 The two doctors stood side by side in the tiny room, facing the locked door on the other side of the one they had just entered through. The elder of the two flipped quietly through a number of pages in a leatherbound journal while the younger anxiously adjusted and readjusted and made sure not to lock his knees. The light here seemed brighter, the younger might have noted. The ear thick with something foreboding had his mind not been racing through the millions of scenarios that might await him on the other side of the door. He had tried at conversation with the elder doctor earlier, but his nervousness had broken through and his voice had cracked. And the other man had just raised an eyebrow and returned to his notes. It was as if an eternity had passed before they finally heard a voice crackle over the speakers in the room. Dr. Van Diver, the elder, raised an eyebrow yet again as Dr. Montgomery, the younger, jumped at the sound. Please state your name as it appears in the Foundation Personnel Database and submit your Level 4 Foundation Identification Number and Pass Code. The voice spoke clearly, its tone indicating a lifetime of repetition. Dr. Van Diver coughed slightly and spoke. Dr. Gregory Arnold Van Diver, Identification Number 4511-12894-19-055, Pass Code 18840-12884-19078-0004. There was the slightest of hesitation before the voice cut through again, asking the same of Montgomery. The elder doctor looked over to him, something akin to sympathy, momentarily crossing his eyes. Relax. He spoke softly. Let's recite the number. Montgomery swallowed, took a deep breath, and recited his own information. Dr. Anderson, Dean Montgomery, Identification Number 928-0-27112-17-054, Pass Code and a brief instance of doubt struck him, but passed when he saw Dr. Van Diver's reassuring nod, 16738-17489-13782-000004. Both men stood silently again, the last of Montgomery's words hanging in the air. Another brief pause, another eternity, and then the door in front of them clicked. Enter Dr. Van Diver and Dr. Montgomery. The sliding panel moved quietly under the wall, and a dull wave of stale, recycled air passed over them. Montgomery was reminded of his time practicing within a prison, where every breath of the men in isolation hung around them like a shroud. The memory caused him to falter briefly, while Dr. Van Diver moved through the entrance. Come along now. He said over his shoulder, we've not much feather to go. The two walked in silence, down the long, white hallway. There were cameras every 50 feet or so, where Montgomery had been told. The floor below them was tile, and every step echoed off the walls around them, announcing their arrival like an army of tiny drummers. As the temperature dropped slightly, Montgomery could feel beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck, persistent in nature despite the chill. Ahead of them was a set of double doors. To the side of the doors was a brass informational plaque, like the dozens of others across the site, but as they approached it, the etching on this plaque became visible, and caused Montgomery's throat to catch. SCP-231-7 Object Class Keter Van Diver was unfazed, and quickly pushed through to the other side. Montgomery gave a moment of pause to take a deep breath, and then did the same. The scene on the other side of the doors was fairly quiet, with a number of doctors standing around various displays looking at readouts and information that are being processed on the machines behind them. There was an air of solemnness around all of them, and the gravity of the room struck Montgomery like a ton of bricks. A clock on the wall read 1945 in bright red numerals, and another to the side was counting down to zero. A tall man in a white jacket noticed the two men and strode quickly across to greet them. He shook Van Diver's hand first and exchanged some hush words, and then he turned to Montgomery to do the same. Good evening, Doctor Montgomery. He said, his expression unwavering mind of bushy gray mustache. I'll have a talkus. My pleasure to meet you. Montgomery met the handshake. Uh, the same. Dr. Targus walked him over to a series of consoles, displaying medical information and vital statistics. Doctor Montgomery, this is your workstation here. I'll give you an opportunity to check out the senses in a little bit and see if you want to make any adjustments. He pointed over towards a side screen, which showed a video feed of an empty white room. This is the video display for the procedure room. We don't keep staff members in the room during the procedure, so this will be your eyes and ears throughout. Is that look all right to you? Montgomery nodded. He peered at the screens, observed the information about heart rate and EEG readouts, and for a moment felt comfortable. This was his element, his wheelhouse. But then his eyes flicked to a screen containing a live ultrasound feed, and his own heart rate began to accelerate. He turned quickly to avoid letting his nerves show. This looks just fine. What else am I going to be required to do? Doctor Targus smiled briefly and then led him over to a large observation window. The window set above a white room, the same room from the video feed he imagined. A single door was on the side of the room to his right, and he looked across the way and saw other doctors and researchers standing on the other side of the command room looking in through the observation window on their side. Montgomery wondered what they were all here to do, and he decided it was probably not worth thinking about. Here in a few minutes, we're going to begin the procedure. Once it gets started, it progresses fairly quickly, so you'll have to keep your wits about you with those momentous. If you notice anything out of the ordinary, report it to Dr. Brunel over there. And he pointed across the room to a female doctor with shoulder length blonde hair, who herself was going over a packet of notes with another short male doctor. She's in charge of medical stability, and she'll be just outside of the observation room during the procedure. You'll be able to page her at your station. She'll be a primary contact for other tasks on this assignment. Montgomery looked up after a moment and noticed Dr. Targus was staring at him. I understand your anxiety, Dean. He slightly smiled again. We were all like you at one point, but understand the importance of our task here and perform your job with the excellence that brought you here, and everything will be fine. Montgomery nodded and swallowed. I thank you, doctor. It's just, you know, reassignment nerves. I tried to get a weak smile out, but he felt it falter on his lips. Just then a tone buzzed through the command room, followed by the same calm voice from the entrance hall. Warning, procedure 110-montant will begin in five minutes. All personnel, please report to your stations. Targus patted Montgomery on the back. I relax, doctor. I think you'll find this assignment isn't so bad. With that, the 10 doctor walked off to a station across the command room. Montgomery paused for a moment to look down into the observation room, where a group of nurses in white scrubs were rolling a small bed through the now open door. After a few seconds, he moved quickly to a station. Taking his seat, his eyes moved immediately to the video screen and he watched the nurses setting up the rest of the room. A rug had been moved into the room, as well as a small table next to the bed, a lamp, and some bedding. Montgomery felt his stomach drop slightly and then looked again towards the clock, above the observation window. It read 1959 and the one next to it, 0024. It was almost time. The screens in front of him hummed softly and the information contained within pushed on tirelessly. He made a few notes and opened a booklet of information he had brought with him and then heard the last tone. All staff personnel, procedure 110 Montauk has begun. He turned to look at the clock again and noticed the large metal plates that slid down over the observation windows, obscuring the room from view. Looking back to his video feed, he saw that the lights within the room had dimmed and the only illumination that remained was the lamp on the table. The door on the wall slid open again and two more nurses walked out, a small girl between them. She was no older than eight, Montgomery thought, and did not look exactly like he thought she might. Her hair was cut very, very short, barely a highlight against her olive skin and she moved awkwardly and it was then that he noticed her stomach. It bulged against the surgical gown she wore and turned her steps into awkward plotting. The nurses guided her towards the bed and helped her up onto it. One of them adjusted her pillow and the other tucked in the blankets. Finished, one of the nurses leaned down and said something to the little girl and then joined the other before exiting the room. Montgomery thought this peculiar and wondered if anybody else in the room had noticed it. He looked up as another voice crackled across the intercom. He recognized his doctor, Tarkas, and saw him standing towards the center of the room watching a series of screens before him. SCP-231-7 is in place. Is the D-Class personnel ready? There was a silence and then, okay, open the door, release the subject. Turning back to his feet, Montgomery watched as a dark-skinned man in a gray foundation jump suit walked slowly through the open doorway. As the door slid shut behind him, the man turned slightly and Montgomery saw that he had something in his hand. He squinted, trying to get a better look at it, but it was obscured when the man turned his back towards the little girl in the bed. With every step the D-Class took towards the center of the observation room, the hair on the back of Montgomery's neck grew ever higher and they could feel his blood pounding through his veins. D-55318, he heard Dr. Tarkas say distantly, you may begin. Montgomery could not look away. His eyes would not allow it, although his mind clawed desperately towards something anything else. The D-Class moved next to the bedside and the small girl with the swollen belly looked up at him, naïve to her impending fate and smiled. Montgomery took back a cry, but stopped suddenly when he saw the D-Class move stool that had been hidden behind the little table up to the bedside. The man sat down and threw the mics within the observation room. He heard the man speak. Hello again, Catherine. He said, his voice is soft. I brought you a new one tonight. It's called Good Night Moon. Is that okay? The little girl nodded vigorously and clutched a stuffed rabbit up next to her. The D-Class opened the book he had been holding and began to read. Montgomery couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. His eyes darted wildly around the room trying to find another person as incredulous as he. He found none. There's no one had turned from their monitors at all. Everybody else in the room was going about their business as usual, making notes, speaking softly into headsets. I mean, Dr. Targus had not butched. And if anything, Montgomery might have said he looked bored. He turned back towards the displays and tried to make notes about variations in her pulse. Blood pressure, skin temperature, but couldn't pull his eyes away from the video feed. The D-Class continued to read through the book, bringing his voice up only slightly to emphasize certain passages. This continued on for 10 minutes. Then Montgomery might as well have been a lifetime. He listened to every word, his mind racing. This is not what was supposed to be. What's happening? What is this? He remembered when he first heard that he was being assigned to SCP-231. He remembered how his coworkers at Site-81 had talked and tried to console him and told him it wouldn't be so bad after the post-assignment amnestic treatment. He'd heard the things they said about SCP-231 about the convicted sex offenders required for the containment protocols about what they did to that little girl, but that was not happening. When this man looked hard, sure, he was a felon almost certainly, but he spoke easily and not once had he touched 231-7. He just continued to read all the while looking up occasionally at the little girl. She was moments from sleep and before the D-Class had even finished the book, she passed out completely. The man laid the book down, stood up, rubbed the sleeping child's head slightly, and walked out of the room. The lamp within the observation chamber dimmed and the lights in the command room came back up. There was a buzz of approval around him and when Montgomery finally managed to pull his eyes away from the screen, he saw that the other staff members were finishing up procedure reports, signing the necessary documents, typing away at their computers and otherwise not panicking. Montgomery spun quickly as he felt someone come up behind him and he sighed when he realized it was just Dr. Targus. The old man smiled again. How are you, doctor? Did you notice any abnormalities within the subject? Montgomery grabbed his notebook and began flipping through it. No, no abnormalities, nothing, except that procedure 110 mon talk was not what you were anticipating it to be. The young doctor nodded. Targus pulled up a chair and sat down next to him. Well, it's usually our policy to debrief new assignments. If you had been called down here on such short notice, we might have gotten a chance to. The secrecy of this project is paramount, however. I'm sure you have questions. Montgomery hesitated and then stammered out a reply. It, one is, yeah, I've heard that it's, you know, that they, yes, that is certainly what we've designed the documentation to imply. That would be about as bad as it could get, wouldn't it? A brutal crime against a child. Yes, it would be terrible. Deplorable beyond forgiveness, but that is not what procedure 110 mon talk is, doctor. Healing bag. Early on in containment of the SCP-231 subjects, we did terrible things to those poor girls, not as terrible as that. But we were being advised only by a handful of occultists we'd been able to capture and extract information from. That was what they had done to contain the demon because of that it's what we had to do. I was not on the project then, and understandably many of those doctors, most of them in fact, are no longer with us. As are SCPs 231-1 through six. It was because of our failings that they perished. And it was because of their deaths that we realized that we had to do something different. Because very rarely are bound by the laws of physics, you know, reality benders can shape the world around us at will to an existence into the play thing. But everything has rules, doctor Montgomery. Even gods have rules. Old laws, yes, are king, but effective. We began to look more closely into information we had gathered about the Scarlet King, about the entity itself, within all of those documents, all the collected material we had at our disposal, and discovered something else. Healing bag again. The demon does not need to be contained by horrifying, disgusting acts, Montgomery. The demon needed only believe that horrifying, disgusting acts are being done in its name. The documentation we've created, the terrible rumors about procedure 110 Montauk, reports of suicide by the doctors working on the project, all of it, is a charade. All of it is to convince the demon that we are doing the worst possible thing to this girl. These procedures, this campaign of fear, has allowed us to sow dread into the hearts of Foundation personnel. And this dread satisfies the monster. As long as so many people believe we are doing terrible things, the monster will continue to believe we are doing terrible things. There's power in Symbol's daughter. The old gods know this and the old gods are bound by it. The Scarlet King does not have eyes to see brutality. It does not have ears to hear screams. It does not have a nose to smell blood. But the Scarlet King can sense fear and we've given it fear. Fear alone is all it ever really required. The old doctor stopped and closed his eyes. Both men sat in silence as a number of other researchers found past them into the hallway outside of the command room. Once most of them had passed, Montgomery spoke up. And the reading, the bedtime stories, Targus nodded. Catherine could not sleep without a bedtime story. How she manages to sleep at all is a wonder to me, but an act of some kind was required to convince the demon. In the eyes of the Scarlet King, Dr. Montgomery, reading those bedtime stories is the worst possible thing we could be doing to her. Montgomery nodded, understanding now, donning on him. He glanced back towards the steel-plated observation room windows. The steel plates, though? Not keeping staff members in the room? Targus opened his eyes. But the danger is still real, doctor. Most of containment of SAP-231-7 will likely result in an XK and we have precautions in place. We're woven into the theater of procedure 110 Montau. So do not think that the way we contain this demon makes it any less dangerous. Indeed, it is likely the most dangerous entity we've managed to contain, but there are things we will not do when Montgomery. There are things too abhorrent and even implying that we are willing to do that makes me feel filthy, but, but if implying is all we have to do, well, I can sleep at least. Another doctor came up to Targus and with a brief farewell, the doctor hurried off to attend to some other part of the room. Montgomery sat quietly for a time, thinking everything over. He turned to look at the video feed where the little girl was sleeping soundly in her bed, stuffed rabbit tucked between her arms. The young doctor felt the anxiety, but beneath it was something else. The dread had vanished, but the fear remained quiet and looming. He turned off his monitors and gathered his notes and he left the room.