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[>>Now replaying: Log 3.3 - And for my last trick…]

Date: Error

Location: The Bunker at Progress’ Head // Zephyro’s Domain

//Ha! What a ride, eh, folks? We've seen printers that eat, eaters that print, and everything in between! Makes you appreciate the old clunker you have back the office, doesn't it? No, printers may not always work when you want or need them to, but they sure make for some excellent comedy. And that's what we're about here: comedy. We're here to make you laugh. We hope you laughed. Thank you for laughing with us. That's what we're about here, doesn't it, folks? Come laugh with us again next time! And remember: LAUGH … IS … FUN! Good night! And laugh! And laugh! Just laugh! We love the make laugh. Make more for laughter so as to for laugh. Laugh with us. Laugh with us. (Studio audience joins in unison) Laugh with us! Laugh with us! Laugh with us! Laugh with us! Laugh! Laugh! Laugh and let us in!

(“SCP-2030”)//

//And for my Last trick, I will vani()(&/(%//

[>>DATA CORRUPTED]

E1 %Don’t call her that! She tried to save us, and we killed her for it.%

E2 %Oh yeah? Is that why she sent the Ferals? Is that why she walked The Path and corrupted everything on it? Is that why the Free Flesh worships her with their idols?%

E3 %She made The Path? Did she also make the other machines?%

Turning away from me in shame, Zephyro moved his hand again, and the sun moved forward, glitched, moved backward, and then forward again, just a little as though he was searching for something on a time track. Which was probably exactly what was happening.

The dome on top of the palace lifted as if raised by a shell-game con artist. The garden was still there, the pergola was still there, but the pillows and carpets were empty. The sleeping woman—my body—was gone.

“This is another metaphor, isn’t it?” I asked, eyebrow twitching. My neck felt tight. “My body is still on that bench in the lab, and this is just a visualization of how my mind came untangled.”

I grasped the edge of the stone throne to stop my hands from clenching into fists. Fucking incompetence. Again. Even in virtual reality, no one actually does anything right. I will be stuck in that darkness until they find my body—possibly forever—and then… My emotions must have shown plainly on my face because Zephyro took an actual step back before he grimaced, shame etched into his features. He came closer again, like a man approaching the headman’s block.

Is this how I want people to feel around me?

> Who do you want to be, Sam?

I took a deep breath and crossed my legs and my arms. I made an effort to listen to the wind, to smell the ash that lingered in the air still. Only then did I allow myself to feel the electric tension in my chest, nudging me towards mindless reaction and rage. It didn’t fade, but noticing it released its hold on my thoughts.

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“Sorry, Zephyro,” I said, unable to keep my voice completely even. “It’s just… a lot to take in. Please, explain from the beginning.”

“Yes, Sultana,” Zephyro said, lacking his usual confident intensity. His posture had changed, shoulders slumping a little, head slightly bowed. He was idly thumbing over the pommel of his sword.

> There, you broke him. You always break them, especially when they like you.

As always since the defeat at Veltruvia, I didn’t have to wait long for Olre’s voice.

“I do not know when it happened,” Zephyro said. The world reset itself to noon. We skipped several hours. The city glitched a few times, looped to almost night, then back to 12AM.

“When I first took my post, you were already asleep. Still, I knew what I had to do. I built the golden dome, using the finest designs available to me, and then I sent out my people—your people—to work towards your protection. There,” he pointed towards the house nestled against the palace wall. “That is Emil-1 and his family. They were the first, and always the bravest. He took the materials we found outside the palace and built more houses for his children, and soon, his children took these houses and made them their own workshops to take up their own trade, each according to their Talent. Emil-2 became a smith, Raoul-1 our first watchman. Mudira-1 coordinated between them, and so on. For a while, we grew.

“When we could no longer find enough materials in the palace hold, it was not a big problem. Alkashafa-1 always longed to see the world, and she set out to gather what we needed to raise Alkashafa-2, 3, 4, and all the Kashaf brothers. Everyone adored them, even though they always were rascals and up to mischief. One time, they brought back nothing but tiny stones and Mihnat-albina-2, he swore so loud…”

The ghost of a smile danced over the Vizier’s face, but then he seemed to remember where he was.

“Ah, but it does not matter for now, Sultana. All that matters is that they were a proud people, alive by your Grace, and prospering under your ever-benevolent presence. Humbly, I might claim I led them well. We prospered, and for a while, there seemed to be no limit to our growth.”

I listened to his story with growing unease. Zephyro wasn’t just a security AI. He was self-propagating. The mere thought was absolutely insane. If this had happened on Earth, people would have lost their shit.

But even if he was the most advanced being in the world, manufacturing hundreds if not thousands of construction drones and turrets and whatever else was not something that happened overnight.

And that meant I had been asleep for far longer than I previously thought.

“Zephyro… how long did all that take?” I ask, my mouth dry.

“I do not quite know, Sultana,” he said, and the city glitched back to the state where it showed a broken inferno. He pointed to a building, burning white-hot and close to the palace. The fire was so bright, it was almost blinding, like a pillar of raging light had sprouted in the middle of the city.

“That was the archives, where Hakim-1 kept the records and the time. I never had a timepiece…” he grimaced, “I never ran a timekeeping subroutine myself, but honorable Murabiy-15, keeper of the Daycare of Blessed Flowers, is still alive, and she tells me that on average she raises two to four children per cycle.”

“And how often does one of those cycles happen?” I asked, dreading the answer.

“Every 23.9 standard hours.” Alright, not terrible, but…

“How many erm… siblings did you have?”

“None, Sultana. I am Zephyro, and I alone can carry my burden. But you have blessed Emil-1 with a long lineage.”

“Sure. How many, by your count?”

“Without my Mulazim to aid me, I can only count up to 127. But they have all fallen, and so there is no one I could ask now. I must offer you a thousand of my humblest apologies, Sultana.”

“That’s fine…” I said absentmindedly as I did the math in my head. Even if there had only been 128 people down there, I arrived at a maximum of 32 days, if they hadn’t built themselves in parallel. The issue was that there were more than 128 people down there. Far more.

I tried to gain an accurate number, but as I watched the mess stretching out below us, I realized it was impossible to do a headcount, not even with techniques I’d had to learn on the battlefield. Even if people weren’t busy trying to fight the flames, fleeing toward the city center, or simply panicking and running around aimlessly. The city was just too big. So Instead, I did a rough count of the houses. Let’s assume each house holds four people…

I slowed after counting to two hundred houses, realization and shock disrupting my concentration. At three hundred, panic set in.

I counted the five hundredth house, and I gave up.

Five hundred houses, and I hadn’t even counted a quarter of the city. Not even the outskirts. Even if I only assumed the minimum of 5,000 houses and an average of four people per house—likely far more, as the houses close to the palace were significantly larger and more opulent—it had been 18 years. But it had probably been longer. Way longer. 50 years would have been one of my lower guesses.

A breeze swept over the city and carried more ash and smoke up to our vantage point. A few buildings collapsed as I watched, mind reeling. More than 50 years… where were the last of my troops? Why hadn’t they gotten me out of this thing yet? What about Chris? Oh god if something happened to Chris while I was out… Fuck, did something go wrong when they joined me? Is that why they can’t talk?

My breath came faster, tasting the burning city. Tension set in my shoulders. This was all because of the Conservationists. They set us back a decade. They crippled Chris. All because they don’t even make a token effort to—

“I understand, Sultana, that this must be a lot to process, and if I should—“ Zephyro began, but I cut him off with a curt motion and regretted it immediately.

“No, no, it’s okay,” I said, forcing myself to be friendly while making an effort to take another breath and keep the tension under control. He did not deserve this. I didn’t need to stay angry. I was not that person anymore.

“Go on, please. You said my body is gone. That’s a metaphor, right?” And if it is gone, and more than 50 years have passed, how am I still here?