Credits
Artikel: SCP-001 I.H. Pickmans Vorschlag - Geschichte deines Lebens
Autor: Ihp
Original: I.H. Pickmans Proposal
Übersetzer: Dr Nordsee
Objekt-Nr.: SCP-001
Klassifizierung: Archon
Das war alles, was Dr. Jonathan West niedergeschrieben hatte, bevor ihm die Formulierung des eigentlichen Dokuments nicht mehr einfiel. Es war keine kleine Aufgabe, einen SCP-001-Eintrag zu verfassen. Andere hatten es vor ihm getan, für andere Anomalien, die als wichtig genug angesehen wurden. Das ist es, worauf es in einem 001-Entwurf ankam — Wichtigkeit.
"Nein, scheiße", fluchte er. "Archon entspricht nicht dem Standard. Ich sollte dort irgendetwas hinschreiben."
Klassifizierung: Archon1
"Das ist besser." Er sah auf seine Uhr herab und seufzte. Schreibblockade. Was eine unglaubliche Sache für einen Wissenschaftler.
Es ist nicht so, als wäre 001 ein Geheimnis unter den Leuten an Standort-87. Es war ein großes Ereignis und einige andere koautorierten den Entwurf mit ihm, gaben Feedback und überarbeiteten Abschnitte. Eine Gemeinschaftsleistung, so wie vieles andere, das an Standort 87 geschah. Aber das hier war alles oder nichts. Die Glaubwürdigkeit des Standorts hing daran.
"Verdammt." Er starrte auf die Uhr, deren Zeiger nahe 5 Uhr stand. Nun, er hatte immer noch einen weiteren Monat, um diesen Entwurf fertigzustellen – und außerdem fand heute Abend das wöchentliche Pokerspiel statt.
Er speicherte seine Arbeit, schaltete seinen Monitor ab und begab sich in den Gemeinschaftsbereich auf Unterebene 3.
"Was für eine Art Klassifizierung ist Archon überhaupt? Call." Katherine Sinclair, eine Thaumaturgin, legte ihren Einsatz in den Pott. "Sollte es nicht einfach Thaumiel sein?"
"Nein, schau mal, das Multi-universale Transit Array ist ein Thaumiel. Raise." Tristan Bailey, ein Multi-Universaler Diplomat, spielte mit einer Ramschhand, was aber niemand sonst wusste. Er hielt sich selbst für jemanden mit einem guten Pokerface, vor allem dann, wenn der Inhalt der Diskussion sich Sicherheitsmaßnahmen zuwendete. "Es ist eingedämmt, aber kann nicht dazu verwendet werden, die Welt, wenn nötig, zu retten. Ein Archon wird die Welt wortwörtlich zerstören, wenn man es eindämmt."
Cassandra Pike, eine Parazoologin, sah Tristan mit gehobenen Augenbrauen an. Sie konnte sehen, dass er bluffte: Alle Baileys verrieten sich auf die genau selbe Art und Weise. Sie würden ihren Zeigefinger über ihren Daumennagel reiben. Pike grinste und schob den gesamten Stapel Chips in die Mitte. "All in".
Bailey stöhnte. "Fold. Verdammt nochmal, Pike."
Cassandra zuckte nur mit den Schultern und schaute zu, wie die anderen am Tisch ebenfalls ausstiegen und ihre Karten an den Dealer abgaben. Cassandra Pike war bis vor kurzem noch emotional instabil gewesen. Aber sie war ein verdammt guter Pokerspieler— Der Chipstapel den sie grade gesetzt hatte, hätte alle anderen in den Ruin getrieben.
"Ich muss zugeben, dass ich neidisch bin." Der kürzlich aus Oregon zurückgekehrte Jason Hendricks war Pikes ehemaliger Vorgesetzter. Nicht einmal zwei Jahre nach meiner Versetzung entdeckst du ein neues 001." Er mischte die Karten und schaute, erwartend, dass West jede Minute in der Tür stehen würde, über seine Schulter.
"Ohne dich war es hier echt langweilig, Jay", gestand Bailey und fügte hinzu, "Ohne dich gibt es hier viel zu wenige auf Insekten basierende Halluzinationen."
"Wie immer zum totlachen, Bailey." Hendricks schüttelte den Kopf. "Und wie geht's dir in deiner Position unter Dr. Hennessy? Missionär oder Reverse Cowgirl?"
Am anderen Ende des Raumes hustete Montgomery Renyolds und verschüttete sein Root Beer überall. Sinclair schaute ihn mit erhobener Augenbraue an. "Was?", fragte Reynolds. "Es war ein guter Witz."
"Als wärst du 13", Sinclair stieß ein einsames "hah" aus. "Hätte niemals gedacht, dass du so einen unreifen Sinn für Humor hättest, Monty." Sie sah auf ihre Karten, sich anstrengend, ihre Mine nicht wegen des Königspaares, das ihr ausgeteilt wurde, zu verziehen. "Sicher, dass du nicht mitmachen willst?"
"Ich bin ein Zauberer, kein Glücksspieler. Ich hätte einen unfähren Vorteil— ein Wort der Hellseherei und ich kann all eure Karten sehen." Reynolds schwafelte Unsinn— er war ein miserabler Glücksspieler. Und als er einen weiteren Schluck nahm klingelte sein Handy. Er sah es sich an, neigte seinen Kopf und ging zum Tisch hinüber. "Ich glaube, das soll für dich sein, Katherine? West hat es mir versehentlich geschickt."
"Dan ist das der erste Entwurf der Sicherheitsmaßnahmen." Sinclair richtete Ihre Brille, nahm sein Handy und wischte ihren Daumen über den Bildschirm.
Sicherheitsmaßnahmen: SCP-001 ist tief in der narrativen Struktur Sloth's Pits, Wisconsin (Nexus 18) und Standort-87 verwurzelt, was eine einfachere Beobachtung dessen in diesen Gebieten ermöglicht. Gewisse Abschnitte von SCP-001 können, wenn vonnöten, narrativ eingedämmt werden, um größere Kontinuitätsfehler und bösartige Handlungsstränge zu isolieren.
"Das ist unglaublich schwammig." Sinclair schüttelte den Kopf. "Schick ihm das mal zurück und sag ihm, dass er klarstellen soll, was "narrativ eingedämmt" heißen soll. Und bei "bösartiger Handlungsstrang" auch.
"Wieso kritisierst du mich nicht Auge in Auge?", Jonathan West betrat die Lounge und packet sein Handy weg. "Ganz ehrlich, ich habe die Sicherheitsmaßnahmen auf meinem Weg hierher geschrieben."
"Ziemlich verblüffend, was ihr da eindämmt", sagte Hendricks während er West die Karten austeilte. "Das Konzept narrativer Kausalität? Ziemlich schwerwiegend."
"Wir suchen noch nach verschiedenen Namen dafür", gestand Pike. "Vermutlich wird es I.H.P.'s Vorschlag werden. Nach Isaiah Pickman benannt.
"Also der Archivar, der letztes Halloween gestorben ist?" Hendricks runzelte die Stirn. "Was hat er denn damit zu tun?"
"Er war mit seiner Katalogisierung der Archive besessen", erklärte Sinclair. "Dank ihm waren wir in der Lage, anomale Erscheinungsmuster zu beobachten, die davor kein anderer bemerkt hatte. Und das hat dazu geführt, dass ich, Bailey, West und Pike über eine zentralisierte Anomalie grübeln…"
"Was dann zu SCP-001 geführt hat. Also gut" Hendricks legte seinen Beitrag in den Pot. "Habt ihr davon gehört, dass Phill Verhoten hier einen Vortrag halten wird?
"Das ist wohl ein verfickter Witz", starrte Bailey. "Phillip Verhoten? Der Typ, der wortwörtlich ein Buch über Nexus geschrieben hat?
"Bücher, im Plural." Sinclair fing an, Titel aufzuzählen. "Es gibt Crossroads, The Death of Magic: On the Dissolution of Nexuses, The Micro-Nexus … Er wird bald noch ein viertes veröffentlichen. Der Titel wurde noch nicht bekanntgegeben.
Cassandra Pike sah unbeeindruckt aus. "Okay, aber wer ist jetzt dieser Typ? Call."
West schüttelte seinen Kopf in Richtung Pike. "Du musst dein Geschichtswissen auffrischen. Phillip Verhoten war der Mann, der Sloth's Pit entdeckt hat.
Sicherheitsmaßnahmen: SCP-001 ist tief in der narrativen Struktur Sloth's Pits, Wisconsin (d.h.: Nexus 18) und Standort-87 verwurzelt, was eine einfachere Beobachtung dessen in diesen Gebieten ermöglicht. Gewisse Abschnitte von SCP-001 können, wenn vonnöten, narrativ eingedämmt werden durch anomale Ausbeutungsgteckniken eingedämmt werden, um größere Kontinuitätsfehler und bösartige Handlungsstränge zu isolieren.
"Hört sich immer noch falsch an", gab Jonathan mit einem Seufzer zu und schaute zu seinem Bruder. "Ich habe keinen Plan. Harry, was denkst du?"
"Ich denke, dass du "Techniken" falsch geschrieben hast." Harold West sah sich den Vorschlag an. "Versuch mal die Sicherheitsmaßnahmen nach der Beschreibung zu schreiben. Hat bei mir wunderbar geklappt."
"Aber es wird nicht in der Datei funktionieren. Ugh." Er schaute auf das Dokument auf seinem Laptop herab und seufzte. "'Narrative Ausbeutungstechniken' ist so ein sinnloser Abschnitt."
"Nun, wenn wir es als "verlockendes Schicksal" oder "Hanging a Lampshade"2 bezeichnen würden, wäre das nicht gerade sehr klinisch." Harold trank einen Schluck Kaffee. "Vielleicht solltest du Verhoten fragen, wenn er in die Stadt kommt? Gott weiß, dass du den Boden, auf dem er gelaufen ist, verehrt hast, als du deine Foundation-Zugangsdaten geholt hast."
"Er hat Sloth's Pit entdeckt, aber es seit den 90ern nicht betreten." Jonathan murrte und tippte auf seine Tastatur herum, als er die ersten Zeilen der Beschreibung niedertippte.
Beschreibung: SCP-001 ist eine anomale universale Konstante, welche von Sinclair, Westr, Pike, Bailey und anderen als das Gesetz der narrativen Kausalität benannt wurde. SCP-001 bietet unbestreitbare Beweise, dass das Baseline-Universum ein fiktionales Konstrukt, das in einem oder mehreren separaten Narrativen existiert, ist.
"Glaubst du nicht, dass es dafūr zu früh ist?" Jonathan runzelte die Stirn. "Ich hab das Gefühl, es sollte, weiß nicht, mehr Wucht haben."
"Wucht?", Harold schnaubte. "Wir schreiben keinen Roman."
"Impact?" Harold snorted. "We're not writing a novel."
"Nö, aber wir können uns genau so gut in einem befinden. Jonathan rührte seinen Kaffe um. "Ist Julie Little League Spiel nicht diesen Samstag? Bin ich bei denen immer noch nicht erwünscht?"
"No, but we may very well be in one." Johnathan stirred his coffee. "Isn't Julie's Little League game this Saturday? Am I still un-invited to those?"
"Der Coach denkt immer noch, dass du überreagiert hast, als du den Ball zurück zum Pitcher geworfen und ihn absichtlich getroffen hast", bejahte Harold.
"The coach still thinks that you throwing the ball back at the pitcher and beaning him was an overreaction," Harold affirmed.
"Das war sein fünftes Foul!"
"That was the fifth foul he had thrown!"
"Und er war im Team deiner Nichte!"
"And he was on your niece's team!"
Je mehr Jonathan darüber nachdachte, desto mehr war er der Überzeugung, dass sein Bruder recht hatte. Er sollte Verhoten ansprechen. Allerdings war ‘den Boden, auf dem er gelaufen ist, verehrt’ ein wenig sehr übertrieben— Verhoten hatte ihn gerade mal an die Idee herangeführt, dass Anomalien mehr als nur schreckliche Dinge sind, die die Raumzeit, so wie sie sie kennen, zerstören könnten. Er hat es dadurch getan, ihn hierherzubringen.
The more Johnathan thought about it, the more he considered his brother was right. He should talk to Verhoten. But 'worshiped the ground he walked on' was a bit much— Verhoten had just introduced him to the idea that anomalies could be more than just horrendous things which could eliminate space-time as they knew it. He'd done that by bringing him here.
Er schaute auf ein Bild auf seinem Tisch, eins, dass eine jüngere Version von ihm sowie Verhoten darstellte, wie sie am Gray Lake stehen und sich das einzige Seemonster ansehen, dass auf Film nicht anomalerweise verschwommen erschien. Eine Unterhaltung schleichte sich zurück in seinen Verstand.
"Johnny", fing Verhoten an, "du machst gerade etwas durch, was viele Neulinge in der Foundation durchmachen. Du hast all den Tod, die Zerstörung und den Nihilismus satt und willst wissen, ob es etwas gibt, das es wert ist, zu retten."
"Leg mir keine Wörter in den Mund", schoss es aus West. "Die Welt wird nicht in einem nuklearen Feuer untergehen, toll. Dafür wird Irgendeine verottete Leiche aus seiner Zelle ausbrechen und Kinder fressen, oder eine riesige Schnecke wird aus dem Ozean kriechen, oder wir werden alle von einer riesigen Maschine assimiliert—"
"Don't put words in my mouth," West snapped. "The world's not going to end in nuclear fire, big deal. Some rotted corpse is going to break out of its cell and eat children, or else a giant slug is going to crawl out of the sea, or we're going to be assimilated into a massive machine—"
"Johnny. Würde es im Universum nur Tod und Zerstörung geben, hätten wir das hier nicht." Verhoten wandte sich dem See zu, wenn man diesen überhaupt so bezeichnen konnte— Nichts im Vergleich zu Lake Superior, der nur eine einstündige Autofahrt entfernt lag. Es war mehr eine Art großer Teich. "Schau es dir mal an. Mehrere millionen Jahre an geologischen Prozessen haben das erschaffen. Die biologischen Prozesse stellen sicher, dass der See bewohnt ist. Und die anomalen Prozesse…" Verhoten formte mit seinen Händen einen Trichter und brachte einen lauten Schrei hervor.
Die Gründe für sein Verhalten Kamen bald zur Schau. Aus dem Wasser erhob sich ein großer Hals. Ein kleiner Kopf, der am Ende saß, brüllte zurück. West wich keuchend nach hinten. "Was zur Hölle?!"
"Elasmosaurus jacksonslothii", erklärte Verboten. "Sloth's Pits eigenes Seemonster. Du weißt, dass der Grund, warum wir keine scharfen Bilder von denen haben, ist, dass ihre Haut elektromagnetische Strahlung abgibt, die Film ruiniert." Er gab West eine Kamera. "Wir nennen sie einfach Lady Grey"
"Elasmosaurus jacksonslothii," Verhoten explained. "Sloth's Pit's own lake monster. You know, the reason we don't have any clear pictures of these is because their skin gives off EM radiation that screws up film." He handed a camera to West. "We just call her Lady Grey."
"Ihr… Habt einer Anomalie einen Namen gegeben? Aber—
"Johnathan. For every Keter-class anomaly, there are at least twenty Euclid-class anomalies like her. They just do their own thing, live their own life, don't bother anyone. The anomalous isn't inherently evil or good."
"Jonathan. Für jede Keter-Klasse-Anomalie gibt es mindestens zwanzig weitere Euclid-Klasse-Anomalien so wie sie. Sie machen einfach ihr eigenes Ding, leben ihr eigenes Leben und stören niemanden. Das Anomale ist nicht von Grund aus gut oder böswillig."
Lady Grey swam over to them. Verhoten continued, "There are two sides to the anomalous: the wonderous, and the terrifying. Working in the Foundation, you see mostly the latter. But I'm going to show you the wondrous. Now, can you get the tripod out of my bag?"
Lady Grey schwamm hinüber zu ihnen. Verhoten fuhr fort, "Das Anomale hat zwei Seiten: Die wundersame und die schreckliche. Bei der Arbeit in der Foundation sieht man letztere am häufigsten. Aber ich werde dir die Wundersame zeigen. Kannst du jetzt den Tripod aus meiner Tasche holen?"
West came back to reality and sighed, rubbing his head. "Wondrous and terrifying, ey, Phil?"
West kehrte in die Realität zurück, seuftzte und rieb sich den Kopf. "Wundersam und schrecklich, nicht wahr, Phil?"
He cracked his knuckles, and began writing.
Er knackte seine Knöchel und fing an, zu schreiben.
Description: SCP-001 is an anomalous universal constant which has been dubbed by Sinclair, West, Pike, Bailey et al. as the Law of Narrative Causality. SCP-001 provides concrete proof that the baseline universe is a fictional construct existing within one or more separate narratives.
SCP-001 is observable through use of narrative exploitation techniques. Examples include use of the phrase, "What could possibly go wrong?", "At least it's not raining", and pointing out an inconsistency in a given situation (an action which has been termed 'lampshade hanging'). Doing so will invoke an alteration in SCP-001, dubbed SCP-001-A.
SCP-001-A instances take several forms, and usually are of a nature that would typically be conducive to telling a compelling narrative from an outsider's perspective. SCP-001-A instances are not necessarily anomalous in nature, but do account for pockets of 'unreality' that have been observed within the last twenty years. Examples of commonly observed SCP-001-A instances include:
- Meeting with a former romantic partner upon a return home and rekindling a relationship
- Weather altering in such a way that it creates opportunities for Schadenfreude
- Keter-class SCPs suddenly becoming far easier to contain in the aftermath of a breach
- The invocation of Murphy's Law resulting in disastrous, but distantly comedic, events.
"Distantly comedic…" West shook his head and deleted the last few words, before realizing he didn't have any better of a proposal. He sighed, and left it as-is.
"Are you sure this is wise, Katherine?" Montgomery Reynolds frowned. The two of them were in the middle of Lover's Lane, at nighttime, with a Pickman-Sinclair Narrative Fluctuation Detector. "I'm not so sure that he's going to be amiable."
"Bist du dir sicher, dass das eine gute Idee ist?", Montgomery Reynolds runzelte die Stirn. Die beiden standen inmitten der Lover's Lane, und das bei Nacht, mit einem Pickman-Sinclaire-Detektor für narrative Fluktuationen. "Ich bin mir nicht sicher, ob er gutmütig mit uns sein wird."
"He was willing to work with us last year," Sinclair said, holding up the Detector's wand. She admitted, "Granted, we were working to stop a reality restructuring event and the possible collapse of the Nexus…"
"Er hat im letzten Jahr mit uns zusammengearbeitet", sagte Sinclaire und hielt den Detektorstab hoch. Sie gab zu: "Vorausgesetzt, wir würden daran arbeiten, ein realitätsumstrukturierendes Ereignis und den potenziellen Zusammenbruch des Nexus zu verhindern…"
"Still can't believe that you wrote a script for this," Reynolds frowned. "That thing's probably just going to scare him off."
"Ich kann immer noch nicht glauben, dass du dafür ein Drehbuch geschrieben hast", Reynolds runzelte die Stirn. "Das Ding wird ihn vermutlich nur verschrecken.
"No good slasher villain can resist a pair of horny— well, 'horny' —" she made the air-quotes visible" —thirty-and-forty-somethings. Not as effective as teenagers, but none of the Baileys were available."
"You know, they have a whiteboard here at Site-87, trying to document their own timelines. From 2005 to now, they have a gigantic space that just reads 'weird temporal bullshit'." Reynolds looked at the script. "If I didn't love you…"
"There's no universe where that's possible," Sinclair rolled her shoulders, and looked at the script. "From the top."
Reynolds rolled his eyes. "'C'mon, baby, do you wanna die a virgin?'"
"'I ain't dyin' anytime soon… Derrick." Sinclair suddenly regretted her choice of name for this experiment. "'I'm gonna live long enough to fuck a million other guys before' oh my god this is awful." Sinclair broke down laughing, leaning against Monty. "Oh god I thought the shit I wrote in high school was bad!"
Reynolds leaned down to kiss her. "Well, it appears to have done something right." He nodded to the Narrative Fluctuation Detector— it lit up bright green.
Out of the shadows, a large, black shape leaped, bringing its axe between them, splitting the ground at their feet. They jumped back, staring at the Goatman.
The Goatman frowned, letting out a huff and recovering the hatchet. He looked at them, the script, and the Detector, shaking his head, a wild tangle of hair covering his horns. "Aren't you a bit old for this?"
"We're doing tests," Sinclair shrugged. "Give us a break."
The Goatman snorted. "Last great secret of this town, the Narrative, and you've figured it out." He hefted his hatchet, tilting his head. "How'd you do it?"
Tristan Bailey was working on his tablet when he nearly walked into Dr. Sinclair in the elevator. As the doors closed behind him, he muttered an apology, and looked at the screen at the back of the car. The screen behind them displayed a picture of Phillip Verhoten, a South African man in his sixties with skin the color of finished mahogany, smiling behind a pair of glasses. He was superimposed in front of his books with an announcement scrolling overhead: "Philip Verhoten, Author of The Crossroads, Atrium 2. Don't miss it!"
Sinclair looked at Bailey, a soft frown on her face. "I've been reviewing your contributions to the 001 file. I… found an issue."
"Oh?" Tristan frowned.
Sinclair pulled out her own tablet and highlighted the problematic section, which she had crossed out.
In contrast to what was theorized in S. Andrew Swann's SCP-001 Variant, the entity or entities responsible for constructing the baseline narrative, for the most part, do not appear to be actively malevolent, but they are perverts.
"That last part is really unnecessary." Sinclair scowled at Bailey.
"People put jokes or goofs in non-finalized drafts all the time. I seem to remember someone getting a reprimand because they accidentally left a certain foxy name within a report."
Sinclair glowered at Tristan. "You said you'd never mention the Sinclair/Synner incident." She muttered.
"Not my fault you're horrible at picking character names," Bailey said as the elevator doors opened. "Your test in the woods reveal anything?"
"The Goatman was oddly talkative," Sinclair admitted. "We told him how we figured out what we did to discover the Narrative, and he gave us, well, questionable data."
"Like what?" Bailey stepped out of the elevator, walking alongside Sinclair.
"So, the whole concept Swann's proposal put forth, the progenitor universe that writes all of our lives? He says that may not actually be the case." She rubbed her temples. "It's confusing. We may not be fictional, but our world operates on the rules of fiction, so it kind of is."
"Well, even if we aren't fictional, we still operate on the rules of it, so same difference." Bailey took out his phone and leaned against the wall. "Anything else?"
"Yeah. He said that," She shook her head and let out a soft chuckle. "He said that it may be alive."
"It?" Bailey raised an eyebrow. "The Narrative?"
"He said that it was 'a spirit' that was alive in Sloth's Pit. It can… react, and be talked to." Sinclair scoffed. "That would explain why we can manipulate it."
"I dunno." Bailey paused and scratched his head. "It can react, but it doesn't seem alive; it's more like it has chemical reactions to certain phrases. Trying to actually communicate with it is absurd. It'd be like trying to have a conversation with hydrochloric acid."
"I'm skeptical too," Sinclair admitted, continuing to walk on. "You have to admit, it does seem to have a sense of humor at times."
Bailey started walking again, looking at a monitor in the hallway displaying an announcement from Director Weiss that testing in the biology sublevel was to be halted until E-2913 could be recaptured. "Yeah, maybe, but it's always cringe humor, slapstick, and bad puns. There's never any irony."
"And now that you've said that, there probably is."
"Nah," Bailey said, moving past Sinclair to the coffee machine— not the coffee machine, unfortunately ("Friggin' Site 19 gets everything good", Bailey muttered to himself.) "What, now that I've said that, am I suddenly going to win the lottery? The odds of—" He blinked, his hands over the keys to input his order; he glanced behind the machine, and saw a stub of paper sticking out from behind it. "The fuck?"
"What?"
"There's a scratch-off card behind here."
"Five grand from a random scratch-off ticket created by exploiting the narrative. Not bad, Bailey." Pike raised the pot. "Now you have some scratch to lose to me. But… you know you're not supposed to do that for personal gain, right?"
"I didn't mean to! It's like it messed with me." Tristan called Pike's bet, knowing she had the better hand. "West, I looked over Pickman's observations again. I think that… the narrative might be selective."
"Selective?" West snorted. "That implies that it's sentient, if not sapient." He looked pointedly at one of the walls in the room. "Probably just someone beyond the fourth wall messing with you."
"Yeah, but— mmmn." Tristan sighed. "It's too responsive to be random chance, but too inconsistent to be something like a chemical reaction. I dunno."
"Lines up with what the Goatman said," Sinclair admitted. "'The Spirit of the Narrative is more alive here than in other places'."
"You think he meant an actual spirit." Hendricks squinted his eyes. "A global… what's it called?"
"Genius loci," Sinclair nodded, calling Bailey's bet. "Not just global. Maybe universal."
Tristan looked at the rest of the table, then at his junk hand. "You gotta admit, there's something here."
"The way I see it, you're just making my job more complicated," West shook his head. "Keep in mind that I'm the one who's actually writing this."
"Verhoten's visiting in three days," Pike chimed in. "I've heard you're on good terms with him. Present it to him for feedback?"
"Harry said I should do that. I'm gonna check." West tapped his fingers against the table. "Not a bad idea."
"This kind of… de-explains the 'god is a bunch of horror writers' concept that Swann put forth, though." Sinclair shook her head. "Not sure how I feel about that."
"I thought it was bullshit when I read it," Tristan admitted. "Trev told me they sometimes put fake 001 instances in the database to throw off leaks. I know the Broken God one is mostly accurate, Gate Guardian is real, but beyond that, it's all up in the air."
"We have the remains of the Gears proposals in storage on-Site." Pike drew incredulous looks from the rest of the table. "What? It's common knowledge. The remains are inert, anyway."
"So that's what E-0005 is?" Tristan cocked his head upwards. "Wondered what a big bunch of demon bones was doing in low-value containment."
"Kinda weird, isn't it?" Hendricks asked, drawing the subject back to the original. "I mean, I know I'm fictional. We all know we're fictional, but… nothing's really changed." He raised the pot again. "We know we're in a simulation, and there's been no nihilistic crisis, no rage against the heavens, nothing." He frowned at his cards— pair of twos. "Wonder why that is."
"Quality of the authors keeping us from going insane? Or maybe… we're not fictional?" Sinclair put her cards in the table and pulled out a notepad, drawing two crude planet Earths, and a window between them. "Like, maybe they can see into our universe and are just recording events."
"Metafiction gives me a headache. I feel sorry for the new pataphysics guys. Call." Bailey looked at his cards, then at the turn in the center of the table— a pair of twos and a pair of threes. He had junk in his hand. "God dammit."
West had his own notepad out, muttering that he had folded. He wrote a few words on it.
Description: SCP-001: Alive? Narrative conscious? World-window? More tests required.
"Is there any way to test if it is alive?" Pike frowned at her cards— King and an Ace weren't gonna help much with a turn like this. "Like— malignant narrative isn't all that uncommon. From the tests we did, it's actually pretty easy to make."
"How would this test work?" West asked, scribbling down more.
Reacts to malignant narrative removal?
"Well…" Sinclair looked at the scars on her arms, before turning a page on the notepad, rolling up her sleeves, and starting to scribble on the paper. "If it is alive, then it might be possible to create a spell that could make its pain manifest, or otherwise detectable. I can have it ready tonight; we just need malignant narrative."
"How do we achieve that?" Pike was folding now to focus on the discussion, much to Hendricks's chagrin. Bailey had just turned over an Ace in the river. "One of the easiest ways we found was to achieve an anti-climax, but those aren't easy to accomplish— not intentionally."
Bailey himself folded, joining in. "Well, we could—"
Hendricks threw his pair of twos on the table, and stood. "There's your goddamn anticlimax! Four of a kind, and you all fold!"
The air within the room felt like it had grown denser. Everyone went silent, and Sinclair pulled out a portable Narrative Fluctuation Detector wand. The lights on it blinked a bright, dangerous red.
"Hendricks," Sinclair laughed. "I could kiss you."
"You know, it occurs to me that the narrative may have made itself malignant." West frowned as Sinclair finished the circle of chalk on the tile floor. "It forced an anticlimax so we could detect it— that's assuming that Bailey's hypothesis of it being alive holds true."
"Egh. Glad I never went into pataphysics." Hendricks rubbed his forehead. "I know how to neuter a hodag, but this has got me clueless." He looked at the thaumatologist in the room, and asked, "Anything I can do to help, Sinclair?"
"There's an incantation on the back of my notepad I need you to read once I finalize the spell vector."
"It's not in dog Latin, is it?" Hendricks crossed over to the abandoned poker table and picked up the notepad, trying to ignore the hushed whispers from outside the room. People from throughout the site had gathered around to see if the narrative— possibly the very fabric of the universe they lived in —was alive. He was fairly sure this was being livestreamed to Site-19 as well.
Cassandra Pike couldn't help but be satisfied at the fact that, over six months after his death, Pickman would be vindicated. She'd always had a soft spot for the old archivist; when her medication failed to be delivered to any pharmacy in town, he'd let her help organize the archives. He'd been dead for months, but now he was helping the Foundation make a giant leap.
Tristan was just glad that the chucklefucks at 19, the ones who had his brother demoted for daring to do his job and neutralize a Keter-class anomaly, were going to eat crow. The family name was mud since Trevor did what he did; he was about to wipe that off.
"Fuck me, is this Sumerian?" Hendricks frowned. "Sinclair, you know my cuneiform's rusty. There's a ritual in Old French that can accomplish the same thing."
Sinclair, West, Bailey, Pike, and the rest of the onlookers raised their eyebrows at Hendricks. He raised one back. "What? I've attended a few cross-discipline seminars."
"Yes, well, the Old French ritual burned with the Plutonic Codex back in 2015." Sinclair knelt by the ritual sign and frowned. "Just manage it the best you can."
"All right… hopefully a garbled pronunciation won't do too much harm." He looked up from the notepad to Bailey, Pike, and West. "How does… one get rid of malignant narrative, anyway?"
Johnathan West looked towards the crowd; Harold stepped forward, holding out a large lampshade.
"Surely you can’t be serious…" Hendricks groaned.
"Don’t call me Shirley." Johnathan chuckled at his own joke, and took the lampshade. "In all seriousness, we need to, essentially, get rid of the anti-climax by looking at it really, really hard and pointing out why it's awful."
"And the lampshade helps that how?" Hendricks frowned, crossing his arms.
Tristan took the lampshade and put the narrow end to his mouth, like a megaphone. "The louder you point it out, the more effective it is!" He put the shade down. "It was the closest thing on hand when we started the tests. It kind of became a tradition."
Hendricks rolled his eyes, and began reading off the incantation. Sinclair knelt by the seal, making sure the ritual remained stable, while Pike, West, and Bailey all began a very conspicuous discussion.
"Boy, that was an awful piece of writing!" Bailey bellowed through the lampshade. "Poor Hendricks never catches a break. Why do you always gotta pick on him, narrative?"
"Yeah! He deserves better," Pike agreed. "He's been the butt of jokes around the site ever since he ate that stupid hallucinogen! It's not fair!"
"Stop picking on Jason Hendricks for the sake of creating conflict! It's gotten old!" West pointed out, shouting it through the lampshade. "You've turned his life into a cliche!"
"And anticlimaxes aren't fun! He should have creamed us in that poker game!" Pike chimed in.
Hendricks wasn't sure how to react; on the one hand, they were supporting him, but on the other, they were doing it solely for the purposes of heckling a universal constant. He just kept reading.
A bright, red glow emanated from the circle. Sinclair stood, startled, but able to keep her concentration as jumble of ethereal red letters formed within the air around the circle.
Sinclair scratched her head as the letters spun around. "Usually, a manifestation of pain takes a… different form. More humanoid. This is text."
"Not just any text," Hendricks frowned. "It's what I said. You can make out 'fold', 'anticlimax', and a few others. But… what does this mean?"
"Well, for this spell to work, the target of the spell has to feel pain. For it to feel pain, it needs to be able to interpret that sensation as pain. For it to do that…"
"It… has to be sentient." West looked at the floating words as they started to dissipate. "Holy shit. Do you realize what this means?!"
"That a fundamental part of our universe is a living entity of some kind, capable of registering pain and possibly other sensations." Pike's eyes went wide. "Holy shit. This is insane."
West shut his eyes with a soft groan. That, and I need to rewrite the entire damn file.
Phillip Verhoten wore a tweed suit as he walked on stage to the roar of the crowd. Almost all of Site-87 had come out to view him talk, and this seminar was being streamed to over a hundred Foundation sites globally. Seven translators were sitting in the corner, ready to transcribe his speech for the international sites.
"Hello, hello, hello Site-87!" He waved his hand, inadvertently triggering the motion sensor on the projector, which caused it to advance three slides at once. He looked back at the screen, and asked, "Can- can I get a reset on that? Not familiar with the newer tech. Just gimme a mouse and a laser pointer."
Once the glitch was resolved, Verhoten began speaking. "Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin. The anomaly capital of the Midwest, Sloth Spit, Home of the Best Sponge Candy in the US, Nexus-18, and for many of you, home." He clapped his hands together and sighed. "And here I stand, credited with discovering it." He shook his head. "That is a stupid, stupid term."
"One does not discover a town that's already inhabited— it was discovered by the citizens and civic workers of the town and county long before we set foot in here, after the tragic events at Camp Krakkow. Since then, we've become an integral part of Sloth's Pit's history— and its story." He advanced the slideshow, showing the cover of his book:
S & C Plastics: The Story of Your Life
A Collection of Anomalous Occurrences in Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin, as Told By Those at Site-87
"I have to admit, my reasons for coming here are partially selfish." Verhoten put his hands together. "This new book focuses exclusively on Sloth's Pit and the weirdness therein, as recounted by you." He waved his hand at the audience, triggering the slide to change into a live camera feed of the audience. "All of you. Your tales are going to make up the bulk of this book— at least, the first edition."
Verhoten put his hands together. "This town is unique. It's one of the few places in the world where the Narrative is so fully on display, and I imagine— or at least, I hope —that makes for a few good stories."
"Talking of the Narrative! Is Johnny West in here?"
Johnathan West hated being put in the spotlight, but stood up, raising his hand and looking at the ground.
"Congratulations to Drs. West, Pike, Bailey, and Sinclair, as well as the late Archivist Pickman, for making an actual discovery— finding out the Narrative is an actual, physical force. Your story is going to be one I definitely want to tell."
"Dr. Verhoten?"
As the seminar ended, Johnathan West made his way to the stage. Philip Verhoten smiled down at him, and offered a hand up onto the platform. "Johnny West, you magnificent man. Congratulations." He pulled Johnathan into a hug.
West returned it, chuckling, holding out sheaf of papers. "Dr. Verhoten—"
"We've known each other for decades now. Call me Phil."
"Well, Phil, I've… almost finalized the documentation on SCP-001. I'm still not sure about it, so I want you to take a look."
Verhoten took out a pair of reading glasses and began scanning the paper given to him.
Item #: SCP-001
Object Class: Archon1
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-001 is currently being monitored within Nexus-18 (Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin) by researchers at Site-87's newly-founded pataphysics department.
In the event of a major SCP-001-X manifestation, Procedure 001-Pickman-β is to be carried out, as detailed in the file below. Any and all SCP-001-A techniques are allowed to be used in order to combat the spread of SCP-001-X.
Testing done with SCP-001 is to be carried out only with permission from Dr. Johnathan West.
Description: SCP-001 is a sentient, possibly sapient, universal constant first discovered by Foundation Archivist Isaiah Howard Pickman (1979-2017), and first described by Pike, West, Bailey, Sinclair et al in 2018. SCP-001 manifests itself as a force described as "Narrative Causality", wherein patterns observed in nature, history, technology, and anomalous phenomena and items conform to patterns observed in fictional narratives. This, combined with phenomena reported in S. Andrew Swann's SCP-001 proposal, has definitively proved that the baseline universe is at least partly fictional.
SCP-001-A refers to narrative exploitation techniques that can be used to manipulate SCP-001, and conceivably any other narrative construct. SCP-001-A techniques include:
- Invoking an ironic reaction by stating a phrase such as "What could possibly go wrong?"
- Creating a solution to a problem by uttering a phrase such as "We're missing something, but what?", or by several people turning to look at a single individual who they believe is capable of solving this problem.
- Preventing disasters via awareness of the presence of certain phrases in conversation (i.e. "It's been boring lately" or "nothing ever happens here") or narrative patterns
- Minor probability manipulation using mass encouragement or belief.
SCP-001-A techniques are not infallible; SCP-001 seems to be able to choose which techniques are capable of working at a given time.
SCP-001-X refers to malignant pieces of narrative causality, either manifesting naturally as a result of an unsatisfying narrative event or created by excessive use of SCP-001-A. SCP-001-X instances are detrimental to the narrative around it, and have the potential to create massive flaws in reality that cause mass confusion, the manifestation of powerful and nonsensical entities and abilities, and an overall degradation in the surrounding consensus reality.
SCP-001-X can be counteracted by use of a specific SCP-001-A technique, SCP-001-Pickman-β. SCP-001-Pickman-β is a procedure which involves the following steps:
- Location: Use of a Pickman-Sinclair Narrative Fluctuation Detector to locate a pocket of SCP-001-X.
- Isolation: Creating an area of stable SCP-001 around the SCP-001-X instance through use of narrative manipulation techniques such as gathering a large crowd of people to observe the process being undertaken.
- Ridicule: The pocket of SCP-001-X is ridiculed by vocalizing observations regarding the nonsensical nature of how it manifested, and how SCP-001 should have occurred in absence of the SCP-001-X instance. It has been observed that ridiculing SCP-001-X instances at higher volumes is more effective.
- Neutralization: After approximately five minutes, smaller SCP-001-X instances can be neutralized; larger SCP-001-X instances can take up to half an hour or longer to completely render inert.
Neutralization of SCP-001-X instances causes a pain response in SCP-001; this discovery has led to the conclusion that SCP-001 possesses some degree of sentience.
Discovery: SCP-001 was first observed in Sloth's Pit, Wisconsin (known as Nx-18 within the Foundation), an anomalous Nexus monitored by Site-87. Isaiah Howard Pickman, an archivist at Site-87, observed several patterns of narrative causality within Sloth's Pit, and cataloged them over the course of fifteen years.
When his work was discovered posthumously in December 2017 by Dr. Cassandra Pike, she began attempting to corroborate his findings, which largely revolved around the manifestation of quasi-fictional entities in town being preceded or triggered by events which followed narrative conventions.
Dr. Tristan Bailey, a member of the Department of Multi-Universal Affairs, corroborated Pickman and Pike's findings with records of fluctuations in local reality compiled over the course of thirty years. With the aid of Dr. Katherine Sinclair, a thaumatologist, and Dr. Johnathan West, an anomalous item researcher, they were able to re-create the scenarios outlined by Pickman and create a device to detect changes in SCP-001, tentatively dubbed the Pickman-Sinclair Narrative Fluctuation Detector.
[NOT FINISHED]
"Well, you did say almost finalized," Verhoten shook his head. "We've known of the whole 'god is a bunch of horror writers' idea for years. What makes this different?"
"Simple," West says. "We can't control them," He pointed at the ceiling, "but we can control this." He waved his hand around to the surroundings. "There's a difference between the Narrative and the Narrator. The people writing us are Narrators, but so are we." He twisted his hand in the air. "Sinclair's actually been able to pinpoint instances in which the narrative focus shifts away, if only briefly. You know what happens?"
"What?" Verhoten asked.
"Absolutely nothing. We keep existing, going about our lives, having conversations, and just… developing. Going on. That means that God isn't always paying attention, but we're still here regardless." He opened his hands. "We're real, Phil. We just live in a world where the laws of fiction are more powerful than the laws of gravity."
"That would mean…" Verhoten frowned. "I don't know what that would mean."
"I think that your book is gonna help you understand." West reached into his briefcase and took out a manuscript. "My submission for your book; I thought I'd give it to you in person. I typed it up in a few hours, so if it needs editing…"
"I'm sure it'll be fine." Philip Verhoten looked over the first line of the paper.
October 24th
"I hate this holiday." Dr. Johnathan West cleaned egg off of the card-reader...
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