“I promise you guys, we’ll get out of here before they even know where we’re at. We’ll make our way into the Waterfall Glen Forest Preserve and lose them there. I love you guys, I’ll protect you. I promise.”
That was the last thing Sprocket said to his friends before he and they were ambushed just outside the city limits of Chicago. The Foundation had finally caught up with them after so long, finally guessed their next move, and… Sprocket shook his head; it was too painful for him to even think about. The guilt had been eating at his heart like it had been ripped open, and a pack of wolves was munching on it. It had been a month since the ambush happened; a month since he failed to keep his friends safe like he had promised them.
Sprocket just wanted to live a normal life; he just wanted to live in peace with his friends. But because he and all his friends were born with abilities beyond human reasoning, they were deemed a monster, a danger to the public, and so, had been hunted down like a pack of wild hogs, slowly picked off one by one. Sprocket spent, he struggled to remember at this point, years running from the Foundation. When he met his friends, who were in the same situation he was in, home felt like wherever they were. Bonded by trauma. But now they were gone, and he was never given a chance to bury them. Ever since the ambush, he had made his way back into the city limits of Chicago and found an abandoned apartment building, and was hiding in one of the units. This time, alone.
Sprocket felt his stomach rumbling like a lion as he clutched it, his body trembling from the agony of going nearly two weeks without food. He knew that he needed to go outside to get something to eat, but was too scared to do so. He had seen the Foundation’s helicopters in the distance each time he had gone out, and each night they flew around to find him, getting closer with each passing day. But Sprocket refused to get any more food because he was afraid that the Foundation was going to find him and murder him as well if he left the safety of the abandoned apartment building.
Sprocket slowly sat up from the couch he was lying on and looked around the living room in the apartment unit he had been squatting in. The floor was cracked as pieces of the wood jutted out like broken bones; mold began to grow between the crevices of the broken wood as the broken water pipe above him dripped water nonstop. The smell of decay and God-knew what else violated his nose with every breath he took as his lungs ached; the broken window seeped light through the cracks of the wooden board that nailed it closed.
It was all horrible, but to Sprocket, he knew this was the best place to hide from the eyes of the Foundation. However, he knew it was not going to last at this rate. Last no longer. He leaned over to the broken coffee table in front of him and grabbed his backpack, pulling it into his lap and opening it up to see if he had any food or anything left.
He found nothing but a single bottle of water and a pistol he had stolen from one of the MTF agents he killed during the ambush.
Sprocket hung his head low, biting his lower lip as he knew that he had to leave the safety of the abandoned apartment building to get more food and water before he died of starvation. That meant he had to be a lamb for the slaughter, as they were too close for him to safely go out without being seen.
Sprocket dropped his backpack on the floor and then let his face fall into his hands as he began to weep. The constant running away, the guilt that his friends were now gone because of him, piled on top of him like a tower of bricks placed one by one; the lack of food and knowing he had to leave was the final one to crush him under the weight. Sprocket began to wonder if running away from the Foundation was prolonging his suffering more than he was willing to admit. He wondered if the only option left for him was to finally give up and surrender. However, with the amount of blood he spilled running away for years and years, he knew that if the Foundation caught him, he was in for a punishment worse than death. There was no escape from a hell of his own making, no longer.
Then, a thought came into Sprocket’s head, one that crept up on him like an ominous force had opened his skull and was wrapping its gangly fingers around his brain. He knew that there was one more option for him to escape all this, on his terms, before the Foundation got to him.
Sprocket spread his fingers enough to see the pistol at the bottom of his backpack; his attention focused on it like it was the only thing that existed. He removed his hands from his face, reached into the bag with renewed vigor, and took out the pistol. The moonlight filtering through the broken window boards reflected off the barrel as he examined it. He removed the magazine and checked the remaining rounds: four in total. Only one was necessary for his intended purpose. He reinserted the magazine into the firearm.
As he gazed at the pistol, Sprocket reflected on how his family had abandoned him due to his anomalous abilities and had driven him to flee because they feared him like he were a monster. He also reflected on how companions with whom he had once suffered were now dead because he was too powerless to defend them. Sprocket found it difficult to maintain the boundaries between his skin, barely a person, but a shell. And after ignoring it for so long, he finally realized what the universe had been trying to tell him: that he was no longer needed in this world, that he was wanted, no longer.
Sprocket saw that there was no use in trying to stay in a world that had no home for him. He knew that, at least doing it this way, he was able to save what little shred of dignity he had left.
Resigned, Sprocket raised the gun until it nestled underneath his chin, closing his eyes and tilting his head towards the ceiling as he placed his finger on the trigger.
I’m sorry, guys, I failed you. He thought to himself, taking one last deep breath. And as he began to pull the trigger…
The sound of—what Sprocket was only able to imagine—fabric being torn and fast, muffled footsteps emanated from the bedroom at the other end of the living room; the door to said bedroom was suddenly kicked off its hinges and fell to the floor.
“Stop!” A voice called out to him in urgency, and their footsteps came to a screeching halt near the kitchen on the other side of the living room.
Sprocket opened his eyes and, following his primal inclination, directed the gun away from himself and at whoever spoke to him, rising from the couch and backing up into the corner of the room farthest from the intruder.
A man dressed in a half-faced gas mask, military trousers, and a green parka was on the other side of the living room. They raised their hands as if they were surrendering.
“Who are you?” Sprocket said, yelling at the intruder as his back hit the corner wall.
“Hey, let’s just put that down,” the intruder said, taking a step towards Sprocket. “We don’t have a lot of time before—”
Sprocket shot at the ground next to the intruder’s feet, causing them to stumble backwards a little bit.
“Don’t get any closer, or I swear to everything I will blow your fucking head clean off,” Sprocket said, his hands shaking. “Now, who are you? No, wait, I think I know who you are. You’re with the Foundation; you fuckers finally found me and now they sent you in to finish the job, right? Where are your friends? I’m guessing somewhere in the apartment.”
The intruder took a few steps back, keeping their hands up. “There’s no one with me, I’m not with the Foundation. But they know you are here and plan on attacking this building tomorrow. I need you to come with me so that we can keep you safe.”
“You’re a liar, a fucking liar!” Sprocket said, gesturing with the gun at the intruder like it was his finger. He darted his eyes around the room, looking for any indication of others. “You must think I’m some fucking idiot. I’ve killed you guys before, and I’ll do it again; where’s your friends at?!”
“I told you I have no one with me, I’m here alone, I promise you. Please, just put the gun down.” The intruder said in a plea.
“You’re a damn liar, if you want to play stupid games, then so be it,” Sprocket said through clenched teeth. “I guess I’ll have to find your friends myself.”
Sprocket closed his eyes and concentrated on utilizing his ability. When he opened his eyes after hearing a bell ring and the sound of a clock ticking, the color of his eyes changed from blue to vivid purple; the iris and pupil in both of his eyes had shifted and transformed till they resembled a clock with small arms ticking.
The world had begun to slow down until it came to a crawl so minute that it appeared that it had been frozen completely; the cold breath he let out stopped just past his lips; the water droplets from the broken pipe above froze midair, but the clock that hung above the fireplace continued to tick as if it had never been affected by his power. After all of that occurred, Sprocket stepped out of his body as a grey shadow, the shape of which was barely recognized as human and more of a blob.
Tick… tick… tick… from the clock above the fireplace was the only sound that had been able to persist as the world froze in place. Sprocket knew that he had only 60 ticks left before his ability was going to turn off. But not that he had been able to freely move with the intruder, knowing what was happening, Sprocket knew that he had to find their buddies.
Tick… tick… tick… Sprocket turned to see his normal body still plastered against the room's corner; as he walked away from his physical body, a grey, smudged trail trailed behind his incorporeal form. Sprocket was disgusted by his appearance when he saw how he looked: his skin was covered in soot and tiny blood traces, his hair was long and greasy like a fast-food kitchen that had not been cleaned in years, his clothes were torn in many places, and he looked sickly thin from years of not having a consistent source of food. Sprocket had never guessed that today was the day he was going to die, looking like a dog left in the rain by their owner. But he somehow found it fitting. He led a poor life, and he was to die as such.
Tick… tick… tick… After realizing that he had wasted fifteen more ticks, Sprocket proceeded to inspect every area of the apartment where he had been squatting. He went from room to room, checking every crevice, every nook, every closet, and every hiding place he had discovered when he had first set up in the unit. But despite searching everywhere, he was having a tough time finding anyone.
Sprocket found himself confused. Had the intruder been telling the truth? Were they truly alone? No, no, this doesn’t make any sense. He thought to himself. I have to check something before time runs out.
Tick… tick… tick… 17 ticks left. Returning to the living room, Sprocket floated to and studied the intruder closely. He became aware of how they were different from all the other men who had been after him, floating around them with an intense stare. The invader had no body armor, no radio, and—they were now observing them closer—no weapons on them. They were also much less militarized in their attire. There was a symbol on the back of their parka, though, that Sprocket had never seen before. It was a snake with the tail end of it having been split off like tree branches. Sprocket had seen all manner of symbols from the people who were chasing him all his life, but this one was one he had not been accustomed to.
Tick… tick… tick… In the living room, the clock above the fireplace rang out as the final seconds of his power dissipated. Consequently, sound filled his ears again, frozen scents entered his nostrils, and the water droplets that had been frozen in mid-air splattered on the bumpy wooden floor. Sprocket suddenly found himself pulled back into his actual body in the corner of the room until the two parts of him came together again.
The clocks in Sprocket’s eyes morphed back into normal irises and pupils, the color of them reverting from the bright purple back to blue. Slumping with his back against the wall, he sank until he sat on the floor, coughing up blood. He had lost energy and calories from using his ability, the two things he had none of. Sprocket exerted all his remaining effort to keep his pistol pointed at the intruder, even though his strength started to wane in a vicious cycle as he felt his body begin to shut down.
“…you’re not with them,” Sprocket said, coughing up a little more blood. “Then who are you?”
“I wish I had time to explain, but we need to get you out of here before the Jailors show up. We have a car outside waiting and—”
Sprocket cut them off. “We, we, we, we. You keep saying we, who is we?”
“The community I work with, we will take care of you, we just need to get out of here before they show up.” The intruder said, taking a few steps forward towards Sprocket.
Sprocket shook his head; tears had started to form in the corners of his eyes. “I want to believe you, I do… I do; I want to…” he began to cry uncontrollably as he hung his head low. “I just want to live… I want to—I’m scared… they’re going to kill me.”
“Hey, hey, hey. We aren’t going to let that happen, just—look at me.”
Sprocket wiped the tears away, lifting his head. He saw that the intruder had been reaching for their half-faced gas mask and took it off, letting it hang around their neck. For the first time since he had been running, Sprocket saw a face, one that was not obfuscated by masks, one whose eyes was not searing with hate and disgust towards him but worry and compassion—the intruder’s face had facial hair that was shaved and the outline of the mask they wore stamped onto their skin.
“My name is Travis, Travis Callaway; my friends call me T. I work within a community that is made up of people like me, people like you, people who never asked to be born the way that we were: the Serpent’s Hand. We’re not like the Jailors or the Bookburners, we’re not an organization or an agency, we are a community of people wanting to live in a world where all can coexist peacefully,” Travis said as they took a few more steps towards Sprocket. “A community that wants to make sure that people like us don’t have to worry if today or tomorrow is going to be our last, a community that wants to give people like you a place in the world, a community that wants to give people like you a home.”
Home. Something in the back of Sprocket's throat ached when he heard those words. He had only been able to dream of finding a home, and that was all he wanted. That was the primary objective he sought and yearned for ever since he began running away. He knew that no one wanted to take care of a monster like him; that’s why he had not been able to find one place to stay for too long. Sprocket lowered his pistol a little bit.
“Home?” Sprocket said, his voice cracked like a porcelain vase dropped on the floor.
“Yes! A home. We’ll feed you, clothe you, put a roof over your head,” Travis said, slowly walking until they were a foot away from Sprocket. “I just need you to trust me. I want to help you; I want to see you get better. This running you’ve been doing, we can leave it all behind. Just… come home with me, ok?”
Hearing that, Sprocket lowered his weapon, ultimately letting it fall to the ground as the air in his lungs froze over and his vision distorted with tears once more. Throughout his years of running, Sprocket understood that not trusting others was the safest thing to do, which is why he had survived for so long while others had died. But when he reflected on Travis's offer and what they had been saying, Sprocket felt he had to trust them because, deep down, he believed Travis was telling the truth. That there was a home for him.
“You promise?” Sprocket said, his words were reduced to nothing more than a snivel between sporadic whimpers.
“I promise,” Travis said, holding out a hand for him to take. “Let’s get you home.”
Sprocket held out his hand till they were a few millimeters apart from Travis's. He drew away for a short second, his instincts screaming at him not to do it, but he resisted the primordial desire to deny help and eventually took their hand. Travis carefully lifted him until he found his balance, swaying slightly as he propped himself against the wall with one of his arms.
“Ok, I’ll grab your bag and then we’ll head out, just stay there,” Travis said as they were heading over to the other side of the living room to the couch Sprocket had been sleeping on.
Sprocket observed Travis, how they moved, and how they returned concerned glances at him from time to time. He felt a warm feeling emanate from his heart, one he hadn't experienced since he was with his group of friends, a feeling of warmth and safety.
Sprocket pushed himself off the wall and took a step towards Travis.
For the first time, he was able to let his guard down, feeling the strain of years on the run as the effects of adrenaline faded away like leaves blown in the wind. Each step closer to Travis weighed heavily on his muscles, which felt as solid as steel and as wobbly as gelatin. Sprocket's shoulders sagged as he took another step towards Travis, and his vision flickered between darkness and light. Stars began to twinkle around him as his brain grew fuzzy. As he took another step closer to Travis, they turned around to face him, his backpack slung over their shoulders.
Travis, wide-eyed like a deer, rushed towards Sprocket with their arms out. “Hey man! You shouldn’t push yourself,” They called out to him.
Sprocket's foot slipped as he took another step towards Travis. One final wave of exhaustion smashed his body like a semi hitting him going 90, and he collapsed forward into Travis' arms, which had been ready to catch him. Travis clutched him tightly, holding him close to their chest.
“…home.” That was all Sprocket had been able to muster up.
Travis started to rub the back of his head, promising him that everything was going to be alright as they clutched him tighter. And it was at that point—the compassionate move to save him from striking the floor, the soothing, the reassurance, and the tears streaming down Travis’s cheeks as they kept repeating that everything was going to be OK—that Sprocket knew he was safe with them. That's when he let the darkness take over, closed his eyes, and went limp into Travis' arms, losing consciousness. Because Sprocket knew that the running he had done his entire life had finally come to an end, and that he had been allowed to run no more.
No longer.
From the author: Hey, guys! Just wanted to say thank you in advance for reading my short story. I am a novelist by day, but as I have wrapped up the first act of my novel, I wanted to do something else in the meantime while I let it sit for a month or so. I have always been a fan of the SCP Foundation and have been wanting to write a series for the wiki for ages. So here is my first piece of contribution to the Library.
"No Longer" will be the start of a series/anthology following Sprocket (the main character) as he joins the Serpent's Hand and tries to live in a world not set up for him. I will be bringing my own canon/interpretation of the Serpent's Hand as well as my own interpretation of the world in general. Again, thank you so much for reading my story and, like any good ones, questions will be answered as I write more parts to this series— I know you probably have some. Expect something new in a week or less.
- Adrian