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item #: scp-1461 object class: euclid special containment procedures: site-6 hasbeen constructed around scp-1461. task force lambda-30 ("whiskey tango foxtrot") is onpermanent assignment to reinforce site-6 security. any unusual activity from scp-1461 is to bereported to on-site level 4 supervisors, who will implement a4-7 daybreak procedures attheir discretion (see site-6 standard procedures guide). any operatives entering scp-1461 shouldbe fitted with full nbca (nuclear, biological, chemical, anomalous) protection and armedescorts. scp-1461 is considered a high-priority target for the organization known as the churchof the broken god, who have made ██ attempts

to breach site-6 and access scp-1461 since19██. description: scp-1461 is an english manor(circa 1890) with attached sub-levels. it came to the foundation's attention on november1941, when the dwelling and its sub-level facilities vanished, then rematerialized afteran eleven day period of absence. the surface portion of scp-1461 is a two-level dwellingwith twelve bedrooms, four baths, three studies, a main foyer/ballroom, a library, a kitchen,and a pantry-basement. most of these rooms were converted into simple barracks priorto foundation acquisition and are believed to have been dwellings for the cult. site-6staff have reinforced the structure and use the available space to house monitoring roomsand security forces. no anomalous activity

has ever originated from the manor itself. the sub-level facilities are accessible throughthe manor's basement. the layout and size of the sub-level facilities has yet to beaccurately measured, due to the anomalous qualities of the facility and hostile entitieswithin. the facility is constructed primarily from concrete, iron, and brass; but also anumber of exotic and/or unknown materials. the layout of the facility follows illogicalroutes and architecture: for example, doorways open into solid walls or open chasms, stairwellsascend into empty space, etc. extensive damage is apparent throughout the facility. certainsections have caved in and are filled with an unidentified grey sandstone that existsnowhere on the foundation's expanded periodic

table of elements. the facilities also containa wide array of anomalous artifacts both active and neutralized (see inventory document i-1461-current).it is unknown whether the facility's erratic layout and artifacts were present prior toscp-1461's disappearance, or if they were introduced during said absence. the sub-level facilities are extremely hazardous,with an extensive array of moving mechanical apparatuses, gear works, pistons, steam-pipesand coolant tubes that lack appropriate safety measures. the machinery is maintained by strategicplacement of nozzles that dispense a black, mucus-like substance which is highly corrosiveto organic materials, but also serves as a coolant and lubricant. some sections appearto be emitting strong gamma and x-ray radiation,

registering 75 counts per second at theirhighest recorded reading. the source of this radiation is unknown as none of the machineryappears to be constructed with or houses radioactive components. scp-1461 contains approximately fifty-sevenhumanoid entities (including seven former foundation personnel) designated as scp-1461-1.these entities, through an unknown process, have been augmented with crude mechanicalimplants in an as-of-yet undiscovered section of scp-1461. each instance of scp-1461-1 hasbeen uniquely augmented, with little uniformity between them. the majority have been augmentedwith metallic teeth and claw-like protrusions on their hands, giving them lethal close-quarterscombat ability. other augmentations include

iron bolts haphazardly grafted to the subject'sbones, severe reinforcement to the spinal column, and the replacement of one or moreorgans with prosthetic equivalents. scp-1461-1 appears to possess no higher brain functionsor retain any sense of self, acting entirely on canine-levels of instinct and intelligence.instances stick to one- or two-unit groups, build easily hidden or defensible nests, andattempt to collect food cannibalized from one another or from intruding foundation staff.all instances of scp-1461-1 are considered extremely hostile. it is theorized that scp-1461 itself may "command"scp-1461-1. the speaking-tube system throughout the facility has been observed emitting loudmetallic shrieks that cause scp-1461-1 to

retreat from an area. in other encounters,a metallic odor identified to be blood filters through the ventilation system, drawing scp-1461-1to the marked location. the frequency and accuracy at which scp-1461 scent-marks areascurrently occupied by foundation personnel suggests some kind of guiding, hostile intelligence. at least four instances of scp-1461-1 havereceived additional augmentation, replacing their esophagus and lungs with a phonographdevice powered by scp-1461-1's own motions. these phonographs emit a constant, repeatingstream of speech peppered with religious symbolism, but has provided no clues as to its creatoror purpose. addendum: according to records from 1941,the manor was owned by a mr. █████ ██████ and

his family. a world war one veteran, mr. ██████ wasinjured during the battle of the somme and shipped to a london hospital shortly beforethe war's end. his experiences appear to have had a profound psychological effect, givinghim a nihilistic view of society. he constructed scp-1461 with the intent of somehow endingor escaping the world. more information can be extrapolated from his journals, recoveredfrom within scp-1461 (see evidence summary v2008-5). it is believed that mr. ██████ hadanywhere from fifty to a hundred employees helping him in this task, the majority ofwhom eventually re-organized into a cult devoted to scp-1461. an unknown number of these followerswere present in scp-1461 when it vanished, along with mr. ██████, his wife,and two children. to date, only six of these

individuals have been accounted for. shortly after scp-1461 rematerialized, unknownindividuals entered scp-1461 before foundation agents could contain the site. these individualsare believed to have been members of mr. ██████'s fellowship, who had not been present in scp-1461when it vanished. they successfully extracted a number of potentially anomalous artifactsthat have yet to be cataloged or recovered. partial list of cataloged anomalous roomsof the twelve sub-levels discovered by foundation personnel, only 75% of its layout has beenproperly mapped, and an unknown number of levels are believed to exist further below.each sub-level contains excavation, construction and storage rooms, as well as rooms exhibitingsafe or euclid-level anomalous qualities and/or

artifacts. for a full list of anomalous scp-1461rooms, refer to document i-1461-current. gel production (sub-level three): an automatedfactory that melts down the unidentified grey sandstone into glass, forms them into canisters,and fills them with a green viscous gel made up of a variety of exotic chemicals. someof these jars contain fully-formed teeth and organs whose dna patterns match nothing foundon earth. most of the jars have become inert, and their contents have decomposed. the gel-productionmachine itself has been crushed by a cave-in. pipe hall (sub-level four): a hallway linedwith approximately 2,450 pipes, constructed from brass, iron, copper, gold, bamboo, carvedjade and [data expunged]. some kind of substance can be clearly heard being pumped throughthe pipes, but their origin and destination

are unknown."factory deliveries" (sub-level seven): a large, unlit warehouse filled with woodencrates of various sizes. unlike other storage rooms, which contain mundane materials fromnon-anomalous sources, the crates in this section are blank or branded simply with "factorydeliveries." irregular patrols of the warehouse have revealed that the number and arrangementof crates changes, but as with the pipe hall, their origin and destination are unknown.on at least one occasion, muffled vocalizations could be heard coming from somewhere withinthe warehouse, but their source was never discovered.orb room (sub-level ten): [data expunged] speaking tube room (sub-level eleven): themultitude of brass speaking tubes connecting

scp-1461 appear to converge in this room ona large central pulpit. the partial remains of a human female have been recovered here,with evidence to suggest the body (specifically skin and intestinal organs) was used to performcrude repairs to some of the damaged tubes. catalyst room (sub-level twelve): a largechamber filled a random assembly of gears, cables, pulleys, screws, and belts, all madeof an amalgam of iron, tin, gold, and other metals, some as of yet unidentified. the assemblyhas suffered extensive damage, with evidence that a large section (approximately 12 cubicmeters) has been violently removed. the location of this section is unknown. an elevated platformis suspended directly over the assembly. the platform features a metallic bed with thedesiccated remains of a human male. the corpse's

chest has been pierced by large syringes connectedto a pumping machine, its design suggesting that it pumped fluid extracted from the syringesinto the missing portion of the machinery below. at regular forty-five minute intervals,the assembly attempts to self-start, but its existing damage prevents initialization. frictionheat-buildup eventually results in an emergency shut-down that lasts until the machinery hascooled enough to make another attempt. item v2008-5 was recovered from the hospital bed. partial transcript of scp-1461-1 phonographrecording i am what you have made me. i am choice and i am tyranny.

forgive me. i am then and i am now. what gods they will be, then. i am evil and i am flesh. i am the trap. i am the trapped. i am beauty and i am chaos. children are selfish. i am the worm. i have broken god.

summary of evidence from recovery site v2008-5 day 14i think it is important to provide context, so future generations may recognize the urgencyof my endeavor. in 1916, i enlisted into his majesty's 5thinfantry division, and in the bloody trenches of europe i witnessed proof of humanity'sbarbarism and the absence of god. wounded in battle and wallowing in septic mud, thefever fell upon me, and with it came the visions. in my nightmares i saw a great iron worm,with jaws like that of a dragon, devouring the fields of europe. it had no teeth, butmasses of grinding gears that tore flesh and stone to pulp. its voice was the roar of fallingartillery, its breath the blistering poison

of mustard gas. damned souls were belchedinto a starless sky like smoke, lost into a cold, indifferent void. i have no memory of my conscious actions duringthat time, but at last i found myself in a hospital in london. they told me the war wasover, but the dreams did not leave. i would wake in a cold sweat, filled with purpose.hastily i scribbled down designs that had been burned into my mind, strange and alienarchitectures i did not recognize or understand. finally i returned home to my wife and children.brave simon and little simone were a welcome escape from my fear, but my wife clarice tooknotice. "shellshock," she called it, the word on the lips of every veteran's wife or mother.i tried to explain my visions, what instilled

such fear in me, but she recoiled as if iwere a mere madman. if only that were the case. the children heeded my warnings, however.they were rightly afraid, yet that was not my intent. no, simon, do not fear the beast.no simone, please do not cry. father will not let you be fed to the worm. the schematics! they must be the secret tostopping the worm. i feel a connection, a familiarity that likens them unto a greatmetal snare. with them i will cage the beast. day 825so long, so long in my workshops. so long

in the belly of my father's home, free fromprying eyes. working, ever building. my wife questions but refuses to listen. only thechildren heed. only simon understands. a finer son no father could want. my family's wealth is modest, but the urgencythat gives energy to my limbs also guides my thoughts. through clever accounting i cantake advantage of the working class' desperation. so many seek work, an honest day's wages,that they do not question my motives. some even show curiosity, enthralled by my designs.a work leonardo himself would envy, they say. we are more than employer and laborer, weare a growing congregation, seers who know the truth.

with the enlightened to spur the others forward,we make excellent time. they build and forge, dig and reinforce, laying pipes and wrappingconductors in rubber. on the surface, they speak of a great depression, of economic andsocial despair. below, i lay the foundation of a greater tomorrow. but i smell the burningbreath of the worm. it is close. we must hurry. day 2,398i have seen the puppet of the worm. a puffy austrian who commands power from the desperateand in their despair they hurl themselves into the grinding teeth of the worm and callthemselves masters of a thousand years. i see his face in the newspapers and screamat his empty, hateful eyes, but no one listens! no one sees!

the nightmares have changed. now there aremore than mere soldiers on an apostate battlefield, now there are prisons. camps of men and womenand children, their flesh shriveled by cruelty and neglect. the worm feeds on them, and theirsouls are so weak they cannot even flee into the heaven-less sky. i fear for them, but i fear for my own childreneven more. in my dreams, i hear them crying on the battlefield. they call out for god,for their mother, for their father. only i can answer. day 2,567tonight. the vision came. i saw the worm, eating therotten flesh of a dead world! the stars had

burned out, the sun bled into blackness, untilthe only light was but a flickering candle, a torch held against oblivion. no christiangod holds that torch, no pagan worship, no politician or priest. i hold the torch. i stand within the snare, built of the ironof the earth and the blood of man, and i bait the worm to its doom! day 2,568success! the worm is trapped! day 2,569my victory was short-sighted. the worm is caged but it has already unleashed its plagueupon us. the bombs fall upon london. war rages

once more. the worm cries out from below,mocking me even as it thrashes within its cage. this world is doomed. the work crews fear it, or maybe they fearme? some want to leave, to fight another pointless war for their homeland. others stand behindme, terrified of what comes for us. how… how..? how can we escape this rotting worldand the locusts that devour it? day 2,569i finally understand the purpose of my great machine. not a cage. an engine. a device thatdwarfs all measure of man's science, satan's magic and god's miracles. a machine that willdeliver us from oblivion! all it needed was a heart! a burning furnace to power it! howironic, that the worm that promised my doom

is now the engine that will drive our salvation! the laborers who heeded my warnings have bandedwith me. like a cult to its messiah they gathered at my feet, and as a dutiful shepherd i willguide them to paradise. some resisted. i do not hate them. i do not hate the people of this ruined world. i pity them. it was all i could do to instruct my followersthat a merciful death is preferable to the alternative. those who would not come withus were better off sent away by their kin than by some heartless enemy on the battlefield.

i go to throw the switch of my great machine,and free ourselves from the madness of the grave. day 2,570 day 1in one brilliant flash, my engine and the manor above have been delivered from the war-tornearth to a new world. this place is like our own, but different in many ways. a gray mistswirls around the manor, free of the stink of gunpowder and urban decay. the manor sitsin a field of grey soil devoid of vegetation. i hear no buzzing of insects. i see no sunor moon, just a dull, sourceless light. a dismal arrival, perhaps, but a welcome one.i broke wine with my brothers and sisters. today we are saved.

the engine has gone quiet now. the worm musthave been consumed by its own fire. some merciful part of my soul, so flushed with victory andnew hope, prays the worm is at peace. day 2where on earth there would be day and night, here the light never changes. the gray mistlingers, muting all sound. my followers look to me for answers. they say i am the voiceof the engine, surely i must know what to do. i push for patience and make promisesi already begin to doubt myself. to satisfy their curiosity, i asked three of my bravestto venture out in search of… anything. i try to reassure my family, but clarice looksat me only with fear and hate. she has walled herself up in the bedrooms with simone. simonstays with me though. he wishes to go out

to see this new world. i refuse him. i willnot threaten his life for the sake of knowledge. even as i write these words, i am startledby what i see. this world was to be our safe haven, was it not? day 3the men i sent into the mist have returned, thanks to the lengths of string i providedthem. no vegetation, no animals, no sun or stars, no civilization. this world is emptyand grey. not hell, like the world we left behind. a limbo. does that make it better? day 4the dreams no longer come. where before i

could scarcely close my eyes without envisioningarcane machinery and prophecies of doom, now my mind is empty, and the silence mocks me.the food stores are being rationed. i do everything i can to convince the followers that utopiawill come, that this is just a transition, but empty stomachs speak with more convictionthan a prophet without a prophecy. a nurse named eudora seems to have taken it upon herselfto stir the hearts of the following, but her sermons cut short as i approach, and she regardsme with stony silence until i withdraw. day 5my wife refuses to leave the bedrooms. she does not speak to me, ignores the food i leavefor her. i call for simone but they do not come out. how i have come to hate my wife.her spite will not save us.

two of the younger followers attempted tosteal food from the kitchens. they talk of dwindling food stores, of mistrust, of strangenoises coming from below, though my great engine no longer turns. if we imprisoned them,the others would have protested. instead, i go to the others, and tell them the youngones have run out in to the fog, intend to find answers. not everyone believes me, includingeudora. instead they go back to plotting in quiet. i worry for my flock. day 6now everyone speaks of sounds from below, of rattling pipes and grinding gears, thoughi assure them the machine has been shut off.

to assuage their fears, i sent danvers andburtleby to investigate. we should hear back from them sometime later tonight. or morning. no one questioned the fresh meat preparedfor dinner. day 7my wife is dead. i grew furious at her petulance, and pried open the doors with a pickaxe. shehad arranged simone for bed and then- damn you, clarice. you rotten whore. i wantedto save my children. danvers and burtleby have not come up. thegrinding noises come every hour now, louder and louder. the house shakes around us. i fear the worm may not be as dead as i hoped.

day 8darkness has finally fallen, and with it came a terror i have never known, even in the trenches.cold seeps in through the windows. strange shadows move in the fog, and i hear what soundlike footsteps on the rooftop. the house groans and shakes. the worm struggles . the courage of my followers frays. they wantto go home, they want to be free of this horror and this damnable grey purgatory. day 9they have taken simon. eudora rallied the followers. she declared that the worm spoketo her to her dreams and that she is the voice now. the worm demands sacrifice, she said:the son of the man who trapped it.

i fought them. i fought. i would not let themtake my boy, the only thing i have left, but they were many, and they had gorged on theflesh of their fellows. i was but one broken man. i am no savior, no torch in the darkness,just a puppet to my own madness. i feel that every action i have taken, every vision anddesign i feverishly scrawled from half-remembered nightmares, was forced upon me by a cruelintellect that wished to test the limits of my sanity. they have taken simon below. they will feedhim to the worm. let this be my prayer to the starless night, to a god that may noteven exist: i will not let him be fed to the worm. i will hurl myself into its teeth, thatmy bones might clog its innards, before i

let them take my son. i'm sorry clarice. day 10god, the noise! it is almost deafening. wheels turn and pistons hiss, and from the deepestreaches i hear a low, mournful bellow. i have brought my journal, to give my mindsomething to focus on as i traverse the machine. looking upon it with my sane eyes, i realizethis maze is no work of logic. the tunnels bend and twist without reason, stairwellslead to solid walls and doors open to gaping chasms. the transference to this grey worldmay have warped the machine, or maybe i never truly saw it for what it was, and just builtaccording to my deranged whims.

i have heard and seen nothing of simon orhis captors. doubtless their steps are guided by the same madness that has abandoned me,guiding them with fluid ease towards the worm's waiting jaws. i hasten my step, but i seemto be running in blind circles. if nothing else, at least i have a sturdy lantern andplenty of oil from the work crews that toiled down here. day 11day and night are meaningless in this limbo, but down here there is even less to measurethe passage of time. my journey has taken me deeper, into some kind of processing factory.these automated devices gather grey sand from the bare rock, heat it into a sickly-lookingglass, and fill the created vials with foul-smelling

chemicals i cannot identify. against my betterjudgment i crept close to inspect a completed vial, and to my horror a fully-formed setof teeth began to take form. another jar held an eyeball like nothing found in man or nature.what is the purpose of this factory? what does it build and for whom? is this the resultof my design, or some mechanical cancer, spread by the worm to twist the machine's function? my quarry seems to be in dispute now. i hearthem arguing through the ventilation ducts and empty pipes. eudora has taken my son deeper,leaving the others behind to harass my progress or simply abandoning to the whims of the worm.i have my pickaxe and my training, but i must move with stealth. i have not eaten in nearlytwo days. still, eudora's men still carry

strips of meat… i also saw something odd near the lathe roomi have hidden myself within. a painting of exquisite taste. it is the work of a master,but i cannot recall when i purchased it or what possessed me to leave it down here. theimage shares a remarkable likeness to clarice, smiling as though in happier times. it castsmy thoughts to decades past when i was a different man, a smaller man, yet infinitely happier. can knowledge so damn a soul? in a universeof such cosmic evils that i have witnessed, is ignorance truly the only bliss one canenjoy? day 12my dreams returned, not of prophecy but memory.

i am with simon in the london museum. he pullsme along, eager to see art and history, the beauty of all created by man and god. buti cannot see the beauty. i see only bloody mud and blackened skies, the ugliness of manand a callous god. simon walks on with out me while i sink into a bench. the day fadesaway to night, and i sit in an empty museum of man's atrocities, the last living thingon a cold earth, overwhelmed by the weight of it all. i wait for death or oblivion to take me, whichevercould stomach so pitiful a morsel. but instead i feel the presence of another. i feel nolight from this being, no warmth, yet i sensed that this was as close to god as any beingcould be. it looks like a man, but there is

a weight to him, as though something greater,and stranger, were squeezed into his skin. "the child wants, and doesn't know why," thegentleman speaks to me. "the child grasps, and doesn't know the danger. they burn theirfingers and know they are not ready. someday they will be. someday they will give voiceto the soul and sing with the essence of the universe. what gods they will be then. whatgalaxies they will weave with dreams and care. but now they are children, and children areselfish. they know only what they want." and then i awoke back inside this machine,on a grey planet. so far from the world of my memories. it burdens my bones just to thinkof the inevitability. but i forced myself to stand just the same.

simon cried out to me, i heard him far below.i called back to him but i heard no reply. eudora's zealots hound me relentlessly, andi fear some horrible change has come over them in casting their lot with the worm. theyspeak with slurred, reptilian voices, or gargle as though choking. some have even turned ontheir fellows. as i crept about the darkness i saw one such rebellion. a man i had triedto lead to paradise fell upon his companion in an argument over faith, and i felt theheat of his lifeblood splash across my astonished face. the teeth! gnashing and ripping, sobig and sharp, like the fangs of a wolf, yet also serrated as the blade of a saw. animaland flesh, yet also machine. my surroundings have been affected by thesame mutation. rooms i do not recognize bleed

into one another like spilled paint. an officewith plush green chairs merges with a warehouse filled with crates that rattle and bang withsome unknown, stinking occupant. ladders descend into pools of viscous liquid that have floodedwhat appears to be a school. statues of marble and reliefs of brass decorate the ceilingsand form the very walls. rattling belts spew ammunition into neglected piles, shells thesize of my head clatter to the floor in automated factories, producing the tools of death. icould not have made this! i could not have wanted such devices! and yet here they stand!and always the shrieking, the tapping of heating and cooling metals, the groan of pressurizedhydraulics! i cannot remember what silence sounded like!

day 13 or 14eudora's followers no longer heed reason. the demented growl and spit and scavenge forfood, their ramblings the stuff of bedlam. others have become something… else. feral,like the lycanthropes of myth. they crawl on all fours, their eyes adjusted to the gloomand shining red, twin pinpoints of demon light. i can startle them with my lantern, but theyalways return, trying to surround me from all sides. hunters they are, and fast as wolves,but their howls are the shriek of tearing metal. eudora's voice taunts me now. it echoes upthrough the network of plumbing, from every open ventilation shaft. she announces herglorious ascendance, of her devotion to the

worm, and i hear true lunacy in her desperatelaughter. it ripples through this whole machine, as if she herself is a part of it. i have found respite in a room filled withhospital beds, and windows that look out into an abyss. it reminds me of the hospital iawoke from the war within. but i must pry my eyes away from that dark, for my mind cannottell if i look into lightless cavern, or starless void. day 15?i have found eudora. pursued by her followers-made-monsters, i came upon a great cathedral made from organpipes, marble, and the very flesh and bones of eudora herself. now i see how she couldspeak to me through the pipes, for her body

has been torn asunder and stitched upon it.her organs are pulled straight and taut though the tangled plumbing, her skin stretched andinflated with gases, her blood sizzling and steaming from the hydraulics. only her headremains whole, wide-eyed and cackling, seated on the pulpit of this temple to dementia.the monsters refuse to set foot into this "hallowed ground," so i alone approached tospeak with her. i demanded my son's return, but she spat herown broken teeth at me and said he had been taken by the worm, delivered to the heartof the machine where its mouth sat waiting. furious, i fell upon her with a vengeance,tearing what remained of her body from the brass organs around her. she died screaming,and at last was quiet.

but then a great bellow erupted from the machine,and a new voice spoke to me through the mangled organ. "i am what you have made me. i am then andi am now. i am choice and i am tyranny. i am evil and i am flesh. i am beauty and iam chaos. i am the worm." stricken, i fell to the blood-stained floorand wept. i cowered, screaming, not because of the words it spoke. but that they were spoken with my voice. at last i beheld the truth i had tried tobury so deep. the worm, the machine, the madness that guided my hands. it was me.

i do not know what compelled me to stand.i did not feel hope. i didn't feel despair. like an automaton, i could only move forwardto face revelation. day ??when i came upon the core of my great machine, i found my son. the machine was not a weapon to trap the worm.it was not an ark to carry us to salvation. i had sought to exile myself from a monstrousexistence, and in my cowardice and fear, i became a monster. i became the worm. i builta shell to hide within. an engine to spirit me away from the pain, the despair that hadclaimed my sanity. to abandon creation and god's cold distance. but it would not runwithout a catalyst.

simon. so full of hope and faith, so full of loveand dreams. how i envied your strength. how i envied your ignorance. i yearned to wrapmyself up in that goodness and hide from the world. i threw the switch of my great machine,and it drank the heartsblood from your lifeless body, pumping it into every pipe and piston.i believed your love would carry us to paradise. but it was tainted by my madness, by my actof murder. i dreamed of peace, and it brought me to unchanging limbo. i demanded paradise,but i deserve only perdition. and i was so horrified by what i had doneto you, i could not bear to face it. i spoke as if you were there with me, smiled as thoughi could see you smiling at me. when clarice

realized what i had done, what i was, shetook simone away before… before i sought her out as well. this place is filled with your memories, simon.are they the last tattered shreds of love you have for me? or are they here to tauntand punish me, as the man-beasts that stalk the hallways surely must be? i do not know if any of you can forgive me.i only know that i promised to save my son. i promised to slay the worm. i leave thisjournal behind, in the hopes that someday, somehow, someone will know what i did, andremember the men and women i damned with my selfishness. my fear.

i hurl myself into its teeth that my bones might clog its innards i am the worm and ouroboros must eat itself