Burning Our Uniforms

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Graham had chosen this, for better or for worse. Yet still his mind raced.

What if he had just followed orders? Would he be back in his warm bed at home instead of freezing in this tiny cabin? Or filling out an incident report in some stuffy office space? Would he even have been able to bear that it was him that would have put a bullet in those old men? Graham shook his head.

His swirling thoughts seemed intent on keeping any chance of sleep at bay. Memories of that night just three days prior replayed in rapid succession; his encounter with what remained of SCP-5700, the arrival of Epsilon-06, and his own betrayal of the Foundation. He turned the events over in his mind, scrutinizing every detail in an attempt to make something new out of what had already happened, as though seeing it from another angle would somehow better the outcome.

They had been picking their way through the Rocky Mountains, mindful to stick to the densest pine woods they could manage. Harry had done his best to apply all the bushcraft at his disposal, but the gunshot wound Eric had sustained in their earlier scuffle had become infected, slowing the group's speed. Eric needed medicine and rest, neither of which their group could easily come by. It was on the eve of their second night on the run that the three stumbled upon a small hunting cabin; a simple thing built partially into the hillside of a small, piney valley. Not the most inconspicuous, but still a godsend given their current situation.

The old wood groaned and bent beneath Graham as he turned over on the cabin floor, unsuccessfully trying to lull himself to sleep. Eric rested uneasily beside him with a bloodied, makeshift bandage gripped around his arm. Just outside the front door of their cabin, Harry sat tiredly but attentively, gun in hand as he watched and felt the surrounding woods for signs of pursuit.

The midnight air stung Harry's lungs with each breath, and the cold seemed to creep through his clothes in a way so persistent as to be almost personal. He wanted nothing more than to light a fire, to banish the malicious cold, to bask in the warmth of even a small flame. But for a man of Harry's years and experience, he discarded the thought the moment it arose. A fire in such barren woods as these— on a clear winter night, no less — would be a beacon to anything for miles around declaring their exact location.

Harry's thoughts drifted to Eric, lying just opposite the wall. He had done what he could to treat his friend's wounds, but a fever had begun to set in. Eric needed medical help, and soon. In this state, his chances without it were less than ideal, never mind him being able to hide three of them, or even himself, should any Foundation goons happen upon them.

Harry was pulled from his thoughts as the door to the cabin quietly squeaked open and Graham slipped out.

"Can't sleep?" Harry asked.

Graham shook his head, cleared away some snow with his foot, and sat down beside him. "I just still can't… I never expected… "

Harry nodded.

Graham let out a deep sigh and pulled his knees up to his chest. "This is what it felt like all those years ago, isn't it?" he muttered. "The confusion, anxiety, dread. I kn-know I did the right thing, but…"

Harry shrugged. "We all felt the same all those years ago. It just takes time to process." He looked over at Graham and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Not that it's exactly a walk in the park, but Eric and I have managed to stay out of the Foundation's reach for decades.

Graham let out a shaky breath. "I have intel though, even level-three clearance on some projects, the Foundation won't let someone like me just slip away that easily. My credentials are definitely revoked by now, and they'll have probably upgraded our containment priority, and–" He stopped for a tense moment and let out another sigh. "God, there's just this pit in my stomach. Feels like I'm about to throw up."

Harry closed his eyes and creased his brow. "Graham, can you feel that groundhog sleeping in its burrow down at the bottom of the hill?"

"What?" Graham asked.

"Five hundred feet to your right. Sound asleep, just barely producing enough bioelectricity for me to feel. Do you know what that means?"

Graham rolled his eyes. "Six more weeks of winter?"

Harry smirked. "It means that I'll be able to tell if anyone's coming. You mentioned that you've read our file. You've seen how many times we've managed to give the Foundation the slip."

Graham relaxed a little. "If you say so. It still feels like I have to throw up, though."

"Give it time, but if you really feel the urge, please aim away from me," he replied, a twinge of humor lingering in his voice. Graham smiled and even managed a chuckle. He yawned and pulled his coat tighter as the two of them sat together in the silence. The darkness of the night lulled Graham to sleep, gradually softening the edges of panic and anxiety that prodded his mind.

Harry looked up through the snow-laden branches. It was cloudless. The starry vault of the sky spun slowly overhead as he silently traced the constellations. The Milky Way stretched out across the vastness as though pulling forth the sunrise from beyond the edge of the world. Out here, the spectacle was unmarred by the fluorescent lights of modernity. Harry let his mind drift as he drank in the stars, thinking back to that night by the springs when this had all first begun. It was the same sight back then. Cold and cloudless, brilliant beyond brilliance, and no different then than it was now.

It was a sudden movement that stirred Graham from his sleep. He could tell that some time had passed. How long had he been out for? Bleary-eyed, and beginning to fill with an awakening sense of urgency, he hurriedly tried to gauge his surroundings. The sky had lightened to a dim, pallid green as dawn approached, outlining the figure of Harry, suddenly sprung to attention before him. The earlier gentleness of the old man's stature had vanished utterly. The rugged figure of Harry Yount rose beside Graham with a renewed grit, like a switch had been flipped on inside of him. The man seemed to tower above him like a nimrod of myth sensing its mark. Though judging by the hard lines writ across Harry's face, Graham could tell they were not the hunters this time.

"Shit," Harry muttered. Graham bolted to attention and clamored back inside the cabin. Eric stirred as they entered.

"What the hell, did they find us already? It's been less than three days!" Graham exclaimed. He pulled the curtain over the cabin's small, singular window, then knelt to help Eric get up. The old man paused and shook his head.

"Steady, Harry," Eric said. He pulled the bandage around his arm tighter and rose to his feet shakily.

Harry stood before the door with his eyes closed in a deep focus. Tapping in, he reached out and felt the woods around them.

"There are two, one is on the ridge atop this side of the valley, not moving; the other is approaching from the same direction… two hundred, no, a hundred eighty-five feet and closing. Pace seems… almost casual, if not a bit fast," Harry reported. He paused for a moment before gathering himself and drawing his gun, keeping it close to his side.

Graham immediately stood up in protest. "Harry, you're not going out there alone, we have no guarantee that the Idiots will try to take us alive, and we won't be able to get away with any sort of speed with Eric in this state. Let them come to us, then…" he glanced at the gun in Harry's hand. "… we'll deal with them."

Harry stepped back from the door, the gun still held tightly. "Fine. Graham, give me a hand," he huffed, gesturing towards the table.

Once the table was firmly pressed against the door, they crouched with baited breath, save for Harry who focused on the form moving closer and closer to the cabin. He counted down the distance as the figure approached.

Twenty-five. Twenty.

Graham and Eric huddled behind him, palely illuminated by the light of the pale sky that filtered in through the curtain beside the door.

Fifteen. Ten. Footfalls crunched on the frozen leaves outside.

Harry braced.

Zero.

There came a knock on the door.

"Mr. Graham, are you in there? Hey, I just want to talk," a woman's voice called out. "Can you open the door?"

Eric and Graham looked at each other nervously, but Harry did not waver. The knock came again. "Graham, come on, I'm not here to hurt you, I just want to have a chat. Harry isn't in there too, is he?"

The knob turned and the hinge creaked as the door cracked open and pushed against the table. Graham noticed a flash of colored fabric through the crack. "Seriously, I'm not even with th–"

The woman's sentence was cut off with an ear-splitting bang as Harry fired a round through the door, followed a moment later by a wet thud on the ground outside. Graham scrambled to his feet, a lump in his throat. Harry shook off the ringing in his ears, gesturing for Graham to pause. "He–, she– isn't moving, neither is the thing on the ridge."

Graham leaned towards the door. He produced a small flashlight from his pocket and shined it through the crack, letting its harsh light bleed through. A body lay on the ground, the remains of its head on clear and gruesome display. "No, no, no, why did you move?! Dammit! I was aiming for the shoulder!" Harry shouted, startling Graham. The man started to open the door.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Graham said, stepping forward. "Get a hold of yourself. They've still got a guy on the ridge, right? Could be a sniper."

Harry shook his head. "Whatever's on the ridge still hasn't moved an inch, and I don't think it's a living thing. Its energy is… different somehow. It's not an organism or even a vehicle. Considering what I was feeling earlier I think it's been there since we got to the cabin but it didn't… 'wake up' until the woman showed up. Either way, whoever this i—" He paused. "Was, she came alone." Graham drew breath to retort, but exhaled stiffly and nodded. The two moved the table, and stepped outside.

A woman, what was left of her features hidden beneath a veil of dark, blood-matted hair, lay sprawled on the frozen leaves. She was young, probably in her mid-twenties by Graham's guess. Graham drew breath sharply as his gaze moved to her face, half of which now decorated the forest floor. Her gray Buc-ee's hoodie was now stained with a sickening splash of dark red which ran from her neck all the way down to her denim jeans and worn-out sneakers. Everything about her seemed so tragically out of place amidst the desolation of the scene. A sickly scent of iron rose from the pooling blood. Graham suppressed a wave of nausea.

Harry stood up straight and cursed. "She seem like the Foundation type to you?"

Graham shook his head. "Not in the slightest, and I seriously doubt they'd send someone out here after us dressed like this."

Harry holstered his gun and turned back towards the door. He sighed. "We should get out of here while we have time. If there are any Foundationers around, they sure as hell heard that gunshot."

Harry and Graham went back inside to help Eric, who had begun packing their supplies. As they finished securing the last of their belongings, Graham's ears perked up. "What's that sound?" he asked as he turned to Harry whose face had gone white, his eyes locked on something outside the door. Graham turned just in time to see the woman sit up and manually realign her jaw. The missing half of her head began to reappear, accompanied by the sound of flesh pulling and rearranging. New hair unraveled smoothly from her scalp as it reformed. She wiped a streak of blood from her mouth and opened her eyes, her gaze falling on Graham.

"Well that's one way to say hello," she said, sounding more inconvenienced than upset.

"What the fuck," Graham exclaimed.

The woman rolled her eyes. "Come on, don't act like you've never seen regeneration before. I know the Jailers are holding at least three others like me at Site-17, after all."

"Jailers?" Graham paused confusedly before a look of realization crossed his face. "Oh, are you shitting me?"

Harry eyed the woman uneasily as his hand silently unfastened his holster. "The hell's this, Graham?"

The woman suddenly turned to Harry, face lit up in amazement. "I was right, Yount's here too! Oh?" Her attention turned to the interior of the cabin, where Eric sat, his form flickering as he unsuccessfully tried to hide himself.

"That isn't Eric, is it?" The woman began to stand up, the blood vessels in her neck finally retreating beneath a freshly-formed layer of skin with an unsettling schlorp. "The files said y–"

Harry raised his gun and fired another round this time aiming for her leg, which ejected a small splash of crimson on impact. She stumbled backwards, holding the wound with clutched fingers, teeth gridded in pain. The woman looked flatly at Harry and drew her hand away from the wound, letting a melted bullet fall to the ground.

"For fuck's sake," she exclaimed exasperatedly. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get blood out of this kind of fabric?"

"Out-fucking-standing." Graham muttered. "Of all things, the damn Serpent's Hand is the first to show up."

"The Serpent's what?" Harry asked, now visibly confused.

"They're a sort of anti-Foundation group with a particular interest in the supernatural and people such as yourselves," Graham muttered.

The woman brushed the snow from her hoodie and crossed her arms. "Oh, come on now, don't make it sound weird, I'm not looking to exploit you or anything. I just came to talk."

"About?" Harry asked.

"A proposition," she said, a faint smile drawing across her face. "The Hand has some of its fingers, so to speak, in more than a couple of the Foundation's surveillance channels, and there are those of us that have been keeping up with you. Not to mention no small amount of books pertaining to you all in The Library. For all these years you've just barely managed to avoid the Foundation, and I'm sure you know that you won't be able to keep it up forever."

"You don't know that," Harry snapped.

The woman held up her hands defensively then gestured to Graham and Eric. "I'm just calling it as I see it. All it took for me to find you was listening in on some of the Village Idiots and working off where you'd go from there. Odds are the cavalry isn't too far behind. Plus, with this nerd and that nasty wound of Eric's slowing you down, I can't say much good would come from another run-in with them."

Harry frowned, slightly loosening his grip on his gun. "So what do you propose?"

"A change of scenery, firstly. Between this freezing weather and those gunshots that 'o six definitely just picked up, none of us are safe here," she said. "Before we can talk specifics, we have to get out of here."

Graham tightened his coat and stepped forward. "So what, you've got a getaway car nearby?"

"Even better," she replied.

"I feel something," Harry interjected. "Multiple sources incoming from the southeast, about quarter mile out. The signatures are strong, I think they're carrying electronics."

"Ooh, that was fast," the woman said. "Now do you want to keep arguing or get the hell out of here?"

"Four more, southwest and east, closing fast," Harry rambled to Graham. He turned to Eric, who nodded curtly.

Graham stared at her uneasily before turning to the other two. They nodded. Graham bowed his head and turned back toward the woman. "Fine."

She smiled. "Perfect, now follow me."

The four of them began quickly picking their way up the slope towards the ridge, with the woman in the lead. Harry carried Eric on his back, the frigid air stinging his lungs as he trudged onward. The snow was thick and dragging, and twisting roots hidden beneath threatened to topple them with every step. In the distance a faint buzzing became audible.

Harry slowed as he felt something new approach. "Something's flying." Graham glanced back and noticed a small silhouette rising across the pale, emerald sky. "Drones," he breathed, exhausted.

Ahead, the woman trudged onward. "Keep moving, we're almost there!" she yelled. A deafening bang rang out from behind them, and the woman fell face-first into the snow. Clutching what was left of her shoulder, she bit her tongue and continued forward. "Sniper!" Graham yelled.

"No shit!" she yelled back.

Graham pulled himself over a fallen tree and heard another bang, followed quickly by a bullet passing mere inches from his leg. He stumbled forward a few more feet before planting his back against a large oak and catching his breath. The frigid air stabbed his lungs with every gasp he took, but the adrenaline and panic coursing through him made him hardly notice. Taking in one last icy gulp, Graham kicked off of the tree and dashed forward. Harry, Eric, and the girl were already several yards ahead and almost to the ridge.

Pushing off of rocks and trees as he ran, Graham slowly gained speed, soon nearly catching up to the rest. Harry trudged on with unexpected speed before him, his and Eric's forms flickering slightly. Eric clung to his back, teeth gridded, whether in pain or concentration, Graham couldn't tell.

Ahead, the woman achieved the crest of the hill and ducked behind a vast oak tree, gesturing to the rest of them as she vanished from sight. Graham could now hear shouting from behind them amidst the sound of more rounds being fired. Eric and Harry soon reached the apex and hurriedly stumbled towards the tree, leaving Graham mere feet behind them. He leapt, just clearing the ridge as another pop rang out from behind.

Suddenly Graham was on the ground, some part of him throbbing with an excruciating pain. He could feel warmth pouring out of the fresh wound in his shoulder and instinctively clutched the area, which only worsened the pain. He shifted to look at the tree. Eric and Harry were gone.

The panic that began to creep over him was quickly quashed by confusion as he saw a head poking out from a narrow gap in the side of the tree. The head swiveled towards him, and the woman's face lit up. Her arm emerged from the gap and gestured for him to come. "Quick!" she urged in a hushed tone.

Graham wrenched himself to his knees and peeked over the ridge. Beside a pine just fifty feet away crouched Henrick Alpin, the leader of Epsilon-06, rifle in hand. Several more agents hustled in the distance behind him. Graham ducked behind the ridge and took a deep breath.

"Come on, Alpin! We don't have to do this!" Graham yelled. He sunk to his hands and knees and began to crawl towards the tree. The sound of crunching footsteps began from over the ridge, accompanied by a rough, booming voice.

"We are this!" Alpin called.

Graham tried to ignore the blazing pain in his arm and approached the opening, stepping up and grabbing the woman's hand. To his left the form of Alpin finally emerged over the crest, gun leveled with the ground. The man paused for a moment, visibly confused at the sight of the woman's torso extending out from the tree. Graham pushed towards the opening in that gracious split-second afforded to him by the spectacle.

One moment was almost enough.

Alpin fired off a round at the woman's arm which burst with a shower of blood, causing her to recoil back into the tree. Without support, and with the ice beneath his feet, Graham's balance gave way and he crashed down on his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. He laid there, clutching his shoulder, coughing and sputtering profusely. Graham lifted his head between spasms and looked to the tree, his foot just inches from the opening.

The man stood next to Graham and planted a heavy, snow-crusted boot on his chest before producing a small radio. "Target Aleph has been apprehended, five-seven-hundred subjects still unaccounted for, possible additional humanoid anomaly nearby." The coughing faded as Graham regained his breath, though the pain still caused him to groan instinctively. Alpin looked over him. "Ah, you'll be fine, we weren't shootin' to kill anyway. Lopez can patch ya up for now, but the directors won't be so merciful."

He removed his boot from Graham's chest and lowered his gun, shaking his head. "I just don't understand why you would throw it all away over some old men," he said. "Hell, just two days ago you were helping us track them!"

Graham coughed and sighed. "Because I'm tired of pretending like we're the good guys," he muttered. "Harry was right," he sighed. "I'm just surprised it took me this long to realize it."

Alpin slowly approached the tree, probing at the gap with the tip of his rifle. "We don't do this for the virtue of it, Sam. You should know that as much as the rest of us," he said, turning away and walking towards the crest of the hill. "The wellbeing of a pair of old men isn't worth compromising our system for. Far greater sacrifices than them have been made before in the name of the greater good." Alpin paused. "The fact that you thought this would all work out is… disheartening." Alpin walked back towards the ridge and muttered something into his radio before turning back to Graham. "Raise the white flag, burn our uniforms, do what you will. None of it matters to the world we have to lock away," he said flatly, as though he were scolding a child.

Graham continued to wriggle in half-faked agony, very slowly inching closer to the tree. He cast a glance down and saw his foot at the mouth of the opening. He craned his neck to look back at Alpin.

"Consider my uniform up in flames, then." Graham extended the rest of his leg into the gap and pushed himself into the opening.

The darkness inside the tree seemed to wrap around his ankle, his whole body immediately lurching towards the gap. A potent dizziness washed over Graham as his body dragged along. Alpin yelled and started towards him with an outreached hand. Just before his head passed through, their eyes met, and for that moment he thought he saw a look of disappointment in Alpin's eyes.

The dark passed over him and the world around Graham dissolved.


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Five hundred miles away, the end of the world lay sleeping beneath a trillion tons of scorching rock. It was silent and unmoving, as it had been for millennia. The unimaginable pressure and searing heat of the Earth's interior was of no concern to it, nurtured as it had been in the mantle's seething embrace since long before the first of mankind had ever turned their wakening eyes to the stars. Here it had lain, its massive body cradled in the heat, indifferent to the roiling world far above. Its unbeating heart was silent, attended only by the deep and endless churn of the asthenosphere.

Suddenly, something like the faintest breath of instinct hailing from some impossibly far depth invisibly signaled a shift. It was a change almost too small for words, so immeasurably minute that even the currents of semi-molten pyroxene and olivine that abounded remained undisturbed; the tiniest fluctuation, a shimmer almost, radiated along the entity's massive body, beginning at the head. The impulse hovered, then shot away, jumping synapse to synapse with speed defying the conventions of biology, flying down the creature's miles-long spine, and coming to rest at its heart in an instant. Muscle fibers that had lain dormant since the Pleistocene tensed, contracted, and expanded.

Over and over, the long-silent heart trembled, the creature's searing blood quickened, and the calamitous chain of fate began to unfurl.

Critters: yyyyyy and ZZZZZZ
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