A Beautiful Machine I Made

Working for your life's passion sure is hard sometimes. Work, work, work, design, work, test, redesign, work, work work workworkworkwrksdmiafasdfj

Get up at 5 AM. Check the schematics. Check the materials. Go buy materials. Get the hammer. Get the circuitry going. Slam a reality anchor somewhere in there to keep shit from going bonkers. Request energy input for today. Request rejected. Ask again. Argue. Stop from choking the fucker. Work until 12 AM. Sleep. Get up at 5 AM.

Oh, but today's been great. Today I woke up happy, in fact. Like I knew I was finishing! My very own goddamn Spontaneous Generator for Spontaneous Generating of matter. Damn, I would have put on a labcoat if I had one. Well, not actually generating matter, it's actually taking it from somewhere. I've made it take matter from some random universe and organize it into a blueprint I design. See, it's fascinating how that kinda transportation works. The very small tiny quarks just pop out of their universe and… Pop! Now they're here. And then it's like I'm a conductor commanding my very own orchestra! But not just with some predefined instruments - I can make my own on the fly! Even put out some that I imagined myself! And then those instruments will sing my very own melody that I made for that exact moment, and my views will come to being, dream to reality, as if descending from heaven itself!

Oh, it was beautiful - If you had seen it! You could feel the electrons running through the wires, to my machine. Every single one running from atom to atom to atom to atom until they went in, sucked by my masterful design! They dance to my orchestra, further powering the beautiful sound. If you had just seen those beautiful wires! At first I threw them randomly, for they were only means to an end, but then I started seeing it - such beautiful shapes tangling around themselves, from order to chaos and dancers to my song! And they were so many… I heard thirteen gigawatts danced to my song, like beautiful swans!

And the board - you should have been there. Fifteen buttons I made, and seventeen smaller ones. Six levers and three smaller ones. Feeling like a demiurge, I mastered the very strings of my own creation, able to create truth from fantasy, from thought to being, orchestrating life if need be.

I remember that exactly - I put the schematics in the thing where schematics went (Haven't named it, it's like a circular board, in which you plugged one of these… I don't know the name. Like a metal rod with everything but the tip covered in some plastic, and you plugged in the tip and then the information inside came out… Damn, why do I feel this sounds overtly sexual? That metal rod must be pretty premature, although it serves perfectly for my creation) and then the very thought made itself visible in the circular screen for me to give it the last touch…!

Like, imagine that! The emitters, every one a smaller portal, bringing in their load like trucks to perform my grand design, masterful as no other. Then, the load would enter the field of my influence, exerted through magnetism and gravity, and come to play my song.

It was like a party, yes! People from different countries and dimensions and universes coming and dancing and playing my instruments, and then the anchors - which mind you, I made myself - would be guards in case pesky conflict came in. Two different parties, one of playing instruments and the instruments dancing, and the other of very sound having its own party for my delight.

That moment - in which I pulled the last lever, when this very thought came to be, oh yes, when the party began…! When it all came together…!

But let's go back for a minute. So, I come in my own office, repurposed for my grand machine. There are notes on the ground but I won't read them. Surely the higher-ups would take away my tools and toys because it was "too dangerous." I checked the machine one last time, making sure every nut and bolt stood in its place, ready to serve my orders. Click! The power starts coming in, I can hear the humming. The anchors were particularly hungry for the delicious electronic excitement electricity was. And when the moment came - I stuttered. Damned be that moment. My fingers refused to move. For there was one thing missing.

What melody would I play? What schematic would become true?

And then I smiled, my muscles twisting for my teeth to be displayed. One thing, one that I wanted. One that would marvel everyone! I would finally be recognized as who I was - a true demiurge!

I looked one last time around my office - so glorious were the aluminum walls, the wires coming down the main facility. I knew the door outside would persuade anyone from interrupting my work, for my very own writing was engraved into it. Yes, I remember the words that I wrote! "Don't come in, working for the SCP Foundry!"

But oh, it didn't stop them. As the machine powered up, and the humming of the transporters and the anchors sang my overture, the damned impostors came in! Took down my precious door, and threw me to the ground. But it was too late, and they knew. One of the coated impostors came in, hands pulling hair, and stood in awe at my creation, for even they could recognize the beauty…! Looking aside, the lights were dimming - a sign that my creation was about to arrive. The whole thing screamed, for no substance could hold such beauty without singing, and it shone white, in heat and divinity. The ground itself felt it, for it gave in around us, trembling. I got scared, you see. Maybe the machine was dropping into a cursed ravine, never again to be seen, but thankfully the earth respected my creation and allowed it to stay, not one thing too heavy for her. And I could see it! I could see matter coming to fulfill my grand design, my great orchestra starting its song…! No one could stop it. No one could. And it shone stronger, so much it outshone the sun for a few minutes. And finally, my grand design made itself seen, coming to reality from my own imagination…!

I want to know how some random homeless guy made it inside Site-15's perimeter. Furthermore, how come he could build some cursed machine to produce matter and have it work. - Guy

Oh, I took care of that. Gave him the A's and threw him in some asylum. The poor dude was schizophrenic. The guys can't figure out how the machine works, though. - Luca