cryptaesthesia
/ˈkɹɪpt.əsˌθi.ʒə/
a paranormal ability pertaining to reception of information not gained through the recognized physical senses, but sensed with the mind.
1990
Hidden away somewhere in a top-secret military base deep underneath Death Valley, is a just-barely nine month-old girl's room. There are stuffed animals, a changing station, and pictures of her family. The walls are white and sterile, and a camera beeps silently in the corner as it keeps an ever-watchful eye over her. The girl, lovingly named "Esperanza" by her parents, now named SCP-XXXX by the Foundation and US Government, is in a deep slumber typical of any infant her age — save for the fact she is levitating three feet above her crib bed.
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Mr. President,
I know you are a busy man. I will keep this brief.
Based on CIA counter-intelligence and defector testimony from the Soviet Union, we have reason to believe they are on the brink of creating a cryptaesthesic warrior utilizing pilfered Nazi Ariosophistic esoteric knowledge and esoteric technology from the Second World War. Though the first Soviet prototypes did not bear fruit until 1958, and were largely useless as cryptaesthesics, intelligence shows they are only getting better.
Project PRECOG is the United States Armed Forces and SCP Foundation's response to the Soviet's cryptaesthesic research. It is our noble goal to create the man of tomorrow, today. He will be capable of waging warfare with his mind, easily worth hundreds of men in the field in just one body.
Lieutenant Alberto Pilar and his wife, Corporal Yany Torres Pilar, sat a few hundred feet away from SCP-XXXX's locker outside one of the staff offices. Alberto rubbed his calloused hands together, trying to keep warm. Despite the fact the Site was in the middle of the Mojave, the underground parts were cold as the grave.
"Cold, mi amor?" asked Yany, tying up her dark hair in a bun.
He nodded.
"If you're feeling it this badly," she continued, looking down at the tile floor. "I worry about how cold she is."
"She won't be here long," Alberto nodded.
"Damn straight."
The two sat in silence for a while, occasionally tapping their feet on the ground, sighing, or even groaning at the wait. After what felt like hours, the door to the office they were waiting outside of opened.
"Lieutenant. Corporal," the commandeering voice of a man boomed at them, its source standing at the portal. Both of the Pilar matrimony stood at attention, saluting their superior. "At ease." His hands hid behind his back.
"General Bradley. Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such notice," Alberto started.
"If you'll forgive me for being short," Bradley interrupted. "I know why you're here."
Alberto and Yany looked at one another briefly.
"Then you know what we want. Give her back," Yany spat before adding: "Sir. Please. Sir."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Corporal."
"But sir, she is our daughter!"
"And you knew what you were signing up for when you were enlisted." His voice was as warm as the facility they were in.
"The government can't just take our daughter away from us!" Alberto replied, fire in his belly.
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This Soviets already beat us to space with Sputnik 1. Their scientists grow more competent by the day, their armies stronger, and their research more fruitful. This is not a war we can afford to lose, Mr. President.
The need for the United States to gain the upper hand in cryptaesthesics is dire. The fact that they were allowed a head start is cause for concern enough. We cannot afford to fall behind. But it is not all doom and gloom — there is some good news.
"I will remind you, Lieutenant, you signed a contract. As did you, Corporal." Bradley's stony composure remains undaunted. "We offered you expedited citizenship, and we honored our part of the contract. Now it is time to honor yours."
Yany and Alberto exchange another look, this time much more desperate. Yany's eyes swell with tears. Alberto's fists clench and he grits his teeth.
"You would separate an infant from her parents?" he mutters under his breath.
"Again, you signed a contract. You both agreed to this."
"You're a bastard," Yany chokes out.
"I am doing what I must to protect my country."
"Protecting your country means splitting up my family?" Alberto roared.
"There is a special prison cell in Guantanamo Bay reserved for traitors to the United States. You wouldn't happen to be attempting to subvert the efforts of the government, would you, Lieutenant? Corporal?" Bradley's cold gray eyes bore into them like a dull drill.
Alberto couldn't bear it any longer. His arm swung at Bradley before he could control himself, and his fist made contact with his jaw. However, it didn't feel like flesh. It was tough, cold, and almost metallic. Alberto recoiled in pain, backing into Yany. Bradley didn't react.
The Pilares and Bradley were locked in a one-sided shock stare-down until the latter spoke once more.
"If I hear tell of you demanding to see my asset again, I will have you both court martialed and dishonorably discharged. And who knows, depending on how I'm feeling, I might still send you to Guantanamo Bay."
Yany burst into tears, and Alberto turned to comfort her.
"Come, mi amor," he spoke silently. "We'll find another way to have Esperanza back."
"Choose your next actions carefully, Lieutenant. You are dismissed."
With that, Bradley walked back into his office, shutting the door behind him.
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I believe we — the SCP Foundation and United States Armed Forces — may be able to synthesize the materials necessary to create a cryptaesthesic at a high quality purity. It would, however, come at a cost. We would need to conduct lengthy, high-risk, high-effort research. I understand a lot of this may seem asinine, Mr. President, but research into the esoteric is a necessity to protect the American people. I beseech you — fund our Project PRECOG.
The future of these great United States may be at stake.
General Omar N. Bradley
January 21st, 1961
The door to Esperanza's chamber swings open, and a man in green scrubs carrying a black bag walks in. He approaches, placing the bag on the changing station beside her bed, then gingerly plucks her from the air and lays her on the mattress of the crib. She does not immediately wake at this, and slowly comes to, cooing.
The man smiles.
"Hello, SCP-XXXX. I'm Doctor Vespertine," he coos right back, reaching into the black bag. He produces a small container and opens it to reveal a copper-colored pill with one hand while gently caressing the girl's cheek with the other. "You and I are going to make the greatest soldier the world has ever seen."
