Do not edit other writers' sandboxes without permission.
Universal Containment Procedures
Here Is How You Write Spiders
What Not To Do
alexylva-test
alexylva-theme
GOI Colour Schemes: http://imgur.com/a/lhuAo
001 Proposal
Decibelle's Challenge!
Code Stuff
changeclick
chatexample
CHICAGO LOOP
CYOA CONTEST
ADVENTURE
COOL WAR 3
- Empty Tab
- Cool War: 【ＤＥＡＴＨ ＆ ＲＥＢＩＲＴＨ】
- Restart
- History Contest Plan
- Happy Jesusday
- D-humanised
- Rare Medium
- money 2 burn.
- I Want To Be Believed
- SCP-FARM-J: A Big Farm Upstate
- SCP-2630: The Cemetery H Scorpion Locks
- Livery Administration
- An Exploration of Dynastic Wealth
- Rêve Récit
- To Use
- Subversion Cast List
- Rita Learns About The Birds And The Bees In The Worst Way
- It Was All Just The Dream Of An Angel
- Babies
- That Time I Memed My Way Into Employment
Ruiz madly clutched at his chest, eyes wide, floating in a featureless void, panting, shivering, cold, cold, cold, Ruiz was DAMNED cold, cooler than cool should hence beget, as though his eyes would swell from the expansion of the ice inside and rupture his optics entirely, as though the blood in his veins would superheat and fill the world with red mist, as though a single knock would collapse him from his existential triple point and collapse him into a mystery state.
As though he'd died.
He glanced at his wrist and saw nothing but his bare arm, hairs raised and bumped with goosepimples, no watch, no shirt, no shoes, no service. Damn it all to hell… but then, that's not where he'd ended up. Ruiz reached out into the void and felt…
mu.
Endless, glorious, chaotic, silent, blackened, blinding… mu.
"Welcome to paradise. Nothings upon nothings."
Ruiz turned his head to see himself, older and greying.
"Howdy. I am the light that flashes before your eyes when you go - please, no flesh photography. I am your final death, in a million aeons and at the start of time, and I'll guide you to the next set and setting."
"Where are we?"
"There's no 'we' here, nor where, nor even "are", or tense, or anchoring. It's just us. It's just… you. Welcome to the most dismal of afterlives: a semantic untethering to your own little corner of Meinong's jungle, occupied only by the person you hate the most. Me, you, and the rest of them."
The freshly culled Ruiz pondered, watching his parallel selves pop in and out of death in the distance.
"I thought I'd warrant hell."
"Oh, gosh, no. You weren't evil or cruel, though you sure as shit weren't kind. You were a creature of pure reactionary impetus. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and so the end of you… is more of you. Funny, no?"
"Wait, how did I die? The ending is a haze."
"Suicide by shower. Worst way to go. Won't be the last, though! You've many more deaths ahead of you yet, and behind you, in so far as forwards and backwards and futures and pasts have tenses. No, you're just to float here until your… Ruizerrection."
"That's a nice turn of phrase."
"Thanks! A translational readymade of my own volition."
"So what's the return trip, then? Immortality through works and consequent reincarnation, or…?"
"Now, see, you were to ride out of here on an Arc words, but Dark hijacked them - Iris, you'll meet her later - except an alternate Dark, from another timeline, that leveraged the existing semantic framework for cheap power. I guess the words were too obvious, so we'll have to switch boats. She doesn't realise she's headed to the un-mu of screaming silences."
Ruiz and Ruiz glanced around at the world that felt like nothing because nothing was what it was.
"A good thing you didn't end up there, amongst the wolves and serpents."
"So how do I get back?"
"Oh, that's… that's Pico, this time, actually. Well, actually, Overgang by commission? Turns out he sussed soulwork from first principles."
Overgang Dood maneuvered the penny deftly betwixt his fingers. Pico Wilson stood proud but gaunt in the barn, covered in sawdust, having long since taken up carpentry in the tradition of a butcher. (If it helps, envision woodchips as chunky vegetal viscera.) Overgang sighed.
"So you're gonna make Ruiz into a Pinocchio."
The detailed but unpainted wooden simulacra of Ruiz Duchamp was suspended from the roof, dangling from the neck as though hanged by noose.
"Broadly speaking, yes. The animistic mechanism worked with your Trump souls, at least."
Pico gestured at the smoldering orange kindling in the corner and continued.
"Look, I know you and Bohemia Squad in the van are keen to, I dunno, help Ms Frizzle track down Carmen Sandiego or whatever the fuck it is you do on your off days. I have the cash, you have the soul-grabbing mitts. Make with the semantic antics and let's bring my brother back from the grave."
Overgang counted the bills in the stack, then counted the stacks in the briefcase.
"How did you end up this rich?"
"Turns out people love paying me to give them wood."
Pico winked and smirked a half-open grin. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth; he coughed, and wiped it away.
"In honesty, bespoke furniture manufacture is surprisingly lucrative."
"CUT ME DOWN, SHITHEAD"
"Sorry, brother! My snipping days are behind me, of late I tend to whittle."
"PRATTLE'S MORE LIKE IT, DOUCHEBAG"
I twisted the key and was met with rapid clicking.
"Shit."
I got out of the car - from the right side, obviously, where drivers' seats are supposed to be - was met with a blast of hot desert air, walked around to the front of the vehicle, and lifted up the bonnet. First thing you gotta know about me: I know fuck all about cars. I was mostly looking inside the thing for show. Of course, there wasn't anyone around for miles. It was just a reassuring performance for myself. Maybe, just maybe, if I pretend I know what I'm doing, I'll feel a bit better about the situation.
Wait, is that the uh… the oil stick thing? I know how to take that out.
I grabbed the thing, twisted it, and pulled it up. Yep, that's the oil stick thing. It still has oil at the bottom of it, so… I guess that's probably fine? Back in it goes. Oh, water maybe? Okay, water bottle thing has water in it. I know I have fuel. At least, I'm pretty sure I have fuel. Maybe something's leaking. I went to lie down on the ground to look underneath, but the second I put my hand on the road I realised, oh right, the ground is hot as hell, and you're an idiot. I kind of awkwardly squatted down and leaned over. Nope, there's nothing coming out of it.
Yeah, I don't have any phone reception either.
Well, if it's the battery, I'm fucked regardless. I don't know how to jump start a vehicle. Fuck, it's probably the battery. Ugh.
Well, the sun's gone down now, at least. Of course, the seat's still coated in sweat from the day, and now it's fucking freezing. My lips are all dry, too. When I close my mouth, my lips do that thing where they stick together on the inside, and when you open them again, they kind of pry off one another. I'm not really sure what causes that, exactly? Probably something to do with the membranes doing something weird. I dunno. I never did biology, in either sense.
It's weird how many stars you can see out here at night when the moon's not around. Normally I kind of expect a luminous gradient as you look downwards toward the horizon; light diffusing through the atmosphere from distant sources. But here it's just darkness. I can't remember why I thought I needed to come out here, anyway.
I hear a distant clanking.
Oh. Right. Damn, how did I forget this was supposed to happen? The heat must be getting to me.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
I can't see the robot. It's ages away, still, and it's far too dark. But I know it's on the way. It's kind of coming back to me now.
"Excuse me, sir, do you need some assistance?"
"Yeah, hey, uh… damn, I can't remember your name. I know it's not Jeeves, and Albert seems wrong."
"Well, sir, if you can't remember it, there's no way I'm going to, either."
The robot leaned against my door. It wore a black and white suit, covered in yellow-red sand. The paint job was peeling off - lightly sandblasted, obviously - though it was only spot coloured blue to begin with.
"THOMPSON! Oh, dang, that's right, you're Thompson. Okay, wow, it's coming back to me. Alright. Cool. Hey, can you start the car? I think you're meant to drive, too, though I'm not sure where. Hell, I can't even remember where we are. Or how I got here."
"I believe, sir, that you intended to leave it narratively ambiguous due to its irrelevance in the larger scheme of things."
"Ah, right, right. Yeah, that works. You do know where we need to go though, right?"
"Certainly, sir. You can leave it to me."
Thompson walked to the front of the car, carefully lifted the bonnet, and then touched both ends of the battery. I got out of the driver's seat, went over to the passenger side, got back in; Thompson got in the driver's seat, then started the car.
We were on our way.
The Varying Techniques of Amos Marshall
Amos Marshall entered the world earlier than either Ruprecht Carter and Percival Darke. He was born on the 21st of June, 1527 AD, in the Republic of Florence. By happenstance (if there is such a thing (which there isn't)), this happened at the very instant that Niccolò Machiavelli died.
Over time, he acquired a great a very large amount of money, by doing a great number of very bad things.
Parley With The Beast (1584)
Amos was not a God-fearing man. He was, however, a Devil-fearing one, since Hell would be his more likely destination.
Hell did not seem like a particularly nice place to spend a very, very long time, so Amos decided to make arrangements. He knew that the man upstairs didn't listen much to anyone, but Lucifer? You had merely to knock on the door, and the fellow would come from below to offer your heart its darkest desires.
Amos had his manservants make the appropriate arrangements, and by the end of the week, he was standing before a great goat-headed demon, its eyes glowing red, its fur matted by the sacrificial virgins' blood. The demon exhaled through its nose, and the warm, wet air blew against Amos' face. Amos was unamused. The beast widened its maw, and spoke.
"Amos Marshall. I like your work."
Lucifer and Amos planned out a deal.
Amos was told that he would die in 1722, whereupon he would be swallowed by the earth and be whipped as hard as Cain for all the rest of days.
And in exchange, Amos continued to a great many evil things.
The Framing of Walter Raleigh (1618)
The Start of Something Amazing (1716)
Amos tracks down Darke in America and commissions the design of the etheric transfer machine, as designed by Darke. Finding Darke to be in a state of philosophical malaise, he proposes a business venture.
The Year That Amos Wasn't (1722)
Hard to Kill Transplant (1973)
Lucas Monaco walked into the room holding an opaque plastic bag.
"You know that huge lizard that can't die?"
Amos looked up from his records.
"Yes."
"This is a pound of her flesh."
Amos raised his eyebrows. He walked around the table
The Final Moments of Amos Marshall (2015)
Just before Amos went to Hell forever… his soul wrapped in an etheric suicide vest.
The Many Sleeves of Ruprecht Carter
How Ruprecht Carter became a body-snatcher, and some stories of the bodies he has occupied. This story focuses on Ruprecht’s political pressures, desires, and objectives. Each story takes place with Ruprecht in a different body.
Birthing a Body Snatcher (1734)
How Ruprecht came to have his Amazing Supernatural Powers through a malfunction of the Life Transfer Machine.
The Reposession of Pyotr Fyodorovich the Third (1761)
The Attempted Insurrection of Yemelyan Pugachev (1774)
How MC&D's actions accidentally created the predecessor to the GRU-P.
The Cranial Cavitation of Abraham Lincoln (1865)
How Abraham Lincoln’s body got reposessed, and subsequently terminated by the UIU.
The Cranial Cavitation of John F. Kennedy (1963)
How John F. Kennedy’s body got repossessed, and subsequently terminated by the UIU.
The Persistent Survival of Percival Darke
Details incidents in the life of Percival Darke, from the imparting of his semantic immortality to his leaving this realm of existence. Describes dealings with various unusual groups and persons.
The Realisation of Semantic Immortality (1633)
Darke is semantically immortal.
The Chicago Circuit (1938)
How Percival trapped the Chicago Spirit inside a time loop. Forever.
The Gifting of the Tarp (1964)
How the Tarp was given to Andy Warhol and became The Janitor.
"This semantic stuff is cool," Warhol scribbled in his journal. "I wonder if I could make someone… Nobody? Possibly worth investigating."
When Percy Left (1993)
How Percival moved on. (With mention to Lucas Monaco.)
A Few Hundred Years From Now (2███)
How the world will catch up.
Hello! Many am have of Jesusday upon you, finewards traveller. Erstwhile stay a bunch, and listen to candied tales of the magicman? Yea, sit by the fire, as I squander the tales of The Jesus upon ye.
Once upon a time, there was something similar to a human being named Jesus Deus. In overtimes, we am abbreviate to Jesusdeus, and then to Jesusde, because he split from us. Phonetically, we get to Jesusday - but that's a yule for another tide.
One time, Jesusday was born in a Manger. Manger, as you know, was a vital career path in the good ol' days. Almost all animals had Mange, and the Mangers ensured that Mange spread as fast and far as possible. Sadly, the profession is now mostly defunct due to the Vetting process.
MumMary was the name of the Manger that was Jesusday's MumMary. Jose was MumMary's Long Term Life Partner, but was not the Jesusday's Dad. That honore goes to de balzac of G-d "YHWH" Deus. Jose was fine with this - deities have ways to pry Open Relationships.
I sit here in d garden
yea I sit among d plants
and I water all d roses
and I watches all d ants.
and I see all of d creatures
'lluminated by d sun
and d ending of dis story
is d way that it begun.
so I went down 2d store you see
to buy some new-d mags
and id even had d pocket cash
to buy 2d of fags.
so I walked along d road you see
just whistling d tune
of d latest kickass single
by d coast's best rapping crew.
with my new-d mags in bags I went
and walked out 2d park
and d boys all in d trees n' such
was strippin off d bark.
d boys was setting sparks n' such
and making all d fires -
till one went to d power lines
and lit up all d wires.
d power then went out n' such
and all d folks go scared
they called out all d cops n' such:
d cops are fuckin mad.
d boys got put in vans n' such
n' so was me as well
but all d boys n' me was fucked
and on d path to hell.
we woke up in d-prison
we was dressed in new d-clothes
we wiped d grit out from our eyes
and wondered what d fuck was going on.
You're seven years old.
"You'll go down into that inky abyss, oh yes; you'll sink and sink until all the sparkles in the sea expire and every star in the sky blinks - oh, wait, hang on -"
The old lady you only know as Madam Blue spat on her crystal ball and rubbed some dust off its surface with a red, glitter-encrusted rag. You're not too happy with how this is going, but at least you didn't have to pay her.
"No, never mind - that was wrong, dust got in the way - damn dust - ah, yes, where was I? Or should I say… WHEN was I?"
She cackles and stares back into the crystal ball. You shift awkwardly on your seat. Old people are weird.
"Ah, I see… I see two futures laid out before me, yes… you'll have to make a choice, a very difficult choice. It won't be easy for you to… do…"
Madam Blue looks up from her kitschy crystal ball with a wide-eyed look on her face. She's trying to spook you.
"Oh no."
pop
And then Madam Blue is gone. This is probably the most impressive trick you've ever seen her pull. You stand up off your chair
pop
And then Madam Blue is back. Her skin is pale and grey, her face gaunt and hollow, her motions stilted and unnerving - so very little has changed. That said, she looks a bit worried. She stands up and grabs your hand.
"Quickly, we need to - where's your mother, we can't let - oh, wait, don't, I'll… oh, this -"
pop
And then you'll be in the future. You'll think this is somewhat weird - your brain won't seem to work right, you'll feel a bit tense in this future. You'll be high on the hypotheticals and the hyperaesthetic expanse that will be before you won't seem to metabolise quite right in your head. Your understanding will then have to be a little backwards, and a lottle frontwards. Madam Blue lets go of your hand and speaks.
"Sorry dear, I didn't - I couldn't - where's your mother, we - don't -"
pop
And now you'll be alone. Future. Perfect. Well, pluperfect, here, but you'll not really know the distinguishing bits until later. You'll cough soon. You'll look up, though, and you'll take a good hard look at what's to come.
There is more dust here than might have been expected, and a lot less gravity.
i have silver 4 ashes
and gold in 3 slabs
weave 7 salvations
and 5 legged crabs
we've 8 all our fill
till we're 6 to the bone
n' weave 1 to discuss
'nd weave money 2 burn.
The 9 of them stood in a room committing a thoroughly, unforgivably anarchic crime. The 100 dollar notes smouldered in a big ol' pile in the middle of the room. 7 of them stood around it, though 1 was crouching down and poking it with a stick, and the thin old man in the stupid looking tweed suit was stuck in his damn wheelchair.
"Inasmuch as this coin belongs to us, we are free to destroy it."
"Radical freedom! Down with the fiefdom!"
"Yes, yes. So much for that."
Destruction of coin (it was, of course, all notes, though it needed to be referred to as coin for the summoning) was the important bit. They needed to say some words, but the particular words didn't matter. They just needed to make Mammon take notice and, as the acting deity of economics, that could be done in any sufficiently notable negative financial decision.
So Mammon appeared with a scowl on her face, took off her icy cape and laid it down over the pile of notes.
"Yes, yes, hello everyone. It worked, I'm here, just… let me try and fix this."
She crouched and tentatively pulled one of the notes from the pile; it broke apart as she rubbed it into her hand.
"I want to say this wasn't necessary, but it was, since you wanted my attention, so I suppose you've got it. What's up?"
The tall fellow in the lab coat spoke.
"We're having a cash problem."
"Shouldn't be burning it all in a pile then, really, should you now?"
She pulled out a pillow made of gold-painted nylon and sat down on it.
Introduce a GOI of aliens which only the UIU know about because nobody else believes they exist
Item #: SCP-FARM-J
Object Class: Well Reviewed On Yelp, Look
Special Containment Procedures: Sure, I mean, we'd love to take you to SCP-FARM-J, but it's just so far away! It'd take like… 2 whole weeks to get there, and 2 whole weeks to get back. Maybe we'll go next year. But you can call them whenever you want, and find out how it's going over there!
Special Researcher MacDonald is posted semipermanently at SCP-FARM-J, and tasked with receiving any calls from Researcher James. Researcher MacDonald will confirm the presence of all D-Class personnel that Researcher James may have had contact with, stating that they are "getting along well with the others" and "really enjoying their new life here". An ongoing campaign of information control and deception will continue until Researcher James stops crying whenever someone dies.
Description: SCP-FARM-J is a lovely, quiet, outdoors farm upstate.
And the end of every month, all the D-Class go off happily to SCP-FARM-J, so they can live happy, frolicking and free.
At various times, D-Class personnel have mysteriously vanished from their other duties in experiments, simultaneously appearing at the entrance to SCP-FARM-J.
Experiment Log:
18:08: D-7483 enters SCP-682's containment cell.
18:10: SCP-682 snarls as D-7483 approaches.
18:11: D-7483 is instantaneously transported to SCP-FARM-J and is perfectly fine.
Item #: SCP-2630
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: All living instances of SCP-2630-1 are to be contained within Vivarium 14 at Site-66. Should the population exceed 100 members, excess instances should be removed from the Vivarium, cryogenically frozen, and then stored in the Cryogenic Storage Facility at Site-66.
The Rann of Kutch Wildlife Sanctuary and Nara Desert Wildlife Sanctuary were founded as cover organisations for protecting the locations of known SCP-2630-2 structures. SCP-2630-3 materials from SCP-2630-2 structures are to be collected and stored at the nearby Site-287. Personnel tasked with reviewing SCP-2630-3 materials are to attend monthly psychiatric assessment.
Description: SCP-2630-1 is a particular genetic group of Hottentotta tamulus, or Indian red scorpion. SCP-2630-1 instances have specific molecular genetic markers which are not found in most specimens of Hottentotta tamulus. Sexual reproduction between a SCP-2630-1 instance and a non-anomalous member of Hottentotta tamulus will result in a non-anomalous organism.
SCP-2630-2 are a series of underground facilities located within the geographical region of the Thar Desert. Of the 217 known SCP-2630-2 facilities, 187 are within the borders of Pakistan, with only 30 located within India. SCP-2630-2 facilities are identified by their use of religious iconography commonly associated with the Cemetery H culture, a group who occupied the region from 1900 BCE until about 1300 BCE. The Cemetery H culture is considered a large factor in the formation of early Vedic culture, from which the modern religion of Hinduism originated.
At the current time, the entrances of all but 3 of the known SCP-2630-2 facilities are, unless being accessed by personnel, blocked by a sliding rock doorway. To enter, a SCP-2630-1 instance must be placed within a small inlet coated with gypsum dust. Upon insertion, the SCP-2630-1 instance ceases normal activity and coats its pedipalps and stinger with gypsum. After a brief period of muscular spasming, the SCP-2630-1 instance will then sting itself in the head and expire, whereupon the doorway will slide open for a period of approximately 12 minutes. Testing has demonstrated that the only requirement to open the door is interaction between gypsum and SCP-2630-1 hemolymph.
SCP-2630-2 facilities are large
At a time prior to initial containment, forcible entry had been made to three SCP-2630-2 facilities using an unknown corrosive chemical agent.
<Randomini> I kind of want someone to pitch me an idea
<Randomini> and I can just write it up in an hour and coldpost it because why the hell not
<Decibelle> Randomini: a scorpion that is the key to an underground archive full of security footage
<Randomini> Decibelle wins, I'm going with that
Scarlet Ninth led Bijou Dashwood down a corridor.
The walls were composed of harsh, muddied stone, yellowed and stained with ancient tobacco muck. Bijou felt a pressure against her ears and felt the need to swallow. Scarlet moved with a regular pace. The corridor twisted and turned, right after right, left after left; the occasional wooden door interrupting the otherwise dull passageway. There were no light sources, and yet the place was well-illuminated. Bijou's mental map noted that the passageway should have crossed over itself twice. They turned right, then right, then right, then right again; the corridor never moving up or down, yet never intersecting with itself. She felt a shiver run down her back, then felt the need to voice her concerns.
"Space is wrong, here."
Scarlet continued walking at the same pace, but moved her hands to the hilts poking from the top of her golden scabbards.
"Space is never wrong, Bijou. Never get in an argument with the universe."
"Never?"
"Not until you know you'll win it, anyway."
Scarlet stopped suddenly, turning left and tapping gently on the wooden door that was there. On the third tap, the door opened inward, Rogues Kant silently staring at the two of them.
He was Gideon Goldstein, Mover of Coin, Twelfth Decrier of the Hidden Chantries, and Shadow Warden of the Worshipful Company of Chartered Accountants.
She was Dawn Lynch, Changer of Fates, Eleventh Decrier of the Hidden Chantries, and Shadow Warden of the Worshipful Company of Gunmakers.
He was Linus Wye, Emptier of Pockets, Fourteenth Decrier of the Hidden Chantries, and Shado Warden of the Worshipful Company of Glovers.
Raimund Eder, when he was born, had wealthy parents. His parents, both, had had wealthy parents, and they in turn. Someone, somewhere along the line, might have actually earned that money. The seemingly perpetual landslide of riches pouring through the genealogical line had an appreciable effect on Raimund's childhood: namely, that he rarely saw his parents, who were typically too busy being drunkards.
"So, what do you want to talk about, Finn?"
Finnegan looked at the man sitting across from him. Overgang Dood's trademark sunglasses sat upon his nose, slightly fogging from the tea he was sipping. They were in a Victorian styled room, both seated in plush chairs which were, to Finn, uncomfortably comfortable. Finn reached to the table, picking up his own cup of tea. He moved to sip it, then decided against it; the drink was still much too hot. He placed it back on the table and looked at the man sitting across from him.
"Well, I dunno. After the stuff that went down at the end of last year, I just figured I'd like to catch up a bit. See what you've been up to."
"Oh, you know me, all sorts. Mostly coding of late."
"Anything interesting?"
"Eh, bits of freelance here and there. Kind of… taking a break, is all. What about you, then? Heard Aldon's living with you."
"Yeah, that's been fun."
Overgang took another gulp of tea, then smiled.
"Where does life happen?"
Finn was confused.
"What?"
"Where does life happen? Don't even think about it, just answer."
"I dunno, everywhere?"
"Hmm."
"What? Did I answer right?"
"It's a koan. You know the drill: all answers are right in some sense, wrong in some sense, and meaningless in some sense. You answered, and that's all that can be said."
"You're a shitty mystic."
"Quite. Just wanted to ask. So, Aldon. You and her. How'd that happen, eh?"
"It just kind of fell together. She needed a place to crash for a night, and then one night turned into two, then she got sick of the couch so she pulled in a bed and started throwing rent money at me. I just went along with it. Less rent for me."
"Sounds… parasitic."
"No, no. Symbiotic, I think. She gets me out and about."
"That's good, that's good."
Overgang lifted the cup to his mouth, drained it entirely, then threw the empty china through the glass pane of the window next to them. Both shattered, leaving scattered shards both inside and out. He shouted into the air.
"OI RITA!"
Suddenly, Rita Summers appeared next to the table, wearing an intricately styled maid costume. She looked around the room, appraising her new environment, then checked her clothes. Rita looked up, frowning at Overgang.
"You could have at least asked before pulling me in here."
Overgang mimed towards Finn.
"Rita, look who it is!"
Rita looked who it was.
"Oh! Hey Finn. Heard your last mix, good stuff."
"Thanks, Rita. Took a bit to push the memetics into an MP3; learned that trick from Overgang here. Heard you'd been getting into music as well?"
"Yeah, FTF let me remix one of their songs for the new album."
"Cool. Know how their tour's going?"
"Ah, well, they got stuck in Crimea for a bit, but it panned out okay. Pretty sure they're in Slovenia right now."
"Fun."
"Yeah. So."
Rita turned back to Overgang.
"Why have you pulled me into a dream?"
"Primarily because I know you make, excuse me, a damn fine cup of coffee."
"You pulled me into your dream to make you dreamcoffee."
"And also to say hello to Finn."
1678
1360
Livery Administration
Bijou Dashwood
Scarlet Ninth
Rogues Kant
Gideon Goldstein
Dawn Lynch
Linus Wye
A Brief Transaction
Krav Lichtenfield
Sedna Prewitt
Gamut Rückfall
Cast List
Bijou Dashwood
Scarlet Ninth
Rogues Kant
Gideon Goldstein
Dawn Lynch
Linus Wye
Constantine Murphy
Conrad Murphy
Conan Murphy
Krav Lichtenfield
Sedna Prewitt
Gamut Rückfall
Pitcairn Henderson
Stephanie Kipling
Mared Gretchen
Robin Puck
Thompson
Dr. King
"Rita, it's time that we talked about the birds and the bees."
"Joey, I already know about sex stuff. I have been to the internet before."
"No, I mean, like, the actual invisible birds and bees that we have flying around the goddamn van."
"What?"
"Whatever you did to your spiders is spreading. Seemingly both up and down the ecosystem."
"Oh. Shit."
"They are also having a lot of sex."
The pattering of rain in the forest was enough to mask her footprints as she approached.
"Get out, Zach."
Jessie trained her assault rifle on Zach's centre of mass. She moved her aim as he stood up and turned to face his aggressor. Zach grinned at her, smiling with the sort of malice a child shouldn't know how to express. The sleeping body of the less important child was curled up in a shivering ball. Jessie blinked raindrops from her eyes.
"Get out."
"The Collective can't be happy with what you're doing here."
"Get out of here, Zach. Not going to warn you again."
"Well that's just-"
Jessie shot a burst of three bullets into Zach's chest. Specks of green and grey spattered out from his body, and his eyes widened; then he clawed his hands across his chest, pulling shadow across his flesh, and the wounds were cleared. Zach crouched down, wiping blood off the sleeping child next to him. Jessie maintained her aim. Zach looked up and frowned at her.
"Shoot me again and I kill him."
"We both know it doesn't work like that."
"Oh, he won't die, but he'll remember death, and he'll remember having remembered death his whole life. His mind will know the void. It could drive him mad, wouldn't that be fun. Who knows what could happen?"
"Whatever damage you do, I can fix. It's pointless."
"I'm sure you like to think that. Of course, if that's the case, there's no harm in trying."
Zach sat back down, running his fingers through the smaller boy's red hair.
"Jessie, Jessie, Jessie… why do you even bother?"
"This is just… ugh. This is wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong."
"Don't even think about it, man. Just put the baby down."
"Where?"
"Just… the ground. It really doesn't matter."
WHUMP
ZING
SPLAT
Test SCP-1213-0072
Subject: Human Infant Male, Asian (Chinese Descent), Six Months Of Age
Result: Detected Velocity Of 27.38 m/s.
"We're sitting here, testing if a sentient catapult is racist. If it's racist against babies. Baby racist."
"Tests are tests. Information's valuable. Here, catch."
"HOLY SHIT! Don't throw the baby!"
"Don't worry. There are more. Sit that one… over there, by the bushes."
WHUMP
ZING
SPLAT
Test SCP-1213-0073
Subject: Human Infant Male, Australian Aboriginal, Six Months Of Age
Result: Detected Velocity Of 27.38 m/s.
"Where do we even get them?"
"What, the skips?"
"No! The babies!"
"Well, when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much…"
"Hilarious."
WHUMP
ZING
SPLAT
Test SCP-1213-0074
Subject: Human Infant Male, Caucasian (Nordic Descent), Six Months Of Age
Result: Detected Velocity Of 27.38 m/s.
"It doesn't concern you?"
"It's a sentient catapult. Of course it does."
"WE ARE SHOOTING BABIES INTO WALLS."
"And?"
"Are you just… how do you justify this?"
"Greater good, or something. I don't think about it much."
WHUMP
ZING
SPLAT
Test SCP-1213-0075
Subject: Human Infant Male, Black (African Descent), Six Months Of Age
Result: Detected Velocity Of 27.38 m/s.
"How can you be okay with this?"
"Look. We're dealing with a few thousand of these things, right?"
"Wait, the babies?"
"No, you idiot. Skips."
"Oh. Yeah."
"One of the few people in the world who might have some idea what makes them work? She wants me to kill some babies."
"And you're fine with this, yes. This is what I'm talking about."
WHUMP
ZING
SPLAT
Test SCP-1213-0076
Subject: Human Infant Male, Native American (Cherokee), Six Months Of Age
Result: Detected Velocity Of 27.38 m/s.
"Yes, I'm okay with this."
"You know as well as I do that this test is bullshit. That bitch is getting off on this, I swear."
"'That bitch' is the person wearing the lab coat. 'That bitch' is the person who can have you 'terminated' on a whim. If 'that bitch' tells me to fling a few babies at a wall, even if it's only to get her rocks off, then I do as I'm told."
WHUMP
ZING
SPLAT
Test SCP-1213-0077
Subject: Human Infant Male, Caucasian (Irish Descent), Six Months Of Age
Result: Detected Velocity Of 27.38 m/s.
"What about the Ethics Committee?"
"They're a joke. They aren't real. Have you even seen an Ethics Committee office? It's a hazing thing, 'Give this to Steve from the Ethics Committee'. Keeps you youngbloods stumbling around for days."
"So there's nothing we can do?"
"There is. We throw these babies at walls, so someone else doesn't have to."
"I suppose. That's the last of it, at least. No more babies to kill today."
"Actually, this was just the first group. Now we test for sexism."
"What?"
WHUMP
ZING
SPLAT
Test SCP-1213-0078
Subject: Human Infant Female, Asian (Chinese Descent), Six Months Of Age
Result: Detected Velocity Of 27.38 m/s.
| Randomini | so |
|---|---|
| Randomini | I just had an interview for a research position at the University of Queensland |
| Randomini | it went really well, I feel |
| Randomini | the reason I bring this up is that towards the end |
| Randomini | they asked me how I felt about open-source |
| Zyn | !!! |
| Randomini | all the advice that I've read about interviews is |
| Randomini | when they ask a question, give an example |
| Randomini | so when they asked "have you used Git" I said "no, but I've used Subversion" |
| Randomini | so I was like |
| Randomini | "there's this collaborative writing website called the SCP wiki" |
| Randomini | "and I've released code there to facilitate people writing interactive fiction" |
| Randomini | "licensed under creative commons share-alike" |
| Randomini | what I'm trying to say is |
| theduckman has left irc.synirc.net (Ping timeout: 188 seconds) | |
| Randomini | the code behind The Minions day at the scp (C) |
| Randomini | might have helped me get a job |
| Randomini | (dependent on actually getting an offer) |
| Zyn | hahaha |
| Zyn | well |
| Zyn | being a mod helped me get a job |
| Zyn | since answering messages from people who just don't want to read the manual is kind of what I do now in my computer lab during downtime |
| Randomini | shit, I should have mentioned that I'm on technical team |
| Randomini | (as of under 48 hours ago) |
| Zyn | is there a second interview? |
| Randomini | ((but still)) |
| Randomini | I don't think so |
| Randomini | I'll just be told if I got it or not |
| Zyn | mention it to your supervisor on the sly then |
| Zyn | should you get the job |
| Randomini | "well I recreationally curate shitposts" |
| Randomini | should stick that verbatim on my resume |
| Zyn | .seen theduckman |
| jarvis | zyn: I last saw theduckman 2 hours ago saying: Hi. |
| Zyn | FFFFSSS |
| Conwell (PI.CFB43ED8.5044964D.4D17735F|tibbiM#PI.CFB43ED8.5044964D.4D17735F|tibbiM) has joined #site67 | |
| Conwell | o/ |
| Sax | yawneth |
| Zyn | o/ |
| MisterFlames | Night, Zyn! |
| MisterFlames has left irc.synirc.net (Quit: ) | |
| Zyn | Night… flames? |
| Zyn | ._. |
| Jekeled | the zynner zynned |
| Zyn | v.v |
| Jekeled | .tell Silber WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY ABOUT MY HAIR |
| jarvis | jekeled: Your message has begun its journey through a series of tubes. Who knows where will it end, or when. |
| AwayEldritch | |
| AwayEldritch | hi Zyn |
| Randomini | so uh |
| Randomini | Zyn: they phoned me back about 20 minutes ago |
| Randomini | so shortly after I said that |
| Randomini | and basically said |
| Randomini | "you've got it" |
| Randomini | and not only that |
| Randomini | "are you free next week" |
| Randomini | "all of next week" |
| Randomini | "for a weeklong conference" |
| Randomini | "we'll pay for flights and accommodation" |
| Randomini | and I said |
| Randomini | "fuck yes" |
| Randomini | so |
| Conwell | Hot damn, you now employed Randomini? |
| AwayEldritch | HOLY FUCKING NICE |
| Randomini | The Minions day at the scp (C) code |
| Randomini | helped to get me a job |
| Conwell | Ahahaha |
| Randomini | truly this is the power of minions |
| Randomini | Conwell: I referred to the code as an instance of an "open source programming project" |
| AwayEldritch | oh my god nice |
| Zyn | HAHAHAHAHAHA |
| Randomini | I think the terms I used were uh |
| AwayEldritch | jesus |
| Zyn | OH MY GOD RANDOMINI |
| Jekeled | 11/10 |
| Zyn | YEAAHHHHSSSSS |
| AwayEldritch | wheezes |
| Jekeled | teach me senpai |
| Randomini | "code for designing interactive fiction for a collaborative writing website" |
| AwayEldritch | this is going on staffchat logs innit |
| Conwell | Top score, Randomini |
| Jekeled | teach me how to shitpost my way to employment |
| Randomini | it's not 100% set in stone but the chair of the interviewing committee said she'd give me a strong recommendation to the people who actually call the shots |
| AwayEldritch | wowwee u employd ursefl |
| Zyn | THEN YOU CAN LET HER KNOW IF THERE'S ANYTHING SHE'D LIKE YOU TO PREPARE, SINCE YOU'VE GOT TECH EXPERIENCE AND STUFF |
| Zyn | but like obvs don't layer it on too thick like scp is all you do nigh-professionally |
| Zyn | also maybe don't give out your username because ~~stalking~~ |
| Zyn | also delete facebook |
| Zyn | kidding |
| Jekeled | delete your life history |
| Zyn | but yeah, keep your nose clean, go get it guy |
| Jekeled | burn your fingerprints |
| Zyn | Jekeled: that's treading out of privacy protection and into "potential government watchlist" |
| Jekeled | they can't put you on a list if they don't know who you are! |
| Zyn | they know you're that dude who burned his fingerprints off and has no life history |
| Zyn | you're ~that~ dude |
| Jekeled | FOILED AGAIN |
| AwayEldritch | nyoom |
| Zyn | BEEEEEEEEEEES |
| Conwell | Ono |
| Conwell | not the bees! |
| ARD | Holy shit |
| ARD | Shitposting got Someone a job |
| Conwell | Tis a January miracle! |
| Zyn | o/ |
| Zyn | \o/ |
| Randomini | oh man, I'm so glad |
| Randomini | was worried I wasn't gonna get a job |
| Randomini | looks like the true employment was the shitpost memes we made along the way |
