The Glorious and Everlasting Victory of Pablo Foxenflower over the Traitor Lazarus Wyrm

Another email from Briten. Fucking condescending arsehole. God, it’s been so fucking tempting to just plaster his face everywhere with “LEADER OF THE CHAOS INSURGENCY” or something.

The following document is to be immediately destroyed after reading:

Twenty-six of the twenty-nine of Site-3403's staff have been terminated by Task Force Alpha-One following Site Commander Lauren Harris’s direct refusal of orders to terminate Security Guard Raymond Trask after his potential contraction of SCP-9083, “He Of Many Minds”. The termination of the three surviving personnel shall occur upon their relocation. Need a good cover story, kid. Two days. You did real good on the last one, kid, so keep it up.

BEWARE THE BLOODSKULLS

The Chaos Insurgency have struck again, mercilessly slaughtering the practically defenceless Site-3403 down to the last man. This time, they have used their brutal gang of murderers known as the Bloodskulls for their distinctive method of securing entry: having a point in the centre of your forehead worn down to the bone. The leader of this terrible team is none other than Lazarus Wyrm.

Soft-spoken, polite, and covered in tattoos from head to forehead, Captain Wyrm is the leader of the Bloodskulls. In a previous life, Wyrm worked for the Foundation; however, the man grew an unhealthy obsession with SCP-9347, “The Vortex”, and purposefully submerged himself in the hopes of becoming a God. However, Wyrm’s plan both failed and succeeded, as security guard Pablo Foxenflower managed to retrieve him before the transformation could be complete; as a result, the man was both incredibly smart, strong, and durable… but he was now corrupted, and would stop at nothing to finally become a God. He soon broke free of his restraints and escaped from the facility.

Most will never see anything of Lazarus Wyrm except his name and his crimes, will talk to their mates about what a jolly big meanie he was, and then go back to talking about some other mundane shite.

But some will dig. Quite a few, actually, especially those who had lost friends in the “attack”.

And it’s my job to give ‘em answers.

Lazarus Wyrm would be born to Thaddeus and Imperia Wyrm, his siblings Dickon, Auric, and Severa. He would attend the entirely real Red Rose primary school and be taught by the entirely fictional Finbar O’Reilly. After showing repeated interest in both philosophy and physics, he would graduate with a joint degree age twenty-one. He would then apply for a position at Nova Sciences, a Foundation Front ran by the (unfortunately) 100% real and 100% dickhead Doctor Jake Briten. He would then slowly rise through the ranks until he met Pablo Foxenflower, and he became the Foundation’s villain for the next six months until Foxenflower rammed his head into a jet engine.

But it's never that easy. Thaddeus Wyrm’s parents were Hiram and Waverly Wyrm, while Imperia would be the child of Cellaria and Cecil. Thaddeus worked as a butcher, while Imperia ran the finances for him. Backstory upon backstory, lie upon lie, nothing personnel upon nothing personnel… on and on it goes, until even the most desperate of diggers will turn back, fully convinced that Lazarus Wyrm was a real person. Anyone who digs deeper than what I have created will fall victim to a rather convenient paradox: anyone insane/sad/bored enough to spend all of their time convincing people that Lazarus Wyrm doesn't exist is too insane/sad/boring to be taken seriously.

There are 32,084 members of the Chaos Insurgency, and I created all of them with nothing more than an “Evil Name Generator” and an overabundance of military jargon that armchair generals pleasure themselves to. They spend their time trying to “take over the world” for unspecified reasons and occasionally massacring a Foundation Site that’s getting a bit too close to insubordination or that is manned by morons that can’t keep a lid on anomalies. Sometimes the GOC or some other group finds themselves victims of this mysterious organization, and occasionally they topple governments. A very busy organization, the Chaos Insurgency is, especially one made up of nothing personnel.

See, most people in the propaganda division of the Foundation have exactly one maxim: the simpler the lie, the better. The guy who taught me the ropes — that twat I mentioned earlier, Jake Briten, he told me this stupid story about a total moron who had to think up a cover story for this guy who got killed in a containment breach. Guy spent ages coming up with this elaborate backstory about how the guy got killed in a car crash when a drunk driver rear-ended him. Spent all this money on crashing a car and mangling the body and doing all kinds of stuff… only, turned out he didn’t have a drivers’ licence. Because he was blind.

But isn’t that just so… boring? The rest of the propaganda division, they’re complacent with just slapping on “sudden heart attack” and calling it a day. Morons. No, I aim for something greater. Lies can do so much more than cover up mistakes. I can have squads of heavily armed soldiers terrified of an organization that doesn’t exist outside of a few newsletters and my imagination. I can have people of science cursing creatures and personnel that are nothing, were nothing, will always be nothing. I can have impossible anomalies that could destroy the world hold back in fear of dust and whispers. And I —

“Sorry, kid, looks like you’re staying late tonight.” Briten dumps a sheaf of papers on my desk. “Need ‘em done by tonight.”

“Of course, Doctor Briten. I’ll get on them as soon as possible.”

God, I really should make the bastard a CI spy or something. I’ve worked for the prick for three years, he still can’t remember my name. Hell, nobody ever does. That’s the downside to working in the shadows; you can never attack from the front, never see their face crack in fear when they realize you- the one who they belittled and punched around and humiliated — was the one to kill you.

But I’m not even a name to him. To any of them.

I’m just the Nothing Personnel Kid.