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It is an internal page used by the SCP Wiki, and is not meant to be read directly, but included by another. This page should be parented, see above.
Themes:
MAKE THIS A GODDAMNED BIKE MANUAL HOLY SHINRJTN… so we make it so the photoshopped photos have little Aspicio snippets under the subtext of an invasive narrative infohazard appearing in the form of a bike manual. climbing a mountain with a bike.
Accelerated degeneration.
Memory Loss.
Loss of a loved one.
Decomposition.
Deconstruction of Being.
Acceptance + The Place Beyond Entropy. Because God so loved the world, he would never forget what was lost. Every atom, a binary number. God never forgets a sin.
That if we were to experience joy, euphoria, and naivety at all times without fear, hurt, or death, we would be unlike an idiot or some gelatinous assembly of forced emotions. Suffering is the engine of man. So sayeth the sages of every culture and in every tribe of man.
Viktor is a man who does not cope. He does not know the allotted time to cope. Something devastating has happened to him, removing his beloved, replaced with a white cross standing vanguard over some soil and a thing that isn't her anymore.
Viktor does not experience time in a familiar way. But he still strives to find a higher purpose. Whether it was his upbringing that forced his confrontation early with a metaphysical higher-order being or whether its just an immediate reaction, I want him to express this journey with confronting the absence of God.
So he reasons, by proxy of another story laden in the photographs and expedition logs, that had God left, that had she really left the room and became a decaying body, God would forget the world and people and sin. For how do you eliminate a thing from existence entirely if you are all-knowing?
So begins Viktor's descent and deconstruction. The theme of deconstruction is constant. Things breaking apart only to find there are more parts to break like a pipe into screws into scrap metal into ground rust.
He becomes the world, as he anticipates his love has already became it in some sense, in some universal recorded history located at the center of a blackhole, not-yet decoded by our understanding of the mysticism of science.
There must be some compromise with death as it is unmovable. There must be some confrontation that makes our bits authentic even in the face of death. His limbs are stored in a refrigerator as if they were removed, they would sizzle, crackle, and pop like warm grease, symbolizing the heat of that retainer named nostalgia in its fuzzy, warm glow as he tries to grasp simple attributes of his beloved from the aether to affix onto a pedestal.
He is kept in a refrigerator, frozen in time (but it entrophies still and the heat fades and the heat is negated), trying to keep. In essence, the entire article will strive to exhibit man's inability to leave his atoms still, even when frozen, and thus, transforms constantly. And not all compromises are beautiful or solid or conclusive.