Smith and Bateson were sitting in their dimly lit office. They had the door locked, their personal armaments ready, a battery-powered radio tuned to the site's internal radio network, and a card game between them. All they had heard was that a security breach had occurred, that several people were killed, and that new information was no longer flowing after power died in that section of the facility. Power was restored fully to the staff wing of the facility just recently, but every system was still running too slow after the temporary shutdown to get any real work done.
"Ten of hearts."
"Uhg. Hearts."
"You're throwing off? Do you not have any spades?"
"No, I've been out for three sets."
"Well, I'm spade tied. That's fifty and three bags for me."
"Bite me."
They had been sitting in isolation for four hours at this point. They had taken the time to gather the last of the information from the tome they had been handed by 8546 that they could. Unfortunately, they could decipher little from the text. The pictures were very well detailed, and from the formatting they could determine that the structure was internally consistent. There was a unique title or name attached to each picture, followed by a body of text. It was presumably some form of description, but even that was conjecture. On every page was a set of writing in the margins, definitely added after the creation of the text.
The only things that they knew for certain was that the creatures depicted within were from the same dimension as 8546, and that at least one besides 8546 had arrived in theirs. The picture of the moth-like insectoid creature that had appeared on the farm also appeared in the tome. It begged the question of how the author of the tome knew them, or really most of the creatures in it. A significant portion looked like wildlife, but another portion had weapons, armor, clothing, and other items on them to indicate some form of intelligence. The author was probably sapient too, if 8546 was anything to compare to. They had categorized the creatures within the text to the best of their ability by visual appearance. Many looked like analogues to insects from their world, but just as many did not. A large number had orange sacs and protrusions which did not look healthy. Perhaps some form of parasitic growth, or maybe something more benign. They could say little for certain because their foundational knowledge regarding the subject was so weak. They would definitely have to interview 8546 about the moth creature in particular and the other creatures in general.
"HAH! That's 10 bags for you, back you go."
A knock came at the door. The thunderous booms had ceased at least a few hours ago, but an all-clear had yet to be given. They dropped their cards, the game of Spades scattering to the ground. They quickly grabbed their guns from the desk, just within reach, just in case. Smith racked and then reloaded a shell just to ensure one was ready to fire, catching the ejected shell so as to avoid waste. Bateson checked his handgun's magazine, fully loaded. Bateson went to the handle side of the door, hand ready to open it. Smith went to the left side of the door by the hinges, ready to fire through it if Bateson were to be tackled by an otherworldly monster. The knock came again. A nod shared between them, and Bateson opened the door, handgun at chest height and visible to whoever may be there.
To their surprise, a hand muzzled the barrel of Bateson's weapon and pushed it aside as the voice of the Site Director chastised them.
"Put your piece down, hotshot. It's me, your boss. Smith, come out from behind the door already."
They eased up and backed off as Contra walked in, a satchel over her shoulder, a knitted snake scarf around her neck, and a folding machine pistol strapped to her hip. She had a look of fierce determination which quickly molded back into her bubbly persona.
Smith opened after walking back to the rough center of the room, "Nice, uh, snake scarf."
With a cheery smile, "Thank you! I think it turned out pretty good considering I had to finish it with the lights out."
She slung the satchel from over her shoulder and dropped it on the desk. The two researchers walked up on either side of her as she pulled out a laptop and booted it up. A moment later, she opened a file.
Smith questioned, "What is this? Is it for us?"
The Director responded, "Oh, it's just a piece of video I want you to analyze. It's related to both that security breach just now and, potentially, your assignment."
That got both their attentions fast. They stepped to the new information as fast as they could. The video began to play.
The quality was not great, grainy with streaks traveling up and down the screen like a box set from the seventies. The sound was offset by a few seconds, a fair delay.
It showed a video feed of the front lobby. Thunder was audible from outside the front of the building. Secretaries pushed paperwork around at their desks behind screen dividers. Two foundation personnel were speaking to each other over a pair of cigars, on break. A few staffers pushed a cart from a supply closet in the corner to the main facility through the internal doors. It was a normal evening for the facility. The normal activities proceeded for about five minutes.
Smith tapped a foot impatiently while Bateson took in the whole scene.
Eventually, the secretaries held their hands to their heads as if receiving information through an earpiece. They closed the folders, put paperweights down, and one whistled over to the men on break and waved something at them while speaking indistinctly. Personnel began to finish up their activities and migrate out of the hall. Eventually, the secretaries repeated the action, and began to run out and shout. Bright red lights flashed, and the doors began to seal shut. Unfortunately, they never closed, an explosion of steel and concrete warped the frame, the camera shaking along the wall. A cloud of golden glowing energy wafted around the floor, and in the center of the room was an enormous insectoid entity which caused a flash of recognition in both Smith and Bateson's eyes. This creature showed up in the journal they had been given by 8546. They would have to interview 8546 about this entity and the entity itself about where it came from.
They continued to watch as the entity proved its hostility. It slew every human that caught its attention. It fired off shots of pure energy or threw around its enormous body like a linebacker. Whenever it wasn't actively killing someone, it would destroy pillars, the balconies, decorative pieces, anything. It seemed to have a hatred for all of the facility itself. The guns from the guards had very little effect, the entity wincing whenever it was riddled with lead, but never falling. All the guns seemed to do was draw its attention to whatever poor soul fired off. They watched as the battle played out for nearly fifteen minutes until a band of anomalies entered to do combat, including 8546 with whom they were becoming familiar with.
They watched as the battle raged on, keeping their eyes focused on the abilities of 8546. They knew they could dash around by dissolving themselves into a cloud of smoke for a brief moment, but it wasn't a continuous ability. They had to recharge the ability, so to speak. They really were incredibly competent with that blade they carried, but in the fight they rarely found the opportunity between the blows of both their allies and opponent in such a crowded environment.
There was also the issue of them drawing the blade out without official permission. That was a major breach of their terms of containment. But they also defended the facility. It warranted the termination of all privileges, but they had, in doing so, demonstrated a sense of loyalty to The Foundation.
The battle continued to go on, and the team showed a semblance of coordination but they were still a fledging MTF. Eventually, after retreating behind a barrier of their own making that they had previously forced in, one of them threw their makeshift firebomb over the wall. The hostile entity caught it, looked it over, and dropped it. The catch was lucky for the thrower, if she had ignited the gas directly, she would've been incinerated herself by the effect of 073.
A raging inferno burst forth, and the entity dropped to the ground not long after, writhing in apparent torture. Eventually, between the stress of the attack and the explosion, the floor caved in and the corpse of the entity fell down a level, out of view of the camera.
The Director spoke coolly as flame filled the view of the camera, "That floor caved in over a hallway in the Euclid sublayer. We were able to confirm that the entity was killed and its remains were incinerated following the engagement. However, a number of containment cells were compromised following it. Thankfully, we have accounted for all but one of the anomalies that were affected. SCP-542 is still at large, and presumably disappeared in the crowds following the response to this."
Bateson replied, "Did the cameras catch where it went?"
"No. The cameras in that wing were all non-functional because of the outage. This battery camera is the only one in that sector that caught anything, and it didn't see where it went. That's the reason the lockdown has been going on for so long, but I'm going to lift it soon. It's disappeared."
"What should we do about it?"
"You two are not in charge of recapture, you are in charge of researching and determining what benefit can be gained from 8546 and the attacking entity. Judging by the remains of the D-Class posted to 542, we can safely assume it has entered its passive phase of activity. Once it begins its active phase again, we'll find it and send a team out to capture it. I already have one in mind."
"Understood."
For a minute, the room sat in silence as red flickered over the Director's face from the footage. After the conflagration began dying down due to gas no longer flowing out from the shut off pipes, the Director paused the footage. She closed the laptop, placing it back in her bag.
"That's the footage. You will both be receiving a copy of it soon. I'll make sure you get an email and a physical copy. It'll have audio too, I want you to grill SCP-8546 for everything it knows about this entity."
Bateson replied, "Thank you ma'am. We really appreciate you doing us the favor of getting this here. I have to ask, though. How did you get it?"
"What do you mean? There was a camera in the room."
"Well, yes. But wasn't the power in the room shut off?"
"Unfortunately, it was. However, fortunately, there was a battery powered camera present."
The Director ignored Bateson's eyes of suspicion as he rolled over her statement. She flicked a small desk ornament as she thought carefully of how to word her next statement. With a lower tone, and the mask she wore falling to the side for just a minute, she spoke.
"I wouldn't worry too much about it. This was attack was a tragedy, and we oughtn't dwell beyond what can be gained from it."
With that, she turned and walked out the door with an air of finality. The door did not slam, but the sound of it closing rang through the room.
Smith had moved back to his desktop and was checking his email, having already received the file via the site intranet. He was making sure the audio was good and that nothing could be done about the quality. He already had the tome they had been handed opened up to the page with the new entity on it and was beginning to make comparisons.
Bateson shot a question over the room, "So, how do you think she got the footage?"
"What? She, literally told you like a few moments ago. Batteries."
"Yes, but batteries aren't standard for our cameras. That was the only battery camera in the whole facility."
"So, we got lucky?"
"So, it was set up beforehand."
"Oh. I'm not quite sure how to react to that. There must be a mistake somewhere, weren't we supposed to be in the know if an entity like that was going to show up?"
"Perhaps. It could also have been an anomaly within the dataset which lacked the radiation signature. Or maybe there was just a communication failure. We should speak to the Monitor about this soon."
"Yeah, that's a good idea. First though, we need to speak to 8546. I'd rather not, but we do need to measure discipline. They never received permission to draw their weapon, and that infraction, despite being largely justified given the situation, is leverage to get us better containment over them. I'm a bit nervous of how good they are with that sword thing."
"You're right, but I'd rather you handle that. You're the one with tact."
"Right on. Let's get everything in order and ship out tomorrow. I have a feeling I know where they're going to be."
The Infirmary was always a broad chorus of misery. Every day there was always at least a few dozen D-Class with a common cold or the flu, a guard with Athlete's Foot, or a researcher complaining of carpal tunnel or tension headaches. Healthcare for the non-anomalous was always a low priority, with people expected to work through whatever ailments they may have. They logged a steady matrix between the costs of providing medical services and the lost productivity caused by not providing them. On the contrary, anomalies always received first class treatment. This was not done out of kindness, but simply because disease was another variable that The Foundation wanted out of the picture as soon as possible.
Alexei and Vessel were each in a hospital style bed, though the equipment surrounding Alexei was all modified to be larger than normal, and no equipment surrounded Vessel. All other members of the team suffered non-critical injuries that were not anomalous in nature, and thus were discharged from the infirmary.
The day after the battle, following some pleading by Cactusman, Crow showed paperwork identifying them as an MTF to a security guard who was too busy trying to get more Adderall for himself to really care. Cactusman was able to just barely drag in Iris as the group arrived to show support. Since the beds were doled out on a first come, first served basis, given no special needs, Alexei and Vessel were right next to each other. The curtain between them was pulled back by Cain as they all reconvened.
Vessel looked to be in perfect health, no better or worse than they had when the group first met. This was in stark comparison to their condition previously, their chitin cracked throughout, nearly shattered. They had been smoking from the cracks, which was apparently a gaseous form of that weird tar that composed them. They limped around, and after being guided to and placed within the bed, passed out. The others were convinced they had been at death's door, and yet now they appeared to be in perfect condition, as lively as they could be. They had been jumping up and down on the bed out of boredom when the curtain had been withdrawn, quickly landing and sitting down at attention.
By contrast, Alexei looked like he was dragged through several meters of concrete and steel, which he had been. Though the Foundation had determined that with enough nutrition, the symbiotic organism with which he was connected would heal, he was still bound to ensure a faster turnaround time. His left arm and leg were both set in cloth casts, and he was poking, albeit at a snail's crawl, at a spot on his chest with small metal tools while being overseen by a medical worker. With the curtain being withdrawn, his gaze snapped upwards, before relaxing with a pained wince at the movement.
Cactusman started, "Hey guys! It's good to see you're both in one piece, I was really worried."
Alexei responded, "Your concern is appreciated, but not necessary. I've been through far worse."
"I'm sure, but I don't like seeing my friends in pain."
Alexei turned again as if to say something, but decided against it.
"I'm just glad you two are on the rebound, and so are the rest of the guys! Even if it took some convincing to get them to show up."
Cain defended himself, "I told you I was going to come eventually! I just needed to finish my prayer for the day, you can hardly blame me."
"I mean that's fair, but still. Hey Alexei, I see you're, uh, poking at yourself there. What's up with that?"
Alexei moved his good arm to show that there was a metal plate embedded within his chest, with a few lights and dials blinking faintly.
"I am not certain of the word, something about robot and living thing, together. That is what I am. My body can send and receive wireless communication through AM frequencies."
He thought to himself for a moment, "It could. The function was damaged during the fight. I will heal fine and it will not impair me severely. However, the function will likely be weaker or gone completely. I cannot tell yet. Please, hold this," he gestured to the medical worker who pulled a wire to the side as Alexei soldered a different one. "ah, yes. Thank you. Do not be concerned, I am in pain but will be in good health soon."
"You're coming really together, huh. It must be nice to heal so fast, probably some quirk of your anomaly, they'd say."
"I do heal faster than normal human, but you should see Vessel. They are already back in good health."
Cactusman and Alexei both turned to look at the Vessel, who returned their gaze. They had been through worse fights, they had fought the Soul Tyrant alone before. They felt somewhat embarrassed by their lackluster performance the night before. They should have coordinated better with the others and communicated what they knew to Iris, who had stepped into a leadership role. But, there was no use in contemplating past mistakes. They had long learned by now that past mistakes did not define them, but were an experience from which to do better. That was the only lesson their father had ever imparted upon them. An exclamation from Cactusman shook them out of their brief morose thoughts.
"Well bloody hell, they really are good as new, aren't they. How on Earth did that happen?"
They could only give a shrug in response. Resting up for a while on a bench had always seemed to pull them back from the brink. They never had any fancy medical devices like the doctors at this facility had, so bugs in Hallownest either needed to know how to get medicinal value from their environment or just mend on their own. They had always been one of the latter.
They wrote down, "always good at mend self. do not know why. think ability is from mother."
"Your mom has to be like a goddess of medicine, or nature, or something, man. That's kind of crazy"
The vessel scribbled down only a single word in response, "yes."
"Uh, ok. I guess. Me myself, I've never been too special. I thought, maybe, with the powers I was gifted once, I might become a real hero to others, but I never really got the hang of it."
Cain cut in, "You mentioned that you can, uh, grow spikes? I was curious what you meant by that. Just because you aren't a super healer doesn't mean that you aren't unique in your own way."
Cactusman pulled his arm up and rolled back his sleeve. His skin seemed to wriggle ever so slightly, just barely perceptible. He made a motion as if to flex his bicep before turning his wrist 90 degrees. His pores widened and in just a moment, spines like that of a cactus burst out lining up his arm. Each varied in length, all around an inch. He opened his palm, and a small bundle of spines popped out in the center of his hand.
He began to pluck them off and explain, "It's not the most glamorous of things, but it can be handy. It's almost like always having a pair of brass knuckles at hand. I can control where they pop out, when, and can even 'let go' of them, so to speak."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, it's like I can disconnect them from my body. They won't just fall out on their own, but if they're sticking to something or get tugged on, they'll come out easy. It's like pulling a hair out. If I haven't disconnected them, though, it's like pulling fingernails."
"That doesn't sound fun. Someone tried pulling my fingernails once. They didn't succeed but I felt every bit of it. They didn't want to try that test again, either."
Cain turned to Iris, "Well, that's enough about me. I was curious about you. I know you knew my brother, but we never spoke on anything. We haven't for a long time. And that means he didn't speak to me about you."
Iris cut back, "Is there a point to this?"
"This is just to say, I don't really know too much about your ability. I mean, I know what it is on paper, and I've just witnessed it myself, but I'm curious. What is it like?"
Iris seemed confused and taken aback by the genuine curiosity, and thought to herself for a moment before frowning to herself.
"It's a difficult thing to describe. For starters, it works with any photo. Kind of."
"Does it not work the same way?"
"Yeah, I can sort of see them like a video camera, but it's grainy and really hard to tell usually. And I can't interact with them fully. For me, there's like a layer in the world, so to speak. A wall which can only be found in photographs. They're pinholes by which to view other parts of reality, only being stopped by that wall I mentioned, I think of it like a veil, obscuring to most."
"A veil?"
"That's the best way for me to describe it. It's not something I actively influence, it's more like how there's magnetic fields running everywhere and we can only see them through their influence."
"I see."
"And when I take a photo with that camera," she gestured towards the brand new lockbox which contained her Polaroid, "the veil is weakened. I can reach through it, and touch the other side."
"Your hand shows up wherever the picture was taken."
"No, not my hand. I can faintly feel sensation through it, but it's not me. In one of the Foundation's tests they lopped off a finger. I pulled my hand back out and I was intact."
"Oh that's cool. I can relate to the not getting hurt part."
"No I felt it. It was a weird feeling, I can't really explain it. The whole process isn't exactly comfortable, mind you. I can technically interact with anything in the pictures, it's just that with moving objects it's painful to do so."
"Does it like, sting?"
"No, it's more similar to a burning sensation. That and I still have to strain myself to move heavier objects. I can't really describe it, it's like trying to explain the color red to a blind person. You just can't."
"I understand. I won't pry if you don't want."
"No, it's fine. I've just been thinking about a lot after yesterday and it's nice to speak to someone."
Cactusman had been listening in awe. Iris was basically a superhero, and she had a grasp on her powers. She knew her strengths, she knew her weaknesses. She knew how to fight, and she would be able to help save innocents and fight bad guys! She was everything that he had wanted to be for years!
Shaking with excitement, he practically begged her, "Please, you have to show me how to help save people and fight bad guys and-"
She cut him off sharply, "You need to stop. Like, right now. You're too naïve for this. It's good to want to protect people, but sometimes you can't. Sometimes, people die. You running out to drag that guard in yesterday? That was completely and utterly idiotic. The battle was over, we needed to pull out and cover our retreat. It's a miracle we actually killed the entity."
"But it's the right thing to do, to help others-"
"That's the thing, though. 'The right thing to do' nearly got us all killed. There was an active gas leak and we had a firebomb ready. You can't save anyone if you're a charred corpse, or even worse, considering the world we're a part of. And that's where you're headed. If you continue to do stupid shit like that, you're going to die."
Cactusman averted his eyes, not able to stand up to the harsh words.
"I'm, I'm sorry. I think you're wrong. We have a moral obligation to help those in need."
"Your loss."
Iris turned and left the room. She had nothing more to say following the exchange. As she walked out, a figure who was entirely monochrome passed by unnoticed by most. He walked up to the bed housing Vessel, who gave them a nod showing that they were ok. The man flicked his wrist and produced a bouquet of flowers, followed by a string of handkerchiefs which fell out of their own accord. He quickly stuffed them back into his sleeve. He left without a word to anyone, noticed only by Vessel who was glad for the company of their friend.
Crow and Cain turned to discuss how the next week would proceed. Cain would have to be relocated to a different facility soon for prior commitments, and Crow was going to help finalize his brief stay at this Site. Han was consoling Cactusman about yesterday, and how even if it was difficult, his heart was in the right place. Eventually, Han crawled up to Cactusman's shoulder and the two walked out together. They planned to go spend some time to continue learning more about each other in the fancy media center they had heard about through the wire.
As the pair walked out, Crow and Cain made to follow. But, as the first pair exited, the second was stopped by a set of researchers. The shorter of the two leaned over, petting Crow with a scarred hand.
"I didn't know we had dogs on the site, how are you little man?"
"Smith, that's Senior Researcher K. Crow."
"Oh my fucking lord I am so sorry."
Crow just sighed, "I'm mostly used to it by now. Please don't do that again, it's beyond demeaning." Cain just cringed in second hand embarrassment at the display of ignorance.
"I think I'll be on my way now, you gentlemen have a nice day-"
Bateson interrupted, "Please wait. I'm sorry. But you are the Foundation liaison of that newly formed MTF, correct?"
"Yes, that's me."
"Ah, we need to speak with you. No one else is required, however."
Cain took the hint, "I'll be in my cell. You can meet me later." He walked out of the ward, leaving the case containing Iris's camera with Crow.
Crow turned, a clinical and detached tone indirectly revealing his irritation at the incident, "What is it?"
Smith stepped forward, "Well, to begin. We are required to take administrative action against SCP-8546. The drawing of their weapon was a violation of the terms of their privileges while in containment. You, nor anyone else involved, will be punished as we have determined from what information we have that the act was done of their own volition."
"Are you kidding me? You're going to drone at me like a copyright lawyer while punishing them for helping defend the facility?"
"You've been here long enough to know that those things don't protect SCPs from procedure. But, the action does allow us to bend the rules slightly. Technically, that violation should warrant all privileges being terminated, but I think it'd be better for everyone involved if we simply brought their terms more in line with others."
"What are you telling me? I know you've already decided, I'm just the messenger here."
"We decided that their weapon will have to be stored alongside the Camera, I believe it was, and to only be taken out when approved. Additionally, we'd like them to either turn over everything that they have stored within themselves, or sign a document indicating that they have nothing left. If they lie when signing the document, such an action will result in all privileges being terminated. In such a case, I doubt we could bend the rules any further for them."
"Alright, I'll be sure to let them know. Although, they probably overheard you. They're right there."
All three turned to face the Vessel, who was now contemplating how to react to such a situation. They doubt that they'd be supremely interested in a majority of the things they had collected over their time both in Hallownest and in this facility. They could bear to part with most of them. But they realized now just how much they had surrendered up to this point. They were now going to be asked to give up their weapon, their leverage, their only assurance that if everything went wrong they could fight tooth and claw to the death to escape if need be. They'd be defenseless. Although, perhaps, with study of their recent fight, they could figure out a way to regain power for themselves. They had been deprived of spells through a lack of soul, but maybe, they could learn something from the Soul Tyrant, a being of something other than soul.
The two researchers approached the vessel and pulled up chairs. They had a long conversation ahead of them regarding the entity that had just attacked the facility. They needed a name, motive, and method, hoping that 8546 could provide all three for them. They explained the situation they were in, and gave 8546 a few hours to mull it over before coming to a decision. The researchers liked 8546, but were still bound by their job to treat them with contempt in spite of that fact.
It was half past one in the morning in a warehouse in the outskirts of Atlanta. A dozen men and women were gathered around a table with a map spread out over it. Every one of them wore a gear or cog bound by a wire tied loosely around their necks like crucifixes. The room was lit by the light pollution of the city around them pouring in through rusted holes in the roof.
Arrays of strings and pins lined highways throughout Georgia, Florida, and South Carolina. Small plastic models were pushed around like an early modern war map. A plan was being concocted. Subdued voices argued, agreed, debated, and concluded, a chorus in unison working together towards one goal. But all voices hushed down and then went silent as a figure approached.
He struck an imposing figure, their leader. A dark black trench coat, slick gelled-back hair, and an arrogant attitude that poured through his every motion. The cog necklace he wore was much larger and heavier than the ones worn by any other. As he approached, everyone at the table pulled their cog necklace up and thumbed it at him. With a wave of his hand, everyone returned the necklace to position and was at ease.
His voice broke the night, calm, smooth, and suave.
"I trust that you all have been doing well organizing my vision. But soon, the time will be upon us to execute it. We will all travel forward with the Spirit. Amen."
Every other voice in unison gave confirmation, "Amen."
"I just got off of a meeting with our good friends Mrs. Carter and Mr. Dark. They have assured us that the information we already have was good, and allowed me to finally give payment for the last piece we needed. We will soon be ready to mobilize and strike. But we must be swift, and we must be certain. Though they had no quarrels selling such information to us, Mrs. Carter and Mr. Dark said in no uncertain terms that we are kicking the hornet's nest here. This, 'Foundation', will not appreciate our plans and they will seek unholy vengeance. We shall not grant them the opportunity, we shall return to the steel from which we lash out. Let us do our jobs swift, right, and we shall all make progress. Amen."
"Amen."
"You may all rest for the night. May the coming times bring great prosperity to us all."