The SCP Experience - The Sunken City | SCP-1069

Episode Date: June 3, 2024

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation EUCLID class object, SCP-1069: The Sunken City This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-1069 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ * * * DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Via Rai, the voice that we love that we Dr. Oliver Reed May 5, 2013 Weather, Choppy, Fog in the Mornings, warm during the day. I know I know.

I know I've missed a couple of days since my last entry. Sue me. It's day 15 of this expedition, and we've still got squat to show for it. That's what we get for conducting an oceanographic survey of the sea floor in a well-trafficked area. French scientists had mapped out this part of the ocean decades before we showed up. Sure, maybe more modern equipment would give a slightly more precise understanding of the topography. But that was hardly worth shelling out a private expedition. expedition for. Not that I got the vibe that common sense had ever stopped Mr. Monet before.

Honestly, this guy has a screw loose. I'll never understand what motivates these eccentric multi-millionaires. I think Mr. Monet is sitting at just under a billion, but I really don't care enough to ask him. All I care about is that the amount he's paying me will fund my next three surveys, Maybe more if I hire minimal field staff. Still, I have to question if this is worth it. The man wakes up at the crack of dawn every morning to check our data and every other day. He'd shake me awake, saying in his slightly stilted English. Oliver, wake up.

Where is it, Mr. Monet? I'd say. Oh, come on, Oliver. Call me, Corrinthine. I call you by your first name after all? Yeah, against my fucking. preferences. I'd sigh and say, Fine, Quarrenton. What is it? We're getting some abnormal data

readings. He'd say it with such gusto, and with such a glint in his eye that I almost couldn't help myself from getting excited, too. The first time. The third, fifth, and eighth times had produced more annoyance than excitement. I'd check the data myself, and invariably it'd be nothing. A small blip in the measurements that was well within the acceptable range, or a misunderstanding on Mr. Monet's part, who was an amateur oceanographer at best. Anyway, we're about halfway through our contract, so I thought I'd mark the occasion by writing some of my thoughts down. At the end of the day, I'm being paid handsomely to pursue my passion, even if it is with the whims of an eccentric Frenchman. I'm grateful to Mr.

Monet. But if he thinks I'm stupid or foolish, He's sorely mistaken. I know we're not out here surveying the ocean for the sake of it. He's looking for something. I'd bet my ship on it. Journal of Dr. Oliver Reed, May 7, 2013. Weather? Drizzle.

Strong winds. The man woke me up while the sun was just barely peaking over the horizon. Like usual, he said, Oliver, we've got some anomalous readings. Come see. Yeah, sure, just like the last ten times. Only this time, the data truly was anomalous. Mr. Monet began eagerly speculating about what our readings could mean.

My theory was that the equipment malfunctioned. The new tech Mr. Monet had insisted we install, at his cost, might have been state-of-the-art, but that also made it sensitive and prone to error. He, of course, wanted to press on ahead and get more readings. But I wanted to head back and re-scan some areas we'd already looked at. If our results were wonky, then that would mean we'd add a system malfunction. If they came back the same, then, it didn't matter.

That wasn't possible. I had to pull the, I'm the expert and I say so, card on Mr. Monet, which made him, a grown man, pouty. But he eventually agreed to temporarily turn back. I'm not going to waste him. describing the anomalous data. There's no point in describing faulty data from a system malfunction. Journal of Dr. Oliver Reed, May 9, 2013.

Weather. Drizzle continues, but the wind has died down. Something incredible happened as we made our way back to our previous surveying area. I debated whether or not to record what happened at all. I'm worried that anything I write down will be used against me as part of a criminal procedure. of a criminal proceeding brought against me by the French government. But I really need a way to sort out my thoughts. And Mr. Monet is no help at all,

with his secret smiles and coy winks. Okay, here it goes. At some point, we were approached by a destroyer-class ship flying French flags. It appeared suddenly and moved fast. The part that scared the fuck out of me was that they didn't bother to hail us. That had never happened before. Navies, if they approached you, always, always radioed you. Instead, Mr. Monet took charge of our radio and hailed them, speaking in rapid French.

My French was weak at best, but I heard the word authorization, English for authorization, and then what sounded like a string of letters and numbers. The destroyer slowed, then halted completely, though it kept its broad, side parallel to us, and what I interpreted as a ready-to-fire position. We waited through a tense half-hour before the destroyer turned and left. It wasn't until it was completely out of sight that I found my voice. Tell me what the hell's going on or I sail straight back home. Mr. Monet smiled sheepishly before digging through some papers,

pulling out ocean surveyed data from the 80s. He'd highlighted a section of ocean about a five-kilometer radius in length and not far from the coast of France. That was where we were. He asked me to look over the data and tell him what I saw. And what I saw was nothing. There was nothing. Not a single point of interest to anyone, and that entire stretch of water. For the average person, that might not mean anything. But to me, it was insane. Probosterous. There was always something. A ridge formed by plate tectonics of interest to geologists, a coral reef, signs that the ground beneath held oil. Perhaps it was an area in the migration path of a species of interest. This had none of that.

How did you discover this? Mr. Monet smirked. Trade secret, I'm afraid. But I looked into it, and I learned that my government apparently patrols this area quite frequently. Ships mysteriously vanish nearby. More likely, they're destroyed by Al Navy. I used my influence to secure safe passage to this supposedly featureless stretch of ocean. That's what I was saying to the destroyer. His incredible confidence was admirable, at least. We were lucky they hadn't decided to simply open fire.

What are we looking for? I asked. I don't know, Mr. Monet said. But we have just about every... piece of surveying equipment known to man on this boat, so I have no doubt we'll find it, whatever it is. Let me tell you, I considered turning us around right then and there. What we were doing was foolhardy and dangerous, but I had gone into this field partially because I have an adventurous spirit, and whatever the French government was hiding here had to be huge. I let my curiosity get the better of me. Journal of Dr. Oliver Reed, May 11th.

2013. Weather. Fair. A gentle breeze and warm sunshine. It hardly seemed necessary now that I knew Mr. Monet's real reason for being here, but we still double-checked that our instruments hadn't malfunctioned. Needless to say, they hadn't. That meant our initial readings had been accurate. We've taken a few more for good measure since then. So let me attempt to lay out what? To the best of my knowledge, they mean. At first we found a smooth section of the ocean floor that descended at a mild incline towards the central point within the area Mr. Monet had marked out on the map. This initially indicated to me that there was an undiscovered gorge or chasm in the area.

But suddenly, a few kilometers from the epicenter, our sensors indicated that the sea floor had suddenly risen 50 meters. While I was still struggling to figure out what the hell kind of natural phenomenon could create a reading like that, We got an even more bizarre set of data. Past the wall there was these structures. Some ended in points, but others were flat and rectangular. The heights varied from as little as 10 meters off the sea floor to as much as 70 above.

Nature didn't do rectangles, rounded edges, points, even the odd sphere or hexagon, but never rectangles. It looked almost like a geometric coral reef. I remember staring at the numbers. My brain unable to process what it was seeing. Mr. Monet sat across for me at the table I'd been working at. I have my theory, but you're the expert, Oliver, he said. Gun to your head. What do those readings look like to you? Hi, you'll think I'm crazy. He laughed. I've rarely much doubt I will.

It looks like buildings. A man-made settlement. But that's impossible. A sunken city just off the coast of France definitely would have been discovered before now, Mr. Monet said. Unless, of course, the French government has been concealing it.

Why would they do that? I am certain I don't know. But I'm excited to find out. I'd thought him a flippant, well-to-do fool at first. But the more I interacted with him, the scarier Mr. Monash. Monet seemed. Did he have no fucking sense of self-preservation? He was deliberately agitating the French military, and was waltzing into a restricted area without a care in the world.

Honestly, my writing is underplaying his cavalier attitude. Well, I'd say it's about time we use the submersible, wouldn't you? I thought his two-man submersible vehicle, capable of withstanding even the most extreme depths, had been way overkill. But with things as they stand, I had to agree with him. We'd seen as much as we could from readings alone. We needed eyes down there in the Merck. Still, I wasn't about to dive into dangerous territory without some kind of insurance. Look, Quarinton, I said, hoping that my use of his first name would soften him up some. I know how badly you want to see what's down there, but if we both go and something goes wrong, that's it.

We'll die. So? I want only one of us underwater at a time, and I'm the only one with submersible operation experience. You drive a hot bargain. His eyes had practically glimmered with excitement when I'd admitted we needed the submersible. But I wasn't going to let his excitement risk our lives. It'd be safer if he stayed on the boat, for both of us. He closed his eyes and scrunched up his face, mulling it over.

He finally sighed and opened his eyes. Fine, but in exchange, I'll be credited first on any and all discoveries you make, based on our findings with disarmissible. That's academic papers, articles, media, all of that. Deal. Easiest deal of my life. He could have the media spotlight, and I trusted the academic community to figure out who the brains of the operation had been. We shook on it. Journal of Dr. Oliver Reed.

May 12, 2013. Weather. Strange. Warm sunshine, but unusually calm. With no wind, few waves, and no clouds. I don't have words to describe what I just saw. Instead of debriefing Mr. Monet like he'd wanted me to,

I instead simply sent him the video and images I'd taken and went straight to my room to write this. I have no idea how to write this. Okay, so? I woke up early to prepare the submersible and to check if all the equipment was running smoothly. Mr. Monet hovered overhead, supervising me. He was generally an over-excited nuisance,

but today his energy was a little contagious, I can admit. How could it not be? We might be on the verge of uncovering an entire lost city. It would have been great if that had been all it was. I descended in the submersible. Initially, communication with Mr. Monet was good, but as I drew closer to the sea floor, it became patchy, and then cut out completely. I considered turning back to reestablish communication, but then the first of them came into view. The buildings. Not ancient ruins like I'd expected, but modernish structures and good repair.

I was no historian, but given the architectural style, these buildings, this city, Couldn't be older than the 16th century. But that was impossible. Cities from only 500 years ago don't just vanish without a trace. They leave a record. Someone somewhere writes about them. I would have heard of a sunken city just off the coast of France. Another odd thing was the atmospheric conditions,

by which I mean the light. I was quite a ways under the ocean, far from the sun. I should have needed the submersible spotlight to show the way, and yet I didn't. There were no sources of light that I could detect, and yet somehow the city was no less visible than if it were an overcast day on the surface. And if these buildings had truly spent around 500 years underwater, then they were in impossibly good condition. The entire city was surrounded by a high dike, which I surmised had been the thin ridge our instruments had detected from the surface. The outskirts of the city featured small one-and-two-story dwellings that grew in size

and complexity as I drew closer to the center. The central district featured an open square in several large buildings. One looked like a temple, though it bore insignias and markings that were unlike the Jewish, Christian, and Islamic ones I was familiar with. There also seemed to be some writing, but I couldn't decipher it. It used shapes I was familiar with, but the language was not one I knew. Another building was clearly a royal residence. It had the trappings of a palace, richly decorated and painted. It shone with what I could only assume was gold leaf, not solid gold.

As I drew closer to examine the palace, I saw movement on the sea floor. I... I don't know how to say this. I have suspect that I imagined it, or that the oxygen tanks of the submersible were malfunctioning, causing me to hallucinate. But this journal is of my own private thoughts, so if I can't say it here, where can I?

The video evidence will prove me right or crazy either way, so... I saw people. Not corpses or pictures, but real living people. They were walking out of the temple and into the city square, not a care in the world, as if they didn't know that they were underwater, as if they couldn't feel the atmospheric pressure of the water that would have crushed me if I weren't in a specially designed vehicle. And almost as strange, they appeared to not notice me at all. Feeling bold, I turned on my lights and flashed them at the people, but they took no notice of me.

With more light on them, I saw that their clothes were strange. One of them, a woman, wore a frilly and impractical dress that I thought seemed vaguely in line with the time period of the architecture. The other, a man, wore blue army attire that I recognized as a World War I-1-era French military uniform. It made no sense. None of it made any fucking sense at all. I felt like my brain was trying to expand past the limits of my skull as I tried to process everything I was seeing. It was no use.

Mr. Monet was probably worried about me anyway. I knew I had more than enough footage to satisfy him. I decided to report back to the boat. But as I did, I saw that a woman, and an absolutely gorgeous one at that, with blonde hair that swayed gently in the water, wearing a lavishly decorated dress of bright crimson and holding a scepter, was looking at me.

I could only guess she was the empress of the city. The empress was standing on the balcony of the palace. But was she truly looking at me? Or off into the sky? I didn't stay long enough to find out. Journal of Dr. Oliver Reed May 13, 2013. Weather

The sea is like glass. It shows my reflection. It shows the truth. I spoke to her. I spoke to the woman on the balcony. She was... No, I'm still a scientist. I should do this properly.

I'll start from the beginning. Mr. Monet looked over the video and photos I'd taken in the submersible and confirmed that either I hadn't gone mad or both he and I were having the same hallucinations, which seemed unlikely. Okay, so what I saw was real. He printed out several stills of my dive. Okay, so I'm putting aside the obvious question of how any of this is possible for now.

I don't think we'll come up with an answer for just one video agreed, he said. I nodded. He said, shuffling through a stack of images and thrusting one towards me. This language, I'm not certain, but I believe. I believe it's a Celtic language. Britain, if I'm not mistaken, though it's not a dialect I recognize. How do you know? I asked. Well, Oliver, I have a life outside of business, you know.

You aren't the only one here who went to uni. I only got a master's in history, not a PhD like you, but still. Yes, he was definitely smarter than I'd first estimated. I wonder how much of his carefree attitude was an act to put others off their guard. And the architecture seems to indicate that this was a settlement in the early 1500s. He continued, just as I'd thought. But it's a strange. I'd have to get a more detailed look.

But the techniques used seem to be too advanced for this time period. I don't know what that means. Let's come back to it after we get more information. Next, he pulled out a still of the man wearing World War I military clothing. This man, this man intrigues me. Any thoughts, Oliver? From the First World War, French uniform, I said. As I spoke, a strange feeling washed over me.

I felt as if I could feel the city beneath the waves, as if it had a pulse, its own heartbeat, as if the city's heart was thrumming in time with my own. In truth, I'd felt strange ever since I'd surfaced. Something felt wrong. The air felt too dry, the sunshine too bright. Bright, meaning either they scavenged a uniform at some point, or he's an actual World War veteran.

Given how crazy this is, I don't think we can rule anything out at this point, he said. Mr. Monet sighed and then flipped through some pages before finally landing on the line. last one. My chest tightened. My breathing quickened. I knew what image was on that page. Oliver, I've watched that video dozens of times, and each time I watched it, I became more and more convinced. He slapped down the image of the Empress of the city. She saw you. She looked less beautiful than in my memory. Her face was a little more angular. Her ears seemed tipped like spines and oddly fanned, as if they were fins.

Her skin glimmered in places, as if she had scales that reflected the light. I didn't respond to Mr. Monet's comment, but he took my silence for agreement. I wonder why she didn't call out to you, he mused. Because she knew I'd come back. The words tumbled out of my mouth, unbidden. Yet, as soon as I spoke them, I sensed they were the true. truth. She was down there, waiting for me to return. Mr. Monet looked at me with a strange look. I couldn't meet his eyes.

Berdin, let's not disappoint her. Not long after that conversation, I was approaching the city. Suddenly, I heard her, as clear as if she were sitting next to me in the submersible. Come to the balcony. It should have frightened me, hearing a voice from nowhere, but instead I felt calm, like all my worries had been swept away by the ocean's currents. I saw more people than I had yesterday, but otherwise the city was the same as before. Erie, but beautiful too. She was waiting there, right where I last saw her. I had no doubt that she could see me. She again spoke to me without moving her lips, without any external sound.

I heard her inside my head. Hello, Oliver. It didn't seem strange that she knew my name. Who are you? I asked. Many people. A sorceress. A demon. A savior.

The caretaker of this city. How is this place possible? Power. My power. I built a land that would endure in peace for those who seek it. I cared not for politics. or conquest, and that frightened those who rule by fear. However, my protection is strong,

and not even drowning us beneath the waves can break my promise to my people. We let a silence pass between us. I observed the people walking through the streets below, carefree and seemingly happy. I felt a flash of jealousy. But I remembered the French soldier and became worried. I glanced at her, concerned that she might grow angry,

if I voiced my mind. She looked at me with her kind, dark brown eyes, and smiled gently. You have a question but are fearful of offending me. Fear not, and ask it. I shall answer it and not feel prejudiced against you. Even so, I worded my question diplomatically. How did that French soldier come to reside here? She laughed, a bubbly laugh that seemed to fill the water around her.

She raised her hand to stifle herself. For a moment I thought I saw webbing between her fingers, but I blinked and there was nothing. You mean to ask if I kidnapped him? His vessel sank during a ferocious battle. I found him as he was drowning and offered him sensually in this city. A choice between endless peace and the terror of war. It was not a difficult decision.

But had he refused, I would have simply returned him to the nearest shore. It sounded believable, and I wanted to believe her. Her voice was so soothing. I'd had apprehensions about coming here, but they'd faded as I talked to the Empress. Her smile faded, and she affixed me with an unreadable stare. You could join us, too. There are no papers to write, no funding to beg for,

no bosses to answer to. You could simply live in peace. We stared at each other for a full minute. The submersible beeped, and I blinked wildly, like I'd just been woken from a dream. My oxygen was running low. Not dangerously so, but definitely more than I would have guessed. How long had we been talking? I think I should go.

She nodded. Yes, we turned to the surface and report to your friend. She simply smiled as she watched me maneuver the vehicle away. from the balcony. I felt her eyes on me, even as I left the city and resurfaced. Her words echoed through my head. You could join us too over and over. It's never too early to plan your summer's story in Europe with WestJet, from rolling countryside to cobblestone streets. Begin your next chapter. Book your seat at westjet.com or call your travel agent. WestJet, where your story takes off. Journal of Dr. Oliver Reed.

May 14th, 2013. Weather. Same as yesterday. I'm sorry. I have to go back. I have to see her again. Goodbye. SCP 1069-1 is a submerged city,

three kilometers off the coast of Redacted, France, at a depth of approximately 220 meters. SCP 1069-1 covers an area of approximately 4.8 square kilometers, and is surrounded by a high dyke constructed of bronze and redacted, indicating that it may have once been a coastal city. Dating of recovered artifacts and materials indicate that SCP 1069 is at least 1,500 years old, and surveys of the intact sections of the city indicate that it would have been one of the largest cities of its era, in addition to containing architecture and high-strength construction that exceeds the technological capabilities of any known civilization of the time.

Recovered artifacts have also revealed written script, belonging to what has been tentatively identified as a previously unknown Breton or Brythonic language. Extensive analysis of the city's buildings has revealed damage consistent with a large-scale tsunami and subsequent flooding. Due to a lack of damage to the city's exterior dike, it is unknown precisely what this event entailed as a wave of sufficient height to crest the walls would presumably have been of sufficient magnitude to result in far more catastrophic damage to the city itself. SCP 1069-2 is a population of intangible human entities inhabiting SCP 1069-1,

currently estimated in excess of 78,000 individuals. These individuals appear to be dressed in clothing from a large cross-section of historical periods, so far determined to be as early as 500 AD and as recent as World War II-era military dress, and have been observed engaging in activity consistent with those of 5th-century city life. Instances of SCP-169-2 do not appear to be able to perceive

or otherwise acknowledge the existence of living human subjects, even when attempting to communicate directly with particular instances. SCP 1069-3 is a specific female humanoid entity within SCP 1069-1, consistently described as having regal composure and being dressed in clothing consistent with that of 5th century nobility. SCP 1069-3 is capable of communicating and conversing with particular. personnel, especially those with high levels of extrasensory sensitivity. SCP-169-3 does not appear to be hostile or dangerous to foundation personnel,

but multiple personnel have described seeing unusual P-Sene or Delphine features, such as fins or a tail, when SCP-169-3 is in their peripheral vision, and on several occasions been the target of attempts to convince personnel to live within the city. the city. SCP 1069 was discovered on, date redacted, by a civilian archaeological expedition attempting to locate and explore underwater ruins near redacted. Foundation agents embedded within the expedition called for backup following the disappearance of three civilian team members during initial contact and exploration.

A containment team was successful in securing SCP 1069, and all surviving expedition members were administered a Class A amnestic and given a cover story. Fan of soccer, you could assist at a moment historic. You could gain the bid for the final of the Cup of the World of the FIFA 2006 with Visa. It's just to have a card of credit visa BMO for participate. Inscribe you at BMO.com bar-oblique concourse. The reglements of the concourse is applicable.