Per 
Beasts in the Thistles.
Introduction…
The Sun rose again, over the battered landscape, casting the wild-men of the forests in a twisted, haggerd light. A dog howled in the darkness. The earth belonged to the beasts now, angry, wild things. The dog barked, cast in a wild nest of Scottish thistles; the hunt to continue until twilight.
The mess of thistles broke over the old concrete walls, the flowers casting pollen over the remains of an aged, peeling logo: A circle, with three arrows, pointing inward. An over the top, wild grasses grew over the cells, and a growth of dandelions made root in an old computer terminal, leaves and flowers growing into the old vaccum tubes. Mother Earth took back what was her's, leaving a trail of growth in her past. It was for the better.
All the earth had looked like this, grown over, decayed. It wasn't just here.
Part I: Two Women.
'What do you mean it isn't Keter?'
'It isn't. Keter refers to something that is eventually able to be thrown into a box, but 5098 can't, Lucy. There isn't a box big enough to keep such a thing, and even if there was, there is no such box that can't keep it from escaping.'
'So, Appollyon?'
'Yes.'
'But what will the O5 council say? The old man will surely object that-'
'Objec?'
'Ma'm, what I mean is, won't 05 be concerned about this? If I am getting it correct at what you explained to me, its AK, and-'
'Not AK, maybe ZK if we're lucky. The old men at the council will have to accept that there is simply another Appollyon SCP in range, and we have little that we can do to even attempt a containment procedure.'
'Christ, so, so… We can't contain this thing, at all, and it'll doom us?'
'More or less. Appollyon-classed SCPs are Man's last test. There are some we have been able to contain, more or less, but they're sort of like a Jack-in-the-box. They'll stay in the box for a little while, but will soon be cramped, and wishing to escape, and eventually, they'll burst out, regardless of how much you push down.'
'You have the picture on the file, right, Dr. Akia?'
Dr. Akia nodded patiently, before sliding the dossier toward Lucy. The two of then sat behind the glowing monitor, both pairs of eyes set on the image that laid before them; a great mass of bodies spiraling towards what could have been another sun.
'But, you never answered my question M'am. Why can't we contain 5098?'
Dr. Akia smiled, before rummaging through a half-empty ciggerette carton 'You won't keep asking until I tell you, won't you.'
'No.'
'Do you see this picture here? The big glowing orb?' She opened the dossier and pointed a finger to the center.
'That was found in Huntington, Alabama. At least the eighth sighting, and its not even the largest. The one in Songyun was larger by a good half kilometer.'
'So, we can't contain it because of the size?'
'Partly. But the main issue is that this thing occurs in huge distances away from one another, and we have no bloody idea were it'll be next, how long it will stay, or at all how to stop it from getting bigger.'
'And if it gets large enough, the next is going to be a ZK?'
'We don't know, but it is a sincere outcome. Eighthy three people died in Huntington thanks to it. Now, the previous instances only effected dead populations-'
'Its starting to affect the living?'
'You've read ahead, haven't you? But yes, it is. And we can do only so much to fool the public. Thankfully, amd this sounds terrible out of context Lucy, but renember the tornado outbreak? We placed the death toll on that, and the light on a freak solar flare. But the public will grow concerned if there is another flare in nere weeks, especially if there's no well, alternate way we can deflect the blame.'
'I've got the file, Ma'am. I'll send it out after break. Would you like to grab a drink at Bright's?'
She smiled, gripping Lucy's hand. It wasn't clear if it was a measure of force, love, or both. The two women departed.
The World After.
Future.
The forests before had been given new names all through their life, even after. The men before Colombus had called it Turtle Island. Columbus and the men before him, India. The men yesterday, had called it North America, and the men of The Foundation had called it Site A-351. Many different names, for one place. The men today had no name for it, as there had been no men left to name the forests.
It had always grown, continually. Near a town thatvthe men of yesterday had called Huntington, wheat blosssoms overwrought a heavy steel fence over the barge of the bridge, and the lakes had been deep and beautiful, with forests of kelp and bones.
Every part of The Foundatin had been like the bridge near the forest, the bridge near Huntington. Of course the flowers and the trees had changed. To the north mighty firs grew over thr skeletons of the hosptials kept by Foundation, and wild grasses spread into the depths of the labratories. That had been the branch in Alabama, a name shared both by the men of the past and the far past.
But The Foundation was larger then Huntington, larger then the grasses and firs, and pretty song-birds. There had been a branch nearly everywhere, they had all faced the same fate. Every single one.
