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youllallriseintheink · 4 months

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The Road to Alagadda

Desperate to research the threats posed by the unknowable and dangerous land of Alagadda, the SCP Foundation attempts to position their resident reality-warper and professional piece of work, Alto Clef, to be invited to Alagadda by the Ambassador. Meanwhile, the Ambassador has its own plans for Clef.

---

For years, the SCP Foundation could only watch as the Ambassador led artist after artist to abandon their lives on earth. They'd sent fleets of trained military personnel only to have them killed effortlessly by reality warpers, their remains tossed back through the doors as though to mock the researchers.

Another strategy had been tried: training researchers in the way of fine arts and positioning them to be chosen by the Ambassador, such that they might enter Alagadda as a welcome presence. Unfortunately, the results were the same for every researcher-turned-artist who had gone through this process: once they entered Alagadda, nothing could get them to leave.

"There is one more thing we could try," said one shadowy O5 council member to the board of hr fellows after yet another researcher had been lost to the strange realm. "We could send someone who is impervious to most otherworldly influences. Someone who has reality-warping powers of his own and would never choose art over the violence we let him inflict.”

Another council member, the oldest, looked across to her, eyes sharp. "Alto Clef is an important asset to the Foundation. And moreover, letting him into a realm we know nothing about given his unruly personality could have any number of consequences.”

The other O5 member shook her head. “We don’t know whether Alagadda is related to the Scarlet King,” she countered. “This could very well be the only way to stem a growing army of reality warpers.”

The eldest member sat back, steepled his hands, and thought for a moment. “Very well," then," he said finally. "We will set him up with Paraskevas Portokalis for art film mentorship, as we have with the other researchers we've sent. But if he dies, or worse, converts, you may very be terminated for it.”

The O5 councilwoman nodded. “That's a risk I'm willing to take.”

—-

Charlotte shuddered and screamed as millipedes coated in fake blood crawled from her mouth. Her writhing on the floor was a bit of overacting that Alto Clef had demanded, but the rest of her reaction was genuine. Her joke of a "director" had insisted that nothing else would do.

“Cut!” Clef yelled, prompting the poor actress to roll over onto her hands and knees and spit out the bugs. “Someone get me a lemon drop French martini," Clef ordered. "We start filming again in seventeen and a half minutes. I want twenty more takes of this by the time the day’s out.”

The actress spat out one last grub and looked at Clef in absolute disdain. “What,” she demanded, “is the point of having six bug-vomiting scenes in a film about children’s drawings?”

Clef lounged back in his director’s chair and smiled ghoulishly at her. “It’s about how human expression is painful, or something. I don’t know. It’s fun for me.”

Charlotte looked over to the renowned but retired art film director, Paraskevas Portokalis, who was sat next to his spoiled little protégé in a similar chair. Unfortunately but unsurprisingly, he seemed perfectly at peace with things. The man loved watching the creative process of "young and blossoming artists" the way some liked watching the bizarre films he'd spent decades of his life creating. It's why he'd chosen to spend his retirement mentoring anyone who wanted to be mentored.

"A film does need to be enjoyed, eh, Alto?" the old director said. "No meaning will be absorbed without pleasure, surely. But you have to consider what the audience will like, too, no? Don't become too wrapped up in your own preferences."

"Yeah. Sure. I'll think about it," Clef said. He surely would not think about it. He didn't give a damn about children's drawings. Not like his kid could make him any that wouldn't disintegrate in a day from merely being in her radius. No hand-drawn Father's Day cards for him, just the flowers that sprouted from the wreckage of her containment cell whenever it went too long without replacement.

As Clef returned home to the base that night and did his one-hour off-key ukele solo in the dormitory halls, he thought to himself, "This is the life." He thought he had it made on the base tormenting SCPs and his coworkers all day, but this. He had a whole year where his "job" was basically to boss people around and make them do whatever he wanted.

Yes, as Clef settled down for the night, he was absolutely certain that no one could make him an artist and he'd never go to Alagadda. This would be a fun year, and then he'd go back to his old life. He fell asleep peacefully, blissfully unaware that he was being watched.

That night, Clef dreamt. He was standing in a dark void, and then an explosion occurred, sending fractals of light and particles in every direction. From there, there were images of things Clef would never have been able to describe.

Clef watched as an alien-looking, water-dwelling squid creature taught a smaller creature of its species- its young, perhaps- to forge ornate glass vases using the heat of hydrothermal vents. After a while, Clef was torn away from their cozy home. He saw its beautiful glass exterior, and then, as he continued to be pulled away, he saw a city of similar ones, unique and sparkling. He was pulled further and saw more cities, then pulled from the ocean and into the sky, where he saw alien plant life and beautiful cities of stone on the planet's landmasses. And then he saw a tiny blip in the water- the rainbow-coloured corpse of the parental squid. But the cities, the art, the legacy remained.

Clef's alarm went off the next morning at six sharp. He rushed through his usual workout regimen feeling especially amped, adrenaline pushing him through more chin-ups than he'd ever accomplished as his mind raced. He had to get back on set. He had to do what those jellyfish were doing.

When Clef arrived on set, he was surprised at first to find that everyone there aside from Portokalis looked bored and annoyed with him. But of course they did- he'd been treating this privilege as a joke. "Everyone but Portokalis, take the day off," Clef announced. "I need to make some changes to the script. You'll be paid in full."

The actress turned away in annoyance and began walking away, no doubt wondering what fresh torture Clef was cooking up for her.

Clef had no time to worry about that. He took to the side of the old director, who had already been seated beside the director's chair. "Alright. We have to make some changes," he started, putting his chair opposite the director's and sitting to face him. "First, I want the protagonist to be vomiting coloured paint, not bugs. We'll use some kind of practical effects to make the colours cover the whole room to show what art does to the world. The windows should become coloured glass. And I want her to survive it. Second, I want this movie to actually be good. You'll have to teach me how to do that."

Portokalis smiled enthusiastically and stood up with all the energy his old bones could muster. "I knew you'd find your inner artist," he drawled, "All my protégés do in time."

They began to walk to the desk on which Clef would plan his masterpiece.

"Though, then they tend to disappear..."

---

Weeks passed. Every night, Clef dreamt of art being created by aliens, proto-humans, and even by what seemed like biblical angels. Every day, he woke up and worked on the film, incorporating what he saw or what he'd learned from it. Everyone but Portokalis was furious with the constant change, but Clef didn't care. He had eight months left to create his masterpiece. The film wouldn't be publishable by the end of the year, and Portokalis would make limited copies of the film and move on to his next protégé, but that was fine. Clef accepted it. He'd keep his copy, share his art with anyone he could, carry the skills into smaller, hobbyist projects afterward, and let that be enough. He'd even started trying to play his ukele well.

That was, until the night of September 28th. On that night, Clef dreamt again of the alien squids creating blown glass. This time it was a master artist creating a great glass structure as many others followed suit, waving their tentacles around in rows of hydrothermal vents like a university classroom attempting to emulate an esteemed professor.

And then the earth began to shake and rumble, and every glass structure shattered as the squids panicked. Once again, Clef began to zoom out of the scene, first from the ocean and then from their atmosphere, backing away just in time to see an asteroid reduce their planet to flaming shards of rock.

Shards of rock. They must have been miles in length, but from Clef's perspective, they were like particles of glass. Clef's scientific knowledge told him that every last shard of actual glass from the planet must have been melted now.

Gone.

Clef was hyperventilating. Once he would have enjoyed such destruction. But now...

The particles of the planet dispersed and stars in the sky exploded, one by one, until Clef was left in a blank void. What looked like a biblical angel floated a few feet from his face, and Clef thought that surely it couldn't die. Surely it wouldn't be destroyed by time as well. But it, too, exploded in a flower of blood and viscera.

And then, Clef heard music. He turned, and he saw a beautiful city with strange geometries, painted in red, white, yellow and black and decorated in all forms of art, most of which Clef had never seen even in his dreams. He even spotted a palace made of coloured glass, grander than the ones he'd seen underwater but undeniably the same style. Clef came towards the city, and as he stepped into its streets, he began to feel safe again. This place wouldn't crumble. It would outlast the very universe and then the universe after it.

Then, Clef's alarm went off. He turned it off, cold with sweat and heart racing.

Clef arrived at the film studio, still feeling and no doubt looking haunted. By now, the studio was filled with strange and abandoned props- things that Clef had integrated into his film in a flurry of inspiration and discarded in favor of alternative desires just as quickly. And amongst them were a crew of frustrated actors and a smiling Paraskevas Portokalis.

"We need to start all over," Clef said.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Charlotte shouted. "For what? So you can keep overloading this movie with weird shit that no one is going to understand?"

As recently as yesterday, Clef would have snarked at her in response. Today, all that escaped his lips were the words, "I don't know."

How could he make something that mattered? He needed his work to be seen, worshipped, its message known. But even if it was, it would all disappear in the end. He looked over to Portokalis, whose face had fallen. "I don't know," he repeated, hoping that his mentor would have the answer.

"Shall we leave the actors to their acting and try to do some writing?" the mad director asked, putting a hand around Clef's back and guiding him to a breakout room. Clef followed his lead into the room and fell down heavily in a chair. Portokalis brought him some paper and pencils.

"Alright, now leave me alone," Clef ordered. "And have someone bring me a martini. My usual order."

"Very well," Portokalis said, turning to leave.

Clef faced the paper, his mind empty. Minutes passed, and he tried writing the easiest story he could think of, a simple torture-and-murder type thing that he'd fantasized about on his coffee breaks in the Foundation. He didn't have the words even for that.

Clef's lack of inspiration continued for several days, and the dreams had stopped entirely. Filming continued as Clef directed, his eyes glazed over and the wheels of his mind spinning as he tried to fix his film. The actors were glad for the lack of changes, which annoyed Clef. Why hadn't he taken the time to enjoy their misery before? He couldn't enjoy it now. The halls of the foundation had grown quiet from the lack of Clef's ukele solos.

Weeks later, Clef finally had a dream again. No imagery, just a single voice, deep and androgunous and smooth.

Show me who you are, it said. Express yourself. Show me that you are worthy.

The next morning, Clef came into filming, loaded his arms with all the art supplies he could carry, and hurried back home. Frenzied, he ran through his dorm unit, coating everything with red and black. That wasn't enough. Home wasn't where he was most himself and he knew it. He took his cans of red and black, with white and yellow, too, for good measure, and stumbled into the SCP research center. He threw a bucket of yellow paint on the ground and began spreading it before he realized that this wasn't enough, either. No. He knew what he must do.

Clef made his way over to SCP 682's containment cell, opened it with his keycard, and threw black paint into the vat of acid containing the anomaly. In its subdued and tortured state, the creature did not react. Once at a safe distance and out of the creature's eyesight, Clef pushed the button to collapse the tank of acid and watched as the reptile thrashed about, roaring and spilling paint everywhere as it made its way out of the cell door. Soon, the blood of some unfortunate personnel would join the black.

Yes. This was him. He was pure chaos and destruction. This was the self-expression the voice had commanded of him. He could feel it. A bit longer and he'd be done.

At some point during Clef's artistic rampage, in which six more SCPs were released and he faced a strange lack of interference, something was said over the intercom. Clef scarcely registered it. At some point, cameras, microphones, and a harness were put on his body by other members of the SCP personnel. He didn't notice. At the end of twenty minutes, the SCPs were once again contained and Clef found himself painting a door of white on a wall painted black. When he was finished, he stepped through the door.

From the control room, several researchers were gathered to watch through Clef's cameras. Through it, they saw a world of four colours: red, black, yellow, and white- though Clef was, for the first time, seeing it in every colour he knew of and some he didn't. The realm's citizens, all clad in masquerade masks, were strange and alien. Some even floated as though through water. The world's structures and geometries were downright bizarre. The camera on Clef's chest heaved as he took several sighs of relief. And then he noticed the equipment that had been attached to him.

"Ha, you thought you'd try to pull me back if I went local, huh? Well, I'm not going to be held back by a stupid leash."

"Okay, let's reel him back," the head researcher ordered through a walkie-talkie. On the Foundation's side of the door, three Mobile Task Force members began to heave the cord that connected Clef to the real world. Clef fell backward, but then he used his reality-warping powers to undo the harness. The three guards, suddenly pulling at an empty leash instead of against a man, fell backward.

"What do we do?" asked a scientist from the control room.

"We learn what we can learn from the cameras," said the lead scientist, "and if need be, use our last resort."

Clef strolled through the city, stopping occasionally to gawk at bizarre art or to chat with a strange beings in an unrecognizable tongue and be spoken back to in English. About ten minutes into his sightseeing, a fifteen-foot-tall being cloaked in robes and wrapped in chains melted out of the cobblestone road and appeared before him.

Alto Clef, the being said. Its voice was androgynous and otherworldly and threatening. Clef remembered it as the voice from his dreams. Welcome. I'm glad that you've accepted my invitation. You are not any ordinary guest here. We know of your powers. And we know of your love for violence. We have a special role for you here.

The being stomped the ground, and a portal leading to swirling cosmos opened up beneath it. You see, for people to crave legacy, immortality, and all else that our world depends on for its new members, they must fear death and destruction. We will make sure you have time to create, but we would also like to instruct you in the ways of using your powers for destruction. You'll have a role here in destroying worlds and causing calamities to keep living beings aware of their fragility. Do you agree to this arrangement?

Clef took a moment to absorb what he was hearing. Then he smiled and laughed so hard he could barely collect himself. "Yes," he said. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" His trepidations towards violence were gone- he was no longer one of mortal creation, so why should their destruction frighten him?

"Clef," came the voice of a female researcher through the speaker attached to his chest. "This being might be tricking you. You have a pleasant life at the foundation. Come back. We'll even re-negotiate your contract if you want, we-"

"Shove it!"

"Very well. We'll have to turn to other measures, then," came the transmission as Clef threw it on the ground and stepped on it until it broke.

The ambassador guided Clef along a cobblestone road. About five minutes into their walk, they heard the sound of stampeding footsteps. Clef looked back and saw easily a hundred Mobile Task Force soldiers running in, guns at the ready, but the ambassador stepped forward and, with a flick of his wrist, caused them all to fall down dead.

"Ha. I guess that's the best they got," Clef said, turning back to follow the ambassador.

"Dad," came a female voice from behind Clef. He audibly gasped when he saw where it had come from. Standing amongst the corpses was a blonde teenage girl with furry goat legs and horns- his daughter. And she looked ready to cry. "Dad. Please come back. If you don't come back, I'll stay here."

Clef's mouth hung open as he took in the implications of that. "Honey... you have to leave. You destroy everything man-made, and this place is only made of man-made materials. There's nothing natural under it! You'd make this place fall apart. We'd all die."

The girl clenched her jaw as tears ran down her face. "If I go back without you, the foundation will kill me," she said.

"I have to protect this world," said the ambassador. "Will her powers still affect this place if she's dead?"

"Yes!" Clef screamed. "It'll make them go haywire! She'd destroy everything in a minute if you kill her, so don't even think about it!" It was a lie. Clef didn't know what would happen if his daughter died.

Grass was growing at his daughter's feet, disturbing the cobblestones. That was Clef's final straw. He ran, grabbing his daughter's hand and sprinting for the door he'd opened and thankfully not painted shut. They were through the door before Clef dared to look back.

The ambassador was not in a rush. It stepped slowly toward the door, and once it got there, pulled a paint bucket and brush out of thin air and painted the portal closed.

It made sense, Clef supposed. He was a threat to Alagadda's existence. There'd been no need to stop him from leaving.

With information on Alagadda acquired, there was no need for Clef to learn about the art of film. His mentorship was ended and he returned to his post at the Foundation. The very day he was repositioned, Clef bought himself a set of paints. He'd make something to earn his way back to the unending world of Alagadda, and this time the Foundation wouldn't interfere.

#scp foundation #alto clef #alagadda #the ambassador #scp 166 #my fanfiction

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bluntfriend · 2 years

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Headcanon: how would the Directors/Doctors and SCPs (Cain and Able) act when drunk.

Any warning: Just some swearing. Intoxication. Some sadness for Gears but it isn't anything too severe. Slight mention of depression.

A/N: Just another headcanon. This was in my google docs for months!

DIRECTOR ALTO CLEF:

He starts off as the typical happy drunk. He is laughing, partying, drinking, and enjoying himself. But as he continues to drink then he would turns into a reckless/aggressive drunk. You would have to stop him from starting fights with someone tbh. He is ready to throw down with anyone at any time that dares to provoke him. Or if anyone is trying to start anything with his fellow doctors. He is ready to fight anyone for them too. He just wants to fight anyone when possible tbh.

*Once punched a guy who turned out to be a GOC agent and a whole bar brawl started because of that. None of them are allowed back in that club after that.

DIRECTOR BRIGHT JACK:

He is, of course, the life of the party. (Next to Kondraki and Clef).

He would be fun to be around (at first) that is. Makes everyone laugh, and encourages more drinking and dancing. But then Kondraki would challenge him into doing more shots together. In which both of them will become even more intoxicated and reckless. He would begin thinking that he is somehow invincible and starts doing some dangerous stunts. Like, trying to dance on the bar stand or jumping over tables.

Wouldn't listen to a word you're saying when you try telling him to calm down a bit either. He is like a man child lol. Then he would proceed to run away from you because "he is just trying to have some fun!!"

And he is hella fast too. So, good luck trying to catch him. You are probably going to lose him in the crowd.

Also, he just disappears for a while too lol... no one would see him for a while. Until suddenly everyone (in the club) hears a very drunk and loud voice trying to speak over the microphone. And the voice sounds a bit familiar... and of course, it's him.

This motherfucker somehow made it on stage. Not wearing a shirt, speaking some nonsense in the microphone. Even the DJ looks confused asf.

DOCTOR CHARLES GEARS:

First, whoever convinced Gears to drink... wow... kudos to them. He almost never drinks. He is not a fan of alcohol and doesn't like how it makes him feel. So, he just prefers to not drink. It would take some convincing to actually have him take some drinks too.

But he is definitely the quiet type of drunk. For the first few drinks, he would be fine but after (six) more drinks, he would feel the effects. He becomes very quiet. Quieter than usual. He would stare intensely at his glass cup or into space with an intense expression on his face. Which is entirely different from his usual stoic expression. You would think that he is probably contemplating something very serious due to his facial expression. But he isn't. He is just thinking about the dreadful migraine he is going to have tomorrow morning. The annoying hangover... starts regretting his decision for even coming to the bar... he even debates on just leaving now... It isn't like the others can even stop him from leaving either.

Gears is the type of guy who would sit calmly in the background while a whole bar brawl is happening. He isn't going to become involved in that nonsense. He isn't in the mood to stop fighting either lol. He is just trying to enjoy his drink. Let him enjoy his drink. But- if someone dared to try and punch him or start anything with him then he wouldn't hesitate to pull up lol.

It may not seem like it but he knows how to mess someone up but just prefers not to. He doesn't like to revert to violence. However, if a person thinks that they can just start something with him for no reason and that he isn't going to do anything about it... they got another thing coming...

Bonus: There are other times when he does drink (and depending on how many drinks he has) he can become very depressed. He just starts thinking about his life… the choices he has made and his job… and everything just starts to bum him out tbh. He wouldn't voice it to others as well since he doesn't want to bum them out or scare them.

DOCTOR ICEBERG:

Becomes so affectionate. Not the affectionate type that is trying to kiss you or anything like that. But the affectionate type to talk about how much he appreciates you. And how much you mean to him. How of a great friend you are to him. And just how special you are. He just wants to shower you with the appreciation you deserve... okay?? Just let him. Even though it is just him repeating himself several times. Let him talk. He isn't going to stop talking if you told him either way.

Would give you so many hugs too. Just out of nowhere.

He is such a happy little bean!! Such a cutie!!!

But then he stops taking so many drinks and says that he just has to "lay down for a moment..." then falls asleep on his seat. And is probably going to sleep for a while. You may be wondering how the hell can he sleep with so much noise around him?? Who the fuck knows...

So, just keep an eye on him so he doesn't land on his head when he falls eventually.

DOCTOR SIMON GLASS:

Oh... Glass lol.

He is also one who doesn't enjoy drinking much as well so he would tell himself that he is going to only be having three drinks. Only three drinks. Then he is going home. That is it. But then he is convinced forced to continue drinking by Clef and Kondraki. (Who are such enablers!) And then those three drinks turn into ten drinks. And before he knows it, he is on the dance floor with Rights with more drinks in his hands.

He is also the "I am not drunk!" type who refuses to admit that he is intoxicated.

Oddly too even when he is drunk, he is still able to hold solid conversations with others. Like, he is self-aware enough to give someone great advice when they ask for it. You would find him at the bar stand giving the bartender a whole freaking therapy session while asking for more drinks.

DOCTOR AGATHA RIGHTS:

Yeah, she can be a handful when intoxicated lol. (Not as bad as the guys but best to keep an eye on her as the night continues).

Things would start at the bar stand, you would have to stop her from mixing drinks. She would claim that she is trying to make it taste better but that is total bullshit. And she doesn't even drink it either like she would take one sip of it and see how disgusting or weird tasting it is and try to coax one of the guys to drink it.

*Poor Iceberg didn't know what it was and drank it. Nearly throw up because of it… He just start gagging.

No matter how persuasive she may seem DO NOT DRINK ANYTHING SHE HANDS YOU!! It is just a disgusting drink she mixed... not worth it.

Even the bartender told her to stop mixing drinks but she then snapped at them like: Fuck off! I used to be a chemist for two years and I know what I'm fucking doing! She's a mess…

But there are other times when she would want to dance. And if she has her S/O with her then she is going to drag them onto the dance floor. She wants to dance with them. And she isn't going to take no as an answer. Just dance with her.

DOCTOR BEN KONDRAKI:

He is the one who is ALWAYS FIGHTING THE BOUNCER FOR SOME REASON! It is quite impressive how easily he got into that fight tbh... he doesn't even have to try... It is like he actually looks forward to fighting the bouncer... smh...

SCP-073 (CAIN):

Such a lightweight. He becomes drunk after like three shots. It is kind of amusing a little to see how easily he can become intoxicated lol.

He becomes so happy and bubbly. Cain is usually a calm and collected person who rarely becomes overly enthusiastic about things. So, when he is intoxicated, you're going to see a different side of Cain. He is going to be laughing at random shit. Starts talking very loud too.

But as he continues drinking then he can become a bit reckless. So, Able would have to actively stop him from making bad decisions.

*Able would also become slightly annoyed with having to practically babysit his older brother but surprisingly doesn't lose his temper with him. He would just easily take away the drinks from him. Yet, Cain is always somehow finding more...

He will literally threaten the bartender if they continue serving him drinks.

Meanwhile, Iris is the one giving him more drinks behind Able's back.

Even though he repeatedly told her to stop giving him more. He ends up finding out later on and starts lecturing her for being such an enabler.

By the end of the night, Able and Kondraki had to practically carry him out of the bar. He wasn't able to walk on his own. The next day you will find Able chastising both Iris and his older brother for drinking so recklessly. Cain is nursing his split headache on the couch. And Iris is lying on the floor trying to nurse her own hangover.

SCP-076-2 (ABLE):

He isn't a lightweight like his older brother. He is able to handle his alcohol pretty well. He would be taking shots left and right but it wouldn't affect him just yet. After probably ten drinks then he would feel it. However... alcohol doesn't affect Able in the normal sense.

Alcohol makes him somehow... calm?? It's weird. But drinking just makes him calmer.

Typically, he can be this sometimes hard-ass or a grumpy person who rarely socializes with others. That is our typical Able... But once he is drunk he becomes more laidback. He is smiling, laughing, and socializing with others. Telling a few funny stories too. And doesn't seem angry at all.

It can be surreal to see this completely different side of Able. It is kind of nice to see too...

He stops being grumpy. He becomes a little easygoing too. But he is still self-aware. He wouldn't do anything stupid or reckless while drunk so you wouldn't have to look after him.

Able doesn't turn into the aggressive/reckless drunk either. He is kind of the happy/relaxed type of drunk. He is going to loosen up a bit but not too much like the others do.

Bonus: He has this tendency to switch languages while talking to someone at times. Kind of became a natural habit of his. But he knows not to do it often (because it can confuse people so he doesn't do it too much when sober but when he is drunk, he doesn't even consider it). He would be telling you a story about something that he claims is funny when suddenly he changes languages mid-sentence. He would be like: You should have been there, Y/N, it was -switches languages mid-sentence-

Like you can somehow suddenly understand Ancient Sumerian...

And you're just standing trying to understand what he is saying but to no avail. When you do tell him that you can't understand what he is trying to say he gives you this annoyed look and says: ..have you not been listening to me, Y/N?! You know- the- and switches languages again...

*However, Able would spend most of his time keeping an eye on his older brother too. Because he knows how Cain becomes when drunk. He doesn't want his older brother to blackout or make bad decisions when intoxicated. He knows how of a lightweight his brother is and tries to look out for him.

Such a caring and considerate younger brother…🥺but he would never admit it lol.

#scp fandom #scp foundation #scp doctors #scp character #scp dr gears #scp dr bright #scp headcanons #scp dr clef #scp dr iceberg #scp 073 #scp 105 #scp #scp 076 #drunk headcanon #i had fun with this #scp dr kondraki #scp dr glass #btw rights would also get involved in a fight too and she would win lol

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justdreamsandmusic · 1 year

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‘’AltoClefDirectorClef BackInBlac’’

Francis Wojciechoski

UK-17, “Agent Ukulele”

“The Ukulele “Man”

Partner of Lily, SCP 4231 “A,” RIP. SCP 4231 “B”

₣RÆNŒIS ǷꙮßCIECHOSKI, father of Eponna Meridiana, “SCP-166″

‘’Alto Clef’’

Dr. Clef

Department Head: Division of Training and Development, OP Tag; “Director Clef”

Suitor of SCP 336; Lilith Asel, ex of Atum Al Asem(ra, of YHW, between Egypt & Cannan!”)

Alto Clef Director Clef = / = Alto Clef Dr. Clef

#Alto Clef #dr alto clef #dr clef #Francis Wojciechoski #UK-17 #UK 17 #Ukulele Man #The Ukulele Man #Agent Ukulele #SCP 4231 #SCP 4231 B #Eponna Meridiana #Meridiana Eponna #SCP 166 #SCP 336

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ask-site-61 · 2 months

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CHARACTERS -

Co-Site Director Benjamin Oliver Walker - Co-Site Director, (Wise-)Bright's Husband, Founder of The Library, Head of Pedology, but most importantly: good boy extraordinaire and D-9341 variant.

Dr. Jack Bright (Wise) - Holy fuck there's so much to say about him. Chaos incarnate.

Assistant Researcher Emily Ross - Died in The 2012 Catastrophe.. wonder how she's back. (SCP-061-ICE)

Pontos Doe - Himbo intern who's into greek mythology.

Dr. Wilhem Cure - Site Head of Medicine… probably the only LITERAL doctor on-site.

Agent Ulgrin - KYS'd after 2012 Catastrophe. Got SCP-061-ICE'd (trust me you'll see what it is in time.)

Researcher Penelope Normelle - Literally the most normal person here.

Site Director Bjärk Jakobssons - Quick to snap, jeez louise. Can teleport and is omnipotent across the Site.

George Olkassen - Class-D. Everyone calls him Georgie though. Cool kid wannabe.

Electra Macbeth - Longest-running Class-D. Seriously. How is she STILL alive.

Cookie - Nickname for one of the trans characters!! :3

Dr. Alto Clef (Wise) - Oh what a fucking asshole. Seriously. Only showing up when it entertains him. Might be fucking Maynard.

Dr. Akihito Saku - The Foundation's lovable "Head of Safe Classed Objects"; always the goofball.

Dr. Hartwell Artz - The Foundation's controversial "Head of Euclid Classed Objects"; he's better safe than sorry.

Dr. Amberlynn Rhodes - Th Foundation's rather enigmatic "Head of Keter Classed Objects"; it purported she's resistant against kill agents. Basically the middle ground of Saku and Artz. Not gonna snap at you for pressing a button, but still takes her work seriously.

Senior Researcher Thomas Rivbacht - Jeez.. uh… well, he doesn't take care of himself.. at all… he really should. He uh.. misses his family and is extremely depressive. Reclusive, too.

Dr. George Maynard - Mastermind of The 2013 Catastrophe. Forgiven, but scrutinized. Pale white skin since The Chaos Insurgency revived him utilizing a spliced variant of SCP-049's Touch.

Dr. Jack Bright (Emo) - I CHIME IN!! HAVEN'T YOU PEOPLE EVER HEARD OF.. CLOSING THE GODDAMN DOOR, NO???

Head Nelson Van Martins - The GOC's Icelandic Head. He lied. He's 16, not 18. Either way, he's here now and ready to stay.

Operative Roxxane Sparkes - Another trnas character!! This one being a member of Site Guard who's easily distracted. ^^

Researcher Carly Rosè Colbert - Espionage for The French Government; truly, The French must be stopped.

Researcher Stella Gospelle - The name says it all; "EVERYBODY LOVES STELLLLAAHHHH!"; drama queen and gossip bitch. She will ruin your life.

Site Head of Ethics, Jessica Parish - One of three. The enigmatic Parish Family. Anyways, besides often being mistaken for a bimbo, she's actually quite fierce and once threatened to rip the throat of Darvann out.

Junior Researcher Alexander Grimmes - "Foundation Head of Neutralized Objects"; but more over, attention-seeking extravagant.

Dr. Michelin Frances - Huh. For "Foundation Head of Thaumiel" objects, he speaks formally, maybe a bit posh, but he isn't god awful!

Dr. Amelia Polynaut - What the fuck is going on with "Foundation Head of Apollyon" objects over here?? Bitch is fucking shattered across time and space, apparently.

Chaos - Agent #080 deployed in Nálægt, Iceland for Site-61 raids. Variant of D-9341. LITERALLY Chaos Incarnate.

Dr. Simon Glass (Wise) - Moral, upright and somewhat skittish. At least his head's in the right place, as is his heart!

Dr. Stelle Shamrock Saraden - A humanoid drone bee! He has trauma to unpack, but first, he has to unpack YOURS! :D

Agent Steve Eastside - of the Eastside channel, probably cool in the head but quick to rage.

Senior Researcher Gemini D. Shirks - or just "Shirks", based off of SCPReadings, though, I suppose I could've also just done Dr. Goods. Either way, very hip! The Researcher all the interns wanna work for since he's just chill like that.

Reseacher James Talloran (Wise) - KILL HIM AG- huh? What. Oh. Oh. Okay. No, no he's fine. Yeah. Uh. 3999's still dead. Thank god for SCP-061-ICE.

Dr. Elias Shaw (Wise) - The Foundation's SCP-963-2.. it worked but.. his mind's being fractured each time he dies.

Dr. Charles Gears (Wise) - Now this is one I haven't actually done. He's monotonous, robotic, downright cold. Anyways, stop observing SCP-914 every waking second of your.. existence? …please?

Dr. Ellis Gill Iceberg (Wise) - Well… at least now he WANTS to be alive… FUCK HE'Z THROWING MOLOTOVS AGAIN

Eve - Yes, as in THE Biblical Eve. She's an MTF Agent now. Who knew she was a bad bitch?

Dr. Agatha Rights (Wise) - Femme fatale… and actually pretty funny. Get past the slut accusations and she's basically an auntie.

Dr. Mary-Ann Walker - Hey! Walker's Aunt— GAH!! WHO'S ALSO SCP-1938-J— MARYNODON'TCLICKTHATKINK GODDAMNIT

Dr. Evans Harper - "You'd better keep your mouth shut, seal yourself lip from lip, else I'll get to cram a mouthful in~!"; loonie. He has flowers growing on him, so pretty, but a loonie.

Agent Convit - STOP FUCKING JACKING OFF IN THE CAFETERIA MAN

General Dravi Kondraki, Junior Researcher Riseo, Dr. Benjamin Kondraki - Are all here too, but I haven't done them yet…

General Patrick Philia - "…ew. Bitch, bitch! DISGUST— DISGUSTING!" (Trust me. No.)

Persons of Interest up for questioning:

Dr. Wondertainment (Wise) - STOP FUCKING TALKING FOR FIVE SECONDS

Liddy Doves, of Doves and Co. Inc. - AND STOP MAKING PRODUCTS THAT MAKE PEOPLE HORNY!!!

Charles Fernando Walker - AND… okay, well, you're fine. You just have to figure out that "Bronze-and-Jade" amulet's SCP-963-3.

SCPs up for questioning:

SCP-999 - The Tickle Monster

SCP-131 - Eyepods

SCP-035 - Possessive Mask

SCP-049 - Plague Doctor

SCP-096 - Shy Guy

SCP-352 - Baba Yaga

SCP-106 - The Old Man

SCP-682 - Hard-to-Destroy Reptile

SCP-079 - Old AI

D-9341 - Respawning Test Subject

SCP-1048 - Builder Bear

THIS LIST IS SUBJECT TO CHANGE. CHECK BACK WHENEVER, THERE WILL BE MORE. :)

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talesfromsiteredacted · 1 year

Text

Dinner and A Floor Show

My first actual date with Alto Clef, nothing too fancy. Just lasagna, a movie, and... my big fluffy goofball suddenly forgetting how to cat.

Six in the evening, dinner is in the oven, and I'm pacing the floor in my kitchen. Midway between my stove and my refrigerator, and I realize what I forgot to pick up at the shops: a bottle of wine. Probably not a good idea anyway, I do stupid things drunk. Not terminally stupid, challenge 173 to a staring contest dumb stuff, just... really embarrassing once soberish.

My doorbell chimes, too late to think about that now. Clef is here. I wipe my hands on my lemon print apron, and go answer the door. He's on time, impressive. Plus... he seems to have two bouquets, one of white roses for me, and... catnip for my furry junkie. I greet him with a big hug.

While I place the roses in a vase, Clef makes himself at home on my sofa. Liam tries making friends in his usual manner, thumping his hopeful friend in the leg with his fabulous tail until they either tell him off or, more likely, give in and pet him. Clef reaches down, Liam plows his head into his open hand.

"Wow, you're clearly friendly, buddy. How about some ear rubs?" Before long, Liam is purring like a jet engine. Achievement Unlocked: Friend? Friend! I sit down next to them. Never figured Clef for a cat person, but Liam is super friendly.

"Hey, dinner is still in the oven. Yes, I made lasagna. But... I might have forgotten about wine, alas."

"Dr. Clef to the rescue, hope you're okay with chianti. It was the only one I could stand, honestly." He hands me a bottle and I laugh. I recognize the label, it's from Dr. Right's private stash. "Had to cover a shift for that, so I hope it's good." We spend a few minutes talking before the timer goes off. At least... that's how it started. Before long though... well... let's just say we seem to both be into each other. Pretty sure if the timer didn't buzz I'd have burned the lasagna.

I break away to get dinner, and Clef follows me. He's checking out my kitchen, just observing. I plate up dinner, pour two glasses of wine. We take our meal into the living room. I turn on the TV.

"What kind of movie are you in the mood for?" I'm flipping though the streaming services.

"It's been a rough week, I need to ridicule the everloving shit out of something horrible. Even worse than the cafeteria soups."

"Not to worry, Sugarbeard. I know just the director. Two words: Uwe Boll."

"Bring it. Let's start with the House of the Dead."

I put the movie on, and Clef just demolishes every decision the characters made, as well as two plates of lasagna. By the end of the movie, we're both a little tipsy. It's at this point Liam decided to be... silly. First, he got a pretty good dose of catnip. Then... he started with the kitty crack crazies. He zipped around the room, climbing the curtains. Then, lept on top of my bookshelf and knocked off a few plushies. He then stole one of the downed plushies, and began dragging around a Blooper by the tentacle. Blooper was then dropped into Clef's lap, followed by the inevitable crash after a half hour of being chaotic nuts. We're both laughing.

"Not gonna lie, Snowbunny. Liam is hilarious stoned." My crazy housemate is now passed out in the plushie pile, a Yoshi on his head askew. His chin is on Bowser's shell, and before long he's snoring.

We settle in to watch another absolute turkey. Not sure if it was the company or the fact that Uwe Boll can't direct for shit, but I don't remember much about what we wound up watching. I do remember the feel of his hands in my hair, his lips on me. I remember the feeling of absolute peace when we fell asleep on the couch together, him slipping under first. How blissful and serene he looked with his head on my chest, the light from the TV leaving highlights in his golden hair. The way he wrapped his arms around me. The man might have a reputation as the devil, but right now in this moment, he's divine. I press a soft kiss to the crown of his head, then I fall asleep.

#scp foundation #tales from site redacted #agent rabbit #dr clef #you had me at lasagna #date night

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asinglesock · 5 months

Text

got to hold my own beautiful, absolutely perfect used good condition copy of The Analytical Lexicon to the New Testament (William Mounce), the lexicon that carried me through fall semester like a graceful yet meek beast of burden

got an early Christmas gift from my dad and it was literally a work uniform shirt from the restaurant I worked at?? he asked them for one??

saw the Christmas gifts I bought online for my sister and my brother-in-law! they're going to work, which is a relief bc I've just about lost my steam for Christmas gifts (RIP to my plans but based on the current mental health I've got to go easier on myself)

washed a good number (but not all) of my musty sweaters

discovered that my two beloved black satin sashes have been destroyed by rats

encountered rat feces on my bookshelf (after my sister apparently cleaned up a larger mess that she wouldn't describe in detail)

I was really hyperactive and chatty and kept bringing up LGBTQ issues without meaning to and getting myself into awkward conversations with my brother-in-law (like actively trying really hard not to set him off but constantly doing it anyway by accident)

hugged a lot of people at church

watched a really xenophobic video lecture on Revelation. The speaker said the 4 horsemen were: communism (evil bc red), capitalism (which is of course not as bad as communism but only its necessary balance), Catholicism (evil bc white), and Islam (evil bc green??). I know that Revelation is a notoriously opaque text and I'm honestly fine with people having equally bizarre interpretations. But this was just irresponsible.

got asked to do a church-related music performance for the first time in 3 years! it's a string trio with my cousins O and A and they're actually excited about it so that makes it a lot easier. The hard part is that we have to find/arrange our own music, I have to transpose a part into alto clef so that O can play it on viola, and technically I should probably double check with the pastor that I am actually allowed to do this, since it was the music director who asked me (I am excited to an unhealthy extent about this)

crawled in a window to help my neighbor who got locked out of her house!

washed a lot of dishes by hand bc the dishwasher is broken and my dad can't get the new one in bc he put in flooring after the dishwasher and now it's stuck

#unsanitary cw #a sock speaks #bitter work #local construction #tomorrow I'm going with the cousins J and A to my favorite restaurant #then going to Ocean Shores with my mother #then (I hope) making egg noodles in broth. there were a lot of drippings I saved from the chicken we had for dinner tonight #literally what was in that coffee I had on the flight. it's 3:42 am Eastern time and I've been awake since 5:30

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scp-l4-clef-alto-001 · 2 years

Note

The Great Director Alto Clef, I finally catch a breath from the foundation's work, water bottle was useful but it contains whiskey coffee more than water, I almost get barred from entering faculty break room. Also, I have corporate with the friend who is fully addicted to u around 4 months, I haven't got the chance to use the bullet u reckon me to bring, but she let me ask u: What book do u recommend in general?

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scp-infohazard · 1 month

Text

My sweet baby child, won'cha make sure to stop by round the first of the month. Figure I'll have something nice for ya.

Yeah, it's April 1st but tell me... would I lie?

-Director Alto Clef

#scp #scp foundation #scp infohazard #deskverse #infohazardgame #scp infohazard game #agent ukulele #kickstarter #dr alto clef #dr clef #scp 4231 b #scp 166

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slipping-is-doing-things · 18 days

Text

Mobile Task Force Everett Herman's Personnel File

Name: Everett Flint Herman

Codename: ████, ███

Security Clearance Level: level three

Professions: Mobile Task Force, Information recovery, Personnel bodyguard

Location: Site 46, as needed

History: Herman has an extensive background in information collection and undercover work through the FBI and CIA before being recruited to the Foundation on ██/██/████. After recruitment he was trained more in depth with hand to hand combat and firearms.

Additional Notes: Herman is required for the continuance of his employment through the Foundation to attend require psychological evaluation's every two months. If an appointment is missed he isn't available for duty and must have firearms taken from his person. That's for everyone's safety!

We aren't sure who's doing this but don't go around stealing Herman's fake guns. The cleaning staff keeps finding them and it becomes more truble than what it's worth. Unless he gives you one or you find it, leave them with Herman. Dr Foster

Addendum

If Personal Director Mavrick Foster is haveing harassment issues have Herman handle this. There is no human resources. human resources is Herman.

Who added that? Don't treat Mr. Hernan as human resources, the foundation has human resources and he certainly isn't that!

Hey, if you see this look below the cut for more detailed information on Everett including his appearance and some other fun things!

Artwork credit: mosssygator through Western Boys Picrew

Voice claim: N/A

Fun facts: Everett is my own version of Alto Clef that became this! His old roots in Clef aren't easily seen anymore but they are there I assure you.

Everett has three other siblings, one of them having been abducted before he was hired by the Foundation.

While Herman does have a Midwestern accent he can drop it very quickly and pick up different accents. This goes for language as well with Everett speaking English, Spanish, German and Arabic.

He got into the FBI relatively young and worked his way up into the CIA due to his skills and previous work.

While he never had a set taskforce he belonged to, he worked as a sort of fixer. Coming in when shit hits the fan and leaving nothing left. It's unknown when he became so trigger happy let alone started enjoying others suffering.

#SCP foundation OC #Slipping's OC's #mobile task force #tw gun #SCP foundation

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worksinprogress1 · 4 months

Text

Another strategy had been tried: training researchers in the way of fine arts and positioning them to be chosen by the Ambassador, such that they might enter Alagadda as a welcome presence.

Unfortunately, the results were the same for every researcher-turned-artist who had gone through this process: once they entered Alagadda, nothing could get them to leave.

"There is one more thing we could try," said one shadowy O5 council member to the board after yet another researcher had been lost to the strange realm. "We could send someone who is impervious to most otherworldly influences. Who has reality-warping powers of his own. Who would never choose art over the violence we let him inflict.”

Another council member, the oldest, looked across to her, eyes sharp. "Alto Clef is an important asset to the Foundation. And moreover, letting him into a realm we know nothing about given his… personal characteristics… could have any number of consequences.”

The eldest member sat back, steepled his hands, and thought for a moment. “Very well," then." he said finally. "We will set him up with Mahavira Madhvacharya for art film mentorship and see what happens. But if he dies, or worse, converts, you may very be terminated for it.”

The woman nodded. “That's a risk I'm willing to take.”

—-

Charlotte shuddered and screamed as millipedes coated in fake blood crawled from her mouth. Her writhing on the floor was a bit of overacting that her director had demanded, but the rest of her reaction was genuine. Her joke of a "director" had insisted that nothing else would do.

“Cut!” Alto Clef yelled, prompting the poor actress to roll over onto her hands and knees and spit out the bugs. “Someone get me a lemon drop French martini," Clef ordered. "We start filming again in seventeen and a half minutes. I want twenty more takes of this by the time the day’s out.”

The actress spat out one last grub and looked at Clef in absolute disdain. “What,” she demanded, “is the point of having six bug-vomiting scenes in a film about children’s drawings?”

Clef lounged back in his director’s chair and smiled ghoulishly at her. “It’s about how human expression is painful, or something. I don’t know, it’s fun for me.”

Charlotte looked over to the renowned but retired art director, Mahavira Madhvacharya, who was sat next to his spoiled little protégé in a similar chair. Unfortunately but unsurprisingly, he seemed perfectly at peace with things. The man loved watching the creative process of "young and blossoming artists" the way some liked watching the bizarre films he'd spent decades of his life creating. It's why he'd chosen to spend his retirement mentoring anyone who wanted to be mentored. "A film does need to be enjoyed, eh, Alto? No meaning will be absorbed without pleasure, surely. But you have to consider what the audience will like, too, no? Don't become too wrapped up in your own preferences."

"Yeah. Sure. I'll think about it," Clef said. He surely would not think about it. He didn't give a damn about children's drawings. Not like his kid could make him any that wouldn't disintegrate in a day from merely being artifical and in her radius. No hand-drawn Father's Day cards for him, just the flowers that sprouted from the wreckage of her containment cell whenever it went too long without replacement.

As Clef returned home to the base that night and did his one-hour off-key ukele solo, he thought to himself, "This is the life." He thought he had it made on the base tormenting SCPs and his coworkers all day, but this. He had a whole year where his "job" was basically to boss people around and make them do whatever he wanted. Sure, they were supposed to move on to other stages of film-making eventually, but he wasn't going to let that happen. And as for the idea that this would make an artist out of him, well, that there was even less chance of.

Yes, as Clef settled down for the night, he was absolutely certain that he'd never go to Alagadda. This would be a fun year, and then he'd go back to his old life. He fell asleep peacefully, blissfully unaware that he was being watched.

That night, Clef dreamt. He was standing in a dark void, and then an explosion occurred, sending fractals of light and particles in every direction. From there were images of things Clef would never have been able to describe.

Clef watched as an alien-looking, water-dwelling jellyfish creature taught a smaller creature of its species- its young, perhaps- to forge ornate glass vases using the heat of hydrothermal vents. After a while, Clef was torn away from their cozy home. He saw its beautiful glass exterior, and then, as he continued to be pulled away, he saw a city of similar ones. He was pulled further and saw more cities, then pulled from the ocean and into the sky, where he saw alien plant life and beautiful cities of stone on the planet's landmasses. And then he saw a tiny blip in the water- the rainbow-coloured corpse of the parental jellyfish. But the cities, the art, the legacy remained.

Clef's alarm went off the next morning at six sharp. He rushed through his usual work out regimen feeling especially amped, adrenaline pushing him through more chin ups than he'd ever accomplished as his mind raced. He had to get back on set. He had to do what those jellyfish were doing.

When Clef arrived on set, he was surprised at first to find that everyone there aside from Madhvacharya looked bored and annoyed with him. But of course they did- he'd been treating this privilege as a joke. "Everyone but Madhvacharya, take the day off," Clef announced. "I need to make some changes to the script. You'll be paid in full."

The actress turned away in annoyance and began walking away, no doubt wondering what fresh torture Clef was cooking up for her.

Clef had no time to worry about that. He took to the side of the old director, who had already been seated beside the director's chair. "Alright. We have to make some changes," he started, putting his chair opposite the directors and sitting to face him. "First, I want the protagonist to be vomiting coloured paint, not bugs. We can use some kind of practical effects to make the colours cover the whole room to show what art does to the world. The windows should become coloured glass. And I want her to survive it. Second, I want this movie to actually be good. You'll have to teach me how to do that."

Madhvacharya smiled enthusiastically and stood up with all the energy his old bones could muster. "I knew you'd find your inner artist," he drawled, "All my protégés do in time."

They began to walk to the desk on which Clef would plan his masterpiece.

"Though, then they tend to disappear..."

---

Weeks passed. Every night, Clef dreamt of art being created by aliens, proto-humans, and even by what seemed like biblical angels. Every day, he woke up and worked on the film, incorporating what he saw or what he'd learned from it. Everyone but Madhvacharya was furious with the constant change, but Clef didn't care. He had eight months left to create his masterpiece. The film wouldn't be publishable by the end of the year, and Madhvacharya would make limited copies of the film and move on to his next protégé, but that was fine. Clef accepted it. He'd keep his copy, share his art with anyone he could, carry the skills into smaller, hobbyist projects afterward, and let that be enough. He'd even started trying to play his ukele well.

That was, until the night of September 28th. On that night, Clef dreamt again of the jellyfish creating blown glass. This time it was a master artist creating a great glass structure as many others followed suit, waving their tentacles around in rows of hydrothermal vents like a university classroom attempting to emulate an esteemed professor.

And then the earth began to shake and rumble, and every last glass structure shattered as the jellyfish panicked. Once again, Clef began to zoom out of the scene, first from the ocean and then from their atmosphere, backing away just in time to see an asteroid reduce their planet to shards of rock.

Dull shards of rock. They must have been miles in legnth, but from Clef's perspective, they were like particles of glass. Clef's scientific knowledge told him that every last shard of actual glass from the planet must have been melted now.

Gone.

Clef was hyperventilating. Once he would have enjoyed such destruction. But now...

From there, Clef saw the particles of the planet disperse and stars in the sky explode, one by one, until the sky was empty. What looked like a biblical angel floated a few feet from his face, and Clef thought that surely it couldn't die. Surely it wouldn't be destroyed by time as well. But it, too, exploded in a flower of blood and viscera.

And then, Clef heard music. He turned, and he saw a beautiful city with strange geometries, painted in red, white, yellow and black and decorated in all forms of art, most of which Clef had never seen before, even in his dreams. He even spotted a palace made of coloured glass, even grander than the ones he'd seen underwater. Clef came towards the city, and as he stepped into its streets, he began to feel safe again. This place wouldn't crumble. It would outlast the very universe and then the universe after it.

Then, Clef's alarm went off. He turned it off, cold with sweat and heart racing.

"We need to start all over," Clef said.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Charlotte shouted at him. "For what? So you can keep overloading this movie with weird shit that no one is going to understand?"

As recently as yesterday, Clef would have snarked at her in response. Today, all that escaped his lips were the words, "I don't know."

How could he make something that mattered? He needed his work to be seen, worshipped, its message known, but even if it was, it would all disappear in the end. He looked over to Madhvacharya, whose face had fallen. "I don't know," he repeated, hoping that his mentor would have the answer.

"Alright, now leave me alone," Clef ordered. "And have someone bring me a martini. My usual order."

"Very well," Madhvacharya said, turning to leave.

Clef faced the paper, his mind empty. Minutes passed, and he tried writing the easiest story he could think of, a simple torture-and-murder type thing that he'd fantasize about on his coffee breaks in the Foundation. He didn't have the words even for that.

Clef's lack of inspiration continued for several days, and the dreams had stopped entirely. Filming continued as Clef directed, his eyes glazed over and the wheels of his mind spinning as he tried to fix his film. The actors were glad for the lack of changes, which annoyed him. Why hadn't he taken the time to enjoy their misery before? He couldn't now. The halls of the foundation had grown quiet from the lack of Clef's ukele solos.

Weeks later, Clef finally had a dream again. No imagery, just a single voice, deep and androgunous and smooth.

Show me who you are, it said. Express yourself. Show me that you are worthy.

The next morning, Clef came into filming, loaded his arms with all the art supplies he could carry, and ran back home. Frenzied, he ran through his unit at the Foundation, coating everything with red and black. That wasn't enough. Home wasn't where he was most himself and he knew it. He took his cans of red and black, with white and yellow, too, for good measure, and stumbled into the SCP research center. He threw a bucket of yellow paint on the ground and began spreading it before he realized that this wasn't enough, either. No. He knew what he must do.

Clef made his way over to SCP 682's containment cell, opened it with his keycard, and threw black paint into the vat of acid containing the anomaly. In its subdued and tortured state, the creature did not react. Once at a safe distance and out of the creature's eyesight, Clef pushed the button to collapse the tank of acid and watched as the reptile thrashed about, roaring and spilling paint everywhere. Soon, the blood of some unfortunate personnel would join the black.

Yes. This was him. He was pure chaos and destruction. This was the self-expression the voice had commanded of him. He could feel it. A bit longer and he'd be done.

At some point during Clef's artistic rampage, in which six more SCPs were released and he faced a strange lack of interference, something was said over the intercom. Clef scarcely registered it. At some point, cameras, microphones, and a harness were put on his body by other members of the SCP personnel. He didn't notice. At the end of twenty minutes, the SCPs were once again contained and Clef found himself painting a door of white on a wall of black. When he was finished, he stepped through the door.

From the control room, several researchers were gathered to watch through Clef's cameras. Through it, they saw a world of four colours: red, black, yellow, and white- though Clef was, for the first time, seeing it with every colour he knew of and some he hadn't. The realm's citizens, all clad in masquerade masks, were strange and alien. Some even floated as though through water. The world's structures and geometries were downright bizarre. The camera on Clef's chest heaved as he took several sighs of relief. And then he noticed the equipment that had been attached to him.

"Ha, you thought you'd try to pull me back if I went local, huh? Well, I'm not going to be held back by some stupid leash."

"Okay, let's reel him back," the head researcher ordered through a walkie-talkie, and on the opposite side of the door, three guards began to heave the cord that connected Clef to the real world. Clef fell backward, but then he used his reality-warping powers to undo the harness. The three guards, suddenly pulling at an empty leash instead of against a man, fell backward.

"What do we do?" asked a scientist from the control room.

"We learn what we can learn from the cameras," said the lead scientist, "and if need be, use our last resort."

The being stomped the ground, and a portal showing all of the universe opened up beneath it. You see, for people to crave creativity, immortality, and all else that our world depends on for its new members, they must fear death and destruction. We will make sure you have time to create, but we would also like to instruct you in the ways of using your powers for destruction. You'll have a role here in destroying worlds and causing random calamities to keep living beings aware of their fragility. Do you agree to this arrangement?

Clef took a moment to absorb what he was hearing. Then he smiled and laughed so hard he could barely collect himself. "Yes," he said. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" Now he would be able to cause more calamity than the SCP foundation ever would have allowed him! The trepidations he'd had before were gone- he was no longer one of mortal creation, so why should their destruction frighten him?

"Clef," came the voice of a female researcher through the speaker attached to his chest. "This being might be tricking you. You know that your life is pleasant at the foundation. Come back. We'll even re-negotiate your contract if you want, we-"

"Shove it."

"Very well. We'll have to turn to other measures, then." With that, the transmission ended.

"Dad," came a female voice from behind Clef. It was a blonde teenage girl with furry grey goat legs and horns. His daughter. And she looked ready to cry. "Dad. Please come back. If you don't come back, I'll stay here."

Clef's mouth hung open as he took in the implications of that. "Honey... you have to leave. Your powers will destroy this place. It's entirely made of man-made materials and some of them are really processed! There's nothing natural under it. You'd the whole world collapse in on itself!"

The girl clenched her jaw as tears ran down her face. "If I go back without you, the foundation will kill me," she said.

"I have to protect this world," said the ambassador. "Will her powers still affect this place if she's dead?"

"Yes!" Clef screamed. "In fact, it'll make them go haywire! This place will be destroyed in a minute if you kill her, so don't even think about it!" It was a lie. Clef didn't know what would happen if his daughter died. He had to think of a way out of this.

The ambassador was not in a rush. It stepped slowly toward the door, and once it got there, pulled a paint bucket and brush out of thin air and painted the portal closed.

It made sense, Clef supposed. He was a threat to Alagadda's existence. There'd been no need to stop him from leaving.

With information on Alagadda acquired, there was no need for Clef to be learning about the art of film. His mentorship was ended and he returned to his post at the Foundation. The very day he was repositioned, Clef bought himself a set of paints. He'd make something to earn his way back to the unending world of Alagadda, and this time the Foundation wouldn't interfere.

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