It's only now that I realize it was all wrong. We never had power, we never had legitimate authority. All we had was soap. Dirty, rotten, useless soap. Our dynasty was founded on the basis that Sacred Soap was the supreme product, the most high quality object, a gift from god himself. But not even Sacred Soap can clean the cracks in an empire. Let this be a lesson to you, Earth.

The Ancient Reigadrons built their empire on one thing. Sacred Soap. They could fool the masses, they could make them believe that Sacred Soap had value, and those who tried to prove them wrong became Wahoosians. Wouldn't you know.

I can hear them swarming the city now. My brethren tried to escape, and they were all killed by them. I'm the last one left. It's only a matter of time before they get me.

We always thought it would last forever. All those materials, all those Pintezins, all those Wahoosian slaves. They were our work force, our society's wheels, and we treated them like dirt. Of course it ended up like it did.

You don't know me, but we know you. We've come to Earth many times. We needed your cows. It's all for the Soap. Soap. Soap. Sacred Soap. The Pintezins are extinct. We made them extinct. It's all for the Soap.

SCP-XXXX and SCP-XXXX-1 were discovered within a hollow meteorite in the Mojave Desert. It is unknown when the meteorite crashed onto Earth. Inside the meteorite along with SCP-XXXX and SCP-XXXX-1 was a document written on an unknown paper-like material. The document is written in various languages, including English, but all translate as the same message. It reads as follows:

Fathers, mothers, parents of us all We are the spawn who will not fall From ancient blood we can stand tall Our dominion has no walls And with Wahoosian slavery There stands the almighty king With Sacred Soap, our empire sings Thank you, Ancient Reigadrons, for this wonderful thing

Addendum XXXX-B: The Chant of the Ancient Reigadrons The Chant of the Ancient Reigadrons can be accessed with SCP-XXXX-1 by clicking the phrase "Chant of the Ancient Reigadrons" in Step 8 of the ritual page. This will generate the entire text for the Chant of the Ancient Reigadrons. It reads as follows:

9.) Run back, in a straight line, to the location of the fire, which should've gone out by the time you go back, and grab the golden spear. Stab the golden spear into the back of the Sacred Soap. The golden spear should disintegrate and the Sacred Soap should glow a bright yellow for a period of 5 seconds. After this period is done, it is time to use the Sacred Soap.

8.) Continue running for 1 kilometer in a straight line. Once the kilometer threshold has been passed, stop and repeat the Chant of the Ancient Reigadrons from memory while holding the Sacred Soap in the direction of the nearest star.

7.) Slowly step into the fire and stand in it for a period of 45 seconds, raising the Sacred Soap into the air. If done correctly, the fire shouldn't be able to cause any harm. After 45 seconds has passed, run out of the fire with the Sacred Soap in hand.

6.) Start a small fire and fuel the flames with seeds of 3 different kinds of fruits, 20 different igneous rocks, the still-beating heart of a Wahoosian, and a piece of wood inscribed with the symbols carved on the Sacred Soap.

5.) Submerge the Sacred Soap in a small bowl containing the milk of either a Spotted Pintezin or an Earth Bovine. If Earth Bovines are used, please leave a note of notice in standard Bovine Circular Script using the provided crops. The Sacred Soap must be submerged for a period of 10 seconds before being taken out. At this point, the Sacred Soap should be a heavenly blue, like the vast oceans of Valthabar.

4.) Gently place the Sacred Soap into the front-most right appendage using the front-most left appendage. Quickly position front-most left appendage straight down against body.

3.) Lay down the golden spear flat on a table no less than 2 meters up from the floor.

2.) Vocalize the starting phrase: "Redis Aquej'diawec". The Sacred Soap should turn a holy violet, comparable to the fur of an Eight-limbed Secidrel.

1.) Hold the Sacred Soap with the front-most left appendage, hold a spear molded entirely in gold with the front-most right appendage. The Sacred Soap must be held up 1 meter above the ground, with the appendage positioned below the Sacred Soap. The golden spear must be held perpendicular to the ground, with the bottom of the spear touching the floor, as the warriors of the K'yak Offense Force once did.

Warning: Only for individuals within the Higher Reigadron Species. If lost and recovered by lower individuals, please send to nearest Higher Reigadron Office via Hypermail-Tube. Do not attempt to carry out the Ritual for the Sacred Soap if outside the Higher Reigadron. Punishment for lower individuals carrying out the Ritual for the Sacred Soap will be handed out accordingly.

If the ritual described in SCP-XXXX-1 is performed incorrectly at any point, those performing the ritual will become instances of SCP-XXXX-2. SCP-XXXX-2 is a mammalian creature, two meters in length, with wrinkled, green, hairless skin, six long legs, and two tusks. SCP-XXXX-2 instances lack eyes, instead relying on echolocation, and do not possess any intelligence previously carried by the organism before its transformation. The transformation into SCP-XXXX-2 is extremely painful to the organism affected, and instances of SCP-XXXX-2 appear to live in a state of constant pain.

SCP-XXXX-1 is an electronic tablet, composed of a touchscreen and two metal grips. The touchscreen features a series of instructions that can be carried out on SCP-XXXX. These instructions can be displayed in a variety of known and unknown languages, including English. After completing the instructions described in SCP-XXXX-1, SCP-XXXX will lose all anomalous traits for a period of 10 minutes. During this period, SCP-XXXX functions as a bar of soap, and has no secondary abilities beyond that of a standard bar of soap. Of note is that SCP-XXXX during this state has no discernible scent, and will not give any organism or object that SCP-XXXX is used on any discernable scent. When this period ends, SCP-XXXX will regain all anomalous traits, including any portions that have been separated from SCP-XXXX.

When a sapient organism makes physical contact with SCP-XXXX, a mental cognitohazard will activate. This will cause the affected organism to believe that SCP-XXXX is a supreme or divine object, that those who hold it possess superiority over those who don't, and will attempt to convince others of their beliefs. This affect persists for 24 hours after the organism has lost contact with SCP-XXXX, and the cognitohazard can be afflicted more than once to the same organism.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a hard mixture of potassium hydroxide and an unknown oil, formed into the shape of a rectangular prism; this resembles a sage-colored bar of soap. 5 unknown symbols are carved into SCP-XXXX. SCP-XXXX is impervious to all damage, and any flames or liquids that make physical contact with SCP-XXXX spontaneously disappear. SCP-XXXX is luminescent, constantly exuding a bright green light of 400 lumens. SCP-XXXX also has a constantly changing scent, with recorded scents including but not limited to wet cardboard, liquid copper, lasagna, sulfuric acid, seal blubber, volcanic ash, and SCP-3400.

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX and SCP-XXXX-1 are to be kept in a standard containment locker, kept locked via a number pad. All testing with SCP-XXXX is to be approved by the project leader before application.

SCP-XXXX: Well, I wanted a lime, but there were none around and I figured a lemon would do. And now I live as a slave of lemons, forever wishin’ I had found a lime to call me own, but always in submission to Vitamin C, the one true savior! SCP-XXXX positions his legs on the ground and puts its hands together, chanting "All hail Vitamin C".

SCP-XXXX: Scurvy! Damn the name! But, in the end, me soul was saved! The three brothers, they came after me one by one, each more menacin' than the last. But I kept the reapers at bay with me cutlass, and I cheated death. But those brothers are scallywags, and they said “Ye can live forever, but ye may not live as a human. Ye may choose one object, one thing to forever be part of, and ye may never make another choice again”.

SCP-XXXX: Alas, I fell victim to the plague of the sea, the one ye may feed the fish to yourself if ye don’t get ye Vitamin C.

SCP-XXXX: I was a hand on the fair Caribbean Jewel. She was a mighty galleon indeed; no amount of swashbuckling or looting could have been done without her charging into the smaller Spanish pawns on the sea. Those fancy seadogs in Europe controlled us, but we become free! Me crew was as fine as a nice cup of lemonade! SCP-XXXX removes SCP-XXXX-2 and lifts SCP-XXXX-1, filling SCP-XXXX-2 with lemonade. SCP-XXXX then consumes the beverage and places SCP-XXXX-2 back onto its right arm..

SCP-XXXX: It saved me life, ye seadog! Let me tell ye an old story, when I was a wee lad.

Dr. Sperquem: Is there a reason why you are so enthusiastic about Vitamin C?

SCP-XXXX: Indeed, me bucko. Clippers n’ cogs, galleys n’ rowboats, they all have the same issue. Lack of Vitamin C! It's like the past 300 years haven't changed!

Dr. Sperquem: And you’ve been to multiple ships over the course of your life?

SCP-XXXX: A month or so, me lad. Arr, and I remember that scallywag cap’n too on that new, military ship. Even with a gun in his hands, me cutlass be the most fearsome weapon this side of the pond, yar, har, har!

Dr. Sperquem: How long was your stay within the slave ship until you relocated?

SCP-XXX: Aye, those prisoners aboard that ship were put to some despicable tasks only Davy Jones could've thought of. The least I could do was keep 'em healthy.

Dr. Sperquem: Thank you. Now, according to collected evidence, you stayed inside a slave ship before moving to the USS Constellation?

Dr. Sperquem: I already have a glass of Pink Lemonade right next to me. Now, will you please be cooperative with us?

SCP-XXXX: Ye be needin' some Vitamin C, arr! SCP-XXXX ejects 6 lemons from its mouth at the glass window. Dr. Sperquem remains expressionless.

Foreword: SCP-XXXX and Dr. Sperquem were placed on opposite sides of a protective glass window to limit chances of injury from projectile lemons.

The pirate man is gone. Now the only trace of him is a pain in my stomach, a bunch of lemons, and a note I found on the wall. It reads "Ye scurvy-dogs don't appreciate me service even when I force it upon ye. Well, if ye don't want me lemons, and ye aren't receivin' me lemons, then I might as well leave. If ye find me again, tell me what happened to those prisoners in that ship? I was pretty lonely, I hope they ended up in a better place. Sincerely, Cap'n Sourbeard." I suppose now I'm the one spouting cockamamie.

I thought of calling it a bunch of cockamamie, but I didn’t exactly want another lemon shot at me. So I just told him I wasn't interested in his lemons. He shot 16 lemons at me anyways. He was screaming "Scurvy dog!" over and over. I decided to leave the room. I'm a bit afraid to check the lower deck now.

He said something about swimming for 30 days straight from one galleon to that slave ship, and having to provide the slaves with lemon juice to keep them healthy. He said “Those prisoners be starvin’ and witherin’ away in the bottom bunks, and sea dogs always help each other.” Then, apparently, the slaves went away when he was asleep, and he was just stuck there until we captured the ship. And now he’s here.

I’m not fooling anyone. He shot a lemon out of his mouth and at me. It hurt like the dickens, I swear to Lord in Heaven. I pulled out my pistol and he started waving around his sword. He said “If ye don’t appreciate me lemons, then ye may appreciate walkin’ the plank off this Galleon!” I questioned him what was on about.

I can barely explain what I saw today in the lower deck. I guess I'll give it my best. I was investigating the lower deck of the Constellation when I saw this man, and he looked like a complete buffoon. He was sitting there, in a pirate costume, downing lemonade and singing sea shanties. I asked him where he came from and he yelled at me "Yar, har, har, me origin needs no introduction, what ye need is some lemons!" He lifted his eye-patch and shot some lemonade out of his eye. I stammered back in surprise before I, admittedly foolishly, scolded him for it. Then he shot a lemon at me.

We have captured an enemy slave ship! However, it appears there are exactly zero slaves within the ship. Oh well, I'll get a good report anyway because of this. I did investigate the ship after capture and my Lord did it have a stench. I smelled roughly of sweat and lemons. I could understand the sweat, but I couldn't figure out the lemons until I investigated the lower deck. It was a mess of lemons and dozens of wooden cups. Heaven knows why the slaves liked lemons so much, but I got out of there quick and went on with my business. I suppose I should tell this to the rest of the crew, but I don't want to have to go back to that ship to show them. A hard day's work today.

During a standard SCP Foundation search of the USS Constellation, a leatherback journal was found within a drawer on the upper deck, apparently belonging to Thomas Aloysius Dornin. This journal contains references to what is believed to be SCP-XXXX, which has been supported by the humanoid itself . The relevant texts are copied verbatim below:

SCP-XXXX exhibits a loud and bombastic personality, along with an obsession of Vitamin C. The only sustenance SCP-XXXX requires is lemons and lemonade. SCP-XXXX also does not show signs of degeneration or aging, despite its estimated birth year of 1650 CE.

The right hand of SCP-XXXX has been replaced with a wooden cup, designated SCP-XXXX-2. SCP-XXXX-2 is removable and re-attachable to the right arm of SCP-XXXX. Although SCP-XXXX-2 shows extreme resistance to damage, it does show some sign of wear.

The eye-socket behind the eye-patch of SCP-XXXX continuously generates lemonade. If the eye-patch, from now on referred to as SCP-XXXX-1, is lifted, a jet of lemonade is propelled out. SCP-XXXX-1 is impermeable, and cannot be dampened by any liquid, including the lemonade produced by SCP-XXXX.

SCP-XXXX is capable of spontaneously producing lemons inside its mouth. These lemons can be dispatched as a projectile, and SCP-XXXX has control over the speed at which the lemons are shot . The means which SCP-XXXX uses to expel these lemons is through intense gusts of lemon-scented breath produced within its lungs.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a sapient humanoid entity resembling an adult human male of European descent. SCP-XXXX is animate; however, all organs within SCP-XXXX have ceased function. SCP-XXXX is dressed in an outfit similar to those of pirates during the Golden Age of Piracy (1650-1726), including an eyepatch, tricorn hat, and a red bandana. SCP-XXXX is genetically identical to a C. Limon (Lemon) .

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is kept within a standard humanoid containment cell. No diet is required for SCP-XXXX. Any interactions between SCP-XXXX and Foundation employees are to be approved by a Level 3 researcher, and are to be supervised for any sign of aggression from SCP-XXXX. The containment cell is to be cleaned weekly for lemons and lemonade.

"You know, my hands do feel kinda soft. What the hell is this stuff, anyways?" questioned Herbert, as the doors closed behind him.

Herbert stared at her for a bit. "We already have it done? What was she on about anyways?" he said to himself as he fiddled with the key that was still in the lock, and entered the building.

"Oh, don't worry sir, we already have it done." The woman closed her briefcase, waved a goodbye, and walked away.

"Good sir, I had an, let's just say, experience when I was young. After that experience, I realized the importance of hand-care and the greatness of this product. Few comprehend how important this is. I simply wish to get this out to the public. Everyone deserves soft hands."

"Hand-skin lotion? I guess I'll try it," sighed Herbert, dipping his finger in one of the jars and rubbing his hands with it. "So, what're you trying to do anyways?"

"Sir, please, I have here in this briefcase only the finest of hand-skin lotion and treatment this multiverse has to offer." She opened her briefcase, revealing multiple pallets, vials, and jars of a white substance.

"Sorry miss, but you can't just start selling stuff in my store."

"I do not wish to engage in the buying of commercial goods," proclaimed the woman, her young looks contrasting with a professional business suit, "I wish to sell."

Herbert walked to the locked doors of the Publix, the dawn sun reflecting shades of yello onto the storefront windows. He managed the place, and he, while not the only one with a key, was the only one that would actually go and unlock the entrance. He shoved his hand in his pocket and yanked the key out, inserting it into the keyhole. As he was about to open the doors, a woman walked up behind him with a briefcase in her hand.

“Huh, I wonder how that happened,” answered Judy as she stared at the Hand Milk in her pocket.

“Sorry I was asleep the whole time, did I ever tell you how soft your hand is? It’s softer than usual,” remarked Judy’s mother.

“Hey, sweetie, it’s almost time to go,” said the mother. Bobby and Judy said their farewells to each other, and Judy and her mother started to walk back to her house.

Judy found her way back to the field where Bobby was waiting. “Judy, you were gone for so long, what happened?” he questioned.

She looked around. All of the animals were gone, the pipes were noticeably lacking in hands, and all she had as a reminder of her experience was the jar and Hand Milk. Judy knew that she shouldn’t trust strange things from strangers, especially giant monsters. However, Judy felt like she knew the monster, that she trusted the monster, and decided to apply the Hand Milk to her hands. After all was said and done, she put the jar in her pocket.

“My dear…you don’t think…that this world…is the only world…that needs Soft Hands…do you?” The door slammed shut again, and Judy was left alone.

“Th-thank you?” replied Judy as a hand opened the door to the outside. She started backing up. “Wait!” yelled Judy.

“Little one…you have such soft hands…take care of them please.” A pipe-arm appeared and gave Judy a jar of white fluid. On the jar was a label that read "H A N D M I L K ™ by S o f t H a n d s ®" .

“I have…some outside help.” A number of the long arms appeared in front of Judy, waving at her, before going away. Judy could see a number of pipes protruding from the walls of the room from which the arms came and went.

It was a great monster, a giant lump of dry, cracking brown flesh. It had several thin tentacles that extended from its lower body, squirming about. A small stump extended from the top of its body, with beady eyes and a tiny mouth hinting at the stump being its head. Most noticeable of all was a lack of arms or hands. Judy jumped at the sight of the thing and started to back up toward the door.

She opened the door slowly, creating a creaking sound that echoed throughout the cabin. It was pitch black, and as she walked in, the door slammed behind her. Suddenly, a number of ceiling-lanterns became lit, revealing several of the pipe hands from earlier slithering back into the corners of the room, and a figure was revealed in the back of the cabin.

Suddenly, the hands started retracting back into their pipes, and Judy noticed that the pipes all connected into one single pipe, extending back into the forest. Judy followed the pipe until she spotted where it ended, a remote wooden shack. Around the shack were a couple of animals, each having some kind of hand accessory. There was a bear with hands instead of paws, a flock of pigeons with hands for heads, still with beaks and eyes, and what she was sure was the hand-antlered deer from before. They all engaged in standard animal activity, the deer ate grass as the bear nawed on a fish, but they all stared at Judy. She decided to enter the house.

She looked up a bit, and saw many arms start to pat her on the back before retracting back. She stood up and the hands came back, positioning themselves into a perfect handshake position. Judy decided to join in, shaking the hand of each and every hand. One hand started to tickle her, another patted her on the back again, and some started to form themselves into butterfly shapes, fluttering into the air above. Judy started to chuckle, and each hand joined with another and started clapping.

Judy didn’t think much of the pipe, though it struck her as odd for there to be a pipe in the middle of the woods. However, as she walked past the pipe, it started to rumble and shake. A hand emerged from the pipe , slithering into the air like a snake via an ever-extending arm. Judy started to run back, only to see another pipe with another hand extending out of it. All around her, she realized, were pipes, each with their own hand slithering towards her. She curled up into a little ball, starting to sob, her eyes closed of to the world, until a hand patted her on the back.

She looked thoroughly to find the hand-deer, yet it seemed to have disappeared. Granted, Judy knew that deers tended to be fast, but surely they wouldn’t run that far away. After many minutes of trudging across several fallen trees and piles of seemingly shallow leaves, she spotted something. A rusty pipe extending up from the ground.

Judy started trekking through the forest, Bobby staying behind. “I’ll holler at you if she starts waking up!” he said to Judy, though Judy wasn’t super concerned with her mother waking up. She saw something she knew wasn’t right, and she had to investigate.

“She doesn’t have to know if she’s not looking.” Judy looked beside her to see her mother lying down in the distance, a book resting in her hands against her chest. “I guess this is my chance.”

“You know what? Fine, you can do that. But you still have to stay in the field, you don’t want your mommy not knowing where you are!”

“I’ve never been more scared and confused in my life, Bobby, but that justs means I have to know more.”

“Wait, what?! You can’t just leave here! Plus, you’ll be wandering around in th-the woods! You don’t know what kind of m-monsters live in the woods, especially after that !”

“Just look,” replied Judy. They both looked closely between the trees and saw something move. The two children couldn’t make sense of it. It was a deer with two hands in place of antlers . The hands seemed to move on their own, and one pointed at the children. The deer gave a blank stare at the kids before scampering back into the forest. Both kids took a few steps away.

“You’re it now!” he yelled as Judy continued standing still. She stared mindlessly at something in the distance, toward the forest. Bobby walked back over to Judy.

Judy dashed away, and Bobby gave chase across the green plain. The two ran for ages; back and forth, side to side, and all other directions they went. Eventually, Judy stopped in her tracks. Bobby tagged her on the head before running off again.

“Fine, I’ll show you who’s the real master of tag,” said Judy as she tapped Bobby on the shoulder. “Tag, you’re it!”

“OK, mommy!” said Judy, and the two kids ran through a vast grassy field, only bordered by a clearly defined line of trees that divided a thick forest from the rest of the world, to the shade of a large, withering tree. The pair stopped to catch their breath.

“Alright, you guys play nice, and don’t go where I can’t see you,” advised Judy’s mother to the youths.

“Look, mommy, it’s Bobby, it’s Bobby!” squealed Judy giddily as her mother stood up. Eventually, she spotted Bobby’s mother trying to catch up with her running child.

Today, they had unrolled an old, cloth picnic blanket and brought some peanut-butter sandwiches to eat. As Judy and her mother ate away, a high-pitched voice shouted from behind them.

11-year-old Judy walked across the sunny park, her fragile hand interlocked with her mother’s. It was a weekly routine, they’d go to the park, maybe have a small picnic, probably find one of Judy’s friends, and Judy’s mother would finally have some time alone while the children played. Judy’s eyes always seemed to wander, and she always stopped to smell the roses, so these visits to the park were usually pretty long.

Cynthia had only heard of Christmas once. She was working at the furnace as usual, shoveling the seemingly infinite supply of coal into the roaring inferno, when she heard a conversation between two adults. They weren’t anyone she recognized, not by voice anyways, but somehow their voices were clearly audible through the industrial chaos.

“You think they’ll be doing Christmas this year for the kids?” asked one adult.

The other adult sighed. “They haven’t done any kind of holiday for the past few decades we’ve been working here. What makes you think they’ll start now?”

“We got a real surplus of kids this year, maybe it’ll boost worker morale?”

“And since when did anyone care about worker morale?”

That was the end of the conversation Cynthia had heard some years ago. Although many other conversations, people, or concepts had disappeared from her mind, that conversation between two adults somehow stuck with her. Perhaps it was the sadness of their tone, or maybe the mystery of what Christmas even was. To ask anything would be foolish, however. No one asks questions at the Factory.

Polaroid Pete had gotten sick of Christmas in the last few days. Everytime he even caught glimpse of Old St. Nick’s visage, he shivered; anytime he even heard a whisper of yuletide carols, he cringed. This wasn’t normal for him either; usually he was the one putting up Lighty Brighty Festive Lights™ on his house at midnight, November 1st. This year was different. His friends had certainly taken notice of his unusually scroogey-demeanor, and they had several hypotheses as to why this was the case.

For one thing, Pete had been forced to share the space the Film and Broadcasting Department (also known as the Movie Monsters) occupied with the newest department, the Electronic Entertainment and Gaming Department (also known as the Arcade Argonauts). He never had a great fondness for video games, especially after that incident with the old Pretendo Entertainment Systems™ a while back. To think they were coming back in style was a shocker to Pete, eventually turning to disappointment when any filming equipment on one side of his spacious room had to be moved for the new Cozy Code-Time Computers™ or Really Real Reality Goggles™. Apparently this was a temporary arrangement, but it would take at least another month for these things to be sorted out, so for now he was stuck.

Another idea for Pete’s sorrow was his current project. It was going to be big, everyone knew that; it would be something that could brighten the spirits of any child anywhere. Of course, Pete had high expectations for himself, so it was likely this project would take months to complete, if it wasn’t abandoned all together. This wouldn’t be an issue, perhaps, if he’d accept any help given to him by his companions. Unfortunately, Pete was a recluse when it came to any project of his, no collaboration allowed. The stress of such a big project may’ve been getting to him.

Pete sat in his dusty chair, behind his dusty desk, within his dusty office, looking out the dusty window at the rest of Wonder World!™. In respect for the Jewish population of Wonder World!™, the sun was a Menorah, and would remain a Menorah for the remaining 8 days of Hanukkah. After that, the face of the old, red-coated, Coca-Cola drinking, rosy-cheeked fellow would overtake the artificial plasma ball until after Christmas Day. He was prepared to hide in his office until that point, where he’d look outside and refreshingly see a Kinara in the sky. For now, he just sat in contemplation, his dish-sized kaleidoscope eyes staring at numerous drawings, scripts, and balls of paper of his desk.

“Hey Pete, need a stress ball?” said a youthful voice from behind the chair. Pete looked behind himself and saw a young lass, wearing a red floral dress and high heels, with a 6-foot long neck. Pete looked up just to make sure the neck terminated in an actual head, and indeed it did, revealing a beaming smiling face. He smiled too; the lady was Ms. Giraffe, and she was one of his best friends.

“Sure, why not?” said Pete in responsed to Giraffe’s question, Giraffe throwing him a Small Spherical Squishy Stress-Releasing Ball™. He quickly set it down on his desk and continued staring at his plans.

“Somethin’ stressin’ you out?” asked Giraffe.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing,” responded Pete.

Giraffe frowned. “Oh come on, you asked for a stress ball.” She stared at the other side of the room, where the Arcade Argonauts were play-testing their new game prototype, Superb Giuseppe Siblings™, with a hologram of Waluigi pitching in. “Listen, I know the new arrangement has got you down, but-”

“It’s not that,” Pete interrupted, “it’s annoying, but I can manage. I just…well…look at this.” Pete took out a folder labeled “Factory Accounts” from his desk drawer, and Giraffe bowed her head down to see it closely. Within the folder was pages upon pages of documents, pictures, and letters.

“What is all that?” asked Giraffe.

“It’s the Factory,” Pete solemnly declared, “They snatch up men, women, and children, oh gosh the children, and they put them in the…machine. It’s an industrial masterpiece and a nightmare to any decent human being. I’ve gone through each of these papers. 18 hour shifts, no breaks, injuries beyond bruises and papercuts guaranteed. And the children…they’re treated the worst because they don’t know any better. They…they…” He started to tear up.

Giraffe put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t cry, please don’t cry. I’ve never seen you this upset since Brainy, well, you know. I know it’s horrible in the Factory, but there’s nothing we can d-”

“Who says we can’t do anything about it?!” yelled Pete, “We’re Wonder-hecking-tainment, we’ve been at the forefront of children’s entertainment for how many years now? If we can’t tend to even a single child, then we’re nothing but a sham. I’m nothing but a sham!”

“Now don’t think of yourself that way. You’re wonderful, we’re all wonderful. But we aren’t omnipresent. We can’t be. I’m sorry to say, but…you’re goin' to have to let go.” Giraffe put her head up and left toward the door. As she lowered her neck to fit through, she gave one final message to Pete. “We all love you, Pete.”

That message played in Pete’s mind for a very long time, so long in fact that when he was done the sky had turned black and it was time for bed. He left his office, the Arcade Argonauts still making jokes about “Waluigi Time” on the other side of the room, and he made his way on home. The house was dark, but he felt his way around and eventually found his bed. Despite all he had been through, all he had read, he was somewhat hopeful. He had another outlet for his experiences. The land of dreams. Oneiroi.

“Shit dude, I’ve met a couple people here who used to work at the Factory. They had to escape first, it was so bad in there they couldn’t fucking dream. Pretty disheartening,” said an amorphous body of water, currently taking a roughly human shape. H2Bro, as he was known in the dreamscape city of Oneiroi West, had found Pete in a packed coffee shop (though it was never really empty as one could always conjure up a seat) drinking turquoise Neurotea. This indicated that Pete was sad. In the process of sitting and talking with Pete, he learned about Pete’s research into the Factory and its workers. The rest of the coffee shop bustled with both human and nonhuman noises from all over the Noosphere.

“Yes, it’s so…just…ugh. I just want to make something for those kids, poor, miserable kids. Also watch your language,” responded Pete as he took another sip of Neurotea, which made him only slightly happier to think about the Factory.

H2Bro put his liquid hand to his vague chin. “Wait, how would you even do anything for those guys? The Factory ain’t your normal corrupt business; the Factory devours its workers.”

“Well, us Wonder World! Tee em people ought to do something! I know I can find a way, I know we can find a way. I just have to think.”

“Wait, what’s your position at Wonder World?”

“Tee em, and I’m a Movie Monster. Usually I like to do something big for Christmas, but I just…can’t this year. I was thinking of a TV show for the child workers; it’s not like we can actually send toys to them like Santa Claus. But, I just don’t know how.”

Pete looked down at his Neurotea. Dreams. Everything he saw around him, every person and every building, no matter how conscious, was just a bunch of dreams. He was a film-maker. All films were just dreams put to reality. What if he could put his dreams to dreams?

“Think Pete, think,” he thought. If he couldn’t get an actual TV in the Factory, then certainly he could put a non-corporeal TV in the minds of children at the Factory.

“Think, think, think!”

He shot up from his chair. “Eureka!” he shouted. “H2Bro, do you have any idea where I could find a film studio in this place?”

H2Bro stared at him oddly, “I mean, there’s ol’ Wood Star Studios, b-” Before he could finish his sentence, Pete was already running to the door.

“Thank you sir, thank you!” yelled Pete as he ran into the streets. The rest of the establishment became silent, staring at Pete before staring back at H2Bro.

“What, I don’t know him personally!”

It was the yearly Holiday Toy Presentation Exhibition in Wonder World!™, and, as usual, it was packed. By the time Pete had awoken from his slumber, every row of seats was already full in the Presentation Hall, so Pete had to bring his own Portable Plush Pillow Pad™ to sit on. Still, Pete was as ready as ever to present his idea. His wonderful idea. He only had to wait.

First there was the Guess the Religious Iconography Cookies, then the Cuddly Cuttlefish, then the magic 8-Dodecahedron, and so on and so forth. It took almost four hours for Pete to be chosen present, but when he did he jumped into the air and sprinted on stage. Ms. Giraffe was there, looking at Pete anxiously, along with Woof Woof Waldo, Vladimir Dullteeth, and Thomas Timothy Thompson. Pete jammed his flash drive into the computer, and the projector began to show a slideshow.

“I’m sure at least some of you have heard of the Factory,” said Pete. Certain audience members gasped in response, some even covering their eyes.

“Yes, the Factory, our main competitor in the retail market, known for their unjust, diabolical, and downright cruel practices.” Pete switched the slide, now projecting a picture of various children standing at conveyor belts, some with their hands nearly smooshed.

“One of these practices is the forced extreme labor of children as young as four. Now, you know as much as me that we cannot stand with this. We’re Wondertainment, we represent children’s imaginations and dreams; to let this continue is like letting goldfish sleep with cats.” The whole audience gasped after that line. Pete switched the slide to a picture of a man sleeping soundly.

“Well, speaking of dreams, I have a solution to bring joy to the child workers of the Factory. I’m sorry Toy Tinkers, Candy Catalysts, even you Arcade Argonauts. We cannot bring corporeal objects into the Factory. That’s not to say we can’t bring non-corporeal objects to the Factory.” Pete switched the slide again to show the picture of a black and white tree, a circle contained within the leaves, the tree itself placed within an upside down green triangle.

“I know many of you are unfamiliar with Oneiroi West, but to the dreamers in this room they’re all too familiar. Yes, we’re all dreamers, but I mean actually sleeping. After communication with a fellow dreamer from another land, I learned of what is known as Wood Star Studios. With extra research, I learned that they’re a film studio specializing in animated TV shows. They have a line of infinite illustrators working tirelessly everyday to make Oneiroi television. Don’t worry, they get breaks. So, what is my proposal you may ask?” Pete switched the slide to a child sleeping, and a thought bubble with a TV inside extending from the child’s head.

“The children of the Factory deserve a wonderful winter this year. After all they’ve been through, they deserve it. Whatever you celebrate, Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, St. Lucia’s Day, we can all agree that they need something they’ll remember, something they can keep with them forever! That’s why I propose this: we broadcast across all the sleeping minds of the Factory a specialized Wondertainment TV Show! With Wood Star Studios in tow, we can make something that’ll bypass even the Factory! Because you know what?! We’re Wonder World! Tee Em! And nothing will get in the way of us giving every child a Fantastic, Superb, Excellent, Memorable, Festive, Wonderful Christmas! Do we all agree?!”

The whole crowd jumped up in celebration. The joyous uproar shook the hall, but it didn’t matter. There was a new spirit in Wonder World!™, one that would carry them to victory no matter what stood in their way, one that would lighten even the grinchiest of grinches. There was no stopping them now, as they chanted simultaneously in the hall.

“Wonder World! Tee Em! Wonder World! Tee Em! Wonder World! Tee Em!”

“So, he actually thinks he has a chance with old Rugger?” asked a giant brass bell with two legs to H2Bro, sitting outside of the “packed” coffee shop at an umbrella-covered table. The many suns of the green-purple sky shined oddly onto the two.

“I don’t think he’s aware of the leadership change, Isabel,” H2Bro responded, “I’m not sure he knows there’s a leadership at all.”

Isabel gulped down some of her Neurotea despite her inherent lack of arms or hands. “Do you think he’ll have any luck with him?”

“Maybe with Toasted Poltergeist. There ain’t a chance in seventy three hells he’s getting past Rugger with the criteria and all. If Pete’s show proposal gets accepted by Wood Star, I’ll legitimately be sad.”

“Oh come on, you’re just mad your weird Meatloaf thing didn’t get approved.”

“Listen, if those assholes at Wood Star can’t see the genius in an animated adaptation of Bat Out of Hell II: Back into Hell, then they’re nothing but a bunch of dickless se-”

“Hey H2Bro, and…giant bell person,” said Pete after he ran over to the coffee shop.

Isabel rolled her eyes. "I've heard of you," she said.

Pete blushed. “Why thank you, I’m gaining quite a notoriety around here. By chance, do you know the directions to Wood Star Studios?”

Isabel sighed, “Listen Pete, I do-”

“Right up the road, take a 180 degree turn northwise, and follow the sun closest to Alagadda,” interrupted H2Bro. Pete raised his eyebrow.

“Or just follow this map,” said H2Bro, taking out a small piece of paper. “Don’t get too handsy with that thing, it has been folded an infinite amount of times.”

“Thank you so very much!” shouted Pete as he ran toward the end of the road. Isabel stared at H2Bro with a blank expression, as she had no expressions other than blank ones.

“Why did you give him the directions?”

“I just wanna see how it turns out. For all we know, he could get lucky. Probably not, though. The first part of Rugger’s criteria is to actually sign up."

“Please, sir, you gotta accept this. This is the only chance those kids are gonna get this Christmas to receive joy,” pleaded Pete in front of the entrance door to Wood Star Studios. The seemingly endless dream video tower loomed above him, its the shadow constantly jittering as waves entered and exited the tower. The door dissolved in front of him, revealing a portly man with 6 feet, 6 arms, and a disappointed expression.

“Like I told you,” the man spoke in a hoarse voice, “we have an official sign-up station if you take two steps from the Hat Shop and click your heels three times.”

“I have no time for sign-ups. Look, I know I’m bending the rules a bit, but can we just see if it fits into the other criteria? Even if I don’t sign up, we can still work something out if it fills the other subjects.”

“Like I told you, th-” Rugger paused. “You know what? Fine, I’ll let you in. But, it must fit into my criteria. If, and only if, it fits into my criteria, will it get in. You have one shot, buddy. Gimme your elevator pitch.”

“Thank you. Now, it’s about a young girl who’s Dr. Wondertainment. She wants the world to be a better place, so she seeks to sabotage the Factory with her assistant Emma and her corgi Jeremy. Eventually, Emma gets separated from Wondertainment, and the remaining episodes are about her getting Emma back. Along the way, she makes tons of friends, goes on many adventures, does crazy th-”

“Hold it, you’ve passed your allotted time. I gotta say, I’m unimpressed. It’s a standard adventure story about friendship and what’s right, I already got Ultra Mega Warriors running and it makes us plenty of cash. Is there anything I’ve missed that may change my mind?”

“Well, she spears the Scarlet King in the face.”

“Wait, she does what?”

“Yeah, that’s the finale. Sorry to spoil it, but she plunges a spear right through the guy’s skull.”

“Um…I may be considering your offer.”

“Why’s th-”

“Shush, don’t say anything. Listen, I ran into some shark-punching guys, and now I sorta gotta make somethingto appease them. Do you think you can write this guy M. K. Harker into the script?”

“…Sure?”

“Perfect. Anti-Scarlet King shit is perfect. You’re proposal was accepted, by the way.”

“Wait a minute, really? Why thank you s-”

“Listen, just go. Get some voice-actors, finish the plot, I’ll get my animators ready. OK?”

Pete jumped and ran into the blurry landscape. Realising he didn’t know his way back to the coffee shop, he looked at his map, yet everything seemed incredibly simplified. It had abstracted while he was talking with Rugger, as forgetting about something would do in the dream world. No matter, he would just wait and wake up, and everything would be OK. Everything would be great. Oneiroi would have a hit show on their hands. Wondertainment would be proud of themselves again. The Factory would be bright on Christmas Day.

Pete spent many days and nights working hard on his script for his TV show. At Wonder World!™, he was writing down as much as he could. At Oneiroi West, he was thinking hard of ideas for the show. He had bought a Handy Dandy Insta-Writing Journal™ and repurposed it as a dream journal to record his ideas. One day in the real world, as Pete was writing multiple words a second for his script, Giraffe entered the room he occupied.

“So, you feeling good now?” asked Giraffe.

Pete turned his head around, still writing with just as much speed and accuracy. “Yes, I am mighty fine.”

“I see you got an audience here.”

Pete looked up in front of him to see every member of the Arcade Argonauts watching him write, popcorn in their hands and headsets on the floor. “I suppose I do,” he responded.

“Just, you know, don’t get too worried if somethin’ goes wrong.”

Pete stopped writing, and his mini-audience jumped in their seats. “When something goes wrong? Giraffe, everything is in order. They’re looking for actors there, I’m working on my script here, everything is in order. What could go wrong?”

“You know for a fact that sayin' ‘What could go wrong’ means somethin’ will indeed go wrong. The Factory always has somethin’ up their sleeve, you know.”

Giraffe ducked out of the door and Pete was alone again, writing his magnum opus. As he wrote, however, he thought about those words, about the Factory. What do they have planned? The Factory wasn't an intelligent entity, he knew that. Surely he's have no trouble at all. Surely. The time to strike was drawing near, and only he could stop himself from going through with it. It was only a matter of time.

It was time. Pete got to meet the actors, the actors got to read the lines, and the infinite line of animators in Wood Star Studios started drawing picture after picture. They were brutally efficient, and they had to be if the program were to come out by Christmas. Line after line, color after color, one could hardly comprehend all of the drawing that was occurring.

Pete was also impressed by Isabel, who volunteered to play Dr. Wondertainment. Every time she rung, her naturally beautiful voice would come out. Pete could never decide what name Wondertainment would be. Helga, Anastasia, Parvati. The choice of actor made it easy to just call her Isabel, and every other name could just be her middle names. It was perfect. Everything was perfect. Now was what seemed to be the easiest part of all, actually broadcasting the program to the Factory.

The astronomically tall tower of Wood Star hummed, and the settings were calibrated just write. Now was the time to give the children their well deserved Christmas present. The waves shot out of the tower, toward the Factory, and…they got lost in the mix of all the other waves in the sky. They tried again, it didn’t work. Pete began to sweat exceedingly.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Pete said over and over again. Pete didn’t know what was happening. Surely a tower as strong as the one at Wood Star could reach the Factory easily. Then he remembered what H2Bro said. They couldn’t dream.

This whole time, the Factory’s dream receivers were too weak to even allow the children to have dreams. Their only thoughts must be work and efficiency according to their managers. And to think so much work was done on the show, work all for nothing. How could a child possibly be anything but a cog in the machine if they didn’t dream? Pete paced around the room.

“Think, Pete, think,” he thought. There had to be some way to broadcast this to the Factory. Even if their dream receptors were weak, what if they could be made adequate? How could they be made adequate? The bad thoughts came.

“They can’t be made adequate,” hissed the bad thoughts, “It is all for nothing. The Factory cannot be beaten. You tried wholeheartedly, but there is no succeeding.”

“No!” thought back Pete, “There must be a way! If our waves broke apart in the rest of OW’s waves, then they can stay together if there were no other waves. But how to get rid of all other waves? How to, how to, how to, how to…”

“Eureka!” cried Pete as he pulled a phone from the wall and called H2Bro.

“…hey man, whoever you are, it’s like 11 PM right now.”

“No time H2Bro, it’s me Pete. Listen, everyone needs to turn off their televisions.”

“…why?”

“Because if they don’t get turned off then the waves from our station will get lost in the chaos of preexisting waves and the Factory children won’t receive their presents and-”

“OK, OK, fine, I’ll do it. Should I be forceful or not?”

“Everyone needs to know this. Everyone. Be as forceful as you can be.”

“…I’m on it.”

At one time, millions of phones started buzzing in OW. Begrudgingly, most dreamers picked up their phones, whether landlines, smart phones, dumb phones, or average intelligence phones. Some didn’t bother picking it up, some were away. Still, it did not stop the sound that would emerge from reaching every citizen in OW.

“TURN OFF YOUR FUCKING TELEVISIONS!”

The ground shook as the vibrations of H2Bro’s message was heard all across the dreamscape. One by one, the fearful citizens of OW turned off their televisions, turning the dreamscape dark for the first time since 1988. All the non-euclidean buildings which usually filled OW were invisible to the naked eye in the night. The rolling landscape surrounding Wood Star went from jam-packed with waves to completely silent. The only noise hearable was the low howl of the wind and the hooting of owls.

“Hit it!” yelled Pete. A switch was thrown down and the waves were sent out in the direction of the Factory. They traveled at the speed of sound, through treacherous landscape after treacherous landscape to reach the Factory. Eventually, the sight of many children sleeping in their beds was seen. In the distance, the sun was just starting to rise. They had done it just in time. The waves reached the children’s dreams and the kids smiled in their sleep.

Visions of heroes and villains, high-stakes thrills and quiet moments, comedy and tragedy, characters beyond humanity, and all other aspects of true children’s entertainment filled the dreams of those children. As they watched for a mere couple of seconds, hours of content was comprehended, morals were learned and experiences were had. There was nothing stopping the gift from coming because the gift had already arrived. It was finished. Pete’s magnum opus was done.

Pete sat down on the floor, completely silent. The rest of the cast members, animators, and even Rugger stared at Pete in slight worry. Then Pete giggled. He giggled some more. Eventually he giggled so much it became a laugh. He laughed and laughed and laughed some more, hysterical laughter echoing through the building. In an instant, Pete shot from the ground and pointed to the sky.

“I DID IT!” he yelled in a moment of pure glee before tumbling back to the ground from which he came. Rugger came up to him.

“Come on buddy, it’s time to take you home,” he said, carrying him outside the Wood Star Studios building and toward the rest of Oneiroi West. Rugger cracked a slight smile that day.

“Oh…oh no…H…2…bro…huh? What happened?” questioned Pete as he opened his eyes from his dreams. In front of him were his many friends, including Ms. Giraffe.

“You were out cold for a long time, we feared we would have to call an ambulance. It seems you’re alright though,” Giraffe responded.

“Ugh…did I do it? Did I succeed?”

“From what we’ve managed to get from this letter, it seems you did indeed succeed.” Giraffe handed Pete a piece of line paper. The handwriting was completely neat and orderly.

Dear Wonder World!™, It appears your little friend got a bit too excited over last night, so I brought him back to your realm for you guys. From what we managed to sensor, the broadcast was indeed a success. The waves reached the Factory and infiltrated the dreams of the children working there. You don’t know me, but I’m generally a pretty rough sorta guy. But I gotta commend your TV guy, he makes some quality programming and I wouldn’t mind if he came back. That being said, don’t try to pull another stunt like this again. It’ll definitely fail, we were lucky this time. As a token of my appreciation for getting me out of that feud with the selachian pugilising guys, here’s an official Oneiroi Snow Globe. It’ll help you sometimes, trust me. Sincerely,

Rugger Fiddles, CEO of Wood Star Studios

Along with the letter was a snow globe. It was entirely empty, but Pete was happy nonetheless. It was probably meant to be like that.

Suddenly, a voice broke out from his friend group. “Three cheers for Pete!” The group started to cheer.

“Hip hip…hurray! Hip hip…hurray! Hip hip…hurray!”

H2Bro sat at the back of the coffee shop, drinking his Neurotea alone. It too had become a turquoise color. Without warning, Rugger Fiddles walked into the establishment and took a seat next to H2Bro.

“Hey,” Rugger Fiddles whispered, “I’d like to thank you for, uh, helping us out last night.”

“Oh it was no trouble,” responded H2Bro, “Honestly, I sort of miss the guy.”

“Oh don’t be all sad now, he’ll back soon. Trust me.”

“Hey, I know this is sudden, by I was wondering if you’d reconsider my Meatlo-”

“Don’t get your hopes up, kid.”

Isabel entered the building, turning toward Rugger.

“Isabel, what’re you doing here?” asked Rugger.

“Shouldn’t you be at your office now, doing officey things? I’m just a bit concerned.”

Rugger laughed. “Come on now, Izzie, sit down with me and H2Bro. Let’s have a good laugh over what the fuck happened last night.”

All three laughed together. The next time H2Bro took a sip from his tea, it was a warm red color.

Cynthia shoveled coal into the roaring furnace. Usually, she was very quiet and solemn during her work hours. However, she was happier than ever, a wide smile beaming from her face. In fact, that same smile was shared by all children working at the Factory. The Factory managers were a bit confused, but they figured it was just the workers finally enjoying their jobs. There was no point in asking, why halt all production because a bunch of kids are smiling?

Another kid, a boy, one Cynthia didn’t know, approached her as she continued shoveling coal.

“Hey, did you get that dream last night?” asked the stranger boy.

Cynthia looked up in surprise. “Yes, I did have that dream. The one with the girl?”

“Yeah, and her assistant and dog and stuff. Weird right?”

“It sure is. You think there’s a reason we all had the same dreams?”

“No clue. All I know is that I enjoyed it.”

“Me too. It was like a TV show, the something something in something?”

“I think it was The Realistic Adventures in the Capital? The Random Adventure of Captain? The Real Adventures in Capitalism? Something like that."

“That's what I thought too.”

The two children continued working all day, grins on their faces, not knowing it was ever Christmas. Yet still, the Factory was just a bit brighter that day.