Goodday When Day Breaks fans and welcome back.
At the end of the world.
this time, let’s see what God has to say about all this.
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On the first day Micah Bowden pulled the hood of his jacket tighter and nervously fidgeted
with the seals on his gas mask.
The area he stood in was an open blasted plain.
The dark soil to the sides of the road betrayed that this place once bore life.
In the far distance London still burned.
The nuclear fires of vengeance had done a number on the city, and almost nothing of
consequence was left.
The Geiger counter at his side began to click a bit faster as the wind picked up and blew
in his direction.
He needed to find shelter soon.
But there to the left and right of the road was nothing but more open fields of dead soil.
Micah thought about his life and how he'd managed to come to this point.
He'd worked as a nuclear engineer at the Sizewell nuclear plant on the Suffolk Coast.
He'd been downstairs inspecting the pipes that crisscrossed the complex when everything
had gone wrong.
No one knew what to do.
Half of them went outside in a panic.
The other half who knew better went outside at night to find out what was going on.
They discovered the moonlight carried the same curse.
They all screamed in horror for a moment and then died smiling.
At least Micah figured they'd died.
Sure, he could still hear their voices, pleading for him to let them back in.
But he knew better than to listen.
So, he put on the same clothing he was still wearing today, grabbed a gas mask and took
his equipment with him.
That was months ago.
Or years?
He had lost track of time somewhere along the way.
It's hard to count days when the sun itself is against you.
He decided then and there that today was Monday.
It was just easier that way.
But then, just yesterday, for a brief moment a 2nd sun shined in the distance.
He knew that image anywhere.
It reminded him of the countless nuclear test videos he'd studied.
But this time deep inside London itself.
He looked away, it wasn't his first thought, but between that and the black painted goggles
on his gas mask, it was fast enough that he didn't burn out his eyes, which was good.
He'd need those in the coming days.
His ears, on the other hand, well, it almost felt like they'd heard a single unified scream
go up as the fires burned.
For hours.
But that was probably in his imagination.
The weather was definitely not on his side.
Winds filled with the burnt remains of London came his way on the first night, and he was
forced to abandon his little bunker, which lacked appropriate ventilation or filters.
With his plan to find refuge in the capital extinguished, he decided to head west, away
from the fire.
He started to walk out into the dead dirt and eventually he found the A4.
Following that, he knew he could find the ocean to the west.
So, he got back to walking.
On the second day Micah's luck changed.
The winds shifted again, this time blowing east.
The Geiger counter at his side still clicked at him, but less intensely.
Then he saw something wondrous in the distance.
About 30 or 40 kilometres down the road, lights.
A beacon to anyone traveling this road.
He was already wary, but his supplies were running low.
Underneath all his protection, carrying all the weight of his clothing and tools, he was
beginning to dehydrate.
He was going to have to stop and loot somewhere anyhow, and if these people had things he
could use and were willing to part with them on peaceful terms, great.
Otherwise, he grabbed at his handgun that was strapped to his thigh before finishing
his thought:
Otherwise, only the strong survive.
On the third day, he was much closer to this strange place.
He was close enough now to see the shapes of people, unprotected, working on some sort
of outside farm.
His first thought was that these men and women were some sort of trick, but as they came
into sharper focus, he realized this was real.
Somehow there in the distance was a collective of people unaltered by the sun.
By the end of the day, he'd arrived at the outskirts.
There was a low wall surrounding most of the compound, but the gate faced the road.
All the farmers had rushed inside as he approached.
He heard the sound of a shotgun pumping and turned to see the silhouette of a man aiming
at him from a platform behind the gate.
"My name's Micah."
"What do you want, Micah?"
"Supplies if you have them?
I wasn't expecting to find people out here.
How have you survived this long?"
"Never you mind.
Put your piece in the barrel next to the door."
"I'd really prefer it if..."
"That wasn't a fucking request, mate.
Put the gun in the barrel.
Then you can come in and we can discuss things."
In a way, this put Micah's mind at ease.
If these were somehow the monsters that he'd spotted roaming the countryside from time
to time, they certainly wouldn't have need of guns.
Nor would they be particularly worried about being shot.
So, with that in his mind, he put the gun into the barrel and raised his hands into
the sky.
The man with the shotgun pressed some switch that only he could see, and the gate in front
of Micah began to open slowly.
Three other men and a woman, all in white jumpsuits and holding various firearms stood
on the other side of the door, facing Micah.
The shotgun wielding man came to his side shotgun raised once more.
"Show us your face!"
Micah looked to the sky.
The black smoke from the burning cities and burning countryside was definitely fully blocking
the sun today.
Nuclear winter was beginning.
From time to time, though, the sun could still find a spot to peek through the black and
he had to be sure.
"Of course."
The mask came off.
"Can I talk to your leader?"
At the end of the fourth day, Micah's isolation was nearly over.
The men and women of Eden (as they called it), had insisted he spend a whole day in
quarantine.
Being unarmed, he wasn't really in a position to argue anymore.
So, he followed them into an underground facility marked "Site-17".
Men and women with flamethrowers flanked the hallway.
It was nice, though to get a hot shower.
The food was warm and the drinks were cold and he had no idea what the fuck was going
on here.
How they'd managed to put this compound together was already a wondrous feat, but somehow those
men and women were able to walk around outside unprotected.
He was sure he'd seen it, even when the sun was peeking through the dust clouds.
Upon entry, he'd also felt something off.
A presence here that was beyond anything he'd ever felt before.
Like someone was watching him.
It gave him a chill.
He laid down in his bed and went to sleep.
Hopefully he'd be able to meet the head weirdo of this place tomorrow, and learn more about
what was happening.
At the end of the fifth day, Micah was woken up from a good dream.
The constant hum of the air circulation system was strangely comforting after living without
it for as long as he had.
The same man from earlier, minus his shotgun, tossed a white jumpsuit at Micah as he stirred
from sleep.
"Get dressed.
He wants to talk to you."
Micah nodded and pulled the jumpsuit on.
It was spotless, which already made him feel weird.
But in the end, it was clean and that alone was enough to convince him to wear it.
The same man who'd given him the clothing was waiting just outside the slightly open
door as Micah left his room.
"Where are we going?"
"The temple."
Fuck.
He looked down at the white jumpsuit he was wearing, and how it matched with the jumpsuits
of everyone else.
Had he accidentally joined a cult?
No matter.
They had food and water and protection.
He could join them or he would eventually die.
Starving to death sounded horrible.
Being exposed to the sun by some tentacle monster sounded worse.
Both could be avoided here, it seemed.
The area that Micah entered looked more like a cafeteria than anything else.
But there at the end of a table, sat a man almost too bright to look at.
Which was odd because the man wasn't producing any actual light.
Something about this man was odd, and he made the connection between whatever it was and
the uneasy feeling of being watched he'd been feeling until this point.
This was someone or something powerful.
Something different than the sun, but the same.
He walked to the table and stood nervously next to a chair.
"Sit."
"Of course."
"You came here expecting to do violence, didn't you?"
"I planned for it.
I was hoping I wouldn't have to."
"And now?"
"Now I don't want to, nor do I plan on it."
"Good."
"What is this place?"
"Ahh.
My home.
Site-17.
Or at least one version of it.
The people who once used this place thought to hold me in a box.
Then the world broke and they couldn't keep up the pretence."
"Are you god?"
"Some say so.
Right now, I'm your friend.
And I want you to join us."
"Of course.
Tell me what I need to do."
"Tomorrow you will work the farms.
If you can prove yourself a useful worker, we can talk about integrating you further
into our commune."
"Ok."
Micah somehow knew that was the end of the conversation.
He stood and left.
On the sixth day Micah went upstairs with the other workers.
He'd removed his head coverings.
He'd removed his mask.
He'd trusted in God to deliver him.
He went outside the wall.
He went into the fields.
And when the first bit of moonlight struck his forehead there was a simple horror that
occurred to him.
His face started to melt.
His body began to slide slowly to the ground.
Why was this happening?
The other workers seemed fine.
He thought maybe it was his lack of faith.
He hadn't believed enough.
That was probably it.
Not that it mattered.
Then, suddenly he saw a man who looked just like him walking to the next farm plot.
This wasn't pleasant.
It wasn't beautiful.
The last thought that went through his melting brain was that god had forsaken him.
On the seventh day, SCP-343 rested.
The strain of making his delusions real was wearing on him.
Still.
He'd introduced a new person into the fold!
A new worker.
Everything was fine.
And the sun barely came out anymore.
Without his illusions to hide him he took up most of Site-17.
A melted lonely blob of flesh too powerful to be fully taken over, but not powerful enough
to resist fully.
And strings of his pink mass spread throughout the facility, connecting to the human shaped
creatures he'd constructed in his madness.
If he knew what he was doing, he'd probably be bothered.
Luring people here.
Giving them the illusion of safety, and then taking over the fleshy mass they left behind.
But that never once crossed his mind.
He was God, right?
It's fine.
These people needed him.
His consciousness travelled through the neural circuits in a single pink fleshy string.
It travelled through the site, past the doors of doctors long dead, past the testing chambers,
up through the administration buildings and into the man shaped thing standing watch at
the gate.
Micah, he'd called himself.
Micah looked to the east.
He saw London burning.
And God wept.
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