Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

How he’d managed it, even he didn’t know. But, somehow, he was running through the thin streets and alleys of London with MTFs hot on his heels. Thank gods he didn’t need to breathe or he’d have been caught ages ago.

His feet pounded against the cobblestones as he ducked into a dark alleyway. The thoughts of his pursuers were close, closer than he’d like them to be. He backed into the shadow, letting the darkness hide him from peering eyes as he focused. A few subtle thoughts placed into their heads was enough to send his hunters in a different direction, but he knew that’d only keep them busy for so long and, currently, he had somewhere to be. He waited for only a moment longer, letting the thoughts grow fainter as the soldiers moved away from him, before he bolted from his hiding place.

He followed the winding paths through the city, keeping away from the main streets. That’s where he’d been seen, he was certain of that. Not many people wear a porcelain comedy mask nowadays, especially one that had black sludge dripping from its eyes and mouth, he’d stick out like a sore thumb in the London crowd. So he kept to the back alleys as he traversed the British city. Thankfully, his destination was a rather easy place to find, considering it was the Tower of London. He had to hurry though, the MTFs would be back on his scent soon enough.

Thankfully, “soon enough” wasn’t soon enough to keep him from reaching the Tower. He ducked around behind the fortress and entered as stealthily as he could. A quick scan around and he saw what he was looking for. He slunk over to Martin Tower, rounding the side and touching, what he knew to be, a fake wall. Pulling the ID for his host from the pocket of his lab coat, he placed it to the sensor and the secret door opened silently. He ducked inside and the door closed behind him.

He sped down the brightly lit hallway towards his quarry. The guards were no problem, they didn’t even know what hit them before they were snuffed. Then he stood before the iron door.

It was exactly like he remembered it, tall and imposing with the flickering candlelight reflecting off the shining metal. But yet, it gave him a feeling of warmth and excitement. He approached it and ran a hand along the iron. It was cool to the touch, but it buzzed with energy, but not of the electric sort. The handle was inviting, welcoming, it would open for him if he were to just turn it. He reached out to grab it, but a sinking dread stopped his hand midway.

He hesitated. Home wouldn’t be the same as before. Would he even be able to enter the city? What had become of his home in the years he’d been gone?

His internal debate was the only thing holding him in place, his hand twitching to reach for the handle as the moments ticked past. He would have stayed like that forever if it hadn’t been for the MTF squads approaching.

His keen mind picked up their thoughts just outside the secret door. He could hear the door opening as he turned to look down the secret passage. Soldiers with the SCP Foundation symbol emblazoned on their armour were just outside, staring straight at him.

The two parties stared at each other for a moment, before the mask reached for the handle of the iron door and swung it open. The soldiers caught a glimpse of the bright yellow sky through the doorway as the mask began to pass through the portal.

“Hey! 035, do not-!”

The soldier was cut off as the heavy metal door slammed shut behind the mask, after he gave one last cheeky wave. The soldier ran forward, grabbing the iron handle, and pulled with all his might. But it held fast, like he was trying to pull open a wall. He cursed under his breath before turning on his comm and speaking to the people back at the site.

“SCP-035 has evaded our capture, sir. It entered SCP-2264-B through SCP-2264-A and we are currently unable to gain access. Should we send a squad in to retrieve SCP-035?” His voice was falsely calm, never betraying the rage that burned inside his chest.

The other end was silent for a moment as the person on it seemed to check something before speaking to the soldier.

“Do not attempt entry into SCP-2264 as of yet. I have just sent a message to the head researcher to request direction. Stay put for now, but make sure to guard the exit and keep SCP-035 within SCP-2264.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a final buzz, the communication line stopped. The soldier was left to order his squad into formation and set up guard shifts. They followed his orders without complaint and soon the place was guarded to the utmost of their ability.

An hour or so later, his comm buzzed that he had an incoming transmission.

“It has been decided that no one is to enter SCP-2264 and that SCP-035 is to remain inside until it exits. Upon its exit, it should be re-contained and brought back to its prior containment procedures. Until then, it would be best to set up a constant guard to make sure that the anomaly does not exit without the Foundation’s knowledge.”

“Alright, sir. I’ll get to that...” the soldier paused for a moment, debating whether he should say what he wanted to or not, “So, we’re really just letting it stay in there?”

“I know, I find it strange too. But, it’s what the higher-ups said to do and they’re the ones in charge.”

“Of course, of course. I’ll set up the rounds. Goodbye.”

Click.

Chapter Text

The yellow sky was bright above him as he stood in the grassy fields that surrounded the outskirts of his city. The black stars blinked in the sky, twinkling.

How 035 had missed that sky. He could barely take his eyes off it now.

It’s been centuries since he’d last looked upon that golden sky, centuries of black nights and blue days that he never truly got used to. But now he could once more see the luscious golden sky in all its glory, and it filled him with more warmth and joy than he’d ever thought possible.

The sounds of celebration booming from the city drew his attention away from the sky and to the city itself. It was bright and alive with music, dancing, and general celebration. It was vibrant, the heart of Alagadda, every resident a constant flurry of movement and ecstasy. He had arrived at the height of the party, with everyone out in the streets and having the time of their lives. Everyone was so caught up in the song, dance, and drink that no one noticed the person standing just outside the city proper. All the better for 035, really.

He began to descend the grassy hill upon which he stood, a moth drawn to the bright lights of the glamorous city. His boots— wasn’t he wearing sneakers before?— tapped against the stone street as he entered the city of Alagadda. The crowds were thick and loud, but he weaved through the people with a practiced ease.

At first, no one seemed to notice him. His grinning mask let him fit right in with everyone else, no one suspected him for who he was. But the goop pouring from his eyes and mouth was a rather obvious feature of his, and he didn’t go unnoticed for long. It dripped from him, making his magnificent white coat stain a darker shade with every splash that fell from his face. By the time he had gotten far enough into the city that he couldn’t see the outskirts anymore, the once fluffy ruff was slicked down, as black as the stars that shone above him, and the stain had spread to his shoulders and chest.

He could hear the crowd around him muttering and felt eyes looking at him, though when he checked he saw not a single face towards him. He pushed on through the crowd, though he wasn’t entirely sure where he was going. To get a drink, perhaps? He needed one. Alagadda drink was nothing like the stuff he’d had to live with for centuries and he’d missed its distinct taste.

As he headed to where he remembered a drinks seller usually stayed, the crowd began to step out of his way, the murmuring growing louder and surrounding 035. He tried to ignore it, not daring a look at the crowd around him as he walked purposefully. He could feel the rumours spreading through the bustling streets. Someone that looked Alagaddian but was unknown to the public? That was news that was certain to travel fast.

So, he wasn’t caught entirely by surprise when he felt a hand on his shoulder. But it did surprise him enough to send a shiver of fear down his spine. He slowly turned his head to look at the owner of the hand upon his shoulder. To his relief, it wasn’t the Ambassador. But to his great displeasure, it was the Yellow Lord, their constant grimace already upon their face.

“Oh, hello, m’lord. How ar-“

“Cut the polite s***. What are you doing here?” The Yellow Lord’s voice held all the sourness and resentment that their face displayed.

“Whatever do you mean?” 035 said, feigning ignorance, “This is my home.”

“You know what I mean, dips***,” the Yellow Lord said, venom dripping from their voice, “Don’t play dumb with me, or I’ll throw you into the dungeons myself. Now, Answer. Me.”

The Yellow Lord was taller than 035’s host and, in that moment, they towered over him menacingly. If it had been any other Alagaddian in his boots, they would be quaking in them, but he wasn’t just any Alagaddian.

“Can’t a person miss their home?” 035 said, his smile as wide as can be as he backed away from the looming Lord, “It’s been far too long since I have had a proper drink and what better a place than here, don’t you agree, your odiousness?”

“They can’t if they’re banished from it,” the Yellow Lord growled, stepping towards the other masked person.

“Oh, come now,” 035 jested, though he was getting more and more nervous, “Why would I, a humble, law-abiding citizen, be banished from our fair city?”

The Yellow Lord opened their mouth to speak but was cut off before they could even get a word out.

“You tell me, Black Lord.”

Chapter Text

035 whipped around and came face-to-face with the speaker.

The White Lord was the tallest of all the Lords, with a stick-thin physique from which hung their long, flowing white robes. Their head was thin and bird-like, well fit for their tall, oval-shaped mask.

They held perfect posture as they drew nearer to 035. It seemed wrong to say they walked, as it never truly felt that way. It was more like they glided across the ground, the hem of their robe brushing gently against the stone of the street.

“Hmm...” the White Lord hummed as they stared down at the shorter mask, “Art thou surprised by mine presence? Dost thou feel fear in thy heart?”

Their voice was quiet, but as sharp as a blade, cutting to the point within moments. Despite the calm and composed look of the White Lord’s mask, 035 could feel their ever-piercing eyes ripping through his facade. They always knew how to get straight to the heart of the matter.

“At it again with the elaborate wording I see, my lord,” 035 said, in an attempt at a joke.

“Yes, Black. You have not answered mine question.” He could feel the White Lord’s eyes narrowing under their mask.

“Haha...” 035 chuckled nervously, “Well, I wasn’t really expecting more than one of the Masked Lords to show up in such little time just for little old me, ya know?”

“That is not what I meant,” the White Lord said in a chilling calm.

“Oh, really? Never would have guessed.” 035’s attempts at humour were weak at best, but it was all he had.

“Willest thou answer mine questions willingly, or shalt I get answers out of thee myself?” Their face, as always, looked passive but the intimidating aura didn’t need a visual to work.

“Okay, okay,” 035 said, his face still a grin, “Just… not out here.”

He gestured to the gathered crowd with a gloved hand. It was too public for the important conversation they would need to have. The White Lord gazed pensively around, the silken curtains that adorned their head gliding gently with the smooth movement.

“Very well,” they said after a moment, nodding their head gently. They turned to the crowd and spoke.

“Worry not, dear citizens of our fair land. This is no matter of your concern. The Yellow Lord and myself shalt take care of this. Continue merry dancing and enjoying this most wonderful of nights,” they said calmly to the surrounding people.

The citizens, though not a little bit more than confused, listened to their Lord, returning to their merrymaking. Although they muttered quietly amongst themselves as they dispersed, the mutterings soon died away as the festivities drew their attention back to the fun and away from the mystery.

As the people returned to their raucous mania, the Lords made their way towards the large palace that loomed over the city. As was usually the case, traveling with the White Lord was quick and light, as the group seemed to glide, invisible, through the masses. Though they travelled the same distance as 035 knew it was to the palace, they were before the steps in less than half the time, all while keeping a steady pace. It didn’t faze the mask though, this wasn’t the first time he’d walked with the White Lord and it wouldn’t be the last.

The three ascended the palace steps with ease. There was no hesitation in the group’s course as they entered the winding palace. Within minutes they were before their intended destination, a wooden door painted with the colours white, yellow, red and black with four jewels of the same colouration in an arch-like configuration upon its outer face. If 035 had the ability to raise his eyebrows in surprise, he would have.

“I’m surprised you didn’t remove my symbols from the door once I left,” he said, the first thing any of them had said since they had left the crowd.

“Believe me,” the Yellow Lord growled, “I wanted to do it.”

“But it seemeth that the door is unable to be altered by our hands,” the White Lord finished for the yellow one as they unlocked the door.

“Aw,” 035 said, “And here I thought you hated me.”

“We do, you little b*tch,” the Yellow Lord said, shoving him through the open door.

“Such harsh words!” 035 said dramatically as he turned the momentum of the shove into a somersault and flopped theatrically onto the nearby furniture, “How you wound me, Yellow.”

The sickly yellow lights within the eyes of the Yellow Lord’s mask gave an annoyed eye-roll as the Yellow Lord plodded inside.

“Cut the sh*t,” the Yellow Lord snarled, crossing their arms and glaring at 035, “We’re in complete privacy now, d*ckwad. No more excuses for you to cower behind.”

They leaned forward, their permanent scowl predominant upon their face.

“So, start talking, f*cker.”

Chapter Text

035 grinned up at the Yellow Lord, unfazed by the threatening they were obviously attempting.

“You’ve really lost your touch, Yellow,” 035 taunted, flicking the lord’s nose, “That may work on someone else, but you underestimate my standards. That’ll work about as well as trying to blackmail a baby.”

“… what?” The Yellow Lord said, leaning away from 035, their voice filled with confusion, “What are you saying? What even is that?”

It took the mask a moment to understand what his fellow lord meant.

“Oh!” He said quickly upon realizing his mistake, “Nothing really. Just a saying, is all.”

He could feel the White Lord’s ever sharp eyes watching him, and knew that the White Lord would be raising a brow if they could. But, they said nothing of it and instead turned to the Yellow Lord.

“Yellow, we mustn’t go forth with too much haste,” they said, “It is of importance that thou dost not fail in retrieving the Red Lord, so the Black Lord may explaineth themself.”

The Yellow Lord stared up at the taller lord with a grimace. The staring contest lasted for only a moment before the Yellow Lord finally nodded begrudgingly, with a mutter of, “Of course, there’s always a catch.” as they walked off, grumbling.

As the Yellow Lord grumbled off, the White Lord’s gaze fixed upon 035. The mask glanced up from the sleeve he’d been fiddling with, meeting the White Lord’s steely eyes.

“Ah,” 035 said, “I presume we aren’t just going to sit in silence, are we?”

“Listen to me, Black,” the White Lord said, ignoring 035, “Tell me why thou hast returned after all that happened. Why would thou come back to be destroyed?”

“Hold on now,” 035 said, waving his hands, “I’m not going to be destroyed. Not now, nor any time soon.”

“What makest thou think thou hast a say in this?” The White Lord loomed menacingly over the dripping mask.

“I don’t,” he said with a grin, “But I know the King would be displeased.”

As if on cue, the ground rumbled as, outside, the pitch black stars grew brighter for a moment. The White Lord stepped back, stumbling slightly as their fellow lord just grinned at them. The quake lasted only a minute before the skies and earth calmed again.

“See?”

The White Lord regained their composure quickly, just in time for the door to burst open in a explosion of red confetti, the classic entrance of the Mirthful Lord. Sure enough, the Red Lord pranced through the door, their face-splitting smile as wide as ever. Immediately after that exuberant entrance, the Yellow Lord stomped inside with all the grace of a water buffalo.

“Oh my!” The Red Lord exclaimed, “Is this who I think it is?”

“Yeah, that’s the f*cker,” the Yellow Lord growled as they leaned back against the closed door.

“Hello, Red,” 035 said with a cheeky wave.

“Black!” The Red Lord bounded forward, bouncing with each step, “My goodness, you look different! Are you stealing my smile, pretty boy? Because you don’t wear it well, maybe you should go back to your horrid, blubbering face. It suited you better.”

The Red Lord’s voice was as cheerful as always, with little giggles interspersed between words. The pinkish lights in their eyes glowed brightly as they leaned in to look at 035’s face.

“No theft here, buddy,” 035 said, “Just prefer to smile now.”

“Oh, boo,” the Red Lord said, a pout in their voice, “I liked it when you looked in constant agony. You’ve even got the tears for it now. But oh well, I can’t change it now, it’d be far too much work to put you in enough pain.”

“Yup,” 035 drawled while he inspected his nails, though they were still covered by his gloves.

The Red Lord flopped dramatically back onto the red fainting couch that always seemed just beside them.

“Yeah, yeah, such a pity, Red,” the Yellow Lord said, rolling their sickly eyes, “But now we actually can get them to f*cking explain themself, ‘cause you’ve finally showed your stinking mug.”

“How dare you! I am the smiling star of this country, not a grimacing b*tch like you! If anyone’s ‘mug’ is stinking, it’s yours!” The Red Lord said haughtily as they sat up, all of their previous pout dissipating in the blink of an eye.

“Why I outta-“ The Yellow Lord started, eyes ablaze with fury, rolling up their sleeves as they advanced toward the Red Lord.

“Stop it! Both of thee!” The White Lord interrupted, raising their normally calm voice as they stepped between the two Masked Lords, “We mustn’t fight amongst ourselves if we wish to get the Black Lord to talk. Both of thee must keep thyselves in check, else I may not be as kind as this time.”

The two lords looked up at the tallest before looking back at each other and grumbling.

“Fine,” the Yellow Lord snarled, “Red’s still a b*tch.”

“You too, f*cker,” Red retorted as they sat back down on their fainting couch with a huff, their puffy arms crossed across their chest.

The White Lord gave a subtle eye roll as they returned to their typical stance. They looked down at the Black Lord who lay reclined on his seat.

“Haha, it’s like I never even left,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “Man, it’s just like the old days, amirite? We could just go back to that, couldn’t we? It’s been no time at all, really. No time at all.”

Despite his best efforts, his voice betrayed his smidge of hopefulness.

“Maybe we could just, ya know, leave the past in the past. I’m always up for a bit of team bonding, if ya know what I mean. A company picnic, perhaps?”

The White Lord stared down at him silently, clearly unamused. As usual, his sugary words disintegrated under the Diligent Lord’s sharp gaze. He kept forgetting that his silver tongue didn’t work on his fellow Lords. Hey, it’s hard to break a habit like that, especially after being surrounded by such gullible souls for centuries.

“Nice try, idiot,” the Yellow Lord said with a harsh chuckle that felt like nails on a chalkboard, “You ain’t getting out of this that easy.”

“Yeah,” the Red Lord piped up, “Yellow’s right, for once. You can’t talk your way out of this one, pretty boy.”

“Hey!”

“Fine, fine, you got me, you got me,” the Black Lord said, holding his hands up in surrender as he cut the Yellow Lord off, “I’ll talk, okay?”