Deer Academy

Deer Academy is a place of enchantment. Of course, you probably already knew that—it's likely the very reason you were drawn here. Still, most of the admissions materials are nonsense: they're written more for your parents than for you, assuring them their money will be well spent. We asked outstanding students to share what they believe are the truly essential things to know, and we selected two that met our rigorous editorial standards. One of them blackmailed us; the other bought us beer.

Here they are.

Just as before.

Welcome, new freshmen, to the worst four years of your life (well, the average is 4.5, but who’s really counting?). During your time at Deer Academy, you’ll encounter terrors you’ve never dreamed of: five-hour arcane experiments, endless all-nighters, bottomless mugs of cafeteria coffee, the omniscient gaze of community security, and, lurking at the end, the dreadful graduation thesis. Your physical, mental, and spiritual health will all deteriorate. You’ll churn out essay after essay of ever more cryptic and inscrutable topics, with no regard for quality. Your parents will ask what you’re studying, and you’ll find yourself unable to answer. You’ll experience this: resentful, broken souls haunting the campus long after graduation, seducing those much younger than themselves in a desperate attempt to relive the glorious days before being crushed by the gears of what we call academia’s terrible machine. In the end, you will move on, leaving behind only footprints and a dreadful curse that will linger on campus for decades to come.

But it’s not all bad—there’s always a sliver of light in the darkness. You will meet exciting, interesting, and brilliant individuals, forming connections that will last a lifetime, perhaps even longer. Your arcane expertise will be honed razor-sharp, and you’ll silence that libertarian in your philosophy class, giving others a chance to speak. You’ll learn things people were never meant to know, perform acts that defy the laws of nature and the gods, and see the structure of reality for the illusion it is—perhaps even while fully awake. When you’re done, when you’ve slain the Thesis Serpent, fulfilled your group course requirements, and walked the stage at graduation, you’ll receive the ultimate reward: your name inscribed on a fancy piece of paper, which is useless for anything in the real world, since the FBI says we’re not allowed to tell anyone where we actually studied.

And at the end of that day, remember—it could have been worse. You could have gone to ICSUT.

—Mordecai Diabolus, Lifetime President of the Deer Academy Student Council

This must be the place

Alright, you have to trust me: don’t believe a word Mordecai says, he really is the Antichrist. I’m not a hundred percent sure they’ll include his piece, but he has some serious blackmail material on the entire student council, so it’s practically inevitable. Luckily, I can always out-bribe him any day of the week, so I’m pretty sure this note will make it in too. Whatever he says, Deer Academy is great. The institution itself is fantastic, but the community and its members? Even better. Every professor is a leader in their field, and most classes are small enough that you’ll really get to know your instructors. There’s always something happening on campus, whether it’s a dance at the student activity center, spontaneous spell duels in the quad, or just a folk song sung in your dorm’s common room. Even when you’re buried in your thesis, it’s not all that bad; and if you actually pick a topic you love, it’s all worth it.

That’s not to say campus life isn’t sometimes tough. Like any bureaucracy, the administration can be mind-numbingly slow to make changes; community security might confiscate your weed once or twice; and, unfortunately, there will be people you don’t like: the roommate who kicks you out of the shower for a hookup, the creepy alumnus hitting on you at parties, and that libertarian in your philosophy class who just won’t shut up (honestly, I’m pretty sure that guy is actually some kind of ancient curse or vengeful spirit). These, and much more, will stain your time here. And sometimes, after you’ve been awake for 37 hours straight, the dark night of the soul will come for you, your hands won’t stop shaking long enough to type the next paragraph of your thesis, and you’ll wish you could go back in time to warn yourself not to come here.

But even if Deer Academy gets you down, remember—it could have been worse. You could have gone to ICSUT.

—Gwenhwyfar Thistlebranch, Exiled President of the Deer Academy Student Council

A thin sheet of stationery, along with a golden ticket and a black credit card, had been thoughtfully attached to the bottom of the letter.

“A small chance, but it’s still an escape. Is there really anything worse than dying unknown in some abandoned sewer?” Ji Ning smiled at himself wryly.

Three Portlands—a strange, tongue-twisting name. Ji Ning’s journey, treated to a private flight, ended here, and began here as well.

Solemn, majestic Gothic buildings stood beneath a tattered sunset. Crest-adorned roads wound in intricate patterns, and a lone door stood before the Academy, abrupt and otherworldly, like a portal from myth. Passersby paid it no mind, though its narrowness forced them to pause and wait their turn; not one tried to step around it and bypass the door.

“A young, energetic fawn.” A staff member, noticing Ji Ning’s confusion, smiled at him. “Check-in is on the first floor of Anderson Hall—right over there.” Ji Ning thanked her and made his way to the registration desk.

Hesitant, Ji Ning considered whether to wake the new student receptionist, who was slumped over the desk, nearly drooling in her sleep. Deciding to wait, he was about to sit when, as if on cue, the sleeping blonde stretched and met his gaze. For a moment, their eyes locked—she put on her glasses and regarded him properly.

Andersen must have sat in this very seat, Ji Ning thought, or else how could he have written Sleeping Beauty? Her golden hair, dazzling as a waterfall of molten sunlight, was hastily tied in a ponytail, and her delicate, beautiful features felt like a spring breeze upon the barren plains of Ji Ning’s heart. When he looked into her pale blue eyes, he suddenly felt that this damned world was, after all, so remarkably beautiful.

“At last you’re here—I thought I’d be waiting another week. My name is Irina de Stuart. Usually, I’m too lazy to say the whole thing, so you can just call me Senior Irina. According to protocol, I’m responsible for your enrollment.” Irina lazily put on her gold-rimmed glasses, pulled out some papers from a drawer, and began her questions in flawless Mandarin, which caught Ji Ning off guard.

“Name?”

“Ji Ning.”

“Proof of admission?”

“Will this letter do?” Ji Ning carefully drew the letter from his inner jacket pocket, as cautiously as a college freshman clutching his ID at the train station for his first trip home.

“Anything’s fine, as long as you’re not pulling out a membership form for the Church of the Broken God.” Irina glanced at it, shrugged, and efficiently stamped the completed form before handing it to Ji Ning.

“Is there a Chinese version?” Ji Ning stared at the form, densely packed with indecipherable script, unsure if the symbols had any real meaning or were just a jumble of letters.

“Official forms are all in Latin, but don’t worry—I’ve already filled it out for you. Here’s the Chinese version.” She handed him another copy. Ji Ning reviewed it, then pointed to the last bolded rule for new students: “Each freshman will be mentored by a senior for a year,” and asked hesitantly, “Where’s my assigned mentor?”

“Sorry—the one who was supposed to mentor you was turned into a cyborg by a lunatic from the Church of the Broken God during a mission.” Ji Ning was stunned. Irina adjusted her glasses. “But don’t worry; as it happens, you’re in luck—I’ll be your new mentor.”

She pulled out a vial of luminous blue potion and handed it to him. “Every freshman drinks an enchanted elixir. It’s made from Babel fish, using the principle of psychic diffusion—or, well, you probably don’t know about that yet. In short, this potion allows you to communicate orally with students from all over the world in Academy-speak. If you wish, even ordinary people can understand you. However, it won’t help you read written texts—but don’t worry, Academy Common Language is a required course.”

Unfazed, Ji Ning drank the potion—a remedy as casually offered as something from Doraemon’s pocket. Even if Irina told him he was actually an alien, he’d probably just blink and ask if his home planet was in the M78 Nebula.

Irina packed up her files, slung on her backpack, and headed out. Only then did Ji Ning get a good look at her—tall and slender, dressed in tactical field gear that managed to look both sharp and feminine.

“Don’t stare. I’m not interested in kids. Come on.” Without looking back, Irina strode out, and a slightly embarrassed Ji Ning hurried after her.

Irina led Ji Ning directly to the dormitory center. Everyone they passed looked curiously at the boy trailing behind her; one woman even spoke to Ji Ning, but he didn’t understand her words.

“Pick any room you like, but I recommend avoiding those already occupied. While the Board has designed all dorms as two-person units, everyone at Deer Academy has secrets. I doubt you’d want to be quietly killed for stumbling upon a roommate’s ritual. So, find a single room. Don’t worry about availability—Deer Academy allows a death quota, so there are always vacancies.” Irina adjusted her glasses and pointed at the dorm map.

Once Ji Ning had chosen a room, Irina noted the number, registered it on the computer, then handed him a USB stick from her file folder.

“What’s this?” Ji Ning asked.

“A recording of the freshman induction ceremony you missed. Watch it—it’ll at least give you some mental preparation for what’s ahead.” Irina double-checked the welcome manual, exhaled, and, satisfied her work was done, began shutting down her computer.

“There are no departments at Deer Academy,” she said as they waited for it to shut down. “We don’t produce bookworms. Aside from required courses—Supernatural History, Foundations of Occultism, and so on—you just pick whatever suits you and earn your credits. But I suggest you prepare for tomorrow’s entrance exam.” As she spoke, Irina pulled a bottle of whiskey from her backpack, took a swig straight from the bottle, unconcerned by Ji Ning’s astonished look.

“What entrance exam?”

Her answer was the hum of the old computer powering down. Irina cast him a pitying glance, took another long drink, and said, “Good luck. See you tomorrow.”

With that, Irina turned and left—a civil servant clocking out at the end of her shift. Her demeanor was gentle but brooked no refusal; all Ji Ning could do was wave after her retreating figure, as though bidding farewell to a discarded job.

Ji Ning found his dorm room, inserted his keycard, and was stunned by what he saw. Compared to the cramped six-person dorms he’d known, the extravagance of capitalism was almost indecent. The living room alone could fit a forty-square-meter carpet, and the walls gleamed white, hung with a mounted deer head and a series of neat engravings.

Within a glass-fronted cabinet stood ornate drinkware: gleaming cups arranged with geometric precision. Sunlight poured in golden sheets through the floor-to-ceiling balcony windows.

None of the doors were locked. In the bedroom adjoining the living room, a disc-shaped robot vacuum was cleaning, its display briefly flashing “unknown garbage” when it bumped into Ji Ning’s foot. Ignoring its attempts to sweep him into the trash, Ji Ning sat on the bed with blue-and-white striped sheets. Eyes were one thing, but only your backside can truly judge a bed—and after three seconds, he awarded the mattress a five-star review.

The bathroom boasted a tub big enough for half an elephant—a delightful surprise. Ji Ning adjusted the shower’s temperature, and, making a snap decision to soak away his nonexistent fatigue, resolved to leave everything else until later. The induction video on the USB could wait; usually, even the cameraman wants to fast-forward through those.

While the tub filled, Ji Ning, though in good spirits, felt an unexpected loneliness. Unless something unforeseen happened, he would be living alone in this spacious room from now on. But at least, he thought, there was someone—something—on the same side as him to witness these days of upheaval. On a whim, he called out, “Six-five-five?”

“I’m here.” A familiar voice echoed in Ji Ning’s mind; though still cold and synthetic, its promptness was deeply reassuring. For someone abandoned by the old world, stepping alone into the unknown, nothing soothes like a reply. Even if he and SCP-CN-655 were still strangers, he knew he was slowly lowering his defenses—and it felt surprisingly good.

He suddenly understood why, no matter how much people are warned about scams, some will always fall for them. No one can be totally rational forever, always suspecting the worst of others, as Lu Xun once said. No matter how logical a person is, everyone needs others; loneliness is an incurable affliction we’re all born with. In some sense, life is the process of fighting this terminal illness.

Often, all people need is a response that makes them feel less alone. Maybe we know this fragile warmth isn’t enough to see us through the long night, but no one can resist its light. To love and be loved is a necessity engraved in every soul.

As the steam filled the bathroom and warmth seeped into his chest, Ji Ning undressed and spoke to SCP-CN-655. “Looks like it’ll be a good ten years before I can get you home.”

“Time is on our side.” The usually halting SCP-CN-655 replied fluently, catching Ji Ning off guard.

He realized suddenly—SCP-CN-655 was learning. It was learning about humanity, and perhaps it always had been.