Imperceptible Threads

A/N: All brainstorming is subject to change. Copying what's currently here would be foolish. 👁️


Traversal Specialist Monologue

Someone at Overwatch was flinging ones and zeros into ideaspace, and something came flinging back. The Overseers checked who was waiting on the Cosmic porch, and they were so afraid of what they saw, they decided to fund our entire $150 million R&D project overnight. Or at least, that's what they're saying at lunch this week.

Another bleak day at Base Camp on this blue-and-red-skied hell-planet.

Yes, the skies are half-blue, half-red here. It's like that, all day, every 19-hour day… In which case, I guess they're not days. Don't ask how any of that works — I'm not with Para-Astronomy; I'm what they term a “spelunker”. I cross the gates to the Basal Worlds, somewhere deep in the Macrocosm's A-hole.

Our solution to extradimensional travel is magical technology we spelunkers call “gates”. Miniaturized and modular, these gates are installed stock in at least fifty different sites. It's like every single soft sci-fi shlock you've probably ever heard, and probably never read. Well, the techies upstairs do admit to being inspired. The science team leader calls it “ideatic cross-pollination”. Don't ask.

Spelunkers, like me, travel beyond the gates by foot — grunt-work-level stuff. It's primitive means of study, but hey, I'm not the one proving some science nerd's theory out here — that's what their drones are for. Now, there's many proposed names for the gates. One of them is the Placeholder Exploratory Engine, which I think the techies coined to mess with us spelunkers? You can work that one out yourself. Anyway, the engine runs on a set of self-consistent, pre-ontologically derived principles for narrative cohesion — termed “edits” — which prevent restructuring. The AICs calculate and perform billions of edits per second. They secure safe passage for us biologicals crossing the extradimensional “traversal paths” by protecting our internals from mushing together. It's all based on the theoretical findings of Dr. Placeholder McDoctorate, PhD.

Don't ask about that, either.

Pᴇʀ Asᴘᴇʀᴀ Aᴅ Iɴғᴇʀᴏs

rating: +3+x


Forward Operating Garrison 313-ÆGLIR1 compromised.

Contact with Traversal Specialist VA-1 JUNO suspended.

SCPS Wesolowskana dispatched.

CONTAINMENT CLASS:keter sightseer


Special Containment Procedures:



I. Discovery

II. Initial Interview

III. Collected Texts

IV. Experimentation Logs

V. Exploration Logs

VI. Additional Interviews/Collected Texts

Random Vignette

An autonomous probe whips around a crimson gas giant. Hyper-pressurized rocket fuel swirls beneath metric tons of remote navigation and Waytech telecommunications equipment.

In low orbit, hundreds of unthinking, unfeeling Eldritch attackers await prey like gnats in the spider's den. 14 hours later and the probe returns — a speck in the distant sunlight — and slingshots through high orbit at 50 km/s. Barely space-faring crafts spot the disturbance ripple from behind the planet. They spring forward and spread outward with impossible velocities despite their forms. The ships were wrenched from large masses of foreign, organic structures and fallen bundles of metal snatched from past prey, threaded together with translucent white gossamer filaments.

They lurch into action.

They catch the probe when it rips past and envelop it. The probe bursts, drenching the surrounding area in rapidly expanding coolant, turning everything in a 5-kilometre radius into super-hot blue.

All onboard navigation data is lost, but the beasts care little: They wanted to watch stars dance before them. The remaining ships navigate back into tight formation and sit, waiting again for the next ship. In the distance, all one might have seen was another tiny spark, expanding weakly, then sputtering into cold void.

This is a small game — played weeks on end for years, as their brethren slowly destroy this star system before fleeing to the next.

A game, but one with purpose for those wretched, disgusting life forms on the nearby settlement:

No escape, nor cry for help.

Future Stories to Write (Subject to Change)

  • SCP #1: Unnamed (Locating D-Class aliens in another Universe.)
    • Different designation — Personnel Classification given to employed anomalous extraterrestrial/extrauniversal entities? G-Class Personnel?
  • SCP #2: Noofields!
    • Currently slated for a separate canon — ask first.
  • SCP #3: Pᴇʀ Asᴘᴇʀᴀ Aᴅ Iɴғᴇʀᴏs
    • A science station belonging to Foundation Precursor #155 (“Ourania's Outreach”) — which has been confirmed abandoned for the past 50 years — transmits an extrauniversal distress beacon with a modern encryption key. Traversal Specialist Morgan Lloyd is sent there with experimental Noofield technology for reconnaissance. Inside the station, she discovers extrauniversal demons who have created a nest and have breached the external containment bubble, which has not been maintained in some time. SIGHTSEER Command orders Morgan to prepare the station for a scuttling mission that will be carried out by Special Task Force ω-2 (“Gap-Steppers”).
    • In defiance, Morgan steals pertinent technology from both the Foundation (the Noofield technology) and FP-155, locks down the station, and declares her severance from the organization. She then flees through a makeshift Traversal Gate fabricated by a Foundation manufacturing module.

  • Tale A: SIGHTSEER Orientation/"We Need To Talk About Fifty-Five"-esque story.
  • Tale B: Traversal Specialist Awiti-Jacinth Bélanger becomes lost in Universe-B2N7Q, host to a derelict garrison abandoned by Foundation personnel, after confrontation with an extrauniversal entity.
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