Friday, February 24, 2012

Fate Heresy Omake Files: SCP-1359

Item #:

Object Class:

Special Containment Procedures:
SCP-1359 appears to require no external power source to remain functional, and, while closed, offers no threat to its immediate surroundings.  Therefore, it can safely be kept in any magenta-level or higher containment facility without issue, provided that temporary transportation is given to any yellow-class or higher facility prior to any interaction with SCP-1359. Exploration of SCP-1359 is permissible, but only in teams of four (4) with full safety lines.  It is highly recommended that exploratory ventures incorporating personnel C-class or higher remain in areas designated safe by prior teams, as the mortality rate of teams studying new areas has been found to be prohibitively high.  Furthermore, extensive portions of SCP-1359 are filled with noxious gases, and it is highly recommended that all C-class or higher personnel be equipped with hazmat suits incorporating, at very least, a full-facepiece self-contained breathing apparatus or a supplied air respirator with an escape cylinder. ̶I̶t̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶h̶i̶g̶h̶l̶y̶ ̶r̶e̶c̶o̶m̶m̶e̶n̶d̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶e̶a̶c̶h̶ ̶m̶e̶m̶b̶e̶r̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶s̶u̶c̶h̶ ̶t̶e̶a̶m̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶e̶q̶u̶i̶p̶p̶e̶d̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶a̶u̶t̶o̶m̶a̶t̶i̶c̶ ̶w̶e̶a̶p̶o̶n̶s̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶m̶m̶u̶n̶i̶t̶i̶o̶n̶,̶ ̶d̶u̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶n̶a̶t̶u̶r̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶c̶e̶r̶t̶a̶i̶n̶ ̶o̶b̶j̶e̶c̶t̶s̶ ̶c̶o̶n̶t̶a̶i̶n̶e̶d̶ ̶w̶i̶t̶h̶i̶n̶ ̶S̶C̶P̶-̶1̶3̶5̶9̶.̶  Carrying projectile weapons is not recommended in SCP-1359, due to the extreme reaction of certain objects inside SCP-1359 on being penetrated with gunfire.

Objects within SCP-1359 are to be studied on-site, as the subject appears to have automated mechanisms causing problematic behavior in the event that any on-site materials are transported out of SCP-1359. As expected given the nature of SCP-1359, GPS and related systems are entirely nonfunctional within the subject.  Under no circumstances should anything be ingested that was found in SCP-1359.

SCP-1359 appears in the form of a large, extremely old (though ornate and well-kept) oven.  It acts as a normal oven unless a switch on the side is flipped, which causes the door to then open into a space far larger than SCP-1359.  The switch cannot be flipped while the oven door is open; an experiment involving D-class personnel staying in the closed oven prior to the switch being flipped resulted in said personnel being violently [DATA EXPUNGED].

A gold plate on the front of the oven identifies it as the possession of one Jabir ibn Hayyan. While this cannot be confirmed, several of the contents of SCP-1359 are consistent with being in the care of an eighth-century practical chemist, including one alembic and six retorts of varying capacity.  There are also notes scattered throughout, most in ancient Arabic, but several which are either in a different, unknown language or in code; of the readable notes, most discuss the details of simple Arabic food preparation, except for one discussing the automated manufacture of [DATA EXPUNGED].  Most of the foods described are various forms of pastry.  Mention must be made of the "muffins" anachronistically described in some of the notes left behind by its prior owner; from this it is clear that the prior owner of SCP-1359 had at least passing familiarity with 20th-century foods, and may or may not have been the actual Jabir ibn Hayyan.

On first study of SCP-1359 on ██/██/████, there was a large quantity of food stored in several jars which, to all appearances, were quite edible.  One exploratory team (see Appendix B) found and subsequently consumed several pastries (hereafter referred to as SCP-1359-1), which five out of six D-class personnel present described as "quite tasty."  Unfortunately, several hours later, all six having partaken of SCP-1359-1 were [DATA EXPUNGED].

There appears to be an intricate network of security measures installed by the previous user of SCP-1359.  In particular, several experiments wherein Class-D personnel were ordered to remove alchemical equipment results in the item in question being [DATA EXPUNGED], with the offending personnel quickly and violently [DATA EXPUNGED] consistent with a force of up to ██ kN.  This prohibition against taking items does not appear to extend to the food.


The whereabouts of SCP-1359's prior owner are unknown.  SCP-1359 was found on ██/██/████ in the ruins of a small Venetian inn, the destruction of which has been hypothesized to be intimately related to SCP-1342 (colloquially, the "th Grail War"), known to have been won by [DATA EXPUNGED].

Addendum 1359-01:  
Due to the [DATA EXPUNGED] associated with Explored Region 4A within SCP-1359 (see Containment Breach Report #█████46 by Dr. F████ for details), all requests to view, enter, or in any way interact with objects within Explored Region 4A are to be summarily denied to all B-Class or lower personnel.  Further interest in Explored Region 4A by any B-Class or lower personnel should be met with immediate reassignment.

Addendum 1359-02:  
In order to prevent the recurrence of [DATA EXPUNGED] described in Containment Breach Report #█████46, it is highly recommended that all food products found within SCP-1359 (in particular, those found within Explored Region 4A) be transported to a Mauve-level or higher containment facility prior to testing.

Additional Notes:   
██/██/████ :  Seriously, guys, please stop making the D-Class personnel eat the baklava from ER4A.  I know it's funny-- lord knows I've gotten bored and tried a [DATA EXPUNGED]-- but these are human beings, dammit, even if they are D-Class.  And before you ask, this includes you, Dr. Slant.  -Dr. B██.

 ██/██/████ :  It has recently come to my attention that certain personnel have been abusing SCP-1359's capabilities of [DATA EXPUNGED] for the purpose of making-- God, I can't believe I'm writing this-- "really good muffins."  This is about the most appalling thing I've ever heard.  For fuck's sake, people, we're a well-respected research organization, not a bunch of bored housewives that need a good [REDACTED].  -Dr. B██.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Fate Heresy Omake Files: The Horrors Heresy

Part Four
The winds rose, and as Beowulf stood at the top of Tokyo Tower, thunder crashing in the background, he could feel the energies of the Grail beckoning them from within their backpack on the ground twenty feet away. Beowulf hefted his metallic arm, prosthetic tentacles waving as they attempted to fend off the steady stream of blades fired by Poe's Raven Targeter.

"Beowulf", Isaac shouted at his companion from his unsteady grip on the tower's ledge. "Destroy that damn particle cannon or we're all done for!"

"You never will," said the rotting form of Edgar Allen Poe, his one good eye glittering menacingly in the darkness. "Don't you see that the genius of my Pandemonium Engine is far too advanced for pedestrian minds such as yours to handle?" He sneered as he flicked a lever on the back of his power armor, and produced yet another beam weapon, which he used to blast away the bit of rock on which Isaac clung.

Isaac fell, and yelled into the wind.

"[][][][] [][][][][][] [] [][]!"

His descent slowed, and after a second he rose back up to face the decaying poet, grinning madly.

"Pedestrian? Bitch, I *drive*."

The armor-clad zombie stared impassively back at him, quietly dodging an air conditioning unit thrown by Beowulf. "Indeed? Well. In any case, I doubt I have time to deal with you both. Thus I fear it may... be necessary for me... to flee!" His power armor whirred as he took a short step back, and launched himself at the backpack holding the Grail. He flicked yet another lever as he snatched it up, and Isaac could feel a gut-wrenching disturbance in the Immaterium, like that one time Paul had attempted to build a magical grill in order to save money on propane.  Control of his powers lost, Isaac fell to the concrete.

Poe laughed wildly. "Goodbye to thee!"

The dead poet bounded off, unnaturally fast due to the leg enhancements on his armor. Isaac tried to activate his Levitation to follow, but found the Immaterium far too chaotic to use for any such activity. His head bowed, he sighed, and clicked on his walkie-talkie as he watched Poe fall the eleven stories to the city streets. A second later, Poe had disappeared into an alley.

"Sorry guys, it looks like he's got the Grail. We failed."

Caster's voice came back. "I wouldn't be so sure."


An hour and several miles later, Poe knelt in an alley as his gauntleted hand dove into the satchel containing the Grail, ready to recieve its prize. Poe's one good eye glimmered as he thought of the magical energy he could harvest, the things he could do if his Pandemonium Engine could have such a phenomenal power source. And then, as he extracted his hand, he noticed:

The Grail seemed awfully squishy.

Puzzled, Edgar finished pulling his hand out of the bag. The scent of blueberries wafted out with it, and he stared down as bread crumbs fell from the rune-inscribed gauntlet to the asphalt.

Roaring, he ripped the bag open and grabbed one of the objects contained therein.

"Muffins?" He snarled. His gauntlet crushed the pastry within it, its delicious innards squeezed out through his fingers. "MUFFINS?!"

He punched a hole in a nearby concrete wall, and fell to his knees.


Sunday, February 12, 2012

Fate Heresy Omake Files: A Chat With Sophia

Isaac and Beowulf walked along a cramped Italian street.  They looked to the East, where Beowulf and he were fated to meet Archana Sophia, the lady magus who had backstabbed the party more times than they could count.  Beowulf looked contemplative as he nursed a gallon jar of mead.

"Isaac, how should we deal with her?  She is altogether too dangerous to let live; I believe negotiations would be unwise here."

Isaac suddenly grinned madly, as though an idea had just come to him.  He fell to the ground and started doing push-ups.

Beowulf raised an eyebrow.  "What are you doing, exactly?"

"Well," Isaac said in between labored breaths, "the way I figure it, Archana and I, have like a history, like at that fancy ball, right?"

Beowulf frowned.  "Not really much of a history, Isaac.  Remember that she just joined you at the ball as cover for our true purpose, which was filching magic items."

Isaac got up, rolling his shoulders back and forth.  "Yeah, man, but you don't know her like I do.  Shit, man, the way she was lookin' at me... nah, I got this.  You just stay back and be the muscle for this one, 'kay?"

"I still don't understand exactly what you're going to do here."

"Man, Beowulf, you've been cooped up too long in that reality marble 'o yours.  I'm tellin' you, no woman can resist my manly physics."


Isaac began taking his shirt off.  "'Specially not Archana.  She may be, like, a par-a-gawn of evil and backstabbin' and shit, but man, she's still a woman."

Beowulf rolled his eyes.  "Fine, fine.  Let's just get this over with."

The pair approached a thin, robed lady on a bridge overlooking a shallow river.  Isaac jogged up, giving a friendly wave.  "Hello, Miss Archana Sophia! How are you doin' this fine day?  Wouldja like to join us for trying to stop Orpheus?"


The lady clad in thick red robes narrowed her eyes.  "Hello, *Isaac,* you blithering idiot.  I'm afraid I must decline.  I have better things to be doing."

Isaac stretched.  "I do hope you'll excuse my shirtlessness, ma'am, but it was lost in, like, a battle with a kraken or somethin'.  Anyway," and here he walked a bit closer, winking at the magus, "Perhaps you wouldn't mind.... *reconsidering* your offer?"

Archana Sophia narrowed her eyes.  "Archer?"

Isaac's grin didn't waver as five arrows whizzed by inches from his head.  "Come now, Miss Sophia.  Surely you an' I are reasonable folk, who can achieve some sorta... accommodation?"  He stepped closer, and winked again.

Archana suddenly grew red and looked away.  "F....fine!  I'll help!  But it's just so I can backstab you later and steal the grail from you."

Isaac gave a thumbs up.  "I knew I could--"

Archana slapped him, scowl suddenly returning.  "It's not because I like you or anything, so don't get the wrong idea!"  She noticed Beowulf behind him.  "Is your servant all right?  It looks like he's choking on something."

The lady clad in thick red robes narrowed her eyes.  "Hello, *Isaac,* you blithering idiot.  I'm afraid I must decline.  I have better things to be doing."

"Naw, Miss Sophia, I got sumthin' right here I think you'd be real interested in... if'n you accept."  He produced a small package from his satchel, and gave it to Sophia.

"A bribe, hmm?" she said, opening the package.  "What is it?"

Isaac mumbled something.

Archana cocked her head.  "I'm sorry, I didn't catch--"

Isaac suddenly laughed maniacally as the package burst open, revealing a million tiny insects.  "BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!"




The lady clad in thick red robes narrowed her eyes.  "Hello, *Isaac,* you blithering idiot.  I'm afraid I must decline.  I have better things to be doing."

Isaac produced a basket of what looked like muffins.  "Miss Sophia, I reckon you an' I have fought enough.  What say you to a piece offerin'?  I got like ten muffins here."

Archana's scowl softened.  "Muffins, you say....?  Okay, but you have one first."

Isaac shrugged.  "Okay!"  He grabbed a muffin and bit into it.

Archana looked surprised for a moment, and then did the same. "Hey, these are good," she said around a mouthful of muffin.  "When'd you have the time to make these?"

Isaac's voice sounded muffled. "Didn't.  Heh, actually, I grabbed these outta Caster's kitchen afore I left, so you *know* that shit's gonna be good.

Archana suddenly stopped chewing on her second muffin.  "Son of a..."


A few minutes later, Caster walked by and, producing two jars, collected two small newts from off the ground where Archana and Isaac used to be.

"Exactly.  As.  Planned."


The lady clad in thick red robes narrowed her eyes.  "Hello, *Ishmael,* you blithering idiot.  I'm afraid I must decline.  I have better things to be doing."

Isaac raised an eyebrow.  "I'm not Ishmael, I'm Isaac."

Archana laughed.  "Surely you don't expect me to believe *that.*  There never was an Isaac in this grail war, and you know it.  Can we dispense with the childish games?"

"Pfft.  Then who do you think is the Servant behind me, if I'm not Isaac?"  Isaac turned around.

Lancer looked quizzically at him.  "I don't understand what you're saying, Ishmael.  Who's Isaac?"

Ishmael fell to his knees, and collapsed wailing to the ground. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"


Caster grinned from behind a shrubbery.  That had been even funnier than his first idea.

Thursday, February 9, 2012

Dark Heresy Omake Files: Breakfast of Champions

Engraved with two verses of the Dirge To End The World, covered in the dried blood of his ancient enemies, and shimmering in its own power field, Karthal's helmet was a terrible sight as it followed the hapless being flying towards him.  The chainsword in his gauntleted fist whirred to life as he launched himself at his victim, and a spray of fluids across his visor confirmed the accuracy of his blade.

Polycarp gingerly picked up a bit of the remaining orange pulp with one of his mechadendrites.  "I suppose you COULD cut them like that, but--"

Karthal stomped an armored foot.  "BUT NOTHING, FLESHLING!  It is the only honorable way for a Knight of Khorne to prepare his breakfast!"

"It's just, my Mars-Pattern Efficiency Monitor measures that this method is approximately 1,356 percent less efficient than anything else you could possibly be doing.  Look, see, I have this mechanendrite attachment which allows me to suture wounds shut and, in a pinch... well, look, let me show you--"

"Do not touch my breakfast with your cowards' tongs, Polycarp!  The preparation of a delicious Khornate breakfast in a suitably Khornate way is a part of my sacred vows, and you will not sully them!"

"Fine!  Fine."

"Y'know," Antiphon said, twisting a lock of hair around his finger, "If this were a Slaaneshi breakfast, I'd seduce the orange and manipulate it into cutting itself open for my pleasure. Then I would eat it."

Karthal glowered.  "Do not speak to me, Slaaneshi whore."

Polycarp furrowed his metallic brows.  "Wait a second, that reminds me.  Karthal, I thought you didn't need to eat.  Aren't you just, like, a skeleton under there or something?"

"The vows of Khorne last long after death, fleshling.  Now excuse me..." here he grabbed a flamer in one hand, producing a sack of white powder with the other "...while I prepare pancakes.  Direct me to your bathtub."

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Dark Heresy Omake Files: The Slaanesh Game

Doctor Polycarp grinned, mechadendrites waving in excitement behind him as he mixed and mingled with Addolorata's upper crust.  At last, here was his opportunity to impress the Magos!  Only a matter of time before he had access to the Imperial Titans he desired so much.  With the new joke modules he had installed the day previous, he couldn't fail to succeed.

But first, he would have to test out his Diomedes Humor Capacitor on some of the lesser beings in the palace.  It wouldn't do to have it short out on the Magos.

"...and Margaret said-- wait for it-- 'virtue is its own reward!  BWA HA HA HA!"  Polycarp guffawed, fun-motors churning in his throat.

Polycarp noticed that the five unaugmented humans listening were absolutely silent with mirth, and that his Pneumatic Humorometer registered a 92% chance of retroactive hilarity.  Perfect.  Now, he could approach the Magos, and attempt to--

Just then, a voice crackled into his earpiece.  "Begin Slaanesh Game.  Current player:  Rhodan Polycarp."

The Magos would have to wait.

He thought quickly; as the first player, he was (for now) at an advantage, since he didn't need to speak the Chaos God's name very loudly to finish his turn.  However, he needed to shift attention away from himself, or the game would be over very quickly.  And he would "win", if getting gutted by several chainswords at once could be considered winning.

Polycarp turned.  "Ho there, insignificant human!  Would you care to tell a joke?  My Mars-pattern Jest Generator requires a break, or else it could overheat."

The voice crackled into his earpiece again.  "No stalling, Polycarp!"

He subvocalized his response.  "Working on it.  Mars wasn't built in a day."

Polycarp realized that a man next to him, with a large black beard and a sash, had started one of his own jokes (about a very short man and a piano), one which Polycarp's servo-skull had registered as being told approximately 12,304,144,143 times on the data nets it had access to.  The perfect cover.

He pantomimed coughing, and, in the middle of his fit, mechadendrites waving, he mumbled "heuaghhoorSlaanesh."  His 'coughing' subsided a second later.

The other humans looked at him for a moment, but then shifted their attention back to the man telling the joke.  None had noticed.

"Turn passed.  The next player is Antiphon.  Target: 30 decibels."

A response crackled back through Polycarp's earpiece.  "This is so, so stupid.  I don't..."

Polycarp gave a mechanical grin.  "That didn't sound like the name of a Chaos God to me," he subvocalized.

"But I--"

"Thirty.  Decibels."

Silence a few seconds later, and Antiphon's voice sounded again.  "Done.  New target is forty decibels."

Polycarp sipped at the wine in a glass held by one of his mechadendrites.  He noticed that it had begun to taste slightly spoiled since the last sip he took.  Exactly as planned.

Rydol's voice sounded in Polycarp's right ear.  "Accomplished.  Could I get a distraction over here?  The Cannoness is starting to get suspicious.  I think she's started to feel the taint.  Ranjan, you're up.  Fifty decibels."

"Confirmed.  I'll call in a Karthal strike.  That should keep her occupied."

"Glad to hear it.  That chainsword looks nasty."  pause.  "New target is Sixty decibels.  Goshi, it's your turn."

Polycarp sent his servo-skull to taste the air.  It was becoming more corrupt by the second.  Good, good.

"It looks like the Karthal drop might be delayed somewhat.  We may have a... uh-oh."


"Shit, Polycarp, watch out--"

Polycarp felt a tap on his shoulder.  He turned around and found the Cannoness, long silver hair flowing down her back, hand on her ceremonial (though, Polycarp knew, entirely functional) chainsword.  "Good morrow, System Administrator Monotrout."

Polycarp gulped, artificial throat muscles whirring.

"Why hello Cannoness!  I am entirely pleased to, ah, see you!  How goes the, uh, war?"

She scowled.  "Dismal.  The heretics avoid confronting my blade directly; if they just came out in the open, my job would be much easier."  She reflected.  "I suppose that means they aren't stupid."

"Well, I wouldn't--"

"I don't suppose you... have any thoughts on the subject, do you, Doctor Monotrout?"

"I don't--"

"Especially because I had my retinue check your records, and there are certain... inconsistencies.  *Inconsistencies*, Monotrout.  You aren't in the Schola Progenium at all."

Just then, Polycarp's earpiece buzzed once more.  "Polycarp, you're up.  Target is 70 decibels.  You have twenty seconds."

The Cannoness gave a feral grin.  "No words for me?  Not even denial?"

"Cannoness, I'm really certain there's been some error.  Perhaps a rogue machine spirit.  Or infection.  The Schola--"

"--has had the same system administrator for its Materials Procurement Division for the last two hundred fifty years.  Did you really think that we wouldn't notice your lies... Rhodan Polycarp?"

"Ten seconds, Polycarp," the tinny voice in his ear said.

Polycarp froze.  His Nervousness Regulator was going full-bore just to keep him upright.

"Well... I actually--"

As the Cannoness was ripping her blade from her sheathe, the enormous set of double doors that marked the entrance to the Governor's Palace bent inwards and collapsed.  A towering figure clad in heretically-engraved power armor strode into the room, chainsword screeching as it decapitated a nearby guard.


Polycarp clicked his microphone on.  "Looks like we have a winner."