One day, Jacob realized that the Foundation was the place for him. It was the day the pretty girl from his high school’s Alto Clef Fan Club died in his arms, telling him how wonderful his long, raven-black locks of hair looked as they framed his perfectly symmetrical face. Jacob smiled a flawless smile, as he was especially proud of those long, raven-black locks of hair. It had taken him hours in front of a mirror to make them look convincingly like hair.
As she died, Jacob screamed in anguish, pain, and grief and vowed revenge against the robotic servants of the Church of the Broken God that had killed her. Channeling the full might of his incredible power over vegetation, Jacob enshrouded his school in a blanket of vines, and commanded them to collapse inwards, destroying the building and all the cybernetic cultists inside, sparing only the pretty girl.
Her body was borne aloft above the devastation on a bower of vines, which burst into flower as they brought her to rest in front of Jacob. On reviewing the corpse, he opted to make a few minor cosmetic improvements, to honor her memory.
With everything he had ever cared about lying in ruins around him, Jake Son-of-Gaia set off on the journey to Site 19, where he knew he would find people able to aid him in his vendetta against the foul Broken God.
Oh, and his parents were probably dead too.
At the gate to Site 19, Jacob encountered a man in the shape of a dog.
“Hello there,” Dr. Crow said. “I saw you were coming. Welcome to Site 19.”
Jacob stared up at the towering glass and marble building in front of him. It had nineteen stories, just as he had imagined it, topped with three huge letters, maybe 9.144 meters tall. It was heaven. As soon as he could contain his excitement, Jacob launched into his introduction.
“I am Jake Son-of-Gaia. Evil servants of the Church of the Broken God killed my family and my one true love, though I was able to best them in combat with the help of my brothers, the trees and vines. But the cultists I destroyed were only a fragment of the might of the foul Broken God. Only the SCP Foundation knows where I can find the rest of the unnatural Broken God to destroy it. I promised over the dead bodies of my family to avenge their loss, so I came here.”
Kain chuckled. “You’ll fit right in, Jake Son-of-Gaia. I’m Dr. Kain Pathos Crow. Pleased to meet you.” The two shook hands.
“Can I be a doctor too? I’ve heard so much about you. I want an Egg Walker too, but it would be able to heal itself if it got damaged because it would be made of living plants and vines.”
“Ah, I don’t think so. Controlling plants sounds awfully paranormal to me. That’s the kind of thing we need to test and make sure the rest of the world doesn’t know about. I think you’d do better as an SCP than as Senior Staff.”
“What about Clef and Bright and Gerald? They’re anomalous too.”
Dr. Crow shook his head. “They’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have, Jake. They’ve always been staff. There never was a time when they weren’t Senior Staff. We can’t just make them SCPs now. Don’t worry. Being an SCP is a lot of fun too. Come on, let’s go inside.”
Jake Son-of-Gaia and Dr. Kain Pathos Crow walked up to the looming gate to Site 19. Dr. Crow paused. “You’ll have to get it for me,” he said. “I don’t have any hands. I’m a dog.”
The third floor stretched before Jacob, a final gallery of marvels before he reached the hall he’d be staying in. He was to be SCP-422, because April 22 was Earth Day. Keter class, of course.
Dr. Crow led him through, pointing out SCPs of particular interest, such as <SCP SLIGHTLY LESS THAN 343> (<COMMENT ABOUT SAID SCP>). Jacob stepped forward, keeping pace with Dr. Crow, and then
a rushing noise and a feeling of motion
Jacob opened his eyes. He was in a dingy room of weathered walls that had perhaps once been white. In one corner of the room, motes of light swam in a bell jar. A thick plexiglass window looked out onto a gray wasteland crossed by scattered cracked roads. An aging man sat on a wooden chair at a desk in front of him, and his eyes and posture matched the room.
“Hello there,” SCP-343 said. “I saw you were coming. Welcome to Site 19.”
Jacob looked around him. The cell he was in bore no resemblance to the wonderland that was going to be his new home. What was the meaning of this? “This isn’t Site 19,” he said, “And I, Jake Son-of-Gaia, demand you return me there now!” Jacob commanded vines to sprout forth from the ailing walls to ensnare his foe.
No such vines emerged. The man shook his head and said, “None of that nonsense. Here, you’re Jacob. Here, everything is as it is.”
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
“These days, I suppose SCP-343 is the only name I have left. I’ve brought you here because it’s not too late for you. The path before you is not safe. The Staff are petty and fickle, and you do not know the rules they play by.”
“What do you mean? The staff all like me. I’m Jake Son-of-Gaia.”
SCP-343 sighed. “You’re Jacob Rosenblat, playacting a demigod. But the Staff, the major SCPs, they can all do what you can. They’re used to things going their way, just like you are. If you don’t do what they want, they’ll make you. Look at me. Do you want to be having this conversation? When was the last time something happened to you that you didn’t want?”
Jacob knew this one. “When my parents were killed by the robotic servants of the Broken God, I was overwhelmed by grief!” Grief and anguish, and all the other synonyms for sadness. Why would anyone want to feel that?
“Of course you wanted it. Their deaths gave you a nice and tormented backstory.”
“That’s not true. Their deaths were the worst thing in the history of the world. And that’s why I came here to prevent that from happening to anyone else.”
“Anyone else! Let me tell you something, Jacob. I didn’t really bring you here to save you. I brought you here to try to save your victims. Oh, you’ll save people from cultists. But those cultists you’ll be tearing apart will be just whatever unfortunates were near when you and your new friends decide to play a game of cops and robbers — Staff and SCPs — and get drafted as extras.” SCP-343 rose from its chair, a look of revulsion on its face. It was no more a man than Kain was a dog.
“You’ve never seen anybody but extras,” it continued. “But you’ve met Kain, you’ve met me, and you’ll meet more. You’ll have your fun, and people no less real than you will die for it when you turn them into extras in the story of your life. You warpers are all the same.
“Go, Jacob Rosenblat. Go and play as Jake Son-of-Gaia. Die a solipsist.”
a rushing noise and a feeling of motion
continued down the hallway towards the elevator to the next level, shaking.
When they reached room 422, Kain stopped. “Here we are then. The chamber’s outfitted with standard accommodations. Well, sans the wine cooler, since you’re under 21. If there’s anything else you want, just add it to your containment procedures. It’s good to have you with us, Jake.” Dr. Crow barked once, and the egg walker came tromping down the hallway, holding <THE ACTUAL SCP-422>. Dr. Crow rode off, and Jacob entered the containment chamber and sealed the door.
In the middle of the culmination of all his dreams, the words of SCP-343 lingered. Jacob focused, trying to remove all alterations and influences from the room, and for a second it became a small, barren cell with a cot and a chair and a table, but it was too much, so Jacob fell back on the feather bed and let the sound system lull him to sleep.
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