‘Quiet, quiet. Duck down, out of sight over there. Are you recording? Why aren’t you recording?’ The Camera Woman has no desire to shoulder
her camera yet again. It has been like this all day. The three of them will walk ten feet, then
all of a sudden the Presenter will dive behind a bush and beckon for herself and their guard
to do the same. Her patience for it is certainly starting
to wear thin, clearly nowhere near as thin as their Security Guard’s however as the
man flexes his trigger finger against the side of the rifle, grumbling to himself in
Swahili. The Camera Woman should never have taken this
job. She knows that now, but they are far too deep
in the Tanzanian wilderness to turn back now. They parked their jeep up in the early hours
of the morning and started walking at sunrise. The faint blue tinge to the dark forest around
them tells her it must be almost sunrise again. The Presenter turns to her and runs a hand
through his carefully sculpted hair. His pink skin has been burning and peeling
in the sun all day long, he looks like he’d give the flamingos from earlier a run for
their money as she switches the LED ring light on. The Presenter clears his throat and wipes
the sweat from his brow. ‘Rumor has it that the area we are entering
into now is patrolled by highly sophisticated militarized drones. Myself and my crew are risking our lives here,
but that’s just what it takes when you decide to live as… an Xtreme Vegan!’ He insists on recording several more takes. By the fifth attempt, the Camera Woman stops
hitting record. Not worth filling up the memory with this
waste of a shot. Xtreme Vegan. What will they come up with next? She had moved to Tanzania with dreams of working
on documentaries with a capital D. Rich, beautiful shots of the world’s most endangered animals
basking by a watering hole or hunting to feed their starving cubs. Real footage. Not this reality show nonsense. The Presenter had touched down the previous
day, immediately started asking about where the nearest fast food chain was, then threw
a tantrum because the wifi in the hotel lobby was too slow. Bad as he was, he at least seemed mostly harmless. But their Security Guard… The Camera Woman glances over to him. The man seems more like a local thug with
a gun than a trained professional. The studio must have been trying to save money
hiring him. Goodness knows they were cutting costs hiring
her to do video and audio. She should have smelled the rat and just said
no. A light! It sweeps through the trees so quickly it
almost catches the three of them. The Camera Woman hits the dirt just in time. The camera bumps awkwardly into her shoulder
so hard she almost cries out. A mechanical whirring fills the night. The light sweeps this way and that as they
all lie motionless on the ground. Then just as abruptly as it appeared, the
light swings away and the sound fades. Maybe those drones aren’t as made up as
they sounded. The Presenter is clearly very shaken. His wide eyes dart around between the trees
as they all get back to their feet. So much for being an Xtreme Vegan. The Camera Woman glances over at their Security
Guard. A twisted grin lights up his face. She notices a little pendant has slipped out
of his shirt. A small white shard hanging from a handmade
chain. Even in the dead of night, the Camera Woman
has filmed enough elephants to recognise ivory when she sees it. The Security Guard - no, Poacher - meets her
gaze. His smile widens. He speaks Swahili in a low voice. ‘We keep moving.’ Shouldering the rifle, the Poacher marches
onwards in the direction the drone had just been a few moments ago. The Camera Woman and Presenter have no option
but to follow. For a long time the group walks in silence. It is the longest the Presenter has gone without
opening his mouth since his plane touched down. The Camera Woman would be enjoying the peace
and quiet if it hadn’t been for the sickening unease that had settled over them. Had that drone been real? If it had then what exactly are they walking
into right now? Some kind of secret facility? GMO research? Labor camps? But it just looks like any other patch of
forest in Tanzania. Only… it doesn’t. Come to think of it, as they walk the Camera
Woman starts to notice little differences. At first they’re too subtle to put a finger
on, just a different feel to the air or a strange sound. Is it the plants perhaps? She’s no botanist so doesn’t really know
what she’s looking at but she’s spent enough time out in the wild here to know a
few plants. But now she’s spotting all kinds of strange
new ones. A bush with huge red leaves here, a tree with
long purple fruit there. She asks the Presenter what they are. He looks up at the purple fruit tree perplexed. Wasn’t this supposed to be the whole point
of this documentary? Exploring the furthest reaches of the world,
looking for vegan alternatives. ‘No idea, but let’s roll the camera anyway. Ready?’ The Presenter plucks a fruit and presents
it to the lens, immediately spouting off about the fruit’s medicinal qualities, levels
of fiber, natural sugars, and low water consumption. All lies. The Camera Woman scowls at him. The Presenter turns the fruit over and screams,
throwing it as far as his skinny arms will allow. Never one to waste a shot, the Camera Woman
follows the fruit on instinct, zooming in on it as it lands at the foot of a tree. Out from under the purple skin crawls an earwig. It’s huge, just over 3 inches long at a
guess. That’s strange. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think
that was… A voice startles the three of them. It booms out from behind them, just up the
slope. The Presenter swivels so fast, he falls over. The Camera Woman points the camera up the
hill and snaps the figure into focus. The Poacher pulls back the bolt on his rifle,
finger already on the trigger. In the dark, they can hardly make out what
they are looking at. It must be a man, it spoke in a man’s voice,
but it towers over all of them. It must be nearly 7ft tall. They can’t discern any kind of human silhouette,
odd shapes jut out this way and that. What is it made from? The voice calls out again. A deep, rumbling voice, like an Earthquake
heard from the ocean floor or echoing through a forest. There were other sounds layered into its voice,
high twittering sounds and guttural growls. The Camera Woman looks to her companions. Clearly neither of them understand what it’s
saying either. Not Swahili, not English, not French, or Arabic. The intent of the voice is very clear however,
they are not welcome. For the first time ever, the Presenter is
lost for words. The Poacher shifts the butt of the rifle against
his shoulder. Great. Now this is her job. The Camera Woman lowers her camera rig to
the floor and raises both hands, approaching the figure carefully. The sun breaks the horizon further up the
slope. In just a few moments she’ll be able to
see the stranger, whatever it is. Speaking Swahili, she explains that they are
a film crew, here to shoot a documentary. They do not intend any harm and will make
as little disturbance to the environment as possible. The creature does not seem to understand and
repeats its previous command. It definitely sounded like a command at least. The Camera Woman turns helplessly to her companions,
just in time to see a small shadow rushing them. It runs on all fours covering the ground impossibly
fast. Ignoring the Poacher and Presenter, it snatches
up her camera from the ground and hurls it at a tree. It crunches into the wood and falls to the
ground in pieces. Sunlight breaks the horizon, flooding the
valley with light. The Camera Woman whirls around and glimpses
the figure up the hill. It is a man. Isn’t it? Towering at nearly 7ft, the man is adorned
with flowers, blossoms, and fungi. Animal skulls and pelts hang from his shoulders,
colorful face paint etches patterns, ancient and proud, deep into his features. African Buffalo horns grow proudly from his
head, accentuating a triumphant floral headpiece. But a glimpse is all she gets. The figure vanishes. A sweet scented breeze rushes down to meet
her from where he was standing just a moment ago. ‘Where’d he go?!’ the Presenter cries. The Camera Woman can see something dangerous
has lit up the man’s face. He’s found his story. She just doesn’t know quite what it is yet. The Poacher also has a wry smile on his face,
he’s looking at the discarded purple fruit from before. No, wait. He’s looking at the earwig still crawling
around it. She follows his gaze and it confirms her suspicions
from before. That’s a Saint Helena Earwig, sure as the
daylight streaming onto its scuttling legs. Declared extinct in 1967. The Presenter is already marching off, further
down the valley. The Poacher shoulders his rifle and follows,
not even glancing at the Camera Woman. She goes over to her broken camera and kneels
down. No hope. She takes out the SD card from it and pockets
it. What had that creature been that had thrown
it at the tree? A monkey of some kind? The Presenter calls out to her. ‘Forget the camera. I’ve got a hidden one in my pocket. It will look more authentic anyway!’ As they walk they see more and more wildlife. In the early dawn, various animals are rising
to their feet stretching and wandering through the trees. At first just small creatures: geckos, tortoises,
insects. But soon they see gazelle, a family of oryx,
even a hippo from a distance. But there is one thing each animal has in
common. They were all declared extinct years ago,
sometimes centuries ago. The Camera Woman keeps her mouth shut. The last thing she wants is for the Poacher
to know that. Although judging from the spring in his step,
he’s already well on his way to figuring it out. All of a sudden, the forest opens out. A watering hole the size of a lake fills their
view. Animals of all sorts fly, swim, bathe, drink
and play in the morning air. Parakeets dance overhead, rhinos lounge in
the shallows, a dodo marches squarely past them on its way to join its friends. This has to be some kind of dream surely? The penny finally drops for the Presenter. He turns to his companions, wide eyed, ready
to say something when he freezes. Staring at something behind them. A shadow falls over them all. The Camera Woman turns to see… An elephant. White as the morning snow with round pink
eyes. Old and wrinkled as time itself. It is hulkingly big. Impossibly big. It dwarfs any bull elephant she’s ever shot
by several tonnes. The giant walks slowly, one plodding step
at a time, right past them. So close she can almost reach out and touch
it. Every part of her wants to. Only she knows better. You don’t interfere with nature. The elephant passes them and disappears into
the woods. She looks excitedly at her companions. The Poacher has a glint in his eye, the Presenter
is hurrying off along the water’s edge. Her eyes follow his movement. There, on the shore, kneels the towering man
from before. He is beside a panting and straining ibex. She’s on her side, belly swollen, blood
mixing with the lake’s water. The Camera Woman draws closer, watching the
man stroke the animal’s side gently. He cups a painted hand behind the animal’s
rump and delivers a baby effortlessly. Another slides out a moment later. He takes the tiny ibexes under each arm and
walks them into the water. Delicately washing them clean before returning
them to their mother by the shore. The Presenter calls out to him, raising a
hand in greeting. ‘Sir, sir! Would you be interested in conducting a brief
interview with me? It is for a network television documentary
called Xtreme Vegan?’ The figure stands and turns to them, wary. The two of them stand before him, separated
by just a few feet. Extinct animals chattering and cheeping all
around them. ‘In order to maintain such an eco-friendly
lifestyle you must be having a lot of plant based alternatives in your diet? Oat milk, quorn, avocado? What is your secret?’ As if on cue, a buffalo emerges from the water
and approaches them. The man stoops, not taking an eye off the
presenter, and reaches under the buffalo’s body. Finding the teet, he squeezes milk into his
cupped hand. He raises his hand to his mouth and drinks
slowly, staring the Presenter down. After a moment, he squeezes more milk into
his hand and stretches it out towards them. He says a word in that same ancient voice. Only this time it is softer, welcoming. ‘Uh uh, no way! Do you know how unethical it is to deprive
that poor child of its natural milk?’ The Presenter goes off on a rant. The man ignores him and offers the hand to
the camera woman instead. Without thinking, she steps forward and stoops
to his hand. She drinks the milk straight from his palm. It’s warm and fatty, thick like cream. But totally delicious. She looks into the man’s eyes. They are a dark brown, but in the morning
light she catches flecks of gold, green, purple and blue. The man’s voice is even softer as he speaks
again. ‘Alaaniwe.’ His name. That must be the man’s name. She raises a hand to her chest, opening her
mouth to introduce herself. BANG! The shot rips through the clearing. Animals screech and scatter, stampeding into
the trees. Birds fill the sky, alighting from every tree,
so much so that they tangle with one another. The Camera Woman’s head whips around. The shot had come from the trees behind them. A roar, louder and more chilling than any
animal could produce, swells from Alaaniwe. This time he doesn’t just vanish, it’s
like he’s raptured. Vines and roots shoot up out of the dirt,
wrapping around him, creeping into his mouth and eye sockets. They wrench him into the ground with such
force it sends ripples across the lake. A rumbling fills the earth. The Presenter cowers by the water’s edge. He’s useless. The Camera Woman takes off into the trees,
following the sound of the shot. It doesn’t take her long to find it. The white elephant lies on its side, rivers
of red cascading across its chest, following the ancient furrows of its wrinkled skin. Its breathing stutters and rattles. The Poacher stands before the dying animal. He turns to the Camera Woman, an unhinged
grin lighting up his face. He opens his mouth to speak, out of his throat
bursts a stem, blood spraying high into the air. The Camera Woman watches in abject horror
as the plant grows up through the Poacher. Roots ensnare his feet and ankles, the stem
pierces his lower back and emerges from his throat. Offshoots stab their way out of his ribcage
and temples. In a matter of seconds it is finished. Pink flowers bloom at the tips. The Poacher’s corpse suspended like some
kind of grotesque puppet. Without a sound, Alaaniwe emerges from the
trees and walks past the Camera Woman, past the Poacher’s body, and kneels by the elephant. He raises a hand to the creature’s wound. The Camera Woman waits with baited breath. He’s going to heal it, she can feel it. That’s Alaaniwe’s final power. He can save the elephant. Surely. But the blood keeps flowing. The elephant’s breathing grows fainter until
silence fills the clearing. No birds chattering, no breeze to rustle the
trees, no more death rattles. Silence. Then the most heartbreaking sound the Camera
Woman has ever heard. Alaaniwe starts to sob. She’s no longer welcome here. This is not her place. Without a word, the Camera Woman gets to her
feet and walks back up the hill and out of the valley. As she walks, she hears footsteps approaching
her. The Presenter is there, arms laden with fruit
and berries. He grins at her, explaining how he’s going
to take these home and plant them up. Start a smoothie chain called Alaaniwe’s. If the first store goes well they can franchise
it, keeping the local feel but expanding to… A root stabs through his throat, interrupting
him. A second stabs through his chest, shattering
the hidden camera. So much for that smoothie chain. The Camera Woman doesn’t look back. She walks through the day and the following
night. She finds a road and stops. There’s something in her pocket still. She takes out the SD card and looks at it. With a sad little smile, she takes the card
between her fingers and snaps it clean in two. The “man” that you have just encountered
deep in the Tanzanian wilderness may not be a man at all. Little is known about the genetic makeup of
SCP-5411, otherwise known as Alaaniwe. He appears to be a male, comprised of a combination
of human, animal and botanical components. The plants and pelts that the Camera Woman
observed him wearing are likely not items of clothing at all, but rather are naturally
growing parts of Alaaniwe’s anatomy, giving him the appearance of a witch doctor. None of the documented attempts to communicate
with Alaaniwe have proved fruitful. While he does speak, his language is currently
unidentified. He seems to have no understanding of English,
Swahili or Arabic and is uninterested in learning them. Alaaniwe roams freely within a 35km2 area
of the Southern Tanzanian savanna. This site has been designated SCP-5411-0 and
an exclusion zone has been set up around it. Barbed wire fences and automated drones patrol
the perimeter. A sacrificial goat is kept on site at all
times, ready to be sacrificed as part of a binding ritual to keep SCP-5411 contained. Thus far, however, Alaaniwe has not proved
to be a threat to anyone other than those who disturb the delicate ecosystem which he
inhabits. His land, SCP-5411-0, is home to a number
of critically endangered or near extinct species of African animals, many of whom are from
different countries in the continent. Black rhinoceros, western gorilla, African
penguins and a so called albino ‘Ghost’ elephant that is central to local folklore. It is unclear how these animals came to live
in this area but there is an evident connection between Alaaniwe’s care of nature and their
continued survival. Alaaniwe has been witnessed delivering newborn
animals of a number of species, tending to injured animals, and even regrowing grasslands
to feed and house various creatures. Alaaniwe is known to possess the powers of
teleportation, intangibility, zoolingualism, florakinesis, and psychokinesis. When left alone, Alaawine uses these abilities
to tend to his local ecosystem. However, he is aggressive and decisive in
disposing of anything he perceives to be a threat to the natural order. He is known to manifest and control small
humanoid creatures, roughly one meter tall, that are made up of foliage, wood, mud and
rocks. These creatures, designated SCP-5411-1 exhibit
basic predatory behavior, carrying out the bidding of SCP-5411 such as destroying our
Camera Woman’s equipment. Capable of running at speeds of up to 75km/h,
the 58 known instances of SCP-5411-1 are to be treated as hostile as soon as they leave
the SCP-5411-0 exclusion zone. However, a status quo seems to have settled
between SCP researchers and SCP-5411. Alaaniwe seems content within his ecosystem
and the conservation work he carries out within this area is proving invaluable to those researching
climate change and habitat welfare. Much like the animals in nature documentaries,
it best that we choose not to interfere and let nature run its course. Now go and watch another entry from the files
of Dr Bob, like SCP-867 Blood Spruce for another nightmare-inducing plant-based anomaly. And make sure you subscribe and turn on notifications,
so you don’t miss a single anomaly, as we delve further and further into the SCP Foundation’s
classified archives.
