A new normal began to set in. The Vessel found its groove in a routine on the site in confinement. They would start every day by sitting in their chamber on the bed that had been placed in there. They did not need to sleep, and so simply sat in meditation for an extended period until the voice that came from the ceiling around the whole facility announced that morning had returned. After a brief period, a pair of guards would come in and repeat that it was morning. Then, they would take the Vessel to a location called "The On-Site Education Facility". Apparently, there were a few dozen children being imprisoned here. The Vessel was apparently considered among their number and was made to go through a series of classes designed to aid their usage of the language utilized here. Over the course of time, their ability improved greatly. They could write complete sentences and much faster, even if still simplistic in comparison to the speech of others. Occasionally, Mr. Laugh would take some time to help them practice writing sentences. Mr. Laugh would say something, and they would transcribe. Nothing too complicated, "the door is there", "what is that", "i am 8546". Simple things to help them get through The Foundation.

After their classes, they would be sent to the cafeteria. At this point, they would be more or less turned loose for the remainder of the day. Of course, they could not leave, or visit a majority of the site. They also had to have a specific reason for another large section. They could not just meander through the working areas of the researchers, even if they were not explicitly barred from going there. They did not spend much time in the cafeteria typically, though they would sit with Mr. Laugh from time to time and just converse. His mood would get brighter with each time they came to sit with them. He apparently never spoke to anyone else, and the others would avoid him. It was a very lonely existence. The Vessel only ever spent time in the cafeteria when they were with Mr. Laugh, as they had no need for food. Not being able to eat was another one of the many perks of being unfortunate enough to have been sired by the Pale King. At least it ensured they would never starve.

When they left the cafeteria, they would either go to the archives or be called in for an interview with the two researchers who worked most closely with them. Within the archives they read as much as they could about the world around them. Apparently, the fleshy soft creatures composed a majority of sentient life, and anything else that was sentient, like The Vessel, was locked away by this Foundation they found themselves within. They had seen a creature in a full-body suit that in many ways reminded them of a Mawlek. They would be sure to speak to them in the future. It wouldn't be hard to find them, they stood out in a crowd. Whenever the researchers called the vessel over, they usually sent a lower level staff member who practically dragged them back to their cell where one of the two would be waiting. Then, for an extended period questions were asked.

The questions were always immensely boring. "What are you?", "me". "How old are you?", "don't know". They were always vague but never untruthful. They did not want to give much information, especially since most of it was irrelevant to anything they could think of. And a lot of information would only beget more questions, a waste of time. The Vessel suspected, however, that they were becoming frustrated with a lack of information. This was true of both parties, the vessel wanted to go back to those archives and continue studying more about the world they were in rather than go in circles. They needed to get back to Hallownest. However, one time, the researchers asked something different.

Bateson and Smith had finally edited the logs together for questioning. A second entity had cropped up, killed a half dozen civilians and several MTF members, then was shot dead. It spoke in a completely foreign tongue, unknown to anything in The Foundation's database. Hopefully, SCP-8546 would know something about it. The link was tenuous at best, only through a similar radiation appearing at the presumed arrival of the entities. However, despite the runaround they had been receiving, they had hopefully been developing some sort of connection. Most of their questions were relatively aimless with the goal of building and exploiting a relationship. The site director apparently had plans for the object, between turning up the burner on their interrogations of the entity, conducting a few of her own, and creating a lesss-than-formal group to look for more related entities.

As a result, the mere possibility of the undesignated object and 8546 warranted a discussion. They were planning to ask it if it recognized it, play audio clips to see if it was capable of understanding its speech, and then play it fast and loose from there. Neither one planned much beyond the first two steps this time.

"So, you wanna put twenty on it knowing who this moth thing is?"

"Do you insist on trying to turn every interrogation into a betting match?"

"Yes, and that's only because I always win."

"I don't know why I indulge you. Fine, the twenty says it doesn't know."

The door alarm sounded, indicating the arrival of the SCP with its escort from wherever it was. The two of them were sat at the table, waiting patiently. The entity walked in, the guards now waiting just inside the door. It walked up as routine for the past several sessions and sat itself at the chair. Standard routine continued, Bateson sitting quietly recording while Smith did most of the talking, the entity answering.

"Good afternoon 8546. How have you been today?"

"well. spent time reading subject travel."

"Are you planning on going somewhere?"

"methods of travel very interesting."

"Such as?"

"method called airplane. go in gate and arrive in different part of world. very interesting."

"Ah, good to hear. Today, we had a few questions. It shouldn't be too much, we don't want to waste your time. If you cooperate, we can get this over with quickly."

"understanding."

"Good to hear. So, recently another entity arrived on a farm. Now, we wanted to know if you happened to recognize them. If you don't, that's alright."

A shuffle of papers ensued as Bateson pulled out a photograph of the entity which appeared in the barn and slid it in front of the two conversing. SCP-8546 took a good look at it, staring for a long moment. As hard to read as it was, everyone present could tell it was interested.

The Vessel stared at the picture. It was one of those images that was printed in such fine detail that could be found hanging around the walls of personal areas, or on the persons of those staff members walking around. They had never caught the name of the item, but it wasn't the item itself that was capturing their focus so intently. It was the subject of the image, Markoth.

"fought once. markoth."

Honestly, out of everything they expected it to possibly have been, an old enemy of a currently contained SCP was most certainly not on the list. They would have to be harder in their questioning.

"Could you elaborate?"

"in cave at edge of world. fought markoth to death. he was defeated."

"I see, you two had a history. He seemed fairly, not dead, in our recent encounter. Do you know anything about that?"

"body can die. strong spirit does not always die. fought the warrior dream of markoth."

"A warrior… dream?"

"dreams are strong. can last after death."

"Interesting. We will have to investigate this further. Next, we're going to play you some audio clips. The entity said something to us, and we are unable to decipher it. We expect you to transcribe it for us."

"ok. will try. words do not always match both language."

Bateson pulled a small laptop from the corner of the table towards the center, tapped in a few words and selected the first file. The same garbled speech from when the entity, Markoth, first encountered the MTF as they attempted to make contact. The audio file played once, then a second time. 8546 began to scribble out a few sentences.

"save your speech. do not waste time by speaking. we are warriors. wield your weapon and face death like many before you."

"Very interesting. This has been noted. The next clip."

The next several files were clips of grunts from the entity during the fight, but 8546 did not transcribe anything to match them. Either, they were exceedingly specific war cries that did not translate, as was frequently the case among Earth languages, or perhaps the entity just was exerting itself. Eventually, they had exhausted all the recordings, save for the last words before the entity dissipated and was presumed neutralized. That same odd combination of chittering, squeaks, and hisses that evidently composed their language filled the room. 8546 listened, and after a second playback, began to transcribe the final words of the entity.

"i see that darkness returns once more. my nail grew dull, defeat cutting harsher twice. perhaps this time, dream shall hold me eternal."

Both researchers shared a glance. While enlightening about the culture, it certainly wasn't what they were looking for. Evidently, there was some form of reverence for either dreams or darkness, perhaps both. Additionally, they were considered powerful forces. Unfortunately, The Foundation was interested in potentially large-scale and dangerous threats, not bad dreams and spooky darkness. Smith decided to begin wrapping up the interview. The entity had been more forthcoming than their last several attempts, so he would spare it a few questions. Hopefully, this was a sign of headway on emotionally bonding it to The Foundation.

"Alrighty then. You've been cooperating well this session, and your English is rapidly improving. Both are commendable and will ensure more freedoms for you should they continue. Is there anything else you would like to add before we finish this session?"

The Vessel thought to itself for a moment. They had shared their knowledge of the beasts of their world, and evidently at least some foes from Hallownest were beginning to rear their heads. This group would likely appreciate something to forewarn them about potential threats. Though the text would be indecipherable to those who had not vanquished the creatures contained within its pages, and the vessel themselves had never completed all the challenges it set forth, perhaps The Journal would be a welcome gift.

Bateson's eyes widened slightly, and Smith's widened a lot as The Vessel pulled out a bound tome from its torso and placed it upon the table. It flipped through several pages before finding one and turning the volume around to show them. The text was completely unreadable, but there was a picture of the entity which had been neutralized on the right-hand side, with presumably a description of some kind on the left.

"What is this?"

"hunters journal. contains all beasts of hallownest. if beasts of cavern may arrive, need to be prepared."

"I see. So, this is a compendium of some of the creatures of your reality?"

"yes."

"Thank you, this may prove invaluable. Additionally, it will reflect well on you among the higher ranking officials in this organization."

With their new-found gift, the two researchers swiftly terminated the meeting and exited the containment chamber for their office. Their mask of stoicism fell away as soon as they were out of view of anyone and their giddiness at a potentially huge breakthrough was barely contained. Bateson was quickly and quietly running through the necessary procedures required to decipher the text while Smith was thinking about the possibilities of both more items being contained within the SCP.

Smith turned to Bateson as they sat down at their respective desks. While this was all exciting, there was one thing right at the forefront of his mind before anything else.

"So, about that twenty bucks…"

Contra was having a stressful day. She had to organize the orientation of a fresh batch of D-Class personnel, numbering in the hundreds. Even a few dozen would be enough to make a ripple in the community onsite, which meant a large disturbance was likely. Riots, probably not, but still she would have to ensure the guards were prepared to quell any resistance among the prisoners' ranks.

Additionally, Contra was also seeing more anomalies being moved to her site. Apparently the higher ups thought it appropriate to offload more crap onto her plate. Her site was only rated for low to medium risk SCPs, but apparently that was good enough for several with severe tendencies for predation and harm to both staff and the other anomalies. She would have to shape up the site for their arrival fast, containment breaches were intolerable, and evacuation procedures for the site would be strained with their arrival. Thank whatever god there may be that they were smart enough to not send anything Keter to her site. The worst among them was that Frankenstein-esque beast that insisted on being called a surgeon. At least he was civil enough for interesting conversation whenever he wasn't looking for more organs. She didn't think she would allow to roam with the others, though. Too much risk there. At least the ones she had requestioned for the formation of Alpha-9 would be arriving at the same time. It would be good to have them in one place and begin to get to know each other.

And on top of it all, Contra received an incredibly foreboding prophecy from 990. 990 was many things to The Foundation, chief among them an enigma. He was uncontainable as far as they could tell, but he was also always helpful. However, one thing that he never was, was wrong.

Evidently, some threat was soon to arrive that would threaten a large number of people and almost certainly break secrecy. Dead D-Class could be tolerated, dead staff could be tolerated, dead civilians could be tolerated. But a Broken Masquerade was not something that could be allowed to happen, under any circumstance and at any cost.

The dream Contra had received accelerated her timetable. She needed to be ready to combat large-scale threats, however, she was facing a dilemma. She could not seek aid from within The Foundation despite being a high-ranking member. The best method to fight the anomalous, in her eyes, was to utilize other anomalies. However, this view was shared by very few. The disaster of Omega-7 cowed many away from the idea of utilizing the untapped potential of anomalies. She pulled dozens of favors just to get Alpha-9 on the table and spent most of her social capital. She was isolated and hadn't even made an official report on 990 appearing to her, in violation of at least two separate protocols. However, she'd be damned if she didn't see the opportunity presented here. She knew something was coming. No one else did. If she was prepared, she could solidify both her position within the Foundation and bolster her ideology. It was a risk, certainly, and some may see it as selfish, but it was for the betterment of the Foundation. Contra would see them through the end of the tunnel and they would be thankful to her, whether they liked it or not.

The Vessel was sitting idly in the cafeteria. They would have preferred to converse with Mr. Laugh, but they had been instructed to wait. Apparently, the site director who kept speaking with them had brought others to meet them. The purpose of the meeting was still unknown to them, but they were suspicious of it. Still, they went along with it and waited. And waited.

The crowds came and went, hundreds of other prisoners, guards, and researchers filing in and out. Faces changed, voices gradually softened. As time trekked over the hours, the crowds thinned until no one was left but the Vessel in a grand yet empty room. The lights dimmed, indicating that the facility had entered its slower hours. The only lights still at their full capacity were the ones over the table the Vessel was instructed to wait at. It must have been late into the night when the ground vaguely shook. Dim sounds of voices and machinery carried through the walls. It eventually quieted, whatever it was being completed. Another brief period went by and the door to the cafeteria opened, and through it traversed the Site Director followed by a small group. She led them to the table where she dragged a tall chair to the end, sitting herself at the head. The rest filled in the empty chairs around the Vessel, paying them little mind save for a few stray glances.

The group was bizarre and unlike the soft-shelled creatures they saw outside the facility, so they presumed that they must also be prisoners, if not of this specific one. Perhaps the organization that kept them was far larger than they had originally anticipated. The Vessel counted around a half dozen individuals sitting with it. A few appeared to be normal versions of the soft-shelled creatures, whatever abilities they had were hidden. One appeared almost normal, but its limbs and large sections of its bare back had been carved out and replaced with metal. Taking up a whole chair immediately to the Vessel's right was the end of one of the limbs they all had, whatever they were called. They weren't quite sure since they didn't have claws in the same way the residents of Hallownest did. Nevertheless, the disembodied limb end seemed fully alive on its own, despite not being connected to anything else. There was a small fuzzy creature with an elongated snout sitting in a chair, too. The Vessel recalls the species being used as an example in some of their language classes, something called a dog. They seemed far more attentive and intelligent than the creatures used for sentence composition. And of all the beings now surrounding them, one especially caught their attention. Their body shape was very similar to the others, but the were covered in carapace like the vessel was. They shared the compound eyes that many of Hallownest had beneath their masks. They even had a proboscis like a few did. They were a bug too.

The Vessel made all their observations in just a few moments as the site director prepared herself. After mentally readying herself, she began to speak. This was the first time the only current member of Alpha-9 and the potential candidates were all in one room.

"Welcome all. I have gathered you all here to begin organizing a new Mobile Task Force within The Foundation, Alpha-9. As of right now, only one of you is currently a member, a carryover from Omega-7."

She nodded her head towards one of those seated with the Vessel who appeared to be normal. She returned the gesture and was making certain her attention never broke from the director.

"You will be working together to combat the more dangerous anomalous threats. There's an old adage, that you have to fight fire with fire. I am a strong believer that you all are capable of rising to the challenge to meet those forces that endanger not only the lives of regular humans, but the lives of every anomalous being as well. You are all capable of being more than the sum of your parts, the last hope."

Most of the subjects at the table withheld their reactions, but a few cynics rolled their eyes. They were still prisoners, and the Vessel was among their number, even if they weren't good at emoting.

"For the time being, you all will be getting to know each other. I secured a time period here where a majority of the likely candidates will all be housed at the same site, this one here. During this period, please socialize. I can't force relationships upon you, but I can certainly lock you in a room together until they form."

She laughed at her own joke, seemingly unaware that the crowd was not receptive.

"This will be effectively immediately. Iris, Cain, and Crow."

She gestured to the one she had acknowledged as being the only current member, the being with metal limbs, and the creature called a dog respectively.

"As the leading members of this group, I expect you three to begin the process of organization by tomorrow morning. Each of you has a different part to play, and I hope you all find your place in the puzzle soon. It's almost one in the morning, please returns to your cells. Goodnight."

Contra was typing up an email on an unrelated matter, rolling over the earlier conversation in her head. It was late at night. A lot of things were being set in motion and her attention was drawn in several directions at once. The stress of the day was finally coming crashing down, but she was handling it well with a bottle on her desk. She didn't drink often, but it helped every now and then.

The anomalies she had gathered for the team were likely going to have to take some time to get to know each other. Iris was distrustful of anyone she didn't already know well and was only warm with Cain, and even then, only barely so. Crow was cooperative and genial, but due to the fact that he was technical employed by the Foundation as a researcher and held some form of superiority over the rest of the team would likely be a sticking point. Hero syndrome, PTSD, being totally mute, literally being a severed hand. The list of afflictions plaguing the candidates was long. But, she held faith that they could band together. They would have to considering all the threats the anomalous world throws around constantly. It was almost exhausting.

The group had natural leaders, experienced veterans, and competent fighters. Additionally, they would have access to some anomalous devices courtesy of SCP-2099. The brain wouldn't be performing field missions with the group, its condition made it too cumbersome for the mobile nature of such activities. Additionally, if it were to somehow fall into the hands of opposing groups, it would constitute an enormous blow to Foundation activities in the region. There had been an uptick in Chaos Insurgency activity in the Southeastern United States, the last thing The Foundation needed was them having easy access to teleporters and other anomalous tools.

So, Contra was very distracted by her many thoughts as a lack of sleep and weak alcohol addled her brain. The email she was typing would almost certainly have to be rewritten come morning. Her eyes were growing heavy when the door was nearly thrown open.

It was J. Johnson, the monitor who had received rapid promotion. Whether or not it was lucky or unlucky for him was still to be seen, he had a whole lot of catching up to do with the anomalous world now that he was more than a glorified civilian. He quickly began to speak.

"Director! This is important! Basically, uh, the webcrawlers, right? They use the AI to find shit. Basically, we upped the capacity for the one in the region and told it to look for the same radiation that's cropped up twice. It's a lot more accurate now, and we detect spikes as soon as they reach more than two standard deviations from the baseline in the local atmosphere."

"Johnson, I wrote half the orders for this and approved the rest. You don't need to tell me this, what are you trying to say?"

"Ah, shit. Um. Basically, there's another spike. And we have pinpointed its most likely area of emergence to be somewhere within three kilometers. We're going to see another entity within the next 48 hours."

Those with the greatest hubris often think themselves unkillable. They seek nothing more than furthering their own power, ambitions, and health. And yet, they frequently find themselves slain by weapons forged from their hidden flaws. Ego, Ineptitude, and Pride among many other traits were those found within those hubristic beings. And in life, he embodied them all.

Stolen research, stolen honors, stolen lives. It meant nothing in the pursuit of that greatest and most noble of goals. But it was all for naught, a folly upon a damned path. Darkness came and seized him, and within its fury he was wrought from life and sent to the Dream.

He was left floating within the Dream, with nothing around him but his mind. For seeming ages he was forcibly humbled, the ego stripped from his being and his eyes forced to view the individual terror and pain he inflicted upon others. Ages passed within his mind, only spared from insanity by the mere fact that there was nothing else to him. His consciousness was stripped down to solely a form of torture of his malnourished morals.

Those ages flowed onwards. They flowed onwards like a river. Eventually, the ages melded with his mind and they flowed together. A dull thud in the great distance rippled throughout the dream realm, and they flowed onwards, faster and faster. His being was pulled throughout The Dream. Eventually, as though fired from an elder baldur, he violently rejoined the mortal realm.

In rural terrain, essence coalesced from a rift. They came together to form a bug. His eyes opened and the deepest aspects of his personality flowed back. His vision became clouded once more. He was lost and distraught. Rage and confusion overwhelmed him, transforming himself from essence into the Soul Tyrant.

He gazed around. Evidently, he was in some new location, unbeknownst to Hallownest. Wood and water reigned supreme around, and in the distance was some great structure. Bright lights illuminated all around it and even choked out the stars above. Earthy scents wafted through the air. All was silent, nothing crying out. He would have to investigate it all, pull it to pieces, understand it, digest it, use it. Regardless of how he arrived here, there was work to be done. His quest eternal would not stop for anything.

The first thing he needed to do was refill his soul. He felt drained, only able to levitate his mass by fumes. The fastest method was simply to seize it from others. Some saw it as morbid, but it was no different than eating. Weaker creatures existed to be exploited. And so, he began to hunt for one.

Eventually, he saw something. A fuzzy, four-legged something with intricate horns coming from its head. He could not identify it despite his vast and superior education. Nature had truly created a marvel. A marvel he swiftly burned the face off of and crushed to death beneath his own weight. But, with its death, he felt nothing. No soul transferred from its carcass to his own body. He mused to himself.

"How could a being exist without soul? Is such a thing possible?"

One abomination aside, he would simply have to hunt more. He found more. Though the names escaped him, raccoons, cats, rodents, and birds were slain and shredded to pieces. He picked through their entrails, but no soul was to be found. There wasn't even the slightest ambient soul in the air he had utilized back in Hallownest through totems when the bodies of those untouchable citizens were unable to be acquired. His confusion turned to zealous rage. Soul was a sacred thing, a tool to be used by the mighty. And yet, these wretched creatures did not use it. That zealous rage overcame him. He could not abide their existence was a crime!

Every creature he saw, he burned away with his power. His mind was clouded, unaware that he was even dead, unaware that he was substituting soul for essence to fuel his spells. Nothing mattered to him now but burning away the filth that disgraced him by its own existence. They were beneath him, not worth his time. But he felt nothing but rage.

He scorched away some small scurrying thing to a charred corpse before a glint caught his eyes. It was that great structure, a ball of fire in the sky behind it rising. Beings were beginning to walk around the edges. They could obviously create structures, an intelligence within them. Perhaps they had soul he could, requisition. His mind was clouded, and he began to stalk towards unsuspecting prey.