PART 0 - For Better or For Worse

Chapter 1

SCP-500 was perhaps one of the first anomalies that Tristan Corvley had learnt about when joining the Foundation, which one could almost consider it the universe playing a cruel trick on them. Their younger brother had died of cancer after all. 

It was one of the few things that Corvley could still remember of their old life, after many years of working with the Foundation. Perhaps it left a large traumatic marking on their psyche that wouldn’t fade, like etched carvings on a cave wall. 

This thought flitted through their head amongst other things as the frail tanned researcher hid in a dark, unusually clean, closet while a low disharmony of bullets rained in the background... although it was closer to a murmur then a shout, like one would expect. The Foundation Elimination Coalition had been tearing through Site-19 ruthlessly, most of the personnel had either defected, escaped or become prisoners. There were a few, like Corvley, hiding out in small spaces but they were unable to organize and do anything substantial. 

The Foundation Elimination Coalition was an alliance between several of the Foundation's countless enemies, headed by the ruthless former U.S Army general, George Bowe and the Machiavellian and ruthless Chaos Insurgency (a direct splinter of the SCP Foundation and one of its biggest opponents). They had been formed a few months prior after Bowe had risen from the grave, and their first target of attack was the largest Foundation facility, Site-19, where Corvley happened to work at.

Uttering a prayer to god (which one, he was unsure of) with sweat dripping down their forehead, they gingerly pushed the doors of the closet just wide enough for them to make out their office and realize that no Coalition agents had broken down his door just yet. Letting out a sigh of relief they slowly pushed the closet open before surveying their office and taking caution with every lenient step. 

Creeping over towards the front door of their office, Corvley opened up a narrow window, which to view the hallway from, by generously opening the door a few centimeters or so. Their breathing quickened as they saw what appeared to be Coalition personnel roaming down the hallway with what appeared to be a cage, and a... walking heart in it? Corvley maintained their line of sight and tried to wrack their brain... walking heart, walking heart... ah. SCP-058, Corvley finally thought in their head. They craned their head to position their ears more closely to the small strip they’d opened up and heard the two carriers talking amongst themselves. 

“How much damage to the Jailors do you think this one will cause?” 

“Probably strong enough to take out an entire MTF...” 

Corvley had decided they had heard enough and tuned out of the conversation before silently closing their thin window. They let himself breathe for a few moments, taking it everything in the situation. They were safe, for now. 

But the words that the FEC members had spoken and their actions would linger on in Corvley’s mind for the next few hours as it helped kindle a spark that already existed deep down in Corvley’s heart. Could that thing really take out a whole MTF? Mobile Task Forces, as they were called, were the units that made up the Foundation's militant arm and yet even the most well-trained ex-army soldiers could die in one fell swoop to a monstrous anomaly. Members of MTF Alpha-1, personal bodyguards of the Foundation's ruling O5 Council, had realised this long ago and formed the Chaos Insurgency in order to utilise anomalies rather then lock them away. That was the sort of thinking that Corvley, secretly deep down, admired.

If the Chaos Insurgency and their allies utilized anomalies to achieve their goals... why couldn’t the Foundation? They thought of how easy it would be to route images of 096 onto the GOC database and wipe out an entire enemy organization within the blink of eye... before chiding themself for having such bloodthirsty thoughts. 

They shelved the venue of thought for now, opening a drawer in their office to find the low-energy snacks he had stored there, in order to subsist for the next couple of hours. After a few days, Site-19 was retaken with a joint effort of a teleporting monkey statue, a talking dog and MTF Alpha-9. But Corvley wasn’t done with their thought-experimenting. 

---

Corvley chowed down on their grilled tuna sandwich within the privacy of his office, still pondering the encounter they had during the siege. It had been a few days now yet the moment still constantly played in their mind like a faulty video tape. 

The utilization of anomalies…they knew why the Foundation didn’t do it, their primary ideology was containment above all else. Utilizing anomalies would be tantamount to playing God… …but, what if the game needed a God-player? They thought again, of their dying younger brother, a kid consumed by cancer. And how that would’ve been solved so easily with just one red pill. If to play God was to help and embolden humanity… then, perhaps playing God was exactly what the Foundation needed to do. 

Ideas were one thing, but action was another. Corvley was… well, they didn’t want to admit it but they were scrawny and definitely short. They could rally people in the Foundation together, which only increased the likelihood of termination. No, they needed a way other than violence to implement they beliefs. And then it clicked inside him: they were a researcher, and informed containment procedures at times. Perhaps, incrementally, they could begin to suggest a small handful of practical applications. Change could come, but it would come slowly and smoothly.  

A notification popped up on their computer’s screen. 

 

To: Doctor Tristan Corvley

You have been assigned new orders from our site administration. Attached is a following file of the anomaly you have been assigned to maintain research over.  

 

Often, opportunities presented themselves in indiscreet manners. 

---

The last couple of weeks had been riveting for the dogmatic doctor, their reassignment to a skip which had not seen much development in research led them to theorise a method of utility for it and initiate a small-scale project that eased some of the more menial labour at Site-19. Since then, Corvley had been given more and more jobs surrounding low-level anomalies and integrating them into the everyday work of Site-19. Hell, they’d even managed to incorporate SCP-294 and SCP-458 into the actual cafeteria of the site, being used for the infinite production of several ingredients instead of just simple snacks for the researchers. 

They had gotten back from an online meeting with Site-322's head, Director Paul Lague. Site-322 was known for being the centre of the Integration Program, and so naturally he’s pick up Corvley’s efforts into integration at Site-19. Although he seemed to be averse to any sort of transfer between the sites or Corvley being reassigned under the program, the meeting had yielded some more official efforts into the process of integration. The other parties at the meeting did seem to continually reaffirm that containment would still be the primary priority, which irritated Corvley deep inside. 

Laying back on their chair and taking a deep sigh, they took a look at the frame on his table. A picture of an old forested lake that they remembered their brother and them used to go to. For a moment, Tristan’s eyes glittered and they wondered if their sibling was looking down upon them with pride from heaven. Pride of their work, taking small steps to help the world. 

There was a dull knock at the door. 

Corvley snapped out of their daze. “Hello? You can come in...” 

The door opened with a slightly annoying creaking sound, thinning in view to reveal an androgynous-looking person in a suit. They were dressed in an all-black suit, including a fedora, devoid of any other features save from the three-pronged Foundation crest upon where their heart would be. They regarded Corvley with a polite, professional smile, one trained to construct an environment of formality and betray no joy in its deployment. 

“May I help you with something...?” 

“Dr. Tristan Corvley,” they began, taking a few steps into the room. “I am here to inform you of your promotion.” 

Corvley’s eyes twinkled once more. Promotion? This was... they were expecting something like this, though not this early. They were still glad for the opportunity, though.

“...I see.” Come to think of it, Corvley didn’t have a full idea of what they would be promoted to. They were already a project lead, perhaps they were being promoted to a larger project or program? But the people at the meeting said they wouldn’t be reassigned to the Integration Program... or that’s what they hinted at at least. Within a second of their previous statement, Corvley cleared their throat and decided to ask: “So, am I being assigned to a new project or...?” 

The smile on the stranger’s face curved up ever so slightly into a knowing smirk before they shook their head and informed them, “Not quite. You have been promoted onto one of the prestigious seats of the Ethics Committee.” 

 

Chapter 2

BEEP! BEEP! BEE-

Phoenica Carter lazily outstretched one of her dormant limbs to terminate the tedious rhythm of the alarm clock. She let it stay there for a moment or so before groggily tossing her body over and yawning.

She sat upright against her bed, rubbing the bags around her eyes before blinking them open to find the grey blank wall a few meters ahead of her. Just another day in the world’s most colourful organization, Carter sarcastically thought. She forced herself up and went through the motions. Brush teeth, get dressed, brush hair.

The slightly taller then average woman left her living quarters while sparing a glance at her organization-mandated watch. 7:52, she read. There were a few minutes to spare and so she walked down the hall with her shoes clicking against the pavement echoing the only sound. Carter figured the others were chatting in the cafeteria, since committee meetings didn’t start till 8:00.

The Ethics Committee was one of the highest-ranking departments within the SCP Foundation, only second to the ruling O5 Council themselves and having slightly more authority then the Recordkeeping and Information Security Administration. It was also one of the most depressing jobs to any sane individual that had unfortunately found themself a seat at the Committee. The Committee oversaw all of the Foundation's actions and procedures, passing judgement to maintain the ethical balance of the Foundation while preserving its utmost important mission of securing, containing and protecting.

Some may have seen it as a valiant job, upholding justice in the most important institution in the world. That was how Carter viewed it when she first defected to the organisation, it was what she had been gunning for, chasing down. In reality, it was deeply corrupted and it only exposed one's psyche to the worst of the Foundation's crimes.

It hadn’t always been like this, but for the past few years Phoenica Carter had went through this routine like a cyclically beating drum almost every day of her life. There was a moment in the past, when this didn’t wear her down. A moment when she still had hope, a hope she’d carried secretly close to heart when she defected to the SCP Foundation. 

The hope that had made her defect, hope in the ability of change.

---

Sprawling bookshelves carved out of all sorts of wood surrounded her. She sat at the ornate table periodically tapping her fingers against the smooth oak out of boredom. A candlelight illuminated the small makeshift room with smaller dimming torches providing just enough extra light to see. While the Library did have accommodations and areas with more modern technology, Phoenica Carter preferred the traditional look. She hummed a simple tune as she waited…

A pair of bookshelves parted to reveal a pair of figures, one whose face was obscured by a black hood and the other a man with a greying hair and beard. “Alright, let’s hear your revolutionary idea then…”

Carter, startled by the sudden appearance of her invited guests, jolted upwards electrically. “Y-yes, of course!” She cleared her throat before producing a blank sheet of paper and a quaint black marker. The speaking figure, Quinton Blakely she reminded herself, sat down in a chair propped against the table while the hooded figure leaned on the bookshelves.

“So as you know,” Phoenica started, drawing two black circles. “Most of our attacks on the Foundation have focused on securing whatever stuff they keep locked up, or disrupting their activities or freeing a captive. All sorts.” She labelled one circle “Hand” and another “SCP”, drawing an arrow from the Hand circle towards the SCP circle. “However, our methods of attack have always focused on external disruption. Even sending in spies isn’t really internal disruption, but just the activities of external disruption under a secretive guise.” She explained, sweat beads forming on her face and neck.

Quinton seemed unamused, and slightly unimpressed. “So…? What’s internal disruption to you, then.”

Phoenica drew several arrows coming out of the center of the SCP circle and towards the border. “Inciting revolution-, inciting change WITHIN the Foundation. We can use moles for this as well, start convincing Foundation employees of the truth.” She splayed out her hands, resting the marker on the table’s surface.

Quinton looked on the verge of laughing which made Phoenica frown slightly. “You don’t think we’ve tried that before…? And here I thought-”

“Now, now, Quin.” The hooded figure leaned up from the bookshelves and spoke for the first time since entering the room. “That was decades ago, and she’s got a point. Trying to-”

“There isn’t a point to be made at all!” Phoenica shrunk back in her chair. Quinton turned towards her. “Look, this is all well-intentioned and all but these sorts of attempts fail because we’re never able to get our moles high enough in the Foundation hierarchy to incite actual change. …I’m sorry.” Quinton stood up from his chair and promptly left, the hooded figure slowly trailing after him.

High position, huh, Phoenica thought to herself. She turned the paper over and began scribbling notes to herself on it.

---

The grey and white hallways that defined most of the Foundation’s architectural aesthetic proved a harsh contrast to the wonders of the Wanderer’s Library, though Carter supposed she couldn’t complain. She brought it upon herself after all. When she was first recruited onto the Ethics Committee, she had tried (as others had done before her) to push against the corruption held by the head and some of his lackeys, only to be metaphorically beaten into submission. Ever since then, she lived life as a ghost.

Recently, however, she had gained a bit of motivation from a new member being recruited onto the Ethics Committee. It wasn't much, but their idealism and passion had intrigued Carter and so she had befriended them, wanting to make sure they wouldn't become a ghost like her.

Turning a corner, she ran into them. Glancing upwards, as she had been drooping her neck with an air of despair, she looked up at the one friend she had, Tristan Corvley. One of the ex-Researcher recruits pulled in from some of the larger facilities. Corvley looked up from their tablet and noticed Carter’s presence, “Good morning, Phoe! Not joining the rest in the cafeteria…?”

“Ah, no. I, uh, woke up a bit too late today.” She stretched out her arms while blinking out dust from her eyes. “What about you?” She grinned for the first time today.

Corvley’s eyes gleamed for a second, their mouth curving into a relaxed grin. “I was looking over the agenda for today.” They said proudly. “Lots of assets to be discussed, heard about a particular sting operation and a few new anomalies at Site-17.” From the few months she had worked with them, Carter could tell that Corvley was a person who was dedicated to their work. Unlike the usual “obedient hard-worker”, Corvley worked with a sort of drive, an underlying motivation of some sorts. She wondered if she'd ever get to learn what it was, for now she was content with the level of familiarity she had with them.

She nodded. “Well, perhaps I’ll just go grab a coffee. See you at the meeting.” She would've continued the conversation further, if not for her general tiredness as she barely registered Corvley's farewell.

She took a ginger step into the cafeteria, observing the other Committee members chatting and laughing. It was an odd institutional fork, the Ethics Committee. She had joined the same way a few others had, by acting out as the “moral voice” at her Site. She sipped on the coffee she had poured from the machine, enjoying the warm, relaxing feeling on her tongue and the caffeine slowly slipping into her blood stream.

If nothing else, creature comforts helped ground the woman from attempting anything drastic. Taking one's life was not uncommon within the Foundation.

Before the meeting started, she went to the washroom to clean her face a bit but ended up staring at her reflection and the eyebags nestling under her eyes for a minute or so. Her mind and body had changed so much over the course of her time at the Foundation, she wondered if anything outside of it would change.

As she sat down in her chair in the meeting room and learnt of another teenager with minor powers being locked up for life, her bleak outlook solidified once more. The world wouldn’t change.

A few months later, she’d be proven wrong.

Chapter 3

"When we talk of historical eras, mundane or anomalous, we often tend to use major events to define the lines between one era or the next. What people tend to neglect in this discipline, however, is the fact that potentially Era-ending events occur more frequently then one would expect. That is because these events also tend to be Pivots and result in the divergence of timelines. The Sixth Impasse, for example, is a model example of this phenomena. It was the culmination of the former SCP Foundation's ideology of containment, coalescing into the slow death of all anomalous and magical phenomena in 2021. The Overseer Council eventually realised the cause of this "death of magic" with some harsh guidance from the figure known as "Zero" and held a vote which would become one of these Era-ending Pivots."

- Excerpt from "Introduction to the Interdisciplinary Study of Paratemporal History" by Teodora Reynders, 2051

---

The tall man stared down at his glossy tablet, the words “YES” and “NAY” imprinting across the glass surface digitally. He looked up slightly, at the twelve other people in the room placing their expectant eyes on his figure. He taps his fingers on it and soon all the tablets light up with green text sprawling across them. In another world, they would've lighted up with red instead.

STATUS: MOTION APPROVED

There is a notable silence. O5-13, the Mediator, can see looks of shock, surprise, delight, resignation and anger written across the faces of his twelve follower Overseers. But there is no outburst, no protest. In the hearts of some people within the room, they knew that this was inevitable. The SCP Foundation had been abolished after 150 years of its cold grasp on the world, both mundane and anomalous. Zero's words had managed to reach O5-13, he was convinced now that this was necessary for the anomalous to continue on living.

“I…” O5-3, the Regulator breaks the tense silence. “I will inform O4 Command and the Site Directors.” He glances at the overseers momentarily, before leaving the room and unlocking the door to the chamber of the prisoner.

One by one, each member of the once world-controlling O5 Council filters out of the room like disgruntled corporate workers. By the end, three people in the room remained. One of which was a mechanical automaton.

O5-1, the Chairman, stared directly across the table and met O5-13’s eyes.

“I hope you’re proud of what you’ve done.”

The bitter in his voice doesn’t phase the taller man.

---

The Impasse was an interesting time, for both Phoenica Carter and the Ethics Committee, to say the least. The ongoing death of magic and the anomalous, dubbed SCP-6500, had necessitated drastic de-containment procedures as well as the uprising and mutinies of several more ideologically-driven Foundation personnel. But it was nothing compared to what came after.

Carter remembered the moment it had happened, they were in a meeting regarding the current state of affairs regarding the Impasse and the situation on Site-17 when the head received a call. He stepped outside momentarily while the rest of the Committee hung in an uncomfortable silence.

As the head stepped back in, his eyes were moist with a level of confusion Carter had never seen before.

“I… It was O5-3.” He started with a tinge of disbelief in his voice. “The Foundation’s abolished.”

That was the second all pandemonium went loose in the room.

It had taken almost two days for Carter to believe what had happened. The shadowy hegemony of the SCP Foundation had collapsed, the Veil had been lifted, and the strongest proponent of normalcy and containment ideology had faded. In the aftermath, most of the Overseer Council disappeared into the shadows and several high-ranking Foundation personnel invited former enemies and partners from all across the anomalous world to discuss how it would be moving forward. Together, they created a new organisation focused on normalising the anomalous: Vanguard.

This was everything a younger her would’ve asked for. A new world where… knowledge was free. It had taken her a bit to get used to the new organisation, Vanguard. But as she saw how they dealed with or two urgent anomalies. Her hope began to rekindle. The hope that had supposedly died long ago, lighted by a new foundation for change.

She’d been invited onto the new “Department of Internal Corruption”, made up of former old Ethics Committee members and a few new members from Groups of Interest within the Vanguard fold.

At first she was hesitant, but now she passionately accepted the invitation.

Perhaps there was light in the world after all.

---

Somewhere deep down, Corvley knew it wouldn’t last. They were once told a long time ago by a close family member that… nothing was really forever. Corvley looked back at the Site, they had spent only a few months living there but.. it still felt like they were leaving something big behind. They had made several friends at the Foundation, both at Site-19 and within the Ethics Committee, people who appreciated their input and presence. Was it worth leaving that all behind to chase some grand notion? Some dream? Would it even come to anything?

“Normalisation…” they whispered to no one in particular. The Veil was being lifted, that was good. Easier to share the knowledge of what secrets lay locked up with the rest of the world. And there were several groups of people that didn't deserve to be segregated behind some imaginary border created by old men decades ago.

But would the Foundation, or Vanguard or whatever this new organisation was called. Would they use the anomalies wisely? Corvley had two days to think about this and after seeing a glimpse of this new hegemony… ultimately, they came to a conclusion. Vanguard would rather throw SCP-500 to the wolves, to the public, then keep it safe in the hands of scientists who could replicate and study it.

They had no explicit goal in mind, perhaps they wanted to return to regular civillian life instead of supporting an organisation whose views did not align with his own. Perhaps they wanted something more, somewhere their ideas would be celebrated and action would be taken. After all, if the SCP Foundation could crumble so easily, and the world change over the course of a few months, this new organisation could as well.

They remembered the Foundation Elimination Coalition and their Insurgency-aligned ideology. They tried to wrack their brain and remember which groups had participated in that whole ordeal, and who lead them. George Bowe was dead, and so his mind sat on a few names. Robert Bumaro. John Yttoric. Leaders of exiled religions, perhaps it'd be easier to find them with the Veil no longer being an issue. 

And so, they turned his back to the Site and disappeared into the shadows.

---

Two figure sat on a bench, one only having gotten there just a few seconds prior. The other slowly turned to face them, regarding them with an air of respect.

“Where have you been…?” the former Mediator raspily breathes out.

“At a meeting. Someone’s got to advise the new order after all.” Zero smiles with a genuine look of joy. The two sat in the silence for a reasonably fair amount of time before Zero leaned over to the Mediator, and quietly whispered a secret. "The other Overseers are already meddling from the shadows, I'll be unable to do so due to being a consultant on this new board... I... I am grateful for your vote. But the work isn't finished yet. I'd like you to visit an old friend and..." He whispered the rest carefully, in a much more delicate tone.

Another few minutes of silence passed as the Mediator took in Zero’s request.

“I accept.” He smiled.

Chapter 4

Izumi Hayakawa was perhaps the most proficient, yet most principled member of the Chaos Insurgency’s Delta Command. The Insurgency was an organisation infamous for its mysterious ambitions though it was clear to most that at the core, they were oppositional to the Foundation. And indeed there were many beliefs within the Insurgency. Their general modus operandi was one of elevation of the human race, the usage of the anomalous in a Machiavellian manner.

Hayakawa was of course, not opposed to this. She had seen many anomalies over the course of her 50 years of life, some downright despicable and some negotiable. She had also been exposed to anomalous beings who felt and cried. Even after the discovery of other sapient species such as the Fae and Yeren, the Insurgency never strayed from its focus on humanity. For this reason, Hayakawa often championed the equality of all sapient beings… even if only few within the Delta Command were willing to listen (on the contrary, her ideology was much more popular amongst the general membership of the Insurgency). She used her administrative power in order to aid this belief… where she could.

With the fall of the Veil and the dissolution of the Foundation, many on the Delta Command were unsure how to proceed. Until the Engineer himself intervened, accusing this new organisation of Vanguard to be similarly non-interested in the interests of humanity just as the Foundation had been. And for this, he cited the importance the organization gave to Fae, Yeren and other sapient species.

This was what pushed Hayakawa off the edge, and what led to an event known in the general history as “the Insurgent’s Schism”.

---

The Engineer, the highest ranking member of the Chaos Insurgency,  looked on at the Engine, staring it with an unbridled emotion he felt he couldn’t identify, but deep down he knew it was one of longing, confusion and disappointment.

John Yttoric, High Priest of the Children of the Scarlet King, stood next to him with the stiff posture of an old, yet sociable, greying man. Almost a year ago, the two were a part of the inner circle and leadership of the Foundation Elimination Coalition, the novel alliance aimed at bringing a new era with the downfall of the Foundation.

The Foundation would end up dismantling itself anyways, with or without the short-lived attempts of the “FEC".

“No leads on Bumaro. Seems to have disappeared, Hedwig and the Maxwellists are gaining po-” Yttoric began to start.

“Shut up for a moment. Just-” the Engineer sighed heavily, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “There’s been a major… major fuck-up. One of Delta’s risen up a rebellion and they’ve gone public… We’re gonna have to go as well, soon. No use in pretending there’s a Veil.”

Yttoric looked at the man, disheveled and tired, before continuing. “I’m retiring from my position as High Priest. Most of my people have either been killed or ran away anyways. You can enjoy the few Scarlet cultists that remain.”

“Knocking me while I’m down, eh…” The Engineer only responded orally, his body not moving at all.

Yttoric stared him up and down before turning to leave, but not before shouting back. “And my research on the Sherden’s complete, just like you wanted! Unfortunately, you will not be made privy to any of my advancements.”

And then he left.

---

Corvley sat at the bar, forcing another cup down their throat. It was night time, so the bar was pretty crowded with all sorts of people mingling and drinking. The fall of the Veil was quickly making its effects visible, Corvley could even spot a few people with Mekhanite prosthetics.

They didn’t exactly know what their plan for living was, only that they’d left the Site in order to join a better group… one aligning with their ideals. They asked the bartender for another shot as a figure draped in an all-black outfit sat next to them.

“Interesting times, eh?” the figure prompted.

Corvley, taken aback that anyone had decided to speak to them, stumbled on their words for a bit. “U-uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Y’know… I’ve heard that a lot of members of that old… SCP Foundation… went on the run as soon as Vanguard was created.”

Corvley gulped. “Probably… probably trying to run from their consequences.” Corvley had heard many about a certain Thomas Graham, a nasty fellow on the Board of Directors at Site-17.

“But you’re not one of them, are you?” The figure turned to regard them. They could now make out that their conversation partner was a woman, likely in her 50s or 60s. As she slid a missing poster for… for… for them. Onto the counter.

Corvley immediately started sweating with bullets, gripping onto the drink that the bartender had brought them a few seconds ago. “Wh…  what do you want? … with me.” He added helpfully.

“It’s not about what I’m getting from you, it’s about what you’re getting from me.” She continued on. "The name's Izumi Hayakawa, by the way."

For a second, Corvley was dazed as to what she could be talking. But then, it snapped together in their mind.

The woman put an arm around Corvley’s shoulder. “How would you… like to join the Red Rebellion, Doctor?”

---

Ex-Overseer Thirteen, the Mediator, took a leisurely glance around the small cabin shack. It was outfitted with all the necessities and amenities that a humble individual could ask for, including some more questionable pieces of occult artwork on the walls.

“You’ve certainly made a place for yourself, Yttoric.” The taller man states.

“Do not get comfortable. You’re here at my leisure… and only because you do not hold the title you did once.” Yttoric began pouring a cup of tea from his kettle. “Tell me, you are aware of the various artifacts that have… ah, Impasse-nullifying properties? My apologies, for the clinicality.”

The Mediator merely smiled, gently taking the cup of tea that Yttoric had  made while the latter went on preparing a second cup. “Yes, of course. And I have heard about the existence of… multiple Impasses, in the past.” He took a prolonged sip. “What I am wondering, however. Is why Zero prompted me to contact you of all people.”

Yttoric grinned. “Zero is familiar with a plethora of individuals across the anomalous world, such as myself. One of my predecessors helped him create notes about the Mouleur Foci.” The shorter man then went on to explain the omitted details that Zero had neglected to inform the Mediator of, finishing the tea he had prepared for himself by the end.

The Mediator had also finished his cup, and gently set it down upon the counter. “Well, it’s been a pleasure to have your acquaintance, despite our… previous dealings. I’ll be leaving now, if you don’t mind. Matters to attend to and… well, you know.” Yttoric nodded as the Mediator began walking to the door, not before handing him a small pouch that Zero had asked him to deliver to Yttoric.

“Ah..” Yttoric audibly remembered. “Before you go, I must inform you that… I have passed the information I shared with you onto someone else, as well.”

The Mediator looked at him inquisitively. “Who…?”

“A young fellow by the name of Tristan Corvley.”

PART 1 - Our Goals in Mind

Chapter 1

The process of Vanguard’s operations following the dissolution of the SCP Foundation was both a complicated and uneasy one. First, they had cleaned up Sites still controlled by Foundation loyalists such as Site-17 and consolidated most of the former Foundation’s resources and manpower within the new organisation’s hands. What came after, was the beginning of justice finally flourishing after years of being kept on a leash by the Ethics Committee. Although the general amnesty campaigned by Dr. Clef did pass through, many former Foundation personnel were held in indefinite custody immediately following the creation of Vanguard and they would be kept there for a while.  

There were a few concerns about the loss of manpower, but the joint collaboration with several Serpent’s Hand groups, a wide range of communities across the Nalka faith and the Maxwellist Collective seemed to make up for more then it. 

A general pattern emerged out of those who were taken into custody for particularly unethical actions: most were non-militant save for a few stray MTF commanders and security guards, they were around Level 3-4 security clearance, and they were often directly responsible for perpetrating unethical behaviour rather then simply carrying it out.  

There were Ethics Committee members too, such as Phoenica Carter, who were interviewed case-by-case to determine if their actions justified an official trial sentence. Carter managed to dodge that fate, for her initial resistance to the Committee’s corruption and pre-Foundation ties to the Serpent’s Hand. 

Now, she was being called to the stand in a trial against one of her former colleagues. Vanguard had formed the Department of Internal Corruption from the ashes of the Ethics Committee and for the following months after the fall of the Veil, mass trials took place. Representatives from the Department were sent to the trials to list out offenses, as Carter was doing at the trial of one Gordon Huxley. 

She had never felt any particular kinship or bond towards any of her Committee colleagues, she was supposed to be a Hand spy after all. But that plan fell through quickly. There was one person she supposed she could call a friend at the SCP Foundation and she thought of him as she read from the document she’d been given by her superiors. It was the usual: promoting orders of violence and abuse against imprisoned subjects, allowing human murder, all the horrible quirks of the SCP Foundation. 

As she finished playing her part and returned to the crowd, her mind couldn’t help but to continue wondering. Tristan Corvley, an idealistic rookie of the Ethics Committee, simply disappearing after Vanguard’s creation? Carter didn’t think they’d be the type to be scared of punishment, and they was certainly rational enough to realise they most likely wouldn’t be just as Carter had not been. 

It plagued her, and it would keep her up at night for a long time. 

---

Carter’s boss, a senior thaumaturgist from the Serpent’s Hand, had advised her to seek therapy. She had resisted at first, but eventually caved in after a bit of late night thinking. The sessions were alright, the therapist was nice and she had helped Carter work through some of her depression. Today they were focusing on isolation. 

“And, uh, well. I guess living in a place like that... yeah, I didn’t get much human interaction. Work interactions were personal.” Carter slightly mumbled her way through. 

The therapist mainly took notes and nodded, as she usually did before turning to ask a question. “And was there any exceptions..?” 

Of course, came the topic of Corvley. She rambled about how their idealistic passion had given her some light and drive in her life at the Foundation, and she expressed her... negative emotions, surrounding Corvley’s disappearance and missing persons status. The session ended shortly after that and Carter was left with a swirling mixture of emotions as she stood on the sidewalk. 

She walked, breathing in the air around her and trying to focus on the surroundings. There were beings of all stripes walking across the street. It was a much more colourful world, but there was obviously still work to be done. 

Turning a corner, she approached her new favourite place to relax and unwind. 

---

“It’s not that I’m bored with my job...” Carter muttered between swigs of beer. The bar was pretty sparse, common for this time of day. Apart from a few stragglers at some tables, there were only two people, including Carter, actually drinking. “It’s more like...” 

“You want something more...?” Her new friend helpfully added. Carter had met Re’grynn a few weeks back when she had started coming to the bar, the two got along and Carter thought it was nice to have someone to talk to in a more relaxed setting. 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s like...” Carter paused to think, before continuing. “I like my job, and all of this is stuff I wanted but... just feels like there’s something missing. A goal or something like that.” 

“How about that friend you talked to me about?” Re’grynn suggested, before she let out a small burp. 

“Huh? What, what’d you mean by that?” 

“Well, they’re missing ain’t they...?” She drunk a large sip of beer. “Why don’t you make that a goal? Finding them or whatever...” 

Carter almost laughed. “Oh c’mon, I’m basically just a regular citizen now. I can’t pull of anything like that...” 

Re’grynn smirked. “Who knows, maybe you could ask your boss about it.. They’re a former Jailor, so maybe that’ll make it important enough for Vanguard.” 

“Hm.” Carter held on to her glass of beer, pondering her friend’s words instead of continuing to drink. 

Later at night, she’d take those words to heart. It wasn’t that she was particularly close with Corvley, but they had been her friend during the worst period of her life and she was atleast grateful for that. And so, she would findt them. If not for their sake, then for her own.