J Dune VII
From: o5-07@overwatch.scp.int
To: J. Dune
Subject: Meeting
Date: x

Greetings,

I've received your inquiry, and I'm happy to inform you that the Council has agreed to meet.

Coincidentally, we're in need of your assistance on a matter relevant to your specialty. At the moment, I cannot divulge any more information.

We've arranged you a flight to Site-01. It will arrive on Sunday, the 22nd on landing pad A-4 at 06:30.


O5-7
Secure, Contain, Protect



From: J. Dune@@
To: O5-04
Subject: Meeting
Date: X

Understood.


Dr. Jay Dune
Secure, Contain, Protect


The snow fell especially heavy at Site-01 that morning. A flame reached the cigar dangling from O5-7's lips, and quickly dissipated. He cursed, haphazardly attempting to ignite the lighter multiple times before giving up and tossing the device into the valley below. He'll probably be told off for that one, but it didn't matter. It was 9:48 in the morning, the flight was late, and O5-7 was becoming increasingly cold. He could've waited inside, but when the majority of your waking day is spent sitting in a chair and staring at a large screen with 12 other men and women, you take these moments in stride — even if you can't have your cigar.

The councilman's growing frustration was cut short by the familiar whirring of a Foundation-issue M5-92 helicopter. A sound so common at Overseer Headquarters, he almost didn't notice it. The sleek vehicle landed itself on the helipad as O5-7 approached. His excitement preceded any sort of decorum, evident from the unlit cigar sitting purposelessly in his mouth. He couldn't help but smile as the door opened. Overseers didn't smile very much.

Out of the helicopter stepped a tall man with an unlined face that held a neutral expression. He looked unremarkable, average, normal. The only indicator that something deeper was concealed within him was the way he moved. An overcautious shuffle, looking both ways and clasping his hands. He was calculating every movement, processing every sight, sound, and smell. He was anxious, and O5-7 knew it wasn't just because he was at Overseer Headquarters.

O5-7 extended his hand.

"Dr. Dune, it's good to finally meet you."

"Not a problem."

Dune did not reach for O5-7's hand. Instead, he performed an awkward display of nodding and 'sorry's that concluded in the Overseers wrist being clasped by two cold, narrow hands. Pulling away with an uneasy laugh, O5-7 motioned for Dune to walk alongside him.

"Christ, you gotta relax. The whole nervousness thing, cut it out. Listen to me, okay? You're lucky to have contacted me instead of, uh, 3 or 9. I'm the easiest one to talk to. I don't do the whole formality gimmick unless I have to."

"Sorry, sir."

"Cut the sir, will you? Call me 'seven'. Pretend we're friends. You walk in there like that, they're going to eat your head off, you know? I'll be doing most of the talking anyway."

"Right. Okay. Right, I apologize."

"No need. Today's going to be a big day. Hell, I'm nervous. The difference is that I'm not wearing it on my sleeve." O5-7 laughed.

"Yeah."

The doors to Site-01's lobby opened, and the two entered. Portraits of previous Overseers, priceless statues that held significance to only a handful of people, and a large seal depicting the Foundation emblem adorned the foyer. Sleek, marble supports elevated the rooms ceiling. Both Dune and O5-7 (who was very familiar with this room, yet could not overcome instinct) looked upwards.

"Beautiful, isn't she? Yeah, they poured some serious coinage into this one."

"It's very — "

"You smoke?"

"Uh, no, sir. Seven. No thank you.

"Ah, that's alright. Figured I'd ask. You're allowed in here."

"That's odd, you're not allowed to smoke in regular facilities."

O5-7 laughed, bouncing the still-unlit cigar between his lips.

"Who's going to tell an O5 what to do?"

-factotum leads them into meeting room

-see machine

-whad da fuck


scp

concept- buildup of anomalies is killing the universe, making things less stable. o5s are looking for a solution.


A group of children crowd near a street lamp watching two boys play a trading card game. SCP-XXXX hesitantly approaches them before recoiling and attempting to hide behind a trash can. A boy takes notice of the entity, causing it to panic and knock over the garbage tin.

SCP-XXXX: SHIT —Uh, kid — hey, you ever see a jewel stink bug before?

The entity picks itself up and adjusts its hat. Several centipedes fall from its sleeve.

rating: 0+x

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: Because of the observed nature of the anomaly, cases of SCP-XXXX are not expected to materialize outside of PoI-XXXX-2's family lineage. Further investigation into this facet of SCP-XXXX is underway.

in case of whatever

poi-xxx2 cell

Description: SCP-XXXX is a psychiatric disorder congenitally inherited through genetic familial relations. The nature of its symptoms, lineage factors, and hallucinatory disturbances have determined the disorder's anomalous significance.

SCP-XXXX is characterized by frequent hallucinations involving a winged entity, referred to as SCP-XXXX-A. Accounts of these hallucinations describe the entity's appearance as a large human face, positioned between two bat-like wings which it uses to 'stand' upright.

Individuals suffering from SCP-XXXX experience hallucinations daily, with no discernible pattern to their occurrence. The duration of a hallucination ranges from one minute to 8 hours, and stimulates a number of sensory modalities, including nociception1 and kinaesthesia2, among others.

The composition of an SCP-XXXX-induced hallucination varies, but certain imagery remains consistent across all accounts, such as the presence of SCP-XXXX-A, surroundings changing into an unfamiliar environment, and feelings of extreme pain and discomfort. These nociceptive sensations persist beyond the duration of the hallucination, and have been observed to cause physical damage, such as scarring, to the individual's body despite a lack of discernible stimuli.

Presently, SCP-XXXX has been observed in two individuals, Omisha Pallavi and her daughter, Samantha3. PoI-XXXX-2 began exhibiting signs of SCP-XXXX shortly after her mother's death.

Addendum.XXXX.1: History
-explain how foundation caught wind of thing

-interviews (amnestics make it worse, locked-in your own body. last interview is with daughter)

-grandmother suffered it, died, passed onto daughter, foundation got involved after she told her doctor and a hallucinatory episode was observed

(Extraneous Dialogue removed)
For a month now, every single day. The first time it happened was the day of the funeral, during the reception. We were sitting down, eating, (Gestures) carrying on, when the walls started to fall over, like the flaps of a box. No one noticed except me, and I tried to move or speak, get someone's attention, but I couldn't. The outside of the building looked different, I was in some sort of garden, and the only thing I could focus on was a single word in my head. Ancancor. It sat in my head for what felt like years in big, bold, red letters. Then I heard a drum that the people around me couldn't hear. They kept eating, like nothing was happening and I was just frozen there, forced to hear the beat of that horrible drum and roll the syllables of that awful, bullshit word over and over again in my head. Dun-dun-dun-tsh, Dun-dun-dun-tsh, and it kept getting faster. I felt… I felt feeling in my neck and I moved it. It was the only part of me I could move, so I looked down into my glass of wine. I stared at the drink until it became my world. Purple, all over. There was no reception, no up, no down. Just a deep purple, as far as I could see. My body turned, and there was this (Gestures) creature. The bat thing. It was three times my size, and had these red, leathery wings that it stood on. But — but it's face was… it was a massive, human face, hanging between the wings like a tumor. Its eyes were glazed, and its skin was… flawless, impeccably smooth. It was hunched over, drinking something. There was nothing to drink, but it was drinking the… the wine. Filling its mouth with the wine that was the world. The neck that connected the wings to the face was so thin it looked like it could snap at any minute. It was long, with a texture like clay. That's when it stopped drinking, and looked up. It stared at me, and then I became a part of the background, uh, the wine. I felt my knees buckle, but they were dissolving into the fluid below me. All of my body was becoming a paste for this thing to drink. I was in pain, and I covered my eyes so I wouldn't see its face as it devoured my body. Then I was back. Like a rubber band. (Gestures) I blocked it out. I didn't think about it for the rest of the day. When I got home that night, (Shakes head) it hit me all at once.

perscribed amnestics, had a hallucinatory episode on-site

blah blah blah can't remember face but it was angry. results in injury

pregnant story

final interview

daughter's zoo story


neverending, shifting location underground
—-

There existed, before man controlled his surroundings, a harmony between that which was physical and that which was immaterial. What is now regulated to bantam pockets of abnormality and wonder was once widespread, a great beast which laid openly in the fields of the earth. In this age, the most daring men emerged from their caves to form small, nomadic tribes. Gradually, they would learn to conquer that which they feared, and claim it for their own. What they could not control, much less begin to understand, became subjects of interest; sometimes veneration, and others horror. This was an era when man was small, and unnatural things could roam freely. They would never enjoy such luxuries again.

The Mrabet tribe of the Moroccan steppe, no record of which remains today, understood their place in the world, and sought to understand as much it would permit. They did not kill anything of the land, and they did not take from the soil without giving back. Their coastal settlement brought the bounties of the ocean, and fertile land for farming figs and grains. Their tribe had no warriors, protective fortifications, or history of note. The Mrabet were farmers, thinkers, and artists, and they were despised by their contemporaries, not because they were pacifists, but because they were unconquerable.

The Mrabet did not attempt to slay the things they could not understand, and instead embraced them. They could convene with spirits in their dreams, and it was said that when a Mrabet closed their eyes, they would relive the events of the day for as long as they kept them closed. With just a touch, they could feel things others could not, and with focus, this would carry over to their other senses as well. From a young age, they were instructed to question the things they were told and could see with their eyes, and to listen to the reason that resided in the ethereal forces of the world and the worlds beyond it. Their respect for their surroundings was matched only by the respect they held for one another, and their determination to value the sanctity of interaction, emotion, and understanding above all else.

Perhaps it was because of this reverence towards the unknown that the Mrabet were favored by it. Their harvest was rich, even in seasons where drought and famine had stricken the land. When the dragnet reeled in at the end of the day, it would heave under the weight of the fish it had caught. Tribes who approached the steppe with the intention of invasion found themselves swiftly defeated when they reached the mountains that surrounded the southern edge of the settlement, not by the Mrabet, but by their protectors.

The Mrabet had a name for them - "Sebelph Tubal", or The Behemoths. They were inhuman, monstrous creatures, with a size befitting their name, and strength to boot. Elephantine, leathery skin surrounded a body that resembled a steed's, yet the beasts walked on two gaunt legs, supporting their hulking upper bodies with a uniquely crude elegance. That wasn't to speak of their heads, which were likened to a gazelle's, with piercing, birdlike eyes that flared like the sun at midday. A slender, chiseling beak allowed for surface-skimming, and picking up grubs from the crevices of the crags.

-respected the behemoths, gave them offerings and talked to them in dreams

-coming of age ceremony. secret meeting with the elders.

"Have you come to kill me?" The Behemoth would said.

-the arrival home

-cast out. never to dream again.

rating: 0+x

[ SYSTEMS CHECK ]
=[CLEAR]
[ INITIATING NEURAL CONNECTION ]

.
.
.


[ NEURAL LINK CONFIRMED AT .0233023 SECONDS ]
[ USER IDENTIFIED ]
[ BODY ENTERING SOMNOLENT STATE ]
[ SOMNOLENT STATE ACHIEVED, BLOOD FLOW STABILIZED ]
[ ENERGY CONSERVATION GREEN, FALSE-SLEEP STATE OF SUBJECT'S BODY CONFIRMED]
[ GENERATING TOPOGRAPHY AND STIMULI ACCORDING TO PERSONALIZED-MAP-ACO1 ]
[ ENCODING PREVIOUS MNEMONIC DATA ]
[ ROUTINE FAILSAFE TEST SUCCESSFUL ]
[ AROUSING SYNAPSES FOR AUGMENTED STIMULATION ]
[ PSYCHOLOGICAL SELF-PERCEPTION DETECTED ]
[ MENTAL PROJECTION MATCHING USER PROFILE CONFIRMED ]
[ SUBJECT IS COGNIZANT ]
[ SUBJECT IS DREAMING ]

.
.
.


[ WELCOME TO ARCHIVE OF THE MIND, USER: ARMOND-SAEVER. EVERYTHING IS HOW YOU LAST LEFT IT. I AM LOCI.AIC, PROPERTY OF THE SCP FOUNDATION AND YOUR TIRELESS SERVANT, AS ALWAYS. HOW MAY I BE OF ASSISTANCE TONIGHT? ]

ARMOND-SAEVER: Turn the walls that crystalline blue. Keep the style and the layout. I want to feel like I'm in a castle carved out of ice.

[ OF COURSE. IS THIS TO YOUR LIKING? ]

ARMOND-SAEVER: Chilly. You knocked it out the park. Make it ripple wherever I step, but no residue or associated stimuli. Like walking on dry water.

[ I WOULD OFFER TO DOLL UP YOUR EGO, BUT I COULDN'T POSSIBLY INFLATE IT MORE. ]

ARMOND-SAEVER: This is my little corner of the universe, Loci. It's only right that I receive the divine treatment, especially tonight. Increase ambient sounds while you're at it. Flowing water, wind chimes, heavy vibrations.

[ IT HAS BEEN DONE. ]

ARMOND-SAEVER: Perfect. Oh, that's great. I feel like an ice mage, Loci. Love what you've done with the chandelier.

[ MY PLEASURE. I'VE CALCULATED YOUR BODY'S BLOOD PRESSURE AND MUSCLE TENSION AND INCREASED THE PALACE'S SIZE TO REFLECT THE NEEDS OF YOUR OVER-STRESSED MIND. YOU MAY WANDER TO YOUR HEART'S CONTENT AND NEVER COME ACROSS THE SAME LOCATION TWICE. ]

ARMOND-SAEVER: And tonight's the wandering night, it would seem. This case is troubling, and I'm one mental roadblock away from closing the file and brushing it all under the rug.

[ I DON'T THINK THAT'S WHAT AN 'INSPECTOR GENERAL' DOES. ]

ARMOND-SAEVER: Fitting. I don't think I've done anything that's in my job description the past few day

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