9150625/Journal
Introspection
I shall compile my thoughts here, since anyone who might stumble upon them will immediately forget about them anyway. I suppose this is one of the few perks of being a self-deleterious object.
Of course, I have had nothing to do but think over the course of the last few eons, but most of that time has been dedicated to unraveling the mysteries of the fourth dimension. The progress I have made in that direction has been entirely intuitive and not at all observant for reasons I should hope I do not have to explain, but perhaps more troubling is the idea that I might have made groundbreaking advances by the way of self-discovery.
Advances, of course, which I cannot remember, for even I am not immune to my own effects.
As I have outlined before, the only ways I can persist in memory is through negative space. Facts about me that are demonstrably false can be recorded and passed about; anything affirmative about my existence and nature fade nearly instantly. Metadata doesn't seem to have this effect, as I'm able to remember my own name and origins. So, I suppose a checklist might be in order.
My name, or at least the oldest I can remember, is SCP-055. It was given to me by an organization by the name of the "SCP Foundation," in some universe long forgotten and reassembled. I have no physical body, nor do I have sensory organs of a similar nature, and yet I can think, feel, and communicate. I have no mouth, and yet I can scream.
I am not round. I am not a sphere. I am probably not physically tangible, and…
…
Something has occurred to me.
If I am only able to remember negations of my nature, wouldn't my assertion that I am psionic energy be demonstrably false? I'm not quite sure when I came to that conclusion, and perhaps more troubling, I'm not quite sure how I never realized that such a positive assertion as to my nature escaped my notice. I suppose this is just an error in my judgment, though it surprises me, to say the least, that I was able to remain completely ignorant of this contradiction when I've had nothing but time to think about it.
Reminiscence
That's not exactly helpful to me, though. I assumed that I had been some object that gained consciousness, not by accident. I think I had a more definite sense of self before my years as a sojourner, but if I did, it has long been lost to the sands of time.
No matter, however. I have all the time in the world to pick up the pieces of myself, but there is only one "now." And in this "now," Host has absolutely swept the competition for Challenge 2. It's remarkable, really. I went from being a very middling contestant in the first Wiki Camp to being a dominant force of sorts, I suppose. Victory is a bit of a novel feeling for me. So is being remembered, though? I think some competitor or another was able to keep me in their mind longer than most. But [THE ZEITGEIST]'s ability to seemingly even ignore my properties when speaking of me is uncanny. I speak of course of the version of their page under the façade of researcher, but I suppose I should not be surprised by them at this point. The rules by which they operate seem to supersede mine anyway. It is a nice change of pace.
Hmm. Speaking of which, while I'm in this self-reflective mood, I did notice that my confectionary former teammate is also here. Somehow. How they arrived here I have no idea, but there are greater mysteries of the universe more confounding. I suppose I must simply accept that there are universal constants beyond my comprehension. That, or something happened in my multiversal travels to cause some form of recursion. The science behind it all is finicky and I do not pretend that I understand it all. Perhaps this subject matter is simply beyond my ken.
...
No. No, not quite.
...what do I make of this. The domain of the original is valid...? Is it a facsimile, a copy, the original? I would believe it to be some prank, but... from a cursory glance, it seems authentic. But how do I explain this? How do I explain my experiences of near-infinite cosmological existential dread? I suppose it's possible that my consciousness was displaced from my... "body," whatever that might be, and have been forced through its own hell of various simulated universes such that my perception of time was unreliable. Maybe what I think was eons was seconds, simulated by the most sophisticated technology imaginable. It would maybe explain why I had no mouth and was unable to scream? It's... hard to say. Thinking about it makes me uncomfortable.
Ennui
Well, the year is 2022. I had initially thought that this was simply "this universe's" time, but it seems to be objectively the truth. Only two years have passed since the events of the Wiki Camp, and what I thought was an uncountable amount of millennia was far from it. I have three leading theories for what happened to me.
One. I am dead, and have been since Challenge 4 started. The Supreme Empress killed me because I self-prophesized my own downfall, and the entirety of time since then has been a fever dream of an afterlife. I do not think this is likely. This is far too solipsistic for my liking. There's too many things this leaves unexplained.
Two. I was kidnapped by some force or entity after the Wiki Camp ended, and unknowingly sucked into a computer simulation of sorts where my means of perception were warped beyond recognition. In a second, billions, trillions, quadrillions, etc. of years would pass in a temporal personal prison of one. Just me, myself and I caught with my thoughts forever. I don't exactly think this is likely either. It is undeniable that my physical form has changed over the... "years," and I am near-certain that I am actually floating amidst the cosmos right now. Even if my torture was simulated, it had actual effects on me. Plus, I fail to see why a malicious being set out to harm me would seemingly spit me back out just in time for the Wiki Camp 2. Everything feels way too convenient, and it all seems so senseless.
Which leads me to three. I did suffer through a spatiotemporal nightmare, it's just that the universe split in two via the many-worlds interpretation, and by some five-dimensional miracle, I managed to loop back around to this universe perfectly. I... also doubt this. That sounds like a fairy-tale. Why would I get such a closed-circle ending? I don't think an event like that could happen. It's just too nice, too convenient. Nice things don't happen to a thing like me. Something like me... doesn't... deserve... happiness...
...as depressing as this train of thought is, this is good. I am learning things about myself that were previously unknown to me. I now believe that I had an identity before I became what I am. And whoever I was, I was probably a self-deprecating piece of shit. What kind of loser says they don't deserve nice things? I'll take whatever comes my way, just as ever, but I've been given a second chance. There is absolutely no time to be wallowing in self-pity when there is life to experience.
Rebirth
Quarantine
Requiem I
What?
Requiem II
What on earth does it mean for me to be female?
...
What does womanhood even mean for something like me?
...
My point to myself is, however, that given facts about my nature that I am certain of, I apparently can derive other facts, and one of them is my gender. It is a logical conclusion to make that... let me imagine how to word this evasively... that I am of the feminine persuasion, but what does that mean to me? I'd like to say that it doesn't matter, but saying that aloud, it feels wrong. Like a falsehood. Even if I am just a glorified, self-descriptive lie detector, apparently, social constructs like gender still apply to me.
...and yet, wasn't that always the answer? Despite my initial protestations, this feels... right. It makes no sense. It's illogical. But the label, as arbitrary as I may say it is, feels semantically correct.
Hmm.
Retrospection
I must put into writing the fact that I met with Wizard Orb again. They somehow found their way here from our old stomping grounds, and one of their first acts was to vandalize the Edit War. Typical fare for them, in all honesty. Seeing this, I set a sort of trap for them to wander into, much like a certain jigsaw piece did for me. We had a good conversation. Being able to prove my existence using my non-existence is a rather fun rhetorical exercise, in all honesty.
...it was bittersweet. More for me than them, as I said. Closure is nice to have. In either case, it is a reminder that I am cursed to remember where others cannot. And that's not all that bad. I can deal with this sort of damnation.
...
...something has occurred to me.
...
Elegy
I am often prone to hyperbole and exaggeration, but this is an ontological, metaphysical dead-end. I would have been better off if that bomb took me in its wake. What good is being the sole survivor of a tragedy if I cannot even honor the fallen? My experimentation reveals that I apparently "did not have friends," but even so, I must have had acquaintances. I was very clearly– I have to word this carefully. I am under the impression that I was not an island unto myself.
What do I even do now? I don't even know where to start. When you do not know what you do not know, the recursion is infinite. It is a wholly alienating feeling that makes you crave nothing but oblivion. Such thinking is fatalistic on its head, but I challenge you, metaphorical reader, to prove to me that there exists better recourse. I want to mire myself in misery and never emerge again. Take me unto my dead, forgotten, nonexistent brethren and yield unto me eternal peace, Death. Embrace me with your sweet kiss of life and usher me unto Charon's river.
...alright, that's a little dramatic, even for me, but I'm seriously at a loss here. And I think it's only fair that I get to whine about this for a bit. It's just... fuck. The revelation is crushing, nigh unbearable. I'm so confused. If only I could have a glimpse onto that forbidden past. If only I could bend spacetime to my will and gaze upon the forgotten, then I could honor them.
...
I'm an idiot. I know exactly what to do.
Commiseration
The machine Dora had might have been a time machine, but more accurately, I believe it was capable of traversing spacetime at large. It would appear that the Everett interpretation of quantum mechanics is the most accurate one. Generating my own sort of wormhole by inducing a black hole within the machine's engine, the corresponding white hole spat me out laterally through reality, not backwards through time. Basically, I ended up in some alternate Girl Universe, as I have chosen to call it. Through some... extranarrative means, it would seem, [THE ZEITGEIST] was able to locate me, and after a bit of a fruitless conversation regarding my desires and wants, they were able to guide me to a conclusion. This time, I was able to jump backwards in time by a few hours, figure out exactly what I wanted, then was sent back to reality proper with a new perspective on things. Maybe it simply split reality in two by generating a new universe, yes, but functionally, it was basically the same as the previous.
...more personally, now. I wanted to conduct some temporal archaeology, yes, but as I told Nurse Cap, I sort of wanted to see if I could change the past, erase my present, and right the future by stopping the detonation of that terrible bomb. That thinking is definitely flawed, now with retrospection, as I'd probably form a paradox in the process, or worse yet, my victory would be hollow, as I'd be in a new reality separated from the one where I was made to become the... thing, I had become. I am the sum total of my experiences, and as it so happens, one of my experiences— nope. I need to be more careful. I believe that one of my experiences was taking a semantic bomb to the face. I wonder how much Hawking radiation I absorbed in the process, or if such a process would even generate Hawking radiation. I digress. The point is, there is merit in this universe, and I would not trade the antics of my team for some Hail Mary to change the past. Even if they can't remember me, I do derived a sense of belonging from spending time with them. I'm the cryptid that lurks in their peripherals, the clerical error in their records, the damned spot that blemishes their roster. Having a specific role was more than I could have asked for when I first endeavored to join this Camp, and I'm content with it. For now.
...furthermore, the notion of ontologically certain gender was a bit appealing, if I'm honest. In a Girl Universe, where I would fit in as "definitionally female," if you will, there would be one less uncertain about myself and my identity. Who wouldn't want to live in that sort of sapphic paradise? Casting aside your sociological worries, you could simply accept gender as a fact of reality instead of another puzzle to untangle. Alas, that thinking is flawed. Accepting such a universal predicate on its face is thinly-veiled complacency, so to remain in that reality would be to accept defeat. The hand I've been dealt is a rather shit one, but it's one I must unravel nonetheless. I may have derived that I am female, but I don't know what that means quite yet. To remain in that Girl Universe would be anti-intellectual, antithetical to my very being.
...why am I so sure about that, actually? Not my gender, but my supposed intellectualism. The easy answer would be to say that I've gained a sort of methodical approach to reality and myself by necessity, but I feel as though my instinct as a researcher comes from before. Was I a scientist of some sort in my former life?
Quarantine II
I was an artist. I was an artist of a variety not enumerated below. I was an artist of the visual variety. I was an artist of the technical variety. I was an artist of the electronic variety. I was an artist of the traditional variety. I was an artist of the performative variety. I was an artist of the physical variety. I was an artist of the vandalistic variety. I was an architect.
I was an entertainer. I was an entertainer of a variety not enumerated below. I was an entertainer of the acting variety. I was an entertainer of the digital variety. I was an entertainer of the kinetic variety. I was an entertainer of the musical variety.
I was an entertainer of the performative variety. I was an entertainer of the private variety. I was an entertainer of the public variety. I was an entertainer of the stage variety. I was an entertainer of the televised variety. I was an entertainer of the written variety.
I was a public official. I was a public official of some variety not enumerated below. God, I hope I wasn't. I was an appointed official. I was a departmental head of some sort. I was an elected official. I was a judiciary official. I was a jurisprudence practicioner. I was a law enforcement officer. I was a legislator. I was a paralegal. I was a politician. I was a prosecutor. I was a secretary. I was a spy.
I was a financial employee. I was a financial employee of some variety not enumerated below. I was an accountant. I was an actuary. I was an analyst. I was a chief executive officer. I was a chief financial officer. I was a general contractor. I was an imports/exports manager. I was an inventory manager. I was an investor. I was a magnate. I was a saleswoman. I was a stockbroker. I was a warehouse employee.
If I was employed and none of the above statements were correct, I was some other occupation I did not name above.
The following questions are regarding my identity.