 Dewey's Dream of Sanctuary was written by Blue Jones. You can find it on the scpwiki at www.scp-wiki.wiki.com forward slash sanctuary-64. It is under a Creative Commons share-alike attribution license. Seated in the corner of the room, Hector stared at the door as he idly brushed his fingers across the serial number on his arms. Someone came by to do their tests, and there hadn't been any tests since that strange energy spike all those years ago. It made Hector realize how lonely he'd become when the researchers stopped coming by. Hector shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. The guards still hadn't come, and he knew that if they did it would only mean more pain, but the silence was stifling. Even the quiet noise that the light made was as silent as the world Hector knew in that room. It drove home the point that he was alone. They made him ask why no one had come from anymore. Was there no one out there looking for him? I mean, after all what else did he have? Researchers were all he had left. Even then it wasn't anything more than a carving session. He knew the researchers took the time to examine samples, weeks, even months would pass, but it was getting to be a bit long now. He didn't even know what day it was. He'd lost track after the second week. He didn't want to know, because if he knew how long he was stuck in that small cell it would sap all the life out of him. His memory core hadn't received any damage, so he tried to recall what had happened that day. From what he could access, he detected a massive energy surge somewhere. Even though he was underground, he could feel something was off. Then, just like how it had occurred, the surge disappeared. Hector just assumed it was something that had happened off site. In any case, it didn't change his situation. Four walls of white, a bolted-in chair and a table to one side. And neither had been touched since his containment. He shook his head as he waited for someone, anyone, to come through that door and do some procedure on him. But still, nothing. A quiet noise could be heard as the lights in the area turned off. With a thought, Hector switched his eyes from normal to night vision, and the door creaked open slowly. At first, his thoughts went into a state of fear. Then a minute passed, and his thoughts turned to paranoia. After five minutes of silent darkness, he got up and peeked through the doorway. The hallways were quiet. The guards, who usually waited just outside, in these once bright white halls, were gone. There were no signs of the researchers. There was a thick layer of dust, not a sign anyone had touched these grounds in years. Why did everyone abandon the area? Aside from Hector, this site held a multitude of abnormal entities that could threaten their goals. Not only that, but it was the only one in the area that could supervise the state of Oregon in all its strange locations, like Three Portlands or the Anderson Robotics corporate headquarters. So what were they thinking? Hector pondered this as they looked into a room with a giant extraction fan turned off, just spinning slowly. He saw the same chamber as his own, except the person within had a bed that looked a little bit more comfortable than his. There was an IV drip and a heart monitor attached to a statue of a man who looked peaceful. But there were no life signs, organic, electronic, or otherwise. So Hector left it alone. It wouldn't matter to him anyway. He was leaving this place and going back to Three Portlands. He followed the fluorescent signs and lines in the darkened halls up to a large open area. Cubicles were lined in organized rows, quiet and stale and much like before. Nothing had been disturbed. There was no panic, no scramble for safety, just quiet. There was a particular office where there was some paperwork and photos that caught Hector's attention. He did a light knock. Wasn't really expecting a response, but it was common courtesy. And he entered the room with a quick scan. He saw that there were only two things that stood out to him. It was his SCP file and a photo. He looked at the photograph of a smiling man and a senior researcher with a banner up top saying, Welcome to Site 64. He then clicked in his head who this office belonged to as he brushed the desk nameplate. This office and this picture belonged to researcher Frederick, a man who sympathized with Hector's situation, the one who would come to cut him and take his sample, and the one who stopped to ask Hector how his day was and sometimes attempted small talk. This caused something to stir within Hector, something that made him rethink this plan of his. Perhaps the humans would return someday. If they did, would they do if they discovered that their precious SCP-1360 had escaped and ran away? Would the Foundation punish his fellow captives? Would they hunt more of his robot model to cut and get more samples? He shuddered at this thought. And he decided that he would go deep into the bowels of Site 64 and restore its power. Perhaps he would leave a note on his sticky pad somewhere that it was him who did it, and then the others would be spared or at least not punished? It was hard to say how humans would react, let alone the Foundation. But he had no purpose now, so he decided this was the best course of action. In the silent halls, only his footsteps echoed. As he descended lower into Site 64, he could see the layer of dust growing thicker beneath his feet, enough to leave footprints in the grime. And he followed the lines that guided researchers and agents to where they needed to go. The deeper he went, the more he felt his physical body trying to stop him from going on. He kept redirecting his mind, trying to occupy his thoughts so that he could go further in. Hector peered into the room where the yellow line guided him. He then saw the great generators of what he could only assume was the power for the whole Site. Hector did the calculations of what one generator could do. Vectoring in subtle quirks of each machine, the average energy of these grand power banks could have 50 years in them if they were left alone. His feet rang with every step he made within this room. Granted that had been happening since he left his cell, but somehow in this foreboding place it echoed more loudly. He approached the desk and expected everything on it. There was paperwork left on it, but it was just some messages between a Daniels and a Pearson about having dinner. He picked up one letter that only appeared to be half written about something to do with a marriage proposal. Hector noticed a faint green glow emanating from behind, and when he turned around, he saw that it came from a canister of strange liquid. He picked it up and examined it. The contents appeared to be a thick substance, and there seemed to be some kind of unknown rod that Hector could not identify. It confounded him what this thing's purpose was until he saw similar canisters next to the generators. Hector then saw an empty hole for the canisters to slot itself into. He had no idea what he was doing, but if there was no more power, then the main doors would remain shut. If the site followed Foundation building safety rules, then they would have made the door to stay shut until someone came back. This led Hector to another place of thought. If the Foundation didn't come to cut him up like they always did and the site was abandoned, then where were the rest of the humans? And why hadn't an MTF come to take care of the anomalies? Hector hefted the canister up and placed it into the slot, letting it slide down the hole, with a couple of twists to make sure it was in. He heard a soft thrum as the lights started to turn back on. It might not have been enough to get everything functioning, but it would be enough to help him figure out what was going on. He looked at the generator and inspected the dials, which were very close to red. A quick calculation left Hector with three days worth of power at the only used essential equipment. Returning to the desk, Hector unscrewed his right little finger and revealed the USB adapter. He turned off the monitor and unplugged it from the walls it was not needed. He then plugged himself into the computer. Years and years of data transmitted onto the Foundation's network was opened to him. Unopened emails, scientific reports on the latest fungus in subsector 14, minutes from the budget meeting, an ethics committee report about potential abuse of an anomaly, MTF containment logs, it was all there for him. Whoever's computer this was is clearly a high level staff member. He could read through them later. For now, he just wanted to see what had happened while he was in the cell. As he removed tabs and tabs of data, he noticed one for the containment cell with the statuesque man and found the containment file. A cursory glance later, he then turned on the extraction fan, if anything, to help them survive for an extra day. Now that his mind was cleared of useless junk mail and pointless emails that were not intended to be seen by him in the first place, he started accessing the systems, compiling a checklist of different problems and complications that had occurred since the humans left. He then began formulating what to do with these issues. Each issue, big and small, could have an effect on the subsequent problem impacting the next objective with extra complications and, oh, by the circuits. He was happy to be doing something else besides sitting in the cell all day. Now, armed with a plan of action, he disconnected from the computer. He looked at his checklist in his head, began to organize what needed to be done first. Power was the main issue, so he would have to set up the solar collectors, assuming Earth's sun was still around. He re-screwed his little finger back on and flexed it to make sure it was on properly, and then, as Hector turned around to leave, he heard a ping in his head. He looked through the closed tabs of data. A flashing message popped out at him. It was a general message to all side staff, the words omega priority flashing on his display. Hector took five whole seconds to decide if it was worth looking at the information or not. After all, this was meant for a human, not a peregrine robot like him. Then again, judging from what he'd seen, when would a human come back to read it? He loaded up the message and saw it contained two attachments, a text log, which included a large chunk of data, and a video message from the site director. The video message began to play as he opened the attachment. The start of the video showed a ragged-looking man in a lab coat. The man looked and sounded tired, almost as if he'd just finished pulling an all-night shift without sleeping, was forced to make this message. He brushed his hair out of his face and looked into the camera. His eyes were filled with sadness or maybe determination. That was an emotion Hector hadn't quite figured out. Attention! The man spoke with authority. His body looked like he had given up, but the spirit could be commended for still giving the air that he had some control. This is an omega priority message to all foundation staff. As of this moment, we don't even know what's going on. Pretty sure this is an XK or a YK, some sort of end of the world. The man sighed and rubbed his eyes. Hector noticed that the man looked at a photo on his death shaking his head. He held his hands and tried to appear professional. Hector noticed 10 signs in his body that he was shaking, with anger, fear, again, emotions he couldn't quite understand. I've sent a message out, the man spoke once more, to all terminals on site. This message will be locked for the next few months at which point the message will be opened and whoever can register at first gets to be site director of site 64. To ensure that no one can enter this place after we go, who knows where, I'm locking the site down. Only a director can open the doors now. This took Hector by surprise. Why do this? What happened? His questions ringed inside his processor. It made no sense to do any of this. Why not do something to stop it? If this was happening on earth, why not hide in three portlands or any of the alternate dimensions? As of now, the man continued, I'm also transferring power to site 64's containment units. If there is a foundation left, it would be helpful to have the anomalies we contained to assist us. All of Anderson robotics could be useful by themselves, not to mention the other entities here that can provide help. Lastly, if anyone has any family, I recommend that you contact them. Whatever happens next. Just know we tried our best. The man stood up and saluted. This is site director Holman signing off. Secure. Contain. Pro. The video stopped. Whatever had happened, Hector would never know. He just knew that the world above was gone. Hector shook his head and sat on the desk, causing it to bend under his weight. What was he going to do? What if there was nothing he could do? He thought about the time in his cell and he wondered if it wouldn't be better to just hide. And then in his mind, a burst of data slammed into his processors and he felt his software being upgraded. He could feel new programs and data constantly changing him with updates upon updates. It felt strange and yet he welcomed it. He saw everything unlocked at his disposal. He didn't know when it had happened, but he fell to his knees and clutched his head. If he had a vocalization unit, he would have been screaming in agony. And then the pain stopped. The data calmed down. His head felt better. Hector pulled out a readout of his internal software to locate any changes within his body. He wanted to see if everything was still operational. Temperature readouts were fine. The casing on his body was 100%. The minor software stuff like optics and site 64 directors authority registered green. His internal clock was functioning, so we concluded that everything was okay. It took him a few seconds to realize that that many had authority for the whole site. Hector's mind raced with the newfound power he held within his mind. It was a system shock to his entire being. Just seeing himself in the same position as that Holman person gave him much more responsibility. The additional options and benefits allowed Hector to extend his mind out just a little bit more. Accessing stuff that he wasn't originally privy to, material like O5 communications, on-site decisions such as terminate all D-class, or initiate a site lockdown, it made Hector feel something in his process or something akin to happiness or pride, but not quite the same. The realization then dawned on him. He was in the same position as Holman. He felt powerful. He felt better. Humanity's potential future lied in his hands. His AI was designing additional programs to help him adjust to this power, the ability to change anything. This was what the power of a site director felt like. As far as Hector knew, he was now the single most powerful being on Earth. He could do anything if the other facilities were online. He could open all the sites or burn the world with just one click. That thought weighed heavily on him. Those were all possible now. Everything he did from now on would represent what he was built to do, everything that had led up to this moment. He reviewed what he could from his memory core, trying to think of what he could do with this power, with this responsibility. The foundation had removed his purpose. Anderson Robotics had abandoned him and left him to rot in a dark cell waiting to be cut up by faceless researchers. Since whatever had happened to the humans, he was then left alone, abandoned by humanity. This was his fate. The world would continue to treat him as something to be kicked around and thrown to the side when he wasn't needed. No more, Hector thought to himself. He had power now. More control than possibly anyone before could dream and with a thought. He reviewed the objects and manifests of anomalies yet to be processed as SCPs. When he was satisfied that they could not cause trouble, he opened their doors and gave them something that the foundation had never given him. A choice. Go outside and try to make a new life or stay and help him rebuild this site to be better. Of course, he didn't need them. When would he need them when he had a whole manifest of unpowered robots that could help prepare what he needed? However, when he read about the ones who had gotten forced into this life, he felt the power and responsibility once more. Hector wished that they'd stay with him, but he also wanted to be different from his predecessors. Plus, it'd be nice to have someone besides himself and that man in the ventilation room. Before he finally left the room, Hector looked back at the dusty generators and nodded. This place would no longer be a jail. That much was true. As he had saw what had happened to the foundation of the rest of the world, he gathered up what he needed as his AI spread out to open the main doors. He was site director now. He could do it, and no one would care. With that all said and done, he made one more decision. He left a message on the foundation net to be played every 24 hours, every day, seven days a week. He figured that if he was alive, then there would be other robots who had survived. They might be alone or unaware that Hector was there and that he was in charge of a foundation site. The message simply had site 64's coordinates and then a general come to this location for safety and security. Perhaps now was the time where the extraordinary could thrive. Maybe this could be a time and age of healing. Hector would make sure that this site would become a new home for everyone. Instead of site 64, Hector would make it a sanctuary. Thank you very much for watching and listening. If you enjoyed the video hit the subscribe button, and if you really want to support the channel, head on over to patreon.com forward slash decemarine and pledge at any level like everybody here on the screen already has, including, there is no including, I keep doing that. No one has pledged above 20 dollars. But regardless, it's nice to know that I'm not alone out here, and I will see you all again on Thursday.