IWontBeAfraid

The following path is GEAS-LOCKED. By continuing, you agree to the terms of the following geas. > You will not reveal any information that you learn in the following experience. > You will not use the information you discover here to harm the people identified within nor their goals, neither directly nor indirectly. > You will not attempt to break or circumvent this geas in any way. Breaking this geas, or attempting to circumvent this geas, will cause all information you have learned to wipe itself from your memory. Please keep in mind, this will do a great deal of collateral damage along the way. Sealed, silent, sleep. [[Place your hand on the screen of your device and chant the following lines...->One]]

[[The lash.]] [[The knife.]] [[The green pool.]] [[The sinner.]] [[The gloom.]] [[The silver.]] [[The bargain.]] [[The nest.]] ... ... ... You may also: [[...review the information you were given prior.->Two]] (link:"...return to the document you were previously reading.")[(gotoURL:"http://www.scp-wiki.net/the-conspiracy-of-sigma-3")]

"You're telling me Sigma-3 is real." She doesn't answer, smiling her grim smile, drinking. "That screed was written by known assclowns," you say. She chuckles at your characterization. "The screed is mostly false. But the root is true. No Bookburners, no Madmen -- but there are Jailors." "The least of the three evils, you're saying?" "I see it that way. Others don't." "Why? Why work with Jailors?" "Encroaching oblivion," she says. [[What oblivion is this?]] [[A poor way to approach oblivion.]]

I have a strange sympathy with them. After all, if the other Jailors found out about them -- there would be a revolt. They would be burned, and cast out. Are they not like us, in a way? Why not, then? Why not allow these interlopers to walk within our midst? No more dangerous than the Green King, but we welcomed her with open arms, did we not? There are things out there, beyond the dark... the Jailors are mad, but their madness has use. Think of it as throwing them underfoot if you must. Are you afraid, truly afraid of these cold, hapless turnkeys? Of course I think they will betray us, in the end. But won't it be fun, to see what happens in the meantime? Sleep is best when one dreams before the waking, and nightmares are every bit as lovely as castles in the air. [[I won't be afraid.->Five]]

The Jailors? Why not? There are worse enemies than the gaoler, and worse friends. It only depends who has the keys. [[Agreed.]] [[No. Not these gaolers, and we will never have the keys.]]

I remember. How they cut her throat. I will not forgive them. If I were not bound under a geas, I would betray you all to everyone I could think of. I would remand you to the old gods. I would paint your names on the Library walls. A needless threat. They'll kill you, themselves, in the end. Do you truly think, can you really begin to imagine, that if it came down to us, or the other Jailors, that they would even hesitate before making their choice? [[A tiger does not change her stripes.]]

I do not see you. I do not acknowledge you. There is nothing here for anyone, not anymore. [[Push on through the gloom.]] [[Pay this no mind.->Five]]

The pool is still and green. Many faces stare from beneath. A parasite, a bubble within the world. You look over at your mother, tied a few feet from you. She is asleep. Most of the others are still asleep too. A small mercy. Taste of blood in your mouth. The worshippers' chant winds through the grotto. The faces beneath the pool's surface slowly begin to open their eyes, one by one. And one by one, the worshippers drag each sacrifice to the pool's edge and drop them in. Some struggle. Most are limp, insensate to their fate. Once they are in the water, they all sink like stones, vanishing without a trace. There is a rumbling beneath the cavern, beneath the world. Ripples, in the still water. [[Hide.]] [[Attempt escape.]] [[Into the water.]] [[Wait.]]

Two weeks later, the Jailor transport train stops inexplicably in a middle of the Oregon forests. The door of your car opens. [[Take advantage now. Leave.]] [[Stay. A trap. That's all this is.]]

Neither does she. "Sigma-3," you say. "They haven't broken a deal in the five years I've known them," she says. "There's still time," you say. She smiles her grim smile. [[Return.->Five]]

Listen. Look to the future. Look at what the Jailors want. Sigma-3 are not different. They cannot be. They are Jailors like all the Jailors, the Turnkeys, the monsters cold and old. Only a scant few years since they marked the Hand of Time, their "Incident Zero" -- have you really so quickly forgotten? Did you learn nothing when they cut their way into the Library, when they stole the Voice of God? It is true that they do not wish our world to end. It is true that Sigma-3 have never broken their word to us, that they have never harmed the Hand, nor taken any action without the Hand's permission. It is even true they have even helped us preserve our world. Yet Sigma-3 is only a word. A word dissolved in a moment when the other Jailors deem it necessary. [[They will only break their word once.]]

They may regret it. They may feel whatever they want to feel. Action is what matters. They will act as their Council tells them, and they will justify it all, within their own minds. And those who truly cared about us, those in Sigma-3 who really did love us, they will be culled in the final reckoning. The Jailors have always been willing to sacrifice a few for the many. Secure, Contain, Protect, they will say. A phrase to justify all. If the prison is to be our master, then let the Hand be damned, let the doors be flung open wide, let the darkness rush in, the burning winds of the Evercold, the white boats of Sheol, and the Great Roar. Let the Ancient Ones be reborn, let them rekindle the Bloom. Let the Library shrivel at the Roots, let the fruit wilt and dry up, and the Outer Dark come in. Let us abandon the seals and desert the outposts. Let us be scattered across the Ways and the Winds, and cast out, to wander the undending Night, forever. [[Enough.->Five]]

SCP FOUNDATION MOBILE TASK FORCE SIGMA-3 ...is real. A Jailor task force. Designed specifically to work with us, and people like us, in what they call 'the anomalous community'. Not even the other Jailors know what they do. Only a select few. High in their ranks. On their Council. They work differently from the other Jailors. They do not harm the paranatural, nor assist the other Jailors in such harm, except when asked to by their paranatural allies. Some of them are even oath-bound to assist us. Some of them are paranatural themselves, hedge mages and former anartists. Some few members of the Serpent's Hand have been cooperating with them, covering for them, or merely allowing them to operate without interference, as long as they never transgress. So far, they have never transgressed. However, they are still Jailors. There are no demands as to how you should take this. We are the Hand. [[United in division.->Three]]

But you did not ask her this. You were too drunk to take it seriously. Oblivion -- I mean, really. What nonsense. The world can't really be constantly teetering on the brink, or it would've tipped over already. You should have remembered: the world doesn't need to teeter on the brink for a few thousand people to die every day. It wasn't oblivion that came next, only weeks later. Not precisely. [[The pool is still and green.]]

"Working with Jailors sounds like a good way to bring on oblivion faster," you tell her. "The Jailors are concerned with preserving the way the world is now," she says. "That's stagnation. Not ending." "Sometimes stagnation is worse than an end." "But now you're moving the goalposts," she counters. "Is that a fucking sports metaphor?" "I don't know. Did I get it right?" "There are better ways than working with the Jailors," you say. "Sure. But it's not one or the other." "It is if they kill you, kill all of us, after we'd made ourselves vulnerable to them." "I leave myself far more vulnerable than that every time I step through an uncharted Way." "Point," you say, "but I'd still rather not risk it. Besides, how bad would things have to be if we were considering effectively calling in Jailors?" "Pretty bad," she says. The conversation moves on, as drunken conversations tend to. But Fate, it seemed, was paying attention. [[The pool is still and green.]]

You try to find an outcropping, a corner, a shadow, to scuttle yourself into, to hide. But there's no place to hide. You're penned in. At most, you could wriggle underneath the unconscious bodies of your remaining fellow sacrifices, but you haven't the mobility even for that. You have a good view of the great pool, and the worshippers have a good view of you. You cannot hide. You can only wait. And watch them back. But you are lucky. Very lucky. [[And...]]

You survey the entire grotto as quickly as your aching head will allow. You wiggle in your restraints as hard as you can. But it's no use. Your restraints are ill-fashioned, but they are enchanted. There is no breaking them. And even if you could, there is no way out that you can see, anywhere. Only one entrance to the cave, well-guarded. All you can do is watch as more bodies slide into the green water. [[And...]]

You contemplate what it would take to wiggle your way into the water yourself. You are not far from the water's edge. You think you could even make it -- the worshippers are occupied with one of the other woken tributes, trying to force her into the water, and while you could not get past them to escape the cave, you could reach the water before they noticed... What would that mean? To sacrifice yourself? Would it make a difference? Could you stop all this? Would you merely be food for those half-sleeping faces, down there, merely extra-willing fuel for this new metamorphosis of the world? At least you wouldn't have to suffer the anxiety of waiting. But no. No, even if there is a tiny chance that you could survive to the end of this, or if you could do something to help your mother, you have to take it. The moment passes, and your opening is gone. [[And...]]

A choice that is no choice. It is all you can really do. Yet Fate is on your side. You wait and watch as the other sacrifices die. Somehow, they leave you and your mother for last. But finally, there are no others to be taken. [[And...]]

Too good to be true? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Only one way to find out. Holding your mother's hand, you stumble out into the trees, not believing your luck. The Jailors don't follow you. [[Two days later, you're in the Library once more, and you still don't believe your luck.]]

The Jailors are not known for their petty cruelty, but the mind of a turnkey is not a mind you claim to understand. This is too easy. You won't give them the satisfaction. But your mother does not wait. After a moment of taking the situation in, she bolts for the door. There is no one waiting for you. Holding her hand, you stumble out into the trees, not believing your luck. The Jailors don't follow you. [[Two days later, you're in the Library once more, and you still don't believe your luck.]]

You're too eager. Too trusting. Or maybe you're a future mole. No offense, but I'm relieved we slapped a geas on you. I say that, and yet still. There are traitors in our midst. And we're the traitors. I called the Jailors down on the White Hand. And not only them. I used my contacts in Sigma-3 to do it. And I don't regret it. They were going to end the fucking world. Blame me if you must. [[If there is to be a lash, let it descend on my back.]]

Only too true. Often, I am not sure of what I am doing. What a few of us have been doing for some time, now. This is why there is a geas. Which I apologize for. But there was no choice. There are traitors in our midst. And we're the traitors. I called the Jailors down on the White Hand. And not only them. I used my contacts in Sigma-3 to do it. And I don't regret it. They were going to end the fucking world. Blame me if you must. [[If there is to be a lash, let it descend on my back.]]

I am only one. The Hand is many. Look at the others -- the windows, the stories, the creeks in the fire. They are not quite memories, but they are all truth. And I hope you'll come to agree with me. [[Return.->Five]]

There is nothing here. This was a favor to someone else, a scattered memory, a vulnerability shown to no one else. For you, there is nothing here. All is [[quiet]]. [[You resurface.-->Five]]

One of their Mobile Task Forces. Somehow -- likely through defectors -- they found a way to contact some of the more desperate folk in the Hand. How can you blame them? The Hand has never been perfect. It houses the lovely and the vile alike. They were clever. They set themselves apart. This Task Force contains no SCPs. They made promises, promises they've even kept. As you are now discovering, some of them are even able to enter the Library. At least one has seen the Roots. People you thought you could trust in the Hand, they've been covering for these Jailors, allowing them to avoid searching eyes, allowing them to operate in silence, to grow like mushrooms in the dark. A hideous error has been made. [[More.->quiet]]

The Jailors are dangerous. Much too dangerous to ever be coordinated with. You know what they do to people, you know there is no boundary they will not breach, no length to which they will not go, in the pursuit of their mission. In their fear of the way the world could be. It's not even the fear of capture, of imprisonment. No cage is secure enough to hold someone like you. But the Foundation is more than that. You've seen their deepest prisons, and even those do not compare to the way they imprison minds. As they did with your father. He went willingly. They broke him, and they hold him in their arms with his shining pieces still in the shape of a man. They could do that to him, they could do that to anyone. Even you. Even the entire Hand, from within, slowly, slowly, until the seas are dry, and there is nothing left. [[More.->quiet]]

After all the Jailors have done to the Hand faithful, after all they have done to the people who came to the Hand for solace in a darkened world, the people like you, the persecuted, the hurt, the hungry -- after what the Jailors did to your family, to your father -- who the hell are these traitors, who cover for this "Sigma-3" -- you are L.S., you are the most universally well-regarded leader within the Serpent's Hand, and they have made you the enemy, the enemy within your own house. And now they come to you, to ask for your forgiveness? We will see. We will see. [[More.->quiet]]

Never the humblest of serpents. Who are you, to call yourself "L.S.", now, still? L.S. is more than you now. A movement. They sign it to their letters. Lease Signatory, they say. You're a ghost story. Even those who believe in you, think you someone else -- a titan, a god, a man. You, you are nothing more than a Little Sister, in the end, nothing more at all. One of many, scattered throughout the cosmos, all your parallels and alternates, hands joined through the Catalogue. Insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. The others, in the Hand, if they wish to serve their interests, and this means they do not serve yours, who are you, who are you to think you can cast them out? [[More.->quiet]]

You have to revisit the Catalogue, you need to comb through, you need to see if this Sigma-3 is more than it seems, you need to see across the worlds, you need to see the disasters that may or may not come. The other Little Sisters will know. They will tell you. They will show you how to make this alright, despite everything, in the end. [[More.->quiet]]

There is a light at the edge of knowing. A question, an answer? Better a window. [[Or many windows.->Four]]

If you are here, you are -- or you know someone -- who is regarded well within the Serpent's Hand, or its closely allied groups. Perhaps one of the more earthbound Wanderers, or even a friendly Magpie. You are here because someone wants you to know a very particular secret. But not everyone wishes to carry burdens such as these. The geas will only mitigate risk to us. Not to you, nor your state of mind. Consider carefully. This is your last chance to back out. (link:"This will return you whence you came.")[(gotoURL:"http://www.scp-wiki.net/the-conspiracy-of-sigma-3")] [[Otherwise, proceed down the path before you, in your mind's eye.->Two]]

The following windows will show you experiences and perspectives regarding Sigma-3. Most of these perspectives come from leaders within the Serpent's Hand. If you are not familiar with this form of spellwork, you may find this experience initially disorienting. Each will see something different through these windows. You are interacting with a recording of anothers' subconscious, through a glass, darkly. What you see may not be perfectly accurate, but all of it holds "truth". If you see nothing, or you find the window incomprehensible, you need merely look through another. Please recall that you are geas-bound to reveal nothing that you see here to anyone else. If you discover secrets here, whether they be true or false, treat them with respect, lest they be shorn from your mind. [[Step into the mirrored stream.->Five]]

You find yourself standing on flat mud at the head of the moors. Thick fog surrounds you. You cannot see. There is no movement. [[Push forward.]] [[Turn away.]]

Across the long salt flats under other stars, to Pythia, until you reach the empty glass maze in the darkened valley, those many years ago. They huddled together, the twelve-and-one, with the bones and the skin of the Most High fastened around their bodies, around their chemical fires they plotted, they drew their plans. Across the gulf they keep their most precious voices in-between, in glass. A witch's bargain, of which none of their children could ever know. Where they prisoned their prophets, where they lock away great Cassandra so no one hears her warning cry. They let their children into knowledge's sanctum, they looked away, they feigned surprise when they brought death and fire. Was it a blow, when they were barred? Those proud-children, those empty singers -- are they truthful, or lonely? They will answer no riddles. Daylight is cold, and unforgiving, which is why they love the dark they claim to hate -- yes, love, with all-consuming love. [[Return.->Five]]

As they did. As he did. What even the divine cannot remember. The great Unknown Crime of those who are now called the Jailors. The erasure, the white void. He reached for the stars, and the stars reached back. A knot remains, which will never be unmade. A Mark on the Hand of Time. One of many marks, in truth. Yet how many made by the hands of Dust's Children? How they claim to hold darkness, how they deny all they see as outside reality. Yet see what they have wrought, see how they twist reality, more than anything of their time -- the greatest dark works of the Children of Dust. See the all-consuming love of the Jailors. [[Return.->Five]]

Or perhaps you are that someone, the only one to see this, one of the few confidants of the Lonely Serpent. A moment in time, of discovery -- sudden confusion -- [[What is this why]] [[If they could only understand]] [[Who do they think they are]] [[Who do you think you are]] [[You need to know, know more]] [[Enough -- out, out->Five]]

You and your mother are the only sacrifices remaining when you see spurts of white fire, from the cave entrance. Machine-gun fire. Black-suited figures, helmeted heads, meeting blistering conjured fire from men in hoods. A shout of "memetic countermeasures". A flash of a triple-arrowed logo on riot shields. It burns with cold, high fire, a banner you cannot look away from -- you thought the Jailors did not use paranatural weapons -- You tears your eyes away, to see the green pool, painted red. The faces underneath, looking up with mouths open. When the worshippers are all dead, [[the Jailors take you both.]]

Can we truly tolerate this? They claim to be on our side, and it may even be true, but they are still Jailors. The antlered cervine shakes her head. Yes, she says. But be cautious. Make no open moves in their support. We need all the help we can get, in these troubled times. No, says the patchwork man, his eyes smoking. This risk is beyond even us. Beware of Jailors bringing gifts. Even to tolerate this goes against our very essence. The satyr just grins, crossing his hoofed legs under the great oak table. The others remain silent, waiting to hear the Interpreter. [[Side with the cervine.]] [[Side with the patchwork man.]] [[Side with the satyr.]]

We must proceed carefully forward. A thin line, we walk. No one can disagree that the Jailors are dangerous -- not truly. Yet we must be practical. Pragmatic. We must take the wider view. We must use the tools we can, especially those which are so willingly offered. We have made worse compromises, to support our aims. To preserve the worlds. Greater things are at stake here. Yet let us keep our distance, and keep our caution. A Jailor is still a Jailor. Even the Library's agents have entered their strongholds only six times with success, at least in this age. Let us act with consideration and wisdom. [[Return.->Five]]

I will not force you to agree with me, but I beg you to hear wisdom. Think of the betrayal this could mean, not only of principles, but of people. Even the Archivists themselves warn against the consequences of the Jailors finding a way to open the doors, and the Librarians do not speak lightly. Let history be our guide. We will not support this, and we must work against them. These Jailors cannot be allowed to undermine us from within. [[Return.->Five]]

Side? What side is that? I will take no sides, no, certainly not! The moose is only agreeing because of the errors she made whilst trying to reform the Hand, and the patchwork man is only disagreeing because he can't agree with the world having the temerity to change out from underneath him! And now you want me to just jump in and fix everything? Oh, I think not. This is far too meta for my tastes as it is. You all have fun with this! Here is my side, and believe you me, I am going to stick to it. ":D :D :D :D :D" [[So long!->Five]]

Sigma-3, you say? You're still Jailors. A rose is still a rose and a shit is still a shit. You're scum. I can't stand you. But, yes. I'll work with you. I'll even help hide you from the others. You can take down these goddamn death cultists in a way that no one else can. You may have no knowledge, but you have earthly resources beyond anyone else. And we won't trust the Bookburners, not even this much. At least you try not to kill. And unlike the Bookburners, you need us to shield you. Remember that. Without us, the Hand will descend upon you, while you are in our midst, in our territory, and we will see who languishes in the far prisons then. [[Return.->Five]]