by mothmanUXO
WARNING: IDEOMETRIC TARGETING IN EFFECT
CONTENT NOT TO BE READ IN A COHERENT SETTING. PAUSE ALL MUSIC AND FACE YOUR DEVICE TOWARDS A BLANK WALL.
THE DEPARTMENT OF SURREALISTICS MAKES NO CLAIM TO THE EFFICACY OF THESE METHODS.
DO YOUR BEST, OKAY.
Item#: 9067
Level4
Containment Class:
ASTRA
Secondary Class:
{$secondary-class}
Disruption Class:
ekhi
Risk Class:
critical
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURES:
SCP-9067 is to be considered uncontained at this time. Any surviving biological components are to be held for study. The whereabouts of Foundation employee JACK MAYNARD and POI-9067 “DOUG PARSONS” are considered high priority. The physical search for hardcopy files relating to PROJECT PSYCHO KILLER are underway.
DESCRIPTION:
SCP-9067 denotes a weapon system utilizing ideometric contextual targeting and 4 dimensional non-Euclidean movement to deliver a payload. SCP-9067 is capable of targeting individuals based on a psychospheric signature consisting of 3 or more semantic markers. The current iteration has been modified for use in Foundation-manufactured SKYEYE, EVILEYE and BIG SKY series drones.
The ICT module entered development in 1963, before being shelved due to logistical and targeting precision concerns. These assets were taken into Foundation custody per the Berne Treaty's Paratech Limitation Agreement and remanded to Site-56 Epochal Storage. Between discovery and the most recent audit of Epochal Storage, all listed material is no longer present.
The Foundation has no record of orders to construct SCP-9067, nor a location of manufacture.
DISCOVERY
The first surviving sample of SCP-9067 was recovered from Site-56's cafeteria, where it partially remateralized during breakfast service. Initial investigation revealed the unit to be a modified EVILEYE Air Intercept Drone. The wireless uplink unit was replaced with biological components attached to the ICT module, alongside extended batteries and frame reinforcements. The drone's payload bay contained a 1TB SATA hard-drive, with hardware keys encoded to Jack Maynard's issued laptop.
The contents of the hard drive are enclosed below. Files may be presented out of order, owing to incomplete metadata. Due to damage sustained in 4 dimensional transit, substantial reconstruction was required. Fully recovered files will be marked in green, partially recovered in yellow. Unrecoverable files will be marked in red.
Filename: Interview.mp4
Video appears to originate from the static camera installed in the 3rd floor conference room in the east wing of Site-40. This footage is the last known location of PARSONS and MAYNARD.
MAYNARD is already seated at the conference table as PARSONS enters, holding a stack of folders.
PARSONS: “Jack Maynard! Doug Parsons, I work R&D with the Surrealistics Infowar Division. Love your work!”
MAYNARD: “I wasn't aware Surrealistics had an Information Warfare Division.”
PARSONS: “It's all very hush-hush. We might be the best kept secret of the department. When you deal with information that can harm you, the safest thing you can do is stop making sense.”
PARSONS: “How much do you know about the differences between cognitohazards and infohazards? Stick with me here, I've seen your resumè.”
MAYNARD: “One is harmful information, the other is a thing that hurts to think about?”
PARSONS: “Close enough. The way I see it, one is information you have to understand for it to harm you. It has to make sense. We use a lot of low grade cognitive hazards to protect harmful information. However, we have gaps in the fence.”
PARSONS: “Some information is too singular and discrete to attach a memetic hazard to. Nuclear secrets, proprietary formulas, bank account numbers. All potentially harmful leaks that can be written down on a napkin or said in your sleep.”
MAYNARD: “Where do I come in? I don't work in memetics or infosec.”
PARSONS: “Guidance systems! I've seen your work, and it's brilliant! The Exorcist S2A missile was sublime, and the BUNYAN-”
He snaps his fingers.
PARSONS: “A sub-treeline cruise missile? You have any idea how impressive that is to a layperson? We need someone who can steer a missile through the eye of a needle. I'm a fan, Jack. I'm going to cut to the chase. We found a way to close that gap.”
MAYNARD: “So, where do missile guidance systems come in? You didn't find a way to track, like, a thought with a missile, did you?”
Parsons taps his pen on the desk and smiles.
PARSONS: “Jack, earlier this year, one of your missiles locked on to and shot down a ghost. Don't tell me you've stopped dreaming.”
Maynard purses his lips.
PARSONS: “We've got our hands on some paratech that we can't crack, this D.o.D. guidance chip from the cold war with classified capabilities we can't talk about outside of a cleanroom. It's a legacy system, sure, but we've made a number of parallel breakthroughs in other related fields. Just need a neat little bow to tie it all together.”
MAYNARD: “How urgent is it?”
PARSONS: “We would go right to the cleanroom after this meeting, take the elevator straight down. However: we're going to be down there until it's done, total sequestration. Conditional L6-COSMIC clearance, pay grade bump and you leave your mark on history.”
MAYNARD: “I don't th-”
PARSONS: “I brought you in because we just couldn't crack it. We've got a breakthrough on the level of infrared targeting or night vision here. You cracked thaumic targeting, you can crack psychospherics. They don't see your genius, Jack.”
MAYNARD: “I could take a look, I think. Will I have time to inform my team lead?”
PARSONS: “No need, just say yes and I can make all the proper phone calls.”
MAYNARD pauses to consider.
MAYNARD: “Yeah. Yeah, let's do this.”
They shake hands, and PARSONS produces a black bag from the stack of paperwork.
PARSONS: “Go ahead and put this on, the physical location of the lab is above our clearance.”
PARSONS ignores his protests and slips it over his head.
PARSONS produces a second bag, slipping it over his own head. He stands, guiding MAYNARD out of the conference room.
NOTES: Neither man appears on any footage from the site's security cameras.
The notes recovered from the conference room consisted of 65 blank sheets of paper and a black and white photo of MAYNARD.
Filename: LAB TOUR.MP4
MAYNARD is carrying the camera around a large hanger. Stark white walls and quarry tile flooring. Rows and rows of work tables extend into the distance, alongside an assembly line of Unmanned Aerial Vehicles. The camera whips over to a large service elevator, powered down.
The footage cuts to a tent set up inside of the cavernous hanger. Large olive drab army surplus. He opens the flap, poking the camera inside to the spartan layout. Boxes of rations, a cot, 3 space heaters lined up in sequence.
Another cut. A massive transparent tent erected in another corner, large exterior fans maintaining a negative pressure differential. Several freezers are visible through the transparent plastic.
The camera cuts to a set of tables dragged into a rough circle. A reel-to-reel projector is set up, as well as a pair of microfilm viewers. PARSONS is unloading cardboard boxes of documents, as well as green steel cases labelled TOP SECRET - D.O.D.
Filename: ICTtestlaunch.mp4
Static angle of a blank wall. A reel to reel projector clicks on as the worklamps power down. A brief splash screen.
DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE CLASSIFIED MATERIAL
PSYCHOMOTOR TARGETING TEST
The footage is old, with uniforms and technology consistent with 1966 D.o.D. procurement. A single missile is placed in a cradle, the dome of the seeker head is removed. The delicate electronics are exposed, flickering wildly around the room. It tracks a technician who walks into the shot.
“As you can see here, the I.C.T. seeker head isn't tracking infrared emissions or a radar signal, but a human being.”
The footage cuts again to a rear angle view of the missile, pointed at a row of technicians.
“With new discoveries in psychospherics, we've managed to isolate and tune into the individual thought patterns, transmitted without your knowledge. This unit was developed in part by Prometheus Industrial.”
The seeker head makes a confident turn to the left, tracking iris glowing red.
“This unit is keyed to a series of code words memorized by the engineer on the left. Tracking resolution can be as accurate as a rhyming couplet or as broad as an ideology.”
The footage cuts, the projector spool spinning wildly. PARSONS, swearing, jumps up to turn it off.
4D discussion.mp4
Static camera angle of the airlock of the cleanroom tent. It's covered in biohazard warning signs. MAYNARD appears ill, removing a full-body, airtight hazard suit. He pries the helmet off, retching into a nearby trashcan. PARSONS emerges behind him, still suited.
PARSONS: unintelligible
MAYNARD motions at his helmet.
PARSONS twists the plastic dome off, setting it aside.
PARSONS: "I said it gets easier. The human mind is fundamentally incapable of comprehending 4-D spaces. As inconvenient as it is, it's the most cost effective way of implementing 4-D movement into this system."
MAYNARD wipes his mouth with the back of his hand
PARSONS: "Think about it this way: what's the shortest distance between two points?"
MAYNARD: "Straight line."
PARSONS: "In a 2D space, yes. Take that 2D space, add a dimension. Fold it in half so the two points touch. Push that up a layer and…"
MAYNARD: "Instant movement. Unlimited range."
PARSONS: "Now you're getting it!"
Filename: 4D descent footage.mp4
Recovered metadata reflects the corrupted footage as originating from the on-board camera of a Foundation manufacture drone. On-board flight telemetry indicates maximum turbulence compensation despite the only logged commands as a five meter vertical climb.
Limbic balancer installation.mp4
Partially recovered footage - sections affected:
Significant audio distortion
Severe video distortion
Video consists of MAYNARD and PARSONS in the clean room. An EVILEYE drone is partially disassembled in a harness, and a large cryogenic freezer is visible on the floor.
The two men are leaned over a workbench, facing away from the camera.
PARSONS: “… kind of feel along the edge for the port, it should unfold…”
Footage jumps ahead, PARSONS appears to be cradling a large, semi-transparent amoebic mass. The video distortion increases whenever it's in view. Close analysis shows it has standard electronic ports installed. PARSONS dumps it unceremoniously in the open hatch.
PARSONS: “They're usually self-fitting, once you attach the ports.”
He reaches in, dragging cables over to the waiting mass, which reaches out to meet them. MAYNARD drops the cowling back over the drone's communications module, as PARSONS retrieves a sheet of dry ice with tongs.
PARSONS: “We gotta keep it below operational temperature, or it's gonna think it's game time.”
ICTprogramming.mp4
Static angle of the ICT chip itself. A large assembly of vacuum tubes and relays, wrapped in wire. Cursory analysis from Foundation Fabrication liaisons have made no concrete analysis of the design.
PARSONS: “They made hundreds of these things, we've got at least another shelf on standby.”
MAYNARD: “I know a lot of this was pre-minaturization, but I really can't make heads or tails of it. I recognize the connection though, AIM-7 camera?”
PARSONS: “Good eye. The lower resolution is fine, psychospheric targeting has incredibly low background signals, once it's tuned.”
The camera turns up to a massive reel to reel server rack. The magnetic tape is quietly chirping along. A chain of adapters and modulators connects the rack to a laptop.
PARSONS: “This right here is why I needed you. I need you to find a way to get the wetware ICT to give commands to the drone itself."
MAYNARD: "So I've got this ancient guidance computer, an amoeba and a kill vehicle, and I have to get them to play nice? What sort of targeting metrics will I be looking for here?"
PARSONS: "That's where it gets easy. I'll handle the ICT instructions, you don't want the flags it's looking for in too many heads. The more flags we add, the more discrete it gets."
ICTbreakthrough.mp3
MAYNARD: “Essentially, I'm normalizing input from the 4D organs into something that can make sense to software anticipating a 3D environment. The drone handles everything on the X, Y and Z axis, while the biological components handle the W axis.”
PARSONS: “Smart, no need to write additional software, just W+ and W-.”
MAYNARD: “Yeah, we included a debug function for a 3rd Payload, just used those program calls. To make sense for us in 3D, any calls for a drone to move ana or kata-
PARSONS: “Ana?”
MAYNARD: “Up and down, but in 4D. It's what they used in the original PSYCHO KILLER documentation. I guess they had a classics guy on staff.”
Loud slurping heard over the microphone.
MAYNARD: “The way I see it, we really only need to track the values from zero and avoid the tangle of 4D maneuvers. I think I've sort of given up on understanding an additional axis of movement, if I abstract it just enough I can sort of see it. Does that make sense?"
Filename: ICT ARCHIVED TEST 5/30/1966
█████ █████ Missile Test Range. The test missile is loaded in a remote operated launcher, an olive drab tube pointed downrange. In the distance, an antenna array stands out
A droning countdown.
The missile streaks clear of the tube, before swinging hard to the right. The camera tracks it as it flies directly into the observation bunker.
Filename: TRANSLATION TEST 6
Test landing pad, center of the drone hanger. Racks loaded down with drones stretch to the ceiling.
Static shot of a large quadrotor drone. PARSONS disconnects a thick braided cable before giving the camera a thumbs up and clearing the landing pad.
MAYNARD: "Beginning translation test attempt six. 2 meters W axis, zero X axis, 2 meters Y, zero Z axis."
The drone rises 2 meters vertically, before the left hand side begins to thin and fray out, sections expanding and collapsing on themselves. Soon, the fractal effect spreads across the entire drone before disappearing from sight.
MAYNARD: "4D translation complete. Ready to initiate psychosphere targeting."
PARSONS enters the frame, glancing nervously at the drones previous location. He produces a manila envelope, shaking loose a sheet of cardstock. He considers the page, before gently scratching and sniffing a panel.
MAYNARD: "Clean lock on three metrics, it's moving katawise now."
The drone appears as fragments again, sliding back into coherence. The lower payload bay flips open, dropping a green handkerchief onto PARSONS's shoulder.
PARSONS: "Holy shit, touchdown."
The drone shudders, still halfway fragmented.
MAYNARD: "Translation error, dammit."
PARSONS clears the landing pad as the drone falls to pieces, one clean segment and hundreds of fractal slivers and curtains of gore. The area where the drone unfolded resolves to static, a thin trail of blood hitting the deck.
MAYNARD vomits.
Filename: DEPLOYMENT REPORT
DEVICE ID: DELTA-44
PAYLOAD: 250 OZ AEROSOLIZED AMNESTIC COMPOUND
TARGETING METRICS:
- FILE HEADER FOR SCP-████
- INTENSE FEAR
- DISINFECTANT SMELL
OUTCOME: On 6/12/2028, electronic intrusion countermeasures detected an unauthorized access of the database entry for SCP-████.
3 present personnel were dosed.
Responding site security deemed access as accidental.
No involved or responding parties made note of SCP-9067's presence.
Filename: drone stuck.mp4
Significant audio distortions
Significant video distortions
The camera is centered on the landing pad. A ladder is set up, with PARSONS standing at the top. His upper half is obscured by a tracking error, with a large quantity of blood visible on the floor and PARSONS. MAYNARD is below, holding the ladder and trying not to look.
PARSONS: "-nearly infinite fuckin' plane and we manage to hit something."
MAYNARD: "Is it alive? Is the drone intact?"
PARSONS grunts, dislodging a rotor and dropping it to the ground. The video distortions follow it, splatting the ground around it.
Filename: DEPLOYMENT REPORT
DEVICE ID: HOTEL-3
PAYLOAD: 4X "FER DE LANCE" UNMANNED GROUND VEHICLE (NEUROTOXIN PAYLOAD)
TARGETING METRICS:
- CONFIDENTIAL DOCUMENTS DESCRIBING FTL TECHNOLOGY
- THE SMELL OF OZONE
- THE SOUND OF A PRINTER PRINTING MULTIPLE PAGES
OUTCOME: On 8/20/2028, HOTEL-3 activated upon semantic triggers reaching consensus.
GPS tracking placed the drone at ████████, ██, in a suburban home. Due to the limited area available, HOTEL-3 emerged in 3-D space centered on the detected thought patterns of █████████. Onboard scanners determined the drone had undergone significant damage upon translation, and the UGVs deployed to secure the immediate area. Three additional subjects neutralized, and the source of the mental triggers was ascertained:
- Desktop printer printing coloring pages.
- Ozone resulting from stormy weather.
- 1 copy of Galaxy Ghoul Magazine, a science fiction periodical.
Upon arrival of emergency services, HOTEL-3 self-destructed to avoid investigation. The incident was covered under the standard cover story of a gas main explosion.
Recommended Fix: 2 meter Y offset to avoid collision.
Filename: parsonsinterview.mp3
SIGNIFICANT AUDIO DISTORTIONS
PARSONS: -"spherics is still a brand new field, almost untouched in this field of Beyond Visual Range targeting. What a funny phrase that is. Tracking modern jet planes past the human eye! My dream is mu-"
Tape noise overwhelms the recording.
PARSONS: "What's the radar cross-section of a happy memory? Or the human soul? What's the heat signature of joy? What sort of emissions can we expect from getting a song stuck in your head? At Prometheus Industrial, we are on the absolute cutting edge of targe-"
Tape noise.
PARSONS: "-troyer of worlds, Oppenheimer said. He was ashamed, disgusted. This is my Brahmastra, my irresistible force. A truly perfect weapon that only harms the unjust. Imagine, a weapon with no collat-"
Tape noise.
Filename: parsonsweird.mp4
Footage has no audio. Long shot, 20x digital zoom. PARSONS appears to be talking to the far wall of the hanger, with exaggerated gestures. He stops, and the camera drops to the floor.
MAYNARD: “You, uh, doing okay? It's only been a week, already getting cabin fever?”
PARSONS: “Just meditating. Finding my center.”
Camera focuses on PARSONS approaching steps.
PARSONS: "Do you ever watch the footage?"
MAYNARD: "The footage?"
PARSONS: "Of your work. The missiles, Jack."
MAYNARD says something indistinct.
PARSONS: "I think there's a beautiful… un-reality to it. Seeing the plume hit the ground and the fountain of dirt, it's always just dirt from up there. On the ground, it's still dirt but so much more. The smell, the sound, the charge in the air."
MAYNARD: "You, uh, watch that stuff often?"
PARSONS: "I try to put myself in the mindspace of the person who pulls the trigger as often as I can. As much as I enjoy the output of the steely-eyed missile-men like you, they lack something. Perspective. The type of person who can sit in a cockpit or a sniper's nest and make the decision. They can sit behind desks and in cubicles and make choices here or there about flaked TNT or cordite and kill vehicles and countermeasures and what? Act like they aren't complicit? They're part of the band like everyone else."
PARSONS steps closer towards MAYNARD, shoes nearly touching.
PARSONS: "I'm saying they should try and get close to the action, when they can. Get some dirt on those shoes."
PARSONS gently steps on the tip of MAYNARD'S shoe.
PARSONS: "Get some blood on your hands. You can't face it, can you?"
MAYNARD: "I just design them, I don-"
PARSONS: “No, no. This isn't judgement. I just want you to see what you can do, what you're capable of. You're keeping your real genius from the world, Jack."
Filename: DEPLOYMENT REPORT
DEVICE ID: ECHO-8
PAYLOAD: 2 x AGM-114 HELLFIRE
TARGETING METRICS:
- PAPER LIST OF LICENSE PLATES
- RADIO SQUELCHING NOISE
- DIESEL EXHAUST
OUTCOME:
Armed individuals ambushing Foundation transport of low-security anomalous objects to long-term storage at Site-56.
4 vehicles involved in the ambush destroyed with missile deployment, as well as 2 uninvolved vehicles from ███████████ emergency services.
Remaining personnel and witnesses neutralized with direct intracranial manifestation.
Filename: parsonsleaves.mp4
Lab surveillance footage.
PARSONS is seen walking directly towards a solid wall, before the footage turns to static.
45 minutes pass.
The wall resolves into static again, and PARSONS emerges holding a paper bag and plastic cup from a fast food chain local to ██████████, ██.
Filename: whatthefuck.mp4
Lab surveillance camera footage.
PARSONS is watching projected footage on the wall of the lab, seated in a camp chair eating popcorn.
Footage consists of a first person view of a Foundation SKYEYE drone engaging ground targets with machine gun fire in thermal vision.
Filename: unredacted deployment reports(1).pdf
DATA LOST
Filename: DEPLOYMENT REPORT
DEVICE ID: NOVEMBER-2
PAYLOAD: NONE LOADED
TARGETING METRICS:
- FRESH MULCH
- PERSISTENT LOWER BACK ITCH
- 2600Hz TONE
OUTCOME: Drone self-deployed from assembly pad
FILE UNRECOVERABLE
Filename: confrontation.mp3
SIGNIFICANT AUDIO DISTORTION
MAYNARD: "We've got 48 of these things live and orbiting who knows where, and I've got two deployment reports here? What the fuck is this?"
PARSONS: "What's the matter, you don't want to watch anyway."
MAYNARD: "Just because I don't want to see the blood and guts doesn't mean I'm not fucking responsible for it! My name is out there on those drones, and I'd love to know what you've got them doing!"
PARSONS: "You don't get it, Jack. This is war. If they know that you know that they know, that's the ballgame."
MAYNARD: "Enough warrior-poet shit, Parsons. I'm sick of your fucking koans! Tell me something concrete now or I'm leaving."
PARSONS: "We are waging a war without fronts. To be discerned is to be killed. To be understood is worse. Our weapons must also be as capable. We must strike at random with utmost certainty. A dice roll cruise missile. A roulette table with lethal intent. A true psycho killer."
MAYNARD: "The fuck are you talking about? What have you been doing?"
The sound of a stack of papers hitting the table.
Shuffling.
MAYNARD: "'The scent of roses'? 'Shoes too tight'? Have you fucking lost it? This isn't targeting, this is-"
PARSONS: "An act of war."
MAYNARD: "You've lost it. Call the site director, I want out of here. I'm done."
Reconstruction is hindered by a significant amount of static.
MAYNARD: "-et off me, you fuck-"
Static.
MAYNARD: "Where's the fucking elevator? How did you get me in here? Parsons? Parsons!"
Filename: exitplan.mp4
The fabrication lab is in disarray. The cleanroom tent is blown over, freezer chests blaring an alarm to an empty room. The drone racks are all empty. In the distance, the footage of the Surrealistics Department getting torn apart is playing on loop.
MAYNARD sits at the workbench, cleared of all tools.
MAYNARD: "I spent a few days trying the elevator. Hooked up the hydraulic lifts to a spare battery, rewired the whole breaker and it just butted against the ceiling for a few minutes. Just solid concrete if you look out the hatch. Motherfucker took the stairs, too."
He slides the chair the side, revealing the last remaining BIG SKY drone.
MAYNARD: "Of course that bloodthirsty motherfucker left the search and rescue drone behind. We had an ICT module and one of those squid-things left, so I'm making my own ride home. When you find this, I cannot stress enough, view the next files outdoors and then get low as you can, this thing is big. I only had a photo of my trip to Knoxville and a guitar track my buddy sent me, so it'll have to do. It's only two markers, so you have to make sure it's crystal clear. I've got no idea how well time works in there, so maybe do it fast?"
MAYNARD: "Well. I hope he enjoys the going away present."
He leans forward, clicking off the camera.
Filename: exitplan.mp3
SIGNIFICANT AUDIO DISTORTIONS
Filename: exitplan.png
FILE UNRECOVERABLE
THE FOLLOWING FILE CONTAINS KNOWN IDEOMETRIC MARKERS THAT MAY INDUCE HALLUCINOGENIC EFFECTS TO PERSONNEL WHO HAVE NOT BEEN INOCULATED
IT'S GOING TO GET WEIRD.
Filename: DEPLOYMENT REVENGE REPORT
DEVICE ID: ECHO-8 MY DIVINE BRAHMASTRA YOU SNIVELING FUCK
PAYLOAD: EVERY GODDAMN KNIFE THEY LET ME KEEP DOWN HERE
TARGETING METRICS:
- DOUG FUCKING PARSONS SNIVELING FACE
- SMUG FEELING
- WHISTLING THAT SAME FUCKING SONG AGAIN
OUTCOME: A REAL FUCKING BLOODBATH
Parsons clicks off the projector.
"So? What did we think? What else can I do to get you all into a fleet of PSYCHO KILLER drones? We've got 48 of 'em in the air, right now. They're ready to go!"
He points at the case he's set out on the lectern, tantalizingly packed with samples and folders and landmines yet to trigger. The Division Chief of Janitorial is the first to speak.
"That was a great presentation, but what do we have to do with drones? We don't have a lot of active threats here, it's all conceptual."
"Hey, Alan Thorpe, Vice-Chair of Flat Dark Spaces here. I'd love to know why most of that footage was you driving a man insane in a basement. Is he fed? Watered?"
Parsons loosens his tie. "Okay, can we get these one at a time if it's no-"
Marcel Sequitur, Surrealistics Department Head, unfolds from his seated position on the beanbag chair and begins to speak.
Parsons stops listening. I loathe these cold calls. Development was much more fun, after all. Soon, this circular argument will end after someone here makes a coherent point and I walk out of here to start the next great work.
He smiles to his reflection in the mirror.
He idly hums to himself.
His head explodes.
Out of the bone fragments and brain matter, the body of the PSYCHO KILLER emerges.
BREEZES SOWN WHIRLWINDS REAPED
It shakes free of the eggshell, blood flipping off the blades in neat spirals. Site Security would later make note of the beautiful symmetry of the patterns, as they neatly bag up the head of the Janitor in Chief. It comes off neatly, the finest motors we could buy in bulk gracefully advancing the reinforced steel of the lifting surface clean through tendon and vertebrae. It doesn't lose any speed at all as it translates again, the oil slick of the 4th dimension sucking it up sideways in reverse.
the room breathes, and the
living consider the options
available to them at this time
so does the PSYCHO KILLER
it descends forwards again
emerging from the chief bigwig of nothing, now
blasting powdered teeth across the conference room
it is a delirious hungry thing
without any manners at all
it's very rude to kill at this distance
MARCEL THINKS OF NOTHING AT ALL
DOESN'T HELP
when the crew comes to steam clean the carpets and replace the drop ceiling they are astounded when they find the fully complete upper half of Marcel's head embedded in the wiring harness for the flickering yellowed lights
they place it on a pillow and march it down the hallway and venerate it and make it the banner they march under
we finally have our war
WARNING: IDEOMETRIC TARGETING IN EFFECT
{$caption}