Le dictaphone du Docteur Trank

Traduction

http://www.scp-wiki.net/under-control

notation: 0+x

6 Décembre 2023

La place grouillait de toutes sortes d'activités — bizarre pour cette heure de la nuit, mais pas bizarre pour cette ville. Un groupe d'enthousiastes de l'ambiance fabriquepunk soviétique connu sous le nom de "hhh"1 choisit cette nuit pour projeter des reproductions thaumiques de leur musique dans les rêves de chaque habitant endormi de Trois Portlands qui avait un "R" dans leur nom.

Le but était moins d'appeler les Roberts et Rebeccas du monde, mais plus de signaler une certaine aptitude à ceux qui n'étaient pas appelés. Des coups publicitaires comme celui-ci attiraient les anartistes comme des mouches autour d'une flamme, et c'était tout ce que Adam Rowe espérait.

Il glissa sa main dans la poche de son pantalon et en sorti une carte de visite usée et froissée.


PAS DE PULSATION ? Pas de problème!

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Pour plus d'informations et les tarifs, contactez Jam█th ███to█ au 5█3█ ██████ Drive, Trois ████lands !

Dieu sait combien de temps cette carte était restée en possession de Adams. Suffisamment longtemps pour porter les signes des tentatives des info-bloqueurs du skipper d'en rendre à distance la moitié illisible. Cette incomplétude avait été une épine dans le pied d'Adams durant les derniers jours, alors qu'ils était forcé au contraire de tracer les lignes de contagion entre la carte et la personne qui avait créé le design voyant.

Ce fut une piste difficile à suivre – apparemment, cet individu intrépide ne passe pas beaucoup de temps à Trois Portlands, donc les lignes ne menaient à rien la plupart du temps. Et quand le créateur sera à Trois Portlands, il ne faudra pas longtemps à Adam pour trianguler sa position et s’y retrouver à temps.

Mais ce soir était different. Juste au moment où le signal hhh s’envola (ce qui réveilla Adam Rowe directement) la carte commença à localiser la place. Ils arrivaient pour voir d’où venait ( ???) la musique, et Adam allait être là pour les accueillir.

La foule s’était amassée depuis quarante-cinq minutes à présent, criant autour d’une grande scène ronde au centre de la place de la ville. Un nombre incalculable d’autres spectateurs s’assirent sur les toits ou s’agrippaient aux murs, tâches de lumière sur les bâtiments commerciaux aux pierres brunes et édifices de verre profilés. Dans l’air, des drones bourdonnants tournaient autour de la scène en cercles lents et rythmiques.

Adam recula, loin de la foule, la carte de visite kitch tenue bien haut. D’ici il pouvait sentir les liens tonals de la carte. Le trafiquant se trouvait dans la foule. Il s’approcha de l’arrière des spectateurs, se pressant entre eux et se tortillant pour avancer.

Il était difficile de voir ce qui se passait – la vue d’Adam était obstruée par des jeans humides et des vestes en vinyle, des coudes bougeant à une proximité dangereuse de sa tête quand la foule commença à s’agiter. Il était presque sur la scène quand il senti le lien de la carte s’interrompre. Il semble que c’est bon.

Une femme chauve se tenait en face de lui, s’émerveillant face à la scène. Il lui tapa sur l’épaule. Elle tourna la tête, souriant chaleureusement. Elle avait des cornes pointues qui lui poussaient des tempes.

Adam s’éclaircit la gorge. Les clameurs de la foule grondaient dans ses oreilles. "Vous êtes Jamoth ?"

Elle acquiesça. "Jameth. Vous avez ma carte !"

Adam sourit en retour, acquiescent. "[[[all-hallows|Séance poussière] (???). Vous l’avez ?"

Jameth pencha sa tête sur le côté. "Bien sûr mon ami. Passe-moi ta carte."

Adam grimaça, claquant des doigts. Une carte de visite blanche apparu entre ses doigts. Il la lui passa.

"Merci mon ami." Elle pointa son index droit vers le ciel, et d’un pop sourd un petit sac de poussière de chaux tomba, sortant de nulle part, directement dans sa paume. "Je resterai en contact. Essaie de ne pas trop t’éclater !"

Adam prit le sac précautionneusement. Il acquiesça. "Ne crois pas que ce sera un problème." D’un geste cordial de la main, il commença à reculer lentement pour s’éloigner de la foule. Alors qu’il quittait la place, une interprétation sonore de L’internationale avait démarré.

Une fois revenu à sa chambre dans le motel miteux, il posa le sac sur la commode et souffla pour lui-même. "Un de fait, il en reste deux."


Une semaine plus tôt…
29 novembre 2023

Les deux l’avaient approché au milieu de la journée, le coinçant alors qu’il descendait la rue et lui demandant poliment de venir dans un café proche pour discuter un peu. Il ne pouvait pas refuser.

Ils l’y menèrent, passèrent le comptoir (avec un menu griffonné dans un Latin à peine lisible) et une masse de tuyaux emmêlés qui suintaient de l’expresso sans discontinuer.

Le premier, une silhouette imposante aux lunettes noires presque opaques et en survêtement, tira une chaise et invita Adam à s’asseoir. L’autre, une grande femme habillée d’un pantalon, avec des cheveux bruns lisses et des lunettes cerclées de noir, s’assit en face de lui de l’autre côté de la petite table. Elle sourit ingénument.

Il prit son courage à deux mains. "Alors, que se passe-t-il ?"

"Nous sommes des représentants d’une filiale de [[[redzone-sa-43647822 Redzone Security]. Nous voudrions vous engager en tant que consultant temporaire."

Adam plissa les yeux. "Oh, je ne suis pas vraiment à la recherche de travail en freelance-"

Elle leva la main. "Permettez-moi de reformuler. Nous pensons que ce contrat pourrait être bénéfique aux deux parties, si vous acceptiez. Sinon, eh bien, nous ne pouvons pas vous assurer que des informations qui vous concernent ne tomberont pas entre de mauvaises mains.

Adam se tourna sur sa droite – le costaud bloquait la sortie. Il tapota ses lunettes de soleil, produisant un flash rouge. Il était enregistré.

Il déglutit et se retourna vers la femme. "Bon sang, vous voulez- sur quoi voulez-vous me consulter ?"

"La méthode de protection des données que Redzone possède utilise une dimension de poche necro-thaumique de conscience synallagmatique liée par tabou qui fournit la puissance thaumique nécessaire pour rendre la donnée totalement inaccessible dans l’infosphère jusqu’à ce que son déchiffrage soit requis."

Adam cligna des yeux. "Certes, poursuiviez ?"

"Récemment, la procédure de verrouillage de données a été bloquée sans cause externe apparente. Nous craignons une union. Ce dont nous avons besoin est d’un moyen efficace d’accéder nécromantiquement aux âmes et faire ce qui est nécessaire pour remettre le processus en état de marche."

Il attendit un moment supplémentaire pour être sûr qu’elle eut fini. Comme elle ne parlait plus, il ouvrit la bouche. "Vous avez besoin d’un consultant en nécromancie ?"

"C’est cela."

"Vous devez avoir demandé à mon père en premier lieu, non ? Je veux dire, vous devez connaitre SCP-2630 ce dans quoi il a été impliqué. Non ?"

"Nous avons envisagé la participation de votre père, mais en avons finalement décidé autrement. Trop difficile à encourager."

Adam se sentait incontestablement encouragé.

"Nous ne sommes pas ici pour parler de votre père. Nous ne sommes bien conscients que vous possédez vos propres talents. Vous êtes simplement plus flexible que lui, non ? Je veux dire, entre vous et moi, il ne fait pas grand-chose pour vous, n’est-ce pas ?

Adam loucha. "Arrêtez ça."

"Arrêter quoi ?"

"Ce truc où vous insinuez que vous m’avez suivi."

Elle promena ses yeux la table, puis les remonta. "Évidemment. Nous ne vous avons pas suivi."

"Merci."

"Écoutez, peut-être sommes nous partis du mauvais pied. Je suis Samantha. Si vous acceptez, je serai votre référent principal( ???) à Redzone. En échange d’un petit, tout petit coup de main, nous pouvons vous offrir une meilleure implantation dans la ville. Vous savez à quel point la cooptation compte par ici. Peut-être pouvons-nous vous aider."

Il y eut un moment de silence. Le gros était immobile, tel un gros totem de pierre. "Je suppose que je vais mordre à l’hameçon. Je dois signer quelque chose ?"

Son sourire s’élargit. "En effet." De derrière la chaise, elle sortit une simple feuille de papier, quelle posa en face de lui. "Signez sur la ligne, puis retournez la page."

Il fronça les sourcils en parcourant le document compact. Ça ressemblait à un accord de confidentialité plutôt standard.

"M- argh." Adam sentit un tranchant dans son esprit, comme si ses neurones avaient été noués ensemble et frappés comme une corde de piano.

"operation-llewyn-dark Un tabou standard de la société. Cela va inhiber votre capacité à divulguer des informations sur votre affectation, ou intervenir à l’encontre biens ou des intérêts de Redzone. Nous ne pouvons pas prendre de risques malheureusement. Il expirera dans dix jours, le 9 Décembre. De votre point de vue, vous n’étiez pas là. Ce n’est pas comme si vous vouliez faire cela de toute façon, n’est-ce pas ?" Elle sourit chaleureusement. La douleur commençait à se dissiper.

"Ouais, d’accord."

"Gardez le contrat. Nous vous recontacterons."

Samantha se leva pour partir, au moment où un plateau flottant apportait deux cafés brillants. Le silencieux se retourna, et les deux partirent ensemble.


7 Décembre 2023

Le jour qui suivit le concert était radieux et ensoleillé, par rapport aux standards très relatifs de Trois Portlands. Adam descendait le rue vers son établissement favori : le Symposium, qui aspirait à combiner les deux plus grand plaisirs de l’être humain, l’alcool et la littérature. Pour la visite du jour, Adam passait juste devant la lib-bar-rairie vers une librairie différente.

Il arriva dans le rayon fiction. Ici, ils avaient savamment sélectionné les boissons accompagnant chaque roman. À Les Amants du Spoutnik de Murakami, ils avaient associé un délicieux Chivas Regal. À Labyrinthes de Borges, fernet amer. À La Source vive de Ayn Rand, une bonne vielle cruche de javel.

Malheureusement, la javel devrait attendre un autre jour. Il s’avança vers une zone ombragée de la boutique, les étagères étiquetées "Fiction Noire", puis à leurs voisines, "Fictions Encore Plus Noires". Suivant l’allée, il feuilleta parmi les tranches jusqu’à ce qu’il trouve le tome qu’il recherchait : Lectures Radicales 2 : Travailler sur de Nouveaux Titres Branchés pour Adolescents de Bodart.(N’AI PAS TROUVÉ DE VF)

Il l’ouvrit d’un coup de poignet. Les pages étaient creusées pour contenir un autre livre, plus petit, relié en cuir sans fioritures.

"Lorem ipsum dolor sit…" Alors qu’il commençait, un halo chatoyant commença à l’envelopper de la tête aux pieds. Il put se sentir devenir moins reel, moins ancré. Alors qu’il continuait de lire, une chaleur se propagea en lui, des particules d’air agitées déplacées par son arrivée en un autre lieu.

"…id est librarum." Quand il eut finit, le livre s’évanouit de ses mains. Il se trouvait à présent dans les corridors orange, chaleureux de la Bibliothèque des Vagabonds. Il pouvait jurer que les Chemins devenaient plus compliqués à chaque fois qu’il devait les utiliser.

Un rapide coup d’œil lui révéla qu’il était dans la portion de la Bibliothèque dédiée au catalogage des publications de Spy vs. Spy des univers alternatifs. Heureusement, il y avait un kiosque non loin, et Adam s’en approcha.

Au centre du bureau circulaire était installé un Bibliothécaire radialement symétrique, à plusieurs bras, à plusieurs yeux. Adam pensait que le Bibliothécaire regardait dans l’autre direction, mais quand il s’éclaircit la/les gorge(s) il comprit qu’il attendait qu’il parle. "Oh, euh. Croisement des documents légaux canadiens relatifs à la marine et des rituels et artéfacts relatifs aux états souverains je vous prie."

Le silence se poursuivit un moment, jusqu’à ce qu’une violente sonnerie retentisse alors que la totalité de la géographie de la bibliothèque commence à tourner autour du kiosque circulaire, et une portion du sol autour de lui, devenant rapidement un flou méconnaissable. Adam commençait à avoir le vertige quand cela s’arrêta.

Le Bibliothécaire leva un/des doigt(s), pointant vers la gauche d’Adam. En se tournant pour passer dans les rayonnages, Adam fit un geste de la main. "Merci. Passez une bonne jouréne." Il ne pouvait dire si ça avait répondu.


Adam rematerialized on the wet sidewalk outside the roach motel, clutching a marriage certificate and a crude crayon drawing of a sea fort.

The skybox sun had already set for today, but the bike rack was still mostly empty. Probably for the best. Adam wouldn't want any of the other residents disturbing him while he worked tonight.

The nice lady who runs the motel let Adam stay for free, so long as his minor golems helped keep ecto-emanations from gumming up the washing machines. It saved her the trouble of subscribing to Golemancy United's service, and he got a decent place to stay. All in all, it was a pretty good deal.

His room left a bit to be desired, though. Discarded papers, soda cans, and plastic bags cluttered up the desk space next to his thaumic typewriter, and the room's lights were perpetually disabled, replaced by an ambient red glow that emitted from the air itself, a personal touch that assisted in minor castings but wasn't optimal for actually living in the room.

Adam smoothed out the sheets on the twin bed a bit, making room to set his papers on the surface.

First, the crayon drawing, perhaps fit for a fridge somewhere. He had sensed the latent power in it as soon as he passed it in the library. With some minor effort, it could be used as a focus to raise an Aeircan Energy Field, centered on his room.

Adam placed his hand on the paper.

Wax and paper, but they hold something more. A connection to a time only half-remembered, if it had ever existed in the first place. Don't you know what that feels like?


The drawing was open to him.

A memory. Some young bixby draws with crayon.


His magic, sharpened by a life of practice, tentacle of occult sharp like a knife, probing into it, finding what was there.

A creation. Nothing else touches that impenetrable moment.


The energy traveled up his hand. It began to fill the room.

An acquiescence. The moment can live again. Take the power.

He breathed in, then out. And the ritual was complete.

The drawing sat there, apparently unchanged, but the energy of its past had been unfurled. For the next hour, this motel room was, in thaumic terms, a sovereign country. Hopefully, that'll be satisfactory.

He turned his attention to the second piece of paper. A marriage certificate, celebrating the lawful union of Jeannine P. McCormick and AAAAFALSE QR DENIED back in 2013.

Hopefully still valid, because Adam was about to file for divorce.

He typed idly on his typewriter, and the characters appeared on a nearby sheet of paper. The attempt didn’t need to be fully accurate. Hopefully it would be convincing.

Adam pulled the page up, setting it on his desk. An official filing.

It took fifteen minutes of waiting on the bed, reading and rereading the paperwork to ensure he hadn't mucked it up, before a soft rustling outside his room predicated a paper slipped beneath the door. Adam snapped it up.


CEASE AND DESIST ORDER


The witness holds that, in the course of lawful or unlawful actions in the affidavit has no path by which a SOLUTION may be settled. In witness of overwhelming cruelty of the accused party and NO MISUNDERSTANDING as to intentions lawful or unlawful…

Well, now he had its attention. Adam rushed back to his typewriter. An official document, doesn't matter what, granting rights of amendment to legal entities which pursue due litigation against the Person's Republic of Adam.

Ten minutes after that, the first amendment appeared.

HERETO WHEREFORE does the undersigned party seek UNAUTHORIZED PREDATION against sovereign actions partaken by a THIRD PARTY of which there is no LAWFUL RECOURSE in path of…

Adam's fingers clicked rapidly, typing a response.

Hi, I'm Adam. I read about you in the Prometheus Intranet. I need your help.

Stay vague, stay convincing. The geas still ached through Adam's brain.

HEREBY the QUESTIONING PARTY has been DENIED in the process of amelioration which has been concluded in SOLITUDE…

His eyes narrowed.

I am a necromancer. If you tell me how, I might be able to summon you to me. Give you increased influence in this city. Wouldn't you like that?

And the ball was in their court now.

For fifteen minutes, there was nothing. The Aerican field was weakening. If Adam failed to catch their attention with this, his plan could be dead in the water.

And then a rustling under the door. A packet of papers passed under.

A patent, filed for a process by which an informational entity is given increased ambulatory ability within a pocket dimension, in exchange for unspecified assistance.

Adam smiled. Two down, one to go.


One week earlier…
December 1st, 2023

Two days after he signed the contract, he received a message on his phone.

"Consultant Adam Rowe, please report to your local Redzone office for work."

When he arrived at the office, a large, glass building made of right angles and rectangles, a receptionist had welcomed him in and pointed him to a concrete staircase leading into the earth. A basement. How odd.

When he made it down the stairs, Samantha was waiting for him.

"So nice to see you again, Mr. Rowe."

"You say that like you didn't call me here." The basement was small, smooth concrete walls enclosing several cheap plastic folding tables set up in the center. "A basement in Three Portlands?"

"It was custom-built. Closer to the core, makes it easier to access other Spaces. Or so I'm told."

Adam folded his jacket, setting it on a table surface. "So, what do I- uh."

She was holding out a vial of something, covered with a plastic screw-lid. The liquid inside shone blue. "You'll need to drink this."

He took the vial. It was about the size of his thumb. "Focusing solution?"

She nodded. "Of a very particular sort, yes. Should bring you close enough to observe the pocket dimension, without putting you inside it. A form of protection, as it were."

"Right. Can't just dive in." Adam paced a lap around the ring of tables, vial in his palm. "No sigil machines. Is that why you need me?"

She smiled. "Observant. Our sigil machines were overloaded in our last attempt to breach the dimension. A natural talent like you won't need machines like that, will you?"

"For most things, yeah." Adam shook his head, getting out the last of his reservations.

He unscrewed the lid on the vial and turned it over his mouth. The blue slime slid down his throat, and he could feel the pulse of a beating world wash over him.

His knees grew weak. He collapsed, into a plastic chair that must have been moved beneath him.

He was travelling, but he was staying in the same place. He skimmed the surface of another world, his hands creating ripples in the water- no, the fabric of the boundary. Adam was in two places at once.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Samantha, speaking. "What do you see?"

Adam opened his mouth and felt the blue mist seep out. "There's an egg-shaped envelope, full of souls. It's pressurized. So dense. Who are these people?"

The hand moved off his shoulder. "Oath-breakers. Dead employees. People who don't read the fine print."

He was gliding between worlds, limbs flat like blades. Void burned his skin but he accelerated more. "You just take people? Who disobey?"

A sigh from behind him. "Adam, this is the security business. Without the trust of others, Redzone has nothing. You can't begin to understand."

Adam inhaled the skin of worlds, lungs filling with blue dust. "I think I could." He started to cough, and the vision left him.

Samantha was opposite him, across a table. She pushed a plastic cup of water at him. Cautious, he took a sip, to calm his throat. "Thanks."

She folded her arms. "What do you think?"

He put the cup down. "I think, well, a union is possible. The pocket dimension is close to overload, it could burst. In days, even."

Samantha's face twisted. "We don't have the resources to remake such a thing. We'll need specialists." She was making a list to herself.

"So, what happens if you can't fix it?"

She nodded. "If we can't fix it before it's too far gone, we won't have a choice. We'll starve it of energy, shut it down, cut it off from Portlands. Wait a few years for the souls to forget. And then we'll start it up again."

"Oh," Adam said. "Okay."

An egg full of tortured souls. A few days before the chance is gone.

"Well, let me know if you need me before my geas runs out."

Adam quickly and quietly made his way out.


December 8th, 2023

Adam stood at the base of the marble steps built up to the looming facade. On either side of him, thick pillars rose up to meet the sloped roof, a singular courthouse looking over Three Portlands.

It looked entirely different from the last time Adam visited, save for a single static detail: the bronze nameplate hung over the door, upon which "E. Rowe" was inscribed.

He knocked on the door. It opened on its own a moment later, revealing a dimly-lit hallway. In the center of the hallway, a man with sunken eyes and a grizzled beard stood.

Adam waved. "Hey, dad."

Eustace Rowe squinted. "Come in."

The old man led him down the hall, straight to a circular chamber that must have been the kitchen. Eustace had been cutting up some blood avocados, and the stained knife was still on the cutting board.

Adam swiveled, examining the building's smooth construction. "You, uh, changed it a lot since I was last here."

The man leaned against a granite counter. "These changes will stick, this time. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'm just, uh, well, I wanted to talk, and-"

His father cut him off. "Is this about your boyfriend? Something happen to him?"

Adam's brow furrowed for a moment. "No, he's in Europe, actually. We're thinking of, uh, moving here. To Three Portlands."

"Europe. Typical." He rolled his eyes. Adam ignored it.

"But I actually came to ask if you had an electronic exorcism device."

His breath rasped when he laughed, satisfied in his assumption's approximate accuracy. "And why is that?"

The gears of geas locked up in Adam's mind. "I'm staying in a roach motel, and the room's full of bed-demons. I only need it for a day." He didn't even need to lie, the words just gushed as if they had been the truth all along.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I figured you might have one lying around. From the old days. Right?"

"I just might." He shifted his weight against the counter turning to face Adam more fully. "Tell me, though. What do you know about Redzone Security?"

His blood chilled. His face couldn't betray anything. "Not much, really." Adam couldn't control himself. The non-disclosure geas ruled him.

"Really? And how about that job they offered you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Adam was frozen in place. His body wasn't his. The probability field of the geas had collapsed solely to the possibility of denial, and Adam could not act other than to deny.

"Think I can't tell when you're in Portlands, Adam? Think I couldn't smell that geas on you when you walked in the door?" He was smiling. It was a game. "Fucking pathetic. You should know better."

Adam's body was silent. His mind was locked.

From behind Eustace, an object not unlike an oversized tape recorder came from the door, propelled by some unseen force. It landed in the old mage's outstretched hand, and he then held it out to Adam's front.

"Take it, get out of my house. Come back when you're not under control."

Adam's hand grasped the edge of the device. He managed to nod, and he felt himself turn, and begin walking out the door.

"And Adam," Eustace called after him, just before the door shut. "Give 'em hell for me."

Once he was out of sight, Adam felt the geas relinquish control. He breathed heavy.

Three down. Only one thing left to do.


It was late at night when Adam finished constructing the summoning square as dictated by the patent.

A cube, constructed of paper, decorated with symbols of power. A simple way to bridge a notional gate between the overworld and Three Portlands. That should be enough.

On his desk, he had set up his thaumic typewriter to transcribe voice commands, a line of communication to the legal entity he was inviting to his room.

Now, he lay down on his bed.

At this point, it was only a matter of time before Redzone shuffled their pocket dimension into storage, and Adam lost any hope of connecting to it, of committing metastatic jailbreak of a thousand lost consciousnesses.

There was no more time. He had to act now.

He felt the presence in the room, the force of a mind alien to his own. He clutched a bag of green séance dust in one hand, and in the other he cradled the oversized tape recorder.

He switched the exorcism device on. A disk on its front began to spin, slow, like a record player.

He brought the bag of dust to his lips and inhaled sharply. The powder filled his mouth and lungs, filtering him down a few levels of consciousness.

"I know you can hear me. The contract is on my desk. Just, just, be careful. It's connected to my head."

A sudden draft washed over him. He was fading out.

The entity latched on to the piece of paper that defined Adam's obligations to Redzone and began to modify.

Contradictions began to form. The geas was garbled.

Adam's head stung, his extremities lost feeling.

His mind was sinking, the dust leading it deep into the ground. His brain had a hotline straight to the ideological center of Redzone Security.

Adam lost consciousness to the refrain, NOTWITHSTANDING FALSE, ABSTAIN, ABSTAIN, ABSTAIN


Adam's mind came to in a blank white void. He was standing. Somewhere in a motel room, his physical body was experiencing the throes of Cuchulainn syndrome. Temporarily, his mind was no longer obligated to follow the geas.

In front of him was a stairway, leading further down than he could gauge. From it came a red glow.

Adam began to descend. Katabasis. He must commune with the dead.

The glow filled his vision. It was only a few steps before he was unable to ascertain what was in front of him. He continued.

The light faded, giving way to a pulsing violet. There was a door in front of him. He pushed it open.

He no longer skimmed the surface of another world, but was entirely immersed.

There was no air here, for it was too dense with the vacuous bodies of the dead. Anything else would be pushed out, into the nothing between somethings.

Some faces he saw contorted in frozen moments of great emotion. A laugh, a scream. Others followed him with empty, suspicious eyes as he waded among them.

Their arms gripped around him, weak at first, but it soon became that he could not see, and he could not move. Death all the way up. Death all the way down.

Direction lost meaning in the sea of corpses. People burned of faces and histories and choice, filled with information and trusted to tell no tales.

And Adam was in the thick of things, wedged in the center of knowledge mortals could not know, tidbits shoved in by Redzone personnel.

Do they even know what they're doing? Do they know what this is like?

The grip on Adam's body cements further. He has not gone unnoticed, and the friction against his body is drawing heat.

No, no, it's not drawing heat. The heat has always been here. The souls are just getting Adam acquainted with the broiling.

There was no sight or sound, no smell, or taste. There was just the pressure and heat of a thousand souls on every square inch of Adam's body. The mass had become conscious, perceptive of the mortal among them.

The temperature increased, and Adam's body was filled with fire. He felt tension at his arms and legs; they were being pulled away from his torso. He was being assimilated.

He clutched his limbs close to his body, away from the grabbing arms.

He is Adam Rowe. Not one of a mass.

In his left hand there was a rectangular device with a disc on the front, like a record player, a symbol of the forces that drive away a consciousness.

On Earth, it was a tool. In here, it was an idea. And ideas are indivisible.

He pressed the button beneath his thumb, and the dimension was filled with ceaseless noise, a vibration that began in his body and spread to fill the entire space.

The bodies were pushed away, a sphere of cavitation forming around him. Each soul exited the dimension like air escaping a balloon, flowing to wherever they belonged, like a ripple across the multiverse.

The redness slowed. The fire dissipated. The pocket dimension was empty save for Adam, Redzone's information lost forever.

Adam released his grip on the exorcism device. It stayed where it was, floating in space, a ward. This place was now closed. Redzone couldn't send any more souls here.

The dust was wearing off, and Adam found himself drifting upwards again. The last thing he saw was a suffusion of blue.


December 9th, 2023

His eyes were crusted over and he felt the sting of sunlight. When he forced them open, he found himself back in his motel room. It was morning.

He checked his desk, where his contract lay, changed back to its original form. Like nothing ever happened. Untraceable.

He inhaled deeply, but his breath was cut short by a slamming on the door. Someone was beating it in.

He glanced around for something to defend himself with, but there wasn't enough time. Each knock on the door shook free splinters as a gash formed in the cheap wood.

Moments later, the door fell inwards with a mighty crack.

Standing in the doorway was the imposing Redzone agent he had seen at the coffee shop, still wearing sunglasses. Peeking out behind them was Samantha, eyes orbs of fire as she pushed her way to the front.

"Adam. What did you do?" she spat.

Instinctively, he raised his hands in the air. "Nothing. I couldn't- I was incapable of doing anything."

"We know you did, you must have. You must have done something." She nodded to herself. "You really fucked things up, Adam."

"I don't know what you're talking about." The geas still had a few hours left, and it led his tongue.

Her mouth formed a thin line as she curled her fingers towards him, beckoning the larger agent, who stepped forward. They removed their sunglasses to reveal two scarred craters where their eyes would be.

They approached him and reached out their hands for his neck but-

"Stop, stop!" Adam yelled. "Stop." And the hands paused.

He took a breath. "You think, if you take me, if you kill me, my father won't know? He won't tell people it was you?"

Adam started to lower his hands. "He knows a lot of people. They trust him. How would your reputation fare if people knew you murdered employees who were under geas? Unable to do what you accuse them of? You said that trust was everything. You know you can't risk that."

Samantha cocked her head at him. After a moment her flat expression twisted into a wicked smile.

"You know, you should really watch your back, Adam. Not everyone in this town is as lax as we are." She turned about, and strode down the hallway, the large agent trailing.

Adam took a deep breath, smoothing his clothes with his hands. His door was still broken. He couldn't stay in this motel for much longer. He sat back on his bed, head resting in his hands.

A moment later, he felt a warm hand on his back. His head turned to the left and he could see, sitting on the edge of his bed, the transparent, blue form of a woman.

He watched her, and she wordlessly stared back. Her hand patted gently on his shoulder, and she gave a silent nod. Then she was gone, vanished into the hanging clouds of Three Portlands.

The air was quiet, and full of dust. His room was a mess, splinters of wood scattered across the floor.

But he would make it to tomorrow. And for now, that would have to be enough.

Annexes

SCP-2701 (posté le 14/09/2017 o/)
SCP-255 (posté le 04/10/2017 o/)
SCP-279 (posté le 08/11/2017 o/)
SCP-240 (posté le 10/11/2017 \o/)
SCP-2806 (posté le 30/12/2017 \o/)
SCP-287 (posté le 13/02/2018 \o)
SCP-2047 (posté le 27/02/2018) *facepalm : bien mal traduit
Hub TDJM (posté le 17/03/2018) avec un audio de kalitay
SCP-2813 (posté le 25/03/2018 o/)
Les Cinquante-Cinq Premiers (posté le 27/04/2018 o/)
SCP-3959-restricted (posté le 03/04/2018 \o/ Fin de trad de crystal)
All Along (posté le 27/04/2018 o/)
Proposition de Billith (coldposté le 07/05/2018 o/)
The Watchtower (posté le 12/07/2018 o/)
Réunion de promotion (posté le 06/08/2018 o/)
Dossier - FSF Delivery (posté le 06/09/2018 o/)
Levons Minerva (posté le 25/10/2018 o/)
Moonrakers (posté le 07/11/2018 o/)
SCP-4113 (posté le 15/11/2018 o/)
Five Years (posté le 17/11/2018 o/)
Le Barde d'Ambrose (posté le 02/01/2019 o/)

Remarques

Si vous passez dans le coin, laissez un mot ! Keur sur vous !

  • Cet audio était tout simplement génial, et si Gémini ne m'en avait pas parlé je ne l'aurais jamais su. QUEL MONSTRE ES-TU POUR AINSI LAISSER UNE TELLE MERVEILLE HORS DE MON CHAMP AUDITIF !? J'ai beaucoup apprécié et t'offre tout mes encouragements pour d'autres audios. Amicalement, Goupil
    • Merci ^^ J'en ferai la promo en Décembre, cadeau de nowel. (j'attends qu'il soit sorti en fait)
  • Eh bien… euh… aubergine. (sinon, wi, l'audio est génial :3) Lekter
    • Content que ça te plaise !
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