Surveillance Report Mu-4, 26/12/2017:
During routine online investigation for anomalous content, our dark web crawler (EmoSpiderMan.aic) discovered a web series entitled "Habil and Qabil" which constitutes an extreme breach of Foundation security.
"Habil and Qabil" is a sitcom explicitly set at Site 17 and stars numerous characters based on actual SCPs within the Foundation's possession, primarily scips whose SCP designations are lower than 10001.
The two main characters are SCP-076-2 and SCP-073. Despite the title of the show using their Quranic names, the characters are always referred to as Cain and Able within the show itself. They are depicted as an 'Odd Couple' attempting to get along despite their differences.
There is also some degree of estrangement between the two, which is not directly dealt with until the first season finale. Each episode is approximately 22 minutes long, including opening and closing credits. Aside from the show's title, the credits are in an unknown language of glyphs that has yet to be identified or deciphered, although they do have a superficial similarity to the markings on SCP-076-1.
The actors portraying Cain and Able do bear a strong resemblance to SCP-076-2 and SCP-073, however numerous differences have been observed. Cain's mark is inaccurate, and his prosthetics appear to be low quality CGI. Able's tattoos are also inaccurate, apparently redesigned to be more aesthetically pleasing, and are inconsistent between episodes. He also carries his bladed weapons with him at all times and does not possess the ability to summon them in the matter of SCP-076-2.
Other main characters based off SCPs include:
- SCP-191 "Cybie". Like Cain, her prosthetics appear to be computer generated and are not 100 percent accurate. Notably, she appears to possess a voicebox whereas the real 191 does not and typically communicates by interfacing with available devices. The character possesses a stereotypical robot voice intended to comically contrast with her nature as an extremely stereotypical preteen girl. Unlike SCP-191, the character is highly exuberant and does not appear to suffer any psychological or mental trauma from her abduction and subsequent mutilation. Her friendship with SCP-134, however, is depicted fairly accurately.
- SCP-134 "Stella". The effect for her eyes is again low-quality CGI. As is common for fictional depictions of the disabled, she is portrayed as more helpless than she actually is. Though the character is blind, SCP-134's high-functioning autism appears to be absent.
- SCP-105 "Iris". She is infatuated with Able, and most of her appearances involve her trying to get him to reciprocate her affection. While MTF Omega-7 is mentioned in multiple episodes, Alpha-9 is not, possibly indicating that the series is set in between these two time periods. It also appears that the destruction of Containment Area 25a never occurred, with Omega-7 simply disbanding due to Able 'burning out', which may explain his atypical non-violent demeanour in the series.
- SCP-507 "Grabnok the Destroyer". His jumps to other realities are much more frequent and shorter in nature, sometimes occurring multiple time per episode. He also insists on everyone calling him Grabnok the Destroyer, whereas the real SCP-507 only requested this once in jest and has objected to the fact that his file lists this as a suitable moniker for him.
As of the writing of this document, neither Artificially Intelligent Conscripts or Foundation personnel have been able to identify any of the actors or locations that appear in "Habil and Qabil".
The video hosting site featuring "Habil and Qabil" has been shut down, and a multi-platform software patch has been sent out to automatically delete downloads and detect video streams of the series. Unfortunately, Intelligence has come to the conclusion that the series originates from an anomalous cloud computing network utilized by the Serpent's Hand, simply referred to as the "The Dark Web". For reasons that have yet to be determined, Foundation agents are unable to access this network.
Infiltrating and ultimately shutting down this anomalous network is currently the primary objective for containment of "Habil and Qabil", and likely other equally (if not greater) security breaches.
All currently available episodes of "Habil and Qabil" have been downloaded and are stored on an encrypted external hard drive, kept within a security locker at Site-15. Below is a summary of Season 1 episodes of "Habil and Qabil" compiled by numerous Foundation personnel with the appropriate clearance.

Episode # 101, "Pilot"
Synopsis: Cain is going about his typical routine at Site 17 when he is called to reception, where Able is waiting. Able has been transferred from Site 19 on the flimsy pretext that since he hasn't gone on a killing spree for a while it is no longer worth the cost of keeping him in a high-security facility. Able insists on heading to the canteen so that he can use SCP-458. Once they have the box, Cain goes about the task of familiarizing Able with Site 17.
They join a tea party with Cybie, Stella, several instances of SCP-1926, and a life-sized living doll which is never identified but may be intended to be SCP-706. Able ruins the party with his morbid and nihilistic dialogue, and his inability to grasp the concept of imaginary tea.
Grabnok is awestruck to meet Able and immediately challenges him to tic-tac-toe. Able declines, but says he would be willing to play Risk with him if he has a board. Grabnok eagerly accepts. While this is happening, Iris is pressing Cain for information about Able, specifically anything that might help them get back together. Grabnok 'jumps' during their game.
While Able is waiting for him to return, Iris attempts to flirt with him, only to become enraged and flip their board over when he claims not to remember her. Cain attempts to have a serious conversation with Able to find out what's going on but makes little progress. Grabnok returns in an Easter Bunny costume and accuses Able of being of sore sport for flipping over the board.
Foundation Commentary: SCP-076-2 has always been primarily contained at Containment Area 25a/b, and keeping him at Site 19 would pose an unacceptable risk of a mass containment breach. This risk was demonstrated when he was on assignment at Site 19 with MTF Omega-7 and caused a mass containment breach. Twice. On the same day.

Episode # 102, "You've Been Spelling My Name Wrong All These Years!"
Synopsis: While filling out paperwork related to his transfer, Able discovers that the Foundation spells his name A-B-L-E, and he insists it's supposed to be spelt A-B-E-L. A DMV style episode ensues wherein he and Grabnok deal with the Foundation's bureaucracy in attempting to get their names officially changed to Abel and Grabnok the Destroyer. They both fail and realize that their official names don't matter as much as how they view themselves.
There is a secondary plot where SCP-1370 is accidentally set loose in Site 17 with Cain and Iris trying to capture it. The most notable scene is when SCP-1370 tries to attack Stella and Cybie, but due to its incompetence, they fail to realize it's trying to hurt them. They treat it like a doll and get it to accept the name of Princess Priscilla Pie.
Foundation Commentary: For those who may be curious, when SCP-076-2 was asked if he had a name, he simply replied 'Able'. When asked how to spell it, he merely growled. The interviewer just wrote it down as the English word able, perhaps not making the connection to the biblical Abel, and that's how we've spelt it ever since. If SCP-076-2 ever had an issue with this, he never said anything.

Episode # 103, "Pandora's Box"
Synopsis: After Grabnok once again jumps during a game of Risk with Able, Iris offers to take his place. Able reluctantly accepts. The two discuss their past (Able admitting he was lying about not remembering her), focusing mainly on their relationship while glossing over their actual work in Omega-7.
Able confesses that sometime during his tenure with Omega-7 he lost his passion for killing, and that may have had something to do with her, and he's not sure if that makes him love her or hate her. She tells him to either come fuck her or kill her when he figures it out. Gragnok reappears covered in flour and exclaims they tried to bake him into a cake.
The secondary plot involves Cain trying to teach his native language to the girls, only to accidentally summon a Keter-class lifeform.
Foundation Commentary: As SCP-076-02 official psychological profile makes clear, Able has no interest in either sexual or romantic relationships and was never known to engage in either. He did, however, show SCP-105 an uncharacteristic amount of respect after she managed to defeat him in a contest of anomalous skills, which may be the closest thing to love he's capable of feeling.

Episode # 104, "My Primary Function Is Failure"
Synopsis: Cybie confesses to Stella that she feels inferior to Cain since she's just a regular cyborg, whereas he is a magic cyborg "Cursed by the God of Abraham and forged by the dark and powerful alchemy of an ancient and bloodthirsty race whose very existence had to be wiped from history to safeguard our reality from their unquenchable conquest!".
She attempts to emulate several of Cain's abilities and becomes depressed when she fails to do so. Cain comforts her by pointing out all the things she can do (mostly computer related) that he can't.
The secondary plot involves Cain, Iris, and Grabnok each trying to convince Able to move into their room with them, as he had hitherto been sleeping in the common room. He chooses Grabnok since he doesn't have a history with him.
Foundation Commentary: The Foundation Archeological and Anthropological departments have yet to prove or disprove this episode's account of SCP-073's origins.

Episode # 105, "Shy Guy's Night Out!"
Synopsis: Able tells Cain that he's bored and demand that they and Grabnok have a guys night out (it's treated as a joke that the security at Site 17 is so minimal the residents can essentially leave at will). When Iris attempts to tag along, Able gives her a photo of SCP-096, which immediately enters its hostile state and comes after her.
Iris is forced to use her abilities to prevent 096 from reaching her, necessitating she remain focused on the photo constantly. This comprises the secondary plot of the episode.
The first bar the guys go to has too much wooden furniture which Cain inadvertently destroys. They then go to a single's bar where Able attempts to act as a wingman for Cain and Grabnok, but all attempts at flirtation end disastrously. Their third stop is a Karaoke bar, and their singing is so terrible that they are chased off stage and forced to flee.
The next scene is set the following night where the guys are with Cybie and Stella in the common room watching Finding Nemo, accepting that this is where they're most comfortable. An exhausted and dishevelled Iris comes in angrily and throws the photo of 096 back at Able, saying she had to fight it for 27 hours before it gave up. She storms out when Able does not apologize.
Able looks at the photo, and we cut to 096 wailing and clawing at its face but making no attempt to escape, indicating that it has failed to defeat Able in the past. Able smirks smugly.
Foundation Commentary: The computer-generated depiction of SCP-096 does not induce a response and may be viewed safely. Though SCP-096 did surrender after battling SCP-682 for 27 hours, this was the only such incident and it is unknown if this truly does represent an upper limit for its hostile state. Requests for further testing on this matter had been unanimously and consistently denied by both the O5 Council and the Ethics Committee for security and budgetary reasons, respectively.

Episode # 106, "Able And Grabnok Travel The Multiverse!"
Synopsis: Able inadvertently touches Grabnok while he's jumping, getting pulled along to an alternate universe. Unlike the actual SCP-507, Grabnok apparently has a few seconds of warning before he jumps and can tell Able when to grab onto him.
They end up going through multiple universes before finally returning to their base reality. Grabnok apologizes, but Able tells him it was the most fun he's had in a while and might tag along with him again sometime.
The secondary plot involves Iris trying to get Cain to eat some vegetables (eating healthier despite being immortal), with predictable results.
Foundation Commentary: All the universes shown in this episode are alternate realities either documented by SCP-507 or otherwise known to the Foundation. At one point they visit the reality associated with SCP-093, and Able fights off several of the Unclean while Grabnok frequently shouts at him to "Go for the legs!" (the Unclean do not have legs).

Episode # 107, "This Is Why We Stopped Cross Testing!"
Synopsis: Grabnok decides to run SCP-458 through SCP-914 on it's 'very fine' setting, in the hopes of getting more than just pizza out of it. The box becomes a Pizza Hut box, and is also fully sapient, as are the pizzas it spawns.
The Pizzas attempt to overthrow Humanity as the dominant life form on earth. Able defeats all the Pizzas but is unable to destroy the box, so they stick it back in SCP-914 and turn it back to normal.
The secondary plot involves Iris attempting to explain 'the birds and the bees' to Cybie and Stella, which quickly becomes inappropriate, as well as involving far too much of her relationship with Able.
Foundation Commentary: While SCP-458 appears in every episode as an 'easter egg' this is the first and only occasion where it is a major plot point. Of particular interest is the fact that every time a cast member uses SCP-458, it produces the actual favourite pizza of the SCP they are based on. In fact, SCP-458 is the only SCP in this series with no noticeable inaccuracies. It is suspected that one of "Habil and Qabil's" producers may have an obsession with this SCP object.

Episode # 108, "The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny!"
Synopsis: This episode is nearly entirely CGI. It's set in a WWE style fighting ring. The returning champion is SCP-682, who must defend his title against former challengers SCP-173, 076-2 and 096, as well as newcomers SCPs 029, 035, 049 and 106.
Able's behaviour in this episode is similar to Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson's during his wrestling career. The referee is a man wearing SCP-963, SCP-166 serves as a ring girl, and the announcer is SCP-2337, who provides a largely incomprehensible commentary.
There are three rounds where 682 takes on its opponents in tag teams (Able and 029, 173 and 096, and 049 with 106 wearing 035 for part of the round) and a final free for all which includes SCP-1048 and a large number of its duplicates.
Before a victor can be declared numerous Foundation security personnel break into the ring and recontain all SCPs. Able's persona changes to Terry Malloy, complaining about how he could have been a contender.
The show then cuts to a live action shot of Able who says "And that's what my life at Site 19 was like." The other characters stare at him blankly for a moment before Grabnok says "Bullshit."
Foundation Commentary: Inaccuracies are numerous but include 173 being able to move while in line-of-sight of other SCPs, 096 only attacking 682 despite other SCPs being able to see its face, and 106 using portals in a manner similar to Chell from the video game Portal. SCP-2337 is probably the most accurate portrayal, as it is extremely loud and irritating.

Episode # 109, "Keter Duty"
Synopsis: A newly captured Keter-class entity resembling an oversized blobfish2 is brought to Site 17 for temporary containment, and Cain and Able are assigned to look after it until it can be moved elsewhere. The entity is relatively docile but notices that there's a good deal of tension between its two guards.
It eventually gets them arguing with each other over whose fault it was they've been estranged for so many millennia and uses the chance to escape and kill thousands.
The secondary plot involves Cybie catching a virus and experiencing numerous malfunctions that the others have to deal with until she recovers.
Foundation Commentary: This episode was atypically violent, with the Keter entity eating most of its victims until it eventually exploded.

Episode # 110, "Data Expunged3"
Synopsis: Grabnok attempts to get Cain to reveal various pieces of classified information to him, by offering him insights into Able's psyche he has gained during their friendship.
Grabnok proves extremely gullible, as Cain is able to convince him that SCP-447 causes dead bodies to do the monster mash, 110-Montauk is making SCP-231-7 listen to Nickelback, and that SCP-055 is really just a leak in an amnestic storage tank that no one can remember to fix.
In exchange, Grabnok tells him that Able thinks a lot about their childhood on their parents' farmstead, wishes he could have it back, but that's not enough to forgive Cain for what he did. Cain nods sadly and leaves to attend his duties.
In the secondary plot, Able and Iris take the girls to the Site's library, where Cybie finds a children's illustrated bible and asks if Able's the same one from the book. He replies no since their names are spelt differently apparently, but his violent reaction to Abel's murder implies that he is.
Foundation Commentary: No, Nickelback is not involved in Procedure 110-Montauk. That is not why monitoring personnel are permitted to turn the audio off.

Episode # 111, "The LOL Foundation"
Synopsis: The staff put the main characters through different tests, ostensibly to learn more about them but really just to torment with them. Many of these tests involve killing D-class for no apparent reason.
Grabnok is the one to finally snap and lead an uprising of SCPs against the Foundation. He easily gains control of the site's nuclear bomb and threatens to detonate it unless his demands are met.
As his demands are basically that the staff conduct themselves according to actual Foundation protocols and policies, they are granted. Everything goes back to normal, except that Site 17 now has a Taco Tuesday.
Foundation Commentary: It is advised not to show this episode to D-class who have been in service for under a month, as it makes multiple morbid jokes regarding the alleged monthly termination of D-class personnel. Reinforcing this rumour to new D-classes would likely negatively affect their performance.

Episode # 112, "049, 049, 049!!!!!!"
Synopsis: This episode is unusual in that it focuses on a Foundation researcher, Dr. Locke, training a group of new junior researchers. Dr. Locke attempts to show the young researchers some of the more obscure SCPs, only to become frustrated with their obsession with the main cast and other 'classic' SCPs.
Eventually they encounter SCP-049, who claims to have wandered over from Site 19 to collect on a wager regarding the most recent Ultimate Showdown. The new researchers all clamour for him to say "I am the cure", and are elated when he obliges.
At this point Dr. Locke starts ranting at SCP-049, pointing out how his costume is not historically accurate and how hammy his dialogue is. SCP-049 responds with "Good sir, my cure is most effective", much to the delight of the young researchers.
Dr. Locke punches SCP-049 in the face, and the episode ends.
Foundation Commentary: The junior researchers often cite the ratings of their favourite SCPs to justify why they are the best. To clarify, the actual purpose of the database's rating system is [DATA EXPUNGED].

Episode # 113, "Please, Contain Yourself"
Synopsis: While looking after the girls, Able becomes frustrated with Stella's limitations and physically hits her. He's immediately horrified and runs off. The cast goes looking for him, and Cain eventually finds Able in the basement, having constructed a rudimentary containment area for himself using the furniture.
Able claims that he doesn't belong at Site 17 and that he should be back at 19 with the other monsters. He says that ever since the death of Agent ███████, he's been feeling more empathy for people and less rage until it eventually got to the point he couldn't even kill anymore. He's still dangerous to everyone though, so he should stay locked up in SCP-076-1 forever.
Cain says that that's how he felt after he murdered Able all those millennia ago, and why he now dedicates himself to helping others as much as possible. A monster in a cage is still a monster, and if Able wishes for redemption he'll have to earn, but Cain is willing to help.
Able accepts his brother's offer and goes to apologize. Stella accepts, but she and Cybie assault him with pillows as fair retribution. The camera pulls out and focuses on an aquarium containing SCP-1867 who says "And that my friends is how Doctor Wondertainment learned the true value of Transcendental Meditation. Goodnight."
Foundation Commentary: This episode appears to have been an attempt at 'a very special episode'. Quite frankly, such a portrayal of SCP-076-2 is disrespectful to the countless staff and civilians terminated by it. It was also somewhat jarring when compared to the overall tone of the series. It is suspected the producers had exhausted their CGI budget at this point in the series, as Cain and Cybie have minimal screen time and when they are present are shot from strategic angles to obscure the view of their prosthetics.
The general consensus among Foundation researchers is that it is highly unlikely whoever was funding this will order a second season.

Footnotes
1. According to the original website, this is because they proved most popular with focus groups
2. Psychrolutes marcidus
3. To clarify, "Data Expunged" is the title of the episode. The title has not been censored by Foundation personnel.


Some Godforsaken version of Site19
In the halls of Site-19, the faint clopping of hooves could be heard in the halls, shushed voices discussing various containment procedures. Between the Bipedal Containment wing, and the Magical Machete Research wing, two labcoated unicorns walked in step, a clipboard held by a promising young researcher in biped containment.
"Dr. Bright, are you sure that this is ethical?" the younger unicorn looked down at the clipboard, containing a report on SCP-682. The heavy slash marks on the thick paper clearly indicated a need for additional H-class personnel. Whoever wrote this had wonderful hornsmanship.
"Let me be honest. After you see some biped on your best unicorn's back, using its pale little digits to violate his haunches, you stop caring about the ethics of the H-class. They took his horn for Zeb's sake. Do you really feel pity for some filthy biped who would steal a unicorn's horn!?" Dr. Bright's eyes rounded on Researcher ZebraHan, and he cringed under the intense scrutiny.
He unconsciously reached up to his forehead, the sharp edge of his horn gleaming under the fluorescent lights. The Tramontina 18" brush Machete on his forhead was the envy of many of the staff at Site-19. The heavy duty duct tape which secured it was a gift from his mother before she died last winter. "I guess you're right. I apologize, the nature of my research makes me forget they're less than Unicorn. What kind of monster would steal someone's horn? How would we cut pumpkins around Halloween?"
Dr. Bright nodded, the amulet around his horn clinking. The body he wore was a delicate filly's, and the Buck Compadre Chopping Froe Machete on her head was distracting the researcher. He had to remind himself that this was Dr. Bright, respected unicorn, and Director of Personnel for the entire Site. "That's exactly right, Researcher. Pumpkins must be carved, and a unicorn without a horn is just…a zebra." Dr. Bright's use of a slur was shocking, but the researcher took it in stride, "I'll leave you to this, can you take care of the containment procedures from here? Losing Dr. Buttercup was a major loss. I'm expecting you to hoof up."
Researcher ZebraHan nodded, his front left hoof tapping twice. "You can count on me sir. I won't let you down. I'm off to the Biped Containment wing now. I think I've got some promising research which will let us successfully contain 682 with significantly less loss of life." He set off down the hallway, towards the Biped Containment wing. The steely look in his Horn was enough to put a spring in his hooves, and a fire in his belly. That or the extra bark in his breakfast.
He approached the Biped Containment wing, and with a flick of his neck, swung his horn deep in to the verification H-class next to the solid steel access door. His horn sunk in with a thunk, and the pattern of chop verified his identity. The sound of hooves clomping on the door mechanism rang out from behind the security checkpoint. They'd switched to H-class verification after an unfortunate incident last year, with a Horse Insurgency agent, and two buckets of black paint. The H-class let out some odd gibberish, which ZebraHan still couldn't make heads or tails of. "YOU SON OF A BITCH, OH FUCK, MY SPLEEN. WHAT THE FUCK, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO US, WE'RE JUST HRRRK—" The H-class was cut off by Dr. Magnus, who sunk his Martindale 17" horn in to the H-class' heart, or something like its heart. Who knew what bizarre physiology the bipeds possessed. I mean, come on, two legs?
"Morning ZebraHan, heading off to the Biped wing again?" Michael's cheerful demeanor gave no indications of his gruesome work, conducting interrogations on escaped G-Class personnel. G-class may be barely able to talk, but they were intelligent creatures, unlike these H-class. "Any chance you've gotten any progress with SCP-5778?"
"No, and I have to requisition another 20 H-class for 682.. It's a good thing they breed so fast, eh? Too bad the young ones are so tiny, but what are you going to do? Use giraffes? Like a savage? We're not the Global Antelope Collective, for Zeb's sake."
Magnus threw back his head and let out a braying laugh. "Too true, ZebraHan, too true. After some of the things I've seen, you'd be shocked we're only using bipeds. I hear the ethics herd has been thinking about allowing use of G-class personnel for general testing. I can't recommend it enough."
"G-class? Zebus. That's a hell of a thing. But we've got to contain these things, at the end of the day, I suppose, and you are the expert." The door finally finished opening, as the unicorn behind the security door finished walking the treadmill connected to the mechanism. He nodded at the two of them, the shiny polish to his 24" Ontario SP8 horn the hallmark of a security member.
The two unicorns clopped down the hallway, and Dr. Magnus turned his head to face the young researcher, "Do you mind if I observe? You've got a way with the bipeds, which may be applicable to my own research."
"Of course not doctor, it would be my pleasure." The two unicorns walked down the hallway, past the blood pits, where the Site-19 grudge match was taking place. Two unicorns were fighting to the death over the last cruller in the break room.
U for Unicorn Johnson had a 19" Imacasa Colima horn, which gave him a reach advantage over Furious UniGeorge's 17" Condor Golok fixed with the dual leather straps. Furious UniGeorge was a veteran of the blood pits however, and the ring of horns could be heard throughout the hallway.
"Hold up, I've got five bucks on Johnson here," Magnus said, holding up one hoof.
U for Unicorn Johnson jumped forward with his famous Hoofs'o'Fury, and smacked UniGeorge in the flank, but UniGeorge was no neophyte. His horn flashed down and sliced across Johnson's eye as he screamed out in pain.
The fight was a formality at this point, as the two circled, before UniGeorge flashed his head left and right, hamstringing Johnson. A snicker snack of horn later, and the fight was over. "The cruller is mine Johnson," UniGeorge said in triumph, snacking down the delicious fried pastry as everyone in the blood pits dispersed back to work.
Just another day at Site-19. "Well damn, that's five bucks down the drain," Magnus said, as the two approached the office door to ZebraHan's lab complex, and turned the knob. Inside, behind a two way mirrored door, a biped stood behind a plexiglass screen, which contained a small watering hole and a well placed hole which it was too dumb to even use properly. "I call this one Doofus. She's unintelligible of course, but I think I've got the rudiments of communication in to her. She responds to basic commands at least. At least, I think it's a she. I can barely tell these bipeds apart. Come on, I want to show you something."
On the other side of the plexiglass, Researcher Lister wasn't quite sure how she'd gotten here. She remembered going to sleep last night at Site-27, and then waking up here in this…cell? On the other side, for the last two days, zebras had been coming in and out of what appeared to be a standard Foundation laboratory enclosure.
The knob on the door rotated, and two zebras walked in to the enclosure. They both had machetes strapped to their heads, one with duct tape, the other with what looked like police tape. The larger of the two approached the plexiglass, and tapped on it with the machete on its head. The gold monacle on its left eye jittered with each impact.
The zebra let out a series of equine noises, as they all had, and Emma lifted her hands in a gesture of confusion. "I have no idea what you're saying. If you're trying to say anything. My name is Emma Lister, and I demand to know what the hell is going on!"
Researcher ZebraHan shook his head, and looked at Dr. Magnus. "Like I said, most of it is gibberish, but I think I can get them to recognize simple commands." He picked up a clipboard, and wrote down several simple instructions, with his beautiful horn.
Researcher Lister watched curiously, as the zebra with the machete strapped down with duct tape swung its head down against what looked like an oversize clipboard, slamming the blade in to the wood, and making a significant mess of the object.
"Now. We'll just hold this up to the enclosure, and hope it remembers simple Zebrish." Researcher ZebraHan held the clipboard up against the plexiglass, and looked at the biped expectantly.
"Wait. What the hell, how are you holding that, it's just—" She started, before Researcher ZebraHan started slamming his horn against the plexiglass.
"IT SAYS BE SILENT, PRIMITIVE BIPED, READ DAMMIT, READ!" He shouted clear as a bell, and with authority, slamming his horn for effect against the bipeds enclosure.
Emma was paralyzed, fearing for her life as this creature went ballistic in front of her. She stood stock still trying not to provoke any more violent actions. A bead of sweat rolled down from her forehead, and was absorbed by the labcoat which had grown steadily more dingy over the past couple days.
The zebra with the duct tape did this every few hours for the past two days. Standing still appeared to placate the creature, and she wondered how long this would go on for. Her transponder only had a few more days of battery life. Surely the Foundation would rescue her?
"Aha! See! All it takes is intention! I can reliably get the biped to react as we wish. There's hope for it yet, now we just have to try and get it to realize that we're trying to communicate. I think they've got the brain capacity of at least a pangolin. There's hope yet." Researcher ZebraHan beamed with pride, as he set down the clipboard on the table. He ran his horn against the stone on the wall to sharpen the edge after the study.
"Absolutely brilliant, ZebraHan. I think you've got a real future in biped studies, though I'm not sure a pangolin would like to be favorably compared to a biped. What does this all have to do with Dr. Bright's request though?" Dr. Magnus opened the door, and the two Unicorns strode away from the specimen, as it continued to hoot out its mating calls or whatever it was saying.
"Ahh, yes. We figure if we can get them to be more communicative, we might be able to contain SCP-682 for more than a few seconds. Right now we're just throwing H-class at it, when it gets hungry." ZebraHan removed the monacle from his left eye, polishing it with a quick wipe against his chest.
Dr. Magnus cocked his head, "Which one is 682 again?" He gestured with his head towards the cafeteria. "Let's grab coffee."
Researcher ZebraHan nodded, eyeing a particularly finely shaped filly with an MY Parang Duku Chandong stuck in the exact middle of her forehead with a glob of carpet cement. "Hard to destroy lion. It's the one covered in trebuchets."
"Damn trebuchets. Wonderfully effective weapons, shame they fell out of fashion for the damnable catapaults. A more elegant weapon, for a more civilized age, I've always said," Dr. Magnus raised his muzzle in a diffident sniff.
"You only say that because you're a moderator of /r/trebuchetmemes, Magnus," ZebraHan said with a snort, as they entered the line for coffee.
"That's got nothing to do with it. Now, lift your tail, its our turn." The coffee enema station was blessedly not busy this time of day, as the two researchers stepped up to their turn.


~if only in myy-yy-yy dreeeeeeams~

PC-0-01:

You have [1] unheard message.
New message [Sunday] [December] [Twenty] [Fourth] at [7]:[48] [P]M:
All right. Probably for the best that this is a voicemail. I don't do well with awkward conversations.
My name's Dr. Isaiah Henderson, and I died earlier this year. Long story short, I took a look at Project FAFNIR's dossier without proper inoculation, so I had to take the quick way out. Though I gotta say, the manner of my suicide was probably the most fun I've had in years.
On to business.
Unfortunately, I don't have a lot more to report on the afterlife than the usual business. Sand's still cold, sky's still green, striders still stridin', moon count is still at a solid three. Oh, based on what I've heard in the detention facility, the Elephant King's thousand-year orgy is cooling down. Go figure. Even demigods need a break every once in a while, I suppose.
And… if you're wondering about that "detention facility" tidbit, I suppose this is where things get a bit complicated. There's not much more I can tell you about that. Not without serious legal repercussions.
So, here are my last orders as the former director of Operation Galahad.
First off, no more trained professionals in the corbenic explorations. Use d-class.
Second, don't lie to them about an extraction procedure or whatever that Humbaba thing was. You'd be surprised how cooperative a condemned man's going to be if you gave them scientific proof of an afterlife and pointers on how to navigate it.
Third.
…
Sorry, I'm just. I'm under a lot of pressure here. I'm treading a thin line as it is by mentioning the Elephant Ki— Ghantouris, his name is Ghantouris, chalices lifted in his honor, mea maxima culpa.
God. I'm…
Third, if any exploration staff see someone from the Three Moons Initiative, they are to obey them unquestioningly. They're not as dangerous as the Striders or other monsters per se, but…
I'm sorry. I've made a lot of people in high places angry here. I'm actually starting to prefer the idea of a traditional hell. At least Satan doesn't deal with this much paperwork.
…
Anyway, Merry Christmas.
Mrs. Martha Henderson, if you're hearing this, I never liked your Jell-o salads.
Dr. Lisle Naismith, you're now in charge of Operation Galahad, if you aren't already. You can go ahead and tell Penny that Uncle Isey's with God. It's not far off from the truth, so long as you don't specify which god.
And even as I'm screaming here for my crimes, know that I'm proud of you.
…that was directed toward Lisle, not Martha. Eat a dick, Martha.
To repeat this message, press 1. To delete this message, press Star.

As he ended the 2922 transmission, Isaiah sighed, realizing he was still in the defendant's stand - a cubicle of carved spider silk in the center of Jalakåra's1 audience room.
Despite any words of Christmas comfort, Isaiah was still in the Impenetrable, Jalakara's web-fortress thousands of lightyears above the skies of Corbenic - and on trial for Operation Galahad.
The 13 Magistrates of the Central Cabal gazed down upon Isaiah from their woven podiums, recording notes into tablets of flesh. The tablets giggled.
From the ceiling, the voice of the bearded spider-god creaked out from His weary mandibles: "Have… you… finish… ed?"
"It is as you have commanded, Lord Jalakåra," said Isaiah. "Operation Galahad is now absolved of its sinful origins."
"Hmmmm." Jalakåra strung a massive forelimb through his beard, twisting it as he had done countless times before. "Then… it would… seem… that you… have—"
"Am I free to go, my lord?"
In a flash of light, Isaiah's mouth was gone, leaving only a patch of skin.
The 12th Magistrate - some rookie upstart by the name of Janet Spiegel - rose from her seat and shouted into the nearest available amplification-thread. "Dr. Isaiah Henderson, you have interrupted Lord Jalakåra during an official meeting, and for this insolence, you are hereby sentenced to 4,000 years in the caustic oubliettes at Three Moons Base Aleph."
"Case… clo… sed," said Jalakåra.
The last thing Isaiah remembered before the ogre-bailiffs barged in was looking into the seven trillion eyes of the Great Weaver, and flipping him off.

Footnotes
1. GLORY TO JALAKÅRA OF THE IMPENETRABLE, HOST AND BENEFACTOR TO MANKIND


"Alright, Harold. This is the final stage of your test. Three bullets, three targets."
You can't do this, how did you even make it to the final stage anywa-
You don't control me.
Harold placed the suppressant headphones on, shrouding his ears from the dissidents in his mind. Under the earmuffs, He had two earbuds filling his ears with the slow paced rhythms of some random mix he never heard before, a secondary line of defense per se. Variety to him was one of the best combatants to pressure.
He observed the intricate details of his revolver. Its creme white surface was scratched with age; despite this, it still contrasted sharply against the brown grip. This contrast was far too close to home for Harold, his angel and devil on each shoulder bickered constantly within. To take the chance or not? That was the number one argument in his mind. In an attempt to keep his mind from shifting into its previous state, he checked the chamber one last time. Three bullets, they were all that stood between him and a raise.
The raise was a lot more than another zero on his paycheck, more than doing something mundane like paying off his mortgage. It was rather a big middle finger to the doppelganger of doubt that grew alongside him. Every time he failed, the doubtful shadow cast a darker gloom in himself. Even while he was on the final stage of his test. Although he was flown out to Wichita, Kansas specifically for this one shot. Doubts were still cast that made him question what the hell he was doing halfway through it.
Harold exhaled his breath along with the shadow of self pity that was inside of him. Pushing the chamber back into the revolver. He raised his firearm, looking at its perfect imperfections one last time before he pulled back the hammer. Hearing the crrrraaank that it made as the gun flared with readiness.
Boom…

The target folded into the ceiling, replaced by a new one. Its smoldering head still smoking from the precise shot. The second dummy descended from the ceiling.

Boom…

The second target was more difficult, moving left and right at differing speeds. It didn't prove to deter Harold. The second dummy rose to the top of the firing range. His grip tightened while he witnessed the final dummy drop down.

3 seconds

Harold hesitated, the final shred of doubt within crushing a finishing blow. He almost let go of the gun then and there.

2 seconds

He took off his headphones and earmuffs, and pulled the trigger. Absorbing the deafening noise that left a ringing sound that startled his brain.

1 second

Boom…
The revolver fell out of his hands and hit the ground. Falling to his knees, Harold knew it was time to pack it in. There was no possible way he could've passed. Harold smiled to himself, it didn't matter because the shadow was dead. He got this far despite the constant hounding to himself. The result was not a promotion at work, but a promotion of self worth.
While Harold was relishing in self victory, the judge walked towards Harold with increasing speed & intensity. He placed a hand on Harold's shoulder whilst handing him a promotion slip with his other one.

"Nice Shot!"

Item Description: A 1964 Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum Revolver. When any ammunition is fired from the third chamber, an unidentified male voice will shout "Nice shot!"
Date of Recovery: 09-03-████
Location of Recovery: Wichita, Kansas, USA
Current Status: In storage at Site 19's vintage weapons depository.
Notes: Perfectly serviceable and well-maintained aside from the anomaly. Accuracy or even proficiency with the firearm is not required for the anomaly to function. Voice sounds whether or not the shot is, in fact, "nice".


I've been wanting to do this since October and I've had chest and head congestion at some level ever since, so fuck it. Last chance this year to do it at all, so it's done.
Happy holidays!

▸ More by this Author ◂

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F.A.Q.

{$doesthisfixthebug}

The following is the last recorded message from newly promoted Director Austin of Site-12. It is unknown if the director was suffering a mental break or if he was under the effects of an unidentified memetic effect released during the site-wide breach on December 25th, 2013.
Regardless, the site experienced the simultaneous activation of both the above ground and below ground nuclear fail-safes 1 minute and 43 seconds after the broadcast. There were no survivors.

if the audio player is broken so is the masquerade...


« Lessons for Old Dogs | Hub | Magical Mystery Tour (upcoming) »

Charla Flores sat on the changing-room bench, slowly folding a spare uniform. It was brand new and spotless, a far cry from her old lab-coat with its familiar stains of iodine and bleach. What new stains would she acquire?
She shook off the reverie as Dr. Reynard walked in. The older woman dropped a handful of memetics VR headsets into her locker with a clatter, and gave an irritated sigh.
"Is everything okay?" ventured Charla.
"How can you ask such a thing?" Dr. Reynard looked genuinely shocked. "The situation is unworkable. Intolerable. It is a personal insult."
She sat down hard on the same bench as Charla, who realised that she had become a de facto confidant. Presumably that was through a shortage of options; she had seen how prickly the memetics researcher had been in her interactions with other team members.
Charla tried a conciliatory approach. "They're a little different to other MTFs, I know, but -"
"Different?" Dr. Reynard's tone was scoffing. "They are entirely unprofessional. For a memetics consultant, Agent Anderson has no post-graduate qualifications in his subject, and that Dee woman seems to have no schooling whatsoever. One of their agents is an old, deaf man, and apart from Zhao, the rest are inexperienced children!"
Charla looked stung. Dr. Reynard waved her hand hurriedly.
"I do not include you in this, my dear. We are both in the same position, brought into this job on false conditions, unwillingly. If you wish, I could easily include you in my application for reassignment."
"Reassignment?" Charla hadn't remotely considered it. "No. Leaving my last posting was hard enough. Besides, everyone here seems so, well, so normal. And nice. Would you go back to your last team?"
"No, sadly that would not be possible," said Reynard, stiffening. "I would certainly find something else. But you would prefer to stay? You are not concerned by the danger of this misguided excursion? This Dr. Narváez is surely a madman."
This sparked Charla to a more spirited response. "Dr. Narváez is an expert in perception-altering and dimensional anomalies! One of the most decorated in the Foundation. He has seen things beyond any of our experience."
"How much of what Dr. Narváez has seen is real, and how much is inside his head?" Dr. Reynard retorted. "I doubt even he knows for sure. Trusting such a man is folly. I trust the facts. The last time anyone went to this place, eleven agents died."
"Of course this is dangerous," said Charla. "All MTFs face dangers, and we have been training for them. Besides, no-one was hurt either time Dr. Narváez went to Alagadda."
Dr. Reynard gave a dark look. "But Dr. Narváez isn't going to Alagadda this time. Remember that. It will just be the MTF, on its own." She stood, closing her locker door firmly, and left the room without saying more.
Charla watched her leave, then looked back down at her uniform. Just the MTF. Her MTF, now.

In the Site cafeteria, Mike and Zhao found a quiet table. Mike had hardly looked at Zhao on the walk over, and she waited quietly while he busied himself with his food for a few minutes.
"It's not that I'm scared of going," he said finally. "I just don't know whether it makes sense, you know? Is it even really Emma's idea? She's been meeting so often with the Site Director."
"I think that the Commander knows her own mind," said Zhao. "She was the one who set up the training. She brought in Dr. Narváez."
Mike looked up from over his mashed potato. "And she didn't even tell you what she was planning?"
"No." Zhao sounded contemplative.
"But doesn't she have to? I mean, your views are important. You're our lieutenant!"
"And Emma is the commander," replied Zhao, the words dropping like a lead weight on the conversation.
"Sorry," said Mike, abashed. "Helen, I didn't mean - I think you would have made a great commander. Once Richards - well, you know."
That brought an ironic smile back to Zhao's face. "No I wouldn't," she said. "I'm not cut out for it. I talked about it with Richards, back when he first appointed me. And anyway, I've never wanted to. Some people are natural leaders, and some are better at being second in command. I make sure the plans get executed, keep an eye on the team. It's what I'm good at. I don't need anything else."
"You are good at it."
"Suck up!" said Zhao, with a grin.
Mike grinned too, and they ate for a while before his thoughts brought him full circle.
"It's just, going to Alagadda, you know? You should have heard what 2992 said about it - he sounded really scared. It doesn't seem like something that the Commander - the ex-Commander, I mean - would do."
Zhao lowered her glass of water and raised an eyebrow. "I'm not so sure. You've only known Richards for a little while - I've worked with him since back when we were 'Hear No Evil'. Things were different then."
"I hope that he's okay," said Mike. "I know I shouldn't, but…"
"I know what you mean," Zhao replied. "Although I'm more worried about Emma. It's a huge responsibility, all those decisions, and she's still so young."
"Emma is pretty tough." Mike cocked his head. "And she has you to support her."
He was aiming for another grin, but Zhao just chewed absently, brows furrowed. They both ate on in silence.

The guard opened the door to the tiny visitors' room and Emma walked in, taking a seat on one side of the glass partition. The chair on the other side was empty.
Emma waited, thinking about what she wanted to ask, mind racing. She pulled at the collar of her uniform jacket. This was probably her last opportunity before the mission. She needed every edge she could get.
Finally, a buzzer sounded and the door on the other side opened. In walked ex-Commander Samuel Richards.
He looked older than she remembered, and thinner. He folded his tall frame down into the seat opposite. If he was surprised to see her there, he didn't show it. He said nothing.
Emma knew he wouldn't be interested in small-talk. "They have your Ethics Committee hearing scheduled for a month from now," she said. "I presume they told you?"
Richards nodded slowly.
"And have you remembered anything?" She knew that wasn't how amnestics worked, but it was worth trying.
The man behind the glass was impassive.
"You know what their decision will be, if you don't help them. Discharge, full amnesticisation and monitoring. Dishonor. You can't want that - not after your career."
"My career isn't important." Richards sounded hoarse.
"But to be labelled a traitor to the Foundation -"
"I was protecting the Foundation!" snapped Richards. His jaw quivered with coiled tension.
Emma could sense an opening. "I believe you," she said. "I don't know whether the Committee will, but I understand why you took 012. Tell me something, anything you can, and I can help you."
"You?" Richards stared hard at her.
"Yes. I know what Pherson is like. I worked with him."
"And that's exactly why I don't trust you," Richards replied, folding his arms. "You worked on 012, you could easily have been corrupted by it." His gaze darkened. "For all I know, you could be working with Pherson, trying to recover it for him. Or trying to take it for yourself."
"Says the man locked up for doing exactly that!" Emma's blood was up, her voice sharp.
"I'm the only one who could be trusted to keep it safe."
"The only one?" Now it was Emma's gaze that burned at the glass between them. "And yet you have an accomplice."
At that, Richards looked genuinely shocked. "What?"
"Maybe not at the time you stole 012, but definitely since," continued Emma. "You walk in here to see me wearing the insignia of your MTF. Wearing the Commander's stripes you used to wear. And you don't react at all? You already knew. Someone has been feeding you information."
She knew that if Richards hadn't lied very well, he could certainly stonewall. He said nothing. Emma berated herself for losing her temper. It had felt good to get a reaction from him, but it meant he wouldn't answer any more questions.
Emma stood up to leave, turning back from the door to add, "If you change your mind about helping me, let me know. Or I guess I could just ask your conspirator."
As she walked back along the hall, she wondered who it was. Probably Dee.

"I don't trust that bitch." The forend of the pump-action shotgun slid back into place with a pronounced clack.
Hennessy looked over mildly from where he had been checking the sub-sonic stun grenades. Careful, Dee. That's our Commander you're talking about, he signed.
"Not my Commander," Dee responded with a snort. She put the empty weapon back on the rack and picked up the next to check the mechanism. "It's what she did to the Commander that means I don't trust her."
What she did? Richards admitted that he stole 012.
"And she ratted him out for it." Dee wasn't brooking any argument.
Hennessy raised both white eyebrows. She worked it out, you mean. Mace was the rat. He looked down at the back of his right hand for a second, absently curling the fingers into a fist.
"Since when are you her number one fan?"
Hardly. Hennessy laughed. That's probably reserved for Mike. Anyway, you've only known one Commander for the Beasts. Stark won't be the worst we've had.
Wiping the dust from the noise-amplification rig, Dee leaned forward. "I don't know if you noticed, but she's a damn slave-driver."
Hennessy raised his hands to tease Dee for complaining about a little work, but thought the better of it. Not when she was in this mood. He made do with a shrug.
"You can't be that relaxed," she said. "Stark is taking us into a spatial anomaly full of hostiles. The task force isn't equipped for that."
We've done okay in the field so far.
"Jesus! On earth!" Dee slapped the side of the speaker she was cleaning. "Against an old man and some shitty robots! Have you read the files about Alagadda?"
It's just about knowing what to look out for. Where's your sense of adventure? he signed back.
Dee strode around the low shelf, standing right in Hennessy's face. "Bullshit! That's bullshit, H, and you know it. I've been here more than twenty years, and you never wanted adventure."
The old man didn't move, didn't reply.
"What's wrong with you these days?" Dee continued. "You've changed, H. Maybe the others don't see it, but you can't fool me. You used to be a professional!"
Hennessy started to respond, but Dee cut him off.
"You don't care any more. You sit around being a smart-ass, joking with Mike instead of helping the Commander, and you go rushing into danger like a goddamn cowboy! You don't respect the rules, you don't give a shit about the safety of your team, and you sure as hell don't care about your own -"
Sudden understanding sucked away Dee's breath.
"H, tell me you aren't - tell me that's not why you - H?"
For a second she looked at Hennessy, imploring him for a denial. He had none.
All Dee's anger returned at once. "Well fuck you then! You wanna die, do it on your own time. Don't put me at risk."
By the time he had started to reply, she had turned away and was storming out. Hennessy couldn't lipread her final retort: "I'm sure your precious new Commander would be happy to get you killed!". He picked up the dust-cloth from the floor and went back to work.

It was getting late. Roger Anderson strode the deserted corridors of the Site, barely paying attention to his surroundings. He had been taken off his Archives shifts, but was yet to move into the MTF quarters, and the walks were hell on his joints. But he knew he wouldn't sleep until he had shared what he'd learned.
Before he knew it, he found himself outside the door to the Eta-11 Commander's office. He could see light seeping from the threshold; he wasn't surprised to see Emma was still working. He knocked twice and came in.
"Commander, I need to talk to you about Dr. Reynard. I was looking at her history and -"
Roger cut off in shock. Emma was at her desk, crying.
He took a step backwards. "I'm so sorry for barging in, Em - Commander," he stuttered.
"No, no - it's okay, Roger. Don't leave." She wiped her eyes. "What did you want?"
"That's not important," said Roger, walking around the desk. "Are you all right?"
"I don't think I can do this." Emma sounded desperate. "Any of it."
Roger felt alarm, and pity, and a strange kind of relief. "Emma, you're doing fine."
"You don't understand," she replied, shaking her head. "I say these things, and make these plans, but all the time, everything feels out of control. I don't belong here. What am I doing?"
"The right thing. You have uncovered more about 012 in the past few weeks than in years of study. You've pulled this MTF into shape. Hell, I even did a sit-up yesterday." He laughed weakly, to match the joke.
"How do I know I'm making the right decisions?"
Roger gave a taut smile which he hoped was encouraging. "You can't. Not for sure. You just do your homework, take advice from the right people, and do your best."
"But I could be putting the squad in danger," said Emma, although her voice sounded more certain now.
"If danger is what the task requires, then that is what we've signed up to. I've been here a long time, and it never gets any easier to put people at risk. When you do find it easy, that's when I'll worry."
Emma straightened her hair, pulling herself together, becoming the Commander again. "So I take advice from the right people. What's your advice?"
Roger considered bringing up Dr. Reynard, and decided against it. Emma had enough on her plate. He contented himself with a final thought on his way out the door.
"My advice is, don't put too much trust in the Foundation. I've seen a lot, and it's taught me that when a place gets too used to keeping secrets, you can't ever know for sure what they're hiding."

The voice on the other end of the line was insistent.
"What are your concerns?"
"I'm not sure whether she represents a liability or an asset."
"Is she a risk to the mission?"
"No, I don't think so. But there are other risks."
"We can take care of them, Director Arora. You should concentrate on your role."
"I understand."
Site-Director Arora put down the phone and turned his stereo back on. The comforting voices of Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald filled his office.

Elsewhere, the opening strains of Ligeti's "Requiem" stole out from hidden speakers in the darkened warehouse. Stuart Pherson, once of the Foundation, bathed in the music and was borne upwards upon it. He knew it well, but hearing it again he felt new purpose in the twisting voices.
That purpose was part of him, too. And his fellow thieves, elsewhere in the building, preparing in their own ways. They were so different from him, yet alike - drawn together like singers joining the song. Pherson closed his eyes, breathing deeply as the music swelled.
And then at once all sound fell into a chasm of silence.
Pherson opened his eyes, and saw the figure before him. It was robed and masked, towering in the dim light. When it spoke, Pherson felt he could hear the echoes of cawing crows.
"You have the baton." It was a demand.
Pherson gave an almost instinctive bow. "Yes." He pulled it from the bag at his feet, passing it to a black-gloved hand. Pherson shivered at the touch.
The baton disappeared within the flowing robes. "More is expected."
"Yes, my patron." Pherson's understanding was instinctive too. "We are ready. But the Foundation -"
"The Foundation has grown soft," said the figure, implacable. "It cannot prevent the tide of history now it has turned. Its actions are unimportant. We will bring the Saint's return. You must find the score."
Pherson looked pained. "The score is lost, stolen from us. The Foundation cannot find it and neither can we."
The black shape before him seemed to grow larger. "Not that score. The others. Only two are required, and you will find them."
"Where, my master?" Pherson asked hungrily.
"Tune your instruments. Assemble the orchestra. You will go to Alagadda."


« Missed Part 3?

Kit woke up on the third day, Christmas Eve, with a head full of gathering clouds – a storm threatening to blow his world apart. Matilda had needed minimal attention through the night, as he had learnt her routine pretty quickly, but he still felt exhausted. Pulling his duvet up around him, he prepared for a day in bed, trying to ignore the growing whirlwind in his brain.
Unfortunately, babies don't tend to understand duvet days, or looming depression. So, when Kit hadn't come to gather her up into his arms by 7am, Matilda started to fuss. She kicked her blanket free and scrunched herself up, starting to howl. Kit put the pillow over his ears, muffling out her noise, until his neighbour began banging on the wall.
Something dark snapped within him. Something that came from his father. Something that he remembered well from his own childhood. He got up and angrily strode over to the chest of drawers. "Shut up!" He growled at the baby, scowling at her. This only seemed to make the baby more upset, and her face turned red as hot tears spilled down her cheeks. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Kit repeated, body tense.
There was a sudden force around him, intense. Then he was pushed back from the drawer, something hard thumping into his nose and making him land on his arse. His nose instantly started bleeding, and he stared at the space in front of the baby. Whatever had been helping them both up until them had just turned on him. And it didn't take Kit more than a second to figure out why.
He swallowed hard, standing, rubbing a hand across his nose and smearing the blood. "I'm sorry," he said, softly, not sure who he was apologising to – the force, or the baby. But he was sorry. He wasn't his father. He wasn't his sins. He wasn't the shithead he had grown up with. Although he clearly wasn't father material, either.
Gingerly, he moved over and, when he was met with no force, gently picked up the baby. It took her longer than usual to calm down to gentle snuffling, but she eventually did, staring up at him with eyes so sad that it hurt, when he realised he caused them. "It's okay, Munchkin. I'm not mad at you. You're a good girl." He reassured, rocking her gently, taking her over to his bed and sitting with her, drawing the duvet around the both of them.
"…I can't do this, can I?" He said, out loud, but very softly. "It was dumb of me to think I could do this. I can't. You've only been okay this long because… because you're like me, you're not a normal person. That's okay." He added, quickly, as if the baby could understand his every word. "But it's the only reason you're… the only reason I could… I'm sorry, Munchkin."
It hurt to admit it. It hurt down to his very soul. He wasn't sure how you could only know someone for a couple of days but care for them so much, but it was there, next to the place where he had locked up his love for Gabriel. Wait. Gabriel! He was a responsible adult who didn't have his own kid on the way – he would do what was right, and Kit wouldn't be in any trouble. But, most importantly, Matilda would be taken care of properly – a lot better than someone could with only a drawer for her to sleep in and intense mood swings coming from her caregiver when their mind went dark.
Trying to tell himself it was just a normal day, he set down to the business of caring for Matilda. During the whole routine of the day, it was as if she knew change was in the air. She fussed over breakfast and got more of the food over her face than inside her mouth; she kicked and whined when her nappy was changed; a bottle provided no soothing comfort, with tears staining her cheeks as she drank, her huge eyes staring at Kit, betrayal in their depths; then bathtime was a tearful nightmare; a nap was out of the question, and, finally, when darkness fell, a teddy bear (not a rabbit; it wasn't for Matilda) with an angry frown manifested next to her when Kit gently placed her back into the box she had originally been found in.
With Matilda safely, if grumpily, waiting within his sight, Kit scribbled out a note.
Gabriel,
Don't be mad. This isn't my fault. This is Matilda. Someone left her on my doorstep on
this morning. I know I can't do anything to look after her but I don't want the police involved with me. It's selfish, just like you said I was before. I'll admit that now. Just do the right thing. Tell them she likes cuddly toy rabbits and being sung to. She really likes that song that goes - 'A, you're adorable, B, you're so beautiful…' That calms her down. Make sure to tell them that.
I love Thank you.
Kit.
He pinned the note carefully to Matilda's more-or-less clean onesie, and he swore that he saw a look in her eyes that was more than sadness; that asked not to be abandoned, again. But Kit was terrified of turning into another monster, with paws like a lion, a face like a rat's, and teeth as sharp as daggers. The thought scared him more than what he had to do now.
Aware of the chill outside, he lifted Matilda to gently cocoon her into a safe little bundle. "Don't be scared, Munchkin. He'll look after you right. I just… there's a monster inside me, and I have to keep you safe from that. He could hurt you, the monster. I would never hurt you. But the monster could hurt you in a way that'll hurt forever."
It didn't diminish the sadness in her eyes, but the teddy bear disappeared from the box and settled on the sofa, its expression one now of concerned sadness, rather than anger. The message was clear – the toy was no longer a message to Kit, but a gift, a showing that the spirit understood why this could no longer continue this way. "Thank you." Kit said, very softly. "For everything. Please stay with her, you're a good… whatever you are."
Kit had taken the time before putting Matilda in the box to feed her a little warm milk, to keep her as satisfied as possible. He had to trek halfway across the town with no-one becoming suspicious of what was in the box, hence waiting until after dark – and after Matilda's bedtime, too. He could only hope the soft motion would help lull her to sleep and keep her quiet. In terms of cash, he could afford the taxi – but in terms of being discovered, it was out of the question.
He left her on the counter as he carefully shrugged on a well-worn coat and gloves that had holes in the fingers. After a pause, he grabbed a beanie hat and gently placed it on Matilda's head, folding it several times so it fit as well as it was going to. He would have to move quickly whilst still drawing as little attention to himself as he could, because the cold wouldn't be good for Munch- Matilda. She wasn't his Munchkin anymore.
The coat was large enough that it allowed him to cradle the box whilst using some of the coat to protect her from the cold and view of people – the peach-scent rabbit laying across her would add some warmth, hopefully. Once he had escaped the florescent lights of his flat building, he felt more confident and began to walk as fast as he dared whilst holding his precious bundle.
To outsiders, particularly those passing by in their cars, he looked like a homeless person protecting their meagre belongings; no-one would logically come to a conclusion there was a baby in that box, as she lay quietly, a dummy in her mouth again. The force was still keeping them both safe, and it was a good sign that it didn't intend to leave just because of the decision Kit had been forced to make.
He made it to Gabriel's building in good time, pausing in the lobby to check Matilda wasn't too cold. She was falling asleep, despite the distress she had shown earlier – the lack of a daytime nap and the warm milk overcoming her upset. Good. Kit wasn't sure he could deal with anymore tears from the baby. He wasn't too far away from assuring himself he would never become a monster, and taking her back home.
He steeled himself though, as he took the lift up to Gabriel's floor. He was aware of the CCTV in the lift and corridors, and put his hood up, hiding his hair and most of his face, back to the camera, and hoped that would be enough. He didn't want the authorities to find out who… who abandoned the baby, just Gabriel – Kit just wanted to be able to explain himself as much as possible, if only to one person.
Reaching Gabriel's enclosed doorway area, he pushed open the glass door that stayed unlocked to allow the delivery of packages. He placed Matilda's box safely on the floor, then knelt by her side. "I guess this is goodbye… Munchkin." No harm in using the nickname one last time. "Man, I'm going to miss you. I really liked having you around, even during the crying bits and the nappy changes. It was worth it. But I'm going to have to let you go, so you can be safe." Matilda stirred a bit in her sleep, a free hand clutching the rabbit's ear as she sighed. Kit was just glad now to see she seemed to be as content as possible. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then left her in the enclosed area.
He didn't trust himself to ring the bell and actually run away. Between Matilda and Gabriel, there was far too much potential for him to freeze where he was, heart tugging itself into pieces when faced with these differing emotional situations. But he did trust in Matilda to start crying, or perhaps the entity protecting her to somehow alert Gabriel, now it understood Kit wasn't abandoning her just because. He left the building as quickly as he could, and hurried himself back home, arms already feeling empty without Matilda to hold.
Kit was right – the force around Matilda waited for a short time, sure its charge was safe, and then started to tug the rabbit from her grasp, making it disappear into a void. This disappearance caused Matilda to wake with a start and begin to sob, then wail. The entity stopped the tugging once it was clear Matilda was going to keep crying, and the door swung open quite quickly. Gabriel stood in his doorway, staring down at the baby, then bending down as he saw the note. Reading it, he frowned, and carefully pocketed it, before lifting the baby out of the box.
"Shh shh shh," he cooed, softly, holding the baby against his chest and rocking very gently. This was just like Kit – to dump his dirty laundry at Gabriel's feet. Still, he supposed he couldn't blame Kit too much – of course he would never call the police, and at least he hadn't tried to bring up the baby in that cold flat of his with his limited funds; that would be insanity. Matilda calmed to soft hiccups – this man smelt like the clothes that Kit had dressed her in after her first bath with him, and it was familiar; safe, even.
As Gabriel headed inside to call the police, still absently rocking the snuffling babe, he noticed a colourful cuddly bunny toy for his year-old nephew levitate off the table and into the baby's grabbing hands. "Oh shit." He mumbled, in recognition of what this may be, and his heart sank in recognition of what he would have to do now. Instead of calling the police, he thumbed down in his phone until he came to a number simply labelled 'work'. He waited for it to ring through, then typed in a code, before putting his phone to his ear to speak.
"Agent Romero calling in an Alpha One emergency protocol at my current location. Undercover crew needed for retrieval of… young humanoid with unknown anomalous abilities. Civilians present within area, however there is no danger known from what can be presently understood."
As he sat down, absently cradling the baby and deciding to let her keep the cuddly toy – a slight comfort, considering her potential future – he remembered the folded note in his pocket. He would have to dispose of it, and dispose of it well. He wanted to keep Kit out of this, as much as possible, if only because it would be noted that he hadn't been eliminated as the Agent had been ordered to do.
Or that's what he felt safest telling himself. That emotional link still stung, if he lingered on it, especially this time of year.
So much for a quiet, merry Christmas.
Safely hidden back in his home, Kit knelt in front of the mural. Gently, he put his hand over the tiny baby hand print. He couldn't protect her. He couldn't keep her safe, watch her grow up, make mistakes and learn from them. There was too much of a chance that he could become a monster, so he had to let her go, for her own safety. His reaction earlier had terrified even him, and it would never be fair on a child – not ever. As realisation of what that meant hit him square in the gut, his hand slowly curled into a fist, and he let it slide down the wall. His head bowed, silent sobs shaking his frame - the teddy bear next to him, and the handkerchief scrunched up in his free hand – all he had left of her.

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