"How many people does the Foundation employ"
David Wilford was a member of a small men's club in a small town in West Virginia. Well, they called it a men's club. The name was rather too dignified for a group of five married men occasionally going out to a shed in the middle of the woods to watch the Game, drink some beers, and fart loudly without their wives pointedly pretending to choke while sitting next to them.
David has forgotten to reclip the secret compartment in his wallet. He doesn't know it, but through this action he has doomed the blissful ignorance of the entirety of the world that is currently unaware of the anomalous. Here he goes bending down to grab his beer. That is five… four… three… two…

An ID badge adorned with a certain three-pronged shield-and-arrows fell from David's pocket and landed face-up on the table. David stared in shock for a few crucial moments, allowing John, Marco, Ricky, and Glen to see the symbol. They all simultaneously broke the silence.
“Dave, you work for…”
They all paused, then looked at each other in surprise as they realized that the others had said the exact same thing.
Dave joined in the chorus. “You know about the Foundation?”
There was an encore. “Know? I work for the Foundation. How do you…”
There was another silence, which the other four men used to produce badges of their own with sheepish looks.
“Level 3. Anomalous Engineering,” said Marco slowly.
“Level 2. Research Assistant,” said Glen.
“External Affairs,” said Ricky.
“Level 4. Head Researcher, SCP- er… classified,” said David, looking a bit embarrassed.
“MTF Lambda-64,” said John.
They all looked at each other, and broke out laughing. They spent the night swapping unclassified stories, and ended up stumbling home a lot later and a lot drunker than normal. David emptied his pockets onto the nightstand in the dark, stripped off his clothes, and managed to get into bed without waking Sandra.
David woke up to Sandra shaking him. He groaned, his head banging, his mouth dry, and looked up at her. He sobered up almost immediately when he saw that she was holding his ID in her hand.
Wordlessly, she held up her other hand. There was another badge with her picture on it.
He took his back, stared at his wife in silence, then spoke:
“How many people does the Foundation actually employ?”

“I'm sorry, but it's classified. Even I don't know,” Site Director Juarez said to the ten people standing in front of her desk. At David's insistence, the men had all gone to their wives, ID in one hand, amnestics in the other, and, sure enough, not a single pill was swallowed that night.
“Okay,” John's wife said. “How about the number of people working at this Site?”
“No.”
“The number of people from our town working here?” David suggested.
“No.”
“C'mon, Director Juarez. We don't even need an exact number,” Glen wheedled. “No names, no personal information. Just give us a rough percentage. I mean, you can always just amnesticize us after. Surely you aren't just a bit curious about the odds of such a huge coincidence happening?”
Director Juarez hesitated a few moments, agonizing over it, then finally bent over her computer, opened up the personnel files, overrode the multiple firewalls preventing complete access, and found the number of site personnel from David's town.
She searched the total population.
She opened her calculator and divided the first number by the second, multiplied the answer by a hundred, then stared at the results. Eventually, the group sidled around her desk and looked at the number she'd come up with.

74.6943888

Director Juarez said, “How many people does the Foundation employ?”

“Tell the Director that that information is classified, as she well knows,” O5-8 spoke into her phone. She put it down and turned to the other Council members. “What do you mean we don't know?”
“Well, you know the way we work, Eight,” said O5-4. “Too much knowledge is dangerous, even to us. Besides, with our turnover numbers, an exact number has never been feasible-“
“Well, I want one. Just to satisfy my curiosity. Three. Do you have it yet?”
“Uh… I have it,” came the voice from the computer. “It's… well…”
The number came up on the screen. The rest of the O5 Council stared.

3,496,974,222

O5-5 broke the silence: “Is there anybody out there who isn't aware of anomalies on some level?”
“I don't know,” said O5-8, her mouth tight, “but I intend to find out.”

The patrons of the Library, and indeed, anybody who held a Library card, whether they were there or not, looked up as an eldritch voice boomed in their heads.
“Will all patrons from Earth timeline B-173 briefly halt and raise their hands for a survey from the Head Librarian?”
The Head Librarian pushed his glasses up, and glanced at the letter in front of him. Then, he raised his tail and began to point and count, “Let's see now… 1, 2, 3…”
As he reached the tens of thousands, seeing how many people were left, he wished that he had fingers to count on.

Jack Dawkins, also known as The Critic, looked at the display in front of him, then back at the fax in his hand.
“And that's all of them?”
The artist in front of him said, “Yes, Critic. Every dot on the map represents an active anartist in the world. I based it off of that work you did back in '09 when you were—”
“Yes, I can see that.” The Critic's tone made it clear that he was not pleased with derivatives of his work being made.
The artist hesitated. “Er… when you press this button, in theory it should kill or at least incapacitate every artist that doesn't have our la—“
“Dammit!” the Critic shouted. “How many times have I said not to fucking do that? What is the fucking point of making work that kills anyone who looks at it? The whole damn point of art is to send a message! How the hell can your audience get anything from a piece when it rips their heads off and shoves it in their asses or some shit? That's not art, it's fucking bullshit!”
After a few moments, the artist quavered, “s-so… I should make it so the button gets rid of people whose art killed people?”
The Critic's face went blank for a second, then he laid his head in his hands. “No. I have a very bad feeling that the people who are left would number in the double digits. I'd rather live in ignorance. Just wrap that number up in a nonlethal meme and send it on.”

The numbers came in. An exquisite envelope made from some rare tree arrived from Marshall, Carter, and Dark. An automaton arrived with an envelope and a request for $10,000 dollars. The Church of the Broken God sent three messages: one by email, one shot from a steam powered cannon, and one on a bird that was slowly being converted to clockwork. Every Group of Interest, major and minor. Every anomalous person. The O5's loaded them all up into the computer, and waited for it to spit out a list of names. Anyone who hadn't been on any of the lists sent to them.
Finally, the printer whirred and buzzed, and the O5's had their answer.
It wasn't pretty.

Jeremiah Wuthers strolled into his apartment and flopped down in front of the TV. He was beat, and ready to relax for the rest of the night. He flipped the channel to FOX, but instead of being rewarded with the wacky exploits of various yellow caricatures, there was what looked like a meeting room, filled with shadowy figures wearing various odd symbols. Confused and slightly annoyed, Jeremiah turned to TBS, and came face to face with the same picture. He flipped through every channel in his cable package, with the same results.
Some government announcement? he wondered. Then, one of the figures on the screen spoke.
“Hello, people of Earth. Almost all of you will find exactly zero shock in what I am about to say, but, all myths are true. The laws of physics are rather closer to suggestions, and the world is populated by monsters, gods, and human beings with the power to rewrite reality itself.”
Various images of the beings described by the figure flashed across the screen.
“My name is O5-8, and I am one of the leaders of the SCP Foundation. We have called this meeting, with representatives for nearly every major group dealing with anomalies to inform the world that, on some level, everybody knows.
“Yes, we have crunched the numbers, and double checked them, and the number of people who have had absolutely zero contact with any facet of the anomalous world comes to roughly… one person.
“This meeting is a message. The veil is lifted, the masquerade dissolved. Apparently it was so many years ago and nobody noticed. Please be aware that all of our groups are in agreement on one thing: Fundamentally, this changes nothing about anybody's goals. As far as the Foundation is concerned, there is still a basic normality within the world that allowed life to exist as it has up to now. That is still worth protecting, and we intend to do so. And to a Mr…” Here the figure consulted the paper in front of her. “…Jeremiah Wuthers, if you have any questions, you may call the number below.”
A number flashed briefly across the screen, then the meeting room disappeared, just in time for Homer to wrap his hands around Bart's neck. Jeremiah stared for a few moments, then settled back in to watch and sulk a bit.
“Huh, I totally knew the whole time,” he muttered to himself.


Notice
After Action Report
Intercepted Email 1
Intercepted Email 2
Intercepted Email 3

ATTENTION

The attached document packet is classified:

Level 5

by the Overseer Council. Do not continue unless you are an Overseer or authorized Factotum under:

PROJECT: SCP-008
CODE WORD: PALISADE TEMBLOR WHITTIER

If you have received this data packet in error, do not continue. Contact your local Records and Information Security Administration (RAISA) office immediately and report a misdirected Level 5 information packet. Failure to do so is punishable by death.

THE FOLLOWING AFTER-ACTION REPORT HAS BEEN CONDENSED FROM THE ORIGINAL. CERTAIN DATA HAVE BEEN REDACTED FOR SECURITY PURPOSES. A COPY OF THE FULL REPORT IS AVAILABLE AT SITE-19 FOR REVIEW AND ARCHIVAL. CONTACT YOUR LOCAL RAISA OFFICE FOR FURTHER DETAILS.

MEMORANDUM FOR LIMITED RELEASE
FROM: R. SPAULDING, COMMANDER, MOBILE TASK FORCE BETA-5 ("BABYSITTERS")
THIS AFTER-ACTION REPORT IS PREPARED IN ACCORDANCE WITH RAISA DIRECTIVE 417, PARAGRAPH 3, SEC. 2-7.

EXECUTIVE SUMMARY

Deployed Location: "Happy Acres Youth Camp," ████████ ████, WY.
Deployed CCOs: Task Force Commander Ronald Spaulding (Beta-Five Actual), SCP-105 (Iris Thompson), Senior Special Agent Andrea S. Adams.
Duration of Deployment: 0600 hours 4-5-2███ through 1800 hours (12 Hours).
Mission Directives: To evaluate an outbreak of SCP-008 in the wild.
Scope of Operations: Deploy forward operations base at incident location, investigate area for evidence of SCP-008 outbreak, sterilize area of SCP-008 outbreak if possible.

INCIDENT BACKGROUND

[click image to enlarge]

"Happy Acres Youth Camp" is a "Boutique Summer Camp" operated by "Marshall and Carter Holiday Endeavours," located in ████████ ████, WY. Abutting the nearby "Diamond Mountain Resort,"1 the facility offers a "Discreet Summer Getaway For The Children of Our Distinguished Clientele."
In addition to luxury housing for up to two hundred children, counselors, and staff, the resort includes back-country hiking trails, a mountain bike park, horseback riding ranch, rifle range, paragliding facilities, and helicopter pad. The resort also operates several ski lifts during the winter months, and is well known for the quality of their trails, as well as their luxurious accommodations.2
On ██-██-████, two persons entered the Emergency Room at ██████ █████ Hospital in ████████ ████, WY, carrying an injured child. Persons reported that they were camp counselors at "Happy Acres Youth Camp," and that the child had been attacked during the night by "some kind of animal." Medical personnel discovered that the child had an unusually elevated fever and signs of cellular necrosis around the injury, symptoms consistent with SCP-008.
Marshall, Carter, and Dark representatives reported the incident to a Foundation representative3, prompting an immediate alert to Mobile Task Force Beta-7 ("Maz Hatters"). Agents from MTF-B7 arrived under the guise of agents from the Centers for Disease Control, quarantined all persons who had come in contact with the victim, placed Patient Zero into ad-hoc containment, and interrogated witnesses regarding the details of the attack.
Meanwhile, other agents from MTF-B7 proceeded to "Happy Acres Youth Camp" (again under the guise of Centers for Disease Control personnel) and carried out initial containment there. However, a number of children and adult counselors had embarked on an overnight hiking trip the previous afternoon, and had missed their expected return time by over six hours.
As MTF-B7 operatives were not sufficiently armed for pacification of an active outbreak of SCP-008, backup was requested under PALISADE BROKEN MENAGERIE.

FORCE COMPOSITION
Mobile Task Force Beta-5 ("Babysitters") is a platoon-level Task Force consisting of forty-two (42) operators, including the Task Force commander and executive officer. The force consists of five (5) squads, numbered One through Five.
During this deployment, two additional personnel (SCP-105 and Agent Adams) were present as observers, bringing the number of personnel participating in this operation to forty-four (44).

INITIAL DEPLOYMENT
MTF Beta-5 was transported to the operations area in ten vans marked with the livery of the Foundation cover organization "Species Conservation Project" (a conservation and ecological survey group). MTF Beta-5 was handed over command of the operation at 0600 hours.
Camp grounds of "Happy Acres Youth Camp" was designated "Forward Operating Base Granada" for the purposes of this operation. MTF-Beta-5 began preparing the facility for immediate and extended operations:

Squads 1 and 2 were given the responsibility of setting up perimeter security, blocking off all entrances to the camp and deploying remote sensors at key approaches.

Squad 3 unloaded equipment from vehicles and deployed them at the camp's recreation area (location A). This location was chosen due to its large floor space and secure location.

Squads 4 and 5 were given the responsibility of sweeping the rest of the camp for any remaining civilians, including all cabins and staff quarters. No outside personnel were found during this sweep.

Command element established command and control center at the camp lodge. This location was chosen for its proximity to the equipment staging area and its secure location. Adjunct personnel were also stationed at the command and control center as outside observers.

At approximately 0800 hours, command element carried out a visual inspection and determined that all preparations were proceeding satisfactorily.

Commencement of Operations

Two Members of Squad 5 of Mobile Task Force Beta-5 on patrol.
[click image to enlarge]

At approximately 0830 hours, command element conferred with each of the unit commanders regarding the planned course of action. Preferred tactics and strategies for dealing with mass SCP-008 infections were discussed, and all squad leaders were reminded to re-familiarize their squads with these procedures.
Squads 1 through 4 were assigned to perimeter security duty, switching off every four hours as per standard procedure. Squad 5 was given the special duty of retracing the planned route taken by the missing hikers.
Watch schedules and sanitary/housekeeping/safety procedures were reviewed at this time, as were communications protocols and contingency plans in case of emergency.

Discovery

Members of Squad 5, Mobile Task Force Beta 5, pacify an SCP-008 infectee.
[click image to enlarge]

At 1152 hours, Squad 5 reported contact with two SCP-008 infectees, later identified as two of the four adult counselors in the hiking trip. Infectees were terminated, and marked for later retrieval.
Shortly afterwards, Squad 5 reported discovery of a camp site at the planned destination of the missing hikers. The camp site included three (3) three-season tents, twenty sleeping bags, a fire pit, and several walking sticks, knives, skewers, and other camping paraphernelia.
Of particular concern were indications that the missing campers had been dragged out of their tents by force, rather than devoured in-situ. Based on the evidence of an alteration in infectee behavior, the responsible organism was redesignated SCP-008-E, pending further review and analysis.

Initial Contact

Marksman Logue, Mobile Task Force Beta-5
[click image to enlarge]

At 1208 hours, Designated Marksman Logue reported a number of unknowns walking slowly towards FOB Granada along a dirt road in grid reference D-9, several kilometers from the operating base. Further observations indicated fifteen unknowns: seven boys, eight girls, possible injured, with no sign of the missing adult counselors.
Immediately afterwards, multiple contacts were detected by perimeter security elements, totaling over fifty (50) unknowns. The discrepancy in numbers alerted the Task Force commander of possible complications, including the possibility that bystanders in the area had become infected.
Following additional sightings, the estimated number of hostiles in the vicinity was increased to over two hundred (200). Due to the large number of hostiles in the area, it was decided that Squad 5 would not attempt to return to FOB Granada. Squad 5 was ordered to find a secure position and await evacuation at a later time.
Task Force commander consulted with attached observers to determine what aid they could provide. Weapons were provided to the two observers, who set up positions on the rooftop of the camp's ranger station, abutting camper housing.

Engagement

Background: A. Stevenson, Marksman, Squad 3. Foreground: I. Thompson, SCP-105
[click images to enlarge]

At 1329 hours, MTF-Beta-7 reported that Patient Zero had reproduced by budding. Based on the data at hand, the estimated number of hostiles in the area was upgraded to somewhere in the range of one thousand (1000), dependent on the average elapsed time between replications.
It was at this point that the Task Force commander declared a PALISADE RAMPANT BEAST scenario and requested immediate heavy backup. Shortly thereafter, perimeter security reported that a number of hostiles were proceeding towards the FOB at a high rate of speed.
Engagement proceeded using standard "Knights and Archers" tactics, with Squads 1 and 2 providing the bulk of fire from rooftop firing positions, while Squads 3 and 4 provided security, reinforced by SCP-105.
Two engagements took place at 1356 and 1519 hours, resulting in numerous enemy casualties, no friendly losses.
The largest engagement took place at 1606 hours, requiring commitment of reserves and a retreat to secondary line of engagement. It was at this point that MTF Beta-5 suffered its only casualty (Agent Logue, broken ankle due to overly hasty retreat.)
At 1703 hours, Mobile Task Force Beta-5 were reinforced by elements of Mobile Task Force Nu-7 ("Hammer Down") who proceeded to carry out an in-depth sterilization of the surrounding area. Squad 5 was also retrieved at this time and returned to FOB Granada.
At approximately 1800 hours, Beta-5 officially handed over control of the operating area to MTF Nu-7 and exfiltrated by helicopter.

Post-Mission Analysis

[click image to enlarge]

Aside from the unexpected alterations to SCP-008's capabilities, the operation was a perfect example of superior tactics and flexibility winning out over an opposing force with superior numbers. All members of Mobile Task Force Beta-5 performed admirably, with individual commendations listed in the detailed appendix to this report.
The Task Force commander would like to make particular note of the contribution of the two adjunct observers to the success of this operation, particularly SCP-105, whose immediate response upon the hasty retreat from the first line of engagement at 1606 allowed Task Force personnel to retreat safely without suffering fatal casualties.
However, it is my personal opinion that current operating parameters regarding SCP-008 are inadequate, considering the alterations to the organism. Of particular concern [DATA EXPUNGED]

Footnotes
1. A vacation resort operated by Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd.
2. Text taken directly from the Happy Acres Youth Camp brochure, published by Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd.
3. At present, it is believed that the links to Marshall, Carter, and Dark Ltd. are incidental. No links between MC&D and any of the victims, staff, or personnel have been discovered during the course of further investigations. See Appendix B for further analysis.

From: R. Spaulding, Commanding Officer, MTF Beta-5 ("Babysitters")
To: Dr. Sophia Light, MTF Alpha-9 ("Last Hope")
CC: Dr. A. Clef, MTF Lambda-2 ("Still Unnamed")
Re: Operation "Camp Granada"
Sophia, Alto,
Let's get one thing out of the way: if this is the kind of backup that Alpha-9 and Lambda-2 can provide with only a couple of operators and no official Overseer support, I'm itching to deploy with them when they're up and running. So good to have actual firepower on our side for once.
I admit I wasn't sure what to think when Iris and Adams joined us at the staging area. On the one hand: a nervous-looking blonde with a Polaroid over her tactical vest. On the other… look. I get that the suit's effective. I get that it's even useful. I saw first-hand that it's badass. But you have to do something about the design. She looks like she stepped out of a comic book.
Anyway, I briefed Iris and Adams on the situation, and we headed up to the "summer camp," if you can call it that. Stevenson found their "horseback riding ranch," and there were goddamn unicorns in the stables. They had Wi-Fi in their "cabins". Egyptian cotton sheets on their "bunks". I've seen resort hotels that were less luxurious.
So we get situated, set up our kill box, get the men settled in and the perimeter secured, send Kim and Squad Five out looking for the hikers. Things start to get real about when Kim calls back and says they found the campground.
Now, right away, I'm getting a bad feeling. 8-Zombies don't drag people out of tents: tear tents down, yeah. Eat them on-site, sure. But drag them out of their tents and carry them off? They don't have enough brain cells for that.
There's another thing that didn't get past the censors on the official AAR, too. Kim found a shell casing: 9mm Para. Neither of the adults were carrying handguns. Can't get a good read on how old it was, but couldn't have been more than a few days. Could have just been hikers or poachers moving through the area, but no one reported any gunshots.
Aside from that, things were a bit quiet. Iris spent some time taking snapshots. Adams mostly seemed to nap. Every once in a while they'd come over and I'd tell them what I was doing. Give them some advice on my leadership philosophy and tactics. That sort of thing.
Then Logue tells me that he's spotting fifteen unknowns. Some of them injured. Kid-sized. That started to raise the hairs on the back of my neck. Next thing I know, everyone's calling in contact reports. All told, we're looking at something in the one to two-hundred range, all wandering around the woods, and I realized we're in deep shit. When Freddie called in shouting that the kid they had in custody had just budded like a flatworm or something, that confirmed it.
Zombies are bad enough, but zombie clones? Fuck me.
This was about when I went to Adams and Iris asking for help. Squad 5 was completely cut off: no way they could get to us through two hundred fucking zombies, and I had a hole in my line with only the two ladies to plug it. Adams offered to take a shield and stand on the line, Iris moves to a rooftop and takes over as a DM. I managed to scrounge up a rifle for her (had to shut down Stevenson's bullshit: guy's got a big mouth), and she's just gotten up to the roof when one of the packs of Zees sees us and runs.
I don't know who the hell taught that girl to shoot, but she started off headshotting a runner at full sprint. The jokes and dumb comments stopped tout-suite, you can be sure of that. Girl was like a metronome: one shot a second. The ones she didn't kill, she dropped. I don't think she missed more than a couple of shots before the peloton reached the shield wall.
But if I thought Iris was impressive, Adams was a goddamn superhero. Look, I know that suit is technically an SCP object, but damn do I want one: hell, I want fifty, so I can give one to every man in my unit. Adams started by shield-smashing a Zee so hard it tumbled ass-over-teakettle and tripped up a couple of zombies behind it. She followed it up with her pistol. I thought she was mag-dumping at first, but every round she fired was a fucking headshot. She only slowed down when she ran out of ammo and had to switch to baton, and that was only until Harding got the bright idea to collect everyone's pistol mags and run them to her.
Look, I don't know if you've ever been in a Zee attack, but this was… something else. Unlike what the movies say, Zees don't usually hit in swarms: it's usually groups of two or three, spurts and packs, ambushes. This was more of a solid wave. And they were all the size of fifth-graders. We got hit twice: the second time, we were down to hammers and batons.
If the first two waves were bad, the third was a goddamn nightmare. Running retreat all the way back to the kill box. Then Logue breaks his ankle jumping out of his damn tree and ends up alone in front of a pack of Zees, and everyone knows he's gonna die… next thing we know, Adams is running out there alone smashing in zombie heads with her bare goddamn hands, grabs Logue and slings him over her shoulder, starts carrying him back to the line just as Kieran is hitting the clickers for the claymores.
Nothing happens. Something must have cut the wires or something. And I'm figuring we're completely screwed now. Then everything explodes.
Turns out Iris had the foresight to take snapshots of all the claymore emplacements during setup. She was able to blow the mines… by hand, I guess… and saved all our fucking lives. So yeah: 5 Stars, would operate with again.
Now, there's one thing that's not on the official After Action Report that I want to make sure that you guys know about. I've attached the pertinent excerpt from the communications log:

J. Kim (Squad 5 Leader) "Echo": Uh, Beta-5-Echo to Actual.
R. Spaulding (Task Force Commander) "B5-Actual": I'm a little busy here, Jonny. Is this important?
Echo: Uh, I think so, sir. Can we get a secure line?
B5-Actual: Switch to Command Circuit 3.
Echo: Confirmed, switching. Uh, Echo to Actual, come in, over.
B5-Actual: Actual. Go, Echo.
Echo: Uhhh, all right, sir. Here goes. We think we've found something you should see. We retreated into a cave to get out of the rain, and uhh… I'm sending the image to you now, over.
B5-Actual: Confirm receipt of image. What am I looking at, Jonny?
Echo: All right, real quick: there was a… I'm gonna call it a box… in the back of the cave. Steel cube, about one and a half meters on a side. Door had a timed lock on it, and there are remnants of food, looks like raw meat, inside. Claw marks on the inside walls. Did a quick swab check, and confirmed positive for SCP-008. Over.
B5-Actual: Assessment?
Echo: Uh… I'm going to say this was a deliberate release, actual. Someone deliberately infected someone with this mutated strain of SCP-008 and unleashed it on these campers. No idea why anyone would do that, though, over.
B5-Actual: I can think of a couple of reasons. All right, document as much as you can, then spend the night somewhere else. I don't think this strain is any more transmissible than the ones we know, but I don't want to risk it. Will let you know evac details once I get them.
Echo: Roger, Actual. How's your situation?
B5-Actual: A bit touchy, but we're holding out fine. The ladies are lending a hand. Iris is a crack shot, but Adams is… something else.
Echo: Roger, sir. Good hunting. Echo out.

I did a bit of snooping around in the archive stacks after we got back. Officially, there are only three organizations who both have access to SCP-008 and the facilities to alter it.
First of all, the Chaos Insurgency. I'm going to put the likelihood of this one at "Low," though, because if it were them, we'd be getting some grandiose statement about the reasons and motivations behind it. Despite their reputation, CI usually doesn't do this sort of thing just to cause mayhem. Usually a reason behind it.
Second, the Global Occult Coalition. I'm going to rate them even lower than the Chaos Insurgency. This isn't their style. Maybe a rogue element? Even then, though, what's the motivation?
Third up is where we start to get a bit worried. The number one organization with the access, assets, and motivation to do something like this… is us. It all seems a bit too convenient, doesn't it? SCP-008 outbreak just as the vote on Alpha-9 was taking place? While Iris and Adams just happened to be in the area? And they just happened to save the lives of a bunch of MTF personnel, too. Major brownie points with the guys on the ground.
If I wanted to push a pet project through like Alpha-9, this would be a picture-perfect way to get guys on board.
The only reason why I'm telling you two this, of course, is that I'm pretty sure that you guys wouldn't be behind this: if you are, then don't let me know, otherwise I think that every single member of Beta-5 is going to have a long talk with you, possibly involving batons and hammers. What I'm thinking, though, is one of the O5s: whoever it is who was pushing Alpha-9, maybe decides to engineer an event to push it through over the objections of the rest of the council…
I'm keeping quiet on this mostly because damn it, I agree. We need Alpha-9, and Camp Granada, even if it was engineered, proved its point. But probably a good idea if we all start checking dark corners for men with sharp knives ready to stab us in the back. I'll watch yours if you check mine.
Yours,
Ron
P.S. Clef: Seriously, do something about Lambda-2's name. I'm sick of doing the whole Abbot and Costello routine every time someone asks me for the shorthand.
P.P.S. Sophia: Heard the council vote went through while we were in the field. Congratulations on that. Buy you a beer next time you're in town.

From: Factotum "Cringe."
To: Overseer Council
Re: SCP-008-E
Patient Zero
Patient Zero was returned to Site-19. All three instances (Original and two (2) clones) were terminated by gunfire. Corpses were disposed of first by immersion in acid, secondly through incineration, and thirdly through irradiation. Remains have been transferred to Intake pending possible classification as Special Containment Procedures anomalies.
Strain E ("Exocet") of SCP-008
The strain of SCP-008 encountered during the "Camp Granada" incident has undergone several alterations. First, the average elapsed time between infection and onset of symptoms has been drastically shortened. Coma onset now occurs approximately six hours after initial exposure, as opposed to the original strain's onset period of approximately twenty hours.
Secondly, while normal SCP-008 infectees are rendered incapable of any action more complex than walking, standing, grabbing, and biting, Exocet-strain infectees are now capable of running, jumping, and navigating complex physical obstacles. This is possible due to an alteration, not in the SCP-008 prion itself, but in the addition of a nano-machine designated SCP-008-Finback.
The Finback nanite appears to have been purpose-designed to manage and direct the SCP-008 prion, setting up barriers preventing entry into the cerebral cortex. It also appears to be responsible for the Exocet strain's most alarming mutation. SCP-008 infectees have long been reported attacking and ingesting living humans, but as the organism results in the destruction of the infectee's digestive systems, no sustenance could be drawn from said consumption. Finback not only prevents the digestive system from decaying, but utilizes the material consumed to construct a rough duplicate of its host body from DNA harvested from the infectee's body cells. Once enough raw material has been received, the host body's belly will burst open, releasing between one to four duplicates. These will then proceed to seek out and consume any vegetable or animal matter present, growing rapidly to full size in as little as twenty-four hours.
Analysis of both the Exocet prion and the Finback nanite indicates that the two were deliberately engineered to operate in symbiosis. Even more concerning are indications that the Finback nanite shares several traits in common with a now-neutralized SCP anomaly responsible for the death and transformation of one Agent Adrian Andrews (formerly archived under SCP-784, iteration 6).
Speculations and Security Concerns Raised by the "Camp Granada" Incident.
The existence of the Finback nanite alters the list of possible origin points to one: the Foundation itself. Only we have access to the SCP-784-ARC anomaly. Further, analysis of laboratory and containment access logs indicate discrepancies in the amount of SCP-784-ARC material constructed, reported destroyed, and returned to containment over the past ten years.
Approximately ten grams of nanomaterial are now missing, more than enough to create a self-replicated seed for the creation of more SCP-784-ARC material. For this reason, I am recommending a complete audit of all Overseer-Level projects beginning immediately. Whichever party was responsible for secretly developing SCP-008-E must be discovered, and their reasons for doing so brought to light.
(Presented to the Overseer Council for Review by Factotum "Cringe.")

From: Overseer Council
To: Factotum "Cringe"
Re: SCP-008-E
Your suggestions have been received and are under review.
All information pertaining to SCP-008-E is now classified Level 5 under Code Word PALISADE TEMBLOR WHITTIER. Administer amnestics as needed to all personnel aware of the existence of SCP-008-F (Finback), and sterilize/secure all samples of Exocet/Finback under Procedure 397-Sub Rosa.
Upon completion of these orders, you will resume monitoring Assets Resh, Samekh, and Gimel until further notice.
O5-Eight

FROM: Senior Special Agent Andrea S. Adams, Mobile Task Force Lambda-2 ( )
TO: Dr. Alto Clef, Mobile Task Force Lambda-2 ( )
RE: Operation "Camp Granada."

The suit's performance was satisfactory. However, I would like to consult with R&D regarding some alterations.
SCP-105 performed well.

Aside from that, nothing of interest to report.
- Adams

+

- To whom it may concern

Dear Sir or Madam,
Marshall, Carter, and Dark sincerely regrets the unfortunate death of your child during the recent events at our Happy Acres Youth Camp. The loss of a loved one is never easy, even when anticipated, but it is harder still when they are taken from us far too soon.
We offer our sincere condolences and deepest sympathy on your loss. May the outpouring of sympathy, the kind acts of friends and strangers, and the comfort in knowing that your loss is felt by many help you through this difficult time.
As a gesture of support, we are refunding all fees charged to you for your recent stay at our Diamond Mountain Resort in the form of a certificate of store credit.
Be assured that Marshall, Carter, and Dark will make every effort to find the persons responsible. Once they have been found and retrieved, the proceeds from their subsequent auction (less processing fees and expenses incurred during retrieval) will be passed on to you as compensation for your loss.
You will, of course, be invited to watch the auction and the subsequent events where the auction winners make use of their purchases.
Sincerely Yours,

S. Marshall,
Marshall, Carter, and Dark, Ltd.


A world lost to the unknown.
A Young Girl befriending a Dragon.
A door opening.

Once tsa-Fanu stopped spinning the world around her, it took Quarseta a moment to gain her bearings. Once her mind had cleared a bit, she realized that she was standing outside a very large and old looking house, like one that you might read about in a book, with secret passages and coats of armor and staircases so high that it would take you all of half of an hour to reach the top of them. Feathery gills were forming on Atanti's back to soak in the rain, which was pouring down on them from the dark night sky.
"Atanti, I think something went wrong, this still looks like Earth."
"I'm afraid that it's not quite that simple, my child. Right now, we are not able to return home. That is why I said that these were the first steps. And that is why we are here, for help."
Without another word, her friends led the way into the mansion, somehow fitting through a door which was far too small for them. The halls were far colder than one would expect even for an abandoned house, and there was a suspicious lack of a dusty smell. The deeper they went, the more Quarseta felt that there was something vaguely… ancient in this place, which was saying something given the age of the place itself. Eventually, when Quarseta was just beginning to think that they should have reached the back of the house by now, they turned a corner into a very strange room with a very strange occupant, which would have surprised Quarseta very much if she had not been traveling alongside a giant lizard and a sparkling cloud of bio-matter.
The large room looked at first like a very natural part of the building, but about half way into the room, the wall seemed to shimmer and shift, eventually becoming a room that looked very much like Atanti's old room at the Foundation. Standing in the corner of the room was a rather short, bony man with reddish-brown skin, a large lump of a nose, and a smile that seemed far too wide for his face. The man was hunched over a large tube which was attached to several electrical cables and poured cold, white smoke out of a couple of vents. Smells of metals and old books and cleaning fluid all fought to control her nose at once. A coarse, whistling, wheezing sound filled the room, and it took her a moment to notice it was coming from the man.
"Greetings, rru-Kirg!" Atanti bellowed.
"Ah, Atanti. It's been a while," the strange man wheezed out through his teeth. "And Edrisek too. Can't say I know the human though. Strange, most of them would be running in terror by now."
"Look deeper, Evuruct," Atanti replied.
The man squinted at Quarseta for a moment. "Hm. Most remarkable. Can't quite say I've read of anything like it before. Well, come in, see if you can find a comfortable spot along the clutter."
The three travelers began to navigate through the piles of equipment and books, tsa-Fanu and Atanti seemed to be very focused on not crossing into the second half of the room.
Quarseta decided that the best greating she could give was a compliment. "It's a very nice house, Mr… uhh…"
"Hm? Oh, where are my manners? Evuruct-rru-Kirg, at your service. And yes it is rather nice, isn't it. From what I've learned, this particular kind of house was used to represent wealth and power. Of course, it didn't come with the laboratory, had to add that in myself with an interesting phenomenon known as a Way. Fascinating, the things there are to learn in this world."
Atanti grunted. "Hmf. Still nothing compared to the old meeting halls of Etcopis." At Atanti's statement, tsa-Fanu took on a noticeably more nostalgic curvature.
"Perhaps that's true," Evuruct replied,"but when in Rome, do as the Romans do. That's another piece of knowledge that this place has to offer. Anyway, I presume that you came to inquire what I knew about this child's condition. If that's the case, then I'm afraid that I haven't the slightest clue how her concept of being was able to pass over without physical form."
"That's not why we came, Evuruct," Atanti replied gravely.
"Why then?"
"Simply put, we are going to return home, we were hoping that you might have some idea of where we should begin."
Evuruct's smile shrank by a few inches. "I'm afraid that it's not that simple, Atanti."
"Oh? Why not? Surely if there was a gateway leading to this world, there's one leading to ours as well."
Evuruct let out a deep, wheezing sigh. "Atanti, why do you think that I've gone to such lengths to recreate the life I once had here?" Everuct gestured to the cryotube. "Why do you think that I've become so settled into this world, instead of using my resources to get home? I've done the calculations, and we're in exactly the same spot that we would be if we were home. There is no gate, Atanti. The world's changed, and we are the leftover relics."
"No. You must be wrong, Evuruct. This place cannot be home. Our world is still there, and we will find a way back, whether you help us or not."
"You always were stubborn, Atanti. It made you a good protector and traveler, but a poor listener. Very well, go and find this gateway back home, I'll tell you now that it's an unreachable goal. If you need anything later on, you know where to find me."
Atanti nodded his large snout and thanked Evuruct for his openness. For the next several hours, the three elders exchanged stories of the old days; victories, exotic lands, cherished memories. Every now and again, Quarseta would chime in with a story she had read or a piece of trivia that Evuruct found interesting. At the end of the night, the three travelers thanked their host for his hospitality and began to leave.
"Quarseta, would you stay behind a moment? There's something I need to discuss with you personally," Evuruct called after her.
Quarseta looked up at Atanti who, after a moment of deliberation, nodded his consent.
"Yes, rru-Kirg?"
"Quarseta… are you someone who can be trusted?"
"Yes, I believe so."
Evuruct nodded his bulbous head. "Good, good. Atanti can be a bit rash at times. Makes it difficult to talk sense into him. But… he listens to you. Will you at least try to talk some sense into him?"
Quarseta took a moment to think. "No. He's made up his mind, anything I do will only make this trip harder, foolish or not."
Evuruct nodded. "You are a good companion. Well, before you leave, there's one thing that I should still give you."
The old scholar reached for a nearby desk and picked up what looked like a small clockwork egg. He placed it in Quarseta's hand and wrapped her fingers around it. It was cold as ice, but she could still feel small bits of mechanical life whirring and clicking inside it.
"Regardless of the wisdom or lack thereof behind this journey, I can guarantee that it will not be safe. In your time of need, smash this device on the ground."
"What will it do?"
The small man's smile grew wider. "That will depend on the time of need. I will, however, ask that you not tell your new family about this. Now go, they're waiting."
Quarseta hesitated a moment before slipping the Egg in her pocket and running off to join her companions.
"What was that about?"
"rru-Kirg wanted me to try to talk you out of this. I told him no."
"Was that all?"
"Yes."
"Well, then," the dragon smiled, "let's be off!"

A world found, also unknown.
An Old Man with no more tears to cry.
A door closing.

« A World's Legacy | HUB | Pooling Our Resources »


Reality coughed chalantly as a Way warbled into existence within the roots of the oak tree outside the Birch home. Finnegan lurched off the tree and kicked the air filter and adjoined vial of ectoplasm into the hole, watching it stretch beyond infinity before disappearing completely with a faint pop. He grabbed the panama hat from off a low-hanging branch, taking care not to look at it or think about it for too long.
After a sigh he took a step over the void and he dropped down the rabbit hole.
Finnegan stepped, or rather slid, into one of the upper foyers of one of the many branches of the Wanderer's Library. The ectoplasm sloshed as he collided with the filter, threatening to tip over. A quick look around told him his entrance only served as a sort of catwalk between the two nearest "floors" of the Library.
After reorienting himself he stood and stumbled and slouched against the railing, looking down into the other lobbies from his pseudo-balcony. A group of authoritative individuals, whom through a fair amount of squinting and guesswork suggested to be from FBI's Unusual Incidents Unit, were communicating with another group of Serpent's Hand members.
The Hand was, so far as Finnegan understood them, a group of unlikeminded individuals gathering together under a name that sounded like a cult from an '80s film. They had no cohesive creed, had no way to filter out undesirables as joining amounted to claiming to be a member, and had no leadership beyond the self-imposed bosses of the various cliques.
This particular clique seemed to be missing said boss, as none of them in particular were communicating with the UIU head. One did step forward long enough to take a box from the hands of one of the UIU members. It looked like the groups continued speaking after that, but from this distance Finnegan couldn't hear anything and he quickly lost interest. He had more pressing matters at hand anyway.
Like the human-shaped headache on the balcony opposite of him. Finnegan couldn't quite make out what they looked like, but they made his head throb. Snapshots of the Library, taken from various places, slid before his vision before being clawed away. His vision swam as he looked away, but the reach of the hole in his head extended as he began to associate the problem with the Library.
It took only a few moments this time, and Finnegan released the hat. A single row of books exploded into a massive bookshelf, which unfurled itself into an entire wing. Finnegan squeezed at his temples and leaned against the railing.
By the time he was fully cognizant he could see a group of authoritative figures down below, marching single file through a portal. He could barely make out the UIU logo on one of their shoulders before the last of them departed.
It was then he realized he had no idea where he was. He gripped the railing and leaned forward, craning his neck to take in floor after floor of bookshelves. They bent in on themselves and doubled back, like the cortex of some giant being. The immensity of it almost overwhelmed him, and he swung back away from the railing.
Finnegan bumped into someone in his backpeddling, but they caught his arm and steadied him. He offered a rushed apology and looked-
A black hole bore straight into his mind from the hands of an indistinct figure in a tweed wool newsboy cap. Eyes caught in the event horizon, Finnegan could only stare. The pit in his mind expanded, having grown large enough to continue growing without Finnegan actually holding the hat. Images of the Birch home fell away, quickly followed by more books of the Library. A gap opened within his minds' eye of The Utterly Bazaar, and shops and shoppers fell into the yawning chasm. He tried pushing his way through the crowd but the crack in the concrete eventually caught him, and he fell into nothing.

* * *

Nobody was on the balcony several minutes later. Two Nobodies, actually.
The newer of the two palmed the panama hat on his head and lifted it so he could properly see. A young Asian woman with a newsboy cap stared back at him with no small amount of trepidation.
Blinking, he tried to assess his situation. He couldn't remember anything, at least not specific to himself. Simple factoids and language skills remained, but the whens and hows of him learning them were gone.
Focusing, he found a slag of emotions, thoughts, and memories coagulated into a solid lump in the center of his mindscape. Something called a Finnegan pulsed from within. Pushing into his former sense of being, Nobody found Finnegan in a memory. He sat at home, alone, working on some audio project or another. He was content.
Nobody stood up slowly. His female counterpart cocked her head and they stared at each other for several seconds. Something in the air sparked between them as two similar forces butted heads. The longer they retained eye contact the stronger the friction became, and spacetime was not handling reality trying to ignore itself very well.
But then she looked up and the sparks dissipated, air collapsing back into the void while simultaneously popping back out into existence. A pair of wet pops went off and the area was no worse for wear, save for an unmemorable singed smell. She nodded at the space to his left and she walked off.
"Thanks?" he ventured over his shoulder.
She paused. Opened her mouth as if to say something, shook her head, but then hesitated again when she moved to leave.
"Wait, wait." Nobody hauled himself up with the aid of the railing. "Where do I go from here?"
"The Head Librarian might know something, but nobody just walks in and starts getting answers."
Turning on his heel, Nobody scooped up the nearby air filter and headed for the Head Librarian's office with a confident stride.

"Twizzler?"
Nobody eyed the bowl of candy suspiciously, then eyed the world serpent in the pit before him. He weighed his options before lowering the filter of ectoplasm- he still wasn't sure why he had brought it with him. It had just felt important, somehow. He nodded at the Head Librarian appreciatively and took a candy.
"You have come to question the nature of your existence."
"Something like that," Nobody said with the Twizzler hanging from his mouth. "I can feel who I used to be, poke and prod at memories, but it feels… distant."
"I cannot tell you who you will be, but I can speak of who you were," Satan replied. "Our multiverse- because yes, there are plenty of multiverses within the omniverse that do not include us- is constructed from thirteen intertwined baseline realities with a vast nothingness in the center."
Nobody eyed the bowl of Twizzlers.
"Within these baselines are thousands upon thousands of individual universes, with massive similarities between some universes from different baselines. Each universe of a baseline has one specific thing in common that roots it to the baseline. Of these billions of universes, your former self is within 74 of them."
Nobody almost choked. "That's it?"
"I suppose it might be 73, now. Within every other iteration of reality that he happens to be born in, he subsequently leaves it roughly twenty-five years later. Can you guess why?"
"I be- I mean he, Finnegan, becomes Nobody."
Nobody wasn't certain whether snakes could smile or not, but he was willing to bet that's what Satan did in response. Or smirked, at the very least. It was unsettling, whatever was happening.
"Or Reality tries to make him one, at least."
Something stirred in Nobody's mind. Said something, or someone, was shaped suspiciously like a Finnegan. "What do you mean tries?"
"It doesn't always… take, so to speak."
Faint quasi-memories of his mind exploding filled his mind. The thought of being ushered into the nothing between worlds filled the resulting void. It did not sound fun.
"How would I make sure I stay in place?" Nobody asked.
Something sparked behind the pince-nez spectacles. "Nobody really knows for certain."
With a grin and a twirl, Nobody departed with the filter in tow.

« Jam Jars | Hub | Library Lifeline »


At a Window Booth
Shirley tried her best to look distinctly unimpressed by O5-4.
Their meeting place, a Denny's outside of Kalamazoo, was unorthodox. But she had insisted upon it. There was no better place to show your barely concealed rage about being passed over than a Denny's.
"What do you think you're going to get?" she asked, sipping from a dirty cup of ice water. "I think they serve breakfast here all day…"
"I ate on the walk over. I'd rather talk business."
"Fine. Why, sir, did I have to find my own way into Alpha-9?"
O5-4 shrugged, almost sheepishly. "We were planning on approaching you, once more groundwork had been done. Your history with the Foundation was noted as more than satisfactory."
"Only satisfactory?" Gillespie smiled as the waitress came by to take their order. She ordered iced tea, and a bagel. Her compatriot got a cup of coffee.
"Excellent, actually. Your skill in managing large numbers of inanimate SCP objects was particularly noted as an asset to the project."
Gillespie moved her water aside, and placed her arms on the table. "So, then why didn't you come to me at the beginning? Don't tell me you thought I'd be uninterested."
"We felt that you might be skeptical of the whole idea, since, well, you opposed Omega-7 pretty strongly at the time." O5-4 pulled a small strip of paper out of his jacket pocket, carefully holding it a few inches from his face. "You went through extensive lengths to prevent any personnel connected to Site-77 from participating or being transferred to the project."
"Without success." Gillespie's tea had finally arrived. She poured in a small packet of sugar.
"Yes, that is correct."
Taking a delicate bite out of her bagel, Gillespie wiped the crumbs from her mouth. "I never said I was against the concept. There just didn't seem to be anything intelligent going on in the planning or execution of… that task force."
"What strikes you as different, this time?"
"For one thing," Gillespie said, spreading another one of those little cream cheese tubs on her bagel, "You aren't placing anyone asinine at the top. You just put a figurehead this time."
"Director, Sophia Light is more than capable of managing this task force."
"I'm sure she is. She's also very famous, famous enough to make the people think this might not be an enormous mistake."
"I think confidence in Sophia is well-placed. But I digress… we're very happy to have been wrong about your attitude. A lot of people would be very happy if you accepted a position."
Gillespie nodded. "I'd like to meet with the administrative staff, before I render a final decision. But I don't foresee anything that would make me decide against accepting the position."
O5-4 dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "That is very good to hear, Director."
"I'd like to meet with Light, first. At Site-77."
"… Very well. That can be arranged."

Site-77 Tea Room
Director Shirley Gillespie and Director Sophia Light stared at each other awkwardly from across a small table in the tea room. Anderson had already served the biscuits, but they hadn't exchanged more than pleasantries since sitting down.
Light stirred some more sugar into her tea. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Director."
Gillespie nodded. "The feeling is mutual. Your reputation precedes you… I've enjoyed reading a lot of your work. I can't agree more with your thesis, that we should be pushing to see how things really operate."
"Thank you." Light tried to center her focus on the slightly stale biscuit, and not on the laser-beam lock of Gillespie's eyes.
"Are you still a Site Director?" Shirley asked, while blowing gently onto her tea.
"No, actually. I voluntarily left being an active Director in order to completely focus my attention on Alpha-9. Site-41 will probably still be there for me, maybe. Eventually. Possibly." Light shrugged, and took a sip of tea.
"Aha. That's a shame." Gillespie sipped her tea, and made a quiet hum of satisfaction. "I'm lucky enough that I have a person to trust as interim Director indefinitely. My grandson, Ralph. Have you met him?"
Light paused. "I… maybe. It does sound familiar."
"He's very good. And I'm not just saying that because he's my grandson."
Light smiled. "I'm sure."
"But I'm sure you don't want to hear about that. We should be talking shop. About what we can do."
"I'm all ears, Director." Light placed her elbows on the table, leaning forwards. "Tell me what you want to do."
"My dream, the point of my dedicated researchers here, is to use Safe and Euclid class anomalies to push what we can really see about the anomalous world. To find that one cross-test that grants us that thread to tug at, until the whole thing comes undone."
"Have you ever had an object reclassed as 'Explained' at your Site?" Light asked.
"You don't need to show off." Gillespie's lips tightened, and she looked down into her tea.
"Oh, didn't mean it like that!" Light raised her hands defensively. "Really. I just thought, that was what you were talking about."
"It's fine," Gillespie said, quietly finishing her tea. "I think… it would be better if I showed you some examples of what I mean. I don't want us to have any misunderstandings."

SCP-213 Containment Area, Site-77 Euclid Wing.
"This is one I think has great promise for the combatant side of the task force."
They stood outside of a glass containment area, surrounding an enclosed metal hut. Toxic gas seeped and hissed through the room, twisting into greenish gray columns. Two guards stood outside the glass, dressed to kill.
"Inside, there is a man we've had since he was little." Gillespie handed Light two photographs. A Polaroid of a pudgy, acne-scarred teenager with two glowing lights around his hands, trying to look tough but ending up scared. The other, a fresh print of a young man, bald and pale, covered in nodules and scars.
"He's responded well to therapy, since we woke him. We've worked through a lot of body and identity issues. Some problems with maturity, but he's a solid block to build on. Young enough to mold."
Light looked from the containment area, to the pictures, and back. "But, if he's cooperative, why is there such heavy containment?"
"Cooperative? He would be if he could."
"So there's more to him than meets the eye?"
Gillespie pulled out a final photograph, a larger one, and held it up for Light to see. "This is the alien parasite which causes his anomalous properties. It does as it pleases."
Light grimaced at the photo. "That's unfortunate. I thought you said this would be a viable candidate?"
"Luckily there has been progress… we know how, if given the opportunity, the parasite can be suppressed. We can do it. The only thing preventing it is the lack the resource allocation for things that are contained."
"This is what you meant, then. Augmentation, rather than explanation?"
"In a nutshell, I suppose." Gillespie smiled a small smile, and gestured towards an elevator. "But that is also an oversimplification. I want to augment, to explain. I'm going to show you one of the main things I wish to explain."

SCP-2322, Site-77 Administrative Offices
"So it's like Being John Malkovich?"
"But it only recreates one day, that I lived here in 1999."
"Have you ever been inside of it?" asked Light, looking at the door. Directly across the hall from the Site-77 director's office door. A person walking by might almost consider it unassuming, barring the lack of a handle, its rigid steel construction, armed guards, and a massive sign designating it as a high security records room.
"No, never. Once I was informed of the nature of the anomaly, my staff and I felt it would be a bad idea. Too risky."
"It's completely bizarre. And it just popped up one day, like it was always there?" Light said, trying not to stand in the way of the various bureaucrats menacingly marching through the hallways.
Gillespie nodded. "We drilled in from the other side, but none our of drills made a dent. I wasn't going to pay for renovating an enormous section of our already-undersized offices to try to poke a hole in a door."
Light, giving up on human dodgeball, leaned against the wall next to the door. "I don't see how augmenting 213 into a weapon will explain this."
"It's not that, specifically." Gillespie traced her hand along the door. "It's just an example of new ways of looking at the unexplained. The first time we're able to make that leap, of being able to apply something learned from one to another, that we will enter a new age."
Before Light could respond, a robotic hand reached out of the sea of people, and interrupted her thoughts by swinging a knife at her face.
The android, wearing a blood-stained business suit, looked a lot less realistic when not sailing in a sea of conformity. Light pressed her back into SCP-2322.
One of the security guards, the one closest to Light, got a metal spike to the thigh. He cried out, before the construct struck him down. The other guard managed to draw his pistol, before a knife got jabbed in his belly.
Gillespie reached into her purse, but the faux-man swept in from the now panicked and fleeing crowd, brandishing a dagger. The hand which was not trying to actively murder somebody held an antique pistol, and the whole contraption was sizzling with electricity.
It was then that the door to SCP-2322 opened, and Light tumbled inside.
For a moment, Gillespie paused, considering her purse again, before going in after her. The door tried to close, not used to more than one person at a time, but the charitable murderer jammed its blade into the door, pried it open, and followed.

SCP-2322, Interior
Gillespie and Light suddenly found themselves feeling a flood of deja vu. They had just walked down the entrance hall a few hours beforehand. Everything was a little less high-tech, but altogether the impression was the same.
"So you know," said Gillespie, "This is supposed to be a one-person simulation of my life. It's never had more than one person in it before. It might behave… unusually. Death usually isn't permanent, when it comes from something that was already here. Tests on foreign materials have been… tricky."
Light leaned in and whispered. "There's a ghost kid walking underneath me. Is that supposed to be happening?"
Gillespie looked down, and couldn't conceal her surprise. "Ralph?"
Walking next to Light, with one hand tugging on her pants, was a little Ralph Roget. Not even ten years old in 1999, he looked just as he had in that day, apart from the translucence.
Light looked from Gillespie, to Roget, and back again. "So, what do we do?"
"Let's just keep walking. Keep the loop going."
"This is your life, do you remember where to go?"
The checkpoint guard to their left flapped his gums, and gibberish spilled out. He sat there, waving lazily and reading a magazine as they strode by.
Gillespie frowned. "There's an elevator ahead. We can take it to my office."
Light looked around as they briskly moved through the entrance area. "It's nice to not have everyone staring at me for once."
Gillespie opened her mouth to say something, but the shriek and crack of a handgun interrupted her. BANG. Light grabbed her stomach and fell to the ground. The little Roget began to silently wail beside her.
Gillespie looked up a second later. A man, not a man, wearing a red coat and a fake beard was pointing a gun at them. Gillespie's mind was racing. It's not supposed to be real in here. Everything's fake. But the fake man is a real robot. No. This is very bad.
The robot dropped the gun, and began walking towards them. Out of its coat, it pulled out its bloodstained instrument. "SOPHIA LIGHT" declared its grinding metallic voice, "Give BACK, FOR what you have RECEIVED. FORTUNE must be MET with CHARITY. How would you feel if you didn't have KIDNEY? WE CAN TELL YOU."
Grabbing Light, she pulled them both towards the elevator with all of her might. Not-Roget followed along behind them, tottering as fast as his legs would take him. The android, in turn, followed along lazily, watching them struggle. As they reached the elevator proper, Light righted herself and hit the 'close door' button. The doors closed before the ghost child could make it in with them.
"Fuck!" Light cried, grabbing her abdomen. "That fucking hurts!"
"Are you shot?" Gillespie leaned down over her, looking for blood. "Oh no. We need to get a doctor, right away, this is not a good place to—"
Light lifted up her shirt, and grimaced as she slid herself into a sitting position.
Gillespie looked at her. "Where did you get a bullet-proof vest?"
"I've had one since Overwatch put me in this position. We agreed… ow, fuck… that something like this would happen sooner than later."
Gillespie stood, wiping her brow and pressing the button she knew led to the administrative offices. "Oh… you had me worried. I don't want to see anyone hurt in here."
"I'm fine. But we have bigger things to worry about. What the hell are those things?"
Gillespie looked up, thoughtfully. "I believe… we've contained them since before I even got a position here. From the Manna Charitable Foundation. They're more or less twisted Robin Hoods who take from anyone to give to anyone."
Light gingerly pressed her finger against the bruise under her vest, and winced. "Have they breached containment before?"
Gillespie shook her head. "Never. I have no idea how they might've gotten out on their own. They're normally very peaceful. If they'd been helped, maybe… we can review the security documentation when we return."
The bell dinged, and the elevator doors slid open. The little half-visible Roget was waiting for them. He bounded next to Light as they stepped out and walked through the teal halls of neatly labeled doors. Gillespie's office didn't look any different than it had earlier in the day. The same paintings hung on the walls, which were painted the same color, and terminated onto a floor which had the same carpet.
Light looked around. "It's like deja vu all over again."
Gillespie took a seat at her desk. "Yes, yes… we need to come up with a plan of action. If the loop hasn't terminated yet, we might have to wait until it's all over. I don't think the copy of site security will offer us much protection."
Light took a seat across from her. "Let's just wait here for a time. Let them come to us. The Manna robot doesn't know the site any better than you do, so it might take it awhile to figure out where we are."
The doors took that moment to open up. The SCP-2322 version of Security Director Anderson walked in, and took the remaining guest seat in front of the Director's desk.
An incoherent mess of vowels spilled out of his flapping gums, as he placed some documents on the table. Light and Gillespie looked at them.

Shirley #: Gillespie
Object Class: Gillespie
Special Gillespie Procedures: Gillespie is to be Shirley standard Gillespie Gillespie, located in Stanley Gillespie Shirley Gillespie. Ralph Roget Roget Ralph Roget Shirley Stanley Gillespie Gillespie. The containment Gillespie is to be Shirleyed once per week by custodial staff wearing opaque Gillespies…

Gillespie looked back up to Anderson. His attention, however, had already turned to something else. He had taken a knee, and was playing with the little Roget directly in front of Light.
"Gillespie!" he cried, tousling the ghost child's hair. Roget laughed and giggled, playing along. Light tried to sit as far back in her seat as possible, away from Anderson. She looked over to Gillespie, who looked back. They glanced at Anderson, and to each other, before they both cleared their throats.
Anderson looked up, and sheepishly muttered something unpronouncable, incomprehensible, distorted and illegible. He began to take more papers out, placing them along the desk. They all looked the same as the first one. Before he could say another stupid thing, klaxon alarms began blaring.
ATTENTION SITE PERSONNEL declared the shrill son of speak-n-spell. "CONTAINMENT BREACHES ON ALL LEVELS. ASSUME CODE BROWN-CASTLE PROCEDURES."
"Shit," said Light, standing up. "Is this normal?."
"No." Gillespie sat back in her seat, her fingers quietly drumming on the mahogany desk. "Anderson, go."
Anderson stood, nodded, and quickly fled the room. Gillespie pulled open a panel of her desk, and pulled out a pitcher of white grape juice. She poured herself and Light a glass. "Take this. It clears your head, and we're going to need it."
"Is there any kind of a panic room? Someplace we can go to wait this out?" Light asked, taking a generous gulp from her glass while leaning to look out the office door.
Gillespie closed her eyes as she took a sip of her beverage. "I can remember where the safe places used to be. Maybe."
In the distance, there was quiet screaming.
After a moment, Gillespie stood, pressing a button under her desk to open the evacuation elevator. "I don't like this. We need to leave."
Nodding, Light moved ahead of her, and into the elevator. Placing her empty glass onto her desk, Gillespie followed. The elevator doors smoothly and silently shut as they began to descend to safety.

SCP-2322, Safe Object Wing
The elevator took them to a quiet patch. They stuck to the walls, checking around corners and minimizing noise. Occasionally, a distant explosion or scream would remind them that there was trouble afoot, and made them watch each step even more carefully.
"What exactly are we looking for?" whispered Light, as she peeked around one of the endless corners that made up the rat-trap of a wing. The small Roget crept along with her, poking his nose over the corners after Light passed them by.
"Something useful," Gillespie whispered back, reading the labels on the doors as they passed. "Anything that might give us an edge."
"Wait," Light said, crouching. "Look. That door's open."
So it was. A door was ajar, halfway, standing perfectly still at the far end of the hallway. There were no marks on it, or the surrounding walls, to suggest what, if anything, had come out of that door.
Behind it, a voice called out. "Is that you?"
Light's brow furrowed. Was that Lament? She strained to look.
Sure enough, it looked that way. Lament walked into the light coming from the open containment chamber. "I came as soon as I heard. Is everything okay?"
Light frowned, and looked down at Roget. "…"
The phantastic child was too occupied with Gillespie's shoelaces, and didn't pay anyone any attention. Gillespie herself was chalk-white, speechlessly staring ahead.
Light looked back towards the Lament, frowning. "What did you give me on our first date?"
Shaking his head, Lament took a step forwards. "Don't do this, Sophia. I'm me. I said I came as soon as I heard what was going on."
Sighing, Light took a step back. "Not what I asked you. What did you give me on our first date?"
It was at that point that Lament's face began to melt. "Light… whabble… Gillespie Gillespiesgddgdsd…" the voice faltered, as the being drew closer. Like a ship seeing through the parting fog, Light could see there was no Lament. Only an oily, quivering fleshy blob.
"The snot," gasped Gillespie, clutching onto Light for support. "Just the… damn… snot…"
But not quite. A rubbery looking skin punched a hole out of its slimy vehicle, writhing with the robotic skeleton beneath it. It only managed to get its head and arm out, before becoming stuck. It flailed about, trying to free itself.
Gillespie's grip on Light tightened. "It's using my specimens!"
Light looked down, and took Gillespie's hand. "We need to get out of here, ASAP. Can you run?"
"No… Yes… I'm fine… I just need a few seconds." Gillespie leaned against the wall, her face ashen. "I'm fine."
The robot continued to worm its way out of its slimy vehicle. It seemed to be having a difficult time, and the two women watched it warily from afar. "I can help you, if you need it."
As she leaned one hand against the wall, the other over her chest, Gillespie huffed. "I said I was fine." She righted herself, and stood tall. "Let's continue. We can go around the obstacle."
"Where are we going, exactly? An armory?"
Gillespie shook her head, and pointed further into the Site. "I don't know how to shoot. I'm also of the opinion that firearms are useless against that… he's wearing a dead boy's skin, you know that?"
Light wrinkled her nose. "Do I want to know?"
"No. But it stops bullets better than your vest does." Gillespie began walking away from the robot, still watching it.
Light followed. "So we're not looking for a gun."
"No. We're fetching a mop."
The robot managed to work out its other arm, and began eagerly digging the rest of itself out of its imprisonment. They booked it, going as quickly as they could down the hallway.
Gillespie led them to a door that opened to a large, transparent tank filled with a clear liquid. Gentle jets of water kept a simple janitor's mop floating in the center of the tank, slowly spinning and not touching any of the edges. A shimmering green ooze leaked from the mop's end, before disappearing as it mixed with the tank's chemical containment compound.
Light could hear the android coming down the hall, dripping with fluids. She kept her eye on the would-be assailant's route of attack while Gillespie picked up a large pair of tongs and extracted the mop from its container.
Gillespie handed the mop to Light. Light looked at it for a moment before taking it in hand. The robot was free now, and it cast a shadow upon the wall as it came around the hallway's corner.
Light took a stand as it came around the corner. It was covered in oil and looked like a man with the wrong skeleton. It blindly and wildly swung its knife as it marched towards.
"SOPHIA LIGHT," it blathered, stumbling towards her. "WHY NOT DONATE TO THE LATTER CHURCH OF THE BROKEN SAINTS, for ONLY—"
Light struck quickly, popping the mop into its mouth. "No solicitors."
She twirled the handle, aggressively splashing the inside of the principal skin with acid. As the mop twisted and turned, creating unsightly bulges from beneath the loose skin, the android's wild swinging was reduced to slow sinking. Noxious gases rolled out of the skin's various orifices as the robot fell onto its back, spasmed, and was still.
Roget clapped.

SCP-2322, Euclid Object Wing
The walk over to the Euclid containment area had been surprisingly quiet, with only distant screams and explosions, and occasional power outages. It seemed like as good a place as any to find a way of defending themselves. They arrived to find it littered with debris and fallen fake men, but nothing of substance.
Light gingerly slid the handgun out of the dead guard's grip. The small phantasmagoric child shielded itself behind its grandmother's legs, waiting for her to finish. "I think something's already been through here."
"What makes you say that?" asked Gillespie, poking over some ruins with a broken piece of rebar.
Roget's apparition, apparently bored of being afraid, toddled over to be by Light again.
Pulling her jacket closed, Light shivered. "It's getting colder. Is that something to worry about?"
"No… I don't think so. Possibly. Probably not," said Gillespie, as she sat down upon a pile of rubble. "Not unless you see snow."
Light continued walking into the wing, stepping over the shattered remains of the entrance checkpoint. Broken glass crunched under her feet, as another gully gust of chilled air swept over her. "Something's definitely modulating the temperature. I can feel it from here."
Gillespie looked over from her seat. "Do you think we should keep going in?"
Light shrugged, and peered further down the hall. "It's your site. You'd know what it might be better than I would."
Picking herself up, Gillespie gingerly followed through the debris field behind Light. "I don't think we're in any immediate danger… we should keep going. We'll be fine."
The destruction became more apparent as they progressed deeper into the wing. Every single door was a singed remnant of its former frame, and there was broken glass and twisted, burnt pieces of metal littering the scorched halls.
Lighting had become a luxury, so they kept a hand upon the wall as they proceeded, with only the occasional spark and Light's cellphone-light to keep them going. A low mist hung around their ankles.
At a moment neither of them took note of, a delighted smile crossed over Roget's face. In the darkness, he slipped ahead of them.
It was at that moment that the lights flickered back to life.
Light and Gillespie both looked around for any signs of treachery. Down the hall, frosty winds billowed from an open steel security door. Light aimed her weapon at it, and began to walk closer. "I think we've found who's letting the cold demons out."
Gillespie walked behind Light, and read the inscription next to the door as Light opened the door to its full outstretched position.
"… It's Walt."
Light glanced over. "What?"
"Walt Disney. We've got his head on ice."
A childlike voice squealed with delight from inside the room. Gillespie's head snapped towards the sound's source. "Ralph?"
Before Light could say a word, Gillespie had shuffled into the cryonic containment chamber.
Light followed. She was greeted with the sight of Gillespie's grandson's transparent replica, surrounded by prancing, ringing sheep with coats made of rotary dial phone cords. In place of a head, there was a telephone.
Walt Disney's frozen head was poised on a pedestal at the center of the room, with two phones attached and off the hook. A voice emanated from one of the phones attached to Walt's pedestal. "Director! It's delightful to see you again!"
Gillespie stepped forward, smiling and shivering. "Hello, Walt."
"Please accept my apology for the chill, Director. We had a spot of trouble with the thermostat. Luckily, my ovine imagineers were here to help."
On cue, all of the sheep's rotary phones began ringing off the hooks.
"Now, to what do I owe the pleasure, Director?" asked Walt, his immobile head's lips staying in place beneath the glass.
"… Where to start?" Gillespie exhaled, and crossed her arms. "It hasn't been the best day."
"Well, it brought you and your grandson together, so how bad can it really be?"
"Pretty bad, Walt. He's helping, but it's tough."
One of the sheep came forward, Roget on its back. A small matchbook had been placed on the phone. "This might help you," said Walt. "It's how I kept myself presentable while my imagineers went to work."
Light picked up the matchbook, examining it. "What is this?"
Gillespie looked at Light. "It's a matchbox full of winter, dear."
"Oh, cool," said Light, as Roget dismounted his mighty steed. "Thanks, Walt."
Walt said nothing. Plucking the matchbox from Light's hands, Gillespie turned to leave, motioning for the little Roget to follow along.
Walt called out after them. "Just one more thing, Director."
Gillespie turned at the threshold. "Yes?"
"It's dangerous to go alone. Please, be careful."
Gillespie nodded. "I will, Walt."
Light followed her outside. "Can't say I expected to meet Walt Disney when I woke up this morning."
Gillespie walked around to the security door, and began pushing it. "Help me get this closed, please. The last thing we need is for things to get colder."
Nodding, Light moved beside Gillespie and pushed. "Jeez, this is heavy. You need all this to keep a head locked up?"
Gillespie struggled beside her, as the door slowly began to squeal closed. "Just keep pushing. I think… after this I'd like to rest a spell."
Light huffed and puffed. "That's a great idea."
As the door locked into place, they both leaned upon it, wiping their brows and sliding to the bottom of the door. The cold steel felt good, like a cold shower frozen solid. They leaned on each other, the exhaustion suddenly catching up to them.
Eventually, Light spoke up. "What a day, huh?"
"Yes… but I'm guessing it's nothing new for you."
"I don't go out looking for danger. A lot of those stories are… exaggerated."
"Oh." Gillespie looked down at the matchbox. "You were… very good with the mop. That robot was relentless…"
"Oh, uh… thank you."
Gillespie touched the frost on the ground. "It's warming up already. We should go."
Light groaned. "In a minute."
Gillespie closed her eyes. "I was hoping you'd say that."
For a time, they laid there, their breathing slowly descending from exhaustion, too tired, too sleepy, too asleep. The Rogetian apparition curled up in his grandmother's lap. Underneath the buzzing lights and lying on frozen steel, they waited for the sake of it. It wasn't until a malodorous scent invaded the corridor that the peace was broken.
"Do you smell that?" asked Gillespie, slowly picking her head up from Light's shoulder.
"Yeah… like a biology lab. Or my garage." Light stood up, bracing herself as stiff muscles whined about a rude awakening. "It's coming from down there."
From whence they had came, it emerged. Before them stood a gigantic and leafy doberman topiary, with the head of a man. It was a decapitated and aged head, covered with mollusks and with sagging, pallid flesh. The vines and leaves swiveled menacingly as it came upon them.
Before either of them could move, it was already on top of Light, pinning her beneath tree trunks of paws. Gillespie scrambled away. Light was too astonished to struggle.
The thing opened its mouth, and a mollusk-like tongue oozed out of its mouth.
It licked Light's face like man's best friend ought to, and then sat obediently, awaiting command.
Gillespie had found Light's gun, and was now staring at her and the thing.
Light let out her breath. "… I think it's friendly."

SCP-2322, Safe SCP Wing
It took Light around fifteen minutes to decide that she'd forgive Gregory for getting goo all over her face. Riding on his back was very comfortable, and there were delightful flowers to look at while they zipped along.
It was around the same time that it leapt over the makeshift barricades that permeated Site-77's Euclid wing. If Gregory hadn't come along to help them when he did, they might've still been sitting pooped outside Walt's pad.
Light leaned towards Gillespie, who had makeshift reins in her hands and Roget in her lap as she guided Gregory through the odds and ends of Site-77. "Did you find it?"
Gillespie shook her head. "Not yet. But we're close. I'm sure this might've been before they moved it."
Light watched the doors and rubble as it went by, in a blur. Gregory zipped past everything, responding to Gillespie's commands almost subconsciously. "You're good at this."
Gillespie shrugged, handling the reins. "I've… we've done tests with 1513 before."
Light laughed. "No shit? You should've showed this to me before!"
They took a hard left. Gillespie gripped the grassy neck. "I was going to… oh, heck."
Bracing herself on handfuls of daffodils, Light scrunched her face as the floor ripped itself apart, pulling the ground out from under them. Gregory stumbled over the remains of a wall, wrapping Light and Gillespie in flowery vines as it fell. Roget sailed through the wall altogether, landing out of sight.
Between the vines, Light saw it coming towards them. It was the android— skinless, but very much intact— wearing earbuds, seemingly covered in softly vibrating sub-woofers. Its waxen head was deformed and coming off in chunks, revealing a gigantic speaker in place of a head.
"SOPHIA LIGHT! We can work past YOUR attempt TO LIQUIDATE ASSET… It is PERHAPS times for you to give up MUCH MORE, SOPHIA LIGHT. WE CAN HELP."
Light winced and covered her ears. "Should be slag… how the hell did it even find us?" She looked over to the bundle of vines lying next to her.
Gillespie pulled the vines apart and stood up, her hand already throwing the small white box from her pocket. It skidded across the floor, coming to rest a fair ways from the android assailant. It watched as a couple of snowflakes emanated from the matchbox.
The android threw its head back, and let out a deafening tone.
"DRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR"
Gillespie stumbled back, ears covered, into the bushy beast behind her. Thick leaves covered her up.
The vines abandoned Light as Gregory pounced upon the android. There was a flurry of foliage as they struggled, with occasional piercing tones being muffled by leaves, and slashing metal tearing through the dampeners.
Light looked around for Gillespie and found her again. She was brushing leaves from her clothing.
The snowflakes were picking up. Gillespie looked at them, and then at Light. "We need to get out of here. Blast doors. Down the hall. Take me."
It didn't need to be said twice. Gillespie was a small woman, and Light had been stuck with a strict workout regimen for years. She scooped up and carried Gillespie as quickly as she dared down the hall, as the sounds of the battle behind them grew more intense.
When they reached the security door Gillespie neatly typed a code into the keypad. The thick, green blast doors creaked open, and the last remnants of the frost dissipated as fresh air blew in.
A flat tone shrieked, and through the mist there was a long howl. The doors were open now, as Light and Gillespie stepped through.
As the door closed behind them, Gregory, his body weighed down with dead frost and dead robot weight, swung around the corner. Thundering down the hall, he was only moments too late to fit his body between the closing metal gate. For a few moments, there was scrabbling and scratching. Then, silence.
Gillespie clutched Light, panting. "I knew that would work…"
Light patted Gillespie's head, and breathed a sigh of relief. They began walking down the hall. Behind them, Roget poked his head out from the ruined walls, and ran to catch up with his grandmother. Gillespie slowed down to accommodate him, then stopped. Walking to one of the doors dotting the wall, she punched another security code in, and opened the door.
Inside was a sterile white room, with a navy blue door quietly occupying the opposite end of the room. Its light bulb was on behind the door, and shining through the slits. Gillespie hopped over to the door, murmuring to herself. "It's been… waiting for us? Yes, yes, this will work…"
Light strolled in behind her, taking in the sights of the room. "What's going on?"
The bulb clicked off, and Gillespie smiled softly. "Something useful."
Gillespie opened the door, and scooped up the small piece of metal from the floor. She carefully inspected it, before turning to Light with a sparkle in her eye. "Better than I dared hope. We've got a chance yet."
Light motioned to Gregory. "So, where to next?"
Gillespie pocketed her new friend, and walked to the door. "We're burning down the house."

SCP-2322, Motor Pool
"Pontiac Azteks?"
Gillespie walked among the fleet of Azteks, and frowned as she ran her hand across the car's oddly-shaped rear end. "This place is breaking down. These cars didn't even exist in 1999."
Light, from across the room, called out to her. "This one has a tent!"
Shaking her head, Gillespie turned her attention to the roof of an Aztek in the back row. Taking an adhesive from her purse, she fixed the laser pointer to the top of the car furthest from the wall, and tugged on it to make sure it was secure.
Light ambled back over, and peered over Gillespie's shoulder. "This is going to be safe, right?"
"Probably. If we cause enough destruction, it'll probably terminate the loop, and kick us all out."
With that, she flicked the laser on. A red dot appeared on the wall across the motor pool, barely visible apart from the red line of light stretching from the car to the wall. They didn't have long to appreciate the sight, though. The pointer's effect was instant. Every car in the lot, dozens of Pontiac Azteks, began revving, starting up, and getting ready to go.
Tires squealed as every vehicle began chasing the red dot. Almost immediately, most of them crashed into each other. But before too long, the logjam was cleared, and the automotive automatons were smashing repeatedly into the wall, onto the little red dot if they could help it.
The destruction was enormous. The cars smashed and smashed, and cracks spread from the walls to the roof. The constant pounding brought down dust and pieces of ceiling, and the whole room shook like a tweaking chihuahua.
Crack, crunch, crumble.
The wall fell like it was 1989, and the Azteks began fighting for position. Gillespie and Light watched as they plowed through the next room, and the next, and the one after that, until they were out of sight.
They waited a little longer, listening to the sounds of destruction as the Azteks made their way further into the Site.
"This probably ought to knock the site down, right?" asked Gillespie, brushing some rubble off of her sleeve.
"… Yeah. Probably. As long as they keep going." Light stared through the hole. "You want to, uh, wait in a car? Maybe see if the radio works, or something like that."
Gillespie walked through the hole, appraising the crumpled wrecks of the few Azteks which hadn't survived the initial onslaught. She picked one and pulled on the door to the driver's seat. The door came off in her hand.
Shrugging, she moved onto the second closest, which had most of its damage on the rear-end. "This one seems to be relatively intact."
She got in first. Light got in behind her, and closed the passenger door. Light hit the lock button, then settled into her seat and closed her eyes. "Phew…" she said.
"Why did you do that?" Gillespie asked.
"Do what?" Light popped one eye open, returning Gillespie's look.
"Lock the doors."
Light looked away, through the window. The Rogetian apparition was playing with a piece of twisted gears, from one of the more ruined wrecks. "Shirley, you never know what's out there."
"I do. And don't call me Shirley."
Light sat up, still looking out the window. "We're not on first names yet, then?"
Gillespie shook her head. "It's not that, it's… nevermind. You can call me that if you want to."
The entire room began to violently sway. In the distance, there were several rather loud explosions. Chunks of the ceiling began falling down onto the car like raindrops, denting all which had not already been dented. Gillespie looked up, dismayed.
"I was hoping that the loop would terminate before something like this happened…" Gillespie looked out the window, pursing her lips.
"Something like what happened?" Light asked, as baby Roget phased through the doors and into the backseat, silently wailing.
"Everything actually breaking down. We've never run a destructive test that was quite on this sc—"
A large heap of metal interrupted her, as it crushed the hood and cracked the windscreen. Gillespie jerked back, her hand over her heart. "Oh, my. Oh dear…"
"Just hang on. We just have to wait for it to pass, and we'll be fine. Don't worry." Light took Gillespie's hand. "Just relax."
At that moment, a large, furry appendage slammed into the cracked windscreen. From outside the car, they could hear it calling, in a pre-pubescent voice. "Like, ohmigod Jane, there's totally stuff in here!"
"Shit." Light pulled out the sidearm. Outside, the apparition of Roget screamed in terror as spiders swiftly overwhelmed him.
Gillespie just closed her eyes.
Skittering down to the front of the car, the appendage's owner made itself clear. A giant spider, bows in its hair and lipstick smeared all over its mandibles.
Spiders began crawling up, from the cracked ground and through the ruined walls. They descended from the ceiling from webs, and thudded onto the roof over and over again.
The car began rocking, back and forth. The compatriot of the spider, previously unseen, began to come join it by the hood of the car.
Soon, every window was blocked by pieces of furry exoskeleton, as they chattered and pounded at every surface. The windscreen bent, but did not break. Pieces of glass showered the front seat.
The car continued to rock back and forth, and both women clung to their seats, and to each other. They were thrust into pitch blackness as the outside of the vehicle was swarmed. The back windows were punched in, and a dozen legs began squirming and pushing to get in.
The two of them shrunk into the front seat, with Light pointing her firearm back towards the sound of flailing limbs. The roof above them began to give way, as three more spidery limbs began blindly thrashing around. Gillespie cried out, her forearm snapping as a spider's leg jabbed her.
It was then that Light and Gillespie felt their ears pop.
At once, the spider's leg stiffened, and crumbled like ashes. The pounding from all sides ceased at once. The windows were still a void, but there was no more movement. Gillespie groaned, and clutched her arm. An ambient light began to shimmer down from the holes in the roof. Light looked over. "How bad is it?"
Gillespie looked at the deformity on her arm. "Broken…" she mumbled, straining in her seat and gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckle fist. "Look outside… is it over? Are we out?"
Light pushed, and forced the door open, looking outside.
"… It's different now. I think we broke it."

???
The shards of what were once a motor pool floated in space. The car, dented and twisted, sat on a small floating platform. Blue wisps of light twisted through the floating pieces of concrete. The air was thick, and permeated by a high-pitched ringing.
Light carried Gillespie through the void. Gillespie's breathing was short, and her eyes closed. Light wasn't sure what she was walking on, as she strode past sections of rooms suspended in space. Occasionally, there were portions of people. Light tried not to look at those.
There was a whistling in the air.
"How are you holding up?" she said, adjusting her grip on Gillespie's frail form.
"Fine… fine," Gillespie said, taking a deep breath. "Keep walking. He should be here… soon."
Light looked ahead. There was something glimmering in the distance. It was a pink shimmer, drawing closer at every second.
The whistling grew louder.
In a flying V, they came. Pink flamingos, with sharpened metal prongs in place of legs. Dangling from three of them, suspended by thick, black leather straps, was the charitable robot, dripping oil, legless and covered in vines, but swinging its blade and silently flapping its waxen gums.
"Fuck." Light groaned and took a step back. "Why won't this goddamn thing stay down‽"
The flamingos swept down from above, prongs at the ready. Ducking down and covering Gillespie, Light felt the prongs rip through her back, and the warmth as blood flowed freely from the wounds.
The flamingos took the skies again, returning to formation with the android at the forefront.
Again, they charged from the skies. The automaton swung its knife, with every wild swipe causing bolts and wires to be flung from its body.
Light tensed, and rolled as it drew close, gripping Gillespie to herself as they dodged out of the way. The blade stabbed into the ground, and pulled the droid to the ground.
Gillespie winced as Light set her down. Light stood up.
The droid crawled towards them, clumsily waving its blade towards them. Its eyes dangled out of its sockets and its waxen lips cracked as they dragged along the ground.
Light backed up, keeping a hand on her firearm.
A figure darted towards them and stomped down onto the android's head, crushing it into pieces.
Light watched warily, firearm still in hand. A young man approached them. He was a hairy little guy, coming only to Light's hips, and he was wearing a D-Class jumpsuit.
"Director Gillespie… can you hear me?"
Gillespie perked her head up, eyes open wide. "Oh… good, it's over. How nice to finally… meet you."
E-8812 reached over and brushed the hair from Gillespie's eyes. "The feeling is mutual. You've made quite a mess today."
"Wasn't… my intention." Gillespie pushed against Light, who helped her stand. "I never intended to come here… like this."
E-8812 took her hand, and instantly her pained face was washed away by relief. "Wow…"
"It's a funny thing, pain. There was pain, when they all burned, or were crushed, or died in a myriad of other tragic ways. It was all real pain, even from fake people."
Gillespie looked away.
E-8812 looked around. "You know why this place exists?"
"Because you created it?"
He shook his head, pointing to Gillespie. "You made it happen. You were the first person… in quite some time, to show kindness. Really, it sort of wrote itself from there."
Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a small picture. It was Gillespie, twenty years earlier. She was smiling with her husband, on a white porch in summer. "This is your world, Shirley. We're all just living in it."
Gillespie took the picture. "Where did you get this?"
"I don't have the answers, here, and we're almost out of time. Sorry. You're the only one who really has a final say." E-8812 clapped and waved his hands. The lights formed into a blue box, with a shimmering white spiral in the center. "Anyways, you know what we do now, I'm sure."
Gillespie nodded. "Go on."
The white spiral shone a bright white, and turned into the number three. "You blew up my base, and caused the deaths of thousands of people. You didn't recreate the day, but I sincerely look forward to the next time you try."
Gillespie nodded, and then faded away. Light heard the sound of a door closing.
"As for you," said E-8812, stepping towards Light. "Don't ever come back."
The white flashed to a big, red zero. Light felt the ground disappear from beneath her, and she fell. Everything went white for a moment, before shapes and sounds began to take form. Through the ringing in her ears, Light heard them saying her name.

At the Lunch Counter
Gillespie and Light sat by each other, in the center of the counter. Gillespie's arm was in a sling, but her spirits had never been higher.
"I met Bowe exactly one time. He came over to inspect Site-77, when he was on the warpath for humanoids with vaguely weaponizable powers. He wanted to use 213, for obvious reasons, but he was still comatose then. You wouldn't believe what he offered our doctors to rouse him."
Gillespie shook her head. "That was when I realized it probably wasn't going to work out."
Light chuckled. "That sounds about right."
Gillespie picked her tea up with her good hand, and shook the ice around. "So, what did Lament give you, on your first date?"
Light grinned. "Ctenophores. It was awesome."
Gillespie smiled in return. "Gifts like that always mean the most. What happened to them?"
Light laughed out loud. "You'll love this. A Junior Researcher drank them, thought they were anomalous, and almost got our whole sector on lockdown."
Gillespie chuckled. "Shame that you lost them."
Light shrugged. "Ended up being a great story, though. Sometimes that's the best you can hope for."
"Yes… I've heard stories, rumors, about you and Lament. If you don't mind, of course…"
"No, go on. I don't mind."
"Are you still… entangled?"
Light shook her head. "Just friends. We both agree that things work out better that way."
Gillespie nodded, sagely. "It's a shame… you would make a tremendous power couple. But I'm sure the last thing on your mind is needing more power." She closed her eyes, and finished her drink before standing. "Let's head back to the Site… I've got a lot to show you before we go. We've left O5-4 waiting long enough."
Standing with her, Light smiled. "Lead the way."

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