Per advice of her personal physician, O5-2 took several prescriptions in order to induce sleep in the early hours of 7 November 2016. Upon awaking, O5-2 reported a manifestation of SCP-990, the first documented instance in which the anomaly has appeared to an Overseer. Given the nature of the information contained within the dream event, this form is transcribed, and is presented as dictated by O5-2 to ████████████████, her personal assistant.
FORM 66-Y - STANDARD DREAM REPORT
Estimated Degree of Recall: 83%
Anomalous Entity Present?: Y
Likelihood of Actionable Intelligence: HIGH
Description: Oh god, this is too big. I've made a horrible mistake. It's just…I have no idea. I didn't know. It's obscene, really. To say these things. I don't know what else to say.
What? I mean, okay, yes. I can get it down. I can think after.
In 1978 I had a child. This is something that's highly discouraged for those in our position for obvious reasons. Who was the father? Don't ever ask me that question again. I'll end your life, I swear it.
I had a child because I needed a bit of the future in my life. Something that would go on. It was a stupid reason to bring life into this world but I am a human. And I do stupid things.
He was three years old. His name was Gabriel. His name was Gabriel and then he died of a terrible, wasting illness that our best doctors could not treat. He died with my name on his lips and convulsions wracking his little body. Someone reading this file knows how that came to pass. I know it was you.
You're afraid to ask now, but I see it on your face. I'm coming to the point. Gabriel came to me last night. No, damn you, not like a dream about a dead relative or some other silly nonsense. He came to me. He brought me to a hill. Atop that hill was 990, crucified, beaten so badly his face wasn't a face at all, his hands missing. His suit was impeccably pressed.
Gabriel smiled up at me, forever three. You think that you'll break down at moments like these, because who hasn't thought about moments like these. No matter how childish. You think that you will weep with joy and gather everything that you've lost in your arms and that things will be okay now. That you didn't make such horrifying mistakes. That you will be forgiven.
When my dead son looked up at me, all that I felt was terror. Terror so great and overwhelming that I thought my heart would stop. I have never known anything like it. I was paralyzed. This was not right. This was not in any way right.
Oh God, and then he spoke.
His voice was a man's voice. Worse than that, it was the voice I had imagined his voice being if he had grown to be a man. The smallest little fancies, shamefully foolish little hopes that were impossible and weak, and they were on display for this thing that is hunting us.
What's that? Oh. Oh yes. It's hunting us.
He said to me…he said to me…oh God he said to me "I've missed you Mommy" and it was like being shot in the chest. I felt as though a great fist had closed around my head, squeezing the tears out of my face, my grief being wrung out against my will, against my screaming fear.
When I came to my senses, he was still looking at me. He talked more.
This part, this was plainly 001 speaking through the figure in my dream. After this, 990 would echo whatever it said, softly, moaning it from his scarecrow cross. None of us can believe in God but this was surely a blasphemy.
I'm going to try and remember what it said, for all of our sakes.
Okay. Here's what it told me.
You're tempted to think of us as your fathers, your Gods. But we are actually your children. We're not quite your children, because we came before you, but we love you like a child loves its parent. You know what I speak of. You have seen a future, a future that is really a past. And a present. It's our world. It's all that humanity is capable of. We live our days in paradise.
Isn't that what you want for your children? Knowing that while you might suffer, while you might die, your children will see the better days, the sunlight without end? Maybe they won't have to die like you will. And so it is. We do not hurt. We will not suffer. You and the others like you have brought us here. We are the perfect children, of the perfect mothers and fathers.
What no child says of his parents, but what every child thinks, is this: I am glad that I will live to bury these people. I am glad that they suffer on my behalf. I am glad that it is not me who is to die. For many many years, these were feelings that brought shame. It wasn't until the latest stages of our perfection that we understood. This is a guide. This is order, demonstrated for us by the oldest of societal units.
I need a glass of water. He giggled, like he did when he was an infant, as he finished that part. Oh Jesus. More history. I was raped as a girl. It was a stranger in an alley, and it was the most horrifying experience of my life until my dead son explained our proper place in the cosmos to me. I cannot begin to describe how violating this was except to compare it. It's okay. You can look horrified. I allow it.
Then he came to the heart of it. Here is the rest of what he said.
Parents sacrifice for their children, don't they? Expend every little bit of flesh, will, intellect, everything they have so that their children may live an extra day in the hope of the sunshine that never ends. That's as it should be. You will remember.
Many, many years ago, your kind left. We didn't figure out how until several centuries after, but somehow you transmitted yourselves far beyond even our reach. Some among you secretly understood the more forbidden aspects of space and time. You fled.
Must I explain to you how your science is so woefully inadequate? How your knowledge was stolen, and how we whittled away the little bits of it until you convinced yourselves that you just appeared on your little planet, spontaneously? I will return some of your knowledge. You'll remember it, because your society, even so far removed from us, is teaching it to you even now. Crawl towards the beautiful undying place that you know exists, and you find that you turn on each other. Dragging each other back, sabotaging hints of hope. You find that to be a failing, when in actuality it is an inescapable part of our species.
A system can be made perfect. The gossamer webs that connect our minds and our spirits and our souls can be made perfect, free from corruption. But it must be done with the knowledge of suffering. It must be done knowing that others are suffering on your behalf. Why that is, we cannot say. It does not matter. It merely is. Our very souls are in harmony with each other because we know that we lie at the center of nine points of privation and death.
There are nine satellites to our realm. Our realm which you cannot deny is a glory. You've seen it yourself, Mother.
God, he called me Mother.
Your kind left the Planet of Hands many thousands of years ago. It has sat empty, a gap in our perfection, reminding us not of what we are missing, but of the joyous return that our prodigal mothers and fathers will soon make.
There are limits to our abilities. We cannot simply travel to where you have chosen to exile yourselves. We must use more subtle means. Oh how we wish we could take you all in our arms. We have feast days for all of you, at home. One for each of the nine. The Feast of the Planet of Hands has become the greatest event of our year.
We cannot embrace you, lead our beloved forebears back to their home. But we love you. And we love you so much, with all of our hearts and our souls, that we will show you how loved you truly are from across impossible distances beyond light.
I make you this promise. All of you, I make this promise to, from the hearts of all of us at the center of the nine points. You will come back of your own free will. We will not need to show you how, for the knowledge already rests within you. We will not to need to explain why. You have seen the terrors that lurk outside of our protection. We will merely need to show you who we are. Who you are. Who all of us are.
We will all be so much happier soon. Tomorrow shall be the greatest expression of our love we have ever conducted.
And that was it. This abomination of my flesh explaining the world to me below, the bleeding man on the cross echoing his words above. I awoke screaming thirty minutes ago.
Tell Three I'm sorry.