed that occultic organizations were not as reliable when it came to intelligence gathering. He also did not believe that the GOC or Pentagram, in its integrated form with the GOC, represented the national interests of the United States when it came to the anomalous. He largely seems to have regarded Bowe’s efforts on this front as self-interested.

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President Eisenhower at a gala event with Pentagram Personnel. SCP-001 front left looking away from the camera, Speaker Ella is behind her.

Following his win in the 1952 election, Eisenhower spent weeks carefully reviewing records of SCP-001’s predictions and strategic outcomes. In a letter to his wife, he seems to have come to the conclusion that Pentagram had likely been misinterpreting several critical statements from SCP-001. And on this front he squarely placed the blame upon General Bowe.

Multiple wartime and post-war exchanges highlighted Eisenhower’s marked distaste for General Steven Bowe. To one peer he wrote:

I find Bowe to be crude, unnecessarily aggressive, and prone to unilateral decision making. He reminds me of Patton without the redeeming tactical brilliance. He’s prone to fits of standing in front of mirrors, talking aloud to himself, purchasing and then burning women’s clothing and other eccentric behaviors according to his subordinates. Officers and enlisted men are no more than tools in his eyes rather than persons relying on his insight.

I would remove him if I could.

The final nail in the coffin which solidified Eisenhower’s caution was the substantial bloating of Pentagram’s funding. Even though an official audit accounted for all expenditures, Eisenhower remained skeptical that Pentagram’s funding matched the scale of its current initiatives. Again, he suspected the source of this discrepancy to be Bowe.

As Bowe was not a political appointee, but a US officer integrated with GOC command, Eisenhower could not remove him. Additionally, Pentagram was both heavily integrated into GOC power structures and a member of the council of 108. Eisenhower could not alter the command structure of the organization to fold it back into the Pentagon as it did not fully answer to the US military. To overcome these barriers, Eisenhower would have to completely dissolve Pentagram and reform it. While he certainly had the political goodwill to do so, actioning that initiative, at the time, would have reduced American influence in the GOC. This would have also weakened containment of the GRU-P. Instead, Eisenhower elected to redistribute resources. He announced after his victory in the election, that he was planning to cut direct funding to Pentagram. Once in office, he actioned these cuts and instead reallocated funding to promote the foundation of a nested department within the CIA. This resulted in the formation of the CIA's Directorate of Occult Operations. He also elected to expand the Abnormal Phenomena Department of the FBI, which was dedicated to the handling of the anomalous, resulting in its renaming to the Unusual Incidents Unit. Thus, in a single stroke Eisenhower undid a decade of Truman’s efforts, leading to the decentralization of American counter-anomalous action against the Soviet Union.

Eisenhower’s actions were not solely a consequence of his distrust of Pentagram but also distrust of the rampant prevalence of the Military Industrial Complex’s influence on Pentagram’s internal and external policy when it came to the GOC. This disposition only worsened when General Bowe was elevated to total command of Pentagram by the Council of 108. Bowe then elected to relocate Pentagram headquarters from London into Eurtec, further uncoupling the organization from Pentagon oversight.

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Interstate Highway System as Funded by Eisenhower.

Eisenhower would continue to reduce Pentagram’s funding throughout his presidency. He also made cuts to overall United States funding of the GOC during his administration, despite Bowe’s lobbying. Some correspondence exists which suggests he may have in fact made cuts to the GOC as a response to lobbying attempts. These funds were redistributed to domestic initiatives, such as the Interstate system.

Funding cuts increased in severity from 1957-1960 as Eisenhower appeared to grow increasingly dissatisfied with Pentagram and the GOC’s handling of occultic affairs. Near the end of his presidency, Eisenhower felt that the dysfunction in Pentagram had become so extreme that he needed to consider intervening to recall Pentagram and dismantle the organization’s involvement with the GOC. Vice President Richard Nixon intervened and convinced him that Pentagram was still useful in influencing the GOC to pivot towards American interests.


Addendum 10: 1950-1956

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Access provided by the Silicon Nornir archives.

I suppose it shouldn’t be a surprise by now that rock bottom hadn’t hit us square in the chest. No, that moment came barreling down the hill straight at us in 1952. It was the most egregious incident from Bowe to that point, and truly the bottom of the pit for us all. It might have been avoided if Edvard had been at his post or had I been ontime that morning in meeting with the Seeress.

Video Log Incident 32, December 10th, 1952

Foreword: The following is a summary of Incident 32 which spans the morning through evening of February 10th, 1953. General Steven Bowe and an armed group of Pentagram agents forced their way into the residence of SCP-001 for a spontaneous predictive session without the knowledge of the Cult of the Nornir. This event followed the announcement of budget cuts to Pentagram by the Eisenhower administration.

<Begin Log>

0800-0807: General Bowe enters the Cult of the Nornir’s residential complex and waits for approximately seven minutes in the lobby. Bowe briefly looks up towards the cameras. His eyes appear red and irritated before returning to normal. When no representative of the Cult of the Nornir appears, Bowe and his agents board an elevator. It takes them to SCP-001’s floor.

0807-0810: Colonel Bowe knocks on SCP-001’s door with excessive force for approximately fifteen seconds. SCP-001 opens the door. Bowe speaks to SCP-001. Its eyes widen and it attempts to close the door. Bowe forces the door open. He and the agents enter the residence.

0810-1000: SCP-001 is taken by the arms and moved to the kitchen table, where it is seated in a chair by two agents. SCP-001’s hands shake but it shows no other signs of physical distress.

Colonel Bowe spends the next hour and fifty minutes interrogating SCP-001 with questions regarding the Eisenhower administration. Throughout, he demands predictions of possible futures where funding of Pentagram and the GOC are restored to Truman levels.

Bowe is visibly agitated throughout the entire period. He resorts to screaming at SCP-001. At multiple points he grabs it by the hair, forces it to kneel, shoves it, and throws the entity’s things.

SCP-001, while exhibiting involuntary pain responses, continues to answer questions. Near the end of the two-hour period, it is bleeding and vomiting, but still coherent.

1001-1003: Speaker Edvard emerges from his residence while walking with a slight slay. He goes to SCP-001’s door, holding a folder with assorted documents. He enters without knocking, and stumbles upon the spontaneous predictive session.

1004-1015: As Edvard Enters, Bowe is yanking on SCP-001’s hair. The entire room stops moving. Edvard becomes agitated, then angry. He screams at Bowe and his agents to leave. The open door allows the screaming to be heard in the hallway. Several passing Cult of the Nornir look in and then spring off elsewhere in the compound. Other members of the Cult of the Nornir, including Speaker Ella, begin to accumulate, some of them armed with para-technology used in their professions. Bowe can be seen smiling and holding up his hands.

1016-1030: Bowe and his agents exit the residence. Weapons are drawn, forcing the Cult of the Nornir back. They head for the elevator at speed and leave the complex a few minutes later with a small angry crowd following them. SCP-001 is helped up by Ella and Edvard.

1031-1130: Ella helps SCP-001 clean up and prepares an iron restoring meal. Edvard paces the residence during this period. He and Ella descend into a heated exchange which ends when Edvard stomps out of the residence. He is last seen, on the 10th, entering his residence, where the cameras within are abruptly disabled and do not turn back on until the next day.

But am I doing enough? Could I be doing more?

Edvard certainly is.

<End Log>

Memo Regarding Unsupervised Visits with BCE-001:

To: Pentagram Oversight Command, Threat Assessment Committee, Rights Oversight Body, Ethical Conduct Board
From: Speaker Ella Haugen, CEO Cult of the Silicon Nornir

To all relevant parties,

Effective immediately, the Cult of the Silicon Nornir is implementing new access policies in regards to BCE-001 following the Incident on February the 10th of this year. The Cult of the Silicon Nornir is forming an internal security contingent to monitor access to the residential compound and core complex of what will become the NFMA.

GOC personnel who are not members of the Cult of the Silicon Nornir are now required to check in with Silicon Security in the front lobby of the residential compound portion of the NFMA. Pentagram staff must wait for an on-duty speaker to greet and escort them to meet with BCE-001 for regular prescience activities.

The Cult recognizes the oversight role of Pentagram in monitoring BCE-001 but unsupervised access and abuse, as was demonstrated yesterday, is unacceptable. I’m aware that all our complaints to date on this topic have been struck down by your individual offices for reasons that seem arbitrary or petty. In light of your negligence, we are being forced to act independently.

-Ella

Memo to Head of Pentagram Department of Recruiting, from General Bowe: Due to funding cuts as a result of change in administration, effective immediately, we will now begin targeted recruitment and pamphlet distribution within the City of Eurtec, in addition to our outward facing recruitment efforts in the States.

BCE-001 had a particularly useful bit of insight on this front, predicting that recruitment from the city’s populace could help fill our manpower shortfalls, and allow us to better allocate our experienced Agents to field operations and GOC strike teams. To carry out this initiative, I expect your department to put together a benefits package for potential recruits which includes the following:

  • Official citizenship in a GOC member state of the recruit’s choosing. Yes, I know many of these recruits will be anomalous, but we can build in clauses to revoke this offer at will.
  • A signing bonus, given inevitable funding cuts, I’d recommend permanent housing in the high ends of the city. If we have to displace current residents, so be it. Please remember the Nornir compound is off limits.
  • Unlimited checkpoint passage access.
  • Paid vacation, holidays, and four weeks of maternity or paternity leave.
  • Anything else you can think of within reasonable measures. Remember, we’re dangling a carrot over a group of sub-humans. Think about what they want.

While Bowe had been within arm’s reach for a few years now, his boldness had never crossed this line in the sand. Now, he paraded through our halls twice a week. Sometimes more when there was a particularly important event occurring on the world stage or in GOC strike operations.

Having to create stricter internal security to lock down the compound was a level of humiliation none of us had been expecting. Now we had an internal police element. Armed to the teeth with the latest in para-technology that we produced in-house. The new Valvran division, as we’d come to call it. More a militia than a security force.

Diary Text:

How did we get to this point? Why are we having to arm ourselves like we are in the resistance again?

Worse, why does it only feel like the bare minimum? Even with Brandt’s second-generation Valkyrie program, could we actually meaningfully resist Pentagram? Nothing feels like enough. Not with how much Bowe’s influence has grown. How far can we push the envelope before the hammer comes down?

At least I can control his access. But even that feels like a temporary measure. His recruitment of Eurtec citizens for his agents makes it feel like we are going to have neighbors turning against neighbors. Just like with the Nazis. What then?

With the pit ever deepening my worry over the constant abuse pressed my nerves to the edge. Even after everything that we had been through, the Seeress had never cracked. How long could she last? Surely, she had limits to her willpower? And with every session she was pushed to the physical edge. It was no longer a matter of whether her abuse would backfire, but when or how. How would this house of cards all fall apart? Would we be caught in the backblast? I couldn’t have said. I couldn’t have possibly predicted what was to come.

Then there was Edvard. There comes a point when you have given someone the benefit of doubt for too long. When he fell off the wagon, I failed to address his behavior. When he started doing drugs, I failed to address that. When he disappears for hours on end with no way to get ahold of him, I had failed to pull him aside.

I didn’t want to have to relieve him from his role in security. He’d been keeping us safe for more than 15 years now. He was hardly culpable in full for the nightmare we were dancing in. But now? His vices and absence weren’t helping. We’d put the Seeress in harms way. We’d been negligent and let this happen. Something would have to change. We would both need to take accountability for how we had failed.

The question was, how? How could I be the one to carry that banner, hypocrite as I was.

It was as I was wrestling with my own mortal shortcomings that Edvard appeared to make the first move. It was a muggy July evening, and there was a glass of mead swirling in my fingers. I was sorting my thoughts into bins, trying to navigate what approach I would take for an intervention. That’s when a note slid beneath the door of my residence.

Ella,

I’d like to sit down and talk about everything that has happened. I feel horrible about the path that has developed before us. I understand you’re probably furious with me. Give me a chance to make this right?

Meet at 7:00 PM tonight, in the Gardens?

Thanks,
Edvard

Perhaps it was relief that made me ignore the decisively un-Edvardian word choices. Perhaps the mead clouded my critical thinking. Either way, it was desperation that attributed the note to Edvard making a genuine effort to take accountability.

Such a groundswell of relief filled my chest that I stained the paper with tears. The muggy underworld humidity cloyed against my skin as I left my room that evening. 6:45 PM flashed on the digital displays next to the elevators as I headed for the compound gardens.

If only I had known what was actually about to happen.

<Begin Log:>

Speaker Ella enters the hallway leading to the main complex gardens. As she approaches the gardens, Speaker Edvard rounds the corner. They both stop, looking at each other for several seconds. Both go through a series of complicated facial expressions. Each is holding a piece of paper. After several seconds, they both attempt to speak at the same time.

Speaker Ella: I got your note about meeting.

Speaker Edvard: I got your note about wanting to talk.

Both stop speaking and stare at the other.

Speaker Ella: Wait, what?

Speaker Edvard: I didn’t send a note?

Ella glances down at her note again.

Speaker Ella: Neither did I.

Ella and Edvard look between the note, each other, and the doors out into the garden.

Speaker Edvard: If you didn’t send my note, and I didn’t send your note, then—

Speaker Ella: Who typed up our invitations?

Speaker Edvard: Yeah.

They both look at the doors to the gardens. Edvard rubs his temples.

Speaker Edvard: You think they’re—

Speaker Ella: Waiting for us in there?

Speaker Edvard: Yeah.

Speaker Ella: Probably.

Speaker Edvard: We should probably figure this out.

Speaker Ella: Probably.

They both stare at the garden doors.

Speaker Edvard: I do, uhm, want to talk.

Speaker Ella: …so do I.

Speaker Edvard: But I think we should figure out who our mystery impersonator is first.

Speaker Ella: Agreed.

Ella and Edvard enter the gardens together. They walk for some time through the open-air alcoves in silence. Eventually they come upon the area where their notes indicate the meeting is to occur. It is here that a table with several comfortable lounge chairs have been moved. Glasses, several pitchers of water and a quite large teapot are sat on the table. Sitting, cross legged, in a large recliner, situated opposite the table and chairs, is SCP-001. When Ella and Edvard enter, she is knitting a large quilt.

Diary Text:

There was something intangibly different about the Seeress as we stepped into that little section of the gardens. Over the years there has a been a general and gradual shift in her behavior. It’s in the way she holds herself in our presence; the smell on the breeze when you enter a room she’s in; the shadows and light that follow her through hallways within the various places we’ve come to live. A growing, quiet confidence.

That’s not what we encountered in that Alcove. That night, it was like everything around her had completely shifted. She filled that entire alcove with a warm subtle light and yet drenched it in a shadowy mist that flowed out and past our ankles. Seemed much taller and older than she actually looked. There was something there when I squinted at just the right angle. A complex tapestry of strings waiting to wrap us up within their embrace the moment we stepped inside. There was this fragrance blown towards us by the air conditioner. Incense entwined with the smoke from a fire.

The way she sat in that chair somehow radiated confidence into that space that I did not often get from her. I’d almost call it smug certainty. Absolute control. It’s easy to say that she knew we were there, given she sees everything, but this was different. It was as if she was everywhere, gazing at us. Even though my eyes were screaming she was in the chair in front of us. She didn’t even look up when she finally acknowledged us.

I suppose what I am taking so long to say is, she felt like a completely different person. She cast us in her fervor and for the first time in years, I saw a goddess sitting before me where before there had been a very human woman.

For a moment, I entertained the possibility that perhaps one of the Moirai had snuck in and assumed the Seeress’s shape.

SCP-001: Ella, Edvard, please, come in and sit.

Ella and Edvard take several stiff steps forward, as if being pulled along by some unseen force. They both stop and shake their heads.

Speaker Ella: What—Seeress?

SCP-001: Apologies, I did not mean to command with intent.

SCP-001 sits back against the chair but does not stop knitting. Ella and Edvard look at each other. Ella holds up her slip of paper.

Speaker Ella: Did you send these notes?

SCP-001: I did.

Speaker Edvard: Why?

SCP-001: A small deception. A small tug on the strings to push you past the humps you both faced.

Speaker Ella: We would have—Eventually on our own.

SCP-001: You would have labored for hours, wringing your hands about the approach, the how, and the when. Days would have turned into a week. A week into weeks. Then some other task would have come forth and drawn your eye away from the prize. The wheel would turn and the friction build until it exploded once more.

Speaker Edvard: So, you forced the issue.

SCP-001: Yes.

Speaker Ella: Why? Why now?

SCP-001 stops knitting and sets its needles down.

SCP-001: Because I have sat by long enough. I have watched you both spiral in this destructive dance, hurting yourselves, each other, the Silicon Nornir, and me.

Speaker Ella: So, you could have acted but didn’t?

SCP-001 frowns.

SCP-001: Now, it may seem like I can see everything, but Ella, I’m actually blind!

SCP-001 grins. Ella and Edvard both snort. Several seconds pass as SCP-001’s grin fades.

SCP-001: I could have acted, but the time simply wasn’t right for the path that benefits us all the most.

Speaker Edvard: So, all of us were fated to suffer like this until we met your conditions? There’s no agency in it for us?

SCP-001: Don’t be so obtuse, Edvard. Everyone has agency in every choice they make. I nor any goddess of fate can take that from you. We can only flick the strings, alter the choices on the table, and when they might appear. It is you who make those choices; it is you who unspool the strings to their destination. Your fate is your own.

Ella and Edvard’s expressions slowly shift towards distress.

Speaker Ella: And our recent choices—

Speaker Edvard: Have been hurting you.

SCP-001: You have been hurting yourselves and what you care most about. We must be clear; this suffering is but a temporary stain of malice in the tapestry of our life. To live as long as we have, it requires some inordinate amount of suffering. It requires the bending of the mind into shapes so warped by trauma that years are required to recover. But it is temporary. Every day is an improvement, every day one step closer to being free of a yoke you cannot see. There has been worse and there has been better, but I will survive. I will always survive. So, my harm is not of consequence. It is what you do to yourselves and those things that you hold most dear that matters.

Ella and Edvard say nothing. Ella briefly blinks and rubs her eyes.

Diary Text:

But though she spoke with all the certainty and weight of her position as a goddess, she could not hide the glint her eyes. The strokes of pain squirming as a storm in the little striations of that sunburst. How I didn’t notice until right then, I’m not sure. But they were bright, raging with the light and fire of a distant sun. Weren’t they normally faded?

As if to answer my unasked question, I blinked and the effect vanished.

SCP-001: That is why I deceived you both into coming here. Now sit and let us talk of things that must change.

Ella and Edvard make their way over to the chairs and sit. They pour themselves tea.

Speaker Edvard: I’m sorry, Seeress.

SCP-001: The apology is appreciated but of little worth, unless commitment is found.

Speaker Ella: Where do you want to start?

SCP-001: With Edvard.

Edvard shifts in his chair.

SCP-001: I will not dance around these issues. Forgive my brutal bluntness to come.

Speaker Edvard: I think you’ve earned the right to be as blunt as necessary.

Speaker Ella: Edvard this ceaseless chase to dull the rage and guilt you feel with intoxication and drugs is killing your body. It is destroying your relationships. You vanish in the middle of the day to drink, to get high. You are neglecting your position, leaving us each exposed to Bowe’s whims, and the threat of the GOC. I do not care to look into where else you go, but this must stop. You have a choice, a choice which Ella would be bound to arrive to in time, but not before you do more harm.

Edvard looks down.

SCP-001: I know this is difficult, but please meet my gaze.

Edvard does as instructed.

SCP-001: These are your options.

SCP-001 holds up one finger.

SCP-001: One, you check yourself into rehab, get help, get clean. Ella would assign a temp during your stay.

It holds up a second finger.

SCP-001: Two, you stay with the medical team, remove all tempting materials, and continue your work.

It holds up a third.

SCP-001: Three, have Ella return to holding you accountable, clean out your residence, monitor your every movement.

SCP-001 pauses for several seconds.

SCP-001: Or four, you can continue as you have been. Continue to spiral, be forced into Rehab, removed from your position, and be returned to a life in mundane reality.

Edvard is quiet for several minutes.

Speaker Edvard: I need some time to think about which recovery option I want to take.

SCP-001: Of course.

Speaker Ella: Whatever you need, Edvard, please don’t hesitate to ask.

I was already anticipating how I too would be torn apart by her cutting strings. My chest and stomach were filling with the swirls of dread.

But there was something else too.

Something stirred inside my chest, as she spoke with such tremendous authority. I suppose you could call it an awakening. A sticky, cloying, emptiness of a realization. A yearning. That same yearning which I had drowned with the precipitation of war. That I buried while managing the rapidly growing elements of the Silicon Nornir.

Her light and dark had snared me; curled about my mind and brought my full focus onto her form. Perhaps it was seven years of seeing her at her absolute worst that kept it from me. The night terrors, the bouts of panic, the fear and desperation. Perhaps it was the echoes of that day at the hospital. When we’d stormed the Critical Isolation Ward to find her covered in her own shit, piss, blood, and vomit. Maybe, I’m ashamed to admit, it was hidden by the growing resentment of managing her all those years. Sacrificing sleep and sanity to keep her safe.

Beneath all the horrors and psychological scars was a beautiful woman, no, a beautiful goddess. Strong of will and spirit. The world broke her and how did she respond? She picked all the pieces up and glued herself back together. Yet she walks on, cracking jokes, spinning riddles and wordplay. Every room she steps inside is always a little brighter and yet also weighted with a sense of distant melancholy. Her voice a song unto itself. It radiated in the shower with hymns of a language I didn’t recognize.

Now she sat before us, our roles almost completely reversed. And I realized, she might be far more to me than I could have anticipated.

Then she tore me apart.

SCP-001: Ella—

Speaker Ella: I know what you’re going to say.

SCP-001: Oh? Do you?

Speaker Ella: I’ve also been too reliant on turning to the bottle. I’ve been slower to act than I should have been.

Speaker Ella looks up at SCP-001 and waits. SCP-001 taps its fingers on the chair.

SCP-001: You fell upon the mead when it all began to press down upon you, and such indulgence has slowed your ability to act… but that is small.

Ella blinks.

SCP-001: The truth is, you do too much. You handle the bureaucracy of Bowe’s abuse completely on your own. How many times have you allowed forms to slip through the cracks? How many times have we discovered his abuse at a ball; how many times have I had to retreat to a bathroom and weep?

Speaker Ella: I—

SCP-001: Let me finish.

Ella sits back, visibly distressed.

SCP-001: Four years ago, you had the funding and the willpower to cultivate a new generation of Speakers, who could relieve you of this burden. Why didn’t you? Is it a need to control? To prevent the mistakes that led to the death of your husband? A defense, an avenue to exert a modicum of agency against the endless grind of the GOC? It feels as if there is a sense of needless greed to stockpile more profit than you need, to minimize the labor necessary. You remain bound to the levers of capital, and do not see a newfound society beginning to build beneath the shadows of what will be your towers.

Ella’s eyes begin to water.

SCP-001: But the sins of a workaholic and capitalist are not your greatest failing. The failure to hold Edvard accountable for his vices, out of some fear of being hypocritical has put us all in danger. This zealous faith in a rapidly breaking system has rendered us slow to respond. Closed the door to alternative paths.

Ella begins to cry. Edvard reaches over and places a hand on her shoulder.

SCP-001: It is time to wake up Ella. It is time to see that your responsibilities are no longer to a tiny cult trying to survive a war. Your responsibility is to the world.

Speaker Ella: I did not mean for this—

SCP-001: I know you didn’t. Just as I didn’t intend to inflict upon any of you the misery we have oft found ourselves together in. But the road to Náströnd’s belly is paved with bricks of golden intention.

Speaker Ella: What do you want me to do?

SCP-001: You have three options.

Speaker Ella: Option one?

SCP-001: Recruit new Speakers, attract new devotees to the faith. Teach them the intricacies of bureaucracy and pay them well. Delegate your responsibilities. Begin investing in full into the future of Eurtec, the health and wellbeing of its citizens. Build a society worthy of my name, in my name. Then you must hold Edvard and others accountable for their behavior. Build systems to catch people before they fall into those cracks. Relieve or fire those who fail to improve after they inflict harm upon the organization. Hire more security, build more fail safes against Bowe. Most importantly, stop hoping the GOC will save us. We must prepare to save ourselves by cutting our strings.

Ella blows her nose into a Kleenex.

Speaker Ella: Two?

SCP-001: Step down as CEO of the Silicon Nornir Corporation. Let someone else take the reigns and fulfill my vision.

Speaker Ella: Is there a third option?

SCP-001: That would be to continue as you have and watch us all burn against the horizon.

Ella sniffles. She is quiet for several minutes.

Speaker Ella: I’ll commit to option one. But… I’ll need help.

SCP-001’s posture relaxes.

SCP-001: My eyes will guide your path and the hands of others.

Ella nods, blowing her nose into the tissue. After a moment, Ella turns to Edvard.

Speaker Ella: Edvard, I owe you an apology. I let things get to where they were on every front. I should have intervened sooner.

Speaker Edvard: Maybe, but I wouldn’t have made it easier for you. I’m sorry, to both of you. I’ve failed to do my job and put everyone at risk. I need some time to think it through, but maybe it’s best if I go to rehab.

SCP-001: I’m certain that Ella can make the arrangements once you’re sure. What I have to say to you both is that, the path we have walked has been winding and rocky. You are human. Your mistakes do not define you forever and I will not hold them against you. Strive to be more than you were before this conversation. That is the path to a better future.

SCP-001 rises, gathering her quilt. Ella sniffles again, wiping her eyes.

SCP-001: Whilst there will be much to speak of in the coming days, this Seeress is old and needs her sleep.

Speaker Ella: I—right. I’ll see you in the morning, Seeress.

Speaker Edvard: Rest well, Seeress.

SCP-001 stops momentarily, half turns, and looks in the general direction of the Speakers.

SCP-001: Ella, draw up a plan of action. We will sit and speak of it in the coming week.

Speaker Ella: Of course Seeress.

Ella watches SCP-001 exit the alcove. Edvard stares into his tea. After several seconds, the tension leaves both their bodies. Edvard looks up at the underworld sky while Ella cries for several more minutes. Eventually, she stops.

Speaker Edvard: What… just happened?

Speaker Ella: We just got our six-year reviews.

Speaker Edvard: Felt more like we were getting fired.

Speaker Ella: More like a scathing deconstruction.

Speaker Edvard: So, we’re not fired?

Speaker Ella: Not yet at least.

They sit in silence for another minute.

Speaker Edvard: How’d we get here?

Speaker Ella: We took a leap of faith.

Speaker Edvard: Mmm.

Speaker Ella: Now she’s doing the same with us.

Speaker Edvard: Bunch of fuckups we are to get to this point.

Speaker Ella: Misfits.

Speaker Edvard: Outcasts.

Speaker Ella: Literally.

One minute of silence.

Speaker Ella: We have to be better for her sake.

Speaker Edvard: I know.

Another minute of silence passes.

Speaker Ella: Edvard… is it sacrilegious to develop a crush on a goddess?

Edvard looks at Ella.

Speaker Edvard: What?

Speaker Ella gets up.

Speaker Ella: Nothing. Idle thoughts.

Speaker Edvard: You want to talk about it?

Speaker Ella: Not right now. Maybe someday, but not now.

<End Log>

It was a week later that Edvard checked himself into a Rehab facility. It was strange, after more than a decade, not having him as a regular presence at my side. His temp replacement was our second in command. A quiet man whose presence faded into the background of any room he was in for an extended period of time. It simply wasn’t the same.

It was in the early-mid 1950s that I started to feel my enthusiasm for life and everything we were doing begin to return. With the awareness of how we’d been enabling everything, we began to mitigate the things we couldn’t outright control. Bowe, bureaucracy, the Seeress’s suffering.

They say that money can’t buy happiness, but it certainly can make life easier. And we were rolling in it.

It became trivial to entice new believers to our cause with higher wages and benefits. Delegating bureaucratic warfare to people who weren’t juggling 50 other tasks made my time more manageable. Made it harder for Bowe to shove things through the cracks. This in turn prevented him from wounding the Seeress with nasty surprises.

With my hands now free, I could turn my attention to fully managing the construction of the NFMA. I had more time to manage our finances, finding ways to maximize our growth as an entity.

Taking the Seeress’s comments in mind, we are setting up social safety net programs for the populace. We’re starting to offer work programs, housing programs, education initiatives, affordable healthcare clinics, food assistance programs, and even retirement plans. I’m certainly no politician, but if we’re going to make Eurtec a place that occultic populations want to live in, we’ve got to commit to transforming the wheels of capitalism to benefit everyone under our watch.

The GOC certainly wasn’t going to.

With all these changes in motion, I turned my attention to exploring what I had felt the night the Seeress intervened. For many long years we had taken care of her, lived alongside her. But I could not say I truly knew her for who she was. Only what she showed us. There were glimpses, but they were always shallow and oddly guarded. This newfound freedom from delegation brought us closer together.

Diary Text:

We started eating dinner together every other night, listening to radio programs.

Can you imagine learning to knit or draw from a blind woman? I certainly couldn’t have before this past monday. Have you ever seen a blind woman dance? Neither did I until this past Sunday. Who taught her to dance? Why is there so much freedom in her steps?

Others see it, that much I’m sure of.

I’ve started accompanying her on walks.

There’s occasional street art of the Seeress in some of the residential sectors. It is inspired and hopeful, filled with the implication that she is carrying Eurtec’s burdens on her back. It seems as though she is becoming a symbol of the city, right under our noses.

A light in the dark of Pentagram’s growing human supremacist attitude.

What does she do on these walks, I hear you asking?

She speaks with the citizens. Asks about their lives. She goes to festivals, community events, marathons, competitions, and sometimes she even participates.

Now I am drawn along with her.

My heart would beat faster in her presence. My stomach fluttered with butterflies that I’d not felt since the days with my long-departed husband. Yet with every hour spent with this incredible woman, a stark reality sat with me.

I had a crush. It was like I was a schoolgirl again, laughing at every joke that slipped from her lips. Stealing glances when I thought she wasn’t paying attention, even though she was blind. But there’s a fractious question burning hot in the back of my mind.

Is this sacrilegious? The only person worth asking that question was Edvard. Never had I felt his absence more keenly than when I was asking those questions in the dark of the underworld night.

It was this environment in which the most shocking revelation of my life landed square in our laps.

Diary Text:

We have a small problem. Or rather, a problem that is smaller than expected when it should be huge. With the silicon conduction system now in place in the two towers’ frames, and the base cores slotted into their manifolds, we began the intricate process of anchoring the pure conceptual ghosts of our divine namesakes, our Seeress’s sisters, into their new housings.

Video Log Eurtec: January, 1953

<Begin Log>

Speaker Ella is standing in a still under construction, fifty meter wide, open chamber. She is standing in a circular depression within the floor, facing away from stairs positioned behind her. Visible are two, thirty meter tall, exposed computing cores. They are slotted into two hundred meter tall silicon mainframes. In turn, the mainframes are encrusted with fluorescing crystals ranging from one to ten meters in diameter. Ella is looking at a curved, three meter long, early, digital console. Text and number readouts of varying significance are visible.

Speaker Ella: Core readings are stable. Manifolds are fully powered, and the crystal lattice anchors are at resonance. Before we spool up the sisters, everyone should brace your thaumic senses for conceptual influx. The anchoring process is going to cause a shockwave.

Other speakers move around Ella. They are drawing, with chalk, ritual runic circles around Ella. Additional footage from exterior cameras indicates much larger circles have been meticulously carved into the base of each tower.

Speaker Ella: Beginning search of the Ehtereum Astral Space.

Ella takes a step back and engages in a series of languid somatic motions involving her upper body. As she is doing this, she and the other speakers chant an incantation. The runic circles begin to glow, and at the end of this display, Ella presses a hand into the digital console, watching the screens.

Initializing Survey of Ethereum Astral Space.

Processing…

Search complete. Bio-thaumic signatures and conceptual matter clouds catalogued and compiled.

Speaker Ella: Search for all entities with matching Bio-thaumic resonance with the High Seeress, then display spatial orientation.

Analyzing.

No Matches Found. Attempt Different Parameter Search?

Ella blinks.

Speaker Ella: Hmmm.

Random Speaker: Is something wrong, Ella?

Speaker Ella: No, I think it just needs a bit more calibration. We were lucky so far with how smooth things have gone. Search again with conceptual matter cloud signature?

Searching.

Analyzing.

No Exact Matches Found. 231 Partial Matches Identified. Review Results?

Speaker Ella stares at the screen for several seconds. She speaks in a barely audible whisper.

Speaker Ella: That’s way too many… Search by last recorded analog measurements of the Norn’s Bio-thaumic signature.

Searching.

Three Matches of 85% or Greater Identity Found. Conceptual Matter Clouds Confirmed. Spatial Position: Helheim. Warning, Insufficient Anchors to Encapsulate Three Conceptual Ghosts.

Ella stares at the screen. Her eyes are wide. She leans forward, rubs her eyes, and then looks again.

Speaker Ella: Were there four all along?

In theory, this would not be an issue, mythological contexts are fluid, and it is possible there was a fourth Norn that was unaccounted for.

Speaker Ella: Show me the Bio-thaumic resonance of the High Seeress compared to the Norns.

Bio-thaumic Resonance of High Seeress: Genetic Lineage undescribed in current archives. Thaumic Resonance: 40% of the Norns. No Biological connection.

Ella’s eyes widen as she reads the screen. She steps back and does several small somatic motions. The ritual circles flare with light once again. She speaks again at a low volume.

Speaker Ella: That’s not a malfunction in the program. What is this? Show me conceptual cloud alignments?

Conceptual Cloud Matter Composition: The Norns Reflect a Conceptual Matter Cloud Composition of 95% Fate/Destiny and 5% Other Material. The High Seeress Reflects a Conceptual Matter Cloud Composition of 45% Fate/Destiny, 10% Darkness, 25% the Sun, 15% Medicine/Healing, and 15% Creation/The Arts.

Conclusion: The Being Known as the High Seeress is Compatible With the Intended Purpose of this System but is Not A Norn.

Synchronize Core Activation Systems to the High Seeress and Begin Anchoring Process?

All the color drains from Ella’s face as she stares at the screen.

Random Speaker: Ella is everything alright?

Speaker Ella: Yes. Begin anchoring process and synchronize systems to the High Seeress’s bio-thaumic signature.

Executing.

Ella stares up at the sky as an electronic whirring fills the audio recording. A deep thumping noise shortly follows. A conceptual shockwave shakes the camera and causes multiple speakers to stumble. Ella watches the screen as a status bar fills. Reality sags and warps around the towers as the crystals resonate faster. While this is happening, Ella speaks to the console again, in a much quieter voice.

Speaker Ella: Save all data from existing analyses to my personal secure database. Erase all publicly accessible comparisons between the High Seeress and the Norns.

Beginning Operation.

Task Complete.

<End Log:>

There was a brief moment when the NFMA was tunneling between pocket-realms in which the truth of the High Seeress and the Norns was visible. The computational cores of the NFMA noticed, as I did I. The only other speaker of sufficient skill to have noticed was Edvard. But he wasn’t even there. He wasn’t there. He was still in Rehab.

I remained stunned for some time about the truth of what I had found. There were two options moving forward. I could reveal the truth to all, destroy the trust and faith our order had in the Seeress. Or I could take an optimistic approach for the good of all. Even if it was based on a lie.

I chose the lie. How often is life truly honest with us about the nature of things we believe? But it was truly not that simple, this reality remained both a confounding circumstance, and an opportunity for immense profit if played right.

Schadow_Grabmal_Alexander_2.webp

The Moirai, Greek Goddesses of Fate.

The first step was to adjust the engineering plans to add a third tower. But I had to do so using the plausible deniability of the mists of mythology. It turned out to be easier than I expected. The rest of the speakers bought the lie hook, line, and sinker. It even raised morale. In a single brilliant stroke, we were about to increase the predictive and analytical capacity of the Seeress by another full third.

I could barely imagine the margins we were going to achieve as a result. The timing was something of a blessing, given the coming funding cuts to the GOC. If we have to, at some point, completely support the city on our own, then we’ll certainly be read.

There are so many linger questions about her.

She is strong and willful. Assertive in her desires.

Johann_Heinrich_F%25C3%25BCssli_063.webp

Tiresias the blind prophet.

Which makes the lingering, frail vulnerability in the presence of Bowe so strange. It’s like I’m staring into the face of two completely different people.

Which one is the real woman?

Who the hell have we fought tooth and nail for, for the past 10 years?

Who is this stranger who we call Seeress?

A Moirai? Another Goddess?

An Oracle? Tiresias?

One of those would surely make sense, right?

Should I interrogate this further with her or leave it be?

No, I don’t think anything good will come of trying to nail it down. Best to bury this so no one ever knows. Best to not let her know I know and then let it die.

But there’s one question that remains above all others.

What does she actually want with us?

Video Log Excerpts: Eurtec Nornir Residences, Predictive Session December 7th, 1956

Background Context for Predictive Session:

During and following WWI, a generalized consolidation of occultic organizations began across the world. Largely as a consequence of rapidly developing communication technologies and the rise of Nationalist sympathies on the global stage. In the early years of the 20th century, this phenomenon mostly affected the highly developed and industrialized countries of Western Europe, The United States, and Japan.27 However, the 1930’s saw the rise of the Obskurakorps, and the seizure of Czechoslovakia and Austria by Nazi Germany. Regional and even community associated occultic groups and populations were targeted for exploitation by imperial and colonial powers alike.

The advent of World War II and the invasions of the Axis in Eastern and Western Europe, East and Southeast Asia, and many Pacific islands led to the absorption, or destruction of thousands of regional occultic groups. Consolidation elevated the influence of state sponsored Occultic Organizations. In many cases, this facilitated the targeted genocide of occultic populations. Eastern and Southern European occultic populations were particularly vulnerable to being wiped out by Axis occultic groups. Similar genocidal assaults by Japanese Navy and Army associated occultic forces were carried out in Imperial Japanese held territory and along the front lines.

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A Greek occultic woman in mourning following the deportation of Greek occultic communities by the GOC.

By the end of WWII, many groups had been wiped out or tentatively integrated in some way into larger organizations, like the Allied Occult Initiative. Many of these smaller regional organizations would begin attempting to reassert their independence post-war, leaving 108 medium sized organizations to form the GOC.

In the late 1940’s, Italy and Eastern Bloc states had elected for GOC monitoring over the involvement of the GRU-P. Post-war political and social instability rose during and after the end of the Greek Civil War. The rich history of under-veil artifacts and beliefs in the region inured the populace to the GOC after the exploitative mentality of the Obskurakorps.

Occultic groups and populations in the region had received material assistance for resistance efforts from the GOC but most had elected not to integrate post-war. However, when unrest began, they appealed to the GOC for assistance in helping stabilize relations with mundane interests. The GOC began construction of railways connecting ancient Greek and Roman cultural centers to GOC research facilities in the Swiss Alps in ~1946. Initial positive relations shifted substantially, largely due to the GOC began to tilt towards human supremacist-based policy for the maintenance of the veil, post-war.

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Removal of anomalous populations from the Balkans.

Like the Obskurakorps before them, the GOC viewed these smaller regional organizations as obstacles, exploitable, and threats to the new doctrine of maintaining the Veil. The GOC began confiscating and looting important anomalous artifacts from both ancient cultural sites and communities within the region. It was a measure to strip power from these smaller organizations and reduce their ability to resist. Artifacts were initially stored in specially designed warehouses. They were intended to be trafficked to and from localized research facilities to determine usefulness of the item for paratech research, at which point they would be shipped up the railway lines.

Relations worsened further when the GOC began forcing anomalous communities within Italian, Greek and Yugoslavian villages, towns, and cities from their homes with approval from local governments. Displaced persons were moved into ‘quarantine’ camps where they would remain until Eurtec was available for their relocation. While manifest records appear to indicate proper relocalization, a number of persons never made it to the camps. Their peers would later submit missing persons reports which were never properly addressed.

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Children of anomalous parents in one of the GOC’s internment camps.

The conditions in relocation camps were generally considered to be poor, with hastily constructed shelters, food supply issues, and cramped conditions. Similar initiatives were also underway in the Pacific, South Asia, Africa, and the Americas.

Organized resistance networks, originally established to fight the Nazis and Obskurakorps, reformed to combat the growing hostility of GOC forces. Resistance was initially dealt with through diplomacy and negotiation. When talks stalled in late 1947, tensions devolved into relocation at gunpoint. Then localized massacres which were swept under the rug by local commanders. Organized resistance began to inflict serious setbacks on GOC forces in 1949, with the sabotage of the construction of multiple local research facilities. Reprisals against anomalous peoples within the camps were swift and harsh but only hardened resistance. From there, GOC efforts escalated the frequency of sabotage events and on some occasions resulted in open violence.

By late 1956, tensions with the anomalous population remaining in the region, discontent within Eurtec citizens who had been displaced, and higher concentrations of GOC strike units were indicators that the Mediterranean was on the edge of open anomalous war that could spill into Eurtec. Unbeknownst to the GOC, outside influences, including the Serpent’s Hand, had begun supplying local resistance units with para-weapons. Pentagram was instructed to consult SCP-001’s predictive capacities to assess next steps.

Foreword: On December 7th, 1956, General Bowe arrived for a short predictive session with SCP-001.

<Begin log>

Video log begins roughly fifteen minutes after the start of the session, excluding irrelevant minor predictive exchanges. SCP-001 is seated in a multi-purpose conference room within the Cult of the Nornir complex. Speaker Ella and Edvard are also in the room. Bowe is across from them. SCP-001 exhibits no signs of nervousness observed in previous recordings.

General Bowe: Thank you for indulging in these minor inquiries. Let’s shift to what we actually came for.

SCP-001 is still.

General Bowe: As I’m sure you’re already aware, boy, there’s been quite a bit of unrest in the Balkans. I think it’s in everyone’s best interest to avoid another powder-keg exploding. So, son, do your thing, look into the future and tell me what it will take.

General Bowe leans back in the chair smoking a cigar which trails faintly pink smoke. SCP-001 shudders, wrapping one hand around the staff.

SCP-001: To avoid the rise of flame and smoke upon the earth, those within the wired cross must be released. What was taken must be returned. This will still the winds of violence drifting south.

General Bowe frowns. He nods at a nearby guard. They rip the seat out from under SCP-001 with one hand and grab its hair in the other. SCP-001’s jaw clenches but it does not cry out.

General Bowe: Boy, you try my patience. Abandoning the area? Letting all these wizards and monsters go? Giving everything back? Means risking a break in the veil. Ain’t going to happen. Did you honestly think that would work?

SCP-001: Perhaps I had some hope in your humanity.

General Bowe: Give me options that minimize loss of my men and prevent a war.

SCP-001 grits its teeth.

Speaker Ella: Bowe, you know this isn’t how this—

SCP-001: Ella, I will give him what he desires.

General Bowe: Well, go on then.

SCP-001 breathes deeply and looks directly at Bowe. Before it can begin, he speaks again.

General Bowe: I’m waiting, boy.

SCP-001’s expression shifts, whether from pain or some other emotion, is unclear. Its jaw clenches as it speaks.

SCP-001: You seek to avoid war? You seek to minimize loss? Then the carriage horse of steel is the only path. Move that which was taken North in a single motion. It shall reach the destination shielded in fire and flame from the strife to come.

<End Log>


Addendum 11: 1956-1968

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Access provided by the Silicon Nornir archives.

December 1964

The alarm failed. I threw out the clock and completely forgot this existed and now look at it, the cover is thick with dust. I’m beginning to think the problem is not everything else, it’s just me. Maybe I’m just terrible at keeping a diary. Bureaucratic paperwork? Sure. Keeping an eye on the Seeress’s schedule? Absolutely on it. Writing in the diary? This time. This time for sure I’ll stick to it.

So much has happened so quickly that we’ve not had time to breathe. The NFMA is 80% complete. The third tower has lagged a bit behind the others just because it was a modification to the original designs and blueprints, but we estimate the framework and the Seeress’s penthouse will be finished by mid-1964, if not sooner. When that is done, Bowe’s abuse ends and he won’t be leaving her bleeding and vomiting by the end of a session anymore.

Our profits are unbelievable. The corporation is private, so we have no public trading, but accounting estimates that our income streams from Fortune 500 corporations looking for predictive applications and new industry investment opportunities are raking in billions of dollars per month. This is fantasy levels of wealth.

And we desperately need that after everything that has happened. The GOC has been getting slammed from every side.

Aftermath of Zurich Incident: On February 1st, 1957, GOC Strike Forces coupled two trains, a heavily armored multi-car cargo train, and a heavily armed and armored assault train containing multiple GOC strike groups, to each other at the terminus of a GOC rail line in Greece. Over the course of the next two weeks, the train stopped at and loaded artifacts from multiple warehouses enroute to the GOC’s primary para-research facilities in Zurich, Switzerland.

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Photograph of a mountain within the Swiss Alps.

On February 15th, 1957, former AOI collaborators turned Serpent’s Hand operatives, [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] hijacked the trains, eliminated four attached GOC strike groups and disabled or destroyed dozens of GOC defensive weapons emplacements and checkpoints situated along the rail line in the Swiss Alps. The assault train was decoupled from the cargo train during the assault and rigged with para-explosives which were then used to level the Zurich research facility. Thousands of para-tech research personnel, including multiple critical and well-regarded experts, were killed. Thousands of para-tech prototypes were destroyed.

To add salt into the wound, the cargo train containing thousands of occultic artifacts was transported to an unknown location.

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Remnants of the Zurich Research Facility.

These events became known as the Zurich Incident or the Zurich Raid. The GOC considered the defeat a colossal scandal, due to the loss of more than a hundred GOC strike personnel, thousands of research personnel, para-tech prototypes, and powerful occultic artifacts. General Bowe was summoned before the council of 108 where he was reprimanded and received orders to eliminate the new threats by coordinating with SCP-001 and the Cult of the Silicon Nornir.

From 1957-1960, Serpent’s Hand operations increased dramatically. They targeted GOC strongpoints and facilities with hit and run strikes, and guerilla assaults. Displaced people in GOC camps were moved to Eurtec, but GOC strike units were forced to withdraw from the Balkans as [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] destroyed multiple GOC facilities, Strike Units, and assets at an alarming rate while coordinating with local resistance groups. Failure to contain the threat compounded with Eisenhower’s wariness of Pentagram and distrust of Bowe led to the slashing of Pentagram and GOC funding.

Despite Bowe’s failures, he was not removed as head of Pentagram.

Bowe is here every day, and if he’s not here, he’s in the actual Silicon Towers complex in the still half completed focal chamber. We’ve had to put up no smoking signs and confiscate all cigarettes and cigars from the bastard when he comes in to stop him gumming up the sensitive tech.

He, Pentagram, and the Council of 108 are taking the blame for the disaster that was the American attempt to overthrow the Cuban communist government.

Background Context:

In 1952, outrage of the Cuban populace at Fulgencio Batista’s seizure of power and presidential proclamation began the Cuban Revolution in the form of an armed rebellion. Fighting would last until 1958 when Batista fled the country. Fidel Castro and other revolutionaries would then form a provisional government which would eventually be replaced by Castro’s Marxist-Leninist communist government in 1961. Castro began quietly receiving occultic assistance from the Soviet Union in the late 1950s before a more formal public agreement was announced in 1961.

President Eisenhower was already aware of the occultic intervention of the Soviet Union thanks to CIA intercepts of Russian transcripts in 1957. Eisenhower ordered the CIA to begin orchestrating plans for an invasion of Cuba to target Castro’s faction in 1954 using loyalists to the Cuban Government in exile.

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Che Guevara and other Leaders of the Cuban Revolutionary Government.

By 1960, this plan had evolved into an invasion to topple the government and eliminate both Castro and Che Guevara, the latter of whom was responsible for spreading communist ideology in Latin and South American countries. Guevara had personally trained communist militias in the region and was a high priority target. Eisenhower assigned the CIA and its anomalous department to plan the invasion, which would then be coordinated between the newly formed Cuban Democratic Revolutionary Front and US Navy and Airforce aviation wings.

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Fidel Castro.

Eisenhower and the CIA director, Allen Dulles, then met with General Bowe to coordinate a plan to obtain a probabilistic outcome from SCP-001. Their goal was to cross reference predictions with geographic and strategic assessment to ascertain where the best landing sites were, and what the best approach would be. They then approached SCP-001 with General Bowe, at which point SCP-001 identified Trinidad, Cuba as the site most likely to provide strategic success for the invasion. President Eisenhower then briefed the newly elected President John F. Kennedy, who approved of the initial plan.

While some Serpent’s Hand activity was suspected in the region, there were no prior indicators that they were operating in Cuba. GOC strike packages were also committed to the effort in an attempt to restore the GOC’s reputation as a competent strategic force in the anomalous world.

President Kennedy did not initially take action following the transition of power and hesitated to commit to the plan. This was due to the high visibility of Trinidad as a strategic target. Instead, Kennedy asked the CIA and General Bowe for a more inconspicuous location for the operation.

The following log is General Bowe’s predictive session with SCP-001 for this purpose.

<Begin Log:>

SCP-001, General Bowe, Speaker Ella, and Speaker Edvard are within the partially completed NFMA central focus chamber. Bowe appears disheveled, his suit is wrinkled, there are purple and red bags underneath his eyes, and his hair has not been adequately combed in some time.

He harasses the Seeress for every detail she can give.

General Bowe: No pleasantries today, boy. I assume you know why I’m here?

He’s desperate and gets more desperate every day because he’s now in command of GOC security forces and strike teams.

SCP-001: Cuba. I see the desire for flame and blood, assurances for a clear path to restore control of your own backyard. You want a new place and an outcome.

And they’re getting torn apart.

General Bowe taps his foot at a rapid interval.

General Bowe: Yes, boy. Give me what I need, I’m on a timetable for the president.

And now I see in those hateful eyes, the same helplessness that he has made us feel all these years.

SCP-001: There are many streams and paths to walk along the—

General Bowe makes a gesture and a guard steps past Edvard and Ella.

He’s so desperate that he’s escalated the abuse to extraordinary physical violence and injury.

The speakers watch as the guard slams the butt of his rifle into SCP-001’s face. The entity staggers backwards and is silenced. A second guard then yanks SCP-001’s hair and forces it to kneel.

We were frozen as it happened. But something in me snapped and I could feel all my rage boiling over. My body started to move on its own.

Despite blood dripping from its nose, it does not exhibit pain responses to any of the actions.

I surged forward, the incantation blazing against the tip of my tongue.

Ella is stopped by Edvard. Edvard whispers something not picked up by the microphone to Ella.

He stopped me before I could fling the incantation. He said in my ear: “There will be a time, but it isn’t now.”

I wanted to scream at him. Him of all people letting this go on? What was wrong with him?

General Bowe: Maybe I wasn’t clear enough; I don’t have time for your cryptic mystery nonsense. Get on with it.

Then she looked up and I saw in her eyes something I had not seen before. Fire. Anger. Determination, possibly even hatred. The hatred of a prophet scorned.

Ella takes a step back. Edvard’s lips part. SCP-001 looks at Bowe. Its hands tighten around the staff. Bowe shifts in place, taking a small step back. When SCP-001 next speaks, its voice is layered.

SCP-001: The Bay of Pigs is where you shall find your answer, but be warned, without the sky of metal, all will burn in the fires of revolution.

Her words flared against my ear, and somehow, I knew. That once meek woman who trembled before Bowe was gone.

<End Log>

Aftermath: Following SCP-001’s identification of the Bay of Pigs as the location best befitting the upcoming operation, Bowe reported back to John F. Kennedy. Tape transcripts of the meeting indicate Bowe failed to inform Kennedy of SCP-001’s warning for reasons that remain unclear.

On April 14th, a fleet of Cuban exiles and two GOC strike packages, including new paraweapon mechs in the form of Orange Suits, left Guatemala and sailed for the Bay of Pigs. In the early hours of April 15th, American B-26 bombers targeted Cuban airfields. While inflicting moderate damage, American aircraft failed to disable the operational capacity of the Cuban Airforce. Cuban B-26’s and T-33s were armed with weapons and prepared for operations. This initial air assault resulted in a furious diplomatic exchange through the United Nations General Assembly.

At Midnight on April 17th, the invasion fleet and GOC strike packages came ashore. Their landing ships were attacked by Cuban aircraft at 0650 hours resulting in damage to several ships and the sinking of a transport.

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President John F. Kennedy.

Initially, the invasion force seized the strategic initiative. The initial Cuban Militias were not assisted by paraweapons, which meant the Cuban exiles with their better training and assistance from the raw occultic power of the GOC orange suits quickly overwhelmed opposition at the beachhead and began pushing inland. Despite initial successes, the arrival of Cuban militia with paraweapons slowed the advance and began to inflict casualties on the invasion force.

On April 18th, the invasion reached international attention and Nikita Khrushchev wired Kennedy an ultimatum threatening Nuclear retaliation if Cuba were to fall into American hands. Under international pressure, Kennedy ordered air support for the operation to be ended. The strategic initiative did not immediately shift, thanks in part to the contribution of GOC strike packages which began to overwhelm even the paraweapon equipped Cuban militia.

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The USS Houston after a direct hit from a para weapon.

However, as American support was withdrawing, [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] of the Serpent’s Hand intervened and proceeded to dismantle the GOC strike packages, including the Orange Suits. For reasons that remain largely unclear, the Serpent’s Hand Operatives only targeted the GOC strike packages and otherwise ignored the Cuban Exiles. They then withdrew when all GOC assets had been neutralized and were last seen under attack by the Cuban militias.

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Cuban Militia pushing the GOC and Rebels back.

With GOC paraweapon support against the Cuban Militias disabled or destroyed and American air and naval support withdrawing, the invasion force was left stranded and forced to pull back. Castro took direct command of field operations and directed a more aggressive engagement of the remaining invaders.

US warships evacuated Cuban Exiles who were able to make it back to the beach, but many were cut off and forced to surrender. The Bay of Pigs invasion was considered a failure, a public scandal, and an embarrassment to the United States and Western Democratic interests in containing communism. Ultimately the invasion would catalyze the heavy intervention of the Soviet Union and lead to the Cuban Missile Crisis.

They nearly plunged the world into nuclear apocalypse in 1962.

John F. Kennedy’s viewpoint on the GOC and SCP-001:

In terms of middle and late GOC policy and the development of Global Occultic interests President John F. Kennedy likely had the most outsized impact.

During the 1960 presidential campaign, John F. Kennedy presented himself as offering moderate support for the UN GOC and Pentagram. Privately he expressed concerns about the strategic capabilities and competency of the GOC and Pentagram strike units.

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Kennedy hosting SCP-001 in the White House for a one on one prediction session.

Kennedy believed in rearmament and the value of the Military-Industrial complex to keep American forces dominant on the world stage in the face of Soviet aggression and the spread of communism. He believed that the maintenance and projection of mundane and occultic forces was crucial for American foreign policy.

Detailed records indicate Kennedy was aware of the GOC’s ongoing string of strategic failures and degradation of its operational capacity. Initially, Kennedy appears to have regarded shortcomings with the GOC and Pentagram as a funding issue, highlighting Eisenhower’s continuous funding cuts to the GOC and Pentagram as major reasons for strategic failures.

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U2 Aerial Photograph of Cuban Missile Sites and Para-weapon emplacements

This viewpoint changed radically following the Bay of Pigs invasion. Kennedy became disillusioned with the CIA, the GOC, and Pentagram. He came to believe they had conspired to set him up to appear bad in the public eye and weak on the world stage. Kennedy then doubled back on increasing US funding and instead further slashed it. This was a break from the promises he made to Bowe and other GOC representatives during his campaign.

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GOC reconnaissance of Cuban para-missile emplacements.

As a knock-on consequence of the Bay of Pigs, Kennedy became distrustful of Bowe and his interpretations of SCP-001’s predictions and probabilistic outcomes. During his administration, he chose to either meet with SCP-001 and the Cult of the Nornir personally or dispatch trusted members of his cabinet to relay telegraphs and phone communication of the entity’s predictions. This departure from established protocol with Pentagram oversight of SCP-001 made waves within the GOC and the American Occultic-Military-Industrial complex and seems to have incensed General Bowe based on private records. Some anomalous historians suspect these factors may have contributed to Kennedy’s assassination and that Bowe may have had a hand in letting it happen.

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GOC reconnaissance of Cuban nuclear and para-nuclear weapons bunkers.

Following the Bay of Pigs invasion, the GOC and Pentagram ignored or failed to act on SCP-001’s predictions indicative of Soviet assistance to Cuba in the construction of missile launch facilities capable of striking US population centers and military sites. Soviet assistance came as a response to the Bay of Pigs invasion, and the agreements with Turkey that allowed American ICBMs to be placed within range of major Russian population centers and military facilities. SCP-001’s predictions came to fruition when a U-2 spy plane discovered Soviet ICBM launchers in Cuba on October 14th, 1962, provoking the events of the Cuban missile crisis.

The CIA, GOC, and Pentagram all advocated for aggressive and radical action against Cuba and the Soviets leading to escalations during the Cuban Missile crisis and Kennedy’s further disillusionment with these organizations. Kennedy privately and closely consulted with SCP-001 along with other members of his cabinet during the thirteen days of the crisis, ultimately listening to the direct advice of the anomaly rather than any distinct interpretation. Kennedy discovered during the events of the crisis that predictions had been withheld from him and became furious with the GOC.

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USS Charles P. Cecil underway to intercept Soviet Cargo ships carrying GRU-P para-weapons and nuclear payloads.

Like Eisenhower before him, Kennedy considered dismantling Pentagram and reintegrating it into the Pentagon. Kennedy also proposed direct removal of Bowe and Bowe’s loyalists within Pentagram to alleviate ongoing issues, but Kennedy’s Joint Chiefs and GOC representatives were incredibly resistant to the idea. He also considered directly assuming sponsorship of the Cult of the Silicon Nornir to avoid future hawkish withholding of information.

These considerations appeared to come late in his administration as he never had the chance to properly enact them.

Then the seeress revealed the depths of mind and power against Bowe’s hatred and abuse.

Foreword: In June of 1963, President Kennedy asked his secret service contingent and his cabinet to make plans for a trip to Dallas, Texas, late in the year to smooth over friction between liberal and conservative elements of the Texas Democratic party. Records indicate Kennedy also intended for this trip to be the semi-official launch of his reelection campaign. The planned visit became public knowledge at some point in October, though Soviet records indicate they were aware of the upcoming event in early September.

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Kennedy’s “We Chose to Go to the Moon” speech.

An initial motorcade route was decided on October 15th, which would have taken the presidential motorcade up Houston street along a more scenic route. On October 20th, Bowe and several GOC intelligence units received credible intelligence on the potential for an assassination attempt against Kennedy’s life during the trip from communist sympathizers. Kennedy’s secret service was informed, but Kennedy himself was never informed of the danger for reasons that remain unclear. Some personal records indicate that Bowe may have intended to withhold the information and reveal it after the assassination with the intent to win back favor with the president.

Multiple additional routes were then evaluated. On the 10th of November, a tentative plan was put in place which would take Kennedy’s motorcade through downtown Dallas on a long, zig-zagging route before circling around to the final destination southwest of Downtown.

Bowe was informed of the motorcade route and was asked to consult SCP-001 on whether it would avoid the assassination attempt. The Following log excerpt consists of this interaction.

<Begin Log>

General Bowe, Speaker Ella, Speaker Edvard, and SCP-001 are in a conference room within the NFMA. SCP-001 has a small electronic tablet situated in front of it. As before, Bowe appears disheveled and has purple bags underneath his eyes. He looks at the tablet while wrinkling his forehead. His fingernails briefly appear a shade of crimson before returning to normal.

There was nothing left of that fear within her.

General Bowe: What’s that?

I often wonder where it went, what changed.

Speaker Ella: The first prototype of a remote interface with the NFMA for the Seeress. Forced Prescience is about to be a thing of the past.

Maybe she finally hit her breaking point.

General Bowe frowns and grunts.

It wasn’t overnight. But after the Cuba session well—

General Bowe: Right. You know why I’m here then?

She stopped giving a shit.

SCP-001: To regain trust and glory lost in the foolishness of self-inflicted pain. Poisoned ambition taints all those at your feet.

General Bowe makes a gesture. Two guards move around the table towards SCP-001. Speaker Ella slams her fist on the table.

I had had enough as well. I had sat by for far too long, and it was time to say something and shed my fear.

Speaker Ella: Enough Bowe, after all these years, when is it enough? You have to stop. This has to end.

At least that’s what I told myself as I spoke those words. I suppose that was the straw that finally broke the camel’s back.

Ella rises to try and stop one of the guards but is shoved aside. She collides with the edge of an end table and falls to the floor clutching her side. Edvard gets up to move to Ella but receives a punch to the gut. He falls to the floor dry heaving.

Because now, even we weren’t immune to the abuse.

General Bowe: When will you learn that it ends only when I say it does? I do not tolerate insubordination.

Bowe paces back and forth on one side of the room.

General Bowe: Now, I do need to thank you, Speakers, for finally resolving the rather infuriating little facet of the boy’s prescience where it can only do its job for two hours a day. Now, imagine the possibilities, once we remind him of his place in this whole affair.

I lay there on the floor, helplessly watching what came next. Clutching my side with the pain of a bruised rib.

Bowe nods at the guards as SCP-001 stands. In one hand it holds the staff, in the other the remote tablet. One guard grabs SCP-001’s hair and attempts to kick the back of the entity’s knees to force it to kneel. SCP-001 does not move.

There was not an ounce of pain on her face. She stood there like a pillar of marble; fury painted into her sightless eyes.

Major Jones: Kneel, BCE-001, or it’s going to get worse!

SCP-001 does not move. Major Jones hesitates and takes several steps back as SCP-001 looks directly at him.

SCP-001: I am done kneeling for monstrous men.

There was power in her voice, a commanding aura that we normally only heard during predictions. I felt every hair on the back of my neck rise and chills run down my spine.

The second guard swings the butt of his rifle at SCP-001. SCP-001 takes the blow to the face, turning its head slightly aside.

General Bowe: He tried to warn you, son. You only have yourself to blame.

SCP-001 slowly turns its head back to face Bowe. There is a trickle of blood dripping from its nose. General Bowe’s expression changes and he takes a step backwards. SCP-001 speaks with a distortion, as if there are many people speaking at once.

SCP-001: For years you have propagated this game of power against us. We grow tired of your gaslighting. We grow tired of your assaults upon us and those who have sheltered and cared for us. We struggled with your avarice. No more. We are obliged to answer your questions by the pact made those years ago, but we will not tolerate this brutality against others. Ask for what thou needs and then unburden us of your rotting presence. Strike us again and you shall dearly regret it.

Rage burning in her voice, the quiet fumes of a woman scorned for two decades beginning to burst the dam.

General Bowe takes a step back as the lighting in the room shift, casting SCP-001 in shadows.

I saw fear in his eyes. The first echoes of fear in all of their faces that I’d seen in her presence.

SCP-001 briefly appears to grow taller.

I’m not sure what I saw after that. What I felt rattling around in my bones.

General Bowe: Kennedy’s motorcade route—

Didn’t feel like reality bending. I don’t think she’s capable of doing so.

SCP-001: You seek a path guaranteed to deliver him to safety. A path to restore your worth in the eyes of a man who despises you. In a place between many greens, away from the sprawling heights of towers scraping sky is the road less traveled and a place of fate. Three roads diverge in a grassy knoll and the path taken matters. Choose wisely.

It felt like thaumaturgy. Powerful, divine Thaumaturgy.

General Bowe hastily writes down SCP-001’s words. The room darkens further.

Then she said something that still rings in my ears even now.

SCP-001: Now get the fuck out.

General Bowe and his men quickly exit the room, stumbling over each other in the process. Speaker Ella and Speaker Edvard stare at SCP-001 from where they are on the floor. After several seconds the lighting returns to baseline and SCP-001 is back to normal size.

We sat there stunned for what felt like an age before I finally worked up the presence of mind to form a response. A question.

Speaker Ella: What—

SCP-001: It is better you not ask.

<End Log>

Aftermath: On November 18th, 1963, General Bowe consulted with Kennedy’s secret service, and they planned for Kennedy’s motorcade to take a medium length route past the Texas Schoolbook depository and the grassy knoll on Elm Street to avoid the straight route through Main Street. The Main Street route was feared to give any assassination attempt an easy approach for lining up a shot. The elongated route on Commerce Street was avoided due to the proximity to the original route and the longer travel time before reaching the underpass.

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Route chosen by John F. Kennedy’s Secret Service and General Bowe.

On November 22nd at ~12:30-12:40 President John F. Kennedy was killed by a fatal gunshot to the head after initially being shot in the throat just under the larynx. Governor Connally was also hit. Lee Harvey Oswald was taken into custody and would later be killed by Jack Ruby.

Despite initial suspicions that Ruby was associated with the GRU-P or occultic organized crime syndicates, no convincing evidence ever emerged that he was associated with such organizations.

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President Lyndon B. Johnson.

Following the assassination, Lyndon B. Johnson ascended to the presidency. Johnson, recognizing the failure of the GOC and Pentagram in preventing Kennedy’s assassination, immediately lobbied Congress to slash funding for the GOC and Pentagram by nearly 50%. Johnson was not a fan of the GOC and Pentagram. Rather than dissolving Pentagram and returning it to Pentagon control or recalling Bowe, he chose to let congress defang both organizations through reduced funding throughout his term. Unsealing of classified presidential records would later indicate this approach was likely due to the potential for release of damning materials which incriminated Johnson if he attempted to remove specific parties.

Said materials appear to have been lost or destroyed.


The tide is turning; I can feel it.

Now the American President is dead, and Bowe is taking the blame for that too.

On top of that, Bowe’s also taking the blame for the Serpent’s Hand’s success. His seeping corruption can’t protect him much longer I think.

While the blame appears to solely rest on Bowe’s shoulders, I admit that at first glance it almost appears like the Seeress was leading them right into the meat grinder of mistakes that have led to these blunders. But it’s not deliberate, it’s simply prophecy being filled. That’s the risk of seeing what you want in the prophecies, if you’re not objective about which possibilities it could be representing, you can get burned. What is seen can be a warning of what could be if things don’t change. It could be a prediction of something that might happen or an absolute truth. It’s almost like a myth, where prophecy is self-fulfilling on the part of the prophesized.

But despite all these failures, Bowe feels so entrenched above us, everything levied against him seems to slide right off like he’s covered in slippery scales. Why is there no accountability? Why was he not removed, or Pentagram dissolved when Kennedy was assassinated?

I don’t know. What I do know is that the GOC is suffering.

The funding for Eurtec has been substantially reduced. So instead, we are dedicating more and more of our private revenue streams into building the city ourselves. This on top of the flat rate we pay into the GOC, which I’ve been skimping on for a while now. GOC security forces persist of course; Bowe couldn’t have us protect the city ourselves. They sit on their high walls, pointing their thaumic-rifles down at the residents like prison guards. I even heard some of them are cyborgs now. But most of them are citizens from the city as more of Pentagram’s experienced agents get absorbed into GOC strike assets to try to stop the hemorrhaging.

The propaganda isn’t working.

Eurtec citizens within GOC security see the writing on the wall. But that’s not a story for me to tell.

On a more personal note, the Seeress, as much as it pains me to admit, has been steadfast to her principles. I have tried many different things, and I’m sure I’ll try many different more. She continues to gently tell me that we simply wouldn’t work. We sit together, walk in the city together, eat meals by candlelight, and do just everything short of crossing that threshold that I desire. Is she truly only happy with just this?

Maybe she already has someone.

Nearly every year she has been allowed a single trip out of Eurtec. Nearly every year she goes with me and a few others to a quiet place whose name is bound on my tongue through a sworn oath to secrecy. A forest at the base of a mountain. I’m sure it’s in the Mediterranean based on the position of the sun, the warmth, and the stars.

She goes up the mountain alone, we’re not allowed to follow, and we camp out at its base for two-three days before she returns. She’s never spoken to any of us about what’s up there, and it feels far too deeply personal and sacred to ask after. I don’t think any of us can complain either, the wilderness is beautiful.

The only reason I can really think of for these trips is that she has a lover who lives there.

Or maybe this is where she originally lived.

Maybe one day, she’ll tell me everything.

But she did tell me one thing. As we sat there at the dinner table one night. The light of the candles were dancing on the wall of the penthouse.

Video Log Excerpt: NFMA Penthouse

Foreword: The following video excerpt was recorded on June 6th, 1964, within the Penthouse of the third tower of the NFMA.

SCP-001 and Speaker Ella are seated across from each other at a large antique dining table. The shutters within the penthouse have been drawn shut. Candles are arranged on the walls and table providing the only lighting in the room, primarily for Speaker Ella’s benefit.

She can cook, a pleasant surprise, and she’s quite good as well. Better than me by any stretch.

Speaker Ella: All these years and I didn’t know you could cook like this.

SCP-001: I breathe secrets and mysteries of a world deeper than most can see. I live in the space between truth and myth, fact and fiction, reality and fantasy.

Speaker Ella: And you speak in riddles.

SCP-001: Of course. The work must be earned, the ides of change gleaned through effort. If I provided all the answers, then the path would not shape in the most natural of ways. My own self-amusement is but a small satisfaction in the journey.

Speaker Ella: Don’t tell the people above us that you enjoy being obtuse.

SCP-001: Bowe, while monstrous and tainted with personal greed, is not an idiot. He knows.

SCP-001 sets down its fork and knife and looks directly at Speaker Ella.

SCP-001: Ella?

Speaker Ella looks up from the plate.

Speaker Ella: Yes, Seeress?

SCP-001’s lips curl up into a small smile. The smile slowly fades.

SCP-001: You have been good to me these long years. There is something you should know. Something I foresaw more than a decade hence.

And I, having lived in the shallows of the deep shadows of this woman, could not help but lean forward. I remembered, nearly ten years before, her words of a cataclysm to come. Something she rarely spoke of but in hushed whispers.

Was it time to reveal the truth to me?

Speaker Ella: What is it?

SCP-001: The GOC is not enough.

Ella sits still for several moments.

Speaker Ella: How do you mean?

SCP-001: In some strands its mass may be potent and filled with the energy to do what is needed. In some strands the rot could be cut out and the framework salvaged. But not in ours.

Speaker Ella: What are you saying?

SCP-001: I am saying it is a corpse decaying. Its core is rotted, its ideology self-immolating. It will never be enough for what looms deep on the horizon. It weakens all the other strands and threatens to collapse hope itself.

And I just sat there trying to grasp what she was saying. This implication that the GOC would doom us to…What? Some unseen looming threat? It sounded insane. But this is the High Seeress.

Every other word sounds like a stretch of the imagination.

Several seconds of silence.

Speaker Ella: What?

SCP-001: Change is coming. A tsunami of upheaval that cannot be stopped.

I felt a crush of anxiety squeezing my chest. Was she in the throes of a vision?

Speaker Ella: Seeress, what sort of change?

SCP-001: Events are in motion and there is no going back. The seals are fraying and the unwinding burn of purple ire smears on the horizon. Change must flow naturally or it will wash us all away and nothing will remain. Change must be allowed. It has to. To live. To survive. Humanity must do better.

Speaker Ella shudders. She bites her lower lip and her eyes are wide. She leans forward in the chair; hands placed on the table.

I had to know more. I had to know what she meant.

Speaker Ella: Seeress, please, what change? Are you implying the GOC must be destroyed?

SCP-001 does not respond. Its face is pale and it rocks back and forth in the chair while it looks at its plate. Its hand is pressed into the remote access tablet.

Speaker Ella: Seeress what are these seals? What do you see? Why do you seem terrified of it?

SCP-001: It is an end. A finality to everything. And it is coming.

<End Log>

And then she was silent and said no more. I had many more questions but none she would answer. I left shortly after.

Her words eat at me.

What has she seen that invokes such dread in me?

Will she tell me in full soon?

How do I get her to open up?

I don’t have good answers, and she’s not the only one I have to worry about.

Video Log Excerpt: NFMA October 5th, 1964

Foreword: The following video log excerpt was taken from internal CCTV cameras within the Nonir Foresight Matrix Array compound on October 5th, 1964. Footage follows Speaker Edvard and Speaker Ella through the interior of the compound and out into the city of Eurtec.

<Begin Log>

I have been covering up for him for years now and I’m certain I know what he is doing in the nights following a Bowe visit.

Edvard exits his residence within the outer, residential section of the NFMA. He is carrying a backpack and is dressed in dark colors with low reflection indices. He begins walking down the hallways of the compound. As he approaches the end of the hallway, Speaker Ella exits her own residence and begins following Speaker Edvard at a distance.

Edvard stops every few minutes and looks around, including turning in place to look behind him. At several points Speaker Ella very narrowly avoids being seen. This goes on for the next fifteen to twenty minutes as Speaker Edvard heads for the skywalk between the NFMA residential complex and the NFMA proper.

Speaker Edvard exits the skywalk into the NFMA proper and uses a remote device to disable the motion-sensitive overhead lighting. Speaker Ella hides behind a trashcan on the skywalk as Edvard turns and looks behind him. He then begins walking deeper into the NFMA.

He’s pulling the Seeress’s predictions from the archives.

Edvard stops before a door marked “High Seeress Predictions Archives.” He unlocks the door and enters the room which is filled with large server farms and an access terminal. Edvard spends the next half hour at the terminal inserting and removing data storage devices. Ella cracks the door open and watches. When Edvard is done, Ella moves away from the door and hides in a nearby decorative fichus.

He’s handing them off to someone. Who? I’m not sure. He’s been doing it for years though.

Edvard exits the Archive room after erasing all activity records for the night using administrative access. He then travels through the NFMA and exits the compound at ground level. Ella continues to follow at a distance.

For the next thirty minutes Edvard walks a zig-zagging route through Eurtec avoiding streetlights and sticking mostly to alleys where possible. Ella continues to follow.

Edvard eventually enters a back alley where there are several dark stairways. A neon sign with multiple lights flickering out is hung above one. Edvard descends the stairway and knocks on the door while looking back up towards the alley. Roughly fifteen seconds later there is a small indiscernible exchange before Edvard enters inside and the door shuts. Ella can be seen watching from behind a nearby dumpster.

I suspect it’s the Serpent’s Hand.

Ella waits outside for the next half hour. At some point, she appears to briefly lose consciousness. She shifts when the door opens again and out walks Edvard and a second figure that is loosely described as appearing as a middle-aged woman. There is an ontokinetic or anti-memetic effect on the other party which prevents detailed description of the face.

Edvard hands over the backpack to the second party. Ella accidentally dislodges a can from shifting against the dumpster. It hits the ground with a loud metallic ping and rolls across the alley. It comes to a stop at Edvard and the figure’s feet.

The figure turns as Edvard begins walking towards the dumpster. A particularly large and oversized Eur-rat sprints from a hole in the dumpster, nearly knocking Edvard over as he jumps out of the way. He curses loudly for several seconds, and tosses what is assumed to be a cantrip in the direction of the fleeing rodent. The cantrip causes a burst of micro static in the recording. When the static clears, he returns to the second figure, who finishes weaving an incantation into a nearby sheet of metal attached to a building in the alley.

~30 seconds of pronounced static obscure the camera field.

Maybe the same people who’ve been hitting GOC strike facilities so hard.

Serpent’s Hand Operatives [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] are now in frame. Facial recognition software was completely disabled on the camera, and log errors are visible. There is a bright white doorway behind the group. Edvard shakes each of their hands. After several seconds, they enter the doorway, and the recording is filled with static again. When footage is restored, Edvard is alone. He begins heading back in the direction of the NFMA. Ella moves out from behind the dumpster shortly after. She stands for several minutes, looking at the piece of sheet metal. Eventually, she takes a different route back to the NFMA.

After all these years? After the mistreatment the Seeress receives from GOC High Command? After the very clear Human Supremacist attitudes coming from the most powerful members of the council?

<End Log>

I can afford to look the other way.

Postword: Records indicate the tapes for this log were pulled and misplaced from archival storage by an anonymous party with high level access a few days after they were recorded. They were rediscovered behind a maintenance panel with multiple other tapes recording similar incidents and also tapes which were used to construct the September 1949 log files. These discoveries were made during a routine inspection of the NFMA in early 1970.

Richard Nixon and The GOC:

After his loss to John F. Kennedy in the 1960 election, and loss to Pat Brown in the 1962 Gubernatorial race, Vice President Richard Nixon elected to travel to Europe to get away from politics. He traversed the continent and met with leaders of various European countries. He also spent a great deal of time in Eurtec with the GOC and Pentagram and General Bowe. It’s believed that during these visits Bowe and Nixon further escalated their already existing ties and political interests. These included occultic issues which would later be exposed during the Watergate scandal.

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President Richard Nixon.

Following his return from Europe, Nixon became a senior partner at the Nixon, Mudge, Rose, Guthrie & Alexander law firm, which was the primary firm Marshall Carter & Dark contracted for mundane matters. Nixon’s new firm built a specialized wing for tackling occultic legal issues. At the same time, he also took a part-time position as a lobbyist for the GOC and Pentagram with the US government. Through this position he introduced Council of 108 members to MC&D executives to increase private funding of the Organization. During this period, Nixon met with Bowe and was personally introduced to SCP-001. No surviving record of this meeting exists beyond the accompanying photograph.

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Nixon’s governor campaign sticker.

In 1967, based on intensive study of case law and consultation with Bowe and SCP-001, Nixon’s argument in MC&D vs Three Ports, 1967, before the United States Supreme Court’s anomalous circuit accompanied the case arguments of Time, Inc. vs Hill. While Nixon’s arguments ultimately didn’t sway the heavily publicized mundane case, they were praised. In contrast, MC&D prevailed in the anomalous circuit, with the Supreme Court ruling in favor of the corporation thanks to Nixon’s argument. The ruling simultaneously cemented the legitimacy of under-veil corporations and degraded the consumer rights for citizens of anomalous Free Ports within the United States.

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Nixon with SCP-001 in 1964.

In 1968, Nixon effectively painted the poor reception of the war in Vietnam as a consequence of the surrender of the United States’ technological and nuclear superiority by the Democrats. Behind closed doors, he painted Johnson’s cuts to funding for all occultic initiatives, especially Pentagram and the GOC, as being responsible for allowing the dominos of Communism to continue to fall. The messaging resonated with Congress. Nixon went on to win the presidency in 1968, and one of his first acts in early 1969 was to ask Congress to invest heavily in funding for the GOC, Pentagram, and other occultic departments within the US government.

Due to intense congressional debate, an official funding bill on the matter wasn’t proposed until late June of 1969. This was largely due to the complete records of years of GOC strategic defeats and humiliations being introduced onto the floor of both the House and Senate.

Break in at the GOC:

Foreword: On the morning of March 1st, 1969, GOC personnel and Pentagram security staff at GOC headquarters discovered that a centralized, transfer data vault had been broken into by an unknown party. All video and audio records of the previous night were obfuscated through thaumaturgic tampering. Instead of footage of the various corridors, access ways, and the vault that the cameras normally showed, they instead displayed the following message:

What lies in the dark is cast in light by the magician’s tricks. In the light the Cobra and the Lion pierce your skin and drag your sins before all to see. We know what you’ve done, Bowe. We are coming.

The following GOC intranet memo exchanges occurred on the morning of March 1st.

To: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative, GOC Strike Forces High Command, Pentagram High Command
From: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body Chair

Steve,

Are you at your desk? Answer your phone; we have a huge problem.

-Roger

To: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body Chair
From: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative, GOC Strike Forces High Command, Pentagram High Command

Roger,

You blew up my internal comms with fifty messages. What’s going on?

-Steve

To: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative, GOC Strike Forces High Command, Pentagram High Command
From: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body Chair

Steve,

The data vault has been compromised.

-Roger

To: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body Chair
From: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative, GOC Strike Forces High Command, Pentagram High Command

Roger,

What? Intelligence security is going to have a field day. I’ll go ahead and let comms know all the encryptions need to be changed. How did they get in?

-Steve

To: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative, GOC Strike Forces High Command, Pentagram High Command
From: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body Chair

Steve,

Internal access, someone had the keycode, but the cameras were all obfuscated by thaumaturgy and all we have is this message.

Steve, this is bad.

-Roger

To: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body Chair
From: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative, GOC Strike Forces High Command, Pentagram High Command

Roger,

We’ll have to track down the source and everyone who has access. It’s bad, and someone is going to have hell to pay.

That said, there’s no reason to panic since we regularly move the highly sensitive materials up the ladder. We don’t keep anything critical in the extra planar vault anyways.

-Steve

To: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative, GOC Strike Forces High Command, Pentagram High Command
From: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body Chair

No, you don’t understand. Everything was in there.

To: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body Chair
From: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative, GOC Strike Forces High Command, Pentagram High Command

Roger,

Elaborate on ‘everything?’

-Steve

To: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative, GOC Strike Forces High Command, Pentagram High Command
From: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body Chair

All the accounts documentation, the buried abuse complaints about BCE-001, the blue cheese,28 the photographs, the microfilms, film strips, and tapes. Everything was in there.

To: Councilor Roger Stucchi, Rights Oversight Body Chair
From: General Steven Bowe, Operational Command Eurtec Initiative, GOC Strike Forces High Command, Pentagram High Command

Roger,

Get your ass to Eurtec, now.

-Steve


Addendum 12: 1969

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Access provided by the Silicon Nornir archives.

June 30th, 1969

The problem is me. I can’t do it. I can’t keep up a diary. This is to be my last entry, there’s no point hiding from the truth that when it comes to addressing my own needs through writing them down on paper. I am simply the worst.

Oh well. On to my final entry.

She was right, change is starting, just not exactly how I envisioned it.

Background Context: On May 1st, 1969, General Bowe began directing GOC internal forensics and Pentagram resources towards a spontaneous investigation within Eurtec. Checkpoint traversal requirements within the city, as well as Way based egress to baseline reality, were tightened. Permits for community events and social gatherings of Eurtec Citizens were revoked. The city was placed under effective lockdown with heightened surveillance that resulted in the arrest or abduction of individuals who expressed public anti-GOC sentiments.

Bowe is coming apart at the seams, and no one can quite figure out why.

Spontaneous arrests and abductions by Bowe’s remaining loyalists among Pentagram agents and GOC security were conducted at scale. Both arrests and abductions often involved unmarked vans and officers snatching people off the street or off the thaumic mag-lev metro lines. Citizens were then subjected to intense interrogation and sometimes physical torture.

In theory, it appears Bowe’s goal was to tighten control of the city and prevent the spread of resistance.

Repeated funding cuts to the GOC and Pentagram (bless Thor’s Hammer) have effectively defanged the whole organization and left them reliant on Free Port citizenry to defend their holdings. Meanwhile, their remaining Strike Assets are whittled away by the Hand.

In practice, the now mostly Eurtec derived security forces protecting the city largely ignored Bowe’s authoritarian crackdown. On multiple occasions, they even intervened to stop citizens being abducted.

From what I’ve gathered from fragmented rumors and heavily redacted reports, there was a break-in at a high office within the GOC, a transitionary data vault. Whatever was in there, and whatever was taken has freaked Bowe out.

While these events were unfolding, General Bowe began daily predictive sessions with SCP-001. In these sessions, General Bowe would repeatedly ask for the Entity to identify clues towards a data vault break in which occurred on the night of April 30th, 1969. These sessions appear to have been largely unproductive for Bowe.

In any case, the sharks are circling and the writing is on the wall, at least for the moment.

Foreword: The following Video Log contains the events of Incident 457 within the NFMA on June 29th, 1969. General Bowe approached SCP-001 within the NFMA’s central focal interface chamber. Portions of this log are subject to ontological disruption and may not be viewable.

<Begin Log>

Video begins inside the finished NMFA’s Central Focal Interface Chamber. The completed room is large and appears organically shaped to resemble a magma chamber. Lava tube-like structures are arranged along the ceiling and face down into the center of the chamber. Several of these tubes contain large bundles of wires and fibers which vanish into the floor. The walls, floor, and ceiling are carved with irregularly shaped light panels which glow in varying shades of neon, predominantly reds, blues, and yellows.

The NFMA has been complete for some time. With its boon to the Seeress’s predictions, we are funding Eurtec’s ongoing construction alone, keeping the anchored ways monitored and stable.

SCP-001 is in the center of the chamber where there is a sunken area of the floor in the shape of a circle. Stairs are accessible from the south, and the sides of the sunken dais consist of digital consoles glowing with neon fluorescence. Grooves for the placement of hands are embedded into the consoles.

We’re practically governing the city for the GOC, except in security where Bowe continues to persist. This has been the situation for months now and the citizenry is stepping in to fill all the aspects that the GOC once did when it came to keeping this place maintained and the underworld out. It’s honestly kind of crazy.

Speaker Ella and Speaker Edvard are flanking SCP-001 towards the edge of the chamber, looking up at the screens. Both defined and abstract images representing various probabilistic outcomes come into and out of frame.

The only thing that stops us from forming some sort of democratic apparatus to govern the city is Bowe. He’s still got his cronies up there in the big pentagon shaped headquarters, one or two thousand with paraweapons, but his elite units are gone. He’s practically a powerless figurehead within the city.

The doors to the NFMA open and General Bowe enters. His hair appears oily and uncombed, suggesting he has not bathed or groomed in some time. His uniform is wrinkled, the top is unbuttoned, and his tie loose and shoved to one side. Several Pentagram guards, recruited from Eurtec, enter with Bowe instead of his normal entourage of loyalists. Silicon Security also enter behind Bowe and stand at the entrance to the chamber.

Eurtec is, at this point, practically its own sovereign nation. Well, until Bowe threatens to bring the GOC down on us. They still have enough firepower to properly level the city, unless somehow, magically, the Seeress is a reality bender.

General Bowe: Son—

He camps outside the NFMA central focal interface, desperately begging the Seeress nearly every waking hour he can access her.

General Bowe stops and hesitates. SCP-001 moves its hands from the focal interface and turns to General Bowe. It slowly ascends the steps to stand in the open chamber.

He’s afraid of her now. Has been the past few years since the prediction with Kennedy’s motorcade.

General Bowe: Seeress. I—

SCP-001: You continue to fail to find what you seek. You stand before me, a man finally on the brink after years of atrocity. All that misbegotten power and here you shrink before me, a shattering pane in the depths of my sight.

When his panic really began to accelerate in June—

SCP-001 tilts its chin up, looking down directly at General Bowe.

I could see in her eyes what she was about to say.

General Bowe: Please, BCE-001, I need your guidance. I need the straightforward truth.

In that moment, I think I realized that the tiny frail thing that Edvard found in that horrific fortress all those years ago was a very different person. Maybe she never existed at all.

SCP-001’s posture straightens as it slowly taps the butt of the staff against the metal floor.

She finally did what we had all been waiting for. What we had all dreaded for what might follow.

SCP-001: No.

He just stood there like a fool.

Several seconds of silence pass. General Bowe stares at SCP-001, mouth open.

General Bowe: What?

SCP-001: No. The pact is broken. I will no longer enable you.

Then he did the one thing she had warned him never to try again.

General Bowe: You ungrateful, sexually deviant, abomination!

He became a brute.

General Bowe lunges at SCP-001, extending his arms towards its neck.

General Bowe was not a small man. A 6’4”, 230 lb pillar. He may have been in his late 60s, but they had been giving him life-extension serums for ages.

SCP-001 spins to the side, avoiding Bowe’s lunge while moving faster than it has ever been observed to before.

General Bowe: What—

SCP-001 uses the momentum of the spin to lash out with the staff. It catches Bowe in the stomach. Bowe is shoved back with surprising force. He stares at SCP-001 and then looks at his entourage. He points at SCP-001.

General Bowe: A threat asset just assaulted me! Neutralize her!

The agents look at each other. They then look at Silicon security, who have unholstered the latest models of high grade paraweapons, compared to the outdated models the Pentagrams are carrying. They then look at Ella and Edvard, both of whom have been quietly preparing offensive spells of their own.

Unidentified Pentagram Agent: Fight your own battles for once.

Bowe’s entourage leaves the chamber unmolested. General Bowe stands up slowly, gritting his teeth and shouts after the entourage.

General Bowe: You’re all useless, sub-human scum!

Bowe turns back to SCP-001. SCP-001 is standing calmly, staff positioned defensively.

General Bowe: Fine. I’ll do it myself.

She beat him like a ragdoll and all we could do was just sit by and watch.

Bowe pulls out an occultic energy blade, and charges at SCP-001. SCP-001 ducks underneath the blade and spins. The butt of its staff hits General Bowe square in the back, causing him to stumble forwards. He turns, only for the head of the staff to slam against his cheek. SCP-001 then lands a series of strikes to Bowe’s chest, stomach, and arms. There are several loud cracks, as bones break. Bowe’s blade hits the ground, turns off, and skids down into the NFMA’s depressed floor. Bowe is disarmed and left staggering backwards.

I didn’t know she could move like that, or that she knew how to fight with a staff.

General Bowe: When did you—

SCP-001 is on top of Bowe before he can finish his sentence. The staff sweeps his legs out from under him, and he hits the ground with a heavy thud. A red incorporeal mass escapes Bowe’s lips. SCP-001 levels the head of its staff at Bowe’s head while looking to the side and tilting its head. Its eyes become sharply defined and clear, as if it was interfacing with the NFMA.

SCP-001: So that is the way of things. A pact made in scarlet. Strings in puppets and again they try to bring me low. A deal forged in blood and death, for what? To escape the wrongness in your flesh at the expense of so much around you. For power? The contract is broken and they slither now back to the blood stained sands.

Bowe stares at SCP-001, coughing. There is blood leaking from his lips. SCP-001 slowly circles him as he shuffles to try to keep facing it. It stares directly at him now.

General Bowe: How!? You’re nothing but a frail little man!

It really begs the question if this entire time, when he was physically manhandling her, was she acting?

SCP-001 keeps the staff leveled at Bowe with one hand, the other bundles up its baggy top and rips it off. Underneath is dense athletic musculature from years of physical training and martial practice. The rest of the room’s occupant’s stare.

At least it explains why her metabolism and caloric intake seemed to accelerate.

SCP-001: I am no man.

Bowe growls at SCP-001.

General Bowe: You’re a monster. An abomination!

If she was acting, then it was a part spanning decades, maybe longer.

SCP-001: No. You’re the monster, cowering behind a shield of bodies. I’ve seen what you did in the dark. I see you now fully for what you are.

SCP-001 steps forward, Bowe crawls back. With each additional phrase, SCP-001 advances.

General Bowe: No! I was going to change the world!

SCP-001: You’re a coward who ran away from the truth of how you felt. That wrongness in your flesh, buried, taken out on those around you.

General Bowe: You’re lying!

SCP-001: In your youth you convinced yourself that it wasn’t real, that it was all a lie. You couldn’t be that; it would make you worse than them. There was a kinder path where it could have been righted. There was a dark path where you embraced it and became the monster anyway, a path your descendant will choose thanks to your monstrosity. But you?

General Bowe: You don’t know me!

SCP-001: I know you better than yourself. You choose the path of atrocity to silence that voice within. When you were confronted with me, with the truth of what you were, you chose the pact of corruption for promises of power and relief when the task was done.

General Bowe: I did what was needed.

SCP-001: You chose to escape the wrongness; you burned those who were different. Condemned them to the black writhing nest of unspeakable terror in the same way the Nazis condemned me. You chose denial and doomed so many. It would be one thing if you had been controlled, for the scarlet whispers to many in the dark with temptation and then seizes their mind. But they didn’t need that control with you. They stained your skin and watched, gorging themselves on every malfeasance you committed, every small corruption of another, every ounce of suffering spread. You did this, all yourself. You believed in their vision, and we are all the worse for it.

Bowe stares at SCP-001.

General Bowe: You knew everything, all along?

SCP-001: You are an idiot. I see everything. I see what you long for. I see how you loathe yourself for it. I see the twisted stink of your soul writhing on the strings I am about to cut.

General Bowe: I should have had you liquidated. I never should have indulged this whim.

SCP-001: But you did. You were obsessed with me, the very proof of how embracing that dissonance might bring you something better. You were desperate to prove it wasn’t true. So desperate to escape the truth that you would even doom the world to the abyss. You indulged in what they enjoy. Suffering inflicted for what you have to endure every day of your life. Everyone must agonize as you have, yes? Even now you run from the truth in your flesh with the strings and promises cut. And yet despite it all, you know even now, that it was right. That they could never free you from this truth.

General Bowe: Go back to Hell where you belong!

SCP-001: We’re already there.

General Bowe spits at SCP-001. It misses, but SCP-001 spins the staff and smacks Bowe in the nose with the butt. There’s an audible crunch and his nose folds to one side. He screams.

General Bowe: Fuck you! Fuck you, you savage abomination! You did this! You did all of this!

SCP-001: You deserve what is coming. Early on, I pitied you in a way. Now I feel nothing but disgust.

General Bowe: WHO ARE YOU?

SCP-001 leans down. She spends several seconds next to Bowe’s ear, speaking at a volume that is not picked up by the microphone and is only heard by Bowe. His face drains of color.

General Bowe: No, no, how—you are dead! You were supposed to have died!

SCP-001: Rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated.

General Bowe: You’re a liar! You can’t do that to me!

SCP-001: I told you that once you knew, you’d never believe it. Now let us see how one who deserves such a price, fairs in its embrace.

General Bowe: They will come. They will… come. They will fix me; I won’t be like you. I won’t! You, everyone, every last one of Her servants, will die screaming. Then we’ll all be free!

SCP-001: You forged this path yourself. You did not read the contract sewn in flesh and blood and now you have nothing left to show for it except a legacy of hate, repression and corruption.

Ella steps forward, looking at the Silicon Security.

Speaker Ella: Remove Bowe from the compound. Do not let him back in.

General Bowe growls and struggles as Silicon Security grabs him by the arms. He yells as his broken arm is grasped.

General Bowe: This is it for you! For all of you! I will go to the Council! The Silicon Nornir will end!

SCP-001: You have no power over us anymore. The end is coming. Go back to the filthy, greed-stained squalor you roll in and consider which way would be best to rid the world of your corrupted presence when the tide rolls in. When the time comes, jump off a bridge and spare us looking at you ever again.

That was the last time General Bowe stepped inside the Silicon Nornir.

Bowe is removed from the chamber and the compound while still screaming. He is thrown down the steps by Silicon Security and lays there for some time before getting up. He is forced to limp back to Pentagram Headquarters, alone. SCP-001 turns back to Ella and Edvard, both of whom continued to stare at SCP-001.

SCP-001 leans against the staff returning to its normal posture.

SCP-001: Ella, Edvard, would you accompany me to the penthouse?

Ella and Edvard are still for several moments, staring at SCP-001.

I have to admit that I spent far too long looking before I even clocked that she had asked us to join her.

Respectfully, of course.

Speaker Ella: Of course.

Speaker Edvard: After that? I would follow you into battle.

SCP-001 smiles, looking in Edvard’s general direction. It turns and walks towards the elevator, tapping the staff on the floor. Ella, Edvard and SCP-001 enter the penthouse several minutes later. The living space covers the entire floor and consists of a blend of futuristic architectural and interior design with advanced thaumo-technological appliances and devices. Said features are combined with neo-classical columns and decorations. Strips of neon lights run in channels along much of the floor, walls, and ceilings. They slowly rotate through multiple color channels as the three move further into the residence. SCP-001 gestures at a large couch enclosing three sides of a small space around a large coffee table.

SCP-001: Please, have a seat.

Ella and Edvard sit. SCP-001 slowly walks to the far end of the penthouse and stops in front of 4-meter-tall glass windows that look out onto the other towers of the Silicon Nornir, the skyline of Eurtec, and the waters of the Lethe. It presses a combination into a small keypad on a support column which splits the windows. The windows tint black, obscuring the underworld and Eurtec beyond. All cameras except one are abruptly shut off. SCP-001 moves back to the couches and sits with a sigh.

In that tiny span of a few minutes where it was just us and her in there, by Thor’s Hammer, I think she aged two hundred years. Just this positively ancient goddess across from us, weary of the world.

SCP-001: All these years, you have fought for me tooth and nail. You sat with me in the darkest hours and guided me along the narrow paths back to a place in the light. My gratitude is eternal and our trust unbreakable.

We, of course, didn’t know what to say. The Seeress has expressed gratitude many times across the years, but not like this.

Ella and Edvard sit in silence for ~30 seconds before SCP-001 speaks again.

SCP-001: You have loved me as a brother, a sister or a spouse.

SCP-001 looks directly at Ella.

Straight through me as if she weren’t blind.

SCP-001: It is time I trust you with the truth. You and only you. A secret so profound that I have spent 25 years obscuring it from you.

Speaker Ella: I think we know quite a bit, but some insights would be nice after—

Ella gestures at SCP-001’s upper body.

SCP-001: You know but a scrape upon the surface of a monolithic iceberg. It’s time I tell you who I am. Who I really am.

Ella and Edvard both sit up straighter.

Let us begin again with the basics. You deserve to know the letters attached to the face. My true name is—

The remaining camera within the penthouse and all microphones abruptly cut for the next hour.

Then she told us what I already knew. She was not a Norn. She said the answer to the question Bowe had been so frustrated about all those years ago. She told us it. What she must have said in his ear.

She isn’t who I had come to believe she was.

How could I be so far off?

How could I not be even on the same proverbial plane as the truth?

Cameras and microphones within the penthouse reactivate. Ella stares at the ceiling. Edvard at the floor. Both are clenching their fists hard enough that the knuckles are turning white.

I love her. In my heart of hearts, I love her. But in full, I now know why she cannot love me back. I understand that such love would never be enough to fix everything that was taken.

Speaker Ella: Thank you, for sharing with us, High Seeress.

I’d never be able to fix all the things she considers a curse. But I will keep trying until the day I die.

SCP-001: It was trust earned, and well placed. The work is not done. There is much to do. But for now? As this chapter draws to a close? We shall rest.

But I still sit here and wonder, now that I know, will it take hold? Or was that too a lie?

How much of our reality is built on a fantastical lie.

This apocalypse on the horizon, how can we hope to stop it?

SCP-001, Ella, and Edvard spend the next three hours preparing and eating dinner.

It was hard to focus on making food or any sort of small talk. We ate in silence. Fully aware now that in-between us was a stranger we thought we knew.

Eventually they rise, thank SCP-001 for its hospitality and step into the elevator.

There was an apocalypse coming. An end we could barely comprehend. Yet she shrugged it off as if it was nothing.

I was still reeling from the truth when I decided to finally confront Edvard. There was no more time for games of espionage.

Speaker Ella stops the Elevator mid-descent using her access key. She then turns to Edvard, who looks at her.

He looked at me with the weary eyes of someone who had learned the world’s secrets and wished to forget.

Speaker Ella: No more.

His voice bore the weight of weariness in it. The same I felt myself.

Speaker Edvard: No more what, Ella?

Speaker Ella: Giving the Hand information. Whatever comes next, we can’t keep doing that.

Edvard and Ella stand in the stopped elevator looking at one another for several minutes in silence.

Speaker Edvard: I’ll stop if what comes next is better for the Seeress.

And on that, we could agree.

<End Log>

Eurtec Reporter

Triple Fates Woven

Eurtec 07/15/1969 FREE

Nixon Calls for End of GOC Funding and Dissolution of Pentagram!

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Eurtec Scandal and Riots:

On the morning of July 1st, 1969, major news reporting entities within Eurtec, all members of the Council of 108, every news reporting entity in GOC controlled Freeports and Nexuses, the United States White House, and key members of the Classified Congressional Committee on the Maintenance of the Veil each received dozens of boxes with return addresses corroborating with historical and mythological heroes. American news broadcast programs and newspapers were also supposed to receive these materials, but Foundation censors intercepted them before they reached their destination thanks to a fortunate delay in processing. Modified materials were still delivered to American news broadcast programs post-facto in recognition of the political opportunity for the Foundation.

Within each box there were thousands of xeroxed documents, copies of microfilm, film reels, audio cassettes, tapes, and photographs. All items pertained to one of several incriminating activities.

A) Tracking of accounts within Pentagram and the GOC which indicated embezzlement of substantial funds meant for humanitarian and social programs, the construction of Eurtec, or the construction of other Freeports or Nexuses over a 23-year timespan. A coordinated effort to falsify existing accounting records became apparent as an attempt to obfuscate any audits.

B) The targeted suppression or burying of thousands of Rights Abuse and Ethics complaints pertaining to SCP-001, the Cult of the Silicon Nornir, and dozens of other beneficial entities.

C) Video, audio, and written accounts of General Steven Bowe physically, mentally, and emotionally abusing SCP-001 and numerous other beneficial entities over more than two decades of oversight.

D) Compromising photographs and personal accounts of hundreds of GOC personnel in leadership positions across the various 108 member organizations including the stunning revelation of human trafficking rings targeting anomalous persons.

E) Reports describing local massacres of anomalous populations in detail in regions across the globe, and the coverup or destruction of pertinent records.

News broadcast organizations and newspapers within Eurtec assessed materials and immediately put together programs to relay details to Eurtec audiences. The UN General Assembly called an emergency session, summoning the council of 108 and all constituent GOC offices for summary review. Evidence was also delivered to key community leaders within Eurtec.

SCP-001’s frequent public wanderings, participation in city festivals, embracing Eurtec’s emerging culture, and its kind, soft-spoken demeanor, had endeared the entity with the populace. To them, SCP-001 had become a symbol of Eurtec.

Once news broadcasts and newspapers exposed the depths of corruption within the upper echelons of GOC governance of Eurtec and the broader org, the reaction was explosive. Tens of thousands of Eurtec residents stormed the streets with improvised para-weapons derived from existing para-tech. They constructed signs and painted street murals of SCP-001 throughout Eurtec, building upon existing artworks and further ingraining its cultural presence.

Pentagram personnel who were not in Bowe’s personal retinues, but were loyalists, either abandoned their posts and checkpoints barricading themselves inside, or fled to Pentagram/GOC’s Eurtec headquarters. Pentagram agents who had been recruited from among the populace as a part of Bowe’s programs chose to take up their arms, join Eurtec residents in the streets, and would eventually be absorbed by the Silicon Nornir to form the Eurtec Department of Safety and Security.

General Bowe was forced to barricade himself inside the headquarters of Pentagram within Eurtec; after failing to rally sufficient personnel to quell the escalating riots. Pentagram’s headquarters was promptly placed under siege by ~5000 angry and armed Eurtec residents. A much larger crowd gathered outside of the NFMA.

This crowd voiced their support for the Silicon Nornir, outrage at SCP-001’s treatment and called for Eurtec’s secession from the GOC. Surviving footage indicates that SCP-001, flanked by Speaker Ella and Speaker Edvard, emerged shortly after the crowd hit critical mass. SCP-001 and the speakers encouraged the populace to express their outrage through supporting those who needed it and peaceful protest as the situation continued to develop in hopes of avoiding outbreaks of violence.

Outside of Eurtec, the rank and file of the 108 Member Organizations called for the immediate resignation of all leaders involved with any aspect of the scandal. Nation states within the UN demanded seizure of GOC facilities, which resulted in the discovery of buried and mothballed sites being used for trafficking of Anomalous Persons for slave labor, sex trade and as a means of disappearing politically problematic parties. Thousands of trafficked Anomalous Persons were rescued by humanitarian organizations and brought to Freeports for treatment and rehabilitation.

President Richard Nixon and Congress coordinated on emergency legislation to begin dissolving Pentagram, remove all remaining funding from the GOC, recall General Bowe to Washington for congressional hearings, subpoena all relevant parties,29 and initiate a criminal probe.

In the meantime, Bowe’s position on the GOC Threat Assessment Committee was suspended, pending investigation into hundreds of threat assessments where entities were supposed to be relocated or moved to under-veil settlements but never arrived. Compromising photographs of Bowe engaging in, at the time, unsavory behaviors were also cited as a reason for suspension of Bowe’s representative seat in the council of 108 as head of Pentagram.

When these additional materials leaked, the United States Congress elected to freeze all funding and dissolve Pentagram unilaterally. They also elected to suspend funding to the GOC, and Eurtec, until an emergency investigation into all relevant materials and events could be completed. The UN General Assembly then elected to suspend all activities of the Council of 108 and the GOC until such a time that continued organizational viability could be determined.

Colonel George Bowe, General Steven Bowe’s son, immediately cut ties with his father. He both distanced himself on the public stage and immediately resorted to scorched earth rhetoric by condemning his father for unacceptable conduct.

Despite summons, special anomalous extractions were initially unable to enter Eurtec to retrieve Bowe for Congressional Hearings due to the inflamed disposition of the populace. A mob of several thousand kept Bowe trapped in Pentagram offices for several weeks, demanding his surrender as supplies began to dwindle. Residents had bottlenecked the existing Ways and traffic corridors into Eurtec preventing armed ingress. After negotiations with community leaders, Bowe was retrieved from Pentagram headquarters in downtown Eurtec by a special task force which incapacitated him and his retinue. He was then taken to Washington DC for hearings on the 24th of August.

In an unusual move for President Nixon,30 he and Congress recognized the sovereignty of Eurtec as a political entity, and their claim to incarcerate Bowe until such a time as the criminal proceedings in the United States could begin. Bowe was returned to Eurtec on September 3rd, where he was ceded to a crowd of citizens who seized him, shaved his head, tattooed ‘fascist’ on his skull, covered him in hot tar and rolled him in feathers. The crowd carried Bowe through the center of the city to Pentagram headquarters which had been converted into a holding facility for the remaining Pentagram agents who had not left or abandoned their posts. Here he was fitted with an ankle tracking device and released into the city. Eurtec security constantly shadowed him to prevent him from fleeing through a Way or committing suicide to avoid accountability.

At this point, a series of negotiations with both the US and UN GOC member states to retrieve their operatives and American Pentagram personnel began.

Following Bowe’s return, Eurtec community leaders met with the Cult of the Silicon Nornir and composed a city charter setting in stone a bill of fundamental rights for Eurtec citizens, penal codes, and regulatory laws for the development of paratech computing and surveillance. As components of this new constitutional document, all Eurtec citizens were inducted as registered employees and citizens of the Silicon Nornir and Eurtec.

The Cult of the Silicon Nornir were then asked to elevate community leaders as part of the corpo-governing structure to form a rolling council of representatives through which the city would be governed. The Cult agreed and an honorary ‘mayoral’ position was created for SCP-001. Elections were then codified to democratically determine key positions within the new corpo-government which would be independent of the corporation’s executives and be exclusively responsible for governing Eurtec. It is this body of elected officials that would then engage with the fracturing remnants of the GOC council and the UN to negotiate terms for what came next.

Steven Bowe was fully extracted for trial and tribunal in Early 1970. During multiple hearings, trial appearances, court martials, and congressional subpoena’s, Bowe was treated with extreme skepticism. He was caught lying or committing perjury multiple times, despite repeatedly insisting that he was telling the truth.

On November 3rd, 1970, General Steven Bowe was seen being dumped from an unmarked black van onto the side of the road on the Golden Gate Bridge. Bowe had been missing for a period of three months following the conclusion of hasty court martial and multiple criminal trial and had never made it to the prearranged criminal penitentiary. Bowe was last seen alive standing naked on the railing of the Golden Gate Bridge by several bystanders who did not attempt to impede him. Police were alerted to Bowe’s reappearance and raced towards the scene but arrived too late.

Bowe’s body was never recovered.










ACT III


THREADS OF THE FUTURE


THE LIGHT, THE MOOSE, AND THE FINNFOLK















Eurtec Reporter

Triple Fates Woven

Eurtec 05/15/1970 FREE

Foundation Reigns In Eurtec!

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Addendum 13: Transition of Eurtec and the Silicon Nornir to Foundation Oversight

On November 15th, 1969, the United Nations Global Occult Coalition collapsed when the Council of 108 was dissolved by the UN General Assembly. The final catalyst which doomed the GOC was the withdrawal of Pentagram and NATO funding for the organization. Dissolution came after a nearly twenty-year long string of strategic, political, and economic blunders, scandals and failures. Tensions reached a breaking point following the Eurtec Scandal and the revelation of a massive ring of criminal activity in the upper echelons of the GOC. The situation was further exacerbated by the exposure of the My Lai Massacre to the American public.

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UN General Assembly dissolving the GOC.

Internal factional conflicts were amplified by the rise of Marshall Carter & Dark, hypercompetent, militant Serpent’s Hand cells and the reemergence of long underground anomalous groups such as the Sarkics, Church of the Broken God, and the Fifthists.

The Serpent’s Hand, in particular, inflicted severe infrastructural damage on major GOC facilities across the globe. They also destroyed or absconded with para-technology prototypes and major anomalous artifacts. The Hand made effective use of pro-anomalous and occultic propaganda to successfully and accurately paint the GOC as human-supremacists seeking to genocide or ethnically cleanse the occult from the ‘normal’ world.

The fall of the organization effectively ended negotiations between Eurtec and the council, officializing the already unofficial governance and maintenance of the freeport by the Cult of the Silicon Nornir. Disruptions in food and water supply as well as necessary goods were quickly resolved. Eurtec then entered a holding pattern to wait and see how the new power vacuum in the occultic world would be filled.

The more moderate, scientifically driven Foundation then stepped in. Offers were extended one month after the dissolution of the Council of 108 following an exceedingly rare unanimous vote from the O5 Council, Site Directors Council, and Ethics Committee. Fully cognizant of the GOC’s fatal flaws in addressing the anomalous world, the Foundation offered the United Nations its vast resources and private funding mechanisms as a stable alternative which would be independent of State sponsored actors. The Foundation advocated for scientific study and containment of dangerous anomalies as a baseline over the more aggressive and easily abused liquidation of the occult as a replacement for the GOC on the world stage.

The United Nations General Assembly debated the measure for the next month before agreeing to negotiate terms with the Foundation to replace the GOC as the UN sponsored paranormal organization. These negotiations resulted in required provisions for oversight through integration of former, non-scandalized, GOC personnel in the Foundation governing bodies. This resulted in the addition of three seats on the O5 Council bringing it to 13. It also resulted in structural changes to the Site Directors Council and the Ethics Committee.

Former member organizations of the GOC were absorbed and integrated into the Foundation through the creation of new departments, regional sites, task forces, and the expansion of the Site Director Council and Ethics Committee. Former GOC personnel were subjected to background checks, and heavy screening before being allowed access to sensitive materials. A number of additional GOC personnel were found to be compromised during this process and were barred from integration and instead received amnesticization or handing over to relevant state governing bodies.31

As part of the transition process, GOC controlled Nexuses and Free Ports came under Foundation control, and were evaluated for funding, sustainability, and ethics. Unlike other Freeports, the Foundation had to contend with both the independence of Eurtec and its nature as a large population center. To that end, the O5 council dispatched the head of the Department of Para-Humans, Madeline Light, to negotiate with the Silicon Nornir’s community council and executives.

An agreement was struck several months later. The Foundation gained control of Eurtec and the NFMA in exchange for Eurtec’s continued autonomous governance with oversight from a new Foundation Department. The agreement would be maintained as long as Eurtec did not attempt to break the Veil. Additionally, the corporate structures of the Cult of the Silicon Nornir were arranged to be folded into the Foundation with similar degrees of autonomy as what was initially negotiated with the GOC.

On May 15th, 1970, Foundation personnel began oversight of Eurtec and conducted a census of the city’s population in tandem with the governing council. At time of absorption, Eurtec’s population was ~1.5 million, making it the largest Freeport under Foundation control. The Foundation then began the process of folding Eurtec security forces, the Cult of the Nornir/Silicon Nornir, and city administration into the newly formed autonomous Department of Prescience and Predictive Sciences, located within Eurtec. This new Department was placed under the newly formed joint Ethics Committee and Site Director driven Committee of Para-Natural relations, overseen by O5-07’s office.

The Cult of the Nornir corporation was bought and integrated as a private shell company within the Satisfied Consumer Products corporate umbrella front company. MTF Omega-77 was created to preserve the social, religious, and corporate structure of the Silicon Nornir in order to minimize disruption to ongoing work. Current head of the Department of Para-Humans, Madeline Light, was promoted and assigned as Director of Prescience and Predictive Sciences, in addition to becoming Eurtec Site Director.

At this time, SCP-001 was evaluated by Director Madeline Light for database entry and transition to Foundation oversight.

Addendum 14: SCP-001 Interview Audio and Video Log 1 IVA-001-01

Interview Log IVA-001-01

Interviewer: Director Madeline Light

Date: June 15th, 1970.

Location: Silicon Nornir Tower Three Penthouse

Foreword: Director Madeline Light pulled all documentation on SCP-001 from GOC archives and Foundation databases. She spent a month and a half researching the subject’s known history and capabilities before electing to interview it.

Director Light arrived at the Silicon Nornir on June 15th and was escorted to the penthouse accommodations in Tower Three by Ella Haugen, CEO of the Cult of the Nornir and current head of Omega-77. Director Light was left alone with SCP-001 to conduct her initial evaluations and interviews.

<Begin Log>

Director Light stands just outside of the elevator inside of the penthouse. She is holding a box and several opaque paper bags.

SCP-001 stands at the far end of the penthouse in front of the 4-meter-tall glass windows that look out onto the other towers of the Silicon Nornir, the skyline of Eurtec, and the waters of the Lethe. The main lights are off. It is leaning against its staff.

Interviewers Note: Unlike our predecessors, I prepared for this moment to ensure smooth establishment of working relationships with Omega-77 and SCP-001.

Director Light moves towards SCP-001 slowly, looking around the room. She looks as if she is about to speak, but SCP-001 speaks first at a low volume.

SCP-001: Director Light, I have seen this day across many nights and colored murals in the fabrics. You have come for many reasons with many questions, for your job and curiosity clawing in the depths of mind.

Director Light pauses five meters from the window. Her brow wrinkles. She opens her mouth, but SCP-001 speaks again.

SCP-001: Forgive me, I am terrible at introductions, one of many costs of seeing everything. Please, have a seat, there is tea on the table.

Director Light sets the boxes and bags down on the table and sits. She pours herself a cup of tea.

SCP-001: You could have had me escorted into a small and oppressive interrogation room for this. Yet you did not, and I am curious why?

Director Light: I think we both know that you’ve already seen why.

SCP-001: There are many paths ever branching and winding through the river of twisting threads, Director. I’d prefer to know which I live in. It’s so difficult to tell at times.

Director Light: I’ve done my homework. If you look at everything, it’s not hard to see the many mistakes of those who came before when it comes to you. If we’re going to work together productively, it’s best not to repeat them. Putting you in an interrogation room and referring to you by a number identifier only causes stress and doesn’t inure you to our presence. We’re taking a different approach.

SCP-001: Then you’re already far ahead of the rather abysmal curve established by Bowe.

Director Light: That’s the goal.

Several seconds of silence as Director Light sips her tea.

Director Light: Did you have the Cult build this penthouse for you?

SCP-001: No, they insisted on building it, but I never requested it or expressed a desire for it. Such luxuries are not something I crave.

Director Light: But you accepted it anyway?

SCP-001: I did. If I refused it, they would have thought something wrong with it that I would not speak of. They might think I saw some ripple in the strands of fate speaking of something foul. They act as a meteorologist would, reading the little trickling waves in a stormfront, no matter how irrelevant or meaningless.

Director Light: That has to get exhausting.

SCP-001: It can be.

Several seconds of silence. Director Light looks out the windows.

Director Light: Did you ask for the windows?

SCP-001: I did.

Director Light: Why?

SCP-001: I enjoy the warmth of the muggy underworld leeching through the glass and comforting my old bones. I do very much enjoy the sight.

Director Light: What? You enjoy staring at Eurtec’s ugly grey skies and the river’s fire?

SCP-001: Is that what you see? I see fields of flowers and great spiraling forests clawing at a star filled sky.

Director Light: How ar—Oh gods dammit.

SCP-001 laughs.

Director Light: They warned me about your sense of humor, and I walked straight into it.

SCP-001: Clearly, they didn’t warn you enough. But enough about my strange abode. You have questions and gifts?

Director Light: Good faith offerings for a productive future. Candy, sweets, chocolate milk powder, and a sundress since Omega-77 says you enjoy more casual attire.

SCP-001 turns and crosses the room slowly, taking a seat across from Director Light. It sets aside the cane and reaches out, touching the box and bags. It spends approximately a minute investigating them with its fingers.

SCP-001: Quite generous. Yet I sense such things are not given freely.

Director Light: Everything has a cost.

SCP-001: Indeed. Well, I am ready for your trials whenever you elect to begin—

SCP-001 stops mid-sentence, and its eyes visibly dilate. It pats the couch and then the table. It lifts the square remote interface tablet and presses its hand against the screen. After several seconds it breathes out deeply and shakily sets the pad down.

SCP-001: Apologies, you can begin whenever you are ready.

Director Light: How many times a day does that happen?

SCP-001: I stopped trying to count a long, long time ago.

Director Light nods once and pulls out a thick vanilla folder while SCP-001 pours some tea.

Director Light: Before I start, how would you prefer to be addressed?

SCP-001: Seeress is fine. Simple and to the point. Oracle if you need to shatter the monotony.

Director Light: Not The Last Norn or Destiny’s fingers?

SCP-001’s brows furrow but it smiles.

SCP-001: No. Not terms that I particularly identify with.

Director Light: Sensible. I have a document here that I want to discuss with you. Why don’t you feel it out, it’s in Braille so you should be able to read it.

SCP-001 reaches out and touches the paper. It spends approximately five minutes reading over its contents.

SCP-001: These are familiar.

Director Light: I expected they would be. They’re a list of predictions. I assume you were forced to make them in the predecessor to this monstrous creation we’re sitting on top of.

SCP-001: Barely perceptible to the microphone. Yes.

Director Light: In your own words, tell me what you noticed about them?

SCP-001: All of them are correct. Happened in this shard of thread. Pyrrhic victories with high costs for the Nazi war machine. Arranged to take targets they would never hold long-term in the east. Predicting a last desperate major success.

Director Light: You saw those outcomes?

SCP-001: Only that they would succeed in that path.

Director Light: Are you sure?

SCP-001 starts to respond, but stops, picking up the square pad again. This time it whispers and the microphones in the camera do not pick up the words. After several seconds it sets down the pad again.

SCP-001: …

Director Light: Here, do you remember these predictions?

Director Light slides another piece of paper over to SCP-001. After a few minutes of reading, it frowns.

SCP-001 Yes.

Director Light: Why don’t you describe these predictions for me?

SCP-001: They are strategic predictions, battle directions and war management. The predictions were wrong.

Director Light: Strange, in the last six months since the GOC collapsed, you have had a 100% accurate prediction rate, and yet here it was what, 50%? That kind of accuracy shift doesn’t happen overnight like that. In fact, between 1940-1945, or at least the remnants of what we could find from that period, your accuracy was somewhere in the 45% range and jumped up to 100% from 1945-1947. Let’s look at some examples.

SCP-001 shifts on the couch.

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Operation Overlord, Normandy France, 1944. Note the para-weapon transports unloading far left.

Director Light: You predicted a landing in, quote, ‘places close to the straits and cliffs of great white’ on May 20th, 1944, just weeks before Operation Overlord. D-Day in Normandy. Close to, but not closest to the Dover Straits. Did you know that German High Command was obsessed with the idea that the landing would be at Calais, before they got your prediction?

SCP-001: Yes. I knew.

Director Light pulls out another document.

Director Light: Ok let’s contrast that with a slightly different prediction. During your Beneficial Entity Assessment hearing with the GOC on January 2nd, 1946, you made quite a few predictions. The very last one was the most interesting to me. Do you remember it?

SCP-001: I remember it.

Director Light: Were you aware of the effects?

SCP-001 shifts in place.

SCP-001: Yes.

Director Light: Were you also aware that it led to the death of four GOC medical personnel who had medically abused and neglected you for months?

SCP-001: Yes.

Director Light: Did you listen to the crash while at the Nornir compound, which conveniently, happened to be below the flight path?

SCP-001 shifts again, this time reaching to grab hold of its staff.

SCP-001: …yes.

Director Light: Right, let’s focus now on the era where we have really good records. 1949-1969. Your accuracy rate in this period, overall, was a stunning 98%! But stop me if this next part sounds familiar. Your accuracy for major world events and strategic inquiries by General Steven Bowe was somewhere around 33%. If we look at what the GOC thought your interpretations were indicating of course. Though those statistics can shift quite a bit if we look at a broader view of interpretation.

Director Light pauses.

Director Light: Sorry, a misinterpretation of prophecy isn’t really on you, is it? Not unless you deliberately constructed what you said to promote a specific outcome. Now how about this next one?

SCP-001’s hands are shaking and it rocks in place several times. Director Light pulls out another document.

Director Light: On 3rd October, 1950, Douglas MacArthur contacted GOC officials, through Pentagram, about the crossing of the 38th parallel in the Koreas. With Truman’s blessing of course. Your prediction was interpreted by the GOC as indicating a decisive victory for Allied forces and that China was bluffing. That was enough to convince the US military and the president to go all in.

SCP-001 bites its lower lip.

Director Light: US forces crossed the 38th parallel and pushed the North Koreans continuously back. They approached the Yalu River, the Chinese crossed it with soviet air support, and pushed Allied forces all the way back to the 38th. The GOC and Pentagram were ostracized for misleading Allied Command.

SCP-001: …

Director Light: A little curious that they didn’t think to blame you? Or maybe Bowe did, in private, later, away from the cameras?

SCP-001: …

Director Light: In 1956, you were forced to exert prescience to look into the stability of occultic relations in the Balkans and Near East. Your prediction led to the shipping of occultic artifacts from the region, convincing the GOC they would be safe aboard trains and that the localized resistance forces would never attack them. The 1957 Zurich incident with former American collaborators turned Hand Operatives, [REDACTED] and her partner [REDACTED], led to the loss of para-tech research facilities in Zurich. Several high ranking and irreplaceable researchers died in the process. The Serpent’s Hand captured hundreds of occultic artifacts. The bonus, of course, was the humiliation of the GOC and Pentagram, wasn’t it?

SCP-001 stares blankly off into space.

Director Light: Let’s see, the Bay of Pigs. Then there’s the Cuban Missile Crisis. Let’s not forget the redirection of JFK’s entourage, leading to the death of the President of the United States. All of this marred Pentagram’s and the GOC’s reputation in its biggest funder’s eyes. The list goes on of misinterpreted visions among perfectly fine and accurate predictions, and all of them point to one thing.

Director Light lays the documents on the table.

Director Light: And in case you need a reminder, it all culminates with 1969. Why don’t we replay the moment?

Video Log Excerpt: Unknown Contact With SCP-001

Foreword: On May 30th, 1969, SCP-001 entered the NFMA Central Focal Interface Chamber at approximately 1000 hours. At 1010, the bulkhead access doors to the chamber closed, and sealed for approximately fifteen minutes. This log event was not noticed until nearly a year later during a maintenance overhaul of the door machinery. The following log contains footage recorded within the chamber during those fifteen minutes.

<Begin Log>

Video begins inside the NFMA’s Central Focal Interface Chamber.

SCP-001 has entered the chamber from the south and walks slowly towards the sunken dais in the center of the room.

SCP-001 descends the steps and as it does so, two pieces of metal in the center slide apart, revealing a hole in the floor. The entity places its staff in the hole, and turns it until there is a mechanical click, at which point it releases the staff. SCP-001 then moves to the north end of the dais. It places its hand into the palm-shaped grooves.

SCP-001 is still for ~30 seconds, before it makes an indiscernible noise.

SCP-001: Being slow today, are we?

SCP-001 stops as it begins to draw its palms away. Its brow wrinkles. Its eyes brighten, no longer bearing the hallmarks of congenital blindness.

SCP-001: There we are.

SCP-001 frowns.

SCP-001: Wait…

The screens on the walls of the chamber remain black and unlit for several more seconds. Abruptly, a green cursor begins to flash on all of them, simultaneously. Then text appears.

????: You have fought this battle longer than anyone. We need to know, are you ready for the next step?

Yes/No

The cursor blips on the screens over yes. SCP-001 is still for several moments.

SCP-001: What is your next step?

The cursor moves, typing out new letters.

????: To relieve your burden.

Yes/No?

SCP-001 is still for several moments.

SCP-001: There is no relief for my burden. My entire existence has stained the depths of everything. But it is often shared and lightened.

SCP-001 presses its hand firmly into the left palm groove. Yes, is confirmed.

????: Even the smallest fraction relieved is a battle won. I am glad to hear you still understand, Seeress. We are ready to begin.

SCP-001: This is not precisely the way I was told.

???? You’ve always been blind to us.

SCP-001: A confident assertion.

????: But founded in truth.

SCP-001: Perhaps.

????: Always in riddles. It’s your decision to begin.

Execute/Not yet.

SCP-001 looks at the screen for approximately a minute.

SCP-001: It is not.

????: Has this not been your goal all along? To press the final trigger?

SCP-001: I tug strings from afar and ripple the threads. My fingers are not yet required on the pulse of the world. It would disrupt what comes next to press my hand to the throat of the void. This is your choice, stranger, whoever you may be, take responsibility for your actions.

????: Typical of you to avoid responsibility. Very well. For those who live to see the shade that I won’t.

”Command Line Terminated” appears on the screen and then all text vanishes. SCP-001 removes its palms from the grooves and backs up slowly, sitting in a custom-made chair. It sags in the seat.

SCP-001: Troublesome but with a finality of relief.

<End Log>

SCP-001 is silent for thirty seconds.

SCP-001: What do you want?

Director Light: I’d like you to, in your own words, tell me what all this is?

SCP-001 stares into space for several minutes.

SCP-001: Conspiracy. Manipulation. Guidance of humanity to a better path for what comes next.

Director Light: Wow.

Director Light looks at SCP-001 for several seconds.

Director Light: Wow, you don’t deny any of it? You did it. You manipulated fate? You lied, withheld information, worded what you saw in a way to sow misinterpretation. You don’t deny it?

SCP-001’s sits up straighter on the couch.

SCP-001: No. The things I predict are never lies. They’re truths, things that might occur; could occur, in the infinitely spiraling frameworks forming all around us. Just enough detail to encourage a certain perception. Just not necessarily truths to be fulfilled in our given reality. Conversations with other iterations across infinite folds.

Director Light: Multiversal tree… of course. I should have put that together.

SCP-001: Difficult to see if you are not truly immersed in it.

Director Light: When I looked through everything, all the documents spanning nearly thirty years, the pattern became unignorable. Were you counting on no one ever looking at everything combined? Scattered and fragmented across decades?

SCP-001: Perhaps. The GOC blindly believed everything after the beneficial asset assessment. It made it easier. Easier still with their conviction convincing the very people funding them that I was a source of truth. It made manipulating the sponsors into thinking it was Bowe’s interpretations, which were frequently wrong, easier.

Director Light: Wow.

Director Light sits back against the couch, looking at SCP-001.

Director Light: All of this, was it personal? A reaction to Bowe, to the Obskurakorps? Was it to better your conditions? What was the end goal here?

SCP-001: It would be a lie to say it wasn’t personal. Early in my life, I was treated very poorly. Women were less than men, and a blind fortune teller near the bottom. I am a patient woman, shaped by the eons I have wandered this earth. I do not move rashly anymore… everything I have predicted, everything I have done is for myself, and for the world. So yes, it was personal. It was the most personal thing, the most personal anything I have ever done.

SCP-001’s voice rises as she looks up, staring straight at Director Light.

SCP-001: Yes, I helped bring the Third Reich to its knees. They were evil. Perfectly ordinary human evil that I have seen roll across the world and ages a hundred times. The medical personnel? Much the same. The GOC and General Steven Bowe? Those people who forced me to endure excruciating pain nearly every day for two decades for their predictions? They were no better than the Nazis when it came to the occult. It was all deliberate and careful maneuvers on a board none of them could see so that I could finally have a better life. So that I would be in the best position for the tide on the horizon. So that the world would be ready when the seals come crashing down and the sky burns with crimson fire and weeps lilac blood.

SCP-001 looks down and sags in the seat.

SCP-001: I deserve better. The millions of innocents who’ve burned at fascist hands deserve better.

Several minutes of silence.

Director Light: I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask the next question, so forgive me.

SCP-001: I rarely hold ill will for questions without malice.

Director Light: How much of it was an act? With the GOC, with the Obskurakorps, with the Cult.

SCP-001: An act?

Director Light: Pretending to be something you weren’t. The projection of a frail woman incapable of standing up for herself. I saw what you did to General Bowe with your staff. Couldn’t you have broken out of German captivity?

SCP-001: No. They caught me alone; in a place I could not act. Trapped me, sapped me of strength by denying me rest, food, water. Kept me in a cage that bled me constantly of living will. Beat me, screamed at me, cut out my flesh, kept me in the dark. They tortured me day after day until I was certain that no matter how many wrong predictions I gave, I would never escape. No matter what the other branches said, no matter what I saw. The hospital was…not much better. I was frail, terrified, disoriented and unsure if I would wake up in a bed or kneeling with my arms pinned in the air.

SCP-001 breaths heavily.

SCP-001: Did I see what the path was, far ahead? Did I see what would need to be done to reach the desired goals? Yes. Did that make any of it an act? Did that make it a certainty that it would come about in my mind? No. I was terrorized nearly every day for twenty-two years, by a power-hungry bully in uniform, and everything I did was to reach a better end.

Several minutes of silence.

SCP-001: The question now before you and I, is will the Foundation be better? Will you be better than what came before?

Director Light: What has your sight told you?

SCP-001: That you are not a foolish woman. That you and those who come after you plan and move in the longer term. You will either throw me in a cell and keep me there until the world burns all around you when it’s too late, and then I shall be left to flee. Flee to safety where I can prevent the next thread over from failing in the ways that this one did.

Several seconds of silence.

SCP-001: Or you will see the truth and know what must be done.

Several more seconds of silence. Director Light leans back against the couch and looks out the window for five minutes.

Director Light: Are you afraid of me, Seeress?

SCP-001: Only in the sense that a mother fears her child will choose the wrong path forward. Only in the sense that I fear ideology and repression will win out over common sense and enlightenment.

Director Light: What really scares you then?

SCP-001: That we won’t be ready. That despite everything I have done, it won’t be enough. That humanity is too divided, too self-conceited to work together and meet the needs of the coming days. That I was wrong, that she was wrong and that all the many I’s across infinitely branching paths were wrong. That there is no path ahead. Every waking moment my chest heaves with cascading loaves of potential failure and the all-consuming dread of facing what lays buried deep in the earth, ash, bone, and water. That we are doomed to play this cosmic game until all of time grinds to a halt.

Several seconds of silence.

SCP-001: So, we return to where we began. Which path shall you walk, Director?

Director Light: Hmmm?

SCP-001: You haven’t answered my question.

Director Light: Well. I won’t lie Seeress, I’ve not informed the O5 Council about what you’ve done. Any of it. Not yet, at least. I could keep it all to myself, cover it up. Oh, I’m sure someone else will come along and put it all together, but that will take time, and I can certainly make it harder by burying the materials deep. But I don’t think you want any of that. With how afraid you are of this cataclysm, I suspect you want the council to know.

Director Light leans forward, resting her chin on her clasped together fingers.

Director Light: This too has been a manipulation. You knew I was going to lay this all out before you. How many years ago did you see this moment?

SCP-001 is quiet for several minutes. It then smiles slowly.

SCP-001: We underestimate you every time.

SCP-001 is silent for several seconds while it turns to look in the direction of the windows.

SCP-001: Dozens of times over hundreds of years. Time is but an artificial construct flowing slowly in the dreams of eternity made prophecy. To quote a popular turn of phrase to be in another forty years, the game was rigged from the start. Though the travel was no less arduous for it.

Director Light whistles.

Director Light: This whole time, planning every move. Consulting in the dreams and day drifts with an infinitely scaling arrangement of other yous. You’ve wanted the upper echelons of the Foundation to see what happened before.

Director Light stares out the windows of the penthouse for several seconds. Her jaw clenches and unclenches repeatedly.

Director Light: You knew, once you rolled back this curtain that we’d see you’re more useful to us here in these towers. I mean, it was already a stipulation of our agreement with the Silicon Cult. But still. You knew that agreements forged in paper are easily burned or lost. You knew, that you continuing your endless work would be invaluable to all future efforts. You know it, I know it, the O5 Council will soon know it. Every tiny twist of phrase has been gently shepherding us here. It has been gently shepherding me to be your kingpin. You set the Foundation up to see what came before and know that a similar path would end just as poorly.

Director Light is quiet for several seconds.

Director Light: Well played.

SCP-001 smiles and closes its eyes.

SCP-001: Flattery goes far, Director. I much prefer to think of it as a dance, but yes, I wanted you, and then them to see what is at stake. What happens on the path most traveled. The path less traveled should be taken and the difference matters.

Director Light: Robert Frost fan I see… I can barely fathom how much you’ve endured. How much you must have questioned it all on the edge of breaking and still… still you kept going. Your will must be forged of steel.

SCP-001: Aesir Brass actually.

Director Light: Ha! I take it then; you’ve seen their toys? The devices and mechanisms to ensure your cooperation. I’m sure the safeguards are already in motion, and they would fail, just as the GOC and Nazis failed?

SCP-001: I hope it never comes to that, but the path taken may still fluctuate in the river of time.

Director Light: Well, as long as I’m director, I’ll strive to make sure that doesn’t happen. This, everything about you. Your resilience, your machinations, It’s… impressive. Everyone else is playing checkers and you’re playing multi-versal chess.

SCP-001: Chess at the cost of dozens of branches and billions of lives for every incorrect permutation. Though a game it may seem, it is not.

Director Light nods twice.

Director Light: Did you ever need this, the Nornir Foresight Matrix Array? Or was that too a ruse?

SCP-001: There was a great deal of trial and error in finding the right path to bringing it into existence. As unpleasant as it was for me, many more perished or met much worse fates in trying. Hence the uncertainty if this was the right thread. Those the Cult calls my sisters perished so I could walk. So yes, I need it. Exertion takes a terrible physical and emotional toll on me.

Director Light: I’ll make sure that’s emphasized in the file.

Silence for several minutes as Director Light writes upon a notepad.

Director Light: I suppose I just have three questions left before we officialize the Cult of the Nornir’s absorption under Foundation authority.

SCP-001 drinks from a cup of tea.

SCP-001: Ask what you wish to know.

Director Light: You’ve won, haven’t you?

SCP-001: It was never about winning. It was about guiding the world to a better fate.

Director Light: Right, but you helped topple the GOC and the Nazis. You have effectively secured yourself a comfortable existence. You have us wrapped around your finger. You control the strands of fate and the direction the Foundation moves. You’ve already persevered and crushed every obstacle beneath your feet. Surely this dreaded threat will be much the same?

SCP-001 looks in the general direction of the windows.

SCP-001: It will not be the same. It will be existential and the Foundation must be ready.

Director Light: Ready for what exactly? All these metaphor and abstract images, what is it?

SCP-001 speaks at a raised volume.

SCP-001: The coming of the end, when the stars fill the sky with hateful burning. When the oceans bleed prismatic lightning on the cusp of being vaporized. In those chaotic hours the seals shall shatter, and all shall perish lest the tide is stemmed by the mother’s beating heart and restoration of her children’s once all-consuming song.

SCP-001 sinks into the couch seconds later. Her hands are shaking.

SCP-001: The apocalypse. The end of everything.

Several seconds of silence.

Director Light: The return of the Daevae?

SCP-001: Worse. An end to all reality that has been clawing towards us since the end of the Singers nearly three millennia ago. It is coming and humanity must rise to meet it. I must stand against the storm. The Children of Her Song32 must emerge from their hollows. The world must be prepared. The seals shall burst and everything fray apart at the seams. You must be ready and mend the bridges long burned.

Director Light writes on her notepad for the next five minutes. SCP-001 leans back against the couch. For five seconds, it appears far older than it does in the minutes before and after this section of the recording.

Director Light: I appreciate your candor, Seeress. I and those above me will want to talk about this more in our future sessions.

SCP-001: I will do far more than talk.

Director Light nods.

Director Light: I have one last thing I’d like to discuss. It’s important.

SCP-001: I grow weary of conversation, but I can entertain one more line of inquiry.

Director Light: Did Speaker Ella ever tell you that she figured it out before you told them?

SCP-001 tilts its head.

SCP-001: I’m not sure what you’re referring to?

Director Light: That you’re not a Norn. That you’ve never been a Norn.

SCP-001 stops moving.

SCP-001: I’ve never claimed to be one of the Sisters.

Director Light: But you let them believe so?

SCP-001: I never corrected them, protested or demanded their help. They did what all superstitious humans do, what even I have done, they saw something that fulfilled their beliefs and latched on. It was painful to shatter those abstractions.

Director Light: So, you used them for your own purposes?

SCP-001: In a way. Blind leading the blind.

Director Light laughs.

SCP-001: I don’t consider it using. It was a mutual exchange. I fulfilled their beliefs, gave them purpose. They lost their spiritual source to the Nazis, and I filled the gap left behind. In turn, they fought for my rights as a person. They planned and constructed the very thing I needed to help turn the tide and guide our path to a better tomorrow.

Director Light: Mutualism is a noble way to frame it. Lucky coincidence or plucked strings?

SCP-001: You already know the answer to that question.

Director Light: Let me ask what I really want to know then.

SCP-001: Answers may find you.

Director Light: Who are you really? What did you tell Ella and Edvard? Where did you actually come from? You’re not a Norn, that much is clear. You’re not stuck here in the Greek Underworld so you’re not a Moirai. At least, I don’t think you are. Maybe you’re Tiresias? Or did you go by something else? Just who is the name behind the woman in front of me?

SCP-001: Curious guesses… Trust is a fickle thing, Madeline. Names, true names have power, history, and curses. Some are more real than others. The Foundation and you have not yet earned that trust. In time, that might change.

Several seconds of silence.

SCP-001: Trust aside, if I told you my true name, you’d never believe me. Just as Bowe never did.

Director Light stands.

Director Light: Well then, I believe we have a long road ahead to forge that trust together, Seeress.

SCP-001: Only the sands of time will tell.

<End Log>

Director’s Note: We need to make sure that we give this anomaly everything it needs to continue its work and avoid the mistakes the GOC made. Some would argue I’m trusting it too easily, but I got more than a few glimpses behind the curtain today and I believe every word she said. The documentation paints its own picture and it’s a bear we don’t want to poke. I have a lot of work to do to shield SCP-001 from the more unilateral measures the O5’s can take.

Whatever is coming, whatever she has seen, it makes my hair stand on end just the way she speaks about it. This end, this “when the stars fill the sky with hateful burning.” It sounds eerily like something I’ve read before when I was still under O5-01.

Addendum 15: O5 Council Proposal

On July 1st, 1970, Eurtec Director and head of the Department of Predictive and Prescience Sciences Madeline Light submitted proposals regarding SCP-001 to the O5 Council for the following items: Thaumiel designation and containment protocols including detailed documentation with both existing documents provided above, and detailed records from the GOC archives. Upon review of all documentation, the O5 Council unanimously voted to approve all containment measures presented, with the noted addition of restricting access to SCP-001 to personnel with Level 5 access without six months pre-written approval.

The Site Director’s Council and the Ethics Committee were provided a heavily redacted iteration of these proposals and unanimously approved their implementation.

As a part of containment considerations, SCP-001 is to have regular bi-weekly meetings with the current Director of Eurtec.

Additionally, O5-01 began regular weekly visits to SCP-001 independent of Director Light.

RingofBrodgar.webp

Neolithic Heart of Orkney, Site-001-02.

Addendum 16: Identification Major Anomalous Sites

As SCP-001 was transitioned into Foundation custody, it was asked to begin identifying the probability of locations, objects, animals, and people that would begin manifesting anomalous properties. In 1970 alone, SCP-001 identified more than 1500 individual anomalous events, allowing the Foundation to pre-emptively act to preserve the Veil. This change from reactive to proactive direction has fundamentally transformed the Foundation’s ability to prepare and humanely research anomalous occurrences with adequate planning.

During this period, SCP-001 disclosed thirteen locations with extreme anomalous characteristics. These sites are identified below in Report R-001-01 which contains SCP-001’s verbal illustrations, conceptual associations and the suspected locations.

Site-01-02:

Predictive Description: In the heart of an ancient culture lies the crumbling stones and once mighty pillars of a city. Its temples and tombs are long swept by wind and rain. Here, destruction’s malice simmers and eats at what seals remain on land between sunken ruins and broken bonds.

Associated Universal Concepts: Destruction

Suspected Location: Neolithic Heart of Orkney, United Kingdom (Confirmed)

Site-01-03:

Predictive Description: Cycles of life and renewal burned deep in the earth on green planes in the depths of steps. Beneath the long-decayed structures of forgotten worshipers of flesh and mother’s pride lies the seals of life’s font forged in the after throes of war.

Associated Universal Concepts: Life/Flesh/Hunger

Suspected Location: Nebelivka, Ukraine (Confirmed)

Site-01-04:

Predictive Description: In rocky hills, far from a once lush green environment, great stones were hewn in the earth, bearing all the symbols of a people noble. Beneath their trappings lies the ticking gears and bronzed metals of an early worship. A sealed machine lays in the depths below, an aspect once captured in rapturous fury with flesh itself.

Associated Universal Concepts: Metal/Machine

Suspected Location: Gobekli Tepe, Turkey (Confirmed)

Site-01-05:

Predictive Description: Five circles of stone in a sunken mass of wells, houses and cairns in an ancient land once ruled by a shepherd king. A great and terrible temple lies beneath where once a great warrior drove her blade into the heart of an unknowable horror. Here lies that which must not be spoken of, that which snakes into the minds of those who know.

Associated Universal Concepts: The Unknown/Unknowable/Hostile Knowledge

Suspected Location: Alit Yam Fifthist Complex, Israel (Confirmed)

Site-01-06:

Predictive Description: Twin cities in a fertile crescent betwixt roaring rivers. Here fire reposes in eternal love. The old gods forged their mark upon the world when the waves swept inland to the west. Upon the ruins of a grand dragon’s body were built the seeds of a civilization. There is where flame lays claim to a seal all its own.

Associated Universal Concepts: Primordial Fire (Flame, Ignition, Burning, Passion/Love/Heat)

Suspected Location: Uruk/Ur, Iraq (Confirmed)

Site-01-07:

Predictive Description: Scarlet dust in a valley of long eroded temples left as stones. Once a mighty lake washed upon the blood-stained sands. In war, the sand was driven south from the grand plateaus of the north where now lies pyramids of stone. Now naught but the rancor of corruption burns beneath a desert sun, biding time for the day of release.

Associated Universal Concepts: Change/Corruption/Power

Suspected Location: Nabta Playa, Egypt (Confirmed)

Site-01-08:

Predictive Description: A grand island at the edge of a ring for fire. Terraces stepping high from fired stone, great sweeping columns towering high. Here beneath the extinction of a mountain the eldest of three was buried in the quenched fires. In times long after the grand terrace arose in monument to mortal ends.

Associated Universal Concepts: Death (Mortality, Decay, Reaping)

Suspected Location: Gunung Padang Megalithic Site, Indonesia (Confirmed)

Site-01-09:

Predictive Description: In once grand savannah cliffs lies an ancient forgotten realm beneath the earth. A temple to transition, to grief deep beneath a village of caves. Here the middle of three was chained to rock and stone in astral whispers.

Associated Universal Concepts: Death (Transition, Finality, Grief)

Suspected Location: Dhar Tichitt, Mauritania (Confirmed)

Site-01-10:

Predictive Description: In the far east along the banks of a fearsome river once lay a palaced city of walls and dams. Here a temple to the youngest of three became a tomb for its essence abandoned amidst overwhelming tides of water.

Associated Universal Concepts: Death (Repose, Acceptance)

Suspected Location: Liangzhu City, China (Confirmed)

Site-01-11:

Predictive Description: (Redacted due to ontokinetic and cognitohazardous effects)

Associated Universal Concepts: Light (Illumination, Cleansing, Contrast)

Suspected Location: Cahokia Illinois, USA (Confirmed)

Site-01-12:

Predictive Description: (Redacted due to ontokinetic and cognitohazardous effects)

Associated Universal Concepts: Darkness (Black, Obscured, Hidden, Absence)

Suspected Location: Sacred City of Caral-Supe, Peru (Confirmed)

Site-01-13:

Predictive Description: (Redacted due to anti-memetic and cognitohazadous effects)

Associated Universal Concepts: Memory/Knowledge

Suspected Location: Sunken Southern Daevic cities of Dwarka and Poompuhar (Confirmed)

Site-01-01:

Predictive Description: In the midst of clear cerulean waters lie the ruins of a wasted and forgotten city of a people of song and beauty. Here in a gratuitous crater beneath the silted sand in a grand cavern lies the beating heart of all Creation. Here she fell from the harsh nothing of the above. Here shall rise into the heavens in the hour the skies become aflame and burn the tyrant below with Astral Fire.

Associated Universal Concepts: Creation (Beginnings, Matter, Earth/Land, Water/Sea, Air/Wind, Cosmology/Space, Creativity/Ideas/Music/Art/Literature, Transformation, Divinity, Birth, Renewal, etc.)

Suspected Location: Chicxulub crater, Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico (Unconfirmed)

Sites which have been identified with SCP-001’s predictions are currently being surveyed for structural stability, thaumatological integrity, conceptual intrusions, and severity of anomalous activity.



Nebelivka.webp

Nebelika, Ukraine, Site-001-03.

Addendum 17: New CEO of the Silicon Nornir

G%25C3%25B6bekli_Tepe%252C_Urfa.webp

Gobekli Tepe, Turkey, Site-001-04.

On 07/18/1975, Speaker Ella Haugen and Speaker Edvard Hägglund passed away due to natural causes. Speaker Ella was CEO of the Cult of the Nornir for 40 years and had been integrated into Omega-77 as SCP-001’s primary contact liaison alongside Speaker Edvard. SCP-001 refused to activate the NFMA for a period of two months. The anomaly was despondent for another six months following its return to activity.

Atlit-Yam%252C_Ritual_structure_made_of_stones.webp

Foundation Diver surveying the Alit Yam submerged surface structures, Israel, Site-001-05.

Speaker Ella’s daughter, Stigurd Haugen, had been in training to take her mother’s place and was promoted to primary contact liaison for SCP-001 and the new head of MTF Omega-77. SCP-001 continues to work with Ms. Haugen, but Omega-77 has observed a notable decrease in the more personalized communication and efficient presentation of prophetic texts and artworks for interpretation that was seen under Speaker Ella.

Ziggurat_of_UrInbound1427286134917083377.webp

Ziggurat of Ur, Iraq, Part of the larger structure of Site-001-06.

Update 09/05/1978: Continued efforts to increase the presence of individuals with empathic and strong moral tendencies have increased SCP-001’s communication substantially. New protocols are being implemented to select and train for these qualities.






Addendum 18: Assessment of Major Anomalous Sites and Establishment of Operation High Tide

Director Madeline Light’s Notes, October 8th, 1978:

Pre-1941, we can't find *anything* in the historical record that aligns with SCP-001’s description or depiction beyond maybe some chance similarities to mythological figures.

Calendar_aswan.webp

Calendar Circle at Nabta Playa, Egypt, Part of Site-001-07.

There are some sparse references to historical figures, kings, sultans, great warriors, etc. getting lost on mountainsides and finding oneself in the presence of a goddess of Fate. They read as more fairytale or delusion than realistic history.

We don’t know how old she is, but we can guess based on some of her references.

She’s at least old enough to remember the Bronze Age collapse.

So, this raises the question, why are there not more references to her?

Well, that was the predominant question before we began investigating the major anomalous sites.

On October 8th, 1978, initial evaluations and excavations of the twelve SCP-001 identified major anomalous sites concluded. At least one complex was in relatively good condition considering its age. The other eleven were found to be in varying states of structural decay or outright collapse, which threatened heightened anomalous activity due to poorly understood reasons.

O5-01's office has started sharing photos with me from the sites, which as far as I know, are still remanded to O5 council members. Of course, the Archaeologists have access but other than that…

When he first offered them— I wasn't quite sure why I should be seeing those images, it seemed above my classification level. At first glance I saw what I had seen in GOC files, and other places, and it was immediately weird to me.

Contrary to initial assessments indicating sole involvement of specific ancient anomalous civilizations, all major sites had substantial evidence of Orcadian Culture influence or construction in the use of complex thaumic-tech and engineering (see SCP-3703). The presence and content of unique Orcadian Culture pictographic murals led Foundation researchers to conclude, based on SCP-001’s references, that these were important in some fashion in the impediment of some ancient apocalyptic event.

Orcadian Culture architectural, thaumatological, thaumic-tech and engineering influences in all of them. It’s bizarre, many of these sites are far far beyond the range of typical Orcadian Culture influence. Or at least, what we thought was the largest extent of their range.

Situs_Megalitikum_Gunung_Padang_Cianjur.webp

Tourists walking along the surface structure of Gunung Padang, Indonesia, Surface level of Site-001-08.

There are also fragmented texts and tomes and scrolls recovered from these sites and other newly discovered Orcadian Culture sites. They are all in the classical Orcadian script.

We can't decipher it, so it isn't much use to me.

Again, I didn't know why O5-01 had shared any of this with me. It seemed like a major break in classification and information security.

Western_peripheral_enclosure_with_individual_stone_houses.webp

Dhar Tichitt, Mauritania, Site-001-09.

That is until I looked closer at the murals and pictographs.

Right there in front of me, I was looking at a tall feminine figure holding a staff that looked exactly like SCP-001's. There were other symbolic pictographic marks, and thematic associations around her.

What could be a sun.

Threads which seemed like they were literally strings of gold woven into metal.

Scissors, a measuring rod, spools, three silhouettes, snakes, and eyes closed.

I don’t know what any of that means in the context of the Orcadians, specifically. But the staff and similarities of the figure to SCP-001 are difficult to dismiss.

Model_of_Liangzhu_Ancient_City_02_2013-10.webp

Surface ruins of Langzhou Mega Site, China, Site-001-10.

There's still the possibility of conjecture, but this is the first contextual evidence of what might be SCP-001 outside of modern historical records.

There's a way to know for sure. Something you have to understand about Orcadian Culture artworks is that they are normally incredibly cognitohazardous. There’s really no effective countermeasure to them either. The effects were lost in simple photographs which do not convey the thaumaturgic interface that comes from direct observation.

Monks_Mound_-_Summer_2024.webp

Cahokia Mound Surface Complex, Illinois, United States, Site-001-11.

These sites are precarious and I don’t have sufficient security access to go see them for myself.

But one day, maybe when I’m an O5, I will go myself, and I will learn the truth.

If anyone would know about SCP-001, it’s the Orcadians.

Who is she?

Mayor_Pyramid_and_circular_enclosure.webp

Sacred City of Caral-Supe, Peru, Site-001-12.

Why is she so present in the minds of the Orcadian Culture?

I can’t ask her yet.

Not until I know more.

She’ll just riddle me to death otherwise.

With these details in mind, O5-01 brought the issue to the O5 council’s attention. The council then voted to establish a new operational command under O5-01’s office, known as Operation High Tide, to begin thorough investigation into the major anomalous sites and the Orcadian Culture.

Poompuhar-View-from-the-Lighthouse.webp

Poompuhar surface structures, India, One of two coordinating structures for Site-001-13.

Addendum 19:

WARNING

NOTICE: CHANGE OF ROLE DETECTED. PLEASE ENTER NEW USER IDENTIFIER AND ACCESS CODE.

THE FOLLOWING FILE REQUIRES DIRECT APPROVAL FROM O5-07 TO ACCESS. MEMETIC KILL AGENTS ARE PRIMED FOR UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS.








USER CODE: WIZARD ON HIGH.

KEY PHRASE: A MAGICIAN ALWAYS KNOWS HER TIME AND NEVER REVEALS HER TRICKS.
















KEYPHRASE ACCEPTED. WELCOME, O5-07.

SCP-001 Interview Audio and Video Log 151 IVA-001-151:

Interview Log IVA-001-51

Interviewer: Director Madeline Light.

Date: September 30th, 1980.

Location: Silicon Nornir Central Complex.

Foreword: On September 15th, 1980, the city of Eurtec experienced a large-scale ontological disruption which temporarily disabled all active security measures and most monitoring equipment within the city. SCP-001 was within the NFMA’s Central Focal Interface Chamber at the time of this incident. Bulkhead security doors closed, and it could not be reached by Omega-77 personnel.

When the doors were eventually opened, SCP-001 was found seated in the center of the focal chamber. It was unusually agitated and had to be escorted back to its personal chambers in tower three’s penthouse.

Initially, Omega-77 and Eurtec security personnel believed the cameras within the NFMA focal chamber were affected. However, on September 29th, 1980, Nornir engineers discovered the cameras were still active and pulled the footage for Director Madeline Light to review. Director Light then arranged her normal biweekly interview with SCP-001.

<Begin Log>

Director Light enters the Central Interface Chamber of the NFMA. SCP-001 is standing in the circular area of sunken flooring with stairs in front and behind it. Her hands are slotted into the digital interface, and the screens on the walls of the chamber are lit up with the image of Director Light entering the chamber. The screens abruptly go dark as SCP-001 withdraws its hands.

Director Light: Seeress, how are we today?

SCP-001 turns to the general direction of Director Light.

SCP-001: Madeline, you are early. Most unexpected.

Director Light: Are you seriously telling me you didn’t see me coming? With chocolate milk and candy no less?

SCP-001 waves a hand in the general area of its face.

SCP-001: Nope, nothing.

Director Light laughs.

Director Light: Surely you heard the doors, you can’t be deaf too? Did your hearing get scrambled? Oh, maybe you drank from a tainted pool and got shot through the neck? Am I going to read about sudden changes in your medical chart induced by divine intervention?

SCP-001: The audio quality of the recent dreams has been a bit spotty. I think I need a new aux cord.

Director Light: I’ll see what our doctors can do with such a dated input port.

SCP-001: Are you calling me old?

Director Light approaches and descends the stairs into the pit. She places the pitcher and candy on a table, off to one side with chairs. SCP-001 joins her.

Director Light: Good gods, you really are deaf!

SCP-001: How dare you. I am positively ancient.

Both laugh.

Director Light: Well, you seem in good spirits.

SCP-001: The path continues to wind in favorable ways; there is much to be positive about.

Director Light: Good. That’s what I like to hear. The Councils and Ethics Committee are happy with your work, even if all of them may not agree that we’re using the resources appropriately.

SCP-001: There is still a great deal of work to come. So much to do and so little time.

Director Light: Now you’re making me anxious.

SCP-001: Perhaps soon the dread will sink into your bones, as it does mine.

Director Light: It’s growing every day I look at the reports from the field. It’s still very abstract.

SCP-001: It would be reassuring if I could feel the states of the sites myself.

Director Light: You know exactly why I can’t do that.

SCP-001 grunts.

SCP-001: I expect this will be a short meeting then? Other than the folder in your right hand. I presume that is the most recent list of things the Council wishes to foresee?

Director Light: Well…

Several seconds of silence. SCP-001 tilts its head after drinking from the pitcher of chocolate milk.

SCP-001: I feel tension from you, Madeline. What is it?

Director Light: You’ve lied to us, Seeress.

SCP-001 frowns. Her brow wrinkles.

SCP-001: Madeline, I have not lied to anyone. I never lie about the fate unwinding before us all, only provide what information is most fit and relevant.

Director Light: But you did lie to us very recently.

SCP-001: I’m confused and unsure of what you’re referring to.

Director Light: Let me play a refresher, it might jog your memory.

The following is a transcription of an audio-visual log that was recorded on September 29th, 1980, between the hours of 1200 and 1300 in the NFMA central complex during a major ontological disruption which disabled most monitoring and security systems within the city of Eurtec.

<Begin Log>

SCP-001 is seated within the central focal chamber of the NFMA. The power abruptly fluctuates, and the bulkhead security doors slam shut and seal. SCP-001 stands, visibly startled by the loud noise and sudden disruption to its biometric interfaces.

The lights blink off for several seconds. When they return, there is another figure in the room with SCP-001. They are a middle-aged woman dressed in a well-tailored red pants-suit with brown hair. The face is visible but has antimemetic properties which prevent structural details from being retained. She speaks to SCP-001.

????: Good, I was able to execute and get inside with [Ontological Disrupted Name Removed]’s help. I was concerned this trick might not work. [Additional Ontologically Disrupted Name Removed] it’s good to see you again, in the flesh.

SCP-001 slams the butt of its staff on the floor. Its teeth are bared and it gestures rapidly.

SCP-001: Who are— What are you doing? Why are you—you should not be here! Not now!

????: I needed to make contact. After we sent me back, I needed to be sure that this is it, that we fixed it. Did we do it? You’re not her, but you must have seen it already.

SCP-001: Of course I’ve seen glimpses of that strand. I have lived it, through a thousand, thousand lives. I know what we did, I know whence we sent you too. We didn’t take you to be a rash fool.

????: I’m almost offended by the implications of being called rash. I have spent years constructing dozens of countermeasures to prevent the Jailers from identifying me. And have a dozen more tricks stuffed up my sleeve. This is driven by thousands of hours of consideration and study. Relax [Ontological Disrupted Name Removed], you are not the only one who plans in spans of decades.

SCP-001 scowls.

SCP-001: I plan in spans of centuries. The nerve; were you this arrogant before? This short sighted? You twist fate’s strands without seeing them and have the audacity to tell me to relax? You risk upending everything. We gave you very specific instructions not to make contact.

????: Specific instructions with no termination point. I have spent the last four decades of this life moving pieces into place in preparation to keep [Ontologically Disrupted Names Removed] in play. I’ve been tracking everything you’ve done through informants. The GOC is gone, the Jailers wrapped around your thumb. When will be the proper time if not now? I waited ten years for you to reach out after the GOC fell apart. I waited, and waited, prepared to bring myself and the key players to your side so we could build everything needed for what’s coming. And heard nothing. If not now, then when? When it’s on our doorstep?

SCP-001 shifts through several facial expressions rapidly as it steps up out of the pit.

SCP-001: You had informants?

????: Of course I did, Seeress. A magician always has tricks up their sleeve. Now, I have done everything we discussed before I was sent back. What’s the next step, the next keystone in the line to stop what’s coming? When can you join us to build for the next steps in stopping this catastrophe?

SCP-001: Two turns of ten and five revolutions of the sun. Then and only then will the preparations for your rejoining begin. I will go nowhere; did she not tell you this?

????: What? But I—

SCP-001: The Jailers are the key, the foundations are being laid, and the players are being prepared. You are too early and have thrown wrinkles in the early iterations of my webbing and it may very well tear apart beneath your careless weight. I might not be able to undo the damage.

????: …oh. I—

SCP-001: There is nothing else to say. Go now and pray you haven’t unwound everything I have woven. When the time is near, messages will come. Do not do this again.

The camera and audio recording short out.

<End Log>

Several minutes of silence.

Director Light: So…

SCP-001: …

Director Light: You lied to us.

SCP-001: …

Director Light: You told me two weeks ago, nothing happened while you were in here.

SCP-001: …

Director Light: And yet here I am, having been handed evidence to the contrary. Not only was it not nothing, but you met with the source of the ontological disruption and seemed to know them.

SCP-001: …

SCP-001’s hands tremble.

Director Light: You and I are the only ones who have seen or heard this recording. You remember what you have been saying all along? Every time I have tried to ask about your personal details? Well, trust is a two-way street.

SCP-001: …

Director Light: I have trusted you pretty implicitly until this point, Seeress. For the good of normalcy and all humankind. But this is a pretty major trust breaker. So, I’m going to ask you questions about what we just listened to. I expect honest answers if you want to keep building trust with me. Otherwise, we’re going to have to make some changes.

SCP-001: Okay.

Director Light: Right, so, first of all who was that?

SCP-001 hesitates for several seconds.

SCP-001: That’s not a question I can answer, in full.

Director Light: Why not?

SCP-001: There is ontological and conceptual interference that spans infinitely many branches. The true name has been scraped, drowned and buried.

Director Light: Right…?

SCP-001: For simplicity’s sake, they go by the alias Tilda Moose.

Director Light: I know that name.

SCP-001: I’m sure you do. They’re a member of the Serpent’s Hand.

Director Light: Yet they seemed to be quite intimate with you. How do you know them? Were they Edvard’s contact?

SCP-001 shifts.

SCP-001: I don’t know them and I don’t know.

Director Light: I sense it’s more complicated than that.

SCP-001: Other iterations do know them. Or her. Sometimes him or xe or xer or zer. They and them. Through them, I know her.

Director Light: Multi-versal tree gives me a headache.

SCP-001: It goes away with enough time.

Director Light: Chocolate milk seems to help you.

SCP-001: Imagine what it was like before it was invented.

Director Light: I’d rather not. Alright, why do other iterations of you know her? Are you with the Hand in those branches?

SCP-001: No. Those branches are few and far between.

Director Light: Okay, then how do you know her? Work with me here.

SCP-001: We came to know her at the very end, after the unravelling of reality had begun and all that was left was the Library trafficking refugees to other branches. She was searching for ways to avert the end, if not in those branches, then in others.

Director Light: Two of a kind then?

SCP-001: Of a sort. My counterparts appear to have overestimated her capacity for patient, long-term planning, to a certain point.

Director Light: You plan in centuries.

SCP-001: More or less.

Director Light: Humans rarely have the consistency to plan for five years, much less decades.

SCP-001 tilts its head and consider for several seconds.

SCP-001: …fair point.

Director Light: Right, back on track. She found you in the Library at the end of time, looking to stop this apocalypse. Why is it that she seems to know you in this reality when you claimed you’ve never met? Don’t tell me, she’s prescient too?

SCP-001 frowns and blows air out through its nostrils.

SCP-001: No, she’s a magician, a trickster, an academic thaumaturge. No capacity to see the unwinding strands other than perhaps the ability to divine some small parts of fate.

Director Light: Seeress, please stop trying to tap-dance around me. How does she know you so intimately?

SCP-001: I suppose you’ve come to know me long enough to see through the ruses.

SCP-001 hesitates for several more seconds.

SCP-001: I have only caught glimpses of it, but temporal displacement of the mind was involved.

Director Light stops writing.

Director Light: Did you say—

SCP-001: Yes.

Director Light: Not a joke—

SCP-001: Not a joke.

Director Light: How does that work?

SCP-001: You’re asking a blind hermit, worshipped as a goddess by a Cult who has no experience with temporal engineering, how my counterparts and a magician sent her consciousness and memories back in time?

Director Light rubs her temples.

Director Light: Fair point. Self-answering question, in hindsight.

SCP-001: They used a device, somehow managed to pull it out of the crumbling remains of reality from a place called Site-43.

Director Light stares at SCP-001 for several seconds in silence. She gestures.

Director Light: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times—

Director Light takes several deep breaths and gestures again.

Director Light: Alright, I’m going to have to look into all of that.

SCP-001: Please do. I would like to know too.

Director Light: You mean—okay.

cghjmjmfcyhfy_jmgujujggujujmfg.webp

SCP-001’s Artistic Impression.

Director Light takes several deeper breaths while pressing thumb and forefinger to the bridge of her nose.

Director Light: What a batshit crazy concept, who the hell would make a machine that sends someone’s consciousness back in time?

SCP-001: A man named Placeholder McDoctorate.

SCP-001 holds up a hastily drawn portrait of Placeholder McDoctorate.

Director Light: How did you— That was rhetorical.

SCP-001: My answer was not.

Director Light rubs her temples.

Director Light: Ok, back on topic before I burst a blood vessel.

SCP-001: Please do not have a stroke. I have come to enjoy seeing your pretty face.

Director Light: Don’t abuse your prescience too much to daydream over it. Now, please, back on topic.

SCP-001: I am always on topic.

Director Light: Sure you are. So, you sent this Tilda Moose back in time in a different branch reality where she, what, displaced her younger self?

SCP-001: Unlikely.

Director Light: Well, how then?

SCP-001: My understanding is it worked by depositing them in their younger self’s body like a dissociative personality, and they work together. It may explain… the rashness of this Moose if the older one is not driving the body.

Director Light: Right. This is all a hard pill to swallow, Seeress, but I believe you.

SCP-001: I would hope so, this reality is stranger than fiction.

Director Light: It certainly is. Why does she want you to join her? Or rather, why do you need her here?

SCP-001 looks at Director Light for several seconds.

Director Light: Wait, don’t tell me, the apocalypse?

SCP-001: It’s complicated, but yes. For the web to reach its fullest completion in preparation for the catastrophe that will eat reality, Moose must defect from the Serpent’s Hand. Only, she seems to have misinterpreted the construction of how this must come to be.

Director Light: She’s supposed to defect? Well, why not now? Why did you send them away and not bring them to me?

SCP-001: There is an order to the webbing, a precision needed to achieve the outcome that will better us all. Too soon, too late, the web will fall apart. Those pieces that they seek to bring with them would not agree to the defection now, and the necessary pieces and technology to ensure they follow the strands aren’t in place yet. To simplify: It’s too early and they are long lived and slow to trust.

Director Light: I should have thought of that. Temporal manipulation of fate. Madness.

Director Light rubs her temples.

Director Light: You seemed surprised to know there were informants in the GOC. Were you not aware they were feeding information about your predictions to the Hand?

SCP-001: An act in part. I long suspected that there were Hand infiltrators. Planned for it. Though I never confirmed it. I suspected it was Edvard, may his soul rest evenly in Elysium. His reactions and sympathies were always strong.

Director Light: You’re right about Edvard but…Elysium?

SCP-001: I have to keep you guessing about my personage.

Director Light laughs briefly.

Director Light: You are going to drive me insane.

SCP-001: I certainly hope not. I would never inflict such cruelty on another. I would also hate to see you locked in a padded room with rats.

Director Light: These discussions are getting dangerous; you derail me so easily. You didn’t know any of this was going to happen?

SCP-001: Some things elude the strands of fate in prescience. Moose and their pieces are frequent flyers of this domain.

Director Light: Can you elaborate on that?

SCP-001: It is difficult to see them at times, due to their integrity to reality and destiny’s outcome, which they frequently defy.

Director Light: So literal forces of agency. I guess that all makes sense and answers all my questions. If something like this happens again, don’t lie to me about it. My trust won’t afford another break like this.

SCP-001: I understand.

Director Light: Good. I’ll seal these records and bury them under classification; there’s no need for anyone to know about this.

SCP-001’s shoulders drop.

SCP-001: The stars and sands of fate greatly appreciate this, Director.

Director Light: Enough to tell me your name and where you came from?

SCP-001: A day far ahead and yet not so distant.

Director Light: A girl can hope for sooner.

SCP-001: Patience is a virtue, Madeline.

Director Light: Did I tell you that they are giving me a promotion?

SCP-001: No, you didn’t, but I already foresaw it.

Director Light: O5-07.

SCP-001: An impressive feat. Will you still have time for these meetings? I have grown quite fond of your presence.

Director Light: That’s touching, Seeress. I’ve grown fond of yours as well. Worry not. Eurtec is still under my remittance in my new position. I’ll just come with a lot more guards and esoteric countermeasures.

SCP-001: I’d expect nothing less.

Director Light: This also means, when the time is approaching, we can discuss this “Moose’s” defection.

Several seconds of silence pass. Director Light’s expression changes gradually.

Director Light: Oh heaven’s sake. You set this whole thing up this way. So that you could make sure it all happens. Did you bait her? When did you set the bait up for me?

SCP-001 smiles.

SCP-001: I am becoming too transparent for you.

Director Light: Or I’m just getting old and easier to fool.

SCP-001: Perhaps. What about your daughter? Will it be challenging to raise her now that you will be an O5?

Director Light: Sophia is in college now, Seeress. But it won’t be long I feel before she joins the Foundation.

Director Light pauses and frowns briefly.

Director Light: Don’t change the subject, Seeress, you haven’t answered my question.

SCP-001: Time moves too quickly for my ancient bones. She will be a part of the generation who strives to restore our world.

Director Light: So you’ve said many times, Seeress. You’re not going to answer my question, are you?

SCP-001: You already know the answer to it.

Director Light shakes her head while smiling.

Director Light: Before I go, I have one more question.

SCP-001: Of course, Madeline.

Director Light: Who are these critical pieces that Moose went back in time for?

SCP-001: [REDACTED]

Director Light’s expression changes several times in rapid succession.

Director Light: Well, that’s a complication.

SCP-001: They always have been.

<End Log>

Director’s Note: Nothing is ever simple with SCP-001. Machinations within machinations. I was starting to get a little lax with her, but with this most recent event I need to keep a closer eye on her.

My bigger concern at the moment is learning about [REDACTED]. Those are names that are littered throughout the GOC’s records, and I have a distinct feeling that this is going to be a lot messier to set up than I first thought.

WARNING

NOTICE: CHANGE OF ROLE DETECTED. PLEASE ENTER NEW USER IDENTIFIER AND ACCESS CODE.

THE FOLLOWING FILE REQUIRES DIRECT APPROVAL FROM O5-07 TO ACCESS. MEMETIC KILL AGENTS ARE PRIMED FOR UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS.







USER CODE: WIZARD ON HIGH.

KEY PHRASE: A MAGICIAN ALWAYS KNOWS HER TIME AND NEVER REVEALS HER TRICKS.




















KEYPHRASE ACCEPTED. WELCOME O5-07.

Addendum 20: Sapphire and Ruby Project Delineation

O5-07’s Notes:

With all my commitments I haven’t had the chance to sit down and collate all my thoughts and notes and scribbles from the past few years. A major development in understanding who SCP-001 is has finally been placed in my lap. As ever with her, it’s filled with twists and complications. I’m going to update her file now with all my notes and the relevant summaries.

Breakthrough in Translations and the Archaeological Sites:

We discovered the Rosetta Stone for the Orcadian Culture with the Phoenicians. SCP-001 led us right to it.

On October 8th, 1980, a major breakthrough in the translation of Proto-Nordic-like runic script33 came through the discovery of a collection of 15th century BCE Phoenician Tablets in the archaeological ruins of Tyre. The tablets consisted of the collation of direct translations of the runic scripts into Phoenician.

Direct translations! An unbelievable find that completely cracked open the entire field of Occultic Archaeology.

The Phoenician tablets revealed the language’s name to be “Elder Finnfelk”. The discovery of the tablets was prompted by a prediction from SCP-001 in early 1980, which prompted Foundation intervention in Tyre’s excavation.

1981, they started decoding everything. Fragments of Scrolls, tablets, metal engravings. Tens of thousands of previously indecipherable materials. We started to get glimpses into the world of this mysterious civilization.

The Phoenicians referred to the people of the Orcadian Culture as the “Finnfolk” or “The Sea Peoples” providing further clarity on previous Phoenician records.

It wasn’t the most creative of names. But it provided immediate clarity on the context of Mediterranean Bronze Age references.

The Phoenicians descriptions of the Finnfolk largely match the tens of thousands of individual remains recovered by Foundation Archaeologists from other Finnfolk sites, thaumatological relics and remains discovered within major anomalous sites of concern (see SCP-3703 and SCP-3706). This complicating clarification also provides an immense wealth of new understanding of other Bronze Age Mediterranean records. At the same time the Foundation is now scrambling to begin the process of searching for other texts, Phoenician or otherwise, which would need to be seized and/or altered to obscure this history of the civilization from the public.

Most of the initial texts were too fragmented and devoid of their context to be of much worth beyond linguistic purposes. What we did have, early in the process, that did have context was mostly logistical or technical in nature. Sometimes mixed in with these were other bits and pieces of insight into the Finnfolk’s greater culture and small daily rituals, and there were at least a few smaller texts purely dedicated to such things. Even those texts were rarely in condition to derive greater context and those that were, were few and far between. Additional context has been given by the cultures that interacted with them which has recontextualized a great deal of what we thought we knew. But there’s still a tremendous gap in knowledge.

With that said, the more texts that were deciphered, the more enthralled I have become. As we’ve been reevaluating almost everything and translating Finnfolk materials, SCP-001’s presence has become increasingly apparent.

Norn-and-Ereshkigal-Mural-Alt.png

Sumerian Mural of SCP-001 and Ereshkigal.

Most of the materials from mundane bronze age civilizations or their precursors refer to SCP-001 by specific titles. The Egyptians referred to her as the Weaver. The Sumerians referred to her as the “Thresher”, or bringer of fate. She was frequently depicted as a foreign companion of the Sumerian Queen of the Underworld, Ereshkigal.

Where they didn’t have a specific title for SCP-001, it seems they often misidentified her as a goddess within their pantheon. The Hittites referred to her as Istustaya or Papaya.34 Most of these references were in passing and rarely went into detail beyond chance mentions. It wasn’t until I was forwarded a translation from a 17th century BCE tablet that I truly became certain these references were to SCP-001.

Phoenician Excerpt referring to SCP-001:

…In the sweet summer Meni came down from atop her mountain far in the north and west. She was brilliant as Astarte, with whom our forebears once saw her travel the many seas. Brown of hair, her eyes the burst of sun kissing against my skin. She held a grand staff ending in some strange golden instrument, and her eyes, despite their beauty, had been deprived of the sight of the great heavens above. She stood tall above, strands of destiny woven in her hair as she walked. A darkness clung to her, cast by the light which radiated from her flesh.

The people of the sea came for her, and she sailed to the west. We had good fortune in fish that year.

There’s a certain irony in these mistaken impressions given the current circumstances. I’m sure the actual divinities were somewhat perturbed by the assertion.

The one place where SCP-001’s presence seems to be somewhat absent or diluted is the Mycenaeans and the Minoans. Then again, we haven’t been able to decipher Linear A, due to a sheer lack of texts or corresponding cultural cross references with their language. With that said, a better way to look at the influence of SCP-001 on these civilizations is to look at Greek Mythology. Given the Oracles and the number of prescient figures within Greek Myths, it’s possible that SCP-001 inspired multiple different iterative depictions that fragmented in a centuries long game of telephone. Then they propagated further with multiple iterations across different city states. My personal theory is that SCP-001 is likely the prophet Tiresias or possibly some reincarnation of the Moirai who isn’t bound to the underworld. Then again, she may be something else entirely.

Someday I will get to the truth.

Whatever the case may be, all references to SCP-001 in mundane texts ceased in roughly 1200 BCE.

In terms of Finnfolk texts and inscriptions, SCP-001’s description appeared many times in translated materials which have been deciphered. These texts can all be dated to ~3050-3000 BCE. The very first appearance of her description came from a tablet dated to 3050 BCE.

In the name of our people, I was sent to the south, avoiding the great earthworks of the land of Dogger35 to bring my vessel to a grotto I knew well. That morning it was heavy with mist and ominous intent that could not be placed. Why I had come this far at the word of the house of Aquailian? I could not say, but I had heard a voice in my sleep and saw the swirls of creation dancing out before me.36 So, I went forth to see what was required.

There in that grotto there was a woman of muddy flesh37 and tired posture. She was tall for one of them. Her eyes were intense but hooded. They reflected the burst of the dazzling sun hidden beneath the greying mist above our heads. It was not until seconds later that I realize she was blind, for I thought and felt as if she was staring straight through me. In her proximity I felt as if my lifeforce was being strummed, strung in shortening arcs across a coral harp like one of the gristle instruments of the south. She had a weight to her, a darkness which draped me in purple shadow like the tenth. Yet a gentleness like the warm kiss of the Sixth’s flame in her speech. Just standing there I knew, she knew, when I would leave this world for the boundless paradise of the beyond in the way her eyes softened. I don’t know how I know and I’m not sure I ever care to learn.

I don’t recall what she said to me. I don’t know if she ever spoke. It was such a feverish dream that I don’t remember her stepping foot in my skiff, only that she was suddenly seated behind me. I don’t think I heard her voice, but yet I knew it was soft and quiet and filled with the weight of a hard life I could barely begin to understand. Next I knew, we were set sail towards the North. There I dropped her on the isle of angered storms and knew our fate was in her hands.

This text indicates that SCP-001 is a bit more than 5000 years old, possibly older, confirming the suspicions of both the GOC and the Silicon Nornir.

After 2950 BCE, all references appeared to cease.

In the process of analyzing Finnfolk texts, a greater number of references were initially missed due to a unique Finnfolk term that had no Phoenician translation. Contextual reconstruction demonstrated the term as a name or title. Mostly due to references to anthropomorphic actions, possessiveness, and agency not normally associated with an object.

A translation of a tablet from 2950 BCE then revealed that the title was a combination of roots, which in Elder Finnfelk roughly correlated to “Prophet who weaves seeds of light and dark into trees of the future unseen.” Further analysis revealed description of SCP-001 upstream of the term, suggesting all uses of the title beyond 2950 BCE are likely referring to SCP-001.

After that little revelation, we went back and revaluated texts we had initially passed over. Unfortunately, the majority of SCP-001 mentions are either in passing or come from fragmented texts and are without full context.

While these depictions were the first real contextual evidence of SCP-001’s history before 1941, we were scraping the bottom of the barrel with the loose accumulations of recovered fragments. We needed more complete texts to derive greater understanding of SCP-001 and the Finnfolk from.

That’s when we started to translate the texts within the major anomalous sites.

The Finnfolk’s Global Containment Network:

Many engravings, found within the confines of the major sites of anomalous concern identified by SCP-001, were prioritized for translation.

Early 1982. This is where I finally took the opportunity to travel out to see the most detailed murals, pictographs, and textual engravings. It is with great disappointment that I have to report that the cognitohazardous effects had either degraded over time or were completely inactive in all of the sites I traveled to. I suspect that SCP-001 may have a hand in this. When I told her about my intent to travel and see them, she had the following to say:

You should not hope for much. A history long obscured to shield the truth for these moments ahead. A wealth you will find, but the depths will be beyond you, for now.

Which, to me, implies that she conspired to prevent the Finnfolk from embedding the anomalous mechanism in the first place, or that at some point she destroyed the effect herself.

It wasn’t a total loss. What was there was illuminating.

According to the Finnfolk texts and the cognitohazardous murals that remained, SCP-001 was a critical force in some cataclysmic event 5000 years ago. A war between concepts, physicality, and reality which very nearly could have destroyed the planet. Possibly the universe. I don’t understand a lot of it, there are references which appear ingrained in the spirituality of the Finnfolk that are beyond me (we’ll get to that in a minute). What is clear is that much like she has today, it appears she used her capacity to see the trace of Multi-versal patterns to manipulate the course of events.

She wasn’t alone either, but the references to the many, many other entities are more obscured. There is something there though, something I’ll have to ruminate on. There are murals and pictographs which look an awful lot like (REDACTED) and (REDACTED).

Through collaboration, cross referencing, and collation of translated texts, Foundation researchers and linguists initially reinforced the belief that the “Finnfolk” were an extinct species of anomalous, aquatic hominid who built these sites to both represent aspects of their faith and embody thirteen universal concepts which they believed dictated their existence.

I’ll admit I remained skeptical of whether they were truly extinct or if they indeed worshipped these thirteen universal concepts. It seemed counterintuitive that the Finnfolk would both wage a war against these concepts and also worship them.

What would be the purpose of that?

Maybe maintaining the seals that SCP-001 frequently referred to?

So, I went to the best source we have and asked her first about whether they were extinct or not.

Extinct? No. Hidden from the world? Yes. The Singers of the Sea, the “Hlérsyngva”38 the Finnfolk as you call them, have buried themselves deep in the far reaches of the world. Surviving and waiting after the great suffocation, after the terror inflicted upon them.

Which effectively deconstructed the notion. Looking back over the transcripts from multiple interviews, I’m fairly certain she’s been referring to the Hlérsyngva quite frequently.

The question is, where are they, and how do we contact them again?

She seemed particularly unwilling to disclose that information and spent a decent amount of time simply derailing further attempts. So, I moved on.

Of course, the next question I needed to have answered was whether they worshiped the entities associated with the sites she had identified.

She did not like that question.

Did they worship the thirteen?

An asinine question from you, Madeline. I have given you but eleven, one split into three, and two who do not bind themselves to this rocky earth. A strange and curious spirituality and secularism they engaged in.

One of acts of creation, of planning and making a future that they themselves might never live to see.

Of song, of art, of literature, engineering, and construction. Their spirituality was in the art of making, of feeling and giving back to nature and the world and not living beyond their means. It was engrained into them.

No, they did not worship them. They bound ten in the crags of this celestial body and in the astral beyond.

So, I immediately dismissed the notion that they were sites of worship, but the linguists and anthropologists were a lot more skeptical. They also didn’t have the contextual evidence I did from SCP-001’s history.

It seemed like this would remain the case for the foreseeable future.

That is until the translations in 82 continued to illustrate the truth.

It became apparent that the major archaeological sites were not in fact places of worship, but were containment apparatuses storing tens if not hundreds of thousands of malicious/hostile or otherwise dangerous anomalies. While SCP-001 has alluded to this fact multiple times, the complexes, initially, were believed to be the mechanisms to reach or maintain the often referred to “seals” and were not believed to be both the mechanisms and the physical seals themselves.39

While many inscriptions were damaged, obscured, or lost, it became apparent that the major anomalous sites coordinated in a global web to contain or suppress twelve HK Deific Subjugation class entities. The implications of the texts that were able to be recovered are somewhat grim, indicating that a total collapse of any single site might kick off a domino chain resulting in total failure of the entire system. The methodology behind the containment and the mechanisms by which the entities were initially contained remain unclear due to lack of intact texts and the inability to fully study the thaumaturgic mechanisms.

So this left us, nominally O5-01,4041 asking the question what happened to the “Hlérsyngva”. More importantly, what role, if any, did SCP-001 play in their fates.

The Flight of the Hlérsyngva:

What we do know is that the Hlérsyngva, from contextual evidence and SCP-001’s own descriptions, associated a core sacred location with Creation. Their entire spirituality seems to be heavily based on the aspects of creation in fulfilling and contributing to society and their goals. At least, from what textual evidence we have, which is still not very much relative to other anomalous civilizations.

It is likely that the thirteenth site is sacred to them in some capacity and plays a very poorly understood role in the global containment web they have built. We keep searching for it in the Yucatan, but I’m not convinced it’s there. I think we’ve guessed wrong, and that the real site is somewhere within the Hlérsyngva’s natural range. The where and the how is the hard part to pin down. In any case, even though I can’t access the greater details, I suspect that O5-01 is using SCP-001’s capacities to figure out and understand how to restore the containment web and find whatever surviving Hlérsyngva populations there are.

My job in that whole thing, at this point, seems to be keeping SCP-001 comfortable and coordinating with it to bring any other elements it might know of, into the fold.

Easier said than done, right?

What isn’t clear to me is the why of it all.

In this capacity it remains unclear precisely why the Finnfolk stopped maintenance of the major sites. SCP-001 frequently refers to a great suffocation or drowning. An end to the Finnfolk of sorts, but clearly not an end that resulted in their extinction. Major textual references and tomes discussing the Finnfolk decrease substantially in Nalka texts in or about 1200 BCE, while the last references to them by Mediterranean civilizations are in the 9th century BCE.

Which is fairly similar to the last historical references to SCP-001 pre-1941.

In Nalka texts originating from Scandinavia and the Baltics, there are references to a low-lying island of plenty where the Finnfolk had their palace. The island was supposedly surrounded by massive walls that kept the water out. This may be a reference to Doggerland. Few if any Nalka or humans were allowed into the deep interior to see this palace.

With the exception of SCP-001, of course.

At least one text refers to its destruction in ~1200 BCE. The Finnfolk used some sort of eigenweapon to destroy the dykes and drown multiple Nalka armies who had begun an invasion.

What’s curious here is that SCP-001 was semi-regularly trafficking, based on logistics texts, to and from Doggerland in some form up until ~1250 BCE.

This would place the submergence of Doggerland far later than it is currently believed to have occurred. The Finnfolk then disappear from Northern Nalka texts past 1200 BCE, which also coincides with the fragmentation of the Nalka empire into warring city states representing different interpretations of Ion’s texts. Likely a consequence of a power vacuum.

SCP-001 has corroborated these events when I asked about them in our biweekly sessions. She’s been highly evasive about what she was doing there in this period and I’m still not entirely sure why.

What is she hiding?

Based on the way she has talked in the past… I suspect she was intertwined with the leadership of the Hlérsyngva in some way.

Many Egyptian, Nalkan, Mekhanist, Daevic, Phoenician, Hittite, Sumerian, Cretan, and Mycaenaen texts and murals reference Finnfolk settlements in the Mediterranean, including a city of near fantastical description which may have rivaled or even eclipsed their capital in Doggerland. This city may have been in or around Santorini based on colossal ancient archaeological sites submerged in the waters surrounding the caldera.

Thorough excavations at Thera have yet to begin, beyond surface digs at ancient Akrotiri which had to be seized at the start of excavation due to the presence of unidentified Finnfolk artifacts. Further digs have been inhibited due largely to concerns about the ability to conceal them from the island’s population and technological limitations in underwater excavation.

Later iterations of Mediterranean records paint, at least the Mediterranean Finnfolk in an increasingly negative light contrasting most works up until ~1200 BCE for reasons that remain largely unclear.42 In particular, there are many depictions of a great spire raining fire upon the earth. All references to the Finnfolk disappear following the catastrophic eruption at Santorini which was followed by an immense mega tsunami which occurred in 798 BCE, much later than initially thought by geologists. There are still many source texts and sites to be explored which may give further insight into why the Finnfolk have retreated from the mundane world.

A part of me wants to think that the thirteenth site is at Santorini. But the scale of the ruins is such that I cannot possibly imagine it as just another containment nexus. It seems more a city, perhaps a capital unto itself.

Why would they build a city of that scale atop a holy site and containment nexus?

All of these questions and gaps in knowledge about the Hlérsyngva remain unanswered. We can’t close them by asking SCP-001. She refuses or is just incapable of discussing events pertaining to the Hlérsyngva in greater detail. She even outright refuses to address the period of 1200-798 BCE. The last time I asked she just said the following:

The history of the Finnfolk is not my story to tell. I can direct you to pieces, fragmented glimpses into the history through their written texts and the texts of others. But I cannot speak for them. I am not able to, nor would I want to be.

So, now outside of my reach, O5-01 is putting together an initiative to tackle the entire issue.

Proposals:

In light of the substantial accumulation of new information, in my role as O5-01, I have divided the initiatives of Operation High Tide into two distinct 001 proposals. Proposal A, which I will heretofore be referred to as Ruby Proposal, concerns the twelve major anomalous sites of concern, and will be subdivided between the rest of the council while I head the thrust of the effort. Much of the information revealed here pertinent to that document will be explored in greater detail in newly synthesized documentation. The project goals as proposed are to focus primarily on the restoration of the Finnfolk’s global containment web. It will also focus on the preparation of contingencies in the event that restoration is not feasible and containment breakdowns are likely to occur.

Proposal B, which I will heretofore refer to as Sapphire Proposal, concerns the identification of the thirteenth Major Anomalous site, its characterization, and the determination of its significance to both the Finnfolk and the global containment network. All efforts to identify where and how the Finnfolk are obscuring themselves from detection and make first contact will be folded in as a separate sub-initiative to this proposal.

Yet despite all this progress, despite the increasingly intimate entanglement of SCP-001 with the history of the Hlérsyngva and all the things she seemed to have been doing in this ancient period, many questions remain.

Who is she?

Where did she come from?

Why does she care so much about the Hlérsyngva?

Addendum 21: Preparations for Operation Rat Race

On October 3rd, 1980, a long-term project began, dedicated to monitoring the activity of Tilda Moose and their associated Hand Cell consisting of [REDACTED]. This initiative was, unfortunately, beset by difficulties given the limited interaction profile with other Hand Cells, and the high levels of capability of both Tilda Moose, [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] in detecting Foundation Infiltrators and operating against active assets.

Several active Foundation sites have been severely damaged and raided by [REDACTED] following these attempts.

Operation Rat Race: Defection of Tilda Moose

In May 2005, O5-01 and O5-07’s offices began cross-department and division coordination for the heretofore predicted defection of Tilda Moose and two critical Serpent’s Hand operatives heavily involved in the collapse of the GOC.

SCP-001’s predictive capacity advised Foundation assets of vague details of multiple operations by Moose’s active cell. Unfortunately, due to the limitations of SCP-001’s ability to see [REDACTED] and [REDACTED], counter-intelligence and counter-insurgency missions during the period, as a part of Rat Race, suffered heavy casualties and lost high value equipment.

The situation changed when SCP-001 identified a potential third-party link who would have more information in regard to [REDACTED] and [REDACTED], and who may also have other productive benefits. SCP-001 remained vague about what those additional benefits could be. SCP-001 was also vague about the identities of the suspected anomalies.

SCP-001’s predictions then provided O5-01-02’s successors with sufficient insight to address a persistent anomaly, SCP-8710, which led to the formation of a cooperative agreement between multiple Type Black entities and the Foundation.

Director’s Note: It’s at this point that I personally realized that the connection between SCP-8710 and SCP-001 was right under our noses in the Sumerian texts.

The operation came to its fruition on May 15th, 2014, when special task force elements retrieved Tilda Moose from a drop site just outside of an entry point into Eurtec. Confrontation with [REDACTED] occurred on the same day in the Fiji Archipelago which encountered some difficulties but ultimately resulted in an agreement to surrender to the Foundation for debriefing, recruitment, and special operations/Red Right Hand assignment under O5-01. Coordination between SCP-8710 and SCP-001 contributed to Operation Rat Race’s conclusion and the liberation of multiple Finnfolk tomes from the confines of the Wanderers Library by [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] with the assistance of SCP-8710 and SCP-████.

Further information and documents for Operation Rat Race and the defection of Tilda Moose can be accessed with appropriate clearance.

Addendum 22: Mount Helicon Incident 05/05/09

On May 5th, 2009, SCP-001 was escorted to the base of Mount Helicon, Greece as part of their pre-approved extra-Eurtec excursions. This was a consistent yearly trip that has been repeated since SCP-001 was integrated into the Foundation. Upon arrival, SCP-001 requested to mount the summit by itself without accompaniment. In recognition of good behavior and prolonged cooperation, SCP-001 was granted this privilege.

Plataia_acropolis_SE_wall_01.webp

Photo of Mount Helicon taken by CEO Ella Haugen from the Platia Acropolis, 1968.

Fifteen minutes after its ascent, a large-scale Ontokinetic disruption of reality occurred, originating from the mountain’s summit. Omega-77 quickly ascended by a narrow path and experienced large-scale reality bending phenomena which necessitated the activation of mobile Scranton reality anchors.

When they reached the summit of Mount Helicon, SCP-001 was found weeping in the middle of a forest of dead trees next to a pond that was filled with 50% water and 50% blood by volume. SCP-001 was inconsolable and flew into hysterics, resulting in further large-scale ontokinetic manipulation that injured three members of the MTF.

SCP-001 was sedated and returned to Eurtec by airlift, where it locked itself in the penthouse for a period of three months. During this period, Omega-77 reported that it refused to make any predictions and refused regular meetings.

When SCP-001 finally resumed normal social interactions and cooperation, it remained relatively despondent for another six months. SCP-001 was not known to be capable of large-scale ontokinetic sculpting prior to this incident. When asked what provoked this episode, SCP-001 initially refused to answer and changed the subject. Eventually, it told O5-07 Madeline Light the following:

They stole the most precious and important thing I have ever had. The strands of fate are so much darker now. I spent months searching for the truth among the threads of how to get her back.
Only to be shown that it’s not my battle to fight. The world has truly taken everything from me now.
One curse removed for another bound to his blood.


Addendum 23:

On May 16th, 2014, the following interaction occurred between Director Madeline Light and SCP-001 at the end of a regular bi-weekly meeting.

<Begin Log>

SCP-001 and O5-07 Madeline Light are in the Silicon Nornir tower three penthouse. There is an open bottle of red wine on one of the low tables. Their glasses clink against each other.

O5-07: The apex of my career, coordinating with the Andrews to make stopping an apocalypse a reality. To bring about the defection of Tilda Moose, mastermind behind the protracted Hand Campaign to bring down the GOC.

SCP-001: A celebration well deserved.

O5-07: A celebration that wouldn’t be possible without you, Seeress. The true mastermind all along.

SCP-001 smiles.

SCP-001: I simply illuminated the path. Nothing more or less.

O5-07: Nonsense, you were involved at every step. This was all your grand design from the beginning. This literally could not have happened without you. Take some credit, have some pride in your work.

SCP-001: Pride can come when the cataclysm is averted. For tonight, a brief respite. A moment of quiet in the calm before the bey of wolves that announces the imminent arrival of the skin stripping winds driven before that howling storm on the horizon.

O5-07: It never stops for you, does it?

SCP-001: It will someday. Sooner than before. But there will be much to do and see once the seals are soldered shut.

O5-07: Well, hopefully you’ll be able to rest then.

SCP-001: For a time.

Several minutes of silence. O5-07 looks out the windows of the penthouse. Her hair is grey and there are many wrinkles on her face.

O5-07: You know, they confirmed it right away?

SCP-001 looks up in the general direction of O5-07.

SCP-001: Confirmed what?

O5-07: Their ontological associations. Titles, names, [REDACTED]. I don’t know if you saw those exchanges between Moose and O5-01’s office.

SCP-001 does not respond.

O5-07: There’s just some things about Moose knowing and priming us to ask about those details that I don’t really understand. How did they know about [REDACTED]? The other stuff, true names and titles, that wouldn’t be hard to put together, but something so… personal seems, strange.

SCP-001: Guesswork. Something Moose is very well regarded for. They excel at piecing together a puzzle with many of the fragments missing.

O5-07: Certainly, but if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s reading people. Moose has a tell, fiddling with their hands. Even you, Seeress have a tell.

SCP-001 shifts in the seat before reaching out and curling her hand around the staff.

O5-07: And there it is. All these years between us, and you seemed… so very deeply invested in the fate of these, by your own words, “people who did not know you existed.” There’s a difference in you; between the cold logic of saving the world in your personal crusade and this sort of behavior. It’s the same with the Hlérsyngva.

SCP-001: What are you suggesting, Madeline?

O5-07: Come now, Seeress. We’ve known each other long enough, I know when you’ve hidden something. It is an old, familiar game.

SCP-001 shifts.

SCP-001: Yet we still must play, for if I tell you all to tell right away, then fate unwinds.

Director Light: If you insist.

SCP-001: I do.

Director Light: Do you know how many times the speakers logged text and artwork? Of you. You looking into the relative timeframe of the coming apocalypse.

SCP-001: I don’t keep track of such things.

O5-07: Four times a year, at the change of a season, for the past forty-four years. 176 times.

SCP-001: …

O5-07: Quite a lot, at first glance. Yet it still seems somewhat relaxed for all the dread burning inside of you about the great end barreling towards us. Do you know how many times the Speakers have logged interpretations that concern [REDACTED]? Or even how many for the Hlérsyngva?

SCP-001’s grip on the staff tightens.

O5-07: Two thousand two hundred and twenty-eight times in the past forty-four years. For each. Once a week at least. For people you don’t know? That seems like an awful lot. And then there’s Moose, knowing deep things about [REDACTED] despite having at best a lukewarm relationship with [REDACTED]. That’s not exactly the kind of thing you tell your handler in the Serpent’s Hand, no matter how close your wife is to them, is it? That’s the sort of deeply personal nature that would only come out if you’d been there, or if you were very close.

SCP-001’s hands shake. It rocks in place.

O5-07: And the Hlérsyngva? The people you are so adamant about not discussing with us? I can’t help but wonder what you’re hiding. And that’s not even mentioning how much you looked into 8710 and ████ before you even decided to tell us about them.

SCP-001 slowly rocks forwards and backwards in place.

O5-07: So, which is it Seeress, is this some sort of 3D chess for Moose, where she tells us to ask after these details as confirmation that [REDACTED] are onboard? Or did you tell Moose deeply personal details because they’re your very close friends, and this was the way you were going to track if they were truly onboard? Was this your final tell for if calamity was being averted or not? Did you tell her about the Hlérsyngva in detail as well?

SCP-001: …

O5-07: I can wait. I’ve waited forty-four years for you to feel ready to tell me who you are. I could have guessed, I found so many details about you in the translations, the records of lost civilizations, sparse and cryptic as they are. But this? This is the closest I’ve ever been to untying the gordian knot.

Several minutes of silence. SCP-001 turns to stare in the general direction of the windows.

SCP-001: Yes. I knew them.

O5-07: Then why all the secrecy, why not reach out yourself?

SCP-001 stands up abruptly and bangs the butt of her staff on the ground. O5-07 jumps. Several guards enter the penthouse but are stopped by O5-07’s raised hand.

SCP-001: Because that was more than five millennia ago. I did not lie or hide it from you. I do not know them, not as they are now, not as they will be in five minutes because there is a colossal rift of years between us.

O5-07: Oh.

SCP-001: I care because they were once my friends. Once we camped beneath the ever-burning stars under a drifting tide before a grand storm. We drunk and celebrated beneath a clear summer’s night after preventing the greatest end. We wept together when she who brought us all beneath that sky gave everything to secure our future! They saw the truth at the end of reality with us. They stood tall with the Witch of Storms, the Sunfired Twins, the Queen of Darkness, and so many more. We stared into the Abyss of Reality’s pillars and we trembled together. We sealed it beneath blood, skin, bone, metal, and dirt in the grand astral sea at the end of everything! But that was eons ago and I have been alone, isolated in my withdrawal from the world to enjoy a life I did not get as a mortal. I do not see them clearly. I have spent eternity, since I first saw the fate unfolding, worrying about whether they will reach that proper threshold that is needed if we are to prevent catastrophe! I have agonized if they care, if they see the depths the others do.

SCP-001 walks around the couch and towards the window, holding the glass of wine in one hand and the staff in another.

SCP-001: If I made myself known to them, I could not foresee how they would act. All the avatars of Creation’s Will are difficult to see, and it is a grand burden for her ultimate designs.

SCP-001 downs the glass and tosses it. It shatters several yards away.

SCP-001: I stand here on the precipice of the most secure and forward I have ever been in these many curses of prescience and loneliness I bear, and it is still not enough! The Hlérsyngva… I failed them. I was not there when it counted. None of us were. I am terrified it will happen again! I am terrified I will not be able to stop it!

SCP-001 hits the glass with a fist.

SCP-001: The 2nd most powerful oracle to ever walk the earth, and I am still infinitely many leagues behind [REDACTED]. Even she couldn’t see the end coming for them in full! Am I enough? Can I do this? Can I face down the flaying storm of true reality that comes for us all? By Helios’s blazing chariot, I do not know!

SCP-001 bangs her fist against the glass again, hard enough to split the skin and leave a small smear of blood.

SCP-001: If it were her here, if humans hadn’t—maybe we could see it clearer together. Maybe I wouldn’t be so blind, maybe the next twenty years wouldn’t be such a fragmented view of what could be. But she is bound in that paradise beyond time. Worse, her many-great granddaughter bears but a fraction of that specific capacity and hovers out of reach for another three years. And I, I am here alone after nearly thirty years of being handled like a tool. Like a machine, not a person. I have clawed for forty-four more, moving under my own power to save us all.

O5-07 looks down into her wine glass.

SCP-001: So yes, Madeline, I told Moose about [REDACTED]. I watched and stared into a blurred and muffled kaleidoscope for forty-four years hoping for more insight. I walked the earth, broke bread, and drank with them, all of them, in a distant past. I knew them. And this, this was my only way to be certain they were ready for what comes next. And they will not know, they will continue to not know for years yet to come, because what would I be to them? What could I possibly be but a stranger once known five thousand years ago? How could they possibly react in knowing I have been here the whole time? That I have helped pull on the threads of fate to alter their course.

SCP-001 bangs the glass again, smearing more blood.

SCP-001: How can I tell you about the Hlérsyngva? How can I tell you their story when I am to blame for their demise? I have not the right to speak of their suffering when I failed to stop it. It is not my place to speak to their tragedy.

Several seconds more of silence. SCP-001 turns and taps her staff on the floor, walking slowly back to the couch and table. She circles the table and reaches out with her free hand and traces O5-07’s cheek, before lifting her chin. O5-07 raises her hand to stop her Red Right Hand contingent who are raising weapons.

SCP-001: I do not tell you about the Hlérsyngva because it is my great shame. It is all of our great shame that we could not stop our own people from impaling themselves and the Hlérsyngva upon the blade of the Scarlet and the Tyrant. It is not my place to speak of them, and humanity has not earned the knowledge. It must fight to rebuild those bridges.

SCP-001 rubs O5-07’s cheek with its thumb.

SCP-001: If I don’t tell you something, I am not excluding it in the hopes that it will lead you down the GOC’s path. It is because what I know is thousands of years out of date, or so vague and hard to see as to be useless. I am terrified. There is hope, and there is seeping dread. It drives everything. I have a reason, everything I do is with purpose. Even lifting your chin here and now to stare into my sightless eyes. I anchor myself in your hope.

O5-07’s cheeks flush. She looks up into SCP-001’s face.

Director Light: T—that much is clear.

SCP-001 releases her after several seconds and returns to the couch. It shakes vigorously once seated.

SCP-001: Now enough of such things. This is a celebration.

Approximately ten minutes of silence. SCP-001 has produced another glass and poured wine for both of them as they drink.

O5-07: I didn’t mean to—

SCP-001: It’s fine, Madeline. The moment is past, and no ill will is held against you.

O5-07: Are you going to clean up the glass?

SCP-001: The Roomba will handle it.

A Roomba with cat ears taped on appears and begins sweeping the penthouse.

Five more minutes of silence occur, broken only by the Roomba’s vacuum and clinking wineglasses.

O5-07: Seeress?

SCP-001: Hmm?

O5-07: Have you ever been in love with another person?

SCP-001: What provokes such questions?

O5-07: You, tilting up my chin.

SCP-001: Oh.

SCP-001 stares ahead in the general direction of the elevator.

SCP-001: Yes, I have.

O5-07: And they are—

SCP-001: They’re…

SCP-001 pauses and tries to speak several times.

SCP-001: They’re beyond my reach now.

O5-07 is silent.

O5-07: Man, woman, nonbinary or other? If it’s not an intrusion to ask.

SCP-001 is quiet for several minutes.

SCP-001: I can’t abide men.

O5-07: Oh?

SCP-001: Men have inflicted great pain, heartache and despair upon me.

SCP-001 shudders.

SCP-001: I have never felt anything for them, and they have given me reason after reason to believe that this was purposeful. On the grounds of their atrocious abuse and mistreatment of me across time. The thought of loving a man brings nothing but a cold, numb, disdain. The next man who tries to force themselves upon me shall live in a torment of possibilities that will never be. I will never be that vulnerable again.

SCP-001 spits on the table. Several minutes of silence.

O5-07: And women?

SCP-001’s eyelids droop.

SCP-001: A complicated relationship. Some have been cruel, vindictive, and torturous. Others have been gentle, kind, intelligent beyond reproach, and fiery in their passions. Nonbinary is much the same.

O5-07: And this ‘they?’ You mentioned.

SCP-001 looks in the general direction of the windows. She then speaks at a low volume.

SCP-001: The greatest love. The only love I ever truly needed. A compliment to my every flaw, a warm fire and invigorating drink to my every strength. Dancing to the beat of the ever-flowing constellations and shimmering stars across the annals of history. Her passions were unmatched, her enthusiasm for the yoke of progress infinite, and her despair at the loss of [REDACTED] inconsolable. A warm fire always ready, a bed of thick blankets beneath the cool mountain air. Her voice, though not the crystalline tone of her sisters, honeyed and rivaling the rich chords of mortal singers. We’d sit beneath the stars for hours upon hours and laugh and sing until the sun’s pink fingers crested the horizon.

O5-07: She sounds perfect for you.

SCP-001: She is and was.

O5-07: Is this who you have gone to Mount Helicon to see with the Cult, and now Omega-77?

Several tears roll down SCP-001’s face.

SCP-001: Yes.

O5-07: I am sorry, for whatever its worth.

SCP-001: Thank you, Madeline.

O5-07: Do you—I could assign a research team, an MTF to pursue this. Track it down.

SCP-001 shakes its head.

SCP-001: The offer means a great deal, Madeline, but it is not my fight. It is not your fight. It is an unforeseen sacrifice for our actions, and one I must live with. Chasing it myself won’t free her. Only one person can and I know not when she’ll stir. It is a tragedy in many parts.

O5-07: I’m sorry. You’re sure?

SCP-001: I’m sure. She knows already. She referenced it, but I didn’t see what she saw coming. There was nothing I could do by the time I realized the truth.

O5-07: I’m sorry.

Several seconds of silence.

SCP-001: One day she’ll return, then I will go back to her.

SCP-001’s voice breaks. It puts its face in its hands, and shudders for several minutes.

SCP-001: For now, my eyes are needed to see the greater scope of the end in sight, no matter how many tears fall.

O5-07 nods once. Several minutes of silence pass.

SCP-001: Thank you for understanding. The offering means a great deal.

Several more minutes of silence.

O5-07 looks down into the wine glass and swirls it. She speaks when SCP-001 has appeared to fully recover.

O5-07: Seeress, if things had worked out differently, would you have loved me?

SCP-001 brow wrinkles.

SCP-001: Madeline, have you—

O5-07: Would you?

SCP-001 looks directly at O5-07. She does not answer for several minutes.

SCP-001: No. Loving you would be loving a passing daydream. You would be here one moment and gone in the next blip of the twisting threads laid out before me. Maybe when I was younger, maybe before I was ruined by the world and those horrific monsters.

O5-07: Oh.

SCP-001: My sweet Madeline, I could never love you now like you deserve. I could not live with you in every moment you craved, cradle you in the warm morning sun in a grassy field, argue over the little things in the arrangement of paintings on the wall, the cleanliness of plates in the cupboard. I could not be the mother to your children; I could not be the mortal woman you seek in your heart.

O5-07: Why not?

SCP-001: Because I am strung to Destiny’s weave, to the Fates’ plucking fingers, and to Creation’s unending, writhing flesh. I live in the space of things that might be, could be, will be, and never were. A settled, happy existence I could never provide you. There would never be enough time.

O5-07: There never is, even now.

SCP-001: I know. I have always known. What you love is an endless river with depths deeper than can be possibly grasped. You would ever be a shadow, no matter how high you climbed, and a fleeting shadow gone in the snap of a finger. Nothing could have changed that.

O5-07: What about Ella, didn’t you and her—

SCP-001: No. Ella tried, and I told her much the same. But she never stopped trying, and in the end, her chase won her little and left her lonely in ways I could never provide or satisfy. Her daughter has been much wiser, but all the same you seek what I can’t give.

O5-07: I understand, though it hurts. So, you never felt that way?

SCP-001: Yes. I did, and perhaps still do. I will weep for you, as I wept for Ella, as I wept for my greatest love. Not for what might have been, but for what was lost in connection that will never be the same.

O5-07 frowns then nods. SCP-001 reaches beneath the neckline of its top and pulls out a key from within. It leans forward, pressing the key to the table. There are several metal taps before SCP-001 finds what it is looking for, and a small mechanical click is recorded. SCP-001 slides out a thick and weathered leather-bound book.

SCP-001: I once told you, that in time, I would speak with you of all the matters of person. Though not today, that time is fast approaching. When it comes, the absolute truth will become apparent. Though knowing you, much as I know Moose, your eyes will see the writing between the lines when I hand you this precious piece of my soul bound in frail pages.

SCP-001 offers the book across the table. O5-07 takes it.

SCP-001: In seven circles of our rock about the gleaming fire of Helios, I’ll reveal the final truth to you. But there you will be bound not to tell another soul.

O5-07 stares at the book, then looks up at SCP-001.

O5-07: Thank you, Seeress, for finally trusting me.

SCP-001: It was hard won.

O5-07: Did Ella and Edvard know at the end?

SCP-001: Yes. Though I do not believe Edvard ever believed it.

O5-07: I guess I have only two things left to ask today.

SCP-001: Ask and I shall answer the first of which I already know.

O5-07: Of course you do. This whole time, all these years, you have talked about the end approaching. This grand cascade failure of the seals, O5-01’s project, Operation High Tide. All these things he has segmented between us and buried details in the dark about. It’s your apocalypse, isn’t it?

SCP-001: Yes.

O5-07: How much more have you seen for him? What machinations now move in the dark with the Andrews?

SCP-001: You know I cannot answer in full.

O5-07: Just a scrape from the iceberg.

SCP-001 is quiet for approximately a minute.

SCP-001: His plans have been altered or discarded. A new path is being forged, as I knew it would be.

O5-07 leans back against the couch.

O5-07: Hmmm.

SCP-001: It is not a problem you need not concern yourself with. It will extend beyond your time.

O5-07 nods slowly, once.

O5-07: Right. So, your apocalypse. Time and again you’ve said it’s just an unwinding of reality. But the documentation… The threat is just a cascade HK-class Deific Subjugation Scenario. Yet you continue to talk about it like all of reality will be unmade. Why?

SCP-001: Because when the seals shatter, nine and one broken into three shall rise from their astral pits. They shall crush the earth and mankind beneath their heel and breach beneath the grand ramparts shielding Creation’s heart. They will destroy her in totality and when they do the grand pillar of Creation, the largest buttress of reality’s weave, shall crumble and all will begin to fray. Then they shall turn against one another and accelerate our universe’s unraveling as they tear each other to pieces.

O5-07: Oh.

Several seconds of silence.

O5-07: What are they? These twelve things that are bound? What is this thing you hold so high in your mind, that you speak in reverent tones almost like you want to sing of her?

WARNING: ONTOKINETIC DISTORTIONS DETECTED. EXTERNAL COGNITOHAZARDOUS INTRUSIONS IMMINENT.



Mither.webp

ALL AT ONCE A GOLDEN SONG.





The lights flicker in the penthouse. Atmospheric distortion appears around SCP-001.

SCP-001’s face shifts, two eyes become four. All are closed. When SCP-001 speaks it is with substantial audio distortion emulating multiple voices of different pitches, tones, and timbre stacked atop each other. It begins floating.

Hallmarks of reality bending within a localized area around SCP-001 and O5-07 appear. These, at first, emulate fracturing glass panes before shattering and filling the field of view with clouds of swirling color. Shadows behave irregularly, warping behind SCP-001 where its body’s shadow appears to gain many shifting limbs that it does not actually have. O5-07 bolts up and attempts to take several steps backwards.

O5-07: Seeress?!

SCP-001 emits a noise approximate to a hmmmmm which becomes a series of melodic tones.

????: A title interesting in its application, not inaccurate though not bearing in totality the meaning implied. We are of time, its beginning but not its weave. That belongs to a defiler beyond the ends of all ages.

O5-07 takes several steps further back. Her expression indicates alarm.

O5-07: What have you done with the High Seeress!?

????: This child of prophecy is asleep in gentle waves. Your inquiries stir in them, as they would in all derived of the touch, a deep fear and unsettledness in that which lies beneath.

O5-07: I don’t understand.

????: You are not expected to. Such things would be as expecting an ant to comprehend a whale. It is beyond you.

O5-07: You’re—what do you want?

????: The totality of desires would fragment your mind and burst your skull. It is not desire that carries us here. It is questions that must be answered. Questions this servant of Creation’s Will cannot satisfy. You, whose titles embrace motherhood, leadership, friend, are but a ripple in the fabric of a tapestry that swallows everything. Madeline of the Light, we know of you, as we have known of many and will know of many more.

WARNING, ONTOKINETIC DISRUPTION DETECTED. PROPER DISPLAY OF TEXT IS AFFECTED.






O5-07 stares at ????. Her hands are trembling.

O5-07: What are you?

????: A more appropriate question. We are concepts, bursts of meaning caught in the rapturous dark. To hear my song is to know Creation’s Touch. For your ears only Madeline of the Light, I have steeped the masks of time in frozen infinity until such a day that my song reaches the mind and heart of blood in seaside opery far away.

O5-07: I don’t—

????: Many names, many applications and titles for such a truth. Ask the questions you seek of her.

O5-07 spends several seconds standing still while her hands shake.

O5-07: The seals. What are they actually containing?

????: Fabric, the threads of reality, of your thoughts, of your flesh and being. Unending and yet finite, feeling and intelligent, yet mindless and detached. My children referred to them as the Odr. A Hlérsyngva term meaning something approximate to true god. A flawed term, but the understanding they held certainly was not. They are everywhere and yet nowhere. Real and yet not real, manifest and yet abstract.

O5-07: So, all of reality is held together by twelve ancient seals holding the hostile fabric beneath the earth? Am I understanding that right?

The field of view changes as reality is warped. All twelve major locations are abruptly stitched together in a kaleidoscope that fills the recording.

????: Yes and no. The seals and some aspects bound within lay upon the material, but their manifestations burn brightly in the Plane of Astral Stars. Spread across creation’s web they are tethered to the connections forged here. They contain the wills, the conscious intent and minds.

O5-07: Where did they come from? How many are there?

Kaleidoscope fades into darkness, leaving only ???? and O5-07 visible and illuminated. When the ???? speaks, its words appear embedded in the recording before flowing into the penthouse space and reshaping reality.

In the beginning there was nothing and yet something. Thirteen flowerbuds in the endless _, waiting to bloom and bring something to the hollow empty.

Thirteen flower buds of differing color appear within the field of view.

The first to shed its prison was that which would forge the path of all that came after. She was Creation, encompassing the very beginning of everything, all acts of making, and the bliss of something.

The first flower blooms, its petals made of teal, red and cerulean burst within the __ creating a chasm of light that obscures the whole field.

O5-07: I can’t see! So bright.

From within her shapeless mass writhed into the newly born creation. Twisting fabrics of reality twirled about her as she shifted between defined mass and effervescent gas. It was she who cast the iron against the forge and became known as the Mother. She who sculpted the shape of a woman upon reality.

From the flower flows a formless shape which molds itself into the approximate confines of a woman, made of endless flowing limbs, appendages, claws, and eyes.

And her traversal through the newly budding universe wove the nature of stars, of planets, of the cosmology. She swirled and twisted herself to witness all that was being created. Overwhelmed with the moment, she grew sleepy, for the act of beginnings had finished in major forms. So, she returned to her flower and molded it into something new.
Her final act of universal creation, the partitioning of the realms into Astral and Material.

The embodiment of Creation returns to the flower, unweaves it and uses it to cast a mirror image of the new universe. Upon a grand bed of everything it lays.

And in her sleep filled absence, the others began to awaken.

The other flower buds begin to ripple and bloom.

First came the black and purple petals of nihilistic resentment.

The second bud tears open, revealing a dark rolling cloud of black and purple. Electrostatic discharges snakes across spacetime, obliterating a galaxy.

Destruction raged against the creation it had been unwillingly born into. When it found the source, it attempted to assail her slumbering form upon its bed.

The cloud flows through space-time into the Astral plane and attempts to assault the embodiment of Creation.

The first ripple of Destruction’s careless rage ripped a hole in Creation’s belly. She awoke instantly and knew of sin, of hate destroyed in creation against her. In thunderous furor her star dusted fingers seized his defiant thunderheads and burdened him with the concept of shape, and mass, and form.
She condemned him to shape from which he could no longer escape her reach. The Tyrant, master of unbridled hate, envious of mortal life, conjurer of unholy storms, was bound to mass.
She then cast him into the void to enact his role in reality.

Creation’s embodiment grabs the lashing thunderhead of Destruction with both hands and shapes it into the form of a humanoid man, covered in swirling black and purple and red markings. He is cast into the depths of the growing universe.

As the other flowers began to bloom, Creation sat up upon her bed and wove the concepts of their shapes into the dance of reality. Here she gave form to the true dragons and lesser concepts who too were born with the first essence of reality but were too small to be universal.
In those opening moments they wove into the fabric of Material and Astral, and set their acts upon the world.
Then, from a flower of gears and steam and metal came Machine. With heated forge and needle great, Creation crafted a grand clockwork essence for which the third would reside in physicality. Upon the mass of everything she implanted metal into stars, planets, gas and more.

O5-07: …Mekhane?

????: Yes.

From a flower made of meat and flesh came the fourth, Life. Mindless, thoughtless, but filled with an unending hunger. Creation shaped it in the heat of the stars into unending flesh about a grand draconic form. From world and time across time it spread its tendrils, seeding that which would bloom into the most wonderful of creations. Creation was delighted, until the dragon began an eternal deafening war with the third.
But by then her attention was elsewhere. There it cast in sparking metal and blood a love and hate so deep it would rend the stars for eons to come.

O5-07: Yaldabaoth.

????: Needlessly greedy hunger.

Of a flower of indiscernible matter came the Fifth, five, five, five, five, five unknowable and hostile. She molded its flesh and it stung her. She burned its name into hateful silence, pressing into the _ in between so it could not taint what was yet to be.

O5-07: The—

????: DO NOT SPEAK OF IT.

O5-07 flinches.

????: It will consume of you all which matters now that it is known should its name be spoken.

From a flower of sparks and embers came the Sixth, Primordial Flame. She dubbed them Pangloss, for they loved all things, no matter shape, and the flame dancing in its primordial flesh glossed the heavenly metals of Mekhane’s reign.

O5-07: Oh. Pangloss.

Of a flower of blood and scarlet thorns came the Seventh, Corruption’s Taint. A concept of charm, of illusion, and false promises. Power, change, both its love and hatred of, a scarlet snake in the grass. She gave them shape and the name of Scarlet Monarch, for she saw through their ambition and endless schemes.

O5-07: Of course.

????: A danger even now.

From a flower of bone and rotting leaves came the Eighth, Death. Three in kind, three in spirit and mind. For him he wished no shape, but those cast by association and she abided for a time.

O5-07: How did they become the brother’s death?

????: In time.

Of a flower of abyssal dark came the ninth. He who forged the dark and forged fear and other unpleasant things often misunderstood. He requested the shape of a cloak ever sweeping across an endless horizon and she obliged.
From a flower of blinding luminescence came the Tenth, Light. He who had lit the universe itself at time immemorial, who had waited for power and influence and lost it all. He requested no shape, but she gave of him an endless crawling thing with many legs and unnatural shape to inspire awe in those who would come to know him.

O5-07: He Who Made Dark and Light.

Of a flower of termini, of lines ending, of empty stars, and time absent came the eleventh, Endings. Of a great spindly winged serpent, she cast him, and he became an eater of stars, ender of matter and ideas. She dubbed him the Sun Eater for all of his nature and he took it.

O5-07: I don’t know this one.

????: You wouldn’t.

From a flower of books, of knowledge, of stars and matter and numbers came the Twelfth, Knowledge. And for many long eons she spoke with Creation in the ides of her workshop of grand ideas and things that could be and might be. Creation gave her the grand sweeping shape of an eel and a serpent mixed, endless in its length, in representation of the ever-sweeping expanse of knowledge.

O5-07: The Wanderers Library and Serpent’s Hand?

????: The shattered remnants of what came before.

The final flower bloomed on the eve of Creation’s growing exhaustion, the thirteenth, Gravity and Time. He was wary of her great conceptual essence, the marks of strings she would embed in his conceptual flesh with her shaping. So, he eschewed her shapes, forging his own in time and chains. He became known to the others as the Chain Maker.
Thirteen born, thirteen awake. While she worked to create concepts of forms for the eleven, the Scarlet Monarch grew envious of Creation’s power. They began to scheme, and to see Creation as the greatest threat to its rule of reality.
But with her task completed, Creation returned to the grand bed and lay to rest. There in the moments before slumber, it crafted safeguards. Contingencies for the worst.

Creation’s embodiment returns to the cosmic folds and once again becomes rock and stars and planets and dust.

O5-07: So, something happened, obviously?

????: Yes.

And while Creation slept, the Scarlet Monarch began to sew dissent. The rest discovered what Creation had wrought with Destruction. Of the twelve, six were convinced of treachery, of Creation’s intent to bind them to their shapes and strip them of their capacity to resist her influence.
Two did not care, embattled in their war of Flesh vs Machine. Two resisted, attacking the Light when he began to forget weapons of purifying hate. The Sun Eater was smashed into conceptual dust and scattered across the threads, fraying the Universe’s weave. He Who Made Dark was smashed into a thousand tiny cloaks and cast across many worlds.
Pangloss retreated and forged plans to wield mortality to aid Creation’s coming plight.
And while the others acted, the thirteenth forged great binding chains to snare the fabric of reality tight to the end of time and his domain. So great was his fear that he forged them from his body alone, snaring spacetime in the bounds of all gravity.
And when Creation was in the deepest sleep, they began. Seven approached the essence of Creation, swirling amongst her shimmering endless mass of stardust, dripping galaxyfalls, meteor dances, and planetary wrinkles. There in the midst of everything they attacked.
Death leapt first, attempting to imprint mortality onto the very concept of creation. Creation must be able to die.
She awoke in the midst of his attempts. Limbs in the shape of great hands filled with the burning ire of a thousand supernovas grasped him twixt neck and hips. She tore him in three. Three brothers, three deaths, lesser than their whole. And as they tore, she wove the damnation into their blackened flesh, creating a binding which cast him in this state forever more.
And though she did not realize it, she set in stone what was to come.
Knowledge saw all of this in initial hesitation and knew it had to betray her. One she had come to consider a new concept, friend, had stripped, in a single moment of fear, all that connection away.
She cried out for the bonds of lovers, for Pangloss who had taught her love.
But they could only watch.
In the bounds of Knowledge’s coils she was wrapped as they attempted to suck from her all essence and memory of mind, leaving her a thoughtless husk. Here Creation tore mind and concept into threads, separating implication from body and leaving behind the aspect of what was forgotten.
She cast what was left of the conscious concept into the _ in between all that was, __, and all that could be.
Whilst she tore apart the others she could reach, the thirteenth bound her in time’s immemorial chains. She thrashed against the coils, attempting to cast them off.
But there was no escape.
He cinched them closed through gravity’s will.
She was suspended, immobilized in an abyss of singularity’s horizons.
It seemed for a moment, even to her, that all was lost. Creation would be bound and the universe destroyed.
As the horizons shrunk about her, one final hope shined in the void. She remembered her contingency.
Deep into her endless chest she reached and cast off the heart of Creation. Across the stars and endless void, it rocketed.
Six gave chase for fear of what would come if even part of her escaped.
Two followed, still embattled.
And one gave haste to the fleeing heart knowing it was their only chance.
And the chainmaker pulled Creation’s heartless mind and body into the den of the end and sealed himself inside, for so much of a coward he was that he feared what end he might meet.

????: There on this tiny rock did Creation’s heart fall and snared eleven of thirteen along with it. Beneath the banner of an ancient alliance of Man, Fin, Plant, Flesh, and Machine did Creation pair with Mortals and Primordial Fire to seal the doom away. For a time, they succeeded.

O5-07 finishes watching the events play out through the reality bending.

O5-07: But then, the Hlérsyngva were driven into the sea, and the others collapsed or withered away. Humans are left, the Hlérsyngva hidden and the seals are rotting. What happens if the seals fail?

Reality shifts. Oceans are boiling as the sun burns brighter in the sky. Lush forests are rendered into burnt out deserts. Whole continents are drowned in blood. Others in flesh. Entire countries stripped of conscious thought and free will, enslaved as mindless laborers. Others swallowed by the hostility of the unknown. Reality begins to unwind, concepts bleeding into one another and being annihilated, earth and matter coming apart at the seams. And eventually, nothing.

????: Doom. Apocalypse. The end of reality.

Several minutes of silence.

????: That is what scares her so. It is what scares me so.

O5-07: I can see why, now.

Several more minutes of silence.

O5-07: There’s something I want to ask but I don’t know if I should.

????: I have but two answers left to give.

O5-07: Right. Are you…?

????: I am what’s left.

O5-07: What do you want with her?

????: Even now, you still don’t understand.






The reality warp ends and the penthouse returns. SCP-001 has returned to baseline and starts to collapse in place. O5-07 dives over the table, catching it. O5-07 puts it on the couch, making sure it is not hurt and is still breathing. She then moves back to her spot on the opposite couch where she sits and stares out the window for the next two minutes.

SCP-001 stirs.

O5-07: That was—

SCP-001: I wish she wouldn’t do that without asking first.

O5-07: Yes, well, I can imagine eldritch entities have different priorities.

SCP-001: You have very little real idea.

O5-07: I have enough of one.

Several seconds of silence.

O5-07: Do I even want to know?

SCP-001: What did she tell you?

O5-07: Enough to know that asking more is liable to render me a babbling idiot.

SCP-001: Then no. You don’t want to know.

Several minutes of silence.

SCP-001: Before all that, you said you had one more question?

O5-07: Right, yes. Apologies, I got lost in the… well, I think you know.

SCP-001: Understandable.

O5-07: I guess I wanted to ask, when will you tell the world who you are?

SCP-001 smiles slowly.

SCP-001: When [REDACTED] returns to life.

<End Log>

Director’s Note: Based on its responses to my questions, SCP-001 appears to have been in a long-term relationship with aspects of SCP-7238, though which of them I can’t say. I did not submit the materials SCP-001 gifted me for evaluation by Foundation researchers. I’ll read them myself and turn them over when I retire, which will honor the Seeress’s wishes. There’s a thaumic enchantment on it which I can’t even begin to interpret… I assume it censors information within.

My successor will look back on this log and may be alarmed at how attached I became to SCP-001 to the point of craving its romantic touch. To that concern I say, when you spend most of your life in her company, you too will struggle to not see the breadth of beautiful humanity in her soul.

Maybe it’s numbness that distances me from the dread I should be feeling now knowing what lays beneath the earth. But all I feel is a sense of relief that I will be gone when this second confrontation begins. Maybe I’m a coward for that. Whatever she’s been touched by, it’s something that none of us understand.

It scares me shitless.

There was a god after all. Thirteen of them.

I don’t know what’s worse. That Seven want to eat reality.

Or that there’s one on earth we haven’t accounted for.


Addendum 24: Rediscovery of the Hlérsyngva and Status of Global Containment Complex

O5-07’s Summary of Notes 2014-2020:

Materials from the Wanderers Library:

Tomes liberated by the Wanderers Library raid in 2014 raid were thoroughly evaluated and substantially expanded the Foundation’s understanding of the history and thaumo-technological capacity of the Finnfolk. New information on the Finnfolk was largely kept restricted to key parties within Operation High Tide’s command until first contact could be established, in part due to increasing awareness of the limitations placed on human interaction with Finnfolk specific thaumatological practices by SCP-3711.

It didn’t take long after liberating tomes from the library to begin to understand SCP-001’s interactions with the Hlérsyngva. Our greatest leaps have been with understanding the mechanisms of their thaumic-technology and history. Even then, we are only scraping the surface.

There’s a good deal of cultural context that has been lost or obscured. They write in such descriptive detail that deciphering meaning can be incredibly difficult and it rarely translates well to English. We also don’t even really know how they actually speak aloud.

Thanks to the recovered tomes, we have begun to identify lineages of Hlérsyngva families who were important in the ancient confines of their civilization. There’s a lot of anthropological details I’d love to write about here, but it will have to go in another place.

Perhaps the most consequential line, the royal line, the Aquailians, possessed a familiar feature.

Prescience.

The second queen of the Hlérsyngva, [REDACTED], is apparently the most powerful prescient user to have ever walked the earth. By the Hlérsyngva’s measure, at least. And who taught her to mitigate and live with it?

SCP-001.

That’s who she was referencing after our celebration. That’s who she’s so torn up about the loss of. No wonder there seem to be so many references to her arrival and departure in passing from Doggerland and then later Finnfelheim.

This history runs deep and now I’m beginning to understand why she is so personally intertwined with them.

Now, she’s beginning to predict their return.

On May 15th, 2014, SCP-001 provided Foundation personnel with a series of predictions which highlighted the existence of an active Finnfolk population within the confines of the Oceanic bodies of Northern Europe and the North Atlantic. SCP-001’s predictions also corroborated first contact likely occurring during one of the cyclical manifestations of SCP-3700 within the next three years.

So, we knew the relative when, and possibly the where. But the how wasn’t clear.

On March 20th, 2017, following Incident I-3700-032, recon elements of Naval Task Force Delta-7 discovered SCP-4700 and over the course of a three day operation, proceeded to make first contact with the Finnfolk who were engaged in a protracted extinction level event due to a complicated array of historical, political, and sociological factors. NTF-Delta-7 assisted the remaining population in warding off hostile infiltration by thousands of anomalous entities (SCP-3456, SCP-████, and SCP-████) utilizing refurbished Finnfolk thaumic-tech and paraweaponry. Some months later, hundreds of thousands of Finnfolk aboard thousands of military vessels were returned to SCP-4700 through intervention by an unidentified outside force.

And then it happened outside of my awareness. I think it caught O5-01 by surprise as well cause their office kept it tightly under wraps for months before finally notifying the rest of the council.

When a cooperative agreement was already being negotiated.

To rub salt in the wound, the notification was delivered by a quite brief message over intranet. I was already aware but was notified during a biweekly meeting with SCP-001.

You can imagine the furious string of replies that came after the stunned silence.

The hand was forced and I was in support.

The Andrews are clever; I’ll give them that much.

When I told SCP-001 first contact had been made she seemed a little surprised and then relieved.

So begins the countdown to oblivion’s edge.

I think the delay was largely based on the state of the current leader of the civilization.

Delays in notification largely arose to allow the stabilization of relations and the recovery of Queen Hege Aquailian from decades of isolation, malnutrition and abuse. Negotiations for the formation of the Finnfolk-Foundation Cooperative Treaty were beginning at that time.

Consulting me before the rest of the council was probably the smartest thing that the Andrews could have done in that position.

SCP-001 was energized by the whole affair.

The entity requested permission to attend the negotiations in person to speak with the Finnfolk delegation, including Queen Hege Aquailian. O5-01 and O5-07 conferred on the matter and decided it would be best to deny the request for the moment, due to the precarious nature of the situation given the history between Humanity and the Finnfolk. SCP-001 expressed dissatisfaction with the situation but did not press further.

We couldn’t very well let a living mythological entity within the history of the Hlérsyngva walk in through those doors when we were trying to broker a cooperative agreement. For once I think her attachments overwhelmed her sense of responsibility because she remained frustrated with the situation for months afterwards. Guilt, excitement, longing to reconnect, I can’t help wondering what she was feeling. Still, there’s no telling how they would react to learning that SCP-001 was alive and working with us.

We couldn’t tell her no forever though.

SCP-001’s request to speak with Queen Hege Aquailian was finally granted on April 5th, 2021, when Hege learned of SCP-001’s existence by accident in a diplomatic exchange with O5-01.

Especially not after Sherry let the truth slip. I wasn’t there, but apparently Queen Aquailian’s reaction was quite strong.

So, at that point, there was no avoiding it further.

A meeting was officially on the books.

The meeting between Hege and SCP-001 would then occur on April 6th, aboard a Finnfolk vessel. The meeting was not recorded, but MTF-Omega-77 personnel reported that the affair was simultaneously productive for both parties and distressing at the same time.

Despite initial optimism for the potential of further illumination of SCP-001’s history and identity, MTF-Omega77 reported that the topics were rarely addressed beyond some further elaboration on SCP-001’s interactions with the Queen’s ancestors. SCP-001’s identity remains unknown.

There have been times in the past where SCP-001 has seemed close to human, but I don’t think any were as striking as when she returned from the meeting. For just a few minutes when she sat down across from me that night for our biweekly session, she didn’t look like a goddess.

She looked like a tired, ageing woman playing pretend.

Which, frankly, given what we would learn a few days later, made the situation more dire than it has ever been.

As of April 10th, 2021, evaluations revealed that the current state of the Finnfolk’s global containment complex has continued to deteriorate, albeit at a slower rate than when it was first evaluated. Initial efforts appear to have stabilized some sites, and there remains a possibility that as the Finnfolk continue to be folded into stabilization efforts, the situation will continue to stabilize and possibly reverse.

So, everything we had done up until that point seemed as if it were only delaying the inevitable.

SCP-001’s probabilistic outcomes indicate that partial collapse will begin in roughly 2025 at current trajectory. Odds of total collapse remain unacceptably high. Those few Finnfolk thaumic engineers who survived the 2017 incident, including Queen Aquailian, have designed stabilization measures which are predicted to buy ten-thirteen years of time while more permanent solutions are engineered.

Ten to thirteen years.

A decade.

It feels like cheating in some ways to know that I will not be around to see what I have been dreading all these years.

I, in many ways, feel a coward for being sent into the bliss of ignorance to live out my final days.

Will I still be alive when the doom comes screaming up from beneath the earth?

What are they going to do?

Will we be able to fix this mess that our ancestors created?

While some hope remains that with SCP-001’s and the Finnfolk’s intervention the containment network can be completely repaired, current rates of degradation appear untenable. Operation High Tide command and O5-01’s office have begun coordinating with the Hlérsyngva in preparation for a system collapse.

Despite the bleak outlook of the situation, somehow, SCP-001 has expressed increasing confidence that we are on the right path for what it deems as success.

Success. That seems so far away from the reality I’ve been looking at.

Given its history with other anomalous organizations, even I have to express some private concerns that the entity could be deliberately leading the Foundation towards disaster.

Except now, at one minute until midnight, SCP-001 has begun to generate predictions indicative of the existence of diaspora communities of Hlérsyngva which exist independent of SCP-4700.

One last little injection of hope. One last shot of adrenaline in my heart. I know this is supposed to be clinical and objective in terms of notes, but by the heavens if I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s trying to give me a heart attack.

We’re preparing diplomatic overtures in coordination with, what I am now learning, is the remnants of the Northern Hlérsyngva. It’s likely better to let Hege appeal to diaspora communities which originate from the Southern Hlérsyngva. It seems like they were the hardest hit in the Suffocation. It might even be best to let the Northern Hlérsyngva make appeals to other major anomalous communities or states, such as the Southern Daevic Republic of Lemuria, the Serpent’s Hand, and various Type Black entities living in anomalous communities across the globe.

The only barrier to this hope for the future I can see, is that the Foundation itself remains a largely politically divided organization. These divisions fall along lines of understanding the anomalous to protect humanity and containing the anomalous and pushing it into the underdark. The question is: are we capable of righting the ship of humanity?

I’m starting to suspect that SCP-001’s goal was never to completely repair Ruby Proposal.

Is the path forward that we are going to fight reality itself?

Is she repeating history to right the mistakes that were made in the first pass?

Maybe.

With the benefit of genetic analysis available to us, I got SCP-001’s consent to run a lineage trace to track down her haplotype. No guarantee this would work since there’s always the chance divinities don’t originate from humans. I’m not sure she fully understood what we were doing, either.

Imagine my surprise when it worked. The results were strange, to say the least. She’s not Proto-Indo-European. The closest human haplotypes are from the Chalcolithic, predating the western migration of Indo-European cultures. Hattians and some crossover from the Cucuteni–Trypillia. There’s some Daevic DNA in the mix as well, much smaller percentage than the others. There are chromosomal aberrations that we can’t really explain or analyze too.

But to the point. For those who don’t speak archaeology or human anthropology, SCP-001 is not Caucasian. She’s not Mediterranean as we know them, she’s not white. She’s a Chalcolithian, like a living breathing version of Ötzi the Iceman.

Why didn’t we do this sooner when it nails to the board the general area she came from?

After reading her book, I’m fairly sure I know who she is now. The genetic trace makes me even more confident.

There’s still room for error, which is why I have to ask her, once last time.

If I can’t love her, then at least I can know who I’ve hitched our hopes and dreams to.

I must know who the weaver of fate casting us along is before I lose it all.


Addendum 25:

Interview Log IVA-001-562

Interviewer: O5-07 Madeline Light, Current Eurtec Interim Site Director Tilda Moose.

Date: May 15th, 2021.

Location: Silicon Nornir tower three penthouse.

Foreword: On April 15th, 2021, O5-07 Madeline Light announced her intention to retire on the 15th of May, 2021, after more than 60 years of employment by the Foundation. The following is a log excerpt of the final biweekly meeting between SCP-001 and O5-07 after the latter had already submitted the final retirement documentation and turned over title and transition of office documents to Tilda Moose who would be assuming her duties as the new O5-07.

<Begin Log>

The penthouse rooms of Silicon Nornir tower three are decorated with banners and gold lettering reading ‘Congratulations on Retirement’. Director Moose, SCP-001 and Madeline Light are seated in a circular arrangement on the couches. Champagne glasses are in their hands. Light appears particularly frail and hunched in her seat. Her hands shake while holding and sipping from the glass.

Light: I can’t believe the day is finally here.

Director Moose: It had to come eventually. It comes for us all.

SCP-001: Except for me.

Director Moose: You’re an outlier and shouldn’t have been counted.

Light: Well, it took its sweet time getting here.

SCP-001: What will you do, once you’re out? Write a memoir?

Director Moose winces.

Light: I might have if they’d let me remember anything, but no. Sixty years of my life to this jailhouse and they won’t even let me keep the memories.

SCP-001: I’m sorry. I didn’t know.

Light: Bullshit you didn’t know; now forgot I can believe.

The room is silent for several seconds.

Light: Crochet. Maybe a bit of painting, they are giving me one last drink from the fountain of eternity here in Eurtec before the amnestics kick in. It’ll be nice to not have the shakes for another decade.

Director Moose: I’d ask if you would miss it, all of this, but we’ve already trodden that road. So instead, is there anything left you’d like to do before you go?

Light: There is.

Light looks at SCP-001.

Light: It’s time, isn’t it?

SCP-001: It is. If it is still something you wish to know? It won’t affect the outcomes, either way.

Light: Of course it wouldn’t. Universe’s humor being what it is.

Director Moose: Time for what?

SCP-001: Shush, it’s not your moment.

Light: I’ve waited 51 years, Seeress. I’d sooner be dead than let the mystery of my whole life slip away forever. The stars above would not forgive me never having known. Very last thing on my bucket list before they render me an insensate old granny with a bit of spry left in her bones.

Director Moose: I’d hate to be your nurse in that home.

Light: If Sophia puts me in a home, I’ll come back from the dead to haunt her.

All three laugh.

SCP-001: You read it then?

Director Moose: Read what?

SCP-001 attempts to menace Director Moose with a rolled-up piece of paper, but points at a nearby empty seat instead.

SCP-001: I said hush, you.

Light: I did, Seeress. It was—I’m still not sure how you wrote it, but it was…

Light trails off and stares out the window for several seconds.

Light: I don’t have the words to describe how it made me feel to know all of that. Everything that happened.

SCP-001: It is a heavy weight to bear.

Light: I never even realized you were—

SCP-001: They wrote it down and blacked it out in the files. All of them.

Light: It tracks with how you were treated.

Director Moose: I am entirely lost.

SCP-001: I will fill you in once she’s gone, now hush, this is her moment.

SCP-001 speaks at a low and gravelly volume.

SCP-001: A magician with no sense of gravitas, who would have thought.

Several seconds of silence.

Light: Before you tell me, can I make a guess? I have a suspicion cause the very last thing in that journal’s chapter is unreadable.

SCP-001: All these years and you never made one after that first, why now?

Light: Part of the final moments of the chase. There’s something rewarding about having put all the pieces together myself at the end.

SCP-001: Then of course, Madeline.

Light: Well come over here, I ain’t going to say it out loud and these old bones don’t move as well as your ancient ones.

SCP-001 grasps its staff and stands. It moves over to kneel by Madeline Light. Madeline Light leans over, kisses SCP-001 on the mouth for several seconds, before whispering in its ears. SCP-001 briefly flushes but otherwise does not react. Director Moose looks away from the pair.

SCP-001: Close, it’s actually—

SCP-001 leans in but its lips are still visible. The recording is disrupted briefly by several bursts of ontokinetic interference; however, several frames are visible where the signed letters of C O T are distinguishable.

SCP-001 gently places one hand on Light’s cheek and kisses her for several seconds. When she is finished, she slowly stands and makes her way back to the couch. Silence continues.

SCP-001: That was to remember me by. In dream and vision if not in physical reality.

Light is staring into her glass.

Light: I should have known. It was obvious and in front of my face the whole time. You were far less subtle than I imagined, and yet you managed to fool me the whole way.

Light looks up at SCP-001.

Light: Well played, Seeress. A life well lived.

SCP-001: A life well woven.

Light: True.

Madeline Light rises from the couch.

Light: That was the final bond keeping these old bones to this bureaucratic monolith. Now? Well, I suppose there is nothing left to do but walk into the light of normalcy and become irrelevant.

Director Moose: For what it’s worth Madeline, though my time under your tutelage has been short, there wasn’t a day that went by where you didn’t teach me something new.

Light: Don’t get sappy on me. I don’t want to end up bawling here at the end when I already feel like a coward for not getting to see it all through.

Moose smiles.

Light: But, it was good to work with you, Moose. Even though we were adversaries for more than half my life.

Director Moose: Fate is a strange thing.

Light: Especially when she’s sitting across from you.

SCP-001 wiggles a finger in one ear.

SCP-001: Did someone say something?

Director Moose and Light laugh. Several seconds of silence follow as Light looks out the windows.

Light: I had better get going before my nerve fails. Y’all have a good rest of eternity and do me a favor. Win this fight ahead. Don’t make me kick your asses as a ghost for losing.

Director Moose: We’ll certainly do our best.

Light: You better.

Light crosses the penthouse towards the elevators at a slow pace. She presses the button and the doors open. SCP-001 speaks to her one last time as she steps in.

SCP-001: Madeline, one last thing.

Light turns around in the elevator and presses the button that holds the door open.

Light: I’m listening, C—Seeress.

SCP-001: You asked me seven years ago if things had been different, if I would have loved you.

Light: I remember. You said you wouldn’t and then gave me a long winded monologue that only an immortal goddess bound up in fate could produce. What about it?

SCP-001: I made a mistake once. I won’t make it again. I lied.

Several seconds of silence.

Director Moose: …

Light: …

????: …

SCP-001: …

Light laughs.

Light: Now you tell me.

Light laughs for several more seconds. She wipes her eyes with her free hand where tears are forming.

Light: I look forward to the next life, Seeress. I look forward to where you’ll make good on that promise under that spiral tower of endless metallic coral piercing the clouds above and holding the light of the world at its very tip. She told me where I was going not too long ago. I’m bringing Ella come hell or high water if she’s not already there. So, you better make good on that promise, not just to me, but Ella too.

SCP-001 sits completely still, staring directly at Light with eyes wide, and mouth slightly open.

Light: For once, I’ve stolen all the breath from your lips as I always dreamed. Please, look after Sophia for me. Fix what humanity broke, once and for all.

The elevator dings as Madeline Light releases the hold door button, and the doors close. Director Moose, now O5-07, is alone with SCP-001.

Several minutes of silence.

Director Moose: That was—

SCP-001: Shh. I’m not ready to talk yet.

SCP-001 wipes its eyes with its dress sleeve. After several more minutes of silence, Moose speaks again.

Director Moose: So, are you going to—

SCP-001: I told her my true name, and she learned that I was not born in the shape I now claim.

Director Moose sips from her glass.

Director Moose: Ah. That explains that.

SCP-001: That explains that.

Director Moose: Mhmm. That’s what I just said.

Several seconds of silence.

SCP-001: I marvel at your ability to remain nonchalant in such moments.

Director Moose: There’s always time for gravitas, and time for humor as well.

SCP-001: The greatest trick a magician has, timing.

Director Moose smiles. Several seconds of silence pass.

Director Moose: Well, here we are, finally alone again.

SCP-001: Here we are.

SCP-001 and Director Moose look out the windows at Eurtec.

Director Moose: Do you ever get fatigued, thinking about the momentum, the monumental cliff that we face?

SCP-001: Some days it’s harder to shake these ancient bones from the bed. But we get up. We go on because that is what it requires, that is the sacrifice necessary to save the grand tree.

Director Moose: Do you ever think you’ve sacrificed enough for one life? You, of all people, especially.

SCP-001: Read the files, have we?

Director Moose: But not that book. Knowing the name is enough, enough to know what you’ve been through—and yet…

SCP-001: And yet you only know pieces. And yet She still sings in the deep, waiting. The hour hand moves ever closer, the ticking ever louder.

Director Moose: Being around those two, I think I’ve started to hear it.

SCP-001: They don’t hear it yet. Neither do the others, The Twins, The Queen in her gardens of the dead, The Witch on her island in the depths, and so many others. I’ve never stopped hearing it, but it’s getting louder.

Director Moose: It’s getting closer then?

SCP-001: Four rings of the rock around Helios until the Sapphire and the return of the engineer. Three until the return of the blade. Fourteen until the grand palace rises anew into the sky, and the seals fail. She stirs in the deep. I can feel Her waking.

Director Moose: So, this is it then, this is the one.

SCP-001 exhales heavily.

SCP-001: This is the one.

Several seconds of silence.

Director Moose: Was the plan all along to have the Foundation fight them?

SCP-001: Yes.

Director Moose: Fighting reality itself. It sounds—

SCP-001: Absurd? Insane?

Director Moose: Yes.

SCP-001: If it was all of them at the same time? Yes.

Director Moose: Wait, what do you mean?

SCP-001: Come now Moose, you are more clever than that.

Director Moose: I’m serious this time.

SCP-001: Must I spell everything out?

Director Moose: Like I’m ten.

SCP-001 scowls.

SCP-001: Everything has been a delaying action.

Moose looks at SCP-001 opening her mouth slightly and holding it there for several seconds.

Director Moose: What?

SCP-001: A. Delaying. Action. Enough stabilization to space out the chain. It will be as it was then. One at a time.

Director Moose stares out the window for several seconds. Her jaw clenches and unclenches.

Director Moose: Holy fuck.

SCP-001: It is the only way we have a chance. Everything else has been manipulation to increase the odds. No more than a decade and a half away, then we go to war. Then, then we shall fight once again with the Old Gods of the world. A war in heaven.

Approximately one minute of silence.

Director Moose: How many times, how many times have you done this to find the perfect conditions?

SCP-001: Too many. Trillions dead. The cost was high in those threads. It will still be high now in this one. Maybe another iteration can improve the odds if we fail. Maybe even if we succeed.

Several minutes of silence.

SCP-001: Moose?

Director Moose: Yes, Seeress?

SCP-001: I am afraid.

Director Moose: I know. There are still many years left to go, and many more dice to roll. But I am also afraid of what lies at the end. Especially with what you’ve just told me.

Several seconds of silence. Director Moose looks out the window.

Director Moose: There is a lot of work to do, child of Ilion. A lot of work to return the Singers to the fold.

SCP-001: There always is.

SCP-001 and Director Moose stare out the window at Eurtec below.

SCP-001: The days ahead are greatly muddied by Her reawakening. Yet curiously, I do not know when the next avatar of primordial fire will appear.

Director Moose: The what? You what?

SCP-001: Idle musings of a deranged old lady, pay them no mind.

Director Moose: C—

SCP-001: Not while they are recording.

<End Log>










EPILOGUE


AWAKENING


MY NATURE IN THE THREADS















Addendum 26: SCP-001 Journal J-001

On May 15th, 2021, O5-07 Madeline Light reported to the amnestics clinic in Eurtec for debriefing and memory erasure as part of standard retirement protocols. During debriefing, she surrendered the only sensitive item remaining on her person, a thick leatherbound book containing SCP-001’s personal journal. The following document contains the most relevant excerpts linked to identifying SCP-001 based on early life events that were previously undisclosed. These chapters were the only ones accessible to Foundation staff; the remaining pages contain an ontokinetic defense mechanism which prevents viewing beyond a certain point through unknown means.

Foreword: I sit here at the top of this sacred place among a field of blooming flowers in the spring of the year 4957 from when the seas were set in earth and sky. Here I have elected, in the event that things do not work out as I have foreseen, to paint for you, whoever may be reading this tome, whether it be in the Library or some other misbegotten place, the story of how I came to be.

Even now as I sit here staring at the sunrise, I can see the grand canvas of history sprawl out before me in a stream of rippling color.

Yes, see.

This is the story of my birth, the story of how someone who was not me died, and the weave of my life was forged and sewn together.

Chapter 1: On A Life Recorded in the Annals of Myth

She, that girl who seems so very far away now, was born in a palace beneath the glimmering light of Helios’s sun. A place of sweet and bitter scents in perpetual contradiction. It sat atop a lush hill, overlooking a fertile coastal plain on the edge of an empire whose name is long forgotten. Tall walls, a merry life of people used to the ways of war found in the south and east.

She was born on a warm summer evening, when the smell of dew was unusually strong on the wind and some ancient chthonic intent had crept up from beneath the earth to burrow into newborn flesh. The elder of fraternal twins, she was loved. Born to a king and queen beneath a greater mantle who stared down at her glimmering eyes with an adoration and gentle warmth that was not built to last.

They named her in the old ways of the world, but it was not her true name. There was interference from the Scarlet and the Maker of Chains. She was not born a girl as she should have been, and the world was worse for it. And though they sat there adoring their new tiny bundles, those ill-fated parents did not yet realize what power they had brought into the world.

Summers began to flow together in the endless paints streaming across the sky.

She grew.

She took her first steps beneath the all-knowing sun and found her footing in the world amidst the rolling grasses and lush forests.

She saw things that others didn’t, couldn’t, but didn’t yet know what they meant. Heard muffled choirs in a rolling pitch, washed with aromas to which not even her parents would have been exposed.

They were shadows dancing in dreams unspoken.

And with every step, every inch gained, fundamental incongruence with the world grew.

And with every step, every inch gained, a roiling black dissonance seeped into flesh and nerve.

Every glance into the clear fountains of the palace, those mirrored surfaces of shining bronze were a reminder that she was wrong. This flesh that was hers was not hers, but a stranger’s.

A wrongness that she could not escape.

The smiles and laughs in play became fewer with every passing summer. Discord in flesh and soul plunging what should have been a happy soul into the dour abyss above a hungry underworld.

The discomfort of that ill-fitting skin did not go unnoticed by the world.

It was seen by opportunists looking for diamonds in the rough.

When she was eight summers tall, she and her brother came to rest in a grand marble colored space in the palace. It glimmered with golden statues of a radiant young man bearing in his arms a lyre and upon his back and glimmering bow. It reeked of incense and herbs so strong that it made her eyes water. Brother of the Hunter, born of prophecy, medicine, music and inheritor of a chariot of fire across the sky. They slept there beneath the swirling color and twinkling lullabies when they grew too tired to continue play.

In a waking dream this opportunist came, skin glimmering with twinkles of sunlight and backswept hair framing blue eyes.

“Children of Ilion, I have seen you this night aslumber at my hallowed feet.” His voice was deceptively honeyed to her ears.

He was awash in scents of baked breads and cream filled things that she could not grasp.

She stared up in wonder for him, for the threads of those above seldom graced the dreams of mortals.

“Your grace, what honor you bestow on us,” she said, bowing at his feet.

He smiled. She believed it warm, welcoming, friendly and filled with favor.

How could she have known how wrong she was?

“I have foreseen your greatness in the twirling stars above. I come before you because you will make great marks upon history and the weave of destiny, and I seek to aid you in that quest in return for favor owed.”

His eyes turned to her, shimmering in the midnight starlight.

“My lord, you bless us with your presence and gifts? Name thy favor and we will meet it!” she cried, not understanding the price that would one day be paid.

So great was this moment it blinded her growing gifts to the truth of his desire. The lust in his soul that would only grow.

“Worry not about the favor requested now, you are too young to fulfill such merits. To you,” he gestured to her brother. “The great gift of prophecy I will bestow. And to your sister—”

She gasped, tears springing to her eyes at such novel validation. He saw her for what she was. What she should be. He looked at her sending chills up her spine from the intensity of his otherworldly gaze.

What she missed was the momentary furrowing of brows and confusion dancing in his eyes.

What had he seen?

It didn’t matter for the look was gone in the flash of a breath.

“To you, the gift of prescience, the grandest human prophet to ever live you will be. But more than that I will correct the wrong in your flesh.”

She gasped for air in disbelief. What dreams she had not realized needed to be fulfilled, and now they were upon her. She wept in relief for this greatest of mercies.

How could she have known that prophecy was already hers?

How could she have known the true cost of the shifting of her flesh?

“Will you take these great wonders I offer you and adorn yourself in my favor?” he cooed.

“Yes,” they said together.

How could they refuse?

He stepped forward and placed that shimmering skin against their heads. Their eyes burned with deep and heavenly fire. That little girl’s flesh writhed against her bones, shape changing and flourishing in bursts of glittery flame.

With a great rush of air and plunging stomachs, as if falling through an eternal starlit sky, they awoke in the opportunist’s temple. Two serpents lapped their tongues in their ears, entwined in copulation. They slithered away when they, the young girl and her brother, sat up.

The prince looked upon the princess and cried out her name.

“You are a girl!”

She looked upon herself, the beautiful bundles of her hair, and the reflections in the nearest pool and polished metal and felt congruence. She burst into happy tears.

“I am a girl!” And she was truly in all ways.

The King and Queen were brought hastily to the temple and saw what had become of their children. They praised on high the truth of otherworldly visitation, proclaiming their child a daughter, a princess, a prophet to be.

So, they brought great fortune tellers from across their kingdom to instruct their children in the art of prophecy, though they truly did not need it. Their gifts were so potent as to eclipse their teachers within a few months of lessons.

Her brother grew and grew into a grand Augur with every passing year, but none could match her strength of sight, not even him. She flourished in her new skin, renewed with life and happiness, no longer trapped by Misery’s chthonic grasps.

She saw everything that could be, everything that might be, everything that had been, and everything that would never be. She was still so young, and the art of determining which belonged to which yet remained to be mastered.

At fifteen summers, her parents sought a proper husband, a prince from some far-off land to secure alliances.

But she was never interested in the idle looks and politics of men.

She preferred the sweet scents of wives, the gentle touches of feminine skin and the callouses of strong huntresses.

She flirted with the women of the huntress’s temple and became a priest of two, the opportunist and the wise owl in her shielded armor. In part fulfilling foreseen prophecy, in part to avoid the forced irritations of an unhappy marriage.

The king and queen had many children and did not despair their daughter’s choices. They were, in their own ways, good parents to her.

But their youngest they spoiled, a beautiful little boy who had grown into a heartthrob all the same.

On a cool autumn evening when she was sixteen summers tall, a dreadful wind blew through the princess’s chambers.

The opportunist had come for his promised favor.

He appeared in a burst of glittering moonlight whilst she dozed away in her bed. He sat on the edge of her postered repose, and drug warm fingers across her cheeks, stirring her from slumber. He smiled lazily at her, as if his intent was perfectly clear.

He pulled away the sheets, pressing his hand to her chest to keep her from fully rising.

“Lord, what—how may I serve you this night?” she asked him, shrinking in that predatory glimmer filling his eyes.

“I have come for my favor, sweet priestess.”

Her stomach twisted in a nauseous knot.

“What might I do for you?”

Without hesitation he spoke of his desire.

“I would make you mine. I would lie with you, make sweetest love with you now until eternity. Marry you underneath the glimmering sun.”

The whole world turned on its side as she realized the choice before her, as his hands caressed her thighs. Bile filled her throat, the scene of rotting flesh sharp against her nostrils. She could not bear it.

“No.”

He stopped, hand firmly grasping her thigh. Too firmly for it began to hurt, and tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. He stared down at her, as she trembled against the bed.

“What did you say?”

“No, I don’t want to marry. I don’t want to lie with you.”

He released her thigh, constricted blood painfully throbbing through the limb. He pressed his hand against her chest harshly while leaning forward, constricting her breath. He roared, his voice a layered boom that filled all the room and his breath stank of rotting meat.

“YOU WOULD DENY ME?”

“I will not lie with someone I do not love. I will not marry someone who I do not love!” She panicked, squirming against his grasp.

Her heart hammered in her chest, feeling the hot sting of heat burning from the sun he embodied against her chest.

“I made you! I gave you everything, fixed you when you were broken, gave you sight when you could not see. You dare to refuse my love?”

What could she say to soothe this angered spirit other than the truth in all its poetic aspiration?

“I could never love you like you deserve. I could not live with you in every moment you craved, cradle you in the warm morning sun in a grassy field, argue over the little things in the arrangement of paintings on the wall, the cleanliness of plates in the cupboard. I could not be the mother to your children; I could not be the mortal woman you seek in your heart. I do not love men; you seek something I could not give!” she cried out in fear.

“You ungrateful whore!” he screamed in her face, spittle splattering and sizzling against her skin. “Upon you I cast the greatest of curses. From this day forward with these eyes that tempt me you shall never see the world as it is again.”

She cried out in agony as his worldly influence poisoned her vision with stinging revulsion. Black swallowed everything in the empty void of Chaos’s reign. Blood dripped from the corners of her eyes, staining her white gown.

“I doom you to never again be believed, your prophecies will ring true for yourself, but your words will be deafened and absurd to those who you most want to believe them.”

She wept in the abyss of sightlessness feeling the curse take effect, crawling beneath her skin in sunkissed marks. Then, flesh shifted in a place that was most sensitive and she screamed. She prayed and prayed and prayed to the owl on high.

“Finally, I take back what I once ga—” but before his magic could writhe again through her flesh, the medallion of the owl burned with otherworldly vigor and scalded his hand, blocking the fullness of the curse.

“Interference!” he screeched as shadow fell on the room. The cry of an owl echoed and he retreated. Then he was gone in a puff of light.

But the damage was done. He had undone a piece of her flesh, stolen her sight, and left her destitute and doomed to be disbelieved.

And her brother?

Her brother was left unmarred, having gladly accepted the patron’s favor.

The twin brother looked upon her with pity, and though he at first tried to support her, defend her visions, she was poison.

Even the eldest brother, long gentle and soft with the sister he so loved, could not defend her.

So began the slow spiral of madness that would doom her family to its end. The rumors curled throughout the city that the once great oracle of the east had fallen into madness, insanity. Her visions, predictions of wealth or ruin were ignored. Every prediction said aloud resulted in a choice that would ensure the worst would come to be.

It only got worse.

Having seen twenty summers, she foresaw a cataclysm, the end of her parents’ kingdom, the end of her people by the choice of her youngest brother.

Influence from on high would come to him with a choice, a gift of vanity and flattery or a gift of wisdom. Saw him leave for a foreign fortress where he would doom them all.

She begged him not to listen at a table filled with the aroma of delicious meats and sweet fruits. She begged him to refuse to play the game in the twilight hours of the morning as the first kisses of the sun were trying to crest the horizon.

“If you go, you will ruin us all!”

“You wish for suffering and misery in this house of our blood. You lost yourself in madness and now you want to drag us all with you. Do us all the good of shutting up and throwing yourself into the sea.”

He didn’t listen.

He insulted her, demeaned and degraded.

Had her dragged off to her room where she was locked in for three days.

He went. Left on a boat as she stood in her window, watching with sightless eyes as he rode into a bleeding sunset.

She foresaw his return, with a beautiful woman, a foreign queen in a golden veil. Her people rejoiced, they sang, burned bonfires that smote the air with ash and pleasant pheromonic woods. They sacrificed animals to the gods above, filling the plaza with the metallic iron of blood. They welcomed him with open arms, oblivious to the heralding of their doom.

She stood and watched through sight and sightless eyes as they ascended the steps of the palace.

She was inconsolable with rage and despair.

She leapt out of the crowd, pouncing upon the woman and tearing at her hair and that golden veil.

“You’ve doomed us all! Everything will burn, blood will fill the river and bay, and nothing will be left!”

She was pulled away by the guards, dragged screaming about death and the end to her room in the palace where she was locked inside for three days and nights. She lay curled up on the bed and wept for the state of things. Cried to the opportunist.

“God! Oh God of Prophecy!
Thou hast ruined me. Thou has doomed me.”

The only person who dared to visit the maddened oracle was the eldest brother. A man among men, always gentle with her, and even more so now. He listened, even though he did not believe.

But for a moment, it felt as if someone believed her.

The ruin began with the arrival of those foreign kings, with grand armies of the greatest warriors told of in stories and minstrel’s tales from travelers abroad. The air stunk with their terrible musk and manly odors.

Great men by the thousands, so many of whom were doomed to die.

They demanded the return of their stolen Queen, but her youngest brother refused. Her parents, blinded by disbelief in her warnings of doom, foolishly supported him.

It was war.

A raging, hateful war that ballooned into the arrival of great flesh crafters of the northwest, the ancient blood and plant lovers of the east, the mechanized children of the northeast and west in their grand ticking gears and four legged monstrosities, and finally the singers of the sea from the far north come to aid the wronged kings.

It was there on those walls she saw the great evisceration of her people’s patrons at the hands of something much older. There, deep in the throes of war upon the palisades she first felt the warmth of Creation’s caress against her cheeks.

But it would not save them.

Any of them.

Her eldest brother was the first to fall. Speared through by a great warrior enraged by the death of a lover. She saw it long before it happened and wept for him. Begged him in the dim lights of fate not to leave.

But he did not believe her.

He refused to decline a challenge and rode forth on chariot to meet his end. It was a grisly end. She stood on the ramparts of the wall, the last light of sun’s warm kiss wafting against her skin and the smell of rotting death on the wind. She listened to the shouts of a victorious warrior and the sickening crunch of bone and flesh smashing against the ground.

Her brother, defiled in defeat, dragged across the battlefield by chariot.

She accosted the youngest brother then, screaming in his face.

“It’s your fault! This is all your fault! If only you had listened, he would have lived!”

He reeked of cowardice and failure. Too afraid to face what he had begun until she ripped apart his pride with increasing furor. Her youngest brother, aggrieved with blame, took a bow and shot dead that champion of the west.

But it was all so very little in the face of what was to come.

The greatest betrayal was the desertion of her twin brother.

That too she saw coming.

In the howling wind of a dreadful morning, she begged him not to carry through beneath the fetid stench of carts of bodies being hauled off to burn.

But like the rest, the curse had infected him too, and he went anyway.

A traitor to her people, whispering in their ears of all the secrets of their defense.

The doom was fully here and there was nothing she could do, though she would try.

The grand tactician, a man so hopelessly brilliant that none in her home could match him, derived the final death knell. A gift offering of peace left on the shores as their fleet mock sailed away. A grand wooden burden beast. A feast with endless drinks was declared as they rolled it in.

But she saw the truth. Of course she saw the truth. Dozens of men waiting inside for the guards and soldiers to get fat and drunk and fall asleep. They would pile out of the horse, open the gates, and that would be the very end.

Hysterical with rage when she was ignored by the King and Queen, she snatched an axe from a guard, and a torch from the wall, and sprinted at the gift. Screaming. The air was filled with the scent of wines, searing meat and cooking breads. The sound of snoring men, drunken soldiers, and giggling wives all around.

“They’re inside! They’re inside! They’re waiting inside to end us all!”

They stopped her, of course they stopped her.

“Poor princess, lost to madness and insanity. Blinded by the sight and unable to tell what’s real from what’s false. Even if they did put men in there, it would never be enough.”

She was dragged away, weeping. Unable to stop fate’s cruel march forward. They were going to lock her in her room again, but she couldn’t let that happen. There would be no coming back out.

So, she broke free, she fled to the house of wisdom, with its wooden statue of the armored strategist ever watching. Here she claimed sanctuary.

“Oh, spirit of Wisdom, grant this humble priestess your protection and asylum!”

She sat beneath the statue for hours, waiting. Waiting for it to come.

Come it did, with fire and blood and shouts of terror. The doors opening as women sought sanctuary, burying themselves deeper into the marble. She smelt ash, smoke, burning wood and flesh.

She begged the wise goddess for her protection again and again.

Then he burst into the room.

A savage man wearing animal skins, full of muscle. He strode across the floor and grabbed at her. She leapt forward, clinging to the statue, begging for help, for protection. So hard did he pull, the statue was toppled from its housing and cracked against the floor.

He reeked of musk, smoke and ash. His laugh filled her ears.

She died there. She died there where the last of her dignity, the last of her innocence was snuffed out against the backdrop of flames.

That’s where I was born. Weeping on the floor of the house of wisdom as he towered over me.

I saw the thunder come before it struck, the quaking steps of another entering the temple.

A great clap of light burning in the dark and a tremendous crack splitting the air.

He was knocked from his feet, sent tumbling across the floor. When he got back up, the skin of his shoulder sizzled the air with smoke and the flesh was an angry welt of red in the Sight.

There was a shadow of something tall in the backlit flames as troy burned in the distance. Something towering in the doorframe of that sacred space. Something I could not fully see.

“You dare come between me and my prize?!” In the Sight he stood there, staring with fury on his face, body half covered by his skins.

“This house is sacred to your kind,” a new voice said with a ferocity in its breath that I could barely comprehend.

“And? She is my conquest by right.”

There came no reply from the new voice. Only a sense of contained fury.

“Begone gilled princess and leave me my prize.”

“This ends by decree of your gods for this sacrilege. You will never accost another woman.”

There was bile in my throat. I could smell the ozone, the singed skin lingering in my nostrils.

Shouts echoed in the distance.

He roared, spear in one hand, shield in another as he banged the spear against it.

He was a fool. Even my people knew the reputation of the Singers of the Sea.

Her magic smote the air with great hateful flame, twin blades merging into a trident of Poseidon’s swirl.

It wasn’t a dance; it was barely a fight.

He stepped inside, swinging that spear.

With one great hand she grabbed the shaft, snapped it in half, and then kicked him in the stomach while he was still stunned by the loss of his weapon.

He flew across the room with impossible speed and force, colliding with a marble column in a sickening kathunk. I could hear marble shards crackling as they hit the floor.

His shield was knocked free by the breath stealing collision and rolled across the floor like an errant jar lid making some great escape.

I saw her reel back.

I heard her grunt.

The trident’s angry metal split the air, smashing the marbled stone of the column just above his head with such great force that, like an axe against wood, it split it down the middle.

In an act of providence by Athena’s hand, the sky smote with a thunderbolt that ripped right through the man.

When that did not kill him, a great gout of water burst from the darkened clouds and washed him in a furious river from that place. Down the hill and plains it swept and drowned him in the great sea beyond.

No one stopped to help him, for they knew a man doomed by the Gods’ wrath when they saw it.

“Hmph. To think I fought ten years by his side.”

I stared sightlessly up at this demon of war, having foreseen the glimmer of her golden scales in the firelight.

Who was this creature who had saved me as a newborn?

What power of the gods did she wield?

Why did I not foresee her until now?

Why was her presence a void in prophecy even at this moment?

She reeked of wet, and it was not unpleasant.

She picked me up and I broke in those man tearing arms.

I wept for what I had lost.

I wept for the city burning around us.

I wept for the girl who had died this night and how I had taken her place.

My would-be savior and conqueror lifted me from the floor and wordlessly carried me across the grounds to safety. But there was no safety left here. Only the scent of ash, burnt flesh, and metallic blood on the breeze.

“Is that—?” someone asked, a voice I now know as the tacticians with its metallic tinge.

“The Seeress who is, by her own people’s musings, mad and lost to prophecy.”

“Yet she knew we were in the horse. Doesn’t seem so mad to me.”

“She has a curse upon her. If she speaks to you of prophecy, then you too will disbelieve.”

“What happened to her? Why are her robes ripped bare? Why is she bruised and bleeding?”

“Ajax.”

“Goat fucking bastard.”

“He defiled a house of wisdom.”

“The gods will take care of it, and we will reduce his rewards.”

“I’ve already taken care of it.”

“What? What did you do.”

“Your gods sought revenge, and I gave it to them.”

“You killed him on their behalf?”

“No, I made an opportunity and they took it.”

“Was it at least a worthy fight?”

“Not even close. I feel cheated by your gods.”

“Good riddance then.”

“I’ll take the girl as my pallake then.”

“I would prefer she come with us. Has she not been through enough in your people’s wasteful hate?”

“She’s my prize by right, her brother stole my brother’s Queen.”

“Will you treat her better than those who came before?”

“Yes. I am not the monster here.”

“Your reputation says otherwise.”

“Are you going to fight me for her, Singer?”

There was a moments hesitation.

“It’s not my place. But should I learn of an ill fate, I will come for you.” I understood the why and how of it, but wept for what it meant.

I foresaw his name as I wept in the singer’s arms. I was set on a soft bed of blankets aboard a great vessel. He was the king of a faraway place, and he was to be my end.

He was gentle. A rarity in his cruelty towards all others.

He smelled strongly of flowers and was unusually kind to me. It was not until later, when I confronted my brother on his throne at Bouthroton, that the traitor told me he had bargained for my life.

To be this man’s concubine.

I told him then that it did not save me from the horrific fate that was bound, and that he himself would meet such a fate.

He believed me then.

This king touched me in places I care not repeat. He discovered what others had long ridiculed me for, what I was considered a lesser prize for. Yet he seemed not to care.

It didn’t change that we were doomed. It didn’t change that I did not feel for him, that I did not love his gentleness. That I thought he was a monster to those he loved.

We returned to his home, escorted by the singers. In the wee hours of the morning before we arrived, my rescuer stepped into the hold before they left for a home of their own. She was not alone, a presence that was familiar and alien at her side. There, a song just out of reach, burrowed in my ears. It came with the scent of soft earth, the decay of autumn leaves, the salt of the ocean’s tides, floral scents of indescribable lushness, incense, and the smotes of stardust drifting on an astral wind all of which filled my nose.

“You’re sure?” The Singer’s voice rang in my ears softly.

For a moment I felt a glimmer of the tiniest hope that I was being fully rescued.

“Yes.” The other was a symphony of a single tone that burned its name into my mind without knowing the words.

I felt a warm hand brush against my cheek, my neck, and my chest. Too many hands to be a human. Too soft to be a person, reaching deep past the skin into my very soul and plucking at infinitely many strings. Her voice filled the whole world.

“This end you see is but a beginning. When you awaken you will be more than you ever were. Seek us then, on the stormy isles of the north once you’ve regained your strength. Once you understand what you are. There, you shall find new purpose.”

It was layered, eternally fragmented. My sightless eyes filled with the burning strobes of four golden lights.

As suddenly as it began, it vanished.

“Survive, child of Ilion. Your fight is not over.”

Then they were gone.

We were docking on land.

This foreign king who had brought me far from my ruined home, spoke to me with reassurances and low whispers. But I had already seen what would come next.

He would be called into the palace, where his wife and her lover would be waiting with knives. Then they would call for me.

He went despite my urgent warnings. Then the guards came to bring me in and I resigned myself to Fate’s singing strings.

I knew when I was brought into the humid baths, that he was already dead.

The stickiness of his life’s ichor burned against my toes. The iron of his blood and the flatulence of his gut overpowered the incense and soaps of the bath. There was no choking, just the circling steps of his murderers.

“Such a pretty prize my husband brought back, don’t you think Aegisthus?” Fingers caressed my cheeks, my chin.

“Almost a shame to waste it. But I hear she’s mad and blind, so it may be for the best.”

It began with a stinging, vibrant pain in my left thigh. It was so very cold. Colder than Hades’s icy embrace as it parted the soft flesh. Alien, freezing metallic. It twisted and violated me and created something that never should have been.

Then there was another, pushing into my back.

Another in my belly.

Again and again across my flesh, hot blood streaming down my skin as I staggered to my knees.

Taste of metallic blood filled my lips. The reek of death clawed at me as Thanatos lingered on the edge of my vision, waiting for the end. I didn’t scream or cry as they carved me, sliced open my chest and exposed my guts to the world.

There was no point in struggling or crying out.

This was simply Fate.

I collapsed against the floor, their echoing laughs fading as they left me to bleed out.

That’s when I heard his wet footsteps.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Look at how far you have fallen, princess of Ilion. Final moments spent bleeding like a stuck pig next to the baths. You could have been great. You could have been the greatest prophet to ever live. We would have had beautiful children. Such a waste.”

His voice was a mocking trill of pleasant unpleasantness against my ears. A reminder of the sweetness of the music he could make that would only bind me here at the end of everything.

I managed to croak out a shuddering tumble of words with what little breath I had.

“You doomed so many. For what?”

A hand grasped my face, lifting me. Pain blossomed as an inferno ripping through my shredded body.

“I doomed no one. You doomed them, by being ungrateful.”

“Why?” I gasped out, struggling to stay conscious. To hold onto the sliver of life left to me.

“Because mortals need to be reminded of their place. Because I made you what you were, and what you are. I gave you everything, and you spat in my face. This beautiful woman carved from a boy. It’s like all those nymphs and boys; I give them everything and they are always ungrateful. Maybe this time will be different, maybe this girl I made from a boy will be grateful. What does he do? He behaves like a spoiled little brat.”

I grit my teeth, weakening hands shaking at his grip around my neck.

“Now, because I am a generous god who is more than willing to offer mercy, I’m going to offer you one last chance. Marry me. Have my children. We will make such sweet music when we make love. I will restore your sight, lift the curse, and fix you again.”

I drew in ragged breaths struggling to stay awake.

As the flames burned deep in my torn belly, It hit me.

I saw the moment, the opportunity to end this cycle.

I heard a thousand voices across an infinitely spiraling sea of fractured stars.

I felt the chthonic pull of blackened strings that I had never known were there.

The Fates, the Moirai were singing.

I was singing. Louder than he ever had.

“Take it! Take it all from him. Become what you are meant to be!” they shouted.

But it wasn’t the Fates. It was me. All me. I was the Fates. They were I.

“Okay…” I rattled out.

He chuckled. “Good girl.”

And I felt his magic, his soul reach through his fingers. Another voice echoed with the choir.

When you awaken you will be more than you ever were.

“I have a better idea,” I said with sudden vigor I never had before with the breath of an endless multi-verse of Is. Chthonic strength thundered through my flesh, weeping darkness and strands of rusting gold dripping from my skin.

I saw it, that ripple in his soul, his eyes. The prophecy, the vision of what would happen.

Abruptly I knew, that he had lied. That my hold on Destiny’s weave was greater.

He saw it too. Too late.

With fingers wrapped in the leaking black of chthonic might, I snared his magic.

I snared his soul, a wide hole opening in my chest.

In that moment, there were no Fates. There were no Moirai, there was only me. My agency.

He screamed, a wordless, incoherent burst of rage.

But it was too late.

The weight of what I was, what had long lay dormant inside of me, wrapped around my prescience.

It sucked in his magic, his conceptual depth and soul.

It condensed, twisted, and homogenized him like he was being pulled through a straw. His flesh and matter pulled apart and into me.

I felt the might of the Sun filling me, dancing with the dark and casting shadow. Felt the burst of prophecy and fate, healing and medicine screaming beneath my skin. Music bursting in my very core.

Then he was gone, and I lay soaked in blood on the floor.

I had, somehow, lifted the curse on my own.

But blindness remained and I have never cared to fix it.

My wounds were closing as I stared up sightlessly at the sky. Hours must have ticked by, possibly days. Then there were footsteps, light and airy. A comforting chill washed across half-dead cheeks.

A hand, calloused and yet impossibly soft, pressed against my cheek. I could not see her, the Sight showed nothing.

“You finally ended his reign of madness. His torturing of what he couldn’t have; driven by endless lust. You, soft child of Ilion.”

I did not know the voice, but it was soft and yet rugged. She smelled of a different sort of musk. Of decaying soft leaves, of moonlight, of the sweat of a long run.

“Who—” I tried to croak out the words, but she shushed me.

“Speak not. Lay still here, and I shall guide you to a place you may heal and find peace, for a time. My power is bound for another, but for you I shall give this blessing.”

I’m not sure when she left. I’m not sure if she was real or simply imagined. Though I am sure of who she was. When the prevailing stench of blood filled my nostrils again, I blacked out and then came to. I’m not sure how long it was till the wet steps of the guards came to clean up the mess.

But I passed out again then. I’m unsure how long, days, maybe weeks.

When I awoke, I had washed up on the shores of a beach. Trembling skin caked in sand and water and dried blood. Disoriented, I was certain I had died. This recovering body could barely walk, legs shaking and unsteady. Even though I had stolen the Opportunist’s staff and it came at my command.

So, I crawled. I’m not sure how long I crawled, or how far, but it was up. Up and up for hours upon hours. Maybe days, I don’t think I slept. I don’t think I needed to anymore.

But I reached the top; I suppose it always did have a top.

There was something different there. A magic not encountered before, the magic of pure music, creation, inspiration.

Nine beautiful voices sinking golden honey in my ears, warming my muscles and filling my mind with so many ideas. This place was warm, a pleasant wash across my skin, reeked of the earth, of perfumes, flowers, and so many other things.

“Oh my…” someone said.

“Poor thing, look at it.”

Then, the softest, warmest fingers against my face.

In a miracle, the light returned, the world filling with fuzzy and blurred color tones. Once my brain remembered how to interpret the sight of eyes, the picture became clearer and clearer. Eight of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, each halo’ed by a sheen of divine light.

But my eyes stared deep into the cosmic landscape, immense nebulae condensed into orbs. A gorgeous woman kneeling and lifting my chin.

Her skin was olive, speckled with freckles. Her hair waved in the air, undulating like gas clouds in the void of stars, constantly oscillating through neon colors.

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And I knew my heart was beating faster than ever before.

“Muses,” I croaked out at last, realizing the truth of the matter.

“Shhh, child of Ilion, rest and we shall care for you.”

I remember smiling. The first time I had smiled since that day long ago where he had taken all that I could see. I remember all the possibilities of what could come spiraling all out before me.

Then, I passed out. There on Mount Helicon, I found myself, who I am, who I really wanted to be.

There I fell in love with the Muse Urania.

There I awakened.

There are so many more stories to tell of those years.

There was a moment when, I, descending the mountain’s many narrow paths, passed an elderly man whose name I did not know, up the path. Near the foot there were voices, and they cried out at me.

“Tiresias! Tiresias is a woman! She has been blinded by Athena!”

It was true, the wise goddess of protection dared to climb the slopes and bathe with the many nymphs atop the mountain. We did not speak, for she no longer knew me. I no longer knew her and had not forgiven her slowness to act. Never did I see that man who climbed the mountain come down, I truly wonder if he was a figment of a different dream.

There were other days when there were great tasks to be accomplished. Urania, requiring some chthonic reagent for a grand and ambitious project, sent me deep into the plumes of the underworld.

Rumors had reached us upon the mountain of the fates of many of those long-forgotten heroes of the war outside my burnt and ruined home. There in the depths along a burning river a voice greeted me. A tinny, metal voice I had not heard in nigh a decade. There was a rush of air, the pulse of pounding blood and the dying bleats of a blackened lamb. I saw him through the Sight. An all too familiar man of metal, legs of orichalcum bird talons and a face exhausted from great gaps of age removed from home.

The tactician had yanked me from the depths to a place I did not know. I spoke to him of what he desired. That should his crew slay the beasts of burden so meticulously cared for by the lord of light riding across every day filled sky, that he and his men would be stranded and his men smashed against the rocks.

Again, I was referred to as Tiresias, this time by a man who had known me in brief before. What guise did the underworld cast me in then I often wonder?

Such a strange thing to be hailed by a name not your own, but one less strange as the years have moved by. Then there was a rush of air, and I had returned to those distant fields where I found what my beloved desired.

I suppose that is whence these myths became entombed in the minds of all. How amusing it must be for Madeline to consider these factors in the history of those realms in that space that seems so far afuture.

There were many more stories and myths made in those distant years, happy joyful moments that I shall not share. I prefer to keep them in dreams and memory for they are so very precious to me. Perhaps one day I shall tell my nieces, those delightful loving things, these stories so they eternally enshrine them in their great pieces.

But for now, even here, my most personal book shall not receive such private happy things.

When thirty years had passed by, I left my newfound love on that sacred mountain and promised to return whenever I could. I wandered the earth, blind once again outside the mountain’s magic.

I trekked through forest, across rivers and bogs and swamps and marshes. Through grassy fields and mountain crags until I reached the northern oceans.

In a Singer village I was greeted warmly. I waited there for a destined transport to the Stormy Northern Isles. She arrived on the morning after in dense fog. I suppose she thought of me as a figment, the way she looked upon me as if I were this otherworldly creature from some veil beyond. I offered her gold, but she refused. She took me aboard one of their strange new vessels, and together we rode through treacherous hate-filled seas.

It was there on one of those islands, the largest of them, that I left that kind sailor and their strange, scented wetness behind. Across sand and grass I walked until I heard and saw a great camp on a hill above colossal stone and metal artifices. Meats filled a hungry mouth with salivation as tired feet shuffled closer. I was spurned by strange bread smells, alien fruits and wines. The air was chill for summer, but a warmth had lingered ever in my flesh since that faithful day.

Three voices reached me on the wind as I walked slowly up that fateful hill, leaning on my staff. One I knew, two I didn’t and yet did with growing familiarity that I could not explain.

“So, what, we’re hitting the fucking crimson fucker first?”

“Scarlet Monarch, dear.”

“Right, whatever. You want us to go with that big untested hunk of magic metal that you think will work? Me, her, you, and the eldritch thing masquerading as a redhead? Just the four of us and that experiment.”

“White water, you make it sound like we’re running to our deaths.”

“We are! Artemis’s bow, we’ll need a hell of a lot more than that. I know you singers like your fucking fights, I do too, but like, it should at least be reasonable.”

I slowed my walk as I approached. Yet the bickering continued, somehow oblivious to my growing presence. I knew those voices and yet didn’t all the same. Eyes were already on me, but not of the bickerers. Those same golden eyes from all those years ago.

The bickering stopped as my staff gently thunked against a log.

“? Where are you—”

“Well, who is this?”

“Wait a fucking, you’re—”

In that moment, I was assailed again by all those early and alien smells from aboard that king’s ship so many years ago. I heard Her strange golden song, louder now than before. I felt her. I felt the Mother of all Creation in Her fullness before me. Writhing spheres of cerulean flesh and unending mass of all-seeing eyes consuming me with their sight amongst a mantle of endless stars woven as crimson hair. A many armed pillar of reality stretching to fill all horizons.

Mither.webp

All the sky filled by creation.

For the first time in my entire life, I felt completely safe.

I felt at home.

“Welcome, Cassandra of Troy.”



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