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An attempt to photograph RPC-717
Registered Phenomena Code: 717
Object Class: Gamma-Black
Hazard Types: Temporal Hazard, Memory Alteration Hazard, Immeasurable Hazard
Containment Protocols: The entrance point to RPC-717 has been sealed off by the Authority. The building that houses it (designated Site Alpha) is to be staffed at all times by a Class-A1 Black-Level Security Force. All personnel are to maintain high alert protocols at all times. Clearance Level 5 is required for any non-security personnel to enter the premises.
The perimeter of Site Alpha is to be patrolled by no less than four (4) field teams in full Incognito Gear. An established Kill Zone is in effect for any unauthorized personnel within an eleven (11) kilometer radius from Site Alpha.
All samples of RPC-717-1 are to be kept in a maximum security cold storage locker at Site Alpha. At no time are any of the samples to be removed from storage.
Following the acquisition of RPC-717-A, all further testing on RPC-717 is prohibited. RPC-717 is to remain sealed off. Access to RPC-717 by any person or persons is prohibited. Attempts to remove or penetrate the seal on the access point to RPC-717 will result in immediate termination.
The sealed entrance to RPC-717, in the basement level of Site Alpha
Description: RPC-717 is a spherical mass of indeterminate matter estimated to be 74 centimeters in circumference, located within an inter-dimensional space. The makeup of this matter is unknown, and due to its anomalous properties (see below), it cannot be visually examined. Physical interaction with RPC-717 can produce reactions ranging from minor spacial distortions to a possible Omega-Level EoE1 Scenario.
The space occupied by RPC-717 is accessed through a door located on the second basement level of Site Alpha, which does not lead to a physical space, but rather serves as a gateway. Beyond this gateway appears to be a pitch black hallway which cannot be illuminated by any means. After approximately seventy-five (75) steps are taken down the hallway, the light of RPC-717’s space will appear at the end of the hallway, at which point it can be accessed by traversing the remainder of the hallway area.
RPC-717 rests suspended approximately 1.2 meters off the “ground” of an interdimensional space, which has the appearance of an endless span of pure white. Should an individual walk away from RPC-717 in any direction, they will eventually find themselves returning to the unlit hallway, and back to Site Alpha.
RPC-717's surface area cannot be physically seen through any means, physical or anomalous. No matter the method used to view, record, or photograph it, RPC-717’s surface appears as a black space in one’s vision.2 The material that makes up RPC-717 can be removed from the primary mass, and will cause no discernable loss of surface area or volume to RPC-717. Removing a sample of this material is capable of causing potentially catastrophic and irreparable spacial and temporal damage on a scale that is not yet fully understood. For this reason, no further samples of RPC-717 are to be collected, and all further testing is strictly prohibited. See transcript of RPC-717-A, and Incident Log X-49 for further details
When removed from the central mass, the material collected from RPC-717 (designated RPC-717-1) is a viscoelastic material which responds to stimuli in ways that are still not fully understood. Extensive studies have been performed on the samples of RPC-717-1 available, though the results have shown no consistency whatsoever.
Document File on RPC-717-A
RPC-717-A is a handwritten journal by an alchemist named Steven Armatidge that is estimated to have been initially written in the 15th century, discovered under a caved-in roof on the top floor of Site Alpha. In the journal, Mr. Armatidge details many accounts of his life, including the discovery of RPC-717 and its effects. The following are transcripts of the relevant portions of the journal. Access to RPC-717-A itself is granted only to the Board of Global Directors.
We have finally convinced Father Bowman to allow us use of his church for our great experiment. He is one of the few among the clergy who do not view us as men of Satan. He understands our mission to learn the ways of God Himself. Perhaps we shall even speak with the Divine Father—the first to do so since Christ and his Apostles.
I can think of no better place to open the door to the Kingdom of Heaven than a church. But more importantly, no safer a place. Safe from the prying eyes of those who would have us hanged for blasphemy.
Thanks to the materials supplied to us by our friends The Visitors it appears the day we shall penetrate the veil is upon us. Long have we toiled to transmute the materials of this Earth, but the elixir still eludes us. Nothing on this Earth can create what it is we seek. We may find mere medicines, but not that which cures the greatest ailment. The final ailment. For that, we seek materials not found on this mortal plane. For that, we must seek the Chaos.
Their machines have been awakened, all the pieces in their place. It will take time, they say. The veil is strong. Stronger than the hardest iron. But these strange machines shall be our sword. I only hope when the Visitors return, we can offer them a share of our bounty, so that we may truly repay the kindness they have shown to us.
The irony is not lost on me; in this chamber below the church, closer to Hell than any of the Prying Eyes, we shall open the gates to Heaven.
WE HAVE FOUND IT
WE HAVE FOUND IT
WE HAVE FOUND IT
WE HAVE FOUND IT
WE HAVE FOUND IT
I have found myself so captivated with our discovery that I have not touched pen to paper in many days. I must chronicle our discovery. What we have done here is a miracle. There can be no other word for it. Indeed, the veil was thick. Crossing over from our world to our prize is a long walk each time. But there it is. The alchemist’s dream. Greater than any panacea. Greater than any noble metal.
Chaos. The clay with which God sculpted existence. That with which He gave form where there was Void. The origin of all things.
Pardon my blasphemous tongue, but we now posses the power of God in our hands. We cannot behold it; where our eyes view its form, a hole is burned in our vision, revealing the inconceivable blackness of the Void. It was quite horrifying to behold at first. As if the place where it sit is the place where our eyes have been stabbed. The wound in our vision allowing neither light, nor comprehension.
We touched it, and found it was like a thick slime. William took a small portion between his fingers and rolled it betwixt them. We were aghast to see it shape into a brilliant red stone, one that shone brighter than any jewel on Earth.
We have collected many cups of the Chaos. At present we are simply storing the collected Chaos into flasks, and focusing simply on collection.
There is a large hill to the east, atop which sits a lake of the most brilliant blue. It is the most breathtaking thing I have ever seen. I do not remember it there before.
We began testing the samples of Chaos today. We attempted to boil it, but the Chaos did not react to flame. It simply sat, defiant and unchanging. The flask in which it sat was freezing to the touch, even as flame lapped upon it. This endeavor will truly test us. This is God’s own formula. It will not bend easily to the hands of man.
The merchant William sold his stone to seems to have gone missing.
Since we began opening the veil, the wall across from my bed had begun to weather unnaturally. I thought nothing of it at first. I woke this morning to see it had formed the visage of a man’s face, eyes in agony but mouth curled in smile, covering the entirety of my wall.
I shall sleep in my sitting room.
Further testing upon the Chaos has achieved nothing. We try to learn its secrets, but it baffles us at every step. Mathias poured a drop upon a simple wooden table, and life sprang from it. The small table had become as a forest, shrunken in size. We procured another table and tried again. One drop, from the same flask. Now, instead of a small forest, the table became ice. As if a sculptor had carved a massive block of ice into an elaborate sculpture of the table. And as this happened, the forest from the first table turned into pure marble. Like a brilliant sculpture itself.
It is said that Chaos can be transmuted into anything. We are now learning the extent of its potential. Do we even have the means to command it? Is man not capable of transmuting this material into something desirable?
The face is now one of pure rage. Is this a message from God?
I am terrified to set foot in my own bedroom. I confess that I wept in fear as I hurried all my possessions from that room.
Francis has not arrived for our next round of testing. I grow worried. Our supply of Chaos dwindles, perhaps I will collect some more as I wait.
Frank called me on my cell. Guy was in tears, begging for help. Said he couldn’t get out of his house. So Matt, Will and I drove over there. The whole time he’s freaking out, sobbing uncontrollably, saying his house doesn’t make sense. I asked him what he meant, he says his doors lead to rooms he’s never seen before, his house is like a maze, and the windows won’t open. He can’t even break them open. He tried calling 9-1-1, they thought he was fucking with them. So we arrive at his house, and we see him banging on a first story window, screaming for help. We open the window, and nothing. No one’s there. We close it, and there’s Frank again, SCREAMING. I’ve never seen that face on a human being before. Like the face someone probably makes while they’re being murdered.
We just ran away. I don’t know what the fuck that was, and I’ll admit I’m fucking terrified to go back.
Matt’s had this theory; he thinks the Orb is causing this. According to him, punching that hole to reach it probably fucked with reality, and every time we scoop more shit out of it we start messing with space and time even more. Like we made fun of Matt because he’s a huge sci-fi nerd and “weakening the fabric of reality” sounds like some H.P. Lovecraft type shit, but then what the fuck was that? What happened to Frank?
I think Matt was onto something.
WHY THE FUCK DOES MY DIARY READ LIKE LORD OF THE RINGS
I DON’T REMEMBER EVER WRITING THIS SHIT
Confronted the team, they got really fucking hostile.
Say they don’t care about Frank or Matt’s theories. The sponsor wants results. Everyone’s fucking terrified of the sponsor.
Looking through these old pages. I’ve always kept my diary on me. It was a gift from my mom before she died, just some dumb little souvenir, but it was the last thing she gave me so I swore I’d use it. But is that why I have it? Is that why I always use it? It’s always on me. What you carry into that place stays normal when everything changes. You’re outside of the world being changed whenever you fuck with the Orb. So the book never changed. But then I don’t know.
So I’m seeing these articles in my old magazine collection I don’t remember seeing before. But I also do remember. Something’s wrong. We busted a hole in the boundaries of our world, and now shit’s all fucked up. It sounds crazy, but look what happened to Frank! Look at the shit that apparently happened to me!
But the Orb is the worst part. That thing isn’t a ball of miracle slime or whatever, it’s connected to the fabric of reality somehow. You fuck with it, you rewrite existence. And the worst part is it corrects the fuck ups it makes. So your memories change when the world goes tits up, but little changes sneak up on you. I can't keep shit straight anymore! If they keep fucking around with the Orb, who knows what else is gonna get rewritten!
I don’t even know what’s true anymore!
[writing in this section appears scrawled and illegible]
The “old me” talks about these “Visitors”. Was it aliens? When did aliens ever come to earth in the past? You’d think there’d be SOME record of that, but NOTHING! Not even fucking crop circles or suspicious accounts from old books and shit. Was that the original way things played out? Was Old Me the first me? Did I ever go in there and fuck with the Orb without the book on me? How many fucking times did history get rewritten?
[several geometric doodles are drawn here. Appearance of the doodles indicates they were drawn in haste]
There’s a fully loaded Glock in my dresser drawer. I don’t ever remember buying one. I’m taking this as a sign. I’m ending this before these greedy fucks end the world. If anyone finds this, please, don’t go into that room, and if you do, don’t touch the Orb.
Incident Log X-49
On 4/11/1983, Agent O’Toole returned from a retrieval mission with 3 canisters of RPC-717-1. Upon exiting the Site Alpha gateway, Agent O’Toole flew into a panic at the sight of awaiting Authority staff, demanding to know who they were, and drawing his weapon. Agent O’Toole claimed to be part of another organization entirely, and his uniform did not match the attire of standard operational field agents. Agent O’Toole took note of the RPC Authority insignia, which was branded onto site equipment, asking “what happened to the logo” and claiming that there was no such thing as the RPC Authority. After initial hostilities, Agent O’Toole became pacified due to visible confusion, asking what year it was. When his question was answered, he made the assertion that he was being lied to, but could not remember what year he believed it truly to be. Before amnestics could be administered, Agent O’Toole had regained his proper memories, and was unable to recall what he initially believed the truth to be.