The Vessel was sitting in a strange room. Most of the rooms were strange, but this one was especially so. It was definitely the archive that Mr. Laugh had pointed them to. The walls and numerous shelves were lined with bound scroll material and tomes. The room had something between the old musty scent of decaying scrolls and the sterile scent of the rest of the facility.

The Vessel looked around and noticed the bookshelves only composed about half the room. The other half was lined with metal bricks with glass panels that a majority of the others in the room were using. The glass had light up colors and shapes on it, acting as some kind of an interface to work through. The Vessel was too short to really use them anyways, but they were bizarre contraptions, nonetheless. The metal contraptions were being used for both quiet reading individually, and some larger ones had a group of others around either watching or actively altering things on the screen. The ones altering the screen seemed to be shouting strange things at each other and whatever they were doing. A few small boxes that were sat around were playing sound, ranging from reports to music. Most were idle save for a few that were sat near someone doing something.

The Vessel gravitated towards the quieter section with the tomes. They spent a good deal of time just figuring out the organizational system. They still didn't understand the whole system, but with the aid of a bored and uninterested looking attendant were able to locate the region they were in. While they had a general view of the location, they couldn't get a grasp on the scale. There was simply too much information to absorb.

The Vessel was so busy trying to make heads or tails of the textbook they had picked up that they did not notice someone enter the room. They did not notice them walking forward towards the Vessel. The Vessel only noticed that something had changed when they had almost reached them. The room had quieted significantly. It was already hushed in their half of the hall, but the other side had dropped to nearly a whisper, and everyone was sending glances to somewhere behind the Vessel. They turned around and saw this someone walking towards them. The new individual was dressed similarly to the researchers, but had several clips attached to their chest on one side, seeming to denote a rank. They were certainly taller than either Smith or Bateson, nearly a head over them.

The new individual sat down beside The Vessel and began to speak, their tone slow but beaming with energy.

"Hello there 8546, my name's Contra Johanson, but you can call me Mrs. Johanson if you'd like. I'm the Site Director here, the head of the whole facility. I've been meaning to speak with you. There are so many things about you that have piqued my curiosity!"

As she spoke, the library attendant and another SCP who were accessing a terminal nearby left. They wanted no part of whatever the Site Director was interested in. The last SCP she said those words to was still fused with a concrete wall on the third sublevel, and they had yet to install soundproofing on the hall around him for the screaming.

"I had tried to get the researchers you had been primarily talking with to answer a few questions for me, but they just can't seem to get the job done. And you know what they say, so I'm here to get those answers myself."

The Vessel merely cocked their head to one side. This individual supposedly had a lot of authority, the fact that the rest of the room stole brief glances but refused to openly look indicated they carried some sort of reputation. They were inclined to believe she had a lot of sway, which was unusual to them. There were very few reasons someone so high up would speak to them, at least, in any place that wasn't Hallownest. She had to have an ulterior motive beyond intrigue.

"I can see you're not very trusting of me, which is good. If you were, I'd end this conversation quicker. So, I'll cut to the chase if you don't mind. One of the researchers made a deal with you allowing you to keep possession of that weapon somewhere in there."

As she spoke, she gestured to the Vessel. This Director was probably the most perceptive of the Vessel's thoughts thus far, and she knew about the Pure Nail. Word travels fast around here.

"While I have to say that I am uncomfortable with you being armed, and while it technically is a breach of one of our prime directives here at the Foundation, I'll allow it. Sometimes you have to give a little to get a little, although I feel as though few here would agree with me. All of this is to say, I'm aware you are adept in combat. I wanted to inquire about that subject."

The Vessel was confused, this seemed to be a somewhat odd change of subject. Wouldn't she want to negotiate away the weapon, rather than ask how good they were with it? Well, it would make sense if they wanted to generate procedures to fight against them, but all of the guards here seemed to just carry those projectile weapons. How good one of them would be in a nail fight was debatable. Still, to continue the conversation, the Vessel merely nodded their ascent.

"Good to see you're still listening. Now, how long have you spent training with that blade there?"

Johanson talked with SCP-8546 for a few hours. It was apparently far more willing to open up to her than to the others. She wasn't certain whether is simply liked her more, or if her questions were simply more suited to its personality. Regardless, she got far more results in about two thirds the time of the first interview with the object.

Apparently, it believed it had come from another world. Johanson believed it was more of an alternate reality, other worlds would imply space travel and that seemed to be beyond the comprehension of the anomaly. She decided against bringing it up to avoid confusion however, and just made a mental note. The other world it was in had it rough, apparently some deities got into a pissing contest, and it brought about the end of civilization as they knew it. People were killed, and then some of the deities' influence caused them to come back. Reanimated dead can be nasty business, she would have to pay attention and make sure none of this "infection" came back over with the anomaly. It seemed that their reality was incredibly inhospitable. As a result, everyone who lived there had to be either skilled in combat or skilled at escaping danger. If they weren't, then they would join the ranks of those who had killed them.

Still, Johanson found out what she needed to know. The anomaly knew how to kill. The anomaly could be willing to kill. And the anomaly was tough as shit. However, in spite of all that she learned about the anomaly for her pet project, she still couldn't ascertain just how good it was. It obviously had martial skill, but to fight the things that she needed to be fought required another level of quick thinking and problem solving. She had no way to analyze these traits without having an actual containment or security breach. So, for the time being, it would just have to be on her radar and on the backburner.

Mr. Laugh walked into the library. He had finished his meal a while ago, his appetite finally coming back to him. He had different plans that night but meeting Vessel had made him change his mind. He still felt lonely, but they had extended a torch in the dark for him to reach out towards. He decided to meet up at the Media Center and tag along with whatever they were planning to do.

As he walked by the pair of guards observing who came and went, the Site Director of all people walked by, stopping at the entryway to make a comment to the two men who had become too distracted to actually make a note of his entrance. He decided just to wait for a minute while they spoke so he wouldn't be told off for "unauthorized entry". As the Director turned towards them, they both gave a brief salute and acknowledged her title. She turned to them, "You know, that new arrival is certainly something! Poor little guy went through so much, shame it's going to have to go through more. Well, I don't have much to say to you both. Keep up the good work!"

With that, she turned and left. Her eyes locked with Mr. Laugh's for an uncomfortable moment, but she refused to acknowledge his presence. She then walked down the halls towards the on-site offices and lowest level testing areas. As she was moving away, Mr. Laugh looked back towards the guards. One of them was watching to make sure she didn't need to come back, and the other whose mind was always in the gutter was watching her back. His partner gave him an annoyed look, but neither even noticed Mr. Laugh just standing there. Losing his patience, he simply walked in without issue.

As he entered, he saw Vessel sitting at a table staring at a textbook, limply flipping between two pages repeatedly. They looked like a child who couldn't quite figure out how to read a book. Deciding to offer help, he walked up to them. Their head snapped weirdly fast and exact to him as he approached. He defensively spoke, "He-hey. How's it going? I, uh, came to see you. How've you been?"

The Vessel was confused. They had last spoken not terribly long ago, even if they were bad at keeping track. However, they were very clearly just trying to make conversation. Evidently, he was not very good at it, but, neither was The Vessel. So, to keep nice, The Vessel nodded and gestured towards the tome they had been trying to decipher. Based off of the Director's reaction to it, it must have been fairly low level for others, but they still could not get more than a few scraps of ideas out of it.

"Ah, you're trying to read about … Floridian geography? That's an odd subject."

"want know kingdom am in"

"Florida isn't really a kingdom, but I'll help you read the book if you'd like. I'm really not qualified to be a teacher, but maybe I could help you in some way."

After an affirmative gesture, they began to read slowly through the pages of the book. The Vessel learned so much about this place they found themselves in. Apparently, the world itself was far more interconnected than Hallownest or the surrounding kingdoms, of which this Florida location was a relatively small part, even within a larger union. The terrain was swampy, they knew that much. It was surrounded by vast seas on all sides and had hundreds if not thousands of lakes permeating the landscape. Water was simply a fact of life in this Florida location. Most cycles of the bright disks in the sky would bring with them rain and powerful storms. Mr. Laugh mentioned once while reading about the weather that on occasion storms would be enormous, as big as Florida itself, and forced people to evacuate ahead of them. The Vessel wanted nothing to do with any of those.

Additionally, it had a population that far outstripped Hallownest, by several orders of magnitude. If Hallownest had been located here, there would have been so many worshippers both the Old Light and the Pale Light would have been nigh omnipotent and with room to spare between them. Strange how they were both deities of unparalleled power back in Hallownest, and here they would seem like minor despots. Relativity can make everything seem so small.

The wildlife described in the tome was actually far milder than anything back in Hallownest. There were a few creatures to be wary of, but nothing they couldn't handle. They had killed a Swamp Beast previously with no prior knowledge of it, they most certainly could handle any creature nature here threw at them. However, Mr. Laugh made sure to point out that the most dangerous creatures were in reality the prisoners along with them. Many had unpredictable abilities and effects, frequently beyond their control. Accidents happened and many unfortunate souls had horrendous fates cast upon them.

They finished going through the tome, and Mr. Laugh showed the Vessel some of the mechanical contraptions the others had been using. Apparently, a similar energy to that stored within charged lumaflies powered numerous devices. The ones within the archive held a wide range of uses, from information storage and retrieval, to entertainment, to communication with other parts of the facility. There was even a strange box that produced both music and speech, which the Vessel was informed was called a "radio". Apparently, the information given through it was filtered, but many liked to keep it on and carried it around into common areas as a link to the rest of the world. They seemed to have given up on their freedom, resigning themselves to their fate within these walls. The Vessel was determined to not break in spirit like they had.

The learning experiences within the archive had taken a long time, long enough that the lights within the ceiling dimmed. A staff member had come to inform them that the archive was closing for the night, and that they had only a brief period to return to their cells. Apparently, staying out after the facility said was appropriate ended very poorly and with harsh reprisals. The Vessel had no need to sleep but would return regardless to reflect and absorb the information it had gathered during the day. They were especially concerned with their dream nail. They had been unable to establish a dream gate when they had left the cafeteria, and despite still being fully awoken, it felt, empty, for lack of a better word. The Vessel would have to experiment in the relative safety of the cell, somehow without the eyes of those organization seeing.

Eventually, with brief and somewhat awkward goodbyes, Mr. Laugh and The Vessel parted for the time being and headed down separate hallways towards their cells.

Johanson had just left the media center. She was exhausted, both after staying up all of the previous night to read through what information there was on SCP-8546 and after playing babysitter for a few hours to try and pry information from the damn thing. She had one last thing to organize before going to bed early. She had cleared most of the afternoon off her itinerary, she didn't want to crash in the middle of a project. All she had left to do before headed to bed was to organize the new "Dream Monitor" following the appearance and neutralization of some ghost anomaly a few miles away.

One unexplainable phenomenon is an anomaly. Two is a pattern, and patterns require time, money, and effort to understand. They didn't want to see any more alternative reality bugs showing up and killing Foundation staffers. As a result, higher ups had sent down orders to have her organize something in order to alert MTFs should new anomalies in a similar vein arrive. It was largely left up to her discretion, just so long as it resulted in captured anomalies.

Capture was very explicit in their instructions. How those higher up in the Foundation who managed her region found out about the unfortunate neutralization of the recent anomaly, which never even received designation, was beyond her. Regardless, they were now breathing down her neck. Not enough to actually do anything, but they wanted results. And when they want something, they put the pressure on to get it. She would almost certainly be replaced if another fuckup happened under her watch. She needed to either get those results or something to ensure her being indispensable. A rock and a hard place considering that she didn't even know if more would come through whatever rift 8546 did. At least they would probably be satisfied with nothing coming through. Maybe.

To address all this, Contra was organizing some researchers and atmospheric monitors into something similar to a non-combative taskforce, the Dream Monitors. While not on official records as a taskforce, it would be a small organization of those who were already aware of 8546 and had interacted with it. Additionally, dream related specialists would be brought on board in addition to other specialists to work with whatever issues may arise from interviews and accounts from 8546 itself.

She had already spoken to the monitor who had detected the atmospheric radiation twice. In spite of his work ethic issues, he was technically the most qualified among the monitors employed at the site. He got a promotion and increased security clearance, that conversation was already behind her.

The next individuals on her list were the two researchers in charge of 8546. Researchers Smith and Bateson. They were certainly an interesting pair, running something like a good cop, bad cop routine. It was typically very efficient, at least until they came up against 8546. Still, they were going to be central to the group. They had done the most talking with it, were the most well-versed with it, and Smith had even managed to build repertoire with it. All very good things, so much so that she was even willing to overlook what was really a large security concern in allowing it to keep its weapon given that 8546 was now far more cooperative than when it was originally captured. The two researchers would be central to her plans in the Dream Monitor.

She was walking down the hallway to break the news to them personally. She was getting annoyed with sending messengers and interns around like rats to carry her words. For matters under close supervision, she would organize personally. She wanted thing done right, and if you want things done right, you watch the people doing them very closely so they don't fuck it up.

After the walk down the facility, she made it through the office block. Those milling about cast hidden glares and moved through the doors to their office. Most had recently been transferred on site over the last few months by Contra' personal recommendation, but her reputation still preceded her. They worked for her and only for her, but that didn't mean that they liked her. They were loyal for fear of being moved to something far worse than the cushy position she granted them.

Contra knocked twice with authority on the door before letting herself in. Bateson and Smith were running through notes, probably related to what currently their only assignment. Her entrance pulled their eyes up in annoyance which quickly to shock and then attention. Bateson spoke first, "Hello, ma'am. How can we help you today?"

"No need to be so formal. How are you both doing?"

Both researchers spoke over each other in a confused tone talking quickly about how the day had been going well so far and that they had been making busy by combing the interviews with their subject for more information before the next one planned tomorrow morning. Contra put on a smile and tilted her head ever so slightly.

"Well, that's nice to hear! I came to bring news. Approximately thirty-six hours ago, a new anomaly cropped up. It would have also been on your plate due to the fact that it was marked by the same radiation that 8546 was. However, it was neutralized during capture."

Both researchers absorbed the information, unsure of how to respond. 8546 had mentioned that they were not from Earth, but they were still not entirely sure if that was truthful. Another anomaly cropping up would lend credence to the idea. They would have to go over all the logs relating to its capture. Contra continued, "As a result of a second related anomaly cropping up, The Foundation now has to ensure that either no more crop up, or that we are prepared should they. Under my jurisdiction, I'm organizing some personnel to both predict the arrival of and capture potential anomalies originating from the same alternative reality as SCP-8546."

"So, how will this affect our responsibilities?" Smith was intrigued by the possibility, and maybe he could examine whatever was left of the undesignated anomaly. MTFs that successfully neutralized anomalies rarely left enough intact to even be recognizable, but maybe there would be pieces available for study.

"As of right now, very little will change for you. This would change should the monitor detect anything coming through to pay us a visit. As of right now, you two have full access to all information we have on the undesignated anomaly, as limited as it may be at the moment. It will probably be designated SCP-8546-2. I would like you to interrogate 8546 for what it may know about creatures that came from where it did, and on the off chance it knows the undesignated anomaly, then about that too. But, for the time being, continue as you were."

Contra stifled a yawn and blinked her eyes a few times. The day had been long, and she didn't think she could drag it out much longer. She had already gone several days with little to no sleep, one more was just not something she could put up with. Continuing, "Well, unfortunately, I can't stay for much longer. I trust you two will be able to handle this well. It's not a terribly large amount of work, yet. Oh, and don't forget to update the article for SCP-8546. It's past processing now."

And with that, she walked out the door to her quarters. Bateson and Smith returned to their work. They would take a look at the capture, er, neutralization logs of the undesignated anomaly after they were done combing through the records set in front of them. Then, they would draft up questions to ask the anomaly. Then, they would update the article for 8546. Bed had been set back at least a few hours for them, another long night.

Contra had finally finished the last of the chores on her plate for the day. Retreating to her on-site dormitory, she began to prepare for hopefully a few hours of good sleep. Most staff members didn't sleep on site, but she had to. As Site Director, she had to be available at a moment's notice, and being a half hour drive away at minimum was simply not feasible, not even counting the time it would take to move through the site.

Given a night where she had no looming responsibilities, she would take an hour or so to just relax before going to bed. She had a book she had been meaning to continue reading, and she had been unable to find motivation and time to read simultaneously over the past few weeks. However, instead of taking advantage of the moment, she was just too tired to continue this day. Hopefully, she would feel better tomorrow. She might be able to sneak in a half hour in the morning.

With as much haste as she was able, she stripped down to her undergarments and got into her bed. Laying her head down on the pillow and she was fast asleep, not even a minute later.

Contra opened her eyes. She was not in her bed. She was fully dressed, sitting on a bench as the sun rose over the ocean. She must have been somewhere near downtown Miami, resting on this bench on a boulevard along the water. Looking to her left, the street was empty. There were tall buildings behind her, large residential buildings for many people. There were a few cars parked along the sidewalks. A bike was chained to a fence. But no people. Nothing. The city was dead. No sounds came from anywhere. That is, until a cough came from her right, snapping her attention over.

Sitting on the bench with her was an older white male. Probably somewhere in his forties, he checked a wristwatch. He was in a clean and pressed suit, a briefcase at his side on the ground. He was the only other person on the scene around her. His gaze moved over the water, staring at the sun as it rose over the waves in the East. The scent of sea salt wafted through the air, tinged by something rancid just underneath it.

Contra started, "A house call? I hope this is pleasure rather than business."

He exhaled with a slight smile coming to his face.

"No. Unfortunately, it seems I'm always on business. You can call me William."

"Well, William. What's your business today? I hope invading my dreams isn't something you plan to make a habit."

Another smirk. "No, no. I'm not the one to be concerned about. I have always operated in your dreams, plural you. I have always tried my best to be as cooperative as I can with The Foundation. Rarely can I be specific, by their nature dreams are fickle things. Unfortunately, I fear that my time aiding you is coming to a close."

"What do you mean?"

"Dreams have always been loose, running wild and free, no one to chain them down. That is likely to change."

"Likely to change?"

"Yes."

She glared at him for not elaborating. Still, she wanted as much information as she could get out of the enigmatic figure, so better not to press where he won't expand. Rolling her eyes, Contra asked, "Where are we then?"

"Miami, not far from your site."

"When are we?"

"Hard to say. Depending on some choices, it could be sooner, it could be later. It will definitely be in the future though."

"Usually, you guide us to ways to prevent things. What's different this time?"

"If you know about a dam bursting upstream, you don't prevent the flood. You try to escape, or in your case, mitigate it."

"How do we do that, then? Mitigate this flood you won't tell me about?"

"Honestly, there's not much you can do. I'm letting you know so you're not firing into the dark. And explaining why I won't be coming back."

"So, you're telling me this so I can tell the others to roll over and die?"

"No, I didn't say die. You need to continue on as you have, doing what you do best. You already have all you need at your disposal. I just can't tell you what or how."

"So, what was the point of our conversation then?"

"Unfortunately, very little. I just needed to tell someone. This isn't a detailed how-to guide or instruction manual. I'm just your alarm bell ringing."

As he said those words, William's gaze over the water hardened. It had never wavered, even as he spoke to Contra. He checked his wristwatch again. He clicked his tongue. For the first time, he turned his head towards Contra. His eyes were wet around the edges. As he dabbed them with a handkerchief he pulled from a breast pocket, he asked her one question.

"Do you know what time it is?"

Confused, she replied.

"No, you're the one with the watch."

He merely nodded and smiled weakly.

"You're right. It's the same time in this dream as it is for you. Half past two in the morning."

Contra was confused. How was this relevant to their conversation? What was this subject change? She looked him up and down and he turned his eyes back out over the water at the rising sun. The rising sun. With a shock, she also turned. The sun seemed to hitch in its arc. A distant roar seemed to shake the ground, faint with distance. The sun began to unfold into a pair of wings, shining brighter and brighter until-

Contra woke with a start. It was 2:47 AM. Unfortunately, it seemed she would not be getting any sleep tonight. She pulled that book she had wanted to read off the shelf. She might not be able to in the future, so might as well get a little done now. She would log her encounter in a few hours. The visit from SCP-990 ensured she would get little sleep for the foreseeable future.

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Note: For those reading on , I would recommend reading this story on AO3 instead. The formatting is supported better and helps improve the reading experience. Regardless, I hope y'all have a nice day.