Tsar Erwin
Tsar series

March 29, 1917

“As I had bled on the ground, killed by my own. I couldn’t help but recall my pledge to the Empire that fateful day that led up to today. I had sworn loyalty to them, to the Romanovs family. Now, I am paying for it with my life. My assassin carefully walked around my body, careful to not step atop my mangled limbs.
“Why did you stay loyal, Tretiakov?” The soft voiced lady asked, who had now taken a seat that I had so recently occupied.
“I-” I began to say, before I choked on my own blood, coughing heavily.
“I am loyal to the Tsar, Emperor Nicholas the Second.” I managed to spit out, before cringing in pain. The assassin sighed and began reloading his pistol.
“You know, they’ll make you out to be a coward regardless, don’t you?” The assassin asked, his voice softer than before, seeming to be filled with pity instead of the expected hate.
“I expected as much, but tell me. Why are you loyal to them?” I asked, attempting to keep my eyes in focus as I slowly bled out. The assassin sat quietly for a second, having all the time in the world unlike I. He then stood up and holstered his pistol.
“They’ll kill my family if I didn’t.” The lady said before she began walking to the door. Ass he opened the door I raised my head slightly to see her staring at me in pity, and I knew why. It was Romana Nožičková, who served with me in the Division and who had once been my girlfreind. But, that was a whole other life. It suddenly made sense as to why she had been so gentle in his attack, hitting the spots where she knew would kill but not hurt fully. Because, no matter how hard she had tried, she cared for me.
“Say goodbye to Herbert for me.” I choked out, trying to fight back the tears and anger that was bubbling inside me.
“They will all know you died with honor, Makar Tretiakov.” Romana said before leaving me to the fate I was destined to have. I rolled over onto my back, as painful as it was and looked at the picture of myself with the Tsar, and a faint smile grew on my face. And with that last bit of happiness, I slipped into oblivion.”


“I was twelve when I first met him. He wasn’t the Tsar at the time, just a simple prince at the time. He was as charming as ever, and honest. He invited me to dine with him when he saw me watching him from the window…we had talked for some time about the world, or what little I knew about it. Soon, he had asked what someone I was doing alone in the streets and I confessed I was an orphan, my parents being lost in a house fire when I was six and I had lived in the streets since then. After that he invited me back to his house and soon adopted me as his own, through unofficially. He sent me to a school for Criminal Justice. And later on he was the reason I became a head detective. It was for this reason, that I was sent by the Tsar himself to infiltrate an illusive, enormous organization known as The Foundation. I swore an oath to them, promising to serve them with unwavering loyalty, even if it meant death before betrayal. In the beginning, the oath I took was a lie that I would tell everyday, not only to others but myself. But, as time progressed it began to no longer be a lie, but a painful truth I would never allow myself to admit.”


“There’s a saying that goes “your only as strong as your weakest link.” I’m sure you’ve heard it a lot, being you and all. But, I didn’t really believe it until my weakest link broke, hard. His name was Rustam Volodin. He had the simple task of finding the Bolsheviks stronghold, which should’ve been finished in a matter of days. But instead, it ended in a captured agent and a failed recovery mission that resulted in the death of five of the Empire's finest, and the capture of three more. The humiliation was felt at all levels of the ranks, but most strongly on mine, since I was the one who sent Volodin on that investigation. Soon, most of the Internal Affairs team was either fired or executed for crimes against the state, I would not be granted either luxuries. Instead, I was informed I was to lead an investigation into a man known as Vladimir Lenin, who seemed to be in charge of a rising communist rebellion. What I found in my investigations, would haunt me forever. These so called communist were nothing more than a bunch of murders and rapist, a cover-up at the most. But something darker was hidden underneath. It was then that I had found out about the Foundation, or so they were called. The Foundation, I soon learned it is a multinational organization that dealt with abnormalities, monsters beyond imagination. These people, did things to people that are unspeakable to unspeakable things, but they thought it was for the better good. I had informed the Tsar and much to my horror, he was very aware about The Foundation. He had asked me to infiltrate it, so in the name of the Empire, that’s what I did. I sacrificed my own sanity by joining that damned Foundation. Or so I had thought.”


“When I joined them, they sent me to join the Memetics and Infohazards Division, where I ran into men and women of all nationalities. These people were much different than the people I saw gun down men in jumpsuits simply for walking too slow. These people were smarter, and as a result, most of them figured out in a matter of days what I once was, and still was at the time. Most didn’t raise a single finger about it, content that I was doing my job and they were doing theirs. But, a woman by the name of Romana Nožičková, a Chechen who stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the others, because unlike the others she stood tall with a smile on her face that said she’d not be brought down by the horror she lived with on a daily basis. She reminded me of my girlfriend some years ago, maybe the way she carried or herself, or maybe it was the spark in her eyes that sparkled brighter than any other jewel in the world. She brought light into this dark area, and made it easier to move on with the day to day task of trying not to die by the breaches that seemed to happen almost daily in the Division. But, she made it harder to betray The Foundation. For whatever reason it was, I felt as if she was worth betraying The Empire for. I would soon figure out otherwise after a broom storage meeting and a few close calls.”


Betrayal series

The GOC strike team members were squawking into the radio like the birds from hell were outside, when suddenly the radio blared to life.
“Mormon-5, this is Mormon Actual. abort mission, we repeat abort mission. Eight 9M55S thermobaric cluster warheads will be dropped on your position. ETA is six mikes. We repeat, Mormon-5, this is Mormon Actual. abort mission, we repeat abort mission. Eight 9M55S thermobaric cluster warheads will be dropped on your position. ETA is six mikes.”

The agents of Lambada-6, Element 4 listened silently to the radio repeat itself, over and over again until it finally died off, which sparked a whisper in the two groups.

“So, that’s it? Their going to bail on us?”Dmitriy Maksimov asked, his hands shaking on his legs.

“W-We can try contacting Dead Ringer Actual and have them Exfil us.” Eric Denton whispered back, his eyes not leaving the area of the strike team.

Dálach Esmond Aitken kept glancing at his watch, silently counting down the seconds until the missiles would come to wipe them off the map. “We’ve got exactly Four minutes and twenty nine seconds.” Aitken said dutifully.

With that, Element Four shot to their feet and began gathering their gear, looking at the Strike Team that was doing the exact opposite. the element didn’t say anything as they slid their armor on, before grabbing their ear plugs and piled up at the door.

“On my go, we’ll rush out to the Van and book it South East, hopefully getting out of range in time.” Denton calls behind him down the line before sliding on his ear plugs. He silently whispered one last prayer before he shoved his shoulder into the door to swing it open and swing it did, releasing Element Four to the hellish outside, as the Strike Team chuckled in the corner, silently talking amongst themselves, seeming to enjoy their last few minutes.

It was a sweaty, mad dash to the van, still battered from the birds but intact, somewhat. They all piled in the back, Aitken in the front and Denton driving. Denton fumbled for the ignition and firmly grasped the key, turned it and, nothing.

"Shit! Comon you piece of shit, work!" Denton screamed at the mute engine.

He turned the key again, and the engine, not so much purred as much as screamed to life. Denton floored the accelerator.

"Next right." Aitken said dully staring at the map, seemingly ignoring their imminent vaporization.The tires of the poor van squealed on the rough asphalt as it turned sharply.

"Next left then right." Aitken recited again, watching the map, choosing to ignore the van full of sweat, tears, and iron.

This routine continued for what felt like forever, but was actually 4 minutes.

Maksimov radio in the back came back to life with a squeal, then the voice of a panicked Mormon-Actual: "Impact ETA 3 mikes, god be with you."
The team exchanged sad looks, and knew the sad truth even if they didn't want to accept it.
They were going to die, and that wasn't really the saddest part.
They were going to die by the hands of some greedy bureaucrat who was too lazy to organize the containment or the politics to handle things they never knew or bothered to understand.
They were actually going to die in the field by human hands, which was ironic, considering they were told they were going to protect humanity.
They considered all of these, as the black van bumped and rocked on the rocky road, kicking up dirt and stones, and as the thermobaric warheads, crusing steadily at Mach 17, arced down from the sky like angels of death. They came down from the altitude of 2000 meters,
"There's a saying that goes-"
eventually 1000 meters,
"Speak silently-"
then 800 meters,
"And carry a big stick." Denton said, as he watched the warheads drop.

Denton looked behind at all the worried faces cramped into the tin-can of a van, and wondered why they had to die like this. He wondered about his brother, who was a few thousand—, but what felt like a million miles away in Afghanistan, fighting the Taliban and scaring the hell outta his mother. "Eh," he thought "at least he'll be alright.".
"Well…"
700,
"They certainly took-"
600,
"That literally didn't they?" Maksimov said dryly, getting a silent shuckle from Denton.

Before he became a soldier, Maksimov was a security analyst, he studied the weapons of foreign militaries, old and new. He remembered the seminar on various bombs, the instructor, an old, withered soviet, told him about the heat and pressure of the 100% fuel mix, which was why they were called thermobaric. He saw tapes about the explosion, the shockwave, the heat, the aftermath.
"A deed-"
500,
"Is not less-"
400,
"Valiant because it is unpraised." Aitken said, effectively quieting the van.

Aitken watched the warheads streak down with light, leaving a trail behind them. He knew that they wouldn't make it, but he appreciated that Denton was willing to try. Aitken knew that look in their eyes, the one that showed the host would be willing to escape death at any cost. It was a sad look, but a look nonetheless.
"Here's to-"
300,
"Dying in the-"
200,
"Dark then." Denton said, his hands clenching the steering wheel.
100,
"Oorah." Maksimov and Aitken mumbled back.
The warheads reached their detonation altitude of fifty meters, with a click, all failsafes were gone, and soon everything in the surrounding area was. There was a lot of heat, and pressure, and goddamn heat.

Just as suddenly as life began, it ended for Element Four of Lambda-6. With a bright flash and a string of curse words till the bitter, hot, end.


Twenty minutes earlier
Element Four of Lambda-6 sat in their van, driving them to their location. Maksimov fiddled over his radio, every now and then whispering into the mic. As Aitken dutifully as ever called off their estimated time of arrival.

Suddenly, the radio blared to life.
**"Dead Ringer-1, this is Dead Ringer Actual; update on situation. Due to the current predicament within your area of operations, you are to head to Safe House Mormon-5 where you will await further orders, we repeat. "Dead Ringer-1, this is Dead Ringer Actual; update on situation. Due to the current predicament within your area of operations, you are to head to Safe House Mormo-" ** Static filled the van.

"Take the next right." Aitken said with a certain emptiness. Denton took the right as the young agent had ordered him. The van tilting from the sudden turn, not that the two agents that'd notice were paying attention to the tilt with the corpses that were now lining the streets.

"Damn shame… I hope they went fast at least." Denton said, as he tried to keep his mind off the fact that he's already passed over at least a hundred bodies and there wasn't an end in sight.

"Here's to them then." Maksimov mumbled as he slumps over in the back of the van, downing a canteen of brown liquid, which if asked he'd say it was just muddy water with a weird smell.

What felt like hours passed in silence, the team silently watching as the endless pile of bodies kept dragging down the road. Aitken as serious as ever hadn't even glanced up while the pair was talking, or even when the smell began to fill the van.

"Stop here." Aitken said emptily, before folding up the map and grabbing his rifle that leaned against his leg as the van squealed to a stop.

The men of Element Four silently piled out of the van, trying to ignore the fact that there were already bodies piled outside the safe house.

"Not very safe is it?" Denton mused, chuckling to himself as he walked towards the door that lacked a handle. Before Aitken or Maksimov could respond the door was already swinging open, and Denton was quickly greeted with a rifle barrel to his face. as his comrades began to raise their rifles, Denton put his hand up to warn them otherwise.

"Do you have a moment to speak about our Lord and Savior-" Denton began to say, immediately the rifle lowered with a sigh. Element Four was now safe from the stench of death inside.


Happiness series. This series will be started as soon as the other two series I'm currently working on are done. The series will be based mainly on the morality and ethics of the Foundation, not so much the skips themselves. Hoping to do a collab on this, but I'll do with what I've got.

Planned beginning of the Happiness series involving the treatment of sentient skips, which are TBD.

Drumroll please! Prepare to cringe at my horrible skip writing skills!


DISCLAIMER: written in collaboration with DrMorris, Markosson, and Doctor Atlas.

Item #: SCP-AAAA

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: Instances of SCP-2903-1 are to be housed in room 201, wing C of Site 66, and instances SCP-2903-2 are to be housed in room 202 of the same wing. Neither SCP-2903-1 nor SCP-2903-2 requires any form of sustenance.

SCP-2903-2's containment chamber is to be completely soundproofed, and all personnel entering the room should wear at least class-2 aural protection equipment and standard protective bodysuits. Personnel entering the room should also note that SCP-2903-2 are highly aggressive towards humans.

Any wild instances of SCP-2903-1 are to be captured and contained, and wild instances of SCP-2903-2 are to be destroyed by personnel if deemed appropriate mode of action.

Description: SCP-2903 is the collective designation for an anomalous group of automatons that resembles Columba livia domestica (the domestic pigeon).SCP-2903-1 are covered in an unknown ceramic, while SCP-2903 -2 is covered in steel plating. SCP-2903 share a common internal structure, composed of a clockwork-like gear system made primarily of brass. Despite having no visible power source, SCP-2903 is capable of movement similar to that of a normal pigeon and SCP-2903 is also capable of flight even though their weight should prevent them from doing so.

SCP-2903-1 are capable of speech, and all speak with the voice of a middle-aged male who has yet to be unidentified. SCP-2903-1 speak exclusively in verses from GOI-012's (Church of the Broken God) religious texts.

SCP-2903-2 are also capable of speech, though they speak speak info hazards in a variety of languages. Most of these info hazards are non-lethal, and typically cause paranoia, aggression, and psychosis. SCP-2903-2 are also highly aggressive towards humans, and will attack using their claws in addition to said info hazards.

History and Recovery:
Current intelligence suggests that SCP-2903-1 were discovered by GOI-012 and taken in as part of their "broken god", though SCP-2903-1's origin and creator have yet to be determined. According to interrogation of GOI-012's agents, there were 126 instances of SCP-2903-1 at time of discovery. At an unknown point in time between fourteen and sixteen months after their initial discovery, agents from GOI-017 (Marshall, Carter, and Darke) stole 32 instances of SCP-2903-1, and sold them to an unknown buyer (designated POI-AAAA). POI-AAAA, through unknown means, modified the purchased SCP-2903-1 into SCP-2903-2.

On ██/██/20██, 28 instances of SCP-2903-2 were released in the town of ████, Kazakhstan for an unknown reason. The released SCP-2903-2 proceeded to assault the town's citizens, resulting in a total of ██,███ deaths and ██,███ injuries. MTF Element 4 Lambda-6 ("Geneva's Nightmare") was mobilized, and successfully captured 2 instances of SCP-2903-2. See Incident Report 2903-1 for further details.

Interrogation Log 2903-1:

Interrogated: Charles █████, MC&D agent

Interrogator: Dr. Andrew Wilson

Foreword: █████ had been identified as one of the MC&D agents who conducted the raid that resulted in the capturing of the 32 SCP-2903-1. Prior to the start of the log, he was given a truth serum and restrained.

<Begin Log>

Dr. Wilson: So, you were one of the agents who conducted the raid on the Church's facilities and captured the SCP-2903-1?

█████: If you're talking about those robot pigeons, yeah. There were four of us in total, I'm not quite sure of the others names..

Dr. Wilson: And how exactly did you manage to steal more than fifty of the Church's most valuable artifacts?

█████: It really wasn't that hard. One of our informants heard about the pigeons, and the higher-ups put the four of us on the case. We were handed some fake IDs and a cover story. Told them we were devout believers of their "god". *chuckles* Those suckers bought every last word of it. Then we waited maybe ten or twelve weeks to build up their trust. One night, we bagged as many of the pigeons as we could, called in an extraction team, and got out. Easy as that.

Dr. Wilson: And after that, what did you do with the pigeons?

█████: We handed them to the higher-ups like we usually do. I have no idea what happened after that; I don't know anybody who works in sales.

Dr. Wilson: Are you sure? Is there anything else you may have heard or seen?

[ █████ appears deep in thought for about one minute]

█████: There might have been something…

Dr. Wilson: Go on.

█████: I overheard someone saying that they sold all of those pigeon things. Another guy asked him who they were sold to, and the first guy says that it was some old guy by the name of [REDACTED] or something. Said that he sounded a bit crazy, muttering something about "revenge on those damn [REDACTED]".

Dr. Wilson: Thank you for this information. Are you sure you don't remember anything else?

█████: No, that's all I have.

Dr. Wilson: Alright. This interview is over, take him back to his cell.

Characters section, where I'll be keeping a brief description of important characters. Disregard unless you want to use my horrible characters for whatever reason.

I'll get to this…eventually.