Dr.丁innnnng的未完成工作

原创

  全称“珍稀被忽视生物保护协会(Rare Ignore Creature Protect Institute1)”,是一伙致力于“保护珍稀有害动物”的环保恐怖分子,主张“令有害物种、入侵与濒危物种享有同等地位”,该组织被外界称为“SPI”,即“血吸虫保护协会(Schistosoma Protect Institute)”,已证实为该组织成员的个体体内均携带有██种左右的寄生虫,其中有百分之三十为记录极少的稀有种,另外百分之七十则为此前从未报道过的新物种。

  组织性质:在中国政府的官方文件中,该组织的部分具体活动被定义为邪教与犯罪活动,而组织本身为注册团体。
  
  地点:圣•血石园,名称出自法布尔的“荒石园”

  组织纲领: 致力于保护所有被忽视的珍稀动物

  组织结构:行动组织由“执行委员会”作为主导,血石园下设华东、华北、华中、华南、西南、西北、东北七个分部,分部下设区域。另有指导行动的科学顾问部门与负责资金来源以及把锅甩给其他组织的募集部,据说法律部正在成立中。
  
  物种编号首位数字含义:
  1可用
  2濒危大型动物
  3濒危小型动物
  4濒危植物及微生物
  创作时的注意事项

  • RICPI给读者的感觉类似于当你和某人说大熊猫多么珍稀时,对方突然说了一句“我正在从事濒临灭绝的血吸虫的保护工作,你知道它们快灭绝了吗?”
  • RICPI这个组织虽然有点“环保恐怖分子”和“科学狂人”的味道,但既不是环保厨也不是疯狂科学家。
  • SCP-CN-011表现的是RICPI专业性的一面。
  • 组织自称RICPI、组织(如果想这么设定)在政府部门登记的名称是里克皮生物养殖中心,但基金会和其他组织大概还是会用SPI(血吸虫保护学会)称呼他们。
  • 现实中一些确实濒危的“害兽”其实也是濒危保护动物。
  • 仅供参考的行事风格:在基金会的文档中,spi可能是一类让人哭笑不得的组织,一方面从相关情报来说,这个组织的规模与专业程度都说明这是一个不小的组织,但另一方面,这个组织本身无法完成很多超自然相关组织能做到的事情(甚至包括交通管制这种“小事”),因此SPI在一些记录中会利用基金会“收容异常物品”的特质,把无害的“珍稀物种”都扔给基金会收容。SPI会毫不犹豫地和基金会进行(有保留的)合作。
  • SPI这一说法可能来自于组织的早期名称或者雏形,也有可能是曾经存在的相同类型的替身组织。想使用哪种说法都可以。
  • 在spi眼中,只要不涉及种群灭亡,人类与异常之间的相互攻击是生态系统的正常组成部分。
  • SPI放在基金会世界观中可能带来的一些思考:异常物体究竟是异类还是盖亚系统的一部分?组织成员们对前一条中spi的信条采取的态度(相信、质疑、反对)。理性与感性的冲突。甚至是夹在异常与非异常之间的spi如何面对异常侧的威胁与世俗威胁。
  • 简单来说,我个人希望想用spi创作的朋友不要把这个组织当成“中国版本的xxx”或者是“和基金会作对的群众演员”,理想情况是这个组织有自己的行事风格,在基金会世界观这个大语境下有着基于自己组织特点的一些思考。
  • (以后可能会更新一下RICPI文件格式和其他东西)

  
RICPI执行委员会文件格式,仅供参考:

RICPI执行委员会

物种编号:  大类+首次发现地区+发现日期+三位次序编号

种名(拉丁语学名,实在搞不定的话用[数据删除]也OK):

保护等级:可用/珍稀被忽视

分类地位:(如有的话从科以下开始)

分布:

简介:

研究历史:

保护措施:

注意事项与突发情景例举:

(宣传语2

附录:
物种大类:
1有价值未濒危物种
2濒危大型动物
3濒危小型动物
4濒危植物及微生物
首次发现地区:
东北:01
华北:02
西北:03
华东:04
华中:05
华南:06
西南:07
海外(注:包括本次元的其他星球):08
异次元:09

  
   Schistosoma japonicum Katsurada,1904日本血吸虫


基金会原创文档、故事、异学会文档与新同行组织创作暂时封笔,恢复翻译
素材:
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翻译搬运

在灰色的地平线之上,立着成百上千的塔式建筑,一些树立着,一些从中间折断。浓密的空气中反射回了声音,空中显得那样的空虚。地面上,生物们、人们和金属都以同样的方式走着,所有东西没有都活着,但也没全部死去。它们战斗着、躲藏着,很少有人去爱。空中空无一物,除了有一个亮亮的光球,大概很难被人认出那个就是月亮。仅存的心智还算正常的人在想着炼狱到底是什么样子,和现在这样有什么不同。



Grace在她的小木屋里坐在木头桌子旁边,呆呆地望着天花板。苍白的荧光灯打在她身上,让她黑色的头发和浅色的皮肤呈现出一种令人不快地点颜色。她灰色的运动裤看上去硬邦邦的,她在想在这片不毛之地的中央为什么还要穿衣服。

今天,她正在想象沙漠之中的绿洲,她想象着自己躺在水边,被阳光晒得暖暖的,枕在灰色的沙粒上。这时一阵哆嗦将她的身体抓住,扔回了现实之中。这一个无情、无望、令人抓狂的事实叫做“南极”。

她的工作环境既不优越也并不糟糕。房间一角堆着几箱子装着文件的盒子,一把梯子连着卫生间,另一处连着下面的床。桌子旁边是一一排普通的书架,大部分都放着信息政策,再旁边则是一扇她根本打不开的门。桌子上放着纸、笔、一台显示器和一台个占据了这张劣质木头制成的桌面的红色大个老式电话。
做过了白日梦,Grace照了一下镜子。这台小小的电视上只有一张标着巨大的价格标签的俯视图。她注意到标签又开始动了,她深深地吸了一口房间中陈腐的空气。从办公椅上站起身,在房间里走了一圈,在大冷天里抻了下腰,然后重新坐下。

直到电话铃响起,标签才停了下来。她第48次(没准是第49或者52次)拿起听筒,开始说话。

“午安,我是光之使者企业的4号接待员Grace Zammuto。我们正在售卖地球,您是打电话询问购买事宜的吗?”

400。我出400美元。

“抱歉,这位先生或是小姐,但是我们卖的最低价是585.98美元。我们可以商量一下,凑到600整,没准,我可以向您推荐几种保险或是——”

375。别想像你这种人一直干的那样趁机敲我一笔。

混蛋, Grace想着。她看到价格标签浮在半空中,偶尔会颤动或者摇晃一下。

“我知道,您在您那里可能是一位领导,但我之前已经说过,我无法向您报出更低的价格了。这样卖东西我们已经没有什么利润了,我们需要利润达到光明。我只能向您额外提供一些配套的套餐服务,您的钱绝对会花得很值……”

经理。找你的经理过来。我要你把经理找来而不是说这些废话。

“我很愿意这样做,但我恐怕得通知您:我讨厌别人说我的话是‘废话’,我经理的工作时间35时30分到36时30分之间,所以如果您不想再听我说话,我就要结束这次通话了。”

“砰”的一声巨响从外面传来。在监控器上,Grace可以在雪上作画,这时标签突然撞向地面。它现在升到了空中,价格标签被紧紧地拉动,好像是太阳系这颗大圣诞树上的装饰一样。

我可以把这东西扔进虚空里。我可以把它压碎进我的眼睛里。我可以让它撞向那些固态的空气。我还知道,你要为这件事“负责”

“可是,您不会的,因为您和您这伙人知道上次类似事件发生时出了什么事。告诉我,你还记得多少重启前的事情?”

几秒钟过去后。电话挂断了,Grace向后一靠,叹了口气。

又是几秒钟之后,Grace听见了外面的又一声巨响。这一次,外面的价格标签上出现了一个黑色的水滴状的液体。原处的警报器开始报警,44号观测所警报声大作。

这一切又经过了几秒钟,但Grace的脸上露出了一丝微笑,然后她开始嘲笑自己。自从第六次通话后她就没见过这种事发生了。

她觉得她已经结束了,但当她瞥了一眼她办公室的门时,她的笑声开始回响在办公室当中,门上刻着这样几个字母:

L.C.E.




On a different grey horizon, a forest of pine and snow dominates what used to be a city. Small animals run through empty homes, the snow and the roots of trees sprawling across the ground they trod upon. A lone machine remains in the center of the forest, pulsing a soft blue light. The dim ball of light in the sky had begun to lower.

The machine resembled a misshapen cube from a distance. Up close, hundreds of tiny gears clicked quietly and spun with each other, traversing around the construct in a complex dance. Blocks of plastic tumbled through large clear pipes, forming a rigid roadway between the skittering clockwork. Pistons pumped with screws that twirled at air, golden wires snaked through cracks in the figure, and a small pulley cooed while bearing its weight.

Frostbitten human corpses lay around the machine, alien to the forest's new residents. A mother clutching a son with the hopes a shielding him from an attacker; a young man with a curved weapon in hand, his face touched by surprise. Amongst the corpses, a single human-like statue remained, standing upright and facing away from the ancient massacre behind it. Carved out of wood, its hands had begun to rot away, as ice clung to its ridges and curves.

On the front of the grand machine, a wooden door persisted, with chipped paint and scratches of many depths. Surrounded by the gashes on the door, a faded bronze plaque proudly displayed an acronym:

L. C. E.
Свет мой путь3




"And I can assure you with 99.9% certainty, that letting me set up shop outside will NOT end up with me, you know, selling everything outside."

Assistant Researcher Riley had to use all of his willpower keep himself from picking up the minuscule SCP-1940-1 and punting him through a ventilation shaft's grates. Following complications with keeping SCP-1940-1 the size of an average human, HMCL Leifson had decided to downgrade its space to a broken refrigerator. 1940-1 protested the change all the while, but was now comfortable with the variety of rubbish Site-30 staff had provided for purchase within the fridge.

The fridge, now resembling a five-story model department store, now boasted wares including broken pens, shredded papers, lunch containers, and a pair of broken spectacles. 1940-1 stood at his register located on the fourth "floor" of the fridge, watching Riley install cameras in the fridge's many corners.

"A small lot of 14m by 14m, and I'll have all the required documentation you'll need," the miniature man continued. Donned with a blue apron and casual clothes, he looked more like he had attempted to make his own retail worker costume. "I'm obligated to stay on the property at all times, I'll probably sell some really neat acorns, perhaps one of those lollipops with a bug in the center, only it'll be a mud-pop or a wood-pop or maybe even a bird-pop—"

"I'm sorry, 1940 dash 1, but I'm not the one to make these decisions and I don't have the time to bring these concerns to those who can." Riley rubbed his eyes before he continued to adjust the camera's angles, waiting for Dr. Mill to give him the OK to move on to the next one from behind the chamber's observation window.

1940-1 watched Riley's work from his small register. "Please, call me Roshin. And they do say the customer is always right, but I may have to contest that saying with the words 'technically' and 'not'."

"And why is that, Roshin?"

"Because I guarantee that you'll be Roshin to change your mind once you see these deals I have here."

Riley hesitated for a few seconds, coughing once before finishing his work.

Roshin flashed a grin as he stood at his register. "I saw that. That got you. It got you, didn't it. When was the last time you've heard a pun in this place? I tell you, selling stuff here is like explaining politics to automaton."

"You caught me on a good day, is all." Standing up from the fridge, Riley couldn't hide the smile on his face, as stupid as the joke was.

"I believe I recall you saying you've never had a good day here," mused Roshin. "One joke a day makes the pain go grey, my mother said."

Shaking his head, Riley began to turn away until Roshin interrupted himself: "Actually, wait."

"Look, Mr. Riley. It's been, what, a year since this business has been relocated here? You know I don't ask for much other than some sales, which I haven't done once."

Roshin walked over to a paper cup, generally clean save for a suspicious brown stain on the lip. Grabbing it with both hands, he heaved the cup next to the register.

"I'll give you a one-time offer. This here goes for one dollar. I know you're probably going to burn this thing as soon as you can, but I don't have to care about that."

Riley raised an eyebrow has Roshin kept talking, who had been looking down at his counter.

"It's not like I want to keep working here, but I could be doing something much worse. Something part of a whole, but there's no such thing as a consistent whole. A-And I know I couldn't explain this stuff to Dr. Mill earlier, but— uh— It'd really help me if I could just get any sort of profit."

Riley looked down at the anomalous retail worker, who had an oddly serious expression for once. He looked back at Mill, who had developed a tense countenance during the conversation.

"Well, I can't help you in getting outside, but, I might be able to do a dollar, since they've got info on your sales before we brought you here. You know, with the HMCL being worried you'll self-destruct after reaching a quota or something like that."

Roshin lit up as he jumped towards the plastic cup. "That's all I needed to hear, pal! You can take that cup right now, down payment's a solid $0.00! And, ah, you may need to burn that cup very thoroughly if you're going to dispose of it. I don't want to end up selling ash piles in this place's furnace or whatever, you got that?"

"Loud and clear, 1940 dash 1." Signalling at Mill with the cup, Riley watched Mill roll his eyes and begin to call another Foundation employee.

"You have a good one, eh Riley? Tell Mill to live a little."

"Yup."

Roshin looked on as Riley exited the chamber, leaving the room empty with nothing but his store, his breath, and a dull ringing in the back of his ears. His eyes fell towards the three letters inscribed on his counter, a bright yellow acronym on the wooden top:

L.C.E.



On a grey horizon, thousands of towering buildings wilted, some falling at certain angles, others embraced the earth. Previously opulent decorations and colors adorned the buildings, now crumbling and advertising towards the dirt below. On the ground, creatures, humans, and machine alike roamed, not at all alive and not quite dead. The dim ball of light lowered over the horizon, replaced by another identical dim ball of light.

And on every building, in so many different sizes and locations and lettering, were the bright yellow words:

Light Courier Enterprises.

Production.
Illumination.
Substantiation.

We'll find the light for you.


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